#i think it ended up that she was allowed to salt her food if she ate separately from her peers so as not to ''encourage'' ''unhealthiness''

[hedgehog-moss]

The blueberry tart moral quandary has been very fun to ponder! Thank you for sharing it with us. I think the real question, however, is what each of your animals would think about ordering two slices of tart under the circumstances

You're right, that IS the true question here. Let's situate this in a universe where blueberry tart is safe & delicious to eat for all animal species.

CHICKENS. The chickens would definitely want that second helping of tart because chickens live in a solipsistic moral universe and would hesitate to share tart even if it was their dying sister's last wish. However if you place two slices of tart on the ground for 2 chickens, they will immediately and violently start fighting each other over the same slice, thus giving you the opportunity to discreetly retrieve the first slice for yourself. Moreover, if a chicken manages to break off half of the slice and starts running like hell to go eat it elsewhere in peace, the other chicken will take off after her instead of eating the other half happily by herself. If they then break this half in two while fighting over it, they will resume fighting over that half of the half, allowing you to retrieve 3/4 of the second slice. And so on. This is Zeno's paradox applied to chickens and tart: the hens will spend the rest of eternity fighting over diminishing crumbs while you get almost all of the second slice back (albeit broken in increasingly minuscule halves.)

CATS. Not only would the cats want that second slice regardless of who else wants it, they would also sit & start grooming themselves on the rest of the pie with great serenity, rendering it inedible for anyone else. However, my original post established that the pies were under large bell jars. Two of my three cats are (to their everlasting torment) stymied by this sadistic human invention. If the bell jar is heavy enough that you can't push it off the table (a popular strategy), then Mascarille and Merricat will just circle it a few times, ram their faces into the glass, do a full body swipe against it in case this might open a secret door, and then walk away in frustration. Morille on the other hand is a cat possessed of extreme patience, diabolical intelligence and acute interest in forbidden food. She will get the tart no matter how long she has to lie in wait.

DOG. Pandolf would not want a second slice or even a first one, if he is made to understand that this might make other people sad. The thing with Pandolf is, he can smell disappointment. His great big nose picks up on every particle of human disappointment in the air and they go straight to his heart. He is also too polite to even defend his bone from thieving chickens. There's no way he would claim any tart at all unless someone gave it to him and made it clear they would be happy for him to eat it. However Pandolf is very cute when he sits there with a lolling tongue, happy for others to have a good time, and there is also no way one or several persons wouldn't give him their slice of tart. He would definitely end up with tart.

LLAMAS. Pampelune is the matriarch and since her duties involve dying to protect her herd in case of predator attacks, she considers it her prerogative to eat first and as much as she damn pleases in compensation. She would get two slices. I believe Poldine would choose to have only one slice and kiss everyone in the restaurant on the cheek for good measure, and I also believe she would actually get zero tart. As shown in the salt video, Poldine understands her place in the pasture hierarchy (the one who eats last) and has to resort to subterfuge to get even 1 lick of salt while others are gorging themselves. She will be very dependent on other people's temperance and decency to get any tart (so, Pandolf is her best bet.) Meanwhile Pampérigouste is trying to figure out how to escape the restaurant undetected to go on an adventure while the sheeple are talking about tart. She will get one or two or three slices but only if they can facilitate her various stratagems (for example, to bribe a guard at the door.)

The FISH—do not have the cognitive abilities to worry about morals but more importantly, do not experience soul-deep desires in the way the birds and mammals in this list do. My fish live in a smooth and quiet world where the gods make food rain from the sky every day. In this luminescent existence of untroubled abundance their capacity for longing has atrophied. They do not understand what wanting tart means, let alone the complex philosophical agonies humans can put themselves through when faced with culinary conundrums.

DONKEY. Pirlouit's first instinct would be to claim all the tart he can eat and then some. However donkeys and fish sit at opposite ends of the philosophical spectrum; Pirlouit strikes me as an animal who would be interested in exploring the ethical ramifications of the issue, as an intellectual exercise. 70% of his life consists in quiet deep ponderings. I think Pirlouit could get distracted ruminating the blueberry tart quandary in light of the rich philosophical heritage of donkey civilisation, and arrive too late to get any tart by the time he determined whether one or two slices is the right answer. Kind of like that time he got distracted by his need for revenge and was late for breakfast and the llamas had already claimed the hay.

IN CONCLUSION.

[yelena-bellova]

Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter One

Chapter One: Reunited

Plot: People who once loved each other didn’t end up in a bloodstained hall, guns pointed at one another.

But Joel and Y/n weren’t people.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: tlou ep.1 spoilers, language, canon-typical violence, blood, guns

A/N: For a fandom I had no intention of writing for, I’m writing a lot loo. I’m half considering turning this into a series, depending on what y’all think, so don’t be shy…UPDATE: we’re a series now! See more on my masterlist ☺️

————————

Joel exhaled as he and Tess crept through the guts of the building. The things he was going to do to Robert…screwing them over with the battery and beating on Tess. Joel would make sure the punishment was slow and agonizing.

It was an understatement of gargantuan proportion to say that Joel Miller was a different man than he’d been twenty years ago. He’d always been quiet, reserving his words only for the people he truly cared to have hear them. He was rough around the edges then too, but his edges hadn’t been razor sharp. More like a dull pencil. Prickly, but it couldn’t draw blood.

But his heart? That had been the most severe of the changes. He’d held his heart in his arms and watched it, felt it, die. He had no use for the organ anymore. There was nothing worth feeling, let alone loving, in the world that refused to let him die too.

Joel and Tess moved out of the frame of the building, guns pointed. Joel was the first to spot the dead bodies, but Tess was the one who found the battery. And Robert. There was a part of Joel that was angry he didn’t get to take the fucker out himself.

Pained grunts and groans drew their attention, the pair moved down the hall carefully. Joel went ahead with his gun drawn, his nerves used to fry upon walking into a fight. He might have missed that innocence if he allowed himself to look back.

As he turned the corner of the hall, he connected the voices to the bodies in front of him, one helping the other one up. They were injured, but that didn’t mean they weren’t infected or the attackers themselves. Joel kept his gun raised, slowly approaching until-

A small, but powerful, scream sounded off, a little body charging out of the nearest room and heading straight for Joel. He used her momentum to slam her into the wall, switching the aim of his gun to the girl at his feet.

The two who were injured turned around, pointing their weapons at Joel as soon as they saw the position he’d put the girl in.

“Fuck,” the girl panted.

“Joel?”

Joel focused on the woman’s face, “Marlene?”

Marlene looked to the girl, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she responded, eyes still on the man with the gun pointed at her. She reached for her knife, the one currently under his boot.

“Ellie,” Marlene warned, “Ellie!”

Ellie listened, her mind going to scarier places than what was in front of her. “Where’s Y/n?”

Joel’s eyes flicked to Ellie, a quick shot of adrenaline running through his chest. “What’d you say?”

The words couldn’t have left his lips and had more perfect timing. Down the hall, a female voice called, “Ellie! Ellie!”

And then she was there.

Never before in twenty years had Joel been so easily transported back to the past as he had in that moment. Seeing her face for the first time in two decades took away all the pain in his knees, exchanged his salt and pepper hair for deep chocolate brown, and threw on five pounds of weight given by eating enough food. He was 35 again, staring into the eyes of the woman he had once loved.

Who looked back at him with nothing but hatred.

“Oh, honey,” she bit out, “Thank goodness you’re home.”

Y/n’s eyes looked past the man she’d been spending twenty years trying to erase from her mind and down to where his gun was pointed. She immediately raised hers, aiming it at his head.

“You drop the gun now,” she warned.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Joel asked, dumbfounded for the first time in a long time.

“Sight seeing,” Y/n replied sarcastically, “Drop the fucking gun, or I swear, I’ll do the world a favor.”

“Y/n,” Marlene said with so much force, it made Ellie sit up straighter, “Now is not the time.”

More consumed by her duty to Ellie than her fury with Joel, she lowered her gun and looked to the girl. “Are you okay?”

Ellie nodded, concern all over her face, “You’re hurt.”

Y/n looked down at her exposed arm, the first few layers of skin painted with blood that was beginning to dry. “Just a graze,” she assured her.

Tess finally announced her presence, “So this is who Robert screws us over with? The Che Guevara of Boston? I mean, war must be going pretty shitty to be buying from scumbags like him.”

“Yeah, it kind of has been,” Marlene exhaustedly replied, “The merch was bad and he obviously didn’t take “fuck off” for an answer.”

Joel and Y/n barely heard any of the conversation that was going on around them. Their eyes were locked in a stare that neither one of them could have broken if they’d tried.

“Give me my knife,” Ellie demanded of Joel.

That snapped him back to reality, “What do you need a car battery for?”

As Ellie reached for the knife, Joel pivoted his torso to point the gun right back at her. “Don’t.”

Y/n and Marlene moved just as fast, aiming their weapons at Joel once more. “Not at her,” Marlene warned, “Point it at me.”

Ellie trembled, her hands raised in0 surrender as Joel hesitated to move his position. That infuriated Y/n to the point that she took a step forward, Joel’s instincts took over and he turned the gun on her.

It was the last place either of them had ever thought they’d be.

“And to answer your question,” Marlene continued, having lowered her own gun, “I need it for a better reason than you do. No offense, but Tommy’s just one man.”

Y/n watched Joel’s face change, the worry lines in his face became even more prominent. Had something happened to Tommy?

“It’s our business to know things,” Marlene explained, though it didn’t explain why she hadn’t felt the need to tell Y/n. As if Tommy was just another survivor…

“‘To know things,’” Joel repeated, the venom practically dripping from his lips, “You’re the cause of it. You turned my own brother against me.”

“Okay, Joel…”

“That was a lot of gunfire,” Kim finally spoke up, “FEDRA’s gonna be on the way.”

Marlene sighed, “I know.”

Ellie rubbed at the shoulder that had slammed into the drywall, her eyes darting up to Y/n as if to ask if they were okay. Y/n removed her glare off of Joel for a few seconds to soften and give Ellie a nod. They would both make it out of this moment.

“We were gonna move Ellie out of the zone tonight,” Marlene stated, “But we won’t make it anywhere like this. Not for a while anyway. So now I’m thinkin’…” she paused, “You’re gonna do it.”

“The hell we are!” Joel exclaimed.

“I’m not goin’ with them,” Ellie said at the same time.

Y/n bitterly chuckled, “No way am I letting you make that call.”

Kim volunteered, “Let me take her.”

“Tess,” Joel turned to his partner, “We don’t have time for this.”

“Oh, you don’t have time?” Marlene sarcastically asked.

“Who is she?” Tess asked.

“To you, she’s cargo,” Marlene replied.

“We don’t smuggle people,” Joel firmly stated, his eyes flicking to Y/n, “Sorry.”

“I can do it,” Kim insisted.

“Kim, you don’t have a fucking ear on your fucking head,” Marlene gritted out, “Could you please?”

“I’ll take her,” Y/n raised her voice, “That was the plan anyway.”

“No, the plan was for us to do it,” Marlene replied, “You can’t do it on your own.”

Y/n was losing patience with the Fireflies leader, “And why the fuck not?”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Marlene snapped, “You’re not ready.”

If they’d have been in any other situation, Y/n would have let the comment hurt.

“I’m not leaving without Y/n,” Ellie stated, drawing all the attention of the room to her, “She takes me.”

Joel’s eyes went back to Y/n, his mind flashing to every possibility of why the girl was so attached. Was she her daughter?

Marlene sighed, looking to Y/n, “You go with them.”

Y/n was ready to punch, scream, gnash and kick her way out of the situation. She wanted nothing to do with Joel Miller or anyone who worked with him, hadn’t for twenty years. But her loyalty to Ellie, and Ellie’s earned trust, in turn, could force her to do a lot.

Joel’s head was spinning enough just from being in the same room as her again. Now they were working together? He didn’t want that any more than he suspected she did.

In the uncomfortable silence, it was decided.

“There’s a team of Fireflies waiting for her at the old State House.”

Joel scoffed, Y/n internally grimaced.

“I know what’s out there,” Marlene addressed both of their reactions, “We were going with an entire squadron for that very reason. But now, I don’t have a truck, I don’t have a squadron. FEDRA’s five minutes away. What I do have is you. And I know what you’re both capable of. For better of worse.”

Y/n kept repeating the mantra in her head, Ellie comes first, Ellie comes first…Before anything else. Her purpose in life was to ensure the girl’s safety, and she’d continue fulfilling it until her last breath.

“What are they capable of?” Ellie asked, innocently.

Joel was capable of reaching into someone’s chest, ripping out their soul, their heart, their reason to live, and discarding it like trash in the street. That much, Y/n knew for sure.

“You get her there safely, and they’ll give you what you need,” Marlene sweetened the deal a little, “Not just a battery, the whole thing. Fueled up truck, guns, supplies, all of it. I swear.”

Joel’s face hardened, he either didn’t believe her or didn’t care. It unsettled Y/n and made her keep the pistol aimed directly at his head.

Marlene insisted, “I swear.”

Joel glanced back to Tess, who nodded for him to come have a private discussion. She wasn’t the difficult one to read. He turned back to Y/n, his gun still pointed at her shoulder. He’d once known what the slightest change in her expression meant, now it felt like looking at a blank canvas. He had nothing to go off of from the look in her eye other than the fact that there was one.

Before Joel went to Tess, he slid Ellie’s knife away with him. “Asshole,” she exclaimed. It was the first almost-smile Y/n had cracked all day.

When Joel and Tess began to converse, Marlene came and stood at Y/n’s side.

“Look, I don’t know the details of what happened with you two and quite frankly, I don’t give a shit. But she,” Marlene pointed her gun downwards while she gestured to Ellie, “She needs you. You’re the only one that she’s opened up the slightest bit to. Don’t throw away that girl’s trust just because you two are fucked up.”

Ellie’s eyes were already on Y/n when she looked over. She was concerned, scared, angry, and way too young for any of this. Now wasn’t the time to get sensitive about a broken heart and especially over Joel Miller.

“Y’all talk it through, but please remember,” Marlene said to Joel and Tess impatiently, “That I’m bleeding out.”

Joel looked over Tess’ shoulder at Y/n, the two of them stared each other down. Y/n slowly lowered her gun but her eyes retained their fire. Joel didn’t feel the need to soften his glare either. Shock had passed and reality had sunk in, they were about to reenter each other’s lives.

“Okay,” Tess stepped forward, taking the role of grown-up from both of them, “Here’s the deal. We’ll get her to your crew at the State House. But before we hand her over, they give us everything that we want. If not, we kill here then and there.”

“That’ll be hard to do with my hands wrapped around your throat,” Y/n said, her voice like sweet steel.

“Y/n,” Marlene ground out, “Deal.”

“Really?” Ellie almost laughed, “That fast?”

“You are all that matters,” Marlene’s voice lowered, “My team will not jeopardize that. Remember what I told you? Now, go get your backpack.”

Ellie didn’t move, instead she looked up at Y/n. Agreeing with Marlene, she gestured to the room they’d been keeping her in and Ellie obeyed.

The first steps in anything were always the hardest to take. Fear had to be overcome and bravery needed to take the wheel. Y/n had fought for her survival relentlessly for twenty years, she’d seen the worst humanity had to offer and still found it in her to sleep at night. There was very little she was afraid of. But the idea of walking alongside Joel again sent a cold strand of fear through her spine. He was the scariest thing she could face.

Ellie came out of her room with two backpacks, handing the second one to Y/n. Maybe she was afraid, but faking courage for Ellie made it easier to leave Marlene and Kim’s side. Tess led Ellie off, leaving just Joel and Y/n in the hall. Y/n didn’t hesitate to bump her shoulder against his, pausing upon impact.

“You even think about hurting that girl,” she lowered her voice till it was sharp like a dagger, “I’ll break your legs.”

Joel’s smirk acted as a barrier between him and his true emotions. ”I’d like to see you try,” he rasped.

“Hey,” Marlene interrupted them, “Don’t fuck this up.”

The two ex-lovers looked back to one another, their final glare setting the stage for what was to be a horrendous journey. All was fair in love and war, but there was nothing fair about what had become of them…

[readychilledwine]

Requiem for a Dream

Part one - Home

After 50 years without his mate, Rhysand is finally free and Home.

Warnings - Rhysand's SA trauma is alluded to, depression is alluded to, terrible self care is seen from Rhiannon the OC. Oh, and as always unedited 💜

A/n - this ended up being a 4 part thing, and they are all scheduled to be posted 2 days apart (because I don't want to make you all wait when I am PROUD of the final smut scene) Each jumps is month into Rhysand being home. Each part gets spicier with time. Each part was also written with different songs involved and in mind. "Home" by MGK, Bebe Rexha, and X Ambassadors was trapped in my mind during this part

Part Two Part Three Part Four

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Rhys collapsed on the floor of the House of Wind. He was panting before finally breaking down. His arms wrapped around his torso as sobs tore through him. "Rhys?!" The sound of heels slapping against the floor came before arms were around him. "You're home."

He found himself clinging to Mor, head buried into her neck. "Mor, what happened?" A deep voice came into the room followed by heavy foot steps. "Rhys? Az!" Mor pulled away, allowing Cassian to fall before Rhys and pull him into another tight hug. "Let's get you inside, brother."

Rhys allowed him to support him and move him into the living room. Shadows had begun to scurry, moving with a purpose as Azriel appeared in the room and then froze. He walked to Rhys as if he was seeing a ghost, his scarred hands holding his face before his own tears began to fall and they embraced.

"Why are we all gathered in the living room? Food is that-" Amren stopped mid sentence, dropping the flute of blood she was holding. Azriel released Rhysand, backing away to be held by Cassian as the ancient being approached. "Do not ever scare us like that again, boy."

Rhys couldn't help but to laugh and nod before feeling shocked as Amren buried her face into his chest and held him. The Inner Circle stood in silence and tears. Before the question Rhys had since landing finally came out of his mouth. His voice was broken, confidence leaving his body as he asked, "Where is my wife?"

—------------

Rhiannon was hunched over a desk. She was reading through countless reports that had suddenly shown up once the barrier broke.

She refused to go to dinner, choosing to instead distract herself with work. The House had tried pulling her chair from under her, a shadow had tried dragging her out of his office, and the faelights had flickered indicating to her someone had entered her home, but Rhiannon didn't move.

She'd rather work herself to death or starve than get her hopes up that her mate was finally home. She'd rather be burned on an Autumn Court Pyre than allow her heart to break any further than it had.

50 years. 50 long years without Rhysand. Without hearing his laugh. Without the smell of citrus and salt. Without feeling his hands on her body, his lips on hers. 50 years without hearing the sound of his voice. She was broken. Broken from the nightmares he unknowingly sent down the bond. Broken from his last words to her being a command to stay in the House of Wind. Broken from feeling the bond they had never closed grow colder than ice.

Another shadow came, Weaving into her hair to let her know her true brother, Azriel, was thinking of her. That he wanted her to come downstairs and eat. "Tell your master I will eat later. I'm busy reading 50 years of reports from Illyria."

—---------

Azriel sighed deeply, looking at Cassian and shaking his head. "She's going to work herself to death." Cassian whispered as they watched Rhys stare at her chair. "He needs her."

Azriel stood. "I will be right back." Rhysand shook his head, standing next.

"You stay. I'll go." He took his whiskey with him, moving out of the room. "I'll be back soon. I'll just pull rank on her."

—-------

Rhiannon sighed in annoyance as the door opened. "I told you I'd eat later, Az. Fuck off." Rhys watched her. Her long dark brown hair was falling in waves to her hips. Her hazel eyes were reading through paper after paper, marking things she had questions over before moving to the next.

She was wearing a beautiful black dress that dipped low in the front, allowing him a view of her tan skin, of her full breasts, her toned stomach. She was thinner than when he had left, causing his heart to ache. He sat across from her, slightly shocked when she didn't look up. He wanted to pull her into his lap, to hold her, to cry into her shoulder. But he would wait. Wait until they had spoken about the choices he made.

"Just say what you want to say and leave, Azriel. I'm genuinely not in the mood."

He chose then to open the bond. It flooded both of them, causing Rhiannon to drop the paper she was holding. "There's 50 years of things I'd like to say to you, wife." He took a sip of his whiskey as she was taking uneven breaths to try to regain stability from the emotions taking over her own. "I'd prefer to eat first though, and then we could speak later tonight at the River House. Away from everyone else." She gave him no reaction. Shock was sitting in the middle of their bond, blocking him from her feelings, her mind, her needs.

"Please come eat with us. I-" His eyes squeezed shut as her emotions began to hit him. Her longing, her love, her needs, her stresses. "I need us all to eat together. I need family dinner. The papers can wait. They've waited 50 years, darling."

Rhiannon stood, moving to be directly in front of her husband as he stood. She had not spoken. Hands shaking as she lifted them to touch his face before stopping. He realized slowly that she already knew. She knew what had happened to him. What he had done. "You were actually there in those dreams, weren't you?" His voice was broken as he tried to step away from her before her hands shot to his wrists. "Rhi-"

"Please don't pull away from me. I won't touch you without your permission. I'll do whatever you need. Just please don't do what I can feel you thinking about."

Rhys nodded. His own hands trembling as he laced their fingers together and took a deep breath. "It might be awhile, Rhiannon."

She shook her head rapidly. "I don't care. It doesn't matter as long as you are here. I'd wait forever for you." The sentence was all it took for him to pull her into his arms, releasing a sob of relief as she whispered how much she loved and adored him.

[the-common-cowgirl]

Greater of Two Evils - Part 5

Summary: Reader returns to her childhood home only to move to a new home the next day. How will she cope?

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dark! Modern Aemond x Fem!Reader

Warnings: DUBCON to Consensual, AFAB reader, Smut (p in v, oral sex f&m receiving, orgasm denial, teasing, creampie, Dom vibes, choking, food play?), verbal arguments, cursing, tension, feelings of anxiety, feelings of hate, manipulation, Aemond not being a total jerk at the end? Lmk if there’s any I missed!

Word Count: 4790

A/N: This was split off of part 4, then I added some smut. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Your childhood bed was warm and stiffer than you remembered but you slept well regardless. Something about being home, being safe, surrounded by familiar smells and sounds, allowed you to fully rest, but now, the sun had long since risen and it was time for a nostalgic breakfast. 

Pulling on some pajama shorts and a crewneck sweatshirt, you drug your sleepy self from bed, lumbering down the steps to the living room, rubbing your eyes. The smell of bacon permeated through the small cottage home  and as you neared the bottom of the steps, you heard your mother call your name from the kitchen as she had when you were growing up when breakfast was early ready; allotting you time to get out of bed and get downstairs before the food went cold. 

Sleep wouldn’t quite leave your eyes and you reached up to rub the drowsiness from them with your sweatshirt sleeve, yawning. Your mother scolded you lightly, “Dear, we have company, you should go upstairs and change-”

Your arm dropped from your face quickly to find that evading your nightmares wasn't an option in this personal hell of a life you were sentenced to. 

Silver hair. Eye-patch. Finely tailored suit.

Maybe that song your dad used to sing in the back garden was right, maybe the devil does in fact wear a suit and tie. 

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is flat and devoid of fear despite the fact you very much were filled to the brim with it. Maybe anger at him invading such a sacred place of yours took precedent… finally.

Your mom turned around with a hand on her hip, “That’s no way to speak to your-”

Aemond raised his hand, silencing your mother with a soft smile. The action made you nauseous; no one silences your mother so easily. “Please, it’s alright.” He turned to you, “I came here to meet your parents and ask formally, this time, for your hand in marriage.”

Your eyes widened and you looked at your mom. She shook her head with a sweet smile, “Honey, if you were running here because you were scared of marriage, you should have thought of that before you got pregnant. Now here, Mr. Targaryen is trying to make things right.”

‘Trying to make things right’ felt like a stab in the gut, fueled by betrayal. 

“Mom I-”

Aemond cut you off, “Perhaps we can speak alone?” He looks over to your mother with the smile of a snake and she returns it, mayhaps without the reptilian features. 

“Of course, I’ll be out in the back garden with your father,” she tells you before she wipes her hands on her apron and exits the room. 

You stare at Aemond as he stares back at you with his lone eye. He hears the backdoor open and shut before he speaks. “I told you to stay.”

You pull up a chair opposite of him. “Like a dog,” you bite back. “What did you tell my parents?”

A sly smirk pulls at his lips, “I think you understand the predicament we’re in.” He leans back, grabbing his teacup and bringing it to his lips, “your mother loves me by the way.” He sips, smiling like a Cheshire cat, lone eye studying his prey.

“She also prefers my brother over me so I’d take her approval with a grain of salt.”

He frowns slightly, bringing the cup back down to the table. “They know the baby is mine and they know I am planning on taking care of you, and it, financially.” His eye flickers up to you triumphantly, “And they also know that I proposed to you, my girlfriend of three years and you had your doubts and came to see them.”

You narrowed your eyes, “You told them we have been a couple for three years and they believed you?”

Aemond smirked, shrugging lazily. “Apparently you do not talk to your parents enough for them to know much about you.”

Anger rose within you, making you begin to sweat with loathing. How did Aemond seem to get away with every little thing? It was like he walked and the grass parted a path for him. He seemed untouchable; making your cause seem hopeless.

“Go upstairs and pack, we’re leaving.” HIs command was stern with no room for contest.

You shook your head despite this, “I’m not going with you. No.”

Aemond stood from the table slowly, towering over you. His hand snaked down reverently from the top of your hair, along your cheekbone, landing beneath your chin and pulled your face up to look at him. “I’ve done things in a quite unorthodox matter at the beginning of this relationship-”

“This isn’t a relationship.”

He barely contained a sneer, you felt the anger boiling just underneath his skin but he kept it from burning you…surprisingly. “Whatever you want to call it- relationship, understanding-”

“Containment-” you cut.

“-whatever,” his voice raised slightly, “you may call it.” He returned to his false softened hum, “I believe I can do better by you and our child. You have to give me that chance.”

Your eyes met his lone blue and you knew you had no choice….for now.

“Okay.”

He looked half shocked, probably suspecting more of a fight. “Okay? Okay. Yes,” he pulled his hand from you. “I will arrange for us to leave immediately. Go upstairs and pack what you need.”

You stood from the table, “All of my essentials are in Sunspear.”

Aemond pulled out his phone, bringing it to his ear. “Well, we aren’t going back to Sunspear so I’ll just buy new essentials unless anything cannot be replaced.”

You looked at him in confusion, “Where are we going then?”

Someone on the other end of the line began speaking so he mouthed what looked like ‘King’s Landing’ before he started barking orders into the phone.

Kings Landing.

The drive to the Crownlands took a few hours and every bit of that time was spent with Aemond on the phone, rearranging your life, unenrolling you from your college, and closing your account at your bank in Sunspear. With every call, you started to grow more and more anxious.

How is he able to do all of these things without my permission or consent?

At the final call, the one where he closed out your membership to the student credit union, he looked over at you. “We are close to my estate now.”

You remained staring out the back door’s window, “How were you able to do all of that without my permission?”

The car slowed and began to turn, Aemond leaned up to the driver, mumbling the code to the driveway gates. Once he leaned back, he looked sideways to you, “I thought you were well aware I had plenty of connections.”

A pit grew in your stomach as you drove through the gates of the estate. A large, white stone home sat proudly in the nicest part of King’s Landing; the homebase of Westeros’ rich, powerful and corrupt. A tall hedge bush ran along the property lines, behind it, you could see glimpses of an iron-wrought fence at least twelve feet high. Physically, there would be no escaping the property.

The car parked beneath the carport at the very front of the house, Aemond opened the door and exited his side, you followed; pulling the handle and exiting. Aemond rounded the car, grabbing your arm a little too harshly and leaning in next to your ear. “We are to be married soon, wait for me to open the door.”

His harsh scolding gave you chills as he pulled back from you with a smile as if nothing had happened. “Allow me to show you the manor.”

Red roses adorned the foundation of the home and when you stepped inside, the floors were marble. Nothing was out of place, everything was extravagant and lavish. Aemond had walked you through the entire first floor (where a butler or maid was scattered purposefully about every three rooms) before leading you upstairs. You had hoped the second floor didn’t have another random person who would pop out from behind a plant or tall vase just to add to your embarrassment as you were paraded through the home as its new captive; fortunately, there were none. 

Aemond led you to a set of double doors, pushing a single open and leading you through gently. “This is our room,” he stated plainly as day. 

You shook your head, “No. I want my own room.”

He fixed you with a look that scorched your skin. “Absolutely not.”

So you used his own logic against him with the words ‘be a river’ giving you the courage to do so. “Aemond,” you reasoned lightly, lighter than natural for you, “I uh, don’t want to assume anything but to my understanding… you want the image of a perfect life.”

His brow furrowed, immediately with shock and before it could resolve to anger, you spoke again.

“I see the white house, the roses, the perfectly manicured yard. I saw the butlers and maids downstairs alongside the decorations that I wouldn’t particularly attribute to your style - not that I know your style, we are just strangers whom you’ve decided should conceive-”

Aemond snorted, anger clearly beginning to rise within him but you continued on.

“I also saw the Seven Pointed Star several times throughout my tour. Decorations…books… and I know that’s the predominant religion of Westeros. You being a politician and all, I’m sure you want to look the part, even if you don’t believe in it, I can almost guarantee you don’t.”

“I do,” he retorted.

You smiled, taking a step toward him, “Interesting.” He looked at you with a thin veil of confusion. “Anyway, what I’m getting at is that it’s quite obvious that this house,” you gestured vaguely around you as you stepped closer to him, “is all for show. You moved me here,” pointing to yourself, “for show. I know your intentions, I understand what I am to you…so I ask you to allow me to have my own room until we are wed. If anything, it’s only for show.” You smiled up at him, feeling you aced him.

He simply smiled back, leaning down slightly. His smile made your triumph falter and fade. “I knew I liked you for a reason, you’re incredibly…perceptive.” His eye leveled you with a glance from your eyes, to your shoes and back up again. “Fine,” he straightened, “you’ll get your own room…until we are wed.”

You blew hot air through your nose, feeling anger festering in your pores. “And when is that?” 

Aemond turned from you, pulling his suit jacket off and placing it on the mattress. “Two weeks.”

Your blood ran cold, “Two weeks? How can you plan a wedding in two weeks?”

Aemond laughed as he loosened his tie, “I’ve had someone on it for a while now-”

“Show me my room please,” anger, resentment, hate boiled through your veins and ignited your heart. “I need some space.”

Aemond chuckled, “Take your pick.” He motioned toward the door, expecting you to find your own way out. You turned and began marching for the door when you heard him call out, “Just remember, you said the bedroom is ‘just for show.”

Turning back toward him, you glared. Of course he wouldn’t let you leave without an innuendo and threat. “Fuck you,” you spat and turned back for the doors, pushing hard. Before you were out of earshot, you heard him laughing to himself with a “soon enough” coming from his lips.

You picked the room furthest from his, on the other side of the second floor entirely. Locking the door as soon as you got into the room despite the fact that the door could be unblocked from the outside. So, for extra measure, you managed to push a dresser in front of the door, more effectively blocking yourself in. 

Safe.

The feeling of dread left you quickly and you felt safe enough to take a shower, wrapping yourself in your towel and laying in the soft bed. You check your phone for the first time today to see you have no messages or calls. You try to call your dad, explain why you left in such haste but your phone would not ring out. No phone service. No carrier.

The fucker turned off my phone too?

Bitterly anger turned into hopelessness which turned into tears. And like how most of your nights went recently, your tears lulled yourself to sleep.

A field of tall grass surrounded you as the soft wind blew your hair. You looked around you to see a river rushing along the base of the hill you were standing on. The river rushed proudly against the grey landscape pushing and pulling where it dared. Then suddenly, the river changed its course, pummeling straight up the hill for you. Sand and loamy clay was left dry where it ceased flowing. Now, at the bottom of the river lies the grass that surrounded you, held you, protected you. You had mere seconds to think before the river reached you and you had yet to think of anything but the cold waves approaching. Suddenly, the sky overhead was dark and thunder thumped hard against the sky. Thump. Thump. Thump.

You awakened to thunder, sitting up in bed. You look around the room in a daze from your previous slumber. The night is dark, starry, clear.

The room thunders again. 

Knocking.

Aemond calls your name from behind the doors. 

“Go away!” Your voice doesn’t tremble, you’re safe behind the doors with the dresser blocking you in. The sounds cease, you find sleep again with less ease.

In the morning, you stand staring at the doors after having moved the dresser, contemplating if your hunger is worth emerging from your hiding spot. The grumble in your stomach pushes you to open the doors and reassures you that Aemond won’t try anything stupid in front of his hired help. You walk to where you remember the kitchen is, bare feet padding against the cold marble floors, without seeing a single person. The sun has been up for a few hours now and you grow uneasy at the fact there aren’t people here to bear witness and pass judgment on Aemond if he were to do something inappropriate but the house is quiet…too quiet. You wonder if he is even home.

You stop in the middle of the kitchen, listening for footsteps or even life; all you hear is the ticking of a grandfather clock several rooms away. Aemond must not be home. 

Relief trickled through you as you opened the fridge, cool light flooding across your face. Picking the easiest thing, a yogurt cup, you closed the fridge then searched the multitude of drawers before you found the silverware drawer and plucked a spoon from it. Quickly, you headed back upstairs with your scavenged breakfast in case Aemond came back early. Opening the strawberry yogurt cup and dipping into it with a spoon, you ate a bite on the way back to your new room until movement stopped you dead in your tracks. 

Your eyes locked with Aemond as he was stepping out of your room. 

“What are you doing?”

A flash of a glare ran across his face, if you blinked, you would have missed it. “You’re not supposed to eat food outside the kitchen or dining room.”

You narrowed your eyes, reiterating, “What are you doing in my room?”

He challenged you, narrowing his own back. “Not. Your. Room. I own this house.”

“Sorry, my space in this hellscape you call a home,” you shifted your stance.

He took a step toward you from the door, “Don’t ever lock yourself in again.”

You laughed, “I’m not your free use slave. You can’t come in and fuck me whenever you want-”

Aemond shook his head, “I was worried about you last night, you had screamed in your sleep-”

“You good-for-nothing jackass…I don’t talk in my sleep, let alone scream. Quit lying and stay the fuck away from me.” Anger overrode your body as he took more steps toward you, causing you to fling the yogurt cup at him, splashing across his face and body. 

He was shocked for several moments, mouth hanging agape, before his eye settled on you; you trying to suppress your laughter behind your two hands clasped over your mouth.

“You little bi-”

Before he could finish, you turned tail and ran, gleeful you’d made an actual mess of him and feeling some sort of victory in doing so. You heard him swear behind you then, the thundering footsteps closing in quickly behind you. 

With nowhere to escape to, you ran into his bedroom, shutting the doors behind you with barely enough time. His pounding on the doors rattled the wood just after you had locked the handles. He called your name behind the wood and you just laughed again, feeling bested the beast in his own home. 

“You’re gonna have to be quicker than that- '' came your sing-song voice in a mocking tone. 

Immediately, the banging ceased. The speed at quick Aemond gave up his pursuit gave you an awful feeling in your stomach but thinking about it was short lived when you saw that in your valor of throwing the yogurt on Aemond, you had spilled a long drop down your shirt and thighs. Cursing to yourself silently, you made your way into the bathroom.

Flicking on the lights, in search of whatever vanity drawer Aemond stored his washrags in so you could wipe the pink yogurt from your only pair of clothes. You didn’t find it in any of the top drawers so bending down, you continued your search for something to wipe off the residue. Soon, you found the drawer containing the washrags and plucking one from the drawer, you stood, turning on the water and running the rag under it until it was fully soaked and warm. Only then, did you look up from the vanity countertop and into the mirror; jumping in fright.

Aemond was standing behind you, smirking. Like a cougar watching his prey from the trees.

You turned quickly, and tried to shove the wet rag in his face only for him to grab you and spin you around to face yourself in the mirror, your hands subdued tightly behind your back. You then noticed another door, slightly ajar, it looked like it led to a large walk-in closet that must have been connected to the hall. 

“That wasn’t very nice of you-”

“Leave me alone,” you struggled weakly in his grip. The pain in your wrist igniting once more.

He chuckled and pressed himself harshly against you, smearing the pink goo across the back of your shirt. “I think we need to clean up, don’t you?”

“Nope, all fine,” you gritted out as you struggled in his hold.

His nose came to press against your throat, you felt your heartbeat quicken as he inhaled your scent. “You, at least, need to clean me.” Without giving you time to process, he hauled you toward the shower, pushing you in and then stepping inside himself. You offered him only a quizzical glare before he turned the showerhead on and began soaking you through your clothes. You huffed and backed out of the water stream and he closed you in, water now drenching him and his clothes; he didn’t seem to care as he began to strip the wet clothes from his body. “Clean the mess you made and you’re free to go.” 

It seemed too easy, too simple. He definitely wouldn't leave it at that. 

Regardless, you began collecting water in your hands as he continued to strip. With trepidation, you moved your hands to his face, wiping a splatter of pink from his cheekbone; trying not to look at his smug expression. His skin was coarse against your fingers. Something about the action was intimate, close, you hated it; it made you feel at ease in his presence.

He bent down, stripping his underwear from his body, completely nude now. However, the rest of the mess was left on his clothes, his skin was clean now.

“I’m done,” you announced with no emotion, trying to conceal embarrassment behind impassiveness. 

He tutted gently, “You’ve made quite a mess of my cock too. You need to clean that up as well.” He glanced down to his member, returning his triumphant smirk to your face. 

You narrowed your eyes, “That’s your own doing. I’m not-”

He brought a hand up to your thigh, collecting some of the yogurt that hadn’t been washed away and rubbed it along his cockhead. 

“Seems like you did make a mess, sweet river, now be a good girl and this’ll all be over.”

HIs honeyed tone was laced with something addictive and once again, you felt yourself falling victim to whatever charm this snake held over you. When his hand came up to your shoulder and pushed you down, you found yourself falling to your knees for him while your glare never left his face. That was, until you were face to face with his manhood, tip smeared with pink. Your mouth watered against your wishes and your eyes glanced back up to him as water trickled down his toned abs, valleying around the base of his and his heavy sac.

Just do what he wants, a voice told you and you gave in.

Carefully, you stuck your tongue out, licking some pink from the bottom of his ruddy head. You heard him shudder at such a small action and it excited you; the thought of reducing him to your whim as he often did to you. So, your tongue swirled around his head again, taking just the tip of him into your mouth and sucking wet and slowly, letting saliva, mixed with yogurt and precum fall down past your lips to be washed down the drain with the rest of the water that fell off of him. You felt him buck against your mouth, releasing a small, barely audible whine when you pulled back from his charge. His hand flew to your hair, eye scrunched shut. He didn’t attempt to move you further onto his cock, rather, hold you steady. “Fuck- please,” he all but groaned as you continued licking and sucking just the tip. 

Smiling, you pulled off of him. “I think you’re clean now.” Your hands in your lap, his hand in your hair. He opened his eye and looked down at you with an annoyed, lazy glare. “Finish,” he all but demanded.

You shook your head. “That would make a bigger mess.”

He rolled his eye, “Okay, let’s see how you like it.”

And before you could process what he was doing, he pulled you up, pulling down your pajama bottoms and underwear in one swift motion, backing you against the cold, tiled wall of the shower and sinking to his knees before you. His mouth was on your cunt like a madman and he hiked one of your legs up with a strong hand, giving him freer access to your womanhood.

His tongue circled your clit like a vulture before he zeroed in, suckling gently. Your hands flew into his wet hair, entangling as you whined and threw your head back a little too harshly against the wall, making the back of your head sting in residual pain but you didn’t care, all you could focus on was the intense pleasure he was ripping from you.

His other hand came up to play with your entrance, lithe fingers dancing, teasing, but never acting in the way you wanted them to, needed them to. You ground down, trying to impale yourself on the fingers that played at your entrance to no avail. Aemond chuckled against your folds, pulling himself from them to look up at your ecstasy ridden face. 

“Don’t like it?”

You huffed, running a hand over your eyes, wanting nothing more than to hide yourself from his goading. “Shut up.”

“How about I grant both of your wishes while you grant mine?” He stood, pulling your top and bra off, depositing them in the heap of clothes at the bottom of the foggy shower.

His hands ran up your ribcage, stopping just below your breasts and cupping them. He placed tender kisses on each one, tongue running along the soft skin. 

“Which is?” Your breath was heavy. This is wrong but at the moment, it’s so right. 

“I’ll shut up and we both get to come,” he added a kiss to your collarbone.

“Are you actually asking me permission?” You could have laughed.

He suckled on the skin just below your ear, making you repress a breathy whine.

“I told you I’d treat you better.”

You chuckled this time, grabbing his wet hair and pulling him away from your skin so he could look at you. “Okay. Fuck me Aemond.”

His face cracked with a soft smile and he cocked his head, “Manners…”

You rolled your eyes and grasped his cock, stroking the velvety skin, pulling it closer to your aching core. “I think we’re long past manners…don’t you?” 

Aemond huffed a singular chuckle through his nose before he hiked one of your legs up and aligned himself, sinking into your core in a slow, purposeful thrust. You moaned at the feeling of him stretching you; how he made you feel so full. No one could make you feel like this and you were painfully aware that he knew it.

He began thrusting into you in earnest, chasing a high he had been denied by your lips and newfound victory in your cunt. He steadied himself with a hand on the wall beside your head as his rough pounding became faster, pulling and pushing against that delicate spot inside you that had you whining and wrapping your arms around his shoulders and neck. 

“Play with yourself, “ he commanded through rough thrusts.

Your brain was nearly too fucked out to comprehend he had even spoke.

He grunted, delivering a harsh thrust. “I said play with yourself.” He panted, “M’ Close and want you to cum on my cock to finish me.”

You obeyed a bit too quickly, moving a hand down between where you two were joined, rubbing your clit gently and sometimes, teasing him by moving further and caressing his shaft as if emerged and sunk back into your heat. 

“Fuck- fuck- don’t do that.”

You cocked your head to the side, bobbing with each snap of his hips, “Do what?”

Your playful ignorance ignited a more severe side of him and his hand came up and wrapped around your throat, “Don’t- fuck, you like that don’t you? You like it when I’m rough with you?”

It was true, the moment his hand wrapped around your throat possessively, you clenched around him and nearly came. You could be just as brazen though.

Before he knew it, your hands intertwined in his hair, pulling him close to you. Your mouth was on his lips, kissing him with a fever that took him off guard. Lips interlocking, you sucked on his plump bottom lip before forcing your tongue down his throat that he greedily took in.

Suddenly and without warning, Aemond thrusted forward, driving deeper inside you and groaning against your lips as he came harder than he ever had. You felt the hot spend coating your insides and nearly sent you over the edge as he pulsated, hot and heavy in your cunt.

His lips slowly fell from your own as he came down from his high and pulled back, looking at you with a strange reverie in his eye as if he was studying a new species of animal only he had just found.

His cock, still lodged deep inside of you as you ground yourself against him, making him break his trance and hiss in overstimulation; pulling out of you. “You lied,” you said simply as his cum started dripping down your thighs. “But I guess that’s all you ever do, isn’t it?”

His eye searched your own, a confused look on his face. “You said you’d shut up and we both got to come. Only you came and I didn’t. Oh, and you didn’t shut up. You talked a whole lot.”

He chuckled, turning off the shower and kicking the drenched pile of clothes off to the side, “Well, I know how I can fix that.” He took your hand and moved you to sit down on the shower floor. “Lay your pretty head on those clothes and spread your legs.”

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[syubseokie]

all on my tongue (i want it) | khj

― pairing: kim hongjoong x pierced afab!reader ― genre: explicit, a lil fluff, idol au ― word count: 2.6k ― warnings: oral sex (m receiving), cum swallowing, pet names (baby, babe), reader has a tongue piercing, a hint of cockwarming ― summary: Your voice is coaxing but not demanding, and Hongjoong acquiesce to your siren call. Soon, the gentle prodding of your tongue bleeds into longer strokes and your lover shivers at the sensation. Yet, something feels different... OR The one where you surprises Hongjoong with a new tongue piercing ― notes: at the end.

"Do you think I'd suit a tongue piercing?"

The question is completely random and you had not even realised the words left your mouth until you noticed your sister stare at you with wide-eyes and an excited grin.

"Yes, oh my god!"

You hum, pulling a quick inhale on your vape, before asking, "Should we go get it done now?"

"Damn! Hongjoong only left last night and you're already spiralling." She teases. "Let me smoke this last cone and then we can go."

You wave your dismissively, thinking over the spontaneity of this afternoon's session with your sister and the upcoming event. It was not often your sister had a day off, but being that you were at home on your own for the next month, she decided to "pull a sickie" and crash your apartment; arms lined with snacks, a bag of the devil's lettuce, and her home-made gravity bong.

The sound of spluttered coughing brings you out of your quiet musing and you snort as she chugs back her fruit juice. "You good?"

She nods, a slight wheeze escaping her lips, before she reaches over to take a hit from your vape. You allow her to do so, stealing her drink and taking a gulp, before standing up and motioning her to follow. "Alright, let's go get a tongue piercing."

∞

"What are we getting today, hun?"

It suddenly hits what you're about to do as you fill in the consent form, and you hope your voice is clear of nerves when you reply, "Tongue piercing."

Once the form is completed and the payment finalised, you and your sister follow the piercer into a smaller room where she instructs you to sit on the edge of a black cushioned table. Your sister sits on a chair opposite you, playing absentmindedly with her own tongue bar, but you can see the excitement in her eyes as your piercer preps the required instruments.

"Don't be nervous," your sister chimes when she notices your gaze, "You're going to look so cool with it once it's done. And it doesn't even hurt!"

You glance at the clamp in the piercer's gloved grasp before looking back to your sibling. "You sure?"

She offers you a reassuring smile. "Trust me. The healing process is probably worse than the actual needle and it doesn't even take that long to heal either."

The piercer agrees, informing you of what to expect in the coming days and weeks as your tongue heals. They remind you to rinse your mouth daily with warm water and salt, and also advise what foods will be easier to eat during the next two weeks. "Are you ready?"

You inhale deeply, steeling your nerves. "Let's do it."

∞

Using the bathroom mirror, you stare at the cute barbell that sits on your tongue. After three-and-a-half weeks since your initial visit, you returned to the piercing studio to check the healing progression. You had spotted the light blue aurora borealis designed jewellery in the glass cabinet when you entered the store for your follow-up appointment, and after receiving the go ahead to change the piece to a slightly shorter bar, you requested the pretty one that had caught your eye.

Safe to say, you were very happy with your impulsive decision and you had a feeling your boyfriend would be too.

Speaking of...

The feeling of excitement (and, to be honest, relief) floods your system when you glance at your phone to see Hongjoong's text reminding you he and the members were finally back in the country. You do not consider yourself a needy partner, but you cannot deny how much you missed him — or at least being in the same time zone. Phone calls, voice notes, and sending tiktoks could only fill the gap of his missing presence so much, and you could not wait to wrap your arms around his frame once again.

Nor could you wait to wrap your tongue around his c—

The sound of his ringtone breaks through your thoughts, and you are quick to answer his call.

"Baby?"

A smile graces your features when you hear the familiar endearment, and you switch off the bathroom light before making your way into the living room. "Hi Joongie," you reply with a soft voice. "Are you out of the airport now?"

"I am. Did you want to come to our place or should I come to your apartment?"

You hum, mulling the options over. "I'm not too fussed. What's easier for you?" There is a bit of rustling on his end and you faintly hear Wooyoung's voice in the background.

"I'll come to your place," he decides. "I'll drop my things off first and shower before heading over. Is that okay?"

"Of course, love. Are you sure you're not tired, though? We can always see each other tomorrow or once you've settled back in. I'm not going anywhere, Joong."

Despite the tiredness you hear in his tone, he waves off your concern with assurance that he wants to see you. "I miss you."

His words make your chest flutter and you can't help but internally roll your eyes at how soft you are for him. "Alright then. I'll get some food sorted."

"You are heaven-sent. See you soon."

∞

It is just over an hour later when you hear the tell-tale sign of your apartment door opening, followed by the removal of shoes and Hongjoong's dulcet voice calling out for you. Having just finished whipping up a pot of stir-fry with whatever you had in your fridge, the aroma of a home cooked meal wafting through the air and the low sounds of lo-fi music welcomes your boyfriend into your place.

Quickly wiping your hands with a kitchen towel, you go to greet Hongjoong but his excitement to see you is palpable as he meets you halfway with a playful "Honey, I'm home!", before wrapping you in his embrace. You chuckle, allowing him to bury his head in your neck, and return his hug. His scent is familiar and overwhelming in the best of ways, solidifying his physical presence.

"I'm glad you're back," you murmur while gently running your fingers through his hair. "I missed you."

He responds with a low hum and his arms around you tighten just a fraction. "I missed you too. So much." He slightly loosens his hold enough to press a much-needed kiss to your lips, but before he can deepen the action, you pull away and offer him a knowing smile.

"Are you hungry? Food's ready."

He shakes his head and brings you back into his arms. "Not hungry right now. Not for food anyway." His mouth begins a trail from your collarbones, up your neck, and back towards your lips, his hands stationed in your hips to steady your wavering frame. "One month away from you is far too long."

You cannot help but sigh happily at the sensations he offers; tilting your head back to grant him access to your neck as he makes his way back down the opposite side. "You're being dramatic. It wasn't that bad. I'm sure you and your right hand became well acquainted again on the nights you really missed me."

Hongjoong huffs, his breath tickling your neck deliciously and you fight the urge to rub your thighs together because there was no way you were going to let him know just how much he was affecting you. God, you are so weak for him.

"While that's true," he says, his thumbs digging into your sides just a little deeper, making you emit a small, undignified sound, "It certainly doesn't beat the feeling of your tight pussy. Or your mouth."

His vulgar words stir something inside of you, and you quickly decide that food can definitely wait. "In that case," you hum, pushing him towards your sofa, "I have a surprise for you."

He responds with a single eyebrow raise before collapsing on the furniture as you settle on your knees in front of him. A knowing smirk plays on your lips when you see the outline of his semi pressing against the confines of his black jeans, and you waste no time in unzipping his pants and pulling him out of his briefs. A quiet hiss escapes his mouth once you begin stroking him gently, coaxing him into full hardness before placing a chaste kiss on the tip.

"Close your eyes, Joongie. Let me make you feel good."

Hongjoong does not argue; simply allowing his head to fall against the back of the chair and his eyes to flutter shut. Your touches are magic in the way he feels the tension in his muscles ease and a giant sigh mixed with relief and pleasure fall from his lips. Kitten licks from his tip down to the base are less of a teasing gesture and more of a warm up before the sound of you spitting into your palm and taking hold of his hard member makes his balls clench in anticipation. He moans softly and resists the urge to beg for your mouth. You know what he needs at this very moment, and all he has to do is enjoy it.

"Relax for me, baby."

Your voice is coaxing but not demanding, and Hongjoong acquiesce to your siren call. Soon, the gentle prodding of your tongue bleeds into longer strokes and your lover shivers at the sensation. Yet, something feels different—

With purpose, you flatten your tongue against Hongjoong's cock and drag it upwards in a painstakingly slow motion. His nostrils flare, and just as he opens his eyes to lock with yours, you swipe your muscle along the slit of the head, making sure he feels the piercing where you want him to.

"Holy fuck—" he gasps, staring at you in awe. "Baby, did you— fuck —did you get your tongue pierced?"

Your eyes twinkle in delight. Rather than respond verbally, you choose to focus on bringing your boyfriend to perfect absolution by taking him in your mouth and slowly pushing him down your throat. The sound he makes is one that has you clenching in excitement, and it isn't long before you feel his hands settle on the back of your head. You hum around his cock, the vibrations making him moan again, before dragging your lips and tongue back to the tip. You continue doing this in a relaxed manner for a few minutes, enjoying the sounds falling from your boyfriend’s lips, until you decide to up the ante by steadying your palms on his thighs and increasing your pace.

"Shit!"

Satisfied with his reaction, you carry on; occasionally meeting his dark gaze with your own, but never stopping. Even when you begin to feel that familiar dull ache in your jaw, you switch up your movements by including your hands to work in tandem with your mouth.

Hongjoong is in pure bliss. Soft pants and whispers of your name and how good you are drip in honey-covered ecstasy, and he believes that if the world were to end that moment, there is no other way he would go (except, maybe, between your thighs but semantics ). The sound of wet slurps mixed with the sensation of your pierced tongue and soft hands brings him closer to that just-out-of-reach high, but when you take him wholly in your mouth again — your nose pressing against his neatly trimmed pubic bone — and swallow, that high brushes against the frays of his sanity.

"Baby," he mutters with a choked gasp, "f-fuck, baby, I'm really—" another wheeze as his orgasm crawls up the base of his spine. "I'm really fucking close."

You do not pull back. In fact, your grip on his thighs tighten as you bob your head up and down his length with determination while maintaining eye contact. Drool leaks from the corner of your mouth with each push and pull, and there are unshed tears pooling in your waterline. You are not particularly fond of the mess that comes with giving head, but Hongjoong loves it messy and you love making him happy.

Hongjoong is at his wits ends and barely coherent when he tries to warn you. "Shit. Baby. I'm going to — f-fuck — I'm so close ." His words are desperate, body tense and breathing shallow. "Please, baby. Where? Where c-can I...?"

You pull back and take hold of his throbbing cock. Spews of curses and praise mixed with wet squelches resound loudly. You close your eyes and open your mouth with your tongue out.

The sight of the pretty coloured jewel sitting snugly on the awaiting muscle is enough to send Hongjoong over the edge.

A long, drawn-out groan is heard seconds before you taste the familiar thick, warm fluid. Your upper lip catches a bit of his release too and you eagerly swipe along its plushness. The pulsating member in your hand is a reminder that he is still going, and you teasingly stroke him until his whines signal his oversensitivity. Yet, even when he pleads your name with a warning hiss, you offer gentle kisses and soft licks to his softening cock.

—

Hongjoong shudders as exhaustion finally settles in. Normally, his stamina allows him to last a lot longer, but having gone without you than what is normal, he is not surprised at how quickly he succumbed to the pleasure of your warm mouth and knowing hands. Hongjoong does not know what nation he saved in his past life to have met you in this one, but as he watches you swallow his cum with a grateful sigh and a wistful smile, he wisely chooses not to question it. He is unsure how much time passes — though he suspects it has only been less than a few minutes — when you gently usher him to consciousness and hand him a hot bowl of the food you had prepared. There is another bowl in your hand for yourself, and he eagerly accepts the meal before gesturing to you to join him on the couch.

"Welcome home, Joongie."

Yeah. Hongjoong wisely chooses not to question it at all.

∞

A little something extra:

03:48am Buttcrack (Sister): A little birdy told me your boyfriend is home 👀 03:49am Buttcrack (Sister): Did you show him your piercing yet? 03:49am Buttcrack (Sister): What did he say? 03:51am Buttcrack (Sister): Helloooooo ??? 03:55am Buttcrack (Sister): Bro you better be dead or giving him head 03:57am You: It's literally crackhead hours wtf go to sleep 03:57am Buttcrack (Sister): What did Hongjoong say about your piercing? 03:58am You: Idk I was too busy sucking his dick 03:58am Buttcrack (Sister): Gross 03:58am Buttcrack (Sister): 🤢🤢🤢 03:59am You: gave him that hwak-TUH gawk gawk 3000 04:00am Buttcrack (Sister): brotha eugh 04:02am You: Fuck off I'm going back to sleep

Switching your phone to DND and placing it back on the charging dock, you curl back into Hongjoong's arms and close your eyes. His cock inside of you twitches and, despite the sensitivity you feel as a result of the activities that took place after your meal, you clench around him.

"Who were you texting?" Your boyfriend tiredly mumbles as he drags you on top of him.

"My sister."

He makes a humming noise and softly traces patterns along your bare back. "What did she want?"

"Wanted to know what you thought of my piercing. Told her I was too busy sucking your dick to ask." You answer, sleep dragging you into its warm embrace.

It is silent for a few moments. You are on the edge of fully succumbing to the land of dreams when Hongjoong's voice brings you back—

"Maybe I should get a tongue piercing."

―

fin.

a/n: hey, hi, hello!

uh…it's been a minute lol. and i'm an ateez girlie now (atiny wassuuuuuup)! i've had this sitting in the dungeons for a while after i spontaneously decided to get my tongue pierced at the start of this year when my partner visited their home country for a month. fun fact: all interactions with reader and reader's sister are actual conversations that transpired between my own sister and i (because she's the enabler out of all my siblings lmao). anywho, thought this would be a little fun thing to publish after two years of radio silence. i have been going through the trenches y'all and the imposter syndrome hit HARD when it came to my writing.

thank you so much for reading my work. i am always open to thoughts and feedback, so feel free to drop a like, reblog or leave me a comment!

please look forward to my other work ♡

―

masterlist | ao3 | twitter

[autisticaboutstufflol]

Accidental Adoptions Vinsmoke Headcanons

So Chapter 7 of Accidental Adoptions is out, and I promised Vinsmoke information! This AU for all who don't know, is Cora deciding that getting Law and the brand new baby that just got adopted into the DQ Pirates out of there is priority #1. Shenanigans occur, and now he's somehow ended up with not only Law and Dellinger, but all the Vinsmoke Siblings. Onto the headcanons!!

All Vinsmoke Siblings

They're all autistic

Are very co-dependant on each other

Distrustful of hospital environments

Reiju - 8 years old - She/Her

The second most durable out of the siblings, strong exoskeleton

Has her 'Poison Pink' abilities [Can produce poison, is immune to doses of poison that would otherwise kill regular people]

Has somewhat canon typical 'has to obey Judge's commands' modification built in [If she hears Judge's voice telling her to do something, she has to obey]

Heals the second quickest

Enjoys gardening

Helping Law out with removing the Amber Lead from his system

Ichiji - 6 years old - He/Him

Has implants in his eyes and hands to allow him to channel his red energy blasts easier

Can see further/see more detail + in fun visions [x-ray, night vision, can see shrimp colours ect.] because of these eye implants

Can't cry any more because of said implants

Least emotional due to experimentation, but is still far ahead of his canon version in terms of emotions

Likes navigation, and has essentially declared himself default captain/navigator on the ship

Niji - 6 years old - He/Him

Heals the quickest due to a combination of experimentation and a strong exoskeleton

Has super speed, which connects into the electricity powers [electricity goes fast]

Electricity powers [Can produce electric blasts from his hands, did not need implants like Ichiji because his exoskeleton was stronger]

Speaks really quickly because of his speed, sometimes forgets that not everyone processes the world like he does

Also has insane hearing

Has gotten very good at sewing because he's basically so quick he's a sewing machine. Also enjoys drawing

Sanji - 6 years old - He/Him (for now)

Most emotional out of his siblings

Has a weak exoskeleton- He's still far stronger than any normal child, but doesn't have the same invulnerability his siblings do

Does have some minor invisibility modifications [can only make parts of himself invisible if he strains himself or if he's stressed, will go full invisible if he's terrified ect.]

Everyone thinks he's got a secret extra genetic modification to talk to animals because he just makes friends with small animals constantly [He has four pet rats, Eloise, Yumi, Polly and Theia]

Loves to cook and make friends with animals

Yonji - 6 years old - He/Him

The most durable of the siblings, his exoskeleton is very strong

Both arms are half mechanical, a commenter (shout out to KitsuneNee_chan) made a remark that it reminded them of Nebula from GOTG, and I totally agree with that.

His physical modifications worked the best out of all the siblings, has had super strength since he was a baby

Has very bad sensory issues, has caused millions of berri in property damage while overstimulated

Isn't too sure what he likes to do, but absolutely loves sweet food and listening to the radio

BONUS!! X Drake Headcanons for this fic

Drake - 16 years old - He/Him

Very jumpy/skittish

An okay cook, is teaching Sanji how to use salt and pepper in moderation while making things

Good at fishing

Thinks that every zoan fruit user also has a personification of their corresponding zoan animal in their head that talks to them and will take full control when they morph into their full animal forms. He is wrong. He is mentally ill [blasts him with the OSDD1b beam]

Is very protective of the kids of the rag-tag orphanage ship that Cora has somehow gathered

[galvanizedfriend]

S5 rewriting which season five? what are you re-writing? I have questions many questions

Hi! Thanks for your ask! 😊 Also, apologies beforehand because this is me right now:

I have a toxic trait and that's wanting to rewrite the show. 🫠 I was once talking to @definedareasofuncertainty and we started talking about what TVD would've been like if The Originals had never happened, and we started imagining what season 5 of TVD would've been like in that scenario. We unearthed an interview where Julie Plec 🤢 said that the baby plot was always going to be a part of the story anyway, they just didn't know whether they'd actually get greenlighted by the network to move forward with the spin off. So then we started thinking what TVD would've been like with the magical mystery baby in it, and the S5 rewriting was born. 😂

So it's not what dream S5 would've like for me, but rather a more realistic take on what the show could've been like. Because hear me out.

When you think about it, there are certain aspects of TVD S5 that suggest that Klaus was always meant to be a part of it, which explains why S5 is so bad tbh. Everything feels so very pointless. It's the most forgettable season of TVD, and that's saying a lot, considering how bad some of the other seasons were, because the entire thing is just fillers. If you consider the idea that the Travelers abhored vampires, thought they were abominations and wanted to free the earth from them, then it would make sense for them to want to get rid of the Originals instead of just going for a bunch of teenagers who are at the very base of the supernatural food chain. And if you add in someone pregnant with a mystical anti-Christ, then it makes even more sense that the Travelers would want to obliterate Mystic Falls and everyone in it to make sure the baby wouldn't be born. The whole 'we know what's coming, this child will be the end of magic as we know it' makes much more sense with Travelers than regular witches because how would they know that? The whole concept of Travelers just make more sense to me if we put them up against the Originals. Even the Augustine society plot makes more sense with Originals thrown in. I'm sure Wes knew exactly who Klaus was and would be dying to get an introduction, not to mention the idea that they would've probably had close relations to Mikael when trying to create the ripper virus.

And it also kinda justifies the choice of Hayley as the mother figure, something that never made any sense to me. It's because she was completely expendable. She was barely an extra on the show, so it would be very easy to get rid of her. And in my head, she would definitely be dead by the end of the season. Where the witches caused her death in TO, it would've been the Travelers, except in TVD she wouldn probably not come back as a hybrid, she would've just stayed dead. She wasn't that important to the plot throughout S1 of TO, just carrying the baby around, which to me means that she was never meant to be a central point, but suddenly she had way more screen time than they'd anticipated she would get (also because Claire Holt decided to leave the show), so then they had to figure out how to write her as a lead.

Anyway, the source of all of this are the voices in my head, so take it with a grain of salt. 😂 I just think there are CLUES about the fact they did mean to write those two storylines as one at some point.

And that leads me to the fact that everything pointed towards Klaus and Caroline being together in S5. That part wasn't even subtle, S4 was a huge build up to them becoming a thing. And I think it would start with them kissing in that last scene of S4, Klaus showing up to save the day and Caroline's ass and gifting her with allowing Tyler to come back to town (I'm sure that would've been a greater discussion between them if he had stayed on the show for the final episodes prior to that, plus it would be more meaningful if Klaus was actually in town 😂 What was he going to do to stop Tyler anyway?).

So in my rewrite they'd start the season by showing the two of them had spent a hot secret summer together. Then school starts and Caroline sort of expects things to go back to normal because it's conveniente to her and how she excused herself in her guilty head, by rationalizing it all as a summer fling. She's leaving for college, where she will be rooming with her two best friends, and Tyler is expected to join them at some point even though she hasn't had any responses from him all summer, and in her mind, Klaus doesn't fit into that. There's no way to reconcile a romance with the big baddie and still lead the normal-ish life she expects to have. Klaus is obviously pissed off because he knows Caroline is in denial, and there's also the fact he's way too proud to be someone's dirty secret. Meanwhile Caroline is miserable and faced with the harsh truth she'd been denying all summer which is that she likes Klaus a lot more than she expected to but she's terrified of what everyone would think of her (and I personally think the next step in Caroline's TVD development would really be to let go of how much she tried to please everyone all the time just so they would like her. She had been on this journey since S1, of 'trying to become a better person' by shaping herself to meet other people's expectations, and it was about time she realized that she shouldn't have to change who she is in order to be liked or accepted, she shouldn't have to beg to be anyone's priority, which then leads back to Klaus and the fact he always admired her big personality, flaws and all, and the fact she gets to be 100% herself around him is a huge part of why she feels so much more at ease with him than she did with Tyler, for instance, but I digress).

While they are caught in this crossfire of sorts, him sulking in MF and her pretending not to sulk in Whitmore and having to deal with the mysterious new roommate's death and all, Elijah shows up with someone he just rescued from the hands of an angry witch mob in New Orleans: pregnant Hayley. And that's where the two plots would come together.

Obviously the whole baby thing would've been a much smaller plot within the whole of S5 than it ever was in TO, for obvious reasons. But it would be a point of contention between Klaus and Caroline and it would tie in the several different running storylines of the season at the end. I'm thinking Caroline would probably be the one trying to save Hayley and the baby from the siege of Mystic Falls at the end. And obviously, by the time we get there, with Tyler having come back and tried to kill Hayley, and revealed the secret to the whole town, etc, etc, Caroline will have come to terms with how she feels for Klaus and the two of them will be unapologetically together.

In a broader sense I also think this would offer a good chance to explore Elijah's character and his relationship with Katherine and everything she meant to him. The fact he wasn't there when she dies (and Klaus was) was just baffling to me. We see him him giving up on her in a 1 minute scene and that's it. Bringing him back to MF under these circumstances would create a much broader opportunity to explore what is his character's eternal conflict of family duty x self satisfaction, where he would realize that in order to keep the whole home situation in control, and mantain Hayley hidden and as secret, he'd have to stay away from Katherine, and then eventually she would die, and he would realize he'd once again missed a chance of being happy for the sake of his family while Klaus gives fuck all to fatherhood and all that.

I ALSO think it would've been so much fun if Caroline would invite Klaus instead of Katherine to help cure Stefan's PTSD. Klaus would have the time of his life tbh. And this is 100% my wishful thinking, but Klefan is real in my heart and it was about time the show incorporated that into its canon (although I very much doubt they'd ever do it, the cowards).

I'm so sorry for how long and rambly this is. 🥲

[thegamingcatmom]

More denalis getting sick through food thoughts:

MC wants to bake, and after much reluctance, they allow her to.

She makes cupcakes

And offers some to whoevers around.

Tanya can't say no

Like MC made this

And she made it for HER (not really for her, but like in her mind, she's made this one cupcake specifically for her with love and affection and all that jazz)

And MC is looking at her like 👀😃as if she expects her to eat it in that moment right away.

There is no getting out of this cause she knows she can't reject this offering cause it's a gift from MC, never getting another offering like this again if she says no.(she thinks)

Girl is whipped. (Kate says from a distance watching this go down, lol)

If Kate was around first tho, she'd gloat over it being like I got one of the first MC cupcakes 😁

If she got cupcakes second tho:

I also got a cupcake from her. You're not the only one sis

Cue bickering of sisters

Then after she realizes crap I also gotta eat this.

Cue denalis out of commission again cause they ate human food

-📚

LISTEN-

I love this.

BUT-

There´s GOTTA be a Carmen somewhere in this. Like, yknow, baking is just something I could totally see her attempting with MC.

(She still gotta learn how to human aight? Don´t judge her.)

Like, if it was up to Tanya then her little troublemaker would stay clear off anything that even resembles "work". If MC "worked" all the time, what would become of her?? She´s already being deprived of as it is, and you want her to suffer even more???

So, if you ask Tanya, baking is a clear no-no.

(Anything that occupies MC in her stead is a no-no.)

If you ask Kate, she´s totally down for it because she knows it drives her sister crazy. (She encourages anything that drives Tanya up a wall.) She´s really just there to see what happens. (And probs to attempt another indirect kiss. Perhaps by biting into the same cupcake as MC? The same spot as well, ofc.)

If you ask Irina-

...Don´t ask Irina.

Not like you can, seeing how she´s not even there.

(Girl wants no part of it all.)

.

WITH THAT SAID-

Carmen would be the one to convince Tanya here.

By giving her the look.

Yknow-

The Mom look.

Yknow-

The one that tells you how utterly disappointed she is by your choice and she won´t force you or anything because she loves you but if you really loved her you´d do as she asked.

...

Sighs

And, before you know it, you got one hooman that is a mix of excited (because she finally gets to fucking do something) and awkward (because Carmen is...nice, and MC can´t deal), and one very excited vampire who´s just happy to be there even though she doesn´t quite know what she´s doing.

...And one not so excited vampire watching proceedings with eagle eyes (because if she´s gonna be even more deprived of then you can bet your ass she´s gonna be wherever MC is, letting everyone know just how badly she feels deprived of).

...And one very excited vampire observing the not so excited vampire with a shit-eating grin on her face.

And then?

It went...surprisingly well.

If we leave out the part where Carmen´s confused salt with sugar (not like she can tell the difference by simply tasting it), forcing them to start all over again.

Or the part where Tanya decided she´s had enough of watching, trying to pry the whisk out of Carmen´s hand (so she can preen under MC´s attention), only for Carmen to refuse, leading to a tug o war that ended with the bowl full of dough shattering on the floor, forcing them to start all over...again.

Or the part where Kate decided she´s had enough of watching, wedging herself between them (because like hell is she gonna let her sister get away with being successful) and causing a scuffle that led to the new bowl of dough being knocked off the counter, shattering on the floor...again. Forcing them to start all over...again.

...

So, yes-

I guess you could say it went well, all things considered.

(Things being that, save for one individual, no one in that room has ever used a kitchen before - at least not in the way it is intended.)

RIGHT SO-

The cupcakes are finally done, waiting to be savored.

MC dives right in, no hesitation. It feels like it´s been ages since she´s had something sweet-

...Oh my god.

This is the best thing she´s ever tasted.

In fact-

MC´s so absorbed in her cupcake that she fails to realize the sounds she´s producing.

...

...

It is only when the silence has stretched on for far too long that MC takes the time to acknowledge the other people in the room again.

People who are gaping at her like fish out of water.

...What is-

Oh! How rude of her-

MC takes one of the cupcakes then and holds it out to them.

"Want one?"

...

...

(MC is so blissfully ignorant it HURTS.)

And THIS, my dear, is where your part comes in. And, I gotta say-

YES TO ALL OF THAT. 😭

Like, Tanya in awe over being offered something that MC has made?? Offered by MC no less?? That´s never happened before-

She´s snatching that cupcake up so damn fast, not even thinking about the consequences of her actions, driven purely by instinct-

...Until she feels the eyes on her.

Watching her very expectantly and, dare she say, hopefully indeed.

...

What is she to do?

Very reluctantly, she takes a bite, hoping she seems natural enough doing it.

...

She´s struggling, lemme tell ya-

(But MC´s still looking at her with those big, beautiful eyes-)

Say something.

Ugh.

(She just wants to die.)

(She has yet to swallow-)

As for Kate-

Listen-

There ain´t no way girl is gonna be bested by her sister. In anything.

Another cupcake is snatched up, but unlike Tanya´s cautious bite, she goes in all guns blazing like-

Staring at her sister in silent challenge as she does so.

(She´d like to see her leader beat that. A whole fucking cupcake. In one go. That´ll impress the little spitfire for sure-)

Meanwhile, MC´s blissfully unaware, as per usual. Just silently cheering, mentally patting herself on the back for making the tastiest fucking cupcakes.

She´s never seen someone inhaling them like that before, jesus-

.

Meanwhile, the sisters:

Not that MC notices. Girl is still silently cheering, just happy she got her cupcakes.

The best fucking cupcakes anyone´s ever eaten, it seems.

(😎)

As for Carmen?

She wisely backed away quite a while ago.

After the 2nd bowl shattering, I believe.

.

.

.

In case it hasn´t been obvious:

I had a blast with this.

Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, as always! ����❤️

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Eleven

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, era typical fatphobia (blink and you’ll miss it) World on Fire spoilers.

Word Count: 4.7K

Note: Hi my loves! I’m sorry for the angst in the last chapter! I’ve had a dip in confidence recently with writing, so thank you for the support that’s been shown towards me, it’s meant such a lot. Despite the distance between them, we’re gonna start exploring what’s going on with Tom and Bess. By the way...the letters are back 💌

April 1940

“Hello you!” Cora hugged her sister and stepped aside to allow her into the house. “Leave the door open, bloody boiling in the kitchen.” She bustled away.

“Good to see I’m not the only one in a uniform!” Albie brought Bess into a one-armed hug and kissed the top of her head. “Alright, duck?”

“Speaking of uniforms,” Fergal descended the stairs. “Could you let the waist out on my trousers? They’re a bit tight.”

“You need to stop eating so much,” Dot chimed in.

“Evening, Bess.” Roger smiled from where he sat at the table.

Bess looked around at her family. Albie was home for a brief spell of respite before heading to France. Cora and Roger were as in love as ever, and Bess fully expected Roger to kneel down every time she saw him. Dot finally seemed to have gripped the seriousness of the war and was stepping into her role around the home and at the factory, though her joy of life had miraculously remained. Dear old Dadda was working as a warden, helping the war effort at home, and lonely Bess had left the factory and begun training as a nurse at the Royal Infirmary. Tom was right, she was good at it.

Bess shook off her coat and jumped into helping Cora lay out the food. Roast chicken and potatoes, cabbage and gravy. Despite the rationing in place, Cora was determined to give Albie a good meal before he went back. His cheeks were gaunt, the orbits of his eyes were purple, and the shoulders of his jumper were sloping down his arm. No matter how bright his dark eyes were, the sisters could see the realities of war slowly embalming him.

A few children ran past the house. Easter had come and gone, and spring was settling into Manchester. The sun was warm, the wind was cold, and everyone was enjoying the blooms and weeds that peeked through the pavement. After a winter in war, spring was a welcome change. The family settled at the table, Fergal and Albie sat together, followed by Dot, Roger, Cora and Bess.

“Grab mam off the mantel, Dot.” Cora said to her sister. Dot leaned across, picked up the photograph of Etta and kissed it, before placing it next to Fergal and Albie. As soon as Etta was placed on the table, the men lunged for the food and the meal began.

“I’m starving,” Dot said through a mouthful of potato. As Albie laughed at her, Cora leant towards Bess.

“How’s training going?”

“Um,” Bess paused. She was trying, my God she was trying, to be better at talking. “It’s not so much training as learning on the job.” Cora chuckled. “I don’t think we really have the time to be trained. They need nurses and they need them now.” The sisters fell silent as they ate.

“It must be hard for you, Bess.” Roger said as he indicated for the salt.

“How do you mean?”

“I was at the infirmary visiting a friend last week. It’s overwhelming.”

Bess thought carefully of what she was to say next. The moment Albie and Fergal engaged in conversation, she spoke lowly to Cora and Roger. “Already, they’re coming back with such horrific injuries. And that’s just physically. I still think what a miracle it is that we all sit here, considering Dadda made it out alive.” She looked at her plate and pushed the food around. “I’m terrified, Cora. For Albie.”

Underneath the table, Cora squeezed her hand.

“And for you, Roger.” He smiled at her gently, and Bess’ affection for him grew. She wanted to ask him to marry Cora then and there on her behalf.

“Roger!” It was Albie, from the end of the table, trying to rope the other young man in to convince Fergal of something or other. He turned away, and Cora whispered in Bess’ ear.

“And Tom?”

Immediately, Bess regretted speaking. Her body tightened in her seat and she avoided her sister’s gaze. “What about him?”

“You must be worried-”

“Of course I am, I have a heart, Cora.” Bess snapped under her breath. Cora held up her knife and fork, indicating that she meant no offence.

“Have you heard from him?”

“Not for a while,” Bess was intentionally haughty.

Cora nodded. “And have you written to him?”

“Not for a while,” Cora made to speak but Bess stopped her. “Please Cora, I’ve come home to say goodbye to Albie, I don’t want to think about Tom bloody Bennett.”

After Bess and Tom’s argument in January, Cora found Bess in the bathroom, the bath water cold as she sat curled up, puffy eyed and shaking. Cora had always known, told Bess she had always known. She knew that Tom snuck in at night, she noticed their stolen glances. She even made Bess laugh when she told her that she saw them kissing in the window. When she missed Tom’s train, it was Cora that Bess ran to.

The truth was, Bess didn’t want to think about Tom because she spent every last second doing just that. Each day at work, when a young man with blue eyes looked at her as she administered treatment, she saw Tom’s gleaming at her from behind cigarette smoke. When she got the bus home from the hospital and saw teenage boys on the way home, she remembers Tom at that age, pulling Lois’ hair and sneaking Bess looks. At night, as she waits for sleep, she looks at the photograph of him propped against the lamp, and cries.

Cora didn’t mention him again. When Dot had cleared the plates, the tablecloth was pushed to one side for dominoes and cards. Fergal retrieved his bottle of whisky from the cabinet by the stairs and poured a glass for himself, Albie, Roger and Bess. Cora and Dot drank sherry, placing a cup by Etta’s photograph. Miraculously, Fergal kept to one glass. Dot partook in multiple sherries and, as was her way, began to cry.

“Play something for me, Bess.” Albie said softly from his chair. His eyes were gentle, and Bess felt the string that tethered their hearts together pull. Of course Dot and Cora would miss him, but sometimes Bess felt that there was a deep set sadness to her and Albie that they could never understand. Maybe that’s middle children for you. Bess just wished she could have some of his joy. She stood and lifted the lid of the piano. Imagining Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, she played Cheek to Cheek and Cora sang along. Albie swept Dot into her arms and spun her around, her tears of sadness turning to tears of mirth. Cora sang at Roger as they swayed together, and Fergal clutched the photo of Etta to his chest. Bess continued to play, fingers remembering their path over the keys. She didn’t have anyone to dance with.

The evening wore on. A few of Mrs Mason’s children poked theirs heads round the door at the sound of the family’s singing, and for a little while they joined in the dancing. Fergal requested a few ballads, Black is the Colour being his favourite, and everyone stilled as he sang solemnly to Bess’ playing. Come nine o’clock, Dot’s tears had returned and Cora was stifling her own. It was time for Bess to head back into the city.

Bess hugged her sisters goodbye, kissed her father’s head and did the same to Roger’s cheek.

“I’ll be back in a week or two, keep an eye on them for me,” she whispered to him.

“Will do, captain.” Roger smiled.

“And don’t leave it too long.”

“I don’t know what you mean-”

“I think you do, Rog.” Bess winked and put on her coat. Albie was waiting outside the front door with a cigarette in his mouth. “What time’s your train tomorrow?”

“Eleven-thirty.” He said.

“I’ll come down and meet you, it’s only round the corner.”

“Ta-ra,” he watched as she retreated to the end of the road, and out of sight.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

Mrs Russo was coming down the stairs when Bess arrived at her tiny flat in Manchester. A large brick building that once housed mill workers, Carver Mills was now home to nurses, one to each cramped room.

“If you’ve got any washing, love, leave it outside your door and I’ll do it in the morning.” Mrs Russo said as she squeezed past Bess in the narrow corridor. “How’s your family, pet?”

“You know families.” Bess said with a sad smile.

“Aye, I do.” Mrs Russo was a portly woman of about fifty, plum faced and feisty. A nurse too, she had married young and lost her husband in the Great War. When her two girls were grown, she became the matron of this boarding house for trainees. She was turning into her room on the ground floor when she called back to Bess, now halfway up the first set of stairs. “Some post came for you today, by the way. Left it on the table-”

Bess didn’t hear the end of the sentence. She raced up the next two floors and grappled with her keys, bursting through the door and lighting the lamp.

“Shit,” she ran to the window and pulled across her blackouts.

The letter was propped against her vase of flowers. It was from him. That was his writing. She ripped open the letter.

Dear Bess,

Cheers for the last letter. I hope you all had a good Easter? Ours was dreadful, but when have I ever worried what the Lord thinks?

How is training? A few of our lads got a little hurt during a training exercise in dock. Let me tell you, they’d have much preferred you to the sister we had in France. Looked like someone was trying to overstuff a pillowcase. We’ve mostly been trundling around the coast on supply runs. I can’t tell you much, obviously, but things are hotting up here. It’ll be back to the battles for us. A few Lancasters flew over the ship the other day and I told my mates that you made the wings.

We had a little shore leave recently, though I can’t say where. There was a market selling some fabrics. If I had the money, and I knew I could send it, I would have bought you some. There was a dark green sort of thing, that soft fabric you like? I don’t know the name. And a pink linen. I know you think pink clashes with your hair, but it reminded me of your cheeks when you get flushed.

The weather is a lot better where we are than I imagine it is in Manchester, but I miss home. There’s nothing quite like a trip to Belle Vue or a walk round Alexandra Gardens at this time of year.

I don’t know when I’ll next be home, but I hope you’ll save an afternoon for me. You’re always on my mind.

Tom.

The flat was silent. Bess re-read the letter, then moved to the bedroom adjoining the kitchen. Sitting on the bed, she removed her shoes and hair pins. She opened the draw by her bed and placed Tom’s letters with the pile of others she had accumulated since the war began. Tom watched her as she did, from the photograph by the lamp. Bess eyes drifted from the letters to the photograph, and her body convulsed with sobs. This had become the evening routine for Bess. Come back from the hospital, eat with alone or with the other girls, wash, reread her letters from Tom, and cry. How long she sat in the blackout darkness of her room, she did not know, but no sooner had she looked at the photograph was she waking to her morning alarm.

The uniform she still wore was a little creased but relatively clean. Changing her underwear, Bess washed with a cloth and began her morning. A breakfast of bran and a cup of tea downed in ten minutes. She looked to the clock. Half past nine. She had time before she was to meet Albie at the station, and her shift was not until the afternoon. The letter in her bedside table seemed to be humming, like some sacred talisman alerting her to its presence. No matter how hard she tried, Bess could not stop thinking about it.

Since their argument, their letters had been infrequent and terse. Little detail, rarely more than a page. Tom had written first, though was yet to address any of the offences Bess had accused him of in January. Bess wasn’t blind. She could see his attempts at tenderness, but it just wasn’t good enough. In return, Bess was haughty and stubborn. If Tom Bennett could not bring himself to say sorry, then Bess would not tell him how much she craved him. Imagined the press of his body on hers or the warmth of his kisses. How she thought everyday of his face as she ran alongside the train. How, until the day she dropped, she would regret not saying goodbye to him. Every time she opened the newspaper or turned on the wireless, watched the newsreel at the picturehouse, she feared seeing Tom’s face among the soldiers lined along the ground. But she wouldn’t tell him, couldn’t. Instead, she picked up her pen and paper, and wrote the following.

Tom,

We had a good Easter, Albie is home. After I write this, I’m going to the station to see him off. He’s going back to France tomorrow.

He looks dreadful. Cora’s been trying to fatten him up while he’s been back, but nothing seems to stick. I’m terrified. A stiff wind could knock him over. Still, he puts on a brave face for us, and he and Dot together are a whirlwind.

Training is going well, though as I told Cora, it’s not really training but learning as we go. I don’t need to tell you what sort of horrible things we see, you already know. What I can say is that our matron is terribly strict and the other girls are lovely. Mrs Russo, who runs the boarding house I’m staying at, takes good care of us but you’d hate it. Curfew of ten o’clock and no gentlemen visitors.

I must say, it’s a relief not to be at the factory. Now, I have my own money that it doesn’t go into the family pot, and I don’t stink of grease. Besides, blood stains are easier to get out. The girls here too are much more mature. You have to be, with what we see and living away from home. None of that incessant gossiping and giggling to put up with.

Keep yourself safe,

Bess.

She put the letter in a stamped envelope and shoved it into her bag. A part of her hated the terseness. No matter how hard she was trying in real life to speak, the reverse had happened in letters. I need you, I miss you, come home became keep safe, good Easter andthinly veiled digs at Queenie Warren.

With nothing else to do or, more accurately, to warrant her interest, Bess made her way to Manchester London Road.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

Albie was waiting by the entrance to the station when Bess arrived. He suited the uniform, and with Bess’ tailoring, was the best looking of the bunch. She watched him for a moment before she approached, memorising what he looked like when he thought no-one was looking. There’s a gentleness to people when they are alone. Once removed from self-consciousness, they enter their own world. One of little smiles, murmurings and inner lives being lived out. Bess loved watching them.

She whistled as she crossed the street, causing Albie to look up. “Alright, duck?” He kissed her and the cheek then wrapped her into a hug. “Got time for a cuppa?” He led her into the station and took her to one of the waiting rooms. Returning with a pot of tea, he shook off his jacket and placed his hat on the table. An elderly gentleman passed, shook his hand, and Bess watched as he muttered a “good luck” to her brother. She thought of Tom.

“You boys really do get the special treatment in these uniforms, don’t you?”

“Tell them that in France, Germans might stop shooting at us.” Albie grinned as he sipped his tea.

“Here I am making planes and patching you up, all I get is rationing and a smack on the arse from one of the doctors.”

Albie grimaced as he finished his cup of tea. “Are you managing alright with it all?”

Bess slammed her own cup back in its saucer. “What is going on? First Cora, now you-”

“You just haven’t been yourself lately. You seem,” Albie looked upwards, as though the word he was searching for might magically appear there. “Nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“You know, you were always so sure of yourself, feet firmly planted and head held high. Now, and please don’t take this the wrong way Bess, you seem like you did as a kid. Not looking at people, keeping yourself busy to avoid everyone-” he trailed off, letting Bess take the space. She thought for a moment.

“This war,” her words were careful, for fear of revealing too much. “It’s shown me what my failings are. And what really makes people ‘good’. I don’t know, everything I once thought was true isn’t. How do carry on when the whole world is as ugly as this one?”

Albie took his sister’s hand. “People are good, Bess.”

“I don’t know if I am,” her voice was barely above a whisper. She thought of Walter’s bullying, Tom’s lies and the way she was keeping him at a distance. If she couldn’t allow herself to let any light in, maybe she deserved it. This sadness.

“Hush.” Albie’s voice was firm and his eyes hard. Despite her sorrow, Bess smiled. Through the window of Albie’s eyes, their mother was looking down at her. He held out his hand. “Time to go.”

A few other families were waving off their loved ones, and as Albie loaded his kit bag onto the train, Bess looked around. Her eyes fell on a young soldier and the woman clinging onto his shoulders. Her head was buried in the crook of his neck, and when she looked up at him, Bess saw tear tracks making their way through her makeup. The solider stroked her face with the back of his hand and tenderly took hold of her chin, bringing her in for a kiss. Bess’ heart stung and she turned away. How many times had she written the last time she was here to look exactly like that? Tom gently caressing her face as he promised to come home.

Albie jumped from the train. “I’m off.” Bess gave him a glance over, adjusting his coat and straightening his hat. He smiled as she fussed. Satisfied with her work, Bess cupped his face and looked into the eyes that mirrored hers, bringing forth every ounce of encouragement and hope that she could muster. Albie’s eyes began to glaze with tears, and Bess wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispered. “Write, and come home soon.” He nodded into her shoulder.

“And you look after yourself, no more of this moping around.” She slapped his back and he laughed. The whistle blew and people began hurriedly boarding the train. Not again, don’t mess this up again.

“Albie, I love you. So much.”

Albie watched his sister a moment. There was no doubt of Bess’ capacity to love. It was in the clothes she made, the whispered affirmations, her willingness to defend. But he also knew how much it took for her to say it.

“I know, I love you too.” He kissed her on the cheek and boarded the train.

She didn’t wait at the station long. Once the train had left the platform, so too did Bess. It was very quickly becoming her least favourite place. She checked her watch. Quarter to twelve. Her shift began in half an hour. As Bess ran towards the bus stop, she passed by a postbox. Stopping, she retrieved the now slightly crumpled letter from her bag and, despite herself, kissed it good luck.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

An hour until he needed to be back on the boat. He’d seen an alleyway on the way to the bar, perhaps they could sneak in there. The raucous laughter of other sailors and the clinking of glasses drowned out the barely audible band. Occasionally the choice words of an Englishman caught his ears amongst the French he didn’t understand. Focus, Tom Bennett. He’d had the odd occasion where his mind wasn’t in it, but it had never happened when he couldn’t engage elsewhere. Come on.

He ran a hand along the stranger’s leg, continuing to nuzzle at her neck. Fucking touch me. Tom took one of the hands that was lazily placed against his chest and brought it to his neck. She could sense that he was eager.

“Combien du temps allez vous rester?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, love.” He moved to silence her with impatient kisses and she sighed.

“C’est toujours pareil,” Tom brushed his tongue along the woman’s mouth, and she let him deepen the kiss. He was good-looking, a little cocky but these English sailors often were. And who knows when she’d see a young man again? She moved her body closer to his and raked a hand through his blond hair. Tom groaned into her mouth.

“Bess,”

The woman pulled away. “Pardon?”

“Ssh,” Tom moved to kiss her again. “S’nothing,” The stranger placed a hand on his chest and prevented him from coming closer.

“Qui est Bess?”

“Sorry,” Tom’s hand moved from the woman’s waist to cup her face. “Camille-”

“Corinne!” She shoved him away and stood from the booth they had hidden in. “T’es vraiment qu’un pauvre connard.”

Tom watched as she stormed from the bar. He didn’t have the energy to be annoyed, simply leant back against the seat, rubbed a hand over his face and grabbed his cap.

“I’m off, see you on ship.” Norman unstuck himself from some other French nurse and watched Tom storm away.

“You alright mate?” Tom waved his cap in reply and left.

The night was cold and, in the far distance, the sound of war boomed. He jogged to the ship, lit up in the harbour. Back to the floating, metal prison. A few men had already returned, and from the Captain’s mess he could hear laughing. At least they’d had a good night. He arrived at the bunk he shared with Norman and hauled himself into the top bed. From the pocket of his trousers he withdrew the last letter Bess wrote; it had been burning a hole there all evening. He read over the letter for the hundredth time since it arrived with the auxiliaries that morning. Not one of his questions was answered, excluding about Easter, and Queenie Warren’s name was left hanging in the air like a bad smell. He knew what she was doing. He’d known Bess long enough to see. She was haughty and quiet and used it to work people into the palm of her hand. But Tom saw right through her. From the netted store above the bunk, he took out a sheaf of paper. Lying on his front, he leant against his copy of Knots and Ropework and from beneath his pillow retrieved Bess’ portrait.

Dear Bess,

I’m not going to lie and tell you that your Albie will be fine. We’ve both seen too much now to know I’d be lying, but I’m sure Cora’s cooking will see him right. Tell her I want one of those roast dinners when I’m back.

I would say thank you for your letter, but it was a load of shit and you know it. I could easily understand if you never wanted to talk to me again, but this? These horrible half-given accounts of your day with no substance? I want to know you, Bess. You’ll be reading this and scoffing, I can see you now with that frown on your face, so I’m going to try and explain why I did what I did.

I got a letter from Lois before she went off to ENSA catching me up on how you all were. Of course, she didn’t know that you and I were writing and sent me lots of details. Told me about your factory work and that you’d been spending time with dad. Told me more about you than anyone else – got a feeling she knew before we did. She also told me that Queenie had started going with Frank Smith, and was struggling with missing him and a lot of us being away. And I know you’ll be annoyed by this point, but I stick by what I said before. You girls are intimidating and Queenie Warren doesn’t deserve your cruelty just because she likes the company of men. Anyway, Lois asked if I would write to her because I get more rest time than the army lads and she’d always been fond of me. So I did. Nothing more. One letter to say hello and reassure her about Frank. Please believe me. She asked me about the battle at the dance and it really was just one letter. I didn’t know she’d say it was more than one. And she didn’t know about us either so she couldn’t have been bragging to hurt your feelings, just to maintain her reputation.

Speaking of reputations, I know that the real reason I hurt you was because I asked you to keep us quiet. The truth of it is that you were right, I am a coward. I’m a criminal, a down and out and a nuisance. But somehow, you saw something different in me, and I was still getting used to that version of myself, one that I actually liked. Not knowing who I am terrified me, but I loved seeing myself through your eyes. And I thought that maybe, if I kept it a secret, it couldn’t be touched. If it was something between just you and me, then it would stay special. Does that even make sense? I don’t know. And if anything happened to me out here, I thought it would be easier for you if no-one knew. I wouldn’t ruin your reputation and you wouldn’t have people pitying you for a being with a dead fella. I know you hate to be pitied.

Just know that I miss you, and I’m sorry, and I’ll understand if things will never be the same.

Your friend,

Tom.

A knock came at the door and the second officer put his head into the bunk. “Any post? Auxiliaries are off.”

“Just the one,” Tom said, placing the letter in the envelope and, despite himself, gave it a kiss good luck.

Note: Norman’s back! No idea if he died or survived in WoF, but I’m keeping he and Tom together. These next few chapters are going to be shorter, as I’m anticipating dumping one bigger chapter on you (probably chapter thirteen). Bear with me, we’re in the slow burn again but it’ll get juicy very soon. Those who have seen the series know what’s coming! I promise, the end will all be worth it, thanks for sticking around 😊 Work on the next chapter begins, we're getting to some heavy/exciting stuff soon!

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[howlingday]

Mentor au) ya know when you look at it the entire cast is way stronger and better off than cannon but the two who won out the most are jaune and yang. Jaune gets adaptive learning from his dragon warrior training which allows him to infinitely grow his skills. Meanwhile yang learns absolute violence from the orkz fightiness letting her infinitely ramp up in her ability to inflict violence in new or more effective ways. Wonder how initiation goes now?

The air on the cliffside of the Emerald Forest was particularly cold this morning. Last night at Beacon was unsurprisingly eventful, when considering all of the new initiates showing up. Staring down at the metal plates under their feet, all of which was surrounded by a thick ring of salt, some couldn't help but be reminded of last night's bland "easy-meal" made in preparation for the vast collection of students arriving.

"Ugh..." Groaned the slightly bigger than average student at Beacon. "I could really go for some good food right now."

"Hey, think of it like this," Po said, rubbing Jaune's shoulders, "when we get done, we can have as much food as we want!" The thought made Jaune drool a bit from his goofy, smiling face.

"Ugh, how vulgar." Weiss sneered.

"Ignore him, Weiss." Alucard said, not looking anywhere beyond the horizon. "Your task lies ahead. Focus upon it and nothing else." Weiss did as she was instructed and focused on the horizon as well, running through her list of spells.

"This is gonna be so much fun, huh, Rein? Ren? Zaki?" Nora asked, practically bouncing on her feet.

"Patience, kleine." Reinhardt shushed, patting her armored backside. "There will be enough time for excitement later!"

"Mm." Ren nodded, hand on his longblade. Still, there was something off about Nora and Reinhardt right now.

"Something stinks." Zaraki growled from behind Ren. "And it's something to do with that salt, I bet."

"Are you nervous?" Kratos asked Pyrrha, who was breathing deeply.

"Should I not be?" She asked, opening her eyes to the forest ahead. She cut off her teacher before he could continue. "But I won't let it distract me." He nodded in reply.

"Oh, yeah~!" Yang smashed her huge gauntlets together with an even huger grin. "Time to get down there and show 'em what we're made of~!"

"You won't get the chance." Blake said, pulling her hood further over her head.

"Huh?" Ghazghkull rumbled. "Wass thah 'umie talkin' 'bout?"

"Don't expose yourself too soon, Blake." Ezio warned.

"Um, Professor, Headmaster, sir?" Ruby raised her hand. "What exactly is this initiation?" And though she didn't voice it, she was also concerned by the lack of her mentor standing beside her.

"We will be testing your survival skills in the Emerald Forest." Professor Ozpin answered. "Within this forest lies not only Grimm, but also a set of relics in the temple. You are to retrieve the relics and bring them to the rendezvous point as soon as possible. The exam ends once the sun has set. The purpose of this exam is also to determine who your partners will be until your graduation from Beacon. That is, if you survive."

"You cannot hear me, Little Rose," Death said, standing beside Ozpin, "But know that I wish you the best of luck."

"So, uh, will there be food on the flight there?" Jaune asked, instinctively rubbing his belly.

"There will be no flight." Metal suddenly ground as a student was sent into the air. "Not by bullhead, that is."

"Okay," Jaune gulped, "And, uh, is there some kind of device that will catch us before we fall?"

"No. You will be falling." More students shouted as more catapults launched.

"Uh-huh," Jaune felt a cold sweat run down his back, "and, uh, w-where exactly are our parachutes?"

"There are no parachutes. You will be coming up with your own landing strategy." All the catapults had launched except for Jaune's.

"There's a landing strategy?!" Po shouted in dismay. "What's a landing strategy?!"

"Uh, okay, okay. So, uh, sir, what exactly is a landing strate GEEEEEEEEE!"

"Best of luck to you," Ozpin smiled, "my new students."

[goodluckclove]

Edgar Blog Takeover Sneak Peek!

Now Playing: Crosseyed and Painless - Talking Heads

For some reason I still think it's a good idea to try and make the recipes I come up with in my dreams. It's not like I have them all the time, but for some reason every time Katy takes me drinking I end up having crazy dreams where I end up making some kind of new meal.

This time it was onion ring nachos, and when I made them in my dream they made a lot of sense, right? I wasn't even surprised by myself in my dream. I was just like "yeah, hey, time to make onion ring nachos like I do all the time". So on a subconscious level I must have found it a viable idea. And then when I woke up I was - well, hungover. Very hungover. We tried to make picklebacks without a recipe so I think I was drunk off Jameson and just...brine. Ugh.

But through the headache I also didn't really think it was a bad idea, you know? People make chili cheese fries. That already exists, I didn't make that up. And I had just gone grocery shopping with Katy so she had actual food in her apartment - plus she had an air fryer. I wish I had an air fryer. I'm the only one that uses her air fryer. I wonder if she'd notice if I stole her air fryer.

Anyways, the recipe seemed simple. Just regular oven nachos with a basic canned chili sauce (I'm not about to, like, brown ground beef. Pull out the cumin? From where? I brought sea salt flakes to Katy's place once when I was making dinner and she acted like I pulled out a dish of caviar. And she wonders why I ask her in advance if she has butter), only you substitute onion rings for tortilla chips.

Cook the onion rings before hand, at least ten minutes longer than what the directions on the bag say because the directions on the bag are wrong most of the time. Then heat up the chili and drizzle it with shredded cheese and whatever toppings you can find in your trash-eating best friend's kitchen. Katy has maybe six different hot sauces, which is totally not excessive for someone who can't remember to keep bread stocked in their place.

When I plated it it seemed real. That's stupid. You know what I mean - it seemed like a meal. I even arranged the onion rings so they were more overlapping to allow a better distribution of chili. I sort of figured this was a fork meal, because even if you char the rings when you broil them with the chili they'll moisten and gain an uneven weight that doesn't make them great for picking up by hand. Other than that, I could see some bullshit food truck selling something like this for too much money.

Eating it was not great. I think the first thing I realized when I ate it was the importance of tortilla chips as a concept. Those motherfuckers are sturdy, with a surface area that actually allows the nacho to exist as a proper experience. Taste wise it was pretty good, slightly sweet from the cooked onion, salty and savory from the chili and hot sauces. But fuck it, I'll say it - the texture was bad. You shouldn't eat a food and only process the taste. I might as well have had it as a drink, it was unnerving.

It would work better if I just dipped the onion rings in the chili, and now I'm upset that I didn't just do that. So stupid.

Katy liked it. I ate about a third of the serving before it started depressing me, but then when I came back after taking a shower she'd taken the plate back to her daybed in the living room and was just sort of...eating seems like the wrong way to put it. Absorbing, maybe. Slurping? Whatever she was doing it was very slug-like and I think she was still probably kind of drunk.

Anyway dreams are dumb and tortilla chips are important. There's your lesson for the day.

[profundcherrylady]

Couldn't sleep at 3am so I analyzed Death Note (Part 2)

Continuing were I left off last time:

Light doesn't have that. If Light could, he would avoid social relationships, despite having great intelligence in that area that allows him to adapt to any possible social situation. However, as I said, it's incredibly emotionally stupid. Every time I see the scene where he is discovered I laugh at how desperately he tries to defend himself, shouting things like "it's a trap!" in an exaggerated and even ridiculous way, because come on, who would believe that at that point. It almost seemed like he was trying to gaslight himself into thinking he still had a chance to escape the situation. In my opinion, if he had a little more emotional intelligence MAYBE he would have had a chance to sound more convincing, but then again, he got desperate and started yelling and insulting everyone because of his anger. He does not know how to control his emotions, which ultimately led him to die as well. Light and L were extremely intelligent in many areas, but also stupid in others, and the fact that each had that specific intelligence that the other lacked was what made them perfect rivals. For that reason, I consider it inaccurate to say that L was "less intelligent" than Light for dying first. They were both idiots, they were both geniuses, the difference was who failed first. And that's the thing, an absolute genius is not a perfect being, because there is no such thing as an absolute genius. You can't be smart in every area there is; there will always be something where you're going to look like an idiot. And that's fine; that is the point. In all examples of geniuses in the entertainment industry there is always an episode or moment where they break their stereotype of a perfect genius that makes them question their lives. Which is also stupid in its own way because of what I pointed out before. Geniuses make mistakes. And although these failures are sometimes fatal, that does not take away their value. If a chef accidentally adds more salt to the food, does that automatically mean he or she is less than another chef who has never made a mistake? No, it just means they made a mistake. Was the entire product ruined? Yes, but that is the human experience. Being, existing and making mistakes, learning from those mistakes and continuing; because even in fiction there is no such thing as a perfect being. So from the beginning Light's expectations of being the "god of the new world" were impossible. A human being can never be a god because he will always be destined to err and be imperfect; no matter how much you think you can do it. What's funny too is how much people joke about Misa cutting her life in half twice and still outliving both of them. She was, in the eyes of L and Light, stupid in every area there was, and ironically she was the one who managed to live the longest of the three. There is a saying out there that says ignorant people are the ones who live the happiest, and for Misa that was true. She was blind with love for Light and most of the time she didn't even know what was going on, but she had the time of her life during that time. She was incredibly happy while Light and L made their lives miserable seeing who died first. Of course, in the end Misa ended up committing suicide, but I have the feeling that despite everything she was satisfied with the life she lived. She was no longer happy because she was alone, but at least she lived the life she wanted. I feel like the story was never about who was smarter, because as I said, both had their moments of genius and stupidity, but rather about their own experience of what it means to be a human being in this mortal world. For Ryuk, something as simple as dropping a notebook into the human world sealed the fates of each of the people who died during Light's lifetime. For what they, mortals, meant their whole lifes, to him was a fleeting moment of fun and source of entertainment. That is, in itself, human life. Honestly there was a tiny bit more but it isn't worth making a part three tbh. Hope y'all liked it

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN'S RECKONING - Chapter 13: The Redemption

CHAPTER SUMMARY: A little more hurt/comfort. Or maybe it's more accurate if I say comfort/hurt…

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READ THE FIC ON AO3

THIS IS A WHUMPY FIC W/GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS ON AO3.

——————–

CHAPTER 13: THE REDEMPTION

Jyn had forgotten how disorienting living on a freighter could be; without the military’s strict time keeping, she would have lost track of ‘day’ and ‘night.’ Even so, she forgot to eat, refusing to leave the medical wing as she followed Cassian through his treatments, experiencing her own emotional turbulence along the way. From the moment the Ghost docked with the Redemption, Jyn disappeared into a nebulous state where she muddled time and relived old fears.

Cassian’s injuries were so widespread and varied the medical staff concurred bacta submersion was his only chance for survival. The doctor’s report was a grim reminder of how much a body could endure without dying. Though most of the cuts on his skin were superficial, each showed signs of salt-based caustic abrasion; his blood samples revealed evidence of multiple toxins that induced massive inflammation, including in nerves and organs; he had a separated shoulder, seven broken fingers, a blaster wound, and first degree burns around his forearms, biceps, and neck. None of this torture accounted for his emotional trauma, nor the physical toll caused by deprivation from food, water, and comfort.

Jyn hovered in the freighter’s medical wing for days. At the beginning she spent hours waiting outside the triage, fearing the worst. After Cassian went into shock aboard the Ghost, she and Melshi administer first aid; she hoped their best was enough to save him. When the Redemption’s medic came to speak with her, Jyn resisted the urge to shrink away; he assured her that, thanks to Rogue One’s actions, Cassian had a fighting chance. The medic offered to stich up her injuries. She’d nearly forgotten about the cuts and bruises that marred her own brow; she lay on a sterile table as he cleaned, sutured, and dressed her gashes, numbly wondering if Cassian had laid there only moments ago. Jyn wanted to cry and sleep and disintegrate. She was tired of facing challenges, of rising to the occasion; she craved slowness, silence, calm.

Did she even know what such things felt like?

After the medic finished, he volunteered to bring her to Cassian. She followed him down a narrow corridor and turned into a dark room where numerous bacta tubes stood upright with ethereal blue lights illuminating each tank’s base. The man led her three rows back, nearly to the column’s end, and there she found Cassian, already floating in the healing elixir. She stared defeatedly, her face aglow in the dark, lit by the tank’s blue hew. Jyn reached out and placed her palm against the glass, willing Cassian to know she was there. His features were soft, relaxed, his hair delicately undulating around his face.

“Did he ever regain consciousness?” she asked the medic who waited nearby.

He clasped his hands together nervously. “No.”

“Do you think he’ll live?” Part of her hated that she needed to ask the question, but her nature had always demanded blunt truth.

“He’s very weak,” the medic replied cautiously. “All we can do is hope for the best. Let the bacta do its work.”

Jyn haunted the halls for days, walking up and down, never able to settle anywhere for long. After what felt like an eternity, she was informed Cassian was being moved to the main medical ward—a huge room full of beds.

She sat by his side until yesterday when he unexpectedly woke with tears in his eyes.

The doctors had finally declared Cassian stable, and with that knowledge she allowed herself to sleep. Her chair was positioned directly next to his bed, her body bent forward, head on her arms, resting on the mattress next to him.

She woke when she felt fingers push into her hair. Jyn sighed gently before turning into the touch. Then her eyes shot open, remembering where she was, and she twisted upright. Cassian cupped her face, affectionately running his thumb over her cheekbone. “Hello,” he smiled weakly.

She wanted to throw her arms around him; instead, she clasped his hand in hers and pressed it tighter against her cheek, squeezing her eyes against the tears that threatened to come.

“You’re still here.” Speaking required a great deal of effort. His voice was tired and dry.

Once Jyn managed to get her emotions under control she said, “I didn’t want to leave you.”

His eyes were very dark and sunken but they had their twinkle back. “Every time I woke up, I saw you. Even in the bacta tank.”

“You were conscious in the bacta tank?”

He barely managed to shake his head. “No, not really. I just remember little flashes here and there. But you were in all of them.”

They held onto each other, their grip tightening. “After everything you’d been through, I didn’t want you to wake up and be alone.”

He carefully traced her stitches. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s a little tender but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Who did this to you?” His tone was calm, inquisitive, not demanding.

“Melshi.” She couldn’t keep from smiling because she knew the information would surprise him.

Cassian was clearly shocked. “He and I are going to have words.”

“I made him do it. It’s possibly the meanest thing I’ve ever done to Melshi.”

Andor snorted. “I don’t know. Breaking his nose with a shovel was pretty mean.”

“He told you about that?”

“Of course. When he first brought you to Yavin he told me you were a bloodthirsty bitch and that I should watch my back.” He almost laughed but it hurt too much.

Jyn grinned. “I didn’t make a very good first impression.”

“He warmed up to you eventually.”

“If you’d been slaving away on Wobani, you’d have hit Melshi in the face with a shovel too if it meant going free.”

“We’ve already been down that path, haven’t we, Cass?” a new voice spoke as it approached.

Jyn and Cassian turned to see Melshi and all of Rogue One walking through the medical ward toward them. Cassian withdrew his hand and Jyn stood up to welcome their friends. Everyone circled around, warmly greeting each other.

Bodhi offered Jyn a steaming cup of coffee and a boxed lunch. “We came up here to bring you food. I don’t think you’ve eaten for a few days.”

Her heart swelled. “Thank you.” The smile she gave her friends said more than any words. She sat down and started eating while the others gathered near Cassian’s bed.

“You’re looking much better than the last time I saw you,” Melshi said.

“Yeah,” Bodhi agreed. “How are you feeling?”

Cassian shrugged. “I’m tired and really cold, but I’m OK.” He flexed his hands. “Though my fingers still hurt.”

“Tarkin is an old bastard.” Melshi grimaced.

“Was,” Baze corrected.

“Right,” the sergeant agreed. “A dead old bastard.”

“What?” Cassian looked around at his comrades, completely at a loss.

“He couldn’t know,” Chirrut reminded the group.

Everyone looked to Jyn. She swallowed a bite of food before leaning closer to Cassian. “Tarkin is dead. Princess Leia brought the Death Star plans back to base, but she was tracked. There was a battle over Yavin. Some rookie rebel pilot blew the Death Star to hell and Tarkin along with it.”

Cassian’s eyes became huge. “It’s been destroyed?”

Jyn nodded.

“Scarif…the plans…someone got them?”

The entire group nodded, each one of them smiling.

Cassian felt his pulse increase in a wave of gratitude. Everything they had suffered as a team and as individuals was suddenly cast in a different light. All the sacrifices, all the dark decisions, even getting captured and tortured was suddenly worth it because their plan had worked. Rogue One had succeeded. The Death Star was destroyed and all at once the Empire didn’t seem so invincible.

“According to Princess Leia,” Jyn continued, “Tarkin was on the Death Star when she escaped, so we’re assuming he was on board when it was destroyed.”

Cassian remembered the last time he saw the Grand Moff. “He was headed there to interrogate her.” He looked up at his friends. “Tarkin was transferring me to the Death Star with him. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, I’d be dead right now.”

The narrowly avoided perdition made Jyn’s stomach turn over.

“I know you all took a terrible risk for me,” Cassian said, humbly. “I’ll never forget it.”

Baze clapped him on the shoulder, eliciting a wince from the rebel commander. “You’re worth it.”

“The bad part is Yavin was compromised,” Melshi said crossing his arms over his chest. “They’ve had to abandon it, which is why we’re floating around in this thing,” he gestured to the ship that stretched above them.

“So, we don’t have a base?”

“Nope. We’re basically an armada until further notice.”

A silver 2-1B medical droid rolled up and interrupted the conversation. “I’m sorry, but this many guests are not allowed in the wards. You’ll have to leave.” The group protested but the droid would not be overruled. Herding them toward the exit it turned to Jyn. “You too, Lieutenant.”

Her surprise changed to concern and she looked to Cassian for guidance.

“Go on,” he assured her. “Get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

Chirrut appeared at her elbow and took her hand. “Take comfort, Jyn. He’s burning bright in the Force again.” The guardian smiled warmly.

With one last glance over her shoulder, she allowed herself to be ushered away. Cassian could sense it unsettled her. They were both all too aware each parting could be their last.

The 2-1B droid returned to Cassian’s bedside and pulled a privacy drape around the area.

The rebel instinctively became tense. “What are you doing?” He was painfully cognizant of his vulnerability; not only was he bogged down by IVs and monitors, but he certainly didn’t have the strength to protect himself if needed.

“Doctors have ordered a small treatment for the gash on your eye,” the medical droid replied as it pushed a narrow trolly near Cassian and began arranging a protective cloth under his head. “It’s nothing to worry about, Commander. The procedure is painless and of short duration.”

The droid lowered the bed so Cassian was lying flat before positioning itself near the crown of his head.

He became so tense that his fingers went cold and his muscles began to shake.

The 2-1B reached for something on the trolly.

“Wait! Wait,” Cassian demanded. “Tell me what you’re doing first.”

The droid tilted its head and looked down at him. “It is a gentle bacta eye wash. I will spray a mist locally on your eyelid and brow.”

“My eye is fine,” Cassian replied too forcefully. He knew it was a lie but he didn’t care; after the IT-O interrogator tried to cut his eye out, he didn’t want anyone coming near him, especially not a droid.

“Commander,” the docile machine said evenly, “if you wish to avoid long-term complications, this treatment is advisable.” 2-1Bs were programmed to care about their patients, and this unit was particularly gentle. “If you feel uncomfortable during the procedure, I will stop.”

Andor clenched his teeth, realizing the droid was waiting for his permission. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he simply nodded.

“Very well,” it said as it retrieved a small spraying nozzle from the trolly. “Please close your eyes.”

Cassian did as he was told.

The instant the mist touched his skin his heartrate skyrocketed. He breathed heavily through flared nostrils, overwhelmed by memories of ice-cold salt water ripping through every cut on his body.

“Please remain still, Commander.”

He tried to comply, grinding his teeth and squeezing his hands so tightly they ached. Only minutes ago, he had felt like the Empire was less invincible, but now he realized he was still firmly in their grasp. “B!” he shouted. “I can’t!”

The mist instantly turned off and a soft towel dried his face. “My name is 2-1-B, Commander.”

Cassian shook violently as his bed rose back to its standard height. “Right. Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s quite all right.” The droid replaced his pillow with a clean, dry one. “I was unable to complete the procedure. Perhaps we can try again later?”

Cassian gave a reluctant nod.

“Get some rest,” the droid said gently before opening the drape and motoring the trolly back to the supply closet.

Once he was alone, Cassian closed his hands over his eyes and tried to come to terms with the bleak realization that, thanks to Tarkin, he now had a new set of obstacles to overcome.

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE SPOILS" - Jyn gets a chance to do some real good for Cassian.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3- Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 “The Detritus”

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

REACH CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 “The Reprieve”

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 "The Redemption"

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 "The Rogues"

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 “The Reach”

READ CHAPTER 19 “The Hologram”

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

READ CHAPTER 24 “The Hand”

READ CHAPTER 25 “The Heart”

READ CHAPTER 26 “The Beginning”

[blissfulalchemist]

WIP Wednesday

Been a hot second but I have not been too much in the throws of writing and have been focusing on gposes. So have some little pieces/ideas of gposes for the next month and at least 2 little writing bits I don't think I've posted before. Sending tags out to @belorage @florbelles @unholymilf @statichvm @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @unholymilf @jackiesarch @shellibisshe @shallow-gravy @confidentandgood @leviiackrman @thedeadthree and anyone else that wants to!

To start though! a little game of Spot the Difference!

Then prepping things for crossover day for Febhyurary coming up! Guess who’s making appearances!

And speaking of have two little previews of Demos! and then have some writing below!

Have some Carly that was part of one of the ffxiv write prompts:

The sounds of metal cutting through flesh breaks her free of the latest victim and to the face of another, a woman, who shares the same colored hair and eyes. Watching and smiling as the blades sang their way through muscles and bones, the blood coloring the walls, and her mouth begging for her own flesh and blood to stop. Revels in the weight lifting as the number of breaths dwindles and anticipation building as freedom ticks ever closer. The laugh she can’t hold back as the chakram rests against her mother’s throat and Carly utters a single question. “Are you happy with me now mommy?” The gurgled final breath isn’t her mother’s but she’s yet to leave this memory behind. Inhales the metallic tang of blood and sand, the clang as she drops the circular blades, eyes opening to a room of varying shades of red and a clock that tells her she’s been at this for well over an hour. A calm as she collects some few remnants of her childhood that will lose their meaning after a few years, and makes her way out into a silent night. By sunrise she’ll have put enough distance to make it to the ocean where she will then fall into the water, hoping the salt will scrub clean her act of justice. Bounce between the choice of swallowing more of it or kicking her way back to the surface, question where to go now that she can be anyone and anything, remember that she didn’t even think to get something to sell, calm in the thought that hunger won’t be too much of an issue seeing as she was never granted enough food to begin with, and curiosity grow as a red glow catches her eye among the rocks. The same glow that brings her back to the present and she looks down upon a man that felt the need to state his opinion on how a young woman could come into such a position to make war plans with her heart considering she was a half breed Garlean that was no more a citizen than those that were living here before the occupation. A tragedy young Fordola wanted no part in delivering punishment, She muses as the dark glowing red crystal brightens as the man’s soul gets tucked away within, Oh well. Her loss is my gain in the end.  Carly looks up beyond the mess to an even younger woman, no more than sixteen, that stands with slightly darker hair, green eyes, and a body on the borderline of malnourished that’s clad in a off white tabard with chain metal arms, skirt that was short enough to allow freedom of movement, and scratched worn brown boots that were initially bought for a dance performance. “You don’t approve?”  The young woman glances down at the two bodies, “They were a threat. Not against us but a threat nonetheless.” “I do not question you. You are meant to protect afterall.”  Carly crosses her arms, “Then why are you here?” “You can feel it can’t you? Feel that there’s something coming.”

Then have a little Shadowbringer's Demos so spoilers there!

“Oh my beloved sapling, you mortals spend so much time looking towards the future, always preoccupied with what lies ahead, it should be of little wonder why we pixies muddle your vision with fog and glamour.” Demos looks up, wiping away at the last of the tears, “But it's so easy to see through such trickery. You were always able to see through such things, that's why I picked you.” “What do you mean?” “The way to see through our trickery is to stand very very still, think not of where you need to go, but where you are right now in this very moment, this time, and this place.” The pixie’s smile grows, “Looking at the present, living within the moment, seeing the world around you for what it is, that’s your strength Demos. It has saved you and your friends many times, it has brought them comfort, it has brought on new perspectives because you were never so preoccupied with what was to come. A steady heart and mind that looks towards the ground is one of the best ways to find the way forward when one is lost.” When he doesn’t respond and turns away once more, Feo Ul places their hand on his, “You feel lost and confused about your place in all of this, do what you do best and look at the people around you, listen to them, and you will find your clearest clue. You may even find your answer.” “The answer to what?” “To my earlier question of course; What do you think needs to be done? What would my precious little sapling Demos choose to do in this situation?” He takes a deep breath, “Must be the end of the world if I’m taking the advice of the Faerie King.” He chuckles when Feo Ul gives him a cross look, “Thank you. Truly. I mean it.” “Anything for my beloved snaeyak.” The two smile at one another a moment before the pixie’s eyes light up, “Would you want me to look at the girl? See how she fares and if I could offer any insight to the little snag in your thoughts?” “That…would be very helpful actually.” “Then consider it done.” Feo Ul waves, flying in a loop before vanishing without a trace. He lets out a heavy breath waiting for the pain to subside long enough to stand. It's slow going as he makes his way down the tower, unwilling to aggravate the light further lest his companion suffer. And it's not like he wants to encounter anyone else just yet, he doesn’t need another lecture when he already knows what he should do. “Demos.” Ryne’s voice is soft and timid with a matching expression when he turns to find her waiting at the bottom of the stairs, which he somehow missed.  “Hey kid, everything okay?” “I-I came to make sure you were okay.” She looks away from him, hands wringing, “I heard you fighting with Y’shtola earlier.” “Right. Look Ryne-.” “Is it true what you said? You’ve been taking on some of the it for Siberite?” “Something like that. It’s….complicated.”

[inherstars]

The Fire Inside (Part 1 of 7)

Alright, time to go back and chew on this. I have it plotted / scripted out, but there's one entire section that's basically like, "Anyway, some time passes..." that I'm now coming up on, and I'm like ugggghh, why did I do that to myself. I ended up editing the entire first part of this, so I deleted the old sections and am just reposting it all here. Do not allow me to fuck around. Feel free to picture the dude as your Joel of preference, 'cause I know I am.

He would never again be able to breathe deeply without the briny memory of seawater.  It would always be there, brutal and ancient.  More brutal than men, more ancient than dragons.

At first, he wished it had ended him.  There was succor and solace in the promise of simply not being anymore, and he yearned to be pulled out in that terrible, final tide.  To be dissolved by salt.  To have his bones washed up like driftwood on strange shores.  To be consumed and digested and carried away to the deep in the bellies of leviathans.

There was honor in it.  Romanticism, if one cared for such things.  He would never be killed by fire, so why not by the sea?  Didn’t he, after all his years, deserve an aperitif of nobility before his final rest?

Fate, laughing, plucked that chalice from his hand.

Consciousness did not come for him all at once, but in heaving fits and flashes.  One moment he was tossed by the tide, ragdolled bonelessly, and then beached on the sand.  He retched up the ocean and sagged back into the dark.  Hands touched him -- human hands -- slapping at his cheeks and shaking him to life.  Then nothing again but the taste of salt on his lips and the brutality of cold.

Then blankets, weight, warmth.  The hands touching him became kind, and he subsided to sleep.

When next he had sense enough to open his eyes, a woman appeared.

“There you are,” she said.  He sighed so deeply that his lungs hurt in their depths.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”  She cradled the back of his neck in her fingers, lifting his head, and raised a cup to his lips to drink.

“Is this the noble end I thirsted for,” he rasped.  She gave him a strange look.

“No, it’s water.  Be quiet and drink it.”

From that moment on, there was sense and reason and predictability to his existence.  There were days and nights, though long stretches of sleep divided them from each other.  The woman came and went regularly from his room, sometimes with food and drink, sometimes to freshen him up or -- when he was finally able to do so himself -- to bring him a basin of water, soap, and clothes enough to sort it all out on his own.

One day she appeared with a chair and a pair of scissors.

“Let’s get on with it, then,” she said.  “You could use a trim.”

She set the chair near his bed, helping him into it, then draped him in an old bedsheet.  Only his eyes followed her as she wet and combed and cut patiently at his hair, letting the damp curls slip through her fingers as she worked.  The blades clicked and snipped around his ears and the nape of his neck.  Chills chased his spine.

Though she was silent for a long time, eventually she prompted, “Do you remember how you came here?”

“I remember… washing up on shore.”  He tried to turn to look at her and she squared his head up with both hands.  Tsk tsk.

“Before that?”

“Being tossed by the ocean.”

“And before that?”

Once again he sighed.

“I’m not what you think I am.”

“I think you’re quite lucky to be alive,” she said.  His eyes averted.

“I am definitely not what you think I am.”

Her fingers combed the damp ends of his hair, letting them curl in place, admiring the lancets of silver run through.  Again her hands positioned his head as she needed, this time with a tilt right, a tilt left, trimming up his sideburns to her preference.

“Then what are you, if not what I perceive?  A pirate?  A prisoner?  An outlaw?”

He stared into space, unfocused.

“I’m a dragon.”

“Ah!  That’s a new one,” she laughed.  And then, “...oh.  Oh, you’re serious.”

His eyes upturned as she stood back, scissors in hand, looking him over.

“Are you trying to see the beast in me, then?  The scales, the horns, the infernal, unholy glow of the fire I carry within?”

“No, I’m making sure I’ve got you even.”  She reached out and snipped a little silver off one side.  “Better.”

The scissors closed and dropped into her apron pocket, and with a stutter of wooden legs she dragged another chair before him.  It was the first time he’d had the luxury to look at her in in full, without the burn of salt on his eyelashes or a guttering lamp to obscure his view.  She was not young, but he didn’t mind such things, for neither was he.  She’d braided baby’s breath into her hair, and colored her lips and cheeks with a little red ochre, but beyond that had no time or care for vanity.  The hands she folded in her lap spent decades making and mending, soothing and shoring up, and it showed.

“I’ve never met a dragon,” she said.  “Unless it’s a common thing for you to walk in the skin of a man.”

“We all have that magic in us, but most choose not to use it.”

“What makes you so different?”

He hesitated to answer, then admitted, “I got old.”

“Is that unusual?”

“For male dragons, it’s considered more respectable and noble to die before we become a burden to our own kind.  None want to endure the pity of the younger generations.  I did well enough in my time… fought well, flew well, fathered as many hatchlings as I was allowed and watch them become mothers and fathers in their own right.  But I can’t compete with the younger males on the proving ground now, and my sons and daughters -- if I even knew them -- wouldn’t have a use for me.”  His chin tilted down, eyes tiredly skating the floor. “Which is as it should be, I suppose.  We teach our children to fly so they can one day do it on their own.”

She reached out while he was distracted, pinching and fixing a few curls of damp hair where they fell across his brow.

“And so you changed into the skin of a man?  Tried it on for size?  To what end?”

“To any end,” he said, looking up at her again.  “You’re such terribly fragile creatures, so like to die in so many ways.  I joined a merchant ship, a preoccupation as perilous as any other, and lived among your kind upon the sea.  I thought I would die quickly, but days became weeks, became months.  Then a year and some.  I grew familiar and fond of the men with whom I sailed.”  More softly he added, “I called them my friends.”

She watched his gaze sink like an anchor, resting heavily on the floorboards as he revisited those men, those memories.

“And your friends,” she asked.  “Did they prove fickle or fragile, that once you were with them and now you are here with me?”

He blinked, coming back to the moment, and sat back in his chair.

“We were attacked by pirates.  When least I expected death, it came for me.  And when it did… rather than surrender to it, rather than letting it take those I cared about alongside me, I… rose up.  I cast off my skin, donned my scales like a soldier to his armor, and fought back.”  His hands fisted on his knees, posture stiffening with pride.  “Their blood spilled on the water.  I gnashed their bones in my teeth and lit the sky with my fire.  It was glorious.  I was a warrior again, worthy of my wings.”

He needed supply no epilogue, for though he was strange to the ways of men, she knew them all too well.

“But your friends wouldn’t allow you to save them,” she murmured.  He bent forward, elbows resting on his knees, and stared at the floor.

“No.  And I… I tried.  The ship was sinking, but it was seaworthy enough for me to get it closer to land, or to signal for help.  I could have carried some of them on my back, even.  But they… they looked at me with such fear.  They were mindless with it, screaming, struggling to escape me, drowning each other in their panic.  Then I thought… why need they be complicit in their own salvation?  what if I just rescue them against their will?”

“But you can’t,” she said softly.  “A man must want rescue.”

He looked up at her slowly, with a pain uniquely and untenably human.

“You’re right, of course.”  His grief chipped at her heart.  “I could only circle, watching as the frozen sea took them, one by one.  Their faces, vanishing into the chop.  Then it came for the boats, the still-burning sails.  And in my despair I thought… perhaps this is it.  Ignominious as it is, perhaps this should be my end as well.”

He sat back slowly, still staring at the floor.  She rose, gently reaching around him to unknot the bedsheet behind his neck.

“You chose to die as a man?”

“Yes.  I thought that would be my preference.  I became a man one last time, and resolved to let fate take me.”

She stood straighter, brushing his shoulders free of the loose snippets of brown and pewter hair the sheet missed.

“Fate?  Hm. That’s my name.”

His eyes turned to her, then his head.

“I… my name is is Istar.

“Well met.”  She gathered the bedsheet messily.  “I wish the circumstances were better.”

Istar stood slowly, leaning on the chairback for leverage, and once he’d gained his feet Fate passed him the hand mirror from the dresser.  He cradled it in both palms, inspecting her handiwork while she wadded the sheet in the fold of her arms.

“You ought to eat,” she decided.  “You had strength enough to stand, do you suppose you can walk?”

“If I must.”

“With me, then,” and she turned from the room.

Istar followed her, shaky, but with ever growing certainty.  First from the bedroom, then into the great room of what revealed itself as a modest stone cottage.  Small, thick-paned windows looked out over a churning ocean and an unkind sky, though the interior was spare and cozy, lit by a cooking hearth and furnished only with what a simple woman living alone could reasonably need.

The dining table was large enough for two, and she settled him with a clay bowl of stew, a goblet of water, and another of wine.

“You’d do well to finish the water first,” she said.  “But I’ll look the other way if you favor the wine.”

“And you?”  He looked up at her as she poured two goblets for herself.

“Oh, I definitely favor the wine.”

Istar picked up his spoon, moving only when she did, eating only when she did, swallow for swallow and sip for sip.  When it seemed to him there was no real reason to suspect her of anything, he ate at a more comfortable pace.

“Are you this charitable with all strangers?” he asked.

“Only ones who clean up so nicely as you do.”  She checked him for a sense of humor and, finding none, explained, “There aren’t many strangers out this way.  The way to this beach is a bit fraught, if you’re coming by foot, and forget horseback or carriage. You’re the first in awhile to wash up on shore, and the first to do so alive.”

Istar paused. “What of the ones who didn’t?”

Her brows raised. “You’re enjoying your stew, aren’t you?”

Still no sense of humor.  Ah well.  She gestured her spoon at him.  “Never mind.  Eat.”

He did, though at a slower pace.

“Anyway,” she said, scraping her spoon lightly across the bottom of her bowl.  “You trusted yourself to fate, and here I am.  And here you are.  It so happens that the day before I found you, I had developed a similar conviction.”

She went on, “Since you say you were a sailor for a year and a little bit, I’ll put it this way: I realized I had been too long adrift in my own life, pulled and pushed by everything from the whims and needs of others, to my own fears and regrets.  I required a change, if I was to make count the remaining decades of my life. I required wind in my sails.  A sextant.  A sense of True North.”

She continued, “That night, as if by portent, there was a great storm. I stepped out the next morning, to see what the wind had washed up on my shore, and there you were.”

He looked darkly down into the bowl as he ate.

“I am no one’s True North.”

Fate stood resolutely, crossing to a wooden chest by the cottage door, and from its depths retrieved a small brass sextant.  She carried it to the table and set it beside him, its angles crusted with salt and tarnished green from the sea.  Istar reached out irresistibly, stunned.  She knew then, for certain, it was his.

“This washed up with you.”

Istar tried to speak, but it devolved into a frustrated sigh.

“What is you want of me, Fate?  I am grateful for the rescue, for your ministration…” He paused. “Even the haircut.  I do owe you a debt, but--”

“No.”  She retook her seat, refilling her chalice with wine.  She topped his off for good measure.  “I don’t believe in debts.  Or, anyway, I’ve grown tired of owing them and having them owed to me.  Debts are the seeds of contempt.  You are a free man, Istar -- free to finish that dinner, and the rest of the wine.  Free to recuperate here until you’re well enough to leave.  And if you leave, you’re free to go wherever it is you like.  No… what I would like from you is… consideration.”

Confused, he reached slowly for the brimful chalice.

 “Of what?”

She swirled her wine.  “What if I told you there was somewhere you could go, where you could be both man and dragon?  Or only one or only the other.  Who am I to judge?”

“I sense the onus would be on me to take you to this place.”

“We would go together.  I cannot reach it myself, at least not without a great deal of trouble, but a dragon could fly there very easily.  And if it pleased him, said dragon might abide.”

Istar drank slowly, halving his wine.  When he paused for breath, he asked, “Where is this place?”

She peeked down into his chalice. “How much of that wine have you had?”

He finished it in another swallow, then picked up the cask by its neck as he stood.

“Just enough.  Show me.”

*******

Fate outfitted him in a black wool cloak, the origin of which he did not question, and led him outside.  It was the first he’d seen of the ocean since it abandoned him on the beach, and though he expected to resent it, to rile with either anger or fear or regret, he was instead surprised by how little it stirred him at all.

The ocean was neither man nor dragon.  It didn’t hold grudges or act on emotion.  It loved exactly as much as it loathed.  Even having lost his brothers to it, and nearly himself, it was hard not to admire something so pure.

He breathed the salt air into his lungs and followed Fate, their heels sinking in the powder-soft sand festooned still with the flotsam and jetsam of his former life.  She led him down the beach, to a perilous path that was more handholds than steps, but nevertheless climbed up and up to an overlook high above.  At the peninsula tip of the plateau, built and bolted into the stone, stood a tower scope pointed out over the sea.

Fate preceded him to the scope, checking the binocular sight and making a few small adjustments before gesturing him to look.

He checked her face then stepped in, crouching slightly to see what she saw.  Fate watched him, thoughtful, smiling faintly when he made a slight adjustment to the distance and focus.

“Do you see it,” she prompted.

“I see… an island.”

She gathered her cloak around her, taking a more comfortable seat on a nearby rock.

“Describe it to me, please.”

“Basalt.  Volcanic.  Not overly large, but green enough that it likely has an aquifer.”  He made another adjustment to the scope and grew quiet.  “There’s a… a house on the island.  Not built onto it, but… maybe carved out of the basalt, I can’t quite tell.  Like a castle, but on a small scale.”  He took his eye from the scope and looked at her.  “What is this place?”

Fate folded her hands together in her lap.

“I am the daughter of two craftspeople.  My mother was a glazier.  My father was a sailor in his youth -- not unlike yourself, probably -- but later a tradesman.  A master mason.  He was granted, by some client who could not afford the gold to pay him, ownership of a very tiny volcanic island in the middle of the sea.”  She rolled her eyes and shrugged, dismissive. “Mostly, as you can see, just a tiny heap of rock.  A few weeks out of every year, he and his young bride traveled to the island and worked on this house.  He built the walls, the spires, the solars, the keeps; she leaded and glazed the windows, filling the interior spaces with stories made of light and color.  The castle, such as it is, reflects the places they visited as they learned their trades and fell for one another.  The truest labor of love.”

She went on, “My father… he hoped to retire there one day.  Alas, when my mother got pregnant, she convinced him it was not a practical place to raise a family.  He visited it now and again, through my childhood.  Kept it up, added on as he had time and resources.  I even visited with him sometimes.  But… by and large it was a project waylaid by necessity.  A dream deferred.”

Istar stood back from the spyglass, folding his arms beneath his cloak.

“Did he regret leaving it behind?”

Her eyes lowered sadly, though she smiled. “Perhaps?  Who can say.  He lived a happy enough life, I suppose.  But it was he who named me Fate.”

She stood, drawing nearer to him.

“After a storm, or at the turn of seasons, I come up here to see how the island and house have faired.  To my great surprise, it’s withstood decades and storms, and seems no worse for wear.  At least from here.  There’s a good bit of brush that needs clearing, and I don’t doubt the insides are more mildew and dust than finery and brocade, but… I see no reason why it couldn’t be as habitable as when last my father unmoored from its dock.”  She met his eyes and held them.  “The last time I came up here to look, it occurred to me that one day -- perhaps not soon, but soon enough -- I wouldn’t be able to make the climb anymore.  I would be relegated to gazing up at this plateau from the sand below, never knowing the fate of my little island.”

Fate continued, “But two people could enjoy a pleasant life there.  They could, with proper motivation and a little bit of work, make count the remaining decades of their lives.”

He turned his back to her, cloak billowing around him, and faced over the ocean.  The sun between the clouds looked like magma, luminous beneath black rock.  The light glinted off the sextant at his hip, catching his eye.

Istar pivoted to face her.

“I make no promises but… we can go.  On the morrow, we’ll go, and we’ll have a look.”

Fate stood abruptly, for the first time looking truly excited.

“Will I get to see it?”

His eyes opened in a wide blink until she clarified, “The whole… turning into a dragon business.  Assuming you haven’t been lying to me all this while, and I’m as naive as I always feared.”

He grunted in his throat, shoulders shrugging to better conceal himself in the folds of his mantle.

“In time you will assemble a long list of the things I am.  A liar is not among them.”

He studied her, then said, “Nor, I suspect, are you naive.”

*******

There was no sense packing a bag, and what would she put in it, anyway?

It turned out Istar was self-conscious about the physical process of transformation, and as they stood together on the beach the next morning, he asked her to turn away while he -- as he called it -- took the scale.

She almost objected, but supposed they were both already placing a great amount of trust in the other.  There was no need to make him regret things so soon.

“I will remind you,” she said, turning her back to him and facing over the low tide.  “I removed you from your dripping clothes while you were unconscious.  I even helped you with your toileting, besides.”

Istar merely grunted in acknowledgement as he backed clear of her, shucking off his cloak with a backthrust of both shoulders.  

Since she couldn’t see it firsthand, Fate closed her eyes, listening as he underwent his transformation on the beach behind her.  He hadn’t detailed what it entailed, but immediately she detected a strange, elastic stretching, cracks and creaks and wooden pops reminiscent of a weaver at a loom.  She felt rather than saw the mass of him increase behind her, like sensing a crowd slowly gathering at one’s back.  His breathing grew into a furnace bellows, the heat of him slowly swelling until her neck dappled with perspiration.

When all was done, and at last he spoke, it was not with a man’s voice at all.  It was a mental song, a symphony of slow cello strings, a basso vibrato reverberating in the bones of her skull.

You may turn.

And she did, opening her eyes as she went.  Both hands flattened at her chest as she took in the full, vast, towering shape of him.  Her neck twinged with the effort of looking all the way up, so he lowered his head obligingly nearer. 

What do you think?, he asked.

Fate’s voice trembled.  “I think you’re on your own with toileting from now on.”

She had yet to hear him laugh or see him smile, but the orchestral strings of his mind’s voice swelled with amusement.  Laughter, transcendent of form.  Perhaps he’d never learned the finer points of being joyful as a man.  Emboldened, Fate approached him, circling him ankle-over-ankle in marveling quiet.  He was twice as tall as her cottage, his full length and width hard to assess with his neck heron-curved back between his shoulders and his wings at rest.  He was wholly black, each scale chased with the pastel tinctures of morning as they gained the sky.  Helplessly her fingers outstretched, hesitating.  He reached down and bumped his great, wedge-shaped head encouragingly into the touch.

Fate closed on him like the head of a horse overhanging a pasture gate, exploring by touch the bony ridges above his eyes, the pebbled texture that lined his lips, the paradoxically velvet-soft nostrils.  He snorted, startling her into a laugh, and the great cabochons of his eyes blinked mildly.

You aren’t afraid, he sang wonderingly. Her head tilted.

“Afraid?  No.  Curious, yes… perhaps even… a little intimidated?”  He pushed his snout into her hands again and she scratched above his eye ridges, eliciting a double-bass rumble of pleasure.  “But not afraid.”

They both knew all too well the power he held over her, how fragile she was.  How had he put it last night?  So like to die in so many ways.  Istar wondered if he was not as intimidating as he thought, or if she had simply already seen far worse.

She finally took a breath.  “So. How am I meant to do this?”

He lowered himself like a camel to the ground, offering a foreleg as a step up.  With a little difficulty she hitched up her skirts and climbed, first onto his leg and then onto his shoulder, allowing a little undignified bump of his nose to get her the rest of the way onto his back.  Thick, bony scales lined his spine, the gaps between them just wide enough for her to get a finger-hold, though it didn’t instill her with the utmost confidence.

“You know,” she remarked with a nervous warble.  “I fell off a horse once.  I don’t think I ever quite recovered from it.”

Istar thought on that for a good long minute before craning his head around and favoring her with one confused eye.

...are you asking me to eat the horse?

She patted his neck.  “Never mind, let’s just be off.”

He needed no further encouragement.  Fate caught her breath and clung fast as he gathered beneath her, muscles coiled with all the tension of a bow at full draw.  He launched like a shot put, wings tripling open, then churned, thunderous, every muscle moving with oiled and certain rhythm in his skyward climb. 

She’d never been any further from the earth than the overlook above the beach, and couldn’t breathe for the sudden distance telescoping her away from the world below.  She saw the curious, curving outline of the coast, the tattered shingles of her roof, the cliffs, the trees, the ocean. And the ocean.  And the ocean.  And still he climbed.

Just as her mind began scrambling for a god -- any god -- to pray for salvation, Istar’s wings spread taut and leveled, and the terrible hollow in her chest eased with relief.

There was a peace up here, unknowable as a creature of the earth.  Istar’s body radiated heat, keeping at bay the damp and chill of the morning air, though she felt each spun-sugar cloud on her skin as he sailed through them.  The rising sun cast his shadow on the water beneath them, gilding each wavelet, and describing the vague shape of fantastic creatures just beneath their surface.

Eventually the familiar silhouette of Fate’s island appear on the horizon.  Istar tilted, kite-like, and little by little it grew, becoming more real to her than it had been in many long decades of her life.

But it looked the same.  Even from the sky, even as he turned on a wingtip and circled it slowly, slowly, looking for a place to set down, it seemed to her the same secret palace of her girlhood.  Her father’s dream, and now hers.  And Istar’s, besides.

The castle wasn’t built with incoming dragons in mind, but there was enough of a rough peninsula off the Western side of the island that he was able to carefully set down.  Fate braced herself as he back-winged like a bird to a branch, landing far more gracefully than she thought was possible for a creature of such size.

Once more he bent and offered her a foreleg to dismount, and with rock firmly underfoot Fate hastened to give him enough room -- and privacy -- to restore himself to his human guise.  Unbecoming a dragon was a far less noisy affair than the opposite, but when all was done and finalized he gently cleared his throat to draw her attention.

She turned, looking him up and down curiously.

“Oh, you’re wearing clothes,” she observed.

Istar looked down at himself as well.

“Yes?”

“That’s… I mean, of course you are. And that’s fine.”

He checked her.  “Is it?”

“Yes.  I mean…certainly.  Why wouldn’t it be fine?”

“You seem disappointed?”

“Do I?  Hm. Funny.  Well.”  She put her palms together.  “Shall we have a look around?”

Continued here

[lemondropsandsodapops]

Following my Jonette + Damien Bakery AU:

Marinette, Jon, and Damien are around the same age. (20 somethings?)

I would say that Marinette’s bakery isn’t in a high traffic area. Since she’s also focusing on spreading good energy, she’d probably allow people who can’t necessarily afford the food to come in and stay. (Let’s say that most of her income comes from doing commissions).

As said before, of course, the baked goods are magic. Purifying Gotham (yaaay.)

Listen. I just have this very specific scene in my mind where an angry customer comes, and they’re about to hit Marinette, but Jon blocks/ catches their hand. Marinette could most definitely handle herself, but I just think the idea is neat.

 I don’t necessarily like Adrien (due to his behavior as Chat + his attitude/ actions in canon as a civie... the same going from some other characters), but I’m definitely not going down the heavy salt/ bashing route. So perhaps Marinette and the other’s don’t have as good of a relationship as before. Maybe she still talks to some of them more than others, but they're not as close as before

Let Marinette dabble with creation more!! Let her go outside of fashion, and let her just take up all creative studies. Inventions? Maybe. Cooking? Of course.

Damien + Marinette meeting? Part of me feels like it could go smoothly. Another part of me thinks that it’d be funnier if they couldn’t stand each other at first, and slowly they gain each other’s respect.

Why is Jon working there? I remember seeing a fic where Jon and Marinette are university students who are both trying to get away from bering heroes. So, to take inspiration from that, Jon may want a getaway from being a hero, but still wants to be… useful, in a way. He still wants to help others, but for his own (mental/ emotional) health, he wants to (temporarily) quite being Superboy. So, what’s better than applying to a normal bakery to help out the local community with baked goods? (He may work part-time, because I mean, it is in Gotham).

 This leads to Damien absolutely scruntinizing Marinette to the point where she feels like she’s being interrogated (to her annoyance). He wants to make sure Jon absolutely knows what he’s doing and that the bakery is trustworthy.

What if he checks out the bakery to see how safe it is? Is it durable? Does it have the proper safety exits? Are you windows even bulletproof? Are your doors??

(Marinette could eventually tell that he’s just quite… protective? of his friend.. or at least he just cares a lot, but come on, man!)

Listen. I crave Marinette + Damien + Jon chaotic friendship. What of it if it starts off with Marinette + Damien frenemyship? It’s a work in progress. They’ll get there!

He wouldn't. I think we both know Damien wouldn't work there. But imagine Jon enacting some revenge and Damien getting pulled into working there for the day. May be ooc, but it's funny. (Imagine how their could either go so great or so poorly. Would Damien be disguised? Would he be blatantly rude to customers or just to the disrespectful ones? Would Damien and Marinette end up competing to see who can "make the most money" or "do the best?" Damien swears that he's not competing, but he seems to be in deep concentration.. Is Jon going to regret doing this? Find out next time on)