#i’m not an ‘are you in a space to receive this information’ person i find that robotic. u should b allowed 2 talk abt trauma to your friend

[astrohaute]

being the therapist friend all the time is such hell

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 9: Some Days He Feels Like Dying]

A/N: Below are your guesses...let's see how you did!!! 🥰😘

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Extraordinary Girl” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Let’s go back to the beginning of the end of the world.

On the big-screen tv in the Liberty Center at Saratoga Springs, Wolf Blitzer is saying: “We are receiving confirmation of additional outbreaks of the so-called Florida Fever, the first cases of which here in the U.S. were reported in Miami a little over one week ago. Concern is now growing nationally, especially as the modes of transmission, symptoms, and treatment options remain unclear. Let’s go across the country to Natasha Chen for the latest information. Natasha?”

“Hi, Wolf. I’m here outside the UC San Diego Medical Center where early this morning, two individuals suspected to be suffering from the illness were admitted. I’ve been informed by hospital staff that both patients are currently in stable condition, but there is still so much confusion and conflicting information regarding this ‘Florida Fever,’ and of course that uncertainty is leading to fear, rumors, and honestly a bit of hysteria. Even how to refer to the sickness is controversial, with no official name having been decided upon by scientists. Cases in Australia are known as Ragepox, the U.K. has dubbed it the 21st Century Sweat after a mysterious disease from the 1500s, and Russia is calling it the Ukrainian Flu while Ukraine has opted for the Russian Red Rot, inspired by the skin lesions that some patients experience.”

“Can you tell us what we do know, Natasha? Are doctors classifying this illness as a virus, or as a bacterial infection more akin to tuberculosis or meningitis?”

“At this time, what I’m hearing is that doctors are fairly certain it’s a virus, as patients do not seem to respond to antibiotics when they’ve been explored as a potential treatment. But there’s truly very little information at this early stage, and I think we’re all being reminded of those first days of the Covid-19 pandemic, when no one really knew how to best to avoid contracting the virus or what the long-term effects would be both nationally and globally.”

“There are absolutely some similarities, Natasha, which I’m sure is contributing to the unease surrounding the situation. What precautions are doctors currently recommending?”

“Wolf, doctors are urging the public not to panic, and to exercise common sense measures like avoiding crowded spaces, sanitizing surfaces, and staying home if they’re feeling unwell. Suspected cases of the illness should be reported to primary physicians or local hospitals. Typical symptoms appear to include headaches, fever, gastrointestinal upset, skin discoloration and blistering, and unusual bleeding, as well as behavioral changes, particularly disorientation, aggression, and even violence in some patients…”

“That ain’t what it is,” Rio says. He jabs his index finger at the tv from where he sits on the couch beside you. “Snowflake wasn’t sick, he was dead. He was motherfucking dead, flatline, code blue, crossed the rainbow bridge, he was gone. He was dead and then he woke back up, and he wasn’t a person anymore. He was…something else.”

“Dumbass, people don’t come back from the dead,” Mike says from the ping pong table. People are milling around pretending to play pool, darts, chess, poker, Monopoly, Uno, Parcheesi, but really you’re all here for the same reason. You want to know what’s happening.

Rio turns to you. “Wasn’t Snowflake dead?”

“He definitely seemed dead,” you reply, knees tucked to your chest and still watching the tv. Wolf Blitzer’s voice is calm, but his pale blue eyes have a manic sort of light to them, too large and too rattled.

“Man, fuck Florida,” says Desmond, a utilitiesman born and raised Trenton, New Jersey. “Nothing but psychos and alligators. Saw them off of Georgia and just let them float away.”

“What was that?” Tyler replies combatively. He’s from a trailer park in Tallahassee.

“Ty, why do you care? You’d be fine. You’re already up here. You can stay.”

“They’re lying,” Rio mutters, meaning Wolf and Natasha on CNN. “When the corpsmen called the hospital, they said to be prepared to restrain Snowflake and that he might try to bite us. Why aren’t they warning people about that?!”

Kayleigh, a steelworker from Oklahoma City, looses a frenetic sort of laugh. “Because there’s no non-panic-inducing way to say: Hey, go buy some duct tape and bungee cords to tie up your loved ones, because they might try to fucking eat you.”

Rio doesn’t frown often, but he is now; he slips his phone out of the pocket of his camo pants and types out a WhatsApp message to Sophie. You only know her from photos and quick hellos via video chat, a sweet diminutive woman with white-blonde hair and blue eyes that seem to fill up half her face, as fragile as Rio is overwhelming. She likes baking and romance novels and elephants; whenever Rio finds elephant-themed souveners, he ships them home to Oregon for her, refrigerator magnets and wallets and scarves and snow globes. Sophie wears a lot of long flowing skirts and hand-knit sweaters, and offers strange suggestions when she and Rio discuss baby names: Sage, Fox, Laurel, Coral, Juniper, Karma, Rune, Otter. Otter?! Rio had exclaimed. Babe, if you name our kid Otter, even I’M gonna have to bully them.

“I’m telling Sophie to stay with my parents,” Rio says to you. “They’ve gotten super weird with all the off-the-grid stuff, but they have years’ worth of supplies and grow most of their own food now, and they’re thirty miles from the nearest town. And no one knows how to defend themselves like doomsday preppers.”

“Good idea,” you reply, watching the tv. Now Wolf Blitzer is talking about tornadoes in the Midwest, and you could almost believe the world is normal again.

A few days later all major social media platforms begin censoring content related to the so-called Florida Fever, and then the internet goes down completely, and then the power turns off and on and off again, and finally quits like a car driven to its last mile. The combat units are moved out of Saratoga Springs—never to be heard from again—and the construction projects paused indefinitely, and one of the master-at-arms that Rio is friends with (Rio has a lot of friends, surely you aren’t so remarkable) relays information that he shouldn’t: tales of planned missions, impossible plagues, overrun cities, innumerable deserters in every branch of the U.S. military.

“Hey,” Rio whispers, shaking you awake one night, moonlight streaming through the windows and the pops of distant gunfire you aren’t supposed to ask about. “If I leave, will you come with me?”

It’s a big commitment; it could be a lifetime. You fear he might just be trying not to hurt your feelings. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Rio says. “I’m not leaving without you. Are you going to Oregon by choice, or should I tie you up and throw you in the back of the Humvee?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a young one, maybe a teenager, little buds for horns and only weighing a few hundred pounds. This is good; if it was any heavier, Cregan and Rio wouldn’t be able to drag it back to the ranch. You’re still in Red Desert, Wyoming, and the bison are grazing just off I-80, an asphalt artery that cuts through an endless steppe of sand-colored rocks and tall grass. They gaze lazily in your direction with bulbous dark eyes, perpetually chewing, not terribly intelligent. The Colt pistols of the men who found you at the RV had been loaded with 9mm bullets, the same caliber your Berettas take; there weren’t many, but enough to fill both of your clips, something that feels like winning the lottery. You are lying on the rocky, dusty soil and lining up the shot. If you miss, the herd will scatter, and you’ll watch dinner vanish beneath a blue sky—pale like Aemond’s eye, a weak shallow blue—and rough white scars of cirrostratus clouds.

“Feels kind of wrong to kill a baby,” you murmur. Daeron, Luke, Baela, Helaena, and Ice are back at the house. Aemond, Rio, Cregan, Rhaena, and Aegon are here on the ground with you; Aegon insisted upon being brought along, and Rio agreed to carry him. Aegon had never seen American bison outside of the Oregon Trail computer game, those pixelated brown blobs migrating across the screen no more material than unicorns or faeries or basilisks.

“If the baby didn’t want to get killed, it shouldn’t be made of steak,” Aegon points out. He’s on a lot of Vicodin, the only narcotic Aemond could find back in Ogallala, Nebraska.

“No pressure, Chips,” Rio says, chewing on a long blade of little bluestem grass. “If you miss we’re just going to have to eat each other like the Donner Party.”

Aegon wrinkles his nose in confusion. “The what?”

“She won’t miss,” Aemond says, and Rio snickers to himself and gives you a quick wink that no one else notices.

“I don’t think one 9mm bullet will do it,” Cregan mutters. “Cows got thick skulls, I figure bison are the same way. You’ll have to hit it a few times, and before it can take off and disappear on us.”

Aemond casts him a patronizing glance. “And you’ve killed a lot of cows?”

“Oh yeah. Worked in a slaughterhouse for a while before I got hired by the power company. Hated it, went home and could still smell the blood and brains on myself no matter how many times I showered. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

Aemond looks like he regrets asking. Rhaena frowns worriedly at the bison. “Will they charge if someone shoots at them?”

Cregan shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Probably?!”

You squeeze the trigger five times in quick succession, hit the calf thrice, tiny puffs of scarlet mist that spring from its woolly head. It flops over as the rest of the herd jolts into a gallop, kicking up dust and fleeing across the steppe.

“Yes!” Rio booms as everyone applauds. “We’re in business! We’re having ribeyes tonight! Cregan, my good sir, I take mine medium rare.”

“You’re getting well done,” Aemond tells him. “Everyone is. Just in case the bison has parasites.”

Rio groans. “You’re ruining my life, man.” Then he and Cregan trot over to grab the baby bison, each of them taking one of its back hooves.

“So,” Aegon says dreamily. “Now that Rio is preoccupied, who would like to assist me in returning my disgusting, debilitated body to the ranch? Anyone? Anyone?”

Rhaena turns to you. “When we have more bullets, could you give me shooting lessons?”

“Sure,” you reply, a bit startled. “Really? You’re interested?”

“Well…” Rhaena hesitates. “Baela’s always been the brave one. At home, at school, when we were shopping, even when restaurants would mess up my order, Baela would do the talking and make sure I was alright…and I would literally hide behind her waiting for her to solve all my problems. And now…with the baby, with Jace…it’s been really different being the one to help her for a change, and I don’t think I’m very good at it yet. But Baela deserves to have people to lean on, just like I’ve always had her. And…when I stabbed that guy in the RV…I kind of liked it.” She titters nervously when she sees the shock on your face. “No, not like that! Not the killing part, or the gushing blood, that was all super gross. But the fact that I helped protect Baela and Luke? The fact that I wasn’t useless in that situation? That was a good feeling. Baela is clever, and she’s courageous and caring and funny, and she’s always been better than me at everything, and I never minded because she…she was like my own personal superhero, you know? But now I feel like I need to start learning how to do things myself so I can help her. Even if Baela is still better at everything, and probably always will be.”

Aegon grins toothily and pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know how you feel. It’s pretty impossible to look heroic next to Aemond.”

“Stop,” Aemond says, but he’s smiling, and a bloom of bashful pink blood appears in his cheeks.

“You already took over the driving,” you tell Rhaena encouragingly. “That was a big help.”

“Yeah,” Rhaena replies, a bit pensive. “Let’s hope I can keep that going.” Between the gas Aemond found in Ogallala and what was siphoned from the would-be attackers’ GMC Yukon, you got enough fuel in the Tahoe to take it halfway across Wyoming; but now the gauge is not just at but venturing below the E, and it can’t have more than five or ten miles left. That might not even get you to the next ranch, let alone a proper town. You need a working vehicle. There are nearly a thousand miles between here and Odessa, Oregon.

Aegon is pawing at Aemond like a cat. “Come on, hero. Help me up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is why we’re friends,” Rio tells you as he shovels forkfuls of bison steak into his mouth, juice dribbling down his chin. Cregan gutted the bison and butchered it, then you helped him cook the steaks—not very uniform in size and shape, yet no one is complaining—on a pan heated in the woodstove. You fed the fire with books you found in the house, mostly religious in nature. “You convince me not to commit suicide when we’re stranded on a transmission tower, you share your Cheddar Whales, you’re good at shooting things…”

“How did you two become friends?” Baela asks. You are all arranged around the dining room table; there are just enough chairs for everyone. Ice lies beneath it mauling on bison bones that Cregan set aside for her. The room is illuminated by flashlights. Baela looks great: in good spirits, glowing, alert, wearing a loose cotton dress that Helaena found in an upstairs closet for her. Baela napped most of the day, something she rarely allows herself to indulge in, and the benefits are evident.

Rio says nonchalantly: “I talked to everybody and she barely talked at all. So of course I had to investigate and figure out what that was about. Turns out she’s kind of cool. You know the Wheel of Fortune game at arcades where there’s like a hundred little lights in a circle you have to press the button when the one that says Spin Zone lights up? She’s a freak, she can hit it almost every time. Can’t sink a basketball or sing karaoke to save her life, but you know, we all have flaws.”

Aegon looks up from his map, which he is scrutinizing as he eats his bison steak. “Do you realize that if we could just stop at gas stations like back when everything was normal, we’d be in Odessa or the Bay Area in fifteen hours? Literally less than one day. Fucking unreal. And yet here we are trapped in yee-haw country, freaky giant animals, no civilization but Jesus billboards everywhere, hell on earth.” He holds up a palm. “No offense, Cregan. You’re okay.”

Cregan smiles mildly. “None taken, Fried Foot. You know you’re a little well done yourself these days.”

“That’s ableist,” Aegon replies.

“We’ll find gas tomorrow,” Aemond says. He sounds confident because he has to; he’s not allowed to panic, to give up. He’s seated at the head of the table like a patriarch. His steak is the smallest and the most ragged. He wouldn’t accept any of the others.

You ask Baela: “Have you decided what to name the baby?”

“Kind of.” She rests both hands on her belly, a globe like a full moon. Helaena glances over at Baela, frowning and preoccupied. “If it’s a boy, I’m going to name it after Jace. We had already picked out Theodore…and Teddy for short, isn’t that cute? But now…I’d want him to have that connection to his father. The baby won’t have any pictures of him, or videos, or memories, or papers he wrote in school, or ties or rings or cufflinks, or…anything. But he could have Jace’s name.”

The rest of you nod, eyes downcast and feeling terribly sorry for her. “I really like that idea,” Luke says quietly.

Now Baela is thinking, her gaze traveling around the room as she chews on a cube of streak. “I’m not sure what I’d call a girl. Maybe something naturey like Violet, Rosemary, Ivy, Indigo, Fern…”

“You should name it Otter,” you say, and you and Rio erupt into raucous laughter. Aemond smiles as he watches you.

Baela is grinning uncertainly, trying not to be insensitive. Perhaps people named their kids stuff like Otter where you came from. “Um, sorry, what?!”

“That was one of the baby names on Sophie’s list,” Rio clarifies. “I vetoed it. Or at least…I think she agreed to cross it off…? Oh my God, imagine I finally get to Odessa only to find out my firstborn child has been named Otter.”

“You’d have to turn right back around,” you say. “Total abandonment would be the only honorable choice. We’d have to start over someplace else. I’ve heard Texas is nice.”

Aegon snorts. “You can’t live in Texas. They don’t even have legal weed there.”

Rhaena squints at him. “I don’t really think that’s a concern anymore, Aegon.”

Aegon smacks his forehead theatrically. “Oh no, I forgot about the apocalypse again!”

“So Cregan,” Baela says. “You were planning to vote for Trump.”

Everyone at the table groans. “No politics,” Aemond says.

“They’re all dead now, so it doesn’t matter,” Rhaena adds. “Biden, Kamala, that insane Kennedy brain worm dude, Trump…”

Aegon says: “If I was a zombie, I wouldn’t eat Trump.”

“I just found that interesting,” Baela continues, looking at Cregan like she’s expecting him to explain himself. Rhaena and Luke exchange a nervous glance. Daeron reaches under the table to pet Ice; you can hear her tail thumping cheerfully against the hardwood floor.

“I was a Trump voter, yeah,” Cregan replies between bites of steak. Aemond is studying him uneasily, but Cregan’s baritone voice is calm. “That doesn’t mean I approved of a lot of the things he did and said. I’m not a monster, I don’t believe in mocking people or all that January 6th stuff. But he was good for the economy. Back when Trump was president, groceries were more affordable, and houses were cheaper, and more companies were hiring. If I had tried to move out of my parents’ place in 2023 instead of 2019, there’s no way I could have done it. And I really needed to get out of there. A lot of people feel that they don’t have the luxury of voting for the nicest candidate, or the candidate they agree with on social issues. Something abstract like climate change isn’t even on the radar. They have to vote for their basic necessities.”

You and Rio understand what he means, you’ve both met plenty of people with the same perspective; everybody else seems shellshocked.

“But I don’t want y’all to think that I’m…” Cregan looks around the table, his eyes catching—interestingly—on Helaena, who observes him with a fully present attentiveness that you’ve learned is rare for her. “You know, like a sexist or a racist or that I hate foreigners or anything. Because I’ve never felt that way, and now I’m very happy to have found you guys, and I respect the hell out of you. And I want to be allowed to stay.”

“You can stay, Cregan,” Helaena reassures him.

“Yeah,” Rio says. “Especially since we’d probably starve without you.”

Cregan beams, clearly grateful, and there are chuckles and the tension breaks; and Baela is placidly skating her palm over the arc of her belly, and now that you’ve eaten all you can, Rio is spearing the remaining chunks of your steak with his fork and gobbling them down. He doesn’t ask before he does this; he knows you don’t mind. You’ve never understood why he’s given you so much over the past nearly five years. You are eternally offering him atonement.

Suddenly, Baela asks you: “What would you name a baby girl?”

You have to think about this before you answer. “Well, if you’re looking for something related to plants…I had a friend when I was growing up named Briar, and I always thought that was pretty.”

“Briar,” Baela echoes, intrigued.

“It means bramble, like a thorny shrub where blackberries grow. I remember her telling me that her mama wanted it to be a reminder that people go through rough patches and that life gets hard sometimes, but you have to keep going, and eventually you’ll find your way out.”

“Briar,” Baela repeats. “Yeah, that’s kind of neat. I’ll add it to the list!”

“And you’d have the same first initial,” Rhaena says. “Baela and Briar. Isn’t that adorable?”

Baela smiles. “And a few Rs thrown in there too. For Rhaena.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Hey Honey Bun, if you had to name your kid after a plant, what would you name it?”

Aegon says without hesitation: “Marijuana.”

Now it’s an hour later, and Aemond is examining Aegon’s burned leg on the living room floor, Helaena holding a flashlight and you and Rio standing by for moral support. Underneath the bandages is a wasteland of red, weeping flesh…and yet there are spots where the skin seems to be hardening into white islands of scar tissue. Rhaena and Luke are keeping watch by the windows, Baela is passed out in one of the bedrooms, Cregan is showing Daeron how to put his wavy blonde hair up in a man bun.

Aemond points to a blackish patch on the top of Aegon’s foot, only a few inches from his ankle. “I have to debride this part here,” he says like an apology.

Aegon is afraid to ask. “What does debride mean?”

“It means I have to cut it out.”

“Cut it?!”

“It’s getting infected. I have to remove it or it will spread to the rest of the foot and you could get sepsis. I might even have to amputate the whole leg.”

“Okay, cut the dead stuff off,” Aegon swiftly agrees.

Aemond doesn’t have any more injectable morphine. He gives Aegon as much Vicodin as he dares and then begins working, carving away layers of dark disease with his scalpel and scrubbing the area with disinfectant. Aegon clutches your hand, squeezing so hard it feels like your bones might crunch, shrapnel-like splinters of marrow-stained organic glass beneath your skin. Rio has Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman—once owned by Ava—and takes one earbud while giving Aegon the other. They sing along to Sean Paul songs together, laughing as tears stream down Aegon’s sunburned cheeks:

“Well, woman, the way the time cold, I wanna be keepin’ you warm

I got the right temperature fi shelter you from the storm

Oh Lord, gal, I got the right tactics to turn you on

And girl, I wanna be the papa, you can be the mom…”

Now you’re curled up in bed, your arms crossed over your belly as you struggle to fall asleep. Aemond comes to bed late now; each night he waits until Baela is sleeping and then teaches Rhaena about childbirth and recovery: what to expect, what could go wrong. She is a good student, borrowing Helaena’s spider notebook to take notes and asking detailed questions. She wants to know everything she can so she can help when Baela goes into labor.

At last, the bedroom door opens. Out in the living room you can hear Rio asking: “Do you have Wagon Wheel? I love that song.”

Aegon scoffs. “No, of course I don’t have Wagon Wheel. Shut up and listen to your Enrique Iglesias.”

“You are so racist, man…”

Aemond sees that you’re in agony, rummages around in his medical kit, and gives you an oval-shaped white pill to wash down with the can of orange Sunkist on the nightstand; Helaena found a case of it in the pantry. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“I didn’t want to take any Vicodin from Aegon or Baela. They’ll need it more than me.”

“Your pain is as real as anyone else’s.” Aemond’s weight shifts the mattress as he crawls into bed beside you, his arm settling protectively around your waist, his hand covering yours where it rests on your lower belly. “If the Tahoe runs out of gas, will you be okay to walk tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about me. I had three periods during basic training, I honestly thought I might die. After that I can power through just about anything.”

“I’ve noticed.” You feel the soft smile on Aemond’s lips as he kisses your temple. “Do you want quiet, or do you want to talk?”

“Talking would be a nice distraction.”

Aemond wastes no time. “Do you like kids?”

“Well, since birth control doesn’t exist anymore, I’d hope everybody does.”

Again, he is smiling; you can hear it in his voice. “Okay, but do you intend to have your own?”

“Yeah, I always envisioned myself having kids. I wanted a normal family and figured I’d have to make one myself, DIY it, you know? I don’t think the plan has changed. Gotta repopulate the earth somehow.”

“I wouldn’t try to sway your decision one way or the other. It’s a burden you should only have to endure if you actively choose it. But if you want to have children one day, I’d help you.”

You giggle in the dim orange glow of a single flashlight. “How self-sacrificial.”

“No,” Aemond says, laughing. “Not like, the making them. I mean, I’d help with that too, that aspect would be fun. But I was talking about the delivery, and recovery, and taking care of a newborn. I don’t know everything, but I know a lot. I could help you get through it. So that’s an option I want you to be aware of, if…you know.” Now he pauses. “If you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if you should,” Aemond murmurs; or at least that’s what you think he says as you lose consciousness, plummeting into sleep as if falling from a great height.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe runs out of gas just east of Tipton—not a city, not a town, just a collection of service roads linking sprawling ranches to I-80, the only continuous route across southern Wyoming—and Rhaena guides the SUV as it coasts to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. You hike about a mile to the nearest ranch house: Luke carrying the siphoning hose and empty gas can in case you can find fuel, Rio carrying Aegon on his back, Baela walking slowly and with great effort, Ice panting as she lopes across the dusty earth. You can’t spot any cattle or horses behind the endless strings of barbed wire fencing. Perhaps they are in a different pasture, or escaped or were stolen, or died of thirst without being tended to, or were consumed by a wandering hoard of zombies, never sleeping and always hungry. The house at the end of the dirt driveway is modest, old, and painted white. The front door is open; the screen door bangs in the wind.

“Rock Springs is the next real town,” Aegon says when Rio drops him to the ground, reading his map.

“And how far is that?” Rio asks.

Aegon deflates. “About fifty miles.”

“Great,” Rhaena says. “What’s the plan, to fly there?”

“Yeah, start flapping your wings, little bird. You’re light enough, you can make it.”

“No car in the driveway,” you tell Aemond. “Nobody home, maybe?”

He’s scrutinizing the house, his blue eye narrow. “Maybe.”

A thought occurs to Aegon. “Do you think ranchers have golf clubs?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” Aemond snaps. Rio is now on the front porch and pounding the butt of his unloaded Remington shotgun against the doorframe to see if anyone appears. Daeron is nocking one of his makeshift arrows as he trots around the perimeter with his compound bow.

Luke, peering through his binoculars, points to a large cylindrical aluminum structure about a hundred yards from the house, by a small red barn. “What’s that thing?”

“It’s a grain bin,” Cregan says. “Full of feed for cattle.” Ice whimpers at his feet, and he twirls his axe in his large, calloused hands. “Are we clearing the house or not? Something’s in there.”

“We are,” Aemond answers tonelessly. “Luke, Rhaena, stay out here with Aegon and watch for trouble. Daeron, you too.”

“Got it.”

“Baela—”

“Can I go inside?” she asks. “Please, Aemond. I’m so sick of sitting around feeling useless and exhausted. I want to help. I want to do something, I’m going insane.”

“Fine,” Aemond agrees. “It should be an easy one.”

It is easy, but it’s not pleasant. The house smells like dark, sickening decay. In the living room are the skeletal remains of two bodies, both children judging by the size; the maroon-stained bones are notched with indents from gnashing teeth. Cregan shadows Helaena as she searches through closets and drawers. She takes no clothing—it would have absorbed the stench of death—but fills her burlap messenger bag with matches, lighters, batteries, pills. She gives you a bottle of Advil before you can ask her for it.

“Thanks,” you say, a bit startled, as you tuck it away in your backpack.

It is not until Ice leads you to the final room, the bedroom at the rear of the house, that you hear the familiar, blood-chilling hissing and moaning of a zombie. It is in the closet, and emerges one limb at a time: one arm and then another, one leg long like a spider’s, streaked with a thick soup of rotting organs that spills from a gaping hole in her belly like the mouth of a mineshaft. Something has happened to its other leg; it is missing, and the corpse that was once a thirties-something woman—a soccer mom, perhaps, with a minivan and propensity to make meatloaf and fish sticks—drags itself across the fawn-colored carpet towards you, slow and pathetic. Ice growls and barks. Rio raises his Remington.

“Wait,” Baela says. Her hammer is in her right hand. “Can I do it?”

“Of course, be my guest,” Rio says; though you can tell he’s slightly disappointed. He loves clubbing things.

Baela approaches the yowling zombie—jaws snapping, claws swiping—and grimaces down at it, this one of millions of monsters that ended the world, that killed Jace and stole all the rest of her life from her too, all those normal things she was supposed to have, all those strings of fate that the plague cut through like a razor and sent floating aimlessly out into the void of the universe. Then with a scream, Baela swings her hammer and a catastrophic impact crater appears in the side of the zombie’s skull, and it crumples to the floor, its mindless brains spilling out onto the carpet.

“Nothing good?” Aegon asks when you reappear in the driveway, popping a Vicodin into his mouth.

“No,” Aemond replies grimly. “No gas, no bullets, no food, nothing to drink.”

“I knew it would be lean pickings once we got out here,” Cregan says, and Aemond looks like he could kill him.

“Well, fortunately, Luke might have some good news for us,” Aegon says with a grin.

Aemond perks up. “Really? What?”

“I saw a truck out there,” Luke says, using his binoculars to gesture to the grain bin. “It’s parked between the barn and the grain thing, I can just see the very front of it sticking out. And if there’s a truck, there might be gas.”

Aemond ruffles Luke’s fluffy dark hair. “Good job, kid.” And Luke lights up like how cities used to look at night, back when the power was on: Washington D.C., Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae. Rio stoops down so Aegon can hop on his back, and all of you trek together across the field.

“Nothing,” Cregan announces as he squeezes the little pump on the siphoning hose after opening the gas cap of the ancient Chevy Silverado and threading the hose inside. “Not a drop.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Aegon sighs from where he’s slumped on the ground. His eyes are glazed; he’s pretty stoned. He gazes pitifully up at you; you pat his shoulder sympathetically. You and Rio have already checked the barn, dilapidated but perfectly devoid of zombies. The roof has caved in; one of the two front doors are missing. “What now?!”

“We can go back to the interstate and walk until we find the next ranch,” you say, looking absentmindedly at the grain bin. It’s much larger up close, and rusty in spots. A ladder runs up one side to allow access to the roof. Ice isn’t whining or nudging anyone’s hands, but she’s sniffing the air as if she’s detected something interesting, unfamiliar.

“Yeah,” Luke replies miserably. “We can walk another five or ten miles and then maybe find a safe place to spend the night.”

Rhaena shades her eyes as she peers up at the sky. “It’s past noon already. Maybe we should just stay here.”

Rio barks out a sardonic laugh. “In a house with no supplies and that reeks of dead people?”

“Cregan, go kill us something to eat,” Aegon commands.

He chuckles in his deep, gruff voice. “It’s Miss Chips who is good at the killing, I’m just the authority on butchering at the moment.”

Aemond is watching Ice, his forehead furrowed. “What’s she doing?”

Cregan whistles. “Hey, princess, you okay?” Ice ignores him, still sniffing, her grey ears straight up in the air. Then it appears from behind the barn: a tiny brown creature, a baby bear.

“Aww, it’s so fuzzy!” Aegon squeals, stretching his arm out to pet it. Rio yanks him away; everyone else is backing up towards the grain bin. A second bear cub has now arrived, padding clumsily along, large cartoonish eyes and a little pink tongue poking out from its muzzle.

“Don’t touch them!” Aemond shouts to everyone. “Get away from them! If there are cubs, there’s probably—”

And around the barn comes the mother, a grizzly bear of 400 pounds. She bares her teeth and snarls, saliva dripping in long gluey strings. Ice is barking viciously; Aegon is shrieking and scrambling onto Rio’s back.

“Baela!” Aemond says because she’s closest to him, urging her towards the ladder of the grain bin. She gets the idea and begins climbing. Then Aemond reaches for you. “Come on, you next!”

“Rhaena, go,” you say instead, and she clambers up the ladder after Baela. Cregan is brandishing his axe; Rio has his Remington in his hands, Aegon still clinging to his back like a baby opossum to its mother. Now Helaena is climbing up the ladder, and Daeron nocks an arrow. You whip one of your M9s out of its holster, aim for the bear’s head, and pull the trigger.

Your bullet hits its skull, Daeron’s arrow pierces its chest; and the mother bear does not die but roars and rises up onto her back feet—taller than Rio, taller than Cregan—and then drops back down and charges towards you and the grain bin. Cregan blocks the way, swinging his axe. The bear reluctantly pauses, testing him with swipes of her claws that he evades. Rio is just a few steps behind Cregan, waving his Remington around hostilely. Aegon is screaming and holding on for dear life.

“Don’t shoot!” Cregan yells. “9mm isn’t big enough, you’ll just make her more angry!”

Aemond finally gets a grip on your wrist and drags you to the ladder. You obey and climb until your feet are several rungs off the ground, then you turn to see what’s going on below. Aemond, Luke, and Daeron are at the bottom of the ladder, their backs to you. Cregan is still wielding his axe.

“Fuck off, Mama Bear!” he bellows, standing as tall as possible and swinging his axe above his head. Rio follows Cregan’s lead and holds his Remington aloft. Ice is barking; the baby bears are fleeing in terror. Aegon is sobbing hysterically and saying he’s going to die. “You don’t want us and we don’t want you! Go on! Go get your babies! I’ll put this blade right between your eyes if you don’t change your stupid mind right quick!”

The bear pounds the earth with her front feet and growls, a beastly subterranean rumble, but she seems to be losing her nerve. The rungs of the ladder creak and groan; you see rust like blood-hued moss around the bolts.

“Get out of here!” Cregan shouts. “Go, you hairy old bitch! Go back to your babies!”

The bear glances back to see her cubs vanish behind the barn. Her mouth is open and panting, spittle gleaming on her pointed teeth; her black eyes are uncertain. As you hold onto the ladder with one hand, you have your M9 aimed at the bear’s left eye, just in case. Aemond is watching Cregan; on his scarred face a sharp severity, fascination and resentment and fear.

“Go on,” Cregan says firmly. “Leave us alone. You belong in the mountains, not down here. Go eat something that’s already dead, a nice easy dinner. You don’t want us. We’ll fight you.”

The grizzly bear shakes her head—flopping ears, shaggy fur filthy with dust and pieces of grass—and whirls, lumbering off to find her cubs. When she rounds the barn, Cregan waits a few long, tense, silent minutes and then turns to the grain bin.

“Alright y’all, we oughta hurry up and leave. I don’t think she’ll come back, but she might.”

From the top of the ladder, approximately forty feet off the ground, Baela begins to laugh. “Did that really just happen?! That was insane! Cregan, buddy, you can vote for whoever you want to. You and I are cool forever.”

He smiles up at her, wincing in the bright afternoon light. “I’m very glad to hear it, ma’am.”

Rio sets Aegon down on the ground and stretches his back; it must be hurting him. Aemond is taking your hand and helping you off the ladder, and you are reminded of the transmission tower where he found you in Catawissa, Pennsylvania, one of those middle-of-nowhere places like Tipton, Wyoming. As Helaena climbs down, you go to Rio and—with as much force as you can manage—knead the small of his back with the heel of your hand like you know helps him.

“You okay?”

He sighs loudly, relieved. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Oh, wow, that’s good. Harder…oh yeah…”

There is a snapping sound, metal squealing as it breaks, and by the time you turn to look she’s already falling: her cotton dress billowing around her, her arms wheeling helplessly. It happens too quickly for her to scream—for her to understand what is going on and what it means—but there is a stunned gasp and then she hits the ground, and you hear a muffled crunch of bone—skull?? spine??—and she is completely, unnaturally still as she lies on her back, no pain, no words, nothing.

“Baela!” Rhaena shrieks, and she rushes down the ladder and runs to her sister. You are all gathering around Baela, petrified to move her—to make it worse—but pleading for her to wake up, examining her with terrified eyes. Baela’s own eyes, dark and glassy and serene, are open only a sliver like obsidian crescent moons. Aemond is asking Helaena for a flashlight and then prying them wide, checking Baela’s pupils.

“There’s no reflex,” he says numbly.

“What does that mean?!” Rhaena cries. “Aemond? Aemond?!”

“She’s…she’s…” He’s in denial; he’s in shock. He’s feeling for a pulse on her carotid, he’s digging his fingernails into her forearm to try to get her to respond to pain.

“Aemond?” you say softly.

“She’s gone,” he tells you, like he doesn’t believe it, like he’s waiting to wake up.

“The baby,” Rhaena says. “Try to save the baby.” And then, when Aemond doesn’t immediately understand, she grabs his backpack and begins ripping it off so he can get the medical kit inside. “The baby, Aemond!”

Now he knows what he has to do. He pulls the scalpel out of his kit as Rhaena moves Baela’s sundress to expose her belly. She was wearing biker shorts beneath, lavender, cute, something you might have picked out in a store. In less than a minute they will be soaked with blood. Cregan leads Daeron away, and he’s telling him that they need to keep watch in case the grizzly bear returns, but you think it is an act of mercy more than anything else. Ice goes with them. Helaena, her face pale and grave, is shining the flashlight on Baela’s belly, just beneath her navel.

“Aegon?” Aemond says.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need people to help hold open the incision once I make it. I have to be able to see the amniotic sac so I can cut the membrane without harming the baby.”

“I get it, I’m here, I’ll help.”

Aemond presses the blade of the scalpel to Baela’s skin and draws a semicircle from the top of one hip to the other. There is blood, but it is slow-moving and thick and dark; it is the blood of a dead woman, not a living one. Immediately, Aegon hooks his fingers under layers of fat, skin, and muscle, and opens the wound as much as he can. You and Rio reach in too, and you do this without thinking, without allowing yourself to feel the horror of it until the work is done.

“I can’t see,” Aemond is murmuring. Rhaena gets another flashlight and helps Helaena illuminate the area. Luke is on his knees with both hands clamped over his mouth, his eyes glistening with dread and disbelief. Aemond is slicing, pausing to probe around with his fingers, cutting again. Then his arm plunges into Baela’s abdomen up to his elbow and, with some difficulty, pulls out the gore-covered baby by its feet, a girl, large and limp and silent.

Rhaena sobs, equal parts grief and joy, a smile appearing on her face. “Is she okay? Aemond? Is she…why isn’t she crying? Aemond?!”

Rio yanks off his shirt and uses it to wipe blood and gelatinous clumps away from the baby’s eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Then Aemond takes the shirt and wraps the baby in it, warming her, rubbing her lifeless little limbs. When she does not stir, Aemond lays her on the earth and begins CPR: compressions with two fingers on her tiny heart, two breaths down the airway she’s never used. There are no sounds except his efforts. There is no crying when the baby wakes, because she never does.

Enough, you are thinking, as if from very far away: an island in the Indian Ocean, the Appalachian mountains in eastern Kentucky. Enough, enough, enough.

Aemond stops trying to revive the baby. He picks her up and holds her against him, and no one says anything. There is only the barrenness of the Wyoming steppe, an anemic blue sky, tall dry grass that bows in the breeze, black vultures that are landing atop the barn and the grain bin.

Aegon jolts out of his paralysis and reaches for his brother with bloodied hands. “Aemond, hey, Aemond, listen to me, it wasn’t your fault. Okay? Are you listening? Aemond, man, you did everything you could. You gave them a chance. You didn’t give up.”

But Aemond doesn’t respond; he only kneels there beside Baela’s butchered body, her dead baby girl in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Alys?” he calls, seeing that she never came back to bed. He is lying on his stomach, tangled in red sheets damp with sweat. It’s hot, too hot, and there is no humming of the air conditioning. When Aemond picks up his iPhone from the nightstand, it’s still plugged in but only at 87% battery. The power must have gone out.

He gets up, rubs the damp skin by his temple—headache, dehydration—and lifts open the nearest window. It’s odd: there is shouting, distant and indistinct, like the sound of a carnival or a concert. There are car alarms too, and sirens, and horns blaring, all too far away for him to see. It must be because of the power outage, traffic signals thrown into chaos, neighbors relaying the latest information back and forth. That’s the only logical explanation.

“Alys?” Aemond says again, groggy but with increasing curiosity, concern, guilt.

She started to feel sick last night, a pulsing in her skull and chills and powerful nausea. The possibility of it being the so-called Florida Fever barely registered in his mind. Alys gets migraines, and tofu is a migraine trigger, and he took her to a Thai restaurant (maybe he should have known better) and the curry Alys ordered ended up having tofu in it, and by the time she paid the check (as Alys always did) she was swallowing an Imitrex from the box in her snakeskin purse. She said she was going to lie down in the guest bedroom for a while so she wouldn’t wake him if she spent the next few hours dashing to and from the bathroom, a likely outcome, and if he was honest with himself about it, Aemond would admit he was relieved.

He shuffles to the bedroom door—black boxers, bare feet, century-old hardwood floors—and opens it. Now he can hear thudding, like someone tenderizing meat with a mallet. “Alys? Baby, you feeling okay?” There is no answer, only that rhythmic hammering. He realizes that it is coming from the guest bedroom, a door at the end of a long hallway still fuzzy through his half-awake eyes.

It had never felt right, but it had felt good: good in the body when she touched him, good in the soul when she told him he did something right. But lately—especially here, in the vast creaking historic house she shares with her husband and her children, who are presently sailing in Cape Cod—Aemond cannot shake the feeling that this entanglement is a surrender rather than an aspiration, something he fell into and now rests at the bottom of like a swimming pool or the sea, the cold weight of it threatening to pour into his lungs and drown him.

“Alys?” Aemond says, now with profound and inexplicable dread. Outside an ambulance or police car zooms by, sirens blaring. The pounding on the door of the guest bedroom grows faster.

I want to go home, Aemond thinks suddenly. At home, in the Federal-style townhouse his parents rented for him (Criston picked it out, a safe and quiet neighborhood in Beacon Hill, and Viserys paid), Daeron is visiting from California and watching golf tournaments with Aegon on the living room couch, pretending to be interested when Aegon describes the different types of clubs. Helaena, pursuing an Entomology PhD, is researching the Mediterranean mantis, clicking around on her MacBook Pro from the garden in the backyard. Jace and Luke live there too, and so Baela and Rhaena have all but officially moved in, keeping their apartment in Seaport only to have somewhere to retreat to when the Targaryen chaos becomes too much…and so the baby can have its own room. Baela bought a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, a dresser, and about a million unisex onesies, mostly space-themed. Baela is studying Aeronautics and Astronautics, after all. Maybe one day she’ll work for NASA and fly rockets to the moon.

The door is rattling on its hinges. Aemond’s hand closes around the knob. On the other side is something terrible, and he knows this. But he cannot just leave her. Aemond is not someone who abandons people; he is not someone who turns away from responsibilities.

He opens the door of the guest bedroom, and immediately she is staggering towards him, limp dripping hair and naked like she was interrupted mid-shower: blood bubbling from her gaping mouth and the whites of teeth peeking through the crimson, necrotic skin hanging in strips from her fingers, eyes misty like steam on a mirror.

“Alys, stop! Alys! What’s wrong with you?!”

She’s alive but she’s dead. She’s yowling and clawing at him, but her flesh is the rotting swampland of a corpse. He’s pushing her away; his palms sink into her, places he once noticed and then fantasized about and then at last—euphorically, ashamedly—touched, held, borrowed but never kept. She’s trying to bite him. She’s trying to kill him. None of this is possible, and yet it’s true.

Aemond flings her away, and the woman who was once Alys stumbles backwards and down the staircase, sick wet thumps all the way to the ground floor, bones splitting through dissolving grey skin, organs sloshing around until they spill out. He can hear her still hissing, flailing, trying to get up again.

Without thinking—slipping seamlessly into what he learned during his psych rotation is called automatic action—Aemond races down the steps and grabs her by the skull, cracks it against the antique hardwood floor she once extoled the value of as he fucked her on it: shipped east from Oregon and laid in 1912, the year the Titanic sank. When she lurches up to try to bite him, he slams her head against the floor again and again until she is still.

Then Aemond kneels there alone for a long time, sirens shrieking outside, far-off strangers screaming for help, putrid black blood clotting on his hands.

[astropookie]

intrusive thoughts astro version

mamoru yamamoto

I’ve noticed earth mars in signs or degrees gets aroused when their sexual partner it’s having a good time, adding that’s because of them.

if asteroid rhiannon (16912) it’s about running away, what would happen if it’s on 12H. ik what about it but 😭 I can’t help it but point it out.

rhiannon (16912) conjunct mercury means escape from situations thanks to their persuasiveness

return venus conjunct natal venus -in venus return chart-: you’re finding your aesthetic/style you feel more comfortable and that vibes with your vibe 😝. also the energy of your sign/house and degree is PRESENT, that’s why during all that period of time you could feel too prideful without hesitation. mine was sag venus 11H 6° (virgo degree), i was feeling a little too optimistic or enthusiastic and cut out people. you’re being kind of truth to yourself?

natal jupiter square return pluto -in venus return chart-: you’re in a period of rebirth and thanks to your lucky nature -natal jupiter- you’re deciding not to end it. wanting it or not, you have this feeling of overcoming things.

when I used placidus system, my moon was in 1H, then I used whole sign system and my moon changed to 2H. for a while I preferred placidus bc I didn’t feel seen by the 2H moon chart. then I realized the 2H characteristics where in front of me the whole time. I wanted to feel understood, 1H moon was comforting the idea that I’m sensitive and feel emotions insanely deep. besides, 2H moon it’s about craving for comfort and security. I was only focused on the financial part, the stereotypical and superficial part. it’s a good thing to compare both charts to analyze how they can guide you.

uranus 12h in Eros persona chart shows u crave for intimacy 😭

idk why every time I end up getting stressed and bored about a friend is when I have mercury square their neptune. -reading note: she’s still my friend, we just have different point of views or forms to process information. the mercury part doubts constantly about others opinions and arguments and they see neptune as impulsive and kind of ignorant, bc their way of believing in things.

referring to the solar eclipse -April 8, 2024- my 3H has been affected -aquarius ascendant-, days after, out of nowhere -I havent had connection with them- I’ve received a voice message from the lilith person I was talking about on my posts, someone I used to be friends and distanced myself away from them. I decided to listened to it on the day of solar eclipse without thinking thinking about this coincidence -solar eclipse, 3H is affected-.

natal neptune sextile transiting venus: i felt like I was high even though I took my adhd pills 😭 I was so in peace? I felt emphatic? transits with your dominant planet have a huge effect on your mood. mine’s neptune and was sextile transiting venus.

I’ve noticed people with saturn 8H are kind of like a libra venus, in a way they’re afraid their love experience won’t be as they dreamed. saturn 8H creates restrictions on sexual attitudes and matters. imo 8H mix love and sexual desires, they need something that would drag them out of their secure space, they’re afraid. they’re late bloomers when’s about their first kiss or etc.

3H stellium at a distant, it’s giving introvert or distant vibes, they try to process things logically and could be a little slow to catch a joke?

I have a friend I thought was mean and in her energy💅, could be described as intimidated. she’s the opposite. when I saw her birth chart it made total sense, coming from an aquarius ascendant -saturn ruled like capricorn-, I had no clue she was a saturn ruled. it always surprises me how defined some rising’s energies can be presented.

sun 4H brings a sense of familiarity, even more when your mars is 4H, you feel more comfortable with them -sun 4H-, they remind you of your family or the vibes.

pisces 7H in solar return chart could tell you’re expecting a lover, doesn’t mean you’re having one 😭 i swear this solar return was like that, I meet a person and then proceed to imagine a relationship with them.

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა ∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗ */ᐠ - ˕ -マ✩ (˶˃ᆺ˂˶)∗ ࣪

♡ Based on personal experience and I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

♡ English is not my first language.

♡ I’m not a profesional astrologer.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

[jymwahuwu]

I was wondering. . What if scenario where darling finally escaped jing yuan by dying and jing yuan had felt all emotions at once anger, furry, sadness, despair, agony. He just cant move on from darling he waited and waited for her next reincarnation and. . Finally after so long of waiting she was finally here standing, breathing and alive

And his not so kind once he kidnapped darling once more and had locked her on his (their) shared bedroom then he just basically fucks darling to the hell and back after so long and he makes her cum and darling felt overstimulated and had kept crying to him to slow down and trying to push him away because who in the right mind would suddenly pull a strange onto some person's house then fucks them into oblivion?!

(Basically idk why im horny or maybe its because i have a period idk anymore-)

From Cloud anon!

thank you cloud anon<3 hesitant to write this…but i love the thirsty ending 🫣 for Jing Yuan, if his clingy and sweet side can't keep you… he doesn't mind getting rough…?

CW: yandere, angst, non-con, kidnapping, overstimulation, (mentioned) death in the past

(The relationship between the reader here and Jing Yuan’s past life is described in a rather vague way. Please DON’T send me requests and comments about angst and take revenge on yandere. I’m tired of receiving those 😭 Please read the rules.)

That's a really rare concept for long living species; life blooms in the spring and withers in the winter. Jing Yuan placed flowers on the coffin, and… still… worked and lived as usual, arranging Luofu's daily affairs at the seat of divine foresight. People whispered- they said, Look. The general is so ruthless. His only lover in centuries had withered like a flower, and he was unmoved.

Jing Yuan knows that he can still live as usual, but there is an empty gap in his heart, which often aches, but he still chooses to keep you in his heart instead of letting time pass by. No loss can cause Jing Yuan to stagnate, he just lives with wounds. He regretted not leaving more holographic records and replayed the few videos you had, over and over again. "mm- Jing Yuan-" Your lips parted slightly, a record of a time when you were so annoyed that you blocked the camera with your hands and giggled while eating ice cream. That was - that was when you liked him, right? The general sometimes wonders - are you tired of him pestering you like that? He apologized, apologized, apologized bitterly - but you wouldn't hear it again. In the end, he still couldn't keep you, you flowed away between his fingers like floating sand. What had hundreds of years left for him?

Reincarnation - Jing Yuan really found you, in another galaxy. In the dim light, you are standing on the street, laughing and chatting with your friends. A familiar frown and a sweet smile, and when talking about interesting topics, the clear and sweet laughter leaked out. Similar facial features, similar movements and expressions are the imprint of the same soul. Jing Yuan suppressed the urge to take you away immediately, knowing that he must first find out your identity in this life. He removes every possible obstacle and takes you away.

Locked up in a room, in the general's mansion. Since you didn't like being able to travel freely among the stars in your previous life.

To you, you who have no information, this is really the cage that abruptly descends. Be sent to the Xianzhou ship by the people of your planet. Your hands are locked with a bunch of locks made of solid space material, but they are wrapped in plush fabric as if to prevent your wrists from getting hurt. The burly man with long white hair, said to be a general named Jing Yuan, caresses your body desperately - desperately. Lots of sticky, dazzling kisses. His tongue dipped into your mouth to search. Tears…tears? This mysterious man doesn't shed tears when you look at him, it's like the tears have dried up. Your thighs and calves were tied together and spread apart, forcing you to expose your most private parts and squirt on his thick fingers for hours. Orgasm is no excuse to stop. After your struggles and twitches, those fingers didn't slow down at all. The cock is buried deep inside you without any suspense after the warm-up is completed. The tight walls contracted and the liquid spread outward.

You are confused - confused, orgasming in pleasure, wanting to push him away (but your hands are tied), asking who he is and why he treats you like this while still maintaining your senses, and all you get is silence. It was the silence of not wanting to repeat the old dreams. From behind, his entire crotch is pressed against your ass, and even your hands are pressed by him, rocking and pounding you back and forth, occasionally kissing your cheek in a daze. Face to face, staring into your eyes, the lower body is closely connected. On top, you were forced to ride him, swinging your waist. From the side, a strong arm lifts one of your legs and slowly inserts it. In front, sucking and servicing that cock for hours. Seed and fluid oozed from the connection. There are two trembling vibrators stuck to your nipples. What a mess.

After making up for some of the love he hadn't had in hundreds of years, the general felt more at ease. Jing Yuan's hands wrapped around your shoulders and waist. You wanted to hate him so much- hate him, but he read you bedtime stories and space. He prepares rich meals for you, toys to relieve your boredom, and kisses your forehead. He promises to take you out, but not now.

Not now.

[vhyunjinverse]

Personal Chef

poc f!reader x Toji Fushiguro (18+)

summary: As you finally land your dream job as a personal chef, you quickly find out it’s not what you though it would be.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, toji is 28),food play, squirting, oral (f receiving) , SLIGHT porn with plot, praising

“You will be given your own living space in the penthouse in order to cook breakfast, lunch and dinner for the Ceo.”

“Right.”

“You will stay Monday-Friday, weekends off. You cannot stay here during the weekends. If you cannot work this way speak now.”

“It’s fine.”

“Perfect. You will not bother, speak to, or interrupt the Ceo at any given time. You are not friends, you are not worker buddies. You cook his food, that is it.”

“Right.”

“You will do the grocery shopping. Here’s what he usually likes to get, and his diet plan. Please stick to this list. If he asks you for something else then all means go ahead, however don’t get too comfortable doing so. This is your job. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Any questions?”

“…no“

“Great! Follow me.”

You stood there while the blue eyed, white haired man went on and on about your new life. You held a white folder in your hand, information about your “boss” who you weren’t supposed to formally meet, and various to-do’s. In fact you were to be completely invisible, “like a maid” the man had said at some point. You bit the inside of your cheek, almost regretting this. You hated having to adjust to new things, let alone staying at someone else’s home? The life of a private chef was something, but it was your dream. You finished college at the top of your class. You could do anything, and you chose what the little girl all those years ago wanted.

You certainly didn’t expect anything of the job other than the amazing pay and life style, instead you got that and more.

“Toji…” You moan, back arching on the marble kitchen counter. His tongue licking at your folds, licking at the syrup he poured just a minute before. “Fuck baby.. you make this yourself?” He groans, having another lick. Your juices mixed with the sweet tasting syrup went straight to his cock.

“M..Mhm..” Your hand tangled in his hair, eyes shutting tightly. You felt his lips suck on your clit, a sweet humming coming from him. Your legs twitch feeling his sticky fingers re-enter you. The sound of your juices as he finger fucked you drove you wild. Your hips rocked with the small thrusts. “Good fucking pussy..that’s my girl.”

“F-Fuck fuck-“ you whine, legs twitching at the feel of another finger slowly working its way inside. “My good fuckin girl.” Toji cooed. your hips rock against his face, his nose buried deep into your heat. You let out a small breath, feeling your cunt gush over Toji’s face. Eyes rolling as he slurped every drop, careful not to waste. “Let it all out..” he moans.

Toji never wasted his food. He always ate until he was full. His big hands pushed your thighs back, spread wide over the counter. You whimpered, your nerves skyrocketing at the thought of another maid catching you in the act with your boss. His tongue entered you quick, the muscle flicking in the right places. “Gonna cum..” You push his head further. “m’gonna cum Toji-“ He lifts his head up, eyes staring deep into yours, slick glistening on his chin.

“You gonna what?” He says. You balance yourself on your elbows. Your chest moved as you panted. Toji’s eyes trailed the pierced nubs with nothing but hunger. It was lunch time after all, and you were his personal chef. “nothing- sir.” You breathe. Toji reaches beside you, the homemade syrup still warm. He wastes no time pouring it over your breast. “That’s too bad,” he’s pulling his shirt over his head, hands moving to unbuckle his belt. His thick cock springing free, hard and leaking. “I’m fuckin starving.”

[cherry-holmes]

Happy birthday, Javi | Javier Peña x F!reader❤️‍🔥

‘Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña'

Chapter 8

MASTERLIST

Summary: It’s Javi’s birthday and you want to gift him something he has been wishing for a while: you.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female reader

Word count: +4k

Warnings: Established relationship. SMUT. Soft porn with a lot of plot😅 – Loss of virginity. P in V sex. Protected sex. Soft sex. Nipple play, oral sex (fem received), fingering. A brief mention of breeding kink. Praise kink.

A/N: It’s me, hi! I’m gonna be honest, I am so nervous for this! This is my first English work ever! And I’m not an English native speaker, but I am a student translator so I hope there’s no so much problem🥲 I’m sorry if you find some errors, please let me know if there’s any and I’ll fix it asap!

A/N 2: IMPORTANT BEFORE READE! As you know, this was the first work I published and, to be honest, at the time I didn't plan to turn it into a whole series. However, upon seeing the good response to this first writing, I was inspired to create an entire universe between our Reader and Javi. Therefore, this part now contains INCONSISTENCIES and INACCURACIES regarding the current timeline of the story. I decided not to modify it so as not to affect those who have already read it, but I hope that if you are readers of the original series, you can adapt it and understand the space-time in which our couple finds themselves.

I hope you like it!❤️✨

•

Javier Peña wasn't a selfish man, especially when it came to matters of sex. He believed that women had the same rights as men to explore themselves and have numerous experiences with their sexuality. There's nothing quite like a woman who knows exactly what she wants and how she wants it.

But there was something about the fact that the only woman he had truly fallen in love with, his girlfriend, was still a virgin. It turned him on immensely. The mere thought of your innocence and the opportunity he had to make you feel truly good for the first time made him feel incredibly lucky. And also it made his cock throb.

The thought of you every night, and the things he could teach you in his bed, consumed him. His only desired was to lead you astray, turning you into a temptress. However, he never rushed you into anything you didn't want.

Of course, he felt disappointed the first time you both came so close to consummating your love on his couch, after a session of tender kisses here and there. He was already aroused, and he sensed that you were ready too. However, when you expressed uncertainty, he immediately stopped. He held you and reassured you that it was okay. He genuinely meant it, even though he had to take a cold shower by himself to cool off.

You had been with him for almost five months now, which really made you reflect on how quickly time flies. What's more, it was hard for you to believe that Javier had gone all those weeks without sex. He had a reputation, and you were well aware of it. He used to go from woman to woman; some of them you even knew from work, and others were his informants from the streets of Bogotá.

Initially, you were intimidated by his reputation as a heartthrob, a man afraid of commitment, as you had heard from office gossip. You didn't want to be just another one-night stand for him. You were the boyfriend-girlfriend kind of person. The dates, flowers and late night dancing kind of woman, someone who valued commitment, loyalty, and meaningful relationships. Plus, he was older than you, and you thought the age gap could be a problem when it came to establishing priorities in life. He was in his late 30s, and yet he didn't show any signs of wanting to settle down. It's not like you were desperate to get married; you were barely 26. But you needed to know if what you had could potentially lead to something more meaningful someday. You had a big crush on him and you wanted to make it last.

That's why you made him chase you for three months, wanting to see if he was trustworthy and if you were truly worth it to him. And then, after you said yes, he spent another fifteen weeks waiting for you, because he had fallen deeply in love with you. Your smile or even just a glance from you made his heart race every time. He felt like he didn't deserve the world because of all the sins he had committed, yet there was a piece of heaven in the shape of you right in front of him.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was the middle of June, to be more specific, Javi's birthday. You had spent the entire week asking him about any plans he might have for his special day, but he had insisted that he didn't want anything specific, just to spend the day with you. But you wanted him to have a great day to show him how much he was loved and important for you. And one of the things you planned was something he had been waiting patiently for quite a long time: you.

You were ready for him now. You had been dreaming about him all over you, his hands on your body, and the things he would let you do to him, and vice versa.

You two didn't live together yet, but you used to spend most days and some nights at his apartment, just like that morning when you woke up earlier than usual. He was still sleeping by your side, his bare chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. He looked younger in that moment, with his messy hair, his face at rest, and his always furrowed brow now relaxed. He looked so innocent.

You didn't know it, but before you, he barely slept. He used to have sex with women but always slept alone, or at least, tried to. He spent endless cold nights tossing and turning in his bed, attempting to forget all the blood and violence he had witnessed during the day. But then there he was sleeping like a child, knowing you were right there and you would never left.

You got out of bed as quietly as possible to avoid waking him up. You retrieved the small shopping bag you had hidden in the closet and tiptoed to the bathroom. You had bought lingerie—a beautiful red lace babydoll that resembled a princess gown but with much less fabric, of course. The color matched your freshly painted nails, and your hair appeared even brighter with that color palette. You completed your look by applying a touch of color to your cheeks, lip gloss, and his favorite perfume of yours.

As you gazed at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, your cheeks flushed at the sight of yourself in that lingerie. You looked beautiful, and you had never felt more sexy. You returned to the bed where he was still in the arms of Morpheus. You lay down next to him, admiring his handsome features, and then placed a gentle peck on his cheek, hoping it would wake him up. But it didn't. So, you decided to gently turn his face toward you, using a finger on his chin to guide his lips to yours. It worked like a charm. He responded to your soft touch, kissing you back passionately. He purred with satisfaction and pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist. Then, his groggy eyes widened as they roamed over your delicate figure. Confusion flickered across his face for just a fraction of a second before he realized. You couldn't help but notice the way his eyes darkened, and he swallowed hard at the sight.

"You like it?" Your voice was a whisper, and in that very moment, he was the only one in the world who could hear your words. "Feliz cumpleaños."

He looked up at you, grinning with eyes full of desire, and appeared so alluring, almost like the devil himself. He hadn't said a word yet, and you were apprehensive about what his voice would do to you when he used it. With just the way he looked at you, he had you wrapped around his finger. You began to feel aroused, and now you knew that there was no force in the world that could stop you from doing what you were intended to do. Your lips met his once more, and your hands found their way to his broad chest, feeling his smooth, tanned skin melting beneath your fingertips.

He broke the kiss again, this time to take your hand and guide you out of the bed. He sat down at the corner of the mattress, placing you standing between his legs. You couldn't help but notice the bulge forming in his sleeping pants, causing you to blush.

"C'mere, baby, I need to see you," he whispered. His hands roamed all over your body, exploring every ribbon and every spaghetti strap, caressing the parts where the lace were too transparent. "You look gorgeous," he praised and you felt the heat travel from your cheeks to your core.

You felt a little ashamed tho, not used to being so exposed to anyone before. On the other hand, Javi was mesmerized by how you looked, every one of your curves, and how the babydoll suited you so well. He couldn't believe that it was happening; he was over the moon. But he needed you to know something.

"Are you sure, amor?" he asked, finding your eyes. He did his best to be serious, not wanting to appear too eager and pressure you. "There's no rush. It doesn't have to happen just because it's my birthday," he continued, but you silenced him with another kiss, feeling the muscles in his shoulders relax even more.

"I am ready, Javi," you promised. "I've been thinking about this for like two weeks," you confessed, and he chuckled.

"You have?" he asked, and you nodded. He left a gentle kiss on your lips and seated you on his knee. "Look at me, baby," he said. "You tell me if you want to stop, anytime, okay?" You nodded. "As I told you, there's no rush. We'll just have fun as long as you feel comfortable. We're taking things slow."

You knew it! You knew he was the one. His words meant everything to you. You couldn't feel more comfortable and protected with him. Sex was one of the most vulnerable and exposed scenarios for a person, yet you felt like you could do it with your eyes closed, not worrying about anything else in the world as long as it was Javi touching and caressing you.

"I'm gonna take good care of you, mi amor. Do you trust me?"

"With my entire life, Javi," you answered.

He smiled again, proudly, and took you by the waist. Without wasting any time, he placed you in the center of his bed. You opened your legs, inviting him to take his place between them. He admired you from the top, your body so sexy in that garment, your flushed cheeks, and your shining eyes. That image used to be in his dreams, but now there you were, right in front of him, on the verge of being completely his. And only God knows how much he wanted to be entirely yours.

Javi bent over you, his hands caressing every inch of your body, worshipping you. His lips left wet kisses on the delicate skin of your neck, jawline, and collarbone. Your hands roamed his arms, where his prominent muscles bulged from supporting his weight to avoid crushing you.

And then you felt his hardened cock against your core, making everything feel more real. You moaned in the middle of a kiss, overcome by the sensation and anticipation of what was about to happen. Javi began to press his bulge against the delicate fabric of your panties, leaving a wet spot on his pants.

His hand reached for one of your breasts, gently caressing your hardened nipple, causing a moan to escape into his mouth. The touch sent electric shocks through your core, making you grow increasingly wet.

"Javi, Javi..." you cried out, moving your pelvis to meet him halfway, trying to alleviate the building urgency stemming from your clit.

"You're so needy," he whispered into your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine and painting your skin with goosebumps. "Tell me what you want, preciosa, I want to hear you."

"Touch me, please," you begged as he moved against you. "Please, I need you."

"Fuck," he growled. His hands went to your back, undoing your bra, and he paid careful attention to the way your breasts were revealed for him.

His lips began on yours but then trailed down your jaw, finding their way to your neck. Wet kisses on your chest made you sigh, and then you lost all coherent thought the moment he captured one of your nipples with his mouth. Your back arched, and your fingers tightly gripped his arm. He moved to the other nipple, teasing with his tongue and teeth. Your whimpers filled the room, his name escaping your lips like a prayer, as you surrendered all control over your own body. You didn't want him to stop; you wanted more, so much more.

As if he were a mind-reader, his hand slipped into your panties. His thick fingers parted your wet folds, caressing you up and down, collecting your honey as they found your clit. A gasp escaped your lips due to the sudden and new sensation, feeling your arousal dripping from your sensitive pussy. You couldn't help but moan louder, your toes curling between the covers at the foot of the bed.

"You're so wet already, baby. That's so fuckin' good" He traced soft circles, bringing you relief. He teased your entrance with his fingers, but he didn't penetrate deeply. His thumb continued to stimulate your throbbing clit, while his middle finger attempted to enter you. You could feel the pressure between your folds, and due to your inexperience, it left you feeling overwhelmed.

Now it was your turn to slip your hand inside his pants, something Javi hadn't seen coming. He had been so concentrated on your pleasure that he didn't notice until you wrapped your trembling hand around his hard, warm cock. His skin felt like velvet under your touch. You began moving up and down, a little clumsy and uncertain if you were doing it correctly, but your desire was for him to feel as good as he was making you feel. In response, Javi let out a deep moan, his hips instinctively moving to find your touch, and he started whispering your name like a prayer.

"Yeah, baby, you're such a good girl," he praised, making you moan and became wetter. A few seconds passed, until he moved, ceasing his touch and forcing yourself to let him go. "I need to taste you," he said, slowly tracing a path with his kisses down your body, starting with the exposed skin of your breasts, then moving to your stomach and bellybutton, until he reached your panties. You watched as he positioned his head between your thighs, leaving gentle kisses on each side and slowly making his way toward your core.

"I think you don't need these anymore, sweetheart," he whispered as his fingers gripped the tiny straps on each side of your panties, slowly removing them. A gentle breeze caressed your wetness, and you let out a shivery sigh. He created a trail of soft kisses that led to your center until he finally began kissing your core. The sensation was unexpectedly delicious. You let out a cry and felt the impulse to close your legs, but he prevented it by grabbing you and making you stay still. You lost yourself in a whirlwind of sensations, where only you and Javi existed.

You were a virgin, but you weren't a saint. Of course, you had pleasured yourself before, often thinking of Javier Peña, but the way he was making you feel with his mouth was something else entirely. He was real, devouring you with the hunger of a starved man. His hands caressed your hips, your belly, and reached for your breasts. You couldn't help but whimper and praise him.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and filled with lust. Unconsciously, Javi began to thrust his hips against the mattress, feeling the moist spot of precum staining his pants and boxers. His balls had become heavier, desperate for attention after several weeks without a woman's touch. Of course, he had taken care of himself, jerking himself off in the shower or during the nights he spent alone in his apartment. He always thought of you, reminiscing about your kisses, the warmth of your body against his, and even the way your pencil skirt hugged your heart-shaped butt around the Colombian Embassy.

"Javi... I... I want to come," you whimpered, feeling a knot growing steadily in your belly, signaling your impending climax. Meanwhile, Javi tasted your sweet honey pouring on his tongue. He intensified his attentions, fastening his sucks on your swollen clit, alternately licking your vulva and your entrance. Your fingers tangled in his soft hair, seeking something to hold onto as you approached your powerful orgasm.

You shattered into a million little pieces, melting all over his mouth, your essence dripping from his chin. He admired your body as it trembled and unraveled in front of him.

"There you go, baby, let it go," he encouraged.

You lost track of time, caring about nothing else; the entire world had disappeared beneath you, and you couldn't care less. As you descended from your peak of pleasure, Javi traced a trail of tender kisses from the curve of your hips to your belly and up to your neck. Until you felt his lips on your mouth again, and you moaned when you tasted yourself on him. You wanted so much more of him, to spend your entire life tangled with him in his bed.

Javier felt your heart beating rapidly against his chest, and for a moment, he thought that you might be tired and overwhelmed. But you proved him wrong by starting to pull his pants down, freeing his dick. You felt his weighty member against your belly, so you looked down. It was the first time you saw it. You found yourself even more aroused, if that was possible, and at the same time, you felt a touch of shyness. By this point, you had allowed him to kiss your entire naked body, bringing you to climax with his skillful mouth, and yet, your cheeks burned at the sight of his cock above you. He couldn't help but notice the pearl-white drops of his pre-cum that painted your lower belly.

"Baby, if you're tired, we can save it for another time," he managed told you, even though he didn't stop you from helping him remove his pants and boxers.

"I want you inside of me, Javi," you begged, your voice carrying more desperation than you had realized. "I want to make you feel as good as you've made me feel."

"You're such a naughty girl, who would've known?" he chuckled.

"Only for you, Javi," you assured him.

His eyes darkened further, drawing nearer to your lips again. "I can't believe no one has ever touched you before," he said, "You're every man's dream."

"Many had tried," you confessed. He felt a wave of jealousy, because he knew it was true and he couldn't bear the thought of another man touching you, kissing you... It made him feel selfish, but he couldn't help it. "But no one but you was worthy. I waited for the right moment; I always knew it would be the right man. And I knew it was you the very first moment I saw you."

"I swear I'll spend the rest of my life being worthy of you," he said, dead serious, and you could tell from the look in his eyes.

After placing a peck on his lips, you said, "You can start by fucking me," with a shy smile on your face. You were attempting some dirty talk, but he could tell from the way you whispered and tried to hold back a laugh that it made you feel a bit awkward. He also promised himself that he would help you get used to it, taking charge of teaching you.

"Your wish is my command, bonita" he answered. Javi reached for the first drawer of his nightstand and, without searching too much, took out a condom.

He knelt between your legs, and you watched him put it on. He was bigger and thicker than you had imagined. For the first time that night, you felt a wave of nervousness coursing through your body, anticipating the pain you had always heard about the first time.

Would it hurt? Would he be gentle enough with you? Would there be any bleed? These thoughts raced through your mind as he positioned himself at your entrance, collecting your wetness with the head of his dick. He had been so focused on this moment that he hadn't noticed your worried expression until he looked up at you for a kiss. In that very moment, he stopped, his heart skipping a beat. He didn't want you to feel unsure or uncomfortable. His only desire in that moment was for you to have the best experience, feeling loved and well taken care of by him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. You shook your head to indicate that everything was okay. "Words, baby, I need you to use your pretty mouth," he added, his voice gentle.

"Everything's fine," you assured him, trying not to sound too nervous. "I'm just a little nervous."

"That's normal, mi amor, just relax," he replied. His lips met yours, and then he whispered in your ear, "You tell me if you need anything, preciosa. Are you ready?"

"Yes," you sounded more confident this time, and you could hear a smirk forming on his lips as he buried his face in your neck, and you held onto his strong arms.

Javi's hand traveled between your bodies, and you could feel him positioning at your entrance. The sensation made you gasp. Then he began to push inside slowly. At first, you felt pleasure, followed by a slight burning, as if something inside you were stretching. You couldn't help but wince and feel yourself growing pale. Javier didn't move, and you were grateful for that because you needed a moment.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a whisper, his voice tense.

"I'm okay," you tried to convince him – and yourself – that everything was fine. But it wasn't; it hurt a bit, it felt invasive. You wanted him to continue, but at the same time, you needed a break. So you decided, "Could you... could you pull out?"

He immediately complied, carefully withdrawing, his forehead creased in concern. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No, it just felt awkward"

"Do you want to try again?" he asked. You couldn't tell because he didn't show any hints, but he was almost praying for you to give him an affirmative answer. He was as hard as a rock, and it was almost painful. However, he wouldn't push you to do something that might hurt you, so he remained patient and reminded himself that he had a whole lifetime to wait for you to be ready.

"I do," you murmured. He nodded, kissed you again, and continued. He left soft kisses along your neck and shoulders. You smell so good, like a mix of fresh flowers and fruits, he thought. It drove him completely insane.

"Relax, bonita. You're doing so fuckin' well," he praised. This time, when you felt him inside, it didn't hurt as much as before. On the contrary, it became a pleasant sensation.

Then you realized that he wasn't fully inside yet. As he continued to push, stretching you further, any discomfort faded away.

"You feel so good," Javier took his time to start moving slowly. His chest touch your nipples, stimulating them, making you increased your soft cries of pure pleasure. That was when all uncertainty disappeared. You began to feel incredible. Moan built up in your chest and escaped your throat. Javier was captivated by your gaze as you saw him directly in his eyes, and the way your lips parted to release cute moans and sighs.  Nose, cheeks, and chest turned red, the frown on your brow, and the way you scrunch your nose. He wouldn't last long. You looked so cute and sexy at the same time. You were a completely goddess, so pure and gorgeous.

His face disappeared between your hair and neck, leaving soft kisses and tasting your essence, whispering your name right into your ear amidst his own moans and pleasure-filled grunts.

"¿Te gusta, mi amor?" he wanted to hear you, although your mouth emitted the most sensual sounds he had ever heard.

"Si...," you could barely speak; the bliss was too intense, rendering you almost speechless. He was fucking you completely dumb. "Si, Javi, así me gusta."

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned. He rose to his knees again, his hands firmly gripping your hips to raise them and thrust harder. He was captivated by the way your beautiful breasts bounced, your face lost in pleasure, goosebumps covering your body. The morning sun illuminated your skin and hair.

He knew he wouldn't last, but he needed to make you cum again. Using his thumb, he began tracing circles on your swollen clit, sending you into an intense spiral of raw pleasure. Your back arched of its own accord, and your hand clutched his wrist just to have something to hold onto.

"¡No pares, Javi!" you whimper, so ecstasy-filled, begging him to keep fucking you like that. "Oh, you feel so good, Javi. I... I'm..."

"Cum for me, baby," he encouraged, "I wanna see you fucking cumming on my cock."

And then another wave of pure chaos consumed you. You threw your head back against the pillow, digging your nails into the muscles of his beautiful, strong arms. You felt your world crumbling beside you, and imploring again.

Javier had never cum as hard as he did the very moment he felt your pussy clenching around his cock. His balls throbbed as he cum inside of you. He was so deep on you, filling the condom with his thick, warm load and he couldn't help but imagine your pussy filled with his cum. Carrying his baby...

A couple of seconds passed until you both came down from the clouds. Javi pull out before went completely soft. He reach again for his night table and looked for a box of Kleenex and started cleaning the mess he made. And then he cleaned you, so gentle and caring. Then, he lay next to you, pulling your naked and warm body to his, kissing the top of your head.

"How do you feel, bonita?" he wanted to know. With one hand he traced soft circles on your arm, and with the other he massaged your head, making you feel sleepy.

"Amazing," you mumbled.

"Sleep, baby, you sound tired," he spoke in a soothing tone.

"But I've plan an entire birthday for you..." you tried to say, but your body felt so relaxed and exhausted.

"We have an entire life to do whatever you want, mi vida hermosa," he placed a soft kiss on your forehead and thighed his embrace around your body. "Now sleep, baby."

"Happy birthday, Javi," those were your last word before fell asleep on his arms, bodies tangled and hearts still racing.

Javier Peña wasn't a selfish man, but he wanted you to be his for as long as he may live.

NEXT CHAPTER

[stellar-skyy]

hihi! an iced english breakfast tea with father figure blade?

“iced english breakfast tea here, for... ah, who was it? Oh, of course! Blade!”

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: While on a trip, you receive a letter from a certain Stellaron Hunter. ii. CWS & NOTES: no warnings applicable. PLATONIC blade & gn!reader, brief silver wolf & reader, kafka & reader. father figure!blade. found family fluff. 0.5k words. iii. A/N: hi anon! this request was actually much further in the queue, but i finished it quickly so i thought i might as well post it now.

The letter is penned on bright white paper, covered in small creases that have been smoothed out. The writing on it is small, with some parts crossed out and rewritten, filling the entire page. In the corner is a small series of doodles in purple ink, crude drawings of the three Stellaron Hunters and you. The envelope is beside it with the wax seal broken, smelling faintly of spider lilies.

Inside, it reads:

[Name],

I hope this letter reaches you well, if it reaches you in the first place. I must admit I am skeptical of the effectiveness of the intergalactic postal system, but it isn’t as if there is another way to contact you, aside from tossing the letter into outer space and hoping it finds its way to the planet you are currently on.

I think this is the longest it’s been without seeing you since you were young. It is much too quiet without you around; Silver Wolf has attempted to fill the silence, but I hardly understand what she is talking about half of the time and I do not care to ask. When you return, you will have to inform me what ‘dps’ and ‘maxed out’ means, because I know asking her now will only give me a long-winded spiel about those video games she is obsessed with.

Despite you being gone several weeks now, it’s still been difficult to adjust to having one fewer member of the group. I have been turning the corner, expecting you to be there waiting for me, but I am constantly finding myself alone. Kafka tells me it’s the mother hen instincts, but she doesn’t know what she is talking about.

Silver Wolf has been asking about you non-stop, telling me she wants her Player Two back. She made me play with her for a bit, but according to her, I’m so terrible at the games that it isn’t even fun to beat me. I’m not sure what she means, she beats you all the time anyway, but when I told her that she just rolled her eyes.

Kafka misses you too, though she’s at least got enough emotional maturity to admit that out loud instead of sulking. When she found out I was writing this letter, she made me promise to tell you she can’t wait to see you again, and you’d better be taking care of yourself. I think she feels the same as I do, even as she teases me for it. Things just aren’t the same with one less person.

I know you’re wondering about me, but I’ll keep it short—I’m fine. My condition is no better than you last saw me, but it is no worse either. You don’t have to worry, and I mean that with honesty.

I trust you are using this well-deserved break to its fullest, taking in the sights and not causing any excess trouble. Elio doesn’t allow vacations very often—it’s a wonder he approved this one, with all the missions he’s sent us on lately—so make sure you take advantage of it. If you are in a tough situation, you only need to remember what Kafka and I have taught you: hit them fast and hard, and don’t leave any witnesses.

Be safe. I’ll see you soon.

Blade

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[tradgedyinwaves]

Touch - Ch. 9

Sorry for the late post. My days off were busy, but now I'm back at work so we should be back on daily updates.

So many military inconsistencies and just overall incorrect military vocabulary. I’m sorry. 

tw:  revenge, light torture, sensory deprivation, bondage (not the fun kind), 

It’s dark, so dark you weren’t sure if your eyes were open or closed, the only light is the red blinking of a camera above your head. Your wrists were bound with a soft rope as you sat on the edge of a measly cot, using your other senses to learn about your surroundings. You couldn’t hear much besides the rustle of footsteps above your head and the rare voice as guards changed out in front of your door. 

The smell was what permeated everything else though. The coppery tang of blood hung in the air, burning your nose, but there was something else. The faint scent of burned and rotting flesh tinged the edges of your senses, making you gag as the smell almost coated your tongue. A choked laugh had filled the silence in the space when you realized someone had sprayed an air freshener just before you’d been deposited in your cell. The lavender had only made the smell worse, almost thankful when it finally faded only a few minutes later. 

You’d spent the time counting, focusing on the numbers as if they were going to save you. Reaching 85,000 meant it had been about one day since you’d been taken. You didn’t sleep. You didn’t eat. You never stopped counting, not even when the door opened and light shone on your body. “Aw, precious, just as pretty as I remember.” 

When the boys realized you were gone, all hell broke loose. Price was out of the room and on his phone in seconds, calling the one person outside of his team that he trusted: Kate Laswell. Kyle was on Price’s heels, his calm, level headedness the only thing keeping him from tearing the entire hotel down to the studs. Johnny stood staring at the picture that had been left behind, staring at the word as if he was waiting for it to burst into flames. Simon saw red, fists clenching and relaxing at his sides. 

Grabbing Johnny’s arm, he hauled the younger man out of the room to follow Price. They were going to get you back, no matter what it took. Simon just hoped they’d make it in time. 

Bursting into the room just as Price ended his call, Simon deposited Johnny on the couch and squatted between his legs just to reach up and slap the sergeant. Blue eyes shot to Simon’s dark ones just to be followed with a grunt and nod. Simon stood and Johnny followed, all of them standing around the table. 

“Laswell just informed me that they’ve received a video. She’s sending it now. She said it’s not pretty,” Price revealed, grunting quietly as his hand rubbed over his face to scratch at his beard. Kyle was quickly working to set up the laptop and getting the video pulled up. 

“What do we know?” Simon asked gruffly, arms crossed over his chest in an effort to hold in the unbridled rage that threatened to endanger the men in the room. He hadn’t been this angry since getting back from leave and finding his mother and brother in such terrible shape and he’d kicked his dad out for the abuse. He should have gone back and killed him. 

“She was being stalked by someone using your mask, so it must be someone from your past,” Kyle reasoned, looking over at Simon. He wasn’t accusatory. It was a good reasoning, but Simon growled at the implication it was solely his fault. Kyle raised his hands in surrender, showing the largest member of their team that he didn’t mean to offend him.

“There were pictures of all of us. What’s the likelihood that it’s someone we’ve dealt with before?” Johnny questioned, looking at Price with wide blue eyes that didn’t seem to look AT Price, more through him. Price was startled by that look. He’d never seen the sergeant look so mentally far away. 

The computer dinged as Kyle got the video pulled up, cringing already at the capture that served for the video icon. They all gathered around behind him and he hit play, all of them watching the screen intently.

The shot is focused on a blacked out truck when the door opens, zooming in on your still fighting form as they drag you from the vehicle. One of the masked guards, about the size of Simon, has his arm around your neck in a chokehold when you manage to tuck your chin and bite him hard, blood coloring your teeth. He releases you but another hidden man steps up and backhands you across the face causing you to fall to the ground. You’re hit in the temple with the butt of a gun and your body falls limp on the ground while the man who backhanded you lifts you from the ground and carries you off screen. 

Another man, this one wearing a copy of Simon’s mask, steps into frame and slowly pulls the mask off, revealing oily black hair and beady eyes that look down at the mask almost fondly. “You know, Simon, this is quite the mask you wear. Makes for a pretty good scare tactic, don’t you think? Though, I suppose that’s why you wear it, huh?” The man lifts his head and makes eye contact with the camera before it goes black.

“How the fuck does he know my name?” Simon growled, low and deep, a menacing sound that would terrify anyone but the men in the room. John’s phone rang once, answered immediately and put on speaker. “Kate, what do you have for us?” Price was no longer the sweet caretaker. He’d been replaced with the Captain the moment they realized you were gone. 

“Name’s Darin Moses. Bold of him to show his face, to be honest. We’ve been after him for years, but he’s usually flying so far under the radar, that we couldn’t find him. Nothing would get him out of hiding either, except…” Kate’s voice trailed off, sighing into the phone. “Your girl. Whoever she is, she’s important enough for him to come out of hiding.” 

They were all listening intently, memorizing every bit of information. “He’ll be keeping her in a compound of sorts. I haven’t figured out where yet, but based on that video, I can tell you he’s still in the UK. We’ve grounded every private flight out of the UK for now. He wouldn’t be able to take her on a commercial flight with how much she seems to be fighting back.” Kate continued, papers rustling in the background before keys clicked on a keyboard. 

“Get us back and we’ll get started on a plan. In the meantime, try to figure out where they’re keeping her,” Price said, picking up the phone and clicking off the call before Kate could reply. “We’ve got work to do, boys.” 

When the team landed on the tarmac about 24 hours later, Laswell was there to brief them, walking alongside as she informed them that they’d received a new video. Finally inside, they huddled around a table and watched as their anger roiled and raged inside each of them.

The camera angle now looked down on you from the corner of your cell, more of a security camera type of placement. It showed you up and pacing, muttering what sounded like numbers under your breath as your hand drug over the wall. 

A voiceover began playing, blocking out most of your sounds. “John Price, Kyle Garrick, John Mactavish, and Simon Riley. Task Force 141. I have to thank you boys for taking out some of my competition. Making a lot of money now that I’m the only one that can collect information like I can. But the thing is, the men you’ve taken out? They weren’t little pawns or weak. They were powerful men. So now you’ve made yourselves targets.”

There was a rustling sound and you sat down on the bed, now staring up at the little blinking light. “Do you think she knows you’re watching? Or maybe she’s hoping you are.” The screen zoomed in on you, the night vision making your eyes look like they were glowing white. “Pretty little thing. I think once I’ve got you all taken care of, I’ll keep her. Break her down until she can’t fight back anymore. Maybe I’ll bring her your heads so she knows no one is coming to save her.” The screen cut to black.

Little bit of a shorter part.

Thank you to everyone who is supporting this series.

[olderthannetfic]

www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/768526246295502848/i-feel-sad-when-you-as-a-tactic-for-telling-a

I have thoughts about this! I’m that anon who was panicking because I had received some AI “art” that I didn’t want! And I got advised by OTNF and others to ignore the “gift” and if anyone tried to start shit, to tell them AI art “makes me sad” and keep repeating that without further information so as not to give anyone the chance to make me justify myself. (It worked a treat btw, thanks OTNF and everyone else who commented! 🙏)

I thought about it and why it works a lot after that. I realized that’s called “weaponizing feelings” and I had not thought to do it because it’s not part of my character? Communication style? Something.

So like any weapon, I realized that it would work better in some situations than others.

Like lots of people pointed out in the comments, this wouldn’t work on them either because they wouldn’t notice, or think it’s their problem, or at most will find it mildly irritating. I think that’s because they’re just like me and don’t normally do “weaponization of feelings.” It’s just not how some people operate.

But this tactic works amazing in environments where everyone is playing the “feelings game” like it is in anti- and anti-like circles. They operate on disgust, kneejerk reactions, fear, guilt, “moral superiority” etc and so being seen to “inflict” a bad feeling on a “good person” makes YOU the bad guy and so you'd avoid it at all costs. And thus this tactic works in ALL environments where people play that game.

And if you've been in such environments a lot, then, even when the “I'm sad when you__” comes from a close friend or family member, you can still end up taking it as an attempt to play feelings games instead of a genuine sentiment and attempt to have a honest conversation. (Or when said family member or friend has been manipulative or emotionally detached or something in the past.)

So yeah, thinking about this advice I got here really put into perspective for me a lot of behaviors that seemed odd before!

(Also, I think there’s some therapy talk involved in this exact phrasing! The good old advice about making I-statements like “I feel sad when you…” instead of “YOU are being a bitch/abuser/annoyance when you…” so as not to come off as a bad person.)

--

Exactly. Weaponizing feelings is disingenuous and annoying, at least to me, but it's also the language some people understand. My instinct is that the context where you're getting AI art is also going to be one where this is the local lingo. And the I-statement is indeed key. It's claiming the biggest victim seat for yourself, and we all know that the person with the most pain must be listened to absolutely. The bigger the victim, the more sanctified the opinion.

Specifically, some AI-sharers are likely to either pull "I'm sad you didn't thank me for this art" or, when challenged, "I have to use AI because [disability wank]". The latter is absolutely the kind of thing you can head off with "Wah, my feelings!" as long as you get there first.

In person or on my tumblr, I'm more likely to point out when someone's playing the feelings game and tell them they're being. manipulative to try to ignore a boundary (or whatever the situation is), but that requires control of infrastructure (to block them from the space) and a tolerance for them getting angry. If you just want something to go away, this isn't always the best tactic.

You don't owe some annoying rando your honest opinion or an in-depth discussion.

[bitchinbarzal]

3945 Miles | T Meier

summary: when the space between you is 3945 miles misunderstandings are a given.

-

This thing between you was going on two years now.

You’d spend the entire summer together; vacations in ibiza, sleeping in his bed, fancy dinners in town. Then when he had to leave for New Jersey you’d both have emotional goodbyes at the airport.

He never made you his girlfriend. You were just a person in his life who he adored but would never confirm it with something.

You were exactly 3945 miles apart and it killed you.

You’d call every other day to talk about his games you’d stayed up late to watch, your job and what was going on back home.

After receiving really exciting news at work the first person you thought to call was Timo. You called him and before he could say anything you exclaimed

“I have amazing news! I got a promotion!”

Timo stutters “I-Oh that’s amazing schatz”

You frown “What’s wrong?” You can hear it in his voice he’s distracted.

“Nothing, nothing just a long day” he sighs

“Oh I’m sorry I shouldn’t have called”

“No, no don’t apologize! I’m glad you called tell me about-“

Then you heard it in the background, a woman’s voice

“Timo, are you coming? I’m waiting”

On the other end Timo freezes, realizing you’d heard her voice “Y/N….”

You shook your head “No, I’m- you shouldn’t have answered Timo”

He sighs “Please just listen-“

“Have a nice night T” and hung up.

Timo sat in the corridor of the healthcare facility with his head in his hands “Timo?” Lucy, the trainer called again “I haven’t got all night buddy, Luke is coming in for his ankle”

The news you hadn’t managed to tell Timo was that by next month you’d be working in your new office in New York. How you’d be closer now but it appeared he didn’t need you near.

You moved, never calling him to let him know. You assumed his mom would pass on the information considering you’d dropped by to hand her your key to Timo’s house.

“Sweetheart just keep it! I’m sure you’ll need it in the summer” she exclaimed to which you smiled softly

“No Mama Meier I don’t think I will”

You made it to New York without a hitch, settling into your apartment nicely and finding friends in the city.

You’d been in the city for a month when one of your new friends had invited you out for a night. The invite was broad and consisted of “sports”

The particular sport in question you hadn’t even thought it would be hockey. Your friends hadn’t mentioned they even liked hockey.

You’d driven to Jersey and were sat in the prudential center, right on the glass.

Your friends were decked out in rangers jerseys and hats for their team while you were dressed in nothing to do with hockey.

You watched the intro on the jumbotron, watching Timo’s face appear on the screen. That smile you missed oh so much.

You watched the team warm up, every so often he would skate past you. He never noticed you but he felt eyes on him somewhere.

Throughout the game your eyes were glued on him, from the bench to the ice.

Your friends had noticed your attention had been divided throughout the evening.

“Hey Y/N you like what you see?” One of the boys, Ross jokes with you.

You smile softly “Um, no I actually know him”

They all gasp lowly “You bitch! I paid like $500 for all these tickets and you had an in the whole time?!”

“No, no we aren’t friends. Not anymore anyway” you explain. They don’t push, sensing your overall sadness in your words.

“Hey, look!” You were snapped out of your thoughts when Ross poked you and pointed to the jumbotron where you and him were on the kiss cam.

You shook your head mouthing ‘we aren’t together’ while Ross instead grabbed your face and kissed your dramatically, pulling away with a laugh “Gotta give the people what they want!”

You smiled and laughed along, completely unaware that Timo sat on the bench with his mouth dropped open and his heart broken.

After the game you’d hung around for the crowds to disappear, knowing how hectic it would be. As you and your friends began walking out your phone rang.

It was Jonas.

“Hallo?”

“You’re here…”

Butterflies filled your chest when you heard Timo on the other end of the phone. You instinctively turned to the ice, as if he was behind you and there you saw him standing by the benches holding the phone to his ear.

“What do want?”

“Come down here, please, I need to speak with you”

You grumble “Will your little girlfriend be there?”

He suppresses the smile that wants to erupt at your sheer and outright jealousy “Just come here? Bitte?”

It felt welcoming and warm to hear your home language, nobody in the city speaking it.

“Hey guys just drive back without me, I’ll catch a ride” you explain, making your way down the stairs to where you used to meet him in your past visits.

He was there waiting for you, anxiously tapping his foot until you appeared and he let the security guard know you were with him.

When you got past the groups of arena workers wrapping up and into a more secluded spot Timo took his opportunity to hug you, no words needed exchanged.

He held you, swaying from leg to leg “I missed you”

“T, you can’t do this anymore-“

“Can you listen? Please?” He pleads, pulling back to look at you “Whatever happened on the phone that was a misunderstanding!”

“Timo…” You mumbled, giving him the ‘I’m not stupid’ look.

“No, no Schatzi listen! I’m tired of this game we play! I can’t be 3945 miles away from you any longer, it is bad for my health to not have you by my side all the time- why are you smiling?”

Your smile grows as you say “You counted exactly how many miles is between your house in Jersey and my house in Herisau”

He looks at you as if what you said was ridiculous “of course I did, for the last two years I’ve wanted to close every single mile”

“What about the girl on the phone?”

“Our trainer, Lucy” he gestures towards the medical hallway before his hands land on your face, making you look at him

“You are my only girl”

You take a moment to drink those words in, words you’d waiting forever to hear. In those words all of the fights, the breakfasts in bed, the fancy dinners and the lazy nights in.

You were his girl.

“11 miles” You mumble and Timo frowns

“Huh?”

“It’s 11 miles from your house in jersey to my apartment in Manhattan”

A smile spreads onto his face and he dips down to kiss you, kissing you like he’d never done it before.

“I’m going to work on making that 11 miles 0” he mumbles once he pulls away.

“Oh yeah? How so” you smirk

“Me, You… my bed”

“I like the sound of that”

[thezombieprostitute]

Dream Come True - Part 7

Summary: The “Garbage Men” are the guys in the mob who get the dirt on others and clean up after the higher ups. They have many different ways of gathering intel by running legitimate businesses. One such business is Jefferson/Jensen’s cyber cafe where you regularly go to work. You’ve actually become good friends with Jefferson’s daughter and Jensen’s niece. You even volunteered as their after-school tutor. One day, there’s a robbery attempt where you get hurt protecting the girls. This is how you are introduced to Curtis Everett, the guy in charge of the “Garbage Men”.

A/N: Reader is plus sized, femme. No other descriptors used.

Warnings: Bullying, Fat shaming, Insecure reader, Kidnapping, Mild violence, Sexual harassment. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 6 -- Part 8

Series Masterlist

Everyone was making sure to give Curtis some space. Jake had read aloud the contents of the note you’d sent, “Lloyd is back. Has solid plans to take over everything.” This was the excuse they needed to slowly back away from Curtis who was frozen in rage. They immediately got to work notifying everyone in the family. Levinson began coordinating an evacuation of those family members who were most vulnerable, making sure to keep it quick and quiet. Steve and Bucky started moving people around, making sure everyone was armed and on alert. Mace was reaching out to all contacts looking for information.

But all Curtis could do was glare at the phone. The number you were supposed to call when you were safe. The others may have been okay with the note being your signal but not him. He needed to hear you say you were okay. After the way Ransom talked to you he wouldn’t accept anything less than you telling him. No codes, no proxy, just you. 

The phone gave a short tone, indicating a text had been received. He grabbed it and stared at the message from you. As the reality of your words hit him he had to swallow down his panic. 

“JENSEN,” Curtis bellowed. “Tell me you’re tracking Y/N’s phone!”

“Yeah, what…what happened,” Jake asked.

“She’s in trouble,” Curtis barked, loud enough for everyone to hear. He handed Jake the phone, displaying the message. “Find her ASAP! And message me the second you find her.” 

“Curtis,” Mace called after him, “we’ve got higher priorities.”

Curtis glared at his second-in-command, “I said she shouldn’t do this. Everyone else said she should. Now she’s in trouble. We got her into this, we have to rescue her.”

“Be that as it may,” Mace countered, tone calm, “we’re talking about Lloyd and an all out war against the entire family. That’s a lot of people at risk, not just Teach. We have to prioritize appropriately.” The two tried to stare each other down but Mace added, “you know I’m right.” Curtis growled, but Mace didn’t budge. It was one of the main reasons Curtis made him his second: not easily intimidated and always able to keep his eyes on the main prize. It’s what Curtis usually needed to keep himself in line. 

Usually. “You’re in charge of the Garbage,” Curtis snarled. “As soon as Jake gives me an address, I’m grabbing an axe and going after her.” 

Mace’s eyes widen slightly at the mention of an axe, understanding the implications. All he can do is nod his assent and get back to work. No one had seen The Berserker since Curtis left Wilford & Gilliam’s service and swore fealty to the family. Curtis professed, several times, to never wanting to bring him back. But with you in danger, it appears Curtis would use any means to keep you safe. 

Lloyd’s car was probably the nicest you’d ever been in. It seemed to have all of the accouterments a person could ever want. Certainly more than they could ever need. If you weren’t here against your will you’d ask about them or absentmindedly press buttons. Instead, you kept your purse clutched tightly in your arms and kept your face passive. You decided to keep quiet until Lloyd said something, trying to “behave” as he put it. The way he occasionally looked over your body, openly ogling you, had you very uncomfortable. 

He pulls up to an impossibly ritzy hotel and turns off the car. He immediately jumps out and opens your door for you before tossing the keys to the valet. 

“Come along, Pumpkin,” Lloyd snaps his fingers. You step out of the car and he puts his arm around you before walking you into the hotel. You try not to wince at the touch. 

 He walks you to the elevator and, when it’s just the two of you, his hand starts wandering down towards your ass. When it gets too low for your liking you grunted, “don’t. Just don’t.” 

His hand stops but his annoying grin grows into a full smile, “oooh, there it is,” he whispers into your ear. “That tone just does something for me. I’m sure you can figure out what that something is.” You can’t stop your eyes from glancing down and, in truth, he does appear to be hard. You don’t hold back your scoff and eye roll but it only seems to excite him more. 

The elevator doors open to reveal the largest hotel suite you’ve ever seen. The opulence was almost overwhelming. If it weren’t for Lloyd’s very strong arm pushing you forward you would’ve been too scared of breaking something expensive to move. 

He gestures you towards a couch, “have a seat and relax, Pumpkin. Take off that cardigan and let me get a better look at the ladies.”

“No,” you snap. “I’m not that kind of girl. I want to just go home.”

“Oh, Sunshine,” he purrs as he walks over to a drink cart. “You lost the right to go home the second I heard you at Ran’s.”

“What do you mean,” you inquire. “We were the only people there.” You have to be careful to not reveal you knew someone was listening.

“Yes, you were, but I’ve had Ran’s place bugged for a couple weeks now,” he cheerfully starts making himself a drink. “My comms guy told me someone was giving Ran a visit so I asked him to patch me through and let me listen. You only argued for about thirty seconds but it was enough for me to know I had to have a few rounds with you.”

“If thirty seconds is your definition of “enough” I’m definitely not interested.”

He laughs at your response and moves to sit next to you, bringing his drink with him, “fuck I love that sass. And that smack you gave him? I was so hard after I had to jerk myself off before meeting you.” You don’t hold back your grimace at the image. He scoots closer to you and you try to scoot away but he grabs your arm, gripping hard enough you’re sure there’ll be bruises. “Be a good girl,” he whispers. “You got Ransom, the most picky, skinny-bitch loving person I’d ever known, to beg after you. I gotta know how good of a fuck you are.”

“I didn’t chase him, he chased me,” you tell him through gritted teeth. “He’s just another asshole who wants what he can’t have. Who can’t have anyone in his life who doesn’t want him. That’s all. It’s got nothing to do with my nonexistent skills in bed.”

“Hmm…” he looks you over. “He seemed to enjoy how you worshiped his cock. And really, what more could a guy want? You worship mine half as good as you did his and I’ll make sure to reward you.”

“Bullshit,” you give him more of that attitude he seems to enjoy. Maybe you can distract him long enough to figure out a way out of this. “You’ll probably just fuck my mouth, last thirty seconds and send me home without even the courtesy of a breath mint. You’re just like all the other assholes I’ve ever had to deal with.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong, Pumpkin. I’m much more dangerous and wealthy than any other asshole you’ve met. Behave, you’ll only have to know about the wealth. Keep fighting me and you’ll learn why I’m so feared.” The pain from him squeezing your arm is growing. You have to switch tactics.

“Wait,” you give Lloyd your best “I’m confused” look. “I thought you said you were into the sass. I’m getting some mixed signals here.” Lloyd pauses at the abrupt change in your demeanor and the grip on your arm relaxes a little. “I mean, if you want the doe-eyed, obedient fucktoy you should’ve said so from the beginning. But you kept talking about enjoying my sharper tones and retorts. Do you even know what you want?”

“I…uh..” Lloyd stutters. 

Not wanting him to get his bearings you continue, “I mean, Hugh wanted the whole female dominant experience. He wanted the degradation and spankings. Is that not what you wanted as well? Or…wait, wait, were you after the whole “dominating the dom” thing? You need to tell me this shit upfront! Also I need your safeword. Mine is “Asimov,” don’t ask why, it’s way too long a story and Hugh didn’t pay enough for a long session.”

“He said you were his assistant.”

“That’s the cover story, yes,” as careful as you need to be, you need everything to sound natural. Plausible, even. “Word gets out that someone with his reputation buys his ladies? He’ll plummet in the social circles. Especially with some of the older ladies he schmoozes, you know? So he tells people we’re his assistants, emphasis on the “ass” of course.” You wink and give your most sensual smile to Lloyd. You’re not sure if you’re passing but he’s stopped crushing your arm and has backed off a little. “Hugh said you liked the bigger girls, like myself, so we set up a kind of introduction for you. Let you decide if you actually wanted me. Considering the things you’ve said, I’d say you’re into me.” 

With a confidence you don’t actually have you grab Lloyd’s drink out of his hand and take a swig. It burns a lot, but you fight the urge to wince and instead give him a smile. 

Lloyd throws his head back and laughs, “oh, Pumpkin. I’m gonna make you my fucking queen.”

You raise an eyebrow, “what do you mean?”

“Not going to get into the details, but if you suck my dick as good as you act, I’m gonna keep you. You really had me believing you were a sassy secretary. Fuck, you really got me good. Not many people can claim that.” You bat your eyes and he continues, “let me give all your holes a test run and, if you do well, I’m gonna keep you. Let you live a life of luxury. No work, no other men, just my queen in my castle.”

“You may be overselling yourself, Lloyd.”

“You would know a bit about that, wouldn’t you,” he winks back at you and you fight the urge to vomit.

A ding from the elevator thankfully takes Lloyd’s attention. A tall, lean man with blond hair steps out, “Mr. Hansen, I do apologize for the intrusion. You weren’t answering your phone.” You’re surprised at the British accent.

“This better be good, Pine,” Lloyd barks.

“You asked to be reminded of your 2:30 meeting with Mr. Rumlow.”

Lloyd checks his watch and curses under his breath. “Alright, alright. I’ve been reminded, you can go now.” 

Pine slightly bows and heads back to the elevator while Lloyd moves closer to you than he’s been this entire time. He grabs the back of your neck and threatens, “if you leave, I will hunt you down and you will not enjoy what happens when I find you.”

“I understand, Lloyd.”

“Good girl,” he whispers before standing up and heading to the elevator. You stay seated, face down, waiting for the telltale sounds of the elevator leaving before you let yourself fully succumb to the stress of the day and pass out, exhausted in so many ways.

Part 6 -- Part 8

Tagging @alicedopey because I promised I would. 

@alexakeyloveloki

@bigtreefest

@dontbescaredtosingalong

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@lokislady82

@texmexdarling 

@veltana

@winter-soldier-101

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

[boymanmaletheshequel]

A bit about me!

🍄🏛️🌲🏛️🏔️🏛️🌲🔮🌲🏛️🏔️🏛️🌲🏛️🍄

I’m Isaac, I’m a baby polytheist born and raised Christian in the PNW! I’m pretty scarred from Christianity and the ablism I suffered in my upbringing as a result of autism and ADD, and the “special” schooling I received as a “treatment” for it. I am cautiously re-exploring spirituality, inspired by my 75 year old neighbor who is a witch! I’m starting my journey with Hellenism, Celtic Paganism, and Norse paganism and they have always been a fascination to me. I’m deeply connected to the earth and nature and always have been, and would love to become more spiritually in twinned with it.

🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲

A GUIDE TO MY POST COLLECTIONS: (find tag in bottom of such posts to find collection)

#agodtoconsider = secondary deities and a basic breakdown of their known lore, and family trees, as well as relevant stories to them and their role in the epics, and other general information to familiarize yourself with them, and maybe even consider worshiping them!

#Isee = 5 ways I may interact with or notice the presence and influence of a specific deity in my day to day life as a hellenist.

#Symbolismof = a comprehensive guide of the mythological and historical symbology associated with a specific god. This includes things such as sacred animals and food, commonly associated herbs, crystals, and flowers, as well as the explanations for why they fit this gods symbology.

#subtlewaystohonor = a collective list or guide on various ways in which you can worship or honor a given deity in subtle or non complicated ways on a day to day basis, without necessarily having to devote too much to it, whilst also effectively honoring them.

#Analtarto = a comprehensive guide on how to set up and decorate an altar or shrine space dedicated to a given deity. This includes going into the symbolism and attributes associated with that god and how it can manifest in an altar, as well on tips for how to use said altar when you have completed it!

#Aprayerto = an idea for a prayer or hymn to any given god.

#Eoffering = an aesthetic board E-offering collage I made that I’ve dedicated to a specific god.

#Shitpostofthesus = a shitpost or shower thought style text post poking fun at certain aspects of Hellenism or Greek mythology.

Non-spiritual posts:

#antiqueoftheday = a piece of antique jewelry, an antique item, or any other of the many antiques from my personal collection displayed once a day for my Victorian and old soul witches 💙

#Marine biology = informative posts from my encounters with sea life as a marine biologist!

#Serioustalk = serious posts about world events, politics, or humanitarian activism I sometimes involve myself in.

#Other = posts about my other interests and hobbies

🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲

I am white, and part ethnic Jew, with most of my ancestry based in Norway, Germany, England, Ireland, and Some in Semitic basis. I am strictly anti fascist and anarcho leftist. Nazis, terfs, transphobes, Homophobes, racists, antisemites, Zionists, islamaphobes, ect. fuck off 3>

🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲

The gods I worship right now are:

Artemis 🏹

Antheia 🌸

Ares 🗡️

Demeter 🌾

Pan 🏔️

Poseidon 🔱

Freya ❤️

The gods i wish to learn more about rn are:

Apollo, Brighid, Cernunnos, Freyr, Ares, and Hephaestus.

🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲

I am very much still a baby witch and currently still getting a hang of things, so be nice, and know I’m always open to tips or corrections in how I practice or can practice my spiritually! Thank you for checking out my blog and gods bless 💚🌲🧙‍♀️

🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲🏛️🌲

Oh yeah, and FREE PALESTINE, DEFEND UKRAINE, AND LIBERATE THE CONGO MOTHERFUCKERS 🇵🇸🇺🇦🇨🇬

[monsterfloofs]

Drone (Name Unknown) x Anonymous Reader (Sfw)

(New silly robot??? New silly robot!!!)

“Hey buddy. . . you doing okay?”

Diagrams and maps start flicking around the inside of a mechanized mind. Camera’s lock onto the face of the person bending down and staring at them. Recognition dawning, and information beginning to populate into text that floated around the hazy visage.

“Prisoner 368a. . .” The voice droned before the cameras shifted to examine their surroundings. “Input systems must be damaged, I am not receiving schematics of your sector.”

The human prisoner winces, “Well. . . that’s because we aren’t. . . uh, we’re not there anymore.”

“I told you not to take that hunk of junk with you!” A voice on the other side of the room snapped, causing the drones cameras to swivel and look for the source of the voice.

“What could I do?” The person looming over them replied, a tremor of nervousness in their voice, “I wasn’t even sure if they would be operational, we must be at least a solar system away from their main control system.”

“Sh! And we want to keep it that way!”

Unable to find this new voice, camera’s swivel back to the known human. Tracking the person's eyes rolling in obvious annoyance, “I didn’t give away our location, cheebus, you are so. . .” Then their shoulders sag before their face turns back, almond eyes staring down.

“Are you. . . alright?”

”I am operational.” The drone replies smoothly, “You promised you wouldn’t do anything that would make our elite upset. I see you didn’t keep your promise.”

“Oh my god,” The other voice pipes up again, “ I didn’t even know a drone could be passive aggressive. This is the last time I let you take in any stray weirdos you find. If they make any more snippy comments I am coming down there and throwing them into space myself.”

“They were kind to me!” Prisoner 368a snaps back, “And it’s my fault they got hurt.”

”Honey, they were keeping you prisoner.” The other voice sounded shocked.

Sensor’s indicate Prisoner 368a temperature rise in their face, a subtle and slight shift of mood.

“Today just couldn’t get any worse.” The human mutters. The drone tried to move, one arm twitching and whirring as the other scraped against the floor.

“I am. . . damaged.” The bot reported new schematics populating into the green striped vision. Their movements were sluggish, even their own operating system seemed to take a hit. Yet there was a strange feeling of clarity. “Prisoner 368a. . . what has happened?” There was that strange cringing expression again, eyes crinkling, eyebrows pulling down, lips pulling back in a grimace to show little white rectangles of teeth.

”You’re. . . offline. I mean, yes you’re damaged, that too. Ah.” They rub the back of their neck with a five fingered appendage. “I’m. . . kind of surprised you’re functional right now. Your systems must have some kind of backup computer that lets you go solo. We. . . we aren’t within your fleet's parameters anymore.” The drone whirs and clicks, staring back at the human.

“We. . . are not.”

“No.” The five fingered hands steeple together, fingertips pressing against lips. “So. . . long story, Oh man how do I put this. I. . .”

“We have been botnapped. I see.”

The human makes a strange huffing sound.

”Ahem. Not. . . exactly. I’ve been rescued. . . you’ve been botnapped. I guess. Though, I didn’t mean for it to be like that? You. . . stood in front of someone trying to hurt me, and while I was stuck in that cell you tried to help me, so I thought that I would return the favor. You know? See if I can fix you.”

“Ah. I now see, you have botnapped me.”

Another strange noise between a squeak and a gasp.

“Ah, n-no? I tried to save you! You know where you guys end up when your ranks think one of you is defective? Right into the incinerator! I didn’t want that to happen to you!” The prisoner looked fretful, new schematics mapping the nuances of their face.

”I. . . see.” Though truly, the drone didn’t understand it at all. “And you believe that I am still worthy of being fixed even though I am defective?”

“Yes— No! You’re not defective!” The ex-prisoner pleaded.

A confusing answer.

“Yes no? What is the prerogative of a yes no?”

The human sat in a stunned silence, taking in a deep breath. “No, you are not defective. Thinking for yourself and wanting things is not being defective. I know your elite love to chant ‘One mind, one soul,’ but that’s not really. . . uh. . . I just think you should be able to have the right to think for yourself. You chose to go that path. When I was escaping the cells, even when I was there, you chose to be kind and go out of your way to look after me. It wasn’t in your programming but you wanted to anyway. I think you should have the right to be able to continue to choose that path. If. . . you want to.”

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (2)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Part 2 focuses on a bit of context. I’m sorry that not much romance is happening, it’ll exist later I promise. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Eventually, you grow bored of watching the three of them interact. It all goes exactly as the story says, anyway, down to the dialogue. Instead, you step soundlessly into the hallway and up the stairs to the attic.

You like the attic of this house. Warm sunlight spills in during the afternoons, and when it gets too hot in the summer, opening the window lets in the sea breeze. Not claustrophobic, but cozy. Your feet bring you to your usual spot, the narrow window seat. You have always preferred small spaces. Floyd once laughed and compared you to fish that hide in coral reefs.

Your fingers dig under the cushioned seat and lift it to find a compartment. Nestled inside is what seems to be a regular notebook. You place your hand on the cover and let your magic roll over it like heavy fog. Its plain, blank pages fade into the appearance of a manuscript—no, a stack of printer paper stapled together that contains the information that completely changed your understanding of this world. This humble manuscript tells the “original story.”

You found it while cleaning the attic. Neither Jade or Floyd could confirm its origins or its author. The cover page is blank, save for the title: (Y/N)’s Story. At first, you thought it was a prank that the two were playing on you, so you read through the entire thing. The writing is immature, rampant with purple prose, and the grammar has more than room for improvement. Neither twin writes this way. Floyd lacks the patience to write past a page and Jade is too much of a perfectionist. They could have hired someone, but there are too many personal details in there for your comfort. You decided to put it down and mull it over.

The very next day, Jade ate an unknown mushroom and proceeded to find out that his body strongly disagreed with it. For three nights, he laid in bed with a fever. At first, you thought nothing of it, but the description of the mushroom he ate was uncomfortably familiar. The manuscript mentions this event as a quirky flashback meant to create insight to Jade’s character. Of course, it brushes off the absolutely miserable state he was in for the comedic factor. This alone was not enough. You needed more proof.

The next one was Floyd. He took a broom twenty meters off the ground before his mood suddenly flipped and he could no longer come back down. The story mentions this in another flashback, but does not mention your involvement in flying up there and helping him down. Only the information relevant to the main characters is important enough to mention. Again, it could easily be brushed off as a normal Floyd antic if it weren’t for the detail that he rode and nearly broke his mother’s broom. It was the first and only time any of you had seen it. Their mother, like most merfolk, is not fond of flying.

Once is a coincidence. Twice is suspicious. You confided in the twins. They, understandably, said you were being paranoid. Weeks passed until the next major event, and this time, you could no longer ignore it. This time, the event nearly uprooted the entire Leech Mafia.

You did not watch it happen. You received a text from Jade that asked you to come to a private hospital with an uncharacteristic urgency, so you tipped the taxi driver handsomely to push the speed limit and skirt around traffic laws. When you arrived, you found Mr. and Mrs. Leech lying in pristine white hospital beds with ashy faces. Someone cursed their dinner. You had to physically grab on to both twins—Floyd so that he wouldn’t start breaking things, and Jade so that he wouldn’t immediately leave and track down the assassin himself. You understood those sentiments, but at the moment, both of them needed to be there.

No matter how many specialists they hired and bribed, nobody could figure out how to undo the curse. Luckily, or perhaps not, their parents fell into comas. Their life was still intact, but to what extent? For how long? And most importantly in a logistical sense, who would run the Leech Mafia?

Jade was the one who decided he would take up the mantle while pretending to be his parents. Too many beings, human and merfolk alike, would eagerly sink their teeth into their organization if word got out that the bosses of the largest syndicate of the Coral Sea were comatose. The idea was to stop all in person events and have him run the operations behind the scenes. Floyd would help, of course, but his fickle personality made him unsuitable to run such a large and complex network. Not that he wanted to. He hated all that responsibility.

When things settled down, you brought their attention back to the book. Rereading it with the recent developments regarding the twins’ parents made the cheesy, ridiculously over-exaggerated story seem like a threat. Did someone write it with clairvoyance? Did the assassin write it before committing the crime? Or, in the most unlikely scenario, is the story written by someone from the future? Regardless, after much discussion, one thing was clear: if real life progresses the way the story is written, then not only will the Leech Mafia prosper, the most important people to the twins will be cured with relative ease.

The solution is simple, given the rules which the story operates under. (Y/N) attracts the love and attention of anyone rich, famous, beautiful, talented, or otherwise an eligible bachelor. Thus, through heavy-handed author intervention, she becomes friends with a certain Vil Schoenheit. It so happens that he can brew potions and cast curses with his eyes closed, and anyone who can make such things is always careful to keep in mind how to unmake them as well. Vil, with all his natural talent and hard work, is nothing short of a genius when it comes to such unsavoury usages of magic. Such a complex curse takes him months in the story to dispel, but the most important thing is that he does manage it at the teary request of the story’s favourite protagonist.

The twins and Vil graduated from the same high school. Although acquainted, they are far from on good terms. With his connections in the entertainment industry, it didn’t take long for him to put two and two together and realize the two eel merfolk with the surname Leech are related in some way to the infamous Leech Mafia run by merfolk. Vil, despite his villainous air and name, is at heart a terribly good person. As soon as he realized the twins were involved in organized crime, he cut off contact completely.

But of course, the lovable (Y/N)’s doe eyes and fluttering lashes make him cave in. She can be quite useful in her own right.

You make yourself at home on the window seat, rereading the next chapter of the story. It is a nervous habit rather than out of necessity. By now, you can probably recite the story word for word by heart. The misspellings, the unpolished grammar, every bit of what seems to be a novice writer’s fantasy of an idealized romance. The mystery of the author’s identity constantly nags at you. What are their motives? How did they manage such a thing? The more you think about it, the more questions arise.

Sunlight makes its slow journey across the attic floor. When Floyd’s head pops up through the trapdoor, the patch of light on the wall glows a saturated orange.

“They left,” he announces, boredom seeping into his tone. Never one to be idle. “Whatcha doin’? Reading it again? It’s not gonna change, y’know.”

“I know.” If only it would. You bookmark the manuscript exactly where the story is currently at and slip it back under the window seat. Without your magic to feed the concealment spell, it returns to the appearance of a regular, blank notebook. It’s a precaution you took in case it goes missing. “Do you want to go on a short trip with me?”

His eyes light up and catch the fiery remnants of the setting sun. The yellow one seems to glow, while the olive one displays more gold flecks than green. Sometimes, it can be easy to forget that he isn’t a hyperactive, harmless puppy, that a single swipe of his claws can tear out a windpipe.

Danger presents itself in various ways with him. Everytime you get into his car, you regret it. In fact, you regret the day you didn’t stop him from getting his driver’s license. How he got the license is a mystery in and of itself. The way he drives is most certainly illegal, and the scenery flashing past the windows could very well be your life flashing past your eyes. When the expensive sports car finally screeches to a halt, you slump back in your seat and take several deep, shaky breaths.

“Remind me why we couldn’t get your private chauffeur to bring us here?”

Floyd’s grating laugh scratches its way into your ears. “Because it’s way less fun!”

You would beg to disagree, but a conversation like that goes nowhere with him, so you relent. You get out of the car, Floyd laughing at your unsteady legs, and ring the doorbell of yet another ridiculously large mansion.

Azul personally opens the door. Normally, his housekeeper answers the door and shows you to his office. He must be feeling somewhat worried in his own way. He leads you to the basement, his hands fidgeting with a small device.

“I don’t get it,” Floyd whines, draping an arm around Azul’s shoulder. “Can’t we just use Jade’s Signature Spell?”

Azul brushes him off and adjusts his shirt, the slight tick in his eyebrow giving away his annoyance. “We will have to wait until he gets here. You know Jade is . . . occupied at the moment.”

With bringing the lovely (Y/N) home and fussing over her humble lifestyle, no doubt. Since he must be the perfect love interest, he must cater to her every need even as she refuses his help, so he is likely making her dinner at the moment. He’ll surprise her with his knowledge of recipes to use with foraged mountainous plants and fungi, even though he comes from a family where money is not an issue. Rich, but not a spoiled brat. Mature enough to take care of her. Playful and unconventional to endear him to her.

“Knock knock, Handfish. You there?” Floyd raps his knuckles against your temple. Instinctively, you step away from him. He isn’t known for holding back his strength.

“Yeah.” You collect yourself and focus on the task at hand. No use wondering what Jade is doing right now. You have the story memorized—you know what he’s doing.

You enter a dim room. It is such a cliché. Surely, Azul should be more tasteful, but he’s always had a love for theatrics.

A man sits tied to a chair in the center of the room, his face flushed and angry. A handsaw tattoo stands out on his neck. This is Thug Number One, the extra who pulled you and (Y/N) into the alley earlier today. Recognition flickers on his face when they land on you.

“You’re that bitch who ran away! You—”

“What did you just call her?” Floyd’s teeth flash dangerously as his pupils shrink to pinpoints. One hand comes up to roll a shoulder back, popping his joints like he’s getting ready to throw a punch. Some habits never change. There hasn’t been any reason for him to get physical lately. He must be itching for a fight. “You wanna say that again? Come on. I dare you.”

Thug Number One shuts his mouth and looks to the side. No sane person would respond when the slightest nudge might set him off. Ever the crafty one, Azul orders Floyd to stand down. He’s playing the good cop for now.

“Now, now, Floyd. I understand that you want to protect the honour of our good friend, but let’s calm down and talk this out rationally.” What a load of lies. You know Floyd too well to assume that he’ll get angry on your behalf for something like this. He just wants to expend energy. “Yes, let us have a civil conversation—”

“Like hell! You tied me up and left me in this chair for hours—”

“And it would have been longer if we did not decide to visit you on a whim.” You stand in front of him, scrutinizing his face. No particularly outstanding features. He is, after all, just a nameless extra to the story.

Of course, he does have a name. Barry Moore, male, thirty-four years old. A low-level soldier of the Carpenter Mafia who joined two years ago. No family, no friends except his drinking buddies, no real connections. You texted Azul with a request to dig up this information about him while holed up in the attic. He mentioned that he’d expect payment, but you are not too concerned. You are not stupid enough to hand him a blank cheque.

“Barry Moore. I suggest you cooperate.” You pull a chair over and sit in front of him. “It is not my hobby to get violent.”

“You totally should, though.” The dim lighting casts unsettling shadows over Floyd’s face. “You’ll look just like a red handfish. It’s the look that suits you the best, y’know?”

He would think it’s entertaining. A memory of when you first met flashes through your mind. Silvery puffs of breaths in early spring air. Bright splashes of red on sand. Nails dripping blood. Red Handfish.

“I don’t need to right now.”

He huffs and kicks Barry Moore’s chair, making the poor thug flinch. “Booooring.”

“Cry about it.” You turn your attention away from his pout and study your captive. Information on his background is too limited. There is little you can exploit from his personal connections. Nothing tangible or emotional to threaten him with that you are aware of. So you either bribe him with something he wants, or . . . “Instead of me, maybe you should have some fun, Floyd.”

A sharp leer cuts across his face, his razor-like teeth glinting in the harsh light. Slow, lumbering steps bring him closer until he towers over Barry’s hunched body.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Handfish.” His cackles bounce off the bare walls. Madness shines in his golden eye. “Why didn’t ya say so earlier? I’ll make sure to take reeaaaal good care of him.”

[imogenkol]

— RELAX

pairing: Imogen Kol (oc) x Bix Caleen words: 2.3k rating: Mature warnings: nudity, intimate bathing READ IT ON AO3

summary: When tensions in the Rebellion rise, Imogen is in need of a bath.

notes: wanted to give a HUGE shoutout to my Bix Bestie @e-the-village-cryptid for introducing me to the Hard of Hearing Bix headcanon and talking me through that kind of experience so that I could portray it here. Thank you so much for your insight and reading through this for me 💕

Imogen was not a fan of briefings. The Rebellion very rarely offered information that she didn’t already know or could figure out on her own in far less time. Or they were too restrictive in their instructions, treating her and the others like hounds trained to fetch only to be rewarded with scraps. Really, what these meetings boiled down to was a group of people who each thought they were the smartest person in the room all talking over each other at once. Imogen would rather receive a lecture from her long dead master than listen to this band of fools. 

Instead, her attention drifted towards her mechanic. 

Bix didn’t seem to find much enjoyment in all the chatter either, but Imogen noted the focused tension on her face as she subtly fiddled with the device behind her ear. The hunter clenched her jaw and fought the urge to reach through the Force and silence all of the voices by blocking the airways of every senator and general within range. 

As if sensing her stare, the mechanic locked on to her gaze in the small gathering of bodies and Imogen tilted her head ever so slightly. Bix answered with a short nod in reassurance and lowered her hand, standing up straighter and crossing her arms. 

Ever the one to endure, she thought.

Once the briefing concluded, the crowd dispersed and Imogen saw Bix inhale and exhale slowly as everyone filed out of the rather cramped space. Now it was time to prepare. Imogen would have followed her, but the hangar bay was closer than their quarters, so she made way for The Huntress to ensure she was fit for travel. Besides, she thought Bix might desire a bit of peace and quiet. 

After running diagnostics on her ship and eating a quick meal, Imogen found herself back at their quarters. The mechanic sat at her makeshift workbench and tinkered with the blaster Imogen had given to her. While Imogen normally would have frowned upon any modifications to her weapon, she found herself glad that her beloved found a way to occupy her hands and trusted her judgment enough not to object. Imogen was confident in the superiority of her blaster, but if anyone could think of a way to truly improve it even more, it was Bix. 

As Imogen approached to peek over her shoulder, Bix squeezed the bridge of her nose and massaged up to her brow. 

“Does your head hurt?” Imogen asked. 

“Huh?” The mechanic frowned back at her, then quickly shook her head as her hand dropped. “No. No, I’m fine.” 

The hearing aids were still in her ears, despite being alone in her own space. Imogen decided to lightly prod at the subject. “How are those devices of yours faring?”

“Uh...” Bix muttered distractedly as she reached for various tools and dismantled blaster parts. “It’s an adjustment.”

Imogen could relate to that. Even after all this time, the metallic limb that helped keep her upright for years sometimes felt so foreign to her. She could still feel her own leg, all the way down to her toes. The first few weeks she had her cybernetic made her feel like an infant learning how to walk for the first time. She wobbled and tripped over herself. It had been humiliating, but her balance and strength eventually returned, though her stance would never be the same again. In spite of the pain, the frustration, the initial embarrassment, Imogen could hardly imagine life without her prosthetic now. 

“I know the feeling.” The room fell into silence once Bix went back to work. Imogen saw the tension in her face and body as she hunched over the workbench and set her hands on her beloved’s shoulders. As she gently massaged, Bix started to gradually relax into her touch, but still shook her off after a minute. Imogen retreated and hummed thoughtfully. “I’m in need of a bath,” she said, lingering for a reaction. 

Bix didn’t even look up. “Well, don’t let me stop you.” 

“I would not object if you wished to join me, my love.” 

The mechanic threw an inquisitive look over her shoulder, then shook her head and returned to her project. “Not tonight. I’m busy.”

“Very well, then,” Imogen said with a knowing tone and disappeared into the washroom. 

When she indulged in a bath, she did it right. It was only proper. Imogen needed her body relaxed — her senses clear. She filled the tub with water hot enough to steam and collected the necessities. Oils to soothe the mind. Salts for her muscles and joints. Oats for her skin. Any other little additions she preferred to enhance the experience. The combination turned the bath water into an inviting milky-white color that she could just barely see through. 

Imogen perched on the edge of the tub and reached down to release the hidden latches on her cybernetic leg to detach it from the rest of her body. While the prosthetic could handle a surprising number of conditions to a certain degree — water, heat, cold — Imogen very sparingly removed it, and almost exclusively when she had to. Though, there were nights like these, where she simply wanted to be free of it for a short time. 

She laid the metallic limb down and maneuvered her bare body into the beckoning steam that coiled into the air and filled the washroom with a thick cloud of warm fog. The way the hot water encompassed her entire form made her release a pleased hum. She felt the coldness in her blood melt away to welcome the heat that pooled all the way into her bones. It had been too long since she indulged in a bath. Imogen shut her eyes and let all of her weight suspend in the warm water as she rested her head back on the lip of the tub. Her muscles praised her for the rare moment of pure relaxation. 

It did not take long for her to hear the door hiss open. Imogen kept her eyes closed, but she heard the gentle footfalls of a gait she knew by heart. With a quieted mind, she could feel the vibrancy of life grow brighter the closer her lover drew near — like flames in a soft wind. 

“You have decided to join me after all,” Imogen calmly noted. 

“Maybe I liked the idea,” Bix replied. 

The mechanic sat on the edge of the tub, not yet prepared to enter for whatever reason. Long moments of silence lingered in the washroom. Not uncomfortable, but anticipation still hung in the air as heavily as the steam. Imogen felt Bix’s gaze shift up and down her exposed body in the cloudy water, studying her in such a moment of vulnerability. 

“It hurts you sometimes, doesn’t it?” Bix stated gently. It took a moment for Imogen to sense her attention lingered on her partial leg. The mechanic had never seen the prosthetic detached before.  

“Sometimes,” Imogen confirmed. “Typically after I have exerted myself.” 

“Like after Ferrix?” she asked and then mirrored the nod she received in answer. “I could tell.” 

It bothered Imogen to admit it. She supposed if anyone were to take notice, it may as well be Bix, but she still scraped her teeth together briefly before she forced her jaw to slacken. “You have always been able to tell.” 

“Because you shift your weight onto your other leg. That’s not good for posture, you know.” 

Imogen opened her eyes to shoot a glare up at the other woman. “There is nothing wrong with my posture.” 

Bix smirked and playfully traced the shallow ripples on the surface of the water with the tips of her fingers. “Just making an observation.” 

“I endure when I must.” 

The mood shifted in the mechanic. Imogen saw the way her smile dropped and her brows creased with the smallest amount of tension. Bix glanced down and her jaw twitched. “Yeah.” 

“But here and now, I have no need to endure,” Imogen continued, softening her voice. The soothing sound of water droplets echoed in the washroom and she reached out of the bath to caress up Bix’s arm. She felt as warm as the water and Imogen watched drops race down her smooth skin. “Neither do you.” 

Another beat of hesitation passed before Bix finally nodded in acceptance of the earlier invitation. She rose to remove her clothing. “You never told me how you lost it.”

“I have not,” Imogen agreed, not taking her eyes off of the mechanic as more and more of her skin became bare. 

“So?” Bix urged, tossing her discarded clothing aside. “What Jedi got lucky?” 

An offended scoff bounced off of the washroom walls. “No Jedi has ever gotten the better of me. At least not enough to claim a limb.” 

“Are you gonna make me guess?”

Imogen pursed her lips and answered curtly, but truthfully. “My last Master. He wanted to make a point to me and my peers, I suppose.”

Bix stepped into the tub and made a sour face. “You don’t seem to have a lot of luck with masters.”

“More like they do not have much luck with me,” she corrected with a soft chuckle. 

“I can see why,” Bix remarked. 

Imogen tapped her ear as Bix lowered herself into the other side of the tub so that the two of them faced each other. With a flash of recognition in her eyes, the mechanic removed her hearing aids and set them on the counter within reach to not damage them in the water. She finally settled into the heat of the bath and released a heavy, content sigh. 

Imogen smiled and nudged her with her good leg. Once their eyes met, she signed “Have you been keeping up with the lessons?” 

Bix nodded. “Yes.” 

The bounty hunter raised a brow and continued in sign. “Could you repeat that?”

The next sigh out of the mechanic’s mouth was a little exasperated as she clearly wanted to simply relax, but she sat up and summoned encouragement to sign back. “I’m not deaf, you know.” 

“No. But it will benefit you to learn, darling. It will benefit us both.” 

One thing Imogen could freely admit to finding enjoyment in was language. As a padawan, she would most look forward to her language lessons at the Temple. It fascinated her to learn the various tongues that spanned the known galaxy and how they have evolved over thousands of years, though she was only fluent in a handful of them. Even now, Imogen committed herself to being as well versed in speech as she could for a variety of practical reasons. Learning how to communicate with her hands offered a unique perspective that she found as engaging to familiarize herself with as any other complex dialect. 

Bix frowned in thought for a moment, then blinked back up at Imogen. “Benefit?” She signed the word methodically with a question in her gaze. 

“Benefit,” Imogen answered verbally as she signed the word to confirm its meaning. Once Bix nodded, Imogen leaned forward and flashed a flirtatious grin. “Darling,” she signed. 

“I understood that part just fine,” Bix responded with a playful roll of her eyes and signed back with emphasis “Sweetheart.” 

“Just making sure.”

“Uh-huh,” Bix hummed with a scoff. 

“You like this, don’t you? Talking this way.”

“It’s… different. But good, yeah.” She nodded, her smile becoming soft. “I’m getting used to it.” 

“You’ve picked it up quickly,” Imogen said out loud and pulled Bix in closer by the back of her knee. 

“I’m kinda surprised you like it. I didn't think you’d have so much… fun?” Bix chuckled through the last word as if she never expected to associate it with Imogen. 

The bounty hunter felt heat rush up her neck and to her cheeks. “Do what you wish, but yes… I enjoy it.” 

“I didn’t say it wasn’t fun to learn,” Bix signed and then switched back to verbal speech. “It’s just funny to see you excited.” 

“You make me sound like a child.” 

“Oh, get over yourself.” Bix splashed water at her pout, which Imogen failed to dodge. 

Despite her annoyance, Imogen smiled — one of those rare genuine smiles that only her beloved mechanic had the pleasure of witnessing. 

Bix leaned against Imogen’s intact leg, wrapping an arm around her thigh and caressing at the sensitive skin absentmindedly. Imogen did not mind such candid intimate touches. In fact, they made comfortable warmth spread into her chest in much the same way as the bath water. “Cass is trying to learn, but I think he just wants to know what you and I are gossiping about.” 

“He is a fool,” Imogen signed.

Bix laughed softly. “Sometimes.” Before Imogen could repeat her statement with more emphasis, she quickly added “Okay, a lot of the time.” 

A comfortable bit of silence gently rolled over them and they enjoyed the solace of each other’s company in the pleasantly scented steam of a hot bath. 

“How is the engine running?” Imogen eventually signed. 

Their own little code. The phrase meant a few things all at once without having to say them explicitly: How are you doing? Have you recovered well? Do you need anything? Are your demons tormenting you more than usual or have they granted you reprieve? 

Bix smiled beautifully. “Right now? Like a dream.”

An improvement from the usual, Could use more work, that was for certain.

“Then let us stay in the now for a little while, shall we?” Imogen leaned forward and placed a tender kiss to her lover’s temple.

Bix did not allow her to retreat. A light shower of water droplets echoed in Imogen’s ears like rain as the mechanic cupped the back of her neck and pulled her in for something deeper. Imogen surrendered to the other woman’s desire and felt her heart flutter when Bix parted her lips, lifting her up to dizzying heights. 

“I thought you’d never stop talking,” Bix murmured into her mouth. 

Like a dream, indeed, Imogen thought.

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[slenbee]

Hi, I see you've found my personal blog. Welcome! (updated 12/22/24)

Warning: This blog is run by an adult and the content found here may contain subject matter that some may find: questionable, upsetting, creepy, freaky, or straight up weird. This is a safe space for me where I openly discuss and share my interests with others who share the same ideals.

If you are a minor I kindly ask that you do not follow me for your safety and mine.

You may view and reblog the content on this pinned post pertaining to: scams, and the posts linked in my in character and out of character sections of this post.

:) Thank you for understanding.

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Emoji anon's:

🧸 anon --

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👇👇 Information on scams 👇 👇

BEFORE SENDING AN ASK/DM: Do not ask me about blogs that have gofundmes. Even if these blogs have gofundme's and a PayPal, please do not ask me if they are 'a scam account' or say 'I think I found a scam account' unless you can give me 100% proof that it is in fact, a scam. I am not someone who can verify their legitimacy regardless of if they say they are 'vetted and/or verified'. If you send me an ask without reading this I WILL delete it.

Click here for all of the posts I've made about scammers.

✨New!✨Check out my side blog @scam-alerts for more in depth explanations and documentations of scams such as: the art commission scam, the (read more...) scam, sugar daddy scam, and more!

(Also, check out @kyra45's blog where you can find a lot of resources on scams.)

Current list of documented scammers: Part 3

Archived for reference: Part 1 and Part 2

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--In character/blog-sona

I’m Slendy. Your local slender-woman! (she/they)

I am/was a twitch streamer on hiatus until I get better internet. :') (I'm stuck with 5mb down 0.46mb up atm💀)

Want to see Fanart of Slendy? Click here!

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--Out of Character/Personal

Friends call me Bee :) 30+ - she/they - ADHD/Social Anxiety/Depression

Want to see my dog, Tony? Click here! (He's 10 as of July 2024)

Want to see stuff I found that I like? Click here!

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This blog follows a no tolerance policy.

If you message me, reblog, or tag one of my posts with some sort of turf/anti-vax/anti-lgbt+/anti-autisum etc... rhetoric you will be blocked.

NO SOLICITING - Whatever you're selling/advertising/looking for? I'm not buying or giving. Any asks I receive asking for help/money will be searched into and if I find out you're a scammer? I will not hesitate to call you out. So think twice. :)

If you advertise on any of my personal posts your comments will be deleted and you will be blocked.

No exceptions.

I know life is hard right now for some people but spamming comments on peoples posts or sending a dozen asks/DM's to people and demanding they help you? That just isn't the way to do it.

And that type of behavior will not be tolerated here.

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Here's a glimpse of what goes on on my blog that you might wind up seeing if you follow:

SFW content you will find me posting about: -- Animals! Memes! Shitposts! Art! Music! MARVEL content! Polls! Analog-Horror content! Video game content!

Questionable content you might see: -- USA Politics. Smash or Pass. Ship content. Minimal posts about Slashers/Killers from movies.

Minimal NSFW content you might find: -- Monster Lover/Terato related content. Censored NSFW art. Spicy Gif sets. Character x reader smut works. Character x character/Ship smut works.

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Stuff I do: -- I like to write! My requests are open! If you have an idea for something you might like to see, please check out this post regarding requests and the content I'll write for, and see my previous intro post regarding past works.

I also started a series called #Terato Adventures!

-- I document/bust scams! With how common scams are becoming in our world today, I feel that everyone deserves to be informed of what's going on in cyberspace so that bad actors don't steal your hard earned money. I've started up a side blog @scam-alerts to talk about the common and uncommon scams that are going around right now on the internet. (Here on Tumblr too!)

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I think that's it for now. I'll add more if I need to later. :)

Thanks for visiting and have a wonderful day!