#i need more veers family content

[makiswirl]

can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest

like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!

[babydollmarauders]

SWEETEST GIFT — LUKE HUGHES

luke hughes x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which Luke gives y/n the sweetest gift, resulting in an eventful christmas night

warnings: anxiety, NSFW CONTENT, praise, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v (protected). (5k words)

notes: merry christmas and welcome to the final day of kinkmas! i hope you’ve all enjoyed these past 12 days and that everyone has a wonderful holiday! this is the longest fic of them all because apparently i’m actually incapable of writing a short luke smut…

i’m late.

it’s arguably the most important date so far in my relationship, and i’m late.

i don’t mean to be, obviously; the last thing i wanna do is make a bad first impression on my boyfriend’s teammates, but under the circumstances, it was completely out of my control.

i told my family several times that i needed to be out the door by four o’clock, and i thought they understood that. but then christmas breakfast turned into christmas brunch and gifts were opened late and then my mother insisted i stayed until my little cousins arrived and i still had to get changed and it was a chaotic mess all the way until i got out the door.

at five o’clock.

an entire hour later than i was supposed to leave.

so now here i am, having driven barefoot to my boyfriends apartment and only just now pulling my boots on, messy bun unreasonably… messy, and his gift having fallen onto the floor of my car after some definite traffic law violations in order to arrive as quick as possible.

once my boots are zipped securely on my feet, i’m leaning almost entirely over the center console, my hand patting at the passengers side floor until i finally grasp the present; a box wrapped in shiny red paper.

i quickly stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me before i take off into the apartment complex. the wait for the elevator feels infinite, and the ride up even longer, but i finally reach the apartment door.

faint music drifts through the cracked open door, the sounds of multiple men talking each other overpowering the melodies that play, and i knock lightly upon the wood. after one more knock and two minutes of nobody answering, i push the door open, peeking my head in to find nobody in the entry way.

tip-toeing in, i close the door behind me, the short heels of my boots clicking against the hardwood floor as i shrug my coat off, hanging it on the overcrowded coat rack by the door before i wander further into the apartment.

i determine the source of the voices as the kitchen, but opt to veer off and drop Luke’s present off in his bedroom before i join them, as i know we won’t be exchanging gifts until after dinner. i set the gift on his bed, leaving his bedroom door open on my way out, but rather than walking into the empty hallway, i find myself colliding with a hard chest as someone leaves the restroom.

“oh shit, sorry!” i squeak, looking up to find a confused face staring back at me.

the unfamiliar man is tall, at least a couple inches taller than my boyfriend, with blue-green eyes and brown buzzed hair. he stares down at me a frown and threaded brows.

“excuse me, are you supposed to be here?” he questions, and i nod quickly, swallowing harshly as i try to push down the anxiety of meeting this new person.

i glance down the hallway in hopes that Luke will miraculously appear, but i can still hear him laughing in the kitchen, “yes, yeah! i am!”

the man narrows his eyes at me, “yeah, ‘cause that didn’t sound suspicious.”

he stalks down the hallway quickly towards the kitchen, my shorter legs following behind him.

“guys, there’s a girl over here! never seen her before!” the man calls out, his voice carrying over the sound of all the others and gaining the guys attention.

one by one i see heads peeking out from the kitchen, making me stop in my tracks. my hands shake with anxiety as they all peer back at me, some faces looking frustrated or annoyed, until finally my boyfriend emerges from the kitchen.

a small smile is painted across his lips, but it drops as he sees my nervous body languages. picking my steps back up, i walk slowly into his arms, incredibly perceptive of the amount of eyes that watch me.

“hi, angel.” Luke’s arms enclose around my waist, pulling me tight against him as he speaks.

“hi, Lukey. sorry, i’m late.” his body shakes as he chuckles, brushing off my apologies.

“it’s okay,” he assures me as i pull away, “i see you met Bass.”

i turn, my back pressing against Luke’s chest as his arm winds around to hug around my stomach, facing his teammates, who all seem a lot less menacing now that they know i’m not a crazy fangirl who found her way in.

“Bass,” i repeat, staring at the man whom i ran into. i rack my brain for a moment, trying to remember who Luke has said this man is in the past, “ah, yes, Nathan!”

Nathan nods with a smile, “you can just call me Nate or Bass, all the guys do. sorry about scaring you, didn’t realize you were Rusty’s girl.”

i bite back a laugh at my boyfriend’s hockey nickname. i’ve heard it before, but it’ll take some getting used to.

“it’s okay.”

Luke points out each friend, introducing them one by one until i’ve met all five; Nico, Dawson, John, Timo, and Nathan.

“and then you know Jack.” Luke waves his brother off, making me chuckle.

“yeah, hi, Jack.”

Jack smiles, “hi, y/n. there’s some wine in the kitchen, if you want some.”

the guys retreat to living room after Luke promises to check on the ham in the oven, guiding me into the kitchen. grabbing a wine glass from a cupboard, he fills it with a red wine before turning and leaning against the counter, handing the glass off to me.

“you look like you could use it.” he laughs, making me slap his chest in playful annoyance.

“i could! my family is batshit crazy,” i sigh, taking a big gulp of the wine before i set the glass down on the counter, “i was supposed to be here an hour ago but apparently my mother can’t tell time and lord knows i’m not allowed to leave until she deems christmas over.”

i walk myself between his slightly spread legs, dropping my forehead on his chest as i groan, “i just need food and cuddles.”

“well, i can check one thing off that list, but i can’t promise the ham will be edible, after all, Jack made it so…”

a giggle falls from my lips as i peer up into his eyes, shrugging my shoulders, “yeah, maybe i’ll stick to the mashed potatoes.”

the rest of the evening goes about as smoothly as i figured it would; i had to end up finishing the ham because i had absolutely no faith in Jack to not overcook it, the guys playfully teased Luke and told me funny stories of things he’s done on roadies or in the locker room, and we all sat around the living room and ate christmas dinner as Jack and Dawson heavily debated what the best christmas movie is.

finally, about three hours later, the guys took off to a local bar for some drinks and darts, Luke and i staying back in order to spend some alone time together.

“c’mon, i wanna give you your gift.” Luke smiles, hand slipping into mine as we rise from the couch, walking down the hallways and into his room.

he shuts the door behind us, grabbing a small, poorly wrapped present off of his dresser before we both sit on his bed.

“okay, wait, you first.” i tell him, picking the red present up off the mattress and pushing it into his hands.

my boyfriend was a bit difficult to shop for, seeing ad when he wants something, he usually just buys it. but i figured i could never go wrong by combining something he loves with one of his favorite hobbies.

he hands me my present, but i wait to unwrap it until he wraps his, rather enjoying watching him shed the paper from the box. a smile spreads across his face as he looks up at me.

“it’s a lego model of the UMich football stadium! i figured it was something for you to do over the next couple free days, or just whenever you want, but i thought it was perfect because you love building lego sets and you love michigan and-”

my ramble is cut off gently by his lips, his hand cupping my cheek as he kisses me slowly.

“i love it,” he says as he pulls away, eyes gazing straight into mine as he smiles, “it’s extremely thoughtful. maybe you can help me build it?”

i nod, leaning in to press my lips against his once more, “if you want me to, i’ll happily do so. or i’ll just keep you company as you build it.”

“that sounds great, angel. alright, you’re turn!”

i giggle at his enthusiasm, looking down at the small gift in my hands. i slowly peel the wrapping paper off, making a mental note to teach him how to wrap in the new year, until i finally unveil a velvet jewelry box.

my eyes widen, flickering up to my boyfriend in surprise, but he just gives me a small, encouraging nod.

flipping open the top, a simple yet beautiful necklace comes into view; a dainty silver chain with a tiny, minimalistic ‘L’ in the middle.

“oh my god,” i breathe out, my hand rising to my lips in shock, “Luke, this is beautiful.”

“i thought maybe you could wear it when you come to watch me play.” his cheeks blush a rosy pink as i look back up at him, obviously a bit more self-conscious now than he was merely minutes ago.

“can you put it on me?” i ask him, and he nods, taking the box from my hands in order to pull the necklace from the velvet interior.

i twist around, holding my hair up and allowing him to gently clasp the necklace around my neck. his fingers graze the back of my neck, sending shockwaves throughout my body as he makes sure the necklace is secure before he lets go, his hands smoothing over my shoulders and down my arms when he finishes.

i turn again, facing him once more as my hand reaches up to my collarbone, my fingertips running over the cool metal as i grin.

“it’s so beautiful, Lukey. i love it.” i cup his cheeks, pulling his face forward to press an excited kiss against his lips.

i kiss him breathlessly, our lips locking as i crawl into his lap, one leg on each side of his body, “i love you.”

i tense after the three monumental words leave my mouth, a heat of the moment confession that i wasn’t sure he was ready to hear; but, i know i’ve been ready to say.

“shit, you- uh- you don’t have to say it back. please, don’t feel like you have to say it if you aren’t ready. i mean, i know i was ready, but that doesn’t mean you have to be. you can take your ti-”

for the second time tonight, my words are shortened by my boyfriend’s lips against mine, a smile fighting against his facial muscles as he kisses me.

“i love you too.” he whispers.

my heart races, beating so strongly it feels as though it’s about to escape my chest, but my body relaxes, my eyes gazing into his as i sigh.

“you do?”

he nods, hands rubbing gently up my sides in comforting movements, “i do. i love you so much.”

i’m overwhelmed with relief and joy, the corners of my lips quirking up in a wide grin; absolutely bewitched by the beautiful boy in front of me.

i’m not sure what i’ve done in life to have deserved someone as kind, humorous, and caring as Luke; someone who gets me sweet, thoughtful gifts; who does anything to ease my anxiety the moment he spots the signs; who loves me for exactly who i am, and who reminds me every day that i’m gorgeous and perfect in my own way. but, i know that i’m incredibly grateful to have him in my life, and i want to share all of life’s beautiful moments with him.

my lips descend upon his, a breathy sigh blowing from my nose as my eyes flutter closed, pulling him deeper into the kiss with my grip on the back of his neck. his hands still on my waist, fingers gripping a little tighter as i begin to rock my hips slowly against his.

he groans into my lips, hands stilling my hips as he pulls away, our faces still close enough that i can feel his breath against my lips, and i whine at the loss of the delicious feeling that had begun rolling through my body.

“you gotta stop, angel.” he gulps, voice tight and shaky, “if you don’t, i’m gonna have a… situation, and i don’t wanna make you feel like you have to do anything yet.”

my skin feels hot, uncomfortable even, and i register it quickly as want.

despite the fact that Luke and i haven’t actually done anything yet, it’s not like i’m unfamiliar with being horny, or even having had sex. i just wanted to take things slow him; wanted to take time to enjoy our relationship without the physicality that’s made my past relationships messy.

i heave in a breath, my chest brushing against his, and the feeling of my peaked nipples skimming against his hard body makes me all the more aroused.

“i’m ready, Lukey.” i tell him in a breathy whine.

his eyes flicker in size, swallowing harshly before he speaks, “are you sure?”

“yes.” i nod, placing a short kiss on his lips, “i’m ready, and now is the perfect time; the apartment is empty, it’s just us two, and i love you so much.”

“if you don’t want to, i’m not pushing! i’m okay with just watching a movie or cuddling, we don’t have to do anything.” i add.

Luke’s hand cradles my face, pulling me into another kiss, “of course, i want to. you’re the most stunning, most thoughtful and sweetest girl i’ve ever met; i’d be a damn fool not to want this.”

i bite back a giggle, blood rushing to my cheeks from his affectionate words.

“but i don’t want you to feel rushed. i’ll wait as long as you want, because i don’t want you to feel like you have to sleep with me just because i said i love you.”

“i don’t feel like that.” i shake my head, the back of my hand ghosting over his cheek, “i really want this, Luke. i mean it. i feel safe with you, i trust you.”

he smiles, a divine smile that makes my heart do flips, overwhelmed with love for the pure soul that has entangled with mine in the absolute best ways.

“you trust me?” he echoes, hands sliding down to cup my ass, making me shiver in anticipation.

“mhm.”

with my hum of a response, i’m suddenly flipped over, my back bouncing onto the mattress, my hair sprawling over the pillows as my boyfriend hovers over top of me. his hot breath fans over my neck, lips pressing against my heated skin and making me sigh in contentment.

he paves a path with his lips, soft and slow, down to the collar of my sweater, the only sound in the room being my heavy pants and his wet kisses.

“Luke.” i sigh as his hands travel up my sides, sliding underneath my top. he hums against my collarbone, his thumbs grazing over my ribs until his hands cup underneath my breasts, my sweater bunched up.

chilled air hits against my stomach, my abdomen tightening in response, and i desire nothing more than to rid the layers between us.

“take it off me, please.”

he pulls away at my plea, hands shimmying my sweater up and over my head, pulling my arms free before he flings the fabric to the floor.

his eyes rake my body in silence for several moments, and i begin to feel self-consciousness creep up on me, my arms wrapping over my stomach. but he’s not having it, fingers enclosing around my wrists and pulling them away.

“uh-uh, none of that.” he whispers breathlessly, “you’re beautiful, angel. so fucking perfect.”

my cheeks flush, confidence filling me from the inside out as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes blown out and darkened with lust.

“thank you.” he shakes his head at my response.

“don’t thank me.” he says, “if you knew the things i’m thinking of doing to you right now, you wouldn’t be thanking me.”

his words light a fire deep in my core, my panties dampening with every word that drops from his perfect lips.

“no, i think i would.” i rasp, voice low and dripping with lust, “i think i would want to thank you a million times over.”

“i need you so bad.” i confess.

my hands lock around his neck, pulling him back down to me. he kisses me in earnest, hips rolling down into mine, his quickly hardening erection pressing against my jean clad core.

i moan against him, a low guttural sound that pours out when his hands come up to massage my breasts over my padless red bra. he dips down, embedding open mouthed kisses upon my skin, leading down to my cleavage.

“can i?” he asks, fingers edging the cups of my bra, and i nod in approval.

he rolls his hips into mine again, my back arching, and he slips his hand underneath me, unhooking my bra with fumbling fingers. he pulls it off my body, once again discarding the clothing to the floor.

his thumbs circle my nipples and he watches me as my eyes fly shut, my lips parting as i let out a shaky breath in response to his actions.

“i’m the luckiest guy in the damn world.” he huffs, so quietly that i’m not sure he was even talking to me, more so whispering to himself.

“Luke, please,” i whine, “less talking, more touching.”

my words earn a melodious chuckle from his lips before he lowers his head to my chest, continuing to play with one nipple as the other gets extra attention. his tongue drags around the stiffed peak before its caught between his lips, softly sucked and grazed extra lightly by his teeth, making my body tremble.

after a few moments he switches, giving proper love to the other side. my leg hooks around his waist, hips bucking up to rub my clothes cunt against his now fully hardened erection.

my hands fist his shirt at his shoulder blades, tugging lightly.

“off,” i breathe, “i want this off. i wanna feel you.”

Luke pulls away from my breast, my nipple dropping from his mouth with a pop, and within seconds he’s leaning back, tugging the shirt over his head. suddenly it’s my turn to gape and stare.

obviously, i’ve seen him shirtless, but his body is one i’ll never tire of; the sight will forever and always make my heart beat faster, my core get wetter, and my soul sigh.

“take a picture, angel,” he winks, “it’ll last longer.”

he’s joking, but if i had my phone on me, i would.

“kiss me, please?”

i don’t have to say any more, those words enough to bring his lips back to mine, our bare chests pressing against one another. we take our time, tossing and turning in the bed, our lips rarely straying from each other’s, until i finally rid myself of my jeans, entirely too ready to move on.

“look at me,” he says, his lips dragging on my stomach as he speaks, “you trust me, yeah?”

“yes,” i nod, breath shaky, “i do.”

“i want you to relax. keep your eyes on me, angel.”

i nod again, eyes trained on his unruly mess of curls as his thumbs tuck into the waistband of my panties, his eyes lifting back to mine in await of approval. when i give him the go ahead, he’s pulling the last fabric that adorns my body down my thighs, past my calves, and throwing them onto the floor.

i lay stripped down in front of him, in a state of complete and utter vulnerability, yet too needy and love drunk to bring myself to care about the way i look.

he lays down on his stomach between my legs, making my breath hitch as his warm breath hits my wet pussy. but when i feel his tongue glide through my folds, tensing when he reaches my clit to provide pressure, that breath is released in a heavy yet quivering sigh.

my hands reach out to tangle in his curls as he slowly drags his tongue around my achingly wet cunt, flexing and flattening the oral muscle depending on where it is on my body.

“Lukey,” i pant, body shaking as his lips enclose around my puffy clit, rolling it between them lightly before letting it go.

he pulls back with a smile, juices glistening around his mouth and chin, “you think you can take my fingers, angel?”

“mhm,” i nod, “yes, please!”

he dives back in, this time picking up his pace; and not a moment later, i’m squirming, a cry of contentment echoing through the room as he pushes two fingers in, curling them up with every thrust he makes.

i’ve given up on words, relying on the sounds that fall from my lips to let him know how surreal his movements feel.

his fingers begin to scissor, adding a pleasurably painful stretch in order to help me ready for him, and at the same time, he flicks his tongue against my clit, successfully drawing my mind away from the pain and towards the immense pleasure he’s bringing me.

my stomach feels tight, pressure building with every movement of his tongue and every thrust of his fingers.

“i’m so close.” i tell him in a breathless whimper, my hips grinding down upon his face and hand.

he moans against me in response, vibrations reverberating through me, and my walls begin to tighten around his fingers, the familiar feeling of balancing on the edge of orgasm spreading through my body.

my thighs close around his head, but he just hums against me again, making my toes curl against the sheets.

“Luke, i’m gonna cum.” i warn him, voice tightly strained, my breath catching in my throat.

my body is hot and sticky, the air moist as his hand begins smoothing up and down my thigh, and i take that as the sign to let go, my legs shaking as i finally reach my release.

Luke continues to lap at my clit, while his fingers work me through my orgasm until i can’t take anymore. breath heavy and body trembling, i push his head away, his face finally emerging with wet, swollen lips and a soft smirk.

“did so good for me.” he praises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he hovers back over me, pressing his lips against mine.

his tongue tangles with mine, tasting salty yet a little sweet, and i moan against his lips, my hands trail down his abs to hook into the waistband of his jeans.

“you gotta wait a second, angel,” he mumbles against my lips, “don’t wanna overwork you.”

i groan, turning my head, and his lips press against my neck.

“fuck that,” i tell him, fingers fumbling with the button of his pants, “i want you now.”

“if you’re sure?” i nod quickly at his words, making him sit back.

he hastily unbuckles his belt, not bothering to take it off before he’s unzipping his jeans, kicking them off and onto the floor before he rids himself of his boxers.

his cock springs free, his tip a harsh red and precum beads at the slit, glistening in the low light of the bedroom.

leaning over to his nightstand, he digs around in the drawer for a moment before his hand emerges with a shiny foil packet. he tears the packet open, pulling the condom out and carefully sliding it onto himself, and i watch with desperate eyes as he gives himself a few tugs before turning back to me.

he hovers above me, bent on one forearm as his other hand grasps his shaft. he spreads my wetness around with his tip, sliding through my folds easily, and when he taps against my clit, my whole body aches with need.

“please.” i beg, and that’s all it takes for him to line up with my entrance, his lips connecting with mine as he slowly pushes in.

i whimper against his lips, his cock stretching me with a stinging sensation with every inch that he pushes in, and he stills, opening his eyes to peer down at me.

“are you okay?” he asks softly, petting hair out of my face gently as he speaks.

“mhm,” i nod, hands grasping at his back, “keep going.”

he does as i say, this time giving shallow thrusts in order to work himself in slowly, only taking what my body allows him until he can finally sink into me entirely. by the time he’s completely in, the stinging pain has subsided, making way for blissful pleasure, but he still stops to check again.

after my reassurance, he picks up again, thrusting properly, but still slowly. his lips press back against mine, kissing me with raw passion and love.

“faster.” i whisper against his lips.

his hips speed up into fast, deep strokes, a hand snaking down to grip my waist. my moans carry through the room, conjoining with the sounds of sex and his hips slapping against mine as my leg hooks around his waist.

gripping his back, my nails scratch into his skin, earning a groaned whine from my boyfriend as his face buries into my neck, his thrusts gaining a harshness that they hadn’t held before.

“say you love me.” he gruffs against my skin, so low that i almost didn’t hear him.

“i love you,” i breathe out, “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

his lips connect with my collarbone, each kiss broken up by a single confession of love muttered from his tongue.

i can feel the knots forming in my stomach again, like a ball of yarn tangling and tangling, further tying together with each thrust of his hips. the tip of his cock smacks against my g-spot, my back arching from the mattress as i make a particularly loud cry.

“right there!” i tell him in a broken sob.

he smirks against my skin, angling his hips just right before thrusting back in to hit the spot again. now with each stroke, my orgasm builds even quicker, my nails scratching down his back.

my walls clench around him, making him grunt into my neck, and he picks his head up to kiss my lips, his thrusts becoming quicker and slowly losing rhythm.

“i’m close,” he mumbles, “so close.”

i nod in agreement, “me too.”

his hand slides between us, his thumb finding its way to my swollen clit, and he begins rubbing harsh circles into it, making my hips jolt, my breath catching i’m my throat.

“cum for me, angel,” he whispers, “let go.”

i nod, for what i’m not sure, but my body tenses up underneath him, walls tightening around his cock as he continues to thrust, and my eyes roll back, legs shaking as i come undone around him.

he fucks me through my orgasm, kissing me through my heavy breathing as his thrusts speed up, becoming sloppier and sloppier as he chases his high until he finally stills. his hips stutter as he grunts, releasing into the condom.

his body collapses on mine, the grounding weight bringing me back down to earth as we both pant in uneven breaths, our chests rising and falling rapidly.

we lay in silence for several minutes, enjoying the serenity of the quiet until he rolls off of me, slipping out from inside me.

“that was…” he trails off and i giggle, nodding my head.

“why did i wanna wait again?” he laughs at my response, shaking his head.

“i’m glad we did,” his fingers trail over my stomach, drawing shapes in my skin. “it was worth the wait, and i think knowing we love each other just made it more special.”

i hum in agreement, wrapping my hand around his before lifting it to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

he presses a kiss to my cheek before getting up to dispose of the condom. pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he assures me that he’ll be right back before leaving the room, reappearing a few minutes later with a granola bar and a water, along with a damp washcloth.

“head up,” he coos holding the water to my lips, and i let him help me take a few sips before he hands me the granola bar.

he cleans me up, my body shaking as he runs the cloth through my sensitive core, as i eat the snack, resting the wrapper on his nightstand.

he rifles through his dresser, coming back to the bed with a pair of of boxers and a t-shirt, and he helps me into them before climbing into the bed beside me. he pulls me back into him, his nose burying into the side of my neck as he kisses the back of it.

“i love you.” he tells me, arm winding around my stomach as he spoons me, my back to his chest.

my eyes feel as heavy as lead, but my heart races at his words, my entire world shifting into a golden state.

“i love you too.” i repeat, immediately followed by a heavy yawn.

“go to sleep, angel,” he hums and i can feel his eyelids flutter closed against my skin, “i’m right here.”

and with his reassurance and the feeling of his body pressed to mine, i allow by body to shut down, my breathing evening out as i fall asleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: um I woke up to this in my head. Sorry.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You honk your horn as another driver slowly veers toward the line. You’re not letting them in. If they can’t weave in, then they aren’t fast enough to leave the slow lane. You sigh and gesture at them as kindly as you can in that instant. You have enough going on. 

Your phone starts to ring. Again. You tap the button on your steering wheel to answer. You would know who it is even without his custom ringtone. Your boss allows no space for breathing, even on a call. 

“How far out are you, pixie?” Lloyd asks as you growl and lean on the gas pedal. You hate driving on the highway, especially at night, and the sky is steadily dimming. 

“Close,” you assure him. “Next exit,” you flip your blinker on. 

“Thank god. You got everything?” 

Yeah, everything you forgot. You don’t give the dry retort aloud. You know better. Where your boss has no filter to be found, you find yourself often censoring yourself. As much for his ego as for others’. Arguing never gets you anywhere. 

“I believe so--” 

“You believe or you do?” He asks impatiently. 

“Mr. Hansen, I got everything on the list,” you assure him. “All with a bow on top.” 

“A life saver, pix, I swear,” he praises, but a compliment from him is rarely genuine, more transactional. You did him a favour so he’ll give you a treat. 

“Alright, I need to get over, ramp’s coming up. So--” 

“Yeah, yeah,” his ends rustles and you hear a muffled female voice, “I got shit going on too. You got the address, text me.” 

He hangs up first. You can never be the first to end the call. He has to make the decisions. You just know how to guide him to the right one. You merge into the exit lane and follow the ramp away from the whirring stream of headlight. Finally. 

You’re less than pleased to be within minutes of your destination. This isn’t how you envisioned your holiday. A last-minute itinerary change to fix yet another of Mr. Hansen’s oversights. It’s never a mistake, he’s just a man with so much going on that it slipped his radar. Another bandage for his ego. 

The slower pace feeds your agitation. At least on the highway, you felt like you were getting somewhere. The lazy roll of the cars in the town tweaks at the nape of your neck. You just want to be in one place and that won’t happen even when you get to Mr. Hansen. 

You’ll be lucky to have two hours of sleep before you have to catch your rebooked flight. Yep. You’ll play Santa and drop off your lot before hiding at the hotel long enough to dread the airport jungle. Then it’s off to your own familial obligations. Those are rarely enjoyable and being a day later than promised will hardly please your mother. 

Your phone announces your arrival at the destination. The long drive of the over-sized suburban mansion is full. You park on the street and turn on the interior light. You get out and open the back seat. The whole medley of shiny paper and quaffed bows stares back at you. 

You text Mr. Hansen and wait, huffing and puffing with impatience. Of course, you have to upheave your plans to meet his deadlines, but he’s taking his time. It’s not a surprise, not even a disappointment, you expected as much. 

“Pixieee,” Lloyd drags out the last syllable, “there you are, pretty pixie.” 

Pretty Pixie? He’s drunk or he’s going to ask for something else. You brace yourself as his shadow struts up the long driveway and passes beneath the cone cast by the tall street lights. Coloured lights glimmer over him from the eaves of the surrounding facades. 

“Mr. Hansen, wrapped, labelled, everything you requested,” you gesture to the backseat. 

“An angel. A true saviour, pixie,” he surprises you as he grabs your head, his palms pressing to your cheeks as he bends to kiss your forehead, “did I ever tell you you’re immaculate?” 

“Mr. Hansen,” you gently pull his wrists until he drops his hands. You smell the alcohol radiating off of him. 

“It’s the holiday, call me Lloyd, sweet cake,” he insists. 

“Right,” you tut and turn to drag out the largest gift bag, “here, you better just take all this, I have to check-in--” 

“About that,” he ignores the gift as you hold it out. “We’re just about to start dinner, you should pop in, have a bite.” 

“I can’t, Mr. Hansen--” 

“Of course you can,” he insists. You look up at him. His eyes gleam in the spectrum of lights shining from your car, the houses, and the tall poles. You sniff. He’s only tipsy, there’s still the hint of authoritarianism firmly implanted in his tone. “I told everyone you would.” 

“Everyone?” You echo anxiously. 

“The family,” he exclaims as if it should be obvious. 

“Okay, I can come say hello but--” you wiggle the bag at him. 

“Damn right you can,” he catches your hand and takes the bag. He drops it on the ground carelessly. 

“Mr. Hansen, that’s fragile,” you say. 

“Shhhh,” he grabs your hand and you curl and unfurl your fingers desperately, “Lloyd, remember?” He feels around in his pocket as he keeps you in his vice, “now, you just need to slip this on.” 

He struggles to line up the ring with your finger as you squirm in confusion. What is he doing? 

“Mr. Han--” 

“Lloyd,” he growls, all humour trickling away. He squeezes until you whimper. “Look, I just need you to smile and bat those long lashes of yours, alright?” 

“What’s going on?” 

“As far as anyone knows, I proposed to you on Thanksgiving,” he says. 

“Proposed?!” You nearly shriek. 

He hushes you again and finally rams the ring down to your knuckle. “Look, pixie, mommy’s being a real pain in my ass so you just need to play along.” 

“Mr.--” 

“If I have to tell you one more time--” 

“Lloyd,” you gulp, “please. I... this is... strange. What? Why? I have a flight in eight hours.” 

“Cancel it,” he sneers. “Double time and a half for holiday overtime. See the family in the New Year.” 

“What? That’s-- This is insane--” 

“This is your job, honey,” he clings to your hand. “To do what I say or you can spend your January trawling the job boards.” He squeezes until the band digs into your flesh. “Now, I know Mr. Walker thinks you’re darling and he offered you a role last year but once I tell him about your little defiance issue, I don’t think he’ll be interested--” 

“Huh?” 

“I know a lot more than you think,” he grits. “Alright? So let’s start getting this shit inside. That’ll give you a chance to get yourself together.” 

“Lloyd,” you gasp. “Why--” 

“No more fucking question. Since when did you get so uppity,” he barks. 

“Sir--” 

“Ah, none of that, either,” he lets you go and waggles his finger in your face. “Relax. Have some eggnog when we get inside and take the edge off.” 

“This can’t be happening,” you murmur. 

“It’s fucking happening, alright?” He picks up the bag off the ground. “I keep you around ‘cause you’re quick on your feet, Pix, so let’s get to it.” 

“Oh god,” you utter. 

“Keep it to yourself,” he warns. 

Your disbelief has you a bit dumb. You’re panicking. He knows you have an insurance policy with Walker and you have no doubt he’ll do all he can to spoil your future if you fuck around with his present. You’ve worked long enough for him to believe his threats, even when everything else is dubious. 

You turn and grab several gifts from the backseat. You move out of his way and he gathers some more himself. He backs up and uses his knee to close the door. He nods you toward the house. 

“Smile, act like you’re excited,” he commands. 

You pass him and stare up at the blaze of holiday lights. The lawn is decorated with a Santa and sleigh, complete with all his reindeer. You make the march up the walk and towards the glowing windows that trim the front door.  

Lloyd comes up next to you and kicks it, “open up.” 

It isn’t long before obedience appears from the other side. You do a double take at the man who answers the door. He looks a lot like Lloyd but not. He doesn’t sport the same bristly stache and his hair neatly combed, the sides unshaved but tidy. He rolls his eyes. 

“Was hoping you got lost in the snow,” the man scoffs. 

“Shut up,” Lloyd shoulders through, “always a fucking prick, Hugh.” 

The other man snarls, “don’t fucking call me that.” 

“Aw, I’m sorry, baby boy,” Lloyd puts the gifts on the bench against the wall, under the large mirror with an elaborate frame. “Why don’t you go suck on mommy’s teat?” 

“You’re disgusting,” the other man, Hugh, hisses. 

“Speak for yourself. We’re the OnlyFans thot? She not joining us?” 

“Oh, fuck you.” 

“Fuck you, fuck me, we already did this, remember?” Lloyd faces him. 

“And who’s this slut?” The man tosses you a sharp glare.  

“Woah, man, that’s my future wife,” Lloyd lies so easily it startles you. He sounds almost genuine and you’ve never heard him sound like that. “Not a slut, so keep your eyes and your hands to yourself.” 

“Huh, I didn’t believe it,” the man puts his hand on his hip as he looks you up and down, “she’s tiny.” 

You narrow your eyes, speechless as they talk about you like a new lamp. 

“Ransom,” Lloyd gestures to him derisively, “Pixie. Now you’ve met so you can skedaddle back to the liquor cabinet.” 

The man, Ransom, snickers, “good luck, sweetheart,” he scoffs. “If you need a drink, just look for me. You probably will. At least for the next forty years.” 

He struts off through the archway behind him and you look at Lloyd. He takes the armful of gifts from you and grumbles. He stops and crosses his arms.  

“Well, get your boots off. Mom will kill you if you’re tracking salt all over her freshly polished floors,” he shakes his head. “And a bit of advice, stay away from my cousin. Ransom’s a fucking pest.” 

“Right, sir.” 

He tilts his head and you show your palms, “Lloyd.” 

“Good girl,” he says and slips free of his loafers. “Now, you’re going to have to meet my parents before anyone else or I won’t hear the end of it. I’ve already got an earful. I know I shoulda booked that resort...” 

You unzip your boots and set them aside on the rack. You stand and he beckons you past the open archway and down the hallway. You take in the decor; gold on beige on ivory. It’s all very luxurious. 

He pushes through a white birch door and warmth enshrines you along with the smell of turkey. There’s a clattering beneath a shrill voice snapping out orders, “oh, not mashed, whipped!” 

A tall blonde woman crosses her arms as she hovers like a vulture over the aproned staff crowded around the large marble island. Lloyd grabs your hand and drags you after him. Your socks slip on the tile as dread coils up your limbs. 

“Mom, she’s here,” he announces as he gets close to her. 

“Ugh, about time, they already set the table and I was dreading the empty plate,” she slithers. She turns her chin down to see you, “Oh, look at her. She’s so... petite.” She levels her hand with the top of your head, “much different than I envisioned.” 

You look at Lloyd as he pushes his shoulders back. You’ve never heard anyone talk to him like that and you’ve never seen him so uptight. You turn your attention back to the woman. 

“Hello, Mrs. Hansen, it’s nice to meet you,” you offer your hand. 

She considers it then grabs it, turning the ring up. You examine the jewel as she does the same, your first glimpse at the thing. She harrumphs, “that’s the ring?” 

“Mom,” Lloyd utters. 

“Mm, very well. Dear, you may call me Gwenyth, not Mrs. Hansen,” she lets you go. “Now, dear son, out of my way. I’m trying to get dinner done.” 

Lloyd stares at her, almost expectantly, the takes your hand again and leads you away. He pulls you back through the door. You don’t dare say a word. He leads you away from the kitchen and the wall of voices buzzing from the front room. He guides you through the archway opposite and around to another door. 

He knocks and there’s a lull as you wait. He taps again. There’s coughing from the other side. “What do you want?” 

“Just me, Dad,” Lloyd answers. 

“Ugh, get in here then,” the timbre calls back. 

Lloyd twists the knob and urges you in ahead of him. The smell of cigar smoke blows in with the cold wind. A gray-haired man puffs by the window, his efforts to puff through the opening sabotaged by the wintry gusts. 

“Close the door. I don’t need the banshee sniffing me out,” he growls. 

“Sure,” Lloyd shuts the door. “Dad, uh, this is her. The woman I told you about. My fiance.” 

“Took you long enough,” the man sneers. You flinch and his grey eyes soften, “him, I mean. Forty-three years--” 

“Dad,” Lloyd rasps. 

“Well,” his father looks you over, “she’s young. Bit small...” 

You do your best not to let your annoyance show. So you’re a little shorter than average. 

“William,” he introduces himself, “and you are?” 

“Pixie,” Lloyd answers for you. 

“Didn’t ask you, boy,” William rebukes and keeps his eyes on you. “You smoke?” 

You mull his question and sigh, “never tried it but I guess it’s never too late to start.” 

William snorts, “truer words.” He puffs, “I don’t recommend it. Horrible habit.” He tamps out the stogie in a copper tray. “Well then, is the food ready, or did you just come to show me your woman?” 

Lloyd stiffens and touches your lower back, “guess I just came to do that.” He mutters, “come on, let’s go get something to drink.” He turns and opens the door. 

“Don’t let the smoke out,” William snips as you spin around. 

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

We've suddenly got an abundance of shows with dark themes and adult vibes, with a bit of a mixed bag on their execution. These are available for weekly streaming on Gaga unless otherwise noted.

Smells Like Green Spirit

A fan subber came through and we are now able to watch this show on a slight delay from the airing in Japan. This first episode was great, but be warned that this is not a light watch. This show is less a full blown romance and more of a queer coming of age story with a rather bleak worldview that will likely include a romance subplot. Our story centers on Mishima, a young person who is questioning their gender and just trying to live while being constantly targeted by school bullies. The bullying in this show is graphic and violent and Mishima has already been assaulted and targeted by creeps in the first episode, so take care and ask for content warnings if you need them. I have read the manga so I'm aware of what's in store--if you would like to know what to expect before watching, feel free to ask.

Happy of the End

CWs: Assault, attempted murder, blood, death, forced fellatio/rape (against a main character, graphically depicted more than once), revenge porn, sexual coercion and exploitation, stabbing, suicide attempt, suicide, violence

We have arrived at the end of this story, and it did not quite come together for me. I liked a lot of what it was doing; the relationship between Chihiro and Haoren giving them both a reason to persist despite their general apathy toward survival was compelling, and the actors gave strong performances in some very difficult scenes. I thought the show had a strong sense of style and tone, as well. But for me, it crossed the line into over the top trauma porn one too many times, seeming to revel in making the characters suffer and piling on unnecessary traumas that were depicted quite graphically, making the show deeply unpleasant to watch. And in the end, it suddenly veered into a happy ending that felt like a mismatch for the rest of the story, which was achieved via a time skip and Chihiro and Haoren healing offscreen despite their circumstances only getting worse over the course of the show. @bengiyo laid out why that ending felt like the show pulling its punches, and I agree. I can appreciate a story that has an established bleak worldview telling us about a specific time in these characters' lives where they mattered to each other, but slapping that unearned epilogue on it just makes the whole thing feel like torture porn followed by cheap consolation. It didn't feel honest. I don’t recommend watching this one unless you are pretty comfortable with gratuitous sexual violence.

Love is Like a Poison

We’re zipping along nicely, with this week’s episode mostly focused on the case that Haruto helped Shiba win. That courtroom scene was wild. I’m intrigued by all the advances and the early confession from Haruto, because as we and Shiba well know, the man is a con. What’s his angle, and why does he think romancing Shiba is the way to get it? Whatever he’s after, I think Shiba should give in because look at him!

Chaser Game W 2

This week we met Itsuki’s first love Yoreum, who is now a famous Korean idol and still hung up on her from back when she did a homestay with Itsuki’s family. She did a livestream from Itsuki’s cafe in the special spot where Itsuki and Fuyu like to canoodle; jealousy and dramatics ensued. Then suddenly we were doing an elevator rescue? Idek. I’m rooting for the new girl to break this couple up to be honest.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

i gotta say i agree that exposing children to algorithmic content feeds is going to make them grow up with one billion new kinds of mental illnesses and it's a serious societal problem that urgently needs addressing but it makes me v. v. v. uneasy when i see posts going around that identify this issue and come to the conclusion 'this is why it's important for parents to know what their kid is doing online' and uh girls there are a lot of kids out there who would be dead if their parents knew what they were doing online

"yeah this aspect of capitalism is extremely alienating and traumatizing" and im nodding and smiling and then they add "which is why we must retreat to the safety of the family" and i start abruptly high-pitched screaming like a fire alarm

It's really amazing how txttletale almost comes to the right conclusion, and then veers off at the last second.

And is basically asking for validation about their irrational, highly emotional knee-jerk reaction. 

Also, how exactly can one tell that a lot of kids would be dead if their parents knew what they were doing? Hypotheticals aren't proof. 

Even if I assume this is hyperbole, maybe the kid is doing something that's actually harmful, and parents need to keep them from doing that. That;s literally the job.

Why are you just completely ignoring that idea? How can you go "social media is harmful for kids" and then immediately go "parents should have no control over their kids online lives"? 

>capitalism Oh, yeah, clearly it's the algo and capitalism that are the problem, not what people are actually doing with social media. Individuals bear no responsibility at all. 

Couldn't possibly be TX trying to WD-40 a square peg into a round hole. 

Also, notice the lack of any specific measures, just vague "this needs to be addressed". Given her prior leftist leanings, five bucks says most of her ideal solutions involve government regulations. 

You know, the ones that often come from people who are even more out of touch with the internet than your average modern parent. 

Also, it's kind of hilarious that someone who blocks over the slightest disagreement and unironically spouts the "Tolkein's orcs are racist" argument thinks they're opposed to bigotry and know how to deal with massive Internet problems. 

We know that both traditional and social media work closely with the government to shape public opinion, so blaming the harm of social media entirely on capitalism is stupid. 

PPS: , this is coming from someone whose claim to e-fame is being a smug, toxic, insular jerk even by the standards of this infamously toxic social media site. No wonder she wants to blame the algo and capitalism. 

[hailuchiha]

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

!! MINORS DNI !!

!! 18 + NSFW CONTENT!!

!! ALL characters involved are ADULTS ; NO minor characters!!

Summary: In a public confrontation with his little sister, sparked by his fiance Izumi, Itachi slaps his little sister. Heartbroken and feeling betrayed, she gets upset and leaves, refusing to talk to him. When Itachi goes to apologize, things don't go as planned, as neither sibling is on the same page, and each wants to be heard. Egged on by his sister's harsh words and acts of retaliation, Itachi gives in to his rage and attacks her once more, crossing a line that there's no going back from.

incest; slight domestic/physical abuse; spit; slapping; non con; cnc; betrayal; anger; frustration; sibling incest; family drama; power imbalance; some verbal abuse; forced bj; choking;

Well... this certainly got out of hand. Again. I should really work on keeping my content concise T_T

Word count: 3.5+k

Familial Rift

He slapped her.

She could still hear the sound- like a whip cracking. Her face still stung, and if she touched it, she could feel heat radiating off of what she knew was his handprint on her face.

The young woman sat straight-backed on her bed, feet still firmly planted on the floor, staring blankly at the wall, refusing to cry.

Well, she was crying, since tears streamed continuously down her face, but the young Uchiha was determined to not make a sound.

There was a quiet knock on her door.

"Sweetie. Are you alright?"

The Uchiha wanted to scoff. She knew her mother meant well, but she was angry at the older woman too.

Their mother hadn't done anything when Itachi had backhanded her across the face. She'd just stood as till as the other bystanders, not moving a muscle till her daughter had calmly walked out of the hall.

Of course, the party didn't continue. At least, not for long. Sasuke had followed her shortly, walking behind her silently, happy to shadow her until she started to veer too far off. Then, her younger brother, who'd grown a whole head taller than her now and wasn't so little anymore, had taken her hand none-too-gently and led her back towards their parked car.

Upon reaching the car, they were quickly bundled in since Mikoto and Itachi were waiting for them.

"Get in. You're all going home first. As the host, your father and I will see to whatever needs to be done and return," was all Mikoto said before rushing back to the venue.

Nobody spoke on the drive back home, and it had made the young woman feel a tad bit better to see her baby brother glaring daggers at Itachi from his spot beside her in the backseat.

She shook her head to get rid of the ugly, fresh memories seered into her mind.

"Go away, mother," she responded, only raising her voice loud enough to be heard through the door.

She ignored whatever else her mother said. From what she could see from the movement under the door, the young woman knew her mother remained outside her door for a few more minutes before eventually leaving.

It felt like days later, but what couldn't have been more than an hour or so, when she was startled awake by knocking at her door. In the haze of sleep, she moved on auto pilot, crawling out of bed to open the door.

Only, the moment the door opened and she met her brother's dark gaze, all the memories of the night came rushing back. And with them, the anger, the rage, the betrayal. Gritting her teeth, she didn't let Itachi so much as get a word out before she slammed her door shut again.

Or, she tried to.

He'd been quick to react, his reflexes much sharper than hers. His foot was wedged in her doorway, refusing to allow her to shut him out again.

"Fuck off!" she yelled, voice wobbly with rising irritation and a panic she couldn't place.

"Just listen to me," he said, voice low in contrast to her high pitch.

Even as she shook her head violently, Itachi pushed his way in, shoving her back enough to breach her sanctuary before closing the door shut behind him.

The lock clicking into place had the young woman backing away slowly, eyes warily watching him close the distance between them.

He had the audacity to look hurt and confused at her reaction.

"Why are you being like this?" he said finally, his voice quiet.

No response.

She didn't even want to look at him.

"For fuck's sake," he sighed, as if he were dealing with a disobedient child. "It was an accident, alright? I didn't mean to."

The young woman didn't even deign to scoff in response. She kept her gaze fixed on the wall behind him, just past his shoulder.

"Will you say something?" he finally demanded, his tone no longer passive.

"You wanna hear something?" she finally snapped, chest heaving from the strain of keeping a lid on her emotions. She didn't want to expose herself that way to him- to let him know he could have such an effect on her. "You are nothing but a goddamn brute, and I want nothing to do with you," her voice was strained, venom dripping from her words. She knew it must hurt him- good! She wanted it to hurt.

Despite her fake bravado, she took another step back when Itachi stepped towards her, a dangerous look in his eyes.

"W-What? You're gonna hit me again? Because you're so powerful and untouchable?" she said, standing her ground despite the tremours wracking her body.

Itachi didn't say anything. She flinched when he raised a hand, her eyes clenching shut, bracing for the pain.

But it never came. Nothing happened.

Her eyes snapped open when her face was gently cradled.

She winced when a calloused thumb stroked her bruised cheek.

"It must have hurt so much," he said eventually, eyebrows twisted in concern. "Forgive me, little sister. I really got out of hand."

Pathetically, she wanted to give in right there. She wanted to let go of the rage she was holding on to, and to throw her arms around him and weep into her older brother's chest like she used to.

But she could not do that. She was no longer a little girl; and he was no longer her protector. In fact, he'd laid hands on her in front of the whole clan- humiliated her without a second thought.

Taking in a shaky breath, she shoved his hand away, giving him a look of disgust.

"That's gotta be the understatement of the fucking year. And a shitty apology to boot," her voice was flat with considerable efforts to keep her emotions in check.

He opened his mouth to respond, barely uttering a syllable of her name when she held up her hand, glaring at him coldly.

"No, Itachi! I've had enough. You... You humiliated me, abused me, in front of everyone, for that brainless whore without even bothering to talk to me," she saw his eye twitch when she addressed Izumi as such, but she couldn't care less. This was the first time she had used such vile and harsh words for her brother's fiance, whom she had always treated with respect and tried to be friendly with. Well, no more of that, she thought bitterly to herself, now that Izumi had shown her true colours. "Since you so happily humiliated me in public, I'll only accept your apology if you make just as big of a gesture in public."

She didn't see Itachi's balled fists as he shook with barely concealed rage. What she said may have very well been true, but he was not listening past the abusive language she'd used against his fiance. He may or may not love the woman, but she was to be his wife, and the future co-leader of the clan. He could not have his sister getting used to talking about her that way.

In the blink of an eye, his hand was wrapped around her slender throat, grip vicelike as he choked her into silence, the only sound being her laboured gasps as she attempted to breathe past his hold. Her hands gripped his wrist, trying to pull it off her throat, but Itachi was bigger in stature and muscle and remained quite unaffected by her attempts.

"It seems I came too soon to apologize, little sister," he leaned in, tilting his head to breathe against her ear. "In fact, perhaps even apologizing was a mistake. A whore like you shouldn't be put on a pedestal."

He took no pleasure as he saw her eyes widen in shock at his words, tears immediately springing to her pretty doe eyes. His grip tightened reflexively when she swallowed, his gaze drawn to her heaving breasts as they brushed against his forearm.

After a moment of intense eye lock, he unhanded her none too gently, her head snapping back from the motion. With herculean effort, he turned his back and walked stiffly to the door, not wanting to stay and do something irreversible.

It was a small thing that broke his last holds on his sanity.

A shoe.

Thrown at him in hurtful retaliation. Colliding solidly between his shoulder blades.

It didn't even hurt, really. But it was the principle of things.

It hurt his pride, stoking the poisonous flames.

Within a moment, he was upon her, invading her space. A loud slap rung out through her bedroom, too sudden for her to even react with a gasp. Her wide eyes stared up at him, mouth agape as his palm-print started blooming on her other cheek already.

Idly, Itachi thought the look suited her. That he should keep her marked with his handprints.

"What the-" was all she managed to get out as he forced her to kneel with a painful grip on her beautiful, dark tresses.

One hand clenched in her hair keeping her in place, Itachi quickly freed his cock, which had come to attention sometime during his visit to her room, and shoved his angry, fat cock into her mouth just as she opened it in protest.

His gaze was cold as he looked down at her choking on his cock as he held her in place, his grip in her hair not allowing her to pull off.

Her hands clawed desperately at his hips, tapping, hitting, whatever she could think of to get him to let up.

But Itachi had a lesson to teach his beloved sister.

"Mhm," he protested, almost mildly in comparison to his initial rage, and used his vicious grip to shake her head in warning. "Since you like using this dirty little mouth so much, you'd better learn to put it to good use. Whether you like it or not, you have a lesson to learn, and I have all night to teach you."

The shock from his words made her mouth go slack, only the tiniest bit, and Itachi hummed in approval, pulling out minimally before sliding his cock back in, pushing in deeper. He knew he was girthy, but right now, he was in no mood to baby his sister.

The subtle, wet sounds coming from her throat were going straight to his groin. The fact that she was clearly inexperienced didn't deter him. Her throat kept constricting, trying to evade the penetration that he had no plans on taking away; more and more spit collected in her throat and mouth, making his passage more pleasurable for him, and the sounds that much more palpable.

Itachi wasn't in any hurry. Once he knew he had her in place, Itachi rewarded her by patting her head gently, only to then use his grip to pull her up and down on his cock. He bit back a groan at the sight of her puffy lips stretched painfully wide around his sex as tears streaked down her face from the repeated breach of her oesophagus.

"I'm surprised this is the best you've got, baby sister... Are you sure you're not holding out on me?" he couldn't help but mock, groaning in pleasure at the resulting reverberations along his fat cock when she made unintelligible protests.

"Alright, alright," he huffed patronizingly, fucking into her sweet little mouth a couple more times before yanking her face against his pelvis just as he slammed in.

He could feel her throat spasm in panic, her nails digging into the meat of his calves where she gripped him in desperation. But Itachi didn't want to let go. Not yet. He liked seeing her gorgeous face pressed into his pubes, her teary, panicked eyes looking up at him in a silent plea for mercy.

And mercy he did take, his heart always having been soft for his sweet sister.

He pulled out just as suddenly as he'd invaded her mouth, his big, fat dick now glistening and dripping with her saliva.

With a satisfied hum, he yanked her up. She swayed slightly, still struggling to catch her breath, lips swollen and slick with spit.

"How pretty," Itachi hummed, using his thumb to wipe some of the drool from the corner of her mouth. "This look suits you."

While she didn't respond, this time, Itachi knew it was more because of physically being unable to rather than doing it as a sign of disrespect.

Still, he wasn't done with his sweet girl.

She was still in the pretty peach dress she'd worn to the party- the only Uchiha to opt for such light colours. She'd been so happy to get dressed for today too, only for things to go south...

His hand went behind her to pull her flush against him using the grip on her tiny waist. She collided with him with a muffled huff, and Itachi stroked small circles into her back.

"Got nothing to say?" he said softly against the top of her head, before placing a little kiss there. "We're not done here, you know."

An amused smile pulled at his lips when she stiffened in his arms.

His sweet, silly little sister. Did she really think he was done with her?

With one hand, he held the bottom of her lovely dress up and our of the way as he pushed her back, arranging her on her back on the plush mattress.

"I-Itachi please," she said, her voice only a whisper now, throat too scratchy from being fucked so thoroughky for her to manage anything else.

"Shhh. Let big brother make it up to you," he said none too gently, leaving no room for argument.

While he was glad she wasn't loud anyway, Itachi suddenly found a newfound appreciation for the location of his and her rooms being at this end of the mansion, away from Sasuke and their parent's rooms.

Uncaring of her halfhearted plea, Itachi ripped off her sheer leggings, tossing them aside, before moving on to her panties. His eyes widened when he pulled them off, eyes zoning in on the thick, creamy wetness pooling in her dark frilly panties, thin liquidy strands stretching to connect back to the pretty petals of her cunt.

"Fuck," Itachi hissed, shoving her thighs wide open to watch her cunt being spread before his eyes. "Fuck... You little whore, you really did like me using your mouth like that."

"A-Aniki don't call me that," her voice was small and muffled from behind her hands.

Itachi gave in and pressed his lips to her wet cunt, licking into it with the hunger of a man starved. Her thighs clenched around his head, her long mewl like music to his ears. But he was having none of that.

With one hand, he bunched up her dress, making sure it stayed up her waist, he shoved her thighs open with his other hand, slapping the soft flesh for good measure.

"Don't close them," he commanded, voice low from strain.

Then, he was dipping his head again, practically moaning against her velvety lips, his longue laving into her slick, warm cavern as he tasted her, trying to bury deeper and deeper. He pulled back after getting her properly wet and the slick slurping sounds filled the room.

With a heated gaze, he watched her flushed cheeks, where with one hand she muffled her needy sounds while with the other she clenched and pulled at her hair.

Fuck, he thought, the sight making his cock throb as he idly palmed her pussy. Did he ruin her enough that she needed her hair pulled now?

Almost thoughtlessly, he raised his hand, before bringing it down with a resounding wet slap against her pussy. The impact made her yelp, her hips raising from the mattress, and Itachi hummed in appreciation.

Unable to wait more, he lined up his cock against her sopping entrance before pushing the fat, angry head in. Their groans mingled as his sheer girth stretched her tight walls almost painfully despite the sopping wetness easing the way.

He smirked as her legs dropped open wider, her hips raised almost needily, and she still refused to meet his gaze.

Using a few shallow thrusts to gauge the amount of force needed, Itachi finally slammed in, groaning as his heavy balls slapped against her ass on impact. His hand gripped the flesh of her thigh painfully at the sight of her mouth falling open in a silent scream as her voice caught in her throat.

"Not feeling so bitchy now, are you, sweet sister," he huffed, hands twitching against her skin. But she probably was too far gone to hear the need in his voice.

Adjusting their position so he was kneeling between her legs, his knees propping her thigs wide open, Itachi draped himself over her, caging her body under his by placing his hands on either sides of her head.

He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers as he started thrusting, setting a hard pace from the get go, watching her face scrunch up, her lip bitten raw as she tried to muffle her mewls.

This won't do.

Ever the caring brother, he slapped her across the face, lightly, only to swoop in and capture her sweet lips the moment she released her bottom lip. He licked into her mouth, moaning at the taste, his movements getting harder as she overwhelmed his senses.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss with a wet sound, and smirked down at her blown out pupils and slack mouth.

Mine, his brain ordained, and Itachi didn't even want to fight it.

With a gentle grip, he tilted her face just so, before spitting into her mouth.

There was a flash of something in her eyes- recognition, or awareness- but she met his gaze, blinking once, before swallowing. As if that wasn't enough to drive all his blood south, his sweet little sister then opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out for more.

And fuck if he wasn't a goner.

"Fucking filthy," he muttered breathlessly, fucking into her at a harsh pace.

Who was he to say no? He spit on her face, watching the clear, sticky glob slide down her cheek before finally spitting into her waiting mouth.

His pulse picked up at her happy little moan as she swallowed his spit again before licking her lips.

Something about the whole scene awakened something primal in him, and he descended upon her, licking into her mouth hungrily, their kisses becoming sloppy. He yanked the neck of her dress down, groaning at the sight of her large, naked breasts bouncing so prettily as he ravaged her on his cock.

When he gripped both breasts in his hands, the fat flesh oozed out between his fingers, her ample breasts practically spilling out of his palms. He squished them together, watching her squirm, before slapping them till they were a pretty pink, and her nipples swollen and erect.

His thrusts almost slowed down to gentle rocking while he played with her breasts, licking and sucking at her nipples, groaning in pleasure as she arched her back at the feeling, only further squishing her lovely breasts into his face. The young Uchiha was practically putty in his hands, moaning and mewling so prettily for him, her hand cupping the back of his head to her chest, clearly not wanting him to stop.

"You should see yourself right now, little sister," he muttered into her plush skin as he bit into an engorged nipple, earning him a pained shudder.

"D-Don't stop, aniki," was her only response, her legs wrapping around his waist, effectively driving her point home.

"Then again... It's my fault you're such a spoiled little princess," he chuckled breathlessly into her skin before pulling her ass onto his lap and angling them so he fucked down into her each time he slammed in.

Her moans grew louder as he drilled into her, reaching deeper with this new angle, his fat cock pounding her silken walls and rearranging her organs with each thrust.

As he slotted his mouth over hers, swallowing her pretty screams, he planted his feet firmly, continuing to pound her relentlessly. What his princess wanted, she would get, especially after the very harsh lesson he'd given her today.

Her nails dug into his scalp where her hand was still buried in his thick locks, while her other hand clawed at his back, her legs tightening around him as he kept fucking her to completion. Itachi groaned into her mouth when her pussy started clenching around him, set on sucking him dry on each pump. He kept thrusting as her walls clenched around him and she came on his cock.

With one last thrust, he shoved in, burying himself in her walls to the hilt and emptied his thick, copious load into her fertile womb.

When he broke away from her, their mouths remained connected by strings of saliva, and she pulled him back into an open-mouthed kiss.

"Still mad at me?" he asked, a smile in his voice as he pulled out of her.

She gasped at the sudden emptiness, her pussy clenching a few times around nothing, and the sight made him want to bury back home.

"M-Maybe," she said with a pout, idly rubbing their mixed cum back into her walls as it slowly dribbled out of her.

Itachi chuckled, retrieving a bunch of tissues from her dresser to wipe her dripping cunt.

"Still want the public apology?"

"... Something like that," she said, voice getting quieter as her eyelids grew heavier.

"Alright. Consider it done," he leaned down to place a kiss at her temple. "Now go to sleep, princess."

A/N: so... there's a mention of cars... i don't normally write modern AUs but this time, it just fit into the plot. also, i see it became kinda sweet at the end... i guess i just can't imagine itachi as being completely unhinged or for his gentle side to not come out at the end when it concerns his sibs?? anyway, hope you liked it anon!

prompt filled for this anon request

[dovand]

i am as always thinking about 14 and the nobles... specifically 14 & shaun. CRIMINAL lack of 14 & shaun content . excuse me that is my emotional support deranged lovers-in-law prongs of a queerplatonic throuple V. that is my little scrinkly wet cat and his chill saint bernard friend. that is my symbiotic relationship weirdos who sleep back-to-back to 14 can a) leech his body heat b) cuddle donna c) not fall off the bed. that is my favourite “both wake up early but one of them is being clung to like they are a teddy bear and it is Not Shaun, who is making ‘too bad’ faces at 14 and tiptoeing away” dynamic.

(14 either ends up dozing again after he wakes up early or just lays there curled up thinking—but, either way, when shaun shows up with breakfast in bed every sunday, he is treated to the beautiful sight of the two huge autism creature eyes peering up at him from behind the most bedraggled mop of hair ever seen. whether there are any thoughts behind those eyes depends on whether their owner has been napping or Pondering)

(yes this is all made up in my head!!! yes i am dismayed by there only being FOUR FICS (4!!) using it as a tag and none of them (afaict) doing it in a qpr way. where is my deranged weirdplatonic polycule!!!)

further insanity under the cut pleasseee please please read. please i need to be insane about this with people

(also btw this post is about queerplatonic doctordonna, doctordonna shippers i love you and you are welcome to contribute but it is a Little squicky for me so if tag ur additions (so i have a heads-up) that would be so lovely and i would adore you forever <3)

shaun likes listening to people ramble and 14 likes rambling so it is a regular occurrence to find the two of them like. standing in the kitchen holding cups of tea except one of them is actually drinking the tea and one of them is talking too rapidly about equivalent exchange to remember to blink, let alone have a sip of earl gray that has veered violently past lukewarm and is headed straight for room temperature

if 14 is in a not-wordy mood tho… thru shaun’s expert tutelage he has mastered the art of the Dad Nod. he passes shaun in the hall and gives him a little nod. shaun gives him one back. 0 words are spoken but they understand each other on a deeper level than if there had been.

they go on a Family Outing to a thrift store. rose and donna disappear to the dressier sections. shaun creeps along the racks of trousers, solemnly comparing seemingly identical pairs of jeans. 14 follows him and stares for a while, then silently hands him a loudly patterned pair of shorts. shaun takes them without question and adds them to his basket & sylvia loses her mind just a little bit when she sees him wearing them

(^ this inspired by going thrifting w my friend and looking @ everything and then finding her dad looking thru the racks of shorts comparing two beige ones, and my friend handing him a pair of pink shorts with penguins on and him buying them. because he has some . i think plaid shorts? at home and when he wore them his wife said he looked gay. so he’s trying to do it More) (it's an incredible family dynamic there. i have no idea what is going on)

god jesus. 14 learns how to cook so he can be the housething (as opposed to housewife or househusband. he is just a weirdgenderthing. little creature). someone buys him a nice apron and he wears it with so much delight. chases everyone else out of the kitchen so he can concoct something lovely. runs out into the garden to stick something into an oven in the tardis kitchen because “i am not working with enough ovens, here, people!”. organises the pantry and gets this crazed look if anyone tries to stop him. “how will i know where things a—” “it will be LABELLED.” brandishes a label maker that DEFINITELY is not from modern-day earth given that it seems to take dictation as input and can print in colour and has not needed a refill of paper even though he has extensively labelled EVERY PLASTIC BOX of stuff in the pantry

sometimes he gets into Moods where he needs to solve a problem before it makes his head explode and that used to be a like. tinkering in the tardis thing. where he’d have himself and whatever poor companion he was with just floating in the time vortex for a week while he tries to make this bit of the tardis do what he wants it to. now it’s a day or two spent almost entirely in the kitchen trying to find the scientifically optimal method by which to make meringues. he starts gesturing dramatically with a spatula forgetting it is not a sonic screwdriver. makes a sonic spatula. realises he doesn’t often need to like. scan a pancake for malware. sadly puts the sonic spatula away

he is absolutely a nightmare to watch movies with btw bc a) can’t sit still b) so tall. either he is bouncing his leg and shaking the whole couch or he is stretched out across the entire sofa. no in between. donna buys a thick rug so he can just lay on the floor. the rug is TOO comfortable and he starts just spending time laying on the floor which would be fine if he thought to turn the lights on because people keep almost stepping on him while he’s having 4am Floor Time (on the nights he's not drooling all over donna's pillow)

if anyone else has thoughts about Them PLEASe share i will love you so much and forever. doctor~donna/shaun weirdcule is the only thing in my head

[hb-writes]

The Way Back

Summary: Mike is in prison and Charlie is worried—about Mike, about her brother, about school, about everything.

Prompt: “I don’t need a map to know we got lost.”

Characters: Harvey Specter & Charlie Specter (OC)

Content Warning: Just angsty. Mention of panic attacks and heart attacks.

Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist

The Specters had been silent for miles, both quietly stewing as they moved away from the ocean and back towards the highway, back towards New York.

Some part of Charlie still felt angry, the waves of their argument still washing over her, unwilling to let her cool. Unwilling to let it pass them over. Unwilling to let the tension between them fall away.

It felt like a waste, feeling so upset when the scenery was so beautiful. As the little town where Marcus had rented a beach house for his siblings, Katie, and the kids, gave way to thick woods that hugged the road's shoulder, Charlie found herself consciously thinking as much. That it would have been better if Harvey had just agreed to let them stay for lunch. To let that actually enjoy Marcus’s birthday celebration. 

It had been Charlie’s idea to wait until Harvey came to pick her up to have the real celebration. She had assumed Harvey wouldn’t be able to turn them down at that point. She figured he would have to slow down for a moment, but he had said no. He had said they needed to get back to the city, his frustration coming out in the sharpness of his words, the definiteness of his tone. 

Their shouting had been loud enough that Marcus got between them, and recognizing that something was off with Harvey—he was even more stuck in his ways than usual—Marcus had implored Charlie to back down. To let it go. To just do what Harvey was asking and pack up her things. To get in the car and get on the road so they could get back home. 

And she’d done it. She’d packed up and said her goodbyes and gotten into the car and she hadn’t spoken to Harvey since. 

Close to half an hour later, Charlie's eyes noted a large green sign as they passed, the one directing drivers to veer right if they were intending on taking the highway, which she assumed they were. They usually took the highways on weekend trips to visit Marcus in Massachusetts. She figured the ride home from Rhode Island wouldn't be any different. It was the most efficient and most direct route.

And Harvey was apparently in such a goddamned hurry.

Charlie had originally told him not to bother coming to pick her up, had insisted that if he wasn't even going to spend the weekend with them, she could just have Marcus drop her at the nearest train station connecting them to Penn Station or Grand Central, but that had been suggested in spite. Communicated only after Charlie had complained the whole ride there that he would be absent. Complained that he was backing out of their family week…Backing out of celebrating their brother's birthday…

So, after stopping by Danbury Federal Penitentiary, Harvey had driven three hours to the beach house, lingering for less than a half an hour before he was ushering his sister out the door even though they had planned a celebratory afternoon for Marcus.

Charlie glanced at her brother, one hand on the steering wheel as he leaned his head into the other, his elbow rested against the door. As they continued down some back road, Charlie leaned forward and reached out to turn down the music. 

“Is there a reason you didn’t take the turn for the highway?” 

Harvey glanced at her. “What are you talking about?” 

“The highway was back there,” Charlie answered. “You know, a big green sign that says ‘this way’.” 

"Yeah, well, we need some gas,” Harvey answered. “We can get on the highway after that.”

Charlie glanced at the gas gauge—they had more than enough to make it back to the city, especially considering he didn't want to stop anywhere. No lunch. No bathroom breaks. Just silence and the highway back home. Charlie rolled her eyes as she stared back out at the passing scenery. 

Silence settled between them once again and Harvey continued down the road, the space between houses and buildings growing steadily more distant, the presence of commercial buildings non-existent, including gas stations. 

Charlie wished she could put more distance between her and her brother. They felt miles apart, even though she could reach out and touch him, but it had felt like Harvey was somewhere else for weeks now, ever since he had dropped Mike off at the prison. Charlie slumped against the window, trying to remember the nice week she'd had with Marcus, trying not to focus on the fact that it had been cut short and the tension she felt now. 

It had been Harvey’s idea for her to still go. He had insisted on it. Insisted on getting her out of the city, and away from the firm's problems. Away from Mike's imprisonment. Away from Harvey.

Not that they'd spent much time together recently anyway. Harvey’s focus had been on Mike, on making sure that he got out. He seemed always to be at the office or Danbury at all hours. Charlie understood why. She didn’t blame her brother for being distant, but she was still worried—about Mike, about her brother, about school, about everything.

So she had needed the distraction of a spring break out of the city with family, and it had worked, in a way, but then again, it hadn't, Charlie’s mind constantly straying to the brother who had stayed behind. The brother who had been stressed and overworked and emotionally detached for weeks now, ever since Mike's sentencing.

"There's nothing out here," Charlie offered. "I think we're going the wrong way. You should—”

"You gonna keep running your mouth or you gonna actually be helpful?” came Harvey’s sharp reply. 

“I am being helpful,” she said. “I’m saying there’s no gas station this way.”

“Pull up a goddamn map and check then."

Charlie rolled her eyes, but dug her phone out of her pocket anyway, scrolling for the maps app she rarely used. 

"Don't really need a map to know we're lost."

"We're not lost."

"No? Then where the hell are we?"

"We're not—"

"Yes, we are."

"We aren't—"

"Just pull over!” Charlie shouted before her tone softened. "Please."

It was Charlie’s pleading that finally did it, so raw and tear-filled that Harvey pressed his foot to the brake pedal as if it was automatic, as if there was nothing else he could even consider doing but acquiescing to his sister’s request. 

“We’re lost, Harvey,” she said, “And we don’t have any signal out here.”

It made Harvey feel sick in the pit of his stomach. He knew Charlie was talking about being lost in the here and now. He knew it was a solvable problem, but the words reminded him that he’d been feeling lost for weeks now. 

And then they reminded him of the time Charlie had wandered from his side at the mall. How panicked he’d been for the ten minutes or so before he found her smiling, tucked into the mall’s security office with a cookie she had somehow cajoled the guard into buying for her. 

Harvey saw no trace of a smile on his sister now though and Harvey didn’t smile either. He hadn’t smiled since Mike had gone away for Harvey, and every day had felt like those ten minutes when he’d lost Charlie that one time. Every day had felt like 24 hours of worry and hurt, unending concern and fear and panic and relentless drive. 

Harvey was exhausted. 

“You’re no help to him like this. It’s no good. You need to slow down. Take a break—”

“What do you think this was?” 

He was talking about the drive to pick her up. That and the thirty minutes he spent in the company of family, restless and ready to go the entire time, the whole thing ending with the two of them bickering and him using her full name as he told her to get her ass in the car. 

“This wasn’t a break, Harvey.” 

“And how exactly am I supposed to take a break?” Harvey asked. “He doesn’t get a break. There’s no Spring Break or beach houses at Danbury. No birthday dinners or board games for him.” 

Charlie swallowed, feeling the sting of her brother’s words, part of her ashamed that she’d had a spring break at the beach with all of those things. She’d had a break, a week of board games and movies and afternoon walks on the chilly beach. She’d enjoyed a week of helping Marcus cook dinner and a daily wine sampling practice that both of them had vowed not to tell Harvey about.

“I know,” Charlie said, the swell of emotion heavy in her chest even though she didn’t know. Not really. She didn’t have a clue what Mike was going through outside of what she could imagine, what she’d read about in books or seen on tv. 

She didn’t know what anyone was going through when it came down to it. Not Mike. Not Harvey. Not Donna or Rachel. They were all dealing on their own. Keeping everything inside either from necessity or to protect her. Everyone was going through the motions—functioning—but even so, Charlie knew her brother. She knew when something was wrong.

Charlie had seen Harvey stressed. She had seen him on edge and overworked. But this was something different. All-consuming, like there was nothing else in his life. 

Little sleep.

No women.

Harvey barely ate, barely spoke unless it concerned Mike or his cases. 

“I’m worried about him, too,” Charlie mumbled. 

Harvey didn’t scoff or comment, but Charlie could feel her brother dismissing it. Dismissing her words. As if it was impossible for her to know enough to worry about him. As if Harvey had a monopoly on that feeling. 

“I’m worried about him, Harvey, but I’m worried about you, too,” Charlie continued. “I mean, when’s the last time you actually slept?” 

It wasn't often that Charlie admitted to worrying about her brother. And it wasn’t often that Harvey made anything less than a conscious effort to hide anything worrisome from his sister. More often than not, Harvey exuded nonchalance. More often than not, Charlie had no idea what her brother was going through. More often than not, Harvey kept up that boundary that allowed Charlie to stay a kid, to focus on school, even now that she was a senior, about to graduate.

Harvey wasn’t even aware of how he was presenting to her now. He’d been so focused on Mike. So focused on Gallow. So focused on Sutter. He didn’t think about what it looked like, but it was all Charlie could think about—her brother was stressed, and though she tried not to, all she could think about was her brother's panic attacks. 

And her father’s heart attack. 

Charlie didn’t know much about the state of her brother’s heart. As far as she knew, Harvey was in good shape. He was healthy, but heart disease could be genetic, and there was no way all of this stress was good for him. 

Charlie got out of the car, pacing along the edge of the road and putting some distance between herself and the car. She felt the prickle of tears and she pressed her eyes closed, willing it all to hold. Willing it to stay inside. 

When she turned back to the car, Harvey was standing beside the driver’s side, watching her. He looked ready for more, still ready to fight. To argue about whether they were lost or anything else, but Charlie didn’t want to fight him, not on this, so she closed the distance between them instead, wrapping her arms around him as she settled against his chest.

Charlie didn’t know if Harvey was doing it for her or himself, but he accepted the hug without resistance. Charlie held on for as long as Harvey seemed to need and then some, knowing that her brother never pulled away first. It was always up to her. 

“Give me the keys,” she said. “I’m driving.” 

Harvey seemed reluctant and Charlie sighed.

“Please, Harvey. Just let me do this. Let me help.” 

Charlie held out her hand, ushering a quiet thank you when he handed them over without a fight before proceeding to the passenger’s side. 

“So what’s your plan?” he asked as she settled behind the steering wheel. “Since we’re lost and all?”

Charlie shrugged as she secured her seatbelt and began adjusting the mirrors. “We’ll just go back the way we came.” 

Sometimes it wasn’t so easy. Sometimes you couldn’t just go back, but just now they could. Just now, they could make things simple and Charlie was grateful for that. Grateful that a hug and retracing their steps could put them back on track. Grateful that something had eased in her chest, and had seemed to shift in Harvey’s too.  

 Harvey helped navigate until they were back to the highway, the conversation between them less charged and more collegial, but shortly after Charlie merged into the traffic heading back to the city, Harvey started to drift. Leaning against the window and snoring gently for miles and miles, he slept—if not peacefully, then deeply, at least.

Things still felt confusing and lost and messy, but they had found their way back to the highway and she knew Harvey would find his way back from this, too. It was a tough situation, but Charlie knew her brother. She knew Mike and Rachel and Donna. 

And even though they were probably all feeling a little lost, Charlie knew they were all tough enough to get through this, too. 

Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Lucy's having her first serious fight with her girlfriend and needs her old room back for the night; leaving the current occupant of the space with no place to sleep.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Light sexual content, strong language, no use of Y/N.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Happy (still technically) early Valentine's Day to the little gremlins in my phone <3 This was supposed to be a nice short oneshot to help me overcome some writers block around my main series, but, uh... once again, it got out of hand. Special thanks to @websterss and @why-what-no for helping me figure out how to approach the attic scene, which ended up being the catalyst of this veering so far out of control 😂 Hope you guys enjoy! (Oh god I completely forgot to mention, the title is from I Love You So by The Walters)

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.3k

It was a quiet night at 35 Portland Row, the team having a rare evening off between jobs that seemed to double by the day.  Gaining fame and notoriety had been Lockwood’s goal since the day he and George had officially formed Lockwood & Co. several years previously, and to say they’d been successful would be an understatement.  

There had been a call for him to increase his numbers and branch out as a better manned agency many times, but to do so would mean giving up certain freedoms he wasn’t willing to relinquish.  Including the house he and his agents had come to call home.   Hiring extra hands would require extra accommodations and though that would come with its own set of bonuses, there was something to be said about the consistency and approachability of a single door at street level on a seemingly unassuming family home.

At least, that’s what he tried to remind himself as he was startled from a rare peaceful sleep by the sound of a closed fist pounding insistently on his front door.  

For a solitary moment, he considers ignoring it.  

“ANTHONY!  I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!  GET YOUR ARSE UP AND OPEN THE DAMN DOOR.”  A familiar voice hollers from the front porch.  

He’s out of bed before his sleep-addled brain can register the movement, turning on the lamp on his side table and grabbing a grey sweatshirt off the chair at his desk, pulling it over his head as he descends the stairs at a breakneck pace.  

The several locks on their front door had never really seemed like overkill before, but they’d never stood between him and a friend in obvious distress before either.  He fumbles the last of the bolts and pulls the door open to find Lucy Carlyle looking disheveled, eyes rimmed red and lip trembling, the picture of misery.  Wordlessly, he opens his arms and she crumbles into them without hesitation, burying her face in his shoulder.  

They stay like that for a while, until his toes remind him that he’s still barefoot and London nights are cold this time of year.  He pulls away enough to usher her inside, closing the door behind them and locking it tight for the night once more.  She sniffles, allowing herself to be led into the kitchen and sat in her old chair as he goes through the motions of filling the kettle and setting it on the stove to boil for tea.  

He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to interrogate her.  If and when she’s ready to talk about it, she’ll tell him.

“I need my old room for the night.”  She mumbles eventually, using a finger to trace the outline of one of the many unflattering doodles of Lockwood on the thinking cloth.  “Norrie and I got into it tonight, she says she needs some space.”  

He remains silent as he pours water into their mugs, trying to puzzle his way through how to make that happen.  She knew that room was occupied now, and he knew she wouldn’t ask if she wasn’t in desperate need of the comfort of her old home.  

Nodding decisively, he walks back to the cupboard and pulls out another cup.  

“I’ll go wake her up and get the bedding changed over.  Do you want to talk about it?”   She shakes her head vehemently at the question, choosing instead to drop her head onto the table with a loud thud.  He has to smother a laugh at that.  Despite understanding the serious nature of the situation, he’s acutely aware that this is their first major fight in three years.  Chances are they’ll be back to their obnoxiously happy ways within the week, but if he doesn’t treat this as seriously as Lucy is clearly feeling it is then he might as well turn in his best friend title on the spot.  

He places her tea on the table beside her head and his own across from her, patting her shoulder reassuringly as he withdraws his hand.  Doubling back to the counter, he picks up the third cup and takes it with him out of the kitchen and up the stairs, closing the door to his room as he passes it on his way to the top of the house.

Standing on the landing outside her door he falters, almost losing his nerve.  Then he reminds himself this is for Lucy.  

Rolling his shoulders back and straightening his posture, he raises his free hand and raps his knuckles against the wood.

Silence.

Brow furrowing, he knocks again.

Still nothing.

Raising his eyes to the ceiling he silently curses heavy sleepers, under no illusions that most of his resentment is’t based in envy.  

Weighing his options for a moment, he grimaces.  Go tell his woe-filled best friend he’s too much of a coward to wake their coworker himself, or risk having whatever items have accumulated on her bedside table thrown at him when he enters her room.

Unfortunately, it’s a no brainer.

He places his hand on the handle, foolishly hoping it would be locked.  

It’s not.  

Muttering curses under his breath, he pushes the door open and ascends the last flight of stairs into her room.

He finds himself frozen in place on the last step, entranced by how serene the scene before him appears.  

She’d fallen asleep with the lamp beside her bed still on.  It casts a soft golden glow across her face, and for a moment she takes his breath away.  

She’s still fully dressed from the day, passed out on top of her blankets with a book laying open beside her.  It’s so easy to picture her laying on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, fighting to try and make it through just one more chapter before the weight of her eyelids won and sleep finally overcame her.  

He could feel a soft smile making itself at home on his face, an affectionate exasperation at her dedication to the written word settling comfortably in his chest.  

If he hadn’t already, this would have been the moment he fell in love.  

Wrestling himself from his thoughts and trying to shape his face into something at least slightly less lovesick, he thaws his feet and makes his way over to the bed.  

“It’s time to wake up, beautiful.”  He says, the last part slipping out unbidden.  

She doesn’t react, so he closes her book and moves it to her side table to make room for himself to sit on the mattress beside her.  The bed settling under his weight makes her stir, rolling onto her back and mumbling something incoherent.  

When she makes no move to wake any further, he reaches across to squeeze her shoulder gently.  She whines, scrunching up her face in indignance and opening bleary eyes to blink slowly at the disturbance.  Her eyes come to focus on him and the tension drains from her face, a sleepy smile taking its place as she hums and rests her eyes shut again.  

He smiles right back at her, letting his hand run down her arm.  His intention is to pull away, but apparently she has other plans.  She reaches after him, catching his hand with her own and pulling back towards her.  His heart leaps into his throat and he can actively feel the blood rushing to his face as her body curls in his direction.

“Come back to bed…”  She mumbles, voice still laced with exhaustion, resting her forehead against the back of his hand and sighing contentedly at the contact.  He’s completely forgotten how to function, torn between blindly following her wishes and remembering why he’s in her room this late to begin with.

He’s saved from having to decide anything by her eyes suddenly flying open, face transforming from sleepy bliss to sheer mortification in the blink of an eye.

“Oh my god.  I AM SO SORRY.”  She shrieks, flailing away from him with such vigour that she throws herself straight off the opposite edge of the bed.  He dives across the bed in a valiant attempt to catch her but he’s just a hair too late, the echoing thud of her body hitting the floor making him wince sympathetically.  

He peeks over the side of the bed to find her laying on her back with her hands over her beet red face.  She parts her fingers, staring miserably at him from between them.  

His lips are pressed together tightly with the effort maintaining his composure.

She cracks first, a giggle slipping past her hands.

Within seconds they’re both in stitches, almost crying with laughter.  By the time they manage to compose themselves, several minutes must have passed.  

He stands and walks around the bed to offer her a hand.  She wipes the tears from her eyes, heaving for breath as she reaches up to accept his help and is pulled to her feet.  

“Now that that’s out of the way, what the hell are you doing in my room at this time of night?”  She gasps, bracing her palms on her thighs as she struggles to make her lungs understand she’s not suffocating.  

Lockwood’s eyes go wide with horror.

“I’m an awful friend.”  He rushes out, covering his mouth.  She does a double take in response, looking like she’s about to get whiplash from the sudden shift in topic and energy.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Luce is downstairs in the kitchen right now.  I guess she and Norrie had a lover's quarrel?  She needs her room back for the night.”  

He cringes as she gapes at him.  

Thankfully, instead of scolding him she bolts into action.  The bed is stripped bare before he can even process the speed with which she’s moving and suddenly she’s shoving his arms full with fabric.

“Laundry room!  Now!”  She snaps, already across the room rifling through her wardrobe for fresh bedding. 

He’s on the second step by the time she calls him back to ask what Lucy was wearing when she showed up on their doorstep.  

“Jeans and a jumper.”  He calls over his shoulder as he descends the steps two at a time.  

The laundry room is close to George’s room, so he decides to err on the side of caution and leave the items in the washing machine and makes a mental note to start it in the morning.  By the time he finishes separating everything and has it all organized, he can hear footfalls approaching rapidly from overhead.  There’s a stutter in her step and a brief scrambling noise that has him holding his breath, but she manages to rebalance herself and continues down the next flight on her way to the kitchen without losing any momentum.  

His shoulders slump in relief and all at once the late hour catches up with him.  

Or does it officially qualify as early now?  

He’s still pondering that when he almost slips on a small puddle of liquid at the top of the stairs.  The adrenaline wakes him up a bit but now he has another, if slightly more pressing, question.

What the hell is on the floor?

And then it clicks.  

The tea.  

She must have grabbed it off her bedside table on her way downstairs and spilled it when she almost took a tumble of her own.  

He chuckles and shakes his head, almost uncomfortably aware of how smitten he is with the small tornado occupying the attic room as he turns back to grab a towel from the room he’d just left.

By the time he makes his way into the kitchen, she’s helping Lucy out of her chair and herding the girl upstairs.  

He raises his eyebrow at her in a silent question, but she shoots him a look that says ‘stay here, I’ve got this’ and an almost shy smile that promises she’ll be back soon.  He dips his head in understanding, shooting her a smirk that hopefully says ‘I’ll be here’ and not ‘I’m hopelessly in love with you’.

After the girls exit the room, his eye is drawn to his now lukewarm tea on the table.  He sighs, reaching across the table to grab his cup.  

He stares at the liquid for a while, already hearing one of George’s endless rants about wasting tea bags rattling through his head.  Even when he’s asleep, Karim manages to torment him.  

Shrugging, he dumps the cup out into the sink and busies himself making another to pass the time.  

The kettle is starting to whistle on the stove as he opens the cupboard to grab himself a tea bag.  He’s about to close it but hesitates for a moment before reaching in to grab a second.  If his tea had gone cold, hers had as well.  

Sure enough, her cup sat abandoned beside the sink, only down the small amount that had spilled on the staircase.

She walks back into the kitchen in a fresh pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t- shirt that looks strangely familiar just as he sets their mugs on the table, shooting him a grateful smile as she collapses into her chair.  

She clasps the tea in both hands like a treasure, taking a sip and letting out a sinful sound of enjoyment that almost makes him choke, effectively distracting him from inspecting the shirt.  He barely manages to pass it off as a poorly timed inhale, but she’s considerate enough to accept it with minimal teasing.

They’re both half finished before either dares to address the elephant in the room.

“So…”  She starts, giving him a rueful smile.

“I’ll take the loveseat in the sitting room, you can sleep in my bed.”  He states matter-of-factly, intending to leave no room for argument.  

Her cocked eyebrow tells him very quickly his intention failed.

“No, I really don’t think so.  I can sleep on the loveseat, your neck will be kinked for days if you do that again.”  Her eyes are filled with a warning he readily ignores.

“I couldn’t very well call myself a gentleman if I let you do that, and you know it.”

“Anthony-“

“I’m not arguing this with you.”

“Fine then, we can share the bed.”  She retorts, a prideful twinkle in her eye as she stares a challenge at him.

“Seems like a valid compromise.”  He surprises them both with his answer, the words hanging in the air.  For a moment he wishes he could unsay them, but then her face shifts.  

Her eyes widen, cheeks flushing the prettiest shade of pink as she gapes at him.  He beams at her, finally feeling as though he has the upper hand.  

She pushes herself away from the table, standing up abruptly and padding out of the room as he leans back in his chair victoriously.  

But instead of rushing to hide away in his bedroom as he expects, she catches him off guard by stopping with her hand resting on the doorframe and glancing back over her shoulder. 

“Well…  are you coming?”  

His mouth goes dry.  Okay.  He hadn’t seen that coming. 

Lockwood considered himself a charming man. He prided himself on being capable of sweeping a woman off her feet with a few carefully placed words or gentle touches.  There were very few people on this planet that made him feel like an absolute simpleton, but unfortunately, she was one of them.  Just once, he’d like to be able to maintain his composure around her and not make a fool of himself the second she looked in his direction

Disarmed and feeling like a floundering imbecile, he sits there in silence for a second, begging his brain to come up with some kind of charismatic reply to help him save face.

An unrecognizable emotion flashes across her face and she drops her eyes, leaving him even more confused than before.  

And then his mind catches up.  

Vulnerability.  Uncertainty.  Insecurity.

Concern.

He’s on his feet before he can overthink it, gesturing for her to lead the way.  Her relief is raw, undisguisable.  He passes her at the top of the stairs, opening the door to his bedroom for her and giving a teasing little bow.  She laughs and rolls her eyes at his theatrics, but he can tell she appreciates the effort to set her at ease.  She saunters into his room, giving the space a curious scan and he realizes it’s the first time she’s actually been in here.  

He leans against the door frame, watching her approach his bookshelf and run her fingers along the spines, searching for any titles she might find familiar.  A tender smile finds its way to his face once more, and this time he doesn’t even bother trying to hide it.  

When she’s satisfied with her search, she shoots him a look before sighing dramatically, lifting the back of her hand to her forehead and pretending to faint onto his bed.  He laughs, shaking his head as he crosses the threshold.  

He considers the door for a moment, trying to decide if he should leave it open or close it.  

His eyes wander across the hall to George’s door, and he closes his own with sudden and complete confidence in his decision.

A giggle from his bed tells him she’d watched his thought process play out and agreed with his choice.  He turns to make a clever remark, but the words die on his tongue as soon as he lays eyes on her.  

She’s laying on her side across his pillows, propped up on her elbow with her chin resting on the palm of her hand, watching him through her lashes with… another unfamiliar emotion flickering behind her eyes.  

Before he can dwell on it too much, an idea occurs to him.  He crosses the room swiftly with a mischievous grin, jumping and twisting his body at the last minute to land on the mattress sideways.  She shrieks as she’s bounced at least a few inches into the air, cackling as the momentum from the landing rolls her closer to him.  Their shoulders rub together as they laugh, laying on their back and staring up at the ceiling before falling into a comfortable silence.  She lifts herself up onto her elbows, looking down at him.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely exhausted.  Do you know what time it is?”  She queries, tilting her head in curiosity.  He lifts himself up enough he can see the clock on his bedside table, hissing a breath between his teeth at the glowing numbers taunting him.  

“You don't want to know.”  He groans, dropping back to the bed.  She pokes at his side with her elbow until he looks up at her, gesturing towards the pillows with her head.  A sly smile breaks out on her face and her eyes twinkle at him.

“‘Come back to bed.’”  She echoes her own words from earlier back at him playfully, poking fun at herself as she rolls onto her side and crawls up his bed.  He laughs freely as he watches her, something he’s grown quite used to doing around her over the past few years.  She lifts the covers, diving beneath them and wiggling around until she finds a comfortable spot laying on her side close to the wall.

Trying not to overthink himself into a tizzy, rolls onto his stomach and pushes himself onto his hands and knees, grunting with the effort.  He follows her lead to climb under the covers, though he’s sure he’s not nearly as graceful or cute as she had been.  

Once he’s settled comfortably beside her, he finds himself feeling oddly out of place.  He’d never been so aware of where his hands were while laying in bed before, but now he has no idea what to do with them.   He settles for resting them awkwardly on his chest.

He can feel her staring at him.

He keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling.  

She sighs in exasperation, the bed dipping under her weight as she shifts to lean over him and turn off the lamp on his side table, somehow oblivious to him forgetting how to breathe as he becomes hyper aware of every place her body is touching his own.  She retracts her reach, but doesn’t move all the way back to her spot, leaving him completely blind and incredibly confused by her continued proximity.

Her hand touches his forearm, fingers dancing across his skin until she reaches his wrist, grabbing it and gently pulling until he lifts the arm closest to her into the air.

There’s shuffling noises and movement beside him, leaving him even more perplexed, until she’s resting her head on his shoulder and he declares himself officially braindead.  She scoots closer, tucking her body into his side and resting her open palm on his chest.

“Goodnight, Lockwood.  Sweet dreams.”  She whispers in a calm voice that would have had him completely fooled if he couldn’t feel her heart pounding against his ribs.  Her words restart his brain, allowing him to drop his arm around her, his hand automatically coming to rest on her hip.

“Goodnight, darling, you too.”  He whispers back, and though it’s too dark for him to see her face, he can still feel the heat radiating through his shirt.

He’s honestly thankful for how tired he is, otherwise he’d never be able to fall asleep with the adrenaline coursing through his veins alongside his blood.

His fingers trace absentminded swirls on her hip as his eyes begin to droop, sleep overtaking him before his conscious mind can register it happening.

For once, his dreams are actually sweet.

When he’s finally dragged unwillingly back to consciousness, the perpetrator is sunlight streaming in through his window and directly into his eyes.  

He tries to lift his right arm to block it out, but there’s an unexpected weight holding it in place.

The events of the night before rush back to him, and suddenly the blinding sun isn’t anywhere near the top of his priority list.  He lets his head roll towards her just to find her already awake and looking at him.  

Her hair is a mess, and he can’t help but laugh as he reaches across his body to brush it away from her face, though he’s sure he looks much the same.  

His fingers linger on her cheek of their own accord.  

That look in her eye from last night is back, and if he didn’t know any better he’d swear her gaze flickers to his lips for a split second.

And then, with the kind of clarity only morning light can bring, it hits him.  

A bonafide lightbulb moment.

He really is a bloody simpleton.

Truly, he could be an absolute moron sometimes, and he swore to himself in that moment the next time someone told him so he’d willingly agree with them.

Acting without thinking had gone surprisingly well for him in the past twenty-four hours, so what’s one more gamble, in the grand scheme of things?  

His hand slides down from her cheek, his fingers lightly caressing the back of her neck as he guides her face towards him.  Her eyes flutter closed and he swears his heart is about to break free from his chest.

His lips ghost over hers, giving her plenty of room to pull away if she’s in any way uncomfortable.  

As always, she surprises him, rolling her body towards him and gripping the front of his sweatshirt with both hands, using it to pull him closer to her.  

There’s a need poured into the next kiss, a desperation and hunger born of pining they’d both been so certain was one sided.

He meets her intensity with his own, slipping an arm underneath her waist and placing a hand on her back to pull her tightly against him.  

She lets a muffled moan slip, and a thrill runs up his spine at the thought of spending as much time as he wants learning each and every noise of pleasure she’s capable of making, and how to coax them out of her like music.

Her hands release his shirt, roaming over every inch of his body they can touch instead.  

Her exploration must have caused his shirt to start to bunch around his waist because as the hand on the nape of her neck finds its way into her hair, one of her roaming hands grazes a sliver of bare skin on his hip and he gasps, automatically tightening his grip and giving her hair a gentle tug in the process.  She whimpers against his lips, breaking the kiss as her head falls back in an instinctive response.

Oh.  He was going to have to remember that for later.

Not that it would be a problem, that noise was going to play a part in all of his fantasies for the foreseeable future.

Never one to pass up an opportunity, he takes advantage of the opening to pull her closer and kiss her neck.  

His name falls from her lips like a prayer and as he grins in delight his teeth graze her skin.  

She moans in earnest at that, back arching involuntarily as she presses her body against his so close he can feel her heart beating through their clothes.  

Keen to test a theory, he presses kisses up her throat until he’s high enough to catch her earlobe, letting it slide lightly between his teeth.

“Fuck.”  She hisses, digging her nails into his hip.  He can’t stop the growl that rumbles from his chest at that, and she hooks a leg over him in reply.  

He feels like he’s drowning in her, everything in him is screaming to surrender and worship her like the goddess she is but he knows it would be too much too fast for both of them.  

So, exhibiting strength he didn’t know he had, he pulls back.  Gulping oxygen like he’s been holding his breath for hours and sliding his hand back down to her neck before pulling her in close enough to press a firm and reassuring kiss to her forehead until he can compose himself enough to swear he isn’t in any way rejecting her.  

Somehow, as always, she understands exactly what he’s doing and balls her fists in his shirt, taking stabilizing breaths of her own.

Once he’s confident they’re both back in full control, he slides his fingers under her chin, lifting her face and pressing his lips to hers in a leisurely and indulgent kiss that promises it won’t be the last.

She hums contentedly when he pulls away again, chasing after him to give him a gentle peck.

“I really am a dunce, aren’t I?”  He asks when he’s regained his composure, replaying so many events from the last several years over in his mind in a whole new light.  

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“Always.”

“Yeah, you’re right thick sometimes.”

“I really am, because now that I’m thinking about it, you are terrible at hiding how you feel.”  He grins as she smacks his arm, tossing her head back and laughing.  

“Like you’re one to talk!  Anthony Lockwood, you are an open book and I’ve been a fool not to notice it before.”  She teases, tilting her head to rest their foreheads together.  He shrugs, planting a peck on her nose before dragging himself reluctantly out from under the covers.

“Up you get, if we stay in bed too much longer they’re going to start asking questions.”  He offers her his hand as he whispers the last part conspiratorially.  

She rolls her eyes at him but takes the offered appendage anyway, letting him pull her to her feet before trudging across his room to the door.  She places her palm on the handle, but hesitates before turning it.  

Seeming to steel herself for something, she turns instead to face him.

“And if they do?  Y’know, ask questions?”  There’s a crease between her brows that speaks of concern and it makes his heart ache, something in him begging to reach out and smooth it away.

“I suppose that depends.  How attached are you to the attic?”  He deadpans.

“What?”  She’s taken aback, confusion painted across every feature.

“I mean, personally, I’m rather fond of this room.  I did move out of the attic because I felt I’d outgrown it, but I am willing to compromise.”  He smirks, waiting for her to catch on.  “I’m far more fond of sharing a bed with you.”  He adds quietly when she continues to stare at him in bewilderment.  

Her eyes go wide when she pieces it all together.

“Sorry, wait, hold on… rewind for a second.  Did you just skip straight to asking me to move in with you instead of actually verbally admitting that you want to date me?”  She gawks at him incredulously.

“I believe I did, actually, yes.  Thoughts?”  

“I’m bad with heights and it is freezing up there in the winter.”  She replies without a second’s hesitation.  Soothing the twinge of protective guilt at the thought of her shivering alone in the cold with the knowledge he wouldn’t let it happen again, he grins and crosses the room to pull her into a passionate kiss.  

He almost loses himself to the softness of her lips and the feeling of her body pinned between him and the door, but he manages to hold himself at least partially to the task at hand.

“Just to be perfectly transparent,” He manages to add between kisses, “I would very much like to date you.”  She lifts her arms and lets them drape around his neck, pulling him close for one last kiss before separating.

“Good, because I would ‘very much’ like to date you too.”  She laughs, giving him a playful shove back to make enough room to open the door to the hallway.  

They exit his room holding hands and bumping shoulders as they venture towards the stairs.  

George’s door flies open and they freeze, both looking at him like deer caught in headlights.  

He blinks, takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, puts his glasses back on, and stands there staring at them for a long moment in only boxers and an oversized shirt.

“Fucking FINALLY.”  He hollers with the intensity of a man infuriated by years of their unending mutual idiocy, storming off to the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.  

They slowly turn to look at each other, breaking out in laughter for what must be the hundredth time in the past two days.  

Before they resume their journey downstairs though, George’s oversized shirt had reminded Lockwood of something.

“Hey, I almost forgot to ask.  Is that my shirt?”  He asks, raising an eyebrow at her.  The colour spreads from her neck to her face almost instantaneously as she begrudgingly nods, looking pointedly at the ground.  He wraps an arm around her shoulders, his signature smile plastered on his face.  

“Good.  I like it.”  He confesses, squeezing her arm reassuringly.  She leans into him, wrapping her arm around his waist as they descend the stairs and head for the kitchen.

What they find upon entering the room is wildly unexpected.

Lucy and Norrie are sitting side by side with their arms crossed, both wearing the same smug smirk, five mugs of steaming hot tea placed around the table in front of them.  

The girl tucked into his side gasps, connecting the dots rapidly and letting loose a quiet shriek of betrayal and indignation.  

“You sneaky bitches!”  There’s awe in her voice when she finally speaks, though she’s clearly not certain if she should be grateful or angry at the manipulation.

Even though he should probably be upset, feeling the warmth of her body against his and already making plans to move her belongings into his - their room, he just can’t bring himself to be anything other than thankful for their intervention.

Looking at the calendar on the wall, the final piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

Sneaky bitches indeed, he finds himself thinking as the women in question pick up their teacups to cheers each other. 

Reaching down to press a kiss to the top of her head, he leans in close enough to whisper;

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[so-very-small]

someone: h-

me: so I genuinely think size is unexplored in the media, not just as a g/t fan wanting content, but as a writer seeing the missed creativity potential. Size dynamics could add new conflicts, opening up new plots, fitting in romance, family, thriller, adventure, literally any genre. It’s such a diverse trope that it can be applied to any typical narrative - but still relatively untouched in popular media to the point where any g/t ideas deeper than surface level size difference would be entirely new ideas in the world of media. Horror is veering more into lovecraftian these days - size would perfectly compliment that. Romance needs new obstacles for two lovers to overcome - a size difference would be a new twist. Special and practical effects have far surpassed the point needed for size movies - look at Lord of the Rings, or Ant-man. It’s an untapped goldmine, and in this essay I will

[buddiebeginz]

I’ve seen multiple posts about how fandom is the only one who sees Buddie happening and how if they did get together or even if one of them “all of a sudden” admitted to having feelings for the other the general audience wouldn’t accept it or understand where it was coming from. I get what some of you are saying in these posts but at the same time I don't think seeing two characters (who already have one of the strongest bonds on the show) admit they have even stronger feelings for one another would be that much of a leap.

There's also the fact that 911 is almost heading into it's seventh season at this point. This isn't the first, second, or even third season. 911 doesn't have to worry that if it veers off into a new direction it will loose a significant amount of it's audience. The majority of people watching the show have likely been long time viewers they're not going to just tune out because one relationship happens.

Speaking of the 911 audience it's obvious that most if not all the people who watch the show are lgbtq friendly to some extent, considering the show has a main character who's gay (Hen) and has always had lgbtq content of some kind. So I mean why would people watch the show if they were anti lgbtq? My point is even if people didn't like the idea of Buck and Eddie together or it was surprising at first to them it wouldn't be like if it happened on a show without no lgbtq content where the audience might be more conservative and not expecting it at all.

I feel like people over think things with Buck and Eddie sometimes because of them being a same sex ship. If this was a straight ship I think people would be expecting them to get together especially the general audience. People would be wondering why it hasn't happened yet just like we are in fandom.

Just because Buck and Eddie haven't dated men on screen or talked about their sexuality doesn't mean their romance needs this long build up with everything spelled out for the audience. They've been building up their relationship for six seasons now. I don't think it would be so shocking for the general audience for one of them to have their oh moment or admit they like guys or for them to kiss. Some might not be expecting it at first but when it happens and they think back on all those moments through out the course of the show they'll probably be like oh I was wondering why Buck and Eddie we're always spending time together, or why Buck didn't correct that elf when she thought Chris was his son, or why Buck broke down sobbing when he thought Eddie almost died, etc etc. And Buck and Eddie's story would make more sense as it was always leading towards them realizing their person was right there in front of them all along.

This ramble doesn't have a huge point I'm just tired of seeing people say that Buck and Eddie can't get together yet or the show wouldn't put them together yet because not enough has been done to develop them past just being friends. There's definitely more than just friendship there it's not just us as fans being delusional. I say it all the time but compare their relationship to the friendship of anyone else on the show and it's not the same. Buck and Eddie and Chris are already a family. All the show has to do is let Buck and Eddie cross that line and actually admit that's what's been going on.

[pheenixbabe]

what im most excited for in my genshin dr

me shifting to genshin and it being one of my top three is kinda ironic since i dont especially like or play the game anymore lool.

family im from royal family in natlan. my family is the richest in teyvat. i have three siblings (and good parents because i need a support system, im not that strong) and im the youngest. my only sister and i have an antagonistic relationship, which im kinda excited for? im just curious idk i never had that w anyone.

intelligence God, im so excited to learn. ill be a polygot, alchemist and a mechanic (disciple of xianyun). i scripted graduating in under four years and then becoming an adventurer because im not spending all my time cooped up in a college! fuck that!

job many, many jobs. i just think being able to have all that expirience will be so thrilling!! & my most anticipated job is an author. ive got my content figured out already too, social parodies & societal commentary.

setting im a worldbuilding *fiend*. so i took the liberties of changing teyvat. the continent is more archaic & historically accurate in terms of fashion, language and culture (so that means no tacky over designed outfits, gov’t workers in batty riders or people saying “bro” and “dude” 🙄) much more diversity as well, not just in terms of features and skin tone but lots more land & major cities per nation and a wide range of accents as well as discernible cultural differences across [domestic] regions. but still not super historically accurate, and veering more on “magical” like disney princess stories.

natlan lowk have no idea how natlans actual cultural design works? 💀 like i quit genshin so im lost on that front. but i split it in three distinct regions. tribe 1-2, which is of mesoamerican influence; tribe 3-4, with west african influence (where im from); and tribe 5-6 with polynesian influence. its the same “tribe” as in game (whatever tf those are) but with a different look and a royal family bc i wanna be a princess!! i like this system a lot tho.

s/o this is so cliche but he’s definitely a big ass part of my reason for shifting to genshin. like hes the only s/o i actually *go crazy* with scripting about the rest of them the “romance” is general and non descriptive. our love storys finna be sooo romantic i cant even. also we have a slight age difference and im excited to tease him about it.

[jasimkhalil]

tell me that you love me, i know all your talk is cheap.

⤑ assad zaman, 41, cismale, he/him 𓇢𓆸 my my, if it isn't jasim khalil, my favorite vampire in town. you know, though people say they can be rather deceitful and possessive, i know they’re really alert and captivating. but hey, what do i know? i’ve only known them for a year. if you need to get in touch, you can probably find them at their work as a veterinarian at local animal hospital.

baby, i'm a code mistake, i was never meant to be.

about OR click the read more. / photos. / musings. / template credit.

― BASICS.

Full name | Aliases: Jasim Zaheer Khalil | Jas.

Gender | Sexual orientation: Cismale, uses he/him pronouns | Pansexual.

Date of birth | Age: May 31, 1983 (Gemini as fuck) | 41, stuck at the age of 33.

Species: Vampire as of 2016.

Place of birth: Dhaka, Bangladesh; family moved to Newcastle, England when he was in his early 20s, hence his Geordie accent. He spent most of his time in London after being turned, using the cover of a busy city to lay low.

Current residence: Blackwater, Colorado, moved here in February of 2023. Resides in a 1-bedroom, 1-bathroom apartment that’s cozy but not cramped.

Occupation: Veterinarian at the local animal hospital, works with both companion and exotic animals.

Relationship status: Single and non-monogamous.

Children: Blissfully, none. He hasn’t sired anyone, either… yet.

Positive traits: + Alert, captivating, generous, orderly.

Negative traits: - Deceitful, irritable, possessive, sordid.

― PHYSICAL TRAITS.

Hair color: Black, medium length that hovers around his jawline, thick and curly.

Eye color: Dark, dark brown, practically black; wide, gentle, and deceiving. He perpetually has a deer in the headlights look.

Height | Build: 6'0" | Slim, underweight even, lanky; though not without muscle definition, especially in his arms and chest.

Distinguishing features: Wears glasses as vampirism did little to cure his vision issues. The scars from his turning can be found along his left leg, starting at his hip and leading down to his knee; sloppy and ridged bite marks where unrelenting teeth tore into his flesh. Also carries the scars from an attack, with gnarly furrows along his back. Sharp dressed (when he’s not in scrubs) and takes inspiration from elements of style in the ‘30s, ‘40s, and ‘50s, but he has his more casual moments, particularly when relaxing at home. Clean shaven from neck up only. While some of his features veer towards sharp, he ultimately has a boyish face. His fangs are smaller than the average, though it’s unclear why. Still, they’re deadly and serve their purpose.

Scent: Wears Black Phantom - Memento Mori by Kilian, a strong yet pleasant fragrance with notes of dark chocolate, rum, caramel, coffee, sugar cane, sandalwood, and heliotrope. This luxury perfume mixes in with his natural vampiric scent, often only noticeable to werewolves and other vampires, which leans towards a sickly sweet nature often associated with cadavers. Basically, he smells like a gourmet bakery, with elements that are just a bit off.

Faceclaim: Assad Zaman.

― BIOGRAPHY (content warning for: mentions of drug use, sex, violence, death, blood, murder).

1983–2005. The youngest of three siblings, he’s a healthy, happy boy born in the springtime of Dhaka, Bangladesh. He has a close-knit family, parents married and in love, and he needs for very little. Wants even less. Jasim is certainly a “wild child,” often bringing chaos and trouble to his family’s doorstep. He just can’t help it, being as restless and frenetic as he is. Still, love surrounds him and childhood to his teenage life is simple enough. At the age of 22, he and his family move to Newcastle, England. This opens up better job and education opportunities for everyone, as well as a much needed change of pace and scenery.

2005–2016. During this time, he focuses on obtaining a degree in veterinary medicine. He commits to the four years needed for this, as well as the four years prior in undergrad studies. While he’d always been a people person, he works better with animals, known to rescue them ever since childhood. After graduation, he secures a job at a local animal hospital, working hard to save up and move into his flat; essentially proving to his family that he isn’t some immature, chaotic party boy after all.

2016. Despite this, he does still party from time to time, fucking around and finding out in some not-so great parts of town. He’s high on something and disappeared into the night to hook up with someone he soon learns is a monster. A beast only spoken of in myths and entertaining media. A vampire. At first, he believes it’s just roughhousing, with teeth that initially feel human biting at his skin. It hurts, but he’s fine with it, into it even… until he’s not. Canines extend and tear into flesh, his femoral artery sliced, as if the deep bite marks from hip to knee don’t cause enough blood loss. He’s losing consciousness—his life—rapidly, and he panics. Biting, clawing, stabbing even, anything to weaken the fanged creature attacking him so fiercely. It’s all bloodshed, as far as he remembers. He has enough wherewithal to drag his bloodied, mutilated body away, no different than a wounded animal seeking quiet shelter to die in peace. Find more details of his turning here.

2016–2017. Except, he doesn’t die. Well, he does, but he’s reborn. Stronger, more alert, and so insatiably hungry. Scared and starved, even prior to his new life, he leaves the now darkened apartment and abandons the confusing pile of ashes in search of food. He doesn’t make it to a restaurant, however, when this newfound hunger isn’t for some local Chinese takeout. He grabs and tears into the first human he sees, smells, and feasts on their blood. Hot metallic down his throat, rejuvenating and sating him in a way he’s never known in his mortal life. This is a nightly occurrence, as he flees to London and hides in the shadows of bustling streets. For approximately a year, he’s alone. Terrified and ravenous, with no family or others of his kind to lean on.

2017–2023. Eventually, another vampire finds him, caked in blood and nothing short of feral. A wide-eyed, rabid animal with mounting murders on his hands. Other vampires will not stand for this, when Jasim is a threat to exposing their kind and worsening their issues with hunters. He has a choice: die or assimilate. He chooses the latter, for the most part. It takes time, and effort, and even more bloodshed. But, he humanizes himself little by little, learns to cover his tracks and throw both hunters and law enforcement off of his trail. He discovers more within this supernatural underbelly of the world—other vampires, witches, even fae, banshees and angels to a lesser degree, including a nasty run in with a creature as feral as he is. He’s not perfect and, in many ways, he hasn’t shaken that untamed streak in him. However, he’s better at hiding, soon rejoining the mortal world as a semi-fit individual for society.

2023–present day. To further prove that he’s changed (and to escape a hunter that discovered him, with a handful of instances of cat and mouse, as well as outright torture), Jasim moves to Blackwater from London in early 2023. He finally gets to put his veterinary degree and skills to use again, working at the town’s animal hospital and throwing himself into this work full force, using his newfound abilities to better care for animals. All the while, he’s trying to truly live life again, now that he has a long one ahead of him. He’s not perfect, he hunts nightly with the increasing death toll at least partially his responsibility, but he’s better. Able to hide when he needs to and come out when he has to.

― HEADCANONS (content warning for: N/A).

He doesn’t like humans. Their value and his respect for them tanked shortly after becoming a vampire, realizing how weak and fickle mortals truly are. Humans are, as far as he’s aware, prey and nothing more. Despite this, he’s careful to not expose himself too much, instead coming off as merely a strange individual.

Coffee and cigarettes are basically necessary for his survival. If you want to be on his good side, slide a cup of hot black coffee and a pack of Marlboro Light 100s his way. On that note, he also collects lighters to an excessive degree.

Fosters animals, mainly kittens and adult/senior cats, but he’ll rescue any animal. Owns a couple of cats (Rasputin and Farrah, both tabbies), a sun conure named Nanshe, and a freshwater aquarium with various fish. Basically, he prefers to spend time with animals instead of people. It’s arguably safer this way.

Can’t drive, won’t drive, will walk everywhere until he dies and he doesn’t care how inconvenient it is.

Practically known for his insatiable appetite, always feeding—or trying to, at least. This makes him a worthy target to hunters and a risk to vampires. Trust and believe, there’s been an increase in human deaths since his arrival to Blackwater.

― WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Sire not sire: Because Jasim accidentally killed his sire during his turning, he was left to flounder for roughly a year, a trail of drained bodies behind him. This simply wasn’t acceptable. So, an older vampire took reins of him and essentially “trained” him. This is essentially a mentor to him that he’s become extremely close to and even codependent on. Their relationship could be more platonic and familial, or even romantic and sexual.

Hunter eats hunter: It was about damn time that a hunter was able to nab him, following his trail in London and capturing him. It was one of the most brutal nights of Jasim’s life, rivaling his turning even, but he managed to escape. This, unfortunately for him, didn’t put an end to their cat and mouse game. It even became fun to him, for awhile, until he fled to Blackwater for safety. It seems they followed him here too.

Run rabbit run: It was a messy evening a couple years back in London, and he had fed from a human with a mix of drugs and alcohol in their blood, which only proved trouble for him. He picked a fight with the wrong person—either a hunter or another supernatural creature. Quickly, he learned what damage others could do to him, and dealt his own damage. He narrowly escaped with his life and has been hiding from this person since, fearful of them and past the point of scorned.

Ride or die: Someone Jasim has known essentially his entire life, dating back to childhood. This is likely someone of a similar age, either a human or supernatural creature/hunter who hid it from him. They’ve always remained close, except for a brief pause when he was freshly turned. He reconnected when it was safe to, explaining his situation and even outing himself as a vampire. They remained best friends despite this.

Companionship: Friends! We love friends here. Jasim is a neurotic oddball but he can be loving, gentle, and generous. So, friendships of all varieties and levels of closeness are welcome.

Dalliances (past and present): He is, for lack of a better word, a damn trollop. Sex is often how he lures in humans to feed, much like his sire had done to him. Beyond this, he just likes to sleep around and connect intimately. FWBs, one-time hookups, and even possible relationships are invited to the party! Additionally, exes are also a possibility, before and after his turning.

Adversaries: Sure, he can be friendly, but he can also be the exact opposite. This has resulted in quite the long list of people who don’t like him and vice versa. People whose family members he’s drained and killed, vampires who don’t like his esurient and careless nature, hunters or other supernaturals he has bad blood with, etc.

Patients: One common ground he can have, however, is a love of animals. As a veterinarian, he sees many animals, day in and day out. He even helps to adopt out the wonderful pets of Blackwater. So, if your muse has a pet or has rescued an animal off the streets, chances are Jasim’s seen them.

Species specific - vampires: His semi-new kin. He’s incredibly biased towards vampires, preferring their company above all. That being said, he’s not always liked by others of his kind. He tends to gravitate towards and try to build close relationships with other vampires.

Species specific - witches: Limited experience and he’s slightly apprehensive towards them, sensing and smelling the power in their blood. Despite this, he’s open to friendships and learning about their magic, willing to help those he’s particularly close to.

Species specific - humans: Fodder to fuck and feed from. There’s no value to a truly mortal life, in his eyes, and he gladly uses humans to sustain himself. He has no qualms with using compulsion on them, either. Yet, there may just be a human he softens up for, finding value in and wanting to keep… perhaps even turn into a vampire as well.

Species specific - hunters: He’s terrified and avoidant, keeping a safe distance to preserve his life. Again, this is fallible and he can’t ignore them forever, especially as he does like the chase… what? It makes him feel wanted for a short moment in time. Regardless, he’s a problematic vampire that’s attracted the attention of some hunters.

[aemiron-main]

i think what's so funny about the bi Mike narrative is that you flat out have to ignore canon scenes. "boys only"? doesn't mean anything, only Will's "a day free of girls" means something. Mike and El's severe family coding going back all the way to s1 where they explicitly discuss being cousins and siblings? doesn't mean anything either, that's just there for fun, their romance should be taken completely serious and not be uncomfortable at all. Mike seemingly realizing he doesn't want to be with El/wants to be with Will when she kisses him in s3? coincidence, it's not because he realizes he doesn't like El, it just happens to happen while a girl is kissing him. Mike resorting to a disprovable lie about love at first sight during his monologue instead of stating the real moment he realized he liked her? completely random🤭

if your interpretation of canon is that solid then why are you avoiding certain scenes? and the few people i've seen tackle them always need to go on their tangent of how "it's not like that" or you're "reading too much into it". so obviously El saying she could be Mike's sister doesn't mean anything and is just random filler dialogue, it's not supposed to make you feel any particular way. Mike having a similar girls excluding line to Will is only gaycoding for Will, Mike is just being silly and goofy duh, it's not that serious, and so on

it's fine to have whatever hc or interpretation but it's weird to me when ppl straight up say it's just as valid as the interpretation that's actually applicable to all of the show. the narrative that there is a good argument for bi Mike to be made and that ppl just don't post it anymore because the gay Mike truthers (who only hang out on their blogs) are so mean is hilarious when i know i've seen every bi Mike take last year and wasn't convinced by any of them. if there is such a good argument for bi Mike then why don't i see more posts? bc despite the current victim complex, gay Mike was the original pariah in the fandom until people had the guts to start posting analysis. the fact that half the people on here now subscribe to gay Mike despite that interpretation only not getting you screamed at since a few months ago does say a lot about how convincing both interpretations are. because just maybe, the fact that there's more gay Mike believers than bi Mike believers (don't even know if that's accurate i don't know the tag anymore, but it's what the bi interpretators are saying) is because people see it as more plausible, and not bc they haven't had the pleasure to see a bi Mike post yet

seriously, just your gay Mike takes alone go way back and were pretty unusual at the time. and it speaks volumes to me that most serious anaylzers and theorizers subscribe to gay Mike exclusively, while the blogs that post more for fun and provide regular character and ship content and interact more with the tag and "community" on here like bi Mike. it's almost like... bi Mike is more fun as a hc but narratively inferior to gay Mike, which is why all the serious show analyzers are so adamant and passionate about it

ANON YOU WENT OFF WITH THIS!!!!!!!! 👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏 ABSOLUTE FACTS 10000000% REAL LIKE I HAVE NO NOTES IM JUST CLAPPING AND CHEERING AND NODDING MY HEAD WHILE I TYPE THIS!!!!!!!! That’s SO true about how the more serious analysis blogs tend to be gay mike truthers whereas the more for fun/posting solely hc stuff blogs tend to veer towards bi mike. And with that said, I think there’s also an element of that dynamic that’s tied to how that solely fic/hc section of byler tumblr tends to get fairly weird about The Actual Show sometimes (such as a bunch of them being appalled that people would bother to try and analyze henry) & try to stay in this weird “all headcanons are textually valid” space (even though thats not possible) because that whole group is so eager to jump at the throats of anyone who makes a minor misstep. Like this does NOT go for *everyone* who is just having fun/posting ship stuff, many of those folks r wonderful, im talking abt a particular group of popular/vocal folks in that circle, and there’s definitely a dynamic at play of “smh someone CRITICIZED another TAKE from SOMEONE ELSE, they are SOOOO rude smhhhhh everything is canon and valid” which makes people not want to step out of line/not want to have actual firm opinions on things.

But god uh my little tangent aside, this is so real and well-put, anon. Like you said, if there’s so much evidence for bi mike, then why arent people posting it instead of posting posts whining about how somebody said that there’s no evidence for bi mike? Like. Post your evidence then. Do it. I still laugh about one big prominent bi mike blog that posted awhile back about how they COULD disprove all the gay mike analysis but they WONT. and it’s like. girl. we know that you won’t because you CAN’T. If you could, you WOULD. And oh my god people acting like the familial parallels are just random filler dialogue makes me INSANE and what makes me more insane is when people (specifically the fucking idiots on twitter) act like pointing out the obvious mileven familial parallels is weird on MY part. As if IM THE ONE THAT PUT THEM THERE?? AS IF IM CONDONING INCEST?? LIKE GO TALK TO THE DUFFERS THEY PUT THEN IN THERE NOT ME!!!

And god yeah you just. You said it ALL, anon, like this is perfect, like people can have hcs or whatever i dont care but dont act like theyre equally textually supported. Because theyre not. And pointing out what is/isnt canon in the show isn’t biphobia, as much as God’s Whiniest Soldiers would like to believe it is. Gay mike ws absolutely the pariah before, and it’s SO funny to see bi mike truthers acting like anyone who disagrees with them is a Big Bad Mean Person who is Exploding Bi Mike Truthers With A Biphobia Laser. I have asked 163748596969696 times for someone to give me bi mike evidence that doesn’t heavily rely on outright ignoring the existence of other scenes in the show. And nobody’s been able to do it. Because mike is gay & the show is written with gay mike in mind. And god yeah the whole me getting screamed at over it thing is so funny in retrospect because people were literally mad at me for “disturbing the peace” as if this is fucking hobbiton and i’m gandalf after dragging bilbo baggins off to the lonely mountain & being labelled a disturber of the peace for it. like oh nooo ive got my gay little hands all over your peace. So what. Block me. Kill me if you can. Just do SOMETHING other that whining in my inbox like youre a 50 year old home owners association leader who got a noise complaint because i sneezed too loudly. (and when i say you, i dont mean You, anon, i mean the collective whining bi mike group who haunts my inbox).

It makes me insane. Every day. To see people willfully ignoring evidence that disagrees with them & trying to shoehorn evidence into working just for them to bring out the flimsiest analysis youve ever seen in your life & have a fucking fit when people point out that it’s flimsy. Again, anon, you said it ALL.

[red-riding-wood]

Chapter 3

OC: Aleera

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Summary: Former protector of the last Targaryens and bastard daughter of the Mad King Aerys, Aleera ventures to Westeros in search of the family she's never known, and finds herself swallowed by a world of cruelty, ambition and lies... She must leave behind her heart to survive, and, like her ancestors, forge her path through fire and blood. Madness and greatness, they say, are two sides of the same coin, and may the world hold its breath to witness how this coin lands.

Warnings: (for entire story) angst, graphic violence, gore, cursing, sexual assault, graphic sexual content, incest, torture... standard GoT stuff. I'm not holding back with this story so if you're not a fan of dark or disturbing content this is not for you. Also future Ramsay x OC and Petyr x OC and those two are their own warnings.

~ Combines content from Game of Thrones TV series and the ASOIAF books. Some canon changes are made to suit the story. ~

I had ridden ‘til my back ached and my thighs wobbled as I dismounted my steed; I had been sure to take the same one Illyrio had provided me, to give the Dothraki less of a reason to follow. But soon enough, I would be across the Narrow Sea, and they would not follow me onto ships, for they feared any water their horses couldn’t drink.

The mare snorted, dark nostrils flaring as she chewed at her bit, restless. A veneer of sweat collected on my fingers as I brushed them across her muscled neck, and yellow eyes flashed at me, wary and wild. I stared into them for a moment or two as I stroked her neck, and something in them that I couldn’t quite explain stirred all of my pain to the surface – the pain that I had been doing everything in my power to force down, to shield myself from. I swallowed a knot that formed, thick, in my throat.

Fingers of dusk light caught the bright of her coat, the dapples that shone almost iridescent across the palomino. The horse was beautiful, and she rode well, but I would have to part ways with her if I was going to cross the Narrow Sea.

Escaping the Dothraki horde hadn’t been as difficult as I’d thought; once their khaleesi had left the tent, silver hair standing out in the sea of dark, they were too enamoured to notice me slipping away to the horses.

It was the sea that would prove difficult. I would need to smuggle myself on board a ship before the next dawn, in case Viserys or Illyrio or the Dothraki came looking for me. No ships would depart this late; they would wait ‘til the morrow, to sail with the sun in the sky and the seas calm.

The dragon egg weighed heavy in my satchel as I led the mare down to the docks, winding through the markets of peddlers, shop owners, fishermen and hunters and seamstresses, still bustling with activity early into dusk. I stood out a sore sight, with the palomino and its yellow tasselled saddle, and my bruises and my torn red tunic.

Past the almost overwhelming aroma of spices and tonics, and the reek of sweat of the peasants and travelers, I veered to a small stable. The owner, or perhaps stable-hand, ceased his mucking when he caught sight of the palomino, and leaned on his pitchfork.

“I’m looking to sell this mare,” I told him, taking care to choose my words and instill my voice with confidence. I used the common tongue of the Seven Kingdoms; if he asked, I was travelling back to Westeros.

The man’s eyes scoured my appearance, and he asked, “Did she buck you?”

“I am unaccustomed to the unruly terrain of the Pentos outskirts,” I said. “I stumbled down a rocky hill. The mare is quite capable; she has never bucked nor spooked.”

He took another look at my bloody, bruised knees and scuffed face, and nodded. We bartered, back and forth, but briefly; the more I watched the sun’s forked fingers slim on the horizon, and the more shops I noticed closing for the night, my unease grew. I settled on the far low price of five golden honors, a common currency of the Free Cities.

With those coins, I had my wounds tended by a healer. She dribbled wine and salved honey on my cuts, and I refused milk of the poppy, a painkiller she sold for an exorbitant price. She asked how I came to bear these wounds, and I told her the same I had the stable owner.

At the seamstress, I traded my silver-mouthed scabbard to buy one of nothing but boiled leather, and a roughspun tunic of a muted, brown colour typical of peasants in Essos. She asked me what became of such a fine tunic I wore, and I once more told my story in as few words as possible. I allowed her to take it to repair and do with as she liked, but for its condition she offered no more than a mere shawl to protect my hair from the sun. I accepted, for I would use it to hide the unmistakable shade of crimson.  

By the time I walked the winding street again, with the yarn of my tunic itching my bruised flesh, I was fifteen again, before Illyrio had welcomed me into his home. My stomach growled in hunger, and I kept a sharp eye for bread and cheeses I could thieve, and a sharper one for criminals that might emerge from any corner. Old habits did not go so willingly into the dark.  

Only, for the first time in my life, I fought and survived not for the younger sister who awaited my return to be told a bedtime story, nor the older brother who I would’ve spoiled with a nicked finery in a desperate act to please, but for myself. For the first time in my life, I was well and truly alone. 

Not for long, I assured myself. Soon, I would be in the loving arms of my true mother. And I kept telling myself this, until the scars burdened for my family didn’t sting so hot and the pendant round my neck didn’t burn so cold.

Pulled sharply from my reverie by the roar of a nearby crowd, I chastised myself. One moment and one moment alone not on my guard, and I could’ve been dead – or worse.

Thankfully, the commotion only seemed to be from a crowd of theatre goers, clustered around the final act of a play. One of the mummers wore a white, thinly spun wig that patched the balding of his forehead, and his eyes seemed to sink into his face from the weight of the crown atop his skull. He sat in a chair made of dyed wooden planks that jutted from the seat at every odd angle, lined in iron swords.  Curious, I eased closer, weaving my way through the ring of peasants round the paying customers.

Another actor, clad in ridiculous wooden armour stained a garish gold and a white linen that had been fastened at his shoulders to resemble a cloak, addressed the crowd. In the background, others worked to run giant props of painted fire across the stage, settling behind two men whose jaws gaped in silent screams, their knees dropping to the floor.

I had glimpsed several plays depicting the Mad King before, but Viserys had always told me their characterisations were wildly distasteful, that witnessing one brought a stain to the Targaryen name.         

The armoured man said procured a glint of silver from his pocket, and said, “Greatness and madness, you see, are two sides of the same coin.”

The crowd fell silent with a hush.

“Each time a Targaryen is born,” the false knight said, “the gods flip a coin and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.” Taking a dramatic pause, he then flipped the coin into the air, and arms tangled around me, greedy fingers reaching from fevered limbs for the silver. I squared my shoulders and took a step back, allowing them to converge around me but keeping my gaze fixed on the actors and their silly little play.

And when at last someone had snatched the coin from the ground, and everyone settled like hens after a wild dog had been let into their coop, the knight said, “The gods must have dropped the one for Aerys Targaryen.”

I looked again upon the wilting visage of the Mad King, milky eyes staring almost blankly at the burning men but chapped lips slightly parted and curved into a sick smile as his chest heaved a few silent laughs. I’d never met my father, but I couldn’t help but wonder, in that moment, what it would have been like to stand in that room, to hear the laughter of the king and the screams of men as the flesh melted from their bodies, to choke on the heat of the flame and the billows of smoke. Though he had existed long past the extinction of our last dragons, he had still ruled through fire and blood. The infamous words of our ancient house.

The knight drew his sword, stalking towards the king as he turned his back to his guard. The false blade was shoved between the arm and the side of the king, as the elder actor’s head flinched back, milky eyes going wide, shaking fingers curling inward as he collapsed to his knees. I recognised the knight now as Ser Jaime Lannister.

“Kingslayer!” Someone shouted with virulence at the stage, and the knight wore a gloating smile as he turned, blonde threads of his wig falling before his eyes as he turned to face the crowd.

A red fruit splattered across the gold of his armour, and he flinched, smile falling from his lips. Its juices leaked like blood down his breastplate. “Guards!” he called, voice having lost its bravado.

A few leather-clad sellswords emerged from the outskirts of the audience and dragged the seething man, kicking and yelling, repeating the word over and over at the man in gold. Something crawled beneath my flesh, and I began to remove myself from the event, butting shoulders with a couple of annoyed commoners.

I knew the rest of the story. I’d heard it a thousand times from Viserys, how the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, had thrust his sword through my father’s back as the usurper and his men marched on the Red Keep and claimed the great city of King’s Landing for themselves. How they ended the greatest dynasty the world had ever seen.

His words were imprinted so firmly in my memory, it was almost as if I was back in the depths of the Free Cities, hearing the tale from the tongue of the man who’d once been my brother. I remembered every inflection of spite in his tone, how he loathed the Lannisters and the Baratheons and the Starks, how he thought himself above them all because of his birthright.

And to think, how I would’ve followed my unworthy king, across the Narrow Sea, and slain those who raised a sword to him, and lived and died for him and hoped that someday he would love me for everything I had given him.

“Viserys is no dragon,” my sister had said. And he was no king, either. And maybe, someday, my blade would cross with his, and if he were to drag me before his throne and make me bow, I would answer him with fire and blood.

My heart beat viciously in my chest, and a tear crossed the cheek of my burning flesh.

“At times… I fear you more than Drogo.”

My sister’s words came to me again, in my flash of wrath, echoing in my pounding skull, and in my hollow chest threads of darkness sprouted from the shattered remnants of my heart and seemed to strangle me from the inside out. Black, they were, black as the pitch of the eyes that landed on me from across the square from a woman in red robes.

A priestess of the Lord of Light had stopped to let her gaze linger on me, pierce through me, as if she see the black tendrils around my heart, as if she could feel the fire roaring to life in my fractured soul. The dragon’s egg in my satchel weighed heavy against my shoulder, and my amulet still burned wretchedly cold against my flesh.

I blinked, eyes caught in hers, devoured by the pitch black that seemed to reach so curiously for me, before pulling my shawl tighter round my red hair and continuing downward, towards the docks.

The scent of the ocean grew stronger, the rot of seaweed left on the beach in the harsh sun that died now, slowly, along the rolling waves of the horizon, and the salt and brine that clung to the cloths of the fishmongers crinkling my nose as they brought in their last catch of the day. Kegs of ale, fish and fruit were hauled across the wooden docks, to and from the ships.

I had barely set foot on the first board when something caught the corner of my eye, the dark robes of four men who carried no trap or net nor barrel, who covered their faces but on the hilts of their swords could not disguise the unmistakable glint of Lannister gold.

My heart froze in my chest. And I paused, my fingertips running along the boiled leather of my scabbard.

There was only one reason the Lannisters would be so far from home, that in favour of muted robes they would not wear their cloaks of red and gold so proudly.

And though I loathed Viserys for what he had done to me, and though my heart still splintered from my sister’s betrayal, I could not find it within myself to make peace with the images of their blood on the assassins’ blades, of their lifeless corpses keeling over like Aerys had.

Though I had fought their battles all my life, though a smarter woman would’ve turned her head the other way, I found myself drawing my blade for my unworthy king and his perfect queen one last time.

NEXT CHAPTER

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[queenslayerbee]

I thought I'd make one of these to see if I find more like-minded writers ^-^

I want to read stories that put the focus on women. By personal inclination, it’s what I’m interested in, both in regards to reading and to writing. I seek new stories with a central female lead that gets to be writing as a lead, as the subject in the story –NOT as the object of desire or obsession of a male love interest that steals the limelight from her. I, in particular, want to find stories about women, plural. The Smurfette Syndrome is something I find more and more irksome each day that passes, so what I want to read most are stories about relationships between women. These can be of any kind: sismances, romantic relationships, psychosexual obsessions between enemies, messed-up family dynamics... you name it.

When it comes to genre choices, I diversify more when it comes to reading than to writing. But in the end, my one true love remains the fantasy genre. I’m particularly interested in high fantasy, in stories set in fictional worlds of your invention, but as long as the premise interests me, I am game for any subgenre you can name. I like sci-fi, mysteries, and horror, as well as other subgenres I’m a bit more particular about, like comedy or non-fiction (although I’d be surprised to find that in tumblr; if you have a non-fiction WIP, you’d probably get me hooked by the sheer novelty).

Although there’s nothing wrong with an everywoman getting thrown to the deep end in a supernatural plot, and I’ll gladly read those stories if they catch my eye, I like my special snowflake protagonists. All kinds of creatures, witches, political leaders, goddesses, (in)famous outlaws, etc. I like grandiose stories, and they usually come with the territory.

Give me your unlikeable women. There’s nothing I crave more than stories that allow their female characters to behave in truly awfuly, ugly ways.

I don’t necessarily mind romance, if it’s well-written and it doesn’t come with tropes I despise or find annoying on the long run (oblivious mutual pinning, relentless pursuers, super macho dom guys paired with meek shy submissive girls incapable of standing up for themselves...). But my preferences at this moment are a.) little to no focus on romance, or b.) tragic romance, especially between women.

I am looking for stories geared towards adult audiences. This doesn’t necessarily mean they have to be super sexually explicit or violent; people often confuse those two things (and for the record, I’m very comfortable with high rated content. Give me some warning if you truly think it’s necessary, but otherwise, if I need to put something down I’ll do it myself just fine). What I want is stories that, well. Treat me like an adult xD

I love descriptive, atmospheric, quasi purple prose, but it’s not a requirement. I’m just putting it here because if this is what you veer towards, and feel self-conscious about it, I’m your gal.