#i fucking hate the countryside to be honest

[sar3nka]

I've been playing crusader stronghold for hours my brain is frying

[evilminji]

I woke up to this thought? And it made me smile~

Wrong way Au?

It's EASY to fly from point A to point B. Linear. Just on long, no traffic, straight line. And if you get lost? Go higher! There you are! But "normal" reporter families with Totally Human genetics can't exactly DO that.

Plus? It's part of the whole Americana thing!

Childhood.

Gotta do a road trip, see weird road side attractions, camp and hike a bit. Go somewhere other then the farm for once. Soooo~ everyone into the car! Yes, you too, Kon.

And don't look at Lois, kids. She hates this idea as much as you do. But it's for Dad. So we're doing it. Get in the car. Some times loving people means "suuuure, honey! I TOTALLY want to sit in an uncomfortable car for hours for your nostalgic dream trip!", so get comfy.

Problem is? He either can't navigate for SHIT (unlikely) or this patch of nowhere? Possibly haunted? Cursed? Fuckey. Very, very Reality Fuckey. Far more likely, honestly. They THINK that was the a same barn the passed four times now... but it looks... wrong? Off. Worse each time, in ways that are hard to place.

Where the FUCK are they Clark?

According to the GPS?

Here.

(You are Here. You are Here. You are He-)

Oh, THAT'S not cursed! She fucking KNEW they shouldn't have left the city. FUCK the countryside. She likes ONE(1) small town and it's where her in-laws live, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! If they die, she swear to GOD-!!!

Then Jon points to colorful tents up the road. A mix of the kind you buy at big box stores and Ren fairs. Balloons. What the fuuuuuck? "Fenton Family Reunion"?

Was... was that THERE a second ago?

Clark's very deliberate Not Too Tight Grip Of Panic ™ on the steering wheel? Confirms that No Honey, it was not. Kon points out? That eventually they ARE going to run out of gas. They should stop.

Words can not express how little the Kents want to do that. They have KIDS to protect. This feels "magical fuckery" to them. AKA? One of the few things Kryptonians very much CAN NOT handle.

And luck getting ahold of anybody back there kids? No? Emergency lines too?

Fuck ™.

Okay! Guess we're stopping! Stay behind us.

They park.

There are campers and trucks, modified tanks and trackers. A few horses grazing side by side with an honest to God moose and two mules. A Llama. Someone's anchored a dirigible. A boat with spindly chicken footed legs, like it's the house of baba yaga's sea faring love child. The name Fenton is slapped on everything. Peoples faces.

Grinning.

Everything grinning.

As they get closer, the racket gets louder. Crashes and smashes. Roaring laughter. Explosions. The screech of metal failing and the whine of energy overclocked. Fatty meats cooking. Spices from around the globe. Radios and instruments, at least one of which violently cuts off in a smash.

They pass an almost violently balloon choked arch, into chaos.

Grinning giants, everywhere. Every color, every shade, every race imaginable. The spectrum of humanity laid bare. Made large. Grinning, Grinning, Grinning. Crashing into each other, against, through. Smashing and laughing, as everything breaks around them. Titans.

Darting underfoot, children. Fast with wild eyes. Mad grins and fae laughs. Wives and husband's, partners and friends, dancing in and out of the chaos. Just as destructive. Perhaps MORE so. Grabbing meals from grills, laughing and joking, tossing children into the fray, all as they effortless hold conversations of their own.

Like a Dionysian revelry, all madness and joy.

Then they are noticed.

"Cousin!"

One of them booms. Locking eyes on Clark. He doesn't even have time to move, doesn't realize until too late, in all the chaos, that the man meant HIM. A running start is followed by a brutal, full body, flying tackle. Clark is taken skidding to the ground and into a headlock.

"LETS WRASTLE~!!"

He watches in helpless confusion as, with high-pitched war cries, a pair of twins jump Jon. They are wearing war paint. Krypto already taken out by a glowing green dog, now confused and wrestling off to the side. Lois has whipped out her tazer. Kon between her and who ever comes next.

By the time he wrestle his "cousin" off of him, he's lost sight of them both.

Dives into the fray.

Magic be damned, that's his FAMILY!

It... It's the most fun he's had in years. That any of them have. He finds Lois in a breathless, screaming, debate/fistfight with her new best friend. Samantha "call me Sam Or ELSE" Manson-Fouley-Fenton. Kon is in the mud pit, wrestling other teenagers in some sort of battle Royale. Jon? Has become king of the ferals. The other parents are impressed.

His years of Damian wrangling finally paying dividends, apparently.

By the time Clark FINALLY tracks down Krypto, there is already crowd and it apparently six heel turns deep into the WWE Grand Saga of the Fenton Pet's League. Krypto, what the hell. No. No you may NOT "form one last alliance against my sworn wrestling enemy, to prove the true meaning of Christmas!" It's the middle of SUMMER!

Clark... Clark is so tired.

He's also a Fenton now. Yes, he KNOWS that's not how anything works. YOU try explaining that! He's on the call list and card list. It's like the Addams family out here! They just... just DECIDED him and his family were related! They've apparently DONE THAT BEFORE!

They leave with directions, fudge, more leftovers then anyone could possibly eat, and a massive new extended family. One that honestly? The Justice League SHOULD have known about. The sheer destructive chaos they get up too? EVERYONE should be aware of them. It seems impossible NOT to be! But? According to THEM, it's a "family thing". Reality tries to ignore them for "it's own sanity"? What???

So yeah.... no more road trips.

How was YOUR weekend?

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @lolottes @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[wttcsms]

as it was ; suguru geto.

pairing suguru geto x f!reader  word count 4.2k  synopsis suguru comes back, only to find that you've been waiting and wanting this whole entire time. content contains modern no curses!au, gojo's sister!reader, brother's best friend, creampie, pet names (good girl, baby), most of the fic is geto's introspection, possessive sex, mutual pining/longing author’s notes im not even horny for geto like that, but i wanted to write angsty smut abt spreading ur legs for a guy that left u & who else is better for this than geto <3

First words are always a bit tricky to get right, especially whenever he has to take into account that he essentially ghosted you a couple of years ago, after taking your virginity no less, and now he’s back in the godforsaken city he swore he was never coming back to, and he’s just at a loss about what to say and more importantly, how to say it. 

He supposes an apology, for starters, would be a good first move. And maybe it would be, could be, should be, if only he wasn’t him and you weren’t you, and the two of you were not something so confusing and intricate that it’s hard to put into words and harder still to describe with emotions. The two of you are something raw and painful, both of you taking turns playing both sadist and masochist. 

Even to himself, the extent of your relationship sounds twisted, but there was always an underlying purity to it, something that justified its existence. To this day, Suguru Geto is certain that you’re the only person who ever loved him for him, with a love so pure and just that he tries to hide it from everyone else before they can get their filthy hands on it and taint it, twist it into something it’s not. 

Sorry I left won’t cut it, and Geto doesn’t even bother trying to come up with any other variations of apology because it’s not necessarily your forgiveness that he’s come back for. The opportunity to say “I’m sorry” and have it actually mean something has long since passed. All that’s left to say is the truth for why he left, which for some odd reason, seems even harder to do than his original disappearing act.

I missed you — that’s a slight improvement. It’s the truth, if not an understatement of it. He doesn’t regret leaving Tokyo, he just regrets leaving you. Which he could say, if you would actually open the door to face him. 

He figures it’s what he deserves. He deserves worse, if he’s going to be entirely honest. He deserves a slap to the face, or a kick to his balls, or for you to tell him that you hate him, that you never want to see him ever again. 

He knocks on your apartment door, harder this time, as if it’s something urgent. And maybe it is. He’s felt more like himself than he ever has after moving, but the solitude of the countryside got boring soon after, leaving him only with the ghosts from his past to keep him company. He thinks if he doesn’t see you, in the flesh, he might actually go insane. 

He knocks again, only to be met with more silence and a door that’s starting to become more of a familiar sight than he would like. Fuck, what is he even doing? Showing up here was a bad idea to begin with, and it’s only seemingly getting worse by every agonizing second that ticks by. Even if you do open the door, there’s always the chance that you won’t let him get a single word in — that’d be the smart choice, anyway. 

And you’re a bright girl, don’t get him wrong. Something about the Gojo bloodline makes your family incapable of producing anything less than prodigal sons and daughters. If you’re not proof of this fact, there’s your older brother.

Yet another reason why showing up here is such a shitty plan. Satoru will catch wind of his visit, and when he does, he’ll show no restraint in showing Suguru what all of his private boxing lessons are good for. A broken nose and missing tooth would be a fair exchange to see you for at least a second, though. A tradeoff that he doesn’t need to debate on. 

You have to leave your apartment eventually. Suguru dances with the idea of just making camp outside your door and waiting for your stubbornness to fizzle out. It’ll be embarrassing, and your neighbors will surely have something to say about it, but it would be well worth it.

He hears the ding! of the elevator opening and human reflex causes his head to turn at the sound of the noise. 

Oh.

The world becomes contradictory at this very moment. The air suddenly stills, but the atmosphere itself seems to come alive at the same time. Stagnant air, bursting with electricity and something awe-inspiring. Everything seems to slow down, but suddenly he’s acutely aware of just how alarmingly fast his heart is beating. It’s been a while since he’s last seen you, not even bothering to check up on your social media because he knows one DM from you would have him crossing the ocean to be back by your side. 

The reason why you weren’t answering your door was simply because you weren’t even home. Relief floods his body, makes him less tense, only for him to stiffen up once more whenever his eyes trail over to the warm body awfully close to you. 

Or maybe it’s the other way around, since you’re the one clinging onto him.

You and Kento Nanami both look like you two have seen a ghost, and all things considered, you wouldn’t be wrong. 

“What are you doing here?” You’re the first to speak, with Nanami’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist, and it’s this closeness that’s the only thing Suguru finds himself able to focus on. It’s been years. He shouldn’t feel this way. You’re free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. It’s your life. He’s the one that chose to walk out of it, anyway. 

“I just wanted to talk,” he answers. Which isn’t a lie. He wanted to talk. He wanted to fight and make up and fuck your brains out and beg for forgiveness and cook you breakfast in the morning and warm your bed, amongst other things, too. But, he figures the condensed version of his list will do, especially considering that three’s a crowd, and most of his itinerary was for your ears only. “Did I come at a bad time?” 

You bite your bottom lip, slowly removing yourself from Nanami’s grip. Nanami looks at you first, concern evident in his warm eyes, eyes that you wish were just a bit darker and colder, so that they would be the ones you’re so accustomed to drowning in. 

You like Nanami well enough. He’s kind and looks out for you, and sometimes you even consider making a move on him first since he’s too much of a gentleman to cross any boundaries. Then again, you don’t think Nanami sees you as anything more than a little sister, and the last time you fucked one of your brother’s best friends… 

It’s why you just give Nanami a smile, one that tells him that you’ve got this under control. His facial expression doesn’t give any indication of what he’s thinking, but the glare he sends Suguru’s way says enough. 

Suguru can appreciate the fierce protectiveness Nanami has towards you, but it doesn’t mean he likes it. Especially when it’s Suguru that’s considered to be the threat.

You move to unlock your door once Nanami makes his reluctant exit, and when you enter your apartment, you conveniently don’t shut the door. Suguru trails behind you.

You turn on the lights, your living room and kitchen blending together in an open-floor plan, bathed in the stark, white lights hanging from your high ceilings. Your apartment, at least what Suguru can see of it, is tastefully decorated. Courtesy of your mother, he’s sure. He would ask about her, ask how she’s doing, but he figures now’s just not the right timing. 

It doesn’t seem to be the right timing for anything he wants to say. He wants to mention that he’s thought about you, thought about reaching out — sometimes to explain himself, and other times just to discuss the mundane aspects of life — but he thinks that would be even worse than apologizing. It would be cruel of him to dangle this information in your face, haunt you with the knowledge that all this time, he’s truly been avoiding you. Knowing you, you would have questioned him on why he didn’t bother reaching out, and he would have been stuck admitting that it’s simply because he was too scared that you wouldn’t answer. 

“Want a drink?” You ask him, back facing him as you peer into your fridge. He catches a glimpse of shiny glass bottles, water bottled in Europe and with the optimal pH balance, he’s certain of it. His throat feels a bit dry, but he tells you no. 

“I drank enough water on the drive up here,” he tells you, which again, isn’t a lie. Suguru feels a bit pleased with himself, even if it is a bit narcissistic of himself for expecting a pat on the back for doing something so simple. He supposes it’s just because he’s gotten so used to never being honest with himself — or others, for that matter — so his current streak for telling the truth seems like something to celebrate. 

“I didn't drink enough.” You say, and he can’t tell if it’s alcohol you’re talking about or water. You’re a lightweight; yet another trait that seems to be passed down the Gojo family. That explains Nanami escorting you home, then. 

“Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?” Suguru helps himself to taking a seat on the white couch in your living room. Because there’s no walls separating the two different spaces, he can still look at you from this position as you rest your elbows on your kitchen’s island, as if needing the support. 

“If you wanted me to know, you’d let me know.” It’s the way you say it that reveals that this comment isn’t made just in reply to his current question, but for everything else Suguru was going to follow it with. Don’t you want to know where I went? Don’t you want to know why I left? 

It’s amazing what humans are capable of. Nearly six years since the two of you have lost contact — since Suguru broke all contact — and yet, you can still read him just as well as he can read you. You see him for what he is, not whatever mask he wants to disguise himself with, and it’s scary, he thinks. Scary to be seen by someone. And nice. It’s nice to have someone know you’re a monster and still not run away.

He’s not quite sure what that says about you.

“It’s a bit of a funny story.” He says, trying to steer this conversation to a more lighthearted tone even though the two of you are nowhere close to feeling light and the jury’s still out on whether or not Suguru Geto has a heart. “You don’t need the reminder, but don’t ever tell Mei Mei a secret you want to keep.” 

The mention of your shared friend — if Mei Mei can even be considered one — makes the corners of your pretty mouth tilt upward. Mei Mei was born with a silver spoon, but the running joke is that it wasn’t in her mouth because she bartered with the doctor and blackmailed him into giving her a gold one. If you have the funds, Mei Mei has the information you’re looking for. 

She’s the only number Suguru saved in his phone contacts, and it’s only because he knew that if he needed anyone else’s number, Mei Mei would readily give it after her Venmo request goes through. 

“Of course she would tell you my address.” You say, but you don’t sound upset at all. Just amused, like this whole situation is something endearing, and you don’t harbor any ill feelings towards either of them, even though both Suguru and Mei Mei technically violated your trust. Suguru more so than Mei Mei, but, well, semantics. 

“Aren’t you mad?” The “at me” is unspoken.

“Mei Mei is a free spirit.” It’s a joke, and Suguru makes a sound from his throat that resembles a laugh. Mei Mei may do whatever she wants, but nothing about her comes free.

He knows you know what he was actually asking. He’s been trying to gauge your reaction to everything he says, trying to see if you hate his guts or not. 

“I missed you.” You tell him suddenly, and while he’s imagined those words coming out of your mouth, it still shakes him up a bit. It’s hard constantly posturing as if he’s cool and collected, nothing ever bothering him, his body and expression never betraying him. But it’s his heart that gives him away, and it’s heart that you hold, and no matter what face he puts on, he knows that you’ll know what the words he won’t say are.

“Don’t apologize.” You continue, closing the distance between you two and opting to take a seat next to him. There’s about six inches of space separating you two. The distance shapeshifts in his mind, sometimes becoming mere millimeters and sometimes feeling more like there’s an ocean between you both. 

The sorry was on the tip of his tongue and it traveled all the way there from his heart. It would be a waste of a journey for him to not say it, but he’s certain the apology would do more harm than good, even if it is genuine. 

Suguru stands out against the stark white of your apartment. Your mom likes the aesthetic of it, and since it’s your parents’ money, you merely shrugged and let her do whatever she wanted. In his black pants and black sweatshirt, he looks almost out of place in your home. 

The thought that he doesn’t belong makes your heart hurt more than the burn of the alcohol from tonight going down your throat. 

You don’t waste time wondering where Suguru went because for all intents and purposes, you never even knew where he came from to begin with. You knew him since you were children; your favorite out of all your brother’s friends because it was always Suguru who let you tag along and trail behind them. No one really knows much about Suguru’s life, his past, present, and future all a big blur to anyone but himself. From the way he slowly turns to face you, dark eyes meeting yours, you start to think of the possibility that maybe not even Suguru is an open book with himself. 

Suguru looks like a shadow, standing out from the brightness of everything that is surrounding him in your living room. You want to ask him the questions that plague your mind ever since he’s been gone, but you don’t, because you’re scared he is a shadow. One wrong move, and he just disappears from your grasp once again. 

There are the hard-hitting questions, of course. The ones that search for why he left and why he told no one and why he didn’t bother taking you. Then there are the gentler ones that would still require him to rip himself open and bare himself to you, things like how’s your new place and meet anyone interesting? You feel his gaze travel from your eyes to the slope of your nose and the apples of your cheek, downward to your lips. The intensity of his stare makes you nervously lick your lips, a tiny, quick action, but his eyes greedily take in the sight of the tip of your pink tongue casually making an appearance, only to retreat behind your pretty pink, glossed lips. 

“Are you mad that I came back?” Suguru finds himself taking the role of interviewer, since it’s evident to the two of you that you know better than to bother asking him any questions. He feels like you’re treating him a bit like a stray cat, all cautious and scared of provoking him or forcing him to run away. He wants to tell you that this is not the case and that he actually plans on staying this time around, but he hasn’t entirely convinced himself yet, so he’s not going to break your heart with any more empty promises. 

“No. Like I said, I missed you.” He wants to be able to blame your honesty on account of you being drunk, but he knows that you’ve just always been honest to a fault. 

“You shouldn’t.” He tells you this, and you scoff. Probably because Suguru is the last person who should be giving any sort of life advice. 

“Guess what I’m thinking.” You say, and Suguru feels something come alive from within, like he’s been frozen for the past six years, and the more he gets to bask in the warmth of your presence, the more he starts to defrost. There’s not a single hint of anger or malice in your tone, just the familiar, lighthearted, girlish tone of yours. 

“That you think I’m a creep and want me to get the hell out.” 

You frown, rolling your eyes, tucking your feet beneath you to get more comfortable on the couch.

“I’m thinking about that last time you told me I shouldn’t be doing something.” There’s a gleam in your bright eyes that clearly spells out desire, and Suguru is very, very close to defrosting. In fact, there’s a heat that’s beginning to settle deep in him, and maybe he should know better than to indulge in it, but it’s been years, and you are sitting here in front of him, pretty and fresh, and his hindbrain takes the driver’s seat. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he does know, and he knows that you know that he knows, just as you seemingly know everything about him. Maybe not about his childhood — or lack, thereof — or what he’s been up to, but you know the important stuff. The things that make him tick and all the words he fails to say. Three words. Three words that he doesn’t think he’ll ever muster enough courage to say to you, but from the look in your eyes, you already know. 

“I’ll jog your memory.” 

And suddenly, your lips are pressed against his. You’re kissing him, and like the lovesick fool he is, he’s kissing you back. It’s pure muscle memory, maybe even animal instinct. He thought that leaving Tokyo was the right thing to do, and for the most part, it was, but with your lips perfectly melding with his own, he thinks that leaving was stupid. 

Making out is such a juvenile ordeal, but he relishes in it because Suguru feels like he’s spent most of his youth trying to outrun it, and now he’s trying to take advantage of what his boyhood should have consisted of. The kisses are now bordering on sloppy and hazy, and somehow, you end up straddling his lap. He’s hard, and he should be embarrassed at popping a boner just from wet kisses, but it’s you. You have an effect on him that no one else does. His Achilles. The one weakness only he can feel. 

Suguru knows that he is not a good person because a good person doesn’t go behind their best friend’s back and fucks their little sister. He had told, thirty minutes before introducing you to the feeling of his cock stretching you out, that the two of you shouldn’t be doing that. Suguru knows that he is not a good person because he cannot be any happier at the fact that history has a funny way of repeating itself. Six years later, and the two of you are back in a similar position.

You’re starting to rut against him, your dress riding up your thighs and exposing more of your skin to him. Suguru helps himself to handfuls of your soft flesh, squeezing in a manner that can’t be defined as gentle, but he loves how you take him as he is without any sort of complaint. All you do is let out a low moan, your pantyclad pussy grinding against his equally clothed bulge. 

Your movements are a bit desperate, frenzied. You’re getting lost in pleasure already, and he hasn’t even done much to elicit such a reaction. The idea that only he can get you this riled up with doing so little makes him impossibly harder, and he looks down, realizing that you’re so soaked, your panties are practically translucent. 

The two of you have the option of taking things slow, but neither of you want to do that. When you spend some time starving, you don’t savor the meal, you scarf it down. 

That’s what the two of you are — hungry, greedy — as you both hastily strip as much clothing as you can bear to spend time getting out of. Your minidress is tossed carelessly on the living room floor, and Suguru can only bother with unzipping his pants and pushing down his briefs just enough to free his cock. 

The intrusion of the tip of his cock entering your wet, needy cunt is less of an intrusion and instead akin to something rightfully returning to where it belongs. Your hands are tangled in his hair, and he relishes this feeling. This wholeness, this concept of being complete.

The inviting warmth of your pussy makes him want to cum right on the spot, but he can’t waste it. He’s spent years pining after you, missing you, and he wants you to feel like the time apart had been worth it. 

“I missed you.” This time it’s him who makes the admittance. You tighten up at this confession, and it evokes a low groan from him, almost as if you had forced the sound to come from all the way down his throat.

“I know.” You gasp out, not able to speak clearly with how deep Suguru is hitting. Your living room is filled with the wet clicks and slaps of skin against skin, your juices coating his cock every time he pulls out. 

The vein on the underside of his cock rubs against your walls, and the slight curve of it enables him to hit that gummy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You’ve never given much thought to cocks, but you know that Suguru’s is the prettiest of them all. 

“Tell me you’re mine.” He grunts out, lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck before biting down; gentle enough not to draw blood, sharp enough to still leave a mark. You rock against him, hips moving in tandem with his thrusts, the steady hum of pleasure continuously building up in your lower belly. You are dizzy with pleasure; blanketed in it, being spoon fed it. 

He doesn’t need you to say it to know it’s true, but you moan it out anyway, both to appease him and because there’s a sort of pride in knowing that you belong to him. 

“I’m yours. I belong to you.” The words are separated, punctuated, by the little gasps for air you give out because with every word, he thrusts up even harder, hitting that special spot that will have you cumming all over him, making a mess. 

“Yeah?” It comes out sounding like a shaky breath, and he’s close, you know it, you can feel it. 

Calloused pads belonging to fingers much larger than yours are being pressed against your clit. You’re soaked, and the dryness of his hands combining with your overall slickness gives way to delicious friction that has you cumming with his name as a broken moan filtering through your swollen lips. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He mutters, relishing in the way your walls tighten, spasm, clenching and unclenching sporadically as your body loses its energy and you press yourself up against his chest.

He follows after just a few more sloppy thrusts, the last one forcing himself as deep inside of you as possible. His cum is hot and thick, and it’s filling you to the brim. If he pulls out now, it’ll flood out of you, and the thought is both sad and hot at the same time. You want his cum inside of you, to serve as a reminder that this is real, that he’s real. 

But seeing the physicality of him staking his claim, white seed dripping out of you, turns you on. Him, too, with the look of fascination and boyish wonder he has in his eyes as he stares at how the two of you are connected.

Before he can bother with confirming a round two, a sharp knock on the door has the two of you comically jumping a bit in surprise, both of you glancing at the door and then at each other.

“[Name], I know you’re in there!” You freeze. 

Satoru. 

Suguru wants to try to calm you down, whisper to you that everything’s going to be fine, but the anger laced in his best friend’s — former best friend’s — voice is enough to make him freeze up, too. Not just his icy tone, but what he says.

“I know you’re back, too, Suguru.”

[beechersnope]

Summer of Cum Days 4/5/6: come inflation, facial, coming in public

seb/mick with a bonus dash of foot/pantyhose/pregnancy kink, 1118 words

***

Seb is so fucking weird about trains.

Mick secretly hates them. Finds them claustrophobic and slow. An impatient itch has wormed its way under his skin since they sat down in their car. Having Seb sitting across from him only makes it worse.

“Why are you wearing that?” he asks her once the novelty of watching the countryside fly by out the window finally wears off. It hasn’t taken long; Mick has been half-distracted by the peek of skin between the top two buttons of Seb's cream-colored blouse.

There’s nothing inherently obscene about the outfit as a whole—the pastoral scene depicted on Seb’s wool cardigan is almost childishly innocent, and the flowy skirt adorning her lower half extends several centimeters past her knees.

Seb shrugs. She leans back against the seat, the blouse drawing tighter over the swell of her breasts. “Paying homage to our shared cultural heritage, of course. You don’t like the design?” She reaches down to examine the milkmaid sewn over the pocket on her lefthand side.

“That’s not what I mean,” Mick replies, his mouth suddenly going very dry.

The blouse is almost see-through whenever she pulls it close against herself. It’s not overtly noticeable unless you know what to look for, but Seb has been picking and pulling at the fabric since the second they got on the train, as though trying to find exactly the right angle to reveal the dark shadow of her nipples. Seb almost always goes braless.

“No?” Seb replies, still playing innocent. “You’re right, it is a bit stuffy in here.” She reaches down, undoing the next two buttons on her blouse, letting the front hang open until all Mick can see is the slight curve of her small, flat tits every time she moves.

“Seb,” Mick pleads in a quiet tone.

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s been half-hard since the station, maybe even longer. Seb had kept a warm hand on the curve of his inner thigh on the car ride over, and Mick had done a good job of keeping himself under control then, with the driver right there in the front seat, but now he didn’t have that buffer anymore. It didn’t matter that they were on a public train and that theoretically, anyone could walk in on them. He can’t take it anymore.

Mick reaches down to palm at the swell of his erection through his jeans, whimpering at the pressure—too much, not enough.

Seb tsks. But she doesn’t tell him to stop. “Pull your cock out,” she says instead.

Mick almost swallows his tongue. “Right here?”

“No one can see you. Just me. And do you really want to show up in front of a bunch of cameras with a stiffy in your jeans? Come on, Mick, I’ll take care of you.”

Mick’s hands shake as he unhooks the button on his waistband. He breathes out a quiet sigh of relief as his dick is freed from the restrictive confines of his jeans, but that relief is quickly outweighed by the nearly painful throb of his dick as even more blood rushes downward between his legs. He only gets like this with Seb, so hard it actually hurts.

“Pull your jeans down a little,” Seb says next. “I want to see your balls, too.”

Mick immediately obeys. He keeps the pubic hair above his cock trimmed short, knows Seb likes the way it looks, but he shaves his balls completely smooth, because he knows she likes that, too, the way they feel smooth and velvety against her tongue, inside her mouth. They’re already drawn up tight against his body, and it takes a bit of finagling to get his jeans down far enough to give Seb a full and unobstructed view of his package.

Seb gives a little hum of satisfaction once Mick’s cock and balls are fully in view, but it cuts short once he wraps a hand around his cock. “No,” she says, and that’s all it takes for him to let go. She doesn’t say anything else as she bends down to unlace one of her brown leather boots, and Mick just watches, silent and wide-eyed, waiting.

Seb has nude-colored pantyhose on underneath her skirt. She gives her toes a wiggle once she kicks off her boot, stretching the digits against the sheer fabric covering her feet for a second before extending her leg across the space between her seat and Mick’s. The car is small enough that she doesn’t have to fully straighten her knee to reach the apex of Mick’s thighs with the sole of her foot.

“My pussy’s so wet for you,” she tells him as she drags her toes up the length of his cock, pressing firmly with her foot and grinding his cock against his belly when she reaches the head. “Your cock’s so pretty; I love it. Love your little pink balls, how wet you get for me.”

Mick lets out an abortive whine as his cock spurts out what feels like an entire pint of precum, the slick liquid dripping down his shaft, soaking into the fabric of Seb’s pantyhose, easing the friction against his dick with every stroke. He can barely remember how to breathe.

“Wish I could ride you like this, let you fuck my ass and come inside,” Seb continues. “Want you to fill me up. You always come so hard, I bet if I plugged myself up after I’d look pregnant.”

Mick’s vision starts to blur.

“You want that?” Seb taunts as her foot strokes him even faster. “Want the journos taking photos of me big and round with just your come?”

That’s what does it, the thought of Seb’s taut stomach swollen because of him tipping Mick over the edge before he even realizes it’s happening. His whole body feels painfully tight, like the come is being dragged out of every part of him, and maybe it is—he’s shooting for what feels like entire minutes, in hot splashes against Seb’s foot, Mick’s black hoodie, his own face.

Mick shudders through it with Seb continuing to milk him from the base of his cock to the head with the flex of her foot, draining every last bit of come until it finally slows to a pathetic dribble that slides back down his shaft and soaks into his pubes. He tips his head back against the seat when it’s over and draws in a long, rattling breath.

“Still got an hour left before we get to the station,” Seb says casually as she flicks some of the come dripping off her toes back onto Mick’s already ruined hoodie. “Think you can get it up again?”

[antimonyandthyme]

that time ferrari made them do a getaway romantic photoshoot with a sexy car and they totally sexed in it, for sebchal day

Ferrari said You’re gonna go to some countryside and play nice, and let the whole world know you play nice, and Charles had been watching, waiting for Sebastian’s outburst. Sebastian shrugged, unbothered. Which stung and disappointed in equal measures, even though Charles didn’t know why. The actual site of the photoshoot was so far out they’d been given hotels for a night. Itching for a proper reaction, Charles didn’t even bother checking in. He followed Sebastian into the elevator, and then followed Sebastian into the room.

Rock, paper, scissors. Charles beat Sebastian and got first shower. Sebastian didn’t even grimace, and Charles spent the entirety of his shower fuming, while tugging angrily at his dick.

Sebastian was asleep when he got out. Face wiped clean of worry save for a small wrinkle in his forehead. Charles wasn’t sure of what he was doing. He hadn’t finished in the shower. Gingerly, he crept behind Sebastian, spooning himself up against him. Sebastian’s neck smelled nice and familiar.

“You’re on fire,” Sebastian said.

Charles woke. He hadn’t expected to fall asleep. “Wha—” he said, then bit off a moan when Sebastian ground back against him.

The bedside drawer conveniently had lube, and Charles was left wondering if Sebastian had strategically placed it there when Charles had been showering-slash-jacking off.

“All this fuss when you could’ve just asked,” Sebastian huffed, tossing the bottle behind himself, hitting Charles squarely on the nose. “Go on.”

Sure, Sebastian’s thighs were a pocket of heaven, fuzz and heat and friction wrapping around Charles’ dick and tipping him over the edge faster than he would’ve liked, but it wasn’t all he wanted.

“Tomorrow,” Charles said, squeezing Sebastian’s dick so hard it made Sebastian yell, “I’m fucking you in the car.”

Tomorrow, Charles says, “This can’t possibly work.”

“Probably not,” Sebastian agrees, but their hands are still on each other anyway, almost frantic.

It’s a good thing the car’s open-air, because this would be a hell lot more uncomfortable if they were bumping their heads into a roof that was too low, too constricting, every other stroke on someone’s dick. And the added risk of getting caught and having their public indecency splashed across every single paper is riling Charles up.

It’s stupid, the whole thing’s stupid. This photoshoot, their crashes on track, the resulting PR nightmare, everything. Charles wants it even more.

Sebastian’s breath puffs hot across his cheek, and the limited space in the car seems to shrink even further. The outline of Sebastian’s dick is almost visible, even through the annoyingly loose jeans the stylist picked out for him. Charles’ jaw aches.

The sun’s setting. It should be romantic, sequestered far away from people under some spindly trees and some pretty stars. They’re fucking in some expensive car. It should be romantic, but Sebastian’s jeans, as loose as they are, are taking a team effort to get off. There’s a lot of twisting going on, and not enough thrusting. Sebastian ends up sprawled over Charles, ass up in the air, as Charles manages to tug the waistband down to his mid-thighs.

Then he yanks Sebastian’s briefs down brusquely, and finally gets his hands on some skin. Sebastian’s giggling in his ear.

“What,” Charles demands. He hates being the butt of some joke. Lately it feels as if they’re being made to laugh at each other, through all the stupid challenges that Sebastian keeps winning, jerking to marionette strings every time they put on red.

“All this fuss,” Sebastian says. “For what? Be honest.”

Charles shrugs. He must look a mess, hair askew, cheeks burning, mouth hanging open. Any moment now Sebastian will slide through his fingers and dissipate like smoke. He’s slippery like that, even more slippery now that his time at Ferrari dangles on a precipice. “Some attention, I guess.”

“You don’t get enough from Binotto?” Sebastian doesn’t sound mean, just curious. “The garage? Your fans?”

“A billion people on this planet and I’m in a car with you,” Charles snaps. Maybe he means to say, I’m risking it all for you. Sebastian thinks he’s got the whole world dancing to his tune but here he is, all twisted up in a car seat, all twisted up with longing. “Go figure.”

“Ah, so you’re special,” Sebastian says, like all of this is amusing him. “The chosen one. And it’s an honour that you’ve chosen me, to do this with you, hm?”

“That’s not what I said.” Charles shoves angrily at Sebastian’s shoulder.

Sebastian catches his hand mid-air. “Be good,” he says. Charles’ entire body goes obedient. A billion people and it’s only when Sebastian says Hold still, that Charles forgets how to move. “I didn’t disagree.”

“Just. Stop laughing at me.” It’s so embarrassing how his eyes are prickling, but Charles can’t even move to wipe at them.

“Charles,” Sebastian says, and he drags Charles’ hand to his ass, over his hole and—oh. Sebastian’s got a plug in him. Air rattles out of Charles’ lungs in a whoosh. “I don’t do this for anybody, alright?”

Charles fingers the base of the plug, and Sebastian makes this pathetic noise. “The whole photoshoot?”

“The whole time,” Sebastian says. “You said you wanted to fuck me.”

“You’re so,” Charles says, hating how thick his voice sounds, “you’re so confusing.”

Sebastian’s laugh is kind. “Come on,” he says. “You better make all this fuss worth it, special boy.”

Charles tugs the plug free. Sebastian’s loose and wet and filthy inside, all because Charles asked for it. Special boy. Maybe Charles can finally start believing it.

More lube from the glove compartment because Sebastian’s apparently good at placing it everywhere. Charles lines himself up, and Sebastian sinks down. They moan, and a cricket answers. Behind Sebastian the stars serve as an adequate backdrop. His hair is haloed with dim light. It’s this goddamned countryside, making Charles all poetic. He could be the most beautiful thing Charles ever laid eyes on. He could be a mirage.

“When we get back,” Charles gasps, fucking up into Sebastian’s tight, wet heat, “will you say it to me again?”

“Anytime you want,” Sebastian says, back bowing from the weight of his words. Charles wraps a hand around Sebastian’s cock, like Don’t lie to me. Sebastian smiles like he understands. “I’ll say it to you,” he promises, “anytime you want.”

They come, pressed against each other, with only the woods as their witness. Sebastian’s draped all over him like a blanket. Charles has got car parts sticking into him in all directions. He doesn’t move.

[pupyr0arz]

Roach fic but it's just an apoc themed adventure with roach and reader (romantic??? Idk lol whatever) and they just be chilling in their hideout, scavenging for stuff while goofing around and whatnot lmao

Sorry I'm a sucker for apoc 😭😭

NO NO UR SO REQL FOR THAT!!! roach would be the funniest post apocalyptic roommate ever. I HC he was like raised fuckin Amish or something so he’s got extremely weird knowledge bases and massive gaps. You throw together some movies one night after scrounging up a projector and he’s in love with them. Super useful to have around

Zombie apocalypse roach having one Really Impractical Trap/Weapon that yes, is objectively useless but goddamnit one of these days it is going to be the funniest fucking thing just you wait. Gets bored when you’re checking inside buildings and throws rocks at zombies. Best selfie with a Walker challenge. Biking across the countryside together. He’d keep one of those walls with zombie heads but it’s just stupid hats he stole off of them. Kinda guy to offer you Barbie themed bandaids.

post nuclear apocalypse roach where he brings up how he didn’t get cool nuclear mutation superpowers and you’re like dude that’s super fucked up and a bunch of people died. Also those powers are dumb. Id want to fly. And he’s like NUH UH MINE ARE COOLER and literally never lets it go. Puppet shows when you stop the car it’s episode 8491 of a weird soap opera western hybrid. You meet up with a settlement and you end up getting up at midnight like every night bc he wants to go on walks to burn off The Jitters. Totally thinks the all spiky look is cool but you’d call him tacky so hard he’d literally roll over and die. Dares you to eat radioactive dirt. Totally is the one who brought the dog into the car and fed it but is going to pretend to blame you when it follows them and insists on taking it even though it’s 100% your fault

Alien apocalypse roach who is so disappointed because goddamnit man he loves aliens!! fuck! Extremely interested in poking around their dead bodies you’re like ew :/ and he chases you around with a chunk of one of them. Absolutely wants to commandeer a spaceship even if it’s an awful idea. While you’re staking out an outpost or something you two make up stories and drama for the aliens. Jokingly introduces himself as an alien and nearly gets shot. Does it again immediately.

roach ideally wants to travel around some and settle down in trading distance of a settlement. He’s pretty reclusive for all his energy and while he seems like a people person he’s introverted. He’s AWFUL with animals I’m sorry he loves them but they hate his vibes but he’d love to just live on a farm and get pecked every morning by your stupid evil chickens you refuse to turn into soup. Wakes up at 3 am to get creek water to splash you with. Doing the laundry is a simple price. Loves sleeping together he’s just going to gravitate towards that even if it’s tense sorry. Would subsist off of MREs and crackers I’m going to be honest he can cook like a dream but the thought would not pass his mind.

[fumblingmusings]

im not sure if youve already talked about this before but whats evelyn and francis's relationship like? is it the same as arthur and francis with constant back and forth bickering that goes from spiteful to old married couple, or do they have their own dynamic?

I'm like super conscious that Francis hasn't popped up at all since Chapter 1 which is a bit of a hole considering how inextricably tied - for better and worse - French and British foreign policies were throughout the 17th to 20th centuries. I kind of sit on what I imagine their relationship is like to be honest, cause I'm not...quite sure. So this is me kind of deciding on how I want it as I type. I hope its coherent. If not, please see my blog title...

This is long and practically a fic in of itself. Again. Again...

So. Female England and France. What's all this then?

She relies on him a lot when they're very young for guidance. She doesn't look up to her brothers, she's never quite sure she can trust them, but she initially does Francis, who is slowly but surely uniting and taking parts of the land for himself throughout the centuries until he's not the land of the Franks but simply France. They trade and converse and he's just so tall and grand and when Francis looks and smiles at you your tummy does a flip and you feel and warm and when he kisses -

But then his attention flits away, because England before 1066, or God, 1550, just didn't really matter in Europe. If it weren't for her wool she really would be worth nothing at all. And Francis only likes to operate around influencers and ambitious people. She is at the edge of every map, the edge of Christendom. Look at any mappa mundi and there she is, right on the bottom edge. Small, pretty (my goodness is she a pretty little thing, people won't stop invading her for a thousand years because she's the perfect place to make a home in), relatively wealthy yes, but not particularly engaging. She's a place to rest in, not to have an adventure. Adventure is beyond her shores. Here there be dragons, and all that jazz

The British Isles are in the South West border - can you see?

And mainland Europe has far more going for it, Italy and Spain and HRE and Flanders... and that's... fine... but then Scotland and Evelyn does what does best and gets intensely jealous and does a stupid adolescence thing and listens to the bloody Plantagenets and goes yeah, ravaging the French countryside is sure to bring his attention back to me and yeah maybe I do deserve more than half an island, the latter thought of which never quite leaves her. Things sort of start back up for a second with the Tudors and the early Stuarts, but after Charles I, it takes a hit and just never recovers until the 1840s.

Francis is undeniably a charmer, especially to girls, and he is shown to be a bit softer to them. I think, given how long they have known each other, they are genuine with each other, for better for worse, and that means when they get along, when Evelyn is less morbid and Francis more upfront and honest, they can genuinely get along.

They both like the finer things in life, albeit Francis can be a bit more snooty about it, she admires his ability to connect with his people in a way she just can't, his ability to somehow keep a cool head and navigate politics in a way she can't. Francis is a better politician and a better fighter than her. And he does have just an aura of being more put together than her, he's cracked some parts of nationhood that she just absolutely drops the ball regarding, which she resents.

She hates him for the duration of the 18th century until... I dunno... The July Revolution or so? Anyway, I think Evelyn really, really, really fucking hated Francis for a long time, either because people told her to, or she did genuinely see him as someone who existed only to take away the things that made her happiest.

He controlled where and when she could see Matthew, until it became so rare that she went to desperate measures to get to him, and Francis 'took' Alfred from her. She really doesn't have a lot of empathy; she can't see why Francis would do either of those things, aside from just to spite her. The problem with loneliness is it makes your world entirely yours. You end up becoming more and more self absorbed because there is nothing else to take up your head-space, no-one else occupies it. This is of course ends up affecting your behaviour and in a self perpetuating cycle.

I think Francis sees her as someone who genuinely does not know her place, and that doesn't mean he thinks she's lesser than necessarily, more in the sense of he sees how lost she is and how she fumbles around putting herself with people that will only serve to make her miserable, or reaching for ambitions that so obviously will just make her unhappy. He has seen her happy, he knows what makes her happier better than she does, and I think he pities her more than anything. Still thinks she's an opportunistic fuddy duddy too in love with the idea of her kids to actually see the reality and the little monsters she's created but... he understands her, far more than she understands him.

The fact that he pities her? Oh, that's why they will never truly get past that barrier. Her pride, that thing that holds what little she has together, won't allow it. Pity suggests she's less than, and she'll never forgive him for it. She'd still absolutely die for him when the 20th century comes round, mind you. Because she's a sentimental thing, and still dreams about sitting on a beach in Normandy with him, talking about what he remembers of Rome, and Francis saw her as a sharp relief from the pressures of Europe. Even now, though he gets endlessly frustrated with her dipping in and out of Europe as it pleases her as if she has no duty or responsibility to uphold; she can still sometimes feel like at the edge of the world, when he looks across the water and her white hills shine like beacons. Here there be dragons, and she's beautiful.

[fungiinspectacles]

I don’t want to talk about it in social media of my country, but luckily I have this tumblr blog, so

Im r u ssian and I fucking hate what’s going on with my country. This w ar is pointless and a complete disaster. Nobody asked for that. Also the gov er ment now makes absolutely stupid laws about lgbt community and they’re so vague that I’m afraid just to exist here, not even to say openly that I’m a queer. My man wants to have a transition, but now it’s forbidden too. This feels like a fucking prison and we didn’t even do anything for them to treat us this way.

I’m a student, I don’t have an opportunity to leave this country. And to be honest I don’t want to. I love my hometown, I grew up here, my dear grandma who raised me lives here and I don’t want to leave her alone cus sometimes I feel like my presence near her is the only one thing that keeps her going. The only thought of leaving all of that breaks my heart.

Why do I have to leave or otherwise live in constant terror of being ar rested? Why do I have to witness my friends going through all the same issues? Im not hurting anybody, I just want to exist. I want to live in my countryside house with my man and our rabbits, grow up vegetables and flowers and explore my lovely childhood forest. Why am I a fucking problem for you?

[lunerabo]

Alr I’ve revised it a few times and there is so much here, so it’ll be a bit of a lengthy read, but I’ve shortened it because it could be WAY lengthier. I’m taking plausibility into account for this so trust me you do need the context.

In the very, very beginning, I’m actually attending Jujutsu Tech alongside the main trio. I’ve expressed a desire to live and work in Japan (I don’t want to do that, this is just for the sake of the lore) and my parents, deciding I have a better chance of getting a job there if I have prior schooling in Japan, pack up and head off to Tokyo.

Now the school doesn’t take students unless they’re enrolled by an existing sorcerer family OR if they’re scouted. So, since the former is ruled out, the latter is the only plausible option. Something Happens (haven’t quite worked out what) that draws attention to me and my abilities that I have no control over, and I am immediately taken in.

Now, mind you, sorcerers are canonically much rarer in every part of Not Japan, so from my point of view I have no fucking clue what is going on with me. Up until I get there I have never met anyone else who can see curses or use a technique. I have never had any form of training, so in the few times I’ve used it I’ve had no idea what I’m doing and often ended up hurt in the process. By 15-16 I’ve learned to ignore curses because clearly no one else sees them, but no functioning member of society freaks out in the middle of the street claiming to see a ghost, so I don’t react to them to save my image and my parents think I grew out of the phase.

But the school takes me and my parents are like hell yeah you’re already getting scouted by a school so they don’t really think too much of it. They don’t know I’m going to magic school to hone my magical girl powers to perfection. I get pretty close to the main trio, Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko, but I’m not really in that friend group and am in fact closer to Nanami and Haibara at the time. So, Haibara’s death hits me just as hard as everyone else. I grow closer to Satoru and Suguru for it, but not as close as they are to each other. We hang out, talk, vent, but we’re not besties.

Suguru massacres a village and betrays Jujutsu Tech. The rest of us stick it out and graduate.

Now some time passes before Suguru contacts me. After I’ve graduated, I understandably want nothing to do with the jujutsu world, and seek normal ass jobs with normal ass people. I hate the system and what it’s done to me, so I make some money and get my own place and make sure my parents are taken care of before they return home to the US. Almost immediately, I quit my job and fuck off to the deep countryside and live off grid where no one will find me, because no matter what I do, someone comes along to drag me back in.

Suguru, meanwhile, is managing the beginnings of his cult. The canon makes a big show of it but it’s really hard to keep a cult going after you’ve started one (I would know, I accidentally started one in middle school and it took two years for it to actually kick off, by which point it was immediately quashed by the principal) so while he’s got followers he’s not exactly on completely stable footing. He’s doing pretty well for himself all things considered, but he’s managing. Dude is working his ass off just to keep his head—and most importantly, his daughters’ heads—above water. He needs help.

And he’s very good at finding who he wants to find, even when they’re good at hiding.

So, he does find me, and he’s honest with what he wants. He tells me I gain nothing, but he is struggling and he knows I’m the only one he could have contacted because he’s aware I had some serious issues with jujutsu society as well, or else I wouldn’t have gone to the lengths I did to escape it.

Against my better judgment, I agree to help him, and by the time his cult takes off and I’m free to go if I want I’ve unfortunately decided I like being around him. I am, of course, doomed by this, because my lack of connection to sorcery at all would have been the thing that kept me alive if I had never come home with him.

Years pass, bunch of shit happens, we fall hard, the girls grow, and eventually Suguru has gained the position he has been waiting for and declares war on jujutsu society. Bunch of shit happens then too, ending in Suguru’s death. I’m not involved, because I’ve insisted on having only enough involvement in this to take care of the girls and be with him, so I only hear about it after the fact. I am left alone with them and the remnants of his cult thereafter.

Kenjaku takes over, and, unwittingly, I invite them into my home when they come to visit, overjoyed by Suguru’s return, and am killed in the doorway.

begging for that lore

Like the sugulune lore?

[queerenteen]

OTPs of 2021

While it feels like yesterday when I posted my Favourite Couples of 2020 list (three months too late), it is once again that time of the year to compile a new one.

(this list isn't in any particular order by the way)

Raeda || Raine Whispers and Eda Clawthorne (The Owl House)

*plays eda's requiem on a loop for hours*

No, I'm not joking, I genuinely play this soundtrack so often, and you can find me humming it under my breath at least once a day.

There is something so heartbreakingly beautiful about them, how they drift apart and still find their way back to each other, years later.

Also, a sapphic relationship between two older characters where one of them is non-binary? What a win for representation in kid's animations. I'm so glad there are kids growing up watching this.

Owl House, you've done it again.

Lumity || Luz Noceda and Amity Blight (The Owl House)

Okay, I'm technically cheating with this one because they were on this last year and I already have another ship for this show but I don't care.

I love them.

They got even more adorable this year which I didn't think was possible.

The cheek kiss? The tunnel of love? The confession?

Another year goes by and here I am, still a Lumity stan.

Wangxian || Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji (The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation)

This, is the ideal ship dynamic.

It has everything: the enemies to tumultous allies to I absolutely adore you but I am apparently not good at expressing emotions in a conventional manner so everyone thinks I hate you (lan wangji) or You're the best thing in my life right now and I think you're the most beautiful person out there, also do you want to raise my beloved son/radish with me in a small cottage in the countryside? no homo though (wei wuxian) to those thirteen years that make me want to curl into a foetal position and sob but we're just going to ignore that for now to you're the only one who will always know me best to pining^100 and aware (lan wangji) or pining^100 and oblivious (wei wuxian).

Don't worry, they figure it out... eventually.

In all honesty, it is perhaps, the best love story I have read. The sheer artistry with which their story has been built is amazing.

Just please, go and read the book/watch the donghua/read the manhua/watch the c-drama.

Look at all the options!

Kyoru || Sohma Kyo and Honda Tohru (Fruits Basket)

To absolutely no one's surprise, I ship them.

I watched Fruits Basket recently and oh my god, it's so fucking good, and Kyoru's dynamic is just so wonderful? It makes me so happy?

To see two people overcome the struggles thrown their way, to believe in the other so fully, and just to derive so much happiness from being near each other?

I adore them.

Malori Crowlett and Queen Velverosa (Mage and Demon Queen)

Okay, this one is a little different from the others because it's actually a manhua on Webtoon called Mage and Demon Queen.

And it is honestly one of the best things I've ever read.

I'm going to be honest, yuri is probably the hardest genre to find good stories in, simply because it isn't as popular as mlm or m/f (but i can gradually see the greater flow of good sapphic content and it makes me so happy).

And a story with a main wlw relationship that is so forward without it overtaking the base plot? I'd never found one before this, and I am very greatful for it.

(you seriously underestimate how much i love banter and innuendo, and 'mage and demon queen' does not disappoint on their aspect.)

To give you the last bit of incentive to pick up this amazing manhua if you haven't already, here's the summary:

Adventurers seek to take the demon queen’s head, but a love-struck young female mage wishes to take her hand. Join us won’t you, for this bawdy tale of love and persistence set inside a real-life RPG.

Why wouldn't you be interested?

Koito Yuu and Nanami Touko (Bloom Into You)

(Okay, so I binged this one because I had to suddenly get my wisdom teeth surgically removed. Which meant I was basically ordered to take it easy for a day or two and just eat icecream. It was a good time.)

I think this was the first show that I watched that was literally just about the main wlw relationship. The entire plot revolved around the two of them and what they meant to each other and it was just so beautifully done.

It had multiple sapphic relationships, an aroace character, a main relationship where two girls showed their affection to one another in a way that I had never really seen before. I never knew how much I needed this because I saw so much of myself in all of these characters.

(Every time I see a gif of them being this adorable couple I have to take a moment to squeal and then another to go: god I wish that were me.)

Renga || Kyan Reki and Hagasewa Langa (Sk8 the Infinity)

*pulls their cheeks* adorable.

Bright sunshine boy and his lovestruck ice boyfriend. What more do you want?

Oh, an incredibly nuanced dynamic about grief and self-worth, overcoming your fears and finally realising that the true joy is in each other's company?

Also, the english dub is so good, god bless.

Nothing will ever be funnier than 'Reki, my love... For skateboarding'.

The VAs sure knew what they were doing.

Matchablossom || Cherry Blossom and Joe (Sk8 the Infinity)

I once again break the one ship per show rule because what was I supposed to do? Not include them?

They're dynamic is so good, from their banter, to their shared history and eventual mending relation.

Also, once again, the english dub has blessed us becuase they went from bickering, married old couple (sub) to 'we used to date once but i'm not really over him' (dub).

Harlivy || Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy (Harley Quinn)

Harlivy are quite literally, partners in crime. (i'm sorry, i'll show myself out now)

Morally grey sapphic characters? Who love each other unconditionally and would do absolutely anything for the other? I adore them.

(ngl, the whole show has a very crack-ish air to it, which is very intended and it just works flawlessly for the dynamic between these two.)

Bakudeku || Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki (My Hero Academia)

You will genuinely not believe how much I've talked about these two all year. I literally use their dynamic as a blueprint for literary analysis and comparison. I cannot possibly get any more invested.

I know I said this list isn't ordered, (and it isn't) but if I had to choose a favourite ship for the year, it would easily be the two of them. (not even surprised at this point)

Past experience has shown the childhood friends to enemies to lovers dynamic that just gets me hook, line and sinker.

I can't even begin about how I feel about their dynamic without getting into a two hour long tangent but one thing I will say is this: I love how their relationship has progressed over the course of the story and I cannot wait to see how it will develop.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Vampire Chris and jake get stranded in the middle of nowhere one night. Maybe a car crash or something. As they walk back the sun starts to rise.

CW: Car crash, bruising, seatbelt burn, vampire whumpee, caretaker turned whumpee

The moment of the crash is gone.

He opens his eyes to the aftermath.

Jake blinks, the world spinning, and his head drops back against the headrest of the driver's seat. The world is still lurching, sickeningly, in circles around him. Something is ticking, the engine maybe, slowly cooling down and shit, at least it's not on fire.

The air bag has a smear of terrible vibrant red against its pillowy white as it slowly deflates, and all he can do is stare at it until he realizes the blood must be his own.

One hand comes up to touch at his forehead, and his fingers come away wet and red, too. What he'd thought was sweat is a head wound, bleeding down one side, tickling his cheekbone and jaw. It stings, a little.

The pain seems distant, somehow, like it's being held at arm's length. As if he's looking at his pain from a distance further than he can close.

"Ch-... Chris, you okay, buddy?" He turns, and the passenger seat is empty. The air bag deployed on that side, but there's no blood.

The door is standing open, dome light still on. It takes a long few moments of staring before he can understand that the door is open because Chris forced it open, closed his hands on the metal and squeezed until it bent beneath his strength and let him out.

Jake's body aches as he shifts forwards, fumbling to unbuckle his seatbelt. All the pain is filtering into his senses, piece by piece as if he can only understand a wound once he sees it.

He can't remember the crash.

They were at a four-way stop, listening to some of the terrible pop music Chris loves about the modern world, and Jake had pulled through. They were laughing at some lyric that Jake had had to explain, that had made the little vampire boy flush a little at the definition.

Then there were headlights blinding him, overtaking everything. Chris had yelled something and Jake had yelled something and then-

The moment is gone.

So is the entire back half of his car.

He turns around with a hiss to stare right out a giant gaping hole where his backseat should be into the cool, clear night.

Parts of his car are strewn haphazardly across the road and the grassy ditch he's come to a stop in. As he looks, he can see the frame of a door, crumbled metal that must be his trunk, a tire. Another tire. The bumper on the ground. Glass and metal everywhere.

The stop signs at the fourway are all standing totally untouched, except for one bent at a hard angle, leaning like a man fighting a strong wind.

The sweater he'd been wearing when he got in the car - removed and tossed carelessly in the backseat to pick up later - is hanging off the bent stop sign.

It's fucking spotlessly clean still.

He blinks.

Blinks some more.

What the fuck?

He'd driven Chris up into the hills to go star-gazing, making the most of Chris's bubbly energy that only comes out at night and his classes being canceled tomorrow because of some issue with the campus water supply. This is countryside up here, with houses miles and miles apart. Remnants of old orchards and homesteads, still kept by the descendants of the men and women who traveled out here. Nobody drives out this way this late. It could be morning before someone finds him.

His phone. He can call for help.

Jake looks around, but his phone is nowhere to be seen. He digs around the footwell, what he can touch of it, and there's nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

His windshield is shattered, open to the outside, and he wonders if his phone flew out of it. It was on the dash, wasn't it? On Chris's side...

Shit.

It could be anywhere in the grass, and he's a fucking moron who keeps his phone on silent or vibrate 24 hours a day. He'll never hear it out here.

First things first, then.

He settles for trying to open his door.

It's been crunched, just a little. Enough that it won't swing out, and he has to throw his shoulder against it, grunting in pain, again and again until finally it nudges just enough for him to fall onto shattered tiny squares of safety glass on the ground. A water bottle is lying there. It's Dasani.

He hates Dasani water, but it'd been free at the gas station they'd stopped at if he bought a bag of chips, so...

Oh, right. His car is full of fucking gasoline.

He groans, scrambling away from the vehicle, trying to remember what a safe distance will be if his car catches on fire or fucking explodes in the middle of the night. At least if it explodes it'll get someone's attention, right?

Shit, he's going to throw up.

Jake lays there, waiting for his stomach to settle, and then crawls again. He makes it up to the road, to the rough asphalt and the gravel that lines the side. The little pebbles sting his palms, rub dirt and dust into the cuts, but he ignores it.

He makes it to the road, twenty feet or so from his car, and then... then he just lays down.

"Chris..." He can barely think. Where has the little vampire gone? Why isn't he here, creeping out of the treeline to ask if Jake's all right? Did he run? Maybe he has Jake's phone. Maybe there was no signal and he's gone to try and find some, to make a call.

Maybe...

Fuck, it hurts to think.

Even just taking a deep breath hurts - something's wrong with his ribs. Bruised or broken. When he pulls his shirt up, he can see the seatbelt burn starting to deepen in color, a diagonal stripe from shoulder to hip written in bright red darkening to burgundy bruising, soon to turn purple and black. If he hadn't been wearing a heavy shirt it'd have torn his skin open. One side of his neck is rubbed raw, he can tell when he touches it and has to pull his fingers away at the spike of pain.

There are spots of dark on his pale shirt, blood seeping through or dripping from his forehead.

But, shit. It could be worse. Looking at the back half of his car, it seems like a goddamn miracle that it isn't.

Jake pulls his legs under him and tries to stand up.

His right leg just won't fucking do it.

Rather than take his weight, it buckles with a spike of pain so bad Jake cries out and collapses back onto the road.

As if it were a dam breaking, all the adrenaline holding off the worst of the pain seems to wear away at once.

Everything hurts, suddenly, a sickening wash of pain breaking against him like he's nothing but a shell to be worn to sand. He aches when he breathes, when he doesn't. A cough makes him whimper as his ribs creak and crack. His head throbs, his hands sting, his leg is swelling even as he looks at it, a broken bone. Definitely a broken bone.

"Jesus Christ," He groans, rolling onto his side, his face pressing into gravel and safety glass.

Nat won't notice they're not home until morning.

No one's going to know he's out here until after sunrise, until he's not up to get ready for class and Chris isn't curled up in the closet to sleep in his nest of blankets and pillows. No one's going to know what happened, and where the everloving fuck did his phone go?

Time passes. He doesn't know how much.

Maybe Chris figured they can't protect him and took the fuck off. Maybe he's going to find somewhere new to crash, some new people to care for him. Maybe he's hunting.

Who the fuck knows?

He comes and goes, in and out of consciousness.

He can't stand, and sort of scooting and crawling around does nothing to help him figure out where his cell phone has gone. No one else drives by on this mostly-abandoned country road, and it was a stroke of seriously bad luck the asshole who hit them and ran was there at all.

Asshole was probably drunk, driving back from the bar, trying to use the backroads to avoid the goddamn cops.

Bad. Fucking. Luck.

Jake wonders if the asshole will even remember hitting his car in the morning, or if he'll wake up and discover the front of his vehicle all fucked up and have no idea how it happened.

He thinks he might pass clean out for a while.

That can't be good.

His head hurts worse when he wakes up.

He raises his head slowly at the sound of a distant rumble, an ancient truck engine coming closer. It takes more effort than he ever imagined just to get himself up to sitting, ready to wave down whoever it is - whatever fucking angel is on this road at what has to be 3 or 4 in the morning by now.

"Please," He whispers, dry lips scraping against each other. "Please, please don't run m'over... please..."

Headlights wash over the scene of the crash, fading everything to nearly black-and-white. Jake raises a hand to shield his eyes, blinking rapidly, as the blue-and-white Ford comes to an idling stop.

A door swings open with a creak and then slams shut again, boots crunching on the glass and debris on the road. Jake raises his eyes to see an old man in worn jeans and a grayish t-shirt staring down at him. "Well, I'll be damned," The man says, his voice low, a little rough around the edges. His hair's dark, but speckled with silver that's visible even in the night air. "You all right, son?"

Jake slowly looks back at his wrecked, ruined car, then back up at the man. "I'm pretty clearly not," He answers, then winces at his rudeness. "Sorry. I mean... no."

"That's all right. We all of us get a little more honest when we're bleeding from the skull. I'm gonna bet you aren't a natural brunette and I'm looking at a big old ton of blood there. What happened?"

"Guy ran the stop sign, hit me... drove off."

"Well, damn. What're you doin' up this way this late at night?"

"Would you... y'believe me if I said... star-gazin'?"

The man chuckles, but it's a low sound, and he moves closer. He pulls a heavy old cell phone out of his pocket - one of those goddamn flip phones that never dies or gets destroyed. It's like Captain Fucking America. Jake has to hold back a half-hysterical laugh.

"Hm, I might. It happens from time to time. Y'didn't come with a young lady, did you?" The man looks over the scene of the crash, searching for more people.

"No, no... just... jus'... I'm just here." He thinks of Chris, the open passenger door, the total lack of a vampire nearby. Is he hiding in the woods? If he's seen, or found out, he'll be hauled back off to be locked up somewhere, milked for venom for pharmaceutical drugs, treated like an animal. They can't admit he was here, he can't be seen. He must be hiding.

That's it.

Chris must just be hiding...

"Please, man, I-I can't find my phone to call for help-"

"I got you, son. I'll make the call. Likely your phone's just buried in the grass somewhere, we'll figure it out. You stay put right where you are, you don't want to move around and make any of it worse."

"Yes, sir." Jake stays where he is while the old man makes the call to 911, feeding him details when he asks, staring off into space when he doesn't.

They can pick Chris up when he and Nat come to get his stuff from the wreck tomorrow. They'll get him then. It'll be fine.

It'll be fine.

The old man hangs up and heads back to his truck, pulling out a battered old first aid kit. "You're lucky I believe in ghosts, you know."

"What? Why? Am I dead?" Jake looks down at his hands. They're scratched and bleeding, and he's pretty sure dead people don't bleed like that.

"No, son, no. But I wouldn't be out here if I didn't."

Jake blinks. "I... I don't follow."

"Well, had a little ghost show up at my bedroom window and refuse to shut up until I drove out here. Redheaded boy. Kept calling for a medic. Felt like I was back in the war for a minute before I realized it was him."

"Which... which war?"

The man fixes him with a stare as he crouches, old knees cracking as he does, in front of Jake. He opens the box and takes out some gauze and adhesive, antibiotic cream, something else Jake doesn't recognize. "You need medics in every kind of war there is, son. It doesn't matter which one. I've fought in two. But this boy called for a medic like he's seen the need for 'em before and didn't have time to save someone. Some kind of old ghost walkin' these roads saw you and made sure I knew."

Jake exhales, almost a laugh, and feels tears burn hot in his eyes. He realizes he's going to cry from sheer relief and exhaustion and pain, and he's not sure he can stop.

A ghost in the window means...

Chris left and ran for help.

"Thank you," he whispers, and he's not really talking to the old man at all.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[meichenxi]

tldr; autistic parents are fantastic and fuck you if you think otherwise, signed, a disaster queer adhd daughter

So on the back of a lot of negative stuff I've been coming across recently I wanted to take a moment and talk about my dad. He is autistic and chronically ill, and has been unable to hold a job down since I was eight or nine. He only ever responds with brutal, crushing honesty when I ask him how he is (and as he's chronically ill, the answers are rarely fun); he doesn't have any close relationships with any other adults and is so afraid of crowds he sprints through them leaving the children to run after him as best they can; he very rarely told me I was doing well and never seemed to understand my point of view, much less my mother's; he would never talk about anything other than bloody knitting, rocks or conservation, he could eat approximately 0.5 foods but also had no job to buy anything better; he frequently goes around naked because 'it feels nice' causing me to SCREAM -

He's my favourite person in the entire world.

Growing up, there were so many things he taught me. His special interests were geology, nature conservation, wildlife gardening, taiji, mythology and knitting. When we were kids, we went out for long walks for miles and miles in the drizzling British countryside - when I was young, my brother and mum would lag behind and me and my dad would skip ahead, jumping over the rocks, and he'd tell with great excitement why THAT twisty line of quartz was actually less exciting that this outcrop here; he'd teach me about the Salmon of Wisdom and the folk that live over the sea and never grow old, and impress on me with utter seriousness how I must never tell a stranger my name unless they tell me theirs first; he'd sit down with me and draw patterns for a jumper he was thinking of in the mud with a stick, and then we'd have a sword fight. I never understood half of the things he told me, but listened with wonder, because he was my dad, and he knew everything.

When I was a little older, we made up stories that lasted for hours, and memorised poetry together from Lord of the Rings (because THERE our interests collided with galactic force) and he'd do all of the voices just perfectly. We went one whole summer just quoting LOTR to each other, and it was our little secret: Mum might hear 'Yes,' but only I would hear what came after: 'Yes,' said Frodo, or 'Yes!' cried Boromir. And when I told him my story about a woman who lived in a volcano he listened quietly and told me that that wasn't how volcanoes worked, but that he could help me write it better.

Everybody's autism is different. For my dad, it rendered him completely incapable to work and was paralysing in social situations, but when it was just me and him, he told the most wonderful stories. I wanted to be a geologist just listening to his voice, and then a writer, and then finally someone who understood the land like he did and the sea.

And he made me feel normal. He made me feel heard. With my mum, as much as I loved her, I would get vague noises of assent as she struggled to look after everybody in this damn house, or irritable 'Would you just be quiet for ONE second?' I was a talented kid, and everybody praised me at pretty much everything: but the only person who would consider anything I wrote like it was an adult's writing, with seriousness and criticism, was my dad. He didn't tell me I did well often. Instead he would take my picture, or my writing, and look at it with great seriousness, and ask me WHY the Queen was so intent on kidnapping beautiful princesses in the first place. I could trust him to tell me whether I did something well or not, because he never, never lied. Not to please me, and not to please anyone. It cost him his marriage and his job, but it was a rock of stability in my life : my mother was volatile, frequently furious enough to resort to violence, and she lied and laughed and told us what we wanted to hear, but he was always reliable. If he was angry, we knew.

When I spoke for hours about my languages, he listened, nodded, and then spoke about his plants. It was a perfect give and take because I didn't expect him to care about my languages, and he never expected me to care about his plants. We just cared about the other.

And when I didn't make any friends and couldn't interact with the other children without despair he was always there with a silent offer of a bike ride, or catch in the park. He was always the fittest person I knew, despite his illness. He had lots of grand ideas - once he climbed the tree outside our house and tried to rig up a platform fifteen metres above the ground. After three days he was inconsolable. He wouldn't speak, he just sat there. But a few days later he started drawing up plans and attacked it again, and this time it worked.

My dad is great for a lot of reasons, and difficult for a lot of reasons too. Some of these are just him - but some are specifically related to his autism, and I think it's important that we talk about that too, especially in the context of parenthood. Because we see a lot of positivity about young autistic adults and kids, but older adults are just as valuable and just as in need of support and recognition, particularly because they may have gone through so much. My dad was made to stand in a bucket of urine for three days as a kid to 'pull himself together'. Spoilers: it didn't work.

And I'm not autistic myself, but many of my ADHD behaviours are so much easier around him because he just. gets it. If I don't like a certain food because of the texture, he never buys it again - I don't need to explain myself. We leave all social events early, which is wonderful because he is very stressed and I am either so high on adrenaline I'm in danger of injuring myself or exhausted to the point of not being able to talk. We run through crowds together because he hates crowds and I like the chance to stretch my legs. We don't touch or keep in contact very much, because neither of us see the point or like small talk, and I'm terrible at messaging anyone, but I know (and he knows) as soon as we need each other we're there. We do handstands on the beach together and he points out plants on the way back along with their Latin names. He never bothers me about talking to my friends or stopping clowning and watching my stupid shows or spending ten hours a day on Chinese or Tolkien. He never mocks me for needing space and time after anything. We lie on the concrete together because it's so damned warm and nice and adgshhhhh. We spend hours playing taiji and doing push hands in the kitchen, and our 'love language', if you will, is him trying to throw me to the ground. We both get 100% of our emotional intelligence from books, and in any arguments can use this to great effect. I talk at him for an hour, and then he talks at me for an hour. I know so much about fucking willow trees.

So people who say that autistic parents are cold and incapable of care? My dad was the most sincere, honest and helpful parent a child could have ever asked for. Things were difficult, but it helped me understand that parents too have needs, and that adults are all just grown up kids trying their best. I didn't know why he was different as a kid, and I didn't much care - I just wanted to be a geologist like my daddy.

[shizuokadivision]

Round 4 — Sakura: “So we finally reached the singing round. Some of you impressed me and others you did not. So let’s see who made the cut and who didn't.”

“First Aaron, I have to say your song was fine if not a bit boring. However, it was better than your previous rounds, so congrats for once.”

“Kurusu, it feels like I'm listening to an anime opening, which knowing you isn’t probably too off, but the song itself wasn’t half bad.”

“Ren, I quite enjoyed the song you performed. The guitar riff was excellently executed. I expected nothing else from the famous Vox.”

“Himura, You got guts for performing in a language you’re not fluent in. However, gotta say if you did kill it for once in this competition.”

“Tsukimoto, oh wow this is fucking depressing. I’ve got the urge to stare out a window while smoking a cigarette as it rains now. You do know this is supposed to be a happy round right? Not this bleak sob song.”

“Shiba, holy shit. Now, this is what I'm talking about. You put on a full show. Even brought in a whole giant tentacle. Went full pirate for this didn’t you?”

“Kyō Sakuma, okay, this is catchy if not a bit of an earworm. This is the type of song I’d play if I ever went on a road trip. I won't lie, it got repetitive in some parts though.”

“Kunio Chōten, you know you’re supposed to be singing right, not talking? Also, what the hell were those mouth sounds? Ugh, just no.”

“Douglas, this is the most generic love song I have ever heard. I kept zoning out in the middle of the song. So it’s a no for me.”

“Rashaad, I hate to say this to you, but I did not enjoy your song. It was just boring, and frankly, the genre isn't one I usually enjoy anyway.”

“Anchikar, you may have redeemed yourself this round. Your song was certainly one of the better ones of this round. I’m not even a fan of R&B most of the time, but it was catchy.”

“Rikiya, okay I’ll admit it. This song is kinda cute. Like something you’d find in the countryside. It suits you.”

“Yano, hahaha! Oh, this song is a riot! It suits you as a jester. Even your scating was amusing if not perhaps a bit overdone.”

“Ryuko Umemoto, oh gosh, not this song. Do you know how many times people have played this song at me because I'm a yakuza? There are too many times to count. So thumb down from me.”

“Maki Umemoto, well damn once again the spineless professor surprises us. I see you went with a more horror vibe and I'm shocked how well you pulled it off.”

“Yorii Sakuma, To be honest I prefer your song from the talent round. That one at least fits with the whole siren theme you have going on.”

“Kessaku, stick to being a bodybuilder. Your throat is one part of your body you haven't quite completely mastered yet. Frankly, I don’t think you ever will.”

“Finally Kunio Chōten, what is this early 2000's Justin Timberlake? You’re giving, I left the boy band and became a washed-out soloist vibe right now.”

“Now then food’s here. Also, goddammit Meizono, what the hell? I said I'd buy food, not a whole fucking buffet. Not even Reika racks up a bill like this and I’ve seen her eat plates full of food.”

Let’s have a word with our Judges!

@saitama-division @okinawa-division @minato-division01 @shizuokadivision @akihabara-division03

[sunjaesol]

love, between the shadow and the soul

chenford | drabble | post-canon | title: sonnet xvii - pablo neruda

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Look, Tim Bradford did not get attracted to rookies, okay? In all the years he had been a TO, none had grabbed his attention. Not when he and Isabelle were dating, or married, or when she disappeared into the night with a trail of illicit affairs and a shot of heartache for him. Dozens of young women had sat in that car beside him and never ever had he let their femininity distract him. He served his country. He fought wars overseas. He looked Death right in the eye every single day and never blinked.

But then came officer Lucy Chen. He instantly knew the type of cop she’d be the second she turned in her seat, meeting his gaze for the first time, and nervously smiled at him. Nerves were normal, he was aware, but the doe-eyed look and the hopeful grin sold her out. No mystery. Just another young cop that would either slip through the cracks by the exam by tanking their grade due to stress, or she’d become a desk duty cop — one that stayed far from danger, that handled life with a perpetual softer touch ‘cause of her shrink parents.

Nothing wrong with that, Bishop would chastise him. Every cop had its use, she’d add. Sure, that might be true, but Tim didn’t want to babysit an armed toddler waiting for it to cry and call for mom. With just a couple well-placed Tim-tests, she’d be out of his hair in no time and then he could cross his fingers for a better recruit in the following weeks.

Life had the ability to change in a snap though — their funny, yet stern reminder that the universe called the shots, not the gun in his holster, or the rulebook. He got shot. Officer Chen backed him up. Her stubborn, yet brazen, yet honest attitude reeled him in just enough to ignore her little quirks she always joyfully displayed in the shop. Whenever he didn’t nip her ramblings in the bud fast enough, she babbled on and on about her personal life, her personal issues and relationships, like they were best friends (They weren’t! Boots and him never befriended!), like their relationship was anything more than a transactional training period. They got each other’s six. That was it.

But fuck, man. She got under his skin, too.

Lucy wore this… really nice perfume. A lot of female officers had make-up and perfume on, allowed a small sliver of self-expression, and he and Lopez had spend countless hours in a shop together. He was used to it. But somehow, Lucy’s stuck in his nose and didn’t leave. He felt like a creep, thinking about the blend of cardamom and oranges and cherry blossoms mixing with her warm skin, uncontrollable while also wanted. He wanted to fantasise about that fucking perfume of hers, a realisation that took a long time to come to terms with.

That didn’t mean he liked her though — he quickly corrected himself the first time he caught the pattern of behaviour — all it meant was that Lucy had good taste in perfume. Case closed.

So why did he linger whenever her shimmery eyes flicked up at him, why did his breath catch in his throat when her voice dropped to that infuriating sincerity as she uttered words of appraisal? Why his heart go haywire when she recorded all those audio books for him; an out of line gesture and overzealous task for a boot, which would normally result in him laughing their face.

Tim never thought he’d get over Isabelle, nor did he ever believe he’d have his happily ever after with Rachel, but with Lucy he foolishly hoped for more. A more that came from such a stupid and deluded place, probably fostered through months of loneliness and the Pavlovian response to her perfume, but one he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop it. The man was always in control about everything, ran his own tests and went over every possible outcome every day, every hour — and yet he didn’t see her coming. Lucy Chen had been right under his nose and he hadn’t been prepared for the ground to disappear beneath his feet; something that should honestly get him fired. The callousness of his emotions while entertaining the idea of a relationship with his own boot sentenced him straight to P2 or desk duty, or whatever.

Lucy deserved someone better, anyway.

Someone that understood her love for sage and cleansing homes. Someone that liked veggie burgers, chai lattes, karaoke nights and social media lurking. Someone that wouldn’t hesitate for one second to open her door for a teenage girl in need of safety and a little bit of that Chen-love. Someone that wasn’t any of those firemen assholes, but wasn’t Tim either.

He never let his insecurities get the best of him, but after seeing her thrive as a P2 without him, handling undercover stints like a pro, conquering her trauma of being buried alive, it only showcased that she had more bravery in her index finger than some army members had in their entire body, all while staying innately kind. Of course Tim lost his mind over her. Of course he tried shaping officer Barnes to be more like Lucy — more sun and bite and charisma, less army BS. Of course, of course, of course. Even Rosalind, the person he hated most besides Caleb, had him figured out in seconds. He was obvious as hell.

Which was why he had to move stations. Away from the Mid-Wilshire Division and to another. He couldn’t be around her anymore and risk compromising missions or attacks. He didn’t tell Angela the details, though her knowing look said enough, and simply replied that she’d miss him and that she was sure the chief would happily reinstate him any time.

He should’ve known that information leaked through like a wildfire.

The morning of his resignment, uniform neatly folded in his locker, Lucy stopped him in the hallway with the most befuddled expression he’d ever seen.

“What?” he said.

“What the hell,” she exclaimed. “You’re leaving and I have to hear it from Angela? Why’re you…? You love this division. Is everything okay?”

Shouldering past her, he drawled over his shoulder: “Everything’s fine, officer Chen. I’d advise you to put on your uniform and get to roll call.”

“Don’t pull this crap with me,” she bit back, latching onto his arm before he was out of reach. His feet reflexively stopped in place, stupidly waiting on her to finish her train of thought. “Tim, you can tell me if something’s wrong. We’ve been through… way too much for you to act this cold with me.”

He scoffed, feigning mockery, and put his hands on his hips. “We? Chen, I was your TO. That’s it. Get it out of your head it was more.”

Lucy blinked, once, twice, a hurt expression crossing her features, followed by disbelief and a quiet contempt he had become awfully familiar with. Swallowing back the regret, he watched as she pursed her lips and took a step back. “Wow. Okay.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“Hard not to, officer Bradford,” she muttered. Turning to the locker rooms, she added, “Talk to me when you’re ready to not be an asshole.”

That should’ve been his cue to let her go and resume his trek to sergeant Grey, but a whiff of her fragrance wafted in his face from her dancing curls and any sensical thought was knocked out his head. He wanted to embrace her and burrow his face in her hair, he wanted to hold her with intent, he wanted to kiss the scent off her skin. His feet followed her instead, both fully aware and totally impulsive at once. He chose the excuse of loving a good argument with her to then utter: “I’m not an asshole, Chen. I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest, you’d admit that we’ve been very close friends these past months,” she exhaled, refusing to look him in the eye. He supposed he deserved that. Stopping in front of her locker, she continued with, “Distorting your own reality to fit your macho narrative isn’t healthy. Also, this is the women’s locker room. Out. Now.”

Tim sputtered out a laugh and crossed his arms. “Macho narrative? Please.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, all air sucked out the room at the intensity of her stare, and Tim felt himself flailing, suddenly wondering why the hell he wanted to turn in his badge when the only place he could have moments with lucy was, well, here. Why was he giving up on this, how silly it might be?

With a resolute voice, she said, “Tim, why are you resigning?”

Nothing in his entire career prepared him for this. Tim Bradford had survived Iraq and Afghanistan, twelve years of the LAPD and counting, a deadly virus, hundreds of bullets taken by the vest and felt the power of death on the blue lips of Lucy in the quiet countryside. Fear got pushed aside. Pride pulled him forward, onwards. But right now, he had to take a leap of faith — the sole thing he never relied on, but Lucy did — and trust she’d be there after the fall.

(He wanted to be that amazing someone for her.)

“Because of you,” he whispered. His fight or flight told him to run for the first time in forever, but he kept his feet glued to the floor.

Her jaw fell slack in shock. “E-excuse me? Me?! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Exactly,” he spit. “You… you’re…” Tim sighed. “You’re the best, Lucy.”

Faltering, her brows furrowed in utter confusion, a grain of her fury replaced with compassion. He wasn’t sure if that was warranted. All he was trying to do was get it off his chest, confess, before it escalated to insurmountable heights. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Uh…”

“You’re resigning, because I’m the best?” she tried to deduce. “No offense, any other day I’d be dancing right now, but this is just…” She gestured at him. “So weird.”

Tim let out a miserable sigh and ripped the band-aid off. Fuck it. “I’m trying to be honest about my feelings, Lucy.”

She froze. “What?”

“I like you. A lot.” Her wonderstruck expression didn’t make him feel better, so he quickly added: “Which is why I gotta decrease the risk of this exploding in our faces and go.”

“Whoa!” Lucy’s hand wrapped around his, eyes wide and searching, like any empirical data would be found within his green irises, otherwise known as fondness and unresolved tension with every quiet moment they had. “Is this… another test? Are you getting back at me for pranking you?”

He quirked a brow. “You’re a P2 now. Tests are over.”

“Right,” she quipped, catching herself. She let go of him and nervously tucked a lock behind her ear. “Yeah. Okay. And you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. O-kay. Let me, uh…” the locker swung open “… wrap my head around this.”

“It’s a pretty easy thing to—”

“Tim.”

“Yeah, okay.” He backed off, hating how the control was out of his hands now, how he practically shoved his heart in her grip and her pretty fingers could crush it to dust if she wanted to. “I’ll let you do that.”

Walking out the locker room, he took a deep breath and straightened up his face. Alright. He royally screwed that over. If his army buddies knew, they’d all laugh in his face and tease him for the rest of his life. But at least he told her and got his answer, that a relationship was off the table but that they could save their friendship once he switched divisions and some distance mended his twisted, inside-out heart. Lucy had rocked his world and all she had to do was exist.

“Tim!”

“Wha— wow!”

Her body crashed into him the second he turned around to her beautiful voice, Lucy’s arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down to her level ‘til all he experienced were her sweet eyes and breathless smile and a kiss. Lucy kissing him, slow and tentative, but it lit his heart aflame and urged him to hold onto her. Her perfume was all-encompassing, nose full of the fragrance and the soft slope of her neck and long, brown hair and fuck, he was kissing Lucy Chen. Except he didn’t care if the entire precinct idly watched by, or if she yanked him out the building on impulse, or anything — ‘cause he was kissing her and it was perfect. Her plump lips were better than he ever imagined.

Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, arms and then his hands, squeezing. His forehead pressed against hers, embarrassingly weak in the knees from that incredible kiss that he didn’t dare to stand up straight. Two silly grins broke loose on their faces. He had no clue what to do now, or not do, but he did know he wanted her. He wanted everything.

Lucy decided for him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

Tim smiled. “Okay.”

[enniewritesathing]

countryside (🔪)

[Previous⏮] [Beginning ⏯]

(John grips the sink. He can tear it off from the wall if he wanted to. Whatever it takes to make the pain stop.)

(Fuck. This is bad. This is bad, bad, bad. Why did he go upstairs when he should’ve went outside. This bathroom is too closed in... the tinny ringing starts again. Each beat of his heart feels like a knife stabbing him.)

(No... he’s panicking. This is just the beginning and already he’s panicking. It’s not even time yet. Okay, remember the rules. He breaths through his nose, and exhales out of his mouth for three each. In the bathroom of a pub. The sink... is cool. Ceramic. It’s nice, actually. The walls are stone and old. Really old.)

(The mirror is clean... that’s me. I’ve seen better days...)

(There’s a knock on the door.)

Brian: “John?”

John: “In here.”

(John winces as Brian enters.)

Brian: “Talk to me. What’s your number? Be honest.”

John: “I don’t... know. I’m... I’m tapping out.”

Brian: “Alright. Sara’s got something for us before we go.”

John: (pants) “What... what did you tell her?”

Brian: “I didn’t tell her much. I just said you have a heart condition and today’s outing was a little much.”

John: “Oh good.”

Brian: “I didn’t contradict you if you’re worried about that.”

John: “No, I’m not worried about that.”

Brian: “John, baby, I’m so sorry. I really am. I shouldn’t have--”

John: “Don’t... don’t apologize. It’s m... hmm... my fault.”

“This is just... years of me putting it off. It’s catching up to me. It’s just... a little pain, that’s all. It won’t last long. This is going to sound crazy, but... Brian, I think we should tell them.”

Brian: “You think so?”

John: “Yeah. I mean... this place... these people... I dunno, I trust them in a way. It’s so... warm. Y’know? I don’t think anyone’s gonna tell on me. Everyone’s so welcoming.”

Brian: “I hate to admit it, but... you’re right.”

“Okay, John. I’m with you. We’ll tell Sara... eventually and go from there. We should go back to the cabin. How’re you feeling?”

John: “Tired.”

Brian: “Alright. I’ll think of something.”

[Next ⏭]

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty || 18

Queen

April 15th

Morning discovered me hours ago when Harry's alarm trumpeted through the room, and he forced himself out of bed. Since four o'clock this morning, I have been in and out of sleep. If I am honest, I don't want to take on the day. I have been dreading this day for years, and quite frankly, have been praying it would never come – but I was ill-prepared for how quickly it snuck up on me. But here I am, on the warm side of my bed, longing for my past self as Princess Anastasia but having to remind myself of my new title as Queen.

"What is the Queen going to do on her first day as Queen? What's the first order?" Harry softly requests, and I raise my brow as I convene up against the pillows and cock my head to the side.

I want to spend my day in bed and wrap my head around things.

"What is the King's first order?" I respond with a hint of sarcasm laced to my tone.

Harry elevates his beverage to his lips and shrugs, "I am on my third coffee, and my duties are to keep the palace safe, the same as any other day," Harry responds, not appearing to be phased by the fact that he has a title.

"You do realise that even by telling everyone that I would be king, I cannot be King, Anna."

"You do realise that I make the rules, right?"

Harry laments, "A King has a higher power over Queen. Therefore, I do not have the right to be over you, Anastasia. Therefore, I cannot be titled, King."

I roll my eyes, "We can have this conversation later. I am going back to sleep."

"No, you are not," Harry returns as I settle into the bed and draw the blankets to shelter around my body. "Anastasia, you have a strict itinerary that you have to stick to, which means your ladies will be up here in ten minutes."

I stare at Harry and groan, "Did I forget to ask to sleep in?" I could have sworn that being Queen didn't come with an obligation to be awake at the crack of dawn.

"Well, I did ask the bagpipes from a piper just below the terrace to be put on hold until seven, darling," Harry notifies me.

"And what time is it now?" I request.

Harry smirks, and I moan as he glances at his watch before flicking his eyes towards me. That damn smirk gives it away.

I wait a few moments, and the bagpipes commence their morning routine. Every morning at around six, I am awakened by the Piper's sounds to the Sovereign if I am not already awake. My father resented it, but he kept it around, not only because it is part of the Royal arrangements but because my mother appeared to love the morning wake up calls. Most of the wakeup sequences were at six, but my father extended it to nine in certain months. Of course, it depended on what was transpiring in the royal world.

The Piper's principal responsibility is to play every weekday at six or nine am for approximately 15 minutes under His Majesty's window when he is in residence at Buckingham Palace. Now that I am Her Majesty, they play for me, under my terrace. I don't want to remove the pipers, essentially because it is a tradition, but I will be damned to be woken up every morning with them under my terrace at six in the morning.

"Thanks for the hour," I sigh, rubbing my eyes. "Can you please request that the time is changed from six? I prefer not to hear them until at least ten, perhaps eleven?" I softly beam, doing my ablest to appreciate the art of the bagpipes.

Harry steps closer and hands me his coffee before leaning down and kissing my cheek, "I don't think they will appreciate playing so late."

"Nine?" I suggest, "I think that is fair."

"I think that is fair," Harry nods his head, and I take a few sips of his warm coffee.

"Could you make this any stronger?" I chuckle, taken back by the intensity of his coffee.

Harry shrugs his shoulder, "At least I didn't add bourbon to it this morning," Harry sarcastically smiles.

I hand Harry his coffee back with another stifled laugh escaping my lips. I know that he adds a little alcohol to his coffee some days towards the ends of his shifts, especially if they have been excessive and problematic. "What do you have today?" I softly ask while we have a few extra minutes alone.

Harry steps away from the bed and tells me what he has planned for his day. My head cocks to the side as he stands in front of me, everything about him causing me to smile and swoon over him.

Harry is incredibly handsome and never fails to find me between shifts to give me a few minutes of his short time. This man with dewy, mist valley-green eyes, lush hair he grooms so carefully that has a rippling quality, is a man that I thank the heavens for every day. The last few months have been horrible and heartbreaking, there are still days where I have no clue how the fuck I am going to survive the journey without my father, but Harry always makes sure to make it known that he is right beside me through everything.

Harry is a man that holds my heart in his golden hands and cherishes it, he has every opportunity to throw it to the wall and walk out, but he doesn't. He has managed to survive the horrible honeymoon phase. Our honeymoon phase hasn't been what it was meant to be; it has been emotional crying, it has been painful, sad, and full of anger all in one.

The man in front of me is dashing with a rascal's smile and worked his magic to give me what was rightfully mine, he didn't pride himself on running the monarch for a short time, and he didn't try to keep the authority that he had. The man that stands in front of me is an exceptional husband; I couldn't have asked for anyone better, and one day, he will be a great father to our children if we ever have children. This man is an influence on society, and I am lucky to have him.

Harry waves his hands in front of me, "Anna? Baby, are you listening?" Harry questions, snapping me from my daze.

I take a breath and smile at him, "Yeah," I lie through my teeth, and Harry shakes his head disapprovingly.

"You're shocking at lying."

I lift my shoulders into a shrug and push the covers off my body. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and step towards Harry. I kiss him sweetly before pulling away and smiling. "What was that for?"

I offer him nothing but a small smile and dreamy eyes that can't peel themselves away from him.

"Mmm, I need to get back to work," Harry changes the subject as two of my lady in waiting's walk-in. "See you later," Harry kisses me softly, becoming rigid as he clears his throat and notices the ladies looking at the two of us. Harry doesn't feel comfortable with PDA in front of the staff and is still unsure how to act. It's humorous to a certain extent. He hated hiding the relationship, and now he doesn't know what to do now that he doesn't have to hide anything.

I reach for his hand as he steps away. Harry stops and looks over his shoulder before turning back around to face me, "What is it?" he softly asks. My eyes glance between him and his coffee in his hand. Harry rolls his eyes and hands me his coffee, "You're lucky I love you, my darling," Harry grins, "Now, goodbye," he begins to walk away, leaving me with the rest of his coffee and my staff.

I chuckle as the ladies watch him leave, swooning over him in the same manner I do. "You're lucky," one begins as she holds a few dresses across her arms.

"I know," I smile, well aware of how lucky I am. "What do I have the pleasure of wearing today?" I question, looking at the dresses, giving the ladies full reign of what they dress me in as I sit down on the edge of the bed.

♛ ♛ ♛

When I was a little girl, I filled my time prowling the hallways of the various estates we have, all of which had their unique quality. To this day, my favourite place is in Northern Ireland, Hillsborough Castle. I allocated ampere-hours in the gardens, playing hide and seek with the assistants and the bodyguards, countless hours picking wildflowers and chasing butterflies. I would do anything to go back to the days where life was simple, where all I had to think about was which flowers I desired to plant when I wasn't learning about the world and learning to speak different languages.

I remember one spring, Dad brought me to Hillsborough Castle; he and his staff purchased various flowers and shrubs I had picked out one day, we went through a magazine. We later spent that weekend planting the array of plants. Somehow, my father discovered a way to make everything match and look colour coordinated. I wasn't much assistance in the garden, I dug a few holes with my little shovel and helped water the plants, but he and his staff did most of the dirty work. It was when things were manageable, when we could be a family without anyone torturing my father. Perhaps back then, things weren't as simple as I assume, and maybe I was naive, but in my memories, things were simple.

We were happy.

Unfortunately, I can't travel to Hillsborough Castle and attain my peace, and I can't proceed to where I have always been satisfied. Right now, travelling too far is out of the question for safety reasons. Madeline can't fly back home to her family because of safety concerns. If I could, I would love to discover myself in rolling hills and grassland, where it appears neverending. I would love to advance to the countryside, to view the sunset over a meadow and gather nothing but the harmony of nature when the sun submerges into darkness. Harry's mother's home was calm and serene. There were no sounds of cars continually driving around, no people standing outside my place of residence daily, and no staff. It was normal- something I crave but can't possess. I wish I could be out feeding the baby animals and savouring life in the slow lane like I did the few times I have been up there.

I necessitate a scenery change, but I am unsure where the scenery change can occur when I am not authorised to travel. I still think running to Greece and changing our identities is a superb idea, but there is no way in hell I can convince Harry into the concept. Harry has expressed how ludicrous the idea is and logically explained to me the reasons why it is not happening. I think we would be fine with mundane duties and living in Greece. At least we wouldn't have Pippa around to pester the shit out of us. That woman is relentless; she has not given up on her notion of expressing how incompetent I am to be Queen.

What I want is for us to be happy without doubt lingering around us. I don't want the fear to continue to gloom over me. As strict as the palace is and the fact people are constantly watching, I am still concerned. Before my father's passing, I was carefree. I used to wander the halls' without much thought, but now I struggle to step outside my room without the second thought of whether something could happen.

I do not have proof of who killed my father, all I have is my suspicion, and I am convinced that these same people will come after me or, worse, Harry.

The media have attracted attention to Harry and me. The night on the balcony, as expected, drew attention to us, but in my lapse of judgment, I wasn't considering how this could affect him. He is now another target. If the Aces, whoever they may be, are still out for blood, their next bet would be him. In the mind of someone who wants revenge, money or really anything, they will go for the person who has the most impact. If they take out Harry, one less person will protect me before taking me out unless we comply with their requests. With each day that has passed since my father, I have waited for some request from this unknown group of people. I have waited for a phone call or a letter with their demands, but I have not received a single thing.

When I stayed at Harry's mother's, there were letters sent to her house addressed to myself and Harry; what happened after that night, I do not know. Harry said he would take care of it, and nothing has appeared since. After that night, I stopped looking into things and having Harry followed. I knew that he was right- some things are better left unknown. How Harry handles situations is not of my concern. Harry has his job, and I have mine. He does not tell me how to be a Royal, and I do not tell him how to do what he has to do. I know his field of work has gotten very messy over the last few months. He has done things he never imagined he would have to do.

The door to my office opens, distracting me from my daze of thoughts that have been accompanying me most of the day. Harry steps into the palace office and closes the door behind him, intentionally shutting the door on the people accompanying him. "Anna," Harry begins as he shuffles closer to the desk, he gestures between us and the door and shakes his head, "I have a man trying to measure me for clothes, a woman with an iPad wanting to be my assistant, and I have a man holding a fruit platter… Make it stop, please." Harry breathes out softly, "I appreciate their efforts, but I don't need an assistant. I can do my job."

"Fruit Platter? That is better service than me," I snicker.

"Sweetheart, I am highly frustrated with it." But, unfortunately, Harry doesn't recognise my humour or appear amused by the events.

"I will ask them to tone it down. Call them in," I instruct, gesturing towards the door.

"Surprised they can't hear us and just walk on in," Harry murmurs, advancing towards the door and unlocking it, allowing his array of followers to wander into the office.

The staff stand in front of me in a line, almost as if they are aware of what the conversation will hold. "I know you all have good intentions, but His Highness doesn't want to be followed, if he needs something, he will ask, but he doesn't need the extent of these privileges as my father did. Harry will let you know when and if he needs something. He is very low maintenance…" I graciously explain, "Mike, when he has the time, you can talk to him about suites and what he wants. Estelle, Harry doesn't want an assistant; Matthew takes care of everything. If Harry needs any help, he will ask," I direct each issue head-on, doing my best to be respectful, "And Luke, Harry doesn't need you to follow him with food unless asked; he will make his coffee when he wakes up. He takes a coffee at seven, he will ask you if he needs anything else, give him coffee, and you will be his best pal. He appreciates it, but he likes to be left to his own devices." ... "Think of him as a lone wolf, he was under the radar before marrying me, and he likes to stay that way."

Mike clears his throat and nods, "All due respect, your mother put us on his service."

"You can be on his service. Just keep a distance, thank you," I dismiss the humble team, and they all shuffle out gradually before shutting the door behind them.

"Rough first day?" I chuckle, and he leans on my desk and crosses his arms over his chest while he nods his head. "I just want to do my job, Anna."

"Well, honey, your job isn't just security anymore."

"It is," Harry disagrees.

I know the transition is going to be incredibly rough. He has gone from being security to being a husband to being a quiet King to becoming second to the throne and being waited on by the staff. I don't expect him to attend charity events, cut ribbons and be a royal member. But, on the other hand, I don't anticipate him to give up being security and guarding the palace, but I am not sure how it will operate with him being on my service.

"You know you will need security, Harry?"

"Anna, Matthew and I have it sorted out. Can we discuss something else?"

"Every Thursday, we don't have royal duties. Instead, we have family dinner with my mother," I inform Harry, "And I'd like us to commit to one day a week where it's just you and me even if it's just an hour."

Harry nods his head, "Of course, Anna."

"And we need to find our charities and volunteer work."

"Sure, I'll show kids how to run a security detail team."

"Harry," I press, "I'm serious."

"We can call it Harry's boys and girls' scouts, just without pitching a tent. Instead, I'll show them how to hogtie a person and keep people safe."

"I can't tell if you're joking or not."

Harry stares at me with a straight face, "I am not joking."

"Christ," I mutter, "How are we going to survive ruling a monarch."

Harry elevates his shoulders into a shrug, "I am just here for the ride, but I need to go over protocols and security things with you," Harry changes the subject, taking my ink pen from my hand and shifting the paperwork in front of me away from my body.

"I was working on that," I declare as I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest, now mimicking his position.

Harry nods his head and places my pen in his breast pocket, "Right, so we need to have an unwritten understanding. When security says 'we are leaving', it means just that." Harry notifies me, already prompting me to roll my eyes.

"Just because my title changed doesn't mean I forgot the protocol."

Harry hums, "You need to redo your security training."… "You need to do your SAS training; you have a refresher course to do." Harry reminds me of what feels like the hundredth time.

I just have no desire to do the damn course.

"Will you be my teacher?" I smirk.

Harry sighs, "The tunnels are off-limits for the next few days."

"Oh, damn, now how I will be a product of any illegal activity? How will I escape the palace?" I sarcastically respond.

I have no intentions of escaping through the tunnels or causing any dilemmas; for the most part, I am emotionally stable and know that I cannot go off and get drunk because life as a royal isn't enjoyable.

"Princess—"

"Ah, no," I cut Harry off, "Wrong title, and don't even try to refer to me as my title. You know I hate it."

"And I hate when you make my job troublesome, which you are doing," Harry points as he gestures towards me, "Security is heightened. I need you to at least pretend to care."

"Fine," I mutter, "You're such an ass when you're the security detail."

"Anna, just get your training done with Matthew at the very least."

He is getting frustrated with me. I can tell by the way he is clenching his jaw and tapping his shoe against the flooring. He means well, but the training is a pain in my ass.

Why should we stage a kidnapping and show me how to handle the situation when if we wait long enough, it will happen?

Nothing surprises me with this monarchy. I wouldn't be surprised if Pippa tied me up, forced me in the back of her car and drove me across Europe before abandoning me in the middle of nowhere. After my father's incident, nothing is really off the table in terms of events that could take place. No amount of training saved my father.

"I will," I accept, leaning forward and standing to my feet before I encase my arms around his neck, "You need to relax," I inform him, his arms dropping to his side before his hands rest in the small of my back, enabling me to stand between his legs and bring our bodies closer. I give him a small smile. Then, I kiss him softly and leisurely.

"Easier said than done," Harry murmurs against my lips. I cut him off and kiss him more profoundly, not wanting his words but his affection.

He draws away with a sigh, "I have to be on your mother's service in a few minutes."

Mood killer.

Blinking with feigned innocence, I whisper, "Oh, come on," taking a chance and moving to caress the tender skin on his neck with sweet kisses. He cocks his head to the side, enabling me to kiss his fevered skin, my hands pursuing their way to the buttons of his shirt. Finally, my fingers touch the material of his tie, and I tug on it benevolently.

His tie unravels between my fingertips, and he moans softly when I introduce my kisses to his jawline, gingerly making my way to his lips. Aching tension between the two of us builds with a gentle persuasion of my kisses.

Harry breaths heavily, and his hands squeeze at my waist with a sense of frustration laced to them. Then, with a long, liquid kiss that rushes lust through us, his fingers dig into the material of my shirt.

Unchaining wild, delicious feelings brew inside me, eagerly demanding to escape with every moment that passes by. I feel him pull me closer, the tension at the edge of his fingertips kneading into the material.

I press my body against him, his fingers bunching my shirt even further, "Anastasia, we can't," Harry breaks our kiss with a whisper, putting space between us. He softens his eyes and shakes his head, "We are being watched," Harry breathes, "Camera's aren't cut to this room."

"Cut them, please?"

"I can't… How about later?"

I roll my eyes, irritated with him, "No."

Harry chuckles and begins to adjust his tie, clearing his throat, "I don't think you want the rest of the team watching… I get off at nine tonight. Wait up for me?"

"I think one of my executive orders as Queen is that we no longer have to schedule these things." I gesture towards the small space between us. "I'm tired of it."

It has been a hassle to get alone time with him for quite some time, and there's always something happening or someone interrupting.

"Take it up with security."

"You are security." I point out, irritarted to say the least.

"Well," Harry laughs, "I will have to have a code word with Matthew for when to cut the surveillance."

"Yeah, you get on that," I respond, taking my pen out of his pocket and sitting back down on my chair. "Can I ask you something?" I softly ask.

Harry narrows his eyes down on me, "Not sure I like the sound of this, but sure," Harry nods his head.

"This is private," I inform him.

"You can speak; nobody can hear us. They can just see us," Harry flicks his head to his side, subtly gesturing towards the hidden camera in the painting over the fireplace.

I compose myself for a moment before I take a leap of faith, "What happened with Victoria?"

"Uhm, she died?" Harry is confused.

"No, I mean the story."

I want to know the story he managed to spin to the press. I know he tends to release stories when he can’t get the Palace social media team involved.

"She was found. Louis got the coroner report back, and it was a snake bite. Unfortunately, she chose the wrong day to go hiking," Harry responds with a shrug.

"And Henry?"

Harry takes a breath and heavily sighs, "Do you not read the tabloids?" Harry sighs. I can tell that he doesn’t want to have this conversation by the way his jaw clenched and he looked around in an attempt to gain a moment to find an excuse.

"I have not been in the mood to read what the media has to say," I respond.

"Henry... He passed in his sleep peacefully."

"And what happened after the private funeral?" I question, unsure of what happened after the service took place. Against everyone's wishes, I insisted he was given a service, whether he deserved it or not for the events that took place. I didn't want everyone to be heartless. My father wouldn't have wanted such a thing.

"We all went our separate ways, you went to the room, and I went back to work?"

"No, with him. Where is he?"

"Oh," Harry sounds, "That, I cannot tell you."

I cock my head to the side, "You cannot tell me where he was laid to rest?" I am surprised.

Harry shakes his head, "No, I cannot."

"What about the rest of the Aces' like Henry's Dad?"

"Anna, I have a lot of people I am trying to track, just like I have a lot of things I need to do. I can't answer these questions. I need to go though." Harry politely dismisses the conversation.

As much as I want to press further and ask questions for my peace of mind, I know that now isn't the time or the place. "Be careful, okay?"

"Always," Harry nods before leaning down and kissing my cheek, "I love you and stay out of trouble while I am gone."

"No promises," I respond with a smile before he walks out, leaving me alone in the office where most major royal documents are signed.

This office has been used for many years by my father. It has been the places he has signed checks, and he has signed Royal assents— this room has been used for an array of different monumental things, and as I sit here in this room, I can't help but feel a weight on my shoulder intensify. I don't feel at ease as my pen glides across the paper and I sign my name across the lines; I don't feel this task is taken lightly. This office is the starting to place to the world as we know it, this room is where things begin, and as my reign begins, I am not sure my confidence starts here.

Being in the same office my father once sat in, I thought I would feel at ease and feel comfort— I don't. I feel the opposite. My world feels suffocated and anxious. This simple task of signing the lines makes me question my power. What I am doing today is a mandatory and straightforward procedure, it is nothing significant in the sense of signing a new Royal assent or signing the rights of dubbing a fresh Prince or Knight, but it feels as though it is a big deal.

I thought my mother would play a more significant role on my first day. I thought she would be with me to sign these documents and figure out what I am meant to do. But, instead, she seems to be doing her own thing. I don't blame her for not wanting to be a part of things, and the monarch has impacted her more than she would like to admit. To an extent, I think the monarch helped kill her spirits, especially in the last few months with what has been happening. My mother was nice enough to team with Harry to give me what was rightfully mine. Still, I expected to have some help from her— Mother has some insight into things, watched my father run the monarch for years, and knows a few things that I may not have caught onto, but she doesn't want to be a part of it. I have no clue where she is going.

All I know is that Harry is on her service.

♛ ♛ ♛

April 21st

Sitting in my office and staring at the four walls for days' led me to escape into the gardens to get some fresh air. Harry will kill me for coming out here without anyone with me, but I need some space. I am not surviving. I have had multiple meetings with influential people I do not know how to accommodate. I don't know why I am being thrown full force into this. I was hoping for a lighter transition, but that has been far from the case. I cannot keep up with everything. I don't know how my father managed.

The gardens are peaceful and quiet. They have always left me with a sense of calmness. No matter what is happening in my life, walking these gardens gives me a sense of hope. The gardens are blooming later than usual, but the Rhododendrons and Camellias are beginning to bloom.

I take a deep breath in the fresh air and stop wandering as I reach one of the many trees full of pink blossoms. It's breathtaking. The blossom trees leave me in awe every spring. I don't know how the gardeners keep the 39-acre garden at Buckingham Palace looking as unique as it does; everything is immaculate.

Spring-flowering trees are spread throughout the garden, but some areas are more than others. One of my favourite trails is the Queen's Walk. The walk has a vibrant display of trees and camellias. However, I am not sure what it is about the trek that excites me and brings me happiness. I am not sure if it's the outburst of assorted colours or just the quietness and the sound of nature humming.

There are more than two hundred several flowers in the gardens, varying from single flowers to frothy, peony-like efflorescences. There is a touch of everything within the gardens, and everything flows excellently. I bend down and caress my hand delicately to brush against the Blue lilacs that symbolise happiness and tranquillity, something I am longing to feel at the edge of my fingertips. I glance towards the Magenta lilacs and smile to myself, inhaling their scent and deep meaning of love and passion. The firm, sweet, heady scent of the lilacs lingers, and I stand back up, wandering away from the lilacs, leaving them to bloom on their own.

As I walk the small trail, I regard a man who appears out of place. He doesn't seem to belong here in the gardens. Nobody should be out here besides the groundskeepers, the horse trainer or security. The gardens at this time of day are not bustling with staff or anyone. They're withdrawn, which is why I prefer to wander out here. At first, I believe the worst, but my heart rate decreases and my stomach settles as soon as I notice the royal tour guide pamphlet hanging out of his pocket.

"Can I help you?" I challenge from behind, startling the man who seems to be heading towards what we call 'The island within the lake'.

Nobody goes towards the little lake; it is off-limits to most to help maintain its natural environment. I have been out there on a few occasions. It's a beautiful view, something I have always loved, but we keep it off-limits for the wildlife that is out there. We aren't one-hundred per cent on everything in the acres, but we know there is danger. My father told me a story about one of the purple flowers out there. He says it can kill someone in seconds. The poison within the purple flower is vital, so strong that years ago, dipping an arrowhead in the plant would guarantee death to anything it hits. This is how it got the nickname of "wolves bane", as it was used on arrowheads to hunt wolves to ensure they died. As scary as it sounds, it fascinated me. I am not sure how they figured out years ago that dipping an arrow would ensure death. I can only imagine someone came across the wolves bane on accident and used it for their advantage.

The unknown man turns around, and I take in his features, but what catches my eye the most is his button-down shirt. I follow the length of his arms and rest on the edge of his shirt.

"I uh- I have lost my group," the man responds, promptly curtseying as he notices who I am.

The man holds his hand out, prompting me to shake his hand. I stare at the cufflinks on his button-down, intrigued by them. I would expect to see these sorts of cufflinks in vegas or at a place where card games are a fortay, not at a palace and on an ordinary man. One cufflink features a Jack, King, and Queen and the other cufflink features three Aces in a foldable card deck. They're not the ordinary cufflinks, perhaps he is some sort of magician, or he just really likes cards. Who knows?

"Do I pique your interest, Princess?"

I shake my head, letting go of his hand, "I've never seen those kinds of cufflinks."

The man nods his head, his eyes flicking down to his cufflinks, "You never know when you'll need an Ace up your sleeve," the man smiles, seeming mysterious but pleasant in the same manner, "I'll let you be, Princess. Can you direct me back to my crew?"

"You will not be able to get back into the Palace; I will take you," I respond, gesturing along the stone path before I begin to walk towards the palace. “I hope you didn’t touch or pick any flowers,” I comment, noticing the pollen stain at the edge of his white shirt. Of course, I expect children to want to touch and pick the flowers, but not a grown man.

The man shakes his head, and his eyes dart around. A clear indication is lying. I know he picked some of the Lillies; I can see precisely where he snatched them from. I don’t say anything; instead, I change the subject. "So, you got lost in the gardens?"

"Yes, I had stopped to check my phone; I have been expecting a call from a family member; I and when I looked back up, I was alone and standing in the middle of a garden," The man explains, "Quite embarrassing to get lost on a guided tour. I am surprised guards didn't cease me."

“I would be concerned about the gaggle of geese wandering around the fields. They get mean. I'd highly suggest for you not to lose your tour group," I half-smile, unsure of how the tour group left him behind, but it does happen. I remember one occasion where a little kid decided to play hide and seek within the palace. He snuck off from the tour and found himself in the dining hall. It was quite a chaotic mess. I am sure there was some sort of protocol to follow. Harry was the one who found the kid and called off the protocol. He didn't fully tell me about the day, but he briefly explained that it was hectic trying to lock half a palace down to find a lost tourist hiding amongst the furniture.

"I don't intend to. But, again, I am sorry for the inconvenience."

"It is okay," I shake my head, trying to be reassuring despite him trying to hide the fact he took a few Lillies.

Mistakes happen, it is easy to get lost at the palace, hence why there is a tour guide, but I assume I need to find a new guide since this group lost a man. I glide my fingers over the touch system that opens the doors through fingerprint and a unique key.

I push the door open and allow the man inside the palace, "Your tour group is right up there," I flick my head towards the small area at the end of the hallway. I can hear the tour guide talking about one room containing a magnificent array of paintings by Rubens, Van Dyck and Canaletto.

The man clears his throat and politely nods before hurrying down the hallway, where I watch him join the group of tourists who are more fascinated with the paintings than with me. A little girl notices me and waves. I smile and wave back.

I watch the small group for a while, mainly watching the man who seems to settle into the group and fit in. I smile to myself, happy to have helped a lost soul wandering the palace before I turn around. I gasp and put my hand over my chest, "Christ, you can't do that," I sigh, catching my breath as Harry stands in front of me with barely an inch of space between us, "Any closer and you'd have been on top of me." I press my hands to his chest.

"Have I not taught you to be aware of your surroundings?"

"I was," I respond, clearly lying. I know exactly what he is going to allude to. If I were aware of my surroundings, I would have been aware of how close he was to me. I already know he is going to give me hell about it.

Harry gently takes my hand and glances around, making sure nobody can see us before he opens a secret door, and we step into a different room. He closes the door, and I lean on the wall, taking a few deep breaths to bring my heart rate back down. "You alright?" Harry kisses my forehead before giving me a soft smile.

"No, you about gave me a heart attack," I respond, slapping his arm lightly, "One of these days, I will do the same to you."

"You give me heart attacks daily," Harry murmurs, his hands dropping to my side and resting on my waist. "In all seriousness, you need to be more aware, Anna. I could have been a murderer."

"That is what I have you for, to fight off murderers." I smile up at him.

Harry rolls his eyes, "You don't make my job easy, that is for sure," Harry chuckles.

"Mhm," I hum, "So why were you hovering so close? What do I owe this visit?" I request. Harry benevolently pulls me closer, and I settle into his warm embrace, feeling at ease for the first time in a few days.

"When I saw that you kicked Oliver off your service, I figured you were at your witts ends."

I rest my cheek on his chest and let out a breath, his arms tightening around me and holding me in the silence.

For the first time in a while, silence feels like a treasured moment. Nobody is requesting me, nobody telling me what to do or how to do it, nobody calling my name or needing me to be Queen. For the first time in a while, I can breathe and enjoy the silence without feeling the excessive need to cry or have a panic attack.

Oliver seems to always cop the shity end of the stick with me. He has from the moment he was on my service the first time. Earlier, my emotions got the better of me. I couldn't take it anymore and needed time alone. Nobody understood that I needed to compose myself. Everyone was suffocating me. When I managed to escape the chaos of everyone, Oliver was on my tail, following me everywhere. I couldn't take it. I needed utter silence and alone time. This time, I didn't threaten to fire him. I simply told him he wasn't on my service and to leave. Surprisingly, he listened to me.

"You can't kick him off your service."

"I needed space," I respond, lifting my head from his chest and stretching away from his embrace. "You don't get it," I mutter, turning my back towards him. I swallow hard and look up at the ceiling, doing my best not to allow the tears to fall from my eyes that are welling up.

Harry stays silent for a minute before he clears his throat, "Anastasia, sweetheart, do you want to talk about it?"

I don't respond. I stare at the wall and wipe my tears away, not wanting him to see me cry over everything. I am stronger than this. I don't cry when I can't do things.

The flooring creeks and Harry's shoes sound against the floors before his hands are on my waist again, "Anna," Harry whispers, tenderly tugging my waist and turning me to face him. Before he can do or say anything, I bury myself into his chest, still not wanting him to see me cry. He has seen me cry so many times in the last few months, and I am tired of it. I am tired of crying and feeling everything at once to feeling nothing. There is no in-between when it comes to how I feel. I am either all there, or I am not.

Harry holds me close, his arm tightly around me as his hand rubs circles on my back, "Okay," he whispers, trying to comfort me soothingly. "The other night, I was so tired, frustrated and stressed that I fired one of the security guys, and I got enraged at Matthew to feel better. We argued for a good thirty minutes before we stopped, and he just laughed."

"What?" I sniffle, surprised to be hearing of such a thing. It is rare to see Harry lose his shit on people, perhaps I am not around when it happens, but I don’t hear or see this side of him.

"Yeah, I lost my shit the other night. It happens, Anna. It happens to all of us, and it's okay to lose your shit and let it out. It is okay to want time alone and to cry. You don't need to hide it, especially from me."

"I'm tired of crying, Harry."

"It's part of the grieving process… But everyone has their moments, some more than others. Anastasia," Harry trails off, his hand moving to force me to look at him. Instead of fighting him like initially planned, I look up at him, "Life isn't easy, especially yours, but it will be okay."

"I'm the only one not okay."

Harry shakes his head, "No, you're not. Your mother cries too."

"Only seen her cry twice, the hospital and the funeral."

Harry takes a breath, his eyes softening as he opens his mouth to speak, but he stops himself. Harry bites his lip, pondering his thoughts and what to say. I cock my head to the side, unsure of how to read him or what his thoughts are. "Anna, sometimes things aren't always as they appear."

"What do you mean?"

"I have to get back to work," Harry dismisses the conversation, his hand raising to wipe away my tears, "I have to put a plan in place for your first event as Queen; I will be done in a few hours, do you want to go out for dinner?"

"Like leaving the palace?"

Harry nods his head, "Yes, you haven't left since coronation day, and I think you need to have some sort of normalcy."

I nod my head and smile at him, "I would like that a lot," I agree.

Honestly, since my father's passing, I haven't left the palace much or at all unless for royal events. I haven't felt the desire to go out and be in public, nor have I been allowed. Security is always high, and I am always on a high-risk alert. I have become accustomed to the high-risk level threat and haven't even asked to go out. I figured at some point. Someone would be released into the world where I could be normal for a few minutes.

"Be ready to leave at six; Matthew will take you to my car." Harry leans down and kisses my lips lightly, "And keep an eye on your surroundings," Harry winks, wiping my cheek with the pad of his thumb one more time. "Oliver is back on your service, but he will keep his distance, okay?"

I agree, "Okay," I respond before he walks back out through the secret door where he steps back into the initial hallway, and I sojourn in the room he brought me into. I walk across the red carpet and take a seat in the leather chair. I slip off my heels and lift my legs onto the leather chair, tucking them under me before I place my arms on the armrest.

Oliver walks in offers me a small smile, "Permission to enter?"

“Smartass," I mutter with a slight chuckle, "I'm sorry, Oliver."

"It's okay, Her highness."

"Is it okay if you make sure nobody comes in here?" I question, "I would like some time alone," I softly instruct, resting my head on my arms.

"As you wish," Oliver agrees, exercising towards the door and stepping out, leaving me alone in a room where very few will find me.