#i watched the parent trap! and read sometimes! everything else was mostly me watching in fascination lmfao

[shesmore-shoebill]

Even with the fun of the entire Beyonce ranking section aside, the "Love on Topp" and "Say My Nayme" editing jokes got me more than they should have.

[femboykyo]

How Kyo and his story can be related to trans(even lgbt+) themes

From a kyo kinnie transman🏳️‍⚧️

* Please feel free to correct something or point out something I might have missed.

In this we’ll look at how the curse can be literal and metaphorical, how Kyo’s story can be tied to trans, even just queer representation, and what it means for us as kinnies or just a fandom.

~the curse(literally is a generational curse)

examples of generational curses:

-Family beliefs/traditions can put pressure on children and when they get their own family it can cause religious or family trauma

•Akito’s father kept repeating that Akito was going to be like this and do this and be loved by everyone. This put Akito on a pedestal and put a huge burden on her shoulders. This caused a strain within his family. Later on putting an even thinner strain on the extended family.

•Akito grew up believing that she was solely important, that no one else was to be a priority. Which in turn made the zodiacs feel trapped rather than loved.

-Abusive parents can lead to future abusive parents. When a parent or parents are abusive, the child or children will either grow up bitter or abusive to their future partner(s) and/or children, thinking that this is the best way.

•Akito’s mother was jealous of someone who was too small to understand everything to properly raise her. She often put her down and even try to fight/kill her when Akito got older. Akito’s mother never had motherly care so Akito grew up alone and bitter. Eventually because of that lack of care and love, she would often display bipolar/manipulative tendencies.

->The whole Sohma family was raised around a religious trauma curse that also tied into an abusive one as well. While having to deal with a literal curse they had two, three, maybe even seven tied with it as well. Taught that being the way they are was wrong, that no one would love them or their animal forms. Which brings us to the Cat and its curse.

~ We know that the Cat is the only one with two forms. The sweet little cat and its monster form that was giant and disgusting smelling, marking it as scary and dangerous. Only because the rest saw it as something awful, because the story was twisted. Kyo and those before him had to wear a bracelet to keep it hidden. Like how most trans/lgbt+ youth(even adults) hide behind a mask or “typical”’ gendered activities, clothes, personalities. Girls did this and boys would do that and all of those twisted words.

•all of us if not most of us were taught and told that being lgbt+ was wrong. That it was disgusting or against nature. If a parent(s) found out they would often even try to hide it or try to say you were to stop thinking that way or else. So we put on our own bracelets and walked on hiding and hating this side of ourselves.

->Kyo(us) wanted to fit in, to have a place to belong so bad that he(we) were willing to even take it out on someone(something) else. How come I’m the bad guy? Why did I have to be the Cat? Why does this straight person get to do this? Why can’t I be normal? But we all were. Me, you, Kyo, we were normal, they just didn’t know how to love something they didn’t understand. Now not everyone was like this. Deep down a lot of the sohma’s wanted to just be free(like how Kyo almost seemed to be in their eyes) or did just love him(like his adopted father and Tohru, even Kagura mostly). We had at least someone love us. We all had at least one Tohru, or a Kagura, or even a Kazuma.

*I can relate to Kyo so much because I also felt like an outcast. I felt like I had to hide and hate who I was so people would love and care for me. I even got mad at my own family sometimes. How come certain people would do this or that for someone but not me just because I was lgbt+? Why did that matter so much? I was still that math loving, anime watching, book reading goofball that they grew up with. I hated myself more and I even tried to reject how I felt. Then I met a Tohru. Someone who came from love and care who saw the best of me. Even when I transformed and got angry(Like Kyo when his bracelet was taken off and he changed) she/he/they chased after me and held me and stayed. She/he/they accepted all of me.

•A lot of the characters in this anime could be metaphors or examples of real life traumas and experiences. Like Rin and her eating disorder or Momiji and his sister getting separated. Even Yuki and his depression, anxiety, health complications. I think that’s why a lot of us love it and watch it over and over and over again. We can all feel for a character or two. So even if you feel like you are alone, remember that there is a Tohru out there for you. I promise😘

*Let me know if there’s something I missed/may have gotten wrong. Please let me know if any ideas related to this come into your mind.

[lycanfuck]

celia cw parental abuse, dissociation, implied alcoholism

he wished he could say he had never loved his mother. that he didn't care she was dead, that it was black-and-white and he didn't give a fuck, and he was glad she was gone, but he couldn't.

he couldn't, and he couldn't quite say he was sad she was gone, either.

zach rested his head against the smooth ceramic of the bathtub, blocking out the pain of the edge of the tub pressing against his head. he'd gotten good at blocking out the pain over the years, and everything else. he'd be hard-pressed to tell you, most days, about anything his mother - anything celia - had done to him, but it was flooding his mind today. memory after memory, a constant tidal wave, and the emotions bubbling up were making him dizzy and nauseated and so there he was on the bathroom floor, the cold floor doing little to ground him against the barrage of memories.

age five(-and-a-half). he and her at an ice cream stand, zach already having finished his, laughing and drawing in the dirt with a rock. there's sticky ice cream on his fingers and celia is watching him draw like he's vincent van fucking vogh or something. she'd cared about him, then, for sure. even if she could be unpredictable, she was his mother. caring for him was all she wanted to do.

age nine. he's cowering under his bed, tears in his eyes, not quite overflowing and celia's stomping down the hall and all he can think to do is press himself into the dark, dusty corner with his back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest and pray. he hasn't believed in god in a while. he prays anyway. she's kicking at the door now, her voice sharp through the quiet of the house, "i'm gonna fucking kill you, you piece of shit, open this door right now, or i swear to god-"

he'd cried himself to sleep that night, face buried in his pillow, and he'd woken up with the worst headache of his life and nothing but an empty void inside of his chest. it'd never really gone away. sometimes it shrank but mostly it grew, bigger and bigger until the black nothingness inside of him made its way through his veins and poisoned him from the inside out. he hadn't felt much, since then, since he realized he could just check out. granted, sometimes he did still feel the aching, desperate to feel anything else. he always tried to ignore it.

age ten or so. she no longer lives with him and his dad and zach isn't allowed to visit her but he does so anyway. while she's out, he's reading in her room, using her bed because it's bigger than his guest bed and he's not scared, not yet. he will be later when she comes back and is wasted and her voice is loud and soon her desk is pushed in front of the door so he's trapped there while she gets more and more and more angry and he can't move, he can't think, all he can do is freeze like a deer in headlights and pretend not to be there.

twelve, monday. a girl he's seen around but never spoken to stops him in the school hallway. "can i talk to you?" she asks, and zach pauses, shifting his hold on his books. "yeah, sure, what's up?" she sighs, relieved, messing with the straps of her bag. "um, it's your mom. she's outside the school, she's just… she's been saying weird stuff to me and my friends, asking if we know you, saying we better take her to you- she grabbed at me earlier, and, yeah, it's kind of freaking us out a bit and we don't know what to do and we were wondering if you could talk to her? shit, i'm max, by the way." it's the first time he's been stopped and asked to get control over his own mother. it's not the last. he's not mad, it's not max's fault, or anyone's fault, other than celia's. he's just exhausted.

he shifted, the cold tile of the bathroom floor pressing into his leg uncomfortably, surely leaving little square-shaped indents in the skin. he still felt far too dizzy, and trying to move even the slightest bit brought the nausea back, so he stopped, letting his head keep pressing into the tub.

thirteen. zach no longer has any desire to visit her but he has to stop by her place to pick up his little cousin. he made a snide comment about celia drinking instead of going to work, again, and she's up in his face screaming and he's standing there blank-faced like he can't hear her at all, but he can, and she's screaming, "do me a fucking favor and kill yourself before you make me do it myself. i cannot stand you. you think you're so much better than me but you're not. you are me. you are forever me!" and he's not crying, he's not screaming back, he's just standing there, taking it, like he always had done, because it's his second nature at this point. just take it.

just take it. just fucking take it. it's like all at once a switch is flipped and the roaring static of memories is turned off, leaving only the nausea and a light ringing in his ears. they'd been ringing for years, he was used to it. he blinked a couple times, pressing his palms flat against the floor. it didn't help much but it was enough to at least know where he was, and the feel of the tiles briefly distracted him from the ringing in his ears. god, it was so quiet.

his head was pounding and he sniffled a bit. he hadn't realized he'd been crying. the bright bathroom lights glared down at him and he closed his eyes. god, this was so stupid. he'd fucking hated her. he'd hated her and yet here he was, on the bathroom floor, crying over her death, crying over her life, crying for himself. he didn't really know who or what he was crying for.

he rested there, eyes closed, head pounding, until he was feeling better - better being a relative term. until he was feeling well enough to stand without feeling faint or nauseated. as he did, he heard the creaking of the front door opening, the noise much softer than when elke or celia - than when elke. - opened the door. it had to be his dad, then, and he had to be the perfect grieving boy.

he wiped his eyes one final time and flicked off the bathroom light. he was ready to reprise his role as the perfect son, he told himself. he was ready. he had to be.

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

New opportunities are available now for routines and being able to do tasks that won't be interrupted by needs of littles. I can now let myself design my day around my energy and be able to hyperfocus on executive and administrative tasks I was never really able to with all the chaos and the unpredictable nature of a neuro-spicy household and managing my own emotions and demand avoidance. All while going through a divorce and all the fun stuff that comes with that. Right now it's managing our egos. I'm fine unless he gets emotionally immature. Then my wits and knives come out and I start to let him know exactly what pattern of behavior he is showing me, how long it has been going on, where I have it documented, and how it has affected me until I began healing it. If I have enough executive function, though, I just gentle parent him like the kids and kind of validate without letting any personal aspect of myself engage with the bullshit. Then I affirm that the next wife can train him out of his toxic habits, that my only concern is getting all of us out of here alive. If I design a routine that meets all of my needs, all other functions that have suffered or regressed since the burnout should resurface and I can integrate them in a way that allows me to both summon them and be confident in my abilities. My environment before would be disrupted most of the time within 15-20 minutes, so it was difficult to really sink into any task with a lot of focus. Since I'm transitioning to this time with kids at school, this is the perfect time to create something I'm happy with to follow for the rest of the year. The above steps are a great start. I can now go to temple for day time meditations, which will also help with my ability to focus and calm my spirit - which then opens me up to more abundant thinking and less self-doubt and limits. The chronic urgency may have stemmed from knowing I always had such a limited time to truly let myself focus with my entire brain. And because so much of childcare is chore work and problem solving problems that are mostly emotional regulation and conflict resolution driven... there just wasn't any dopamine or motivation for much else. That can change now, especially since that urgent pressure has all but completely vanished. The trapped feeling too has gone away. This process should be smoother than I thought, but I do need to make sure to put intentional thought behind it. Bought three journals since the store I usually get them in isn't carrying them. Excited to begin new ways of thinking and routines and projects. Have been getting on indeed daily to train body into not seeing the website as the enemy or a complete listing of everything that will likely reject me. This is a big improvement. I still sweat a bit, but I don't have all the internal discomfort. My mind still swirls around a bit, so I just read listings without having to engage with them, and let myself just be in the environment. Job hunting exposure therapy. Still think remote will be best. Have been brainstorming with chatgpt about different job titles and talents I have that might interest me. Excited to started journaling about all of that in the new notebooks. I got a cerulean blue, a peachy coral, and a juniper green colors in the notebooks. I should also pack up more of my room. When I start to feel anxious or have intrusive thoughts, it usually means I need to do cardio and move my body. I try to do that after the kids come home so it kind of balances all of us in the energy. Sometimes they want to dance too so it makes for a good connection activity. I enjoy the silence. I enjoy the longer focusing. I'm able to watch and read things for longer now without feeling like I'm going to be forced to leave just when my brain starts working on a fascinating concept. It makes everything more enjoyable. This is all going to work out very nice.

What I learned about my brain and routines as a person with ADHD and autism:

The number one strategy that I've been implementing is

Eliminate any and all decisions to avoid being burnt out by 10 am

My partner turns on the radio as soon as he leaves for work, so I'm not met with the decision of putting on a podcast or music as soon as I wake up

I have the same breakfast every day and this might change, the basic concept here is, that it doesn't require any fresh ingredients so that I always have breakfast available even if I forgot to get groceries because I take my meds in the morning

Moving to the bathroom is a little tricky sometimes but when I'm there, I can do everything I need to do to get ready in one room and in sight so I remember to actually do them (including my clothes because I undress anyways to shower)

I simplified my wardrobe so every shirt goes with every pair of pants so it doesn't really matter what I pick, it will always look (somewhat) put together

Also, dressing to be comfortable instead of dressing to look nice was a huge thing for me. That simple mindset shift truly eliminated so many decisions I was making and that were truly tiring me out

What also really helped, is, that I stopped tying my routine to a certain time. Now, I realize that this is a privilege because I don't work at the moment but this truly changed things for me because it became a lot less daunting once I eliminated a lot of decisions. I don't have to mentally prepare myself to get ready anymore and I consider that a huge win because I have a lot more energy throughout the day.

I realize that these things are not new in any ways, shape or form but I have a very hard time unlearning things I was thought as a child. Maybe seeing that other people do things "differently" helps someone else.

[charlie-pippin-faraday]

fabina h/cs?

Oh yes I was hoping someone would ask me this. Warning this got very long I have a lot of thoughts and feelings

They are so sweet it makes everyone wanna barf sometimes

In S1 some of them (Mick, Mara, Alfie, Patricia) place bets on when they're gonna get together. Mick wins

During S2 Amber tries to get them together in a multitude of different ways. She tries mistletoe, the old "trapping them in a small dark room together" trick, conspiring with Patricia and Alfie to ensure they just so ~happen~ to find themselves alone together, etc.

Throughout S3, they literally never stopped thinking about each other

After graduation, it's a really turbulent and transitionary period in Fabian's life, and he has to assess what he really wants. And he realizes he never stopped loving Nina, and he wants to be with her again

Amber actively encourages him to go after her, saying he'll regret it for the rest of his life if he doesn't

Nina realizes the past year without him has been miserable. It's been awful not having her best friend by her side to talk to and confide in and do things with, and she's missed him so much. So when he reaches out, all of her feelings come rushing back with an intensity, and she decides she doesn't want to lose him again, and they get back together. For good this time.

They go to college in America together, and Fabian ultimately moves to her hometown of Cleveland to be with her

After college they work at a museum together looking at historical stuff all day long. They get to nerd out and they work together well; it's a dream job

Nina tries her best to introduce Fabian to American culture. Some of it is a bigger culture shock than others. Nina is always incredibly amused when he doesn't get words right or he gets flustered and confused at certain customs

He's not sure how he feels about American fast food

American pie, however, is his new favorite thing. Especially Nina's gran's pies

The Fourth of July scares him. But barbecues are nice

Nina is a fan of Cleveland's baseball team. She takes him to a game, and by god is he confused. He has trouble following. The first game is a lost cause. But once Nina points out how dependent the game is on math, then he starts to get the hang of it. A little bit

American driving, however, is horrifying to Fabian. Nina's a pretty good driver, and Fabian's fairly good (if not a bit stiff and nervous) at driving in the UK, but in America it's a whole different animal. Not only are they on the other side of the road, but the drivers here are fast and aggressive. It's very scary. The ONLY reason he eventually learns to do it the American way is because he wants to be able to take Nina out and be a competent enough man to drive a car around

Speaking of cars: one summer they definitely go on a cross-country road trip, just the two of them. It's meant to bring them closer and be romantic, and it is. They love looking at all the sights together, and Fabian is amazed by the sheer diversity of landscape and how gorgeous parts of the country can be. He TRIES to split the driving 50/50, but America is just so goddam BIG, like intimidatingly huge, and he's not used to driving for that long. The driving ends up being more like 70/30 in Nina's favor, but she doesn't mind. She gives Fabian the responsibility of making a road trip playlist, and he knocks it out of the park

At home, they enjoy cozy nights by the fireside, reading and snuggling under blankets

Sweaters! They are sweater people and I enjoy the image of them snuggling together in sweaters

Handwritten letters! They write each other handwritten letters all the time, especially in the summer between season 1-2 and the period of time between graduation and Fabian making the move to America. They both keep every single letter they receive and each keep them stored in a sentimental little box

They like to frequent old/used bookstores and antique shops. Their place is filled to the brim with odd knickknacks and collectibles that they find, and they have an entire wall with shelves piled high with books

They don't need a lot of fancy stuff, and they don't care about being high-class; they don't care much about appearances, and they don't need a lot. All they care about really is being together.

They learn to get better at communication and not let anyone else's opinion about their relationship impact their relationship. They're the only ones that know what's best for them, and they take things at their own pace

Nina can get overly emotional and stressed sometimes, and Fabian's her rock. That's how it's always been, and that's how it always will be

They love to watch the discovery channel and the national geographic channel, along with netflix documentaries

They fuckin LOVE escape rooms, they use every excuse they can to go to escape rooms

Nina takes Fabian to the rock and roll hall of fame, and he's like a kid in a candy store

They are frequent patrons of their local coffee shop, to the point where all the baristas know who they are

They are very cheesy and sentimental all the time. Most everything they do is very thoughtful and has some kind of meaning

They like to write cute notes to each other and leave them around the house

It takes Fabian forever to actually propose to Nina, to the point where he gets calls from Amber just about every day asking when she's getting an engagement announcement. He just wanted to be careful and deliberate about it and make sure everything was perfect

He makes sure the proposal is simple and romantic. He sets up a candlelit dinner, the lights are low, he talks to her softly and sweetly and tells her he loves her and pops the question

Nina, surprisingly, does not cry. Fabian, however, definitely does when she says yes

He proposes with a family ring; his grandmother's ring. It's very sentimental and has a lot of history behind it, and we all know Nina loves that stuff, and the history and story makes her very emotional

He does what he should have done in S2 instead of writing a poem: he writes her a song and plays it for her on the guitar. It's her favorite thing he's ever done for her.

After the engagement they tell Amber before they tell anyone else, because she'd kill them if they didn't

They surprise her with a video call, and they don't tell her at first, but then Nina surprises her and shows off the ring, and Amber screams so loud they're convinced she's going to break glass.

Amber is even more excited than they are, she talks with them absolutely non-stop about their wedding. She even tries to take control of it at some point

Their wedding is a fairly small wedding; it takes place at an outdoor venue in the spring, at a beautiful location just outside her hometown in America. Mick is the best man and Amber is the maid of honor. Amber gives an incredibly emotional MOH speech and sobs buckets. Gran walks Nina down the aisle

Her wedding dress looks a little something like this; definitely something with long lacy sleeves

They have 3 kids, all girls

The oldest is Evelyn, named after Nina's gran. She's got dark hair, Nina's curls, Nina’s light blue eyes, and she looks like Fabian. She got Nina's courageous leadership side, she's very adventurous

The middle child is Sarah. She looks like someone legit photocopied Nina. Same hair color, same curls, same eyes, same general facial features. She got the intellectual and bookish side of both of them

The youngest is Eloise, kind of a little bit after Sarah's mother but mostly they just liked the name. Often they call her "Lou" and she definitely goes by that when she's older. She somehow got to be strawberry blonde, has less curls than her sisters, she has Fabian's blue-green eyes, and is a mix of them both when it comes to facial features. She got the part of them that liked to sneak around and break the rules; as she gets older she becomes very rebellious, and Nina jokes "are we sure this child came from me and not Patricia?"

All 3 girls are little troublemakers and they're partners in crime

At some points when the girls are a bit much Fabian gets stressed and shouts "we're outnumbered!!!!!"

Amber is their aunt and showers the girls with expensive presents all the time, especially clothes, which all of the girls LOVE. Nina and Fabian accuse her of spoiling them and she says "If I can't spoil them then what's the point of being the rich beloved aunt?"

The girls do indeed love Amber, all three of them adore her

When the girls get older they find the boxes of letters their parents wrote to each other, they think it's very sweet

Even as they get older, the two of them always set aside time to be romantic with each other

And they remain each other's best friend and confidante forever and ever

yo please feel free to keep sending me these! or asking me my opinions on stuff! this is a lot of fun!

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Yandere Komaeda Headcanons submitted by Chaos under the cut (y) Warnings: Slight nsfw, yandere behavior, stalking, mention of suicide, masturbation (not very explicit.)

Yandere Nagito probably wasn't very Yandere before you came along. The unlucky boy was probably still the funky little creep to his classmates as always but as soon as you step through the doorway of 77-B's classroom then he kind of just thought, "Oh, they're pretty." And continued with his day. He didn't think too much of you.

If you were an ultimate who walked into the classroom, he wouldn't have thought much of it besides the idea that "YoU wErE sPrEaDiNg HoPe 😩"

If you were a reserve course student, on the other hand, he would think he is slightly superior. So, if you talk to him he'll feel like he's better than you but won't say anything except under certain circumstances (ex: You ask him for his opinion of you, his opinion on reserve course, that kind of stuff. At least, he's honest :/) But keep in mind, he only really acts like this when you two first meet.

After getting to form a friendship with you (however that happened, I'll leave that up to you), his crush on you takes shape quickly.

He mostly just did small stuff that made it obvious that he liked you (whether he realized it or not.) If you weren't around he'd be asking everyone in sight if they knew where you were. He'd linger uncomfortably close to you whenever you two were together. The unlucky boy also tended to...✨follow✨ you.

Bestie, run while you still can 🏃‍♀️💨 because after he kidnaps you you're gonna be more like ♿

(I guess that's assuming you can run at all...sorry if I offended someone ._.)

When you two are hanging out, he eventually opens up to you about his illnesses and past. All of what he told you would probably be a lot to process so the only thing you can think of besides, "I'm so sorry that happened to you," is that you just hug him. Now he's shocked. You're both shocked. wOAH! Nagito doesn't move at all during the hug and probably forgot to breathe because c'mon...homie hasn't received any form of physical affection for God knows how long. He's drawing a total blank and the first words that spring to his mind are, "I'm going to marry them."

You cannot tell me this man doesn't want to get married one day. Yes, his luck sucks fat juicy butt but it's just something he craves and can be selfish about. Nagito's opinion on his want for having a spouse goes back and forth, like how the fitness gram pacer test works (I bet some of you don't even know that this is something outside of a meme lol.) He probably got this desire from seeing how bad his parents' relationship was.

Nerdy headcanon stuff you don't have to read: So, it isn't canon that his parents had a bad relationship but I imagine that they did because Nagito mentions that his mom had never complimented him and he gained a massive inheritance after his family's death. Let me explain my logic on those. Nagito's mom probably never complimented him because she didn't like or want him. I also headcanon that his parents were in an arranged marriage which is why they were so rich and why I think they had a bad relationship, because let's be honest, not all arranged couples are comfortable with one another. The arranged marriage also could've been the reason why his family was wealthy, it could have had to do with business and work. So to wrap it all up, Nagito's parents are rich because of an arranged marriage and they don't really like each other and they had a kid that neither of them wanted so now it's a broken family with a fucked up kid. I know that sounds like a stretch but that's why it's a headcanon and not actually canon lol.

After that one hug, that's when he truly sees you as some sort of ethereal Deity that he was sure he was going to wed in the future (Hell, he'd probably settle for right there, right now.) He no longer cared if you were an ultimate or not because now he saw you as something even greater. Of course, he still views himself as scum but even scum has desires that they are willing to do anything for.

After Nagito had come back to his dorm, the realization hit him that if he was going to marry you, he would have to be worthy of your hand in marriage. So, he prepares. By that I mean he starts stalking you a lot.

You two were already friends on social media so you probably didn’t dwell too much on it when you found him accidentally liking old posts. He’d go on your socials and scroll through it looking for every little bit of information he could find on you. Sometimes he'd strike gold and other times he'd dig up dirt. Nagito began talking to you a lot more so he could gain some information on your likes and dislikes. You only assumed that he was more comfortable with talking to you now because he confided his troubles in you but in reality he was planning your future life with him. Once in a while you'd invite to your dorm whether it was for hangouts, study sessions, or just sleepovers (he absolutely LOVED it when you brought those up.) The only opening he had to steal stuff is when you went to the bathroom and when that happened all he'd do every single time is go to the closet, grab another one of the pillow cases that the dorm provides, and switch them out with your current ones. When the pillowcase stops smelling like you then he just sticks it in the school's laundry basket where things like bed sheets, pillow cases, and blankets that belong to the school go.

After weeks after weeks of obtaining bits and pieces of information on you such as food you like and dislike, what your family is like (If you/your oc has one), your favorite movies, music genres, and clothing, etc., He eventually realized that he lacked three more things. Romance, experience, and…"performance."

The one thing he absolutely needed to learn first was "How to kiss." Even though no one sees his search history besides him, it was still very  embarrassing to put those words on his computer. He typed those three letters into the google machine and ta-da! A wikihow page and a YouTube video were apparently his best options. He opted for the latter and watched as a lady and her boyfriend demonstrated how to perform different types of kisses. Intimate and sexual. He feels awkward just watching this and he feels like he should practice but...on what? Luckily for him, there is a perfectly good pillow lying on his bed.

...This was definitely weird. His chapped lips were pressed against the plush pillow as he imagined he was french kissing you. This doesn't seem like the greatest method but Nagito doesn't seem to have any other choice.

The pillow in front of me was wrinkled and slightly wet from where I had last kissed it. It felt beyond awkward to kiss a pillow and imagine it was your future partner. I couldn't imagine them walking in on me as my face was buried in a pillow while moaning out muffled noises. It would be far too embarrassing but, I've faced worse. Practice should continue or else my mouth will never come as even a fraction of pleasure to my love. I approach the pillow and lay, stomach down, on my bed again. While this has been an awkward situation, my insides are starting to feel like they're on fire! It's probably just the thought of Y/N floating around in my brain. I take a deep breath before cupping my hands at the corners of the pillow and diving my mouth towards the pillow once more. I start off with a short kiss but continuously start moving my lips against, what I imagine to be, their lips. I move my bottom lip more often than my top. Imagining I'm trapping their lips against mine. Just the thought of trapping them makes me grind my hips against the mattress a little. Even though I'm soft I still let out a little whimper. Does Y/N even like it when their partner makes noise? I wasn't able to find any information on what she likes in bed so...with my luck, I'll just leave it to chance. My kisses get more sloppy and desperate. I begin swiping and swirling my tongue against the pillow thinking about just what it might feel like to make out with them. Their hot, wet mouth pressing up against mine while our tongues rub against one another in an attempt to touch each other. I moan seemingly too loud at that thought and start humping the bed. Everything feels so hot.

Maybe combining kissing practice and "performance" practice would be a good idea.

Once he starts performance practice, his browser is constantly on sex related websites. But more on the education side...he wants to know how to make you feel good and how to make himself last longer. Once in a while, he does go on the hub though so he can pretend it's you and him having sex on the screen. He tries his best to look for ones where it sounds like you or looks like you. He prefers the ones where it sounds like you so that way he could just close his eyes and imagine you and him are together. 

Just a random bonus I thought I'd add in: He got a boner during class once and sat there for like ten minutes just waiting for it to go away. So he just ended up palming himself through his pants and struggled to not make any noise. He liked to imagine you were under the desk pressing your face against his clothed crotch and just rubbing your face around that area. Luckily, he came without letting a single noise slip past his lips. Unluckily, Nagito cums a lot. So everyone could see the enormous wet spot on the crotch of his pants when class was dismissed.

He happens to have a weird habit of doing domestic and soft things with a hint of creepy. For example, one of his favorite things to do as of recently is print out a picture that has your face in it, tape it to his pillow, and fall asleep cuddling it. This sounds fine if you two were dating but… you aren't. He'll give it kisses, cuddle with it, fall asleep with it, and, of course, it's what he uses during his performance practice. He also enjoys eating meals with it and watching movies while cuddling it too. He perceives it all as practice for when you two are wed.

I'm going to assume you aren't an oblivious idiot and just say that you probably began to notice how weird he'd get around you. You tried distancing yourself a little bit but enough to still stay friends. He noticed the change in how often you'd hang out with him and his anxiety skyrocketed. Nagito would feel he had only a couple choices left. And that was to kidnap you, get rid of any obstacles that didn't allow him to spend every waking moment with you, or just flat out kill you so that way no one could have you. He already knew he wouldn't be able to even breathe without you so he'd likely kill himself as well in the process.

Author's Note: I'll probably be discontinuing that one Nagito x reader chapter 2 because I wasn't able to finish it before the school year started and I was just dissatisfied with the chapters BUT! I do have plenty of headcanons on yandere Komaeda! Message me if you want some far more nsfw headcanons because I have a lot for this guy.  I'm also very open to crackfic oneshots.

[stxleslyds]

NIGHTWING #81

UMM... HOW ABOUT NO. 

Ever since Tom Taylor took over Nightwing I have only made a post about one issue of his (I will leave it here Nightwing #78), that issue was beautiful, it was a solid start and the little things that made me feel a bit icky were not mentioned in the post because the issue was good.

Then the issues felt like connectors or just very bland story wise. I had problems with the book also feeling like a Nightwing and (fake) Oracle book instead of just Nightwing. There were many instances where Dick alone could have gotten himself out of situations without Barbara, but because she was there the opportunity to show that he can do things was taken from him. I guess what I am trying to say is that the book has disappointed me but I didn’t feel like making a post because it was too early and this is an ongoing book that Taylor said he planned on continuing for a while, but now I can’t not make a post.

A few days ago, I finally read the Red Hood story in Urban Legends (I have a review for that one too I will link it here Red Hood part 4) and I couldn’t stand how OOC and disappointing the story/characterization has been. I am saying this because I am only reading these two books at the moment, ONLY these two, and all I have gotten from them is shit.

I know it’s still early to say that the Nightwing book is bad but…I hated this issue, I hated it with all of my heart. But now that I am a bit calmer, I have come up with some ideas of what is truly going on with the Melinda situation.

Anyway, let me give you my thoughts.

There are big Wilson Fisk vibes coming from both Blockbuster and Melinda Zucco. Those two will lie, manipulate and be evil every chance they get. They are working together to make Nightwing disappear. I know it. The whole “make us all much wealthier and to extend your power beyond the city” idea does not include Nightwing.

Melinda might not want to burn anything down but she sure isn’t a hero. This woman accepted the position of Mayor after watching Blockbuster kill the former mayor. I understand that talking with the BHPD isn’t the best idea but this woman feels way too comfortable in the presence of a killer.

She is cunning and she has plans, I strongly believe that she might be a villain and that she will betray Blockbuster and take all the power (if it reaches that point) to herself.

Heartless is just another weirdo, he tricks both Nightwing and the reader into thinking that he has a soft spot for kids but surprise! He doesn’t. There isn’t much to say about him, he just has very complex gadgets and doesn’t know how to fight. I don’t even have any ideas about who he might be.

What I know though is that there was absolutely no need for Dick to think that he had “underestimated” Heartless, my love you threw your stick at him while he was looking directly at you, there was a 50/50 chance of him catching it. I swear I don’t understand the need to write him thinking that mostly because Taylor then has Dick swiping the floor with the guy, not only is it a simple fight (for Dick) but it’s also boring for him. Taylor’s writing is so annoying sometimes, he just loves to write extra things that are out of place like the “Tim Drake. Thought of by many as the best Robin” why the fuck did he put that there? Honestly, what was the point of having Dick say that, I don’t read a Nightwing book to have Tim Drake praise. If it doesn’t offer anything to the story that is being told then keep the thought to yourself Tom...

Moving forward the scene in the pier was quite nice, mostly because it’s Dick’s quick thinking that gets everyone to safety, he knows exactly what to do and how to contact the Maritime distress channel.

He has hope for his city, he knows there is good in it and he believes help will show up when lives are about to be lost. I loved that, just like Heartless said, Nightwing IS Bludhaven’s Guardian Angel. Once again, I am having Daredevil vibes from Dick (like from the show)

After the fight we get to see consequences of Dick not healing properly from a shot to the head. He loses his consciousness which is extremely dangerous but luckily Tim is at arm’s reach to help him out of the pier.

There are many things I want to talk about from the scenes that happen after Dick wakes up in his apartment so here we go.

First of all, Bitewing is adorable, she loves Dick the most and was happy to see him awake once more, what a good girl!

Secondly, Barbara, honey, you do not have three names, you aren’t Batgirl anymore, you are a grown woman that needs to move on from a mantle that has other people that can do something else/better with it. And we all know that this Oracle is just the ableist version of Oracle. So yeah…all I ask is for Barbara to move on from Batgirl, Cass and Stephanie are right there, enough is enough.

In these panels we have Dick, Tim and Barbara being kinda dismissive about the homeless kids, and it has been happening for so many issues, what is the point, Taylor? You made Dick a millionaire and you just can’t have him say or think for a second that he will monetarily help those kids and make sure they are put somewhere safe? You are really going to wait up until you have Dick running for Mayor or something to help the kids? I just don’t get it. Kids living on the streets and each time they are mentioned the three heroes of the book act like it’s normal and doesn’t need fixing. What the fuck.

Then we have the gang finding out that Melinda Zucco is the new mayor, the woman has an FBI file and a redacted one! This makes me think two things, either things are like I thought in the beginning of the post (she is evil and very good at it) or this woman is actually FBI and she is undercover (this one is less likely because of what happens at the end of the issue).

What we can see from the file that Barbara found is very little, but in these two pictures we can see that maybe she was put in foster care and x age? Also, she was apparently investigated in April of 20xx, the investigation must have been recent, why would the FBI investigate a minor or college student? What if these files were implanted by Melinda for someone to find them, and for her to have some sort of proof of her lies? If the file is about her being left in foster care or something while would the file be redacted? I don’t know, everything about her is shady and I don’t trust anything from or about her.

This could be a complex and very interesting character but Tom Taylor and DC really love to do stupid shit for shock value (more of this later).

All the new information (the Maroni, Blockbuster and now this very shady Mayor) has Dick saying that it is a bit too much for him and yeah, it is too much, you know who could help? Red Hood. I am of course not talking about current DC comics Red Hood, I am talking about the Red Hood that I would love to see, just yesterday I had an ask about who would I like to see working with Jason and I said Nightwing because Dick puts a lot of responsibility on his shoulders so it would be nice if they negotiated and each could work on different crime areas in Bludhaven, if only DC would hear me…

Anyway, now that we come to the end of the scene let’s talk about Barbara’s shirt.

That was unnecessary and not funny. That’s all it was. Yeah, I know it’s a meme and I know it was included for funny ha-ha purposes but I am not laughing. Bruce has been written as abusive towards his kids for so long, Jason, Tim and Dick have been physically harmed by Bruce and writers use it as just something that happens, there are never repercussions for the Bat. And this shirt sucks because Dick was Robin there and he was a kid, so having Barbara or anyone wearing a shirt with Batman hitting Robin!Dick right in front of Dick is just disgusting. What if someone wore a shirt that had Joker beating Jason with a crowbar in front of Jason, would that be a funny ha-ha too? What about Dick wearing a shirt with the Joker shooting Barbara, is that a funny ha-ha? The answer to those questions is no, it’s not funny.

The idea of that shirt shouldn’t have been pitched, drawn or included after the editor took a look at it.

The picture is a meme in our world, not in theirs. And the readers aren’t laughing.

 Back to the issue, Dick is left alone in his apartment to rest (seriously? You think the man that showed up to help Bruce in Gotham with a knee brace is going to rest?) but he can’t, he just found out that Mayor Zucco might be trouble for Bludhaven and might be working with not only Blockbuster but the Maroni family. He is not waiting one more second to have a chat with her.

Dick is obviously still concussed so of course he grabs a mask that has a camera that Oracle can view, and of course he enters yet another window without being careful.

Melinda and Audre were obviously waiting for him.

But here is where the real bullshit begins. Dick is unmasked.

I am so mad; it’s been four issues and Dick gets his ass in a trap and is unmasked by a villain? Are you kidding me right now?

But that’s not all, after Dick breaks free and accuses Melinda of being the daughter of the man that killed his parents, she pulls out a uno reverse card and says that her actual father is John Grayson, and that she is his sister.

How about no. Absolutely not. Go away.

Let’s re-visit Melinda’s appearances in the book so far so we can start theorizing about her real intentions or if she could be saying the truth.

Back in issue #78 where she is first introduced to us, after Melinda watches Blockbuster kill the mayor, she goes home and tells her Audre that she is now mayor because Blockbuster did what he does, so she knows that this guy is trash and a killer. But that’s not all, Audre asks her if she came across Dick Grayson to which Melinda answers “I am not ready for him yet”. Audre suggests she talks to him sooner rather than later because she might not have “another chance”, and the issue ends with Melinda agreeing with her while she is looking at a Flying Graysons poster with a red circle framing Dick’s face.

That whole thing? Shady. Melinda, obviously, wanted to talk to Dick Grayson, probably to tell him that she is his sister, but why is there a time limit, why is Audre telling Melinda that she can’t wait too long? Is it because her undercover work is ending soon? Is it because it’s not real at all and she needs to tell that lie in order to move forward with some sort of plan? I don’t know…

In issue #79 Melinda (and Audre) are out in the open with Maroni and they are talking about her becoming the next Mayor, Nightwing was watching from afar so this is his first contact with her. And it might be the first time that Melinda and her friend see Nightwing in action too. I cannot tell if she is aware that Nightwing/Dick Grayson are the same person here.

In #80 she doesn’t make an appearance.

But now in #81 she is taking her place as Mayor of Bludhaven, there Commissioner McClean takes her somewhere she didn’t expect to go (she is shown not knowing that Maroni and Blockbuster were in the next room over). Once in the room she refuses to take the cash from McClean but she will take the money as a transaction (for a second I thought she wouldn’t take the money but she did because she is very corrupt) and talks to Maroni once more. Before I talk about what happens with Blockbuster let me say this, she acts so distant to Maroni, she calls him Mr. Maroni every single time and she comes off as cold and feeling no type of way while talking with someone that is part of the family that actually raised her, and this is not because she is in a room full of other people, she did it too in #79. It seems weird that she acts that way with someone that took her under his wing since she was eight years old.

When she sits with Blockbuster he says “tell us your plan for my city” to which she says all of this: “My plan, Blockbuster, is to make us all much wealthier and to extend your power beyond the city. But to do so in a way that builds on the good work you’ve already done I have no interest in burning anything down.”

At the start of the post I said she gave me big Wilson Fisk vibes and that right there is why. She is shady, she has plans on top of plans, she calls Roland Desmond Blockbuster to his face but says that he has done good work for Bludhaven, which is weird because Blockbuster destroys Bludhaven a couple of times a year…

As I said before whatever she has planned does not include Nightwing, and here is where I kinda start theorizing a bit more, what if Blockbuster told Melinda Nightwing’s real name, he used to know who he was once upon a time…

Later in this issue when Nightwing is going to Melinda’s place Audre is already waiting for him right next to the window (with a sword), so, was he making an insane amount of noise or were they told to be ready for him?

Melinda traps him and takes his mask off, she barely seems surprised about Nightwing being Dick, she barely reacts when he jumps at her. She is in complete control of the situation and proves that by disarming Dick, as fast as he accuses her of being Zucco’s daughter she tells him that her real father is John Grayson.

She is in complete control. She has to be lying, she put a stop to whatever Dick had to say and do in seconds. This woman is trained and she is manipulative as fuck!

And if she isn’t lying then fuck DC and fuck Tom Taylor, this woman is either younger or the same age as Dick, John Grayson was not a cheater, the man is dead, has been dead for so long, don’t throw dirt on his name at this point. I refuse to believe this is true.

I honestly think that she is evil, and knows more than we are aware of, her first appearance was shady as fuck, let's suppose that she didn’t truly know that Dick was Nightwing, why on earth did she have a Flying Graysons poster with a red circle on top of Dick’s face? That doesn’t seem like something a sister would do! And why would this be information that is so important that she NEEDS to tell him in a certain amount of time?

It’s fucking insane. Tom Taylor, if she is actually Dick's sister then shame on you. Disgusting, what is with writers and cheating, what the hell is going on? Dick doesn’t need to think back to his parents and see a cheater in one of them. This better be Melinda being a cruel and vile human being that is trying to emotionally hurt Dick/Nightwing so she and Blockbuster can do whatever its they want to do.

That’s all I have to say.

[hamphobicbasil]

Could u elaborate about the dsmp story being bad? Not a rabid/brain dead fan, just genuinely curious and I enjoy reading people's rants lolol

oh you dont know the floodgates you just opened

a few things:

1. despite not liking the creators of the dsmp anymore, I don't actually hate most of them. [the ones that are particularly unsavory fall outside of this of course] so all that I'm saying i truly mean in a critical sense towards the story, its also just all purely my opinion as someone who enjoys fictional and fantasy stories and who like criticizing works to see what it does well and what it doesn't do well

2. for clarification I'm going to use the c![name] to indicate when I'm talking about the characters. Don't get me wrong, I think its annoying too but its the only way I'm gonna be able to write this thing without getting something across the wrong way yknow?

3. I stopped watching the streams after November 16th, [save for one Techno one but I closed out after a particularly bad story beat lol] and so all information coming afterward is all second hand from either me seeing people on twt talk abt it or people dming me. All i really know is up to dream's imprisonment and some stuff past that.

4. This is mostly aimed towards the "main" story, so stuff abt the badlands, eggpire, and whatnot are briefly mentioned.

anyways uh, i'll try to be brief but also include enough information to get why i feel the way i do on some stuff across

A. Performances Alright obviously these people are all streamers, so obviously they might not be the best actors, and hell no one is even asking that of them. However, when you're telling a story that's based on the audio with the visuals kinda coming to a second, it's gotta be pretty strong. I will say, some of the best actors in my opinion are Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo. I would include Ranboo but I never watched any of his story bits or story streams so I can't say much. Wilbur and Tommy are excellent in selling their character's emotions and feelings, when I watch the stream I don't feel like I'm watching an rp but an actual thought-out story yknow? And one of my favorite Tubbo examples was in the Hog Hunt video whenever Techno attacked him, he sounded genuinely afraid and I believed everything his character was feeling.

However, unfortunately, not everyone is gonna be that good. And I'm gonna say it; Dream and Techno have to be the worst out of the entire cast. I understand Techno's whole character is this monotoned badass, however, when really emotional moments hit I feel like he never lets that fall, and a lot of intense moments just ring hollow. And I'm sorry but Dream's attempts at being intimidating leave me laughing whenever I watch them. It feels like he watched that one scene from The Marriage with Adam Driver and Scarlett Johannson and said "Oh this is what good acting looks like! Just yelling." His whole "I don't give a FUCK about Spirit!" speech isn't as great as people keep making it out to be. And whenever he tries to act coy when being a villain it feels like a guy reading the script for the first time, a bit like he's trying too hard. I have more problems with his character but his portrayal certainly doesn't help.

Everyone else is fine, and I don't feel strongly either way about a lot of them.

B. The "Lore" Okay first off, I can't be the only one who thinks it's silly that people are calling the dsmp's story "lore" when it's not, it's the fucking story. Lore indicates backstory to either the world or the characters, which a lot of the streams don't really pertain to. This is a really petty section but god it's a weird pet peeve of mine.

Other than the misusage of "lore" vs "story", the actual lore and world-building of the world are so lackluster that new elements can be introduced whenever and it often feels cluttered or not well thought out at all. And here's the thing, I feel like if the writers sat down just for a few minutes to establish world rules and general history, a lot of this could be solved! but so much is made up on the spot that it starts to feel like they're grabbing at straws to keep people invested, trying to reach that next high and intense story beat without actually earning it.

C. The Egg / Eggpire This is a pretty minor note since I was only invested in the Egg storyline for a little bit, but god it's so underused that it's almost embarrassing. Bad has provided this super interesting antagonistic force that's infecting the SMP, can control people, and who one of our main character is immune to, and it's just never used or even talked about again? Now I understand if he wanted to keep it to a side storyline only, however, to introduce this borderline eldritch creature and force within the world and then never have it dealt with is so weird.

D. The Writing Oh boy this is. kinda a big one. Now I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty obvious I have a bias for the Wilbur writing over the current team [that consisting of Dream, Quackity, and Tommy mostly]. I don't this his writing is perfect by any means, the characters constantly bringing up traitors got obnoxious after a while, and writing Hamilton but in Minecraft really isn't the modern Shakespeare or anything. However, I think his exploration of characters and plot progression was a lot more thought out and well planned, like he actually had two brain cells behind the story yknow? The current team I think fails to be as emotional or even impactful, things happened too fast and my god was everything drowned in angst for so long.

Don't get me wrong, you gotta have your characters face hardships to make them reach their goal believable, but some of the shit they put the characters through just felt like too much. From c!Tubbo's constant comparison to c!Schlatt [who btw, fucking ordered his death and kept him from his friends in a nation he felt trapped in] and on a side note, i kinda really fucking dislike the "c!Schlatt dad!!" au's or the au's where c!Tubbo inherits some of Schlatt's features, it would be like c!Tommy getting a c!Dream mask after his exile, it's feels so weird yet people eat that shit up for some reason.

But god, did c!Tommy get the brunt of it all and in retrospect after his final death, it kinda feels really fucking gross. Now obviously, I'm not trusting any of these people to write decent mental health representation, but c!Tommy's PTSD and how it was explored was just degrading. [Specifically the scene in that one Techno stream where he saw the final control room from the first war, and had a flashback / panic attack where he started calling out for c!Dream. I understand this is an actual thing people with PTSD will experience, but it felt so fucking stereotypical it got on my nerves. I actually had to close out of the stream because it made me feel sick, fiction shouldn't leave you feeling that way.] And don't get me started on how they basically reused the formula from the previous arc. [Problem introduced -> Tensions rise as things start to fall apart -> Big confrontation -> Exile -> Return from Exile -> Blowing up L'Manberg, again.]

And speaking of characters-

E. Character Arcs, or the lack of them In my genuine opinion, some of these characters' arcs are so disappointing. Especially c!Tommy's. I'm not one to believe that he was a "selfish" character or anything, however, his goals were simply set on his discs and maybe c!Tubbo, he didn't have much outside that. However, L'Manberg gave him something to care about, he gave up his discs for it and he fought for it tooth and nail, I think it taught him to open up to others and trust more. It was a great character arc for him to have, seeing him still fight even after his first exile alongside c!Wilbur, to return safely to the nation that he and his found family had built.

But then his second exile happened, and I feel like all of that was undone.

c!Tommy's exile genuinely pisses me off for so many reasons. It's not that characters can't have their low points after reaching a major change or feeling like they've "completed" their arcs or anything, but it's more of the fact that it seems like he's never going to heal that feels like a spit in the face, especially to people who might have had setbacks like that before. Progress isn't linear, sometimes things happen and you get knocked back down, it can take a while to get back up, but I don't think c!Tommy's character is ever going to be allowed to get back up. From c!Dream, who pretty much was a constant abuser in his life, killing him then reviving him, and his still fractured relationship with c!Tubbo, which by the way I have a had time believing they would still be friends after all that happened, it feels like he can never get a win and it's generally kinda a shit way to treat your characters who have been abused. Of course, not all abused characters are going to get happy endings, I'm not trying to dictate that they all should, but c!Tommy deserves one and the fact that it's so obscure feels shitty.

Side note: we still don't have a canon reason to give a shit abt the discs. Like I'm sorry but without some sorta connection to the MacGuffin why should we give a shit about him getting them other than "he wants them lol". Like hell, I would even accept the classic "they were the last gifts from his parents" or something, but we still don't have a reason.

c!Tubbo also lacks a fulfilling arc as well, from someone who started out as a yes man, he has progressed a bit into having his own interests first, but besides that sometimes his character makes me so. depressed. He's easily one of the most pushed around and hated characters within the story, all for being a kid who didn't know what to do and he's in the same vein as c!Tommy; these kids can't get a break. Also, his anti-violence beliefs morphing into the "lets kill c!Techno lol!" bit was so out of place and without proper build-up it was like. what. And now he's building nukes?? god c!Tubbo makes me so sad because he's kicked around constantly and never given a chance to grow.

Another small note, I also don't really enjoy c!Techno at all. Besides the previously stated reasons of lack of emotions when they're really needed, I find his character to be weirdly pretentious. He talks as if he's constantly been betrayed and hurt but I personally, don't see it? Like, I think one of the main examples was the Pogtopia vs. Manberg war, yknow he wanted to end the government but they just reinstated it after they won = c!Techno upset. But this doesn't make sense to me because why did he think otherwise? The entire time c!Tommy had talked about taking back their nation and starting again, so the fact that c!Techno suddenly thought there would be a sudden change is, to put it bluntly, kinda fucking stupid. I don't want to say that he "plays the victim" or anything because that feels a bit harsh, but his character feels so far up his own ass that I can't enjoy him.

I have a major grip with c!Dream as well, but that's getting it's own fucking section.

F. L'Manberg This is a quick note before we get into the, forgive me for this, endgame, of this entire rant, since the next two sections are tied together. But god, L'Manberg makes me upset because it feels like they gave up on it.

Don't get me wrong, I understand that it is supposed to be c!Wilbur's "unfinished symphony", the thing that destroyed a once charismatic and widely loved man, his attempt at power that utterly ruined him. But the fact that it just got blown up in the end after everything and left to rot felt like such a waste of time. From the first war, to Pogtopia, to even c!Tommy's exile, it all felt fucking worthless in the end, and the story is actively closer to how it was when it started now more than ever. I wished it was actually allowed to exist and continue to be a peaceful place in what is a chaotic world, but no it was just snuffed out because why dedicate to this concept of finding others you can band together with and feel safe. fuck that noise apparently?

G. The Villains Now villain-wise, I'm only talking about c!Dream [during the first war], c!Schlatt, and c!Wilbur. And believe it or not, this is actually mostly positive.

Now I'm not gonna lie, c!Dream as a staring antagonist wasn't bad actually, he posed a genuine and threatening opposition to L'Manberg, even if we didn't know his real intentions or motivations as to why he was against it. He's lucky in this sense because he didn't have to be good, he had to be passable. If anything, he felt more like an anti-hero than a tyrant or traditional villain, and my god do I wish he kept this theme going forward.

Now quick disclaimer, I don't like JSchlatt as much as the next guy, he's an adult man who should know better than to joke about some sensitive topics and act the way that he does. But the one thing I'll ever give him is that damn, was he a good actor for his character.

Now here's the thing, c!Schlatt wasn't particularly deep at all. He had no real motivations behind his exile of c!Wilbur and c!Tommy other than getting competition out of the way, had no reason to act the way that he did and yknow? that's fine. The reason why he worked was from his performance alone, he was actually intimidating. When he came onto the stream and was doing his typical bad guy stuff, it was actually intense to see what he would do. Whenever he would almost catch c!Tommy back in Manberg, whenever he would begin to pressure c!Tubbo, it put you on the edge of your seat and it felt like everything would change at the drop of a pen. He's a villain to be a villain, and this works out because he's just charismatic and well put together enough to make it interesting, even without the backstory or motives.

c!Wilbur however, is much more tragic, and the best villain of the story. He essentially was the "mentor turned evil" trope and it felt terrible watching him descend into madness, unable to trust barely anyone except for c!Techno and c!Tommy. Hell, in the end I think he still cared about them both, despite losing everything. Sure, he blew up L'Manberg, but there was still a smidge of the old c!Wilbur in there made everything he did feel melancholic. His death at the hands of his father after achieving his final wish was chilling, and something I still think about.

Until yknow, Ghostbur came back way too soon to let people feel his loss as a character within that world. And then he got revived, pretty much-undoing everything that moment meant for his character lol.

And then there's the worst one:

H. Dream. I'm going to be completely honest, c!Dream is one of the main reasons why I dislike the current dsmp stuff so much. Outside of his actions as a person, the way Dream decided to write his character as this overpowered madman of the dsmp really just. destroyed any intrigue that he could've had. Perhaps this is from my growing dislike towards him, manifesting into a bias towards his character, but god I cannot fathom why people try to insist he's interesting when he has as much depth as a fucking puddle.

And here's the thing, I'm not even entirely against c!Dream being a villain, hell I think he would've been great as an anti-hero if anything. Make him sympathetic but not through c!George to get your precious "DNF" points or anything, but show him actually caring about the people within the dsmp, including c!Tommy and c!Tubbo. This would make his rival status with them just a bit more complicated, sure they're enemies, however, he doesn't want to hurt or kill them, and there's still a level of friendship there that keeps them bonded when things get super bad. This could've been super interesting to see, the first villain of the story receiving a sorta redemption arc then descending into madness as he started to fixate on being a god. This is all how I feel personally, but god do I feel like it would've been better than his current character, and hell would've worked with how he was during the Pogtopia arc, before the war that is. I'm not trying to tell Dream how to write his own character, but there are so many other ways he could've done the madman seeking to become god rather then. whatever the hell we got.

Because instead, we got this power-mad asshole who does things... because he can? And that's one of my major issues: he tries to surround his character in mystery to make him "intriguing" but it's kinda like c!Techno, it comes off as pretentious. Not only that, but you cannot keep waving around this mystery of a backstory without ever actually revealing it. I know the story isn't over, but c!Dream is effectively at his lowest point, now would be the time to reveal his backstory. But no just keep it in the dark and keep everyone guessing, that's totally fun and not at all tiring and annoying. (sarcasm, if anyone needs it)

And back to his performance, he doesn't sell this aloof, cynical and strategic warrior that has perfected the blade or some shit, he comes off as some angry guy yelling on reddit. which i don't need to tell you, isn't intimidating. It feels like he's trying to have c!Schlatt's intimidation combined with c!Wilbur's depth, but instead he's like a little brother who's trying to hard to mimic his older brother and is kinda embarrassing himself.

but other then that i dont feel too strongly abt the dsmp lol

but seriously, these are the main complaints I have abt the story tbh, I could probably talk about more but I wont because man. this is probably gonna get me in trouble if any of the hyper-dsmp fans actually read it.

[c-is-for-circinate]

So as close as I am to fully escaping Hades for the first time, I figure I might take this opportunity to write down a couple of things I'm scared of from this ending. The story is so good so far! But I have seen good stories before! And there are patterns, right, patterns it's so easy for even good stories to fall into, so yeah, I have fears, and they mostly come down to Hades himself.

(Yep, this one got long again! People seem to be enjoying my game-reaction rambles, so, for your enjoyment under the cut: themes of separation and reunion, predictions for what Zagreus is the god of, and a whole lot of discussion of familial abuse dynamics, how they're depicted in fiction, and the work it takes to change them in real life. Stay warned! Stay safe!)

(ALSO, I still haven't made it past the first couple of chambers in the Temple of Styx, so no spoilers in the reblogs/comments please! Yes, even though the whole post is me going on about predictions and hopes and concerns about the path the story might take. I WILL GET THERE SOON.)

It has been really interesting watching some of the stuff the game is doing with themes of parting and reunion, and how that corresponds to life and death. So many of our social links are about reuniting estranged loved ones: Chaos and Nyx, Eurydice and Orpheus, Patroclus and Achilles. Hades is estranged from Olympus, Persephone left. And every time we leave, or try to leave, it is both an attempt at a parting (and Meg and Than are so hurt by that goodbye, or lack thereof) and an attempt at a reunion with our mother. Every time we die it's a reunion, every time we die it's fun, it's great, we get to go back home and check in with all of our friends and be impressed by whoever made Employee Of The [Timeperiod] and sell fish to the cook and put down yet more rugs. (My Zagreus has something of a rug addiction. What can you do.)

It's at the point where I feel pretty secure in stating that Zagreus is going to discover eventually that he is both life/death/rebirth god, and god of partings and reunions. Both halves of both of those things. People leave each other when they die and re-find their loved ones in death; you go away from one group of people to come back to another; you have to depart to return, and I really think that's where we're going to end up with Zagreus. He's going to reunite his various friends with their loved ones, he's probably going to restore communications between Hades and Olympus and even Persephone, he's going to reunite with his mom, and he's going to come back to the Underworld before he leaves to see everyone up top all over again. And of course the vehicle for all of this coming and going is death, because death is the ultimate departure and reuniter. (This is absolutely a religious concept containing a whole bunch of "oh hey our culture has a lot of Christian influence, doesn't it", Greek trappings aside, but that's fine, it's a game made in 2018 not 300 BC, these things happen. They keep calling the Underworld 'hell' and 'infernal'. It's all good.) Of course he's a cthonic god. Of course he bleeds, because you have to bleed in order to die, and Zagreus has to die again and again and again. That's his whole thing.

Thing is, though, looking at those themes, I am also continually aware of the fact that some partings are for a really good reason. Some partings should not end in reunion.

Yes, of course this is about Hades the abusive dad. I have been talking about Hades the abusive dad basically non-stop since I started playing this game, where did you think this post was going.

There are a few things I'm nervous about, separate but related, and at the core it all comes down to, I'm not okay with it if we learn why Hades got to be this way, and Zagreus forgives him as we-the-audience are meant to do, and Hades promises to do better, and nothing concrete about the situation is forced to change. Actual, meaningful, practical, logistical, non-hypothetical non-metaphorical change, not just for Zagreus but for Hades himself.

Because I know how this story tends to go, in fiction. Fictional abusive parents (especially in fantasy/sci-fi stories) tend to come in two types: 'coerced their offspring into actual murder with a side of physical abuse and optional unethical lab experimentation', or 'this was here to create character conflict, we didn't mean for it to read as actually abusive, this parent just has flaws to make them a good character, we swear!' Hades isn't the first type--we have never once seen Hades strike his son, or anybody, or even come out from behind his desk--which means that the fear is, always, always, in every piece of fiction, that he's the second. That the writers are going to decide that the right response to his abuses is remorse, forgiveness, and one really good conversation. That they don't realize it's abuse in the first place.

And, like. They have to know, right? They have to. They can't have done this by accident. (Sometimes, writers get so close by accident.) They can't have done so well at drawing out this situation simply by going, 'well, people are meant to fear this god, so they'd probably react like this, and I guess based on what I've seen in other stories or vague acquaintances they'd then do this,' and never put the name on the situation. Every single time we leave to the tune of a Hades word-flash, he's being dismissive, insulting, and sometimes downright cruel. He is cruel. They have to know!!!

But oh boy have I been consuming media for a lot of years, and oh boy have I run into a lot of writers who don't know.

Reconciliation is such a loaded word, but stories about dysfunctional families really do love it. Stories based around themes of reunion are primed for it. And of course, it's nice, it ties a happy ending off with a sweet little bow, everyone gets to be with the people they love and the family is safe and nobody gets hurt, but so rarely have I seen stories that show the actual work required to rebuild those relationships in a realistic or meaningful way. So rarely do stories trying to build that happy ending actually let the victim of abuse set and maintain boundaries. The character never gets to actually just cut the damn ties to the thing that hurt them. The character so rarely even gets to be safe.

And it's so hard in this game specifically, because "THERE IS NO ESCAPE", because every single thing about this game says that the story's not over when Zagreus gets to the surface, that no matter what he's going to have to come back. It's so hard, because this is a game about reunions. I am not going to get an ending where the abused kid trying to flee his toxic home and abusive dad actually gets to leave and stay gone, not in this one. And that hurts (I have watched and supported and done my best to help multiple real-life friends get the fuck out of homes like that, and stay gone, I have seen how hard it is, how complicated, how awful, and there are never stories for that), but I can live with it, if I get an ending where Zagreus is at least safe. Where things change. Where they really change.

Which is why I need actual, concrete, material changes in the logistics and power structure of the Underworld for this ending to be okay. Understanding why Hades is Like That doesn't cut it. Remorse doesn't cut it! Because look, even if Hades wants to do better, even if he admits he's at fault and tries to be better, he is still set up in a position as an all-powerful tyrant, and trying to become a better person is hard. There is nobody around who can keep him in check when he starts backsliding, which he will. Even if he doesn't want to, he will.

Because people are people, and it's really difficult to break patterns! Especially if everything around them stays the same. Hades is going to slip at some point, be cruel, be callous, be tyrannical, no matter how much of an effort he's making. Not to mention, it is STRESSFUL to face your own crimes and improve, it sucks, it feels bad. And what do habitual abusers do when they feel bad? What's the only coping mechanism Hades appears to have established for dealing with his own shit? That's right, it's inflicting suffering on everyone else around him. (This is why it doesn't really matter what circumstances drove Hades to act this way, why it can't matter--I believe that he is suffering, but he copes with that suffering by inflicting additional suffering on everyone around him, everyone who relies on him, and that's still true no matter what made him feel bad to begin with.) So then we just get a great old guilt-->lashing out-->more guilt-->more lashing out merry-go-round of abuse even as Hades is trying to change. That's how these things work. And yes, change is possible, improvement is absolutely possible, but the environment needs to change first. The system that enables and rewards Hades for acting this way can't stay in place. Things need to actually change, with people who are around to support Hades in his growth and also check his power, people who have power of their own to stop him. And however it happens, for this story with this protagonist with these goals to feel like a happy ending, Zagreus needs to be safe.

It would be okay, though a little disappointing, if those changes were mostly based in magic and fate and, idk, divine mind-control. (This story has been so grounded in actual human dynamics that a fantastical solution to a realistic problem would feel like a letdown, but if it actually solved the problem I'd be okay with it, more or less.) It would be okay, though a little disappointing, if the responsibility for bringing Hades to heel fell upon Zagreus and Persephone, if the two family members who he hurt badly enough that they felt the need to run away from him entirely now had to shoulder the burden of helping him fix himself. (There are definitely ways to write that dynamic better and ways to write it worse, and I think I trust these writers to land on the 'better' side of the scale, but I still don't love the implications.) I think I'd be pretty into it if Hades took a vacation off to Olympus to Work Out His Shit with his own family, while a coalition of Meg, Nyx, Thanatos, Zagreus, and Queen Persephone took over running the Underworld in his absence. I think we might end up getting some combination of those things. I'm hopeful. I think these writers might know what they've written. I think they might have a sense for what it'll take to fix.

But yeah, I'm nervous. (Nervous enough that I might switch to God Mode just to get through, combat has started getting really tedious instead of fun, I want to know what happens next, and this is a game and there is no shame in making it more fun for myself by making the boring parts a little quicker and easier.) I've seen so many stories go wrong. This one has done so much to earn my trust. We'll see if it breaks.

[aellynera]

The Best Years of Your Life (Reeves x Reader)

THE BEST YEARS OF YOUR LIFE

(hey hey, this is my other submission for @wasicskosgirl and her 800 follower celebration! and yes, you read that right - it’s REEVES. i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you enjoy reading it! CONGRATS Amanda!!)

Word Count: um like 6200ish oops it was supposed to be a blurb

Summary: They say the best years of your life happen in high school, but what do they know?

Warnings: Some language. Female reader implied but no pronouns/description. Teenage angst. Adult wistfulness. Mostly fluffy tho. No promises about proofreading. Frog murder. 

with the prompt - “Like what you see?”

It all started back in high school. Sometimes you wonder how often people say that, and if it’s really true or they’re just falsely remembering how things happened because high school is supposed to be the best four years of your life.

But in this case, it’s true. Because high school is when you met Reeves.

Sophomore Year. High School. A Friday. 

It was the third day of sophomore year, fourth period on a Friday morning, your last before the lunch break. Biology class was maybe the one you were least looking forward to, not exclusively because of the required frog dissection, but pretty damn close. Gross. And you never understood why the school year didn’t just start on a Monday, but you were new here in San Diego. Maybe they just did things differently.

It was bad enough being the new kid. It was worse when you walked into class halfway through the lecture, even if it wasn’t your fault. The timing of the move was weird, and you’d spent most of the first two days, and this morning, doing placement tests and talking to your counselor. 

And now you were being called out in front of the entire class.

“Ah, there you are,” your teacher announced as you walked in the door. “Everyone, this is our new student, please make them feel welcome. You can sit over there.”

Your eyes followed as she motioned to the empty seat at the lab table in the back of the room. Suddenly you weren’t sure if your face felt hot because of embarrassment or because of the boy in the other chair.

Dark, curly hair cut close on the sides but longer on the top. Deep brown eyes framed by long, long lashes. Full, plush lips curling up into his cheek on one side. A nose that, okay, maybe might be a bit oversized but for some reason worked on his handsome face and--

Well, shit. Definitely not the embarrassment.

You shuffled your way to your seat and slid into it with your head down. A few students watched you curiously but soon turned their attention back to the lesson. You tried your best to focus on what was going on, to not look to your left at the distraction next to you.

You weren’t very successful.

By now you thought you’d sneaked enough covert glances to know that we was wearing a leather jacket, had a small diamond stud earring in his left ear, a bunch of silver-studded brown suede wrap bracelets around both wrists, a silver ring on his right index finger, and oddly precise handwriting as he took notes. In between relevant facts the teacher was sharing, he was doodling tiny music notes in the margins of his notebook.

And he totally caught you looking.

“Like what you see?” he leaned over and whispered.

Your mouth felt drier than the Sahara but also somehow so moist you were afraid you might have actually drooled on yourself. You should have opened your mouth to respond but your brain refused to make the connection. Probably for the best.

At least, at first. When it finally caught up to you, the only response your brain could provide was, “Maybe?”

Now would be the perfect time for the floor to swallow you whole.

He just winked at you and his attention went back to the doodles around his notes.

You shifted your gaze back to your own notebook, but you don’t know if anything else of importance was said, and don’t remember writing anything down. The bell ringing sharply pulled you back to reality and you hastily shoved your books in your backpack, ready to escape.

Just as you were about to leave, a voice called out. “Hey, sorry about earlier. If I freaked you out or anything.”

You looked up. He was smiling at you, a little shyly. You bit your lip, your brain and mouth still refusing to connect.

He stuck his hand out. “I’m Reeves. You’re new here?”

“Um…” you smacked yourself internally. This was ridiculous, you weren’t really shy, you knew how to have a conversation, he was just introducing himself. You were going to have a serious conversation with your brain later about proper communication techniques.

It felt like hours had passed, but you finally pulled yourself together enough to respond. “Yeah. My- my dad got transferred for work, we moved here like a week ago. He literally dragged the family across the country. I’m originally from New York City.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, cool! I always wanted to go to New York City!”

You found yourself smiling back.

“Do you...wanna sit with me at lunch?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Maybe you could tell me a little about the city? And...about you, since we’re gonna have to commit heinous acts of violence on an amphibian together? I’d like to know who’s wielding a scalpel next to me.”

The giggle that escaped your throat could not be contained. This boy - Reeves - was adorable. “Oh. Okay, yeah. I’d really like that.”

The Present.

Poor Lenny the Frog never stood a chance. Then again, neither did you.

To be fair, Lenny was already dead when you and Reeves got your hands on him. Well, when you got your hands on him, because for the full first half of that specific class period, Reeves refused to touch him and nearly turned as green as Lenny once was. That’s when he insisted on naming your cadaver, because somehow giving it a name made it easier to deal with.

You were pretty sure Reeves was nuts.

By the middle of sophomore year, you were dead too, but not for the same reasons.

By the middle of sophomore year, you weren’t sure how you were still alive, because every time he looked over at you and gave you a sly smile during class, gave you that look, you felt your heart go taut and you forgot how to breathe and certainly, rightfully, should have been dead.

Your friend Alexis stuck her head into your bathroom. “Hey, we’re just waiting on Vanessa, and then we’re good to go. Drinks first? The show doesn’t start until 8 so we have time.”

You glanced up from your makeup and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Alexis grinned. “Aaaaaah I’m so glad you agreed to go out tonight! It’s gonna be so much fun!”

“Oh, it’s gonna be something,” you muttered, going back to your eyeliner.

Alexis had been the first one to see the concert announcement about a week ago. A benefit show at one of the clubs down in Greenwich Village, some punk revival thing (for charity) with a bunch of different singers and musicians. Not normally your scene, but Alexis scanned through the names and suddenly remembered you’d known Reeves in high school. You said yes, he was in your class, and you’d been lab partners once. Vanessa squealed in excitement and Alexis announced you were going to the show. There was never any actual agreement.

Because of course Reeves was going to be there. And of course, you had to be too.

Junior Year. The Parking Lot. A Tuesday.

“I’m just saying, it was a ridiculous foul, and it should never have been called,” Reeves groused as you walked out of the gym.

“We also should have made like twenty more of our own foul shots,” you pointed out.

The Lake Howell Silverhawks had fallen to their arch-rivals in a somewhat glorious fashion. You didn’t even like basketball that much. But that didn’t really matter. The games were just an excuse to go out for burgers before and hang out with your friends during.

It was definitely an excuse to hang out with Reeves.

Junior year, you were both disappointed to find you didn’t have any classes together, but you still almost always ate lunch together. He’d come over to your house to study during the week and sometimes just to chill out on the weekends. Over the past year, he’d shown you all around the city and taken you to his favorite places. You told him all about New York, how you missed it and one day you’d go back, and all the famous sites and which ones were tourist traps that he was only allowed to visit the very first time and then never again.

You spent so much time together, even your mother liked to tease you about why he wasn’t your boyfriend.

It took a while for you to find the words to tell her it was because he was someone else’s.

As much as you liked to pretend she didn’t change anything, Randie Rustenberg changed everything. It was gradual, like a creeping vine of ivy, and she slowly took him over. There was no malice; it was just one of those things that happened. Reeves spent less time with you, his best friend, and more time with Randie, his girlfriend.

The girlfriend you desperately wished was you, because ever since that first biology class you’d had the biggest, stupidest crush on him.

Eventually you had a boyfriend of your own. Theo was a nice guy, he really was. Polite, friendly, had a good sense of humor, liked your family. And your family loved him. Your mother was so happy that you had a boyfriend, she seemed to forget to ask how Reeves was and if you’d seen him lately.

Of course you saw him. You saw him every day, in the cafeteria, at his locker, passing by in the halls. Sometimes you could find him playing the grand piano on the stage in the empty auditorium. Yes, if your mother bothered to ask, you saw Reeves all the time. Now it was just always with her.

Except this week. It was a break of sorts, no classes, just some sports and other school activities. Randie was on some trip with her parents for some kind of church function, and Theo was fishing with his dad on some lake up north. He’d told you where, but you honestly couldn’t be bothered to recall. So when a bunch of your friends and a bunch of his friends all said everyone was going to the basketball game, there was no debate.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

Sometime during the game, your friends wandered off to the snack bar and never ventured back. His friends started a game of hacky-sack under the bleachers. And you found yourself pretending to understand all the finer points about hoops strategy, cheering and yelling along with Reeves and having a great time, just like you used to.

“Where’d you park?” he asked as you left the gym and headed out into the sea of cars. You vaguely pointed in the direction of yours and he grinned. “Oh, good, I’m that way too. Come on, I’ll walk you.”

The faint glow emitted by the lampposts in the parking lot bounced off his curls and his eyes, when you could catch a glimpse, were bright beneath them.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

The walk wasn’t very far, but it felt like it was over in a second. You hadn’t said anything on the way, just soaked in the comfort of walking next to him as he kept commenting on the game.

He was waving his hands everywhere, looking at them as he talked as if his hand motions would make things make any more sense to you, in the middle of saying something about your center and how they needed to get better about blocking out when you finally spoke.

“Oh, shit.”

Reeves looked up at you. “What, you don’t agree?”

You dropped your bag on the ground and rolled your eyes. “No, my car is locked and I left my keys inside.” You pointed to the passenger seat. Your keys stared back at you derisively.

You both stared back at them for a moment, then he grinned. “Hang on, I got you.” He held up one finger and trotted off to his car, coming back a minute later with something in his hand. “This should take care of it.”

You took a step back. “Reeves? Um. Okay, why do you have a coat hanger in your car.”

He rolled his eyes back at you. “For emergencies, duh.” He quickly twisted the hanger into a hook shape and went to your passenger side window.

“And why do you know how to break into a car with said coat hanger?”

“Like I told you,” his tongue poked out between his teeth as he worked, “for emergencies. You think I haven’t locked my own keys in my car once or six times?”

“Did Randie teach you how to do this?” The words were out of your mouth before you could think. She probably had. She might have been churchy when required, but she was also responsible for about half of Reeves’s stints in detention (the other half just being him making the wrong joke at the wrong time and pissing a teacher off.)

Thank god he didn’t seem to hear you as he kept working at the lock. Finally you heard a *click* and he pumped a fist into the air with a little “yessss!”

And then you’re not really sure what happened. You bent down to pick up your bag and then you were standing up and Reeves’s face was literally about three inches away from yours and for the eight thousandth time since you’d know him, you forgot how to breathe.

Neither of you said anything for what felt like days. You just stared at each other under the dim halo of the parking lot lights.

“Here you go.” He took your hand and dropped your keys into it.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Like what you see?” the corners of his mouth quirked up, just the slightest little bit.

“...Maybe.”

And the staring recommenced. Were you two getting closer? Physically closer, you meant, of course you were close, you’d always been close. Well, at one time you were really close but then Randie Restenberg happened and it wasn’t fair that she got to know what those lips felt like and did he always smell this good or--

“Yo, Reeves!” A pickup truck full of guys skidded to a stop behind your car and one of his friends - Jake? Jack? you barely remembered your own name right now - stuck his head out the window. “Fight to the death ping pong tourney at Matt’s house! You in?”

Reeves bit his lip and closed his eyes for a second before he pulled back with a soft “I’m sorry” before turning to his friends. “Um, yeah, sure. Sounds brutal. I’ll meet you there.” 

The pickup sped off, tires screeching out of the parking lot. Reeves turned back to you, but you’d already gotten into your now unlocked car and started the engine.

You rolled down the window a fraction and gave him a weak smile. “Hey, um. Thanks for saving my butt. Now go kick theirs at ping pong, yeah?” Your face felt so hot, and for once you were grateful for the dim lights in the lot.

“You could, um, come along if- if you want.”

“Nah, I’m...I’m tired, I’m just gonna...um, head home. But I’ll see you tomorrow maybe?”

Reeves looked like he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stepped onto the curb in front of your car, smiled, and raised his hand in a little wave as he watched you drive off.

The Present.

A series of shrieks and the slamming of the door told you Vanessa had finally arrived. It sounded like they were jumping up and down on the tile just inside your front door, which was ridiculous since you’d all just seen each other the day before. But typical.

You smoothed a pinkie under your eye, checked your makeup one final time, and went into the living room.

“Oh, you look hot,” Vanessa gushed. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and plopped down on your couch. “Who are you trying to impress tonight?”

“Reeves, of course,” Alexis laughed, leaning on the kitchen counter. She sorted anything she might need from her big purse into a little evening bag as she talked. “You know we go to all his shows. And you know they went to high school together.”

You snorted. “That was a long time ago. I’m not even sure he’d remember me.”

Vanessa waggled her eyebrows. “You’re probably right, No offense, honey, but no one was that hot back in high school.”

He was, your brain supplied. Very helpful. You smiled wanly.

Vanessa continued. “But you were friends, right? You’ve never really talked about it. God, it must be so cool now to think that you were friends with Reeves back when he was an awkward high school teenager.”

“Reeves was never awkward,” you laugh. “It was kind of unfair.”

“But you totally had a crush on him,” Alexis offered.

Had? What do you mean, had? Oh my god, shut up, brain.

A pillow flew in your direction and you ducked as Vanessa giggled and Alexis rolled her eyes. “Come on, tell us something about him,” Vanessa goaded. “Wait. Was he, like, your prom date? That’s your secret! You totally went to prom with Reeves and you never told us!”

Senior Year. Prom. A Saturday.

The night was not supposed to go this way.

It was supposed to be limousines and corsages and dinner with dates and friends. It was supposed to be endless pictures while your mother told you how gorgeous you looked and how handsome he was and your father gave a thinly-veiled shovel talk about how he knew what happens on prom night and what would really happen if that actually happened. It was supposed to be punch and cookies and balloons. It was supposed to be dancing closer than the chaperones were comfortable with and kissing with tongue when they weren’t looking.

It was supposed to be the best night of your life. It was supposed to be fun.

Nowhere in your weeks of dreaming of this night did it involve sitting on a bench in the girls’ locker room, knees pulled up to your chest, while the party carried on in the gym just beyond.

It definitely didn’t involve crying.

The bass beats of the deejay and the harmony of laughter temporarily got louder as the locker room door opened, and then faded back into a muted thumping as the door closed again a second later. You could hear footsteps headed in your direction but before you could unfold yourself and wipe your tears away, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, there you are!”

Being able to find the words to describe how he looked in his tux, his curls slightly tamed by some gel, the blue rose (of course it would be an off color, why would he pick something standard?) pinned to his lapel, his lopsided grin… Finding the words was nearly impossible.

Of course he would show up now. Because your night wasn’t already crappy enough and half the reason you were sitting there weeping instead of out there dancing was standing right in front of you.

You realized that wasn’t fair. It was probably more like, twenty-five percent of the reason, and it wasn’t his fault. But that didn’t make it any better.

“Why are you in the girls’ locker room, Reeves?” you sniffled.

He furrowed his eyebrows and his nose scrunched up in concern as he took in your mascara-streaked cheeks and puffy red eyes. “One of your friends said you came in here like half an hour ago and nobody’s seen you since. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly not.” He sat down next to you. “Wanna talk about it?”

A deep, shaky sign left your chest. You didn’t really want to talk about how, earlier in the evening, you’d excused yourself to use the restroom and come back to the gym to find Theo dancing with...you didn’t remember her name, nor did you care. You didn’t mind that he was dancing with another girl, in theory, but it was another matter entirely when his hands were on her ass and she was sucking a deep purple mark into his neck. And he was laughing. 

A short, vicious argument ensued in the coat room after you’d cut in and dragged him off by the elbow. And it turned out that he’d been seeing whats-her-name for months, somehow, behind your back while pretending that everything was perfect with you. When he was supposedly visiting his grandparents? He was with her. When he had to work an extra shift? He was with her. When he got off the phone with you, saying he needed to get to bed early? He was calling her.

Prom wasn’t supposed to involve a very public break-up.

And things didn’t get any better when, deciding you needed something to drink, you went back into the gym and immediately saw Reeves and Randie, dancing cheek to cheek, arms snugly wrapped around each other as a soft, romantic song wafted through the air. Because of course he was with her. She was his girlfriend and Reeves wasn’t a detestable cheating asshole.

There was always another her.

You couldn’t handle it.

So you took off to somewhere almost guaranteed to be empty. You figured the locker room wasn’t really the kind of place kids would want to make out, and you were right. It was blessedly empty. Until now.

But you couldn’t tell him the second part, so you just went with the first. His eyes got wide as you blubbered through the sordid details of Theo being a complete and utter twat. Another quivery sob half-burst from you and Reeves got up. He grabbed a few paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to you as he sat back down.

“Thanks,” you hiccuped.

“I never liked him,” Reeves announced.

You found yourself choking on a huff of air. “What? Yes you did! Everybody loved him. That’s what makes it extra shitty.”

“Did you?”

“What?”

Reeves cocked his head and looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. “Did you love him?”

Your mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. Why did you always seem to forget how to make words when Reeves asked you questions?

“What?”

He shrugged. “Everyone else loved him. Did you?”

You used every last ounce of willpower you had to not jump up on that bench and shout that of course you didn’t love Theo, you idiot, because I love you.

That would not make this night any easier.

The next thing you knew, Reeves put an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest, hugging you soundly. He rested his cheek on the top of your head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re better off without him.”

You dabbed at your eyes. Nope, still couldn’t make words.

Minutes, hours, days. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, pressed to him and feeling him breathe beneath you. You no longer had any idea how long it had even been since everything crashed around you and he’d come to try and help you pick up the pieces. You just listened to his heartbeat, strong and steady, as the muffled music and joyful shouts of classmates went on past the closed door.

Finally he spoke again. “Hey, you wanna get one of those complimentary pictures?”

“What?” Oh, great. You were finally able to answer his question but you could still only come up with that one word? Stupid brain.

“Well, I…” he sat up straight and, after the briefest look into your eyes, he glanced away. Was he blushing? You weren’t sure. “I always kind of...I kind of thought we’d have a prom picture together. I mean, I just figured, y’know, we’d go with a bunch of friends, but I always hoped I’d get a picture with my best friend.”

The sniffles were back in an instant. Damn him. “Reeves, I...you really want to get a picture now? I look horrible, I can’t get a picture taken like this!”

He took the paper towel from your hand and gently dabbed at your cheeks. “You couldn’t look horrible if you tried. Come on, it’ll be fun. And just think how excited your mom will be when she gets a copy of it.”

Despite your best efforts, you had to laugh. “Okay.”

You headed to the photo area after you washed your face, Reeves helped you wipe off the stray streaks of mascara, and you reapplied just a bit of makeup to make yourself feel better. You were never sure what Reeves said to the photographer before the shots, but he seemed quite happy to take multiples. Reeves stayed pressed against your back with his arms down around your waist, hands clasped together in front of you, for each and every one.

At some point between the second and third shot, he leaned just a little closer into you and you suddenly felt his breath against your ear. “Like what you see?”

For maybe the first time that entire night, your face broke into a genuine smile. “Maybe.”

For a few minutes, your night was absolutely perfect.

The Present.

It was the greatest date that never was.

“No, Reeves was not my prom date,” you told your friends with a shake of your head.

You left out most of the other details, partly because you didn’t want to answer eight hundred questions from Vanessa and partly because, well, you just wanted those moments for yourself.

After the pictures, Reeves had asked if you would like to dance. Until then you didn’t realize it was possible for eyebrows to shoot that far up a person’s forehead, but yours were up for the challenge. You’d mumbled something about if Randie would mind, because you were sure she absolutely would, but he brushed it off. Randie had gone off with her friends when he came to find you, and he really wanted to dance with you, just one dance with his frog murder accomplice. And he said that with a straight face and a twinkle in his eye and there was no way you could refuse.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

One dance turned into two, and then several, until the girlfriend in question finally did show back up and Reeves was pulled away, leaving you with a soft smile and a mouthed “sorry”.

Definitely the greatest never-date.

After prom, life returned to what vaguely resembled normal. Your love life sucked and Reeves still had a girlfriend that wasn’t you, and you didn’t see him much. To be fair, the end of senior year and graduation did creep up pretty fast so there wasn’t a lot of time anyway. Graduation was there before you knew it; he cheered for you and you cheered for him as you each walked across the stage. You made brief appearances at each others’ graduation parties and talked a bit and then, once again before you knew what happened next, it was time to leave for college.

You went back to New York. Reeves stayed on the west coast.

And over the years, like so many other people before you and after you, you just fell out of touch.

“And anyway,” you asserted, “we were just kind of friends. Yeah, like I told Alexis before, we were lab partners sophomore year, and we hung out sometimes, but that was it. Really.”

Alexis snorted and Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “Mmmhmm.”

You threw the pillow back at her. “Mmmhmm.”

“All right, you two,” Alexis chided. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Somehow, you managed to get down to Greenwich Village without further interrogation and minimal shenanigans.

The Present. One Hour Later. Another Saturday Night.

The bar inside the club was pretty packed. Granted, it was a Saturday night down in The Village, so it wasn’t too uncommon, but you were honestly surprised that this many people showed up for a punk retrospective.

There were a few other relatively big-name acts you recognized on the bill, and a fair number of people were wearing t-shirts with Reeves’s most recent album cover on the front. There were even a few that had shirts with his face on it, which was frankly kind of weird.

“Looks like you’re not his only number one fan,” Vanessa smirked.

“I just enjoy his music,” you said off-handedly as you tried to flag down a bartender. “But anyway, tonight isn’t even about him. We’re just here to support charity, right?”

Alexis pretended to agree with you. “Right.”

You glared at both of them before turning your attention back to the bar. Yes, you came to every one of his shows in the area. When you had time. When you could take the night off. When you could rearrange your schedule and switch shifts at the last minute and promise favors to be able to attend them. When you maybe once or twice just called out sick because nothing else worked. So what.

They were really starting to get on your nerves. 

The bartender finally noticed you and took your order, and you looked around the club again while you waited.

Lots of people, ranging from just-allowed-to-buy-booze to mid-sixties businessmen. A few folks that looked to currently be in their golden years but were clearly once punks in their prime. Many people in black and chains and mohawks and neon hair and piercings, to the point where you honestly couldn’t tell who was a performer and who was a patron.

The one person you were looking for was the one that you couldn’t pick out of the crowd.

“He’s gotta be here somewhere!” Vanessa’s voice shouted from somewhere behind your shoulder.

“Vanessa, you’re getting a little weird about this,” you called back as you grabbed your drink and turned around.

“Like what you see?”

Eyes wide and mouth slightly hanging open, you almost dropped your full glass.

Vaguely, nearby, you heard the sound of glass shattering and shot a glance to your left. Alexis really had dropped her drink, and Vanessa was clutching onto her arm for dear life. She was holding her glass at a slightly odd angle and the contents were dripping onto one of her shoes.

The crowd silently pulsed backwards as one, clearing out around the four of you for a respectable distance. Several people watched curiously; surprisingly, they just stood back and stared instead of trying to get involved.

Reason Number One why you really couldn’t blame them: Reeves stood there, right in front of you. Literally less than two feet away, looking right at you. His mouth pulled up into his familiar lopsided grin, his hair still dark but shot through with strands of silver, curly on the top and shorter on the sides. His nose with the little dent, perfect on his face under those dark, luminous brown eyes and...holy shit, was he wearing eyeliner? He was wearing eyeliner.

Reason Number Two why you really couldn’t blame them: Leather pants. Under his old, faded t-shirt and black leather jacket (you were used to seeing him in brown, but you had to admit the black looked good) he was wearing leather pants.

Reason Number Three why you really couldn’t blame them: Quite simply, Reeves was standing in the middle of a bar in New York City and he was talking to you.

You blinked once, then twice. You may have blinked more times but all you could think about was the fact that, after all these years, your brain still couldn’t make words when Reeves asked you a question.

That same old question.

Suddenly you were grinning back, completely ignoring your friends and their dumbfounded squawking and sputtering next to you. You were smiling because even though your brain couldn’t make full sentences of words, it could pull one particular word out of the void and let it come out past your lips.

“Maybe.”

Reeves grinned fully now, his eyes lighting up and the crinkles at the corners deepening.

Someone - maybe Vanessa, maybe a total stranger, you couldn’t be sure - might have swooned from the sidelines.

“Always told you I wanted to come to New York,” he said.

“Always told you I’d go back.”

And the next thing you knew, the next thing that made any sense anywhere in your mind, was that Reeves had stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, and placed the softest, sweetest, most heart-achingly gentle kiss on your lips.

You pulled away in a daze, felt the heat rising in your cheeks, as you heard a muffled choking sound halfway behind you. Definitely Vanessa.

Alexis and Vanessa’s eyes, already bugging out of their faces, nearly fell out of their sockets when Reeves turned to address them.

“Hey, ladies. I’ll come talk to you after the show, but for now, I just need to borrow your friend for a few minutes, okay?”

There were somehow still more bizarre, mostly inhuman noises that came out of your friends and even later, when they’d deny ever acting like that in front of a famous rock star (and rolled their eyes at you when you corrected them that he was a musician, not a rock star), it wouldn’t matter because you weren’t paying a single bit of attention to them them anyway.

You only had eyes for one person.

He took your hand and pulled you past the bar, into a little room in the back; the office, presumably. The second you were both inside, he wrapped his arms around your waist and looked you in the eyes. He just stared for a few minutes, or maybe hours, you weren’t sure.

It really didn’t matter.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he whispered.

“Third day of school, fourth period biology class, sophomore year?”

Reeves smiled softly. “The second you walked in that door.”

“Why didn’t you?” you tilted your head to look at him. Okay, to gaze into his eyes. You tilted your head to gaze into his eyes and your subconscious hoped to any gods that would listen that you did not have actual hearts or stars in your pupils.

Not that it really mattered.

His arms never left you but he gave a little shrug. “Never seemed to be the right time. And then I had a girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “And I ended up with that lame excuse for a boyfriend. But do you know how long I’ve wanted you to do that?”

“When you couldn’t stop staring at me when you sat down at the lab table next to me?”

“Hmmm, maybe. But definitely when you told the teacher we had to have a funeral for Lenny.”

“Hey, Lenny was a fuckin’ hero,” Reeves batted his eyes at you innocently. “He performed a brave and great service to his country.”

“I am oddly happy you’re still an idiot,” you giggled.

“I’m ecstatic that you kept coming to all my shows in the city.”

You pulled back slightly and looked at the ceiling. “You noticed?”

Reeves gave you that look. That look he always gave you, when you were teenagers, when you said something either completely ridiculous or completely profound. That look he gave you when he thought you might not be looking, even though you were always looking. That look that said he always had your back and you were his best friend. That look that you thought you’d be lucky to see one more time but probably never would.

That look.

“Of course I noticed. I thought about having security make you stay back, but that’s just...no. You always looked happy, and I don’t know...I just didn’t want to intrude, I guess? Just always wondered why you never stuck around after the shows, never stayed to talk to me, never came knocking on the dressing room door.”

You thought about that for a minute. You really did try, but you couldn’t come up with a decent answer. You were happy. Just seeing him was enough, you told yourself. Just hearing him sing was enough, just being in the same room with him, just being near. Just like it was back in high school.

Only it wasn’t high school anymore, and now that he’d finally, finally - after years of would’ve and should’ve and maybes - kissed you, you knew enough wasn’t going to be, well, enough.

So that’s what you told him.

And Reeves pulled you close, leaned in closer, and kissed you again.

You pulled apart, breathless again, and rested your foreheads together.

After minutes, or maybe days, or maybe hours, and definitely years - it didn’t really matter - Reeves was there. You were there. And for once, you were really there together.

“Like what you see?”

“...definitely.”

The Future. Any Day. Every Day.

You always thought, and your friends always said, that the best years of your life happened in high school. And to a certain extent, that was true and you believed in that notion for a very long time.

But ever since that night, that one glorious night in a Manhattan bar, you realized you were wrong.

The best years of your life were still happening.

~end~

Taglist:  @anetteaneta @autumnleaves1991-blog @be-the-spark-flyboy @deeandbobbymcgee @huxdameron @itspdameronthings @jitterbugs927 @nathan-bateman @poedjarin @rosemarysbaby13 @sergeantkane @spider-starry @woakiees @writefightandflightclub @veuliee2 @yourbucky084 @waatermelon-sugaar​

>>Join my taglist here<<

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 12

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

Alastair clutched his sharpest dagger in his hand as he followed Thomas to the ruins. He’d been carrying it with him, just in case. His cousin Jem was not fond of his dagger collection, but Alastair had found the daggers could calm him down. He liked moving twirling them in his hand, he liked the way the grip felt in his hands. He didn’t hurt himself, and even if he did he would never use his precious daggers. It was an odd interest, one Alastair had held since he was about twelve and had entered a decorative weapon’s shop with Cordelia by accident. His father had called it all rubbish, nothing compared to cortana, and while that was true, Alastair’s eye had fallen onto a beautiful, but simple and relatively affordable dagger. He’d asked his mother if he could have it for his birthday. She’d warned him, it wasn’t a toy, these were for decoration, but he did keep them for decoration, hanging them on his bedroom wall, occasionally holding them. They weren’t meant for use except under unusual circumstances like this.

He understood Jem’s concern, as a psychiatrist he must have seen many patients who struggled with self harm, but Alastair never had. With the current circumstances, he was glad to have something to defend himself with just in case. He hated not knowing what was coming though. He hated this constant fear that Thomas was right, that something was coming for him next and Alastair had no idea how to stop it.

He would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he was in love with Thomas. It felt a lot like when he’d just started his relationship with Charles, yet also different. It was wondrous feeling, falling in love. Wanting to be near him all the time when Alastair usually preferred solitude, wanting to see him happy and doing anything to make sure he was. The warm, fuzzy feeling when Thomas smiled at him. But there was a reason people called it falling in love, and Alastair had learnt by now that after the fall came the landing.

He’d do anything to keep Thomas safe. He had no idea what he’d do if he died. He didn’t think he could bear it. If anyone deserved to live, to be happy, it was Thomas. He wondered if he should tell Thomas how he felt. He knew now Thomas was gay, but if Thomas liked him, would he ask him advice for coming out to his parents? Then of course Alastair had confided in Charles, had asked him for advice all the time. He’d taken his advice to heart once, thinking Charles was so much older and wiser and knew what was best.

The ruins looked abandoned. Alastair knew there were plenty of ruins in Scotland, but he hadn’t heard of any being at walking distance. Lucie had come here often enough that she must have known about them, her grandmother lived here year round. Usually, ruins did not appear out of nowhere. He could make out the outline of what must have been a building once, an upright wall here and there.

‘This must have been a castle once,’ Alastair said. ‘Considering how big it is. Where are we?’

‘I’m guessing we’re still in the woods,’ Thomas said. ‘Perhaps it’s like in Beauty and the Beast and people are enchanted to not find it.’

Alastair couldn’t roll his eyes enough. ‘First of all, in Beauty and the Beast there was nothing keeping people from finding the castle, they just never did because they did not leave their village. Not that any of that made sense. And if people are enchanted not to find this place, why would we?’

‘I’m sure there’s a story somewhere that describes this,’ Thomas said. ‘Perhaps it can only be found under certain circumstances, on certain days or hours. Oh, there’s an inscription here.’

Alastair walked over to see where Thomas was pointing. ‘It’s in Scottish Gaelic, I imagine. I can’t read that,’ Alastair said.

‘Me neither,’ Thomas admitted. ‘But I’ll take a picture. Perhaps we can decipher at home.’

Alastair wasn’t sure it would be important but it was worth a try. Mysterious ruins no one knew were there had to hold some sort of important clue, right? Alastair remembered what they’d discussed about the possibility of people getting trapped in places by a supernatural entity. Was this what it looked like? He tried not to think about the possibility of being trapped here with no escape.

He took out his phone. No cell reception, but that didn’t surprise him. He took some pictures too, making sure to look at every part of the ruins and see if there was anything of interest. He remembered it all, of course, but being able to show people pictures was easier than dragging them all into his memory.

‘I think there’s a cellar down here,’ Thomas said, standing at a trap door.

Alastair leaned down and tried to open it, but it was stuck. He yanked as hard as he could but no effect.

‘You’re stronger than me,’ Alastair said. ‘Perhaps you should try.’

Thomas leaned down and started pulling. He really was muscular and Alastair caught himself staring at Thomas’ upper arms as he pulled. Part of him longed to touch those arms, those shoulders.

‘Did you start working out?’ Alastair asked.

Thomas looked up. ‘Yes, why?’

‘I’ve been trying to understand how you’re suddenly so muscular.’

‘Some muscle came with my growth spurt,’ Thomas admitted. ‘But I started working out with James too. I found it enjoyable. Do you?’

‘Not lately. I used to train with wooden swords with Cordelia, and I do try to keep active, but I’ve never really gone to the gym. Although I guess it would be entertaining to watch attractive men work out.’

‘You like muscular men, then?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair wondered what he could answer without giving too much away. ‘I’m not necessarily into body builders or the like, but I do appreciate some muscle. It’s not the main thing I look for in a partner, it’s not all about appearance.’

‘So, what do you look for?’ Thomas asked.

‘I like being able to spend time with someone, have fun with him,’ Alastair said. ‘My ex never took me anywhere, it was mostly making out in his apartment and for him it was very much about sex and about fulfilling his needs. But I would like someone who’s not ashamed of me and takes me places. Like going to a museum, or have dinner somewhere. I guess going to a museum is not a very typical date, but I would really like that.’

‘Really? I’ve always loved art and history museums,’ Thomas said.

Alastair guessed perhaps someday he could ask Thomas to go to a museum with him. It made him love Thomas even more, knowing he didn’t think it was weird Alastair wanted to go a museum, knowing he would like that as well. Charles had always thought he was weird, in a way that said “I like you, but other people won’t”. Or perhaps it was more like "I tolerate you but only as long as you can satisfy me."

‘Not everything has to be outside though,’ Alastair continued. ‘I dislike crowds. I would also like to be at home with someone, and just do nice things, cuddle on the couch, watch a movie, play a game.’

He’d missed that with Charles. The best he’d gotten was watching a movie together at his place, but even then Charles had been impatient to finish and start having sex. Charles had never taken him anywhere in public, claiming it was for his sake because what if someone he knew would see them together? But Alastair didn’t want to hide, and he didn’t want a relationship that was all about sex, or all about someone else’s needs. He wanted to feel loved and appreciated. He knew it wasn’t very realistic that would happen though. He wasn’t an easy person to love.

‘I think I’d like that too,’ Thomas said. ‘I never really thought about that, to be honest. I never thought beyond having crushes on boys and maybe going on dates. But it really sounds nice, going to a museum with someone you like.’

Alastair wondered if Thomas would like to go to a museum with him someday. They’d walked through most of the ruins, and beyond the inscription and the closed trapdoor Alastair couldn’t find anything of interest right now. Nor could he explain how they’d ended up here.

A howl interrupted their conversation. It was a loud sound, the howl of a wolf.

‘Come, let’s get out of here,’ Alastair said softly, grabbing Thomas’ hand.

They took the same route back, and not much later another howl pierced the air. Alastair wasn’t sure where it was coming from, but he held his dagger ready to attack, Thomas’ hand in his free hand, gently pulling him along with him. They wouldn’t get separated. They would make it back. They weren’t trapped.

There were no wolves in Scotland, no ordinary ones at least. They hadn’t been in a very long time. There was an old legend of the wulver, but as far as Alastair knew those were friendly and could sometimes be found fishing. Werewolves, though, were another story. In old stories, werewolves were villagers who went into the woods to change into a wolf. Some drank water from the footprint of a wolf, others wore a belt made of wolf fur. They returned to their villages to kill. They were extremely rare nowadays, the methods of becoming one lost. Many that remained no longer changed back into a human, remaining wolf forever.

Thomas gripped his hand tightly, nails digging into his skin.

‘Tom,’ Alastair whispered.

‘Over there.’

Alastair looked in the direction Thomas pointed at and after blinking a few times he saw it too. Even after training with Risa he still needed to make a conscious effort to see. It walked on its hind legs, using its front paws for support at times. Not quite human in built, but not quite wolf either. It was covered in dark gray hair, some bare patches and dark red stains here and there. Its eyes were a bright yellow, its mouth was opened just a little, sharp teeth visible.

Alastair gently tugged on Thomas’ hand, indicating he wanted to continue. He didn’t dare speak. The werewolf hadn’t seen them yet. Alastair hoped they could get past it without being seen. He could be quiet, he could be careful. Thomas followed, taking careful steps, and glancing back to the werewolf every once in a while. It lifted its nose into the air, sniffing in the cold air. Alastair didn’t feel any wind, couldn’t tell if they were on the safe side of it. Likely, there wasn’t any wind and the wolf could smell them. Its head turned, yellow eyes looking into Alastair’s own.

‘Run,’ he whispered.

He kept his grip on Thomas’ hand. They wouldn’t get separated. He wouldn’t let Thomas die. They ran, and Thomas’ long legs easily pulled him along. Werewolves were fast though, Alastair didn’t know if they could stay ahead of it and soon enough he felt something yank Thomas away, forcing him to let go of his hand.

Thomas had fallen onto the ground, the werewolf trailing around him, claws ready to attack. Alastair gripped his dagger firmly and turned back, running straight at the creature.

‘Alastair, get away from here!’ Thomas yelled.

Alastair plunged the dagger into the back of the wolf. The creature howled in pain, and Alastair pulled back his dagger before it turned around and hit him with its claw. Alastair fell over, and he felt warm blood on his shoulder. It wasn’t a deep cut, it couldn’t be, but he was bleeding. The wolf stalked towards him, careful as if to sense if he was still dangerous. It wasn’t dead. It didn’t seem too bothered by the injury Alastair had inflicted. Of course, werewolves were fast healers, only silver was a weakness. And cortana, of course, but he didn’t have the sword. His dagger wasn’t made out of silver.

He scrambled to his feet, dodging another attack from the wolf’s claws. Thomas was behind him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him along. They ran, but they could only make few steps until the wolf crashed into him with its full body strenght behind it, causing both of them to fall over. Alastair held his dagger in front of him, desperate for some protection even if the dagger couldn’t hold the wolf away for long. As it slashed with its claw, Alastair struck too. He caught the paw with his dagger, severing it from the body. Warm blood gushed out, but only for a moment. The paw fell. When it hit the ground, Alastair could make out the rough shape of a pale human hand. The wound closed almost immediately, but the paw didn’t grow back. Even a fast healing werewolf couldn’t grow back severed limbs. Good to know.

The wolf came closer, giving him no room to get up or escape. He threw himself in front of Thomas in a hopeless attempt to keep him safe, to be a shield to him. He still held up his dagger. If he was lucky, he could cut off the other paw, but he didn’t think he would be able to behead the wolf with just this dagger.

Then it collapsed onto the ground, losing its body hair in the process and transforming into a naked human man.

‘Alastair!’

Behind where the wolf had been was Cordelia, cortana in her hand.

‘I was so worried!’ she yelled. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Layla,’ he said. ‘You killed the werewolf.’

Alastair scrambled up, and took Thomas’ hand to help him up too. He inspected the body, thankful it hadn’t collapsed on top of him. Cordelia had slashed through it, the head severed from the body. It was an average looking white man, maybe forty years old, with mousy hair. He had no idea for how long the man had been a wolf, there was no way to tell and the man was naked so he couldn’t date the clothing style either.

‘And just in time,’ Cordelia said. ‘You almost died.’

‘My dagger isn’t made of silver,’ Alastair said. ‘Only so much I could do. Thank you for saving us. Why are you here?’

He noticed Lucie was there too, standing behind Cordelia, clutching one of his daggers. Under normal circumstances, he would be very angry someone had touched his daggers without his permission but considering a werewolf had just tried to kill him and Thomas, he was tolerant. He’d probably be more upset if Lucie had come here unarmed. When they returned home, he should give Lucie another dagger. This one was the first he’d received as a gift, too precious to him and he didn’t want to get blood on it.

‘We came looking for you, of course,’ Cordelia said and Alastair had the sense she was angry with him. ‘You were gone for so long, we figured even you couldn’t stay in the woods for the whole day.’

Alastair frowned. ‘A whole day? What time is it?’

‘We left around four in the afternoon,’ Cordelia said.

‘Four? No, that’s not possible. We left quite early. ’

‘We left around eight,’ Thomas added. ‘There’s no way we’ve been gone for over eight hours when you arrived here.’

He took a picture of the dead human with his phone. Alastair wasn’t so sure that was a good idea but he figured they could have that discussion later, and he could always delete the pictures.

Right now, all Alastair wanted was some bandages on his shoulder, a couple of painkillers and a hot bath. Or maybe a bath would only hurt his shoulders more, in which case he guessed curling up on the couch in a blanket would do.

They took the same route back, Alastair looking around to take in as many details as possible. He could go over them again later and compare the details of the walk today to previous days when nothing strange had happened. It was the same path they’d walked on before, but some things were still different. Alastair still didn’t quite understand why they’d found themselves someplace else today.

They made their way back to the Lightwood’s cottage to find both sets of parents there, looking at them in shock. Sophie looked like she’d been crying, and Alastair felt guilty. He liked Thomas’ mother, he didn’t want to make her cry.

‘Where have you been?’ Tessa asked, her voice stern.

‘Is that blood on cortana?’ Will added.

‘We realized Thomas and Alastair had been gone for a long time,’ Cordelia said, changing her sword back into her necklace. ‘We couldn’t reach them, so we went looking. Just in time, because they were attacked by a werewolf.’

‘It didn’t feel that long to me or Thomas,’ Alastair added. ‘One hour, two maybe. We did find something strange, ruins in the middle of the woods we haven’t encountered before. I took some pictures, but we can go over the memory as well if the pictures aren’t clear.’

‘Later,’ Gideon determined. ‘The four of you look terrible. Is anyone hurt?’

‘The werewolf did claw open my shoulder,’ Alastair said. ‘I don’t think it’s deep, but might need to be cleaned and bandaged.’

‘Come, I’ll take a look,’ Tessa said.

He followed Tessa back to the manor. It was a bit far, but Alastair could still walk and he guessed Tessa had more first aid supplies at the manor.

‘I don’t think it’s bad,’ he said. ‘I feel it, but I can still move my shoulder.’

‘I’ll need to see it before I can make any judgements,’ Tessa said.

They entered the house and Alastair sat down on the couch while Tessa gathered some supplies.

‘Please take off your shirt,’ she said.

Alastair did, wincing in pain. Tessa inspected the injury. ‘It’s been a while since I did this. But I used to work in the emergency room as a doctor before I turned to research.’

Alastair vaguely knew Tessa had a PhD in medical research, but wasn’t sure which field. He didn’t know she’d worked as a doctor before that, although he guessed it made sense she’d started out there before turning to research.

‘You’re right that the wounds are very superficial, but with a wild animal attack I would recommend a rabies shot,’ Tessa said.

‘Right now?’ Alastair asked, very unmotivated to go to a hospital.

‘Not necessarily, but don’t wait too long,’ Tessa said. ‘If you don’t, and you get rabies, you’ll die. I’ll put on some bandages and let you rest.’

When Tessa was finished bandaging the wound, Thomas entered. His brown hair was a little damp and he’d changed into a clean green shirt and blue jeans. He looked worried. Alastair tried to sit up. He was suddenly very aware that he was half naked, his shirt discarded somewhere. It had blood on it, and a hole where the wolf’s claw had carved through it. He should probably throw it away, which was a shame because he liked that shirt. Thomas was staring at him, Alastair could tell. Would he like what he saw?

‘Are you alright?’ Thomas asked.

‘I’m better now, the wound is thoroughly cleaned and covered. Tessa didn’t think stitches would be a good idea considering the infection risk,’ Alastair said.

Thomas sat down next to him, his cheeks a little red. ‘I was so scared today.’

‘I know. Me too.’

‘You threw yourself in front of me.’

‘I wanted to protect you. I had a weapon, you didn’t.’

Thomas put his hand on Alastair’s. ‘You could have died. You had every opportunity to get away while it was focused on me.’

Alastair shook his head. ‘It would have caught up to me. We both would have died if Cordelia hadn’t shown up when she did. I can’t believe our luck.’

‘Can I hug you?’ Thomas asked.

A bit reluctant, Alastair consented. Thomas pulled him into a hug. It was an unfamiliar sensation to Alastair, Thomas warm hands on his back, careful not to touch his injury, feeling him so close, feeling his rough breathing. Thomas’ hair was damp, he smelt of vanilla. He must have taken a quick shower before coming here. Alastair leaned in, his head against Thomas’ chest. Thomas was warm, and it felt nice to be held like this. He felt safe and protected, and for Alastair a sense of safety was scarce to come by.

‘I was scared of dying,’ Thomas said. ‘But watching you die would be far worse.’

‘Don’t be dramatic, Tom,’ Alastair scoffed. ‘You barely know me.’

‘That’s not true. I’ve gotten to know you a lot in the past week, and I have much enjoyed our time together. And I realized… I… I love you.’

Thomas let go of him, as if to await his reaction. Alastair was tempted to put a shirt on, very aware of Thomas’ eyes on him. At the same time, he liked the attention, hoped Thomas would think he was beautiful even if Alastair had never felt that way. A bit uncomfortable and cold, Alastair instead grabbed the blanket on the couch and wrapped it around him as he tried to process the shock of Thomas’ words and find a proper reply. He suspected the blanket belonged to Lucie, it was decorated with Lilo and Stitch.

He knew he should say something, but he couldn’t find the words. Part of him believed he’d hallucinated what Thomas had just said, because it couldn’t be true, could it? Why would Thomas love him? What was there to love?

‘I’m sorry,’ Thomas said.

‘What for?’

‘You obviously don’t feel the same way, and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you with my feelings.’

Alastair looked at Thomas, trying to read his face. Was he serious right now?

‘I do feel the same way, you fool,’ Alastair said, staring at Thomas in disbelief.

Thomas seemed to freeze in the moment, hazel eyes wide, his mouth slightly opened. Before either of them could say anything, Tessa returned with several medicine boxes.

‘Here are some painkillers,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ Alastair said, taking two paracetamol. If that wasn’t enough, he could always add some ibuprofen.

‘Gideon and Sophie are on their way here to cook, you must be starving,’ Tessa said. ‘Alastair, be careful with that shoulder, give it some rest.’

Tessa returned to the kitchen, presumably to start preparing. Alastair realized he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and apparently it was now on the late end for dinner. It felt odd, since Alastair was fairly certain he hadn’t been gone for a whole day. It felt more like lunch time.

‘You look adorable with that blanket,’ Thomas said with a small smile.

‘I’m cold,’ Alastair said.

‘I’m not judging,’ Thomas said.

‘You were,’ Alastair said.

Thomas said nothing.

‘Come on, you definitely were.’

‘Can’t you just accept that you’re cute?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair made a show of rolling his eyes. ‘Alright.’

‘Can I kiss you?’

‘What?’

‘You said you liked me too. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for some time. So I figured I’d ask.’

‘I expected you’d just initiate. Asking is nice though. Keep doing that, I like it.’

Charles had never asked permission for anything. Charles usually initiated, he had been the one to decide what would happen and had assumed Alastair was fine with whatever he had in mind. And Alastair had pushed himself to accept things he wasn’t comfortable with too, terrified to disappoint. Terrified he would be abandoned if he didn’t do whatever his lover wanted.

He could not have anticipated how amazing it would feel to have Thomas ask him for permission to kiss him.

Thomas didn’t say anything else, just leaned in and closed his eyes, allowing their lips to meet. Alastair suspected Thomas didn’t really know what he was doing, but that was alright. He took control of the kiss, grabbing the front of Thomas shirt with his good hand. Thomas put his hands in his hair, gently tugging at the strands. It usually annoyed him when people messed with his hair, but right now it was a tangled mess anyway, and he had to admit it felt kind of nice.

They broke apart, faces still close, and looking into each other’s eyes. Thomas’ hazel eyes seemed like a mixture of colors this close and Alastair could see the light reflect in them. He felt a desire for more, but wanted to take it slow. This wouldn’t be like Charles, no rushed or pressured decisions. It would be gentle and sweet and they would have all the time in the world.

He leaned back, and pulled Thomas along with him, Alastair laying down on the couch on his back, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. He didn’t mind now, he allowed Thomas to admire him. Thomas looked a bit awkward, trying to find a comfortable position without crushing him. Alastair would probably be able to take Thomas’ weight, he liked being underneath a lover, just the right amount of pressure on his body to feel comfortable.

Although maybe not now with his shoulder injured, that was just going to hurt a lot.

‘Tom, your parents could be here any minute,’ Alastair said.

Thomas only shrugged. ‘Kissing a boy in front of them saves me having to write a speech. And I really don’t want to stop kissing you.’

‘Are you sure?’ Alastair asked. ‘You don’t want to give a speech?’

‘I’m sure,’ Thomas said. ‘I just want to kiss you.’

Alastair had nothing to say against that, and kissed Thomas again, gently opening his mouth and slipping his tongue inside. If someone had walked in, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed, too caught up in the moment. Thomas’ mouth tasted of strawberries, he must have eaten some before coming here.

After Charles, Alastair had never imagined another chance at love, and certainly not with someone as kind and beautiful and perfect as Thomas Lightwood. Part of him was still convinced he was too difficult to be loved. He pushed all thoughts of something bad happening to Thomas to the back of his mind and indulged in the moment. When they broke apart, they just sat lay, breathing carefully. Thomas’ hand in his hair again, wrapping strands of it around his finger.

After a moment Alastair decided with his injured shoulder, this wasn’t the most comfortable position for either of them, so he sat back up, climbing into Thomas’ lap, arms around him.

‘You’re a good kisser,’ Thomas said.

‘You will be too, with some practice,’ Alastair said. ‘Was that your first kiss?’

‘It was,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ve never been with anyone before. But I’ve also never felt about anyone like I felt about you.’

Alastair frowned. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ Thomas confirmed. ‘I don’t fall in love easily. I’ve felt attracted to other boys at times, but I rarely really fall in love. When I do, it doesn’t really go away though. I’ve loved you since we went to school together.’

‘Since school? But I was awful to you back then. I’d done nothing to deserve it.’

‘You don’t always love the people who deserve it,’ Thomas said. ‘Back then, it was more of a schoolboy crush really. You were so mysterious and beautiful, yet I saw you were sad too. I could tell you didn’t mean what you said, I could tell you were in pain and I wanted to know what broke your heart, what let such bitterness spill out. And then I heard about you from Lucie, when you went to school with her. Although I still didn’t understand you, she confirmed you weren’t awful at all since you stood up for her and I felt like I was right, there was something special about you. And now this past week, I feel like I’ve finally seen the real you. And I don’t just mean that sadness, I mean your interests, your love for books and long walks. How you can rant for hours about the evil of capitalism and how passionate you are about wanting change. So my feelings have changed over time, but it’s always been you I wanted.’

Alastair found it difficult to believe, but he could tell Thomas was sincere. It was difficult to believe anyone could love him, he guessed. He still felt too broken to be loved, undeserving of it. He wanted to believe Thomas though, he wanted to make this work. He wanted to silence the voice in his head that it was impossible, that Thomas couldn’t possibly love him, because who could love someone like him? The voice was wrong, and Thomas gentle touch allowed him to push it to the back of his mind for now. Perhaps someday it would disappear for good.

[holidaywishes]

all it takes is one time

part ten: all it takes is one time

  Summary: five years have passed and Brendan has kept his promise to “not give up on you.”

  Warning: fluff, angst, time jump

  Author’s Note: So, what I got from the poll was that everyone pretty much wants a happy ending. Which I think is great! Because of that, I’ve chosen to do a bit of a time jump so that the happy ever after seems natural. I love that people have enjoyed this series; I love writing for Gally and his smiley little face -- I mean look at him in that GIF -- so I’m always happy when people enjoy how I write him or what I write for him. This got a bit more angsty than I thought it would which is why it's a bit of a longer chapter (I wanted it to get fluffy eventually so I just kept writing until it did!) but I hope you continue to enjoy these last two chapters and thanks for reading! Stay Golden, loves! <3

Fun Fact: Grammarly calls my writing in this "confident" and "formal" so... I apologize for that. Typically, I try not to write super formally so I don't know what happened here.

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

Brendan’s P.O.V

  You couldn’t count how many times you’d proposed to (Y/N) over the last five years but you knew that you were gonna keep doing it until she said yes because you wanted her. You’d always wanted her.

  “Wanna marry me?” you asked as the two of you laid in bed, groggy from just waking up

  “Sure” she groaned, making you pop your head up in surprise

  “Wait, really?” you asked

  “Someday” she smirked, tucking herself into you to cuddle a little longer

  “You’re gonna kill me” you chuckled

  “No!” she scoffed

  “Yes!” you replied, wrapping your arms tightly around her body and kissing her neck playfully

  “STOP!” she squeaked, finally pushing you away so she could get out of bed, “I love you and I would love to stay here, in bed, with you but your parents are expecting us in like an hour”

  “We have tons of time!”

  “You might but I don’t...” she laughed and you jumped out of bed, meeting her across the room

  “What are you talking about? It’s not like you have to do anything. We’re just going for lunch,” you smiled, kissing her temple as she looked in the mirror, “they love you. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t think your mom has ever really... liked me for you”

  “What? Of course she has”

  “I’ve spent close to 10 years trying to get her to see that I’m good enough for you, especially after the break up...”

  “(Y/N), you have nothing to worry about,” you assured her, turning her around, “she knows that you love me and that’s all she needs” she smiled at you, kissing you quickly before walking away

  “If you say so”

  “I do say so,” you smirked, “trust me.” When you pulled up to your parents house, you noticed (Y/N) sigh heavily and you reached out to grab her hand, “if you need me, I’m right here”

  “Okay” she smiled

  “But you won’t need me” you teased

  “Bren…” she scoffed before you threw open your door and ran up the stairs to greet your family inside.

  “(Y/N),” your mom said as your girlfriend walked through the door slowly, placing her hands on (Y/N)’s arms before embracing her in light hug. “It’s so good to see you”

  “You too” (Y/N) said, looking over your moms shoulder to you as you smiled and mouthed ‘I told you’

  “Let’s sit down and have some lunch okay?” your mom said as she pulled away from (Y/N), who nodded in return

  “See?” you smiled, kissing her forehead and wrapping your arm around her waist while you walked to the back patio, “nothing to worry about.”

xx

  Della had liked you when you first met. She thought you were sweet and that you were good for Brendan but when she found out you cheated, her opinion of you changed, as you thought it might, but Brendan seemed completely oblivious to all of it. He still believed that she loved you because you loved him; because he loved you.

  “See?” he said as he directed you to the patio outside with his family, after his mother had given you a, rather passive, hug when you first arrived. “Nothing to worry about!” you wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that he was blind to the inner workings of female interactions, but this was his mom and you weren’t there to cause drama.

  “So, (Y/N),” Della started from across the table, “what have you been up to these last five years? We still don’t get to spend too much time with Brendan except during the summer and he’s mostly stayed in Montreal with you so we haven’t got to see either of you…” you smiled to yourself, looking down at your lap as you tried to evade her tone

  “I’ve been working,” you said, looking at Brendan beside you before smiling at him, “keeping myself busy when Brendan’s at practice or at games, ma—”

  “Do you go to the games still?” Nolan asked

  “I mean, he’s gotta have at least one fan there for him” Erin laughed

  “I try,” you admitted, a blush creeping across your cheeks as you prepared to say the next words; fearing what they all might think of you. “But sometimes our schedules don’t match up and I have to watch from home…”

  “But you still make sure you always watch the game?” Della asked and you could feel the heat from her glare reach you for across the table

  “Most of the time,” you said slowly before Brendan reached out his hand to grab yours, “but there have been a few times when I’ve had to get the score from someone else because I didn’t have a second to even look at the game…”

  “Well that makes sense,” Ian added before Della could argue your answer, “stuff like that is going to happen. You can’t stop working to watch the games or else you’d get fired” you laughed, nodding in response

  “I mean,” Breanne added, “unless you quit your job”

  “Yeah,” Della said, almost giddy at the thought, “have you thought about quitting your job? I’m sure Brendan could keep you both comfortable”

  “Mom...” Brendan finally said, shaking his head at her while you took a sip of the water in front of you

  “I was joking, Mom...” Breanne said, presumably seeing your discomfort

  “But it’s a serious question, something to consider,” Della added, semi-defensively, “I don’t think that’s something to get so up in arms about”

  “Why don’t we just enjoy the weather, okay?” Ian said, diffusing the situation the best he could while Brendan followed Della inside

  “I’m sorry, Ian,” you sighed as the two of you walked toward the grass, “I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable”

  “It’s okay” he smiled

  “I know she doesn’t trust me much anymore” you added, dropping your head as kicked your foot in the grass

  “She just loves Brendan,” he answered, “he’s the first-born, you know? It’s a special bond between them”

  “I know,” you said before the two of you stood in silence, watching Breanne, Erin and Nolan played some game you’d never really seen before; laughing at each other when one seemed to do something wrong.

  “It’s not that she doesn’t trust you,” Ian said, after a while of not speaking, forcing you to look at him suddenly, “it’s just that she watched Brendan mope around for months after the two of you broke up and then when you got into your accident, she listened to him talk about how the two of you were getting back together but to her…”

  “She didn’t believe it” you sighed, your eyes still trained on the ground as you interrupted him

  “It felt like he was putting all his faith into something that was gonna break his heart again” he continued, making you look up at him and your eyes grew wide at the thought

  “I never wanted to break his heart,” you admitted, “it’s complicated I guess but I love him. Breaking up with him felt terrible but being together, then, didn’t feel right either and I felt like I was holding him back. I let him go so he could find what he really wanted”

  “But what he really wanted was you,” Ian argued, “it was always you. He told us that all the time, you were always on his mind and in his heart”

  “I know,” you smiled thoughtfully, “he’s always felt like the one to me, too, I guess I just needed him to know that I didn’t want him to feel trapped… I don’t know how to explain it really”

  “I get it,” Ian smirked, “but do me a favour, don’t try explaining it to my wife. Because she absolutely will not understand any of it”

  “You have my word.”

xx

Brendan’s P.O.V

  “I just don’t see why she doesn’t even want to try to change her work schedule…” your mom argued as the two of you washed the dishes

  “Mom…” you whined

  “I’m serious, Brendan,” she exclaimed, “she misses your games because of work, she doesn’t make time for the two of you to see us..”

  “That’s not on her,” you interjected, “we live in Montreal, which means we can’t just pop out here to say hi”

  “But you could call” she challenged

  “Yes, you’re right,” you scoffed, “but that’s on me. Not (Y/N), so don’t turn it into her problem”

  “She doesn’t want this relationship to progress any further than what it always was…” she frowned and you shook your head

  “She does” you confessed

  “It doesn’t seem like it”

  “Because she wants to have a job? Because she doesn’t always stop everything to watch a game?” you asked

  “Because she doesn’t try. Not the way you do”

  “Mom,” you rubbed your temples, “she does try. There’s more to it than what you can see. You know, she was reluctant to come here today because she thinks that you don’t think she’s good enough for me and I had to keep telling her that wasn’t true. But it is true, isn’t it? She was right and you’ve never liked her…” you questioned, drying your hands

  “That’s not true!” your mom yelled, stopping you from leaving, “I loved her for you, I thought you two were perfect for each other and she fit so well with us but she proved time and again that she just didn’t care. She cheated, she didn’t communicate with you, she ended things because of some vague excuse that you two weren’t good together anymore and then she used you to make her better after her car accident”

  “She didn’t use me. She needed help so I offered my help,” you corrected, “because I love her and no matter what happened between us, I wasn’t going to let her be in pain" she seemed to drop the conversation after that but not without a heavy sigh before walking into the backyard to join everyone

  "Hey," you whispered to (Y/N) as you draped your arm across her shoulders, "how're you doing?"

  "I'm okay," she replied quietly, "how are you?"

  "I'm good" you smiled, hoping she wouldn't see how the conversation with your mom annoyed you

  "I didn't mean to start anything," she said with a sigh, wrapping her arms around your waist and you looked down at her as she looked up at you, "drama or whatever. I didn't mean to make things awkward..."

  "You didn't" you smiled, kissing her forehead

  "It feels like things are tense" she admitted and you shrugged, looking out at your family but still feeling (Y/N) looking up at you

  "Wanna marry me and get outta here?" you joked, hearing her scoff in return

  "No," she said, hugging you tighter, "but maybe."

xx

  It had been two weeks since you and Brendan were at his parent's place for a BBQ, two weeks since you could feel Della's hesitation of you being with her son and two weeks since Brendan last asked you to marry him. The proposals were becoming less frequent now and your mind was running wild with reasons why that might be but you hoped that he was waiting for the perfect moment. And that that perfect moment came when you were absolutely ready to say yes.

  “He used to propose every day,” you told your best friend, Rebecca, has the two of you sat on her balcony, “and now, nothing. Not a single mention of marriage”

  “If he asked you today, would you say yes?” she asked candidly

  “I don’t know” you replied

  “Maybe he knows that, finally, and he just wants to wait long enough,” she said, “you said he proposed at the barbecue and you said no, right?”

  “I mean, I guess…” you scoffed

  “So…” she smirked, “he probably feels that you’re not ready yet and he’s just tired of small proposals”

  “Small proposals?” you furrowed your brow

  “Yeah,” she said before taking a sip of her drink, “he probably wants to do something big but he wants to know you’re ready to say yes…”

  “And how would he know when I’m ready?” you chuckled

  “I have no idea,” she laughed, “maybe he’s got a checklist”

  “Oh my god, if he has a checklist,” you laughed, throwing your head back, “I swear to god, I would die”

  “You know how he is though,” she said after the two of you stopped laughing, “his first proposal was in a public place”

  “Yeah but that was so much pressure and we fought about it afterwards”

  “Yeah because you weren’t ready to say yes,” she said, “you needed to air out the reasons why...”

  “Do you think he’ll listen to them?” you questioned, raising your eyebrow at her

  “Why wouldn’t he?” she asked

  “After what happened with his mom, I think he’s starting to revert back to the idea that I should just be the ‘holly housewife’ type” you admitted

  “I don’t think that’s true”

  “I hope not...” you sighed, finishing up your water and heading inside. After realizing that you had been there for almost three hours, you decided it was probably time for you to go home, surprised to see Brendan sitting at the table when you walked into the apartment. “Bren...?” you asked hesitantly

  “Hey,” he said plainly and you couldn’t think of anything to say, he seemed very focused and you weren’t sure why. It made you nervous, “so, I... don’t know where to start...”

  “What’s wrong?” you finally asked, setting down your bag and pulling out a chair to sit beside him

  “I don’t want you to feel like you have to marry me,” he admitted and you shook your head in confusion, “or that if we get married, you’ll lose yourself”

  “I--”

  “I don’t want my mom to feel like you’re not good for me for whatever reason,” he admitted, stopping you from interrupting him, still not looking at you. Oh god, you thought to yourself, he’s gonna break up with me, “and I don’t want you to be mad at my mom because you resent her for whatever reason”

  “Bren--” you started but he stopped you, his eyes finally looking into yours

  “I love you,” he confessed, “and I realize now, though I should’ve realized before, that you don’t want some grand gesture of a proposal. Maybe because you don’t like all the attention or maybe because it feels like too much pressure. Whatever it is, it’s not what you want. I should’ve known that. I should’ve paid attention to that” you took a breath as you listened to his words, not really knowing where this was going. “But here’s the thing,” he said, holding your hands in his while his eyes danced between yours, “I told you I wasn’t giving up. And all it takes is once. One time. One proposal for you to say yes to and then, what do ya know? we’re engaged. So, I won’t give up because I love you and if you keep saying no, eventually I’ll take the hint, but I’m gonna ask you right now. Right here. Like this. Because I love you and I want to marry you, Do you want to marry me?”

  “Yes,” you whispered without thinking about it; everything he said just took away any fears that you had and you couldn’t think of your life without him. “Yes,” you repeated, feeling a tear fall down your cheek before giggling happily, “yes, I will marry you”

  “Wait really?” he said, the shock in his face making you laugh

  “Yes, baby” you said softly, placing your hand on his cheek

  “Like really really?”

  “Really really” you smiled before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your lips, feeling a tear graze your cheek as it feel down his

  “God, I love you,” he scoffed when he pulled away as if he was catching your breath, “but I am exhausted”

  “I know, I’m sorry” you laughed

  “You’re serious right?” he asked again and you smiled brightly, squeezing his hands tightly

  “YES! Brendan, baby, I’m serious”

  “I just needed to check” he smirked

  “I love you,” you cooed, “and I can’t imagine marrying anyone else, being with anybody else”

  “Fucking finally” he sighed and you laughed

  “I won’t sacrifice myself for your job though” you insisted

  “I wouldn’t dream of it” he smirked, capturing you in a kiss before picking you up and taking you to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and throwing you on the bed. 

[featherfur]

Big Knife Meet Little Blind Ch.1

Xue Yang meets A-Qing before he meets Xiao Xingchen and decides he needs a disciple. Somehow he ends up with a kid, a heart, and an absolute mess of a cultivation world.

Warnings: Gore, Blood, Murder, Questionable Child Rearing, Xue Yang and A-Qing's potty mouth, Xue Yang isn't a good person and needs to get there, will eventually be SongXiaoXue, this is for fun and updates will be sporadic if at all so read at your own risk

The timeline's a little wonky to make it fit better. Xue Yang is 15 and A-Qing meets him at 4 around the time that Wei Wuxian dies. This is a mix of MDZS Novel and The Untamed, mostly the MDZS Novel but I'll take some liberties and cross over.

Read me on: AO3. Chapter Two

There were a lot of moments in Xue Yang’s life where he could look back on and go wow that was fucking stupid. Not that he would ever admit to that and, being fifteen, would absolutely not learn from his past mistakes. Unless it was to kill someone a little better, but that’s not the point.

The point is that Xue Yang managed to acquire a four year old child and he wasn’t thinking about how much of a responsibility that was, so much as he was wondering how long a child had to wait before they could hold a sword. The man who had helped Xue Yang cultivate a golden core a few years back had always chattered on and on about how you needed a young disciple so they’d never listen to anyone else.

That was probably good advice considering Xue Yang had killed him when he turned thirteen for being a general pain in the ass. (If anyone remembered the wild child who had flung themselves forward with a sword to kill the old man after watching him kick a child under the wheels of a cart, they were already dead or had the sense not to bring it up after watching only one person walk out of the scene alive.)

A-Qing was a quiet thing, usually. She’d managed to swindle Xue Yang out of a few coins by pleading about being blind and starving while wearing ragged clothing to sell it better, only to get caught a few minutes later when she ran directly to him to hide from whoever she’d stolen from. Xue Yang was impressed with her almost immediately and simply carried her off with the promise of dinner.

Xue Yang did not have a soft spot for abandoned kids, they weren’t his problem obviously. He did however have an incessant need to have things and he wanted a disciple. One that would be loyal to him and him only. It wasn’t like that was hard to do, people were so eager to give themselves over to someone else. Even the old man had been easy to fool into believing anything Xue Yang had said.

So there he was, fifteen, with a round-faced and probably feral four year old on his knee devouring a loaf of bread, and he finally realized that it may have been a stupid decision. He didn’t actually want to raise a child, what did one even do with a kid?

He was vaguely certain that you had to feed and water them but what else? Train them to sit and stay?

He probably should have taken his chances with someone a little older, around eight or so, so he could just hand them a sword and that would be all.

Then again, he realized with one hand moving to the back of A-Qing’s neck, he could still do that. No one had to know he grabbed the little brat and honestly a quick death was more merciful than dropping her back on the street, probably the only mercy Xue Yang had ever actually known.

White eyes blinked up at him, completely uncomprehending of the danger she was in, and then they flashed with something. She started patting herself down quickly, finding a small purse after a few seconds and pushed it towards him.

“What the hell is this?” Xue Yang grumbled, flicking it open and half expecting to find old food or bugs. Instead it was a pouch filled with money. A-Qing’s eyes were bright with the glimmering all bratty kids had when they got away with something they shouldn’t have.

“That’s why I was running.” She said pleasantly, either unaware or uncaring of any sort of moral dilemma other people would have. “Here. To pay you back.”

Her words weren’t the smoothest, and she didn’t have any idea of how to ‘pay him back’, but somehow his heart managed to soften just enough for him to move his hand from her neck. She was already prepared to steal, she had no problems faking blindness, and she seemed attached to him. He could work with this.

And, well, if he got annoyed he really could just kill her later.

“Well, Little Blind,” He hummed and pocketed the money to offer her a piece of fruit instead this time, “I think we’re going to work well together.”

_

Xue Yang thought everything was going well, he trained privately under a new master provided by Jin Guangyao during the day, then he returned to the little shack he had and made sure A-Qing hadn’t died while he was gone. It worked well for them and A-Qing didn’t seem to mind sitting next to the river for hours until he returned home as long as there was food to shove into her mouth.

Every day he’d come home to find her with one of her numerous sticks slapping at the water and the fish playfully. Sometimes she actually managed to trap one and they got to cook it for dinner. Other times she was so soaked with water that Xue Yang made the executive decision that it was Bath day and dropped her right back into the river to scrub both of them off and take the time to scold A-Qing for being a menace and a brat and ruining the nice things Xue Yang gave her.

The scoldings only worked for the first week and by the second A-Qing had turned the scoldings back on him, for coming home with blood on him.

Him. Xue Yang, a well known delinquent and killer, was being scolded by a four year old.

Somehow it managed to be more amusing than annoying and Xue Yang just dropped fish guts on her hair until she yowled like a cat.

For the first year it was rather peaceful and nice, not that Xue Yang would ever say it out loud, to come home to actually have someone there. Not to mention when he managed to wrangle her into half decent clothes and could take her with him into town, suddenly people were much more willing to trade things for half price. He could also release her like a dog and watch her disappear into the crowd and meet back up with her ten minutes later with a purse full of stolen money or whatever shiny ornament they’d seen and wanted.

Once he’d even brought her to his training when he knew he would be experimenting with the fierce corpses. She’d been mystified immediately, holding onto his hand as she leaned as close to the cages as she’d dared and turned to look up at him.

“Are they dead?”

“Yep,” He chirped happily, scooping her up onto his hip and moving closer. “Want to see what they can do?”

At her nod, Xue Yang called out to the corpse closest to him pulling at the resentful energy to command it. It wasn’t as easy as Wei Wuxian had it with his flute, though Xue Yang would do anything to have a chance to talk to him about it, but with the thick needles Xue Yang had shoved in their head the day before it was manageable.

Obeying his commands the corpse turned slowly towards one of the unconscious humans slumped against the wall in the back. Xue Yang walked with the corpse so A-Qing didn’t have to strain her neck, and with a flick of resentful energy demanded that the corpse rip the human open starting with the ribs.

A-Qing screamed when the corpse buried it’s fist in the human’s stomach and gripped the ribs, pulling and pulling until it tore the flesh, a dying scream echoing around the room. Her face was buried in his neck long enough that Xue Yang was starting to think maybe that gore wasn’t good enrichment for children and maybe he really should have read those books the Aunty from the dumpling shop gave him.

He didn’t want to break A-Qing, what use was she if she was broken? But how else could a kid get used to blood if it wasn’t shown to them?

Maybe, he thought with a subconscious stroke of her hair, he should have started with killing a chicken for dinner. Or maybe a cat, though A-Qing really liked cats so he’d have to pick a dog or a bird so she wouldn’t cry too much.

Then A-Qing chanced another glance, fingers still curled into the neckline of his robes, and seemed to be watching in fascination as the fierce corpse pulled out each organ and devoured them. She still shrank away when Xue Yang stepped closer to the cage but she didn’t scream again and Xue Yang knew he had this parenting thing down.

Kids were easy, you just had to feed and water them and show them some blood and they were happy.

“What do you think? Want to save the tongue for dinner?” Xue Yang teased her, cackling madly when she gave him a disgusted look.

“He didn’t wash his hands, it’s dirty, you said not to eat dirty food.” A-Qing scowled at him like she thought he was pranking her.

“Yes, yes of course, silly me.” He snickered despite himself, turning to place her down on one of the stools and approaching the cage alone. Despite A-Qing’s grumbling he still ordered the fierce corpse to rip out the tongue and bring it to him.

“I’m not eating that.” A-Qing spat when she saw him grab it with his bare hands. Xue Yang barely gave her an irritated look before he was moving towards the small fire pit and snagging a tea kettle.

Say what you want about him, Xue Yang still personally thought that Jin Guangyao was more insane than he was just for the fact that he had an entire set up for tea right next to a corpse cage.

“You’ll eat whatever I give you, brat.” Xue Yang snapped over at her before dropping the tongue into the kettle with water and set it over the pit. “Besides, this isn’t for you.”

He paused as took in the potential consequences of his actions for the first and probably last time of his life. He couldn’t stick a finger on why but he knew he didn’t want Jin Guangshan to find out about A-Qing. He’d been hiding her well, though he was sure Jin Guangyao had an idea, he didn’t want either Jin masterminds to know exactly how close Xue Yang was to her or what she looked like.

If he took the tongue tea to Jin Guangyao then he would want to see what Xue Yang was doing which would lead him right back to A-Qing. But Xue Yang really wanted to watch him drink it. Maybe instead he could ask for a few disciples to see what the effects of drinking human flesh tea vs fierce corpse flesh tea were.

The temptation tugged at him for a while before an actual tug made him look down.

A-Qing squeezed between him and the fire pit and bent down to light it with the flint and steel next to it. She had thought he wasn’t moving because he couldn’t figure out how to light the fire!

Xue Yang didn’t know if he was warmed by that or irritated that she thought he couldn’t do something so simple. Still, he just watched as she carefully set the logs on fire and nearly lost the flint into the inferno as the flames licked at her hands. They were moving faster than her little hands could get away and he knew immediately she would be burnt if he didn’t step in

He covered them with his own on instinct, ignoring the way the heat burned his knuckles and tugged her to the safety of his side instead. He could see the glistening skin on the back of his hands that were proof of his idiotic move and glared down at her. She grabbed for his hands, shrinking down when she saw the fury on his face.

“How many times have I told you not to play with fire? How stupid are you? Look what you did.” He snapped, ripping his hands away from her and staring at the bubbling skin instead. Forget how stupid she was, what the fuck was his problem? Why did he intervene instead of letting her learn her lesson?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Yang-ge, I didn’t-” A-qing babbled as Xue Yang cursed at the pain steadily increasing. He kicked the pot of water and tongue over onto the fire and grabbed her by the back of her robes.

She yelped as she was dragged forward towards the exit, Xue Yang slowly getting quieter and quieter even as he radiated fury and killing intent. The hand on the back of her robes was tightening by the second, dragging her so quickly that her feet stumbled and he was hauling her across the floor instead.

She’d felt Xue Yang come home with the aftereffects of resentful energy clinging to him but she’d never felt him like this. It was suffocating and nauseating, but she was too terrified to even scream. Everything changed so quickly she didn’t know what to think, one moment he was laughing and now he.. He .. he was going to....

He didn’t respond when she called out to him, ignoring her yelp when her knees hit the stairs he was climbing.

Xue Yang was actively burning with murderous intent, he hated pain and when he was hurting he wanted others to hurt too. Even something as simple as his own accidental burns was enough to pour gasoline on the constant coals of fury that he held within him. He could almost taste blood in the air and craved being able to do so.

The crunch of bones under his heel was a building urge, and his hand tightened over the robes until it was clear A-Qing was lucky he hadn’t grabbed her by the neck or it’d be snapped. The familiar feeling of his sword plunging into flesh was like a phantom limb and his blood craved to feel it anew. To refresh that wonderful pleasure as he had it memorised and fill his ears with more screams then just echoes.

He finally made it to the last step, flinging open the door and tossing A-Qing in front of him. She flailed and landed in the dirt, eyes shining with tears even as Jiangzai was unsheathed.

“Yang-ge!” She cried, covering her eyes to protect herself.

A moment later she opened them when nothing came. Instead of Jiangzai being plunged into her belly it was buried in the chest of a Jin disciple who’d been unlucky enough to come check what the commotion was when he heard Xue Yang stomping up the steps.

Xue Yang looked at the corpse on his sword with blank eyes, twitching Jiangzai so the man fell to the ground in a heap instead. Usually he’d be slightly more careful so as to not invoke the wrath of Sect Leader Jin or Jin Guangyao, but this disciple had seen A-Qing and so his life was forfeit as far as Xue Yang cared.

He pointed at her, then the direction of home.

“Go home.” He ordered and in a flash she was running off.

He blinked twice to get the image of her in the dirt out of his mind, trying to push away the reminder that not even ten years ago that had been him.

When the thought wouldn’t leave him, he buried Jiangzai into the body of the Jin disciple a few more times and dragged the corpse downstairs to see if he could bring it’s resentful soul back for some fun. He couldn’t hurt A-Qing, but he knew what he could hurt to feed the powerful urge to cause pain.

[themusicplayedherlife]

to love is the greatest gift

2. the dinner

pairing: obi wan kenobi x f!reader (past!din djarin x reader | past!obi wan kenobi x satine kryze) characters: f!reader, anakin amidala-skywalker, padmé amidala-skywalker, mentiones of din djarin, obi wan kenobi, others word count: 3.6k+ warnings: angst, fluff, death, longing, some arguing, slow burn summary: au! It has never been the right timing for you and Obi Wan, but maybe this time will be different. a/n: thank you so much for all the love in the previous chapter! i was so overwhelmed that i was a little nervous posting this part ;w; i really hope you guys enjoy this story! and do let me know what you think of the current formatting. is the switch from past to present jarring? or is it okay?

prev || all || next

Then.

The heat that Summer brought to Coruscant was different than Tatooine’s, less harsh and dry, and more of a kiss of warmth on your skin. Mother did say that Tatooine was always more temperamental, quick to heat up; while Coruscant could be a little tepid sometimes, but always a lot of fun. 

That was probably the only nice thing about Coruscant. Everything else about the city—like their streets—were too confusing.

Following the directions on your phone, you pulled the straps of your backpack tighter with your unoccupied hand, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to read the map on your phone. Was this truly the place you were meant to meet your guide? 

You looked up at the quaint house in front of you, quite a ways away from downtown and more in the suburbs. It looked like a cottage, like the ones in home magazines your mother liked collecting or the ones in Naboo or Stewjon. Could a high schooler, even one able to attend a prestigious private school, be able to afford such a home?

Did the headmistress confuse the address? Seemed possible. The woman seemed to be much more interested in the absolutes of rules and manners than actually helping you find your guide. Maybe you should have accepted your mother’s offer to accompany you. Or maybe convinced your parents to let you come with Anakin, you were sure Shmi wouldn't have minded.

You stood on your tiptoes, trying to take a peak over the white fence covered in a fuchsia flower—bougainvillea, if you remembered correctly. When that didn’t work, you stuffed your phone into your pocket and with hands holding onto your backpack straps to not jostle your belongings around too much, you began to jump.

There was a sound, like the sound of metal clinking and wood screeching, and the gate opened to a boy? man? (too young to own a house and maybe a few years older than you). He stepped out, blue eyes stopping on your curious form and greeting you with an amused, “Hello, there.”

You knew he had seen you jumping, there was no way he wouldn’t be looking at you the way he was if he hadn’t—embarrassing.

“Hello,” you greeted him back, timid and quickly setting your feet flat on the ground.

“May I help you?” he asked you, his Coruscanti accent thicker than the ones that greeted you at the terminal, much more charming too. It reminds you of all the actors you’ve seen on screen, speaking clearly and with nuance—never faltering. “You seem to be quite lost.”

“Oh, yes, I’m looking for someone,” you found yourself saying, tone turning formal and stiff. He removed his flat cap to push wisps of auburn hair away from his eyes, nodding for you to continue when you paused. “Padmé Amidala, is her name. She’s supposed to be my guide?”

At the mention of Padmé, the kind stranger sighed, hands falling to his hip. “Ah, now I understand why she came over. Did father know?” he murmured under his breath, looking back at the house with a raised brow. “Give me a moment and I’ll fetch her for you.”

You nodded quietly, watching him turn back inside, but not even two steps in, he stopped and turned back around, flashing you an almost sheepish, but albeit charming smile. 

“Pardon, that was a bit rude of me. Would you like to come in and wait for her in the garden?”

You mulled it over—following a stranger into their home was always something you had been advised against since you were a child. It would be completely unwise, wouldn’t it? But he seemed too kind, eyes too innocent and earnest to hurt you. And so, against your usual better judgement, you nodded. “If it’s no trouble?”

“None at all,” he assured you, opening the gate wider, “please come in. I’m Obi Wan, an old friend of Padme’s.”

You gave him your name and he smiled at you, wide and completely beautiful. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Now.

You were only a girl back when you first met, immature and blossoming and he was a young man, all roses and maturity—too much like his father (and yet nothing like him)—it was never going to be the right time for you.

Even now, standing before you—him with his tidy, combed auburn hair, white, stupid shirt that is freshly pressed, and brown slacks and dress shoes that are anything but casual—you feel like that girl all over again. 

“It has been a long time, Obi Wan.” Obi Wan. Obi. Obi. It’s been so long since you’ve said his name aloud that it feels so foreign on your tongue now. “I—I didn’t know you were visiting.”

His eyebrows furrow, deep, cerulean pools gliding away to the white door only a few steps away. His nostrils flare with a breath and turns his gaze back to you, opening his mouth to say something—he doesn’t get the chance. 

“There you are! You said—oh,” It’s Padmé. Beautiful, sweet Padmé looking as lost and confused to see Obi Wan just at the entrance of her driveway, with you. “Obi Wan?”

“Hello, old friend.” His head is slanted towards her now, a soft smile on his face. “It has been some time.” 

Friend. There’s always been that distinction between you and her in his words and actions. She was and is friend or little sister, and you were and have not always been darling—that always something, but never just nothing. 

“Yes, it has,” she says, unable to change her expression, and you don’t blame her. You still can’t believe it either.

Did Anakin know?

“Honey, where is—“

Of course Anakin knows, how could he not know? Look at his stupid face peeking over Padmé’s shoulder like the kriffing embecile he is! Those wide blue eyes don’t fool you, not one bit!

Dinner is quiet for the most part. 

The twins are unsure of the newcomer, even though Padmé and Anakin keep reassuring them that he’s a friend, their godfather (something they are aware of thanks to the pictures of the six of you sitting on the mantle of their fireplace). The twins were only a year old when he returned the first time and around three years old when he left the second time. They have no attachment to the man sitting at the head of the table. 

They absolutely refuse to sit next to him—Obi Wan smiles, but there’s a flash of pain in his eyes at hearing their quiet reluctance and rejection to get to know him—and so, you and Anakin take the seat closest to him and across from one another. Leia by his side and Luke by yours. Padmé takes the other head, smiling placidly, but her brown eyes waver when they meet yours every time.

Utensils scrape against ceramic, Obi Wan occasionally asking questions—how have you been? how’s work? how’s school? did Mr. Ford finally move? Quinlan still touring? Mr. Windu still teaching at the school?

It’s Anakin that mostly answers for all of you, trying to keep dinner as lively as it usually is, but with the kids eating silently by your side and not falling for their dad’s bait, it falls flat.

This dinner was supposed to be full of discussion—who will be joining us? will I need to buy more bread? did the know Qui Gon? does it matter? coffee for how many people, again? But you can’t bring any of them up in fear of how Obi Wan would react, and quite honestly, you think it might be because you don’t know how to react to his presence, yet.

Your heart squeezes in your chest every time you glance at him and find him looking back at you, a longing to reach out and take him into your arms edging ever so slightly forward every time. But there’s also a part of you that wants to keep him at a distance, to not give him the ability to hurt you when he inevitably leaves again. And that latter part of you is probably the reason why you blurt a question you should’ve kept to yourself.

“Why are you back?” Anakin trails off, his voice lowering when yours suddenly cuts through his. Obi Wan’s eyes widen and his mouth hangs open slightly and you realize your question comes off more accusatory than you meant it to sound. “I—I mean, it’s just so sudden and—“

“I know,” Obi Wan interrupts, soft; understanding. “I wasn’t sure I should come back,” he admits, remorse floating around his words (whether for having felt that way or because he knows it’ll hurt you, you don’t know) and you quickly face forward, meeting Anakin’s hurt eyes that most likely mirror yours, “but the firm has offered me a promotion and Anakin managed to convince me to test it out.”

You release a shuddering sigh, you had a feeling he knew.

Now it’s Anakin’s turn to quickly look away from you (you can’t help but wonder if he saw the hint of betrayal beginning to bubble in the pit of your stomach), only to be trapped by his lovely wife’s. Once more, he breaks contact and stares down at the plate in front of him instead.

“I’m sorry,” Obi Wan starts after a brief tense silence, “if I had known you weren’t aware I wouldn’t have—“

“We’re glad you’re back, Obi Wan,” Padmé interjects, a soft, lovely smile on her face—always so good with people, “for however long you wish to stay.” Although you know she means it, there’s still some hesitation in her words as her gaze flickers between you and him.

“Yes,” you find yourself saying, somehow managing to keep your voice leveled through it, “we’re glad you’re back.” And just like Padme, you know you mean it too, even if there’s a hint of hesitation in the way your eyes won’t meet Obi Wan’s gaze as you say it, focusing instead on the bridge of his nose.

You think he knows it too with the way his hands resting on the table roll inward, an uncomfortable veil beginning to fester as he keeps quiet, eyes drooping and the corner of his lips pulling down.

“Auntie,” Leia whispers, breaking the tension, from across the table and you hum, turning to face her with a wavering smile, “may I please have your piece of roast if you’re not going to eat it? It’s getting cold.”

You blink, and you’re sure everyone else is just as surprised as you are by her words—it’s such a little Leia thing to say, but at this moment? None of you were expecting it, and so, when you erupt into laughter, the room does too, the shock wearing off.

Leia looks around at the adults and she and Luke share a look before shrugging. She murmurs about roasts and perfectly good meat, and you shake your head as your laughter begins to die down.

“You can have it, honey.”

“Sweet!” Her eyes brighten and she grins, immediately digging into the piece of roast you’ve set on her plate.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Anakin whispers into the quiet space between you; the two of you staring out into the living room from the kitchen, leaning back onto the island.

It doesn’t surprise you that Obi Wan somehow manages to get the twins to warm up to him—Leia on his right and Luke on his left, the scrapbook you gifted them last year filled with Polaroid pictures of constellations opened on Obi Wan’s lap. He’s always been particularly good with kids, a trait he must’ve inherited from Gui Gon, who had an immense patience for teaching little ones how to play the piano and guitar.

Padmé sits with them too, keeping their attention away from you and Anakin and the inevitable arguing that might occur.

“This is Cetus!” you hear Luke point out.

“It’s our favorite ‘cause it’s a sea monster!” Leia informs him giddily, leaning forward to trace the stars to form the shape. “And this is And—Andromeda! It’s our Auntie’s favorite.”

“Is that right? It happens to be my favorite too.” Obi Wan glances over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours for a split second—and you refuse to unravel the mess of emotions swirling in your stomach from that simple glance—before returning his attention back to the eager children, voice lilting. “Which one is this one?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” You cup your cheek, the other holding your elbow to keep it perched—but it does matter. It very much matters that Anakin knew and kept it from you, blindsiding you completely. If you had known—if you had known you wouldn’t have come. You could’ve mentally prepared yourself for his reappearance in your lives. But instead you got punched in the gut. “He’s here now.” 

“I wanted to tell you,” he rushes to admit. “But I—when he told me he would visit—try out that new job, I didn’t think he actually would.” Anakin crosses his arms over his chest, eyes downcast and focused on his crossed ankles. “He’s done this before, you know?”

Your head snaps in his direction—this is the first you’ve ever heard about it.

“Once after your 21st birthday and another after Din and you broke up.” Anakin lets out a frustrated sigh and the hand that had been cupping your cheeks curls into a tight fist. “I wanted to surprise you, so I didn’t tell you. But he always called the night before to say he couldn’t make it. Some surprise, huh?”

“Anakin…” 

“I thought—I don’t know what I thought, to be honest.” He laughed self-deprecatingly and you squeeze his forearm. “I just hoped he would. I’m sorry”

“I’ll get over it, Ani,” you promise him, soft, the hurt and betrayal you felt dissipating like wisps of smoke. “I understand why you didn’t tell me.” He tries to smile at you, but fails. “I’m glad he’s back, really, I meant it when I said it… but—“

“It hurts,” he finishes for you, sympathy and understanding laced in those two words.

“Always.”

“Do you know which one is this one Uncl’Obi?” Leia asks.

“Mama, knows it,” Luke follows.

“Does she? Care to give me a hint?”

“That'd be cheating.” Padmé laughs.

“No cheaters here,” Leia agrees, nodding her head with each word.

“Oh, fine. Let’s see…” Obi Wan chuckles, his hand coming up to his chin to rub the growing stubble, exaggerating his thinking. “Is it… a Bantha?” The kids giggle and shake their heads. “No? Hm. Then… is it… ah! I know—Pegasus?”

“Yes!”

You fight back a smile, pressing your lips together as the twins begin to tell him the story of Pegasus, not telling it correctly, but Obi Wan is enraptured by their animated story telling nonetheless. 

“We have to tell him,” Anakin whispers, breaking the silence, and while he doesn’t reference who has to know and what they have to know, you know exactly what he’s insinuating and you don’t agree.

“No.”

He exasperates your name, hands falling to his side as he fully turns to you. “He deserves—“

“I said no, Anakin,” you spit, breath coming out harshly. His blue eyes widen and they flash with hurt. You close your eyes, steadying your breath and calming your racing heart—cursing yourself. “He doesn’t need to know,” you repeat, softer this time. “He’s not going to stay long enough for it and even if he were, he’ll want nothing to do with it.”

“You do know best.” Anakin’s eyes have always been much more expressive than yours or Padmé’s or even Obi Wan’s—always giving away how he truly feels even though his mouth and the words that come out of it say otherwise.

“That’s—Anakin. That’s not fair. Remember last time we tried telling him when—“

“Satine had just passed away,” Anakin iterates, eyes softening when your eyes begin to well up—you swallow harshly. “It was still so fresh in his mind that he couldn’t think of honoring—“ He sighs, stopping himself from saying Qui Gon’s name. “Maybe now will be different.”

His eyes, as soft as they are, challenge you, refusing to crumble under your glare, they’re asking you to give in, to please, tell him. You shouldn’t give in, for your sake and Obi Wan’s, but the longer he looks at you with those eyes of his, you let out a reluctant sigh. “Okay.” You move away from the kitchen’s island and head towards the archway leading to the living room. “But you tell him. I have to get going.”

“I can do that.” You look back at him and find him smiling at you, thankful and relieved. You return it, albeit weakly, but he appreciates the effort. “We’ll talk about preparations another day, okay?”

You’ll probably have to talk about more than preparations later, but you don’t tell him that; instead, you nod and exit the kitchen.

Padmé, noticing your return, turns to you and studies you carefully. “Everything okay?”

Obi Wan also turns to look at you—the children’s current story falling on deaf ears—but you keep your gaze on Padmé.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you assure her, “but I have to head out.”

The twins hear that and immediately a chorus of “aww” and “why, Auntie?”, “can’t you stay?”, “sleepover!” begin to take over—their words wrestling over one another to be heard and you laugh, crouching down and opening your arms wide for them to run into. They do without hesitation, practically climbing over Obi Wan and Padmé to do so.

“I’m sorry, my little stars, I have to get up early for work tomorrow.” Pulling away from their little arms, you hold your pinkies out for them. “Next time I come over, we’ll have a movie night. Deal?”

“Deal!” They readily agree, hooking their pinkies with yours.

“And you’ll bring Uncle Din and Baby?” Luke whispers, low enough for only you and Leia to hear.

“Promise,” you whisper back.

Shaking their pinkies one last time, you stand up and begin your goodbyes, hugging Padmé tightly.

“Call me when you get home safely, okay?” she says, warmth in her words. 

“I will.” You linger in her arms longer than necessary, your heart beating in your chest harshly and rapidly, hesitant and afraid of saying goodbye to Obi Wan. But you finally pull away, you can’t be rude and leave him hanging. 

“May I… walk you to your car?” Obi Wan asks you, blue eyes wavering ever so slight my when you meet his gaze head on. 

A part of you wants to say no, but an even bigger part of you—the part that completely and utterly missed him—convinces you to agree. “I’d appreciate it.”

Anakin’s eyebrows furrow as he hands you your jacket and purse, and you smile at him, telling him it’s all right. It’s really not, you’d rather be able to breath for a moment and then think about Obi Wan later, but it’s too late now.

Obi Wan says something to the family of four as you slip on your jacket—“I’ll be back,” you assume. He grabs his own jacket from the coat rack and zips himself up, following after you as you walk out into the evening’s cold air.

“Did you park very far?” he asks you and you shake your head, walking down the stone path Anakin and Padmé installed earlier this year.

“Just down there.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

It’s a quiet walk, not an uncomfortable one, but you can’t say it’s comfortable either—it just is? Like many things just are. Will it always be like this now?

You hope not, because this quietness is not you and Obi Wan.

“This is it.” You step to the side of the driver, pressing the unlock button once and open the door. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my dear.” Obi Wan moves to close the door for you, but you don’t move to sit and he just stands there in front of you, holding your door. “I wish you a Goodnight and—and I’m glad I got to see you.”

Goodbye, Obi Wan. The words catch in your throat, your mouth parted, waiting for the words to escape, but you can’t bring yourself to say goodbye—what if this is the last time I see you, again?

“Darling?”

Your eyes find his even in the low lighting of the street—blue eyes shining brighter than the celestial sea. There are permanent lines around his eyes now—little crow feet that weren’t there last time he stood in front of you—and you reach for them with shaky hands and he closes his eyes when your thumb runs over them—gentle and tender, caressing.

He delicately hold your wrists, his thumbs running over your pulse, soothing and all too caring—thump. thUMP. THUmp. steady. familiar. alive.

It’s too much. It’s too much that you can’t help the welling of tears or the way your throat croaks when you call his name. 

Blue eyes re-emerge, red rimmed and devastating and it takes you only a second—a second of bright stars and flashing satellites, and airplanes landing—for you to collide against each other—faces hiding in hair and shoulder—wet words murmured over each other and tangling in vines so deep like the flowers that once grew on a beautiful white fence—hands wrapped tightly around each other.

“I’m so sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.” “I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much.” “Please don’t let go.” “I will never let you go. Never again.”

You stare up at the house, well kept and pristine. The roses, however, are dying, their season soon to be over. But even in their last moments, they cling to their own beauty just for a little while longer.

“Resilient little things,” Qui Gon used to say. “Just like the heart. We tend to forget it’s a delicate thing, prone to hurting and breaking—even wilting, but much stronger than we give it credit.”

With the lingering warmth of Obi Wan’s arms and words encasing you, you turn back around and get in your car, driving away from the place that has been your home for the last few years.

Hopefully, Din will take you in for the night.

next

[archipelagolago]

There’s a World Between Earth and Sky

Tonight, the breeze is a light shudder over Steve’s bare arms.

He’s sitting on the floor in front of his sliding back door.

The door is open to about the width of his shoulders; wide enough to breathe the outside air, narrow enough to be closed quickly.

The sunset is gorgeous. Truly dreamlike in its beauty. Soft pinks and vibrant oranges fading to quiet purples and deep blues in one direction, to bright, blinding, yellow in the other.

It’s not red tonight. Steve couldn’t be here, looking, if it was red tonight. Couldn’t see it without facing flashes of bloody nails, dark-veined blue eyes, doomsday skies.

So, it’s not red tonight.

But the shadows are there. On the edge of the tree line. Cast over chlorinated water by a diving board.

Even so, Steve can be here. Because the gap left by the open door is narrow enough to be slammed shut in less than a second. And Steve’s bat is resting against the wall, easy to reach. And, most importantly, Billy is in the house.

Billy’s sleeping on the living room couch. Protected by two fluffy blankets. Living. Breathing. In this dimension.

He sleeps a lot, these days. Is usually curled up on that couch when Steve gets home from work. Billy hasn’t been medically cleared to start working again yet. So, he mostly sleeps during the day, isn’t quite able to shut his eyes to the night.

Steve wishes it wasn’t like that. Hopes the night feels less like dying, for Billy, soon. Although, admittedly, Steve takes comfort in knowing someone’s keeping watch on him as he sleeps.

The sunset is getting less yellow now, more pink and purple. Soon it will all fade to vast, dominating, blues.

A dog barks off in the distance. Steve watches a squirrel twitch its tail, run away up a tree.

Steve likes these sounds, dogs barking, squirrels scurrying. They’re safe, but, nothing compared to his current favorite sound, the rustle of blankets and squeak of the couch as Billy shifts into consciousness.

Steve’s lips rise in a soft smile, soft like the pink of the sunset. He hears Billy grunt before the couch squeaks again and his feet can be heard finding the floorboards. The wood groans as Billy shifts his full weight onto it, standing. The scuffing of socks brushing over the floor makes way over to Steve.

The footsteps stop in the doorway.

“Good morning, baby,” Steve calls, keeping his eyes on the sunset.

Billy yawns, shuffles over to sit next to Steve. He shakes out his arms before shifting onto his side and laying his head onto Steve’s crossed legs.

He’s brought one of the blankets with him, has it draped over his shoulders and covering him down to his feet.

Steve sets his right hand over Billy’s heart, feels his own fill with a molten kind of love when Billy’s hand moves up to cover Steve’s.

Steve’s left hand travels to Billy’s hair, stroking the tangled curls in his lap.

This means safety. Means comfort unmatched. Is the first time, all day, Steve can honestly say the sense of impending doom is silenced.

“Sunset’s good today?” Billy asks in a whisper.

Steve senses the soft pink between his ribs grow crawling up to his armpits. He feels some of the tension in his shoulders melt as the color starts to glow.

“The sunset’s amazing today,” Steve responds, with a pleased sigh.

Billy gifts a kiss to Steve’s ankle.

“Tell me 'bout work,” he instructs.

In the back of Steve’s throat, something joins the sunset pink.

“Was pretty average. Nothing special. Except, actually, El and Will came in today. Robin convinced them to rent, uh, the… 'Rocket Horror Movie’? I think?”

The texture of Billy’s hair is a quiet purple beneath Steve’s fingers.

Billy rolls onto his back, frowns up at Steve, “Huh?”

“Uh, or maybe it was, 'The Rocking Horror Show’? Something like that. Don’t think it’s a new release,” Steve tries to explain.

Billy’s eyes light up, a grin spreads over his face, “The Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

Steve’s left pointer finger tap-tap-taps against a floorboard, “Yeah! That’s the one,” he exclaims, relieved to have it remembered.

Billy’s eyebrows raise, grin deepens, “Really? No way?”

“Rob said it wouldn’t be too scary for the kids,” Steve says, starting, now, to doubt her claim.

Billy frees up a laugh at that. His amusement has him vibrating against Steve’s thighs; Steve thinks, this must be what it’s like to feel at home.

“So you’ve never seen Rocky Horror?” Billy asks after settling down.

“No,” Steve answers, “s'it bad?”

Billy huffs out a quiet chuckle, shakes his head. He’s looking at Steve so tenderly, like Steve is the force that keeps his heart beating.

“What’s so funny about it then?” Steve demands, tone shifting to a whine.

Billy’s lips twitch in the way they do when he’s trying to hide a smile.

“We’ll rent it once your kids return it. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Steve groans, “Biilllyy, you know I hate waiting!”

“Yup,” Billy says, popping the 'p’ and rolling his eyes.

He reaches up and brings Steve’s head down, traps him in a vibrant orange kiss.

Steve might cry, he would if he still remembered how to. He’s safe. This is home. This is home.

Billy pulls back. His eyes are watering. He’s happy. Steve can tell by the way he scrunches his nose, squeezes Steve’s hand.

“Whenever I sit here with you, looking out at the sunset, I think, it’s the day kissing the night awake,” Billy says.

Steve smiles down at Billy in gentle purple. He moves the hand that isn’t clutching Billy’s own, back to his lover’s hair. Let’s his fingers glide over it.

“Reminds me of you,” Billy clarifies, closing his eyes.

Steve hums in question.

Billy continues, “You do the same. Kiss me awake at night,” he rubs his head up and down over Steve’s thigh, wraps an arm around his waist, “You’re my sunset.”

And Steve’s glowing now. Taken over by all the colors of the sunset.

Steve’s not good at crying. Hasn’t felt tears on his face in… he doesn’t know how long. Billy, though, is good at crying. He tears up practically any time he’s struck by emotion.

Sometimes, like now, Steve wishes he knew how to release the suffocating hold he’s had choking his emotions since he first realized his parents didn’t love him back. He wishes he could let go of control, drop the façade, even for just a few seconds.

Because he’s safe, here, with Billy, in this dimension. He knows nothing bad would come of displaying his emotions. He’s safe. He’s loved. He’s home.

But, years of suppressing his emotions. Burying his feelings. Hiding behind a mask. They don’t just disappear. He can’t just reset.

So it’s still hard for him. To express his own emotions outside of responding to those of others. Because, he can be angry in response to someone else’s rage, can be sad in response to someone else’s despair, can be affectionate in response to someone else’s care. But, he can’t quite seem to feel like a human on his own. Can’t seem to say anything serious with his eyes open, or kiss Billy first, couldn’t respond to Nancy’s grief while simultaneously burying his own terror, guilt, confusion.

It’s okay, though. Because Billy knows. Billy knows how to love him and how to listen to him and how to see him. Because he’s made a point of learning to understand Steve. Because he cares. Because he loves Steve back.

So, when all Steve can do is close his eyes and whisper, “I love you,” Billy knows he means it. Even though, right now, Steve can just tell and not entirely show.

So, when Billy twists, kisses Steve’s stomach, presses his face up against him, Steve knows he means, 'I love you too.“ Even though, right now, he can’t entirely tell, just show.

And when Steve keeps stroking Billy’s hair, not only in response to Billy setting his head on Steve’s lap, it’s progress.

The sun is fully set by now. Soft pinks and quiet purples overtaken by vast blues. And it’s okay. It’s still beautiful. The stars are glowing brighter now. If you look closely, maybe squint, you’ll see the clouds building abstract patterns in the shifting blue.

Steve looks down at Billy, now. Squeezes his hand and says, "I should get started on dinner.”

Before Billy can groan he adds, “And. I uh, I know that you’re nauseous, and it hurts. But. Can you try today? At least have some smoothie, for me?”

Billy sighs, narrows his eyes at Steve, “That’s not fair, you know. Making it 'for you’. Can’t do that when you know I’d do anything for ya.”

Steve isn’t sure how to reply to that. It’s true. But. Things are complicated for both of them right now. Nothing feels, just, simple.

“Seriously, sunset,” Billy emphasizes.

Steve takes a deep breath, “Ok. You’re right. It’s unfair to guilt you like that. I just don’t know what to do sometimes. I just want to keep you safe. For always.”

Billy groans, shakes his head, but smiles too, “Can’t always be here ta keep me safe from everything, Stevie. Sometimes, some things, are just always going to be bad. But. I’ll try to try your smoothie. S'long as it’s blueberry.”

Billy’s right. Again. Sometimes bad things stay bad. But, they live among good things, too. And sometimes, good things are just good– no catch. Reality is complex. Multifaceted. Too jumbled up to be just good/bad. Too chaotic to read within the lines. Meaning, the universe holds its breath. Meaning, the universe exhales in time.

And, so. When Steve helps Billy up from the floor, closes the door. When Billy walks behind Steve with his arms wrapped around his lover’s waist, whispering, “we’ll take it slow, sunset.” When the two walk into the kitchen swaying, dancing (slow). The sky meets the Earth, and the view is neither one, nor the other. The Earth meets the sky, and the view is, maybe, both. 🌇

[meat--grindr]

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

·       It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

·       Even better, you aren’t alone.

·       Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

·       The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

·       Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

·       The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

·       The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it���s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

·       Okay. Sure.

·       It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

·       In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

·       “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

·       Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

·       “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

·       “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

·       “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

·       And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

·       The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

·       You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

·       In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

·       So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

·       He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

·       You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

·       His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

·       He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

·       “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

·       And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

·       He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

·       “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

·       Limp or lifeless?

·       The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

·       You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

·       You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

·       When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

·       He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

·       “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

·       Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

·       “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

·       He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

·       You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

·       You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

·       “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

·       And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

·       “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

·       The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

·       You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

·       Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

·       Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

·       You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

·       Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

·       For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

·       The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

·       You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

·       When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

·       “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

·       You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

·       His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

·       The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

·       “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

·       You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

·       Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

·       You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

·       “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

·       Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

·       There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

·       “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

·       There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

·       “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

·       “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

·       “Oh, yes.”

·       “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

·       Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

·       “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

·       Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

·       “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

·       The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

·       Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

·       Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

·       Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

·       “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

·       “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

·       You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

·       Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

·       Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

·       Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

·       “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

·       Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

·       “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

·       Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

·       You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

·       You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

·       “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

·       “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

·       You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

·       “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

·       Clever boy.

·       You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

·       He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

·       You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

·       He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

·       His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

·       You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

·       With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

·       His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

·       You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

·       “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

·       “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

·       You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

·       “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

·       “They are aware, yes.”

·       The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

·       Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

·       You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

·       Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

·       “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

·       You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

·       “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

·       The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

·       You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

·       “Oh yeah? How?”

·       “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

·       He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

·       ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

·       You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

·       Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

·       You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

·       He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

·       But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

·       This is going to be fun.

·       You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside.  Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

·       Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

·       “What was that, Count?”

·       “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

·       The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

·       Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

·       “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

·       With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

·       The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

·       “Their…blood?”

·       You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

·       “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

·       Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

·       The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

·       Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

·       The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

·       Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

·       Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

·       You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

·       “What’s going on, Count?”

·       “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

·       “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

·       Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

·       The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

·       Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

·       His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

·       Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

·       You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

·       “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

·       “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

·       Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

·       He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

·       With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

·       The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

·       His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.  

·       He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

·       The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

·       Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

·       He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”