#i would walk across hot coals for that woman so like. i get it.

[amphibiangeorgerussel]

toto missing the podium bc he was facetiming susie oh he's down bad fr

[appocalipse]

the same thing ・❥・b. barnes

summary: during a mission, you put yourself in harm's way to protect bucky. back at the avengers compound, he wants to know why. | 1.4k words, angst with a happy ending

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"You should be resting."

You don't turn your head as the familiar voice comes from behind you, too focused on the delicate art of making the perfect sandwich to look away. You are a woman on a mission. "I was hungry."

A few seconds later, he's standing next to you, leaning back against the countertop with arms folded across his broad chest. "It's been less than twelve hours since they patched you up."

He's not going to stop hovering, you realize, because that's what Bucky does when he's worried.

"Want half?" Maybe you can distract him with food.

He regards the towering monstrosity on the cutting board and the chaotic layers of meat, cheese, and veggies sticking out at all angles.

You can't help but grin as you slap another slice of bread on top. "A quarter, then?"

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. "I'm not eating that thing."

You cradle the plate in your left hand, holding the sandwich with your right, and give him a pointed look. "Your loss."

Bucky just watches, arms still crossed, as you take a huge bite. His blue eyes remain narrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He's like a one-man intervention waiting to happen. You shrug and wander over to the kitchen table.

Sitting down is a bit of an effort. The wound on your side pulls as you slowly lower yourself onto the chair, but if you can keep from grimacing too hard, Bucky won't be able to tell, will he?

Your smile probably gives you away. He narrows his eyes further. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I'm hungry?"

"No." Bucky takes a step forward. "I meant why did you get between me and that shot?"

Good question. The answer is embarrassing and you'd sooner walk barefoot over hot coals than tell him the truth.

"Hm?"

Another step. "I have superhuman healing powers."

"I'll live."

"It was stupid."

"You're ruining my—ow," you mutter, dropping the sandwich as you instinctively put your hand over your bandage. There goes the carefully maintained poker face. You force yourself to remove your hand and look up at Bucky with what you hope is an innocent expression, even as your side throbs in protest. "My sandwich. You're ruining my sandwich. Are you sure you don't want a bite?"

Bucky is too smart to take the bait. He moves around the table, coming to stand in front of you. The whole 'arms-crossed-stern-glare' thing again. It would be intimidating if you didn't know him so well.

"You could've been killed," he's like a dog with a bone, you swear.

"But I wasn't," you say pointedly. "I'm fine."

"Fine? You were shot."

"Will you just let it go? It doesn't even...hurt...that much," you lie.

It will take a while for the super-soldier serum in your blood — a weaker variation of the same stuff that runs through Bucky's veins — to kick in and accelerate your healing.

Bucky exhales. He looks about ready to give you an earful, but then his gaze shifts and he notices the way you're holding your side, how stiffly you're sitting.

You move your traitorous hand away like you've been burned.

"How bad is it?"

"Huh?" you say in a deliberately casual tone. "It's...totally fine. Not bad, really. Don't worry. I don't even feel it."

There's the reason why you've never been a spy. You can't lie to save your life, apparently.

Or maybe just not to Bucky.

"Okay. It hurts, like, just a little bit...like—like not even hurts hurts, just..." you trail off with a grimace as he comes closer. "More of an itch?"

"An itch?" Bucky sounds dubious.

"More of a burn," you concede. "A...mildly annoying but totally manageable sort of a burn."

"You are a terrible liar."

"Okay, so it hurts," you snap, the last vestiges of your patience vanishing. "I have an extensive hole in my side, I get it. It's not—I don't want you to feel bad about it. It's really not terrible, I can take it."

Bucky shakes his head. "What if it had been worse? What if they'd shot you somewhere vital?"

"They didn't."

"But what if they had?"

"Then I would have died!"

Bucky looks at you like you just kicked him. "Yeah. That's what I'm trying to say."

You open your mouth, then close it.

"You think I want that?" he asks softly.

"No." You suddenly feel very small. "Of course not, I just...just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't know," you admit with a sigh. "It's just that you are...people need you, you know? And you have a life, people who care about you, but I'm just..."

A nobody. A girl with no past, who can barely make sense of her present.

"...it would be better if it was me. That's all."

"It would never be better if you were hurt."

"Bucky—"

"You don't get it, do you?" he asks in a low voice. "People need you too."

You roll your eyes. "Please. You mean the team?"

"Me," Bucky says pointedly. "You think it's easy for me? When you get hurt? It kills me."

The sandwich lays forgotten on the table, squashed flat under your clasped hands. "It...kills you?"

He just looks at you for a long moment.

Your heart flutters in your chest. You have a sudden, intense urge to break the silence with a terrible joke, a quip, something light and witty to dispel the heaviness in the air and make this moment go away. But before you can open your mouth, Bucky shakes his head.

"You kill me."

Okay, that's not where you thought this was going. "What?"

"When you say stuff like that. When you make it sound like you don't matter, like it's okay for you to get hurt. Or worse. It's not."

Oh.

"Bucky," you try again, with a more serious tone. "I don't—"

"Stop saying that," he cuts you off.

You realize your mouth is still hanging open and snap it shut.

"You want to know what I think?" Bucky is so close now you could reach out and touch him, if you were brave enough. "I think that you got this...thing in your head, that you're not good enough, or strong enough, or that you're broken somehow. I think that you forget that it's okay to want things. I think that maybe you think nobody needs you. That no one wants you."

You swallow. You're afraid to say anything, to move, because your heart is hammering against your ribs and Bucky is looking at you like he can see straight into your soul.

"But I do."

"Do...what?" you whisper.

"Want you."

It's the last thing you expect to hear. "Bucky, you don't mean that."

His voice drops an octave. "Don't tell me what I mean."

Your cheeks are burning. You feel pinned under his gaze. Your side is throbbing again and you have a mouthful of butterflies and it's all just too much.

You move to get up but only make it halfway before the wound pulls again and you wince. "Shit."

"Where do you think you're going?" Bucky reaches out to help you, one hand braced against your shoulder as you sink back down into the chair. His expression has softened. "You need to rest."

You really want to kiss him right now.

It's the closest he's ever been to you, perhaps. You can feel his breath on your face.

"I need to...? You really confuse me, Barnes."

"How so?"

"Well, first you tell me that I kill you, and then you say you want me. It's kind of a mixed message—"

"I'm not interested in being just friends with you," Bucky cuts you off abruptly. "Is that clear enough?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. There's a warm, tingling sensation in your chest and you suddenly can't breathe properly. "That's—you—"

Bucky smirks, just a little. He looks almost...proud of himself? Like he's happy he's rendered you speechless for once.

You decide to take a page from his book and put him on the spot. "And what do you think I want?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, leaning even closer. "But I hope it's the same thing."

His lips brush against yours, soft and gentle. He pulls away and you want to chase after him but then he's back again and kissing you harder this time, all teeth and tongue and ragged breathing and heat.

You close your eyes. Your head is spinning and you can't get enough air but you're kissing him back now, both hands coming up to fist in his shirt, holding on for dear life.

His mouth trails down your neck, leaving hot kisses along your jawline. You let out a breathy sigh.

"Is that...supposed to help me heal faster, mhm?"

Bucky just smiles against your skin.

[hauntedkidpersona]

Once upon a time// Chapter-5

Pairing- Polybts x reader

Summary-Choosing a husband is not easy, but bring in the seven princes and your in a lot of trouble.

Warnings: Duality of humans, Mistress, Y/N is a badass, Detachment issues, Cold behaviour, Strangers to enemies, Nudity, sexual jokes, talks of orgasm (nothing we don't know)

Overview: Life isn't like fairytale. You knew it the moment you reached a ripe age of nineteen. Which meant, your now a women who is in a hurry to be wed and bring prosperity and fame to your Kingdom. For this, you have readily accepted the self-groom event which requires you to select your husband out of all the potential Kings and Princes alike. But what happens when you select, not one. Not two but seven grooms? Chaos.

Masterlist-

A/n- Taglist is open for now.

Tags- @singukieee @shadowyjellyfishfest @inlovewithallmusic @lachimolala22019

The laughter of your maids echoed across the inner quarters, it was a peaceful afternoon. Even though the place outside was burning through the onslaught of the summer, like hot coal it would burn anyone unlucky.

But inside here, you were enjoying the breeze near the kadamba trees that were in full bloom. Looking over the crystal clear pool whose stage was graced in lotuses of all colours- purple being the most dominant.

"She is cheating, Princess." A shrill noise had you turn into the commotion, watching as the maids that littered around for a small play of chausar break into an argument.

Anika glares, "I wasn't, the rules didn't say you could back away your dices."

You sigh, taking measured sips of the cool lemonade. The Sky Palace was breathtaking, made of white marbles. It stood in stark contrast to its name, resembling the sheer vastness of the benevolent King that reins the land you trudge in delight. He sure has taken a great deal out of the small request you had of him.

But who knew your peaceful days would end soon.

Young and naive. That's what your father calls you. But how can one expect a 16 year old to behave like some matured person. Your days were peaceful, passing with the vivid imagination of the books you read. You had no interest in anything, and so you were even described as a lazy wart. For except beauty you possessed no special qualities of a royal. You were pampered and spoiled rotten, throwing tantrums was second nature by now.

But all that changed when you fell for him, the sweet man who would bring all your imagination to life. But who knew he was just a vile human waiting for an opportunity. Which he got.

You shut your eyes tightly, fisting your palms wherein the warm water failed to match the intensity with which your heart burned. You hissed, inspecting the now bloody palm pierced by your nails. The blood swirled into the water, burning through and through. You imagine his blood pouring out as you ruthlessly kill him, without an ounce of mercy. You can't wait to be blessed by his screams of terror, him begging for his life while you get the upper hand. You can't wait until you meet him again.

They were right. When a woman decides to take revenge, even the devil sits down to take lessons.

You have a deal with the King of the Sun Kingdom. You keep the Princes from leaving their duties, while he in return gets you what you want.

Simple as that.

Getting out, you wrap yourself in a towel.

Not waiting to call out Anika to bring your clothes, you walk out. Face stoic and heart made of steel.

"Princess," you somewhat hear Anika gasping at your blatant disregard of modesty.

You look ahead, glaring at Jin who was now looking at you with a wide open mouth. Is that your book in his hand? Did he fucking read it?

The fuck.

Jin couldn't take his eyes off of you. Your wet hair, swirling and parted as it clung to your hips. Your curves being defined but he cursed that cloth that was in between. He can't admire the beauty in front of him. The book and revenge was long forgotten as he spluttered, cheeks flushing in embarassment while you glared at him.

Poisonous, that's what your looks are. Dangerous and deadly, it could kill a man if you chose that body as a weapon of seduction.

"Get. Out. Right. Now." You shouted, partly screamed so loud that he knew the palace guards would be coming to check. Scrambling out of the bed, he almost falls but nonetheless he stands up quickly. Coughing a bit, as he rushes out with prominent red cheeks that burns in shame and embarassment.

"Are you mad, you were almost naked in front of him. Have some shame Princess, what will he think of you?" Anika blabbers as you plop onto your bed, effortlessly hiding your book for which you became so defensive.

"Are you even listening-

You rolled your eyes, the next second, a cloth was strewn right at your face. Knocking you off from the train of thoughts you boarded long time ago. You sit up, furiously, "So what, He is my husband and moreover I don't care. I am confident on my body, whoever sees it will die for it."

Your tone drops, dripping in arrogance. Why not? History is proof of how men kill, die and wage war for beauty. Your a women who knows how to manipulate pathetic men with your charms. You don't shy away by them who eye you in lust, knowing they can't ever have you. Same goes for that Prince Jin. He can watch you but can never have you.

Giving you a solemn look, Anika helps you in dressing. The quiet that follows is suffocating, but your in no hurry to pause it.

Decked in gold, you shimmer at the red robes that make you look lethal. That's what you like to do, terrorize others so they don't overstep their boundaries. With power comes responsibilities and with that, you build walls; too high to climb.

"Princess—" Keeping a hand on your shoulders, Anika turns you around; "You should know that the fire that burns in you will one day burn you too. I know it demands and reckons you to be rude, mean, cold and rebellious. But someday, this fire will burn out and all you will be left with is loneliness. So please try to be nice to the Princes, so that in future you have someone to care for you."

Pushing her hands away, you smile at her. "Loneliness doesn't scare me, people do. For you know what to expect from being alone but you can never say the same for the other. I am not here to make friends, for I have far greater enemies to take care of."

Jin clears his throat, avoiding looking at anyone as he speeds up inside the common place where all of his brothers from another mother gather. Maybe he can find someone free from his duties.

Entering inside the room, he is met with Yoongi, Taehyung and Jungkook who seem to be busy in their own world. Taking a seat, Jin pours himself a drink and gulps it down in one go. Which did not go unnoticed by them.

"Brother, you look like you ran a marathon." It was Taehyung who takes a jab first, as Yoongi chuckles.

"I did, that witch." He groans, unable to get the image of her out of his mind. You had no shame, whatsoever. Walking like that in front of him. What were you upto? He now knows, why your beauty is praised by all. It was as if you were carved by the celestial beings, and no you weren't petite. You had curves in all the right places and damn that white cloth of yours hid nothing to his imagination. Hiding that body beneath all that robes should be illegal. As soon as that thought arises, he bites his lip upto the point of bleeding.

No way.

He can't fall in your trap. Your purposely seducing him, trying to seperate him from Irene and he won't let you do that. Never.

Sensing whom he was calling witch, Taehyung inquires, "Why, what happened?"

"I saw her naked." He shouts, mad at God knows whom. Him, you or the situation.

Taehyung gasps, as Yoongi who was in the process of enjoying his drink coughs violently. While Jungkook, the innocent lamb's eyes were as wide as saucers. Cheeks tinting a dark shade of red.

After gathering himself, Yoongi and the others bombards him with questions,

"Are you kidding me? How?"

"Damn, It should have been me."

"How-w, I mean did you two do it?"

"What about Irene then?"

Jin sighs, glaring at Taehyung who was accusing him of seeing you like that. It should have been him, not his elder brother.

"Guys, do you think we can do it. I had rather die and she had rather kill me than bed me. As for seeing her naked, she had a cloth wrapped around her. I saw her cause she might have thought nobody was there and came out of the bath in minimal clothing."

Yoongi hums, not interested in knowing anything. While Taehyung smirks, clearly amused.

Entering inside the royal library, you heave a sigh. But that quickly changes when you see no guards on sight, where are they? Lacking on their duties like this. Shameful. Going inside, you frown. You can feel it in your gut, something isn't right. The silence being far more merciless than you. You look around, the sun rays exuding rays across the large windows that keep it's brilliance intact. You keep walking, your footsteps being the only companion.

A rustle, snaps you as you strike; pulling the stranger hiding behind the shelves as your knife is freed from your robes and clutched against the intruder's throat in blatant disregard of their life. You press it, drawing blood that takes a coppery path along the pale skin of that women.

Irene.

She screams, flailing against your arms but it was futile. "Leave me, Prince- someone save me."

"Shh, damsel in distress. From when your allowed inside the royal library huh? Who gave you the permission and the audacity?" You push back the knife, grabbing her chin harshly. You bring her close, nails digging into her flesh.

Irene flails grabbing her hands to free herself, "Prince gave me permission."

You smirk, "But the King told you to stay far away then how dare you to have the courage to spread your whore legs inside my quarters and on my bed bitch. Tell me, from where this defiance comes. Let me end that for once and all." She hissed. You were so done with her. You push her away, as you continue; "Get this in your damn head. If you love Prince Jin so much than stay where your put. Don't try to meddle in affairs your not allowed to. Your just his mistress, so don't try to anger me otherwise I would have you thrown out of the Palace faster than you spread that damn legs of yours."

Irene glares at you, "That will only happen if you come out alive, Prince loves me and it's you who has to get out of here."

"Oh Finally, I was waiting for when you drop the act and now here we are." You laugh, her empty threats not stirring you in the slightest.

Having enough, Irene raises her hand to slap you but your reflexes ground her, holding her hand you attack her eyes, stopping mere inces away. Her eyes widen in fear, as she stands in absolute terror. "One wrong move, and I will kill you."

She trembles, "You call me a whore but the real slut is you who has seven men as her husband's."

"Atleast I am not running behind other's husband. Poor you, living as Mistress and already soiled and ruined. If in future the Prince leaves you-" You mock her, hitting a nerve when she grits her teeth.

"What's happening here?" A voice thunders, as you quickly back away. Bowing down to the King that strides in with his guards on tail. Beside you Irene defiantly falls on the ground, disregarding all your warnings. Such an actor.

"My King, Princess hurt me. She wants to kill me, please save me." She wails, as you cringe at her act. Wrong move women.

The King raises an eyebrow, looking at you who shakes her head. She is really looking for trouble. Testing your patience, all because she was the beloved of Jin. You internally smirk, you will let her know today who holds the real power. Enough of the drama.

Hearing the commotion, Prince Namjoon and Prince Hoseok also arrive at the scene.

"Is it true?" King looks at you, as you feel the gaze of others burning upon you.

"Why would I? She is Nobody. It's actually her who thought it would be nice to fuck my husband in front of me. My King, she was inside my inner quarters the other day and she dared to soil my bed alongside Prince Jin. I was just warning her not to push her luck. And lastly, I have to defend myself if someone tries to raise their hands on me." You speak, keeping your mind calm and tone strict.

You didn't want to bring their act up but she left you with no options. If in future, she wishes to harm you than its better if you steer clear of her. For proof you called for the maids and guards that were present while this happened. They gave the same reply, even revealing your act of burning the sheets and everything that had soiled your room.

Irene gasps, "No, she is lying My King. Believe me."

"And If you had a problem then why didn't you say it the moment it happened? Why wait for now?" Namjoon interjects, clearly supporting Irene. You scoff.

Another thorn on way. Very well.

You smile at him, "I wanted to have peace with the Mistress of my husband but she clearly doesn't want that. Instead she is showing her powers, acting on wimp just because Prince Jin supports her. No maid is allowed inside the royal library, unless they are cleaning it and yet here she was. I warned her to stay in her place and in return she threatened to unalive me. Just because Prince Jin loves her." You mock, eyes glaring down at the women who refuses to look up. But judging by how tightly she is fisting her hand, you know she is furious. What a sight to see.

Hoseok looks astonished, "You threatened to kill the Princess, Irene? Is that true?"

Irene shakes her head, but that all stops when the King speaks, "Enough, you crossed your limits today. Guards, throw her out for she dared to raise a hand on a royal and moreover she had the audacity to enter the inner quarters of the future Queen. Going as far as threatening her—" he paused, looking down at the women his son dares to love, "But not before whipping her 200 times."

Just then, you heard hurried footsteps. Looking up, your met with a furious Jin and behind him an equally mad Yoongi who is accompanied by other Princes. "Father, leave Irene. She did nothing." Rushing towards her, he is about to take her in his arms but is stopped abruptly by the King who shows him a hand that clearly indicates him to stay right where he is.

"My decision is final. She is nothing but a servant slash Mistress. As far as I know, the law doesn't allow servants to attack Royals which she did and you even brought her to your wife's chambers to—" he stops, taking a deep breath to calm down the fury which is eager to erupt on his elder son. "—Shameless. Your blinded by her, how would you know what she does huh? Guards take her out, and If the Prince does something behind my back then kill the cause. Once and for all."

It was as if ice cold water was smacked against Jin who stared at his father with a blank look. Irene is taken by guards, while you try hard not to fidget. You know Jin won't leave you for this. Never. And damn you for not stopping the punishment of Irene. Your mind berates you. Jin used to spend the night at Irene's and in return you had a peaceful sleep.

But now your doomed.

Tch. Gone was your peaceful sleep. Better keep an eye on this raging Bull who might kill you in sleep.

The commotion soon dies down, as the King is escorted out. You also join him, cause only a fool will stay inside with seven wolves who are waiting to rip you apart. Anika would have your head for this. She told you to befriend the Princes but here you are, already making more enemies.

It's night by the time your done with your royal duties. Your returning to your quarters, limbs aching for some relief. Anika has found you, and she is berating you for the chaos that you didn't cause. You ignore her.

A maid rushes to you, "Princess, please do something. Prince Jin has gone mad and is destroying everything inside the inner quarters. He is also very drunk."

You sigh, nodding at her as you step inside your chamber. Not before ordering others to stay outside. The door is closed behind you, as you walk towards the man who throws the jug of water across the room with a force that cracks it in half.

Sensing your presence, Jin grins like a maniac.

"I was waiting for you."

You frown, already hating the stench of alcohol that graces you the second he moves close. Backing away, you maintain a dignified distance for you know Jin is not in his right mind.

Getting hurt is the last thing in your mind, especially when your dead tired.

Looking down, you show respect for the Prince. "Sorry, but we will talk later."

"You—," Jin comes to grab you, but before that you attack his pressure point. Knocking him out cold.

Going limp, Jin tumbles down. But before he reaches the rock hard ground, you grab him and pull him up.

Daylight comes as a fresh ocean current carrying birdsong and the aroma of petals, her rays deep-soaked in the love and laughter of the ages. But to Jin, it was like a wake up call for the pounding headache that he feels. Groaning, he turns around the soft bed. Opening his eyes, he is met with the unfamiliar room. It suddenly clicks.

Getting up, he is furious to know that you knocked him out. The whole room is back to how it was- neat, elegant and serene. Unlike the destruction that he matted out in drunk stupor.

He will kill you today for sure.

[foodandfolklore]

The Talking Eggs

While perhaps not classified as a Fairytale, I came across Robert San Souci's Children's Story of The Talking Eggs. First Published in 1989. This Author has since passed away in 2014, but it really embodies the feeling of fairytales. I would not be surprised if he took inspiration from other fairytales. I myself see some themes from other folktales. If you can find the original 1989 storybook, I encourage you to give it a read. I think the illustrations are lovely and we were finally in a time period where visual depictions of black people are not just offensive stereotypes. However, it was also a time where children's illustrations were not as diverse as they are today. So despite it being a very magic filled, wacky tale, the pictures are much more serious and realistic looking.

Back in the old days there was a widow with two daughters named Rose and Blanche. They lived on a farm so poor, it looked like the tail end of bad luck. They raised a few chickens, some beans, and a little cotton to get by.

Rose, the older sister, was cross and mean and didn't know beans from bird's eggs. Blanche was sweet and kind and sharp as forty crickets. But their mother liked Rose the best, because they were alike as two peas in a pod -- bad-tempered, sharp-tongued, and always putting on airs.

The mother made Blanche do all the work around the place. She had to iron the clothes each morning using an old iron filled with hot coals, chop cotton in the afternoon, and string the beans for supper. While she'd be doing these chores, her mama and sister would sit side by side in rocking chairs on the shady porch, fanning themselves and talking foolishness about getting rish and moving to the city, where they could go to fancy balls wearing trail-train dresses and lots of jewels.

One hot day the mother sent Blanche to the well to fetch a bucket of water. When the girl got there, she found an old woman wrapped in a raggedy black shawl, near fainting with the heat.

"Please, child, give me a sip of water," the old woman said. "I'm 'bout to die of thirst."

"Yes, aunty," said Blanche, rinsing out her bucket and dipping up some clean, cool well water. "Drink what you need."

"Thank you, child," said the old woman when she'd taken swallow after swallow of water. "You got a spirit of do-right in your soul. God is gonna bless you." Then she walked away down the path that led to the deep woods.

When Blanche got back to the cabin, her mother and sister hollered at her for taking so long.

"This water's so warm, it's near boilin'," shouted Rose, and she dumped the bucket out on the porch.

"Here your poor sister's near dyin' for a drop of cool water," her mother screamed, "and you can't even bring her that little thing."

Then the two of them scolded and hit Blanche until the frightened girl ran away into the woods. She began to cry, since she didn't have anywhere to go, and she was scared to go home.

Suddenly, around a bend in the path came the old woman in the raggedy black shawl. When she saw Blanche, she asked kindly, "What's made you cry so, you poor child?"

"Mama and sister Rose lit into me for something that wasn't my fault," said Blanche, rubbing tears off her cheek. "Now I'm afraid to go home."

"Hush, child! Stop your crying. You come on home with me. I'll give you supper and a clean bed. But you got to promise you won't laugh at anything you see."

Blanche gave her word of honor that she wouldn't laugh. Then the old woman took her by the hand and led her deep into the backwoods. As they walked along the narrow path, bramble bushes and tree branches opened wide in front of them, and closed up behind them.

Soon the came to the old woman's tumble-down shack. A cow with two heads, and horns like corkscrews, peered over a fence at Blanche and brayed like a mule. She reckoned it was a pretty strange sight, but didn't say anything, not wanting to hurt the old woman's feelings.

Next, she saw that the yard in front of the cabin was filled with chickens of every color. Some were hopping about on one leg, some running about on three or four or even more. These chickens didn't cluck, but whistled like mockingbirds. But strange as all this was, Blanche stuck by her promise not to laugh.

When they got inside the cabin, the old woman said, "Light the fire, child, and cook us some supper." So Blanche fetched kindling from the woodpile outside the back door.

The old woman sat down near the fireplace and took off her head. She set it on her knees like a pumpkin. First she combed out her gray hair, then she plaited it into two long braids. Blanche got pretty scared at this. But the woman had been nothing but kind to her, so she just went on lighting the fire.

After a bit the old woman put her head back on her shoulders and looked at herself in a sliver of a mirror nailed to the cabin wall. "Um-m-m-hum!" she said, nodding. "That's better."

Then she gave Blanche an old beef bone and said, "Put this in the pot for supper."

Now Blanche was near starving, and the bone looked like a pretty sad meal for the two of them, but she did what the old woman said. "Shall I boil it for soup, aunty?" she asked.

"Look at the pot, child!" the old woman said, laughing.

The pot was filled with thick stew, bubbling away.

Next the woman gave Blanche only one grain of rice and told her to grind it in the stone mortar. Feeling mighty foolish Blanche began to pound the grain with the heavy stone pestle. In a moment the mortar was overflowing with rice.

When they had finished supper, the old woman said, "It's a fine moonshiny night, child. Come with me."

They sat themselves down on the back porch steps. After a time dozens of rabbits came out of the underbrush and formed a circle in the yard. The men rabbits all had frock-tail coats, and the lady rabbits had little trail-train dresses. They danced, standing on their hind feet, hopping about. One big rabbit played a banjo, and the old woman hummed along with it.

Blanche kept time by clapping along. The rabbits did a square dance, a Virgina reel, and even a cakewalk. The girl felt so happy, she never wanted to leave. She sat and clapped until she fell asleep, and the old woman carried her inside and put her to bed.

When Blanche got up the next morning, the old woman told her, "Go milk my cow."

The girl did what she was told and the two-headed cow with the curly horns gave her a bucket of the sweetest milk she'd ever tasted. They had it with their morning coffee.

"You gotta go home now, child," the old woman said to Blanche, who was washing the breakfast dishes. "But I tell you, things will be better from here on out. And since you are such a good girl, I got a present for you.

"Go out to the chicken house. Any eggs that say, 'Take me,' you go ahead and take. But if you hear any say, 'Don't take me,' you leave them be. When you get near home, throw those eggs one after another over your left shoulder so they break in the road behind you. Then you'll get a surprise."

When Blanch got to the little chicken house, she found all the nests filled with eggs. Half were gold or silver or covered with jewels; half looked no different from the eggs she got from her chickens back home.

All the plain eggs told her, "Take me." All the fancy ones cried, "Don't take me." she wished she could take just one gold or silver or jeweled egg, but she did what the old woman told her and only scooped up the plain ones.

She and the old woman waved good-bye to each other, then Blanche went on her way. Partway home she began to toss the eggs one at the time over her left shoulder. All sorts of wonderful things spilled out of the eggs: now diamonds and rubies, now gold and silver coins, now pretty silk dresses and dainty satin shoes. There was even a handsome carriage that grew in a wink from the size of a matchbox -- and a fine brown-and-white pony that sprouted from the size of a cricket to draw it.

Blanche loaded all these lovey things into the carriage and rode the rest of the way home like a grand lady.

When she got back to the cabin, her mother and sister just gawked at her new finery. "Where did you get all these things?" her mother asked, making Rose help Blanche carry the treasures inside. That evening the mother cooked dinner for the first time since Blanche was old enough to hold a skillet. All the time telling Blanche what a sweet daughter she was, her mama got the girl to tell about the old woman and the cabin in the woods and the talking eggs.

When Blanche was asleep, the mother grabbed Rose and told her, "You gotta go into the woods tomorrow mornin' and find that old aunty. Then you'll get some of those talkin' eggs for yourse'f so's you can have fine dresses and jewels like your sister. When you get back, I'll chase Blanche off and keep her things myse'f. Then we'll go to the city and be fine ladies like we was meant to be."

"Can't we just run her off tonight so's I don't have to go pokin' through the woods lookin' for some crazy ol' aunty?" Rose whined.

"There's not near enough for two," her mother said, getting angry. "You do as I say and don't be so contrary."

So the next morning Rose set out drag-foot into the woods. She dawdled mostly, but soon met the old woman in her raggedy black shawl.

"My sweet little sister Blanche tol' me you got a real pretty house an' all," said Rose. "I'd 'presciate to see it."

"You can come with me if you've a mind to," said the old woman, "but you got to promise not to laugh at whatever you see."

"I swear," said Rose.

So the old woman led her through the bramble bushes and tree branches into the deep woods.

When they got near the cabin Rose saw the two-headed cow that braid like a mule and the funny looking chickens that sang like mocking birds.

"If there ever was a sight, that's one! That's the stupiest thing in the world!" Rose laughed and laughed until she nearly fell down.

"M-hmh," said the old woman, shaking her head.

Once inside, Rose complained when she was asked to start the fire, but she made more smoke than flame. The old woman gave her an old bone to put in the pot for supper.

"That's gunna make a mighty poor meal." Rose said, crossly. She dropped the bone in the pot, but the bone remained a bone.

Next, the old woman gave her a single grain of rice to grind in the morter.

"This sad speck won't hardly feed a fly." Rose said. She wouldn't lift the pestle, so no rice was made at all. Thin soup for supper was all they had.

"Mm-hmm." The old lady said.

Rose went to bed hungry. All night long she heard mice scratching under the floor and screech owls clawing at the window.

In the morning the old woman told her to milk the cow. Rose did, but she made fun of the two-headed creature and all she got was a little sour milk not fit for drinking. So they had their breakfast coffee without any cream.

When the old woman lifted her head off her shoulders to brush her hair, quick as a wink Rose grabbed that head and said, "I'm not gonna put you back t'gether 'til you give me presents like my sister got."

"Ah, child, you're a wicked girl," said the old woman's head, "but I got to have my body back, so I'll tell you what to do.

"Go to the chicken house and take those eggs that say, 'Take me.' But leave be the ones that cry 'Don't take me.' Then you toss those eggs over your right shoulder when you're on your way home."

To be sure the old woman wasn't playing her a trick, Rose set the old woman's head out on the porch while her body sat groping around the cabin. Then she ran to the chicken house. Inside, all the plain eggs cried, "Take me," while all the gold and silver and jeweled ones said "Don't take me."

"You think I'm fool enough to listen to you an pass up the prettiest ones? not on your life!" So she grabbed all of the gold and silver and jeweled eggs that kept yelling, "Don't take me," and off she ran into the woods with them.

As soon as she was out of sight of the old woman's cabin, she tossed the eggs over her right shoulder as fast as she could. But out of the shells came clouds of whip snakes, toads, frogs, yellow jackets, and a big, old, gray wolf. These began to chase after her like pig after a pumpkin.

Hollering bloody murder Rose ran all the way to her mother's cabin. When the woman was the swarm f things chasing her daughter, she tried to rescue her with a broom. But the wasps and wolf and all other creatures wouldn't be chased off, so mother and daughter high-tailed it to the woods, with all the animals following.

When they returned home, angry and sore and stung and covered with mud, the found Blanche had gone to the city to live like a grand lady -- though she remained as kind and generous as always.

For the rest of their lives, Rose and her mother tried to find the strange old woman's cabin and the talking eggs, but they never could find the place again.

[legacyoftheogres]

2. Boiling Blood

Thalanthe took a measured breath through her teeth, and straightened her posture. She wished she could blame her poor composure on the fact that the dinner party had gone on far too long, but she was used to such things. She was better than this, and yet she couldn't stop her heart from racing.

Seated across from her at the long banquet table was a tall figure with skin the color of hot coals, her brown hair was tied back in intricate braids. Each of her laughs revealed her sharp pointed teeth as she made small talk with the other diplomats. She was Mjuria, a hobgoblin diplomat. She hid it well, but Thalanthe knew that this woman was a wolf. Thalanthe had long been distrustful of the Muspellates. Their ties to the outer planes and the dwarves were one factor, their raids near Kuotay were another. Thalanthe could not look at Mjuria without seeing the raiders she had crossed blades with, or without remembering the ship that had been shelled, and the ridiculous excuses that had flowed from Mjuria's mouth. Those words had kept the peace, but they would not bring back the friends that Thalanthe had lost.

Vendetta and suspicion had led Thalanthe to look into Mjuria's background, and what she found had only fueled her anger. A reputation of strange magics and boundless cruelty followed her, though, she would never show such things here. At each banquet and meeting Mjuria was the picture of diplomacy and composure. It was all Thalanthe could do to not draw a blade and cut her down where she stood, it took a conscious effort to not reach for her weapon. She knew she was being unprofessional, that her animosity was thinly veiled at best. She needed to cool her head, Thalanthe excused herself from the table and made for the washroom.

The corridors of the residence were long and dimly lit, with each long stride Thalanthe tried to take a calming breath. There was a blur of movement, too fast for her to do anything but notice. A strong arm pushed her against the wall, and a hand covered her snarl of surprise and anger. Eyes of jade met her gaze, they were narrowed and poisonous. The man they belonged to was clad in black robes that seemed to waver in the light, shifting and disorienting. It was no wonder she had been unable to find Izura at the party, he had opted for pure stealth rather than a disguise.

"Tsk tsk, Thalanthe, if looks could kill Mjuria would be long dead." Izura's voice was low and dangerous, there was an undercurrent of anger in it. He uncovered her mouth, Thalanthe considered spitting at him, but she realized that her frustration was largely due to him being correct.

"I know. I know. I'm trying." Thalanthe pushed him off of her and resumed her walk towards the end of the hall. Izura followed her with quick silent steps, he closed on her and placed a hand on her shoulder, wrenching her around to face him. Thalanthe spun around, face contorted with rage, she reached to pry him off of her, but he intercepted her, grabbing her hand and pulling her close.

"Enough!" Izura hissed into her ear. "You are better than this! Master yourself." The words were like being doused in cold water. "Keep your enemies close, Thalanthe. Learn what you can of her. Hide the knife in your heart, so that she does not see it until it is too late. You will get nowhere gnashing your teeth like some feral animal! I am doing my part, now do your fucking job." He released her. Thalanthe brushed herself off, and did not meet his gaze, but nodded. Scolded like a child, it was shameful.

"Good." Izura sighed, "You can still see reason afterall. I will meet you tonight to debrief, this is concerns both of our clans. Do not lose your head again."

"I won't." Thalanthe said softly, but Izura was already gone, slipped away into shadow.

[scarlettriot]

Sweet & Salty

Pairing: Kirishima X F!Reader

Summary: Since the AC went out in your home, you and Kirishima have to come up with some other ways of cooling of on a hot summer night.

Warnings: SMUT | Minors & Ageless Blogs LEAVE. Swearing. Fucking in Public. DubCon (just to be safe).

Contains: Established relationship. Unprotected beach sex. No prep. Marking if you squint. Sundress with no panties. Nicknames: Babe, Baby.

W/C: 2Kish

A/N: Guys, pretty sure this is like REALLY bad. But I had a super vague idea and just needed to write something, so this is what you get. I didn't proof it or anything so just enjoy this little nonsense drabble I quite literally through together. ((I might rewrite this better at some point)).

For a whole hour, you’d been completely restless in bed. Tossing and turning this way and that, the long-forgotten sheet crumpled up in a pile on the floor at the foot of your bed. You rolled over again for the hundredth time, your arm landing smack across your husband's broad chest.

You were about to mumble another apology when Eijiro grabbed you and pulled you entirely on top of him. His thick arms snarred around you, immobilizing you from any more thrashing. “Eiji! ‘S too warm, lemme go!” You might not have been able to flail anymore, but you could certainly wiggle around. 

“I know it is, baby. The AC will be fixed tomorrow. We just gotta get through tonight.” 

You were sure you weren’t gonna make it through the night, you thought your skin would melt off before the sun rose. “‘M gonna go sleep in the freezer.” You grumbled and plopped your head down on his chest that rumbled with laughter. 

“That’s notta bad idea,” he sat up with you in his lap, “but I think I gotta better one. Go put some clothes on.” 

“It’s two in the morning, where the hell are we going that I need to put clothes on?” 

He was already up and off the bed, pulling on a pair of workout shorts before yanking you right to the edge of the bed. “It’s a surprise, silly woman.” He kissed your cheek, thumbs grazing the sides of your bare breasts, “But, shirts will be required, unfortunately.” 

Not only did you blast the air conditioning the very moment you got in Eijiro’s car, but he was also quick to roll down the windows, eager to feel the wind rushing through his hair.

You’d slipped on a sundress, one you’d worn earlier that day with thin straps so the freezing air would hit as much of your exposed skin as possible. Your head leaned back, eyes closed with a happy smile spreading across your face.

In the warmth of your condo, Eijiro’s hand on your thigh would’ve felt like hot coals but now you didn’t mind the subtle heat he gave off. Just enjoyed the easy brush of his thumb that was slowly pushing the hem of your dress further up your thigh. 

He kept his eyes on the road, seeming to not realize just where his fingers were venturing, or the way your thighs were pressing together in anticipation of what he may be trying to do. But, before you had a chance to ask him, he’d pulled into a gas station of all places, but not up to a pump, rather a parking space just out front. “C’mon, cutie.” 

He held open the door and you walked in just in front of him, waiting for him to start making sense. He took your hand and pulled you down an isle to a back wall. Icee makers spun out of sync with each other, at least ten of them with different flavors. “This should cool you off, right?” 

“Definently.” You beamed up at him, accepting the massive cup he handed to you. He went straight for the cherry, tapping the cup on the counter a few times to make sure he could get as much as possible before putting a lid on top. “Now, what else can we get?” 

The two of you broke apart with a plan so simple: Grab as many of your favorite snacks as possible and meet up front in five minutes. When the time was up, you poured the goodies out on the counter in front of an attendant who was looking at the two of you as if you had to be insane.

Back in the car, the both of you were drinking down the cold, sugary delights, and you noticed pretty quick that Eijiro wasn't driving in the direction of home. “Another surprise?” 

“Something like that.” There was a smirk on his handsome face, “I didn’t think you’d object to staying out of that oven a little while longer.” 

You certainly didn’t. Holding his hand for the rest of the drive, cool, salty air eventually tickled your nose. He pulled off onto an access road that wasn’t meant for civilians but, he could get away with being there by just flashing his hero license. He had his pick of parking spaces, not a single other vehicle in the lot so, with his hand on your headrest, he backed into one of the spaces, popping the hatch and kissing you quick. 

The snacks sat in the backseat while the two of you raced for the comfort of the water, Eijiro yanking off his shirt and kicking out of his shorts along the way. He dove right in without a second thought while you lingered at the shoreline, waves breaking against your shins, barely missing the hem of your dress. 

“What are you doing!” He called over the waves. The moonlight danced off the water and gave you a clear view of him pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “Get in here!” 

“I’ll get my dress all wet.” 

“Take it off!” 

You looked up and down the vacant stretch of beach and he swam to shore, walked back to you. “Baby, pretty sure your underware covers more than your swim suit…” His wet hands already pushing up the fabric that you were quick to try and pull back down.

“Eiji, I can’t– I–” But, before you were even able to finish your sentence, his hands had settled on the bare flesh of your ass and you watched a sly smile push up the corner of his lips. 

“Baby girl, didja forget somethin’?” 

“I didn’t forget!” You insisted, “You said put something on, not everything.” He raised a brow at you, “I thought we were gonna be going right back home! Don’t gimme that look!” 

But, he kept that shit-eating grin on his face as his thumbs hooked into the band of his tight boxers and pulled them down until the fell in the sand. 

“EIJI!” 

“Don’t you ‘Eiji’ me.” He pulled you close against him, bending to kiss along your neck, “You’re safe, love. There’s no one out here. And, once we’re in the water, no one will be able to tell anyway.” 

This was so dumb, so incredibly stupid! Not to mention illegal! But, the more his hands roamed your body, the way he used his teeth to pull your straps down, it made you care less and less about all the trouble the two of you could get in until you didn’t care at all. 

Lifting your arms so he could pull the dress over your head, wrapping your legs around his waist while he carried you to the water, yelping right into his mouth when a chilled wave hit your ass. He kept you up in his arms, laughing and giving you kisses that had hints of cherry to them. He’d turn his back to always take the brunt of the salty waves. Even when his cock glided between your folds, he was still mindful. 

“Y/N, damn baby, I wanna…” And you wanted it too. It didn’t matter that it was risky, actually, you were starting to think that was a part of the charm. When your eyes weren’t shut, feeling that delightful drag of his cock, they were scanning the parking lot to ensure no other cars had pulled up. 

“Can I?” 

You brought your lips back against his, kissing him deeply. Even after all this time, he still bothered to ask anytime he thought you might be uncomfortable. Eijiro always cared, was always thoughtful.

“Yes.” You breathed in between salty kisses, hurrying to keep your lips against his as his cock pressed in. 

With no prep at all, it was nearly an impossible fit, and being in the water didn't help anything, but Eijiro took his time with you. Keeping a thumb on your clit to try to alleviate some of the sting. The waves swallowed whatever cries you let out until he was finally buried deep in your warm cunt. 

For several minutes he held you still while his tongue swirled around your nipples, not caring a single bit about the way you whined and pulled on his hair or how your nails dug into his skin. He’d wear your little marks with pride just as he always did. 

“‘M gonna move now, okay?” He waited for your head to nod and then started off with shallow thrusts. His thumb moving in perfect time. 

Your head tipped back, hair dipping into the water at the unique feeling. His grip on you was bruising, starting to pull you to meet his hips. 

You were so consumed by what he was doing, you hadn’t even noticed him bringing you both closer to shore again. It was only when you were lifted out of the water that your eyes sprung open. “Relax. Just wanna fuck you properly.” 

He walked right past the clothes still in the sand and laid you down in the back of his car but not before finding the blanket he stashed away, making sure you were as comfortable as you could be. 

He sighed when he thrust into you again, “Much better.” His cock reached impossibly deep, and he was thrilled to stay like that, no waves pulling you away from him this time. He rutted his hips again just to hear you gasp, and when he pressed his hand against your belly, applying even more pressure, the way you cried his name nearly did him in. 

“That’s my girl.” 

He pressed forward again, his hand traveling down your body until his fingers reached your clit once more and you jolted. “Awe? Wanna cum, baby? You close?” 

“Yes! Fuck, so close! Make me cum, please, please–!” You begged so damn loudly, out in the open like this where anyone at all could’ve heard you and it made his cock twitch. 

“Sound so fuckin’ pretty. You wanna cum, then keep beggin’.” 

It was an order that you blindly followed. Babbling senselessly while he fucked you hard enough to make the entire car move. Someone could’ve walked by at that very moment, and he wouldn’t have changed a thing. 

“That’s it, baby, just like that, cum f’me.” 

When he felt you let go, he pulled you enough that your ass was out of the car, legs held up by his arms while he let you milk his cock, your sweet little cunt so needy for his cum, and he couldn’t keep it from you any longer. He shot his load in as deep as he possibly could, rocking his hips ever so slightly to make sure you got all of it. 

“Such a good girl.” He smiled and leaned down to kiss you, easing his cock free so he could quickly gather up the scattered clothes and then he returned right to you. Helping you slide back into your dress. 

He came back from the front of the car with your icees. “They’re a little melted now but still cold.” 

The two of you scooted back in the hatch after he laid the seats completely down, finishing your drinks and munching on treats, all cuddled up together, enjoying the ocean breeze for the rest of the night. 

A/N: Yeah. It needs rewritten.

[aurevell]

The Wolf and Flame

Sterek | 1.4k | G AU-gust Prompt 2: Artist’s Muse Summary: The local blacksmith doesn't say much, but he finds a way to get a message to Stiles anyway.

-

They say the shops by the palace walls were hand-selected by the royals themselves, probably to keep the kingdom’s finest merchants within easy reach of the crown. 

But that’s not why Stiles visits.

Well, okay, the goods are part of it. Outside of seasonal market days, you can’t find quality furniture or fabrics within a day’s walk of the castle. And good luck getting your hands on potions that won’t backfire, or talismans that aren’t glittering counterfeits.

Stiles comes for the magic supplies, sure, but he’s most interested in a particular stall tucked away in the north corner: The Wolf and Flame.

And in its shopkeeper.

He steps inside to find the usual crowds present, but it’s not just the body heat and the warm spring day that makes the air feel stifling. 

Like most blacksmith stalls, this one doubles as a workshop. The open-air storefront is laid out with display tables, but even with the light breeze from outside, the heat from the forge is noticeable, its glow spilling out across the iron wares. Customers fan themselves as they walk from table to table, and Derek’s young apprentice is overwarm and yawning at the till.

There’s a distinct lack of hammering from the back of the shop, though. Stiles looks over to find Derek watching him.

“Morning!” Stiles calls, caught off-guard.

Derek offers a small smile and turns quickly back to his work. Or at least, he tries: a pretty dark-haired woman lingers within a safe distance of the forge, waving for his attention. Derek complies with a reluctance he’s getting much better at hiding.

The reticent werewolf’s explosion in popularity is probably as funny to Stiles as it is annoying to Derek himself. Besides producing half of the weapons in the king’s armory, there are sets of horseshoes, household nails and hinges, farming tools, and a thousand other items scattered across the tables. Everyone in town—and probably everyone in the outlying region as well—has to visit The Wolf and Flame if they want premium craftsmanship. 

Which is great for business, but Stiles is pretty sure Derek wishes everyone would leave their orders at the till and leave him alone.

As he idly rifles through a set of daggers, Stiles hears the werewolf mutter some excuse to the woman and step away to tend the forge. Near the heart of the fire, the sweltering air is far too hot for most humans, and the customer must back away. The heat doesn’t seem to bother Derek, though, nor do the bright coals ever seem to sting his eyes. 

As always, Stiles has a hard time dragging his gaze from Derek as he works. It’s some sort of decorative piece today, intricate but compact, and the muscles in the wolf’s arms ripple as he pumps the bellows. His tunic clings to his skin, sweat glistening at his throat.

Despite the heat, Stiles steps a bit closer to see what he’s working on. Held fast in Derek’s clamps is a curling twist of metal in a vine-like design, burning white as a star. Some kind of intricate latch or frame, if Stiles had to guess, the kind that decorate the doors of merchants and nobles far richer than he is.

Though he meant to poke fun at Derek—which is what he always does, poke at things that catch his attention, even things that seem too distracted or uninterested to appreciate his jokes—the only thing he manages to get out is, “Whoa, that’s beautiful.”

He leans against the side of the table, half for a closer look and half to make his attention seem more casual and less adoring, but in doing so he nearly knocks over one of the daggers. It’s a close call, but he manages to catch it by the handle before it clatters onto the floor. Once he sets it back in place, he glances up to find the wolf watching him in amusement.

“What?” Stiles replies slyly. “You know I can’t control myself around your work.”

Derek just snorts. In the months Stiles has known him, the wolf has gotten better at, if not chatter, at least responding with a healthy dose of his own deadpan humor. But today, he again turns back to his work, his face flushed.

Some days, when business is slow, Derek will break his customary silence to chat with Stiles. Despite his reticence, he can often be coaxed into talking about his work, which he seems to genuinely love—how to wield a hammer, or how to read the temperature of a fire. How metals tell you when they’re ready to be worked, or how he treats and cares for his old bellows.

It looks like this isn’t going to be one of those days. Stiles can take some hints. And since he’s not just here for window shopping, he wanders off to find what he came for.

He pretty much knows the shop by heart now. Along the far wall, the shelves hold a mix of household goods and magical items, including the candle holders Stiles needs to stock up on for his next ritual. 

But hung on hooks beneath the shelf are new wares: thin filaments of iron in the familiar shape of a circle, with detailed lines and curls within. 

“Huh. These are new,” Stiles mutters to himself.

“They’re runes,” a voice murmurs, and Stiles jumps, whirling around to find Derek somehow standing right behind him.

He’s close enough that Stiles can smell him, coal and sweat and quenching steel. Close enough that the light from outside catches on the hazel flecks in his eyes. Stiles thinks he should be forgiven for blurting, “What?”

“Those ritual runes you’ve been talking about,” Derek replies, eyebrows drawing together. When Stiles just stares dumbly, he shifts in place and grumbles, “Because iron is best for grounding the ritual.”

“Yeah, I mean—I know that. But how do you know that?”

“Because you said so.” Again, Stiles gapes, and Derek grunts, “It was a long time ago.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry. I babble so much even I forgot what I’ve said…” 

Stiles turns back to the rune circles, gingerly taking one off its hook to tilt it this way and that. It’s practical, sure, but it’s also a beautiful piece of artwork, its weight balanced and every line impeccably smooth, without a single seam to show where the metal was joined. As perfect as if it burst from the flames in this exact shape. 

“How did you even know what they looked like? I don’t think I would’ve forgotten giving you that much detail.”

“When you forgot your notebook here last week,” Derek mutters. His arms are folded, hands tucked into his armpits. Possibly, away from his work at the forge, he doesn’t actually know what to do with his hands. “I went through and copied some of the runes you were talking about.”

“You went through my notes?” Stiles asks, trying frantically to remember whether there’s anything embarrassing written in it. Other than his atrocious handwriting and the occasional drawings of dicks in the margins, there’s not much he can think of. “That’s basically a crime in some circles,” he jokes weakly. “You could sell all of my best spells.”

Even if Stiles thought for a second that Derek had ill intentions, the look on his face—one shade shy of mortified—would have banished that notion. “I just thought it would be better if you started out with iron in the shape you need. Instead of having to scatter filings onto the ground.”

Stiles nods, idly running his fingers over the runic circle. 

And look, this is a very marketable item. It’s not like Stiles is the only magic-user in town who can benefit from a ritual shortcut every now and then. If Derek makes the right runes, even customers who aren’t skilled with magic can grab a protection rune or two for more luck than a horseshoe on the door.

But with the odd way Derek’s very carefully not looking at him, this feels somehow like it’s just for Stiles. And that’s something Stiles is going to try hard not to read too far into, because even shopkeepers have their favorite customers, but…

“Thanks,” Stiles says slowly. “This is—it’s amazing. I can’t believe you made this.”

The for me goes unspoken, but he’s pretty sure the softness of his voice carries the meaning across.

Derek’s face is a little pink, even more than it usually looks around the heat of the forge. He mutters something under his breath and then, to Stiles’s surprise, immediately turns and flees.

Over at the forge, he begins to hammer deliberately at his work, as if to block Stiles from any chance of further conversation.

Stiles can take a hint. This one, he thinks, is the kind he doesn’t mind. 

He pays Derek’s apprentice, who glances between him and Derek in curiosity. When he heads back onto the market street, he’s fighting back a smile.

Read on AO3

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

rhinestone eyes

PAIRING: Rich Boy!Eren x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS [present+future]: infidelity, dubcon, gaslighting, manipulative and toxic behavior, toxic relationship, sexual content, yandere tendencies, suggestive hand-holding

part one

kofi

There's a sneer on Eren's face as green eyes behind Versace aviators glide over your form, staring you up and down. His gaze is so penetrative, it makes your teeth chatter. Maybe he was just checking you out. Maybe he was scrutinizing every blemish.

You suddenly feel so very small in your tennis skirt, the tight collared shirt stretching over your breasts, and wished that today out of all days wasn't when you decided to dress a little more stylish.

"Fancy seeing you here." His voice is nonchalant but there's a tone of humor that accompanies his brisk words. How long would it be until he laughs at you?

He scowls, "Are you mute or something? Why aren't you greeting me back properly?"

"Eren," You took a deep breath, "What are you doing in Paris?"

It occurs to you that you've never seen him out of his uniform before. He's wearing a light blue button-down, half the buttons left unfastened, polo shorts, an expensive black watch glittering on his wrist, silver rings on his slender fingers, and a thin silver chain dangling around his neck.

He's also acquired a new piercing, industrial, judging by the bar across his ear. The silver glints harshly under the sun.

"Are you done burning holes through me?"

You blush, embarrassment coloring your cheeks: "No, I'm just surprised." You tucked a loose lock of hair behind your ear, "Didn't expect to run into anyone I knew in another country."

You were just taking a pleasant walk in the acclaimed Champs-Élysées, the avenue every bit as a picture-perfect postcard as it had been described.

"Have you eaten?" The question is spoken with a sigh like he couldn't believe he was asking you this, and you couldn't either.

"Oh, um, no?" You responded, bewildered.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, which reached the nape of his neck by now: "I know a cafe around here. Let's get brunch. We'll talk there."

You don't know what possessed you to nod but you did so, trying to match his quick and long strides. The walk was silent, presumably because the two of you were saving your burning questions for the cafe.

He rolls his eyes when you stutter through your French. He raises a hand, and simply tells the waiter his order and dismisses him. His French is flawless and you're tempted to ask him how it's so good, but you already know the answer. Probably had hordes of tutors to help him.

Merci Monsieur

"Wait," You remark to Eren, "I didn't order."

"I ordered for us. Pain au chocolate, savory crepes, eggs, and ham. Coffee after. For me. Hot chocolate for you because you don't drink coffee."

Oh. That actually sounds good. How did he know your beverage preferences?

He fishes out a cigarette from his pocket, skinny and hand-rolled, "So what are you doing here? No offense but you don't exactly seem like you can afford a vacation to France. "

Now is your turn to sigh. You've nearly forgotten how blunt he could be: "Here on an internship. For art" You supply.

"I assume you just regularly come to Paris every summer?"

He doesn't deny or verify your statement, "Something like that."

"So you're staying at a hostel or?" He asks, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that makes your nose wrinkle.

The waiter comes by with food, and you turn to Eren with a sour look, "I sincerely hope you're not going to smoke while we're eating."

To your utter surprise, he ashes the cigarette. You were expecting a witty and mean retort at the very minimum, not silent compliance.

You pick up the earlier conversation, "Well, I'm actually staying with my boyfriend." You mummer the last word quietly but the viridian-eyed boy's ears are keen. You don't notice how his grip on the knife tightens.

"You're staying with your boyfriend?" He repeats.

You nod, "Yeah, he's an art student too."

The rest of the meal is completed in sparing small-talk and lengths of silence. But it's not awkward. It's weird. On one hand, having brunch with Eren Yeager in fucking Paris, heir to a billionaire pharmaceutical company should feel surreal, but it's strangely peaceful. You feel more at peace sitting across from him in France than you did when he sat next to you in homeroom.

When it's time to pay the check, Eren looks amused by the very notion of you digging into your purse.

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I let the lady pay?" His words are spoken with a teasing smile.

You roll your eyes but can't help a glimmer of a smile from peeking through on your lips, "Didn't take you much for a gentleman."

He tosses his black card on the bill, "You'd be surprised."

What's there left to do now? Is it time to part ways? There's a part of you that craves more but life has taught you to not be greedy when you already have so so much.

You dabble the corner of your lips with a napkin, "Well, this has been fun-"

"Wait, uh, do you wanna check out the Louvre? Since you're an art student and all, you might uh enjoy it."

You stare at him. Is he tongue-tied?

"You've probably there been a million times already."

"Yeah...but you haven't been, right?"

You blink before breaking into a smile that Eren is sure is going to give him heart palpations, so sunny and bright.

"I would love to!"

You guys check out Mona Lisa for the sheer novelty, and you're bouncing around the museum, oohing and ahhing at the chiseled statues and Renaissance paintings. There is so much history here, it blows your mind.

Eren finds himself watching you more than the paintings. You have this veneer of snark that you wrap around yourself like a protective gauze (maybe that's how you maintain your survival in a world of hyenas) but you're different now.

You're yourself. Watching you here come alive in unbridled enthusiasm, eyes widened in passion, makes him reach out to his pocket and fish for his disposable film camera. He doesn't know if he's ever seen anyone in his vapid life look like the way you do, so filled with a zest for things that are greater than themselves.

He wants to burn you into his memory, praying to all the gods that you won't notice when he takes a picture of you admiring a bust of a goddess. He slyly tucks his camera back into his pocket.

The world seems to stand still when you tug his hand to show him a painting, an expression of unadulterated wonder on your face. But when you realize you pulled his hand, you immediately drop it like hot coals.

Why do you look so worried? Why do you look so scared?

"You can hold my hand if you want. It's-it's okay." He can't believe he's gotten the words out.

You're taking too long, your hands still hanging limply by your side, an indiscernible expression on your pretty face. Eren doesn't understand why it makes him so mad, why your sudden hesitation grated his nerves. Deciding to make your choice for you, he grabs your hand, squeezing your palm as he flashes you the charismatic smile that's got him out of countless incidents.

He doesn't like the expression of worry marring your features. Where did the happy jovial girl go? Just a few seconds, you were poking him with sparkles in your eyes, "Look at this Eren!" and "So beautiful, right?"

He forces another smile: "Show me the painting you wanted me to see." Maybe it was meant to be a request but it comes out as a demand.

You cast a glance at your joined hands, his grip borderline painful. "O-okay."

You lead him across the floor, and Eren can feel the stares of people around him. They are smiling. An older woman utters a "Un si charmant couple."

You take him to a grand painting. It's haunting and dark, swirling with so many shades of dusty red from vermillion to scarlet. A pregnant woman lies reclined, arm hanging and head lolling. She appears to be asleep, and there is a cacophony of men around her portrayed in varying degrees of stress.

"Death of a virgin", you breathed.

Such a macabre name, Eren thought as he gazed longer into the painting. He loosens his grip on your hand, testing whether you would pull away.

You don't.

It's raining outside and you're giggling.

"Fuck" Eren swears, "I'll call a cab."

You're a vision drenched in rain. Your clothes are soaked, and he could see the outline of your bra from your thin shirt. But it seems like you don't even care.

"Let's just enjoy it!" You cry out. There are thick droplets stuck in between your eyelashes, and you smell like rain too. It's dangerous, he can see chords of purple lightning flash the sky, thunder booming, and it's like you're dancing, the way you move so effortlessly.

You hook his hands in yours, "Doesn't this feel good?"

He feels like all his sins are being washed away, all the impurities and muck that clung onto him after nineteen years of existence. His heart nearly jumps out of his throat every time he looks at you.

He cups your chin and kisses you. When he feels the threadbare resistance, he kisses harsher, tongue and teeth swallowing your protests, coaxing your mouth open with a skillful pinch to your nipple. He pulls away just before you feel like all your breath has been robbed.

You're stunned speechless, "Eren...I...h-have a boyf-"

He kisses you again. And this time you kiss back, holding nothing back.

taglist: @candy-hime @cinnamon-n-roses @forwardpair

inspo: @candy-hime's rich boy!shoto. the iconic golf club one <3

[sxrgeantbarnes]

The house was spotless, every piece of furniture set in perfectly placed positions. To any civilian, it would look simple and neat�� but Bucky saw the strategy behind it all. The couch was angled away from the largest window in the sitting room, the wide coffee table in reach was most definitely bulletproof. The recliner chairs didn’t face the television at all, instead both facing directly across from each other— one looking north, the other south. He eyed the curtains, innocent but the pattern meant to distort shadows, not allowing any outsiders looking in to get a good mark. Wandering further in, he spotted the faint squared outlines in the wall of several secret compartments meant to store weapons for easy access. Amongst it all were knick knacks that didn’t belong to either him or Steve, and pictures in frames that some poor intern was tasked with photoshopping. It was a nice home, but unmistakably a home for two agents.

SHIELD did well so far, and he hasn’t even checked their two bedrooms upstairs. 

The box hitting his chest was met with an ‘oof’ kicked out of him, followed by a glare sent Steve’s way. Already a pain in the ass, start the timer on that. “Would’ve killed you to bring it up yourself?” He huffed, but Steve apparently already had his own agenda. Because meeting the neighbors was so much more pressing than setting up their equipment. With an eye roll, he swallows down a defiant ‘Don’t tell me what to do’ in response as he decides to heave the box upstairs. He wanted to check out the rooms anyways. 

It made sense to drop the heavy box into the spare room with no bed, and he felt relief at having it out of his arms— relief that lasted all of two seconds before something clicked. He passed the master, one big bed in there. Then the guest room, no bed. Two and two came to him with a groan. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

If Steve wasn’t already expecting him to go play nice with Ms. Thompson, he would have made a call to complain to SHIELD about their apparent sleeping arrangement. As it was, though, that’d have to wait. 

He lost the annoyed curl of his lip as soon as the sun hit his face, replacing it with a smile of a newlywed who’s oh-so-happy to be moving into a home with his husband. It was easy enough to spot Steve and the older woman, he made his way over like he was walking on air instead of hot coals. “Oh, Steve, wait until you see what the movers have done with the bedroom. It’s unbelievable.” He says the word as if he’s excited about their little surprise. His arm curls around Steve’s forearm as he leans against him, like it’s an easy and comfortable motion. If it’s a little tight, well, Steve can deal. He looks over at the woman, whose eyes have lit up so much they practically sparkle, before offering his free hand. “Hi there, I’m James. Steve’s husband. You know, I was hoping I’d get the chance to meet you, ma’am— I was eyeing those little gnomes of yours. You’ve got to tell me where you got them.” All a lie, those things were hideous and he refused to put them anywhere near his new fancy marital home. He has some standards. “I hope you don’t mind if I steal Steve back for a bit. We have some unpacking to do and I’m just dying for him to see the rest of the house.”

His grip on Steve’s arm tightens further, “I know he’s gonna love it. Real traditional guy, my Steve.”

Steve was kinda neutral towards the whole mission when he went into the meeting with SHIELD a little over a month ago. The exact plan had yet to be fleshed out and a lot of things were uncertain, and they even mentioned there was a possibility he'd have to go undercover with another agent for a few months, but that didn't really faze Steve. Not until he learned it was agent Barnes who was going to be his partner.

In more ways than one.

Said partner has been fiddling with his golden and too shiny ring ( they only recently married, after all ) and it is bothersome to the point that Steve's eye is nearly twitching. Other than that, the ride has been silent and peaceful, if a little tense, but it's way better than meaningless small talk. Honestly, Steve doesn't think he's even able to do small talk right now, not without an audience, at least.

They've had several weeks to prepare, but once he turns onto their street and the mission officially starts, Steve finds it surprisingly hard to slip into the right mindset. Still, he finds himself easily agreeing with Barnes' comments and even nods and hums quietly. As much as he hates to admit it; the man's right. It's like they're visiting the set of a Hallmark movie. Or Desperate Housewives, maybe. The neighborhood fits the cliche; a street of two story houses, separated by white picket fences, well-maintained front yards, and driveways big enough for at least two cars. Just perfect.

( too fucking perfect )

It isn't a neighborhood – or town – Steve ever expected himself to be living in, but he has to admit, after lowering his window just a little , that the air is crisp and clean, and it definitely smells better than the city. Living here might not be so bad, after all. It's the fact that he has to live here with Barnes.

Steve hasn't even parked the car yet or the guy's already taunting him, and if this is what it's going to be like for the next few weeks or months... God, Steve might just go mad. He's this close to grabbing the box that looks least heavy, just to push back a little, but eventually decides against it. Petty behavior like that will only give Barnes more ammunition and, as it is, the guy's enough of a little shit already.

On his way to the house, Steve sees one of the neighbors – a middle-aged woman who doesn't quite fit in the 'elderly' category yet – peeking out of the window, and he gives her a smile and a nod before he follows Barnes inside. "Here, you take this upstairs, sweetheart," Steve says as he thrusts the box at Barnes' chest. "Meet me outside in a minute or two. I'm gonna say hi to Ms. Thompson." He nods at the house next door. "She's the lady who makes her own garden gnomes and birdhouses. Can't miss it. Make sure to compliment her on that when you join us."

[smokeys-house]

Can we hear some pirate tales from puukko?

Gonna put this under a cut bc it's a little on the long side! Also pls excuse any formatting issues bc I'm on mobile.

This was super fun to write but I'm rusty so I hope it's a fun read!

Pirate tales from Puukko (1)

You're seated in a comfortable chair by a fireplace. The scent of the rustic cabin's old wood mingles with the smoke and the aroma of hot coffee from the steaming mugs on the coffee table. Across from you sits a familiar older woman, thick fur and a devilish scar across her eye.

"So... pirate tales is what yer after." She leaves her rocking chair at a comfortable pace. "Of course, of course, aye... If that's how you want to spend your evening." She opens a cabinet in the corner, sliding several objects out of the way. A few small bits and bobs clatter to the floor, but she patently ignores them. She reaches far into the back of the cabinet, looking away at nothing and biting her tongue in focus as she fumbles around inside the cupboard. You sip idly at your coffee.

"Aha, here we are!" Her voice is low and gravel-y, but the fondness in her tone is comforting. She sets aside what appears to be a very dusty false panel and sets a very small chest down on the table. Before you can ask what it is she's found, she begins pouring a deep amber liquid from a bottle she pulled from the chest directly into your coffee. "I won't have you waste that. Sup mindfully." Her commanding voice is intimidating, but sweet. She pours noticeably heavier into her own mug.

"I'll be brief. But let me tell you of a day I thought would be my last." She takes a very long sip, and sits back. "Now it may surprise you that at one time I was quite young like yourself. This all happened pretty early on in my piracy days. When ah was a young upstart with a fire in my belly and with my caution very intentionally placed to the wind." She begins to prepare her pipe. She hasn't looked in your direction since she began her story.

"I'd made a rather small name for myself by then. Had no shortage of plunder; trade ships, navy, even other pirates. Another young aspiring 'property reassigner' by the name of Capitan Helio had set his sights on my haul. He weren't an enemy or nothin' he just thought he could show his quality as a sailor by takin' on yours truly. He was a hard young man but not a very wise one, and he hadn't the stones for a killing. Now the style of piracy I'm most known fir was sneakin' on board, alone. My crew would keep the ship at an unthreatening distance, and I'd row on over in the dark of night aboard a tiny little dinghy painted all dark and sneaky like." At this point you notice she's starting to sound a bit different, perhaps a bit piratey. She seems almost excited.

"I'd usually get the capitan up in the middle of the night. Put on airs and act all big and scary in his cabin while he's got his night cap on." She chuckled deeply. "It's where my ship got its name. The Honeyed Word. Sometimes it'd go sour and things would get more... well let's say it's less family friendly. Anyway ol Sunny knew that's what I got up to. An' he figured if he could pull off me own stratagem against me and my crew that folks would respect 'im more I suppose." She puts some ember tongs in the fire and fishes out a small chunk of hot coal. She sets it in the bowl of her pipe and starts puffing intently before tossing the tongs aside.

"I'm shleeping shoundly in my cabin all comfy an' cozy" Her pipe hangs from between her teeth. She pinches free the coal from it with her fingers and tosses it back into the fire, taking a long drag from her now prepared pipe. "And in walks none other than ol' Sunny boy!" She slaps her knee and guffaws. "He hated it when ah called him that. So I sit up in my bed and I says to him 'fancy meeting you here! I don't normally take up gentleman callers.' An' I'm supposin' he thinks he's rather clever on account o' he starts up with 'I ain't no gentleman! Not tonight. Tonight I'm the most famous pirate on the seas.' What a bilge rat!" At this point she seems downright jovial.

"Now by then I'm real tired, and to be honest, fairly annoyed. I'm in my jammies and I've got to use the head somethin' fierce so I'm 'avin none of it. He starts goin' on about my unconditional surrender" She blows a raspberry crudely. "An' I'm barely hearin' 'im. I get outta bed and start heading for the bathroom like he's not even there. Obviously that upset Mr Sunny to no small degree. He reaches for his pistol and I'm quite the cocky lass so I just ignores it. I didn't think he had the stones for it."

You've been nursing your drink but she's finished hers. She's fully engrossed in her tale and is now pacing in front of the fire as she speaks. "That's when I hear it." She goes quiet and her grandiose gestures slump into a closed off position. It's a long moment where her eyes are empty and staring into nothing. Her tone was somber, almost fearful. "The hammer on his pistol. The flint strikes the frizzen. My heart sank. and then... nothing! I turn and I'm starin' down the barrel of his flintlock and I'm absolutely enraged! I hadn't made it out the door o' my cabin yet so I reach for the letter opener on my desk and start stickin' him!"

She's grinning, very in her element before she notices your discomfort at the idea of repeatedly... injuring a man with a letter opener. "Ahem. Sorry. He's fine now, we got him patched up okay after the whole incident. Anyway by now you're probably wondering what happened. Well the thing about pushing out in those little tiny boats at sea to sneak aboard is that it's not a very leisurely activity! I always kept me pistols wrapped thoroughly before headin' out, but the poor fool didn't think that far ahead! All his powder was soaked by the time he got aboard!"

You wonder about what lesson she's trying to teach here, or if she's simply recounting an incident as it happened. You can feel the coziness of the cabin beginning to take you. "The guest room's all right n' ready for ye over there. I knew that'd put ye to bed." She gives a hearty chuckle and motions to a door with her pipe. You find rest rather easily on the mountain of extra blankets.

[kingandfireheart]

Lucien Vanserra Sass Appreciation Post

For more serious Lucien content see my other posts:

What the fuck is happening in the Autumn Court series Part 1 (Eris) and Part 2 (Lady of the Autumn Court)

What stories are left: Lucien

When Lucien introduces himself:

"Lucien," my captor said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. "Behave."

Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. "My apologies, lady." Another joke at my expense. "I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary." He gestured to me with a flourish. "Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."

When Lucien is intrigued by Feyre:

"Well," Lucien said, his remaining russet eye fixed on me, "you don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress."

When Lucien wants to know if Feyre thinks he's hot:

"Thank you for the meal," I said. It was all I could think of. "Won't you stay for wine?" Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat. I braced my hands on my chair to rise. "I'm tired. I'd like to sleep." "It's been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at." At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it. "You're High Fae," I said tightly. "I'd ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all-or dining with me." Fool-I really should have been killed ten times over already. Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"-he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-"surely we're not so miserable to look at."

When Feyre leaves their first dinner together:

He gave a distant nod and motioned for me to leave. Dismissed. Like the lowly human I was. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave me a lazy half smile. Enough. I got to my feet and backed toward the door. Putting my back to them would have been like walking away from a wolf, sparing my life or no. They said nothing when I slipped out the door. A moment later, Lucien's barking laugh echoed into the halls, followed by a sharp, vicious growl that shut him up.

When Lucien notices Feyre checking him out:

Lucien paused, and I found him smirking at me, making the scar even more brutal. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Feyre?"

When Lucien is a sarcastic motherfucker:

“So is this what you do with your lives? Spare humans from the Treaty and have fine meals?” I gave a pointed glance toward Tamlin’s baldric, the warrior’s clothes, Lucien’s sword. Lucien smirked. “We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings–”

When Lucien describes Amaratha perfectly:

"What happened to the magic to make it act that way?" Lucien let out a harsh laugh. "Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell," he said, then glanced around and swore. "I shouldn't have said that. If word got back to her-"

When they run into the Boggee:

"I heard its voice in my head. It told me to look." Lucien rolled his shoulders. "Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn't. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day." He gave me a wan smile. I didn't return it.

When he gives Feyre a title:

"Are you a warrior, though?" Would you be able to kill me if it ever came to that? Lucien huffed a laugh. "Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons." He patted the hilt of his sword. "Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

When Lucien just needs someone to spar with:

“Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?" "Do you ever stop being such a prick?" I snapped back. Dead—really, truly, I should have been dead for that. But Lucien grinned at me. "Much better.

When Lucien and Feyre spend quality time together:

Over the next three days, I found myself joining Lucien on Andras's old patrol while Tamlin hunted the grounds for the Bogge, unseen by us. Despite being an occasional bastard, Lucien didn't seem to mind my company, and he did most of the talking, which was fine; it left me to brood over the consequences of firing a single arrow. An arrow. I never fired a single one during those three days we rode along the border. That very morning I'd spied a red doe in a glen and aimed out of instinct, my arrow poised to fly right into her eye as Lucien sneered that she was not a faerie, at least. But I'd stared at her-fat and healthy and content-and then slackened the bow, replaced the arrow in my quiver, and let the doe wander on.

When Lucien diagnoses Faerie problems perfectly:

A brush of ice slithered across my nape. "He would be that brutal?" Lucien studied the wine in his goblet. "You don't hold on to power by being everyone's friend. And among the faeries, lesser and High Fae alike, a firm hand is needed. We're too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else."

When Lucien is told to Back Off, so he exacts his revenge:

Lucien's russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn't meet it. The face of Tamlin's emissary-more court-trained and calculating than I'd seen him yet. "I'm unavailable today," he said. He jerked his chin to Tamlin. "He'll go with you." Tamlin shot his friend a look of disdain that he took few pains to hide. His usual baldric was armed with more knives than I'd seen before, and their ornate metal handles glinted as he turned to me, his shoulders tight. "Whenever you want to go, just say so." The claws of his free hand slipped back under his skin. No. I almost said it aloud as I turned pleading eyes to Lucien. Lucien merely patted my shoulder as he passed by. "Perhaps tomorrow, human."

When Lucien hides:

"I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border-official emissary business," he said, setting down the hunting knife he'd been cleaning, a long, vicious blade. "I got back in time to hear your little spat with Tam, and decided I was safer up here. I'm glad to hear your human heart has warmed to me, though. At least I'm not on the top of your killing list."

When Lucien and Feyre become friends after he tells her how to trap a Suriel:

Another riddle-and another bit of information. I said, "It's a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut." He snorted as I took the knife from the table and turned to procure the bow from my room. "I think I'm starting to like you-for a murdering human."

When Lucien is day drinking and living his best life:

“Would you like me to grovel with gratitude for bringing me here, High Lord?" "Ah. The Suriel told you nothing important, did it?" That smile of his sparked something bold in my chest. "He also said that you liked being brushed, and if I'm a clever girl, I might train you with treats." Tamlin tipped his head to the sky and roared with laughter. Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh. "I might die of surprise," Lucien said behind me. "You made a joke, Feyre." I turned to look at him with a cool smile. "You don't want to know what the Suriel said about you." I flicked my brows up, and Lucien lifted his hands in defeat. "I'd pay good money to hear what the Suriel thinks of Lucien," Tamlin said. A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle's contents and chuckling with a muttered, "Brushed.”

When Lucien is incredibly casual for a guy going to an orgy:

What?”

Lucien laughed. “Yes—all those female faeries around you were females for Tamlin to pick. It’s an honor to be chosen, but it’s his instincts that select her.”

“But you were there—and other male faeries.” My face burned so hot that I began sweating. That was why those three horrible faeries had been there—and they’d thought that just by my presence, I was happy to comply with their plans.

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.

When Lucien is the mom friend:

"You look . . . refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. "Sleep well?" "Like a babe." I smiled as him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck. "What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded. I pointed my fork to Tamlin. "Ask him, he did it." Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. "Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.

When Lucien loves drama:

"Accountable?" I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!" Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. "While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair. I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. "Faerie pig!" I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left.

When Lucien bolts:

“I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room, and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. But I knew they’d already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence, and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.

Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped, and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my usual place at the end of the table.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

When Feyre goes to a party:

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. "She looks positively Fae." ...

I squared my shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his words or voice or sheer well-being impacted me. Not yet. "I'm surprised I'm even allowed to participate tonight." "Unfortunately for you and your neck," Lucien countered, "tonight's just a party." "Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?" Lucien winked at me, and Tamlin laughed and offered me his arm. "He's right,"....

"So there's singing and dancing and excessive drinking," Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. "And dallying," he added with a wicked grin.

When Lucien plays a prank:

"I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself," I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I'd had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick-enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool...."

When Feyre gets drunk of Faerie Wine:

“Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”

“Always looking after your best interests,” I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass. It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.

“Human fool,” he hissed.

But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.

“I’m going to paint you,” I said, and giggled—actually giggled—as the words popped out.

"Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered, and I laughed again.”

When Lucien is hungover and third-wheeling:

Lucien kept rubbing at his temples as he ate, unusually silent, and I hid my smile as I asked him, “And where were you last night?” Lucien’s metal eye narrowed on me. “I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.” He gave me a sly grin. “Rumor has it you two didn’t come back until after dawn.” I glanced at Tamlin, biting my lip. I’d practically floated into my bedroom that morning. But Tamlin’s gaze now roved my face as if searching for any tinge of regret, of fear. Ridiculous. “You bit my neck on Fire Night,” I said under my breath. “If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing.” He braced his forearms on the table as he leaned closer to me. “Nothing?” His eyes flicked to my lips. Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him, but I ignored him. “Nothing,” I repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlin’s mouth move, so keenly aware of every movement he made, resenting the table between us. I could almost feel the warmth of his breath. “Are you sure?” he murmured, intent and hungry enough that I was glad I was sitting. He could have had me right there, on top of that table. I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said.”

When Lucien drops one of the best lines in the book:

"I see," I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him. "You've been noticeably absent again." He used the dagger to clean his nails. "I've been busy. So have you, I take it." "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?"

When Lucien doesn't know what is coming in the future:

Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of me. "Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm." "I'm not sure the human realm would know what to do with you," I said. Lucien's smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind me to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed. "I thought you were smarter than this."

When Lucien admires Feyre's attitude:

“Don’t you understand what Rhys is?” “I do!” I barked, then sighed. “I do,” I repeated, and glared at the eye in my palm. “It’s done with. So you needn’t hold to whatever oath you swore to Tamlin to protect me—or feel like you owe me anything for saving you from Amarantha. I would have done it just to wipe the smirk off your brothers’ faces.” Lucien clicked his tongue, but his remaining russet eye shone. “I’m glad to see you didn’t sell your lively human spirit or stubbornness to Rhys.”

When Lucien is a fashionista:

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

When game recognize game

“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.

I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.

But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.

Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.

Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

When Lucien is scared of Amren:

“I think Amren would probably deny that she feels any affection for us—”

“Amren is a bedtime story they told us as younglings to make us behave. Amren was who would drink my blood and carry me to hell if I acted out of line. And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

“We don’t—we don’t enforce protocol and rank here.”

“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.” He waved an arm to encompass the city.

When Lucien is a little murderous:

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

When Lucien volunteers to go on a quest:

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—”

“I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.”

My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.”

A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.

When Lucien makes a friend

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

“You sound like an acolyte.”

Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.”

[deluluass]

misericordia

It's finally here T^T Here's to reaching 100+ followers! Thank you so much everyone!!

Content Warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; somnophilia; description of dead bodies; includes some elements of cosmic horror; dystopian-ish au; biblical references/imagery; angel! Ushijima

To name is a barren tree: fruitless and, ultimately, the workings of this kind.

  The earth will soon be without form, and void; and darkness shall remain the face of the deep. 

  The Spirit of God no longer moves in the face of the waters. 

  Names are for nothing.

  But, for any cause done here, to name is essential. As it was in the beginning, when there was still a beginning (but it has not ended yet, so the beginning shall still stay), to name had been the first task.

  So when asked for a name, the mouth was able to conjure:

  “Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the body said. 

  And as it is the way of the Created, the body became he.

  And as it is the way of the Created, proof was immediately demanded for the name. 

  And as it is the way of the Created, once found on the chest, Ushijima Wakatoshi was then welcomed. 

  You weren’t there when the world ended. 

  In fact, so, too, was your father's father. The sky had cracked open and the oceans had already split up the old lands for as long as anyone could remember. 

  Before the city became a city in truth, the people had just been strangers, seeking shelter after everything fell apart, only to be abandoned by those who’d promised protection.

  That didn't mean, however, that things got better for your lot once someone swept in and established order and peace and stability and whatever it is those at the top had to say to justify them being there. 

  If your father were to be believed, you had been sleeping in your mother’s womb, still a tiny beating heart, when the longest winter happened ("winter"; they still called it that when there had been minute differences between hot and cold).

  Supplies were short; food was scarce; so when you finally clawed your way into a world breathing its last, your mother couldn't help but bleed into the sheets until your cry outlived hers. 

  But your father barely recognized you  during his final days. That’s why when your neighbors call you a liar for saying “I was born on a Spring,” you shrug it off and think you might as well have been born on a Spring. 

  There’s no way of knowing. The story had always changed every time you asked him. 

  Sometimes he blamed you, sometimes he told you it’s not your fault. Nothing you could do about it. Spring it is, then; you told yourself. 

  Spring always looked so... different, in the drawings Granny made, anyway.

  No one here actually knows her age. Granny had always been Granny; as permanent to this place as the walls enclosing the city.

  She rarely left her quarters, that crone, and could barely stand on her own without your help. Worse, she could no longer see. What use is a blind artist, the others would laugh. 

  It’s their loss, you’d retort, mocking her like that. Because then they’d miss the way her gnarled and knobby hands would glide with unwavering purpose if you asked her to, strokes bold and not a space wasted.

  “You never learn,” she croaked once finished, jostling the wrinkled piece of paper to your lap. “Why throw away your rations for this piece of junk?”

  Granny retched, “Incurable fool.”

  At this point, she would grumble about suffering in the old pig’s (her words, not yours) kitchens for nothing, and always, without fail, you’d feel a smile break on your face. It hurt, honestly, but after an entire day of frowning over the dishes you had to wash and the floors that needed scrubbing and all the other orders yelled your way, it was worth it, anyway.

  “I know you’re laughing. My ears still work, mind you.”

  You felt your belly shake as you giggled, brushing the paper with worn fingers, staring open-mouthed at the piece before you.

  “This is amazing, Granny,” you sighed.

  “Idiot,” she repeated. “It’s the same thing as the one before. And the one before that.”

  And for good measure, Granny added, “Idiot. Not like you hadn’t seen that one.”

  When all you’d done was take her hand in yours and place a pack of food along with a thin roll of paper in her feeble grasp, Granny finally asked, “Why do you keep coming back here, girl? Asking for the same thing.”

  There wasn’t any of that surly frown now. 

  And looking at her like that, without the crabbiness that sharpens her features, that oddly makes her look younger and in control of herself, you find that you don’t have an answer this time. Arrested by the realization that her shoulders slumped lower than you’d thought. And that she’s getting thinner. 

  “Why?” you whispered back, feeling traces of charcoal stick to your palm.

  Maybe it’s because there’s no other way that she’d accept food, unless she does something in return. She kicked you out the first time you intended to give her the ration you’d earned.

  (Or maybe it's because you know what they'd do, once they find out she's no longer making trades.)

  Why, indeed. 

  Maybe it’s because you hadn’t really seen things grow before. 

  You might work at the Governor’s place, at the heart of the city and everything else that matters, but grunt workers like you are prohibited to get anywhere near the farm, let alone actually enter it. So, really, there's no other way of seeing what growth looks like.

  Maybe it’s because you can only do that when you witness her in her craft. You really don’t have anything to compare it with, but you’re sure life from soil works the same way. 

  Everything must come from something.  And that something must be quite the artist, if they're anything like Granny. 

  Birthing roots from the ground of what was once a blank piece of paper with a flick of the wrist; growing into large trunks, strong branches, then into an abundance of leaves and blossoms. 

  Trees drawn on both sides of the paper, always with a smattering of grass and flowers in the middle. She said they used to grow here, when she was just a girl. And if you begged hard enough, she’d add a stray butterfly fluttering around the corner. 

  You hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I just love seeing you, Granny,” you grinned.

  “Crock of shit.”

  “Really!” You grabbed your knapsack as you stood from your seat, folding the paper with care. “Hey, Granny, guess what? Don’t give me that face— I’ve already saved just enough and you know what that means?”

  She snorted. 

  “Listen,” you pouted. “I’ll finally be able to get those pigments! I heard they don't cost that much and if I trade next-”

  “Don’t.”

  She tilted her head and faced your way, misty eyes pinning you. "How much does paper cost you?"

  You gulped. 

  Then, with a swiftness that surprised you, she grabbed you by your tattered sleeve and gritted, “I may be the blind one here, but I think I see a lot more clearly than you do. You can sweat and bleed for those pigments, but I will never paint.”

  You felt a sting in your eyes as she continued, “I know what you’re doing. And I’d be the greater fool if I let you work yourself to the bone for some pipe dream."

  "Content yourself with coal, girl. That’s all you’re gonna get from this place. Dirt and rust and smoke. Go sneak into that damned farm. Go steal some of those fuckers’ riches. In fact, while you’re at it,” she laughed dryly. “Steal them all and run away from here. If you really want to live.”

  “Only,” she said, too soft that you had to sit back down to hear her, “Only, stop hoping, my child.”

  Her chest wheezed as she breathed, like air passing through the holes of a rundown machine. 

  You kissed the back of her hand before you left. 

  The wind howled and threatened to topple you as you walked back to your building, hard rain slapping you across the face when you picked up into a run. They didn’t descend in small drops anymore. As you get older, thunderstorms are to be expected once evening falls, lingering for weeks only to suddenly bring about an irritatingly humid day. 

  But tonight, the large cavern above that parts the dark, heavy clouds into opposite streams seem to yawn wider, closing itself lower and lower into the earth that you swore someday it’ll devour the city whole.

  Mud water in your boots, you grabbed onto your soaked coat and climbed the steps of the decaying piece of slab you call home, mindful that you won’t slip and break your skull against the thick beams, twisted metal jutting out of the corners.

  A solitary lamp flickered through the window of the room next to yours. Little Soo-jin must be having nightmares again, you thought with a frown. 

  You were about to knock on their door when the sirens blared, echoing louder across the city than the boom of lightning, followed by a grating squeal that could only be an opening gate. 

  Your knuckle froze over the chipped wood.

  The last time the alarm rang, the people were greeted by the body of a young council member, brought by a small and wounded troop who’d accompanied him outside the city. 

  Soo-jin’s mom peered through the murky window, meeting your eyes after both of you stared into the direction of the gate closest to your zone, as if seeking you for an explanation. You only gave her a shrug.

  “Someone must have died,” you said.

    “No, he’s not dead. That’s why you’re bringing food to his room, aren’t you?”

  You stared at the girl stubbornly shaking her head. 

  “I- I know, but! Didn’t you hear? They said they found him full of bullet holes and I—”

  “Even if you’re serving a rotting corpse, as long as Cook orders it, you follow.”

  It was admirable that she’s refused for this long. If it were you, you’d have been sacked the moment you opened your mouth to say no. You wiped your hand with the towel next to the sink, having finished the work assigned to you, and watched the ongoing bout in the kitchen.

  “Why can’t you just ask the others? Marga’s not doing anything!”

  “Marga,” the older woman hissed, “is with the others. Almost everyone is in the meeting room. So if you don’t take your butt up there, I’m gonna have no other choice but to tell Cook.”

  You winced. This can’t be good.

  You cleared your throat. “I can do it,” you said.

  The tray was shoved to you faster than you can drop your raised hand. You would have found it amusing, considering that you’re sure they couldn’t even recognize you, but the idea of being in the same room with a half-alive man does make you feel uneasy. 

  Not that it’s anything new for you; you nursed your father until the fever took him, after all. You just haven’t lived long enough to get used to it yet. But you steeled yourself and did your job, because it’s not as if you had any choice. 

  You prepared yourself for anything as you entered one of the many guest chambers. Bullet holes, rotting corpse, entrails held together by stitches. 

  And when you announced your presence and gripped the tray tighter so as to not spill the soup on the sprawling carpet, it’s not really surprise that caused you to stumble upon your words when you saw the man sitting on the bed.

  It’s more of an embarrassment, of sorts. 

  You must’ve entered the wrong room, you thought. You immediately checked around  to make sure no one saw you talk and almost grovel to an actual sculpture. 

  Because that’s what he was. 

  The Governor’s estate houses floors and floors of rooms that you hadn't explored yet. But there was one that, if no one would bother to keep track of the workers, you had the habit of sneaking into. 

  Thinking about what it took for this family to have all those sculptures there hurt your head, so you stopped a long time ago. You chose, instead, to just admire the marble wonders in all their beauty, always looking back down at you with majesty and pride. 

  Just as he's doing right now. 

  Chiseled torso wrapped in bandages; sharp jaw that could cut; eyes the color of olives, gazing deep.

  "That is for me."

  You snapped your head down. 

  "Huh- uh, yes? Yes!" 

  His deep voice still rumbled through you. 

  "Yes, I'm sorry," you muttered, heat rushing to your face as you placed the tray on the table next to him, inflaming when you realized he didn't mean it as a question.

  That is for me. 

  Not a question. A question means you can answer. His words brooked no other response but obedience, reminding you of your place.

  Much like those sculptures, every time  you'd spent too much time inside the room and you'd get the feeling that you're not supposed to be there, too filthy to be anywhere near what you think is the closest thing to perfection. 

  And the truth would settle on you like a heavy weight: that no amount of beauty can ever breathe warmth if it cannot live and grow. 

  The same way that despite the sunshine filtering through the floor to ceiling windows, surrounding him in blinding light as he sat on the bed, you can't shake the impression that this is the coldest this room has ever been, with him here. 

  So you anticipated his orders; a single word or maybe a glance that would tell you he wants you gone. Just either one of those and you'd run out of this room in a heartbeat. 

  But neither came. The man (you still didn't know his name) remained silent, staring at the food like they've insulted him specifically, and now he's questioning the collective audacity of the soup, bread, and bowl of fruits laid before him. 

  Maybe they don't serve those where he came from. He's from the North, after all, made evident by the small eagle etched on his chest, just above a pectoral. The last visiting Northerner you served who also bore that mark threw a rag at you (she missed) for "mixing the bathing oils incorrectly."

  You stayed in your position and asked, "Is the food not to your liking?"

  He didn't say anything, but he did shift his attention to you.

  And what a mistake that was. How does this man go about life with such a severe presence?

  "Er..is something..wrong?" you sweated, suddenly fascinated by the vases behind him. 

  Glaring back at the food, he answered with a deep "no" and breathed out. His large arms rose and fell along with it, straining the bandages around the muscles.

  Oh, right. Right.

  You perked up. "Do you need help?"

  Stepping closer to the table, you gave him a tightlipped smile and a sheepish "excuse me" before taking the spoon in your hand. 

  You scooped a thick serving of soup, your palm hanging under it, and waited.

  And waited. 

  The man looked at you the same way he looked at the bowl of fruits earlier.

  "What are you doing?" he said,  gravel-voiced. 

  You're gonna lose this job.

  Why did you think you could feed him like he's an ailing, decrepit old man? Or a literal child? He's built like he commands an army (and he probably does).

  You are definitely gonna lose this job.

  "I- I'm sorry!" 

  You jerked away, your hip hitting the table, the impact shaking it and causing the plates and silverware to clatter against each other.

  "O-oh no, I'm-" The spoon in your hand fell as you attempted to set things properly, soup spilling to the carpet along with the utensils.

  You're gonna lose this job and you're gonna starve to death.

  "I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!" 

  Dropping to your knee like your life depended on it, you picked up the myriad of similar looking spoons and forks and placed them back on the tray. 

  You kept your head downwards, bowing as you'd been repeatedly taught, and shut your eyes tightly. 

  "I thought that you hadn't healed yet and needed help and- and-" you huffed.

  "And I thought that I should feed you but- no-no!" You looked at him and flailed your hands in front of you. "No! I didn't mean feed- I meant- I meant no disrespect please forgive me!"

  Not a word was spoken in that second that spanned an entire year. But just as you'd accepted that the worst has come, he said:

  "Then, feed me."

  Wait.

  Wait, what?

  "I don't.. understand..?"

  "Then, feed me," was what he told you. And so matter-of-factly, at that. 

  So you did, desperate to keep the only thing keeping you alive. 

  Though your hand trembled and you wished to be anywhere but here— even the wasteland waiting outside the gates, with all its unimaginable threats, seemed like paradise —you took a loaf of bread from the basket and brought it closer to his mouth.

  Lines marred his forehead as he chewed. You were about to ask, self-destructive that you are, whether you should get the sweetened roll instead, thinking he found the one in your hand too bland. But you don't have the luxury to risk digging your grave any deeper. 

  You kept quiet and pointedly removed him from your line of sight, choosing to count the tassels hanging off the canopy instead.

  Once he's eaten all that's left of the pastries, you dipped your hand into the bowl of fruits and took a grape in-between your fingers and, as much as you can, you steadied your hand to avoid touching his lips.

  It didn't work. 

  You shuddered at the contact, curling your toes in your boots to avoid squirming. 

  This has got to be the weirdest day of your entire life.

  Not a hint of unease was shown. He continued to close his plump lips around the tip of your fingers and crushed the fruits with pointed canines, making the hair on your body stand on end. What if he bites you? Would you bleed?

  The man seemed to like them more than bread. A sense of urgency rose within you as he went through the berries and sliced mangoes like this is the first time he's had them.

  Can't say you blame him. The last time you ate something that resembled a fruit, a real fruit, was when Granny persuaded (coerced) a young boy in her complex to steal one from his employer. That boy has a child of his own now. 

  You felt your mouth water, your stomach growl and command that you take the bowl from him and shovel its contents to your mouth, as you watched him devour the sweet and tangy meat, the smell of it sickening as it is strangely compelling.

  He raised his head and met your eyes.

  Shit. 

  The apples, you thought as you looked back down to the tray. They're the only ones left soaking in the bowl, those apples. After this you'd be out of this stuffy room and you'd laugh about this later with Soo-jin and her mom and Granny too if she's not cranky.

  You could still feel him staring at you as you fed him a slice, the apple crisp when he took a bite. 

  Juice trickled down your hand, the sticky extract tickling your arm as it slid to the crook of your elbow, and you were about to wipe it with your other hand, when you felt a wet tongue probe the gap between your fingers.

  You gasped. "Sir..!" 

  You stepped away. Tried to, anyway, but with a firm hand, a hand that's not injured, after all, he gripped your wrist and continued to suck a digit. 

  "This is- sir!" struggling out of his hold, you pleaded with him to let go, please sir let me go, even as he only looked at you, his eyes dimming when he grabbed your waist to bring you closer. 

  He licked your hand, lapping at the trail the juice left behind, and when you thought he would release you, he took your hand to pluck another slice from the bowl. 

  Your legs gave up beneath you, forcing you to sit on his stretched lap, his hard body scorching you through the sheets, as he ate the apple from your palm, slurping the leftovers dripping from it. 

  "Don't cry," Granny told you once.

  "Especially when you feel like crying," she said. "Don't cry."

  You'd never really been good at listening, but now, you decided to suck in your breath and keep those tears at bay. You can cry and laugh about all this later.

  Because you might be jobless after this, but you will certainly have a damn good story to tell over the fire once you finished kneeing him in the nuts.

  So: one.

  Breathe.

  His teeth scraped your soaked hand.

  Two.

  You rested your hand on his shoulder.

  Three.

  You braced your leg, moving it between his thick thighs, and then, as you clutched his bandages, you—

  "Ushijima-sama."

  The door swung open.

  "Pardon the intrusion, but the Council members requested-”

  It was Secretary Hara.

  “Oh."

  Secretary Hara: a lanky, dark haired man with glasses who's always at the Governor's beck and call. He was here, carrying a small stack of papers, and gaping at the scene before him.

  You and the esteemed guest. Who's still suckling at your skin. On the bed. 

  He grinned, full of humor and disgusting. “Well,” he said. 

  At least you weren't crying.

  A question, shared only by the Heavens, began when the Lord fashioned the flesh out of the dust of the ground and said,"You are made in My image and likeness."

  It was not their way, before that: to question. (One of them did, once, but that is a different story). 

  They have no need for questions.

  They hold the highest seat, below only to the Creator, unencumbered by the trappings of the earth.

  They have no need for questions.

  So it remained unasked, lingering in fragments in the House of the Lord.

  The question comes to him now.

  For the flesh is a cage. It is ephemeral and prone to decay.

  It is fitting for this kind to have it, with all their qualities bound to the material world.

  You are the very epitome of these.

  Graceless. Stumbling like a newborn foal. Too many apologies. Too many questions.

  God is not here, he thinks as you insist on asking what does not matter.

  “Is the food not to your liking?” and “Is something wrong?” and “Do you need help?”

  Indecisive, too. Reneging on your promises. You said you’d feed him and then you said you wouldn’t.

  Ushijima Wakatoshi is a mere flesh, locking inside divinity your kind would never understand. Yet he felt its tedious demands gnaw at him when he saw you. Something so impermanent should have no right for constant sustenance. 

  But he knows, just for this time, that he needs it. That’s why he tells you to feed him, as you said you would. After all, it is your way to serve. And, for all your many inadequacies, God has granted you bread and water and fruit to sate your appetites. 

  Thus, for as long as he is flesh, he will do as it tells him to. 

  When it urged for the taste of fruit, for the cloying sweetness of its juice, it is only right that he heeded its call and had his fill. 

  How dare you object. His light is brighter than yours; God has granted it so (and yet you were given the will that they never had). And even in flesh you are beneath him. You are easily held and defeated.

  The ache in his belly did not cease, each gulp he took heightening his senses, shouting for more, more, more as he took you with his tongue. And he realizes that this is what the first of your kind may have felt like when they disobeyed. The first act of betrayal.

  (For what is the wrath of God to the cries of the flesh?)

  And with that, Ushijima Wakatoshi finds, since donning this useless flesh, that it is not at all easy to gratify. 

  Not in the least.

    There are so many rules in this mansion that even Cook’s effort to batter them on your head could sometimes be futile, given that their number is just as big as this place. But, there is one, among all the convoluted and at times nonsensical decrees, that you are not allowed to forget: 

  Unless you’re among the core staff, you can never enter the East Wing. 

  The East Wing is where all the important things happen, see. It goes without saying that someone as lowly as you cannot pollute that hallowed ground.

  Today seems to be an exception.

  When Cook barked that Secretary Hara wanted you in the East Wing first thing in the morning, you had a feeling that you just might not live to see the next day.

  You didn't speak unless spoken to. You didn't look unless told to. The things you should've done much earlier.

  "How are you liking the work here so far?" 

  Secretary Hara pushed the pen to the side and leaned back against the leather swivel chair. 

  "It's a job," you mumbled, to which he only replied with a breathless chuckle. You didn't see the point in bootlicking any further. Besides, Granny hated that the most; so you avoided doing it as much as you can.

  There's only one conclusion for you here, anyway. No matter how severe the punishment. And it's back in your room, with a uniform that needs sewing for a job that you no longer have.

  He tapped his fingers against the lacquered table. "You're right," he said. "Work is work. Despite your place in this society."

  You wanted to roll your eyes. Secretary Hara has never been any of the workers' favorites (not that any of you had your "favorites," but if you could, you avoided this guy). He had this astonishing effect, too, in which he can actually bring people together. All because everyone hated him.

  He's a slimeball, is what he is. If one needed lessons in kissing ass, he was your man. 

  "Do you know why you're here?"

  You're getting fired. End of story. Now can I please just go? is what you want to say. But losing your job doesn't usually take this much time and attention. Normally, it was Cook who'd grunt "You're out" and that was it.

  So you shake your head.

  "I'm promoting you," he said. "Congratulations."

  Somewhere, beneath that condescending smile of his, is a punchline that you're sure he's deliberately keeping from you. Just so he can be the only one who gets to laugh.

  "I-" You balled your hand to a fist. "Why?"

  He scoffed. "What are they teaching you in that rathole? Honestly."

  They taught me not to be rude to people I don't know, you little bitch.

  "Drop the coy act, it's okay," he sneered. "It's cheap and it won't work on me."

  Oh, now you really want to get fired. If only to kick his teeth in. "That man," Secretary Hara continued. "Ushijima Wakatoshi. You were all over him and you seriously don't know who he is?"

  You gritted. "Secretary Hara, what happened- it wasn't- I didn't want it."

  But he only gave you that look. As if to say, "Sure. Let's go with that." When it'd pass and the need to pummel him became stronger, he stood up and stepped towards the tapestry draped against the wall.

  It was a map, the city a pinprick on the corner. Secretary Hara faced it, dusting the spotless surface, his back to you.

  "Ever wonder what keeps us here?" he started, hand still on the map. "This city of ours?"

  "The," you licked your lips. Where was he going with this? "The river..?"

  Secretary Hara clapped his hands, his voice lilting like he's talking to a toddler as he said, "That's right. That's good. Excellent."

  "So you do know some things, after all." His fingers crawled towards the long line of blue stitched beside the city. "And do you wonder what would happen if, say, that river begins to dry?"

  You felt your eyes widen. You covered your mouth with a palm. 

  You're not supposed to know this. Why is he telling you this?

  He scratched the thick clump of blue thread and continued, "These great cities. They have their energy; their military." 

  Your eyes followed his hand, moving farther and farther away from the pallid brown surrounding your city, towards the bright yellow West, stopping at the bright green East. "Some of them are blessed enough to not be surrounded by a literal desert."

  Then, with a careful hand, he moved to the very top and said, "And the North…the North has it all."

  The North was a sprawling, intricate web of threads, eating away the entire tapestry. 

  "The Ushijima clan rules the North. Much longer than this city has existed. And they’re so engrossed in their wars that they’d never glance our way if we don't give them at least half of what we make,” he spat. “These great people haven’t had contact with us in years."

  Secretary Hara finally turned around, grin still in place. "But now one of them owes his life to us." He walked back to his desk, sitting on its edge. "Perhaps the heavens sent him here."

  When you remained silent and looked at him with eyes that you wished had the ability to kill, because you know now what they wanted from you, Secretary Hara only shrugged.

  "He asked for your name, actually," he said, tilting his head. "Lucky you. He didn't bother to learn ours."

  You stood your ground. "No, sir," you said. "I won't."

  He pulled a thin piece of paper from a pile sitting next to him. "You're not gonna do much," he said as he began to read. "Just show him around the city. Be his friend."

  Friend. 

  "But I- No. I can't." You stepped forward. "Please." 

  He looked away from the paper. "Zone 42. Room 0312."

  "What.."

  "Granny," he said. "That's what you call her, isn't it?"

  No.

  "They say that for a blind old lady she's still somehow miraculously trading to keep a roof over her head."

  Phantom touches crept to your arm, slick and nauseating like cold sweat.

  "You must take it from her. Though you're not related," he said.  "Apparently, you're so hardworking, you even work the night shift. When you don't have to."

  You released a shaky breath. "I'll..I'll start," you croaked. "I'll start right away, sir." 

  Secretary Hara folded his arms, victory plastered all over his gaunt face.

  "Thank you," he chimed. "I'm glad you understand. It's for your own good too, y'know." 

  The uniform they gave you chafed against your skin. Tugging at the sleeves did not help, the pristine fabric too coarse and stiff to budge. Your only comfort was the folded paper hidden in your pocket, fading at the edges every time you touched it.

  You have to admit, however, that you did look...well, you did look clean. Not as much as him, though. And not just in the sense that he's out of the bandages now. Last you checked, and that had been a few minutes ago, he was still sporting a couple of scars on his forehead.

  Despite that, you don't have to look behind you to know what's captured the people's attention as you strolled the capital. Or, who, to be exact.

  Some were outright ogling; some happened to glance once and then immediately looked away with a blush; some made the laudable effort to not look. 

  A mirror of what you're doing right now. 

  They gilded him with gold, which is a redundancy if you ever see one. He was wearing the most expensive pigment, something that only the Governor's family could own: a deep violet tunic emblazoned with golden vines, swirling from the middle to the collar; paired with dress pants that you could probably trade for a whole month's worth of food. 

  You kept your distance as you walked in front of him. "Just show him around the city," was what Secretary Hara told you. That didn't mean you had to talk.

  And it's not as if he had any complaints, either. He followed you through the rows of glass houses that adorned Governor's lane, not a word spoken about the sights. 

  Even when you'd attempted to speed through the dizzying streets, he kept his pace, long legs allowing him to stride close to you. By time you'd reached the plaza, you were already out of breath and in need of rest. 

  But you didn’t. 

  You remained standing a few feet away from him, the paper in your hand opened to reveal those great trees and thriving field, as he sat under the gazebo overlooking the square; a place reserved only for council members. 

  The smell of the sweetmeats and oranges in front of him reached your nose (Secretary Hara has a cruel sense of humor, you belatedly realized, when you were handed a bag of food that had a note saying “treat him well”). You fought the itch to cast out what little you’ve had for breakfast.

  Children were playing around the sandbox, the staff of whatever family they belonged to guarding them. In a way, their job wasn’t that different from what you have now. 

  Except, it’s not a child you were threatened to accompany. With the feeling of his gaze burning your nape, it seems like you’re not the one doing the guarding as well. 

  And you didn’t feel every bit like the adult you are when he called your name.

  You felt frighteningly small, as you yielded with a pathetic, “Ushijima-sama.”

  He only looked at you. Those green eyes telling you exactly what he wanted. 

  People are watching. You can’t mess this up.

  “Sir,” you said, hand still in your pocket, that frayed paper your anchor. “It is improper.”

  Irritation swept through him, his sharp features harsher when dissatisfied. But you can’t give up, even though it’s sending a chill down your spine and he seems like he’s about to throttle in broad daylight. (And he doesn’t have to do much, you know. He can crush you with one hand.)

  “Why- why are you here?” you hissed. “R-really?”

  You don’t shut your trap when you have to, girl. That’s your problem.

  “Because- because I’m not gonna be your..thing.” The paper was dampening in your grip. “While you do whatever it is you do, Ushijima,” you huffed. “...sama”

  Ushijima did not blink, his stare unwavering as he turned towards the small crowd strolling below. There’s a part of you that wishes to put yourself in his place, like a king on his throne. What does the view look like from up there? Are the people beneath just multicolored ants moving from afar? 

  “A few of my kind have suddenly sided with yours,” he said. Then, briefly returning his gaze to you, “I had to see what draws them here.” 

  He linked his fingers together. “Before I do what must be done.”

  You stifled a chortle. “Do what must be done” your ass. Does that include harassing people, too? “God only knows,” you whispered.

  “You believe in God.”

  You were the subject of his relentless attention again. You groaned, averting your eyes to a small girl, probably around Soo-jin’s age, who plopped down to create a heap of sand, much to the consternation of her nanny. 

  “No,” you replied in a thin voice. 

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Where is this question coming from? “Always seemed like a lot of work,” you said. 

  The little girl was making a castle. It’s apparent to you now that she has little pail by her side, shovel in her grubby hand. The frill of her dress caught most of the sand as she stacked them atop each other.

  “And I’m pretty sure God has more fun things to do than worry about me,” you added, just because.

  The castle reached her knees when the girl stood up. 

  "God has left," Ushijima said. "A long time ago."

  And then she kicked it. The thing crumbled to a mound, the breeze scattering it back to the sand. 

  You did chuckle this time. The Northerners sure are strange. "Really? Where’d God go?" you hummed, looking up to the sky.

  The sun was blanketed by waves of clouds, as usual. "Somewhere nicer, I hope," you sighed. 

  You closed your eyes and thought of that nicer place. It would have to be far, far away from here. Maybe it would even have those trees that Granny loved.

  "Cherry trees."

  You opened your eyes and gawked at him. 

  He was still gazing at you. 

  "You are attached to it," he told you, like it's nothing; like your heart's not wreaking havoc against your ribs with each word he utters. "On that paper."

  Pulling it out of your pocket, you stumbled to him and unfolded it for him to see. "You-  you know what this is? A 'cherry tree.' That’s what you call it?"

  "Yes." Ushijima's eyes did not leave yours. "That is the name you people have bestowed upon them."

  "Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"

  You didn't let him answer that because, just like the fool that Granny accused you to be, you took his hand in your trembling one and laughed, somehow managing to drag him out of the gazebo.

  It took a while before you finally let go.

  Much has changed along the way, he felt this as the air grew hotter; the sound of bustling people louder and less constrained with inutile mortal etiquette. You seemed less wary of him here. 

  The hand that held his tightly was still brushing against him, as you talked incessantly about the pieces of paper plastered across the wall. They all looked the same, yellowed and infested with mold at the edges, but you insisted otherwise.

  “See here?” You pointed to the one on the bottom. “Granny drew the leaves differently. They look like flowers don’t they? They are, aren’t they? I knew it! So they are flowers.” 

  There was a cot in the corner of the room. He sees you there in slumber, surrounded by rocks and scraps of metal and bits of gemstones held together by strings, each strand hanging on the crevices of the roof, gleaming every time they move. 

  You tapped his arm repeatedly. “Oh, oh. I put these two beside each other. Notice that the shades are different? This one is lighter while this one has more shadows to it.”

  "Do you get it now?" you asked him, expectant. 

  Humans are baffling creatures, Wakatoshi thought. Because when he said nothing, you only laughed (you seem to like doing that) and told him to “follow me; hurry.” You didn’t hold his hand this time (you should’ve, he preferred it when you did).

  “My bad. I hadn’t shown you yet,” you huffed as you grabbed a rag and set aside buckets of rainwater that obstructed his path. 

  Behind a curtain of sackcloth and ashes, draped at the furthest side of the wall, was a crack big enough to let a person through, corroding steel bars protruding along the broken concrete. 

  Wakatoshi ducked to enter the room next to yours. It was hollow, save for bits of gravel and a window obscured by dust. You paced to it then wiped the thick glass with the rag you brought with you.

  “That hill is always there in Granny’s drawings,” you said, taking the paper in your pocket and setting it parallel to the scene revealed by the window. 

  Your smile was wide, as if you were admiring a land lush with vegetation, or wildflowers at least. When it was far from that. It was a vast desolation, beyond the gates and the brown earth fractured. But, just as you said, there is a solitary hill sitting along the horizon.

  “Those trees- cherry trees,” you started, face radiating with mirth. “It’s the same but.. different each time.” Your breathless laugh makes him feel just as winded. “How is that even possible?”

  “I know they can’t be just...green.” A finger traced the outline of the leaves. “Because these are real and they actually grow and- and they change.” And, as if it’s a secret, “Unlike the ones at the capital.”.

  “If only Granny would paint them for me,” you whispered, the smile on those lips waning. 

  Wakatoshi couldn’t stand it. So, he grunted, “You are wrong. This one is green.”

  He took the paper from your hand. “They only change colors once they bloom. White, first. Then, pink.” 

  This knowledge is trivial; if it can be considered knowledge at all. It is a speck in the infinite matters that simply exist— have existed, in this world. Yet such a thing has put that look in your eyes. 

  Perhaps it is not inconsequential at all.

  “Pink?” you breathed, grinning incredulously at him. 

  You turned away and closed your eyes, your voice cracking as you murmured, “I see.”

  There's a blood pumping organ within his chest. A vital piece that keeps you humans alive. It beats constantly, never ceasing. If it does then it means you are dead. He is flesh, for now; it follows that if it halts, then he is fodder for the earth.

  How is it, then, that he is still here? He’s sure he felt it stop, the air knocked out of his lungs, as you looked back at him, eyes welling with tears when you said, “Thank you.”

  Thank you, you told him, smiling.

  Ah. 

  Wakatoshi gets it now.

  This is what God must have seen, when your kind looked up and sang, “I love you, my God; I love you; I love you.” And when you knelt and dared to turn those eyes for others that are not God, he suddenly understands why they were ordered to rain fire and brimstone upon your great kingdoms. 

  Because he, too, would smite anything, burn it to the ground and salt what is left, if it would so much as receive a whit of your sweet, soft words. 

  “They used to grow here,” you sniveled. “Granny said so.”

  “And I thought, maybe if Granny added a bit more color- maybe they'd feel more…I don't know..real..?” Laughter rings in his ears once again, pealing like bells. “Yeah..They'd feel more real...Though, she did get mad at me,” you winced.

  “I just thought,” you sighed, your shoulders touching him. “Wouldn't it be nice if I can wake up one day and find them growing again? Right here.”

  God created a garden for your kind once. It is gone now, but Wakatoshi wonders what you’d say, how you’d look at him, if he shows it to you. Your head against the grass, fingers laced with the lilies of the field, the taste of fruit on your lips, your thighs dripping with honey and dew—

  Wakatoshi felt his loins stir, but he didn't say anything, except, “The soil here is poisoned.”

  You snapped towards him, brows drawn together. “I know,” you said.

  “A sapling cannot grow on this wasteland.” 

  “Yes, I’m not stupid.”

  “That could have been any hill.”

  “I know.”

  His throat is parched; his hands a pair of useless things. He can hold galaxies in them, sink ships and level seas by the order of God had this body not trapped him. (He can free himself, but then you’d die). Now he doesn’t even know what to do with them as he rushes out a hoarse, “I have upset you.”

  He refused to let you take the paper from him. You didn’t seem to mind.

  “No,” you sighed. “No, of course not. Forgive me, Ushijima-sama.”

  You bowed again. An act of servitude.

  “Please, let me escort you back to the capital.”

  He does not understand. He only told you the truth. 

  But you turned your back to him and the light in your eyes has gone and he wants to chase it back the same way he wanted to run after God when the parting happened, leaving the Heavens mourning until their wails split the firmament open. 

  Wakatoshi yearns to have you closer. He yearns for that smile and laughter back on your face. 

  Wakatoshi yearns. 

  But, that cannot be. 

  After all, that is just much too human, is it not?

    The rain drenched Wakatoshi to the bone, droplets falling from his lashes to his cheeks, when he walked through the nighttime storm.

  He didn't bother to dry himself. 

  After he'd reached your room and shoved the door open, the clap of thunder covering the noise, Wakatoshi decided to undress himself, shedding all articles of clothing until he was naked as the day God created your kind.

  Wakatoshi felt the chill bite his skin. But that had nothing on the way you easily dismissed him earlier, by the time you'd reached the abode of this city's leader. 

  You left him and he could no longer see your face and yet that fierce longing in his chest stayed, creeping to every part of him, making a home in his belly.

  Until he recognized the feeling for what it was.

  Hunger. 

  Hunger, he could fathom. And when one feels it gnaw at one's flesh, what does one do, but eat?

  You were sleeping on the cot, just as he'd imagined you to be. It's enough to keep him warm: the sight of you, at peace under the glimmer of the trinkets dancing above as a lamp burned lowly. 

  The mattress sank under his weight when he sat next to you. His much larger hand took yours, locking your fingers together to rest his cheek against it, bringing it beneath his nose, and feeling his heart race as he breathed in your scent. 

  He remembers the first time he did this so vividly. You tasted like apples and sin; and though there's none of that now, his mouth still waters as he savors your skin, his tongue traveling to your arm, just as he did then, leaving bites along the way.

  You barely stirred when he lifted your shirt to reveal your tits, the sheen of sweat along the valley forcing a growl out of him.

  Do you feel it, too? When you drag him further down to earth, debasing him and bringing him so low that now he is nothing but a hungry flesh and a mouth made of obscenities. 

  "Fuck," he grunts, as he took his cock, heavy and hard to touch, and rubbed the head with his fingers.

  Perhaps he is lower than human now. Perhaps it does not matter. What is God to this hunger, anyway?

  (This hunger is bigger than God.)

  The cot was pitifully small as he straddled over your chest, breathing still shallow, and spat on his hand before wrapping it around the thick shaft. The tip of his cock touched your nipple as he fondled with the other one, thumb and forefinger pinching and pulling until you let out a tiny mewl.

  Hearing it had him falling to his knees. 

  Wakatoshi moved off the cot to kneel on the floor, the better to suckle on your tits, to lick and nibble on the skin below it, on your stomach, until he's seeing red and ripping your loose pants down to your thighs.

  He pumped his cock harder as he caressed the folds of your cunt. You groaned, arching your back and offering yourself to his mouth, when he started to lap on your clit, sticky liquid coating the swollen bud as he swirled his tongue to  spread the juices dripping from your hole.

  Your entire body was singing for him, even when all you'd managed were squirms and muted whimpers. He felt your skin twitch beneath his lips, as he cupped his balls and drove his hand faster around his throbbing cock, gripping his fist tighter.  

  Oh, he sees you on that garden, clinging onto him as he drives himself into you, pounding your cunt as you beg please, just as you did before, please, please, fuck me harder I am yours I am all yours.

  But, for now, he settles himself with the violent shudders of your body, flooding his mouth with cream, as he releases his seed on his palm. 

  Wakatoshi rubbed it against your leaking cunt, quivering still in his hand. 

  There is something that must be finished, first, before he takes you, in truth. He cannot have you conscious (for now.)

  He covered you back in your clothes, after. Then, Wakatoshi lingered on your face.

  "Fearfully and wonderfully made," he whispered, a mere guttural sound amidst the rain pouring outside. 

  Here lies salvation, he thought, as his fingers brushed your closed eyes. 

  And here, Wakatoshi thought as he brought his lips down to kiss you, here lies damnation. 

  He wiped his blood on the doorposts and lintel before he left.

    You woke up to silence.

  Your nether regions ached and, really, the temptation to not go to work today was insanely strong. But the sun was already bleeding through the window and there's a heavy feeling on your chest.

  And like wearing a shirt on backwards, you immediately knew that something was not right. 

  The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the building as you ran outside. 

  There was nothing. 

  Not the sound of people going about their day nor of children risking the wrath of their mothers with their games. The only thing you could hear was the buzzing noise of a fly circling around your ear.

  You didn't bother knocking on your neighbor's room, rushing inside to shout for Soo-jin and her mom, stopping only when you found them sitting around a small table.

  They didn't turn around to greet you.

  "There you are," you panted, putting your hands on your knees. "I'm so sorry for barging in like this."

  Even little Soo-jin, who never failed to jump into your arms given the opportunity, kept her back to you.  

  You stepped towards her. "Soo-jin," you whispered, placing a hand on her thin shoulder. 

  "Soo-jin, hey," you chuckled, your trembling fingers shaking her bit. "H-hey, what's wrong?"

  Her head nodded down, like a doll grabbed all too suddenly, then it lolled to the side, rolling until she bared her neck, until you saw her face.

  Her mouth hung open. 

  Inside the cavern were tiny black lumps that took you a second to realize were flies feasting on her molars. And when you lurched and sank to the floor, it was only then that you saw her staring back at you.

  Bleached eyes, wide and whitened to the core and pupils like spoiled milk. 

  "N-no." Your vision was cloudy, freezing dread settling at the pit of your stomach when you saw that the same happened to her mother. "Who- who did this?"

  Your voice strained out as you stood, mind moving faster than your legs.

  Granny. Go to Granny. 

  Though you already know, don't you? You don't have to see her to know her fate. Because as you sprinted out of the room, leaping down across the steps, out of the building and into sand and concrete, the smell of sulfur followed you, choking you along with the sight of bodies sprawled on the ground.

  Insects creeping out of nostrils and every other orifice, faces that you'll never have the chance of knowing and faces that you'd grown up with, hands reaching to the heaven as if at prayer.

  You are alone. You are alone in a city filled with rotting corpses. 

  There was an uncontrolled animal inside your body, fighting out of its cage in a fit of rage as you craned to look up, further up.

  The sky was on fire, the fissure in the middle gaping wider and wider and sucking in a mass of swirling clouds dipped with blood and orange.

  And there. There, look. Standing atop the towering walls.

  Beyond the heat wave was a figure, burning bright that you had to squint and you wanted to look away, you had to look away, but you can't go out like this, not without a scream and a curse at your lips.

  What did you do, you were shouting, Who are you, you were screeching, feeling the veins in your neck stretch and pop as you walked closer and closer. 

  Wings as far as the eye could see stood atop the fallen city.

  Spread out to span the horizon and folded at the middle to conceal whatever it is pointing a flaming sword towards the sun. 

  You tasted iron at the back of your mouth, but you did not stop. The earth beneath you swallowed your feet as it turned to mud with each step you took.

  And with the flap of its wings, the sound of metal banging against each other reverberated louder.

  There were children howling in pain, somewhere, behind you, in front of you, beside you. You staggered forward and for the life of you, you do not understand why you keep trying, because the ground below wasn't even soil anymore.

  It took another step before you fell.

  And it was like one of those dreams. 

  But this time you don't wake up. 

  You bawled out and thrashed your legs as water rose above you, slamming against your chest and filling up your mouth and burning your nose until it's all you could see, until you're floating in darkness and water is rushing to your lungs and you were flailing upwards, catching that spot of sunlight, but the more you kicked your feet and swung your arms, the more it tugged at your heavy legs and the less you could breathe and the further it got—  

You were sinking, the clanging of a giant bell everywhere still, as the water pulled you down, and in the deep, below the nothingness, was a massive cleft illuminated by the barest of light, slowly opening to reveal an eye, and no sound came out though you know, though you felt your throat release a shriek, horrifyingly small, so, so small compared to that glass green pupil that illuminated the darkness, rapidly contracting and dilating and then blinking as  salt and fire streamed deep in your skin, but they were looking at you from all sides, a thousand eyes flanking you and judging the weight of your soul with their unforgiving gaze as you tossed and turned in the waters. 

  I am going to die here, you thought. I will die here, you cried.

  But something was pulling at your waist and despite clawing and jabbing at it, desperate to keep it away from you as you wailed get off me get off me, it gripped you tight, hauling you upwards until you were gulping and breathing in cold air.

Through tears and the piercing cry that ripped out your throat, you felt strong, warm arms cradle you close.

  Along with a deep voice, familiar and conjuring a long lost memory. 

It lulled you into hiccups and dry sobs, gentle as it whispered. 

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid.”

[imaginesmai]

Arvin Russell - Tomorrow will rise

Requested by @purerepelsdirt​ . I’m sorry it took so long, but here it is! I changed some parts, I hope you don’t mind. For the anons who might later send me a message about how disgusted they are with my writting; read the warnings before reading.

Plot: after the problem with the preacher, you need to catch a ride to Coal Creek. Arvin and you face the unimaginable when Carl and Sandy pick you up.

WARNINGS: dark themes. Rape or almost rape on reader and Arvin. You’ve been warned. Death. Violence.

Another car passed by you, and you pressed yourself tighter to Arvin, if that was possible. You were hidden from the public’s view mostly, leaning against him as he held his thumb up in hopes of someone noticing you. None of them had done it so far, some of them even going out of their ways to pretend to run you over. Since the last one, Arvin hadn’t let you move one foot in front of him, and you didn’t have any more strength to fight him; instead, you just laid against his side and let him try and find a car.

He had tried to make you wait in his truck, which was stuck a few feet away. But it was nearly night time, you were tired of being sitting for so long and, honestly, you didn’t want to leave him. Arvin must have thought the same way, because when you told him that you preferred to stay with him, he smiled softly and offered you his hand.

“Don’ go fallin’ sleep on me now” his sweet voice made you open your eyes, that you hadn’t notice closing. “Wouldn’ want to leave you to the wolves, darlin’”

“You love too much to do so” you sneaked a hand across his middle, and soon you were clinging to him like a koala. “It’s been a while since the last car”

“It’s getting late, dinner time” he rubbed his hand up and down your arm. “You want my coat?”

“I want to arrive to Coal Creek” you said, your voice low. But he heard it, since his muscles tensed and he pulled you closer. “My feet hurt, and I really want to sleep. I didn’t get much sleep yesterday”

“Let’s go wait in the car”

Before moving, Arvin pressed his lips against the top of your head, and you buried your face on his chest. For a second, it seemed that everything would be alright. That you could just go back to his truck and sleep the travel off until you reached his house, then cuddle under the covers. But then you tore apart, and you remembered that it wasn’t alright at all. Arvin had killed the preacher, and you had been there because you had seen him sneaking off. In fear of someone seeing the two of you walking in together, Arvin was forced to take you alone.

And now you were on the run to god knows who, after a small stop in Coal Creek that Arvin wanted to do. You had left everything behind, and to make things worse his truck had broken down. Now you had to do hitchhiking, even if it was getting late and there was no one around.

Arvin was quick to open the door for you, the guilt complex he had been carrying around since you left still heavy on his shoulder. Without asking, he finally dropped his denim jacket over you, caressing your cheek in the way. You crossed your eyes when he closed the door, already feeling conscious seeping away. You weren’t used to the adrenaline, the fear and the worries. A normal girl in Knockemstiff, neighbours with the Russell’s, Lenora’s best friend since childhood and Arvin’s girl probably since you kissed when you were nine.

You trusted him with your eyes closed, so when the door didn’t open immediately after he closed yours, you guessed he had gone back to trying and stop someone. His denim jacket smelt like him, and it felt warm and heavy against your body. You played with the ring on your finger, the one he had given you weeks before the disaster. It already felt part of you, and you knew you wouldn’t take it willingly. Even if it wasn’t made of gold, you smiled as you rolled it around. It was Arvin’s, and it was enough.

Suddenly, your door opened again.

“Someone stopped” Arvin smiled softly, already taking your bag on his shoulder. “They’re headin’ south, and can drop us in Coal Creek”

“Oh” you looked back to the main road, and surely, a couple was waiting leaning in a car. They were talking between them in hushed whispers, but you could see that she was angry at him. “Um, are you sure? Maybe we can sleep in the car. I don’t mind”

“You ain’t sleepin’ in the car, Y/N” Arvin scoffed, and offered you his hand. Not dropping his denim jacket, you stepped out of the car. “I’ll call someone tomorrow, don’ worry.”

“Arv, I can sleep in the car and wait another day just fine” you insisted.

The thing was, that even if you weren’t an observant person and usually the one with the instinct was Arvin, you didn’t like the couple. They were looking at you from their car, and in the short minute since you had seen them, you noticed something off. The man looked much more older than the woman, and she seemed taken from a porn movie. Both of them had a weird look on their eyes, and you were already longing for the uncomfortable seat of the car.

But if it had been a long day for you, you couldn’t imagine what it had been for Arvin. You had gotten a few hours of half-rest when you closed your eyes, but he had been driving for hours. It was obvious in the dark bags of his eyes and on his tired smile that he wouldn’t hold much longer, so when he insisted again on not letting you sleep on the car, you gave up.

As you walked towards them, you tightened his jacket around. The mere idea of giving it back to Arvin made chills go down your spine. Those eyes could haunt you in your sleep, yet Arvin didn’t notice as he shook both of their hands and presented you to them.

“You can hop in the back and leave your bags there” the woman said as she opened the passenger door. “Close your eyes for a bit, look like you need it”

“Thanks you, ma’am” Arvin answered, getting into the car first. He used the seat on the right and you, instead of staying on the other side, stumbled until you shoulders were glued and you could hold his hand. He didn’t say anything; just left his bag on the left side and pulled you closer.

“So, what are you looking for in Coal Creek?” the man entered the car too, looking at you through the mirror.

“Family business” Arvin lied.

“Oh, you’re going to present that beautiful lad to your folks?” he chuckled.

The conversation died down shortly after, once Arvin had laughed a little and thanked them again for driving you. Even if you were trying to close your eyes and sleep for a while, you could still feel their eyes on you. Arvin dropped like a fly, as soon as the first minute of silence rolled by. But even in his sleep, he didn’t drop your hand.

After the fifth try of closing your eyes and imaging them looking at you through the mirrors, you decided to watch the sunset through Arvin’s window. The low hum of the radio filled the car as you drove away from the car, the feeling of dread not disappearing yet.

“I’m Carl, by the way” the man talked. “And this is my wife, Sandy”

“Pleasure to meet you” you mumbled, not wanting to talk anymore.

“So, what brings you to Coal Creek? Your boy there dropped dead before we could get to know each other” she smiled, turning on her seat. You didn’t miss how her eyes lingered on Arvin more than what you liked. “Is he your boy? Or are you siblings?”

“We’re – yeah, we’re together. And we’re just visiting an old friend”

“Must be someone important if you make such a long drive to meet them”

“Something like that”

“Shut up, Sandy. The girl wants to sleep” Carl’s eyes were as dark as coal, and when he locked eyes with you, he didn’t attempt to smile anymore. “Don’t worry, we’ll be there in a few hours. You can close your eyes. And drink some water, there is a bottle on the back”

Just then, you realized how dry your throat was. You could have dug into your bags and find the half-empty bottle that you were sharing with Arvin, but that meant moving from his side and drinking from the limited amount you had. So, against your better judgment, you took the yellow bottle that was at your feet and took a few sips.

And even if you wanted, and tried to follow the trees as they went past the car, you eventually had to close your eyes. Your head rolled to Arvin’s shoulder, and your body shifted closer looking for warmth. He whispered a soft ‘darlin’ and you smiled, finally letting conscience slip away. Just for a few minutes.

You didn’t want to fall asleep because that meant being vulnerable in front of the couple, who couldn’t give you any more bad vibes, but you were just human, and you fell asleep. And when you woke up, you realized how much of a bad decisions had it been.

-

“Now!”

“No! G-get off! Don’t – don’t – you mothe’ fucker!”

“Grab a rag of something, you idiot! Someone’s gonna hear us!”

“You want me to cut his tongue?! He’s gonna bite me!”

“Y/N! Y/N!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

There was a ‘thud’ and you were vaguely aware that those voices didn’t come from your dream, but from the real world. It was silent for a second, only a pained grunt breaking the silence, and then a zipper going down. You felt as if someone had put your head underwater and you were in that foggy state of mind where you didn’t realize you were drowning yet. It was cold, colder than what you had been in the car with Arvin, and your neck hurt.

A few things came to your mind when you finally had the common sense of focus on your surroundings.

One, you were no longer sitting beside Arvin, with your legs packed against the man’s seat and the back, with your arm linked with Arvin’s and your head on your shoulder. Instead, you felt the rough concrete on your chest – no, back. You were laying on your back on the ground, that felt awfully cold and rough, and your neck hurt.

Two, you weren’t alone. Apart from Arvin who had gone back to screaming bloody murder, there were two people more. A woman and a man, you guessed Sandy and Carl. Carl was the closest to you, and your affirmation turned to be true when he fell on you and a hot breath that smelt like seven hells hit your face.

And three, you didn’t have anything apart from your panties.

The flash of a camera going off made you open your eyes suddenly, gasping for breath. Your head felt funny and your eyes couldn’t focus on what was happening. It was still night time, so as you tried to move away and Carl dragged you back, your eyes adjusted to the sight. A rough, big hand landed on your chest, pulling your breasts together and up and taking another picture. The whine died at your throat when the flash was snapped again.

“Oh, the princess is awake!” Carl chuckled, leaving just one hand on your chest. “Look, Emily. The beauty sleep is finally over”

“W-wha’?”

“Don’t worry about the confusion, sweety. That’s some hard Rohypnol we gave you”

You looked to Sandy, who had just talked, and to your horror she had a hand on Arvin’s pants. Your boy had his hands tied to his back and his feet in a pair of rusty handcuffs. His jeans, always stained with grease, were past his knees, and there was a nasty looking cut on his thigh. It was staining his underwear; which had a hand inside, that Arvin was trying to turn away from.

When you finally looked at him, you couldn’t hold the whine that left your lips. His face was a palette of bruise colours and blood. His hair looked harshly tugged, and scratches covered his neck. Worst of all, there was a gun pressed against his windpipe. Arvin locked his eyes with you and let out another angry sob, that had the woman hitting him with the bottom of the gun.

“Arv” you whispered, finally being aware of what was happening. “Arvin!”

“Leave us alone” Arvin cried, his voice hoarse. “Please, let us go. We won’ say anythin’, I promise!”

“What makes you think we’re finished?” Carl scoffed. “You’re gonna fuck my wife, and then I’m gonna fuck your girl. Maybe we make you two fuck and we take a few pics”

You were so horrified with what he was saying that you tried once more to crawl away. Somehow, you managed to move from his grasp towards Arvin, instead of choosing the other way. In the mess that was your brain in that moment, you only wanted him. One second you were inches away from him, and the next your head was slammed against the ground with a sickening force. Arvin cried out and trashed even more, earning another hit with the pistol, and you felt blood flowing from your forehead.

You touched your face, feeling it slip through your fingers, before you were roughly turned around. Something pressed against you, hard and warm, and you noticed that the zipper going down wasn’t Arvin’s. Rough lips landed on yours as you let more tears fall, begging to your brain to work again. Weakly, you tried to push at the same time the hand that was holding you down by your neck and the other that was trying to pull down your panties.

“No. No! Let me – Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, shut up. This will just take a moment” Carl scoffed, finally managing to pull down your underwear to your knees. “It’ll hurt less if you stay still”

“I’m gonna kill you!” Arvin screamed from his place on the ground. His face was a painting of black and red, a trail of blood going down his cheek from his lip. “I’m gonna rip you to threads, get your hands off her damint!”

“Don’t you like this, pretty boy?” Sandy brushed her lips against his neck, rolling her shirt up slowly. “I’m going to give you what that silly girl can’t. You should try and enjoy it”

“Please, let us go” you tried again, feeling Carl’s hands all over you. “Please”

“Right after I fuck your brains out and we have our fun, pretty girl”

Something woke up in your brain when Carl finally tossed the last piece of your clothes to the side, and got ready for business. He had to let go for a second to steady himself, his hand on your neck too loose to really hurt you or stop you. So without thinking much, you swapped your knee from under his body kicked his groin. The arm that had been holding him up went there was a high-pitched cry left his lips; then, his whole body fell on you, his elbow pressing against your ribcage and his hand squeezing your neck.

You felt air being denied to you in a mid-breath as Sandy got off Arvin and rushed to his husband. Probably two or three ribs cracked under his weight when he fully pressed his elbow on your chest, and you frantically scratched his cheek and arms.

“You bitch!” a topless Sandy appeared on your right, hovering around you. There wasn’t much to do, and since her last wish was to help you, she stayed put as Carl pressed harder and harder on your neck.

“Y/N!”

“This is why I wanted you to be good!” Carl roared, finally lifting his elbow in favour of pressing both of his hands against your neck. There were silent tears running down your cheeks, and you were starting to feel dizzy. “I’m fucking your dead corpse! I swear I-“

Carl was probably going to kill you, then rape you and finally, hide your body in the bushes. There would have been too many fingertips on you, and if he was as dumb as he was letting now, he wouldn’t use a condom either. So it would have been matter of time until they found him, and related him with Sandy. Their criminal love story wouldn’t have gone too far either way, but Arvin decided to cut it short.

Now that he didn’t have Sandy on him and a gun pressed on his neck, he wasted no time in rubbing his wrists raw until the ropes came out. With blood dripping like a waterfall from his hands and his feet still locked together, he picked up the gun Sandy had dropped. When she noticed, a half-naked boy was pointing the barrel at her.

Arvin felt two things at the same time.

For one, he saw the preachers face, and the same rage that had ran through his body when he learned about Lenora appeared again. He pressed the tigger with shaky hands, and Sandy dropped with a bullet in the middle of her forehead.

Then, he saw your pale face lightened by the moon light; and if Carl hadn’t been so stupid of letting his pants down his ankles in a rush to do it sooner, that would have been the last thing Arvin would have seen. But the man fell as soon as he tried to get up, and while you breathed desperately, running your hand through the sides of your neck, Arvin pressed the tigger.

Once

Twice

When you finally regained your breath, he was still pressing the tigger. Carl’s head was nothing but a disintegrated ball of blood, brain and bones. Arvin was still on his knees, his boxers resting just bellow his thighs, and the gun was closer than before. The shots echoed through the empty forest like a thunderstorm, and the sounds he made after each one of them was made would be the reason of half of your nightmares for the rest of your life. The gun ran out of bullets, and Arvin threw it to where Carl’s head had once been.

“I’m sorry”

You were holding yourself with your elbow, but Arvin pulled you to a sitting positing as soon as he had crawled past the bodies and was close enough to you. You fell to his lap and wrapped yourself around him, at the moment not caring about how hurt he was. There were bruises all over his body, his thigh wasn’t bleeding anymore yet looked painful, and he was shaking so bad that he barely could hold you right.

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be” you breathed out, running your hands through his back, shoulders and neck to erase that woman’s touch. He seemed to be doing the same, covering as much skin as he could. “We’re okay. We are”

“We ain’t going to Coal Creek” he whispered. “We’re runnin’. I don’t – far, I don’t know, uh, but far”

“Wherever you want, Arv” you pressed your nose behind his hear. “I love you. I’m sorry”

It went like that for hours, more than what you could count. Both of you apologised, both of you comforted the other, and cradled each other as if there was no tomorrow. Your legs became numb from having them between your bodies, and the cold was threatening to take you over. Arvin’s thigh started bleeding again when you made a rough movement, and for a second he squeezed too thigh and you though you would die and stopped breathing.

But tomorrow rolled by.

The sun came up eventually, the first lazy rays hitting your face and making a faint blush appear there, as if you finally remembered that you were alive. It could have been all a dream, an horrible nightmare, but there were two dead bodies behind you. Arvin limped when, finally, he stood up, and you doubled over in a fit of coughs that had you spitting blood. You were naked, your clothes around the clearing between the trees, Arvin’s tee ripped without repair.

The tears appeared every now and then, and sometimes at the same time. But you didn’t let a nightmare define the rest of your life, so you got dressed again with new clothes and burned every piece of evidence the police could find. Then, you started the car and got out of the woods, turning around and choosing another road. You were sitting on the front seat with Arvin, and even if you weren’t holding each other and your body stung from the lack of his touch, you extended your hand and he took it.

“I love you” you whispered again, your voice hoarse from crying. “I didn’t think I could love someone as much as I love you”

Arvin looked away from the road and gave you a tired, pained smile. He looked the same way he had when you had left Knockemstiff; but at the same time, it seemed like the years had fallen on him like a thousand bricks. It didn’t matter how hard you had tried to clean his face, the shadows of the bruising where still there. The same way your neck would have for a few days the marks of long, wide fingers and the bruise of your side would keep growing.

“I’m gonna marry you someday, you know?” he said, his voice low. The engineer of the car filled the brief silence. “Give you a house, and maybe a dog. Call ‘im Jack”

“Like the one you had with your daddy?” you said, leaning your head against the back of the seat. “I like that idea. Seeing you all dress up”

“And I ain’t gonna let anythin’ else happen to you”

“That’s good, cause I’m not letting anything happen to you too”

Arvin’s hand went from your hand to your arm, until he finally cradled your cheek. He looked at you again as you let your eyes drop for the second time, although there was no bad feeling in your gut. Only the soft brown eyes that were looking at you with so much love that you almost forgot about what had just happen. His thumb brushed against your cheekbone a few times, and even if he had to go back and look to the road, he kept his hand there.

You were sure that there would be nightmares and bad days, from both of you. It was hard to live with what had happened in that forest, but you would manage. Because if it meant having another day with him, tomorrow would always rose.

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[capncassas]

Mr. Rochester C.1

Summary: Mr. Rochester corners you and demands you come back to his orgy in the drawing room, but he doesn’t understand your innocence, the hesitating or your need to get away from seeing all those writhing bodies.

Word Count: 904 words

Warning: 18+ minors DNI, implied smut, mentions of orgies, angst

Please don’t repost my writing anywhere, but do feel free to like, comment and re-blog, I am a fragile bean who needs love and support. If you would like to be added to my tag list send me a message.

Tag List: @littlebirdofrivia @smile-sugar @ughdontbeboring @peachatori @daddys-littlewhitegirl @wheretheriversrunintothesea

“YN, stop.”

Mr. Rochester is right behind you, why can’t he let you go?

Why would he have you as an attendant at his devilish party to begin with?

Your cheeks are flushed still from the rising moans that make their way out into the hall from the drawing room. You knew he was a man with peculiar tastes and manners, but this? It was out of your realm of expertise.

The heat in your belly aches as you keep up the quick staccato of your little heels marching across the marble floor. Get away from it. The lewd scenery is too much for your eyes and imagination to continue entertaining. When you applied for the job as governess, you thought most of your time would be spent with your pupil. By day, yes, it was. But in the evenings after your pupil was sent to bed you were left under the darkening glare of Edward Rochester.

He’s exacting, meticulous, and cruel.

Can’t he see what he’s doing to you? What he’s already done to you? You’re stolen glances and the way you look at him has to be enough for him to see how you feel about him. Since the second you laid eyes on Mr. Rochester, you were done for, mind, body, and soul. You would do anything to please him, walk across hot coals to see him smile–but he choses these cruel means to torment you.

“I demand that you come back to the drawing room, the party isn’t over.”

Rochester’s deep baritone speaks from behind you. Steely fingers grasping you by the arm and swinging you around so hard and fast that as you turn, you’re forced to place the palm of your hand against his warm hairy chest to keep yourself from colliding face first into his heaving pecs, before shakily taking another step until you are perched two step heights away.

Mr. Rochester has been a devil tonight, his body is covered in sweat, his curls damp and hanging loose around his square forehead.

“As your Master I command you.”

“You, sir, are no Master to me. Mr. Rochester, please, let me go to my room, I can’t stand anymore.”

Rochester heaves a displeased sigh as he glares into your eyes.

He caught you on the stairs. At this level, your heights match. He looks so displeased in you, but there’s something else there, lingering in his eyes. It almost looks soft as he brings his hands to your arms, stroking them as if he is trying to comfort you. A man so lost in his own devices and debauchery that he hardly understands how to be kind and gentle when it’s called for.

Rochester treats every woman as a concubine for his desires. As if he’s never met a woman who hasn’t known a man and is willing to give in to all of his desires. Surely, he has, hasn’t he?

As you stare into his eyes, (your eye color) meeting the deep blues of his, you plead with him not to make you do this. The drawing room is filled with writhing bodies, men, and women together, their bodies connected in so many ways you can hardly tell where one person begins and another ends.

You tried to find someplace stationary to look from your perch by the window but the night was growing colder no matter how heated the temperature in the drawing room became. For the greater part of the evening, Rochester, like you. Was merely a spectator in the nights activities. Dictating what would happen and who would partner with who, until he began to join in.

Before Mr. Rochester could finish barking orders to the remaining guests at the party to undress-not that there were many who were still wearing their clothes, you had to escape. Terrified you would be next.

Small and plain, you had no business being in that drawing room. You heard the murmurs of men, they asked of you, spoke to you, lewdly grasped at you several times before Mr. Rochester directed their attention elsewhere. Women snickered at you behind their hands.

As if somehow, you were the one who was conducting themselves in unsavory behavior when they were the ones laid out on lounges as men thrust between their legs, others feeding their… varying sized organs into their mouths as if you were a starving popper living in the gutter.

“Rochester?”

A voice broke into the hall. It was Miss Ingram, she’d been the first to take her clothes off, frolicking around Mr. Rochester all evening, enticing him with her beautiful body, and he hardly denied her his attention.

His lips tightened into a scowl. “Had I the time I would know what this was about…go then. To your room, little bird.”

For the briefest moment you thought he might say something else until Miss Ingram’s voice filled the hallway. But that was merely a fantasy.

“Thank you.”

Swallowing, you turn and hurried up the stairs to your room, only finding peace once the door was closed and locked, never mind the darkness you undressed in the dark, letting your hair fall across your back as you struggle into your night gown with a whimper from the swollen heat between your legs.

Shivering had nothing to do with the cold as you crawled under your blankets, turning your head into your pillow as hot tears fell.

[newtonsheffield]

Hi! I love B&S so much and I just wanted to say that your work is so perfect for getting out of my head. Every night I log on and read your drabbles or headcanons and no joke, it help calms me enough to sleep ❤️

That being said, I was wondering if you had any hurt/comfort with Benedict and Sophie? I can’t get this thought out of my head that she may be really worried that he searched for her for so long and was disappointed with their relationship after building it up in his head. So maybe some Sophie angst with Benedict comforting her and telling her how much he loves their relationships??

Thank you again for everything you’ve created!

Hello!

I’ll be honest, I use writing these as a bit of an escape as well so it’s nice that other people find some sort of calmness in my very chaotic writing style! And as long as it’s not putting you to sleep from boredom, I’ll take it! But honestly, thank you so much for your kindness towards my work I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve it but I am very very thankful for it!

Okay! I s would be a very real concern for anyone no? Going out with a guy that supposedly looked for you for 12 months? Talk about pressure man. Anyway! Let’s dive in and torture Sophie a little.

Sophie Beckett could admit, in the early months of her relationship with Benedict Bridgerton, she was nervous a good 75% of the time she was with him. Or in fact any member of the Bridgerton family. As though Violet would stand at the end of their Sunday dinner and say Sophie this has been lovely but it’s time for you to leave Ben alone now Sweetheart. Or Kate would hand her a bag at the end of brunch and say And now all the trash can leave together. It wasn’t that she didn’t think the relationship was going well, Benedict seemed perfectly happy when he hummed Taylor Swift songs in her ear as they fell asleep with their legs intertwined but, as she’d never been good enough for anyone before she couldn’t possibly imagine how she’d ever be good enough for this man. Or his terribly kind family.

Sophie was an independent person by necessity if not By nature. And so asking for help had become something that she’d rather walk across hot coals to do. She still remembered Benedict’s absolutely bewildered face when she flopped down on his couch and explained that she’d spent all day hauling a new bookshelf flat pack up the three flights of stairs to her tiny little flat and them assembling it. Why didn’t you ask me? He’d said, his brow furrowing in confusion. Sophie who’d been barely paying attention as she took off the mittens Benedict’s sister Daphne had thrust into her hands last week at dinner (You and Ben have Green to match your eyes, Daphne had said and Sophie had had to choke back tears as she’d looked around the room at everyone trying on their new mittens, Lucy batting Gregory on the nose with their matching bright red ones) said Ask you what? And Ben had eyed her carefully Ask me to help with your bookshelf? Lifting heavy things is what we boyfriends do according to Greg and Anthony. And Sophie had stopped dead, because she knew if she’d called him he would have cancelled his day, driven her to IKEA and assembled whatever she wanted. She’d thought about it last night even but she hadn’t been able too because her step mother’s voice had rung through her mind Will you ever stop being a burden, Sophia? But how could she tell Ben that without being even more of a burden so she just shrugged and said At least I don’t have to work out now. And Ben had laughed and said Just call me next time, I’ll bring the boys if it’s too big a job. They won’t mind. And Sophie couldn’t quite manage to choke out that she would though

Sophie had tried desperately to get out of coming to the awards night with Benedict. Desperately. But then he’d looked at her with his sad eyes and said But I think my editorial with Eddie is going to win! And she’d given in. And she really did want to be there to support him, she did. But god, how was she going to stand in that room and feel enough for him when she couldn’t even do it in their house. And she knew it wasn’t fair, she knew that Ben loved her she felt it all the time, she just wished she could deserve it. And so she’d found herself very panickedly on the phone once more begging Kate Bridgerton for some kind of assistance and Kate had tugged her upstairs to a closet, looked mournfully down at her pregnant stomach and said Someone May as well enjoy them. And so here she sat sandwiched between Ben whose hand was firmly wrapped around her shoulder and Edwina Sheffield who a person couldn’t help but feel painfully inadequate next too when she was without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the room, and to make matters worse, unfairly kind, trying desperately to look as though she fitted in in Kate’s borrowed dress. And then, across the room she’d seen her. And her body went cold.

Sophie had excused herself into the corridor as soon as the dinner portion was done, trying desperately to calm her breathing down, there was no need to panic, she probably hadn’t even seen her, she prayed she hadn’t at least, but god wasn’t listening. Sophie Beckett, Well well well like mother like daughter Her step sister Rosamund’s voice rang through the hall and Sophie was rooted to the spot, her fingernails digging into her palms in a desperate bid to keep herself from crying Clawing your way up the social ladder by getting on your knees. I’ll admit, it was nice of him to take you out for a night in thanks but you don’t think he’s actually going to marry trash like- But A different voice cut across hers like ice, and Rosamund’s face paled as Edwina said firmly Sophie, there you are! Ben And I have been looking for you! Rosamund, such a surprise to see you I wasn’t aware they usually invited car show models. And then she took Sophie, very stunned at the cold tone where she’d only ever known warmth from Edwina,firmly by the arm and marched her away.

Before Sophie knew what was happening Edwina had whispered firmly in her ear Don’t listen to a word she said, Sophie, you are so incredible I’m going to get Ben. And Sophie could hear and and odd gasping noise that she realised was coming from her when tears hit the back of her hand. And then Ben’s voice, cracking with emotion was saying Soph? And she couldn’t help but collapse against him, her tears soaking into the chest of his very expensive tuxedo. Another thing she’d ruined for him. And he held her as she cried, right there in an alleyway until her breathing evened out and she whispered into the night I’m sorry I ruined everything, and I’m sorry I can’t be who you deserve. And Benedict had pulled back suddenly, startling her a little as he forced her eyesight to his, his eyes looked so intense when he said Listen to me, Sophie. You are more than enough for me. I wonder every day what I did to deserve you. You deserve to have whatever you want in life and god help me, Sophie I’m going to give it to you. And when their lips met in soft kiss, as rain started to sprinkle around them, she started to believe it.

This got longgggg I’m so sorry! Don’t know what’s wrong with me today!

[lag1995-fics]

Hii. Can I request a fanfic for the song and Evan character thing? Could it be That's all by Genesis and Kai Anderson please?

I hope you like smut cause this one came out spicy 🌶. Apologies in advance I suck at writing Kai.

That’s All

Pairing:Kai x female reader

Warnings:Kai Anderson being Kai Anderson. Stalking, murder, derogatory language towards women, unhealthy relationship, language, smut

Words: 2190

Summary: Kai and reader share an unhealthy relationship but hey they love each other

Song Fic Masterlist

You were a self professed nasty woman, you had voted proudly for Hillary. She had clearly been the lesser of two evils. Plus it was about god damned time a woman broke that glass ceiling. You were pretty much everything Kai Anderson hated about women in general.

Kai should hate you, he should want to torment you but you intrigued him. It had started simply enough, hun being the entitled creep that he is had watched you do yoga in your backyard. You didn’t know of course, not then at least, that you had gained a stalker.

It hadn’t taken Kai long to realize that he wanted you to be his. He wanted to possess every part of you, he wanted you to be his and only his. He had a very unhealthy obsession with you.

That wasn’t all though he had also caught your eye. You had been out getting your mail one day dressed in nothing but a large t-shirt and shorts so short they couldn’t be seen beneath the hem of the shirt. You had seen him staring you down his blue hair thrown messily up into a bun on top of his head.

You were struck by his Beauty, he truly was a beautiful man. With brown eyes so dark they looked like two pieces of coal staring into your soul. You waved, flashing him a bright grin. He flashed you a grin of his own and as much as it made your panties dampen it also had an unhinged quality.

When you had got inside an uncharacteristically girlish giggle escaped your lips. Your roommate looked at you like you had grown three heads. You could feel your cheeks fill with fire. You were supposed to be a strong woman that didn’t need a man to complete her. Your neighbor was something else though.

“Who is this person giggling like a schoolgirl, that replaced my good friend y/n.” She cackled and you could feel the fire in your cheeks spread to your chest and ears.

“Our neighbor is kind of cute,” you replied waspishly.

“No really where is my roommate, the man hating feminist activist?” She joked.

“I don’t hate all men. I just think that men in general are problematic at best,” you defended huffily.

“He’s probably a raging trumpy,” she teased, lightheartedly.

“Oh is not he had long blue hair that was in a bun” you defended despite not knowing anything about this man. You didn’t know why you felt the need to defend him like you were.

“Oh you got it bad!” she collapsed into a fit of laughter when you threw a throw pillow at her.

***

It was another two weeks before you saw your mysterious neighbor again. He was talking to a shorter girl who was wearing a t-shirt that had “pussy power” emblazoned on her chest. This gave you the burst of confidence you needed as you strode over to them before you could talk yourself out of it.

“I love your shirt” you addressed the girl and she flashed you a grin.

“Thanks,” She replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. You could feel his eyes boring into the side of your head and flashed him a smile as well. You couldn’t help but admit to being a bit disappointed when he rolled his eyes.

“Ignore him. I’m Winter and this is my brother Kai” she introduced herself holding out a hand for you to shake which you did.

Kai the name rolled around in your head. You couldn’t help but entertain some mild fantasy of screaming out his name as he fucked you into a mattress. You shook the dirty fantasy from your mind.

“Nice to meet you I’m y/n,” you held out a hand to the blue haired man letting yourself take him in up close.

He had messy stubble along his chin and his blue hair hung around his face. His eyes were even more haunting up close and you felt like you could get lost in them. He took your hand wrapping his larger one around it, he had a firm grip. You couldn’t help but physically gulp from the skin to skin contact.

“We’ve met before, you live across the street. You like the power puff girls right?” He teased and you suddenly remembered what shirt you had been wearing.

“The power puff girls are fucking rad Kai” Winter defended and you smiled at her. Something in the way he looked at you made you want to submit to him. It was overwhelming to say the least.

“Whatever” he rolled his eyes again.

***

You and winter only grew closer and she quickly became part of your friend group. You tried to forget about Kai after finding out his political affiliations. He was everything you fought against. He was proud of being a chauvinistic pig.

You had decided to move on after a heated debate on men’s rights. You had tried to point out that all feminists wanted was equality. Men in this country as it stood right now had more rights than women did. It was a travesty.

He wouldn’t listen to you at all and went out of his way to call you a Misandrist. You had boiled over at that loudly proclaiming that you had really liked him up until the point he started spewing this nonsense. He was a pig and didn’t deserve the time of day you had already given him.

You would think that the polar opposite political opinions would cut the sexual tension like a hot king through butter; it didn’t though. If anything you were even more attracted to the man and Kai who normally had minimal patience for mouthy women was even more interested in making you his. He didn’t want to break you the fighting was too much fun but he definitely wanted to bend you to his will enough that you would never leave him.

You on the other hand had forced yourself to start dating other people. None of them compared to the man who fucked you everynight in your dreams. Kai Anderson was a force to be reckoned with.

***

Kai was sitting in the basement when Winter trudged down with her arms full of pizza. His eyes snapped to his sister and he couldn’t help but ask about y/n.

“Is y/n coming for dinner?” He asked, eyeing the pizza. Winter couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her brother who had developed an unhealthy obsession with her newest friend.

“No she’s got a date tonight some dude called Brad” Winter shrugged nonchalantly, knowing it would rile up her brother.

“What the fuck, she can’t go on a date with another dude” Kai spat possessively.

“Well tell her that because she definitely went on a date tonight” Winter laughed leaving her brother to stew in his resentment before he could snap at her.

“BULLSHIT!” He roared, flipping the coffee table in his anger.

He angrily grabbed his laptop logging into Facebook, whoever this Brad fucker was; was a deadman. He found your profile going to your profile ignoring the hideous cat eared beanie covering your beautiful hair in your profile picture. There were only three Brads on your friends list, one of them was well into his fifties and married, the other shared your last name and was probably a cousin. That left only one option, the man who appeared in the photo was everything Kai wasn’t. He was clean cut and wore a goofy ass bow tie.

He made a call ordering a hit on him but only if he was alone. He couldn’t risk you possibly getting hurt in the crossfire.

***

It was only two days after your disastrous tinder date that you found out Brad had been murdered. You were sad for his family. The date hadn’t been great but he had been nice in a dweeby, Silicon Valley sort of way. It seemed Kai had ruined you for all other men. You couldn’t help but compare them to him.

Winter had called you telling you how sorry she was. Winter was sorry she hadn’t thought Kai would murder someone just for dating you. She had only meant to piss him off; she didn’t want to be responsible for this man’s death.

***

You were at the Anderson’s again eating Chinese this time. It had almost become a every other day ritual. She would go hang out with Winter and argue with her brother.

“Women should be put back in their place,” he had started in before you cut him off glaring at him.

“Oh and what place would that be because I think it should be in a place of power. You know like the office of the presidency,” you snarled.

“Oh my god would you guys just fuck already and get it over with?” Winter who was fed up rolled her eyes walking up the stairs leaving you alone with Kai. Your eyes flashed to Kai’s and you could clearly read the hunger in them.

“She’s got a point,” he said lowly, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. You didn’t even realize you had unconsciously been walking toward him until you felt his strong arms wrap around your waist pulling you into him making you squeak.

“Fuck” you whispered looking into his eyes.

“A pretty girl like you should use such whorish language, I might have to wash that dirty slut mouth out with soap,” he groaned pushing his need against your pelvis.

“Oh god,” you whined grasping at his strong shoulders for stability.

“Say my name whore,” he snapped, his hand reaching under your comfortable sweat shirt and undoing your bra.

“Kai,” you breathed before pressing your lips into his own. He quickly took control of the kiss fighting your tongue and biting down sharply when he won.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this to you since you started teasing me with your slutty little yoga moves” he ground himself into you.

You couldn’t find the right words so you just moaned as he started stripping both of you of your clothes. When he slipped your yoga pants from you body and saw that you were wearing any underwear underneath he got a maniacal look in his eyes.

“Fuck you are a little whore,” he slipped his fingers into the folds of your sopping cunt.

“You like that slut?” He punctuated each word with the curl of his fingers against that sweet spot. When you didn’t answer he proceeded to add two more fingers and you could feel the burning stretch.

“I asked you a question,” he demanded fucking your pussy with his fingers and rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“I love it,” you managed to choke out, “please Kai I need you”

“Fuck,” he his pulling his finishers from you wet pussy lips and shoved them into your mouth to suck on them, slowly thrusting them into your pretty little mouth.

“That’s what a woman’s mouth should be used for, not mouthing off,” he chuckled darkly.

You gasped as you felt the blunt head of his cock against your pussy. Without warning he slammed into you to the hilt sending your already sensitive body off the edge and into a wave of pleasure.

“That’s right cum on my cock bitch,” he gasped as he pounded into you hard and fast. You could feel the build of another orgasm cresting. Your walls began to flutter around him causing him to lose some control as his thrusting became erratic. The two of you sailed off the precipice together.

With more care then you would have expected he pulled out of you kissing your forehead. He grabbed his soft t-shirt using it to wipe you as you lay cuddled to his chest. Your mind was whirling at the fact that you had just let Kai fucking Anderson fuck the shit out of you while he called you every name in the book. It would be easier to find someone that held the same viewpoints as you. They just never seemed to strike your heart strings the way Kai did. You could be wearing a white shirt and prove to him it was white and he would still say it was black. You were yin and yang, and you knew now you wouldn’t be able to leave.

“Y/n, I love you” he said and if you hadn’t been listening you wouldn’t have heard it. Your eyes widened, Kai didn’t love anyone, not even Winter. He also wasn’t a liar and if he said that he loved you , it was true no matter how unhealthy their relationship was.

“I love you too. It had slipped out before you could think about the consequences of this. What the two of you had was pure and primal.

“You do know that I will never stop arguing with you though?” You added. You still believed wholeheartedly that women deserved the same advantages as men.

“I’d be disappointed if you did” he confessed and you leaned up to kiss him melting once again into his touch.

——//////———-//////———

Send me a song and an Evan Peters Character and I’ll write you a fic.