#integrated water closets

[daisyjoners]

tag dump! nana’s version (atualizando aos poucos por ser muita gente)

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Freebee to write whatever you want!

"Harpies," Alfred sniffed, tossing the paper aside with disgust.

Your first public outing with the family had been fine. Successful, honestly in helping to integrate you. The boys had been kind and had seemingly started to understand how to work with and around your little... quirks. But the media had lost their god-forsaken minds.

After nearly a decade of taking male children, taking in a FEMALE child? And her being a little SHY? And COVERED UP on the beach? (In a long-sleeved t-shirt and some capris you found comfortable) For shame. And Bruce to be mindful of her physical boundaries? Of course, he's a secret misogynist. Not just a gentleman and a now experienced foster parent.

"Hn."

Alfred glanced at Bruce and smiled ruefully and patting his shoulder, "Second thoughts?"

"No," Bruce said shaking his head. "I don't think it would be good for her to hot potato her around. And, it's not like we can't handle her but-"

"She is very sweet," Alfred said, pouring him tea deftly. Flipping the Tv on to see what the news was saying about it. Debating a call to the planet. To see if they'd be willing to do something about it.

"But it's just- just-"

"Different," Alfred finished nodding. "Stocking her closet was a nightmare. I don't know what I would have done without Miss Barbara's help."

Bruce smiled a little. "It'll be an adjustment." He sipped his tea and frowned at the morning talk show. Of course they were talking about you. How sickly and shy you were. Timidly participating. Sometimes holding Dick's hand, sometimes Bruce's. Sometimes playing little games with Tim. Covered up compared to the rest of them in swim trunks with their shirts off. The three of them rough housing and playing in the water while you sat in the shade and watched.

It did look odd from the outside. But- you were content. Participating how you were comfortable. On the way home you fell asleep with your head on Dick's shoulder and he carried you inside while Bruce carried Tim. It was a good day. "Should I have picked a different-"

"I never saw the ocean before."

Your quiet little voice and a persistent uncertain feeling sends them both grabbing for the remote to shut the TV off.

"No?" Bruce asked, pushing out a chair for you.

"Just lakes. But some of those were pretty big. I remember taking a old mail boat once on a tour. They showed us where Al Capone had a house."

He nodded and smiled a little, "So you had a good day?"

You nod and he reaches up very carefully and sweeps hair out of your face, "And you don't think I'm secretly a misogynist?"

"I don't know what that means."

"That I hate women."

"I don't think you hate anyone," you tell him, and now he can feel crackles of confusion leaking your as your forehead crinkles.

Bruce exhales slowly, some of the frustration he felt falling away. "Thank you," he hummed. He didn't know if it was your influence or your words, but he appreciated it. And when little arms looped around his neck and he hugged you back on instinct, he realized that, for all the differences, some things weren't going to change. Kids were kids. And he loved them. And once they were his, they were his.

[buckets-and-trees]

A thot!

Curtis, with his face buried in the crook of your neck, his humid breath panting against your skin as he cums with a groan and frantically pumps you full of his cream.

Okay, bye! 👋🏻😘

I don't thin you intended to poke my muse specifically for our lake Creature Curtis, but I don't think you will complain about it either. 😏Just know that this has been growing in my head for a few weeks now...

Never Going Back Again Characters/Pairings: Bolotnik!Curtis x curvy!Reader Word Count: 3.7k Summary: One night near the lake has changed everything.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut - oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, breeding; breeding kink; Curtis's tail; teratophilia/monster fucking; size kink

Notes: This is a follow up piece to this ask about a lake monster CE character, but you could theoretically read this on its own. This is also another piece in my Countdown to Chris-mas collection.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

When you were small, you and your sister had sat up late so many nights curled up in the window seat of the small bedroom you shared, and looked out over the trees out to the shores of the seemingly infinite lake. Sometimes you could see pockets of water glowing out across the wide, blue darkness. Sometimes there were dancing lights along the shore. The lake was integral to your town’s way of life, providing fish, connecting you through trade to other towns and countries, and nourishing the plant life along its edges. 

As a child, those nights in the window had been frequent, both of you enchanted with the water and with the sky of stars and the moonlight. You had never given up the practice entirely, but as you’d both grown, sleeping hours had grown more appreciated. 

But now you sat up again far too late every night looking out over the water. 

Where he came from. 

There were old stories told about creatures in the mountains, in the forest, in the lake, under the bed, in the closet, living in the attic… too many cautionary tales told keep children in line and to grow up wisely. 

But now that you knew there was at least one man from the lake, you wondered how much of at least his folklore was true, and how much more you didn’t yet know. 

And, most importantly, how much would affect you.

Because you had been enormously affected by him already.

Foolishly lured away from the safety of others along the shoreline, snatched by a bolotnik, your virginity not only taken, but your body used, ruined, and exploited for pleasure all night. For by the end of it all, you could not deny you had succumbed to the pleasure he wrought from you, even though he was still terrifying.

And so you watched each night from your window, unsure what to do.

You couldn't shake the memory of his touch, the way he had made you feel things you'd never imagined. Each night as you gazed out at the dark waters, a part of you hoped to see those mesmerizing lights dancing on the surface again.

But weeks passed with no sign of him. You began to wonder if it had all been some fevered dream. Yet your body remembered - the soreness between your legs, the marks on your skin that had slowly faded. And there was something else, a change you couldn't quite place.

Your courses didn't come. Panic rose in your throat when you realized what that likely meant. But there was a chance his seed hadn’t taken. Your bleeding had come late or not come at all before. And it had taken your sister a fair amount of time until she had born her first child while diligently trying with her husband.

Still, you placed a hand on your belly, wondering if there was new life growing inside you. The child of a monster. Your child.

Though it was the water your eyes relentlessly looked to, a flash of movement in the trees drew your gaze. Heart pounding, you peered at the edge of the forest near your family’s home. For a long moment, nothing stirred. Then you saw it - movement among the underbrush.

A shadow detached itself from the trees, moving with an unnatural grace. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the hulking form of Curtis. He emerged into a patch of moonlight, his scales glinting, eyes fixed on your window.

Your heart raced. For a moment, you froze, unsure what to do. Part of you wanted to flee, to wake your family and raise the alarm. But another part, a part you were ashamed to acknowledge, felt a thrill of excitement at seeing him again.

Before you could decide, he was striding forward, pausing only for a moment at the edge of your family’s property, those eerie, impossibly bright, blue eyes fixed on your window. Then he continued forward. Even from a distance, you could see the way his muscles rippled as he moved. His tail swished behind him, hypnotic in its motion.

Your breath caught in your throat as the creature approached your home. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to hide, to call for help. But you remained frozen, transfixed by his otherworldly presence.

In mere moments, he had scaled the side of your house with inhuman agility. His clawed hands gripped the windowsill as he peered inside, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours.

Without him prompting you, you pushed the window open.

A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.

"Did you miss me, little one?" he purred, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You almost balked at the term because anyone is little compared to him, but you couldn't find your voice to respond even if you'd wanted in that instant. Your body trembled, caught between fear and a shameful excitement.

With fluid grace, he slipped through the window and past you into your room. He towered over you, his massive form larger than you remembered. The cool night air raised goosebumps on your skin, but it was the intensity of his gaze that made you shiver. You could smell the scent of lake water and earth on his skin.

He reached out, his clawed hand gently cupping your cheek. You flinched at first, but then found yourself leaning into his touch. His skin was cool and slightly damp, reminding you of the lake's waters.

"You've been watching for me," he said, his voice a low rumble. It wasn't a question. "I've seen you at your window night after night."

You nodded, unable to deny it. "I... I wasn't sure if you'd come back," you whispered.

His thumb traced your lower lip, sending a shiver through you. "I told you I would return for what's mine," he said.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, and a knowing smile curved his lips. His gaze dropped to your belly. "And it seems I've left more than just memories with you."

Your hand instinctively went to your stomach. "How can you know?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His chuckle was low and dark. "I can smell the changes in you, little one. Your scent is sweeter now, ripe with new life."

Your breath caught in your throat. So it was true. The suspicion you'd been harboring was confirmed by this creature who could somehow sense what your own body had only begun to whisper.

His hand drifted down to rest on your belly, his touch surprisingly gentle, brushing over your hand.

“Do you have a name?” you asked tentatively.

He smiled, a mixture of amusement and appreciation in his eyes. "Curtis," he replied. "Though I'm surprised you care to know it."

You swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. Part of you was still terrified, but another part was drawn to him, fascinated by this otherworldly creature who had claimed you so thoroughly.

"Curtis," you repeated softly, tasting the name on your tongue. It seemed too ordinary for such an extraordinary being.

His hand moved from your belly to your waist, pulling up from your seat and drawing you close. "And what shall I call you, my sweet human?"

You hesitated, then whispered your name.

"Beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to nuzzle your neck. His breath was cool against your skin, making you shiver. "It suits you."

You gasped as his lips brushed your throat, your body responding to his touch. Your breath hitched as Curtis's lips trailed along your neck, his sharp teeth grazing your sensitive skin. A whimper escaped you, torn between fear and desire.

"Shh," he soothed, his large hand cradling the back of your head. "We don't want to wake your family, do we?"

The reminder of where you were, of the danger, sent a jolt through you. You tried to pull away, but his grip was firm.

"Curtis," you whispered urgently, "we can't - not here."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Oh? And where would you suggest, little one? Back to the lakeshore?"

The memory of that night flooded your senses - the cool grass and earth beneath you, the scent of the water, the overwhelming pleasure. You shuddered, heat pooling low in your belly.

He nipped gently at your earlobe.

"I've thought of you every day since our night together," Curtis murmured, his voice low and husky. "The taste of your skin, the sound of your cries... and if I hadn’t found you with child, I was determined to attempt to breed you again, little one."

You trembled in his arms, torn between fear and a growing desire. His massive form dwarfed you, reminding you of his inhuman strength. Your resolve weakened as Curtis's hands roamed your body, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever he touched. You knew you should resist, should cry out for help, but the words died in your throat. Instead, a soft moan escaped your lips as his fingers traced the curve of your breast through your thin nightgown.

"That's it," he purred, encouraged by your response. "Let yourself feel, little one. Your body remembers the pleasure I gave you."

And it did. Your skin tingled with anticipation, your core aching with need. You pressed closer to him, inhaling his scent of lake water and earth. His tail wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"Curtis," you breathed, your hands tentatively exploring the planes of his muscled chest. "We shouldn't…"

But even as you protested, your body betrayed you. Your nipples hardened as he insistently brushed his thumbs back and forth over each tender nub.

"Please," you whimpered, though you weren't sure if you were begging him to stop or continue.

Curtis lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to your bed. He laid you down, then stepped back to shuck off his meager clothing - only a white shirt and dark pants. In the dim moonlight filtering through the window, his scales glimmered, casting otherworldly patterns across your skin as he loomed over you.

He settled onto the bed, slowly crawling over you. "Hush now," he murmured, a clawed finger tracing your lips. "I'll make you feel good, just as I did before."

Your nightgown was pushed up, exposing your bare skin to the cool night air. Curtis's hands roamed your body, reacquainting himself with every curve and dip. You bit your lip to stifle a moan as his fingers found your most sensitive areas.

"So responsive," he purred, his tail caressing your inner thigh. "Your body remembers me well."

You arched into his touch, shame and desire warring within you. You trembled, both from fear and anticipation, as the cool night air kissed your exposed skin. Curtis's eyes, gleaming in the darkness, roved hungrily over your bumps and curves.

"Gorgeous," he breathed, leaning down to press his lips to your stomach. "My child grows here."

You gasped as his tongue, longer and more dexterous than any human's, swirled around your navel. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them. You could feel the heat of his breath against sex.

"Curtis," you whispered, your voice trembling. "We can't... my family..."

He looked up at you, his blue eyes glowing in the darkness. "Then you'll have to be very quiet, won't you, little one?"

Before you could protest further, his mouth was on you. His tongue, impossibly long and nimble, delved into your folds. You bit down on your fist to stifle a cry of pleasure. Curtis growled approvingly, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core.

Your free hand tangled in the sheets. His tail slithered over your wrist, then wrapped around your thigh, holding you open for his ministrations. You writhed beneath him, struggling to stay quiet.

Curtis's tongue worked magic between your thighs, lapping and probing in ways that made your toes curl. You pressed your fist harder against your mouth, desperately trying to muffle your cries of pleasure. His tail tightened around your thigh, keeping you open as you squirmed beneath him.

"That's it," he murmured against your sensitive flesh. "Let go for me, little one."

Your hips bucked involuntarily as he sucked on your most sensitive bud. The pressure built inside you, a tidal wave threatening to crash over you at any moment. Curtis's fingers joined his tongue, stretching and filling you. The dual sensation was overwhelming.

"Curtis," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't... I can’t..."

“But you are,” he growled, the vibrations sending you over the edge. Your back arched off the bed as

Your back arched off the bed as pleasure exploded through you. Curtis's mouth stayed locked on your center, drawing out your climax until you were trembling and gasping for air. Only then did he lift his head, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Stunning," he murmured, crawling up your body. The scales along his torso rubbed against your sensitized skin, sending aftershocks through you. "But we're far from done, little one."

You felt the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, and a mix of fear and anticipation fluttered in your stomach, remembering how painful and then how pleasurable his thick member inside you had been. Curtis nuzzled your neck, inhaling deeply.

"Your scent is intoxicating," he growled. "Especially now, carrying my child."

His hand splayed possessively over your belly. You shivered, torn between the lingering pleasure and the reality of your situation. This creature - this man from the lake - had claimed you in ways you never imagined possible. And now he was here again, in your own bedroom, ready to take every piece of you once more.

Curtis's lips found yours in a searing kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, tasting of you, of lake water, and something wild. You moaned softly against him, your body responding despite your lingering trepidation.

He pulled back, his blue eyes glowing in the darkness. "Turn over," he commanded softly.

Your heart raced as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach. Curtis's hands gripped your hips, lifting them. You felt exposed, vulnerable in this position. His tail wrapped around your waist, steadying you.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his hands caressing your back, your sides, your bottom. You shivered at his touch, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You felt the blunt head of his member pressing against your entrance. Despite your earlier climax, you tensed, remembering the initial pain from your first encounter. Curtis sensed your apprehension and leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back.

"Relax, little one," he whispered in your ear. "Your body knows me now. It will welcome me."

Slowly, inexorably, he began to push inside. You bit down on your pillow to muffle your cries as he stretched you, filling you more completely than you thought possible. Your fingers clutched at the sheets, torn between the discomfort of the intrusion and the growing pleasure.

His hand slid between your legs, fingers circling your still-sensitive bud. You gasped, pushing back against him instinctively. Curtis took advantage of your movement, slowly pressing inside you.

The stretch was intense, but not painful as it had been before. Your body, as Curtis had promised, seemed to remember him, accommodating his impressive girth. You bit your lip to stifle a moan as he sank deeper.

"That's it," Curtis growled, his voice thick with pleasure.

Curtis's tail tightened around your waist as he seated himself fully within you. He stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size, filling you completely. His hands roamed your body, caressing and soothing.

"So tight," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel exquisite, little one."

You whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the fullness, the stretch. Curtis began to move, slow, shallow thrusts that made you gasp. His hand slid from your hip to your belly, caressing the slight swell there.

"Mine," he growled possessively. "Both of you."

You whimpered softly as he continued to move in slow, deeper thrusts that sent waves of pleasure through your body. His tail unwound from your waist, the tip sliding between your legs to tease your sensitive bud.

"Curtis," you gasped, struggling to keep your voice down. "It's too much..."

But your body betrayed your words, pushing back to meet his thrusts. Curtis chuckled darkly, nipping at your shoulder.

"Your body knows what it wants, little one," he purred. "It craves me, just as I crave you."

His pace increased gradually, each thrust driving deeper. You buried your face in the pillow, muffling your cries of pleasure. The initial discomfort had faded, replaced by waves of sensation that threatened to overwhelm you.

Curtis's movements grew more insistent, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. You clutched the sheets, struggling to stay quiet as waves of pleasure washed over you. His tail continued its teasing ministrations between your legs, the dual sensations driving you towards another peak.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Let go for me again, little one. Show me how much you've missed this."

Your body obeyed, even as your mind reeled at the intensity of it all. The coil of tension in your core wound tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. You bit down hard on the pillow, muffling your cry of ecstasy as your second orgasm crashed over you.

Curtis groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as your inner walls clenched around him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and humid against your skin. His hips jerked erratically as he reached his peak. With a low, guttural groan that vibrated through your entire body, he climaxed. You felt his member pulsing inside you as he pumped you full of his seed.

Wave after wave crashed over him as he continued to thrust, each movement sending another surge of his essence deep within you. His tail coiled tightly around your thigh, holding you in place as he claimed you completely.

The warmth of his release spread through you, a stark contrast to his cool skin. You shuddered beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation and the knowledge of what was happening. The room filled with the scent of lake water, earth, and your combined arousal.

Curtis's teeth grazed your shoulder, not quite breaking the skin but leaving marks that would linger for days. His hands gripped your hips tightly as he rode out the last waves of his climax, determined to empty himself inside you. You trembled beneath him, your body still quivering with aftershocks.

Slowly, his grip loosened, and he eased himself out of you. You whimpered at the loss, feeling suddenly empty. Curtis gathered you in his arms, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest. His tail wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

"Beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling into your neck, the scratch of his beard making you shiver. "You were perfect, little one."

You lay there, catching your breath, your mind reeling from what had just transpired. You could feel the stickiness of some of your combined spend that had oozed out of your cunt hot between the top of your thighs. Curtis's hand splayed possessively over your belly, reminding you of the life growing within.

"What happens now?" you whispered, fear and uncertainty creeping back into your voice.

Curtis's arms tightened around you. "Now," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, "you come with me."

Your heart raced at his words. "What? I can't just leave, Curtis. My family, my life..."

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Your life is with me now, little one. You carry my child. You belong to the lake, to me."

You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. "Please," you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes. "I'm not ready. I can't just disappear."

Curtis sighed, his breath cool against your neck. "I understand your hesitation," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But you must understand, little one. Our child cannot be raised in the human world."

You trembled in his arms, torn between fear and a strange sense of longing. "I can't just leave. My family—"

"Will never understand," he finished for you. "They can't accept what you've become, what we've created together."

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks. Part of you knew he was right - there was no way to explain your pregnancy, no way to raise a half-human, half-lake creature child in your village. But the thought of leaving everything you'd ever known was terrifying.

"Shh," he murmured. "I know it's frightening. But I will take care of you.”

“I’m not ready,” you cried softly. You weren’t ready to leave, you weren’t ready to carry his child, you weren’t ready for any of this.

Curtis's grip on you loosened slightly, though he didn't let go completely. His hand continued to caress your belly gently.

"I understand your fear," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "This is all new to you. But you must understand, little one - our child cannot survive in your world. And you... you've been changed by our coupling. The lake calls to you now, doesn't it?"

You shivered, realizing the truth in his words. Ever since that first night, you'd felt drawn to the water in a way you never had before. The sight, the smell, the sound of it called to something deep within you.

"I... I need time," you whispered. "Please, Curtis. I can't just vanish without a trace. My family will worry."

He was quiet for a long moment, his tail tightening slightly around your waist before loosening as well.

“Curtis?” you prompted, worried as his silence drew on.

"Sleep now, little one," he finally murmured, his arms tightening around you once more. "Dawn will come soon enough."

But sleep didn't come easily. You lay there, hyper-aware of Curtis's presence behind you. His cool, slightly damp skin pressed against yours, his tail still wrapped loosely around your waist. The rise and fall of his chest against your back was steady, but you could tell from the tension in his body that he wasn't sleeping either.

The moonlight filtered through the window, casting eerie shadows across the room. Every creak of the house, every rustle of leaves outside, made you tense. You kept expecting someone to burst through the door, to discover you in the arms of this creature. But the night remained quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the lake's waves in the distance.

As the sky began to lighten, your eyelids grew heavy. Despite your racing thoughts, exhaustion finally overcame you.

When you awoke mere hours later, you were alone.

Well... a little surprise monster fucking for your Monday. HOPE THE HOES IN THIS HOUSE ENJOYED IT!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[practicalsolarpunk]

Hi, I've only just got into solarpunk and find it really cool.

I was wondering, what sort of simple lifestyle changes would you suggest to start with when trying to live in a more solarpunk/sustainable way?

Hi! So glad you're getting into solarpunk! We think it's pretty cool, too, and we're happy you're looking for ways to integrate it into your life. Since you haven't included anything specific about your situation or what you're interested in, this list is pretty general - if you want more specific ideas, feel free to send in another ask!

In the meantime, here are a few recommendations for getting started:

Grow something. Depending on your situation, you may not be able to put in a huge outdoor garden. But there are many plants that will be perfectly happy in a pot on a windowsill, and still others that are happy to grow in low-light situations. Find something that works for your space and get some hands-on experience with growing things. (If you have a window, I highly recommend herbs - many of them are happy in pots and there's something incredibly satisfying about eating things you've grown.)

Compost. Unless your space is extremely tiny, you probably have room for a small composting system. Some can even go under a sink or in a closet. See this post for a general discussion, this post for vermicomposting ideas, and this one for info on bokashi composting. Also check out our #compost tag.

Mending. Mending is a great skill to have. The life of most clothing (and a lot of non-clothing fabric items) can be extended dramatically with some basic sewing skills. I've made entire dresses and quilts and I still find most of my sewing is repairing and mending other stuff. We have a mending tag, but I also love YouTube for this. Searching "how to mend X" (e.g. "how to mend hole in crotch of jeans") gives you a bunch of awesome tutorials. You can get even more use out of things if you're willing to embrace visible mending.

Reduce energy use. Try to use natural light where you can. Set your thermostat high in summer and low in winter and use the principle "heat/cool the person, not the space." Flush the toliet with graywater by removing the p-trap from your sink and dumping the collected wash water into your toilet tank (or directly into the bowl if you have an American-style greedy cup siphon toilet). Experiment with solar energy. What you can do depends on your situation, but see what kind of options you have.

Integrate the 7 R's: There are more R's to sustainable living than just "Reduce Reuse Recycle". See this post for a primer.

Build community: One of the foundations of solarpunk is that it's about community. Even if you start out doing it by yourself, eventually you need a community to do bigger things. My favorite way to start is by meeting the neighbors. Taking over some food (cookies are great) and introducing yourself is a great way to open a relationship. We also have a community building tag for more ideas.

You can find even more ideas in these tags, depending on what you specifically want to do:

#apartment solarpunk

#dorms and small spaces

#community building

#activism

#fiber crafts

#diy

There's also some additional tips in this post and this post, which are earlier responses to similar asks.

I hope this helps! Followers, feel free to chime in with your best tips!

- Mod J

[ghelgheli]

According to Marx, metabolic rift appears in three different levels and forms. First and most fundamentally, metabolic rift is the material disruption of cyclical processes in natural metabolism under the regime of capital. Marx’s favourite example is the exhaustion of the soil by modern agriculture. Modern large-scale, industrial agriculture makes plants absorb soil nutrition as much as and as fast as possible so that they can be sold to customers in large cities even beyond national borders. It was Justus von Liebig’s Agricultural Chemistry (1862) and his theory of metabolism that prompted Marx to integrate an analysis of the ‘robbery’ system of agriculture into Capital. [...]

Liebig harshly criticized modern ‘robbery agriculture’ (Raubbau), which only aims at the maximization of short-term profit and lets plants absorb as many nutrients from the soil as possible without replenishing them. Market competition drives farmers to large-scale agriculture, intensifying land usage without sufficient management and care. As a consequence, modern capitalist agriculture created a dangerous disruption in the metabolic cycle of soil nutrients. [...]

Marx formulated the problem of soil exhaustion as a contradiction created by capitalist production in the metabolism between humans and nature. Insofar as value cannot fully take the metabolism between humans and nature into account and capitalist production prioritizes the infinite accumulation of value, the realization of sustainable production within capitalism faces insurmountable barriers.

This fundamental level of metabolic rift in the form of the disruption of material flow cannot occur without being supplemented and reinforced by two further dimensions. The second dimension of metabolic rift is the spatial rift. Marx highly valued Liebig in Capital because his Agricultural Chemistry provided a scientific foundation for his earlier critical analysis of the social division of labour, which he conceptualized as the ‘contradiction between town and country’ in The German Ideology. Liebig lamented that those crops that are sold in modern large cities do not return to the original soil after they are consumed by the workers. Instead, they flow into the rivers as sewage via water closets, only strengthening the tendency towards soil exhaustion.

This antagonistic spatial relationship between town and country – it can be called ‘spatial rift’ – is founded upon a violent process of so-called primitive accumulation accompanied by depeasantization and massive urban growth of the working-class population concentrated in large cities. This not only necessitates the long-distance transport of products but also significantly increases the demand for agricultural products in large cities, leading to continuous cropping without fallowing under large-scale agriculture, which is intensified even more through market competition. In other words, robbery agriculture does not exist without the social division of labour unique to capitalist production, which is based upon the concentration of the working class in large cities and the corresponding necessity for the constant transport of their food from the countryside. [...]

The third dimension of metabolic rift is the temporal rift. As is obvious from the slow formation of soil nutrients and fossil fuels and the accelerating circulation of capital, there emerges a rift between nature’s time and capital’s time. Capital constantly attempts to shorten its turnover time and maximize valorization in a given time – the shortening of turnover time is an effective way of increasing the quantity of profit in the face of the decreasing rate of profit. This process is accompanied by increasing demands for floating capital in the form of cheap and abundant raw and auxiliary materials. Furthermore, capital constantly revolutionizes the production process, augmenting productive forces with an unprecedented speed compared with precapitalist societies. Productive forces can double or triple with the introduction of new machines, but nature cannot change its formation processes of phosphor or fossil fuel, so ‘it was likely that productivity in the production of raw materials would tend not to increase as rapidly as productivity in general (and, accordingly, the growing requirements for raw materials)’ (Lebowitz 2009: 138). This tendency can never be fully suspended because natural cycles exist independently of capital’s demands. Capital cannot produce without nature, but it also wishes that nature would vanish. [...]

The contradiction of capitalist accumulation is that increases in the social productivity are accompanied by a decrease in natural productivity due to robbery [... i]t is thus essential for capital to secure stable access to cheap resources, energy and food. [...]

The exploration of the earth and the invention of new technologies cannot repair the rift. The rift remains ‘irreparable’ in capitalism. This is because capital attempts to overcome rifts without recognizing its own absolute limits, which it cannot do. Instead, it simply attempts to relativize the absolute. This is what Marx meant when he wrote ‘every limit appears a barrier to overcome’ (Grundrisse: 408). Capital constantly invents new technologies, develops means of transportation, discovers new use-values and expands markets to overcome natural limits. [...]

Corresponding to the three dimensions of metabolic rifts, there are also three ways of shifting them. First, there is technological shift. Although Liebig warned about the collapse of European civilization due to robbery agriculture in the 19th century, his prediction apparently did not come true. This is largely thanks to Fritz Haber and Carl Bosch, who invented the so-called Haber-Bosch process in 1906 that enabled the industrial mass production of ammonia (NH3) by fixing nitrogen from the air, and thus of chemical fertilizer to maintain soil fertility. Historically speaking, the problem of soil exhaustion due to a lack of inorganic substances was largely resolved thanks to this invention. Nevertheless, the Haber-Bosch process did not heal the rift but only shifted, generating other problems on a larger scale.

The production of NH3 uses a massive amount of natural gas as a source of hydrogen (H). In other words, it squanders another limited resource in order to produce ammonia as a remedy to soil exhaustion, but it is also quite energy intensive, producing a lot of carbon dioxide (CO2) (responsible for 1 per cent of the total carbon emission in the world). Furthermore, excessive applications of chemical fertilizer leach into the environment, causing eutrophication and red tide, while nitrogen oxide pollutes water. Overdependence on chemical fertilizer disrupts soil ecology, so that it results in soil erosion, low water- and nutrient-holding capacity, and increased vulnerability to diseases and insects. Consequently, more frequent irrigation, a larger amount of fertilizer and more powerful equipment become necessary, together with pesticides. This kind of industrial agriculture consumes not just water but large quantities of oil also, which makes agriculture a serious driver of climate change. [...]

[T]here remains a constant need to shift the rift under capitalism, which continues to bring about new problems. This contradiction becomes more discernible in considering the second type of shifting the metabolic rift – that is, spatial shift, which expands the antagonism of the city and the countryside to a global scale in favour of the Global North. Spatial shift creates externality by a geographic displacement of ecological burdens to another social group living somewhere else. Again, Marx discussed this issue in relation to soil exhaustion in core capitalist countries in the 19th century. On the coast of Peru there were small islands consisting of the excrement of seabirds called guano that had accumulated over many years to form ‘guano islands’. [...]

In the 19th century, guano became ‘necessary’ to sustain soil fertility in Europe. Millions of tons of guano were dug up and continuously exported to Europe, resulting in its rapid exhaustion. Extractivism was accompanied by the brutal oppression of Indigenous people and the severe exploitation of thousands of Chinese ‘c**lies’ working under cruel conditions. Ultimately, the exhaustion of guano reserves provoked the Guano War (1865–6) and the Saltpetre War (1879–84) in the battle for the remaining guano reserves. As John Bellamy Foster and Brett Clark (2009) argue, such a solution in favour of the Global North resulted in ‘ecological imperialism’. Although ecological imperialism shifts the rift to the peripheries and makes its imminent violence invisible in the centre, the metabolic rift only deepens on a global scale through long-distance trade, and the nutrient cycle becomes even more severely disrupted.

The third dimension of metabolic shift is the temporal shift. The discrepancy between nature’s time and capital’s time does not immediately bring about an ecological disaster because nature possesses ‘elasticity’. Its limits are not static but modifiable to a great extent. Climate crisis is a representative case of this metabolic shift. Massive CO2 emissions due to the excessive usage of fossil fuels is an apparent cause of climate change, but the emission of greenhouse gas does not immediately crystallize as climate breakdown. Capital exploits the opportunities opened up by this time lag to secure more profits from previous investments in drills and pipelines. Since capital reflects the voice of current shareholders, but not that of future generations, the costs are shifted onto the latter. As a result, future generations suffer from consequences for which they are not responsible. Marx characterized such an attitude inherent to capitalist development with the slogan ‘Après moi le déluge!’ (Capital I: 381).

This time lag generated by a temporal shift also induces a hope that it would be possible to invent new epoch-making technologies to combat against the ecological crisis in the future. In fact, one may think that it is better to continue economic growth which promotes technological development, rather than over-reducing carbon dioxide emissions and adversely affecting the economy. However, even if new negative emission technologies such as carbon capture and storage (CCS) are invented, it will take a long time for them to spread throughout society and replace the old ones. In the meantime, the environmental crisis will continue to worsen due to our current inaction. As a result, the expected effects of the new technology can be cancelled out.

Kohei Saito, Marx in the Anthropocene

[withclawandvine]

As he walks through the apartment looking for you, Shouto feels the corners of his mouth turning down. You hadn't mentioned having any plans or errands for today, but the living room and kitchen are empty. He scans the pristine rooms, his frown deepening. Because despite the weeks that have passed since you officially moved in with him, the only proof you even exist are the few framed photographs scattered about.

You’d donated most of your furniture—the slightly sagging couch and all the vibrant pillows and blankets that covered it. You integrated your books with the ones in his office, filling the shelves at last, but most of the trinkets that had adorned your old, bowing shelves were still packed in boxes in the closet. Your eclectic collection of mugs had been culled—only half of them fit in the cabinet, lined up neatly, all facing the same direction. Shouto leaves for work before you, but when he comes home, the bed is always neatly made. Your old sheets had been perpetually rumpled, still holding onto the shape of you.  

Shouto rounds the corner, stepping into the wide stream of light spilling through the open bathroom door. When Shouto looks inside, he can barely see you through the leaves of the fiddle-leaf fig you’re hefting into the bathtub, which is already filled with potted plants. Between those, and the ones on the counter, dripping water onto the marble, Shouto figures every plant you own is in here.

“Hello, love,” he says to get your attention. There’s surprise and dirt on your face when you turn to look at him, a shriveled leaf stuck in your hair flutters with the movement. While Shouto takes in the mess, he feels a weight being lifted off his chest, a smile spreading over his face. 

“You’re early,” you say, head tilted thoughtfully. “What are you doing?” 

“I was just wondering the same thing about you,” he teases. And your eyes move from him to the counter, the muddy water in the tub. 

“I read online that bottom-watering is more effective, but I guess I shouldn’t have done them all at the same time.” You say with a rueful shrug. “I thought I’d have this all cleaned up by the time you got home, but—”

“You’ve been acting like a houseguest since you got here.” Shouto interrupts the apology he feared was coming. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Knowing that he can be a little too direct, he softens his voice to add earnestly, “This is your home, too, you know.”

“I know.” But you aren’t even looking at him. Carefully sidestepping the pots and puddles, Shouto comes to you. He picks the leaf out of your hair and tosses it aside before his fingers move to your chin, tilting your face back. When your eyes are on him, he fixes you with his flattest, most disbelieving look. Which must be pretty flat and disbelieving, because it makes you wince.

“There aren’t any sticky notes on the fridge,” he starts, the words tripping over his tongue. All the little things he didn’t know how to bring up had built themselves into an avalanche. It was all spilling out now, “Or any extra socks in the living room in case your feet got cold. Our bed looks like it belongs in a hotel and you wash a spoon as soon as you’re done stirring your tea with it.”

You blink in surprise. “I didn’t want to bring my…” you trail off, gesturing to the bathtub like it explains everything. “This.” 

“I asked you to move in with me because I wanted to live with you,” Shouto says and your brow creases. You must think he’s stating the obvious, but that’s not what he’s trying to say. Not really. “With you,” he repeats. He nods toward the cluttered counter, “And all your this.”

It’s your turn to look skeptical. “But you’re so…” you flounder a bit before finally deciding on, “Together.” 

Shouto falls silent. Talking about himself, his life, was still far from easy. “I never learned how to be anything else.” 

Growing up, his space was one of the few things he could control. His childhood home existed in stark contrast with the people living inside it; the clean, stately rooms were filled with beautiful antiques and dysfunctional people. But your old apartment was different, it felt different—never like a museum (or a mausoleum), but a real home. It wasn’t just the hoards of well-loved and tea-stained mugs on your end tables or the perennial pile of clean clothes on your vanity chair that set it apart. It was you, leaving them there—leaving your mark. You, existing comfortably and boldly. 

“I love you.” Shouto all but blurts. “And I love watching you be so alive.” He hopes that maybe, he’ll get to study long enough that he learns how to do the same. But until then, “I’ll spend the rest of my life closing cabinets and turning off lights in your wake if it means I get to keep doing that.”

His thumb swipes away the dirt on your cheek, cleaning it, even as he says, “So please don’t tidy yourself on my behalf.”

[daddysfangirls-dc]

UnTamed CH.18

Damian Wayne x OC!Female

Prev | Next

Damian leaned against the bathroom threshold, watching an Otter play about with a rubber ball and splashing and swimming about.  Asta looked happy playing with her ball, lost in her little world. It was nice watching her enjoy herself.

All her injuries were gone, and she was not even scared like they were never there. Fully healed. And she was still around. Damian had assumed she would take off once she got the all-clear, but she didn't. It was a shock and relief. He enjoyed having her every day and being closer. It made things more intimate, and he liked it.

But some things could be better.

For instance, she rarely left her room unless she was sure no one but Alferd and/ or Damian were home. He was concerned she was isolating herself. Asta had been there for several weeks yet had very little communication with his family besides Jason and Alferd. He wanted her to get along with his family; he didn't want conflict.

"Hello," Damian said as she sat on the tub's edge. She swam to the edge, putting her head in his offered hand. 

"You look like you're having fun." She tossed her ball into the air as if to show him. She shifted to human. 

"Got any plans for the day?" she asked. 

"My schedule is empty for the moment," he says as he runs his hand through her hair. " I'm about to take Titus for a walk."

"Can I come?" she asked, clearly excited. He smiled, kissing her forehead. " I'll find you something to wear." as he goes to leave, he hears loud splashing behind him and turns around to find a Husky sitting in wait. He takes a moment. 

"Okay ... I'll go get a coat and Titus."  she tilted her head in confusion. He doesn't seem excited to go outside anymore. 

-

"Hey," Dick says. He finds Damian out back with two dogs." When did we get another... Astarea?" Damian nods, confirming. He'd have to get us to that. The two stood back and watched the dogs jump around and play in the snow. 

"How is everything? How is she?"

"We are well."

"Haven't seen much of her."

"she prefers the company of animals over humans. Solitude is something she enjoys." Damian says. He whistles, calling Titus over. Asta follows.

While Titus comes to Damian, Asta slowly approaches Dick. "Hello," he says as he crouches down, petting her. While she doesn't lean into his touch, she allows it. 

"Inside now," Damian said. The doggies shook off their fur before stepping inside, and the boys shook off their coats and did the same. While a doggie bowl of water was waiting for Titus on the floor, there were three cups of hot chocolate on the counter. The Husky turned into a Budgerigor and flew up to claim a cup. She squawked her appreciation to Alferd. 

"I'll be preparing lunch soon," Alferd said. " Something warm considering the weather."

"That sounds nice," Dick said as he petted the little birdie. Damian whistled, calling his little birdie to his shoulder and Titus to his heel. 

"Please inform is when lunch is completed." 

"Of course."

-

"Fun, fun, fun," Asta tweeted as she flew around the room before shifting and flopping on the bed. "That was fun. We should do that more often."

"Yes, it was. Perhaps Dick can join us."

"I'm not fetching any sticks, maybe freebies or balls. I can do balls."

"Two legs would be more appropriate." This had her sitting up and looking down at her nude body and back at him. "you have a closet full of clothes."

"Of fancy clothes, fancy dresses. Made of satin, linen, and Georg-Georg-you know what I mean. That other fancy fabric. None of these are good for playing in."

"your nudity has never been a problem before. Why now?"

Asta sighed, flopping back on the bed. " It's not."

Damian crawled into bed and lay down next to her. "Talk to me, please." she groaned, rubbing the heels of her palms in her eyes.

" I didn't make a very good first impression." he removed her hands from her eyes. "And that dinner wasn't any good. It was more like an integration."

"I'm sorry for that. I should have stepped in sooner ." she shook her head. 

"My meeting with Jason definitely could have gone better."

Jason had taken her proposal and agreed, and although no action would be taken due to it being winter, he still brought forth a blueprint. It seemed nothing more than business.

"I just don't want to ruin anything else or give them a worse impression of me."

"What prompted this sudden interest in others' opinions?" Damian sighed, rolling on top of her on his forearms. He pecks her nose. " My darling," he chuckles as he brushes his lips against hers. "My family is full of idiots. Do not waste your breath trying to impress them."

"But-" he presses his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. 

"You are perfectly imperfect. I'd have it no other way" 

"Okay," she whispered as he kissed her jaw 

"Okay?"

"I'll - I'll try again. I'll try harder-"

"No," he kissed down her neck. " Just be you," he found her lips again. " That's all I desire".

[mahiiimahiiii]

its here!!!

An:/ will I ever finish a fic that I start? We will never know. Trying to keep this short and saucy. Maybe it will become a series…? Modern au Baldur’s gate, this is bisexual cat dad gale I mentioned earlier this week, feedback would be appreciated. (first time writing gale woohooo!!)

Tdlr: you thought that I was feelin’ you? Nah that rizzard’s a munch.

word count: around 4k

(this will have a named durge :9, her name is wynne and I post her often, but shes a brown drow with shoulder length curly hair and heterochromia due to her glass eye.)

Cw: cunnilingus, light consciousness, sleepy sex, breakfast in bed? More like breakfast and headdd. Possessiveness, previous substance usage, previously established relationship, durge is mentally illest, slight cervix brusing, hurt and comfort, biting/claiming, we must take it easy so gale doesn’t blow up.

Smothered in a deck of pillows you laid at the prodigal wizard’s bedside, a career you thought merely extinct in the modern era. A purveyor and ever the pioneer he was- integrating his magic into online technology, now consulting other businesses on its integration; Gale Dekarios was always ahead of the curve.

You didn’t think of him a fan of minimalism, his rooms each eggshell white with delicate paintings in dark oak frames. The only things maximalist was his collection of ancient tomes lining the walls of his cozy apartment, a certain fire hazard for one too prone to burning things.

He had worried, inviting you into his home. At one point you had invited him to stay at your home, a shabby apartment in disarray nestled in the lower city of Baldur’s gate- the political district. You hadn’t taken your meds in months, too busy to fill out a prescription- you snapped. It was terrifying and beautiful all together.

He called the pharmacy after that, setting alarms and reminders in your phone to take them. You had slept soundly with a little coaxing, your face softened into peaceful smile, surrounded by sensory items galore. He kissed you when you woke up and cried and apologized for your behavior. Your lips were salty from tears, but that made them sweeter.

He told you not to apologize, he promised he would take care of you.

“It’s rotten work” you had cried, and he laughed.

Not to me. Not if it’s you.

That was the first time your lips uttered an “I love you.” His heart sang- he gushed to tara when he got home afterwards, plucking out stacks of classical romance.

He had much he wanted to share with you.  How he admired you.

He had told you as much.

His bedroom now, had touches of your presence. A couple of sweaters hung in his closet, perfume and soaps on his counter, meds, cup of water, and eyedrops on his bedside table. The door creaked open revealing the multi-colored tressym, the lady of the house, Tara. She chirped in acknowledgement before hopping onto the bed, noises from outside the door got a bit louder. The smell of coffee wafted in, notes of vanilla and cinnamon hit the air.

Tara began to purr loudly, nestled in the cleave of your thighs; she nipped at the hand closest to her. “Have you taken your meds yet?” she inquired, her voice was stern and motherly.

“jus’ gonna’ now.” Your voice slurred, the sleep obvious from your voice. You groped for the pill bottle, holding the tab down and twisting off the lid. You pulled out one and a half tabs, washing them down with water. you grabbed the eyedrop bottle, filled with a tonic gale made for you, compatible for a magic eye. You laid back, dropping the liquid into your eyes and rolling it around in the socket.

Your vision opens as you rub at your eyes, adjusting to sit up in bed. You combed a hand through your hair, knots popping through your anxiety ridden strokes.

“Was your sleep alright dear? You look rather vexed.” Tara was busy grooming, but kind enough to check in with you.

You laughed softly “vexation is a constant state of my life, but I appreciate the thought. Yes, it was fine, thank you. Just distant thoughts about previous me’s.” you rubbed your eyes again, “have you seen our wonderful gale?”

She tutted, stretching out over your legs and flopping to the side “he has requested you stay in bed. But- he is busy as a bee, as always. She began to purr again, rubbing her nose against the sheets. “Consider me your roadblock from getting up.”

You sank back into the pillows staring at the swirling texture of the ceiling. It was stuck with small glow stars that never got charged. Near the head of the bed was a small planetary mobile, little bells sang out from the room’s small fan. Gale likes his white noise.

A rap at the door broke you from your thoughts. Gale’s curious eyes peered over the door, crinkling as he broke into a smile. “Good morning my star, I hadn’t realize you had woken up already.” He wore a loose crew neck shirt, embroidered with flowers at the hems, his pants a taught cotton blend- ones he would call cozy dress pants, and ones you’ve seen him fallen asleep in. his hair was tied half up half down in a spikey bun, strands of steel grey hair glowed with he light of the sun. He held a mug in his hand, one of his kitsch collections. “I got a dig bick” it read.

He set it on the nightstand, caging you in for a sweet kiss. His thumb stroked the outline of your chin mindlessly, savoring the warm way his chest tightened at your tired and happy eyes. He tasted of caramel coffee and apple slices. He pulled away from your grasp, slightly breathless.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have come checked in on you sooner. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep. You could compete for the most beautiful creature in the heavens.”

“Certainly not compete- I am the most beautiful creature.”

He chortled heartily, kissing your lips gently once more. “You don’t know how right you are, my love.”  Gale absentmindedly drew patterns onto your skin, his gaze gentle, yet longing. “Rest a bit more- I have some surprises planned.” With a kiss to your brow he pulled away, your skin felt flush with warmth.

You settled into your pillows, cupping the mug gingerly. You took a few sips. Brown sugar, ¼ milk and ¾ coffee. He always noticed the small details; it was comforting on your tongue. A small sigh of delight escaped your lips. For what good you did to deserve this- you don’t exactly know. Perhaps the gods favored you somewhat to be blessed with such a partner like gale. 

The humming resumed from the kitchen, a hiss and a gentle swear as you heard the oven door click shut. Then the tap ran as he sighed out. He snacked on something as he gathered dishes, a bowl set to the floor, Taras’s breakfast. She stretched against your leg’s wings flapping out, and tail flicking idly. She chirps a couple of times before hopping off the bed.

The gentle music of plates approached your door, along with your beloved wizard, tray in hand.

“ta daaah!!” he lifted the tray in a slight ‘come see’ gesture. You took another deep sip of coffee before setting the mug down.

“Gale- you really didn’t have too.” A slight pout formed on your lips, setting the mug aside you placed your hands in your lap.

“Nonsense. It gives me great joy to make your life easier.” He paused, setting the tray down on the small desk in the corner. “It frustrates me, occasionally- that you wouldn’t deem yourself worthy of that sort of love, that sort of worship.” He crawls towards you on the bed, his tossed hair and neat beard framing his chin and cheeks. “I adore you.” He gently cupped your cheek, straddling your settled legs. “Let me worship you in the way I was made too”

Selune take the wheel, how your heart fluttered at his honeyed words! You tilted your head squinting slightly, processing in a way you only knew how to. “This may seem impulsive, or the urges doing the talking but forgive me. Worship me with sinew, carrion, and pools of warm blood…?”

He chucked gently, tilting your head up slightly. “Less bloody, though it can be dependent on your moon sickness.” He was gentle and patient, only activating at your confirmation. His gaze soft on yours, deep and inviting. “Let me know, I will only do so at your words.”

His breath smelled like cinnamon and caramel, skin scented like warm patchouli and rose. He kissed the insides of your wrists, your knuckles, and tips of your fingers.

“Yes, id like that.” The words were out of your mouth before you’d known it. Warm lips met your skin, kissing his way down your arm, his lashes brushed against you with every kiss. Warm pride surged through your belly, you were his, and he was yours.

You grasped at the back of his head, pulling him into your embrace. Gales legs shifted under yours, bending at the knee to allow you to rest your legs around his waist. He braced a hand behind your head, careful about dropping his head on yours. Your lips moved sloppily, he still kissed like an awkward teen- which ultimately you found endearing. His stubble brushed against your skin. one of hands cupping your jaw, he separated slightly breathless. “Sorry, orb. It’s getting a little tight in my chest. Mind if I…take it a bit slower?”

“You needn’t apologize my love.” You ran a finger against his bottom lip, “I’m always willing to go slow. Your company is something to be savored.”

“I was hoping id be more sweet.” He giggles at his own bad joke, lips returning to yours. He hummed into the kiss, the wizard’s tongue ran over your teeth gingerly, asking for entrance. You obliged parting your mouth slightly, he tilted his face his nose brushing against yours. You ran your tongue against the ridges in his mouth, he let out a low groan his tongue retreating into his. Gale’s breath was wonderfully heated.

“You are quite delicious my dear.”  He grinned shifting his weight to move about. “I would like to- taste you a bit more if that’s alright.”

“oho!” you grin twirling a piece of his hair around your finger. “Shall I be finding out about your most practiced tongue this morning?”

“The very same” he beamed, crinkles forming around his eyes, he bends down kissing the column of your neck, his teeth gently grazing and nipping at the skin. “That is- if you’d like.”

You gave him a quiet nod, a little nervous to fully admit what you’d like. His lips trailed further down over your night shirt, his hands found the edge of the hem, gingerly pulling up his eyes flickered back to you again to check in.

you nodded once more.

The blissful sting of his teeth at your sides, he favored biting you around your hips and waist, a gentlemanly move and to lay proof of claim. Bites upon the neck were simply too gouache for him. You could feel the squeeze of your walls as he kissed his way back down your sternum, lips soft as ever he was a tease. You sighed when he made his way back to your thighs planting a kiss on each of them. He adjusted so he was under the covers, the top of his head tenting the blanket. His eyes claimed yours again, a swirling of questions in his deep brown eyes. You smiled, his gaze then relaxed and lowered.

He ran his tongue on the outline of slick in your underwear, electing a low whine from you. He smiled, hooking his fingers into your rubber band and kissing your skin as it was revealed. His glasses slid down his nose, the lenses fogging up from his breath. He pulled off the garment, a groan rumbling through his chest.

“By the weave… you are absolutely stunning.” His padded fingers grazed against your cunt, sweeping the juices onto his digits. He sucked at his fingers; eyes clamped shut to savor your taste. He exhaled, lips forming a delicious pout.

“You taste of the finest ambrosia…” his voice was soft, almost bashful. “I am blessed to be continuously surprised by the joys of the mortal realm.” His hands found the side of your thighs, hair fanning in front of his face. You reached out brushing it behind his ear, carefully running a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his head. The tip of his tongue traced shallow outlines around your clit, hot velvety breath layered against your thighs. He began to kitten lick up your sex, soft sighs of delight as he tasted you. He hovered over your clit, mouth latching onto the sensitive bud, his eyes caught yours again, the corners crinkling in delight at your slightly disheveled state. Breath catching in your throat, hand on his head, and heel of your foot braced against his back. The sunlight made your skin glow, eyes dark and pupils blown. Silver hair danced along your cheeks, perhaps this is what the visage of an angel looked like.

He swirled his tongue around you, mindful of suction and teeth. Using a hand to push up his glasses, glancing up occasionally. He let go of your clit, listening to the rush of air from your lungs. He muttered an incantation under his breath.

You watched as he worked, his strong nose pushed against your clit, his thick tongue dipping into your core. His hands cupped your hips and ass like he hasn’t eaten in a week, letting out a soft groan as he rutted against the mattress. Then you felt it, a cool touch on your inner thigh as he came up to breathe. His beard was stained with you, a signal to your arousal. You shivered under his gaze; the cool grasp felt wonderful against your puffy clit. It trailed down to your folds, gently prodding at your entrance. You groaned at the intrusion, cool invisible digits spearing your insides.

“Mage hand” the prodigy hummed, kissing the sides of your chin, fingers idly rubbing shapes into your clit. You groaned into his mouth as he peppered kisses onto your lips, his hands left your clit to pull off his shirt and pants, an obvious tent present in his boxers. He took off his glasses and untied his bun, his hair falling against his shoulders. It had gotten a bit longer, just dusting over his shoulders. Your lashes fluttered as the digits curled inside of you, stretching you gently.

“You are a work of art, my love.” He palmed his crotch, fingertips tracing against the swell of your breast. The hand works in tandem with his; slow tantalizing pumps against your inner walls. You squeezed down against the phantom feeling, the wizard sighing with delight. He kissed down your skin again, mouth back against your clit working to free you of the taught knot in the base of your stomach. One hand balanced on your hip the other under his waistband tugging at his shaft. Gasps escaped your lips, as you melted into his hands. He seemed smug and utterly pleased when his eyes met yours again.

The stimulation against your walls faded, a whine ripping though your lips. He gently shushed you, crawling back up your body, kissing every freckle or mole he came across.

“Now, my love, are you ready for me?” his words ached in the right places, dripping with arousal and tinged with need. He clumsily slid out of his boxers, tossing them somewhere in the room. His body has softened from time sat still, less definition from his college days and a soft slope of a belly coated in a fuzzy happy trail. He was slim- certainly, but he wasn’t fit either- Being cared for has that effect on people.  You slid a hand down his hip, squeezing his muscular thigh on its way down back to your side. His hips canted slightly under your light touch, biting his inner cheek. “Oh, the things you do to me, my star, my precious little love.” His words flushed as pink as his cheeks.

“I’m so glad only I get to view you like this, your beauty- in the most natural state- forgive me a moment- I must- “he let out a shuddering exhale, catching his breath. “Ah. Can’t speak much when focus goes somewhere else” his eyes were apologetic.

“Would you prefer…being on bottom?” your concern evident from your voice.

“That would be wise.” He shifted to the center of the bed amongst the clouds of pillows, his hair settling haphazardly as its own halo.

You ran a hand down his chest, admiring your lovers’ body. Your hand cupped his hip as you clambered over him. His knees knocking together as you used them as leverage onto him. Gently you tested him against your entrance, beads of pre-cum welling from his slit. Every muscle of the man beneath you tensed in anticipation. Your hips shook slightly at the awkwardness of the position, head of his member broaching your folds. The insides of you felt plush and velveteen, as you took him inside of you, the most pathetic sound ripped its way from your throat, hanging in the air. Your toes twitched, a sigh shared in tandem at the hilt, one hand over his quick heart.

The outlines of the dark round tattoo glowed faintly, he spasmed underneath you, thighs tensing and untensing. This felt sweeter than any sex before it, each time you burned anew for him. Each ridge upon him your body memorized, cream and pink his skin ran. You kissed his adams apple as it bobbed, his breath ragged from adjusting.  He screwed his eyes shut; face crinkled like crepe paper. You cupped his chest, testing a roll. It stung beautifully against your walls; warmth flooded your sides as you clenched down on him. His hands found your sides, pinching and cupping your ass, gentle to assist your bounces. He exhaled again muttering several incantations, cool slow buzzing ran over your clit.

“Oh, my love- how immaculate you look- “he sighed pushing up onto his toes, cementing you further onto him. His thighs wobbled as he speared you, aching to get every inch of himself into you. The head of his cock pulsed against your cervix, finding spongy spots within you. Your brain bubbled, cheeks flushed and radiating heat, a slight ring to your ears.

He stared at you with eyes you could never get tired of, pools of honey browns devouring your figure. Every flash of your image- ingrained into his memory.

He pulled you onto him, lips too quick to clamp down on yours. Your breath vanished between his teeth, nipping at your lower lips. His thrusts were desperate, earning a few moans from your lips. He captured them in return, his lips greedy for your sound. Your legs wormed around his, toe to toe. He set a bruising pace; his tip gently nestled against your cervix. You clamped and fluttered around him, cupping his chin and hand clamped in his hair.

He gasped for air, lips bruised “bhaal below- I can feel you- “he bit his lip, “gods your so close- so close and so good to me.”  His hips pulsed erratically, tips of his toes sliding against the mussed sheets. “Beautiful- my star you are excellent-!”

No words fell from your mouth, just a coagulation of sighs running from your throat. Your core felt ironclad and taught, your cup overflowed with him around.  The base of your hips ached from the muscle usage. His warm hand settled on your hips, his dulled nails digging into your plush flesh.

“Your so close- my darling, my love- “his words slurred, head tilted back to gulp back air. “Gods- come for me my star- I need you so bad-!” his voice slightly broke. Your mouth found the base of his throat clamping and sucking at his favorite spot. Quickly, he shoved you down as you crumbled into him, noses pressed together. Waves of heat pulsed through your core, sending his spent seed into you. He twitched and pulsed as he pulled you close, his chest gently glowing purple.

And then there was silence, blessed waves of relief as the shocks ran through your body. He deflated, sweat sticking to his forehead, curling the baby hairs around his scalp. You ached. Again, he was the first to stir a hand gently combing through your scalp. A gentle laugh erupting from his chest.

“Well, my dear- you are a gift that keeps on giving.” He hummed, closing his eyes. “I am spent- I don’t think id like to move for the rest of the day- I mean, if you’d like to, that would be our plan for today.”

You hummed in response, shifting your hips. “We forgot a towel.”

“No need to fret my dear…” he reached towards a drawer in his nightstand, pulling out a rag. “Always prepared.”

He helped you up, a whine ripping through your chest at the removal. Settling you back onto his chest, the rag settled comfortably between your thighs. He ran his hands up and down your back, tracing the dimples of your thighs, each ridge of bone and settled muscle. He stretched, reaching for his kindle on the bedside. Bracing an arm on your back. His skin smelt like lilies, soft and smooth under you. You listened to his dull heartbeat, peacefully drifting off in his arms.

[gregrulzok]

Ok also like SPOILERS for Fire Punch but I really have to talk about this uhhh

...

Togata is literally the best written trans character I've seen in... Like. Ever?

Which is ESPECIALLY remarkable cause he wasn't written by a trans person. It's literally insane how well written Togata is.

Because they establish him as a character first and he's actually immensely appealing - among the other fucking weirdos that inhabit the world of Fire Punch, Togata is definitely also messed up but he's a lot more sympathetic and likeable.

And then the way his gender is revealed isn't some big joke or a gatcha or a "It's a woman that wants to be a man!!!" type bullshit. It's literally "He's lying to you, he's a man pretending to be a woman!"

Which like. Yeah. As a closeted Trans Guy that's literally what I see myself as. The fact that a literal mind reader looked at Togata and went "Yup that's a man, he's just masking as a woman" is SO fucking big brained even if that was ultimately meant to be an accusation.

And Togata himself is so scared and confused and unwilling to accept it, but he clearly understands he's a man, he clearly knows he wants to transition - he's just lost because he physically can't, and he has no idea what to do with himself.

And the scene where he tries to describe it to Agni, the anguish on his face, the constant reiteration of how painful and confusing and awful it is to be stuck in a body that doesn't fit you - that shit hit me like a ton of BRICKS. It's such a nuanced and detailed look at the trans experience and I have no idea where Fujimoto even fucking got that.

And like. I've seen a fair share of trans characters. And even when I really like them there's usually an aspect that just sticks out like a sore fucking thumb and kinda mucks the whole thing.

Like. Nate from Tiger and Bunny? Started off as a gay stereotype and only improved when the writers realized they were fucking up. Grell? An actual gay stereotype that pretty much became trans by accident. Ayukawa from Blue Period? A lot of muddy waters which isn't a bad thing but it also means it's not actually explicit. Crona? Not explicit. Saiki? Debatable and not focused on. Don't even fucking get me sTARTED on the borderline gross shit BNHA pulls, eugh.

The only other 100% good trans characters I can think of are like, Yuu (and Shou) from Stars Align and Alluka from Hunter X Hunter.

But Togata kinda takes the cake since he's a lot more integral and his struggle is more deeply explored.

Anyway Fujimoto did an incredible fucking job, is my point.

[misscammiedawn]

I Am Also A We - Integration and Functional Multiplicity in sense8

CW: sense8 depicts suicide, transphobia, medical trauma, deadnaming, chronic alcoholism, drug abuse, homophobia, homophobic slurs, intense sexual themes, plays sexual assault towards men for humor. Check DoesTheDogDie for more information.

If you watch the show be warned the first episodes involve a family forcefully trying to (allegorically) detransition a transgender woman and circumvent her agency in a medical setting. This may be more than most can handle.

"I've been thinking about my life, and all of the mistakes that I've made. The ones that stay with me, the ones that I regret, are the ones that I made because of fear. For a long time, I was afraid to be who I am because I was taught by my parents that there's something wrong with someone like me. Something offensive, something you would avoid, maybe even pity. Something that you could never love. My mom, she's a fan of St. Thomas Aquinas. She calls pride a sin. And of all the venal and mortal sins, St. Thomas saw pride as the queen of the seven deadlies. He saw it as the ultimate gateway sin that would turn you quickly into a sinaholic. But hating isn't a sin on that list. Neither is shame. I was afraid of this parade because I wanted it so badly to be a part of it. So today, I'm marching for that part of me that was once afraid to march and for all the people who can't march - the people who living lives like I did. Today, I march to remember that I'm not just a me but I'm also a we. And we march with pride." Nomi Marks (sense8 - Season 1, Episode 2)

Humans are fascinating and varied creatures.

Imagine for a moment, a transgender hactivist in San Francisco, a closeted homosexual movie star in Mexico City, a cop in Chicago, a Nordic expat DJ living in London, an orphaned gangster in Berlin, a bus driver in Nairobi who has never lived in a home with running water, a Hindu bio-chemist in Mumbai and a kickboxer in Seoul whose father owns a powerful investment firm.

Lives so disparate that it would be simple to create walls of division to keep them wholly separate and incapable of acting as a whole...

And yet the show is all about erasing the division between people and as the show goes on these 8 people with all their unique and individual perspectives and backgrounds, will become one and many. A collective as one.

That seems like something I may want to talk a little about.

sense8 is a Netflix drama that ran for 2 seasons (and had 2 specials) between 2015-2018. Created by the Wachowski Sisters of Matrix fame and J Michael Straczynski of Babylon 5 fame.

It is a show about radical empathy, the full spectrum of the human experience and the virtues of living openly and connected in the face of a world that pressures the marginalized to hide and remain divided.

Yet in listening to our contributors, especially those with Indigenous ties or who identify as people of color and/or not bound by the ties of Western medicine, dissociation as it’s been described so far [...] can mean many things that are not helpful. A general consensus from these contributors is that trauma survivors ought never be shamed for doing what they have to do in order to survive, especially because so many of the contexts into which people are born promote division, disconnection, and marginalization. Usually this context is shaped by a dominant culture that relies on separation in its most unhelpful and wounding sense to uphold the power that the dominant culture so readily craves. (Dissociation Made Simple - Jamie Marich)

To acknowledge the flaws in both shows and creators, The Wachowski's tend to have a lens of privilege and blind spots to their works that undermine their messages of radical empathy, most famously their fumble in the diversity of Cloud Atlas' cast and the use of white actors in Asian roles (Natalie Portman was originally offered the role that went to Bae Doona).

sense8 is not immune to this and does have issues with connecting the 8 main characters without consideration to certain biases. Some mild examples are that the Christmas special having all 8 unanimously celebrating the Christian holiday (including a Hindu and a character with religious trauma centered on Christianity specifically) to the unchecked Copaganda and the show completely erases asexuality as a valid lifestyle with dialogue even going as far to say that sex is why we exist and to deny it is to deny being human.

Also as someone with an extreme aversion to depictions of suicide... this show does like to offer suicide as The Only Way Out a lot. The show opens on a suicide and the final episode involves no fewer than 3 attempts by various characters when they are cornered. One even succeeds. Lana's experience with her suicide attempt was important to her coming out as a trans woman. A version of that moment is even depicted in the 4th Matrix movie with Neo (allegorically Lana herself) helping someone else wake to their own identity in a suicide attempt. I do not want to rob her of the transformative power of that event and memory. It's clearly important to her and her work, but it's troublesome that averted suicide attempts are always depicted virtuously in her work. Again... it's a matter of blind spots and biases.

I acknowledge the show is flawed in these and many more respects but it does speak to empathy and connection in a way that though not perfectly placed upon the screen, is a message worth internalizing. Though it's okay to be uncomfortable with how it is presented and opt out.

Regardless of imperfect execution and the early cancellation, it is still a miracle of a show. In many ways it is a show that shouldn't exist. It cost $9 million per episode and its filming schedule required flying between 11 cities for 3 weeks of shooting a piece. It features full nudity, multiple sex scenes involving huge swaths of the cast at once.

To put all of that in perspective, the entire experience is literally bookended by a rainbow strap-on glistening from use.

But... this is not a show about dissociative disorders. Mental illness is only represented in that characters briefly question their sanity. So why am I talking about it in my Media, Myself and I essay series on positive representation of dissociative disorders in fiction?

Well... it just so happens to also feature the best depiction of Functional Multiplicity in all of television.

Functional Multiplicity or "Integration" is a goal in treating complex dissociative disorders where the dissociative system are able to function as a single person with minimal division between parts.

It is important to note that intergration and fusion are two separate concepts and are both valid outcomes for treatment within CDD therapy. Where fusion is the concept of merging all dissociated personalities into a single unified personality, integration allows the system to communicate and cooperate with full access to memories and skills with no inner-conflict exacerbating symptoms.

The final approach in Fraser’s article addresses the issue of fusion or integration, a strong area of potential controversy for those diagnosed with or identifying as DID. Many individuals with DID strongly resist or oppose a psychiatrist or any other provider’s insistence that they integrate the various aspects of their personality into a cohesive whole. This process can feel disrespectful to the members of a system, and if you are reading this passage and have ever felt triggered at the suggestion that you need to integrate, you are not alone. (Dissociation Made Simple - Jamie Marich)

The terms “dissociation” and “integration” have long been synonymous with one another—meant to signify that the only reasonable goal in working with splitting and compartmentalization must be the fusing together of dissociated parts to create one single “homogenized” adult. Daniel Siegel, however, makes a strong case against defining integration as fusion. He asserts (2010a) a different view: “Integration requires differentiation and linkage.” Before we can integrate two phenomena, we have to differentiate them and “own” them as separate entities. We can’t simply “act as if” they are connected without noticing their separateness. But, having clearly differentiated them so they can be studied and befriended, we then have to link them together in a way that fosters a transformed sense of the client’s experience, facilitating healing and reconnection. - (Healing the Fragmented Selves - Janina Fischer)

Acknowledging the separateness and clearly differentiating people to befriend, link and foster a transformed sense of experience, facilitating healing and connection.

Now that sounds like sense8 to me.

As mentioned above the shows protagonists are from different walks of life. Nomi, Lito, Will, Riley, Wolfgang, Capheus, Kala and Sun are all "born" into a "cluster", a nest of 8 connected minds who share their every thought and experience with one another.

The core 8 are able to share control of one another's bodies as well as speak telepathically in one another's heads. "Sharing" and "Visiting" respectively, if we are to play the YA Novel game of naming every single concept in a fictional world.

Each character has their strengths and weaknesses and connections that make up for their weaknesses.

To give an example Lito is an actor who has a little bit of a diva streak. He's good at lying under pressure, he can flirt with women effortlessly, he is deeply in touch with his emotions and he lives in absolute terror of his homosexual lifestyle being discovered for fear it will ruin his career and the comfort he has earned in life.

Wolfgang is ruthless and blunt and so leans on Lito's ability to lie under pressure, something that he is typically incapable of doing because he does not value roundabout methods of deception when he can just brute force his way to solutions. Lito helps him lie when the situation calls for it.

Sun is emotionally repressed, choosing to work her emotions through her fists, though she is one of the most privileged members of the cluster she has more than enough reason to be sad with a father who refused to show her love, the worst brother on the planet, a dead mother and a plot that involves her being wrongfully imprisoned and subject to multiple assassination attempts. She can offer the rest of the cluster her fighting skills but it is Lito who helps her to be able to cry when she needs it. In a beautiful scene late in season 2 a depressed Lito is crying in Sun's hotel room and Sun admonishes him saying that she is the one with reason to cry and Lito responds plainly "But you never would. Maybe that is why I am here."

On the flipside whenever Lito is in conflict about his life in the closet he pulls up Nomi, a transgender woman who has been through the entire coming out process, and leans heavily on her.

Though it takes much of the first season for the characters to understand what is happening to them we eventually get to see all 8 of them completely at home with one another's thoughts and perspectives.

They are separate, yes. But they are of one mind.

This is akin to the end result of trauma focused parts work in therapy. When a person is not yet treated for trauma based dissociation their inability to integrate their experiences creates a fracture and a disharmony that breeds emotional volatility and a breakdown in inner experience.

Disowning requires selective attention, a focusing away from whatever is “not me.” The senses fail to register what is taking place around us; we don’t feel our emotional responses, good or bad; we are in a zone. We can’t “own” our anger or dependence or fear when we don’t feel them. We can’t “own” traumatic events that we haven’t witnessed. We can’t know ourselves as whole human beings because only those qualities valued in a traumatic environment are accessible to consciousness. Segregating intense feelings, though, results in affect intolerance: if we can escape our emotions by automatically and involuntarily shifting into a different part of the self or different feeling state, we never get the opportunity to exercise our “emotional muscles,” and all feelings gradually become more and more intolerable. Inner conflicts are never resolved, just distanced. When that happens, acting out (self-destructively or addictively) and “acting in” (through self-hatred, self-judgment, punitive introspection) become the only avenues for regulating emotions and autonomic arousal. Splitting or fragmentation must become more complex and creative. - (Healing the Fragmented Selves - Janina Fischer)

As the main cluster of the show are able to expand their horizons via empathy and connection to one another they are able to challenge their blind spots and achieve a level of comfort in their world that was not accessible before. From our above example Sun can process her emotions thanks to Lito.

In a similar fashion, in Season 2 Kala becomes guilty about her lifestyle because she discovers that the company she works for is sending inferior medication to Capheus' region of the world and through experiencing life through Capheus' eyes she is aware of her position of privilege and uses her power to make positive change.

Had the show have been able to continue on this empathy would have been the center of the show with Capheus running for political office, Lito embracing his role as a queer icon who can inspire others and Riley risking exposure by touring her music and making contact with other sensates.

Alas. We'll never get the promised potential of the show's premise.

Another factor that was promised but was not fully paid off on was the concept of blockers.

In the show other sensates could visit (but not share) with a single member of a cluster if they make eye contact (Cloud Atlas which shared 3 directors and 3 writers with this show also included this concept of eye contact creating a human connection) and the only way to prevent their intrusion was to take blockers. A medication that cut off their empathetic connections and turned off their psychic ability.

The blocker allegory was about masking and hiding and working to blend in with the dominant culture without standing out. Part of the show's humanity was the characters wishing to go against the narrative that they needed to hide and to live loud and proud and inspire others to do the same.

It would have been interesting to see each of the sensates on blockers learning to act in ways their cluster would without being able to let them take control of their body. Show that the integration of the system is not a matter of separate parts in their own boxes but a cluster that is fully connected and capable of sharing their sole life.

To go back to my discussion on functional multiplicity, the concept of being able to share memories and skills is emphasized as a part of both integration and fusion models.

Sharing roles, responsibilities or tasks also enables other parts to help the System’s successful functioning in the outside world. Then, these parts can grow and mature individually. It also gives the System the opportunity to feel first-hand appreciation for what parts have done and contributed to the System’s survival and success, as well as better understanding of what it takes to keep the System functioning well today. (Got Parts? - ATW)

We are all in this together.

A beautiful thing that the show displays outside of the core cluster is the radical empathy and acceptance that exist within the side characters.

In the final episode of the show Wolfgang's surrogate brother and only true family Felix arrives to the help the cluster Capheus rushes over to him and embraces him exclaiming "MY BROTHER, FELIX!" and laughing with joy. This was Capheus' first time meeting Felix but the empathetic connection travels between them.

The same connection causes Kala's love for her husband to be felt by Wolfgang and allow the three of them to engage in a polyamorous relationship. The final orgy scene of the show literally climaxes with Kala's non-psychic husband exclaiming "My god, I didn't think such things were possible" after a threesome with his wife and Wolfgang who share the same love for him. This is the very last line of the show.

In a dissociative system conflict can breed between parts that are not integrated when their needs, desires and drives are not in alignment.

To give an example from our own life, Wynn is a part that is capable of turning off our empathy. When she perceives a threat to us from the idea of someone emotionally manipulating us (a parent trying to shame/guilt us into ceding to their demands or a partner threatening suicide) she will lock out the rest of the system who may be swayed and force us to act with hostility and coldness. More than once this has ended with us in further danger or emotional turmoil and it leads other parts to over compensate to try and "fix" the damage done when we were "emotionally compromised" by the part acting in our interests of survival over the harmony of the system and our relationships. Especially because the dangerous situations that necessitated her existence are not part of our present and her reactions may no longer be appropriate.

This kind of divide is natural in a dissociative system early in their healing journey.

The range of emotional experience, including both positive (e.g., joy, love) and negative (e.g., anger, fear, grief) affects, plays a vital role in human adaptation by promoting closeness in relationships. Relational distortions result when emotions repeatedly fail to achieve their purpose, when they are persistently activated, or when their expression is blocked or punished. Distortions in emotional regulation (and associated defensive distortions of behavior) refl ect distortions in care (Bowlby, 1969/1982) that manifest as dysynchronies between caregiving behavior and child emotional experience and needs (Sameroff & Emde, 1989) [...] A lasting split between self-preservation and integrative self-regulation leads to a vicious cycle. Extreme affective states become infused into the person’s selfand other-representations (“bad objects,” Benatar, 2003), producing disorganized and unstable mental representations, which further destabilize and fragment affect, perception, and behavior. Thus, dissociation results when extreme stressors necessitate a lasting split of the integrated relationship between self-preservation and selfregulation. (Dissociation and Dissociative Disorders, DSM-V and Beyond - Paul F Dell)

But towards the end of therapy parts, even when activated, are able to act in a way that benefits the stability of the shared life, preventing further dissociation and division between parts.

It is when one part, who wants to deny our condition to prevent thinking about our trauma, accepts that our multiple nature is integral to who we are and how one of our closest relationships function and in accepting this allows for us to carve spaces in our life to exist as a system. To take off the mask. To stop hiding.

To march and state boldly I Am Also A We.

There are times where we worry about using the term "Plural". We view our condition through a lens of psychopathology and constantly try to justify our existence through reading psychology textbooks and working with our therapist and constantly justifying.

We play by the rule books written for us and about us but not by us. Not by others like us. Well... mostly.

One of the quoted books in this essay is from Jamie Marich who is openly a diagnosed dissociative system. Her book is written from an insiders perspective there to promote love and acceptance. I selected her quote at the top of this post with care. She does get it. Got Parts? Is also written by collaborators with DID sharing lived experience.

There are so many things which divide us as people who experience plurality. There is syscourse raging in Tumblr inboxes Just Asking Questions about whether a person should be diagnosed to openly present as a system, there is fakeclaiming trying to witch hunt those who really have a CDD and those who are "roleplaying", the tone policing in support communities that admonish anyone who glorifies or fetishizes that which is a hard to live with disorder...

Over the years we internalized many of these narratives ourselves. We lived in fear of scrutiny, worried for the day we were exposed as Not Traumatized Enough, Not Performing Our Disability Correctly, Not Divided Enough or a number of other accusations.

We still are. It's terrifying to think that at any point someone could just deny all of our truth and no amount of paperwork, testimony or evidence would be able to make us any more legitimate than we already are.

In some regards we shouldn't be proud of being who and what we are. The fact that there is always going to be a part of us stuck in London reliving the worst experiences of our life is not a source of pride.

But we survived.

We survived. We kept one another alive. The part that needed to be an adult when we were a child kept us safe. The part that needed to seal off our heart kept us safe. The part that kept our emotions alive kept us safe. The part that pretended to be what our abuser wanted us to be kept us safe... and yes. The part that handled erotic concepts kept us safe.

We survived and we protected one another and we are the only Family who have been here the whole time. Experienced everything. Shared in all the pleasures and all the joys. We survived. And we will continue to... but not we're not surviving anymore. We're living. And we choose to live together. We choose to be 5 and 1. We are an I.

I am proud of that and this show helped us feel just a little bit more confident in saying that outloud. We are plural... and there is no shame in that. None at all.

-

Forgive me for the less than stellar work on this one. This essay was more a vehicle to talk about positive integration and use the show as a framing device for the topic. Plus I just wanted to be a bit Plural Pride because the show made a compelling argument as to why I should be.

The promised Act 6 of In Stars and Time essay and the Umineko follow-up essay are both in the research phase. Act 6 of ISaT is looking at characters who share a common history and I want to make sure I have some good examples without treading on other creators I respect's toes and the Umineko follow-up requires replaying all of Chapter 7 of that game and it's a long one.

Media, Myself and I is a series of Tumblr Essays for positive depictions of dissociative disorders.

Other essays include:

Time Loops and Dissociation (In Stars and Time) A History of Murder Alters Discworld and Plurality Incidental, intentional and accidental representation Gender, Dissociation and Clinical Stigma in The Third Person Recontextualized Memories in Umineko Derealization in Night in the Woods and Metal Gear Solid The Dangers of Hypnotic Personality Play in Penlight System Origins in The Incredible Hulk Relationships with Systems in The Incredible Hulk The Healing Journey in Mr. Robot

[daisyjoners]

tag dump! nana’s version - pairings, parte um.

[celestiarambles]

You Can’t Catch Me Now

trigger warning: suicide, overdose, hospitalization, psychiatric hospitals, mental disorders

hi i broke down yesterday so i wrote this… now i’m sobbing once again, but now it’s because of angela xD

this takes place in canon btw, but the fic kinda details it enough (i hope haha)

also, i’m not a big fan of listening to music while reading, but i recommend listening to you can’t catch me now by olivia rodrigo while reading this because i listened to it while writing this fic haha

i apologize if there are any inaccuracies, i hope you enjoy!

Summary: Years of grief and guilt has made Angela believe that she is a horrible human being; a monster… or at least she thought so.

Also cross-posted on Ao3: You Can’t Catch Me Now - celestiamirasol - Criminal Case (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

Angela thought she was dead.

She thought she was dead when her 8-year-old self ran through the forest of Kyushu Island, desperately trying to find something, somewhere to hide. 

She wasn’t strong enough for this, and they were looking for someone strong. Someone who could survive.

Thankfully, she found a closet in an abandoned building. She hid herself there for god knows how long, shaking, sobbing, listening to the bloodshed and cries that she could hear from afar.

2 recruits left. Her blood ran cold when she heard the intercom. It was only her and -

The closet door flung open. A girl who seemed older than her, probably in her teenage years stood in front of her, holding a huge rifle. Tears stained the girl’s cheeks, her hair a mess as she stared at a young Angela. 

And then the girl pointed the gun at her own forehead.

”Y-you probably have s-so much ahead of you…” The girl cried… and she pulled the trigger.

Angela thought she was dead when her 29-year-old self went to face her adoptive parents once and for all. When she wanted to put a stop to all of this.

“You know that you can’t marry someone else outside of SOMBRA, Angela.” A woman that she called mother - an endearment that left an odd taste in her mouth - scoffed at her.

”Oh, I know.” Angela took a sip of water. They were talking about this over dinner. “But I’m not asking for your blessing. I’m just leaving you a warning; if you ever try to hurt him -“

“Cheon-sa!” Her adoptive ‘father’ gave an eerie chuckle. If anything else, she hated her birth name. It reminded her about who she truly is… and what she lost. “Don’t worry, he seems like a nice fellow.” He took her hand. “Maybe you could introduce -“

“No, I’m not going to let you meet him, and I’m not going to let you recruit him!” She stood up, slamming her fists at the table. Her outburst earned her a slap from her ‘mother’. That was the first time they ever hit her.

“You ungrateful brat!” The woman pulled her hair. Angela was a grown adult, but she felt like that same 8-year old girl who lost her real parents all over again. “We raised you, fed you, dressed you, gave you an education… a life… and this is how you’ll repay us?!”

Fear pooled in her eyes when her ‘father’ stood up and calmly took out his prized gun that he had on display. It clicked. She was definitely that same girl who ran through Kyushu Island. It was her all along. “Cheon-sa… you’re a good girl. A smart one, even. You should reconsider this. Surely, you’re not going to throw away everything we’ve worked so hard for just for some guy… right?”

No. She definitely was the same girl, but girls grow up. They fight. And in this moment, she knew that she had to fight. “Lars isn’t just some guy!” Angela yelled, pushing the woman who held her. Her ‘mother’. “Unlike you, he has integrity! He’s smart and kind and has treated me like a family more than you did over the past few years!”

“ENOUGH!” Her ‘father’ shouted, firing a hollow shot at her. There were no bullets in that gun. Angela took that cue to run. To leave. She left Busan that night, weeping.

SOMBRA - her adoptive parents - told her that the strong rule and the weak die. Crying was weak. She wiped her tears. She had to be strong. Not for SOMBRA, but for Lars. For her family.

And thus, she never left. She stayed to protect Lars. Her family.

She thought she was dead when her 41-year-old self survived that plane crash that targeted the Bureau. That targeted her and her family.

She knew her efforts trying to sabotage the Bureau weren’t enough. But deep inside, she cared for them. Lars saw them as family, so she began to see them as a family too, especially during the times when they’ve put up with her daughters’ shenanigans, comforted her during the times she was down, supported all of her achievements and all of her crazy hobbies. They made her feel like a little girl again, freely exploring, healing the childhood that she lost.

However, she was not a little girl anymore. She had to prove herself. To fight.

And she paid the price heavily.

During her time in prison, guilt wrecked her for months. Her arrest made her realize that she wasn’t a lost and scared little girl, nor she wasn’t a woman who knew how to fight. She was a monster. 

And like the fairytales that she would read to her kids to make them fall asleep, monsters had to die.

So when SOMBRA broke her out, told her to bomb the Bureau, her family… She had to accept. But she had to go down with them. 

She snuck through the Bureau’s break room, planting the bomb while drunk. After planting it, she took another shot of whiskey. She is a monster through and through. She is SOMBRA. 

She thought she was dead when she planted that bomb. She thought she was going to kill herself along with the Bureau that day, but the agents caught her and brought her back to prison. And instead, Jonah was the one who took the hit.

Deep inside, she was thankful that the Bureau didn’t get hurt, that no one died due to the bomb she planted. That they had finally stopped SOMBRA. But she was still a monster. She killed someone and betrayed the Bureau. Tried to kill them, even. She tried to kill her family. 

SOMBRA may now be over, but she was still SOMBRA through and through. A monster. And monsters didn’t deserve a loving family.

She pushed them away. She made them believe that she was angry, full of hatred… she even told them that Dupont deserved to die… but she didn’t mean anything that she said. She was that same little girl in Kyushu that was begging for help. That was begging to be saved. 

But she believed that she was a lost cause. She cannot be saved anymore.

She thought she was dead when she drank a whole bottle of sleeping pills the night she returned to prison. She wanted to end everything. Her time in this world was now done anyway. She lost her purpose, everything she had worked so hard for, her family. The world hated her. The people she loves hated her. 

Still, she was a villain. A monster. And monsters didn’t deserve anything good in this life.

But instead of something else, probably the burning pits of hell, she found herself in a dreary hospital room when she woke up. On one side was a beeping heart monitor, and the other was a fresh bouquet of flowers.

Her heart thudded. She wanted to scream, cry, get out of here. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve this life.

A doctor entered the room, eyes widening once he saw her sitting up. “It’s good to see you awake, Mrs. Douglas. You’ve been in a coma for three years.”

Tears fell down her cheeks when she heard that surname. It reminded her of the girl she could’ve been. All this time, even when Lars said that he didn’t love her anymore, that he vowed to never see her again… he still never divorced her. 

No. He should hate her. Despise her. She didn’t deserve him.

Due to the thoughts running in her mind, she didn’t understand what the doctor was saying about her. All that she understood is that she won’t be returning to prison anymore. They were taking her to a psychiatric hospital.

She didn’t know who thought that she was still worth redeeming. She didn’t deserve empathy, not even pity. She was a monster. 

A therapist told her that she had a severe case of bipolar disorder and PTSD. They said that she was also admitted to a psychiatric hospital in Australia, which made her break down. Of all the places, why here? Why in the place where she once believed that she could run away from all of this, to just live a normal life?

Even though they told her that she wasn’t responsible for her actions, that she was brainwashed, manipulated by SOMBRA, she couldn’t believe them. How could she? She still did what she did, and she had to pay the price. Her family hated her. She did all of them on her own accord.

A year later, her therapist told her she had a visitor. She didn’t want to believe them. However, standing behind the therapist was Lars, wearing a visitation badge. 

He excused the therapist so he could enter the room. “Hi. How are you -“

Angela started to cry. Why was he here? Why was he like this? She didn’t deserve him. She wanted to push him away… but she couldn’t find the strength to.

Lars glanced at the therapist and then hugged her. “Hey, shh, it’s alright…”

“W-why are you here?” She managed to speak in between sobs. “You hate me.”

”Shh, I don’t hate you.” He whispered and then turned to the therapist. “Could you… give us a moment?”

The therapist nodded. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

Once they left, he continued to comfort his wife. “I brought flowers, but they didn’t allow me to give them to you.”

”Why are you doing this?” She quietly asked. “I ruined everything… I tried to kill you… the Bureau… I killed someone…”

“Angela…” A tear fell down his eye. “I’ll admit that I wanted to hate you. I wanted to forget you. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“But why didn’t you?!” She cried, turning her back on him. “I’m a terrible person, Lars…”

He had to choose his words for a moment. After a while, he spoke. “The prison told me you… overdosed. I was angry at you, but I was also worried. I honestly… didn’t want to lose you. I remember you said SOMBRA took you in when you were eight… That made me think and review your case.”

”That doesn’t excuse anything…”

”No, listen.” He took her hand, making her face him once again. “The Bureau was disbanded already, so while you were in a coma, I hired a private investigator to investigate your early life and your ties with SOMBRA. They manipulated you, Angela… they abused you emotionally… something was wrong. I even asked Marina for help, and she agreed with me. She and I petitioned the court to review your case once again, I pleaded that you were not criminally responsible for what you did.”

”But I am, Lars! I killed someone! I have a long list of crimes that I have to pay for!”

”Your sickness and trauma are to blame, Angela. Not you. SOMBRA is to blame.” He brought his hand to her cheek to wipe her tears. “The private investigator found your adoptive parents, and I met with them… in jail.”

“You’re not supposed to meet them, they’re dangerous! I made sure of that…”

“Shh, I chose to meet with them, okay? They told me how you fought for me… for us…” He started to cry as well, tears continuously streaming down. “I remember how you told me that marrying me was the first time you disobeyed SOMBRA. So this time… I wanted to be the one to fight for you.”

“But… no…” Angela pulled away in disbelief. “I am SOMBRA. You shouldn’t… You and the girls deserve a better life… a life without me…”

“Hey… SOMBRA’s over, remember?” He smiled at her, his voice breaking. “They’ve been gone for years now. You’re not SOMBRA anymore. You’re free.”

She remembered how she heard that the Bureau took down SOMBRA. How she silently rejoiced. How all her fears and worries came to an end. She knew that Lars was right about one thing; she was free.

”Oh -“ Lars stopped upon seeing her break down again. “Can I hug you again?”

He didn’t have to ask her twice. She threw her arms around him, crying. They both cried together for who knows how long. 

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but…” Lars sobbed. “I tried to move on, to find someone else… but they were just not you.”

“I honestly don’t blame you…” Angela knew that he deserved to be happy. Even if it meant that she was not the source of his happiness anymore.

”I’m also seeking help, y’know. What happened to you hurt me horribly. There was a point where I visited you everyday in the hospital, and the nurses scolded me for bringing you so many flowers…” He laughed in between tears. “When I heard that you woke up, I wanted to visit you, but the doctors didn’t let me. They said you were unstable. Then I requested them to transfer you here, but they still didn’t let me see you! This was the first time that they let me. I sent you letters instead, by the way… my therapist suggested it.”

She recalled the letters her therapist gave her. She broke away for a moment to get a box of papers hidden under her bed. They said they were from Lars, but she refused to believe them. “So they were really from you… I’m sorry, I thought that… I didn’t…”

”It’s okay, I understand.” He helped her with the box and they both carried it to the bed. “They’re also not letting the girls see you since they’re still young. But they’ve grown so much.”

”The… girls?” She would understand if her daughters hated her, if they didn’t consider her as their mother anymore. She understood if she was dead to them, mourning, grieving, but most likely hating her. She disappeared from their life at such a young age. Like her real parents did. 

“Yes, I’ve been trying to explain your situation to them. They’ve been having a hard time understanding it…”  They both looked at each other’s eyes. “But they still miss you. I miss you.”

For the first time in a while, Angela smiled. “I miss you too.”

“I love you, okay? I hope you’ll always remember that.”

In that afternoon, Angela rummaged through the papers, reading them with Lars one by one. Some made her laugh, some made her cry.

But at that moment, she realized that she was not dead. She was very, very much alive. And for once, she didn’t have to fight alone.

[ltbarnes]

Anachronism - Part II

Or the placing of persons, events, objects, or customs in times to which they do not belong

Summary: Sprained ankles, snowstorms, blood-thirsty wolves and feral super soldiers. What was supposed to be a peaceful walk in the woods surrounding the cabin you're staying in with your best friend Steve quickly turns devastating, forcing your path to cross with the mysterious and burly man who can't seem to grasp social cues and the concept of privacy. His past is a puzzle that can't seem to be solved and your feelings for the sweet and giant man quickly develop from friendly gratitude to something neither of you can't quite grasp.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: a little bit of nudity and some sinful thoughts, bears!!, manhandling, Steve panicking and Bucky being the sweetest

A/N: I made it!! Never thought I would be able to finish part 2 in time but it’s done!! The love on the first part has been amazing and please give me any and all thoughts on this part <3 I love talking with you!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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

You had been gone for six hours by the time a barely functional Steve ventured out to search for you a second time.

15 minutes. That's how long you said you would be out, and Steve started glancing out of the window for you already after 13 to see if you were back.

And he tried to go out and search just half an hour after you left, but even for a super soldier a harsh snowstorm like this one is impossible to navigate in. His phone service was not working and contacting the compound was futile—they can't do anything as long as the weather is this bad.

He's fucking panicking. You're probably out here freezing to death if you already haven't. Leaving you to die like that is no option. For twenty hazy minutes Steve gathered anything that might be needed if he finds you half-alive in some ditch—warm water bottle, blanket, food, tracking device if Sam or Nat or anyone in the team feels like helping him some time.

Steve knew he shouldn't have let you go. He felt it this morning when he watched you walk out of the door with those ridiculously large mittens and the puffer jacket that could soften a fall from fifty feet high. But god, he can't say no to you even though he persisted for more than an hour in your argument. A flutter with those eyes of yours and he folds quicker than he can take another breath.

He's Captain America—a man who survived a world war, alien attacks, robots trying to take over the world and countless fights with the world's most notorious villains. He prides himself on having integrity equally strong as his vibranium shield and morals practically written in stone. Steve Rogers is an unmovable man and still he just throws away all logic and sense out of the window as long as you have a smile on your face.

His chest is heaving, out of breath. It doesn't happen a lot anymore now that his days of being an asthmatic, 90-pound sick man are long past him. You manage to make his goddamn body malfunction in a different way each time he meets you—today just happened to be the worst he's ever experienced. If you died like this while he sat inside looking over fucking sketches over the compound grounds he's not going to be able to live with himself much longer.

For so many years he's been able to keep you out of situations too dangerous for your own good. It's hard sometimes when you prance out in traffic without looking both ways or take shortcuts through alleyways on the way home from work in the middle of the night, but Steve's still been able to keep you safe. He has been there each time.

God, you fucking infuriate him. Sometimes he wants to throw you over his shoulder and lock you inside some closet where you can't get up to any trouble. Trying to negotiate your way out of being shot by a madman robber by offering him fucking cookies? Yeah, Steve was furious that day, but he adores you for it. Don't get him wrong—you're not some sunshine fairy girl like that teacher with glasses and colorful dresses in the sitcom you always watch, but still you offered a man with a gun to your head cookies. You barely even bake.

Honestly, Steve was annoyed by you for a whole two years before you slithered your way into his traumatized and lost heart. The 21st century is a labyrinth of parasocial relationships, too advanced technology and so much suffering existing along the endless progress that's been made since the 40's.

It all was just too much for him for a good while, and his range of emotions kind of just shut down. Work was all he had and the closest thing to a friend was Natasha, who he did not know at all at the time. Tony was a goddamn asshole and Fury was too vague and Steve was missing Bucky, Peggy and the Howlies so much that all woken time was either spent on grieving or fighting.

You were the first close friend he made in this century. One who he could spend entire nights talking to, and took him out on midnight pizza runs and showed him what the hell streaming was. A friend who showed him that things are better now in many ways.

But he knows now why Bucky was so goddamn irritated at him all the time—you aren't even throwing yourself into fights like he did, and still do, but instead manage to be so goddamn clueless and intelligent at the same time. And he doesn't want to find you stubbing your toe on the same treshold at least once a week as amusing as he does. Or that he looks forward to Monday meetings because he gets to walk past your little office, stacked with strange romance books you can read when Tony doesn't need help in the lab or Bruce has no samples to be incubated or whatever he does.

For a long time you were the only one he missed when he was gone on missions for weeks. Now the team is as much family as his real one ever was, and he loves them too, but you're still the first person that comes to mind when he drags himself half-alive and beaten to a pulp onto the quinjet after a gruesome fight.

Mostly he likes that you don't really need him. In reality you do so wonderfully fine by yourself, without anyone, and Steve loves your independence. He just seemingly likes worrying and fuzzing like a mother hen because he can. Because you let him.

You do stupid things sometimes and for those situations you really do need someone to either pull you away from the moving car heading towards you or scold you for being reckless, but you could live on a reclusive island entirely alone and wouldn't mind in the least. Maybe it's because Steve always wanted that quiet life—settling down in a house he built himself with a person he loves somewhere people won't bother him.

The snow is goddamn insatiable with working against him as he tries to find his way just a few feet away from the cabin. But he's been through worse and Steve would gladly cut off all his limbs and bathe in scolding lava to find you alive.

To hell with snowstorms and duties and work—he's going to find his best girl even if it makes a 100-year old super soldier hypothermic.

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

Your bladder is about to fucking burst.

For what must have been half an hour you've been laying awake to the sound of Winter's breathing, contemplating wether to go outside and potentially wake him up or just die.

But he's holding onto you so tightly, squeezing you to his chest with his nose buried in the crook of your neck, that you contemplate just holding it until he wakes. You feel like a stuffed animal he can't fall asleep without, the way Winter has tangled himself up in your limbs.

It makes you realize that you haven't felt closeness from a human like this in years. Maybe ever. You've never seen yourself as touch-starved but receiving such affection without any conditions or terms triggered some epiphany inside of you—you want to be held.

But ultimately, despite how heartbreaking it is, you are not willing to lay your life and dignity down for his and your own comfort in this moment.

The first movements of your newly awoken body generate cracking sounds that are a little too loud to not be concerned about. Good morning.

Somehow, in a manner you did not know you possessed, you slide out from his hold down onto the cold wooden floor without waking him up. You would've guessed he was a light sleeper.

A soft, breathy whine escapes his lips. You have to silence yourself with the palm of your hand to not laugh. Also desperately hoping that it's the loss of you on top of him that makes him upset in his sleep and not just the sudden lack of warmth.

His hair has been matted and tangled during the night, stray strands swept over his face, and he still he looks so good. You sit there on the floor staring at him for a good minute before you try to crawl away, struggling into your thermal pants and socks with a few silent curses slipping from your mouth.

If you're honest, you thought your foot would be fine by now. You clearly remember thinking to yourself that it would be over in five minutes when you fell. It's been a day and it's still swollen and hurting like a bitch—crawling to the door is the only way, though undignified.

You kind of miss being carried around while trying to haul yourself up to a stand with the help of the doorway. And you're also thinking about how Tony would have this picture printed and framed if he had a camera in his hand right now.

Outside it's still snowing, and the moderate layer of white, shimmering crystals covering the ground has grown to being outrageous during the night. It reaches up to your knees as you shuffle out just a short distance from the porch.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why am I doing this? Goddamn shit, ow," you whisper to yourself while trying to go about this in a dignified way that won't permanently disable you. "Ah. So cold. So cold."

And you're so hungry and tired and also might cry soon if things don't get better. Have you always been this sensitive? It feels like you're not. Circumstancial changes to your personality, hopefully.

Three days ago you were playing chess against Bruce in his lab while waiting for an analysis to process—that was, up until then, the most aggravating and complicated quest you had ever taken upon yourself (mainly because you do not know how to play chess). Right now you're peeing half-naked with snow up to your knees and a sprained ankle outside of a stranger's house who is most likely some kind of supernatural man and also very handsome. Is it weird that you're attracted to him?

Despite the rugged lumberjack-Tarzan type sleeping twenty feet away, you have a hard time seeing the silver lining in your misery. You're stuck and probably proclaimed dead. If you were a more positive person this could be counted as adventure time and great storytelling-material in the future—autobiography material, really. New York Times Bestseller List if you write it good.

But you're scared. You don't really know where you are and Steve might be out there looking for you. Yes, he is a super soldier, but it's not safe wading through a snowstorm without proper gear and knowledge. Steve can get cold too, despite how much he denies the slight shivers you've seen him develop during freezing walks in the winter. God knows he might wander off in the wrong direction and give himself hypothermia. Also a panic attack because this has to give him flashbacks to his time in the ice, right? Nightmares about being frozen solid like a popsicle?

By the time your teeth has since long started chattering, and you struggle to get up the zipper of your pants with your stiff fingers, a rustle in the trees surrounding the grounds forces you out of your daytime overthinking. The goosebumps on your skin instantly escalate to tiny mountains as you look around frantically for whatever threat is about to devour you.

Black fur emerges from between the branches, accompanied by a bark-like sound bordering on a happy chirp. You have to steady yourself to not fall over from shock as a bear cub wades through the snow, fuzzing up the powdery flakes as its dark coating slowly turns white from the steady snowfall.

Tears are dangerously close to being shed as you crouch down with your mouth agape. That was the last drop. A bear cub? Seriously? Sorting your thoughts through the big, blinking 'that is the cutest thing I have ever witnessed' is absolutely hindered by the fact that the bear is the cutest thing you have ever witnessed.

"Hi, baby," you say through a chuckle, stretching your hand out despite knowing that the bear could very well kill you. Because bear cubs are still dangerous, right? No?

It must be quite a few months old, if not a year, but the urge to hug it overpowers the underlying carefulness telling you to step away. Why did you ever think you had useful survival skills? A walking teddy bear comes into your sight and you abandon any reason.

The bear is hesitant as it catches sight of your figure, but it seems like the curiosity is stronger for it too. Slowly, and a bit clumsy, the cub makes its way through the deep snow until the wet nose nearly touches your fingers.

"Oh, you're so cute," you whisper with a blinding smile breaking through the chattering. "Where's your mother, huh? Have you gotten lost?"

It feels like maybe the soul of a tame cat has possessed this little bear as it latches on to your leg, paws embracing you with its nose snuggling into the stiff fabric. A shocked laugh escapes your lips as you gaze down at your new favorite being, possibly triumphing both Steve and Winter. Maybe it's too soon to decide wether or not Winter gets a place in your favorites category, but this one certainly does.

A shriek sounds through the air as your balance, which was compromised to begin with, falters and sends you to the ground with an especially hard nudge from the bear. Newly fallen snow wells up into the air as you hit the cold and soft layer with a thud, giggling like a little school girl as the bear releases a happy chirp.

"You want to play?" you ask, reaching your arms out while completely forgetting to be freezing cold like you should be. You didn't really have time to put on a jacket on top of your Henley before.

The bear pushes up snow with its nose, sending flakes into your face as if it splashes water jokingly. You throw some back, earning a shake of its fur to rid itself of the white formations.

But the door to the cabin is thrown open harshly, smashed against the wall, before you have any more time to resume your playtime. Winter barges out with his large and threatening build so tense that you fear he might pull a muscle. His eyes flicker over the scene, searching for your figure until he finds you half-buried in the deep snow with a bear hovering over you.

The panic is instant—you see it clearly from where you're craning your neck to catch sight of the sudden commotion. He's not wearing any shoes, but he runs out into the snow without hesitation anyways.

A growl sounds from his chest, puffing himself up to appear more threatening. For the first time you see the power he possesses—the real underlying danger inside of the man who has been so sweet to you these past 24 hours. But you're still not afraid of him.

"Wint—"

You begin calling out his name, try to explain that the bear wants you no harm, but the attempt is futile. Winter is fast, and before you can even say the whole of his name he has dragged you up from the ground with one arm while the bear fearfully runs away.

His hold is too tight for you to get a word out as he hastily brings you inside again, smashing the door shut and setting you down on the floor. This time he's careful of your foot, letting you hover just a few inches above the ground before slowly easing you down as to not lay any unnecessary weight on your ankle.

Winter's hands instantly find your face, eyes roaming over your body with frantic desperation.

"You—no hurt? Okay? Good?" he asks, tilting your chin up while inspecting the small patch of exposed skin on your neck.

His breathing is heavy. And you can understand what it looked like—he must've thought you were being mauled to death. Even though the bear was far from full grown they could still be dangerous, you think.

"I'm okay." You can't help but smile, despite it being a small one. "The bear just wanted to play. It was a really kind bear."

Winter furrows his brows into a frown, letting his gaze wander up to your face. A few seconds pass of him inspecting your expression, as if he's assessing wether or not you're sincere, before he lets out sigh.

A small pout grows on his face, drawing a giggle from your lips. He's cute like this.

"You were gone...so scared. Then I heard scream and saw bear," he tells you while shaking his head, tilted down towards the floor.

The smile on your face eases out into a sigh, hand instantly finding his forearm with a soft touch. "I'm sorry, Winter. I didn't want to wake you up and I had to pee. The bear just came out from between the trees and came up to me."

"But—no hurt?" he asks you once more.

You shake your head. "No. I'm completely fine. Just a little cold."

Winter lets out a puff of air from his nose. "Always so cold. All the time," he says, taking a step back from you to drag a chair out in front of you, before turning towards the fireplace.

"I am not. It just happens to be freezing outside and this cabin does not have any heat," you protest while sitting yourself down.

You watch as he reaches for the chopped wood stacked upon each other right beside the fireplace, throwing in a few more to feed the fire.

It crackles loudly, hypnotizing you for a few seconds before you start to feel the wet fabric clinging onto your skin.

"Do you have any other clothes?" you ask, arms encompassing yourself. "This shirt is all wet and cold from the snow."

Without any hesitation, he plucks his wine-red shirt off his back to reveal a tight, black long sleeve underneath. His right arm reaches the shirt out to you, meeting your doe-eyed gaze.

On a continuous roll, Winter has shown you kindness upon kindness ever since you woke up. It's all too much and you don't really know how to repay him. He's taken care of you so well, protected you and fed you and kept you warm and now given you his clothes. He barely even knows you.

With slight hesitance, you turn to the side and cling onto the hem of your shirt. You have to remind yourself that Winter probably won't mind if he sees you half-naked. He's already seen the bottom half of you in just underwear without having any significant reaction, so it'll be fine if he sees you in a bra too.

The collar gets stuck for a few seconds, and you struggle to get your head free for a good while. Gracious as ever. When you're exposed to the world again, you instantly feel the intense gaze of Winter on you.

His stare is zeroed in on your chest, the dark blue lace covering your breasts leaving little to the imagination when it comes to your nipples. No, you did not expect a single soul to witness your underwear on this trip while packing. But you kind of like dressing up for yourself a little bit too.

Winter parts his pink lips, drawn closer without even blinking. You sit there, gazing up at him while forgetting to take a breath. It's okay—he's just curious about the anatomical differences rather than the sexual aspect of it. You think.

"Touch...please," Winter murmurs as he stares at your breasts nearly spilling out of your bra.

And you have to suppress the sudden giggle that wants to escape. Winter looks like a kid staring at a lollipop, like he will burst any second if he can't inspect your fucking boobs.

"Ugh, they—soft. Look soft. Pretty," he whispers.

With a giggle you nod, giving him the okay to touch. You shiver now even before, despite feeling rather calm about it.

He uses his right hand to reach out. Ever since you flinched away from him that first time he's been hesitant to use his metal one while touching you, even though you don't mind. You have to tell him that.

"Never seen before—so soft. Oh."

His genuine excitement over having his hands on you draws a chuckle from your lips until he squeezes a little too hard.

"Be gentle. It hurts when you use too much force, okay?" you tell him.

He nods in answer, focus not straying from your breasts even once. He's mesmerized—he's never felt anything this pliable and cuddly on a person. In Hydra he only met rough men, consisting of hard muscle and rough handling. The entirety of you is just so soft.

"Off. Want away."

A tug at the strap of your bra paired with a wide-eyed gaze and pupils covering the entirety of his eyes signals that he'd be much happier without the offending fabric covering you. But you're not sure. It feels like a step too far.

Your fingers clasp softly around his, pushing them away from you gently. "Not today."

"Why?" he asks you with an expression bordering on a pout.

"Because I'm not comfortable with that. Do you remember when I explained that word?"

Winter nods while lowering his head to watch  his left hand as it flexes open, leaving a whirring sound after him. He looks a little bit upset about it, but doesn't pressure you any further. The truth is that you're worried he might not know what it implicates—what it might lead to. Because you sure as hell have a hard time controlling your feelings right now, and from what you've seen of Winter he doesn't have a lot of boundaries or impulse-control himself.

You put on his shirt in the silence, even though he's still looking at you. The cold temperature has made your nose runny and the only sounds in the room are now your sniffles, the crackling fire and Winter's whirring arm.

"I, uh, have to find—eat," Winter says, bringing his fingers up to his mouth while parting his lips. A soft smile cracks through your solemn exterior, relaxing into your chair.

"Food?"

"Yes. Food."

He looks down at you, eyes raking up the entirety of your figure, before reaching for a large fur that he drapes over his shoulders. You almost think you hear Winter whisper a "so small" to himself as he exits through the door, sending a gust of cold wind inside that makes you shudder.

As you follow him with your gaze through the window, he nearly looks like Leonardo in The Revenant with the rugged long hair and large fur as the snowflakes steadily rain down on him. Sam made you and Steve watch the movie a few weeks ago.

You wonder if Steve's been able to contact anyone. He definitely tried, if you know him as well as you think you do. Everyone back at the compound probably thinks you're dead by now, and might not look for you. If it weren't for Winter, you would be dead after all.

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

Two long and despicably boring hours drag on before you hear footsteps outside on the porch. And you can't help but stand up from where you've been sitting on the floor, limping towards the door as it's thrown open.

Winter has three fishes hanging from his hand. Slightly comical and also a little gross. There's probably some lake around here that he's been able to drill a hole into or something.

Your amused smile meets his stoic face that lights up just slightly when he sees you. Butterflies and heart eyes or what not—if he had been just a tinge more adapted to social cues he would've noticed the impact he has on you.

Winter's break in resolve quickly disappears as he realizes just what you are doing. He told you to not move a finger while your foot was still hurt.

"No. No standing," he seethes, nodding towards the tattered couch. You just give him a teasing smile in return. "Y/n. Little bunny," he sighs, laying down the fishes on his table and a handful of red berries that roll away.

"What, Winter?" you ask, trying to will the heat away from your cheeks. If you're honest, just standing like this is completely fine. It's walking that hurts like a fucking bitch.

With slow steps he nears your figure, towering over you with his massive build. You have to crane your neck to see his face, shuddering with the quiet growl sounding from his chest.

"No standing, I said. Only I carry you," he tells you, pointing his finger into your chest.

A gulp. An exhale that makes you realize how dry your mouth is all of a sudden.

"No?"

"Not listen to me. Makes me not happy—angry," Winter says. "Foot will be more bad if standing on it all the time."

Two dozens of minutes later he has obviously gotten his way. You don't think you could say no to him when he flashes those blue eyes of his without even trying.

Comfortably sitting on the couch that has been moved closer to the fire with a fur blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you watch him prepare food for the two of you once more. An old copper pan is filled with snow that has since long melted, now boiling so you can both drink some water for the first time in almost two days.

The palm of your hand is filled with cranberries that Bucky picked just for you—he told you so himself—that you've been snacking on. They're a little bit sour, but you're so hungry that you'd practically eat anything.

"Winter, can I ask you something?"

He turns his head around, facing you while laying down his knife.

"What did you do before coming here? Who were the people who called you, uh, who called you an Asset?"

A frustrated breath of air comes out of his nose, like merely the thought of his past angers him. And you begin to suspect that he has all right to feel that way.

"They made me kill. Have made many people dead with this arm."

Winter stretches it out in front of him, inspecting it like it is the first time. With disgust and a distaste so deeply ingrained that you can see his pained thoughts from here.

Within the blink of an eye he turns his attention towards the fire again, turning the fish so it doesn't get burnt. You don't say anything.

"They made me forget also. I did not want to, so then use special words and machine to make me do things." His back is tense now, the outline of his muscles distinct through the fabric of his shirt. "Hold me there for so long. Can't remember anything now from before."

The sound of a knife scraping against metal pierces through the air. It's the tip dragging against his arm, without creating as much as a dent despite the pressure.

"I do not want to hurt. Not you ever," Winter says.

The breath gets stuck in your throat, eliciting a choked, high-pitched sound as you try to find an answer worthy enough of the horrific crimes just confessed to you. All this he has been through, all the things he has done for the past two days, and he has the nerve to assure you that he means no harm.

"Winter," you whisper, barely noticeable when your throat is so thick and dry that you can barely speak. "Look at me. Please."

A sea of blue and sorrow and hatred and so much softness meets your own eyes. God, this man.

"You deserve good things. And I am not afraid of you, nor should you be of yourself. Honey, you've suffered enough. Don't let yourself be another source of pain."

Your palm comes to rest against his cheek, eyelids fluttering shut as he leans into your touch. You don't know if he understood every word, but it doesn't really matter as long as he understood the meaning behind them. And you think he does.

Winter cries. Tears, though few, leak down onto your skin as he silently grieves what life was taken from him. You don't know much about what he's lived through, but you know enough now to mourn for him too. You know enough to hold hate larger than you ever have for the people that used him.

That evil in the likes of villains on a screen exists among humanity is not new. You've heard about it in mission reports, in conversations between agents and seen it up front. Though nothing new, it hurts and aches in parts of your heart you thought were permanently disabled. Empathy has never been your strongest point but it might just break you right now.

"C'mere," you whisper while holding your arms out for him to escape into.

Winter drags himself forward to close the few feet between you, arms wrapping themselves around your waist as he buries his face into your lap.

What must be half an hour passes by with your fingers tangled up in his hair, nails gently scraping his scalp, and Winter's soft breathing warming up your legs. His own must be numb by now.

The food is long forgotten and probably burnt. You haven't really taken your eyes off of him for the entirety of this time. And despite what must be a routine lacking any sort of hair care, Winter has strands softer than a kitten's and a newfound source of jealousy for you. In these moments you don't particularly mind when your hands are the ones who get to feel his dark brown hair sift through your fingers.

But it hasn't been silent. No, you've rambled on about anything he might find interesting about your life to keep him distracted. He doesn't say anything, but you know he's listening. During things he doesn't like he squeezes your thigh, and sometimes he lets out quiet sounds as reaction.

"I love reading. I've probably read fifty books this year outside of research for work," you tell him, leaning your head back against the couch. "But not any classics, those are too hard to understand. I like simple stories with clichés and happy-endings. Makes me believe that I might find happiness like that someday too."

A particularly noticeable puff of air escapes Winter, hitting your leg with the warmth of it. An agreement, maybe? Or a silent plead for you to shut your mouth for a second?

"Oh, and I cook a lot too. But mostly the same three dishes. I'm not really that good, but I've perfected this tomato sauce I've been doing since I was 18."

You lift your hand to scratch your nose for only a second, and Winter still lets out a nearly silent whine for your absence. It makes you laugh, tugging on a few strands in answer.

"Do you want me to talk more?" you ask him.

He nods, holding onto you a little tighter.

"And is it really comfortable sitting on the floor? Don't you wanna come up to the couch?"

A shake of his head. Still. A nod.

Winter places his hands on either side of you, pushing himself up from the floor until he's standing tall right in front of your figure.

It only takes a pat of your hand on the cushion beside you for him to sit down. You push yourself into the armrest, legs crossed to your best ability with a foot that still has good swelling to it, to give him enough space. The couch is too small in reality and had its shining moments before you were born, but when Winter unfolds your legs and drapes them over his lap the two of you fit well enough.

“Thank you,” his rough voice croaks out after a silence so long you nearly forgot the meaning of speaking. The comfortable silence is always going to be good enough communication for you.

Your eyes are closed and too heavy to open again. What time it is you have no idea about, but it’s dark and you’re exhausted, but find some sliver of energy to answer him.

“What for?” you ask, soft voice on the verge of being slow.

“You are very…kind. Kind and uh, cute. Pretty.” His hand strokes up and down your leg, as if the thought of not touching you is unbearable. “Also smell so good. Want to be close all the time.”

The entirety of your body tenses up and you don’t know why. Why do your limbs turn to stone when his words burn in your veins, sends heat to your face and ears and heart that beats faster with each passing second?

You want to answer, but Winter beats you to it. Instead of expecting you to say anything in return he pets you on the head gently.

“Little bunny so tired. Already sleeping almost,” he says, more to himself than for your sake. You already know how tired you are.

The solid couch disappears from underneath you as he carries you with him to the bed. And just like last night, he maneuvers you until you’re laying flat atop of him.

A pleased hum sounds from your lips, snuggling into his warm hold with a tired smile adorning your face.

“Winter, tomorrow I would really like some pasta. A big pot that nobody else gets to taste but us,” you mumble. “Not even Steve.”

And Winter doesn’t really understand what you’re babbling about, but you can feel his smile despite your eyes being closed.

You could get used to this, and you haven’t felt like a life without Steve constantly nearby is something you could ever be without before. Two days and nights is all it took.

It scares you.

Part III

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame (Part II) [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 41 – The Calm Before the Storm.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 40 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

"Sonny’s excuse is that you let him and it’s disgusting. I don’t know how you deal with it." / “He questioned your actions and integrity, but I did not."

Your return back home to Lake Tahoe isn't marked without grudges, resent and guilt from others that you may have already set aside. What was once seeing as attention seeking, insignificant behavior threatens to create a rift between marriage but the truth is yet to be revealed. You want nothing more than to move on with your life, away from your mother and Fredo's death and any possibility increased tensions from rivalling mafia families but from what you believed was done for everybody's good has already sealed your fate.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions & themes of prostitution / Strip teasing / Heavy fluff / Touching & kissing / Nipple play & teasing.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: A new chapter of Moth to Flame is finally here!! 😭❤️ I can't believe it's been about ~2 months since I last updated?! Since I'm focused on fic uploads/writing only at the moment, I'm looking forward to a lot more frequent and back to back updates for you guys. 🥴 Better late than never! Michael and Victoria's story continues, or should I say in this chapter that also means Sonny and Sandra's? 👀 Drama, drama, drama...! It was definitely coming, and now it's going to build into something spiralling completely out of control. We need to focus on baby Vincent and the twins' cuteness above all. 😂😍

1956. Your name is Victoria Ferrari Corleone, and you’re the wife of the most powerful mobster in North America–Michael Corleone. A lifestyle of crime and secrecy is all you've known and ever wanted to know, complimenting the cruelty of Michael Corleone's influence in the United States. With your enemies fallen before you and all loose ends tied up, you continue your life and marriage with the Corleone family while refusing to look back on your past. Yet it's the skeletons in your closet that a shine a light on revealing you're a true mafiosa. Ensnared in the shadows just as much as Michael is, you find yourself betrayed by the unexpected with all of your secrets ready to spill–especially ones you've hidden from Michael. With more than one pair of eyes watching your every move, you find yourself trapped amidst potential scandals and a familiar, lovesick secret admirer adamant on removing Michael out of the picture to have you all to himself. Like a moth to a flame, you've reached the point of no return and the light that breaks down the darkness threatens to take you next.

[ Lake Tahoe Compound, 7:00 AM ]

From the moment you came to rest your head upon your pillow and snuggle up in your own bed next to your husband at home, every thought, concern, and memory of what occurred in Las Vegas has left not only yours but Michael’s mind as well.

From a well-deserved good night’s sleep in pure relaxation, Michael and you have awoken shortly before seven in the morning to start your day and spend it with the family—taking a break from traveling and business.

“Okay, baby,” you run your hands through your hair gently to smoothen it down, moving towards the shower. “I’m going to wake up the children and get them ready for breakfast.”

Michael pulls back the shower curtain to peek his head out; his soaked hair sticking to his temples and droplets of water dribbling down from his lips and chin. “Alright, darling.”

You blush, leaning over and pecking a kiss over Michael’s wet lips. “I’ll see you downstairs in a minute.”

Just from leaning over towards the hot shower, Michael’s having, you can already feel the warm steam from the running water mixing in with the heavenly scent of Michael’s body surrounding you with that kiss.

Michael prefers to shower first thing in the morning on his days off whereas if he has business to tend to or places to be, he’ll do so at the end of his day like you.

It may be a day off for both of you, but the same doesn’t apply to the twins who have half a day’s worth of tutoring and studying awaiting them.

As you walk out of your bedroom and down the hallway, you step into the nursery room to check on baby Vincent first thing.

As you and Esther have left it, the nursery door remains open so you can both easily hear Vincent’s crying or stirring from his sleep.

Taking a quick look in, you see baby Vincent still curled up in his crib sleeping soundly; bringing a smile to your lips.

Moving a bit further down the hallway, you quietly open the door to Niccolo and Verona’s bedrooms side by side with one another before stepping into each one and gently nudging the children’s shoulders before giving them a kiss on the cheek.

“Niccolo, Verona, good morning. It’s time to wake up, you two!”

“Mmmmm…” Verona squirms in her bed, stretching out her arms. “I’m…awake.”

“Sleepy,” Niccolo groans back from his room, sitting up in his bed. “It’s morning already?”

“It is,” you chuckle, stepping back out into the hallway. “Good morning to both of you.”

“Where’s daddy?” Verona pulls herself out of bed, rubbing her eyes.

“He’s showering right now but will join us for breakfast soon,” you gesture to the two as they put on their slippers. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you two washed up and ready to start the day. I think your little brother is…” You squint your eyes, peeking into the nursery room again. “Still asleep.”

“Vincent is very sleepy,” Verona giggles, skipping to the estate’s second bathroom with her brother.

“I say that too and then the next moment, he’s suddenly awake and staring at us,” you laugh to yourself, following the twins.

“Minty fresh,” Verona picks up her toothbrush with Niccolo, smearing a modest amount of toothpaste over it before handing it to her brother and staying by the sink.

“Mhmm,” you pick up Verona’s hairbrush, standing behind her. “And how would you like your hair styled today, sweetie? Any ideas?”

“I really like the pigtails we did last week, mama,” Verona beams, beginning to brush her teeth. “With the red ribbons!”

“Ooh, of course,” you step back to open one of the bathroom cabinets, taking two silky, red ribbon ties and slipping them over your wrist. “Pigtails for today it is.”

“Mama, are you gonna tell us about your trip?” Niccolo asks curiously, wetting his toothbrush.

“Ya, like—” Verona covers her toothpaste-filled mouth, “if it’s really fun flying on an airplane!”

“I never thought about it that way,” you smile at the two, styling through Verona’s hair. “Honestly, I haven’t really been thinking of the trip. It wasn’t anything for fun, after all, otherwise, we would have taken you too.”

“Yeah,” Niccolo agrees, looking at himself in the mirror as he begins to brush his teeth. “Daddy had work.”

“And I always get sleepy and tired on plane rides, even if where we’re going isn’t too far away,” you admit sheepishly, tying up one ponytail over Verona’s hair.

“Mama gets too cozy,” Verona laughs, “I would too! Las Vegas is close to home, right mama?”

“It is,” you nod back, “so it wasn’t too bad to travel there. Your father and I just wanted to get home as soon as we could.”

“Why, mama?” Verona continues asking.

You pause for a moment, continuing to brush through her hair. “Because it was dull and boring, all for work and business for your daddy. We had to get it done though, but I won’t say I had fun.”

“That’s fair, mama,” Niccolo agrees. “Maybe it’ll be fun if we come.”

“Maybe,” you tie up the second pigtail over Verona’s hair. “You guys want to go on a vacation soon?”

“Soon, yes!” Verona exclaims, moving to rinse out her mouth by the sink.

“We absolutely will,” you take out a tin of hair gel from the cabinet, moving to style and brush through Niccolo’s hair next. “Your daddy and I were thinking of it. I can’t remember the last time we took you guys to Sicily, you know. You were both just little babies.”

“Yes, please!” Verona giggles through rinsing her mouth. 

“I wanna go too,” Niccolo chimes in, “Grandma and Grandpa always talk about Sicily.”

“You won’t have to wait too long then,” you plant a kiss over Niccolo’s head before combing through his hair. “Your daddy wants to go just as much as we all do, and maybe you guys can remind him today too, hmm?”

“I will for sure,” Verona turns off the tap, grabbing a face towel. “I wanna go and visit!”

“Me too,” Niccolo slowly moves towards the sink so you can continue styling the gel carefully through his hair while he rinses his mouth out. “We all go with Daddy!”

“He’ll be downstairs in just a minute,” you glance out towards the hallway, “let’s both get you dressed so we can meet Daddy downstairs.”

~

Turning off the water, Michael pulls back the shower curtain and gives out a deep breath—letting the hot steam of the shower surround him as he squeezes out the excess water from his hair.

Michael rakes a hand through his wet hair, slicking it away from his face before he steps out of the shower and reaches to grab a body towel.

Wrapping the towel around his waist securely, Michael takes a separate towel to ruffle through his hair as he approaches the foggy sink.

Wiping his hand over the mirror to clear it, Michael notices a bit of his stubble is growing through and opens the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror to grab his razor and a tube of shaving cream.

Standing in front of the sink, Michael begins to modestly lather shaving cream over his cheeks and jawline, faintly being able to hear the sound of you and the children heading downstairs for breakfast.

Carefully yet in swift, quick motions, Michael shaves without a single nick or cut over his skin; rinsing off his face before applying a cooling aftershave balm.

Michael continues to press the towel down through his hair thoroughly to soak up as much moisture as he can before he combs through it neatly and reaches for his tin of hair gel.

Barely being able to tell that his hair is still damp, Michael begins to thoroughly apply the gel and slick his hair back from the middle; keeping it neat without a single strand loose and out of place.

Michael then makes his way into the bedroom, drying himself off with his towel before picking out a pair of grey briefs, a white dress shirt you ironed for Michael the other day with a pair of black slacks, a matching waistcoat, white socks, and a tie. 

Setting aside his suit jacket, Michael doesn't intend to wear it in the comfort of his own home knowing he won't have business or guests to entertain today—no exceptions regardless of how "urgent" others may consider it to be, but Michael's also never been lazy or sloppy when it comes to his choice of attire no matter the occasion or time.

Spraying cologne over his neck and collarbone, Michael walks out of the bedroom and shuts the door behind him, looking forward to spending the entirety of his day with his family and only his family; perhaps limited in interaction with Sonny for now as Michael's internal annoyance and irritation still cool.

Michael especially wishes to spend the vast majority of his time with you and the children more than anything else; missing his children but also knowing he didn't get to spend much quality time with you in Las Vegas either, aside from last-minute lovemaking in the evening.

Michael first approaches Vincent's nursery before heading downstairs, seeing the crib is empty but the sounds of his baby son babbling downstairs from the kitchen.

The scent of Michael's cologne comes down before you even sense your husband's presence or see him; in the kitchen with baby Vincent sitting in his baby seat close to you and by the dining table with his older siblings.

Verona and Niccolo sit across from each other and surround Vincent, smiling and distracting their little baby brother with a handful of toys as you get to preparing breakfast.

"He's so tiny," Verona giggles to herself, handing Vincent a toy he dropped. "Teeny tiny!"

Vincent smiles up at his siblings aimlessly, very receptive to laughter and positive voices surrounding him. 

"He is a tiny little guy, isn't he?" You chuckle, dressed in a burgundy shirtwaist dress with a pair of house flats on; standing by the stove and preparing breakfast.

While you've just picked up on Michael's cologne signaling he's nearby, Michael's taken in the scent of breakfast being cooked while coming down to the kitchen.

In a pan, you sautee together chopped pieces of bacon, Italian sausage crumble, grated mozzarella and cheddar, green pepper, mushrooms, and small broccoli florets.

You reach into the egg carton next to you on the counter, setting three eggs aside. 

Michael leans against the doorway, taking in the delicious scent of the meat and vegetables being sauteed and feeling the warm spring breeze coming from the back door flow into the kitchen.

Distracted, you crack three eggs into the frittata you're making, disposing of the eggshells in the little trashcan next to you and giving your hands a quick rinse in the sink.

Michael gazes at you with intrigue, watching you quickly your wrist moves to whisk in the eggs quickly into the frittata and reach for a carton of cream from the refrigerator.

Michael's eyes admire the way your hips move, how your dress adorns your body, and every inch of you in nothing but pure adoration.

Already having noticed their father from afar standing by quietly, the twins giggle amongst each other in reaction; very clearly aware as to how their father is lovingly appreciating their mother behind her back.

"Good morning," you hear Michael's velvety voice call out from behind; causing your heart to race just like that.

"Good morning, Daddy!" The twins chime in together.

"Aaa," Vincent shakes his rattling toy aimlessly, unsure why the sudden upbeat enthusiasm is coming from his siblings but just happy to join in on it.

"Good morning, darling," you turn around blushing, seeing a small smile over Michael's lips.

"Aaa!" Vincent raises his voice in excitement, waving around his toy.

"I think he says good morning too, Daddy," Niccolo laughs.

"I believe so," Michael walks into the kitchen, leaning down to scoop up three-month-old Vincent in his arms. "Hello, little man. He's awake early."

"He is," you agree, carefully putting the pan into the preheated oven. "He's being so good this morning despite waking so early, though. Not a fuss made, just babbling little conversations to himself and his siblings."

"He likes to talk," Verona points out, waving at her baby brother in Michael's arms.

Vincent aimlessly stares at Michael, sticking out his little tongue before bumping his head against Michael's temple lightly. "Aa...."

"But how old will Vincent be when he can talk to us, Daddy?" Niccolo asks, sitting upright.

"Almost two years old, I'd say," Michael replies, rubbing Vincent's back in lazy circles gently.

"What?!" Verona gasps.

"Two years?!" Niccolo lets out a deep sigh, "That's gonna take forever!"

"Well, what did you think, honey?" You let out a laugh, setting out jars of homemade grape, strawberry, and raspberry jam from the cabinet.

"Sooner?" Niccolo shrugs his shoulders sheepishly, "Maybe it takes one year!"

"Far too soon," Michael shakes his head as you take out three little bowls to put equal varieties of jam in. "Even the two of you weren't talking in a year. Just a few words here and there."

"Really?" Verona's eyes widen with intrigue.

"Really," you smile back at her, "and you both will get to see Vincent grow up right in front of your eyes so you'll understand."

Niccolo looks up to see baby Vincent clutching his tiny grip over the fabric of Michael's waistcoat, distracted by the texture against his skin.

You set out the selections of jam over the dining table, moving back to the stove. "If it's one thing you all share like your baby brother, it's that none of you could stop grabbing and touching daddy's tie or clothes."

"But Daddy wears Italian silk suits, right?" Verona speaks up.

"That I do," Michael answers, walking towards the back door with Vincent to get some fresh air; amused by Vincent's distraction towards his waistcoat.

"So it's very soft!" Verona exclaims.

"Oh, ya," Niccolo adds, "and very fancy."

"Very," you laugh with them, "Vincent is the master of fancy fabrics."

“He knows he likes his suits,” Michael cracks a rare joke, carefully stepping out into the courtyard as Vincent excitedly rattles his toy in his free hand.

You move the mixing bowl containing ricotta pancake batter over to the stove, adding a small amount to the hot pan and watching it spread into shape. “Almost ready for breakfast!”

“Can I help, mama?” Verona hops off her seat.

“Sure, darling,” you gesture to one of the kitchen cupboards. “We have some biscotti in there. Could you please take some out and set them out on the plate here? We can have some with jam this morning.”

“Okay!” Verona nods, doing as she’s told. “Tasty jam. I help Mama.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you smile down at her, glancing up momentarily to see Michael slowly pacing around the courtyard with Vincent in his arms.

Vincent snuggles onto his father’s shoulder, chewing on his rattle toy while peeking around the sight of nature around him.

“We’re almost done here…” Distracted, you flip the pancake over carefully and keep the sizes of the others at a consistent size and thickness.

You glance at the other pan of food still steaming hot on the other side of the stove—Italian sausage and eggs—taking note of everything to get ready.

“Smells so good, mama,” Niccolo looks over to the stove giddily, eyeing the homemade marinara sauce smothered amid the Italian sausage and poached eggs. “My favorite!” 

“A favorite of daddy’s too,” you add, beginning to set the silverware and plates out on the dining table.

Niccolo gets up from his seat, helping his sister reach into the cupboard and taking as many cups as he can with him towards the dining table to help out.

“Perfect, thank you two,” you rub Niccolo and Verona’s shoulders—looking towards the backdoor. “I’ll get Daddy and Vincent in otherwise they’ll be out there forever.”

The twins giggle amongst each other as you step out into the courtyard, taking in a breath of the fresh spring air to see your husband walking around the center of the backyard and kissing Vincent’s cheek.

“Hi, baby,” unable to wipe the growing smile off of your face, you approach both of them.

“Hello, darling,” Michael turns around to face you as you lean up, pecking a sweet kiss over your husband’s lips. 

Michael kisses back, gazing at you. “Is breakfast ready?”

“Mhmm, it is,” you gently squish Vincent’s chubby cheek, gesturing for them to follow inside. “Everything’s ready and we’re waiting for you two to come join us! I wonder if this little man is hungry.”

“I think so, considering how he’s been chewing on every toy I give him,” Michael chuckles quietly, taking your hand with his free one before following you back inside the estate.

~ 

Sitting by herself in her family estate across a small distance from yours, Sandra rests her cheek upon her fist and gives out a glum sigh to herself. The day has practically just started; just the morning after you, Michael, and Sonny’s arrival back home from Las Vegas.

Naturally, Sandra understands how exhausted her husband may be from travel. Sonny’s always felt worn out one way or another with long road trips and plane rides, regardless of how far or close his destination is.

Jet lag has never done any good for Sonny who prefers to rest it off by sleeping in much more than he may normally do when given the chance instead of taking naps throughout the day, and a shot or two of whiskey here and there never hurt to keep his mind sharp throughout it.

No different than any other time, Sonny slumped into bed last night tired and with a pounding headache. The only thing he did before falling asleep just a moment after taking a shot of whiskey and mumbling, “I’m exhausted,” to Sandra.

When it comes to Sonny, Sandra’s more than aware that’s her husband’s normal behavior hence why she didn’t question it.

Come to think of it with Sandra’s mind on nothing else but what a lonely morning she woke up to, she’s come to realize Sonny was rather dismissive and even a little cold towards her.

Still, knowing how much of a grumpy, sarcastic mood Sonny can get in when he’s tired and hungry, Sandra lets it be as it is.

She neither minds waking up alone nor having Sonny sleep in especially after travel, but having the children go off to the governess first thing in the morning and have breakfast by herself after being alone for a few days, the loneliness and lack of companionship hits Sandra hard.

It was after Sandra finished breakfast and began cleaning up that Sonny woke up abruptly and couldn’t fall back asleep.

Instead of letting Sandra know or greeting his wife, Sonny took a hot shower which Sandra overheard then fixed himself a drink of gin and tonic for breakfast which came off as somewhat odd to Sandra.

Sandra’s already guessing something is up with Sonny since it seems as if he’s practically avoiding her but she can’t make any sense of it.

Rising from her seat on the couch, Sandra frowns and looks around the quiet, empty house—wishing she could at least spend some time with Sonny and ask him how his trip went. After all, Sandra knows everyone else is spending time with their families and enjoying breakfast together right now except her.

Feeling left out and alone, suspicion slowly begins to grow over Sandra who begins to approach Sonny’s study, knowing he’s in there from the ruffling sound of newspapers and Sonny setting down his drink.

From the ajar door, Sandra sees her husband sitting over a leather armchair with his ankle crossed over and resting on his leg—reading through a newspaper.

“Sonny?” Sandra places her hand over the door, peeking in with concern over her expression.

Sonny purposefully takes a few extra seconds to react, looking up at Sandra with boredom and slight irritation. “Huh? Yeah, what is it?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to check up on you,” Sandra replies, frowning. “You missed breakfast.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sonny grunts, stretching out his arms. “I was tired.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Nah, I had something to eat already,” Sonny says, returning his attention back to the newspaper in his hands.

Sandra remains quiet, standing by the door for a moment; she knows Sonny has nothing else to say to her nor does he even want to carry a conversation with Sandra right now, but she can’t understand why Sonny’s acting the way he is now.

“What?” Sonny asks after a moment, growing more tense.

“Nothing,” Sandra murmurs, turning around and shutting the office door behind her.

Heading into the foyer, Sandra puts her Mary-Janes on and exits the estate. She makes her way to what used to be Fredo and Deanna’s shared estate, now belonging to Connie and Leo.

Knowing the only one she can confide in over her brother’s behavior that isn’t spending time with family or is occupied this morning is Connie, Sandra hopes to herself that her sister-in-law can ease her overthinking and offer some advice.

If it’s anyone who knows Sonny and his antics well and on a much different level than a brother would, it’s Sonny’s own sister—Connie. Besides, Sandra doesn’t at all feel up to bothering anyone else like you or Theresa whose shy, reserved, and put off by Sonny’s behavior to begin with.

Deanna on the other hand is in Hollywood shooting a film with Johnny Fontane, but her relationship with Sonny is just as limited as Theresa’s.

‘Then again..’ Sandra glances over in the direction of your estate. ‘There’s Victoria.’

Immediately, Sandra’s mind goes back to the events of what occurred in New York whether she wants to remember it or not; seeing Sonny with blood gushing out of his nose, swelling, and puffiness reaching his eyes all bleeding and bruised when Michael confronted him about why he made a move on you.

Like the others, Sandra was also under the impression Sonny went to New York to check on you and the twins. Everyone assumed Sonny would also bring news to Tom or Michael, but only those two and Sonny knew what was really going on and why you left for New York in the first place.

Sonny never told Sandra why you were in New York to begin with as everyone knew how personal the reason was and would prefer to forget it all entirely.

While Sandra doesn’t know the whole story of the whys and hows of New York, she does know that Michael refused to speak with Sonny for an entire month let alone have him remotely near you because Sonny kissed you and attempted to seduce you in New York.

Sandra unfortunately knows she’ll never not be jealous when thinking of everything that happened, but it’s toned down over time and her emotions don’t get as strong over remembering it either.

Sandra also knows you didn’t kiss Sonny back or pull a move on him. She figures as she’s heard from you and your reaction that you must’ve been nothing but shocked and disgusted; Sonny’s your brother-in-law after all and you would never do that to Sandra, let alone ever to Michael.

At that point, time was the only remedy for everything that had happened. You felt somewhat alienated from Sonny as a result for a little while and Sandra witnessed that herself.

Still, despite apologizing to you and hearing your side of the story, Sandra can never truly live down her guilt and shame of how she embarrassed herself by talking down to you at your mother’s funeral.

Sandra swallows her remaining, stinging jealousy down but not her pride. She doesn’t want to talk to you at all regarding Sonny; it’ll do nothing but rouse her imagination the wrong way about her husband.

Instead, Sandra continues to go up to Sandra’s estate with the hopes that her sister-in-law can offer her advice and lift her spirits or at the very least that Connie can tell her anything she knows about the trip to Las Vegas.

Of course, Sandra plans to speak with you later in the afternoon and hear more about how you are and how the trip went, but Sandra’s concern right now doesn’t have anything to do with the actual traveling or Las Vegas; Sandra’s only concern is Santino.

~

It’s not unusual for the gateways, doors, and balconies of individual estates on the Lake Tahoe compound to be left open during the day although high security is guaranteed twenty-four hours a day throughout the entire week. 

It only signifies that your family isn’t busy, away from the compound, or seeking privacy, and is welcome to anyone popping by, hence why Connie’s estate door is left wide open this morning. 

Sandra also knows Leo is currently away in New York at the moment, traveling back and forth from the state to Nevada with and for Connie when time and business permits. 

From the moment Sandra enters Connie’s estate, Connie and Mama Corleone in the kitchen already pick up on the sound of someone’s kitten heels clacking against the mahogany floorboards and she guesses it’s either Sandra or Theresa purely based on shoe choice. 

In the kitchen, Connie prepares a pot of black tea, chatting away with Carmela about her next planned trip to New York with Leonardo just as Sandra enters the kitchen—smiling sheepishly and hugging her own arms. 

“Hi, honey,” Mama Corleone’s eyes light up at the sight of Sandra.   

“Hey, Sandra,” Connie greets, turning to face her sister-in-law. “Good morning.” 

“Morning,” Sandra says back, glancing around the kitchen uneasily. “Done breakfast so soon?” 

“Oh, we just finished up a few moments ago. Did you?” Mama Corleone peeks at her. 

“Mm,” Sandra nods, “I had a short one. I just sent off the kids to their studies and that’s that,” she lets out a soft sigh, realizing that if she remains here and talks like this that it invites Mama Corleone to stay and listen too. 

Naturally, Sandra has no issue with Mama Corleone consoling her or giving her advice but at this point, Sandra’s far too embarrassed to talk to her mother-in-law about Sonny again and again. 

“Actually, um, I was wondering if I could talk to you, Connie?” 

“Of course,” Connie agrees, exchanging a glance with Mama Corleone. 

“I’ll see you girls at lunch then,” completely understanding, Carmela smiles at her girls before she begins to make her way out of the kitchen. “Take care!” 

“Bye mama,” Sandra calls back out before facing Connie once more and seeing the concern growing over her sister-in-law’s face. 

“There’s that look in your eyes again,” Connie points out, taking out another tea cup. “Let me get you something to drink first, honey. Go on, have a seat. I already know.” 

“Thank you,” Sandra murmurs, closing the kitchen door behind her before taking a seat at the dining table. 

Connie pours two cups of steaming, black tea and takes a tiny bowl holding sugar cubes and small stirring spoons over to the dining table, sitting across from her sister-in-law. “I could tell just by the way you walked in here that something had to be wrong.” 

“I wish I could prove you wrong,” Sandra says glumly, “never been the greatest at hiding my annoyances, have I? Thank you,” Sandra pulls her teacup over the table to herself with two sugar cubes. 

“You and me both,” Connie chuckles, letting out a deep breath. “What is it? What’s troubling you? Go on, I want all the details.” 

“I didn’t wanna make it a big deal because I don’t know what’s going on,” Sandra begins, staring at her tea. 

“You always say that,” Connie points out, raising her brows. 

“I know,” Sandra whines quietly. “But it’s Sonny.” 

“What about him? Or do I even need to ask?” Connie rolls her eyes, “what’s he gone off to do this time?” 

Sandra blinks, unable to come up with an immediate response. “It’s his trip. Sonny came back from Vegas with Michael and Victoria…” 

“Mhmm,” Connie nods, listening. 

“He was exhausted when he got home, so he wanted to go to bed right away which is fine—” Sandra shakes her head, “he had a drink before, didn’t talk to me or the children whatsoever, and just went straight to bed.” 

“Huh,” Connie notes, “exhausted, then?” 

“Yeah, he was,” Sandra answers. 

“I didn’t see him as ‘exhausted’,” Connie stares back at her. “That’s a bit of an overstatement now isn’t it?” 

“You saw him last night?” Sandra raises a brow, knowing all Sonny did was barge right into the estate the minute he grabbed his luggage from the car and wasted no time in doing so. 

“Yeah, Sonny barged in here all annoyed and asking for whiskey. I’d say he was more grouchy than ‘exhausted’. He definitely had more than enough energy to march in here like that.” 

“That’s not what I saw or heard,” anxiety begins to spike up in Sandra. “I mean… Sonny told me he was tired and going to bed—I didn’t get another word out of him after that. He finished his drink and went to sleep—whatever. Slept in for two more hours this morning and it’s like he missed breakfast on purpose because I swear to you, just as I finished cleaning up and sent off the kids to the governess, he awoke. Sonny didn’t say a word to me, didn’t come in to eat anything. He just made himself a gin and tonic—I don’t get it. He’s being so cold to me, this isn’t normal. He’s completely disinterested in anything I have to say. It’s like every time I try to approach him, I annoy him.” 

Connie takes a sip of her tea, pursing her lips. “Victoria didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what, Connie?” The tip of Sandra’s ears and the nape of her neck prickle hot with brimming anxiety. “I haven’t spoken to her since before she left. I thought I would after lunch today.” 

“I saw Victoria briefly before she went in last night,” Connie tells her, “just made some small talk—asked her how the trip went and if she needed anything because if anyone was exhausted, it was her. I may as well tell you,” Connie shrugs her shoulders, “though I’m not sure if it’ll surprise you or be something you haven’t heard before.” 

“Why?” Sandra’s throat tightens as she mixes her sugar cubes inside her tea. 

“I mean, they went to Las Vegas, Sandra,” Connie licks over her lips, “Sonny wasn’t exactly there for ‘business’.” 

“I see,” Sandra mumbles to herself, looking far more distraught than Connie expects. 

“Okay, you let him off the hook too much, honey,” Connie sighs, shaking her head. “He just goes left, right, and center and he’s been doing that since we were teenagers. Sonny’s excuse is that you let him and it’s disgusting. I don’t know how you deal with it.” 

“I never really let him do ‘anything’,” Sandra rakes a hand through her hair, letting out a shaky sigh. “Sonny can barely control himself. It’s how he is, how he always was. You know our marriage didn’t change him and neither did having kids. His dick has a mind of its own.” 

“Yeugh,” Connie fake gags, brushing off the comment. “I know, trust me.” 

“But what does Victoria have to do with this?” Sandra holds back the growing emotion in the back of her throat. 

“It’s not that, Sandra, relax,” Connie lets out a soft laugh, “relax! She’s just as mad as you, honestly. Victoria was scolding Sonny the whole trip. She won’t talk to him, she said. He must have pissed her off real good this time.” 

“Because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself?” Sandra suggests. 

“When it comes to Rita Duvall, definitely,” Connie rolls her eyes with a scoff. 

“Rita,” Sandra repeats. “Rita? Are you serious?” 

“Mhmm,” Connie appears somewhat amused towards Sandra’s irritated reaction upon the mention of Rita Duvall’s name. “Now that’s two negative reactions whenever that woman’s name is mentioned. I guess you know a bit about our favorite dancer and mistress extraordinaire outside Victoria’s personal grudge towards her?” 

“Do I?” Sandra scowls, “I’ve had my fair share of tugging Sonny’s ear about that whore.” 

“Yeah?” 

Sandra takes in a deep breath, only growing much more irate. “She’s a good-for-nothing whore. Everything she does is for attention and on purpose. She and Sonny—they… The fucking chemistry they have—” Sandra’s eyes begin to tear up as her voice shakes. “How could I not fucking hate her? I can’t stand her or her whorish antics, tricks, and shows—whatever the hell she does. She’s nothing but eye candy, a pleaser and Sonny loves it. She’s exactly what he wants, you know?” 

“Sandra—” 

“Sonny won’t fuck an honest woman the way he loves to fuck his whores,” Sandra’s eyes pool with tears, “She’d look me in the eye and do my husband if she could, but that’s not exclusive, right? It’s not that hard to have Sonny head over heels for you, it’s just impossible for me and I’m his wife. It wasn’t impossible for Victoria.” 

“Hey,” Connie interrupts sharply, placing her hands over the top of Sandra’s. “Honey, it’s okay. It’s alright. No, I get what you mean completely but Victoria doesn’t have Sonny wrapped around her finger. Don’t say that.” 

“H-how am I supposed to know?” Sandra breaks down in tears, weeping. “Everyone can have my husband but me! So I don’t have a choice, Connie. I have to suspect everyone and I hate her. I hate Rita and I hate anyone like her!” 

~ 

[ 6 Months Earlier: Las Vegas, Nevada ]

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to welcome the night of your life where filthy sin and heavenly lust collide; where lines of love and arousal blur to please you! This is a night to remember and accept splendor and entertainment with the one and only, Miss Rita Duvall!” 

The glistening silver curtains encrusted in crystals flutter about over the stage, reflecting over the polished, white marble stage to reveal Rita behind—slowly spinning in a life-size bird cage made of solid gold, decorated in the same dazzling crystals and diamonds. 

Wearing silk, red gloves with diamonds adorning her fingers, Rita’s strawberry blonde hair is curled over her shoulders—bringing attention to the sparkling ruby necklace upon her collarbone, the smokey makeup over her eyes, and cherry red lipstick matching the fiery, scarlet shade of red she wears in a sleeveless bodysuit decorated with the same precious gems and rubies. 

Much like a Vegas showgirl’s classic bodysuit, Rita stands out as the star of the show with a mock peacock tail affixed to the back of her costume; real feathers dipped in crimson dye with matching six-inch stilettos over her feet. 

Background dancers dressed similarly to Rita but without distracting away from having her become the center of attention and swirl about the stage, dancing, and grouping together to slide and push the birdcage towards the middle of the stage. 

Gasps from the crowd mesmerized in awe come from around the room, erupting in cheer and applause which Sonny joins; seated in the second row at the very front of the stage with Michael and Leonardo. 

Close enough to practically smell Rita’s perfume, Sonny’s eyes are fixated on her as Rita blows out kisses to the crowd, swaying her hips over the cushioned seat inside the life-size birdcage. 

Michael ignores anything and everything to do with the show entirely, effectively blocking it out while focusing on his dinner and keeping an eye on the time to anticipate when all of this nonsense will be over and his business partner will come to meet him. 

Amongst all of their family, colleagues, and business partners, Michael and Leonardo remain to be the odd ones out with no interest in erotic shows, brothels, or mistresses for their own reasons; Michael’s being quite self-explanatory knowing him. 

Leonardo on the other hand has always been indifferent to it; it’s not so much that he minds such entertainment and opportunities, but he chooses to have nothing to do with them. 

In the middle of a show like this where it’s hard to ignore what’s going on—let alone the performers themselves—Leonardo can appreciate that it’s a form of entertainment enjoyed by many, and that’s all he’ll take it as without making it personal. 

While Michael can hide his dislike and annoyance for anything without effort, Leonardo can’t hold back from having his expression show exactly how he feels. Since Leonardo initiated a relationship with Connie—now his fiancé—he feels all the more disinterested and uncomfortable. 

Performers, dancers, prostitutes, and showgirls like Rita and Rita herself are a hot commodity amongst rich businessmen, politicians, and influential men seeking entertainment and companionship so there’s never a gap in bookings and demand. 

‘It’s not her entertainment skills or whoring that’s her “talent” either. She’s ‘talented’, alright, but in ways you wouldn’t imagine.’ 

Aroused by how little he’s seen already, Sonny eyes Rita’s plump thighs—admiring how the color red matches her vigor and passion on stage. 

Rita grinds her hips, dancing sensually around the bars of the birdcage slowly to show off every inch of her body. 

‘There’s a million Rita Duvalls. Give any cocktail waitress or Vegas showgirl a big enough gig and she’ll do what she does best, but Rita wants more. Nothing is ever enough for her.’ 

Sonny whistles under his breath, momentarily capturing Michael’s attention who looks up at the stage for only a split second to see Rita look in their direction and lick up one of the bars. 

Unphased, Michael immediately looks away once more with zero intention of even glancing up for a moment to the stage again whereas Sonny can hardly hold back his throbbing erection. 

‘I don’t know if she has issues of her own or if she’s a narcissist who gets high off all the attention, but Rita wouldn’t look anyone in the eye who can’t give her what she wants. She can only entertain for so long until she catches the eye of somebody who finds her the most irresistible of the night.’ 

Michael is no stranger to such forms of entertainment. Half the time Michael travels for business or is meeting with his business partners at any time, some sort of similar entertainment is almost always provided. 

Usually, however, the nature of the entertainment isn’t solely erotic or anything like this, let alone with a face Michael recognizes. 

Michael’s aware tonight’s show harbors on pure erotica, but later on in the evening, he’s also bound to discover it’s a sex show later on. 

Sonny wouldn’t miss this level of entertainment for the world, always preferring to mix pleasure with business and never considering himself as dull as his younger brother. 

Michael can and will purposefully miss any shows of obscenity and promiscuity. Nothing gets to him not just because Michael’s interest in such entertainment is low, but rather that it’s nonexistent. 

Michael’s business colleagues would die in the face of boredom if they did business the way Michael did; long meetings face-to-face in silence for hours with nothing but relevant talk. 

‘Rita has the first pick of the best venues. Rita won’t perform somewhere she knows money won’t roll in. Businessmen, investors, politicians—think of the wealthiest, most influential men. That’s why she’s there.’ 

Pleasure in business is seen as a casual thing by most mafiosi; some even talk business at brothels rather than anywhere else. 

None of it particularly bothers Michael to a personal extent, but he can certainly count on his fingers how many mafiosi he knows that don’t indulge in such entertainment: himself, Vito—his father—and Leonardo, his brother-in-law. 

‘Rita knows her audience. Married, usually middle-aged men with a wife and kids at home… Talking about what an honest woman can’t give him.’ 

Rita is all flair and style—what she’s known for better than anyone else in Las Vegas. Using all of her stage props and background effects to dance and sing at the same time, she puts on a show to remember for tonight. 

Interacting with the crowd is just another act Rita intends on doing tonight, something that immediately spiked your dislike for her when Rita first tried it with Michael at a family event with children present; despite being an adult performer, Rita knew what she signed up for and willingly crossed those boundaries after all. 

‘She’s far from being honest and she knows it. She uses these men for arm candy, influence, reputation, and above all—sex and money. They make for the best kind of blackmail. She’s made that obvious enough.’ 

Rita doesn’t have any boundaries and she doesn’t feel the need to either. Rita offers what she does and has a “take it or leave it policy”, asking if everyone else loves it, why don’t you? 

Michael checks the time on his watch again as Rita parts away from the birdcage and begins to dance to the tune of a sultry, slow sogn upon the stage; making sure the feathers on her bodysuit bounce and shake with every move. 

It’s then and there that Michael notices just how absolutely fixated Sonny is on Rita, mindlessly staring at her. 

Michael doesn’t need to look up to Rita to see why, but his brother’s blatant arousal and unprofessionalism are beginning to irritate Michael; all Sonny’s been doing the entirety of the trip is paying attention to nothing but women. “Let me know when you decide to attend business for business one of these days.” 

“Relax, Mikey,” Sonny chuckles, looking away from Rita for the first time since the show started. “I’m enjoying the show, she’s performing, I don’t wanna let it go to waste. I don’t get you two.” 

Leonardo looks up from his plate, biting into a piece of steak. “Why’s that?” 

“Well, never mind, I guess,” Sonny grins, “I’m not saying anything towards you. You’re engaged to my sister.” 

‘She’s no performer, dancer, entertainer, or whatever the fuck she calls herself. We all know what she is. I wasn’t born yesterday. Rita’s a blackmailing whore.’ 

Eyeing Sonny from the table as she performs, Sonny’s lustful and interested gaze on her hasn’t gone unnoticed with all that admiring. 

It helps all the more that Sonny’s seated so close to the stage and with Michael Corleone whom Rita knows is impossible to get a shred of attention or interest from but Rita’s satisfied with luring in one Corleone brother before she aspires to go back to back with another. 

The only positive purpose doing business in such venues, clubs, and brothels serves most mafiosi besides personal pleasure is the fact that if there’s unwanted or hostile presence of police and FBI not on a mafioso’s payroll, it’s much easier to be able to appear as a couple of businessmen chatting and having drinks while enjoying a show than appearing suspicious. 

None can hear nor suspect any illicit business is being discussed or ongoing from music, singing, and distractions after all. 

Michael still refuses to pay any attention to Rita’s show during her second act even when his business partners arrive; consisting of her emerging from an amethyst and diamond-studded, lifesize clam large enough to comfortably fit three people in. 

Completely and utterly in awe as if he’s in a trance, Sonny and the rest of the invited businessmen are thoroughly entertained and their enjoyment and need for entertainment is just a necessary, lesser evil Michael comes to accept. 

If such needs to occur for business to come along smoothly without issue, then Michael has no issues with it although he finds it all negatively distracting. 

Slow jazz music builds up to its climax as Rita fully emerges from the clamshell, causing business discussions at the table to be briefly interrupted as a result. 

Leonardo and Michael look over to see Rita no longer dressed in her peacock-inspired bodysuit but only in a pair of bra and panties made from a lightweight chain and decorated in pearls and diamonds. 

Rita extends out her arms to the tune of the jazz music, throwing her hair back and stepping out the clam barefoot. 

Just as Michael’s about to divert his gaze once more and remind his business partners what the task at hand is, Rita places her hand over her bra and pulls it off with ease—causing the pearls and diamonds to spring loose and around her on the stage. 

‘She’ll curl up in the arms of any rich, powerful man who can give her a night to remember, spoil her and pay for the new diamonds you see on her ears.’ 

More hoots, whistling and cheers can be heard from the crowd and from Sonny himself as Rita remains completely topless; her breasts springing free as she pulls the matching panties down her legs—bending over. 

“Goddamn,” Sonny chuckles to himself, taking in the view. 

Michael sighs quietly to himself, understanding this is now a full-on sex show rather than the other forms of performances and entertainment he’s had the misery of having to attend yet he isn’t surprised. 

‘When she doesn’t want to let go of her arm candy, she’ll just resort to blackmail. Easy to do to politicians who can’t keep their eyes or hands to themselves, to begin with. It’ll give her the big payday she’s looking for and everyone moves on. She craves it just as much she craves the attention.’ 

Michael lights another cigarette, figuring whenever Rita’s done with her jaw-dropping antics, everyone can get back to business even if that means it looks like Michael will have to wait longer. 

Rita’s third and final act of the night consists of the curtains drawing back once more to reveal her sitting naked inside a massive, human-sized cocktail glass that matches the gems of the clam from her second act. 

Rita lets the pink-colored water inside the cocktail glass soak over her skin as Rita rests her arms on the rim of the cocktail glass. 

Rita then raises up her thigh, letting the pink water drip off as she begins to massage and caress the liquid over her body. 

‘She’ll never have to worry about blackmailing Sonny… If she was to, that would mean he’d want to stay away from her for good, right? Right?’ 

[ Present Day, Lake Tahoe Compound ]

Connie frowns, clasping a hand over her mouth as she stares at Sandra. 

“Say something, please,” Sandra croaks—her throat tightening. 

“Sandra, I’m so, so sorry—Sandra! Sandra!” Connie gasps as Sandra bolts from the dining table, almost spilling her tea. 

“SONNY! SONNY!” Sandra shrieks, storming out of Connie and Leo’s estate. 

“Sandra, wait! Oh my God!” Connie jumps up from her seat, rushing after her sister-in-law. “Sandra, no!” 

All Connie can think of is that while Sandra’s emotions, reactions, and outbursts are completely normal and to be expected, she’s guaranteed Vito and Carmela’s involvement in this now by shouting it for everyone to hear on the compound. 

~ 

Back in your estate shortly after finishing up breakfast with your family, you hold baby Vincent in your arms—indulging in conversation with the nanny, Esther as the twins begin their morning lessons with the governess. 

“Oh, it’s definitely been a while,” you chuckle. “My family visits Sicily regularly, but that’s a given for all the business they do. I think I had more than enough opportunity after we moved to New York, but my studies and work always got in the way.” 

“Would that mean you haven’t been there for five years now? Oh my,” Esther’s eyes widen. 

“Mhmm,” you admit sheepishly, kissing Vincent’s cheek. “Not since the twins were just little babies. Funny enough we’ve been to Rome, Venice, and Florence since but not back to the homeland since. That’ll change very soon.” 

“Looking forward to a good trip for you and the family then, Mrs. Corleone,” Esther beams, “all that time gone by still surprises me. The twins were so tiny, just like this little guy!” 

Before she can say anymore, Esther glances over her shoulder to see Michael stepping out of the estate to approach you; the morning sun glistening over his skin as he keeps both hands in his pockets. 

Understanding the need for privacy, Esther gives both of you a polite smile and a small nod before entering back into the estate to leave you two alone. 

“Hello, darling,” Michael greets you by wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“Hi, baby,” you blush, “I’m thinking we could spend the rest of our morning out on the yacht together maybe with a cold drink and—” 

“SANTINO! SANTINO!” You’re interrupted by the alarming sound of Sandra shrieking around the compound. 

Michael and you exchange a concerned look with one another before rushing out to the front of the estate where Sandra’s continuous scream-sobbing is coming from. 

Sonny’s the first to his wife wailing, throwing down his newspaper and springing out of his seat from surprise. 

“Sandra?!” You call out as Michael keeps a protective arm around you. “Oh—Connie!” You spot your sister-in-law running over, distraught and confused. “Connie! What’s going on—” 

Connie stops in her tracks to see Sandra rush out from behind her estate to inside, only gone for a split second before the three of you watch her screaming insults and curse words in a mix of English and Italian before shoving Sonny outside. 

“Fucking stop! Stop it, alright?!” Sonny grunts, stumbling out of the estate. “What the fuck are you doing?!” 

“GET OUT, GET OUT!” Sandra screams, pointing away from the compound. “GET THE FUCK OUT!” 

“Lower your fucking voice!” Sonny shouts over top over her, brushing off his wrinkled tank top. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Huh?!” 

Before you can say anything, Michael—who remains completely calm next to you—raises his free hand up to silence you, giving you a reassuring look but also signaling he won’t give involved in the middle of this and doesn’t want you to either. 

Sobbing and practically shaking, Sandra opens her mouth again to cry out but is immediately silenced by Sonny. “What the fuck are you yelling for, woman?! What’s wrong with you?!” 

“What’s going on?” Michael interrupts, speaking up. 

The three of you including Connie begin to slowly approach as you also notice Tom and Theresa slowly doing so from their estate after hearing everything. 

With security and guards on alert, Al Neri and Rocco slowly begin to make their way over whereas Esther rushes into the central family compound to ensure the children don’t hear or step out, but it’s only going to be a matter of time until Vito and Carmela do. 

Vincent stares around aimlessly, confused by all the yelling and overlapping loud voices around him but seemingly disinterested and unaffected by it as he plays with a few strands of your hair. 

“Even if your father’s life depended on it, you wouldn’t be able to stop fucking whoring!” Sandra shrieks, “every time you go ‘on business’ all you do is whore around! That’s all you’ve been doing for years, isn’t it?! Go ahead, tell everyone, Sonny! And remind Michael and Victoria too!” 

Connie remains silent, biting her lip. All of this hits too close to home, reminding her of how many times she was in Sandra’s place herself when she was still married to Carlo. 

Connie didn’t want anyone silencing what she had to say to Carlo then, so she refuses to attempt to silence Sandra now. 

“You—” Sonny begins, but Sandra cuts him off. 

“Don’t you want everyone to know what you did in Las Vegas?! Go ahead and tell the children while we’re at it!” 

“Sandra,” Michael speaks calmly, shaking his head. 

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Sandra hiccups, facing Michael as Sonny sighs loudly. “It's true when we first got married—” Sandra points an accusing finger at Sonny. “And true before! But Michael, you’re not going to lie to me, are you? What did Sonny do in Vegas? I want you to tell me.” 

“My brother is an adult capable of making his own decisions and thinking for himself,” Michael replies, “I’m not his babysitter. We had business in Las Vegas, yes, but what Sonny did before, during, and after is not my concern nor do I or Victoria witness it.” 

“Thank you!” Sonny scoffs, beginning to turn away before Sandra yanks on his arm and pulls him back. 

“I don’t fucking think so!” Sandra scowls. “I’ll decide that and you’re NOT going to walk away from me, Santino! You can barely control yourself as is and I’ve had ENOUGH!” 

“YOU HEARD HIM!” Sonny yells back, pointing at Michael. 

“Sonny, don’t yell!” Connie frowns, growing uneasy. 

Sonny’s eyes soften momentarily as he looks over at his sister. “I was only there for business.” 

“Victoria,” Sandra narrows her eyes at you. “What did you see? Tell me.” 

You snuggle Vincent to your chest, sighing softly. “Sandra, this isn’t—” 

“Oh no, no.” Sandra glares at you, “you’re not going to tell me how to react, right? If your husband was known to whore around for years, would you really remain quiet? That passive?” 

“Stop,” you stare back at her, unamused. “That’s not what this is.” 

“THEN TELL ME WHAT IT IS!” Sandra screams, causing Connie to flinch. 

“Lower your voice when you speak to Victoria,” Michael warns, hearing the faint footsteps of Vito and Carmela beginning to step out from the central family compound. 

“Tell me, tell me! TELL ME!” Sandra sobs, hiccupping. 

Sonny shakes his head, locking eyes with you; his expression still somewhat hurt from your last encounter with him in Las Vegas.   

“All of New York knows the truth but not me, his own wife!” Sandra points to her chest, “I deserve to know the truth! Tell me!” 

“You do,” Michael agrees, somewhat calming Sandra. “Yes, you do.” 

“Constanzia,” Carmela calls out gently, approaching her and gesturing her away. “Come here, sweetheart. Come, let’s go.” 

You stay put, watching as Vito approaches with a grave look of disappointment on his face—watching his daughter-in-law weep. 

“Papa,” Sandra hiccups, shaking her head. “What have I done? What did I do? Was I a bad wife to deserve this?” 

Sonny bites his lip, embarrassed in the presence of his father and barely able to look Vito in the eye. 

“No, you were not,” Vito answers, scowling at his son. “And Santino does not think so either, does he?” 

“Pop—” 

“Silence!” Vito interrupts. “You’ve caused our family enough embarrassment, you make your wife cry and you speak back to me? Have you no shame, Santino? You treat the mother of your children—your life partner—this way with such disrespect in front of your family?” Vito shakes a scolding finger at Sonny. “I will speak to you alone, Santino, so you don’t embarrass yourself in front of the family any longer, but you owe answers and apologies to your wife.” 

“I want to hear it from Michael,” Sandra sniffles. 

Vito looks over at the both of you, noticing the frowns on your faces. 

“Him or Victoria,” Sandra hiccups again, “they were both in Las Vegas with Sonny. They know. Victoria, tell Papa.” 

You nod, refusing to hold back for Sonny’s sake. “Papa, I didn’t see or hear anything—that’s the truth—but Sonny told me himself he went to spend time with a woman.” 

“Rita, right?” Sandra attempts to catch her breath. 

Michael raises a brow, seriously beginning to wonder how everyone knows Rita Duvall in this family. 

“Aaaaaa…” Vincent snuggles your chest, surprising you by how calm he remains throughout so much shouting being exchanged. 

“Rita, seriously?” Michael stares at Sonny, no longer able to hold back his own disappointment. 

 You press your lips down together, remaining silent and attempting to appear indifferent to the name mentioned. If Sandra knows of Rita, then she already knows about everything else and if her pain lies with Sonny’s affair with Rita, then you can only think of Sandra who’d be happy to hear someone put Rita Duvall out of her misery a few days ago.

The conversation changing to speak of a woman whom you killed recently is no doubt an interesting one between family.

“Jesus,” Sonny sighs, looking away in defeat. 

“Go inside, I’ll speak with you separately,” Vito gestures Sonny away. “Everyone, please give them some privacy. Let us all return to what we were doing, your mother and I will deal with this.” 

Michael gives Sonny one last look before gently leading you away and back towards your estate. “Come on, darling.” 

“YOU WERE WHORING AROUND IN VEGAS WHILE I WAS WAITING FOR YOU AND TAKING CARE OF OUR FAMILY!” Is the last thing you hear Sandra scream to Sonny right then and there before you and Michael enter your estate. 

~

With every step you take until you and Michael are back into the estate with the door shut, you can hear Sandra’s sobbing, Sonny’s disgruntled comments, and Vito’s scolding. 

“C’mon, c’mon, go inside. Get inside, and we’ll talk. Come on, that’s enough. Stop crying.”

“Aa!” Vincent squirms in your arms, only now beginning to grow restless.

“Ah, I’m right here. Right here,” you gently bop the tip of Vincent’s little nose, “hi, baby. Hiiii, look at Mama.”

“Gaaaaahhhh…” Vincent blinks in confusion, beginning to calm down as you give both of his cheeks a kiss.

Michael glances out towards the window, knowing Sandra is sobbing and inconsolable whereas Vito feels disrespected and embarrassed on behalf of the family.

“There, there,” you wiggle a piece of your hair to Vincent, noticing his interest immediately grow. “Mama’s hair is that interesting, hmm? I’m flattered. You’ll grab on daddy’s tie too, right?”

Vincent blathers quietly, holding a few strands of your hair in a loose grip as you turn to face Michael who locks the front door, gazing back at you.

“I…” You take in a deep breath, patting Vincent’s back. “It’s past his nap time. I should put him to bed.”

“Very well,” Michael nods, slipping both hands into the pockets of his trousers. “We need to talk after.”

Strange, cold tension fills the space between you and Michael momentarily towards the matter with Sandra; a lot to consider on Michael’s behalf whereas memories of New York with Sonny come rushing back to you—leaving a mellow taste in both of your mouths

“I know,” you say back, turning around and approaching the staircase. 

“I want you in my office afterward,” Michael watches as you carefully go up the steps.

“I’m tired, Michael,” you say back; whether it’s of today or what just occurred in front of half of the family, you leave it up to Michael to infer.

“I know. I am too.”

You feel the tension in your body begin to ease up as you make your way upstairs with little Vincent in your arms, already noticing how your son snuggles you in a state of sleepiness.

“Let’s get you all cozy and in your bed,” you whisper softly to Vincent, approaching the nursery. “You’re falling asleep on me already. Oh,” you can’t help but smile at how Vincent’s curled up to your chest, peacefully beginning to doze off.

You carefully set Vincent in his crib, tucking him in and minding what position he’s laying in without waking him.

“I need to learn from you, honestly,” you joke, speaking in a very ushered tone as you watch Vincent sleep. “Just look at you…” You sigh in relief, “growing so fast. Three months have gone like that already… I love you, little guy. Mama loves you so much.” 

You make sure to keep the nursery door open for Esther to check in on Vincent if you’re unable to throughout the day and also to hear any crying.

It’s not that you dread returning downstairs to get to Michael’s office or feel anxious about having a talk with him about all that just occurred with Sandra and Sonny, but rather that you feel so burned out from it all that the last thing you want is to be put in the middle—especially if it means Sandra and Sonny’s marriage will be permanently impacted.

None of this is fair to Sandra, but it’s not fair to you either. Then again, you know more about what happened than you’ll ever let on, and Michael knows this too. 

Back in his office, Michael organizes paperwork over his desk—not so much distracted but waiting for you.

You step into Michael’s office, pulling off your hair tie to let your bun unravel free over your shoulders before smoothening it out. 

You don’t even bother to look up at Michael right away who has his hands in his pockets, walking around his desk to approach you now.

Michael can tell you’re not avoiding looking at him directly out of guilt or anxiety, but that you’re tense and a little shaken up from that dramatic encounter with Sandra and Sonny.

Michael approaches you directly, placing both hands over your arms gently. “Relax, darling. You’re very tense.”

Sighing softly, you look up at your husband and frown.

Michael rubs up and down your arms tenderly, gazing into your eyes with nothing but genuine trust.

“Sandra…” You begin.

“I know,” Michael speaks to you in a soothing, calm voice. “There’s nothing we can do about the matter. It must be left between them.”

“And Papa?”

“Pop is disappointed,” Michael nods grimly. “He’ll have his say”

“I’m glad,” you say with a sigh, wrapping your arms around Michael’s shoulders. “Sandra deserves that much at least.”

Michael and you are more than well aware of how Connie didn’t have that kind of treatment from Vito who outright refused to get involved in her and Connie’s abusive marriage.

“I can presume whatever Santino did was as bad as Sandra claimed,” Michael mentions.

“Yes, it was,” you nod back, “Sonny’s lucky. Even with Pop talking to him who I trust will knock some sense into him, he’s still lucky.”

“Hmm,” Michael embraces you, planting a kiss over the side of your neck. 

“If it was my father…” You grimace, “no. He would be in deep shit. Any of my brothers would.”

“That is to be expected,” Michael agrees. “He came and spoke with me shortly after we settled in.”

You blush, gently pressing your forehead against Michael’s. “Sonny did?”

“Yes,” Michael answers, “he came in bitter, entitled, and demanding answers. All he spoke of was you.”

“Great,” you mumble under your breath. “He doesn’t understand what I did was for his own good.”

“I agree,” Michael says, but in reality, he has no idea exactly what you mean. “He questioned your actions and integrity, but I did not. I don’t. As Pop said, we can’t afford a scandal on Sonny’s behalf after Fredo. Deanna is in Hollywood and has held nothing back to journalists about Fredo and his promiscuity throughout their marriage.”

“Figures,” you rub your temple gingerly, “it’s the last thing we need after all of this.

“And the baby,” Michael kisses your forehead. “I’m more concerned about you and our family than anything else. I refuse to make Sonny’s behavior our problem.”

“I know, baby,” you nod glumly. “I didn’t want Pop and everyone to hear all of that but it was inevitable.”

“Perhaps it was for the best,” Michael offers. “The rest is up to them personally, however… You never told me you hit Sonny.”

“He deserved it,” you look up into Michael’s eyes. “Then and there, he deserved it.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“You didn’t expect that though, did you?” You ask.

“I understood why,” Michael replies. “You’re not a bitter and malicious person, Victoria, and you certainly weren’t in Las Vegas.”

“I know how he is,” you say back, practically still able to hear Rita’s whiny voice mocking you over her supposed pregnancy.

“And that brother-in-law of yours? His seed is inside me, so? You know what happens next, don’t you?”

You refuse to mention anything about Rita’s pregnancy to Michael for your own reasons.

“Sonny’s still my brother, and I care about him,” you state. “But he has more to deal with when it comes to his marriage. And as to what I did…” You shake your head, “he just needs to get over it.”

“He will,” Michael takes your hand, leading you towards one of the sofas in the office. “It doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

“I understand, baby,” you sit next to Michael on the leather sofa, curling up to his side. “I just want my little peace and quiet with you and the babies.”

“Is Vincent asleep?” Michael wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his body.

“Mhmm,” you nod, “fell asleep right away. Wasted no time.”

“I wish we could have said the same for the twins when they were growing up,” Michael chuckles quietly. 

“Same here,” you giggle back. “At least they did when they were newborns.”

“A different story altogether,” Michael adds. “Mm, how do you feel?”

“About?” You feel his hand rubbing up and down your back gingerly. 

“Everything, or just about.”

“I’m alright,” you smile back at your husband. “And I know things will be better. I’m not going to let the last few days dictate to me how I should keep feeling.”

“I’m prepared to put the world to a stop if I need to for you, Victoria,” Michael’s hands begin to massage up and around your shoulders. “You only gave birth a few months ago. I want you to relax.”

“I’ll catch up eventually,” you relax in Michael’s embrace. “With this little one.”

“We missed having a baby around,” Michael kisses the top of your head. “The twins… They’ve grown up already.”

“Very fast,” the blush over your cheeks deepens as Michael kisses both of your hands. 

“I’m proud of them and you,” Michael whispers against your forehead before kissing it.

“I love you so much,” you blush back.

“I love you too,” Michael gives your hands a soft squeeze. “You’re an amazing mother, I want you to know that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you feel Michael’s hand beginning to caress down your chest; his movements growing slower and more tender. 

“And an amazing woman,” Michael nuzzles your neck as you find your fingers clutching onto the fabric of Michael’s dress shirt.

“Michael,” you whisper, tilting your head back to feel the warmth of Michael’s lips planting hot kisses over your neck—inhaling in the scent of your floral perfume.

A shiver goes down your spine from arousal as you feel Michael’s nose brush against your skin. “I want to have another child with you…”

“Already,” your breath hitches as you press your body against Michael’s.

“Whenever you feel ready,” Michael’s hands begin to inch up your blouse.

“Considerate,” you tease back—a whimper escaping your lips from Michael’s hands cupping your breasts.

“Your needs come first, baby,” Michael rubs his fingers over your tender nipples—already hardened from arousal. “I can still please you until it’s over.”

You know Michael’s referring to your period which you got in the middle of the night. “Yes, you can…” You writhe in Michael’s lap. “I… I didn’t lock the door.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Michael begins to inch your blouse up. “I want you here right now.”

“Oh, please,” you buck your hips up in arousal, watching as Michael licks his fingertips and continues massaging your nipples.

“You. Are. Mine.” Michael says between kisses over your breasts. “Only mine.”

“Yes,” your eyes flutter shut as Michael slips your blouse up and off over your head.

From where you both lay on the sofa in Michael’s office, you can see your reflections in a small mirror on the other side of the room; watching the way Michael teases and pleases your body.

“Come here, baby,” Michael’s tongue flickers over your breasts as he massages one and suckles over the other.

You moan loudly, tugging over his hair and feeling his hot tongue over your nipple.

Rolling your eyes back from pleasure, you feel you could cum from this alone—feeling just as horny on your period and willing to take all the alone time you can with Michael, right here and right now.

~

Within the same week, Fredo’s infamous brothel in Las Vegas is officially sold and shut down with the new buyer’s intention to tear the entire building and structure down and build anew.

All is well for the Corleone family who anticipated such for a long time coming; now with no need to worry about the physical reminders of Fredo’s legacy and being involved in the prostitution business by affiliation.

The news of the Corleone family now having no official ties whatsoever to any form of prostitution pleases Don Tattaglia who still seeks to have a monopoly over brothels under his family business; something Michael is more than fine with.

It’s not for another five days until the brothel’s managers realize they aren’t able to contact Rita Duvall in any form—has accounted for all the other women who worked at the brothel to move employment to an unaffiliated, new brothel.  

Rita neither answers her telephone nor writes back. Her neighbors cannot remember the last time they saw her enter her apartment which remains eerily silent.

For the sake of formality and to avoid trouble with the law, the brothel managers file an official missing persons case on behalf of Rita, but from the unamused twinkle in the constable’s eyes at the police station, it was easily understood this investigation wouldn’t be taken seriously or as a priority over a missing prostitute.

It isn’t the first time showgirls, dancers, cocktail waitresses, and prostitutes have gone missing before but especially those who are known by the mafia or have curled up to him are almost always expected to go missing eventually.

It’s either a matter of knowing too much, overhearing something, or being under the suspicion one might snitch or get smart-mouthed towards the mafia which causes mistresses to go missing for good.

Rita isn’t the type to run off for dramatics or disappear for a while nor did the news of the brothel shutting down upset her to do so, but neither the police nor the brothel’s managers expect to find Rita ever again.

Still, it would be something to find Rita’s body at the very least and confirm what happened to her once and for all. Rita’s death would have to be covered up by the police and lied about on every report if it was done by the mafia in which one would truly know if it was done by the hands of a made man or a common killer.

Because the death of many others like Rita is common, there’s no special amount of sympathy felt by anyone on her behalf. Only journalists care about these kinds of cases when it benefits their articles and reports.

At this point in time, it’s been a little while since someone like Rita was reported missing or found dead—leaving a gap in time.

Only once a week passes with no information on Rita, nobody able to contact her, and nothing to pinpoint where she may have gone, what may have happened to her or anything in-between does Luciana’s interest begin to spike up.

Luciana already reported on the brothel shutting down, but it didn’t garner as much attention in the media as she thought.

Although she mentioned Fredo’s name in her article which meant the Corleone family by default and expected some sort of public attention towards it knowing how notorious Fredo’s brothels were when he was actively involved and running them, it appeared that the public was tired of the same old story spun in different ways.

Not only does Rita’s disappearance intrigue Luciana, but the fact that the police, her colleagues, and her employers also stopped caring about her almost immediately beckons for a new report.

Without being explicit or defaming, Luciana’s always been reporting on the drama caused by the mafia and every indulgence they have, especially when it comes to debauchery and luxurious lifestyles.

Since mafiosi are seen as wealthy businessmen outside of the underworld of crime, nothing impacts their reputation, family, or payroll so none come to mind but sometimes even appreciate the light of the media on them. The only exception to this has always been the Tattaglia family.

Tattaglia is the only mafiosi—let alone Don—who considers prostitution a lucrative and important business and because such a business is illegal, Tattaglia pats the city police’s pockets well to keep them in their place and their mouths shut.

Despite suspecting or knowing a fair share herself, Luciana doesn’t care. She takes a neutral stance on everything so as long as it doesn’t impact her directly. Some may even call her selfish for how she couldn’t care less what comes of her colleagues; it’s just one less journalist to compete with.

Luciana also couldn’t care less about the hows and whys of what the crime families do. She’s a reporter and a journalist—all she likes to do is get to the bottom of a good story and deliver.

Luciana remains to be the only journalist at her media outlet that cares about “whore gossip” and “drama scandals” to the point where she’s built her career and reputation on it.

After all, Luciana can be considered a nosy, gossipy person, and growing up she was the first to hear, spread and confirm rumors throughout her high school days that never really faded away when she became an adult.

And despite only speaking with Rita once to be bribed out of reporting a news story on her, Luciana doesn’t consider herself to know Rita personally. All Luciana figures are that Rita, a very popular prostitute and showgirl on stage and behind curtains but not so much in her personal life has gone missing and it’s going to make a hell of a headline.

Luciana’s aware Rita’s always spent her fair share of time with the Barzinis and Tattaglias, so regardless of how Luciana words her headline or chooses to write up a story, it’ll shine the wrong light on the two mafia families which could easily get Luciana and all of her colleagues killed.

Now that their “star girl” Rita Duvall is officially missing, the last thing Luciana will want is any heat on her without implying Rita’s possibly murdered.

For now, Luciana decides to write up an article that’ll only make it look like Rita’s a bad girl gone rogue until Luciana can dig up and discover enough information on what really happened to write up something proper.

‘Without a Trace: Star Showgirl and Performer Rita Duvall Missing?’ Luciana stares at her typewriter, amused by the witty headline she came up with.

It’s only a matter of time until Rita shows up with a bolstered reputation as if she was starting her second act or with a ruined reputation because she disappeared and none cared to find out why. 

It’s that, or the third option; that Rita Duvall is dead.

[watcher-with-burned-wings]

Darkside (Pt. 2)

(Part 2 to If you love me, let me go, or the Wasteland Au)

The crest of the sun had just begun to peek over the edge of the wall of Life City. Only a few citizens were wandering the streets of the sleepy city, setting up shops and stalls for the customers. Town hall lay dormant, peaceful for now. But soon, it will be filled with hostile and aggressive arguments, insults, and annoyed hybrids.

As per Mayor Scar’s integration plan, all outsiders had to attend classes to learn how to be model citizens.

That’s how every day, for eight hours, Scott had spent the last two weeks. Scott tolerates the quote “lessons” only because it allows him to see Ren and Grian. Pearl was there as well, formally known as Blood Moon. But her owner had somehow managed to calm the wolf centaur down to someone nearly unrecognizable.  Most of the time it is just them ignoring or arguing with Scar.

Jimmy, Martyn, Tango, and Cleo tend to come back to the hall to find the crimson having done something to Scar and were found chilling in Grian’s room, much to their dismay. They never hurt Scar, he’s usually locked in a closet or locked out of the hall, they even had him stuck in a chair due to super glue the quad had made from flour, water, mud, and sap.

They weren’t allowed flour unsupervised after that.

Waking up to someone licking his face, Scott groaned out, “Owen…please. I’m trying to sleep.” The llama huffed and nudged him a bit more aggressively, bleating into his ear. The cyan-haired llama hybrid sat up, rubbing his ear. “Fine, fine. I’m up.”

The llama huffed again and then began to eat the hay that Scott had been using as a bed. Shaking his head, Scott chuckled and got up, stretching out, and looking around the stall he called a “room”. Jimmy reluctantly agrees to allow Scott to live in the barn because both Tango and Jimmy can see the effects of Scott being locked and chained up in the house.

He had fallen into a deep depression, barely eating, not speaking, and refusing to come out from under the bed. The llama hybrid was sleep-deprived as well, so it was only so long before Tango set up a room-like cell next to Owen’s stall. It was a stall with a padlock on the door and had hay for bedding instead of a mattress, much to Scar’s disapproval. The first night showed much improvement, much to the Ranchers’ delight.

A few compromises were made for him to stay in the barn. First, he had to have meals in the house, unless he was sick.  Second, he needed to shower every day, at least once, due to smelling like a llama, which Scott honestly didn’t mind smelling like. And last, he had to attend the “lessons” without fuss, unless, again, he was ill. Scott readily agreed because he got the chain off and had somewhere comfortable to rest with a fellow llama by his side.

Owen worked as a personal alarm clock as well.

The llama would lick him or annoy him until he got up for the day. Which was a blessing and a curse because he didn’t have a snooze button or off button. Scott walked over to the stall window, looking through the bars as Jimmy opened the barn door. Jimmy smiled as he strolled over to the door, pulling a key out of his pocket.e

“Good morning, Scott! How are you? Sleep well?” He asked as he unlocked the stall door, opening it for the perky llama man. Said llama man nodding with an eye rub.  

“Yes. Now food.” Scott replied simply. Jimmy shook his head.

“Nope, you shower and get dressed first. You smell like the barn.”

Scott grumbled under his breath but dipped his head in acknowledgment because he didn’t want his little bit of freedom taken away. Jimmy’s gaze softened as he walked with him, guiding him towards the house.

“Tango is making your favorite, strawberries and waffles.” Jimmy tried to cheer him up. “So, the faster you shower, the faster you get strawberries.”

Scott visibly perked up at the mention of the red berry, his tail wagging. He had never tasted something so sweet and juicy before, being one of the only good things in the Life City. “Okay. I’ll accept this.” He laments. Jimmy giggles and opens the door for him.

Scott didn’t even try to get away from them anymore. He learned that trying to escape alone goes nowhere. Granted, even if he did have a chance, he wouldn’t want to leave his friends behind again. Even Pearl had become somewhat of a friend to all of them, easily relating to the sucky situation they all were put in. So, they all agreed to play nicely with the Lifers.

Bolting to the guest room, he grabbed a clean uniform for the class that Scar had issued all of them, tailored to their specific needs. Scotts was normal, minus the tail hole in the trousers. The uniform consisted of gray pants, a black blazer with red, green, and yellow accents, and a white long-sleeve undershirt. The llama hybrid ran back to the bathroom to begin getting ready.

After the quick shower, Scott got dressed. He looked at himself in the mirror and tamed his wild hair. Once he deemed himself presentable, he left the bathroom. He throws his night clothes into the laundry room as he passes before heading to the kitchen.

Jimmy and Tango were chatting in the kitchen when he entered. They both turned to him when they noticed him.

“Good morning, Scott. You can sit down. I’m just finishing the last batch of waffles.” Tango invited with a kind smile. “The strawberries are already on the table for you.” He tacked on after a second.

“Okay, thanks,” Scott replied as he sat down at the dining table.

Scott grabbed a strawberry happily from the large bowl in the center of the table. Unable to contain his llama side, he popped the whole thing into his mouth. Juice dripped down his chin as he savored the delectable fruit as he chewed. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he opened them once he was finished with his mouth full, wiping away the juice with his sleeve.

Jimmy gave a disappointed frown. “Scott, small bites and please use a napkin instead of your sleeve.” Scott just rolled his eyes at him but did what he was told with his next few strawberries.

The Crimson llama was still quite hurt about the Ranchers' betrayal of him. He would be civil to them but would give them the cold shoulder if they asked him to join them in a bonding activity or try to explain their reasoning. However, he didn’t hate them.

He could never.

Jimmy, the kind and caring guy that he is, does everything in his power to try to make Scott comfortable. He has been the one to try to cheer Scott up using flowers, trips, or food to show him that being a lifer isn’t so bad. Tango, in his way, shows his affection by allowing Scott to help around the farm when he is stir-crazy. He shows him how to cook and work complex Redstone mechanics, which goes over Scott’s head most of the time.

But it’s in those times that it hurts Scott the most. Neither understands that they are showing Scott a life they could have had if they had kept their word. But now doubt and broken trust have fractured their relationship in an immeasurably way. Tango and Jimmy have been trying desperately to fix it, but it’ll take time. Something they don’t have before they lose Scott forever.

Shaking away his thoughts, he noticed the waffle on the plate in front of him. Scott glanced up to see Jimmy looking at him worriedly with Tango glancing at him through bites.

“Sorry, just lost in thought.” He apologized before he started eating. Both seem to lose some tension in their shoulders. Jimmy begins to eat his waffle now that he has confirmed Scott’s comfort.

Honestly, Scott felt a little bad about the two farmers. They love him, which before the incident, perhaps he could have reciprocated the feelings. But not anymore. Neither understands that the hybrid feelings. He does like some of the perks of the city, but he feels confined. He is meant to wander, and be nomadic. The lessons feel too domestic. He is part animal, and animals like to be free.

Scott's eyes drifted to the door window, looking out towards the gate as he chewed the waffle slowly, holding it with his bare hands, no syrup.

Tomorrow night they would escape.

They all had been planning this for the last two weeks whenever they managed to get away from Scar. They would quickly hide the evidence of anything being suspicious if they heard any footsteps heading towards them and pretend to be playing cards or just talking. Today they were going to go over last-minute details then they were out of here.

Finally, they all finished their breakfasts. Scott got up and grabbed his required bag and slipped it over his shoulder. Jimmy cleaned off the table as Tango when saddling the horses. As much as the llama wanted to help, he was called over to Jimmy to help wash dishes. He did so begrudgingly, knowing this was a tactic to keep him clean.

Once the dishes were cleared and cleaned, both made their way outside where Tango was waiting. Scott ran up to his horse, he called Bubbles, petting her affectionally. She nuzzled into his hands, snorting happily. He hoisted himself over the sweet horse and settled him into the saddle. Tango had already mounted his horse and trotted over to him. Jimmy followed suit quickly, mumbling something about being late.

The trio began to make their way towards the town hall at a quick pace. They rode through the narrow streets that led to the interior city.  Scott couldn’t help admiring the small shops and morning people that milled around them. Flowers and colors were everywhere compared to the scarlet sands of the wastelands. It only grew more colorful as they went deeper into the city.

Soon the hall appeared ahead of them. Scott dismounted Bubbles, giving her a loving pat on her flank. Tango and Jimmy both stay on their horses.

“Have a good day in class Scott,” Tango called with a smile as he grabbed Bubbles’s harness.

“And please don’t glue Scar down again,” Jimmy added. “It was a pain to get him off that wooden chain.” Scott couldn’t help but feel proud.

“No promises~” Scott called back, laughing at Jimmy’s pale face. Tango shook his head.

“Just get in there, you’re late as it is. I don’t want Scar giving me an earful for you being late.” Tango shouted with an amused and slightly serious tone.

The llama stuck out his tongue at Tango before bounding up the steps and entering the city hall. He took a sharp left down a hallway, following it down to the very end of the hall. He pushed open the door to find Scar in the middle of some boring manner talk.

Scar looked up and grinned, clasping his hands together, “Ah, Scott. Nice of you to join us  !” He gestured towards his seat. “Please sit, I was just explaining the concept of good table manners.”

Huffing, Scott sat heavily in his seat, feeling a smug satisfaction every time, he saw the scar that had appeared where his saliva had burned Scar. Grain gave him a lazy wave of his hand, head down on the table, clearly bored out of his mind, wings partly tucked. Ren wasn’t much better; he looked like he was trying to give Scar his attention but was cleanly falling asleep behind his sunglasses. Pearl sat with her wolf body lying down, being too big for a chair. She had her head in her hand, blinking slowly as she too felt compelled to nap.

Scott sighed as he settled in for the long, boring morning.

============================================================

Grian was startled as the bell rang for lunch. He looked around frantically as his wings puffed in fright. He relaxed when he realized where he was, catching his breath before he relaxed. Scott seemed to notice and gave him a small reassuring smile. Ren and Pearl were still knocked out cold due to being nocturnal most of the time.  

Glancing around, Grian didn’t spot Scar anywhere.

“Where’s Scar?” He questioned Scott.

Scott hums as he stands up, stretching. “He went to grab the lunches.” He sighs as his back audibly cracks, making Grian cringe. “Also, you have drool on your face.” The llama pointed out.

Grian wipes his face and stands up as well. “So how are we going to keep him this time?” Grian asked, looking at the llama expectantly. Scott looked around the room before smirking to himself. The llama hybrid went over to a cabinet and grabbed a gray roll of something. “What is that?”

“No idea, but I’ve seen Tango use it in the barn to hold a pitchfork together so it’s strong,” Scott explained.

“Huh,” Grian replied. “So, pin him down and use it to attach him to the floor?” Grian suggests. Scott gave him an odd look.

“Well, I wasn’t thinking to use it like that,” Scott admitted. “But I think your idea sounds funny so let’s do it.” The llama grins devilishly.

Grian mirrors his expression.

================================

Of all the things Pearl was expecting to wake up was not Scar yelling as Grain and Scott attempted to get him to the floor. Pearl flickered her ears in amusement as she watched the bird man struggle to hold down the human while the llama boy tried to put something gray on his limps. Pearl got up and trotted over and sat down her great wolf body onto the man’s chest.

Said the man letting out an “oof” as he lost his breath. Seeing his opportunity, Scott swiftly placed gray stuff all over his limbs, all attracted to the floor. Ren, who seemingly had just woken up as well, looked at the sight with amusement. Pearl got off him and moved to stand by the llama hybrid.

Getting his breath back, Scar exclaimed, “Where did you get duct tape!? And where did you learn to use it!?” The human struggled futilely on the floor in the tape. Scott simply shrugged.

“Found it and Tango fixed a pitchfork with it so I thought I could use it on you. And it worked.” He gave a snide smirk. “Thanks for lunch by the way!”

Scott grabbed a box labeled with his name and began to head to Grian’s room. Grian followed, hopping on Scar’s stomach before grabbing his lunch box.

“That was for the boring lesson, now we’ll be in my room, socializing.” Grian chirped as he left. Ren got up and followed him, but stepped around him and grabbed his lunch.

“Later dude. Have fun laying on the hard wooden floor.” He said as he left as well.

Scar looked up at Pearl. “Can you please let me up?” Pearl snorted at the absurdity.

“Nah, mate. This is your well-deserved karma.” She stepped around him, grabbing her lunch as well but used her tail to smack him in the face before she left. She exited the room and bounded down the hall towards Grian’s room.

When she got there, she found her allies eating their box lunches. Scotts ate nearly all fruits and vegetables due to meat being hard on his digestive system. Grain had a mix of nuts and seeds, some meat scarps for him as he was an omnivore. Ren had a burger of some sort, biting into it happily. Pearl settled beside Ren and opened her box, wagging her tail as she had a nearly raw steak in her box. She grabbed it and started tearing into it eagerly.

Everyone was quiet as they enjoyed their food. It wasn’t until everyone was done completely did Grian pulled out the escape plan.

“Now let’s get down to business. We’ll go over the plan once more.” Grian looked at Ren. “When Martyn heads to bed, you’ll creep down the stairs get the key from under his bedside lamp, and leave through the front door after grabbing your things.” Grian looked down at the map he was holding, tapping on a marked house where Ren lived. “From there, you’ll go head to Scott’s place and grab the sharp clippers and free Scott and the horses.”

Grian turned to Scott. “When Ren frees you, you’ll supply the horses with everything we need and grab your gear. Then you head to me with the metal snappers. I should have grabbed my stuff by the time you have arrived, then you just need to free me.” Grian looks at Ren and points at the map. “You’ll go break Pearl out from Cleo’s with your claws to pick the lock.” Grinning, Grian finishes up, “Then we can get out of here. We just need to wait for the guard switch.”

Pearl gives a wolfish grin, “Sounds great to me. We can blow this popsicle stand.”

Scott looked at Grain and nodded, “I think that covers everything.” He speaks. Ren frowns.

“Wait, when is the shift change?” The werewolf inquires. Grian bites his lips.

“That’s the problem. It happens right before sunrise, so we need to be quick. And that’s why we need the horses.” He explains, glancing at the Pearl. “You can run faster, right?”

Pearl crosses her arms, insulted. “Of course, I can. You insult me Grian.” The parrot snickers and smiles.

“Great. So, we’re sorted.” He clasps his hands. “Now what?”

Scott pulls out a deck of cards, “Go Fish?”

=======================

Jimmy pulled his horse to a stop in front of the town hall. Tossing over towards Tango, he asked, “So where do you think Scar is today?” He asked as he dismounted his horse.

Tango looked over and snorted, “I don’t honestly know. It’s honestly impressive what they can do.” The other rancher followed Jimmy’s actions.

Jimmy tied his steed up to the fence before heading up the stairs. He shook his head slightly before sighing, “I can’t even disagree with you. The glue was incredible.” The dirty blond turned back to the other. “We probably should hurry, I bet Scar is waiting for us to free him.” Tango quickly followed his partner up the steps and headed inside.

The pair glanced around the hall before heading towards the classroom.

“Yo Scar, you here?” Tango called out, before opening the classroom door.

“I’m here!” Came the reply. “Help me, please!

Jimmy looked around confused before he saw the poor mayor. He was practically wrapped in a layer of duct tape to the floor. It took everything in Jimmy’s power not to burst out laughing. Tango excused himself before he erupted into laughter in the hallway. Scar gave him a pleating look.

Holding his laughter back, Jimmy managed to ask, “I see they did it again. How this time?” The farmer knelt, pulled a knife out of his back pocket, and began cutting away the tape, being extra careful not to nick Scar.

“I went to grab the lunch, then Grian ambushed me when I set them down on the desk.” The green-eyed man complained. “Scott then appeared with the duct tape I had on the cabinet and started taping me down. When I was almost free, Pearl sat on me!” Scar sat up, most of the tape off him.

Tango came in looking a bit sheepish, “That may have been my fault. I showed him how to use the stuff.” Scar brushed himself off.

“So, I have you to blame for this.” Scar threw up his hands as he scowled. “Thank you so much, Tango.” He said sarcastically.

Tango huffed. “We’ll reprimand Scott. Jeez, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Tango tacked on, “Plus it was Grian who tackled you.”

Scar sighed, “I know. It seems like he is getting more mischievous and chaotic recently.” Jimmy frowned slightly.

“Do you know why?” Jimmy questioned. Scar shrugged.

“Nope, but I am hoping it’s because he is settling in.”

The group of humans moved towards Grian’s room. They walked back through the main hall before going down a hallway on the opposite side of the classroom. They walked past the door leading to Scar's office, where the prison is still full of other hybrids waiting to be essentially adopted. Soon they reached the door and opened it.

What awaited made all of them fawn over the sight. All the hybrids were curled up in a pile on the bed, asleep. Pearl was curled around all of them, under the pile. Ren was lying across her wolf body, snoring slightly with his sunglasses askew on his face. Grian was in the center of the pile, wings draped across everyone, making sleepy chirps. Scott was on the other side of Grian, pressed tightly between Pearl and Grian curled into a small ball with a small smile on his face.

As much as they wanted to let the mutants sleep, they were supposed to be trouble. Tango was the one who shook Scott’s shoulder. The llama whined as he sluggishly woke up, sitting up carefully to not disturb the others. When he realized who woke him up, he gave them a sleepy sheepish smile.

“Hey…”  

Tango picked him up and said, “Don’t ‘hey’ me mister.” He said, “You know exactly what you did.” The blue-haired man just whined as he was slung over Tango’s shoulder. Scott waved to the other awakened hybrids as they left the room.

Jimmy followed Tango out as he carried Scott out. “You said you were going to be good.” Jimmy chastised him. “But instead, you duct tape Scar to the floor.”

Scott grumbled, “Scar is boring. All he did was talk about manners.” Tango shakes his head.

 “I know it’s boring, but you need to still be respectful of Scar.” Sighing, he shared a look with Jimmy as they left city hall. Tango sets Scott on Jimmy’s horse, much to the llamas' confusion.  “That’s why something is going to change.”

Jimmy sits next to him. “This is going to sound bad, but the other day, we agreed that you need some sort of punishment for these shanghaies. And that is why we are going to move you back into the house.” The visible panic that crossed Scott’s face made Jimmy’s heart hurt. Grabbing his hands, the farmer continued, “It’ll only be for a week, darling. It won’t be so bad.”

Scott began pleading, “No, please. Don’t put me back in the house. I’ll behave better please.” The llama’s eyes watered with unsheathed tears, causing Jimmy’s resolve to fracture. “You can do anything else, but please. I can’t sleep or feel comfortable in the house. Take away my water or food but please, let me stay in the stall.” Scott begged.

Jimmy looked over to Tango, wearing a conflicted expression. Tango seemed to share a similar reaction.  Neither of them predicted this strong of a reaction when they were planning this. They were expecting angry words and fighting, but not pure desperation. Scott seemed terrified of going back to the house.  Jimmy bit his lip.

“We’ll talk more when we get home.” Jimmy decided.

                                ===========================================

The trip was silent they made the trek back to the ranch. Scott's mind was buzzing with thoughts. He didn’t want to go to the house. It would ruin any plans of escaping they have been planning for the last two weeks. His ears were pinned to his head at the thought of going back to the house. The other two would occasionally glance back at him with guilty expressions as Scott hugged himself tightly.

When the llama hybrid said he would give up anything, he wasn’t kidding. He hated being locked in that room. Only himself in that small tight space. A shiver ran down his spine. He would rather be under a tree in the crimson than be back in that room unable to leave as his only will. The stall is bearable because Owen is with him. The llama is an emotional support animal.

The sudden stop of the horse realized that they were back at the house.

The blue-haired man leaped off the horse’s back and ran towards the barn, not bothering to stop as his name was called by the other two. Running into the shed, he ran to his stall and slammed the door, flopping into the hay and curling up, tears pooling in his eyes.

The llama man didn’t even look up as footsteps approached his door. Owen had leaned over the stall and was nuzzling Scott’s cheek, never liking to see the man sad. The llama snorted at whoever opened the door and bleated out at them.

“Scott…” The blue-haired hybrid didn’t even look up at Tango’s voice.

Scott mumbled, “Go away,” He pressed himself deeper into the straw, “I refuse to leave this barn.” Owen stamped his hooves with an agitated blet as the footstep closed in on him.

“Scott please, we just want to talk.” Jimmy’s voice responded.

Scott sat up and snapped at them. “Leave me be! I just want to be alone!” Tears freely ran down his face as he glared at the startled and shocked faces of Tango and Jimmy. Owen, sensing Scott’s anger and hurt, began spitting at the two. Both left the stall but Jimmy paused outside of the closed door.

“We’ll talk tomorrow morning when you have time to process this.” Jimmy sounded apologetic. “I’ll be back later with food. We are sorry we upset you darling.” He left after that, leaving Scott to wallow in his misery.

After a while, Scott stood up from his bed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, a new fire in his heart. Owen blets in concern for him, nudging his side. Sniffing, “I’m fine. I promise.” He patted the head of the animal before beginning to gather up his belongings into his original scarlet to prepare for the night.

The hybrid was tired of people pulling him this way and that. Gritting his teeth, he shoved away some ration he had been staving and filled his canteen full of water out of the water trough. He changed out of his uniform and into his colorful coat and homemade patchwork pants. His fedora was hanging on a nail on the stall wall. He snatched it off the hook and placed it on his head.

He looked at his reflection and felt more like himself than he did in a month of being there. He felt the bitterness from the betrayal rising in his chest, mixing with the new outrage. Who do they think they are to cage him like a misbehaving dog? Scott clenched his fist tightly, leaving crescents in his palms. When they are gone, they’ll see. They will all see you can’t tame the untamable. Spite coursed through his veins, after all, if he’s anything, he is petty.

A low giggle soon grew into a laugh that turned into manic insane laughter. After all, they put them through. Being petty would be merciful, but no. Scott wanted revenge. Owen gave a pleasing baa to him to see him laughing, not understanding. The chains and trying to force them into submission, treating them with fake respect but still expecting them to fall in line? Yeah, no.

Scott turned to Owen and stroked his wool as he came up with a plan for revenge, while he waited for Ren to come for him.

=========================

It was well into the night before Scott heard a rustling outside his cell. Scott perked up as Ren unlocked the door for him. He gave Ren a grin. “Took you long enough.” The llama teased the wolf. Ren rolled his eyes.

“Sorry dude, Martyn was being extra clingy tonight.” The wolf apologized. Scott brushed it off.

“It’s fine. Now I’ll get the horses out, you grab the saddles.” Scott grabbed the keys from Ren and unlocked Owen’s stall then moved onto the horses. The llama pushed open his stall and followed Scott, leaving Ren confused, but the guy didn’t question it.

Scott grabbed the three horses from the stalls as quickly as he could. He even took precautions by tying rags over the hooves while Ren saddled them.

Next, Scott went to the far side of the barn where all the tools hung. He looked at all the tools before he found the bolt cutters. He grabbed it when something else caught his eye, a lighter. He debated to himself before he snatched it as well and shoved it into his pocket. He headed back over to Ren and Owen.

“Got it, take Blossom and head over to free Pearl. I’ll bring Bubbles, Buttercup, and Owen to free Grian. We’ll meet you in the center of town.” Scott related as he mounted his horse easily. Ren saluted, doing the same to his horse.

“Got it, my dude. I’ll be back faster than a fart.” Ren announced before he took off. Scott sighed, amused by Ren’s antics. Scott led the horse and llama pair out of the barn, leaving it empty.

Pausing, Scott looked at the barn before pulling the lighter out of his pocket. He ran his thumb over the little ignition as he stared at it, before looking at the barn again. Spite shot through his mind as he opened it and tossed the lighter into a hay pile on the side of the barn. Scott ran away before he could watch it set a flame.

The blue-haired man managed to get to the town hall in record time, especially with the two animals in tow. He hopped off the horse and climbed over the fence to Grian’s window with a little difficulty but managed when Owen bucked him over the last foot. He used the chain cutters to snap off the lock then rapped on the window, letting Grian know he was there.

The avian burst out of the window, startling a surprised laugh out of Scott. Grian picked him up by the shoulders with swiftness and flapped over the fence, dropping him onto his horse and landing on Buttercup, his feather ruffled.

Grian looked a bit panicked, “We got to go! I may have done something quite stupid.” Grain urged his mount into a near sprint. Scott followed swiftly, Owen keeping up relatively well for a llama.

“What did you do!?” Scott called to him as he kept pace.

Grian bit his lip, “I may have... uh… accidentally alerted Scar when I was…” He mumbled the last part.

“What?” Scott asked as he didn’t hear him.

“I tried to steal his shiny pendant…from around his neck…when he was asleep.” Grian finished looking sheepish. “And he may have woken up.” Scott groaned as he facepalmed but knew he couldn’t say anything after the stunt he pulled, smoke was already starting to waft through the air.

“Let’s hurry, I bet the others are waiting,” Scott replied instead as he pushed his horse to a full sprint, Grian following suit.

As the blue-haired llama guy suspected, Ren and Pearl were waiting for them. Both looked bewildered as they flew down the street towards them on horseback. Scott called out to them as he and Grian dashed past, “Go! Go!” Neither needed to be told twice before they were with them.

The group charged toward the gate, no one faltering as horns sounded around them. If anything, it made them go faster. The closer the gate became, the more smoke filled the air, and a large plomb bellowed up from the air in the direction of the ranch.

Pearl called out, “Scott! What the heck did you do!?” A laugh in her voice of astonishment.

“A heat of the moment of decision you could call it,” Scott admitted as pressed close to his horse’s back.

Grian gave a startled laugh as well. “You can say that again. Did you set the barn on fire?” He questioned.

“Yep.”

The trio blinked at the straight answer they got but didn’t question it any further. After all, who are they to judge a bit of revenge?

The buildings thinned out as when they came up to the gate. The open was clear of guards, much to their surprise. But a glance to the left was the answer. The lighter had done its job, it lit the hay up which had spread to the barn. The frame was engulfed in flames, sending black into the near-dawn sky.  The whole guard was firing the fire along with Jimmy and Tango.

Scott called over to the others, “Get going, I’ll catch up with you, take Owen with you.” The other three shared a look as they slowed down, just barely before seeing the look in Scott’s eyes and decided to continue. Scott watched as the others left the city until he made sure they were well and far away.

The llama hybrid turned back to the fire. A strange scent of calm washed over him as he watched the flames eat away at the old wood. He must have stood there for a good five minutes before he caught Jimmy staring at him. The blond-haired human was covered with soot and grime, tears in his eyes. They stared each other down for what felt like an eternity.

Jimmy was the one to break it. “Scott! Get back here!” The human screams in anguish.  

Scott simply bowed his head to him, sad that it had to come to this. He turned and urged his horse into a trot, a free man once again, now with plenty of friends. Scott glanced back when he reached the place where he first saw the city. In his heart, he hoped that they never have to deal with another Lifer again, but in his mind, he knew his actions had consequences. He sighed and caught up to his friends who were waiting for him, who all rode into the rising sun.

[eclipsesart]

Summer Nights

Seems like our dear friend found her way to the beach! After a long day of playing in the sand and jumping around in the shore some peace and quiet is always welcomed. The sound of the waves, the smell of the breeze, the texture of the sand, the taste of salt in the air, the warm colors of the sunset-lit sky... So many things to appreciate. Things that oneself can easily take in, store away, and forget. Make sure you never forget those summer nights.

Ah, bye bye nice weather, welcome back infernal heat. I shall embrace you with open arms and think of the fact that you make summer break possible or something.

This was actually pretty fun to draw! I love clouds and how they work, so this was pretty much paradise for me. Water on the other hand... I don't know why I keep integrating it into my drawings, it's always such a pain and I end up with a "meh" feeling on it. Sadly, this one is no different, but I'm okay with that! I'll keep going until I really like my results! I did this to the best of my ability, and that's more than enough. <3

Ps: I am very frustrated over my clothing arrangements, as everything I have in my closet is either too warm or too easy to stain. Sigh