#god we really walked through the desert to receive some rain

[ikjun]

what junhee is doing on effortless is indeed effortless and hearing his voice again singing again etc etc had me nearly fall out of my desk chair

[noteguk]

any way you want it | kth | m

— summary; in which your best friend, Taehyung, finds out about your unsatisfying sexual experiences and decides to put an end to that track record himself. 

— contents and warnings; smut, childhood best friends, Taehyung x reader, bigdick!tae, breast play, oral (f receiving), dry grinding, dirty talk, tae has a praise kink, unprotected sex (be responsible!!), rough sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, Taehyung takes things personally but he has good intentions, this is what happens when mutual thirst gets suppressed for years of friendship 

— words; 6.6k

— author’s note; i have no idea why but this fic was so fucking hard to put down into words??? I felt mentally constipated the entire time but it’s finally here 

Taehyung wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when you called him at almost two in the morning, complaining about your newest nightmarish date and practically begging to come over. Like the good friend that he was, he made sure to tell you that you would be more than welcome to join him in his newest documentary marathon about aliens, and wondered if you could bring him some takeout on your way over there. Like the bad friend that you were, you said no. 

To be fair, the nearest takeout place was across the city from his apartment (about thirty minutes away and in a bad neighborhood), and you were already having a horrible night as it was. Besides, you refused to take part in Taehyung’s search for a high blood pressure and cholesterol levels, arguing that it wasn’t the right time to stuff his face full of hypercaloric noodles. 

But you did pity him enough to comply with his second request: a big pot of vanilla ice cream, which you were sure you’d end up consuming too. You were in a crisis.

As if to prove that the gods above were laughing at you, during the walk of shame to Taehyung’s apartment, it had started to rain (because of course it did), and your umbrella was only able to save you from the shoulders up before it crumbled and flew away from your gasp, rolling on the asphalt like a ball of dirt in a Wild West movie. By the time that you dragged yourself to his front door, you were completely soaked (and not in the way you had planned for that night to end), and about to break down crying. 

Taehyung, like the angel that he was, helped you with your heavy coat and talked you into taking a warm shower before you got sick. He took the supermarket bag from you (where the ice cream had probably already melted) and walked you to this bathroom, excusing himself so he could grab you some dry clothes — and you only saw the ones he had picked when you got out of the shower. 

With a silly smile dancing on your lips, you fumbled with the black booty shorts that Taehyung had jokingly gifted you that past Christmas — one that read “daddy’s juicy butt��� in big, bold, neon pink letters over your ass — and then decided that your dignity was already dead by that point, so another kick wouldn’t hurt. Taehyung had also given you one of his favorite band shirts, which he only revealed during desperate times. 

Your heart melted with the thought of your best friend trying to comfort you, and pulled the fabric close to your face so you could take a deep inhale, drowning in his scent. It smelled of that stupid cologne that Taehyung had used ever since he hit puberty, and a bit of fabric softener. 

The two of you had an extremely close friendship, to the point that it got kind of strange at times. Ever since childhood, it was joked that you and Taehyung had been long lost soulmates — doing everything together, from going to school to laughing at the same exact jokes during movie marathons, often at the same moment and for the same amount of time. Before puberty hit (and the hormonal rage took over your first teenage years) you couldn’t remember disagreeing with him even once. You two had always been in sync. 

But the uncomfortably close part only hit after you two went to college, and your anxiety for being a virgin in a sea of starving sharks got the best of you. After long conversations, you had managed to convince Taehyung to help you learn a thing or two about the art of naked wrestling. 

Apparently it was weird to give your best friend a handjob and a blowjob for the sake of education. Go figure. 

Regardless, your friendship wasn’t affected by any of that — even if you two had agreed to never mention any of it ever again — and you could always count on Taehyung to catch you when you fell. 

Even if it was at two am on a Tuesday, after one of your nightmarish dates. 

You threw yourself on the couch next to him, hugging your knees against your chest to form a barrier between you and the divine providence that had taken you to that point. You had half-assedly dried your hair, but pools of wetness had started to build on the back of Taehyung’s shirt. 

Instead of accusing you of ruining his favorite piece of clothing, Taehyung reached for the remote and paused his documentary just as the narrator was starting to explain how hieroglyphs were actually part of an alien language. “Just tell me how bad it was,” he said, a mustache of ice cream melting over his top lip.

You took a peek at the bowl of melting vanilla on his center table, and decided that you would probably pass the desert for the night. 

You glanced at him sideways, voice coming out monotone. “You sure you want to go down that path?” 

Taehyung licked his sweet mustache off and nodded, clearly intrigued. “Yeah, hit me with it. You look like you need all the help that you can find.” 

You sighed, turning around on the couch so you were facing him — legs still against your chest. “Okay so… I went to his place...” 

“Yes…”

“And... we had dinner, talked for a bit.”

“How was the talk?” He asked. 

You shook your head, trying to kill the memories inside. “He didn’t let me say a word. He just went on and on about this new website he’s working on, and how expensive his wine glasses were.” You scoffed, angry at yourself for ignoring the clear red flags of an arrogant douchebag. That was what the desperate need for immediate human connection could do to someone, you thought. “Apparently it’s supposed to be the next Facebook or something. Or twitter. I honestly wasn’t paying much attention.”

He chuckled. “Starting off strong.” 

“That wasn’t even the main issue,” you said, lowering your forehead so it was touching your knees. You just wanted the world to end at that moment, so you wouldn’t have to go through those experiences again. “After that, we sat on his couch and started watching a movie. And you know how that goes, we started kissing, he pushed me down and got on top of me…”

“And?” He instigated. 

With a sigh, you raised your head, meeting your friend’s gaze. Taehyung thought he had never seen you look so dead inside. And he had seen a lot from you. “And he humped like… my lower abdomen for about three minutes and came in his pants.”

Taehyung cringed visibly, taking one hand to cover his mouth. “Oh, man. That’s bad.” 

You nodded, strangely relieved at his reaction. Part of you was worried that you were the evil witch in that scenario, that maybe you had done something wrong. “The worst,” you agreed. “Wanna know what else?”

“What? There’s more?”

“He didn’t even ask me if I was satisfied with whatever the hell that was.” You told him, bitterness dripping from your tongue. In the grand scheme of things, that was something silly to get mad over, but the fact that your date didn’t even have the guts to ask if you had gotten something out of that was ridiculous. “Not that I could possibly be. But it’s like he didn’t care and I was just a pillow for him to hump like a… sexually repressed religious teen, I don’t know.”

Taehyung only nodded, realizing that there wasn’t much that he could say to fix the situation. “Was he a good kisser at least?”

You sneered. “I think he was trying to crush my face with his.” You glanced at your friend, only half of his face bathed by the yellow and orange shades coming from the television. Maybe a documentary about ancient history and alien expeditions wouldn’t be so bad. Worst case scenario, it would knock you out, and you wouldn’t have to think about that mess anytime soon. “Also, too much tongue, just… the amount of saliva…”

“Got it. You can stop there.” Taehyung raised one hand, his eyes closing for a second. His palm lowered and met one of your knees, standing there in a silent attempt at consolation. “I’m sorry about your terrible date experience, dude.” 

“If you could even call it that.” You ran one hand through your hair, suddenly overtaken by a wave of anger. “God! I was just… so… ugh! Like… ughhhh!!” 

Taehyung, bless his heart, sometimes couldn’t understand the random neanderthal sounds you threw his way. “So... what?”

At last, your makeshift protection came crumbling down, and you collapsed on the couch dramatically, legs dangling off the edge. Taehyung thought that you were being possessed for exactly two seconds before you started talking again. “I did a full body shave for this night, Taehyung. Do you realize what that means?” His lips fell open, but, before he had the chance to answer, you continued. “It means that I really wanted to get railed tonight. Actually, I wanted to find a guy who actually knew what he was doing for once in my life.”

Taehyung chuckled, trying to disperse the tension in the room. “Come on, the dating pool can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad,” you said. 

He wasn’t giving up that fast. “How bad?”

You raised your head to look him dead in the eyes, a silent threat, before finally uttering, “Try no-man-has-ever-made-me-cum bad,” and crashing your head back against the sofa. 

If you weren’t so hyper-focused on your own sexual melodrama, you would have noticed the thick silence that fell between the two of you, Taehyung’s face contorting into fifty different emotions within a few seconds. He thought that he had heard it all — from the secrets hidden in Machu Picchu to the obvious extraterrestrial influence on earthy religion — but no amount of bad documentaries could ever prepare him for that revelation. That didn’t make any sense. 

“Wait. Seriously?” He finally found his voice and managed to push his doubt out of his throat. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

You chuckled, humorless. “Oh no, I’ve had plenty of those. Just not from another person.” 

“How’s that possible?” he asked. 

“I ask myself that every single day.” You sighed, forcing yourself to sit back up. Taehyung was staring at you like you had just grown two extra arms, and you wondered what an amazing sex life he must’ve had for that confession to get him so confused. “Guess I’m just really bad at picking partners, who knows.”

There was a soft grunt on your throat as you fixed your position on the couch, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of your entire day piling up at once. Your gaze mindlessly traveled to the TV — a big plasma monstrosity that Taehyung had bought compulsively during a Black Friday sale — looking at a white-bearded man pointing maniacally towards a specific, round-shaped hieroglyph. You didn’t even need to hit play to know that he was making it seem like it was an UFO, but curiosity got the best of you. 

“Can you pass me the remote?” You asked, pointing at the small device that laid beyond Taehyung’s body. “I kinda wanna see what—”

“I’ve made tons of girls have orgasms,” Taehyung interrupted, looking at you like he had just clicked out of a transe.  

You laughed at his monotone voice. “I’m happy for you, Tae.” You leaned over his legs so you could finally reach the remote. “That wasn’t a jab at your masculinity, I’m sure you’re a very caring partner, and I’m sure there’s tons of guys out there that—”

“I can make you cum too, if you want.”

You had just grabbed the small piece of plastic when his sentence hit you like a smack in the face, making you drop the remote back on the couch, eyes widening. “You… what?”

He suddenly broke eye contact, taking one hand to massage the back of his neck. “Did that sound as creepy as I think it did?”

“A bit, yeah.” You forced out a light chuckle, trying to break the ice. There was no sign of mockery in his voice, and you didn’t know how to react. You could not say that the offer wasn’t tempting (you’d be lying if you claimed that you didn’t think Taehyung was attractive), but his proposal was so oddly-placed that it sounded like a joke. “What are you talking about?”

Taehyung sighed, turning his head to look at the television. “I just think it’s really unfair that no one has ever made you cum before.” 

You smiled. “That’s very nice of you, but…”

“And I want to help you with that.” He looked back at you. Oh, he was being a hundred percent serious. There was no longer a single ounce of doubt in your mind. “We’re friends, it’s not gonna be weird. We’ve done similar stuff before.”

“We were a lot younger, though.” You didn’t know why your mouth suddenly felt so dry, your fight or flight response kicking at full strength. You could tell that Taehyung was also trying to convince himself about the strangeness of the situation. “It’s gonna be kind of weird, yeah.”

“Not if we don’t make it weird,” he threw back. Was it bad that you were actually considering it? Maybe it was the piled-up exhaustion combined with the years of sexual frustration, maybe you were finally out of your mind. But you were really considering it. “I don’t wanna pressure you, alright? Just making a friendly offer. If you don’t want it, that’s fine.” 

You kind of wanted it, though. There was too much accumulated libido inside you from years and years of unsatisfying partners, and you trusted Taehyung with your entire heart. It sounded like a safe enough bet: if all went to shit and it got too awkward, you two could just stop, no hard feelings. Besides, you knew that Taehyung cared about you, which was more than you could say about all your dates in the past couple years. 

And the more you stared at him, probably looking like a deer in the headlights, the more you grew soft under his presence. At once, you were hit with desires that you had never considered before: you wanted to kiss those soft lips, wanted to know how his large hands would feel around you. You really, really wanted to know how it was to have a good sexual experience with someone, and you couldn’t think of a better candidate than your best friend. Even if you still thought it could be seen as a little bit weird. 

But you also kind of didn’t care. 

You licked your lips, finally finding your voice after a long moment of silence. “How… how would you do it?” 

Taehyung turned his head and looked at you, noticing the expectation in your eyes. “How would you want me to do it?” He asked. 

You tried to think, but your mind was completely blank. What did you want him to do? What did you like? Suddenly you weren’t sure about anything anymore. “I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing down. 

Taehyung smiled at your nervousness, one of his hands moving to your chin and tilting your head up. “How ‘bout I start by kissing you?” He questioned, gaze flickering to your parted lips. “Is that alright?” 

There were no words in your throat, so you simply nodded, closing your eyes as he leaned in. 

Taehyung’s mouth tasted of vanilla and you thought, even for a moment, that you were in paradise. The second that his tender lips met yours, your anxiety melted away, giving space to a newfound flame of desire. Taehyung kissed you softly, sensually, taking his time caressing your mouth and drowning in your heat. His hand moved to the back of your head, pressing you closer to him and leaning your head to the side so he could deepen the kiss. 

He sighed heavily into your mouth when your tongues met, his other hand moving to hold your waist. The position on the couch was kind of awkward for kissing, with the two of you sitting side by side, so it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise when Taehyung tugged you onto his lap, making you straddle him. 

The kiss was starting to get hungrier, messier, a small whimper dying in your mouth when his palms traveled down to cup your ass, pressing you down against his semi-hard cock. Taehyung sighed and groaned at the feeling of you on top of him, loving the way that your fingers played with his hair, your body so perfectly tight against his. If there was any hesitation before, it had completely vanished by that point. 

It caught you off guard when he suddenly broke off the kiss to ask you, “Do you like any pet names?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Hm? What?”

He placed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You know, you want me to call you by something?”  

You realized that Taehyung was really taking that personal service to a different level, and you couldn’t say that you were let down by it. If any of your past partners had the dignity to ask what you liked, you wouldn’t be in that position in the first place. “I… like being called ‘baby’,” you told him. 

Taehyung smiled. “That’s cute. Baby it is.” 

Before you had a chance to respond, Taehyung’s lips were back on yours, a dreamy sigh leaving his mouth as your tongues met once again. Only a few seconds passed before he shifted his weight to lay you down, never breaking the kiss as he positioned himself between your legs, hovering over you. Taehyung started trailing a path of kisses down your neck, his large hands slithering beneath your oversized shirt and caressing the skin of your stomach. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked, tugging at your shirt. 

You agreed and, within a heartbeat, that piece of clothing was already on the floor, and Taehyung was diving in to kiss the valley of your naked breasts. You moaned timidly when one of your nipples was wrapped by his lips, his tongue coming out to play with it. Taehyung’s other hand was occupied fondling your other breast, tugging and pressing down on it, and the sensations were taking over your mind. 

“You have great tits,” Taehyung mumbled against your skin, switching to mouth your other nipple. 

“I’m glad you like them,” you teased, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. You were letting out these cute little whimpers that were making him lose his mind. “Feels really good.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, moving back to kiss his way up your neck. His tongue was hot and heavy as it danced on your skin, and you knew that those sucks he was giving you were surely gonna leave a few marks on your flesh. But you didn’t really care. “Gonna make you feel even better, baby.” 

Your eyes fluttered shut at the pet name — it sounded heavenly when Taehyung used it with his deep, honeyed voice; his warm breath hitting your neck as he continued with his ministrations. 

He kissed his way to your cheek, placing a small pec on your lips before saying, “Can you do something for me?”

You nodded. “What is it?” 

Instead of responding right away, Taehyung’s gaze fell to your lips, and he was once again attacking them. That time, you weren’t able to hold back the whimper that you let out, your panties already glued against your core with how much he was turning you on. 

One of his hands had trailed down your exposed abdomen, teasingly playing with the hem of your shorts. You held your breath when he tugged them down, bringing your underwear with it and throwing them somewhere in the living room. Taehyung grunted loudly when his fingers slipped past your folds, digging into your heat. His brain almost short-circuited because of how wet you were. 

He broke the kiss and looked you deep in the eyes. “I want you to sit on my face, baby,” he said, and his request shot straight to your core. “Let me take care of you, okay?” 

“Are you sure?” You asked. You had never done that before.

But Taehyung wasn’t sharing your reluctance. “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse and eyes darkened. “Wanna taste you so bad. Sit on my face, please.” 

And you didn’t need any more convincing than that. Taehyung helped you get up from the couch so he could reposition himself on it, laying flat on his back and watching as you settled yourself above him, thighs on either side of his head. The couch was the exact size for that, a little smaller and you’d have one leg dangling off the edge.

Taehyung took his hands to your thighs, running them up to your hips. His eyes were focused on your pussy, and you never felt so exposed when he started pressing you down lightly, guiding you closer to his mouth. 

You held the back of the couch for support and did as he requested, lowering yourself until Taehyung had you flat on his tongue. Your breath trembled and caught in your throat when he licked a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit, humming around the taste before doing it again. Taehyung was an expert at erasing your worries because, with a few more licks, he had you fully losing yourself in his sinful ministrations. 

It wasn’t long until you were whining out his name, your folds lazily dragging against his tongue as you started to grind on his face. “God, Taehyung!” You called out, hand coming down to tug at his hair. Taehyung grunted in satisfaction, the vibrations of his deep voice sending shockwaves through your pussy. “That’s… that’s really nice. You’re really good at this.” 

He moaned in response, closing his eyes at your words. Taehyung was eating you out like his mouth was made for it, like he was starving for your taste and you were all that he could think about. He licked you from your entrance to your clit, playing with your sensitive spots and enjoying the tremors of pleasure that ran through your thighs, his hands locked tight around your hips. You sobbed and cried over him, making special effort to keep your legs steady as you rocked yourself on his tongue. 

It was only when he decided to suck on your clit that you realized how absurdly close you were. You clenched your teeth and whined out, yanking his hair harder. “Do that again, please,” you asked and Taehyung, like the good friend that he was, was quick to comply. Taehyung wrapped his mouth around your clit in a way that had you trembling over him, licking and sucking on your sensitive nub like his life depended on it. “Fuck, that’s so good, Tae. Feels so good…” 

He moaned again, more desperate this time, and some part of your mind understood the pattern that he was presenting you: Taehyung really, really liked your compliments. And you had no problem giving away any more of them. 

“You’re licking me so well, Tae, you’re gonna make me cum like this,” you told him,  meaning every word you said. Taehyung was a Greek god beneath you, staring up at you with those dark, focused eyes as if he dared you to cum on his tongue. “God! You’re so good for me.”

And then your praises ran thin, because your mind was gravitating somewhere else — seeking for the high that was dangerously close. It was only when Taehyung started toying with your entrance, brushing two of his fingers on it, that you came undone, crying out his name like it was a personal prayer. 

There was a smirk on your mouth as you came down, a flooding relief that overtook you. You never thought that you could come so hard in your life, especially when it depended on another person, and you were so, so happy to be wrong that you could cry. 

With shaky legs, you removed yourself from Taehyung’s face, straddling his lap and watching as his lips glistened with your arousal. His pink tongue came out to lick them, a hum on his throat as he took in your fucked-out expression. 

“You did so well, baby,” he said, placing one of his hands on your waist. “Come here.” 

Obedient, you leaned in and sighed as his mouth met yours. This time, Taehyung didn’t wait to eagerly insert his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste yourself on him. 

He pulled away leisurely, his voice hoarse. “Can you taste how sweet you are?” He asked. “I loved making you cum on my tongue, baby. You looked so pretty.” 

Taehyung breathed out, planting kisses on your neck, one hand trailing down to squeeze your ass. You whined at his tight grip and pressed yourself down on him, feeling his hard cock poking out against the fabric of his sweats. 

Taehyung groaned at the stimulation, pressing down on your asscheek again. You rolled your hips on top of him, wincing in sensitivity as his member brushed your clit. “Loved your pussy so much, baby,” he continued, sounding like he was lost in a daydream, “I can’t wait to be inside you. Bet you’d be so tight for my cock, hm?” 

“Yeah,” you managed to speak. Even if you had just reached your orgasm, you were still aching to feel something inside you. You wanted Taehyung more than you could understand. “I want you to fuck me, Tae, please.” 

He breathed out, his hands tightening around your flesh as you rolled your pussy against his cock once again. Taehyung looked like he was one heartbeat away from completely losing his self control, and hearing you beg for him to fuck you wasn’t doing him any favors. “Gonna need to lie down for me, baby,” he asked. 

With a few more shifts on the couch, Taehyung had you beneath him once again, your legs open for him as he removed his shirt and pants. It wasn’t long before his cock sprung free from its confinement, standing erect. You licked your lips at the lustful sight, pussy clenching in anticipation as you took him in — Taehyung was big. Bigger than anyone you’ve ever had, that’s for sure; long and thick and already leaking for you. 

You would’ve cried out in need if he didn’t interrupt you. “What are you looking at?” Taehyung asked, the ghost of a smile creeping up on his lips. 

Your stare oscillated toward his own. “That’s why you have such a good track record, your cock is huge.” You bit your lip, thinking about how good he would feel inside you. You didn’t know how it was possible, but you were pretty sure the last time you’ve seen his cock — back in the dark ages of your freshman year of college — it wasn’t as big as that. Or maybe you just didn’t have anything to compare it to. 

“Hey, I just used my tongue on you, don’t ignore my efforts,” Taehyung teased, wrapping one of his hands around his member so he could pump himself a few times. The playful atmosphere swiftly shifted back, and, when he spoke up again, his voice was deeper. “You think you can take it?” 

“Yeah, I can,” you said. You couldn’t be sure, but you were sure going to try. 

Taehyung hummed, moving a bit closer so he could brush his tip against your pussy, coating it with your wetness. You closed your eyes in expectation, knowing that you’d love the stretch he would give you. 

“You want it?” He asked, a touch of desperation covering his words. Taehyung was nearing his breaking point, and the fluttering of your pussy on his cock was making him go insane. “Want my cock inside your tight little cunt, baby?” 

You nodded, frantic. The brushing of his thick tip on your hole was becoming too much, your walls clenching around nothing, seeking for something to fill you up. “Yes, fuck, I want it so bad.” 

“Are you tight for me, baby?” He was trying to prolong that moment for as much as he could, keep the pretty face you made when you pleaded for him to fuck you burned in the back of his head. Making you cum once was a victory he would take forever, but making you cum around his cock might as well be his life’s biggest achievement. “Ready for me to fuck you?” 

You cried out when he started pressing himself inside you, guiding his crown inside your pussy, then stopping. “Yes, Tae, just put it all in, please,” you whined, hands fumbling for support on his broad shoulders. Taehyung already had you clenching around nothing, you didn’t know what else he wanted from you. “Please, please, fuck me.” 

Taehyung chuckled, looking down at where you two met. He was only human, and his self control was short lived. “Since you asked so nicely…” 

Your back arched off the sofa as you felt the delicious drag of his large cock inside you, opening you up gradually, taking its time before filling you up to the brim. You gasped and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling, nails digging on the skin of his back as Taehyung groaned besides your ear. 

“Fuck, that’s so good.” He let out a shaky breath, and you swore you never heard his voice get so husky before. “I just slipped right in. You’re so fucking wet.” 

Your mind was an apocalypse of confused thoughts and forgotten exclamations, eyes fluttering shut as you dove into the sensation of Taehyung inside you — his hips angling backwards, tilting up just enough so he could move himself away from you core, only to come slamming back inside. The stretch of his cock was amazing, it was making you drunk, and all that you could think about was how much pleasure it was giving you. 

“So-So big—“ you muttered, half aware that the words actually left your lips. 

“How do you like it, uh?” Taehyung asked, his voice dripping sin and hunger. You could tell that he, too, was getting carried away by the feeling, his hips rutting themselves against you at a lazy pace. “Gonna give it to you any way you want it, baby.” 

You bit your lip, a small moan leaving your mouth when Taehyung leaned closer to you, distributing hot kisses on your neck. You swore you’d be happy if you died then. “I like it rough,” you answered. 

He groaned, apparently satisfied with your response. “Whatever you want.” 

Taehyung got to his knees on the couch, deciding to put one foot on the ground for support, his hands raising your hips to help him reach even deeper inside you. Faster than your brain could compute, the shallow, lazy pace he had sat was being replaced with a harsh, fast pumping that made you cry out his name, eyes closing in sheer bliss. 

“Tae! Yes, yes, just like that,” you sobbed, running one hand through your hair. You felt like your body was floating, every cell of your body overheating with the amazing pleasure that Taehyung was giving you. You never had someone fucking you so hard, his cock pistoning inside you, your body bobbing up and down on the couch. 

Taehyung’s eyes were glued to the bouncing of your breasts as he continued to fuck you, a deep groan leaving his chest. “That’s it, take it,” he moaned out, quickening his pace even more. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth opening in a silent scream.  “Gonna make you cum so hard around my cock, baby. Gonna fuck you until you cry. Want that?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” you moaned. “Feels so good, Tae.” 

“You like my cock, baby? Like it filling you up?” He asked and you could only nod pathetically, your entire body too fucked out to even respond. “F-fuck, your pussy is so good. Tell me that you love my cock.” 

“I love your cock,” you whined, feeling like a complete hot mess under his thrusts. “I — fuck! — I love your cock so much, Tae, it’s so big.” 

Your words motivated him to fuck you even harder, his member hitting even deeper inside you. Taehyung was getting lost in the stretch of your pussy around him, the glorious sounds you were making, the lust that coated your face every time you called out his name. 

“Shit, I don’t know how anyone could look at you like this and not want to see that pretty face cum.” He was breathing out hard, grunting every time your cunt tightened around him. Taehyung wanted to see you like that forever, taking his cock like a good girl, creaming all over him and begging to do it again. You were wrapping around him so perfectly, taking all of him so well, that he didn’t think he’d manage to move on from that anytime soon. “So fucking hot.”

Taehyung chased after your high like a starving man looking for food, experimentally changing the angle and force of his thrusts to see what would get the best reaction out of you. At last, after a pathetically loud cry from your part after he raised your legs up, it seemed as if he had found it. “I bet you’d be so tight cumming around my cock, baby,” he was thinking out loud at that point, trying to make sense of the pretty sounds and expressions you were giving him so eagerly. He wanted nothing more than to see you cum — it was personal at that point. “I wanna feel you cum around me, baby. Wanna feel it so bad.” 

“I’m c-close.” Your nails dug into his shoulders, eyes closing tightly. There was a light heat in your cheeks and sweat on your forehead that was making Taehyung wonder if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “You’re so good, T-Tae, you’re fucking me so well…” 

Taehyung thought that he could cum right then and there, pushed over the edge with those sweet words alone. He loved being good to you, loved making you feel things that no one else managed to before. He was intoxicated by that sense of superiority, drowning in your praise. He wished that he could fuck you forever. 

“Cream my cock, baby, come on,” he pushed you on, his words hanging somewhere between an order and a breathless plea. You were getting so tight around him that it was making him crazy, your wetness coating his cock and dripping down between your legs like his own personal brand of aphrodisiac. “You can do it, come on. I wanna see you cum so bad.” 

You smiled at him, a cute, fucked-out smirk that made Taehyung go to heaven and back. “So good for me, Tae, you’re so big,” you said, your voice so needy and high-pitched. Your orgasm was looming over you, pressing down on your lower body and making you see stars. It was only a matter of time before Taehyung got you crying out his name, back arching off the couch and mouth falling open in delirium. “Tae! Fuck! Don’t stop, please, I’m gonna—“ 

But your warning came a second too late, because you were already spasming around his length, body shaking as Taehyung thrusted hard inside you. Just as expected, you were absolutely fucking gorgeous when you came — all quivering lips and rolling eyes —, and Taehyung was beyond satisfied to know that he was the only one who saw that pretty face of yours. 

“That’s it, baby, fuck.” Taehyung was starting to feel his own high approaching, called by the delicious tightening and releasing of your pussy around him. His thrusts were messy and harsh; his sweaty hair falling over his eyes like a cascade. “Can I cum inside you, baby? Can I fuck you full of my cum?”

You noticed the desperation in his tone and, with the throbbing of his member inside you, you knew that he wasn’t far. “Yes, please,” you said. “You were so good for me, Tae, you can cum wherever you want.” 

And it was that final taste of praise that pushed Taehyung over his limit; waves upon waves of cum filling you up as he rode out his high. “God— fuck!” He cried out, drunk on the feeling of your walls milking the last drops of cum out of his cock. A few lazy pumps later, and he was collapsing on top of you with a mumbled, “F-Fuck.” 

There was an instant of silence after his orgasm, the quietude only filled by Taehyung’s heavy breathing. You took one hand to his head, caressing the strands as a smile blossomed on your lips. “Well, I believe you now,” you said playfully. “I’m sure you made a bunch of girls orgasm.” 

Taehyung chuckled, breathless. “Thank you, I try,” he said, looking up at you. The darkness in his gaze was gone, and it was just your best friend staring back at you. “You alright?”

“I’m great,” you admitted. You never felt so good in your life. “You?”

“Fantastic, thanks for asking.” He leaned back so he could sit up, running one hand through his disheveled hair before saying, “I’m gonna grab you a towel, hang on.” 

Taehyung left you for a couple minutes before coming back to clean you up, tenderly wiping away the mess you two had created. After he was done, he discarded the towel on the floor and crawled back to rest on your chest once again. 

There was a comforting quietude that floated in the atmosphere, only filled by the muffled buzzing of his freezer and the vague sound of raindrops drumming on the window. You didn’t really know how to deal with that entire situation, didn’t know how things would stay between the two of you. But, at that point, you made the decision to keep those worries for the following morning and, instead, just enjoy his warmth radiating all around you. 

The glorious silence, at last, was broken when Taehyung started mumbling against your breasts.  “Hey, ___?” He called. 

“Yeah?”

“How many dates have you been on?”

You hummed, thinking for a moment. “Ever?”

Taehyung made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I don’t know, like, this past year.”

“Uh… like… five or six? I think?” You answered, looking down to meet his gaze. You knew that wicked expression very well. “Why?”

He smiled. “Because we have a lot of shitty dates to make up for.”

[foulserpent]

nosleep mods deleted this for apparently not being a horror story. enjoy

My friend Ed is a bit of an outdoorsman. Not one of those hardcore 'two week hike hunting for food and sleeping in the dirt' types, but he does his share of hunting and camping. He and I got into it together when we met in community college and went on a weed-fueled camping trip over spring break, and since then he has far outgrown my own outdoor endeavors.

He's gotten some great stories to tell over the years. Finding a pair of souvenir Vegas dice in the stomach of a rabbit he was cleaning, getting hit by two skunks in a single day, close encounters with pumas and bears, and the far more harrowing and painful encounters with other hikers. But he's never come back with anything all that disturbing. Until his last trip.

Ed had been making an admirable effort of converting his 'spend the fall watching netflix and consuming pumpkin themed beverages' oriented boyfriend, Saúl, to some small game hunting. About a year ago, the two of them had taken a trip down south to do just that.

A few days into their week-long trip, I got a flurry of panicked texts from Saúl. It was all things like, "omg we just saw something so messed up" and "never going to the desert again LMAO there was a naked guy" or something to that effect.

I barely remember. I was bedridden with the worst case of the flu I'd ever experienced, and received these texts through a haze of fever and Nyquil. At that time, my response to those texts was more or less "Wow, hate when that happens :("

Neither of them provided elaboration upon their return, and I was a little too consumed in my own misery to ask for it. It was left at that.

Last week, Ed and I were practicing our usual 7 o'clock ritual of smoking behind the gas station during his break and complaining about the mere existence of customers. His mask was pulled down to his chin and he was fumbling with an entire cigar he'd brought to work, complaining about some customer who was shirtless in the middle of November and clearly blitzed out of his mind.

It was as he was describing the man's public indecency that I remembered the frantic texts I had received last fall.

"Hey, speaking of nudity...What was the story with the naked dude in the desert?" I asked him.

He cringed.

"From last year, on your trip?" I pressed.

"Yeah, I know, I know. God. Did Saúl text you?"

"Yeah, but he didn't give me the details of it."

Ed finished lighting the cigar, and took a long drag.

"Yeah, okay." He said. "I was honestly trying to forget about it but like. I don't know why Saúl was so stuck on the nudity like, that was the least messed up part of it all. It was the craziest thing."

It was the craziest thing is the set of words he would begin every particularly intriguing story with, and I realized I should probably settle in. I made myself comfortable against the dumpster in anticipation.

His story was as follows.

"So, yeah. We were out in the scrub. Technically weren't supposed to be there, we were a little ways off my aunt's land but like, there's no one to bug you about that out there. It was this kinda rocky area, lots of little hills and tall brush. So you couldn't see very far from the ground. And it was pretty well into the afternoon, and we hadn't caught a damn thing, so we were just kinda screwing around at that point. And we were near this bigass arroyo, and-"

He paused.

"Wait, you know what an arroyo is?" He asked me, taking another drag from his cigar.

I shook my head. He nodded solemnly at my midwestern ignorance.

“Okay, yeah. So it's a dry sorta riverbed in the desert. You ever seen a dried up creek? It's like that. They form when the rains come and are completely dry the rest of the year. And a lot of them are pretty small, but this one was like, a miniature canyon. Probably thirty feet across and ten feet deep. And it kind of winds around the hills before getting shallower when the elevation changes or whatever.

“So anyway we’re… yeah we’re there. The arroyo is on the other side of some rocks, and the open desert is in front of us. And we were sat down in the shade, having some beef jerky and stuff."

He paused again. He seemed to be lost in thought, eyes squinting and looking somewhere distant.

"So yeah, we're having a grand old time, just having a snack or whatever. And suddenly we hear screaming. Some guy’s screaming, ‘help! help me!’ out in the bush somewhere nearby.”

“And you know how Saúl is. Too much of a sweetheart for his own good. He's like nudging me and going "Eddie, we should go help." And yeah, sure, I wanted to help but there was something… Weird? About it? Like the shouting sounded real close but I wasn’t hearing anything else that, you know, accompanies a call for help. Like, no running, no sounds of struggling or being mauled by a wild animal or whatever. It was DEAD silent whenever the guy wasn't shouting.

"And like, call me an asshole but I'm not gonna do some ‘white person in a horror movie 'lets split up, gang!'’ shit. I was staying right where I was.”

"So we just kind of sat there, listening to it. The guy had started just- shrieking. No words, just making noise. And at this point I was starting to feel like a complete bastard for being the pragmatic one, but Saúl didn't seem to wanna move either. Like, it was super off.

"And then, there’s another sound. Kind of a…uh… Gurgling noise? Like-”

Ed broke off to make an odd sound in his throat. It was a low, prolonged croak that slowly lifted into a 'whoop!’

Some old woman in the process of fueling her SUV glared at him. He scowled back.

“Okay, it was actually nothing like that. But you get the idea.”

“And that happens a couple times, and it... It didn't sound like a person's voice anymore. And I'm thinking maybe the world's most fucked up coyote just killed a guy and was celebrating or whatever, but it didn't really sound like an animal either. It was kinda inorganic, you know what I mean?

"But yeah, it kind of whoops a couple more times, and then the last time it just... Didn't stop. It kept going, and it turns into this- music? It sounded, uh, sort of like a bunch of different flutes being played at once. But lower. Very deep. I don’t remember the tune so don’t ask. But it was music, and me and Saúl are just looking at each other like "what the fuck?”.

"And at that point, curiosity is kicking in and I'm gripped by this wave of idiocy, so I get up and start walking towards the sound. Low to the ground, super slow. Stealth. And I can tell it’s coming from the arroyo. So I just verrrrry carefully climb up the side and look inside.“

Ed paused to grasp for words.

"And there’s a man in there. Some pasty dude. Sunburnt, t-shirt tan lines, all that. Pretty scrawny, but otherwise normal looking from the chest down. No injuries or nothing, which I can say for sure because, yeah, the dude is completely naked. I mean naked. There was a pile of his clothes nearby, and his whole dick was out and he was barefoot. And he was DANCING. He’s just dancing naked in this friggin’ ditch.

"And it took me a bit to process what was going on with his head. Like, the music sounds are coming from up there. And I’m thinking he’s got some sort of weird instrument over his head, but he dances towards me and um. He has no head. Or like- Shit. He kind of has a head? Like I could sort of make it out, but it’s tilted all the way backwards. Like, touching his back. So his neck's facing the sky, and his eyes are just kind of staring out behind him.

"And there’s all these… tubes. Coming out of where the nose and mouth probably used to be. Big fleshy tubes, skin toned. But they didn't flop around, they were like, pretty firm. And they’ve got little holes all over them. And that’s where the music is coming from. He’s playing them.”

Ed lifted his arms over his head and mimed with his fingers. “Like a flute”

“So like, it’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever seen, basically, but I can’t stop watching. And Saúl eventually comes up beside me, and we don’t say anything, we just watch this guy. It’s gotta be like… A solid hour we’re just sitting there, with this guy playing his music and dancing around. And he starts moving up the arroyo, still dancing the whole time, and eventually he’s out of sight. But we hear the music a good while longer until it gets too distant. I don't think he ever saw us. Or he didn't care. I don't know."

He was silent for a long while. I waited for him to continue, but it was evident that it was over.

"And... That was it?" I asked.

"Yeah, that was it. We got the hell out of there and didn't see him again. Or hear anything about a crazy nudist in the area."

He took another puff of his cigar, and coughed.

"I mean, it could have been... A really, really good costume or something. Like, REALLY good. I mean I definitely saw his eyes blinking. On the head that was... You know. Bent entirely backwards. But hey, could be a costume!" He added with a flourish, clearly not entertaining this possibility whatsoever.

"Holy shit." I said.

He laughed, and snuffed out his cigar in the snow. "Damn right."

[siriannatan]

Beeduo Oneshots - Technoblade and Foolish interjection #1

Technoblade spends a lot of his time napping. Naps were nice. No voices, no governments, no people trying to use him. Steve and all the other bears and wolfs were enough to keep the place safe from monsters. Between his naps, he would catch up on rare news with Philza, gathered more firewood, chucked some snow at Ranboo, remove some snow from the roofs. The longest he was up was when Quackity recruited him to help with the Egg, and as much as he didn't like the guy he didn't like the Egg even more. He just regretted they couldn't save everyone the eggheads lured in with that party.

That day Techno said 'hi' to Phil who seemed a bit distracted, and in a hurry, he said something about having to check something in Manberg. He would have to ask about it later. The plan for that day was to gather some firewood, he bid Philza farewell and went out with his axe, not his combat axe he got from Ranboo... It was weird that he was suddenly moving in with Tubbo, not that it was Techno's business, he was still part of the Syndicate and the last president of Manburg seemed to be very much against governments and formal wear on anyone but Ranboo.

It wasn't all that cold that day, for a cold snowy tundra it is, anyone not used to cold would have a bad time but Techno was used to it.

Foolish wasn't having a good time. After the trip to Tubbo's mansion, he made the genius decision to visit 'Philza', he wasn't looking for Phil, he was looking for Technoblade. Everyone was afraid of him and if Foolish managed to befriend the anarchist maybe they wouldn't mess with him and his building projects... Why was everyone living in snowy tundra's can't they live in a nice warm jungle or even better, a dessert. It was far too cold.

As far as wood gathering trips go this one wasn't so bad. Just half an hour was enough to gather enough wood, no lost monsters under the trees, hiding from the sun. Some wild wolves run away as soon as they saw him approach. On the way back, in the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of the sun reflecting off of something. Turning around he saw a person? Should the sun be reflecting off of people's faces? Walking closer he poked the person with a long stick. No response. It was a person, with golden shining skin, both his piglin side and the voices were screaming in his head, conflicting, agreeing. Gold! GoLd! EEEE Help. help. Foolish... Shark-man, Blood for the blood god. EEEE GOLD help Technoblade just pushed it all to the back of his mind. With a heavy sigh, he dropped the bundle of firewood he carried, took off his cape, wrapped it around the person, threw them over his shoulder and after picking up his wood again began the march towards his a little more distant than he thought buildings, plumes of smoke from chimneys and fluffy warm Steve. He really should get over how tall Ranboo is and stop wearing high heeled shoes. At least the golden person wasn't heavy. Techno soft GOLD EMERALDS SOFT Technosoft Philza PHILZA EEEEEEE At least no one was home to mock him in person as he came back with ab unconscious person.

The last thing Foolish remembered from before he passed out was cold. What he felt now was warm, fluffy and was tickling his nose "Achoo".

"Let's hope the cause was Steve and not cold," he hears an unfamiliar voice. It wasn't hard to see who it was, the room was small and full of furniture, Chests, alchemical stands a table and two chairs. Very shabby craftsmanship, Foolish was close to screaming at how simplistic it was. By that table sat the Blade.

Long pink hair let loose reached way past his waist adorned with a golden crown decorated with gems. Narrow thin shoulders devoid of the red cape he heard about, high heeled knee-high boots. Every part of Foolish screamed that this man was dangerous. Especially the red eyes focused entirely on Foolish, he could feel them moving between his forehead and eyes. Foolish didn't want to look him in the eye, instead, he focused on the emerald earring hanging from his ear.

"Steve?" Foolish asked. He could barely feel his limbs.

"My emotional support bear," The Technoblade said, little pig ears in his hair twitched as his jaw pointer a little to Foolish's right. With barely a move of his head, Foolish noticed what was the fluffy thing keeping him warm. A fully grown polar bear, softly breathing as it slept, "he likes ear scratches, I blame Philza and Ranboo for that. I'm Technoblade, but you probably know that," the host introduced himself as Foolish slowly moved his arm to scratch the bear behind his tiny ears, discovering that Thechnoblade's famous cape was currently wrapped around him, helping him keep warm.

"Foolish G. The God of Immortality, Sky and Oceans," he introduced himself, "I've indeed heard about you, Technoblade."

"And what is a god doing in my little anarchist commune?" The blade asked suddenly getting up and moving out of Foolish's eyesight, the right of his vision was just Steve, who was indeed rather happy with behind ear scratches he was receiving.

"Looking for help?" Foolish had nothing but two of his lives to lose, he could as well say it.

"Is there an anti-god government here now?" Technoblade almost sounded amused.

"Not really, it's just... even though I'm a god I'm not good at fighting, I swore off my violent days and people are kind of taking advantage of that, messing with my hard work, with me..."

"And you thought you'd ask me to kill them for you?" that sounded rather threatening.

"Not kill, just hang out around from time to time to spook them? Like if they think we're friends they might leave me alone?" This conversation was going bad way "I can... build something for you? I'm good at building. You saw Tubbo and Ranboo's mansion? I build it. If you need like... a separate house for Steve? Orafakemarriagetoavoidtaxes?" the last part was said very quickly and not necessarily was meant to say.

"Haeh?" Technoblade looked shocked, for the first time since he woke up Foolish saw him lose confidence. For a split second, he wasn't that threatening.

Once the confusion passed Technoblade laughed, loudly, and for a while. Steve gave his master (?was he ever tamed or did he enjoy the warmth and free food?) a puzzled look.

"That beats everything anyone ever used to get me to help them, I haven't laughed that much in a while. A marriage for taxes? There are no taxes here and I pity anyone who would try to tax me o my friends." That was it Foolish was going to lose his second life while trying to protect himself. "Achoo," suddenly the Blade sneezed. "Sorry, so why now? You've been here for a while."

"Ponk moved into my dessert, build a big red eyesore and put a cursed pumpkin on my head. At first, I was planning to take Sam out for a date but apparently, he isn't safe, at least that's what Tubbo said when I went for advice to him."

Techno laughed a bit more. "Why Tubbo? I never heard of him having any dating experiences."

"He and Ranboo are married aren't they?" Foolish asked still petting Steve. Techno's confused face was enough to answer "You had no idea?! It makes sense why they would... with Tubbo being a former president... I messed up. Please don't tell them I told you, knowing Tubbo he'll want another mansion, I can't do it, I hate chandeliers because of the last one I build him!"

"I won't tell them." Techno seemed to be confused at this reaction "I had my suspicions anyway, they spend too much time together for me to not be suspicious. What is your stand on governments?" the pink-haired warrior asked standing up and again disappearing behind Steve.

"Don't like them," Foolish said with a sigh of relief. "I destroyed a few back in my God of Death days..." he smiled fondly at old memories. No one would dare to put a pumpkin on him back then.

"Why did you stop fighting?" Techno asked giving Foolish a mug of tea. "I'm out of sugar, sorry. I would ask Phil for some but he went out and Ranboo is with his husband. Don't feel like going through their stuff."

"There is a limit to how much bloodshed one can handle, how many friends you can die because of your action, how many towns you can raise to the ground," he muttered looking at the dark liquid, it was warm, warm was nice, "I wonder, what is the Blood God's limit?"

"What is any other man's limit?" Techno said, "I know people call me that, I don't mind, it keeps some away  on its own, but in the end, I'm just a man, I may not age but I can still be killed."

To say Foolish was shocked would be an understatement. He took nearly on everyone Dream brought to his realm, almost alone not counting an army of Dogs and Philza. He fought them amongst a rain of TNT and Wither's. That was beyond anything any mortal was supposed to be able to do. "I think there is a God who very much enjoys your actions," he said sipping the tea, it was bitter but warm. Steve was snoring again.

"You were there at the Red Ball of whatever?" Technoblade asked ignoring what he had said.

"Yes, I...."

"I'm sorry we couldn't stop them earlier," that was surprising. hearing the most feared person apologise...

"It's okay. I'm not a fan of dying but it's okay, everyone else survived and that's all that matters, the Egg cult is scattered to the four winds, some have left it even. In the end, I'd call the day a win."

"I see..."

For a while, they sat in silence, crackling of fire and Steve's snoring being the only noises in the room until Technoblade sneezed again.

"Do you want your cape back?" Foolish asked, "Steve's plenty warm."

Techno just nodded as he was passed the garment. "I take it you don't like cold."

"Not really, I prefer my summer home, it's in the desert, it's warm there."

"I see... do people often miss with your building projects?"

"Not recently, I don't think many people know where I live and I like it that way. Nice builds don't last long in these lands. But I'm glad I'm here. I made some new friends meet some old friends. It's not all bad here."

Techno just nodded, He looked a bit more like a fearsome warrior now that he had his cape on. "So you need help keeping it that way?"

"And maybe keeping people from requesting outlandish stuff, if possible." Now that the main subject was back the atmosphere turned awkward again.

"So I'll just need to hang out around you sometimes, glare at people if they bother you and be an 'I'm sorry I have a plan with Techno' excuse?"

"Yes?" Foolish muttered into his mug.

"Any relations I need to be aware of? Friends, enemies, family members?" Techno asked.

"Puffy is kind of my father, Eret I used to know a long time ago, we once faked a marriage, destroyed some cults together, doesn't seem to remember me, Tubbo... we're kind of cousins and Ranboo is his husband... most other people I'm rather neutral towards, don't like eggheads... Sam creeps me out lately... Tubbo said he cut off Ponk's arm, don't know if it's true. Dream... Dream is in prison so I guess we won't have to worry about him. Dream XD tends to avoid me." Foolish never really thought about his connections to people on the server. "I'd rather we not cause much bodily harm unless necessary."

Technoblade just nodded, voices were rather quiet ever since Mr God of Immortality Sea and Sky woke up, it was like they were coming to him through a lot of water, and they were much less intensive. That was a nice change. "Okay, so I help you and you build my dogs and bears a nicer kennel? I don't mind what Phil build but the herd outgrew it rather quickly. I hope we don't have to be too showy about it." he finally said.

"I hope you're not agreeing because of what happened at the Ball," Foolish looked at him rather seriously, at least as much as someone buried in blankets, leaning on and petting a bear could be.

"I'm doing it so Quackity stops flirting with me, and to gave bragging rights over Dream," Techno said mate factly, "Look at me chat, I have a Husband and the Teletubby is in prison..." Techno forced a joke out "a warning, I owe Dream a favour. That and voices are quieter near you, is it some part of you being a God?"

Foolish blinked, he didn't know many people with voices like Technoblade's. "I don't think so, I can bring down lightning, enrage the sea, cause sandstorms, nothing to do with voices."

"Hmm, it's getting dark." Technoblade noticed, "want to stay here or should I walk you back to your dessert?"

"I can stay here with Steve and start on that new kennel tomorrow," Foolish shrugged, he wasn't ready for another trek through the snow, "We can go to Eret when coming back to do Ranboo and Tubbo and sign wedding papers."

"Okay, I'll try to figure out somewhere to sleep for you," Techno said with a bit of a laugh at the last part, "and you better tell me about those governments and cults and cities you wrecked."

[ugh-againwiththenames]

A Musical Social Experiment...Destiel.

Alright, so I thought to myself, while playing along with @thenightwemetnatural​‘s Destiel song picks, that despite my musical tastes, and them tending typically (although not exclusively) towards the Metal genres, that EVERY song can in some way, be paralleled to Destiel. This is such a ridiculous experiment, and I apologize, but I’m at the cottage, and it’s fucking pouring with rain, so let’s play…

Here are the rules: take your Music library and throw it on Shuffle – every song that comes on for an hour(ish), connect it to Destiel...(below the cut for my results).

You can access the playlist here (if you have any interest in listening along!). I am not going to necessarily describe every possible connection - I think that a lot of them are SUPER obvious...like *eyes rolling out of my head* obvious...

In the End – Black Veil Brides – Well we’re off to a hell of a start, as this song from start to finish screams Destiel and sacrifice. In the end As my soul's laid to rest What is left of my body Or am I just a shell? And I have fought And with flesh and blood I commanded an army Through it all I have given my heart for a moment of glory Who will remember this last goodbye 'Cause it's the end and I'm not afraid I'm not afraid to die A Modern Way - The Exies – only on song 2, and it’s once again, really hard to cut out any of this song, as the repeating “I’m bound by my insecurities” SCREAMS Dean at me.

I’m Bound by my insecurities

Open your eyes and Throw your arms around me I need the right not to fight To breathe

Swallow the lies I'm the one to blame Having no voice left to choose Am i so blind, feeling justified When i'm alone and confused

Brother – NEEDTOBREATHE – I have to laugh…as I added this after watching Jensen sing this at a Con (for J*red), and no lie, I’m in LOVE with it, but it’s somehow now determinably connected to the brothers for me but I can/WILL draw the lines here…EASY.

Everybody needs someone beside em’ shining like a lighthouse from the sea Face down in the desert now there’s a cage locked around my heart I found a way to drop the keys where my failures were Now my hands can’t reach that far I ain’t made for a rivalry I could never take the world alone I know that in my weakness I am strong, but It’s your love that brings me home Summoners Rift – Dangerkids – Um. Well. The first line of this song just made me laugh out loud.

There's no room for martyrs in a dying scene Well I'm not quite dead I'm something in between

And if I had another chance I would tell you

I guess I'm not afraid of what comes after We are the only ones We stand alone in the dark

Question everything you blindly follow Truth's a bitter pill, it's hard to swallow You think you're winning but your time is borrowed We are the only ones We stand alone in the dark

Royal Beggars - Architects - I mean…the repetition of my sentiments is going to get a bit silly…so i will not. read on...

All hope is dead, but we're coping

Somebody save our souls

Like a bird in a cage, trying to fly away Is this the price that we have to pay? Overflowing with rage, yet we still obey 'Cause we're asleep in a hurricane

We sit on a throne, waiting for God to bend the knee But we're nothing more than royal beggars

Edge of your Bed - Thousand Below - “why’d you have to go and keep calling out my name” Calling out my name” pure purgatory “where’s the ANGEL” “I prayed to you Cas, Every night” The rest of the next verse is also poignant, very Dean again “where I can only feel peace when the wave hits”, “and I’ve become what I thought was wrong, I love the feeling when it feels too strong”.  

Why'd you have to go and keep calling out my name? Calling out my name

I found sorrow at the edge of your bed

Is it now a bad habit? Where I can only feel peace when the wave hits And I've become what I thought was wrong I love the feeling when it feels too strong

Animals – Siamese - “It takes a killer that thinks he’s a saint, it takes believing to be this insane” – well. yes. ok. 

Shattered not broken We stand our feet Houses rebuild on These bloody streets I fill my lungs into this beat With closed eyes we're hoping for remedy

It takes a killer That thinks he's a saint It takes believing To be this insane

Spineless Crow - Hands Like Houses

We were young together but I've grown ancient Cracked and weathered and filled with regret Waiting to sink, rushing to sink in my sleep

The realization sinks in through the skin Like a disease, a blight inside of me Missing your touch, your weight on my fingers

My Underworld - Tonight Alive

Now we sail into deep blue storm clouds Overhead now, strangely I feel at peace as I dive into My underworld, world I dive into my underworld, world Down in these depths I'm adding up the numbers Of all I've suffered in past lives, tied down in the darkness Finally I begin to learn what I've returned tonight Time has come to begin again, leave something else behind

Ever After - Marianas Trench - All this talk of being someone’s disaster – Welp! Hello!

Don't you move Can't you stay where you are, just for now I could be your perfect disaster You could be my ever after

Apologies, I'm not myself but I can guarantee That when I get back, you won't believe That you knew me well Don't want to think about it

I'm fuckin' tired of getting sick about it Now stand back up and be a man about it And fight for something, fight for something, fight for something Nobody told ya this is gonna fold ya We go marching in like toy soldiers To have and hold ya over sold ya They’re marching like toy soldiers I'll be your disaster, ever after So fire away Goodbye

Room 138 - Asking Alexandria - While this song is clearly actually about an overdose of some kind, it’s parallels shockingly well to the post confession scene.   So these are the walls that have to hold this moment Somebody hear me, someone open up the door Get me up off of this floor and stop the shaking, the shaking Through the haze I saw a face A second chance, another life to live How did you forgive me? Held my head against your chest Told me everything's alright, don't be afraid Close your eyes and rest

Witness – Daughtry

Does it feel like you're just wasting time Here without a reason or a rhyme The answer you've been looking for Is standing right before your weary eyes And if the weight of the world is on you now But you know you can turn it all around again How Many Walls - Rise Against  - Guys, seriously, I’m not even going there...How many years have we wasted….how many walls can you put up? How many guns til you feel safe? This is a song about war – this is Rise Against, this is purely political and somehow can STILL be pulled together with Destiel.

 How many walls can you put up?

How many guns 'til you feel safe? How many times can we watch this story Over and over and over again? And how many years have we wasted Counting the lies that we've been fed? For something to change we have waited Over and over and over again Pray – Picturesque - Nope. Don’t even need a description here. Once again this is FAR TOO OBVIOUS!

I should pray a little more and think a little less The devils in my head and he won't let me rest Everyday just like the last since you up and left I should pray a little more, I shouldn't pray for death I Knew You Were Trouble – We Came as Romans (Swift Cover) - SwiftNatural is a thing for a reason… 

It's like a kaleidoscope of memories. It just all comes back. But he never does. I knew his world moved too fast and burned too bright. But I just thought, how can the devil be pulling you toward someone who looks so much like an angel

I think that the worst part of it all wasn't losing him. It was losing me. Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago I was in your sights, you got me alone You found me

I knew you were trouble when you walked in (you were right there, you were right there) So shame on me now Flew me to places I'd never been Now I'm lying on the cold hard ground Texas Is Forever - Pierce the Veil – lack of communication anyone? I don’t know, do we know anyone like that? If anything should happen to me I want you to know, I’ve loved you since ever…

Here we are If anything should happen to me I want you to know I've loved you since ever since then Don't dance around me I know what it means No communication, cannot be received But I'm such a sucker for the rain, yeah Oh, here we are Butterfly - Wearing Scars – the Butterfly/Angel parallel alone…go with it.

Seems we're alone We're fixated Just waiting for something As time goes by And when we're way up high We'll look back down with different eyes Let's take our time Awake this life So spread your wings And take my hand Tonight will be the end

With Grace - The Weight of Atlas

This place looks like hell to me I cast myself into the sea Picked up my conscience and left my disease I don't know, I don't know if I can make it through this storm Keep your eyes shut it will be okay. Will we make it out alive? Will we make it out alive. When all you have is hope I will be your anchor I know that I can let you down But I swear I'll pick up the pieces. And be reborn again I Always Wanted to Leave - The Plot In You

I guess it's a shame I'm so damn destructive And you're so reluctant to mean what you say The way you act so abused The things you confuse You know I always wanted to leave "Hello... You can sing, I'm here And I love you more than anyone or anything With all my heart."

Unsteady - X Ambassadors – just a stay parallel. Don’t leave, don’t let go. If you love me. Don’t let go. #I haz the sads.

Hold on to me 'Cause I'm a little unsteady If you love me Don't let go Bury Me Alive - Normandie – pick a line – ANY LINE!!! 

I guess I'm not going to heaven now I got caught in the chase Now I'm falling from grace But I never stood a chance Could've given me a sign I'd be giving you blind obedience Mantra – Bring Me The Horizon Before the truth will set you free, it will piss you off Before you find a place to be, you're gonna lose the plot Too late to tell you now, one ear and right out the other one 'Cause all you ever do is chant the same old mantra Could I have your attention, please? It's time to tap into your tragedy Think you could use a new abuser Close your eyes and listen carefully Imagine you're stood on a beach Water gently lapping at your feet And now you're sinking, what were you thinking? That's all the time we have this week

Oh Lord - In This Moment – cutting any of this out was actually hard. Cas, my love, are you there?

Oh Lord won't you save me Save me from my soul Oh Lord won't you forgive me For I have lost control Oh Lord won't you tell me Am I the righteous or the damned? Oh Lord won't you please hear me Do I obey or do I command? Oh Lord please forgive me For what I'm about to do Oh Lord won't you believe me I'll burn in hell for you Oh Lord won't you teach me Teach me how to see Oh Lord tell me you love me Am I Lillith or am I Eve?

Bleeding is a Luxury - Atreyu

I’ve talked the talk, I've walked the walk, It's taken ten fucking years, For them to see I don't need their approval. I've paid the piper, I've stayed my course, Lived chomping at the bit. With only blood, sweat, and tears to adhere to- Take it for granted, Forsake the costs, Wear a big, shit-eating grin (with only blood, sweat, and tears to adhere to) Now bear the burden to chase your fate Grind your teeth 'til it fucking hurts So they can see I don't need their approval. Seize the day, Take your beatings, Lead the way, Or decay as you fall down... You fall down.

Would you Still be There - Of Mice & Men – wow, this song in full. All of it. I can’t.

If I could find the words, if I could shake the world, If I could turn back time would you still be there? I can't stop thinking about the way I left you sinking with no escape. Now there's no lifeline, no way to save. But maybe next time I won't throw it all away. Dislocated, I lie awake Suffocating in my mistakes. I lost my halo when I fell from grace, But maybe next time I won't throw it all away. I ask myself everyday... If I could find the words, if I could shake the world, If I could turn back time would you still be there? If I could find the words to say, If I could shake the world to break you down, Then would you still be there?

The Broken - 3 Doors Down 

This is the call to the broken, the broken Take it from me. They don't care if you're lonely. As you can see, They don't care if you're scared. Your heart Is the only friend you have in this whole world. Don't start, Think you can do this yourself. I know what you're thinking. You say you're tired of keeping score, keeping score. Trust me, You're not the only one going through this. You see, I've been through this before, this before.

Wow, I Hate This Song - The Used – this one took a little imagination – hardest one so far – because it really is just about hating a song! So we’re HC’ing the Zepp track that reminds Dean most of Cas, post Empty.

Every time I hear the key I see you in the melody It never was a part of me Heart feels like it's being stabbed Kills me emotionally Dirty Little Secret - Bullet For My Valentine – let’s take this back to – take your pick…Leviathan!Cas, Godstiel, Casifer, any of the times that Cas did the wrong thing for the right reasons…and did not tell his boy. 

There once was a time Where everything was just so perfect Now everything has changed And you've become a total stranger I've seen another side to you I never even knew existed Dirty little secrets, dirty little secrets Giving in to your primal instincts There once was a time When anything I do is for you But everything has changed And I've become a lonely prisoner I'd kill, even die for you You never even tried resisting

Kill Plan - Parabelle

I'm sitting stunned just like a lesson I never learned Made of emotions and mistakes And what you say Leaves me lost and in the way And that's the place you stay Remember silence Now we're painted into corners So we can watch the world get sold out Hold me closer don't let the sun in Hold me closer don't let the sun in Cuz the setting sun feels like a cage Don't let me defend the kill plan

Roman Sky – Avenged Sevenfold – This song only has a few lyrics, but we can definitely make them work.

As the embers rose through the Roman Sky Tell me, were you calm when they took your life? Just before you go, tell us how the heavens flow Weightless evermore, as you walk beyond that door Shine forever true To Those Left Behind – blessthefall – these boys might be my favourite band ever, but these are ANGRY lyrics – these are about betrayal.  This is a relationship gone wrong. I feel these best work with the divorce arc, the Angry Dean that we see, or Dean’s mood after any of the “Cas fucked up again” moments. You found me at my worst When I was far too weak to grow In spite of all my fears And how I may have lost my way Only now I know the truth

Awake and coming clean

If you can't sleep It's your conscience That's eating away At the mess you made So let's end this Sew this last stitch Lift this weight off my chest I'll put you to rest The past should stay dead

How did we find ourselves here? Haunted by our own design With everything that's come to pass Makes it harder to confine

[mrsalwayswrite]

Say You’ll Stay - Chapter 5

Fury/Band of Brothers Crossover Fic

To those of you wondering when our beloved Easy boys are coming into play... this chapter gives a hint and as to where they are in their journey. 

Also, italics means character is speaking in French. 

Tag List: @happyveday​ @alwaysindecemberfeels​ @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes​ @saritanotserena​

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

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Anna woke before the sun and slipped out of the cottage before anyone else was awake. Even through the lingering exhaustion that had taken up permanency in her bones, her mind was used to field hospital hours and Nurse Falk's timeliness. So in the still quiet hours, she hurried towards the church. 

 Although she would like to say she was surprised, she really was not to see Medic Hunter awake and checking on the few patients they had. 

 "Did you sleep at all, Joe?" She whispered, not wishing to disturb those still sleeping. 

 "Some." He shrugged, keeping his own voice low. "Figured I could get caught up once you came back. Everything alright? They treat you well."

 "Yes. I even got to sleep in a real bed."

 He gave a low whistle as they moved towards the back and away from the patients. "Lucky duck."

 "How are they? Do we know when they will be evacuated?"

 "Not yet. I'll talk to Captain Evans today. Private Harris has a low fever now, I'm worried about infection."

 "I'll watch him today. Go sleep, I can handle this."

 "Thanks, wake up Arthur if you need anything. The other medics are staying in the building next door." Joe said, squeezing her shoulder. Quietly, he walked towards a side door which led to a private room that they had taken over from the local priest.

 With a sigh, she let down her hair and ran her fingers through it, attempting to get all the knots and tangles out. What she would give for a glorious bath. Quickly, she twisted the long strands and pulled it back into her usual bun on the back of her head. 

 "Nurse…" a voice croaked out in the gloom. 

 And with that, she went back to work. 

 That day flew by as she and the other medics worked tirelessly on helping their patients, especially as throughout the day, Private Harris' fever worsened. At one point she was called away to help translate for Captain Evans, conversing with the local priest once again. As night fell, her movements were weary-laden and mind sluggish but she persevered. 

 She knelt by Private Harris, dabbing a cool, wet cloth on his forehead when the main door opened to the church. At the moment, her patient began coughing so she paid no mind to the newcomer and focused on soothing the young man before her. She could hear quiet talking and knew one of the other medics was dealing with the newcomer. 

 "Nurse Cooper?"

 She looked behind her. "Norman?" Standing up, her eyes scanned him with worry as he slowly approached. "Are you alright? Are you injured?"

 "No, no. Um, Boyd sent me… and well Don too. They are finishing up and said to meet them back at the house." 

 "Oh? Well, let me… do you mind waiting a couple minutes? I need to tell Joe, see if there is anything else I need to do first."

 He smiled that endearing boyish grin, so full of sweet innocence even amidst a bloody war. "I'll wait by the door."

 "Thank you." She watched him walk away and then headed to where Joe sipped some water, leaning against a table covered in medical supplies. 

 "Heading out?" 

 She nodded, hands fiddling with her uniform. "Anything else I can do first?"

 He shook his head. "No, get outta here. An aid truck is coming tomorrow to pick up the wounded. Rumor is we're heading out early tomorrow for the next town."

 She sighed. She should not be surprised but for some reason it still caught her off guard how quickly they would just up and move, leave the wounded and killed and move on. Only to repeat the process all over again. This was war. Something she had to frequently remind herself. She still hated it. 

 "Ok, I'll be here to help load the wounded." She started towards the main door but turned on her heel to look at Joe again. "And don't forget to write to your wife. You can send the letter with the medics. Nurse Falk would forward it." 

 "Yeah, yeah. Don't you forget to write too."

 She smiled and met Norman at the door. Together they headed out, down the steps of the church and towards the cottage they had stayed at the night before. 

 After a couple of minutes, she broke the silence between them. The question had been dwelling in the back of her mind. He looked so much younger than the others. "How old are you, Norman?"

 "Eighteen."

 "And how did you end up on Fury? Did you go to tank school?"

 He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "No. I was supposed to be a clerk, a typist. That's what I went to school for."

 "Oh! How did…."

 "They lost their bow gunner. The army pulled me off the bus and told me to report to Don."

 "I'm sorry. I'm guessing it wasn't easy."

 "No, no it wasn't. At first I hated them, especially Don. He made me sh… well, it doesn't matter now."

 "What?" Curiosity tugged at her as she glanced at the young soldier by her side. 

 He inhaled sharply then the words poured out like water, begging to be released. "He forced me to shoot a Nazi in the back. Wrapped my hand around the gun and forced me to pull the trigger. Said he was teaching me to do my job. I never wanted this. I didn't want to kill people. I was drafted. I just…" he seemed to suddenly realize all he confessed and slammed his mouth shut. 

 She stopped walking on the side of the street, ignoring the other soldiers and locals. Her heart broke for this young man who had been thrust into a situation he never wanted to be in, who was forced to do things he had never imagined for himself. How true was that for most of the other soldiers she interacted with daily. 

 "Norman, my mother always said that a hug can't take away the pain but it can help remind you that you're not alone. So, can I give you a hug?"

 That seemed to startle him. His eyes widened, mouth opened slightly as he froze, standing next to her.  Hesitantly he looked around before finally meeting her eyes. She could see it behind the surprise in his gaze, that raw vulnerability, the desperate need for physical contact that was more than a slap on the back from a crew member. 

 "Oh, come here." She took the initiative, not waiting for a verbal response, and wrapped her arms around him. After an awkward second, he put his arms around her, returning the hug. She was only a couple inches shorter than him, but the way he clung to her, it felt like a child clinging to an older sibling for comfort. The feeling brought tears to her eyes. It had been some time since she gave or received a hug like this and she may have selfishly held him longer than necessary. A couple moments later, they released one another. Norman took a step back and rubbed the back of his neck once again. 

 "See, that wasn't bad."

 His cheeks turned pink at her comment but he nodded his head, a small smile on his face. 

 They finished walking to the cottage in companionable silence. She wrapped her arms around herself, the night's air sleeping through her few layers to bring a chill to her bones. The worst of winter might be over but it was by no means warm yet. Or at least warm enough for her taste. 

 On the street, it was obvious a war was going on. Between the soldiers and tanks, the random splattering of blood from dead men that waited to be washed away with the next rain, it could not be mistaken for anything else. Inside the cottage, it felt like the eye of a hurricane or an oasis in the desert. Everything was still pristine, clean and orderly. Black and white photos on the walls, cushioned chairs, a basket for knitting in the corner of the room, a small stack of books on a side table. It was odd walking into such a domestic scene after seeing the evidence of war just outside. 

 "Odette!" She called out in French after she and Norman walked into the cottage and headed towards the kitchen. "It smells like heaven in here!" 

 "Anna, dear, you are too good to this old woman." The elderly woman chuckled, stirring a large pot over the stove. Even though her hair was gray, wrinkles around her eyes and mouth and she shuffled when she walked, her mind and tongue were sharp as a tack still. "The cassoulet is all done, just keeping it warm for the young men."

 "They should be here soon I believe."

 "Why don't you go sit down until then? Mmm, you must be exhausted, I tell you nurses never are able to put up their feet for a minute. Was the same with the last war and now this one."

 "Yes ma'am, you let me know if there is something I can do." Anna let her hair down, massaging the back of her neck, hoping to relieve the tension slowly building up there. She could hear the door open and headed back out to the common room to let them know dinner was ready. 

 When she came around the corner, Norman was sitting down near the fireplace with a book in his lap. Instead of the rest of the crew it was just Gordo and Grady making their way in. Gordo dropped down onto a different chair, immediately putting his feet up on an adjacent chair, uncaring of the mud his boots trekked in. 

 Grady's eyes landed on her, the weight of them making her freeze. "Looky whose still here, boys!" He barked a rough laugh that made her wince. 

 "Leave her alone." Norman said. 

 "Leave her alone." Grady mimicked at Norman before sweeping his eyes back to her. "You sucking his cock too, just like Boyd's?" 

 "Wha… what?" She stuttered out but he did not seem to really expect an answer. 

 He prowled towards her, each footstep landing loudly in the cottage. "Not gonna share with the rest of us? Huh? Just them pretty boys?"

 The way his eyes raked over her made her shiver but not in a good way. She backed up a few steps but found herself bumping into the edge of the doorway. 

 "Grady!" Norman rose to his feet, book still in hand. Gordo just sat there watching the drama unfold before him, fiddling with the gold chain necklace he wore.

 Grady turned to face the younger man, pointing a finger. "You stay outta this."

 When his back was turned, Anna reached under her uniform dress and pulled out the combat knife Don had given her back at the field hospital, what felt like ages ago. She had hoped she would never have to use it… especially against one of his own crew. She held the knife just in front of her at chest level. Surprisingly her hand was steady, even if the rest of her felt like she was trembling. 

 "Ohhh, better watch out. Kitty's got claws." Gordo teased, still making no move to get involved. 

 Grady turned back to her and seeing the knife, his smile grew. "What you gonna do, little girl? Gonna stab me? Huh? That's it?"

 She said nothing, just watched and waited. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Odette watching, frail hands gripping her apron until her knuckles were white. 

 Grady took one more step closer, almost as if waiting to see what she would do; like a predator toying with its prey one last time before pouncing. 

 The front door opened; boots sounded on the hard floor. Anna and Grady's eyes remained locked even as the tension in the room increased with the new occupants witnessing the scene before them. 

 "Someone want to explain what the fuck is going on?" Sergeant Collier stated, anger bubbling just under the surface of his cool tone. 

 Grady retreated back a step, turning to face his commanding officer. "Nothin', Don. Just having some fun." 

 "Fun, huh? Then why's she got a goddamn knife out?" 

 "Anna…" Boyd started to walk towards her. 

 Before he could reach her, Odette shuffled in and wrapped an arm around Anna's shoulders, glaring at the men in the room. "Come on, dear."

 Without a word, she tore her eyes away from Grady and followed their hostess down the short hallway to the guest bedroom she had stayed in the previous night. The whole time she kept the knife in hand. Soon as they walked away, she could hear the raised voices coming from the common room. 

 "What's the problem?! She's just some girl." Grady spoke first, an almost laugh to his voice as if this was all some joke. 

 "She's not some girl. She's a goddamn nurse! Show some respect."

 "Oh? She sucking your cock too, huh, Don?"

 "Get out!" Don yelled. "If you're gonna act like a dog then I'll treat you like one and you can sleep outside."

 "You're gonna choose that bitch over your own crew?" 

 "Get the fuck out or so help me God I will shoot you right now and sleep like a baby tonight!" 

 Silence… then the front door opened and slammed shut, rattling even the painting on the wall in the far back guest room. 

 Anna dropped the knife on the ground and placed the hand over her mouth, the first hot tear rolling down her cheek. It had been a mistake coming here. She should have stayed at the church with Joe. Even then, she knew she was not fully safe. She should have stayed back at the field hospital, back with the other nurses who looked out for each other. She should have stayed home and never signed up for the Nurse Corps. 

 A knock on the bedroom door jolted her, making her flinch. Odette looked at her, arm still around her shoulders. 

 "Anna?"

 The elderly lady made no move towards the door. Silently she continued to stare at Anna but raised an eyebrow in question. The nurse nodded, not looking up from her hands laying limply in her lap. As Odette walked the couple steps to the closed bedroom door, Anna tried to brush away the evidence of her tears on her dirty sleeves, wondering when all those tears escaped. 

 Boyd stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. "May I come in?"

 She looked up, holding his gaze for a moment, then nodded and glanced at Odette. "Thank you."

 "If you need me, I am just a call away." She shuffled back down the hallway, giving Boyd a long look before disappearing. 

 "I'm so sorry, Anna." He finally said, sounding far more weary than she had ever heard from him. He had only stepped into the room but made no further movement. "I told you you'd be safe here and then Grady…"

 "It's not your fault, Boyd." She said after his words drifted off. Her eyes dropped back to her lap, hands picking at her fingernails. 

 "Feels like it. I should have come get you instead of Norman. Shit. I reckon you want to head back to the church instead of staying here? Can't really blame you there if you do."

 "I don't know honestly. Nowhere is safe for me."

 "Well if it helps, Don kicked Grady out, though I assume you heard that. So, if you stay, you'll be safe here tonight. Don won't let nothing happen to you. Me neither. I suspect Norman feels the same way. He looked like he was ready to take a swing at Grady himself." When she did not respond, he finally moved to sit next to her on the bed. "Grady, he… war changes folks in ways they'd never guess."

 "I know." 

 They sat in silence for several moments. 

 Boyd reached down and picked the knife off the floor near her feet where she had dropped it. "Did Don give you this?"

 "Mmm? Yeah." She gingerly took it back from him then narrowed her eyes at his smug look. "Why?"

 He shrugged, looking like the cat that caught the canary. "Nothin'."

 Her eyes drifted to his hands again and noticed the bandage wrapped around his hand. Guilt flooded her at the sight. Her day felt so chaotic, she had completely forgotten to check his laceration. "I'm sorry, I haven't checked your hand today."

 "S'fine. Gordo rebandaged it for me this mornin'. You can look at it tomorrow. Sides, ain't that bad no more. You got worse patients I reckon back at the church."

 "Still… I want to make sure you're alright."

 "Thank you, Anna. Tomorrow, you can." He stood up and turned sideways to look down at her. "You wanna come out and eat?"

 "No… I'm not hungry. I'm… I'm just going to go to sleep."

 "Alright. Good night, Anna. You make sure to eat in the mornin' then. You need to eat regularly."

 "I will. Good night, Boyd."

 Soon as he shut the door behind him, she curled up on the bed. She laid there for some time, allowing the stray tears to finally fall, no longer strong enough to keep containing them. She was thankful no one interrupted and they just allowed her peace. The stillness in the room felt like a haven. She could hear the others occasionally but there was no longer shouting. 

 Normally she would fall asleep but right now her emotions were rolling, keeping her from relaxing. Carefully she slid to the side of the bed and grabbed her personal bag. After a minute she pulled out her worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. She smiled faintly thinking about the many nights her mother would read it to her before tucking her in for bed. Then when she got older, it became her favorite book to read over and over to herself. It was one of only a few possessions she still had that traveled with her from home. She cracked it open to where her bookmark was. For a second, she traced her finger over the beloved words, pretending she was home in her bedroom and the only things she had to worry about were her university applications. She lay curled on her side, allowing the words to drift over her skin and mind, a soothing balm for her nerves. 

 Once it became too dark to make out the words, she closed the book and replaced it in her bag. Slowly she sat up, rubbing her eyes. The house had been quiet for some time now. She guessed by this point everyone was asleep. Slipping off the bed, she headed out of the bedroom door. Although she was still not hungry, her throat felt parched. Between the crying and many hours of reading, it had been far too long since she had a drink. Carefully she moved towards the kitchen. She could make out the forms of Norman sleeping on the floor and Gordo on a chair, head tilted back and snoring. 

 Using the pitcher left on the counter, she filled a cup up with the water and drank it. It immediately soothed her throat and she sipped more slowly on a second glass. She stared outside the window above the sink, a full moon shone through. Suddenly the strong urge to bask in its light filled her and she acted on instinct. She set the cup down and swiftly moved towards the back door, opening it as quietly as she could as to not wake the cottage's sleeping occupants. 

 The full moon shone brightly in the cloudless sky, the stars twinkling alongside it like thousands of diamonds in the sky. War could ravage the earth until all that remained was smoke and barren ground, but it could never touch the heavens. There was something comforting about that fact. The beauty and majesty of the heavens could never be tainted by human hands. 

 She stood there, arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to ward off the chill of the night air as she looked upward. A gentle breeze made her hair, still unbound, sway around her. 

 It was not until the smell of cigarette smoke hit her, did she pay any attention to her surroundings. With a gasp, she scanned the immediate area and finally noticed a tall form standing just a few feet away, the burning end of a cigarette almost a beacon in the surrounding darkness. 

 "Oh! I didn't think anyone else would be out here. I'm so sorry to interrupt." 

 "S'alright." Sergeant Collier said, still more of a hidden shadow than recognizable form. "Didn't mean to startle you."

 "It's my own fault. I should have paid better attention." She looked back up skyward, lamenting the fact she should head back in and try to get some sleep before tomorrow. 

 "I'm sorry about earlier." He stated bluntly. "It won't happen again. I swear." 

 "Thank you." She whispered, twisting her fingers together, trying to force back the wave of nervousness. "Um, can I …" she gestured towards him. 

 Somehow, he understood her vague gesture. He pushed off the wood pile he had been leaning against and came to stand next to her. Silently, he handed his cigarette over. She could feel his eyes on her as she put it to her lips and inhaled. Immediately she began coughing, eyes watering, as the smoke stung her lungs. 

 He chuckled as she handed the cigarette back. "Not a smoker?"

 "No." She coughed out. "No, I've tried but I can never get used to it."

 "Probably better for you." He exhaled, the smoke drifting away and into the sky. 

 They stood there silently, side by side. Anna could not help but notice how much taller he was than her. He had to be around six feet tall with her only coming up to him mid-chest. In the moonlight, his strong features appeared softer, less intimidating. 

 Though the memory of Norman's story from earlier came to mind. How this man next to her forced his newest crew member, someone who was still practically a child, to kill a Nazi point-blank in the back. That fact alone should scare her. The inhumanity of it. But then she was reminded of how he defended her earlier from someone else in his crew. Even how he looked out for her by giving her a knife when he barely knew her. It made no sense. Why was he looking out for her? She was no one to him. Her mind struggled to put the two facets of the man together in her mind. 

 "You going to be out here much longer?" He broke the silence, still staring forward.

 "Um, maybe a few more minutes."

 He nodded, tossing his spent cigarette to the ground. To her surprise, he slipped his leather jacket off and dropped it over her shoulders. 

 "What? Oh no, it’s-"

 "Doll, I can see you shivering. You can give it back in the morning."

 She huffed but could not suppress the small smile on her face, almost amused how easily he saw through her blatant lie. It was chilly out here but peaceful, and she needed some more of the quiet tranquility before going back inside. "Thank you, Sergeant Collier."

 "You can call me Don."

 "Then you have to call me Anna."

 His lips twitched in what she thought was a smile, but she was unsure with the shadows. "Alright. Night, Anna." He turned and stepped inside, the door shutting with a soft click. 

 It was a long moment before she turned back around to stare up at the sky. She slipped her arms in the sleeves, hugging the jacket closer to her, surprised by how warm it was. It smelled strongly of cigarettes, sweat and something distinctly male. The stench should offend her, she doubted it had been washed anytime recently, but instead she found herself burying her nose into it. It was huge on her shorter form, but it brought a feeling of comfort, like when a child wears something of their parent's clothing, pretending to be grown up. 

 He was an enigma to her. Someone she knew was dangerous but protectively loyal. What scared her the most though was when he called her the pet name, it woke up a swarm of butterflies in her belly. 

 *****

 The sunrise just peeked over the wooded horizon. Another day of war. Another day to try and survive. Another day to hope your crew survived. Another day to wonder why the Nazis did not just give up. 

 Fuck 'em all. 

 Don brushed past the infantry soldiers running around, trying to find their platoons or looking last minute for one of their guys probably off sleeping somewhere. He headed towards where the tanks were waiting on the edge of the little town. 

 "What's the news, boss?" Binkowski asked, as Don approached the other three tank commanders. They stood several paces away from the tanks, clearly having been waiting for him to return with orders. 

 "Right. We're heading out…"

 "No shit." The big blond deadpanned. The others glared at him. "What?"

 "One of these days, I'm going to shoot you." Don stated, only half-serious. He found he enjoyed the blond's dry humor. Binkowski was also the man to jump first into a fight, which either made him quite brave or incredibly stupid. Don had not determined which quality it was yet. 

 "Nah, you'd miss me too much."

 "Like a hole in the head." Davis muttered, a frown on his ever-stoic face. 

 They all chuckled but then grew serious again when Don started speaking. 

 "Right. Intel says Krauts are drawing back into Germany. We've been requested by a battalion of paratroops to help them hold the area near Haguenau, so that's where we are headed, boys. Captain Evans and his boys will continue on past and link up with another company set to push into Germany."

 "Paratroopers?" Peterson questioned, dropping his cigarette on the ground. 

 "Yeah, those idiots that decided to jump out of plans, go behind enemy lines, all that shit." Binkowski explained, with a short bark of sarcastic laughter. "Must think they're something special."

 "Why don't you ask them when we get there?" 

 "Alright, here's the lineup- Fury, Murder Inc, Lucy Sue and Old Phyliss. Evans wants us in the front so we can peel off when we reach the main road to Haguenau. Should take a couple of days to get there." Don said. 

 The other three nodded or grunted their affirmative. 

 "Good, mount up!" 

 Everyone headed to their tanks, crew jumping into their positions and turning on their comms. Don headed to Fury but slowed his steps when he saw Grady standing in front of the tank with Boyd by his side. Gordo and Norman had their heads popped out of their holes watching. 

 With a sigh, he moved closer. He knew Boyd would not let this go. In all honesty, it was probably better to get this dealt with now instead of letting it fester like an infected wound. His crew did not need bad blood between one another. They would never survive if they did not trust each other. Grady refused to meet his gaze as Don stood in front of his gunner and mechanic.

 "She's not some whore you can rough up. She's a good girl."

 Grady rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "I know, Don. I didn't mean nothin' by it."

 "You still scared her good." Boyd said quietly, hands in his pockets. "Should apologize to her."

 Grady nodded, staring at his feet. 

 "You better or I'll kick your ass."

 The mechanic looked up at the gunner, a smirk on his face. "Kick my ass, huh? You sweet on her or something?"

 Boyd rolled his eyes. "No, I ain't, and you know it. She reminds me of my little sister."

 Gordo chirped up, chuckling in his seat. "She's too pretty to look like your little sister, if your sister looks anything like you."

 "Shut up, Gordo."

 The crew clambered up into their positions, the tension dispelled. 

 Don stood on his seat, surveying around. The slight shifting of movement brought a fresh wave of scent that was not his own. Somehow underneath the grime, there was the faintest hint of something that reminded him of lilacs. Turning his head, he sniffed at the collar of his jacket and was hit by the scent once again. It had been the most pleasurable torture since he put the jacket on that morning. He had found it resting on the back of one of the chairs in the common room when he stumbled out of the second guest bedroom. 

 The scent brought him back to the prior night and watching the little, redheaded nurse staring at the night sky with a soft smile on her face. Bathed in the moonlight she looked like an angel to him. After he had gone inside, he had stood at the sink, looking out the window above it for a couple minutes watching her. Alone, he allowed a smile on his face when he noticed her burying herself in his jacket. It had been a spur of the moment decision to give her his jacket and now he was wondering if he regretted the action or loved it. Her scent lingered with him, just like her. 

 He looked around once more, most of the men in position. He could not help but look towards the back of the company where the medic truck was located. Where she was. 

[kadeuxhyeonju]

Rip Out My Heart

*TW: child abuse, violence, mentions of mental abuse (with kitsune illusions), emotional abuse ~all under “keep reading”

Self-Para-- (REALLY LONG--last one for a while) 

Kadeu, Hearts Territory, Heart Side of The Joker Lee Hyeonju, Teenager, Night of Defection

Hyeonju did not look back. With his feet now standing over the invisible line that marked one faction from another, the young man’s wrist, only moments before marked with a Seven, was now emblazoned with a One. He’d done it. He’d finally summoned the courage, the audacity to walk away from Spade—from his mother. Now he walked to the end of the Joker, into Heart, stood at the edge, waiting.

“Well, look at that.” Hyeonju whipped his head toward a nearby alley. A man adorned in the most beautiful of garments stepped out into the lights given off by the nighttime businesses of Heart. Park Minjun. His father and a newly promoted Jack of Hearts. ”Our Lil Kit is growing up, defecting and making trouble. I didn’t think you’d do it.” Hyeonju prickled at the name. He didn’t like being called that. But it was his father and he respected—feared—him so he kept his voice even and controlled. “I did what I needed to do.” His father laughed at that. “Your face says otherwise, Lil Kit. Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re a Heart now. When Spade finds out you defected you won’t be welcomed back.”

Hyeonju refused to look behind him toward the dark streets of Spade. He refused to regret his choice. This was his one and only chance for freedom. He looked up at his father only to notice the stunning colors and sounds that came to life in the nighttime of Heart behind the Kitsune. He smiled, hope glittering in his eyes. “That’s okay. I don’t want to go back.” His father smiled with something akin to pride and ruffled the young man’s hair with his clawed hands—he seemed to relish showing off his foxy features; Hyeonju had no idea what he looked like without them. “That’s my Kit. Alright, follow me and we’ll make sure you rise to the top in no time.” Hyeonju’s feet carried him forward until he was swallowed by the temptations of Heart.

Hyeonju, Teenager, Heart Territory, Rank 1, End of First Year

“Is this a joke to you, Lil Shit?” Hyeonju was sprawled on the ground, his body wracked with shivers and pains too numerous to count. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent meal. He lived off the leftovers those of higher rank tossed in the trash bins or on the ground. He hadn’t eaten a human since his mother’s last meal for him in Spade before he’d promptly snuck out of the barracks and defected. His Kistune powers were nowhere to be found. The only reason he’d lasted this long without succumbing to the drugs and thievery rampant in Heart was no doubt because of his Strongarm blood. He didn’t have the species’ strength, but their endurance and hardiness seemed to be working just fine. After all, the kicks and punches his father was doling out didn’t leave him broken like he knew it would full-blooded Kitsune.

Minjun looked down on him in disgust. They were in an alleyway somewhere in the High Rankers’ district. His father, realizing that Hyeonju had failed to rise to even a Two, had hauled the teenager from where he’d found him hiding next to a trash can and given the hybrid the thrashing of his life. Word was getting around—Lee Hyeonju, Spade Deserter, had failed to rise in rank among the Hearts. Now Park Minjun, sponsor and father to the child, was suffering the consequences.

Now Hyeonju was suffering, too.

Why haven’t you risen in rank, huh? I’ve provided you every opportunity, your mother gave you the combat skills, I gave you the art of etiquette and business. All you had to do was earn some quick cash, you Lil Shit. All you needed was to follow what I taught you. And you couldn’t even do that much. You’re a failure, Hyeonju!” Hyeonju mumbled something. “What was that? Speak louder, Lil Kit. I know we didn’t teach you to mumble.”

“I said I can’t do it!” Hyeonju yelled, lifting his head from the ground to reveal the desperation and defeat in his features. His father looked at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, but it wasn’t amused, not in the slightest. He grabbed Hyeonju by the back of the neck and lifted him so they were eye to eye. “You can’t do it?” the soft voice sent a ripple of fear through the young hybrid. He knew what came from this voice, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. The illusions his father created were levels beyond his own.

And they were terrifying.

The horror was inescapable so long as his father held him in place and Hyeonju was forced to endure it. By the time his father lifted the illusion, his son was a pile of fear and despair. Minjun looked down on him coldly. “You’re weak, Hyeonju. You won’t eat humans because you feel bad. You won’t steal because it’s dishonest. You won’t lie or get angry or cheat or charm or do JACK SHIT because you’re a weak lil bastard. You have some of the biggest potential given what we’ve taught you, but you can’t be bothered to use it. Let me give you a word of advice, my precious son. Kindness is weakness. Love and empathy and honor will get you killed. And even if you were to give those useless feelings of yours to another,” Minjun bent down and whispered, “someone like you will never receive it. You’re unlovable, Lee Hyeonju. Your mother and I are proof of that. You’ll die here in the gutters, unloved and forgotten by the world. Gods know I certainly won’t bother to think of you.”

At that, Hyeonju lifted his head and tears streamed down his face as he realized what his father was about to do. “Wait, father, please—don’t!” But it was too late. His father’s back was towards him, polished boots striding at a smooth and steady pace away from his son and toward the bustling, clean streets of Heart. “Don’t ever contact me, Lil Jun. If you do, I’ll kill you and throw your corpse to a manabeast. Let a hunter find you in their catch’s belly. Better yet, I’ll throw you in the nearest river and watch you sink. Feed the fish. You’re more useful dead, right?” Even with those threats hanging over his head, Hyeonju tried to give chase, but the pain from the pummeling and the mental exhaustion from the torturous illusions sent the hybrid sprawling in the dirt, unseen by the world.

Hyeonju was left to stare at the rolling grey clouds, a reflection of his emotions, his life. It seemed to be a never-ending sky of grey and rain and storms that shook him until his soul was scattered petals in the wind, until those pieces landed under the privileged feet of Kadeu and were grounded unawares to the persons above. Hyeonju had given up his life in Spade—risked the wrath of his mother, the ridicule of his father. He had seen the wealth and laughter and freedom granted in Heart and thought that maybe—just maybe—he could find a place among these colorful folk with their finery and elegant airs and boastful minds. All he had found this past year was a well of lies hidden behind jeweled masks and calculated smiles and cold, assessing gazes who saw Hyeonju as a commodity rather than a living being.

He lay there for an eternity, his father’s words like a mantra seeping its way beneath his skin to wrap around his heart, stitching itself into his very essence. When he had the strength to lift himself from the ground, the Rank One trudged his way back to the dregs of Heart. There he found the half-starved populace of Low Ranker humans too weak to survive in a world full of species who surpassed them in every way. Hyeonju wasn’t far from becoming like them, weak as he was. His stomach rumbled. When was the last time he ate? He glanced at the huddled figures, paused, then shook his head and continued on. He couldn’t do it. Not even to keep himself alive. Shame rose within him. He dug through the trash bins later that night. Eating half-eaten…something, Hyeonju huddled in a corner as thunder roared overhead, alone and forgotten.

Hyeonju, 152, Heart Territory, Vega Gem Apartment, Now, Rank Ten

The lightening could be seen flashing around the edges of the black-out curtains cloaking the windows of Hyeonju’s condo. The man himself was sitting on his bed with his back against the wall. The storms seemed to be never-ending—and the memories that came with them. He wrapped the blankets around himself. Below the sheets, his hands fiddled with a dagger, old but well-cared for. His eyes remained unblinking, body shuddering at the rumble of thunder the only indication the Ten of Heart was alive—though not well.

The memories assaulted him, made his body tense as if he were reliving each moment again and again and again. All the while, Hyeonju couldn’t help but think in the back of his mind how ironic his life was. He had defected Spade to escape the pain his mother had caused, the scorn of his fellow Spades for not sharing the same pride they did. He had firmly believed that by joining Hearts, working hard, he’d achieve freedom, happiness. Hyeonju would never have to fight, never lie, never feel fear or anger if he could just make it to the top running on his pure, naive values.

What a joke. Not only had the hybrid failed to gain the freedom he so desperately sought, but he was plagued by the horrors he’d endured as a Low Ranker. He learned to beg, steal, lie, cheat, fight, kill. He made money and gained power off the backs of humans he consumed and throwing others, human and and everything in between, under the carriage.

Hyeonju had become everything he hated and more.

Hyeonju didn’t regret surviving, didn’t regret his choices because there was no point. Even if he’d been granted a second chance to make a different decision, he wasn’t sure he’d change anything because there was no guarantee he would be better off. At least in this life, he knew the hand he was dealt and could adapt as needed. Nonetheless, Hyeonju found himself haunted by faces of humans he’d beckoned to dark corners with trusting, beguiling eyes and pretty illusions only for their expressions to take on terror as he slaughtered them like cattle, consuming them with a desperation he couldn’t shake. He remembered the nights at the Red Dragon and Secret Room full of patrons seeking his physical company and all the pleasures they could afford with their bags of coins. Some were kind, most were...not. He remembers the words tossed at him for being everything he was. He can even pinpoint the exacts moments when pieces of himself he’d cherished fell off him like rusted, useless armor.

The memories, brought on by the tumultuous downpour and raging thunder, made the Ten of Heart want to scream. But he didn’t. His parents had taught him screaming was for the weak. Crying was for those who refused to do nothing to save themselves. So he held it in, though a part of him--a huge part of him--wanted nothing more than to let it all out, to have someone listen and not lift a hand in violence towards him or throw poison-laced insults his way or laugh.

He glanced at the amulet sitting on the pillow beside him. Maybe he could call for one of his friends. Max? She had no idea what he’d gone through in Hearts. Nari? She was plagued with traumas of her own. He wouldn’t dare to burden her with his. Sullivan? The man was as gentle as they came. He couldn’t bear the thought of sharing something so painful with someone so kind. Hyeonju raked his head for somebody—anybody to call, but each was met with the same thought—who would come? Who would understand? Among those who did—which would love him, despite all the terrible things he was made of?

You’re unloveable, Lee Hyeonju.

Thunder slammed against his ears, he closed his eyes. No tears threatened to spill—he’d forgotten how to do that long ago. He took the amulet from his pillow, stared at it, tossed it toward the kitchen where he heard it clatter against the floor. He pulled the blanket over his head and pulled the knife close to his chest. The storm raged on.

[elisabettacormac]

The Gigolo by Françoise Sagan

Francoise Sagan

 The Gigolo

(Des yeux de soie) 1975 / Silken Eyes and Other Stories

 Translated by Joanna Kilmartin

  He walked beside her along the rain-sodden paths full of dead leaves, giving her his hand now and again to guide her round a puddle. He smiled as he did so, a genuine, unforced smile. It occurred to her that this walk in the woods round Meudon would have penance for any young man, especially with a woman of her age. Not an old woman, but a bored, jaded one who walked through the woods without any real pleasure, merely because it was preferable to the cinema or a crowded bar.

 Of course, for him, there had been the drive there, in the luxurious fast car which it gave him a childish pleasure to drive; but was that sufficient compensation for this interminable silent walk along these desolate autumnal paths?

 'He's bored, he must bored to death.'

 Strangely relishing the idea, she turned down another path, one which led them further away from the car, with a sort of dread mixed with hope - the hope that he would suddenly revolt against this boredom, lose his temper, say something wounding, unforgivable, anything that would underline the gap of twenty years between them.

 But he always smiled. She had never known him irritable or rude, never seen him smirk in the ironical, condescending way of very young men who know they are desirable. The smirk which said so plainly: "All right, as a favour to you... But remember, don't irritate me." The cruel smirk of youth which had made her cold, hard and wounding, and had so often caused her to end an affair. With Michel, for instance, the first time she had noticed it, then the others...

 'Careful,' he said, taking her arm, saving her from tearing her stockings or her dress, her well-cut elegant dress, on a bramble. If he should ever smirk like that, would she still be able to thrown him out like the rest of them? She didn't feel she would have the heart. Not that she respected him more than the others: she kept him completely, dressed him, gave him expensive presents which he didn’t throw back in her face. He never went in for those stupid, boorish ploys the others indulged in, those sulky moods when they wanted something or felt they were the injured party in the bargain struck between their bodies and her money - that was it, really: they felt hard done by. They would get her to buy them all manner of luxuries and expensive trinkets which they didn't even want simply in order to restore their self-esteem. The word esteem made her laugh inwardly. It was none the less the only word for it.

 Perhaps Nicholas' charm lay in the fact that he really hankered after these presents; not that he demanded them, but he took such evident pleasure in receiving them that she felt like a normal woman rewarding a child instead of an ageing mistress buying a fresh young body she secretly despised. She quickly dismissed such thoughts. Thank god, she didn't go in for being maternal and protective with that bunch of grasping young men who were too handsome for their own good. Neither did she go in for disguising the facts; she was cynical and clear-headed, and they knew it and respected her for it, however grudgingly. 'You give me your body, I pay for it.' Some, piqued at not having to rebuff her, had tried to introduce a vague touch of sentimentality, perhaps in order to get a little more out of her. These she had sent to other protectresses, explaining to them exactly where they stood: 'I despise you, as I despise myself for putting up with you. I only keep you for the sake of those two hours at night.' She relegated them to the rank of animals, deliberately, without a qualm.

 With Nicholas, it wasn't so simple: he brought no trace of affection, or caddishness or sentimentality to his role as gigolo. He was friendly, polite and a good lover, not very expert, perhaps, but passionate, almost tender... He stayed at home all day, lolling about on the carpet, reading anything he could lay his hands on. He didn't ask to be taken out all the time, and when they did go out he seemed to be unaware of the meaningful looks they attracted: he was as attentive and smiling as if he were escorting a young woman of his choice. In fact, apart from the condescension, the brutality with which she treated him, there was nothing to distinguish their relationship from that of an ordinary couple. 

 'Aren't you cold?' He glanced at her anxiously as though her health really mattered to him more than anything else in the world. She felt exasperated with him for playing his part so well, for being so nearly what she might still have hoped for then years ago; she remembered that at the time she still had her rich husband, her rich and ugly husband, whose business affairs were his sole preoccupation.

 How could she have been so stupid as to have failed to take advantage of her beauty, now faded, and been unfaithful to him? she had been asleep and it had taken hr husband's death and her first night with Michel to awaken her. Everything had begun that night.

 'I asked you if you were cold.'

 'No, no. Anyway, it's time we went back.'

 'Wouldn't you like my jacket?'

 His beautiful Creed jacket... she glanced at it without interest as at some dull new possession. A russet and grey check, its autumn colours suited Nicholas thick, silky auburn hair.

 'How autumnal we are,' she murmured to herself. 'Your jacket, this forest... my autumn.'

 He didn't reply. She was surprised at herself because she never alluded to her age. He knew perfectly well how old she was and he didn't care. She might just as well throw herself into that lake. She imagined herself for a moment, floating in the water in her Dior dress... Thoughts like that were all very well of the young. "At my age, one doesn't think of death or suicide, one clings to life." One clings to the pleasures of money, of the night; one makes the most of things, and of people, such as this young man walking beside one down a deserted woodland path. 

 'Nicholas!' She said in her hoarse, imperious voice. 'Nicholas, kiss me.'

 They were separated by a puddle. He looked at her for a moment before stepping over it, and the thought flashed through her mind: 'He must hate me.'

 He took her in his arms and gently raised her head.

 'My age,' she thought, as he kissed her. 'Just for the moment you've forgotten my age; you're too young to play with fire without getting burnt, Nicholas.'

 And then she exclaimed:

 'Nicholas!'

 He looked at her, a little breathless, his hair rumpled.

 'You were hurting me.' she said, with a faint smile.

 They walked in silence. She was surprised at the quickening of her pulse. That kiss - what had come over Nicholas? - that kiss was like a farewell kiss, hungry and sad, as if he loved her. He was as free as air; women and luxuries were his for the asking. What had possessed him? And that sudden pallor... He was dangerous, extremely dangerous. They had been together over six months; it couldn't go on any longer without leading to trouble. Besides, she was tired, tired of Paris, of the noise and rush. Tomorrow she would leave for the Midi, alone.

 They were back at the car. She turned to him and took his arm in an automatic gesture of pity. 'After all,' she thought, 'the poor boy's losing his livelihood. Even if it's only temporary, it's a nasty blow.' 

 'I'm leaving for the Midi tomorrow, Nicholas. I'm tired.'

 'Will you be taking me?'

 'No, Nicholas. I shan't be taking you.'

 She almost wished that she was; it would have been fun showing Nicholas the sea. He must have been there before, of course, but he always gave the impression of discovering everything for the first time.

 'You've had enough of me?'

 He spoke softly, his eyes downcast. There was a break in his voice which touched her. She had a glimpse of the life he would have, the sordid quarrels, the compromises and the boredom, all because he was too handsome, too weak and the ideal prey for a certain kind of woman belonging to a certain milieu and with a certain income, women like, herself.

 'I haven't had enough of you in the least, could it? It's over six months since we met.'

 'I know...' he said, as though his mind were elsewhere. 'The first time was at that cocktail party of Mme Essini's'

 She suddenly remembered that hectic party and the first glimpse she had had of Nicholas, looking miserable because old Mme Essini was talking to him at very close quarters and giggling girlishly. Nicholas was pressed up against the bar, with no hope of escape. The scene had amused her at first, then she had looked at Nicholas with increasing interest and cynical speculation. These cocktail parties were like horse fairs or cattle shows. One almost expected to see mature ladies lifting the young men's upper lips to examine their teeth.

 Finally, she had gone over to greet her hostess, and passing before a mirror, had suddenly been struck by her own beauty. Nicholas' relief at the interruption had been so obvious that she couldn't help smiling, and her smile had put old Mme Essini on her guard.

 She had introduced Nicholas with reluctance. Then there had been the usual gossip about people and their private lives. Nicholas seemed rather at sea. After an hour, she found him decidedly attractive and resolved to tell him so at once, as was her wont. They were sitting on a sofa by a window, and he was lighting a cigarette when she addressed him by name in a voice that scarcely faltered:

 'I find you very attractive, Nicholas.'

 He made no response, but took the cigarette out of his mouth and gazed at her.

 'I live at the Ritz.' She went on coldly.

 She was well aware of the importance oft he last point. The Ritz was the answer to every gigolo's dream. Nicholas made a slight gesture of protest, but said nothing to show that he had understood. She thought: 'Well, that's that...' and rose to her feet.

 Nicholas got up too. He was rather pale.

 'May I escort you home?'

 In the car, he had put his arm round her shoulders and asked her innumerable eager questions about the overdrive and the finer points of the engine. In the bedroom, it was she who had kissed him first, and he had taken her in his arms with a slight tremor and a mixture of violence and gentleness. At dawn, while he slept like a child, dead to the world, she had gone to the window to watch the day break over the Place Vendôme.

 Thereafter, it had been Nicholas playing patience on the floor, Nicholas by her side at the races, Nicholas' eyes on the gold cigarette she gave him, and Nicholas suddenly seizing her hand during another party and kissing it. And now there was Nicholas whom she was about to leave and who said nothing, who was keeping up this pose of exaggerated indifference.

  She got into the car and threw her head back, suddenly exhausted. Nicholas got in beside her and drove off.

 From time to time on the way back she glanced at this preoccupied, distant profile, and could not help thinking that she would have been madly in love with him at twenty and that maybe life was nothing but a hopeless mess. When they reached the Porte d'Italie, Nicholas turned to her:

 'Where are we going?'

 'We have have to drop in at Johnny's Bar,' she said. 'I've made a date with Mme Essini there for seven o'clock.'

 Mme Essini was punctual as usual. It was one of her few virtues. Nichols shook the old lady's hand, looking rather distraught.

 Watching them both, a pleasing idea came to her:

 'By the way, I'm leaving for the Midi tomorrow, so I shan't be able to come to your party on the sixteenth. I'm so sorry.'

 Mme Essini regarded them both with a bogus air of affection: 'You lucky things, off to the sun...'

 'I'm not going,' said NIcholas shortly.

 There was silence. The eyes of both women converged on Nicholas, Mme Essini's the more meaningfully.

 'Then you must come to my party. You can't stay in Paris all alone, it's too depressing.'

 'What a good idea!' she interjected.

 Mme Essini's hand was already resting possessively on Nicholas' sleeve. The latter's reaction was unexpected. He jumped out and walked out. She found him waiting by the car.

 'What's come over you, Nicholas? Poor old Essini might have been a bit premature, but she's fancied you for a long time. There’s nothing to be upset about.'

 Nicholas stood there without a word and seemed to be breathing with difficulty. She felt an upsurge of pity.

 'Get in. You can tell me all about it when we get home.'

 But he didn't wait until they got home. He told her in a strangled voice that he wasn't an animal to be bought and sold, that he could perfectly well look after himself and that he refused to be put out to pasture with an old vulture like Essini. And in any case he couldn't do anything for her. She was too old...  

 'But my dear Nicholas, she's my age.'

 They had arrived. Nicholas turned towards her and suddenly took her face between his hands. He looked at her searchingly and she tried in vain to free herself, conscious that her make-up had probably not survived the day.

 'You're very different,' Nicholas said in a low voice. 'You're ... you're very attractive. I like your face. How could you...?'

 There was a note of despair in his voice as he let her go. She was dumbfounded.

 'How could I what?'

 'How could you offer me to that woman? Haven't I spent six months with you? Didn't it occur to you that I might become attached to you, that I could...?'

 She turned away brusquely.

 'You're cheating,' she said in a low voice. 'I can't afford to cheat. I've had enough. Go away.'

 Alone in her bedroom she examined herself in the mirror. She was irretrievably old; she was over sixty and her eyes were full of tears. She packed hurriedly and went to bed alone in her double bed. She cried for some time before going to sleep, putting it down to nerves.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

The Rose

Summary: Aerin is free, but at a price.

Rating:  M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Explicit and/or non-graphic mentions of suicide, murder, inhumane punishments and dysfunctional relationships. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Notes: So, this is messed up. Like, really. I am a bit of an Edgelady when it comes to fanfiction, I have always defended that people can enjoy what they enjoy and forget everyone else. But this, this is messed up. God, I need a psychiatrist.

Anyways, despite my clear preference towards roses, the title is because I was inspired by this song.

Love is a funny thing.

It is good, but it is bad. It heals and it hurts. It saves and it condemns. It is democratic, but a privilege.

Everyone pursues it, even, and perhaps especially, those who deny their desire to love and be loved. It seems like the very thing that keep societies together, a need to accept and be accepted in turn, to feel like you are dearly valued by someone. Be it a family member, a friend or a sexual partner.

All the races have their own way to express love. Marriage and the one true partner in a lifetime for the humans, the separation of sex and devotion for the elves, and the survivalist ritual of the orcs, they all just want to be loved by someone. Preferably forever.

My life taught me the importance of the social bonds. My family was slayed far away from their home and no-one knew them, nor they had any identifying characteristics, other than our race and the two young children that survived the attack. Kade and I.

I do not remember it very well. The first thing I remember is their burial, on a common grave. My hand gripped Kade’s, who seemed to be crying, but my eyes were dry. I think I cried too much already.

There was no way of knowing from where we came from, other than the general direction of Undermount. Since no elves passed through, there were no travelers or officials to talk to. I thank the gods every night for the kindness of the farmer that took us in, until his demise.

I depended on and was nurtured by my brother, and I knew it was the same for him. Our bond was what helped us to survive, and I protected and fought for that bond as much as I craved for another.

Perhaps it is due to my blood. Elves were known as people of loose sexual morals, what I came to learn it was due to their concepts of Kinvali e Divali, as well as the ethereal beauty of their never-fading youth, but the naturalist explanation was just as likely with my limited information.

I do not think it is, though. I would take it a step further. Perhaps it was due to my neediness and sense of abandonment. A strong presence by my side during the day and some bodily heat next to me on my bed at night seemed to silence the despair of my soul.

The fact of the matter was that I was hardly pure and inexperienced, my road had been longer and more tortuous than it perhaps should, and the wariness was apparent. I sook companionship, desperately so, and more often than not, I found it. Not with the stability I wanted, but I rarely gone by without someone to which I could use to that end since I entered puberty. Some of them, I even could see myself with them permanently, but my race or social standing often came in the way.

Then, there was him.

Him and I were alike in many aspects. He had a family, but one that ignored him on a good day, and abused him on a bad. He was as good as an orphan, forgotten and unloved, often starved and beaten, seduced by an evil and faceless force from infancy for a nefarious purpose.

I suppose I cannot excuse him completely, he eventually should know better, that he was sowing the kind of suffering that corrupted him in the first place, but perhaps there was wisdom in taking a spoonful of sugar before the bitter medicine.

He did not lie to me. I know he did not. He showed me what there was beneath the gray and barren permafrost of his corrupted face, and what I saw was enchantingly beautiful. He was handsome, if rather short and gaunt, with a sharp and excitingly witty mind, and extremely kind and empathetic.

My soul sang for him. I felt safe and seen by him, and for the two short nights we spent at Deadwood, my desires and needs were shaped in a hole that seemed that could only be filled by his presence. My heart longed to see him again, as soon as I possibly could.

Our sojourn at Undermount, so tantalizing when I first entered Deadwood, was still nice and enlightening, but my tongue was overwhelmed by the sweet honey that the tart mouthfeel of elfish society was that much more blatant. That was not my place, these were not my people, and I could only think that I would be happier in Whitetower.

I had my summer under his warmth that afternoon at the palace gardens and at the library with him, and then the night under his sheets, and I knew it was true love for me.

Then, the cold hit me and I was thrown on the harshest of winters. His face twisted in a grey frost, a clean cut was made and his brother’s life was taken, like it did not mean anything. The portal opened, he held onto the magic user and they vanished into the unknown.

I realize I was used, little more than a pawn, designed to gather the shards and protect a viable vessel for an evil force. He had used me, like he too had been used, and it really hurt me.

I had to stop him. No matter what he meant to me, no matter how it would hurt, I had to stop him with any means necessary. I could not let it move forward and let more lives to be destroyed.

So, I did just that. I captured him and killed his master.

Tonight, I go down the dungeon. To see him, to talk to him.

He was asleep, curled up at a thin cot of hay, likely trying to stave off the humid cold coming out from the stone walls and the wells of the castle. Without his disguise, his skin was gray and his aura was very dark. His constitution seemed thinner, more haunted.

It filled me with pity.

“Aerin! Wake up!” I whispered, breathily. I had bewitched the guard, but there was no need for alerting any reinforcements. “Aerin, wake up, please!”

His dark eyes shot open and he quickly rose to his feet. “Raine! What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.” I responded, downcast. “We don’t have much time.”

“What for? To gloat? To marvel at your doing?” He sneered.

I sighed. “Aerin, I am not going to apologize for stopping you. It had to be done. I am sorry, however, that I lied to you when we were at the Shadow Court.”

“I should have known better.” He mumbled, sadly. “I should have known to be stronger, to not let my sad human needs to get the best out of me. It was naïve to believe what you have told me.”

“That is not what I lied to you about it.” My eyes fill with tears. “Yes, I had no intention of joining you in the Shadow Court, and I still have none. Yet, I was sincere when I told you I would take you as you are.”

Aerin raised a doubtful eyebrow, so I placed my hands at the lock of his cell and whispered an enchantment. It opened softly for me to walk inside, before closing ominously behind my back.

Every step I moved forward, he took one backwards, until his back was pressed against the wall. Cornered, I pick up his hands and try to soothe him by caressing his fingers with mine.

“Your magic has improved.” He managed to let out.

“That was what was keeping me. Research, training and planning.” I smiled softly at him. “I love you, Aerin. With all my heart. My greatest regret is that I am twenty years too late to save you from corruption, from suffering.”

“It’s not your fault.” He finally responded. “The short time we had together was much more than I ever hoped to receive.”

Aerin kissed my tear-stained cheeks and wrapped me in his embrace. Without the stone, the smell on his skin was different. He smelled like blue moss and flowers that bloomed in the night, and that only made me cry harder.

“I am sorry, too.” I hear whispered on my ears. “I am sorry I cannot give you anything but a life of pain and suffering. I am sorry I was weak, greedy and stubborn. I am sorry I cannot be the man you love all the time.”

I break apart from his hug and face him. Wiping my tears with my left sleeve, I look him dead in the eyes and say, “I came here to free you.”

“What?” He did a double-take.

“I put you in here, I am getting you out.” I threw my satchel at him. “There is a map of the Shadow Realm in there, one that should take you through a route safe enough so you can open another portal, one to a land beyond the great desert. There is also some gold and supplies to help you on your voyage.”

“That… That is brilliant!” He smiled, genuinely happy. “I can’t believe… You are so ingenious!”

He picked me up by the waist and twirled me around, and I let myself giggle and bask on his excitedness.

Then, he laid me down and looked forlornly at me. “I can’t do magic anymore. My powers derived from the Dreadlord. With him gone, so are my powers. And you couldn’t corrupt yourself, so you can’t open a portal as well.”

“There is more than one way to enter the Shadow Realm, Aerin, and you know the price.”

“You don’t mean…”

I did not let him finish his sentence. The silver dagger reflected the moonlight as I raise it.

“No!” He screams and launches himself to stop me, but it was too late. I drove the cursed knife through my stomach.

As my cupric blue blood soaks my tunic, I lose strength on my legs. Luckily, Aerin grab me by my shoulders and supports me straight. My life force is being sucked dry to open a portal to the Shadow Realm.

Soon enough, it appears on the back of the cell and I smile. “I did it…”

“Raine! Gods!” He seemed frantic. To me, it seemed odd, as a sensation of peace was slowly taking ahold of me. “Why did you do this?!”

“I had to free you…” I verbalize with difficulty. “I couldn’t let you waste away in a dungeon… I needed to give you a chance of living…”

His eyes spill big tears. “Not like this. There was another way.”

“There would be no peace. A fugitive’s life is not worth living.” I smiled at him. He was so handsome. I felt glad to die looking at him. “If I die, if you move far away, no-one will ever touch you.”

“I want you to come with me. Please, Raine, there must be a way to heal you. Don’t die, please.”

“The blade is cursed. There is no coming back.” I whisper. “Hurry… The portal will only be open while I’m still alive… I used too much magic, it won’t remain open for long.���

Aerin looked momentarily conflicted, but picked up the satchel and headed to the portal.

“I’m sorry, Raine. I am so sorry.”

He jumps into the vortex and disappears. I feel it inside my soul he had managed to find his way to the Shadow Realm.

I am glad. I was able to help someone I love. Is it not the most we can expect of life?

Before I came down to the dungeons, I visited Deadwood for some important ingredients. Inside the bag, I left the dry moonflowers and the instructions to brew the purifying potion. I hope he takes it.

I feel my grip on consciousness slipping and the spells I casted tonight are fading away. It was the end for me.

In the winter, far beneath the bitter snows, lies the seed that, with the sun’s love, becomes the rose.

[misssunflowersandsangria]

The Arrangement

Chapter 5:  The Fear 

Hello my dreamy readers!  This was kind of a plot bunny that jumped a little far.  I was going to include it in another chapter that I had planned but it got too long and needed to be a standalone.  A quick introspection then we're back to our regularly scheduled programming.  Hope you enjoy it! 

Summary:  It's not about fearing nightmares, it's about finding someone to face them with. 

*

**

Shikamaru grinned seeing Temari walk towards him. The brightness of her smile rivaled that of the desert sun.  He wanted so much to play in that sunlight. She was gorgeous and he felt so lucky that she was his. It was finally happening, the fruition of his hidden wants and dreams. 

He took a step but his body wouldn’t take him forward. Frantically he kept trying to move but his limbs felt paralyzed. He called out to Temari but his voice wouldn’t come out. 

He continued to grasp at his throat willing his body to move.  In horror, he watched as Kankuro placed her hand into another figure's while Temari smiled and blushed sweetly at him. That was his smile. What the hell was happening? Why wasn’t his mother, Ino, and Chouji trying to stop her? 

‘No, what the fuck is this? That should be me!’ He continued to struggle against the invisible force that held him back. Tears blinded him as she moved further and further away from him.  Unknown banners heralding the family that she would one day belong to. 

He felt his breath fading while he was losing another person that meant so much to him. He sunk into the darkness around him as his sunlight faded away 

‘Tem...come back….please don’t leave me here alone.’ 

Shikamaru sat up gasping and struggling to breathe. Nightmares weren’t new to him, he’d been struggling with them for a while. This one though was much different. He grasped at his heart trying to get it back under control blinking back tears. He took in deep breaths using his senses to focus on the room. He was in Suna, Temari was still his. 

He went to move out of the bed thankful to have control over his body.  His feet automatically moving him to the only person that could help him. 

*

**

Temari answered the door confused about who could possibly be coming to see her at this God awful hour. If it was Kankuro she was going to unleash a hurricane. 

“What?!”  She demanded throwing her door open.  Her eyes softened seeing Shikamaru standing there. He looked so defeated, tired with dark circles under his eyes. 

“Shika?”  She paused before taking his hand to pull him into the room. She sat on the bed so that he could lay his head on her lap. 

“Nightmares?” She asked gently her fingers threading through his hair. 

“Yea…” He mumbled against her warm thigh refusing to look at her. He hated looking so weak in front of her. 

“Have you asked your mom for help? I’m sure that they have something that you can take to help you sleep.” 

“I don’t want to take pills for this.”  She just nodded with a sigh.  She was really starting to worry about him. 

“Shikamaru, you taught me that it’s okay to ask for help. This might need to be something that you talk to her about when ...uhm you go back to Konoha.”

“Okay,” she was sure that he agreed just so that she wouldn’t nag him about it. 

“Was it about the war again?”

She felt him shake his head.  “No something else.” 

That was surprising. She wanted so much to ask him just what they were about but he looked so desperate for some peace and sleep. 

She knew that the council would probably frown upon him being there but she was getting really tired of doing what they wanted. 

“Okay, you lay down baby.”  He shifted to rest his head against a pillow. She laid down next to him his head going to rest against her heart while she pulled the blankets over them. Her fingers gently ran across his scalp while she hummed a well known Suna tune women would often sing to their babies to lull them to sleep. His arms tightened around her sinking into her warmth.

“Thank you Mari.”

“It’s the least I could do for my suitor.”

He just chuckled in response. “What if this was real?”

Her mouth dropped in surprise.  “What?  Shikamaru what did you say?”

“What if we were really together?” Her face blushed brightly not expecting to have this conversation. 

“I...I mean. I wouldn’t be completely opposed to the idea.  Why? What do you think?”  She paused waiting for a reply but only received silence. 

”Shika?”  She looked down to see that he’d fallen fast asleep. His soft breaths fluttering across her chest. 

She just smiled thankful that he’d get some sleep. He was probably too tired that he didn’t know what he was saying and would completely forget about it tomorrow.

“Good night Shikamaru.” 

*

**

Shikamaru woke up feeling rested and warm and he knew that this was entirely due to the girl in his arms. During the night they must have shifted and she was now cradled against his chest, their legs entwined needing to be connected with the other. That nightmare had left him shaken and the only thing that could restore any kind of peace was Temari. 

Last night after he'd given her the necklace he’d all but fallen asleep in her arms but she left knowing that everyone would be returning soon.  They didn’t want word to get to the council. It was like his mind had betrayed him, knowing that she was nearby but he wasn’t with her. 

Shikamaru softly kissed her forehead, not wanting to wake her. 

“Thank you, Princess.” He felt her just nuzzle into his chest. 

What would happen in the future? What if one day she did find someone? He couldn’t very well rely on her whenever his mind ran away from itself. She’d no longer be his troublesome woman that would nag him when he was lazy, but comfort him when he was hurt. She’d be nothing more than a friend, an ally and eventually he’d be nothing to her. 

And yet as she held him so tightly, how she looked up at him so softly perhaps there was something there. Something they could build upon. 

This whole experience was forcing him to face those emotions he’d pushed aside due to life and war. Now here being in this situation those feelings were all roaring to the surface. 

Temari was special to him. Since the Chunin, exams she’d become an unyielding presence in his life. She was undeniably strong both in body and mind. Serving as his foundation. She had been like Shikaku after the war had ended.  Picking up the broken pieces when he’d fallen apart. She didn’t let him stay broken, her very presence had helped seal those cracks in his heart. But ultimately he knew that he’d done the same for her.

He forced her to face those feelings of grief and loss that she wanted to ignore needing to be the strong one. He pushed her knowing that she needed to face those shadows. He wasn’t afraid of her storms and took every harsh accusation and the relentless downpour of tears.  Her father, mother, the childhood that had been robbed from her, the pressure to fix and build Suna had been crushing her. So they talked through it all. Long nights into mornings, random conversations when feelings would come up.   All their fears, disappointments, hopes and dreams revealed in these difficult, precious conversations. There was no one else in the world that they could share this kind of trust and vulnerability with and he would be damned if he had to give that up. Temari was a violent storm to the world, but to him, she was like refreshing spring rain. The kind that would fall when his beloved clouds would layer the sky.  She refreshed him and nurtured his world.

“Temari?”  When he didn’t get a response he just rested his face against her head breathing her in. 

“I know that this whole thing didn’t start off real,  but I think we were both trying to avoid how we really felt. You mean the world to me Princess and I want to be your Prince.” 

The Arrangement:

Chapter 1: The Set-Up

Chapter 2: The Proposition

Chapter 3: The Participants

Chapter 4: The Declaration

Chapter 5: The Fear 

Shika's feelings are starting to catch up :D Next chapter will feature the next ritual.  Thank you all for all the wonderful support!  Love you!

[sweetsmellosuccess]

The Sátántangó Experience

How exactly does one prepare to watch a 7.5 hour film? A bit like what you might do in preparation for major surgery: Pack a bag of necessities (in this case, water and protein bars), kiss your loved ones goodbye, and try to make peace with your god. Or, maybe less dramatically, treat it as you would a long train journey, one that takes you through some harrowing terrain on half a rutted track before depositing you to your eventual destination.

Of course, this sort of conception of time is entirely relative: If you have to drive somewhere that takes half an hour, it feels unduly long; but if the trip were normally three hours long, and you somehow found a shortcut that would cut the time down to 30 minutes, you would be flying on dulcet wings for that amount of time, and think you were blessed by angels. In other words, spending an entire standard work day watching one film might seem excessive, but it all has to do with your expectations.

In my case, I was at Philadelphia’s newly renovated Lightbox Theater at the University of the Arts to take in Béla Tarr’s magnum opus Sátántangó, all glorious 450 minutes, in a new 4K restoration (it’s currently playing at select theaters across the country). Armed with my snack survival kit, and safe in the knowledge that we would get intermissions at roughly 2.5 hour intervals, I settled in to watch what has been described as a masterpiece in cinephile circles, and currently resides at number 36 in the most recent Sight & Sound critics’ poll.

Tarr’s beyond-bleak film is broken up into 12 segments, each having to do with a failing farmer’s cooperative in Hungary during the last throes of communism in the late ‘80s. Each section has its own feel and perspective  —  some of them are more lighthearted, others are desolate beyond measure  —  but all expertly shot in low-contrast black and white (by Gábor Medvigy), which renders the people and landscape in various tones of drudgery grey.

It originally opened in America as part of the 1994 New York film festival, at a time when Hungary was undergoing a transformation from Communism to shaky democratic capitalism, so it served as a kind of epigraph to the era, a showcase, as it were, as to the imperfections of a political system built on a promise of human egalitarianism that proved to be depressingly difficult to put into practice.

The landscape makes up a lot of Tarr’s vision, the flat, moody farmland upon which the collective has been toiling, and the unceasing rain and wind that constantly pelts the characters as they venture outside for one business or another. As the film opens, the collective  —  made up of three couples; a curious “doctor” (Peter Berling), who spends his time spying on the others, making copious notes in his stacks of file folders, and daily drinking his considerable body weight in Palinka (Hungarian plum brandy); and the cagey Futaki (Miklos Szekely B.), who has to walk with a cane from an unspecified accident, but seems a bit more shrewd than the others  —  is anxiously awaiting their annual wages, which come all at once and is meant to get divvied up amongst the members equally.

Early on, there are various halfcocked plans from individuals to try and steal the small fortune for themselves, reflected in much idle talk about meeting that evening and decamping for parts unknown, but that ultimately come to nothing. However, when word reaches the group that the mysterious Irimiás (Mihály Vig, also the film’s composer) is, in fact, not dead as they had been told, but alive, and returning to the collective he started, the group dynamic is thrown akimbo, with various members fretting for their future, and, one, the owner of the local bar (Zoltán Kamondi), furious at the thought his business will be taken from him. 

Just why they respond like this remains vague. In ensuing segments, we see Irimiás, along with his associate, Petrina (Dr. Putyi Horvath), navigating through a police interview  —  where the local Captain informs them they will be working for him now in ways unspecified  —  though it appears the collective had very actively planned on not having to include their former leader (and his right-hand man) in their financial arrangements. As for the non-collective characters, including the aforementioned barkeep, and various prostitutes sitting idly around, the collective is virtually their only business, such as it is, so they, too, await this potential flood of cash eagerly.

As the segments begin to collect, they also begin to fold upon themselves: Scenes that we see from one vantage point in an earlier segment are revisited later on, from the perspective of a different character, enabling a thrilling moment of realization that the stream of time we’re following has breaks, jumps, and hiccoughs throughout. Never more poignantly than a moment with a young girl peering into a window of the bar  —  one of the only lit buildings in the otherwise dismally dark countryside  —  watching the adults inside drunkenly dancing and cavorting.

About that girl. Easily the most emotional moment of the film involves her, but not first without the audience paying a heavy price, depending on your empathy for other creatures. Before the film screened, during its introduction, we were made aware that there was a scene of animal cruelty involving a cat somewhere in the proceedings. The sympathetic presenter, himself a cat lover, suggested looking away for parts of that segment, though a friend of mine in attendance who had seen it before assured me looking away wasn’t really an option. Fortunately, he also told me that the cat in question wasn’t actually hurt, and was still alive at the time of a 2012 interview with Tarr.

Needless to say, my worry about this poor cat dominated my experience in the early going: Every time I saw a feline in the background of a scene, I worried that it was coming up, such that it was almost a relief when it finally happened. The situation is this: Estike (Erica Bók), the young daughter of one of the local prostitutes, caught up in her world of half-fantasies after being sent out of their apartment by her working mother, holes up in an attic with a grey tabby. At first, she pets and cuddles him, but eventually, she desires to control him, bend the cat to her will. To the cat’s increasing discomfort and fury, she grabs him by the front paws and rolls around with him, all the while muttering how she alone can determine its fate. Looping up the poor fellow in a net bag and hanging it from a post, she goes downstairs to mix a batch of milk with some rat poison powder and force feeds him until he dies (though in actuality merely tranquilized).

Wandering around the farm that night with the stiffened body of the cat tucked under her arm (a prosthetic, the director assures us), Estike runs into the doctor, shuffling outside to refill his giant jug of brandy, shortly after peering through the window of the bar. Eventually, she lies down amongst the deserted crumble of a bomb-blasted church and takes the poison herself.

As gruesome as the segment becomes, its haunting evocations permeate the rest of the film (though not immediately: in a jarring juxtaposition, the very next segment takes us back to the bar, where everyone is still dancing wildly about to a loopy accordion refrain —  only towards the end of this extended scene do we see the face of the soon-to-be-dead Estike peering inside). Eventually, Irimiás does indeed return, in time to give a moving eulogy for Estike, while at the same time transitioning the group towards his next vision, a new farm some distance away where he assures them they can finally live freely and thrive. All he needs to achieve this goal for them is the money they just received from their previous year’s efforts.

With nowhere else to go, and no other plan on the horizon, the members of the collective dutifully deposit their wages on the table in front of their leader. He sends them out to pack their things so that they may meet with him in a couple of days at the new farm he’s selected.

Gathering their miserable belongings, the group reassemble and trudge down the muddy road on foot, as the rain pelts down on them without ceasing. Distressingly, the members don’t have any proper rain coats  —  in an earlier soliloquy in the bar, Kráner (János Derszi) laments that his leather coat is so old and stiff he has to bend it in order to sit down  —  so they wear their woolen winter coats, which do little to keep them from getting soaked in the heavy fall rains.

As they make their way to this new destination, it’s clear that Irimiás is up to something. Most obviously, he could make off with their wages and move on, but it turns out his scheme is less direct than just taking their hard-earned money for himself.

Towards the second half, Tarr’s penchant for long, elegantly composed shots gives gradually away to more adventurous camerawork, including a single steadicam shot in the woods that’s like something out of a Sam Raimi film. There are extensive elliptical shots with the camera spinning slowly on an axis, this particular effect never more effective than when after the group arrives at their new farm, yet another dilapidated series of box-like concrete buildings. Once they dump their belongings and lie on the floor of the unheated, broken-windowed main house, trying to sleep, our narrator makes one of his occasional VO appearances to describe in intimate detail the dreams each character is having.

It’s a shot that could have served as an excellent final salvo, one would imagine. Indeed, by the last hour of this opus, time and again, Tarr arrives at what might be considered a conclusive moment  —  in this, the confusion is aided by his particular style: It turns out many films end on a superbly composed, static long shot  —  only to keep the narrative flowing, circling back, eventually to the original farm, where the doctor, having just returned from a stint in a hospital, begins to narrate, again, the original opening lines. Such is the perfection in this device (the segment is titled “The Circle Closes”) that once you finally arrive there, it’s clear there could be no other ending that would have sufficed.

When finally the film ended, it was later in the evening. I met up with my compatriots also in attendance, and the three of us ventured back out into the city, heading to a bar where we could nurse a beer and attempt to articulate the tangled mass of feelings and impressions of the previous nine hours. In one of the very few bars in the city that still allows smoking, appropriately enough, we debated about the film in an atmosphere swirling with the poisonous fumes of an earlier era. It seemed hopeless, but still necessary, somehow; like bidding farewell to someone already in a coma.

[eledritch]

milestone prompt!! sheith where they try ridiculous things with shiro's new arm (sex related or otherwise). bonus points for silly/awkward sexytimes. extra super bonus points if you wanna throw some galra keith in there too.

wow thank you so much for this...i had a lot of fun with it and while there isn’t any galra keith, there is a lot of Shiro In Love which i figured you might also like. 

without further ado, here is a silly fic of shiro and keith doing silly things with shiro’s hand. partly based off of this post by @goghbach & this ask I received awhile back. it’s (mostly) SFW~

Follower Milestone Prompt #1: Getting Handsy

read it on ao3

“It’s pretty big,” Keith says, inspecting the new arm critically.

Shiro coughs. The glint in Keith’s eye is making him nervous. “Yeah, I guess so…”

“I could probably sit on it,” Keith continues.

Shiro chokes on his own spit. “Nngh?” he says, eloquently.

Keith looks up, nonplussed. “You know,” he explains, “like, I could sit on it, and you could punch really hard and make it fly across the room like a rocket launcher.”

They’re not on the same page, here, and Shiro honestly isn’t sure if Keith’s idea is better or worse than his. “I don’t even know if the neural connection extends that far,” he protests weakly.

“Then we should try it,” Keith declares. “What could go wrong?”

“I mean...a lot,” Shiro points out. “A lot could, potentially, go wrong.”

Keith gives him a flat look. “You encouraged me to drive my hoverbike off a cliff when I was a teenager, Shiro. How is this less dangerous?”

“Point taken.” Shiro sighs. “Alright, well, I mean...is this room big enough?” They’re standing in an empty aircraft hangar, where they were supposed to be inspecting it as a new hangar for the Lions. As usual when they’re with each other, they got distracted.

“We should probably go outside,” Keith says.

“Where everyone can see us?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine. The hangar is probably big enough.”

“It’s still not very safe,” Shiro hedges.

Keith sighs, stalks over to a workbench, and picks up an abandoned pair of plastic safety goggles. He slaps them on and raises an eyebrow. “Safety,” he says.

“Fine,” Shiro relents.

Keith grins and walks back over with a spring in his step. “Can you put your arm down?”

“Down…? Oh.” Keith is slinging a leg over Shiro’s floating forearm. Shiro really hates that the arm is, in fact, big enough for Keith to straddle it somewhat comfortably. It looks a little awkward, but Keith determinedly hunches over and peers at Shiro over his shoulder.

“Okay, see, this is cool,” Keith says. “Now, you try.”

Shiro wavers. “This is still a terrible idea,” he says, because if Keith gets hurt at least then Shiro can say I told you so, and then settles back into a defensive stance, focusing on powering up the socket in a slowly growing warning whir of sound. He whips his arm back, impressed Keith manages to stay on, then with gritted teeth releases all of the stored up energy in a deafening blast of blue electricity.

It’s amazing.

Keith zooms across the hangar at a speed previously unknown to mankind, lightning arcing through the air behind him. He looks like a witch on a broomstick, if the witch was dressed in a Garrison officer’s uniform and the broomstick was a military grade prosthetic arm that never needed to be as big as it is. But god, is Shiro glad it’s as big as it is.

Keith leaves a trail of destruction in his wake, and it’s probably a good thing there’s not much in the hangar, because dust billows outwards and upwards, an entire table goes flying through the air and smashes into smithereens against the opposite wall, and the unlucky metal husk of a fighter jet crumples pathetically at the blast wave’s impact.

Thankfully, Shiro calculated right, and the energy runs out before Keith reaches the opposite wall. By the time he goes tumbling off with a shout, the arm is traveling at a nonlethal velocity. As it is, Keith lands hard, and Shiro is about to yank the arm back to him and jog over...but it’s a long distance, at least a hundred yards, and he’s got a better idea.

Or worse idea.

The metal fingers grab Keith by the collar of his uniform like an oversized kitten, and Keith only has time to yelp, “Shiro, what – !” before Shiro sends the arm hurtling back towards him like a boomerang, or a very large, fairly deadly elastic band. Keith screeches and clings on for dear life, but Shiro is pretty sure he’s having fun. This is confirmed when a heavy bundle of shocked Keith careens into Shiro’s arms, or rather, arm, sending them both staggering and then falling backwards onto the ground, with Keith on Shiro’s chest.

“Holy shit,” Keith wheezes. His hair is sticking up and his eyes are wide with a delight Shiro hasn’t seen in him for a long, long time. “That...was…”

“Fucking awesome?” Shiro finishes, heart pounding with excess adrenaline as the arm’s system cools down.

Keith snorts, and then dissolves into full-blown giggles, collapsing onto Shiro and burying his face in Shiro’s jacket. “Fucking awesome,” he agrees. “Oh my god. We’re officers, Shiro.”

“We’re also having fun,” Shiro says, and the prosthetic pets Keith’s hair fondly. Keith leans into it, and shoots him a dopey smile. Shiro smiles back, and revels in the familiar warmth of Keith over him, chin resting against Shiro’s chest.

“We should go outside now and do it again,” Keith muses after a long and wonderful moment.

“Yes,” Shiro says with feeling, and helps him to his feet.

*

Iverson gives them an earful later when they show up twenty minutes late to their night meeting, covered in red desert dust and fresh bruises, but it’s totally worth it for the sound of Keith’s laughter, echoing in Shiro’s head like his favorite song long after it’s gone.

*

The next night, they end up in the desert again, at the edge of a familiar cliff.

So many things have changed, but it’s good to know that this, at least, has stayed the same.

“Are you sure about this?” Shiro asks for the thousandth time.

“Yes,” Keith says without hesitation. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Shiro sighs, and tries to stop himself from gripping the handlebars too hard as Keith accelerates towards the cliff. He knows, if they were caught out here, people wouldn’t understand why they’re putting themselves in danger to have fun. But they also wouldn’t understand what it’s like to live every day on the edge of danger, with the threat of it looming over your head at every waking moment.

It’s difficult to transition from soldier to civilian, even more difficult when you’ve been a soldier in space for years dealing with forces far beyond your control or understanding. They haven’t discussed it, but Shiro would bet anything Keith feels the same way – it’s unsettling to go from a hundred to zero overnight. Their expectation for danger is omnipresent, even if, for once, there is none. Safety has become strange.

So, this way, they’re choosing their own danger. Together.

Keith flies off the cliff’s edge, Shiro close behind. He brakes on the top of the cliff instead of following him over, and aims his hand for Keith before releasing it in the same thunderous crackle of noise as before. As if in reply, the clouded sky rumbles, and Shiro’s heart pounds in excitement. It’s the monsoon season, and the thought of a desert storm sends his arm flying faster, almost too fast when it connects with the bottom of Keith’s hoverbike and latches on.

He’s far away, but Shiro, muscle straining, sees the moment Keith’s hoverbike wins against gravity and lifts, swooping gracefully out of its tailspin downwards and back up towards the dark sky. Outlined against the faint moonlight, Keith throws his arms up with a resounding whoop of joy, some strange creature soaring through the night, pale blue lightning all around him.

Real lightning tears the sky open in the distance, over the silhouetted mesas and mountains, and the rain begins to fall. Shiro guides Keith down to the earth before following him over the cliff, with only one hand, and just a human one at that, to guide him. But then Keith shouts, “Shiro, your turn!” and waves Shiro’s hand at him with a blinding grin.

And how can Shiro say no to that?

The hand returns to him, shoving up under his hoverbike, and Shiro’s breath is stolen by the sudden jolt and gain in altitude, wind whipping past him, rain splattering over his worn leather jacket as the storm picks up. He looks down at Keith, staring up at him with wide eyes full of lightning, and just like that his breath is stolen again.

It has nothing to do with the wind.

*

“Keith, you should really sit up,” Shiro says, studying him across the desk, lips pursed. Keith is hunched over his paperwork like a particularly pouty gargoyle, and glares at Shiro like one, too.

“Shiro,” he grits out, “now is really not the time for your nagging.”

Shiro lifts his hands in surrender. “Not nagging! Just...observing. Helpfully. You’re gonna get back problems with that posture.”

Keith grumbles something under his breath, and stretches, his spine popping audibly. They wince in unison. “Think I already have them,” Keith admits. “I don’t even remember the last time my back was this knotted up. It wasn’t even this bad after I slept in the Black Lion’s cockpit for a week straight.”

Shiro’s jaw clenches. “You did what?”

Keith coughs. “Nevermind. My back does hurt. So does my head. But this stupid paperwork has to get done; I’m not gonna leave an entire base without clearance for rations just because I need a massage or something.”

Shiro perks up. “A massage?” he says.

Oblivious, Keith continues, “Yes, but the Garrison isn’t exactly crawling with masseuses, and even if it was you know I’m not the best with strangers touching me, and –”

“What about if I use this?” Shiro’s right hand pops up helpfully, fingers wiggling.

Keith turns red and his jaw drops. “Wow,” he says. “You really just offered to give me a massage with your magical floating hand?”

“I’m still offering,” Shiro says gently, even as his hand creeps across the table on two fingers, mimicking walking. “We can both keep doing our paperwork, and you can avoid a slipped disc.”

“That’s creepy,” Keith informs him, watching the crawling hand, but his expression is thoughtful. “Yeah. Okay. You can try it. But if it’s too distracting…”

Keith is always distracting on some level, but Shiro doesn’t have the heart to tell him that.

When the hand touches Keith’s back, Keith sighs at the contact, scooting forward in his chair to give Shiro space to work. He starts a new page of work as Shiro stretches the fingers over his shoulder blades, focusing on feeling for the tense muscles, digging in when he finds them and working his thumb and forefinger into the knotted tissue. Keith sighs again, louder and more content, and for a second he glances up, half-lidded eyes meeting Shiro’s.

Thank you, Keith mouths, and quietly goes back to work, rolling his shoulders into Shiro’s touch.

Shiro may have accidentally given a few bases triple the rations they needed, but frankly it is unrealistic to expect him to do math when he can feel Keith’s rippling muscle under his fingertips.

*

“I mean, I want you to try it, at least,” Keith says stubbornly, sitting up on his elbows and peering at Shiro’s lubed up fingers. “I’m okay with it, really.”

Shiro puts his head in his other, non-lube-covered hand. “These are like, twice the size of my normal fingers,” he groans. “I don’t think…”

Keith shrugs. “So it’s just like starting with two. That’s fine. We’ve done that.”

“You could just fuck me instead?” Shiro suggests hopefully.

Keith considers it for half a second, then sighs. “I’ve already done that, like, every time since we got back to Earth. You can’t run from this problem forever, Shiro.” Read: oh my god, please just fuck me, we both know I’m going through withdrawal.

“It’s not a problem! I can use my left hand –”

Keith’s glare silences him, and he winces. Yeah, fair point. He’s really awful at using his left hand for, uh...this. Ambidexterity has its limits. “You could, and I could use my own hands, but I’m asking you to try with this one, Shiro. Please.”

“Okay,” Shiro finally says, chewing his lip. “If you’re sure.”

He’s very, very careful. Keith’s face still scrunches up, and his stomach flips. Shiro starts to pull it out, and Keith grabs his wrist instantly, shaking his head. “Uh-uh,” Keith grunts, and oh, his voice is uneven already. Shiro presses into him a little harder, and Keith’s mouth falls open in a sound he would probably call embarrassing but which Shiro can only describe as hot.

Shiro curls the thick metal finger and Keith whines.

“Huh,” Shiro whispers. “That’s new.”

“Not a word,” Keith warns, though it falls a little flat when he’s arching up into Shiro’s touch and all but verbally begging for more. Shiro, suddenly, wants to make him beg, and shifts over him, forcing Keith’s legs open wider. He pours more lube over his fingers, trying to ease in a second, and Keith pants, open-mouthed. He’s so hard, and Shiro wants to make him come so, so badly.

He leans down, emboldened by Keith’s honest pleasure, and lets his teeth graze the flushed shell of Keith’s ear. “I’m not gonna fuck you,” Shiro tells him, soft and private. “I think I’m just gonna use my fingers tonight, baby. What do you think?”

Keith shudders without an ounce of protest and whispers, “Yes,” squirming under him.

“Yes, what?” Shiro needles, letting the second finger rub and press, but not breach.

Keith shakes his head. “You’re a menace,” he hisses, gritting his teeth.

Shiro wonders if he can get those teeth to sharpen into fangs, again. Preferably in a kinder way than a sword fight. Or maybe in a different sort of sword fight.

Another day, Takashi. They have time now, for that...for rain checks and other days. The thought is almost unbelievable. Almost. It’s easier to believe they made it this far when he’s looking at Keith. Everything is easier when he’s looking at Keith.

“I’m also your boyfriend, lucky you,” Shiro chuckles, still braced over him, still teasing, shoving aside the tangled emotion.

“I am lucky,” Keith says then, earnestly, and Shiro falters, emotion rushing right back to him faster than the rocketing arm, his elbow almost giving out from under him where he’s braced over Keith on the bed.

“Oh,” Shiro says.

Keith’s eyebrows draw together. “Oh?”

“I think I changed my mind,” Shiro says breathlessly, “because I need to be inside of you, like, yesterday.”

“Oh,” Keith says, happily, and kisses him in enthusiastic agreement.

*

Shiro wakes up with Keith wrapped around his arm like a sexy octopus.

No, nope, bad thought. Keith is not an octopus. Keith is a Keith, and Shiro loves him very much.

God, Shiro’s coffee dependence has hit him full force since their return to Earth and his body’s rediscovery of the dual blessing and curse of caffeine. Groggily, he tries to sit up, but freezes halfway – if he moves, he’ll wake up Keith. Keith is the Universe’s lightest sleeper, other than Shiro, and he needs all the rest he can get these days.

Also, after last night.

Carefully, he tries to extricate Keith’s arms from around his arm, but it’s a futile mission, and when Keith’s nose wrinkles and his fingers twitch, Shiro backs off. Hm. Well...he doesn’t really need his right arm. Right? He has lots of meetings today, but those don’t require having two arms.

Currently, Keith requires the arm a lot more. A lot more. It definitely has nothing to do with how appallingly adorable Keith looks curled up against it, cheek smushed against the warm metal, ruffled hair soft against Shiro’s finger sensors when they curl through it…

Come to think of it, he might as well test this thing’s control radius. He latches onto the solid excuse, kisses Keith on the head, and gets ready for the day, petting Keith’s hair from the other room while he makes a pot of coffee.

When he’s putting on his shoes, he freezes at the sudden and unmistakable sensation of someone kissing his palm, then nuzzling into it, followed by the soft vibrations of continuing snores.

Shiro muffles his garbled sound into his palm. Keith. Just kissed. His hand. In his sleep.

Shiro thinks he might cry. This is the best day of his life.

Iverson gives him an earful again, but Shiro’s too busy savoring the sensation of Keith’s soft, warm face cradled in his hand half a mile away to hear a single word. 

[farkhoda]

Letter

For @elizadoolittlethings

“My dearest William, my boy, this is my frivolous la plaisanterie facile, do not try to condemn me for it! However, thou can condemn, I will only be happy to pray then my little sin in front of thou. I can imagine how now your pale cheekbones have painted a light blush, like the color of a young Loire wine. Ah, Loire… Do you remember our spring in France, my sweet beautiful boy? How did we get drunk under blooming chestnuts? I gave you pleasure on an elegant forged bench, sang old Gascon romances, we walked around Bastille until dawn. I recited Clément Marot for you in French and you tried to repeat without your sweetest little accent. You were in your white frock coat with pearls sewn on it and I wore my unbroken black leather coat, it was long enough to cover both of us from curious portraits on occasion. Pearls broke away from your froak and you never worked to lift them. “Such a trifle”, you said. Every time you put on your favorite coat, I did the exact opposite - you know how excellent black looks on white. Imagine now your blush, and I want to laugh. Only you make me laugh…Ah, William, how I miss our spring, the fragrant smells of the vineyards of old Auguste, the dark forests of the Ardennes. Rainy London bored me, Anne is mediocre and annoying, and Queen is still the same. Do you remember how we walked barefoot on the beach of Nice under the midday sun? I drank wine from your mouth, and you were angry and screaming, afraid that I would stain your snow-white shirt. Do you remember how it sweat, thrown off and caught on a lilac bush, ruffled the wind, and I kissed a drop of rose wine from your chest?My sweet boy, do not laugh at this whim that you are holding in your hands now, standing at the window of your bedroom in Pembroke Castle. You know my passion for oriental sweets. And you, too, are Eastern sweetness: mysterious and burning, sweet to bitter tears, you do not know which side to approach in order to taste you in full. How I loved to lick vanilla powder off your thin long fingers! You were so cheerful and so devilishly seductive! Your tanned throat in the neckline of a wide-open silk shirt - remember, did you put on my white one? - I still dream and drive crazy. You rode over the rocks like a boy, leaving Elizabeth far behind. She then joined us, damn attractive in her boyish suit. Leaving her Rutland in London.Ah, our summer in Egypt…We ate juicy pulp of pears on the shore of Alexandria… made love under the starry sky in desert, there, in the mountains, we gave ourselves to each other, enjoying the echo of our moans, I laughed at your inept attempts to be gentle with me, and you in retaliation put your brand on me. Do you remember Alamut Castle, my boy? Mountain fortress of our dreams? We smoked real hashish in an unfinished mosque, and you fed me from the hands of dates - how juicy they were! - and the Berber trumpet player was playing for us? There, in the country of dreams. We had a terrible argument then! You decided that I was just playing with you. How you screamed, how you accused me of deception and lightheadedness! My silly boy, our meetings have never been a game for me, on the contrary, it was only in those moments that I really lived - easily, in pleasure, without thinking about the consequences and my own status. And YOU status, first lord of the queen… My life with you in these brief scraps is like the lightest dance of elves, it is inspired by pleasures and vice, it is not made heavy by coarse matter, stubborn London reality. I run from the gravity of being to you - in the Paris spring or in the summer of Marrakesh, in our dreams… it always has been and always will be. I can only afford to be frivolous with you, my dearest William, my elf, don’t judge me for this. You are my genius, my vice, my weakness and strength. Remember how I, on my knees, gave praise to your body. Damn awkward pose for me, you know. I tempted you all day, and you finally gave up. How I exulted in breaking your resistance! Or it was you? You tempted me at the Wilton and your hand tangled in my hair, my boy. My brave beautiful boy. Our autumn in Italy ... My vices and passion have always been in tune with it. Do you remember how you loved me on the wet pavement in one of Verona’s countless back streets? Then there was a masquerade, and you, joking, put on a woman's dress, whispering in my ear that there was nothing under it. I was dressed like a Venetian doge - tall, dark, invariably strict, with my cane. But at first you did not know who was in front of you, only my voice gave me away. Your half mask with a white feather made you mysterious and seductive, and everyone paid their attention to you, which made me extremely angry. How then have your eyes darkened! I hid in a crowd of kings and inquisitors, courtesans, and ancient emperors, but you followed me relentlessly. And caught up on bridge Ponte Pietra, then I revenged you completely for your petite rébellion. But you also did not remain in debt, the next day you flirted with a pretty gondolier all morning, along the Grand Canal to Piazza San Marco. Do you remember how red the leaves were in that Venetian autumn? The bloody leaf fall together with the beginning rain brought sadness, and we decided to take refuge in the San- Salvadore church. Events in that church even now make me smile, and so many years have passed! How you were humble and shy, how you hissed at me, calling for order and prudence, how you tried not to notice my frank views, and then persistent touches. Didn't the God of that church tell us to love others, as if ourselves, my dearest?Autumn Rome, William, did you remember it? This was our second arrival. We walked, walked all night long, I read Cicero to you, and you quoted Petronius in return, we were happy then, on one of the famous Roman hills, under the lingering thunderstorm clouds. You remember well what I taught you. The wind whipped us from all sides, my hair intertwined with yours - after all, black on white looks amazing, - but we did not notice anything. I looked into your eyes, how bright and warm they were at that moment! Then rain poured in, a real autumn rainstorm, and we hurried to take refuge in one of the monasteries. "Autumn of the Middle Ages" - you said, seeing the remains of torture devices there. In response, I composed some kind of pun, and we laughed, but I remembered how your eyes blazed with fire at the sight of leather belts, my passionate knight!Sicilian fields were beautiful! We drank white wine, this blood of the gods, walking through the endless olive groves. You plucked wheat ears and told me where to use them, my naive boy, and I listened without listening to what you say. Your voice, my dearest, once captivated me and since then I am it slave. You probably know about this?My Prince… Half-friend, half-enemy, half-love, half-hatred… Upon learning of your wedding, I was furious! It seemed to me that you betrayed me. I then shouted at you for a long time, blamed thou for every imaginable and unimaginable sins. Unable to stand, you left. It was winter in Switzerland ... The cold winter dotted the "i". It got dark, but you did not return. How I got scared then, my dearest, love of my life, light of my night, I was scared that I wouldn’t see you again, I wouldn’t feel you. So easy and carefree I can only live with you.You came back at night, frozen, angry, so closed and distant. It was quiet outside, in protection of my little cottage, which you gave me. Snow fell quietly, firewood cracked in the fireplace, and the clock monotonously ticking the minutes. We looked at each other, not looking away, and then I decided for myself. To hell! Only you, in this snowy and forgotten by all the gods of Swiss of our winter. You understood, felt my decision and smiled faintly. It was the third hour of the night, I prepared a grog, this stupid British drink, to warm up, you threw the blanket off the billiard table - what a gesture it was! So majestically and imperiously, the kings waved to the executioner with a lace scarf — and we began the party. But it was not destiny to end…Spring is coming, my dearest William, I'll be waiting for you on the Pont Saint-Michel, where you first told me "Je t'aime".

Yours…“

Mary, Countess of Talbot, hastily folded a letter written in a clear and even handwriting that she knew and hid it behind her corsage. Once in her bedroom, where no one had ever gone, except for her maid, she burned the letter, slowly tearing each piece into small pieces, swallowing evil tears. No one ever writes her a letter. Never.

Two weeks later, when she was embroidering in the living room, her husband suddenly turned to her:

-My valet told me that you received some kind of letter for me.

-Your valet was wrong, spouse mine, a letter was sent by my father, earl of Talbot. And there were no more letters. Ask my maid,- calmly said countess of Talbot, but earl no longer listened to her, distracted by his groom, who told him that Ben Jonson left for Paris a few days ago.

Departing from the bridge, where he stood for three hours, Jonson muttered: “Idiot, believed in a fairy tale that invented for myself and invented. How did thou decide that he remembers this nonsense, this stupid bridge? That he will drop everything and come. Who needs thou? Tell me, who needs thou?”

He drank and the Canarian wine didn't make him drunk,only it seemed to him that he was drinking vinegar. Sour and bitter, like tears, like his weakness, which he hated. Alone. Forever and after.

[lisinfleur]

Payback - Chapter Four: B.Y.O.B. (Final Chapter)

Author’s notes: Hey guys! A short ending, but I hope you like! This is the last chapter of this medium work. It was amazing to write them for you and I'm really thankful for all your love and sweetness! Thank you to all you guys who encouraged me to lose my fear to write Modern! and Dark! AU. Thank you!!! Enjoy!

Warnings: bleeding, violence, more bleeding, more violence, intense feelings, mentions of death, some sort of angst and sorrow. But some smiles as well!

Words: 2.995

The school building was desert and destroyed. After what happened to Sieg, his father gave up on the Mayor run and started draining money from where he could take to warrant Sieg's recovery from all the damage he suffered that day.

With the constant deviations, the school started falling apart and soon the place was shut down. Now a huge company bought the land to build a mall. Some stuff was already being demolished and the covering of the court was one of these things, half destroyed, letting the thin rain that started a few minutes ago wet the wooden floor the Principal used to complain so hard for them to take care of.

That shit was entirely broken and cracked but Hvitserk could still see the marks of the basketball court and the broken basket at the end of it.

Hvitserk came in careful steps. Sieg knew that shitty place as the palm of his hand and so it was better to keep the alertness. He couldn't know what kind of traps that bastard could have settled in case of Ivar was wrong and he was waiting to be caught.

His feet pushed some broken wood and a beer can aside, opening a little more floor for him to step forward; the pistol in his hand, unlatched, ready to shoot.

The blue eyes scanning everything around searching for any clue of life around couldn't let pass the red dot in the corner of the part of the court building that was still standing.

Hvitserk's shoulders relaxed: his surprise factor was gone. Sieg was better than Ivar was expecting and managed to turn the security system on at least for that particular camera to what he turned, arms opened.

"Hello, pal! Don't you come to receive your visits? Uh? Move your ass out of wherever you're hiding in and come to face me, you coward!" Hvitserk screamed at the camera and so he heard the door of the old locker room slamming open.

Instinctively, he pointed the gun towards the door and so the blonde figure came out, holding (Y/N) strategically in front of him, covering his body as a living shield that prevented Hvitserk to place a bullet straight into his head at the first moment his eyes caught his skinny body coming out of the door. It wasn't hard to hide behind someone with that bony body. Sieg was a mess...

Without the plenty of his stomach functions and after the bypass, his body lost weight until the limit of health. He was strange, pale, bony and ugly. More than Hvitserk remembered from his last video.

"Have you already sent your pictures to an agency, bunny? Your new anorexic style would rock!" Hvitserk joked, trying to mask the tension he could feel on each muscle of his body now.

(Y/N) was injured, clearly tired and with her hands tied behind her back. Her hair was messed and there were some strands missing in a crooked cut that remember a little the shag haircut she used to have when they were younger. The bastard was even trying to recreate her appearance...

But even this mess, she chuckled at Hvitserk's joke, causing Sieg to push her closer, grunting.

"This is all your fault, you son of a bitch! After what you and your damn brothers did to me, my body was never the same. But also your life is not the same, is it, Hvitserk? Uh?" he giggled, kinda sick. "How's Sigurd, uh? Enjoying the trip this time?"

"You bastard!" Hvitserk cursed, trying to find a position to aim Sieg behind (Y/N).

"I wouldn't do it if I was in your place," Sieg said, and so Hvitserk saw the gun in his hand when he placed it on (Y/N)'s neck, sliding it through her skin to raise her face by her chin with the tip of the gun and nuzzle her face with his own "We don't wanna see the new mall wall receiving a beautiful red painting, neither I want to blow out this sweet little face yet. So I suggest you to let go of this gun or I swear, you gonna regret not to listen to my gentle pleads."

Hvitserk's hands started shaking. The vision of that gun so close to her face caused him cold shivers down his spine. But he couldn't say what was agonizing over him the most. If the cold metal against her skin or if Sieg's lips, kissing her naked shoulder, pulling the rags she was dressing aside to expose the crook of her neck for his kisses.

"She's warm..." Sieg said, causing Hvitserk to clench his jaw.

The cold rain becoming thick over them.

"We don't want this pretty body to become cold, right?" Sieg smiled just to lose the curve in the following second "DROP THE DAMN GUN!"

(Y/N) looked into Hvitserk's eyes and he leaned his head, annoyed. Even with her head shaking no and her eyes filled with heavy tears, he lowered his body, placing the gun on the floor.

"Slide it to the side," Sieg ordered and Hvitserk did what he wanted, causing him to smile.

Hvitserk's head couldn't figure a way out yet, so the best choice still was keeping (Y/N) safe until he could think.

"Let her go." Hvitserk said, moving his upper lip, annoyed "I'm your target and you have me here, now release her."

Sieg laughed out loud, sending a new wave of shivers down Hvitserk's spine. He could never imagine that bastard was so insane.

"You?" he giggled "You all, Hvitserk! Ubbe, Sigurd, you, that crippled bastard... You're all my targets, but you, babe girl... Oh, you are the one..."

Hvitserk twisted his face in a surprised expression

"What do you mean?"

"I should be waiting for this" Sieg said, still holding (Y/N) against his body "I should have been sure to run over that bastard's head. You would never figure out how to reach me without that cocky asshole. It was Ivar, wasn't he? He mounted my little puzzle to his dumbass brother probably putting you as the center of everything. Pff!" he hissed, passing his arm around (Y/N)'s waist, pressing her in a tight hug right under her breasts, softly biting the crook of her neck, causing her to moan disgustedly. "These sons of Ragnar, always thinking the world spin around them... Don't you think, princess?"

She shook her body against his grip, grunting.

"Don't call me like that, you asshole!"

And so Sieg pressed the gun on her throat, shutting her again.

"I'll call you the way I want... Princess" He whispered the word on her ear, starting to walk towards the part of the building where the camera was placed. Hvitserk followed him with the eyes, thinking he was intending to pick up his gun, but he just placed (Y/N) near one of the broken columns of the building, re-tying her hands to one of the rusty metal beams exposed by the demolition process.

The gun still pointed to her head under Hvitserk's heavy gaze.

"I was intending for you to commit suicide or any shit like that, you know?" Sieg said, oscillating his eyes between Hvitserk and (Y/N), but talking to him "I thought after crushing your world you would end up filling your shitty head with that crap you and your brothers sell and falling dead somewhere to spare me the work. But you were right, little princess" he said turning to her, insisting on calling her the same way Hvitserk did, contaminated with the sarcastic and evil tone of his voice "He's stronger than I thought".

His steps took him away from (Y/N), towards Hvitserk who still didn't dare to move. He could follow the line of that gun's aim and it was right in the middle of her eyes.

Maybe if Sieg came closer he could try to disarm him but now, any movements would be the death of (Y/N) and this was the last outcome he could want to that shitty situation.

Sieg lowered his body, picking a metal bar from the broken court in his free hand and Hvitserk widened his eyes.

"Let's see how much"

The bar warranted Sieg distance enough to hit Hvitserk to the ground before he could try to take the gun out of his hand. The intense pain spread on Hvitserk's flank causing him to shrink after rolling almost a meter on the wet ground.

The rain was now a storm and he could hear the sound of Sieg's laugh preceding two more hits with that damn bar that placed him on all fours on the ground.

The rusty taste of blood invaded his mouth and he coughed, feeling Sieg's feet hit against his stomach in a hard kick.

"Is it good, (Y/N)?" Sieg screamed, giving Hvitserk some few seconds to breathe before another kick hit his stomach "Am I doing it right, love?"

His head working through the strikes of pain. It wasn't him... It was never him. He was just another pawn in the game Sieg mounted to fuck (Y/N). And he fell on his plan like a stupid rat, caught on the cat's claws to be torn into pieces.

Sieg's laugh was echoing victorious. Hvitserk barely could try to get up now. His arms were cut from that bar, he could bet on three broken ribs and surely the blood he was spitting on the ground wasn't only from the teeth Sieg took from him with that damn metal bat.

The coldness of the rain was helping a little with the external pain, but with the last kick, Hvitserk dropped undone on the ground, feeling the rain in his face blurring the vision of the gun pointed to his head now.

He tried to look at her, not seeing (Y/N) from the distance he was looking. Hvitserk wished he could see her one last time since he was sure the gods didn't favor him and this time it would end badly for him.

"Any last words, bastard?" Sieg asked and so Hvitserk spat the blood from his mouth and giggled.

"She will fucking rip your skin... out of your body..." he said, smiling, almost laughing from Sieg's innocence.

"Do you really think you can... break her? Uh, Sieg? Do you really think you can break my (Y/N)?"

"After I put a bullet through your head she will have no reason to reject me anymore," he said, pulling the gun's hammer, settling a bullet on the needle.

But Hvitserk just smiled again, accepting his death.

"It will be a pleasure to watch from Valhalla while she cut you in pieces, Siegfried" he joked with his name one last time, on their childish pun that used to put Sieg so infuriated.

"Name is..." he started to answer, ready to pull the trigger and blow out Hvitserk's brain when a scream on (Y/N)'s voice made him look back to where she was supposed to be tied.

"SIEG!!!!" she screamed and his eyes caught her figure, standing, free.

The rope he used to tie her hanging brutally destroyed on her wrists. Hvitserk's black pistol on her hands directly pointed to him.

Sieg's eyes took a second to figure out what happened before the dry sound of the shot broke the silence, echoing on the court where everything had started.

She had scratched the rope on the rusted metal beam, cutting the rope and hurting her hands on the process, and picked up Hvitserk's gun on the ground putting a bullet into Sieg’s forehead.

The kick of the gun made it fall from her hand to the ground, making one second shot to the air, destroying one of the last lamps that were illuminating the place. It also threw Sieg's head behind and the skinny body fell over Hvitserk, causing him to grunt in pain one more time, pushing the dead bastard to the ground, trying to turn his body on the mud to, at least, drag himself for her.

She was a crying mess when she fell on her knees, pulling Hvitserk painfully to her embrace.

"Slow down, princess..." he tried, but she didn't give a damn, hugging him as tight as she could, crying, engulfed by sobs.

It was too much for her.

It broke her.

Hvitserk was wrong and that last words he gave to Sieg's ears weren't nothing but a bluff.

She was strong enough to hold anything.

But not to lose him…

With his last strength, he pulled her body softly to his arms, feeling her cry against his neck.

"Shh... It's over, princess... Is over..."

His eyes landed on the bullet hole in the perfect middle of Sieg's eyes and he smiled.

For someone who never was able to hit a beer can, that was a pretty beautiful shot.

He wished he could give her the time to recover. But with the gunshots, the police would be there soon. They would have to go.

"Come..."

Slowly she helped him to get up and without letting his hug a single moment, (Y/N) walked in a slow pace until the nearest phone cabin, from where Hvitserk called Ivar.

"Tell me the bastard is gone," Ivar answered the phone anxiously.

"Just send us a car, it’s raining, I'm bleeding, (Y/N) is hurt and I'm fucking starving," Hvitserk said, hearing the satisfied giggle on the other side of the phone.

"Five minutes".

They waited inside the cabin; her body entirely hidden in his arms.

"I gonna need painkillers after this" Hvitserk started, but (Y/N) raised her face, ignoring the blood in his lips and kissing his mouth, deeply, before touching her forehead with his.

"All I need is you, handsome. I only need you. Desperately" she said and Hvitserk smiled, holding her waist against him.

"Don't worry, princess... I'm all yours..."

 - 2 years later... -

"That's not fun. They told me you would be baby-faced!" (Y/N) complained when Ubbe left the penitentiary complex with a grown beard and a tiny little ponytail over his head.

"Baby butt is not my style, girl," he said, slapping her butt before hugging her waist, kissing her forehead and smiling with the little bag over his shoulder. "Freedom, freedom, when do we start eating? I need a supersized portion of pork ribs and barbecue" he complained, walking towards the car.

"As soon as we take your ass outta here, brother." Hvitserk said from the driver's seat."We'll have time for lunch when the plane land. For now, we have a flight on the following fifteen minutes."

"Ivar didn't lose time..." Ubbe commented, opening the window of the car to feel the wind against his face. "What about him?"

"Driving, already," Hvitserk said and (Y/N) sighed.

"Driving everyone crazy, that's what he is driving. I had forgotten how Ivar likes to run. Fuck! I will never sit in the front seat with him at the driver's once again!"

"How fast?" Ubbe asked and Hvitserk chuckled.

"160 mph on the highway" Hvitserk answered. "But I couldn't measure the decibels. I think she was screaming too loud for a precise measuring" he joked, receiving a punch on his shoulder from (Y/N) on the passenger seat.

The laughs ceased and so the silent became intense at the car until Ubbe broke it again.

"What about Sigurd?"

Another long moment of silence and (Y/N) eyes filled with tears she didn't let roll, lighting a cigarette on her mouth.

Hvitserk answered in a low voice.

"We are waiting for you to decide"

"Not a single sign?" Hvitserk nodded negatively and so (Y/N) punched the panel of the car repeatedly, discounting her anger.

"That fucking bastard! My only regret was not to have shot his balls first!" she cursed.

"It wasn't your fault, love" Ubbe said "And after all, I don't know how it will be if Sigurd ever wakes up in a world without her... Margrethe was his light. He would be living a miserable life without her here. Maybe... Maybe is better this way."

Hvitserk sighed.

"It would be better to be hearing him play for her that shitty music he didn't stop practicing at his room. There is nobody to disturb my sex times with Hvitserk now and I'm starting to miss the soundtracks!" she tried a joke, causing Ubbe and Hvitserk to smile from the way Hvitserk and Sigurd used to argue about the practicing of chords that always started in the worst moments for the couple on the room aside.

Her eyes were wet.

Hvitserk caressed her face with one of his hands, whipping the stubborn tears that insisted on rolling through her face; the other hand on the steering wheel, guiding the car to the airport.

"We can play his favorite music before turning that shit off... He deserves to go the way he liked." Ubbe said and Hvitserk nodded again.

"I miss that bastard," he said, sighing again, the throat closed. "The house is not the same without him to disturb Ivar all the time".

"It will never be the same, Hvitserk. But at least, we will know he's on Valhalla, feasting with father, dancing and maybe playing the music he practiced that much for her. He deserves it. We can't be selfish forever." Ubbe said, wisely.

And so Hvitserk sighed one more time, but this time, relief.

"I missed your wise words as well."

"I missed you too, brother; all of you. But you still owe me that pork ribs, so what about stop driving as an old lady and take us to the airport? Uh? I can eat my ribs in ten minutes" Ubbe teased and (Y/N) straightened her body, wide eyes when she fixed the seatbelt on her body, feeling the speed of the car increasing fast with Hvitserk's feet becoming heavier on the accelerator and the smile bigger on his face.

"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!!" she started screaming "I HATE YOU GUYS!"

"We love you too, sis," Ubbe said, laughing "We love you too".

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Tagged ones:

@akamaiden @anarchy-is-coming @attorneyl @bang-kim-bap @captstefanbrandt @feistybaby @honestsycrets @grungyblonde @hallowed-heathen @heathen-whore @honestsycrets @ivarsshieldmadien @ivarswickedqueen @ivarsrideordie @lol-haha-joke @lupy22 @naaladareia @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @rabeccablake @readsalot73 @starrmoondaisy @tephi101 @therealcalicali @vikingsandetc

[momestuck]

Let’s read Hiveswap Friendsim, volume 13

I think I’ve got time for another one of these. There’s so much of this game!

This time, “Of Fate, Fortune and Fashion”. Usually there’s some intro narration. This time we just get...

Yeah. I know how it goes.

This time: olive and teal. It’s been a while since we had olive. Boldir looks like a detective or spy perhaps, while Stelsa must be the ‘fashion’ mentioned in the title.

We’re wearing a hoodie!

Boldir

Our protag seems to be feeling the fatigue.

Surely not, protag. Obsessively looking for friends is like your entire character trait! (The set here is the abandoned watchtower we’ve taken as our hive.)

So we get some coffee.

It seems that the narrator has been spending time with the trolls they’ve befriended, albeit offscreen. The narrator lists other gifts they’ve received from friends.

I know that feel T_T

We get a message from someone who declares the line is not secure, but it’s worth the risk to contact us. I quite like the music, ‘Old Secret’ by James Roach, which has a nice solo violin. I really need to start referring to the BGM by title. One of them is just an ascii image of Bowsette, and I can’t wait to see who it corresponds to.

Anyway, our mysterious interlocutor says...

Well, that’s worth getting out of bed for, I think.

They invite us to meet in... the good old lesbian coffee shop down the road. How convenient for the background artists!

Ardata makes a reappearance. The narration suggests we haven’t exactly been keeping in touch with this friend.

Friendly as ever. She hasn’t been thinking much of us either. At that point, before we can spend more time with Ardata, we find a note reverse-pickpocketed into our pocket saying ‘out back’. And here’s our first, obvious choice.

I’m kind of curious to see what happens if we stay in and talk to Ardata. I’m sure it’s going to end abruptly, so let’s do that before we continue this route.

Indeed, we get mind controlled (I presume? or maybe just ordinary social pressure) into carrying Ardata’s luggage home.

OK, now let’s continue with the route.

Anime club really is a step beyond.

Behind the coffee shop is... a nice garden.

At the centre of the spiral is... Boldir. Not dressed up in her spy getup this time.

She has a really good poker face.

Apparently the reason she sat in this circle was to see if we’d ‘follow the path or trample through it’, but we did neither...

It’s a metaphor!

We ask about the information she promised. She says something else cryptic...

Before the end. Does that mean she’s aware of the impending SGrub apocalypse?

She knows about paradox space, huh. (you know the frequently shitty webcomic)

“Paradoxes aren’t relevant, by their very nature.” she tells us. Apparently the “essence of this nature” that makes them “so integral to this story”.

So this troll is basically talking to the players directly at this point, huh.

The narration briefly mentions that the protagonist is an orphan.

We ask Boldir about the whole long range pickpocketing thing. She says it’s actually quite simple, while showing that she can apparently float about at high speed. Is she a god tier or something?

Anyway, we get a chance to learn.

Always crime, all the time.

The actual pickpocketing lesson is mostly skimmed over in a few narration boxes. An interesting note comes up...

So whatever supernatural shit is afflicting our protag, Boldir is able to ward it off. She offers us coffee.

We’ll sleep when we’re dead, we joke. “If only.” says Boldir. Yeah... about that... there’s kind of a whole thing there.

When we go back into the coffee shop, Ardata is still there. She sneers at our low-caste friend.

There’s an interesting contrast now they’re side by side between the two art styles. Ardata has thick, black lines and solid blocks of colour, while, Boldir is drawn more like a contemporary anime, with  precise cel-shading, gradients in her pupils, and very thin lines.

Boldir gets under Ardata’s skin almost immediately with a dig about her subscriber count...

Ardata declares she has a new gimmick: poisoning a guest and hiding the antidote somewhere. Boldir grins and gives us a hint with her eyes...

Unfortunately, we fuck up and steal the antidote, not the poison. Boldir takes it in stride.

Then someone stabs her! Perhaps!

The troll who stabbed her books it out the door, and none of the strangers care to intervene. Worse, Boldir’s been poisoned.

And by sheer coincidence, we just nicked an antidote. The narrator wonders whether it will be the appropriate antidote for the poison...

Some treatments, such as activated charcoal, work in a way that’s relevant in a lot of poisonings (if administered quickly enough etc. etc. - I Am Not A Medic.) A large reactive surface area is a large reactive surface area, after all. To be honest, while it’s obviously important to know what someone’s taken, I get the impression that the whole like... fiction conception of a perfectly matched, very specific, instantly acting antidote probably doesn’t have a lot to do with real poisoning cases.

Anyway we administer the antidote and this happens...

Whatever that is, it cures her somehow. We hug her, which gets the lesbians’ attention.

In the commotion, the protagonist took note of the seeming ‘inevitability’ of a lot of what happened, and Boldir comments on our ‘inherent significance to this particular microcosm of causation’. Which kind of comes by virtue of being a videogame protagonist, but I guess that’s in the fiction too...

OK, now what if we don’t do crimes?

Instead, we go for a walk...

Come to think of it, the white robe she has does kind of resemble a god-tier outfit... but not of any of the god-tier colours we’ve seen in canon, to be honest. Particularly not any sneaky ones.

We start talking about like... metaphysics and specifically causality. Whether randomness is real, whether our choices matter. Fate, she says, would mean...

But she says that she doubts the universe is that simple. Having read Homestuck... it’s complicated! It turns out, at least some of our decisions create doomed timelines, whereas only one timeline - possibly carefully pruned by the agents of Lord English - is the ‘alpha’, ‘canon’ timeline.

Which Boldir calls attention to. The forces, huh.

We talk a bit about how the protagonist got here. Apparently the whole episode of vehicle theft - notably a rocket, possibly others - involved about 48 hours of drifting in space before reaching the Alternia system. If not for the fact we, the readers, know that we went to another universe, that would have to be some serious thrust and delta-v. But I guess the protag doesn’t know that.

As we walk about, taking care to avoid tails, Boldir receives a message by way of a large black bird. She asks us if there is anything we do like about Alternia...

Aww.

We end up rushing to a deserted lot filled with rubbish. Boldir waits for one of her contacts. And then... the assassin from the other branch gets her.

This time we have no antidote to help her with. The protagonist gets upset - so many of their friends have died because...

Then reality starts to break down.

So this is what being in a doomed timeline is like!

“There’s honestly too many of them.” Huh.

I guess being with Boldir in a doomed timeline lets us - briefly - perceive the other doomed timelines, all the little offshoots of possibility. That’s cool. It’s working the whole visual-novel-branching-path thing into the narrative.

But anyway. That’s it for this timeline.

And that means... our protagonist is some kind of temporally displaced agent. They, or at least some kind of mysterious ‘forces’, are within the narrative probing all the various timelines to see what happens in each one. Which goes some way to explaining why we remember stuff from non-canon offshoot branches.

And this time, the death screen is not the final screen of this branch.

Dun dun dun.

Unfortunately, I have made the mistake of scrolling down the list of chapters and seeing the preview of the final chapter, which wasn’t initially in the game. So I have some idea what this is hinting towards already. I guess like... if you were gonna play this yourself, you probably wouldn’t be reading a liveread first.

So... it’s Doc Scratch, right? The last chapter is called ‘Of Hosts, Excellent’, and he’s in there. Doc Scratch is, for some reason, manipulating the timeline to make us befriend all of these trolls. No doubt he’s the one who made sure we could get into this universe at all. Why? Well, that’s the question...

Stelsa

On that ominous note, it’s time for fashion.

This episode opens with a lovely rain backdrop. The BGM sounds like something that would go in a mall area in a pokémon game. Our protagonist has decided to walk rather than drive, and it’s happened to rain.

In keeping with this whole, like, ‘every branch is true’ thing...

We have mention of Tirona’s umbrella, which wasn’t given to us in the ‘true’ friendship route.

We get a first choice...

Break and enter or get back in our car? Guessing if we get back in our car we’ll just like, leave and that will be that.

No, much worse. We straight up die.

So, we’re set on breaking and entering... but then Stelsa turns up before we can try.

She’s talking on what the protagonist calls a Bluetooth headset. My guess is it’ll have some kind of ridiculous troll name.

She’s back from a jog, evidently immune to acid, so we take the chance to try to sneak into her house.

Apparently all-caps is just her quirk, not just when she’s on the phone.

For once, our reputation does not precede us..? No, it does, ‘the alien everyone is talking about’ indeed.

She introduces herself as an ‘auditerrorizer in training’. So another non-legal teal role. And immediately offers to help with our business (as well as asking about our stylist, even though we’re in a borrowed hoodie).

Apparently she knows ‘zizi’ - Tyzias? Huh. Wouldn’t have figured her for a revolutionary, but maybe she doesn’t know.

...oh huh. The protagonist recalls that this is Tyzias’s matesprit! This game has lots of lesbeans :>

We enter her office. There is a whole lot of Alternian text. Oh joy.

The motivational posters: ‘TENACITY: -ive up already, lowbloods’ and ‘SUNRISE’ but I can’t make out the caption on that one. A sampling of filing cabinet drawers: ‘A-Ab’, ‘Ab-Ac’, etc. The book spines are just squiggles.

Stelsa heads off to take a shower.

I always screenshot troll idioms.

The protagonist takes in the very organised office - except for one desk, which is probably Tyzias’s.

Tyzias emerges from the shower and immediately moves to end our meeting, to-do-list item done...

Apparently she urgently needs to replace a cancelled beautician appointment.  We get a choice...

I’m very tempted to see what happens if our protagonist tries their hand at being a beautician... let’s do that.

Oh, we’re already off to a fantastic start.

We head to her respiteblock to help her clean up.

So we have to CYOA through this sequence. We get to choose whether to start by...

Let’s go with hair styling. We pick up a hair drier that may in fact have teeth, and get to work. We’re probably doing this right, since she starts thinking of her gf.

As the protagonist acknowledges, Tyzias isn’t one for elaborate beauty regimes.

We see that she’s reading a book about history of revolts, and try to talk about that. Stelsa is startled that we’d be so casual with infosec...

‘DEFINITELY NOT TO ANY MAN’

‘She sounds way too earnest for this to be a cover up’. Oh shit. We’ve done it now.

Thankfully she doesn’t press the issue. We get to work on her nails. She starts asking about an ‘acquaintance’...

An acquaintance, huh.

The protagonist fumbles around for a suggestion, and points to open communication. Stelsa says, wouldn’t that just cause unnecessary friction for her ‘friend’ and her matesprit, since she doesn’t share those views? The narrator reassures her that she - her friend - doesn’t have to agree with her matesprit on every particular.

We’re rather relieved. In game and out.

THEY SURE DO... which is why we’re playing this game, of course.

But anyway... more by luck than judgement, we’ve made our way onto the friendship route!

Which means it’s all downhill from here.

First of all, what if we polished her horns instead of styling her hair?

I’m guessing the whole ‘horns as erogenous zones’ thing is being confirmed here.

Yeah.

So now that leaves one more substantial branch... not pretending to be a beautician, and suggesting getting ready for the meeting.

Her client turns out to be...

Remele! Our artist friend. It’s getting hard to keep track of all these names, honestly.

She’s excited to learn that we’re friends, and asks what we can tell her about Remele as we drive our stolen scuttlebuggy. Not sure yet how this can go horrendously wrong.

Apparently, though, she’s a fan! We get a callback to Vriska’s famous irons in the fire...

Unfortunately, as we travel... we reach some road works. Turns out our scuttlebuggy’s map is out of date.

And we can’t drive. Stelsa puts the car into manual and we go careening off the road. Which messes up Stelsa’s hairstyle. Friendship: over.

One more dead timeline. Doc Scratch has his work cut out for him.

And that’s that! More tomorrow, or maybe later this evening, depending on how like... real work goes.

[vivasharkart]

Cardinal Attraction (Part 1 of 2)

Part 2

Pairing: Steve/Tony

Rating: T(??? Idek just to be safe, there’s like one? two? bad words in this thing but who can be sure with tumblr)

Soulmate AU: Every person is born wearing a compass around their neck that points to wherever their soulmate is. A twist on The Avengers. I found a rough draft for this fic that I’d written THREE YEARS AGO and I needed a reason to procrastinate, so here’s the finished version! Enjoy :)

Word count: 2719

A/N: This was originally going to be a one-shot but I got carried away so I had no choice but to split it into two parts, please stick around for the second half! 

Steve

As he went crashing to the ground for the third time, Steve Rogers couldn’t help but wonder how he’d ever gotten into this mess. One moment, he was sitting in a theater, trying to watch a movie with a thug in the front row who just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The next thing he knew, said thug had a death grip on his collar, dragging him to – surprise, surprise – a deserted alleyway, where he’d received quite a punch to his face that sent him flying unceremoniously into a trash can. The clang of body against metal reverberated loudly around the block as blood welled up in his mouth.

Hi, floor. Looks like we’ll be getting to know each other a bit too much for my liking.

Still seeing stars, Steve rolled over just in time, narrowly missing a blow that probably would have bedridden him for at least two weeks. He staggered shakily to his feet, trying his best to stare defiantly back at his attacker, but his rapidly swelling eyelids were making it kind of hard to see anything.

The man approached him slowly, obviously enjoying the moment. “You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” he sneered, towering over him.

“I could do this all day,” Steve retorted breathlessly, balling his fists. The man snorted contemptuously, before lunging out and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, lifting him clear off the ground. Steve’s legs flailed in the air helplessly as he clawed at the man’s fingers, to no avail.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he snickered. “I’m sure you’ll learn a thing or two about messing with the wrong people after I hang you by your-“ The man stopped short, groping at Steve’s throat, feeling nothing but skin and bones. “What the- where the hell’s yours?”

“Where’s what?” Steve wheezed through his constricted airway, feigning ignorance.

“You know damn well what,” the man growled, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Your compass.”

Steve hated himself for flinching at the all-too-familiar hostility that lined those last two words. “I… I don’t have one,” he hung his head, waiting for the inevitable reaction. Sure enough, the man dropped him as if his arm had been electrocuted, leaving Steve crumpled on the gravelly floor, gasping for air.

“You- you don’t have a-“ He glared at him with eyes filled with such disgust that Steve found himself involuntarily looking away. “Freak!” he spat. “You’re a freak, that’s what you are! You hear me? FREAK!” The man drew his fist back menacingly, preparing to deliver another blow. Steve squeezed his eyes shut.

“HEY! What do you think you’re doing?”

Bucky.

The man jumped and swore, quickly making his escape, but not before throwing Steve another look of pure hatred. Bucky ran towards him.

“You okay? What did he do to you? Good God, Steve, your face-“

“I’m fine,” Steve muttered, heaving himself upright.

“No, you’re not! Steve, you know I won’t always be around to save your ass-“

“Then don’t,” he said sharply, immediately feeling guilty about the uncharacteristic harshness of his voice, but something inside him had snapped and he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “You can stop pretending now, Buck. You don’t need to stand up for- for the freak without a compass. I don’t need your pity. It wasn’t a big deal, I had everything under control, just- just leave me alone, okay?”

Steve limped off without looking back, leaving his best friend behind with a look of shock and hurt plastered across his face. He was used to the insults. He’d been on the receiving end all his life. Once, he even tried wearing a fake chain around his neck in hopes that people would finally treat him like they did everyone else, but his skin broke out in nasty rashes because of some weird substance in the metal. Eventually, he had to throw it out and learn to put up with the disgusted looks and words that people never hesitated to throw his way. He was small and scrawny, and admittedly had just about every single disease known to mankind, but no physical inferiority could ever compare to what many called his… condition.

This world was a world of compasses. People had indestructible silver chains around their necks that lasted from birth to death, on which hung a compass that pointed to your soulmate, destiny, one true love, or whatever you wanted to call it. Everyone had a soulmate, and it was a universal goal to find yours before your compass stopped working, which was a sign that they had died- the cruelest race against time and fate. The search was easily the most important part of anyone’s life, and your compass was all you had for any sort of guidance.

And Steve had been born without one.

“Peggy, I’m going to need a rain check on that dance.”

Steve furiously worked the controls, trying to convince himself that there was still hope, but deep down inside he knew he had no other options. If he wanted to save the people of New York, this plane needed to go down right now. He would die saving his country, fulfilling his duty as Captain America. With his mother and Bucky long gone, and without a soulmate to go after, he really didn’t have anything left to lose. It was this last thought that made him strangely calm. Ironic, really, that the curse of his lifetime turned out to be the one thing to give him peace during his final moments.

“Alright,” Peggy’s voice shook with tears. “A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club. Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late! Understood?”

“You got it,” Steve panted. It wouldn’t be long now. Any moment and this plane would crash, right here in the middle of nowhere, saving thousands of people from certain death. A truly heroic way to go.

“And Steve?”

“Yeah, Peggy?”

“I’m- I’m sorry you weren’t my soulmate. If you… we… if there was any other way…”

Steve blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying. That was easily the sweetest thing anybody had ever said to him. And he loved Peggy, he really did. She was the one thing he was sorry to leave behind. But for some reason, as the plane hurtled toward the inevitable, Steve felt strangely elated. Euphoric, even. Maybe all the stress had gotten to him and he’d finally lost his mind.

“Be happy for me, Peggy. Be strong-“

His voice was abruptly cut off, lost in a sea of static.

“Steve? Steve? Steve!”

But Peggy Carter never received a reply.

Steve opened his eyes, the light blinding him for a moment. His brain felt foggy, like he’d just woken up from one of those deep sleeps he used to have after being knocked out with a particularly strong cold medicine in his pre-serum days. It was a short while before his surroundings focused into sharp clarity. Looking around, he had no idea where he was. Some kind of hospital room, apparently. The radio on the shelf was broadcasting a baseball game.

Just then, the door clicked open and a woman walked in, with dark brown curls and deep red lipstick that brought back a flood of memories. He stared.

That baseball game is beginning to sound awfully familiar.

“Good morning,” the woman smiled. “Or should I say, afternoon.”

Scratch familiar, I know that game. “Where am I?”

“You're in a recovery room in New York city.”

No, I’m not. “Where am I really?”

She frowned confusedly. “I'm afraid I don't understand.”

Steve pointed to the radio. “That game- it’s from May, 1941. I know, because I was there.” He got up from the bed, inching away from the woman. “Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?”

The woman struggled to keep up with her pretense, but her panicked eyes betrayed her, her hand twitching ever so slightly toward her waist. “Captain Rogers?”

Steve whirled back and punched the wall. Just as I thought. it wasn't a real wall at all, but a decoy that crumbled to rubble at the first touch of his knuckle. Without a second glance at the woman behind him yelling something into her walkie-talkie, Steve ran. He didn’t put much thought into where he was going, as long as it was in the opposite direction from wherever he came from. His legs felt strange, almost foreign, like he hadn’t used them in a long time, but he didn’t stop running, knocking more than a few people over in the process. Within seconds, Steve found himself out on the streets full of passersby and sleek automobiles. Somewhere in his mind, he sensed that something about this entire place seemed a little off, but the immediate threat of his pursuers clouded his intuitions, overwhelming him with a desperate urge to escape. It wasn’t until the road opened up into a wide arena that Steve finally really looked.

And he stopped in his tracks and stared.

It was nothing like anything he’d ever seen before. Everything was so bright and colorful and… big. Enormous, glossy buildings towered above him on every side while huge screens blinked with lights of every color. The crowds and crowds of people only added to the mesmerizing tumult of the situation. In his confusion, Steve failed to see the black cars pulling over around him before it was too late. He was cornered. He had no choice but to watch as a man in a black suit and an eyepatch got out of the nearest car.

"At ease, soldier!” he called as Steve visibly tensed. “Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it best to break it to you slowly."

Steve narrowed his eyes, his heart pounding. "Break what?"

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years." He watched Steve carefully as the news sunk in. "Are you gonna be okay?"

“Yeah, I just... I had a date," he mumbled. His heart was still thumping furiously, threatening to burst out of his rib cage. He could almost feel the cold, round piece of metal on his chest bouncing around to the beat of his...

Wait a minute. A what on his where?

Steve looked down to receive the biggest shock of his life- and this was after what he’d just gone through, which was definitely saying something. For a moment, he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing- a long, silver chain around his neck with a pendant that lay right over his heart. The needle beneath the clear glass face of the pendant trembled delicately, occasionally jolting here and there as he turned slowly on the spot.

He had a compass.

Tony

Tony Stark was destined for science. Or at least, that’s what he chose to believe, because ever since he was born, his compass always pointed north. No matter which way he moved(and he should know, because once in a fit of frustration he got on his private jet and flew twice around the world just to be sure), it seemed to work like an ordinary compass. That, or his soulmate died at the north pole and his compass never got the message. But no. He’d seen people whose soulmates had passed away. Their compasses stopped working altogether, spinning around forever in a meaningless search of a force to pull them towards fate once more. It was a depressing sight. At one point he’d briefly entertained the possibility that maybe his soulmate hadn’t been born yet, but soon afterwards he learned that in such cases, the compass needle would have no magnetism at all. It would remain much like the broken hands of a watch until the day your soulmate was brought into the world.

As far as Tony could tell, his compass was still fully functional, which could only mean that his soulmate was alive somewhere. He, like everyone else, had often dreamt of meeting his other half. Apparently, the experience was different for everyone- ecstatic for some, more haunting for others. But one thing was certain- the moment you locked eyes with your soulmate, the color of your compass changed from silver to gold, symbolizing the start of a union unlike any other. Biggest life achievement right there, and his compass was stuck pointing at the North Pole.

After years of searching in vain for someone he was beginning to doubt even existed, Tony turned to the one thing he could rely on to produce definitive results: science. So he worked. He came to dismiss the entire soulmate business as the stuff of fairy tales and far-fetched childhood dreams. He dedicated his life to building his own empire of technology and weapons. Although many pursued him, he refused to settle down, instead choosing to bounce from partner to partner on a daily basis. It was his way of telling the universe to fuck off with its empty promises of true love and happiness. Sure, people talked, but who cared about what anybody thought when you were filthy rich?

And then Afghanistan happened. For the first time, Tony was brought face to face with the consequences of the path he’d started down on, and what he saw was far from pretty. The rest, simply put, was history. The public adored Iron Man. Stark Industries was thriving like never before. He himself was finally beginning to feel like he’d become something more than Howard Stark’s legacy, and was even considering taking his relationship with Pepper to the next level.

In short, he’d never been happier.

It was pretty late when he finally arrived home. Being a CEO was getting pretty boring, what with all the annoying company procedures he honestly couldn’t care less about. Dinner with Pepper was great, though. She really was an amazing woman- beautiful, kind, clever, and responsible- the type of person that his stockholders would love to see at the head of the board. Come to think of it, Pepper running the company didn’t seem like a bad idea at all. He was only in it for the inventing, anyway. Maybe he could bring it up on their next date? As exciting as that sounded, he couldn’t help but be very conscious of the slight clinking sound his compass made every time he took a step, its metal surface brushing against the arc reactor lodged in the center of his chest. Things would’ve been so much easier if Pepper had been his soulmate…

His thoughts were interrupted as he realized he wasn’t alone. He could make out the dark silhouette of a man looking out of the window- his window- in the middle of the living room. How the hell had he gotten past security? As if sensing his approach, the intruder turned, and the first thing Tony noticed about him was his eyepatch.

“Funny, last time I checked, it definitely wasn’t Halloween.”

“You think you're the only superhero in the world?” Pirate-dude raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Stark, you've become part of a bigger universe. You just don't know it yet.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

Tony frowned. He knew about S.H.I.E.L.D, but the fact that the government wanted something from him so badly they had to resort to breaching the privacy of his household wasn’t exactly thrilling news. He got the feeling that he was in for a long night. Sighing, he dropped his head in exasperation, and was about to give Furious Nick a piece of his mind when he noticed something odd out of the corner of his eye. His first conclusion was that he had to be drunk, otherwise how could this be happening, but he knew for a fact he’d only had a glass of wine that evening. He wondered if someone had slipped something into his drink, but he didn’t feel drugged at all- on the contrary, adrenaline was surging in his veins and he’d never felt so alive. He grabbed his necklace and brought it to his eyes for closer inspection, and it soon became clear that he wasn’t hallucinating.

For the first time in 38 years, the needle on his compass was not pointing north.

It was moving.