#it's the perfect mixture of awe confusion terror and love

[deconstructthesoup]

If anybody has ever made a compilation of Murph's reactions to Emily's shenanigans over the years I would love to see it

[iliveiloveiwrite]

an artist’s eye // Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton was an artist, even if his inspiration had no idea of what he feels.

A/N: I promise to slow down with the fics! I go back to work in a couple of days anyway so I’ll definitely slow down. I hope you all like! It’s shorter than my last few fics so I’m sorry for that!! My taglist is open so if you’d like to be on it, let me know and I am considering opening my requests for Bridgerton fics... considering.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, pining, mutual pining, sketching, art, drawing (I am not an artist, I cannot draw a stick man so I apologise in advance), kissing.

Word count: 1.8k

The graphite point sits heavy in his hand as Benedict struggles to remember the lines he needs. With only his memory to aid him, Benedict struggled more with the portraits he preferred to draw than the landscapes that were growing increasingly popular among the highest of London society.

Sighing, Benedict presses his fingers to his eyes as if it will help jumpstart his memory to bring forward the correct image he needs. He regrets the action as quick as he had done it when he thinks of the mixture of graphite and charcoal coating his fingers.  

Rubbing his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he feels a moment of pity for the servants who would no doubt grumble and complain at the state of it. However, as he glances down at the sketch – the arch of his subject’s smile, the depths of their eyes – he cannot bring himself to care too much.

It wouldn’t see the light of day. Once complete, the sketchbook would be tucked away in the drawer in his desk. If it was to fall into the wrong hands, then as much as he is confident of his artistic talent, he would not recover from the fallout. Benedict worries for the day that the look in your eyes changes; once you realise the extent of his feelings for you.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with you, but he had. There were a lot of things in Benedict’s life that he hadn’t meant to do and has regretted completing such an action once done. However, he cannot find it in himself to feel bad about falling in love with you even when he had not meant to.

As much as he puts on airs and graces, he would not approach you with his feelings. He wasn’t ready though you made his heart sing like no other.

One day, he tells himself as he finally remembers the swoop of your neckline. One day he will tell you as he picks up his graphite point and charcoal once more.

Not yet, however.

------------

The drawing room remains quiet as Benedict silently adds to his sketch collection. His mother sits across the room, content with a stitching pattern for the arrival of Daphne’s new baby. Eloise lounges on the couch, a book in her hand and a box of chocolates on her stomach, eyes pouring over the pages hungrily.

The only sound in the room is the roughness of his pencil on the paper. It didn’t matter what angle he approached this drawing at, he could not get it to look right. It was going to vex him until he had bested it.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has arrived,” The Butler announces to which Benedict suddenly sits up straighter, closing his sketchbook, leaving it on the table.

“Wonderful,” Violet Bridgerton smiles, “Show them up, please.”

“I didn’t know (Y/N) was calling today,” Benedict comments lightly as the Butler disappears from the room, trying to sound as if his heart isn’t currently pounding in his chest.

“(Y/N) always calls on a Thursday,” Eloise states, voice puzzled. She shares a look of confusion with her mother when Benedict suddenly stands, announcing to them both, “I shall clean myself up a bit, make myself look presentable for our guest.”

The look of confusion soon turns into one of understanding as both women watch their son and brother dash from the room. As if at the same time, a smile crosses both their faces when they realise that their beloved son and brother has fallen in love and with a dear friend of the family too.

They do not get to discuss the topic, however, for you are shown to the drawing room, greeting both women with a large smile and buoyant conversation.

“Help yourself to tea and biscuits, dear,” Violet invites, gesturing to the tea service now being laid on the table. Your stomach rumbles at the sight of the biscuits, unable to turn down the buttery goodness.

“Thank you,” You reply, taking a seat at the table, reaching for a biscuit and the teapot.

It’s then that you see it. A leatherbound book left on the other side of the table, barely hidden by the cake stand of treats.

Curiosity being your besetting sin, you reach for the leatherbound book on the table and begin to flick through the pages. A sketch of a pair of hands at the beginning; they hold a single flower – a rose, though what colour is impossible to tell since the sketch remains firmly in shades of greys and blacks. Enraptured, you turn the page to find a detailed image of a parasol, still sketched in the same greys and blacks as the previous picture. The artist has captured the lace trimming perfectly. The longer you stare at it, you come to realise that the parasol is being held by someone, but it isn’t clear who.

It isn’t until you reach a sketch of your side portrait that you come to realise that the previous sketches – the hands, the parasol with just a hint of a shadow under it – they’re of you.

They’re all of you. Each stunning sketch is of you.

Your breath quickens in your chest when you see who the sketchbook belongs to; when you spy the initials written on the inside sleeve of the front cover. ‘B.B.’ written in his elegant script – an artist in every aspect of his life. Whilst you had observed that Benedict sometimes appeared with smudges to his fingers and paint stains on the cuffs of his tailored white shirt, you had never seen a sketch or a painting until now. He truly had a gift; a talent worthy of being displayed in Somerset House.

You hadn’t been aware of his feelings for you though, but you would not be the first to admit that you found yourself attracted to the Bridgerton. Taught at a young age, you knew it was not wise to share such feelings with others. Instead, you dampened them down, hiding them away where they grew unattended – they rooted in your heart, making it very difficult to find another love worthy.

Bringing a hand to your mouth, you hide your smile, not wanting to give too much away to ever observant Bridgerton matriarch. You turn page after page, letting yourself fall deeper into your feelings for Benedict now that you find there is hope of them being requited.

------------

Benedict’s breath leaves his body in one fell swoop when he returns to the drawing room and he realises exactly what you hold in your hand. He hadn’t moved it upon your announcement; he thought he had, but instead, like a fool, he left it sitting there on the table.

A fool. He was a fool. How quick, Benedict thinks to himself, how quick a life can change – mere minutes he had been gone and now he was to have his love for you outed.

You haven’t noticed his presence yet, and for that Benedict is thankful. It gives him time to come up with something – anything – to explain the numerous sketches of you. His mind is running too fast; he cannot come up with a thought good enough to excuse the sketches in his book. His heart continues to pound in his chest; it had not slowed down since your announcement though at this point it reminds him that is, indeed, alive and not suffering from a night terror.

As if finally sensing the extra person in the room, you glance up. Your eyes meeting the deep blue of Benedict’s, and you freeze in your spot. Violet and Eloise glance between the two of you. Violet, not one to usually ignore tradition, hurries her daughter from the room – knowing the conversation that was about to take place.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper at the click of the door shutting. You close the sketchbook, placing it on the table as far away from you as possible to keep your temptation at bay.

“I think I should be the one apologising,” Benedict confesses, taking one more step into the room. He tucks his hands behind his back, ever the picture of grace and elegance as he thinks of how long he has left without before your opinion of him changes forever – artistic talent or not.

“I knew you were an artist; I had seen the smudges on your hands, but I didn’t think…”

“What?”

“I didn’t think you were drawing me.”

“Surely you know?” He asks, voice loud in the quiet room. When you remain silent, he continues, “Surely you know of my feelings for you?”

You shake your head, eyes glancing between the taller Bridgerton and the leatherbound sketchbook lying on the table. “I didn’t know,” You whisper, voice breaking as you take in the distraught look on his face.

“Well,” Benedict murmurs, clearing his throat, “You know of them now.”

“I do,” You murmur,

“I hope I haven’t offended you,” Benedict remarks, “Those sketches were not meant to be seen by anyone else.”

“Only if I haven’t offended you by looking through them.”

Benedict shakes his head, “You could never offend me.”

“Then I am not offended either. I’m quite flattered, you’re very talented.”

“Thank you,” Benedict says graciously, nodding his head slightly.

“You need to know that your feelings are returned, Benedict,” You declare suddenly and plainly, displaying your feelings for all to see.

“They are?” Benedict asks, voice awed as if he didn’t take into account this reaction.

“They are,” You state firmly, meeting his gaze proudly as if you could ever be ashamed of your feelings for the brunette.

Benedict stalks across the room; tradition and etiquette be damned as he reaches for your hand to pull you from your chair. His hands settle on your waist as you tilt your head back to look at him. A silent question reflects in his eyes to which you answer with a nod of your head.

His hands move from your waist to cradle your face as he dips down, pressing his lips to yours. It isn’t hurried; it’s perfect as Benedict takes control of the kiss, groaning softly at the feel of your mouth and your body pressed against him. You smile into the kiss as your arms wrap around Benedict’s neck, pulling him ever closer to you.

Benedict’s mouth brushes against yours as he asks, “Would you like to accompany me to Lady Danbury’s ball next week?”

“As in you would court me?”

Benedict chuckles softly, “Yes. I would like to court you, is that okay?”

“More than okay,” You smile before pressing a kiss to the corner of Benedict’s mouth and stepping away.

Turning back to the sketchbook, you open it to image that had kickstarted your heart into an irregular rhythm. Benedict stands by your side as your eyes pour over his sketch; each line and angle, each section of shading. “You truly have an artist’s eye,” You say quietly, tangling your hands together.

“Thank you,” Benedict whispers, bringing your entwined hands up to his mouth whereupon he lays a gentle kiss to the back of your gloved hand.

“Will you show me more?” You ask, turning to face the man that had turned you into a work of art.

“Darling, I’ll show you them all.”

***********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​

[happylittledrabbles]

choke me!

Rating: 18+

DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18, NO MINORS!!!

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Eren Yeager

—

"It's been four years, Reiner."

Reiner never thought he'd see Eren again. And yet there he was, sitting in front of him. The two exchange some heated words until Eren has had enough and lunges at Reiner, pinning him against the wall by the throat.

Except, instead of a cry or a shout, Reiner's reaction is a lot more...unexpected.

"Did you just...moan?"

Choking kink fic, basically.

AO3

—

“It’s been four years, Reiner.”

The last person Reiner Braun expected to see tonight was Eren fucking Yeager. He knew he’d see Eren again eventually, he just figured it’d be when Eren was killing him or he was killing the damned menace.

He didn’t think the reunion would be so soon.

They had warned that if Eren were to attack Marley at any time, it’d be tonight. But he had had so much fun at the fair with the kids that he hadn’t fully registered that Eren Yeager still existed. All he could think about was how happy he was to finally be out of that hell that was called Paradis and away from seeing the devils he had grown to love die at the hands of his own people. And he thought he had finally escaped it, except now, the biggest threat among both of their worlds was sitting right in front of him.

“H-how…” No thoughts in his head. There was nothing. Eren’s expression was so calm, it was mocking in comparison to the panic running amok in the blond’s chest.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking in these four years, Reiner Braun.” His name sounded like pure acid on Eren’s tongue. Even if Eren kept his tone measured, Reiner’s name still came out like two spears that pierced him directly in the heart.

“A lot of thinking about how you betrayed us. About how you killed Marco. About how you were my role model. A big brother, really.”

Nausea swirled in his stomach like a hot pit of lava, and he couldn’t help but step back and bump into Falco, who was also petrified; the two of them stilled like perfect marble statues. Reiner had tried hard to forget he ever interacted with Eren, nevermind considered him a friend. There were many times when they were alone together that he almost professed that he was the Armored Titan because he felt so close to him. He felt pride whenever he watched Eren succeed, even though he should have been actively distancing himself from him in preparation for the big operation. When he was supposed to not feel anything at all after breaking through Wall Maria and effectively killing everybody Eren knew, he locked himself in a room and cried and screamed for hours until Bertholdt came in and had to pry his hands from the table and hug him until his other personality took over, and he felt nothing again.

Oh, how he wished his other personality took over now. Then he wouldn’t be able to feel the crippling fear resonating throughout his entire body. Then he wouldn’t be able to feel the pure dread cross his face as Eren grew his missing leg back and stood up, instinctively hugging his arms behind him to make sure Falco was protected.

“I won’t hurt him,” Eren said, his visible eye dropping to the young boy staring at him with stormy blue eyes, wide with terror. He snickered. “Maybe he’ll get caught in the fallout. But, I won’t hurt him now, if that’s what you’re wondering. In fact...” He gestured with his hand for Falco to leave, giving him a chilling smile that he meant to be reassuring. “Go ahead and leave, kiddo. This shouldn’t take long. I just need to talk to my old pal Reiner here.”

“Don’t talk to him,” Reiner whispered shakily, but eventually let Falco go and pushed him forward. “Go. Run as far away as you can. I’ll handle this.” If anything happened, he wanted Falco as far away from the site of disaster as possible.

He turned back to Eren and noticed he was several inches taller than when he last saw him. It made sense; he was a grown adult man now, but it was still a shock. He was so used to peering down at Eren and resting his arm on top of his head, ruffling his hair, tipping his chin back to make eye contact with him. But now, if he slouched even a bit, he’d be shorter.

“How cute. You used to be protective over me like that,” Eren said with a bitter laugh, beginning to step forward when Reiner stepped back and nearly tripped over a chair in response. “What, are you scared of me? Ha. I remember when—”

“Stop!” Reiner cried, slapping his hands over his ears and shaking his head emphatically. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t—”

“Don’t want to hear what, Reiner? How we used to be friends? How I looked up to you? How we shared so many good times together?” He picked up the chair he was sitting in and smashed it to the ground, the wood strewn across the ground like puzzle pieces. Reiner flinched at the echo of the crackling wood, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Eren blew the splinters off his palms and clapped them together to get rid of the rest of the debris as he walked leisurely around the room with his freshly grown leg, circling Reiner like a hawk to its prey.

“Did you feel anything when you killed Marco? Did you feel anything when I told you my mom was eaten? Knowing it was all your goddamn fault?!” Eren roared, his eye a ball of flaming green fire.

“I—”

“No, you didn’t feel anything. Because if you felt anything, you wouldn’t have tried so hard to get close to me.” Eren unraveled the bandages around his face to reveal his other eye, somehow making the fury blazing in his stare even more potent. He let the bandages drop to the ground, the fabric twisting and turning gently as they fell into a pile. Reiner blinked slowly, so slowly it would have seemed he fell asleep for a moment. He stepped forward, about to reach out to Eren when his breath hitched in his throat, his lungs refusing to expand as he was yet again face-to-face with the boy—man—he had ruined the life of and had grown close to, all at the same time.

He took a deep breath once his lungs began to function again, closing his eyes to block out Eren’s intense glare.

“I was always your friend, Eren,” he clarified, taking the chance to raise his arm up and reach out to the other man in hopes of understanding, of doing something to prevent whatever he was about to do. He flinched at the sound of applause outside, a horrifying reminder of the sheer number of people outside that Eren could so easily massacre in the span of a minute if he transformed. If only he could teleport and tell Willy to get everybody the hell out of there. But alas, he was confined to this basement with nobody other than the embodiment of the Attack Titan.

“Please believe me,” he pleaded, a hopeful yet terrified smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he watched Eren’s expression soften. “I’ve always liked you.”

But Eren’s expression wasn’t softening. It was merely morphing into one of mockery, disdain sharpening in his glare and piercing his chest like a lion’s claws ripping into its prey. He never felt weaker than at that moment.

“Don’t,” he huffed, taking a deep breath before shrieking, “ patronize me! ”

He descended upon Reiner with superhuman speed, gripping his outstretched wrist and pinning it against the wall along with the rest of his body, raising his forearm up and pressing it against Reiner’s neck. He expected Reiner to scream, grunt, curse, or exhale sharply, but the last thing he expected to hear was—

“ Ah-nn!”

It was almost comical how stiff the two men went at the sound, their eyes widening at the same time as they simply stared at each other. In awe, fright, surprise, or a mixture of all three. Reiner couldn’t gather what Eren was thinking from his unreadable expression, but all he knew was that his face was bright red, his heart was racing, and his body was being far too receptive to the heavy weight on his windpipe.

And all Eren knew was that he quickly found out that he liked this just as much as Reiner so obviously did as well.

“Did you just...moan?” Eren whispered, his eyebrow quirking in intrigue. He moved his forearm forward, pressing more of his body weight into Reiner, eliciting yet another sound of pleasure from the other’s thin lips.

“N-no— mmn!” The feeling of his windpipe and the sides of his neck being pressed in together was a feeling that left Reiner’s knees weak, his eyelids growing heavy as endorphins danced around his brain, leaving him in a state of swoon.

As Reiner struggled to stay standing, all Eren could do was stare in pure shock at the scene before him. Never had he seen Reiner come undone so quickly and so easily before, not even when he came across Bertholdt fucking him brilliantly in the outhouse during training. He looked, frankly, bored, as if he was putting on a scene for the other. Perhaps it really was a good thing the beanpole died. Now, Eren could play around with that expression of pure ecstasy without worrying that a seven-foot-tall bag of bones would try and slap him with those gangly limbs.

“Interesting…” Eren trailed off, his tongue wetting his lips as he dropped his forearm, allowing Reiner to gasp for breath and cough. The blond’s hand snaked up to his own throat, making sure it was okay, although its trail was hesitant, bewildered. Was this discovery also new to Reiner himself?

“So...this is new to you, too?” he dared to ask, his hand twitching to replace Reiner’s and uncover that never-before-seen expression on the other’s face once again.

Reiner scoffed and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the resistance his throat gave. “Shut up.”

“I mean, no wonder you always looked so bored when Bertholdt was fucking you,” Eren continued with a shrug as he looked around the room. He smirked, his eyes drifting to Reiner’s, mischief glinting conspicuously in both of them. “You needed something else to get you off.”

Reiner’s confusion was palpable, his agape mouth transforming into a sneer once he realized what Eren was talking about. His face had already been red, but now it was a deep scarlet as his mind ran back and quickly figured out that the shadow outside the window of the outhouse had, indeed, been Eren Yeager. How long had the little bastard been there? He was...busy during that time, so he lost track of the shadow outside once they changed positions. Had Eren...been watching them? Not merely passing by and getting surprised by the sight?

“I said shut the fuck up,” Reiner growled, pushing himself off the wall to leave. However, Eren’s hand clamped down on his throat, pushing him back in the wall and causing his head to thump off the concrete. “Shit!” He tried to gasp, but the force pressing against the sides of his throat was even stronger than before, with more purpose, causing his gasp to morph into a squeal.

“Did I say you could leave?” Eren murmured, leaning forward so that his lips tickled the shell of the other’s ear. He licked a trail on the outside of Reiner’s ear, causing the other to release another strained gasp and squirm under the weight of his hand. Perhaps this awakened something in him, too, because his body was reacting just like Reiner’s was. He couldn’t stop his hand no matter how much he tried; the expression and small whimpers the blond was making underneath him were like pure opium.

“Eren! Ere— oh,” Reiner cried, his clawing at Eren’s hand halting once the brunet’s lips fell to the junction of his jaw and neck, sucking feverishly at the soft skin that wasn’t taken up by his tense fingers. Once he came to after the sensation roiled him up, he exclaimed, “W-what are you doing? Eren, stop—”

“Stop?” Eren chuckled, his other hand dropping to Reiner’s crotch, which was painfully swollen and twitched as his knuckles brushed against it, drawing out a delicious moan from the throat underneath his hold. “And let you leave like this? How rude would that be of me, especially since I was the cause of this?” He paused, a pensive look replacing his devious one. “I mean, if you really want me to, I’ll stop.”

He stepped back, releasing Reiner’s throat and holding his hands up in the air. He tried to suppress the devilish grin that threatened to come out, keeping his face neutral. “I stopped.”

But it was nearly impossible to suppress the grin any longer as he watched Reiner’s expression morph from pure pleasure to confusion to, finally, loss. His trembling hands came up to reconvey the place where Eren’s hand was, an angry red bruise beginning to bloom at the sides of his neck as if trying to see if the hand was truly gone. His eyes dropped to his own crotch, wincing at the sight of it as well as, probably, the pain his constrictive pants were giving him.

“I…” Reiner was both at a loss for words. His eyes searched the room until they fell upon Eren again, a sort of pleading in them. He wanted Eren to read his mind so that he didn’t have to embarrass himself by begging do it again, please come here and choke me and fuck me— but all Eren did was stand there, which was somehow more infuriating than listening to him whisper humiliating things into his ear.

“...come here,” he mumbled, rubbing his forearm nervously. He didn’t dare make eye contact, staring down at the floor as if it’d kill him to look up and meet Eren’s undoubtedly jeering eyes.

“What? I couldn’t hear you?” Eren cupped his hand behind his ear and leaned forward, causing Reiner to suck on his teeth and ball his hands into fists at his sides.

“You’ve always been a little shit, haven’t you?” Reiner grumbled, his arm shooting out and gripping Eren’s wrist, bringing it up and guiding the other’s hand around his throat. “I said—”

“Ah-ah,” Eren interrupted, shaking his head. His hand stayed limp around Reiner’s throat, his other hand sitting comfortably in the pocket of his trousers. “You have to prove to me how much you want it.” He tipped his chin up, gazing at Reiner underneath heavy eyelids, shifting his weight onto one foot.

“Beg.”

“Wha-wha—” Reiner spluttered, his eyes wide and his grip on Eren’s wrist getting tighter and tighter. “What?” As much as he was surprised, his body very much was not. It took in the simple word like an aphrodisiac, his shoulders and cheeks getting even redder and his crotch getting even more painful.

“You heard what I said,” Eren taunted, licking his lips as he closed the gap between them, halting right before his lips. “Beg. Or else I’ll leave you like a bitch in heat.”

When had Eren grown so domineering? He had always had a certain gusto about him, some confidence that propelled him forward, even if it made him look like a loser. He didn’t give up during the ODM training even when it was clearly rigged against him. He made the broken thing work. It was pure rage that was fueling him, but...when had lust taken over? When had the fury in his eyes melted into hot ardor? Had he...always felt that way about Reiner?

“Eren…” he trailed off, trying to muster up the courage to actually beg. God, this was humiliating. How the hell did they even get here? What were they doing? But he couldn’t let Eren leave and kill all those people. And he certainly couldn’t fight in this condition. As much as it was dehumanizing, Eren was right. It felt as if he was in heat, his entire body boiling and in need of an electric touch.

“Choke me, please.”

“Yawn. Do better.”

“C-choke me, hard.” Reiner’s eyes rolled partly up as he felt the pressure of Eren’s hand growing around his neck, unable to restrain his outburst: “Harder! Please, choke me—touch me...ugh…”

The pressure had returned, and the physical incapability of speaking due to his constricted windpipe replaced his emotional incapability due to his dignity. But what dignity did he have now? All he could do now was completely let go.

“Fuck, yes! E-Eren, I—” He gasped when the pressure finally returned to its previous state, giving his body its much-needed dose of aggression. “I want you to f...f-fuck me.”

Eren chuckled, deep and dark, and before the other knew it, they were smashing lips, a violent exchange of saliva and pleasure.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured against Reiner’s lips, both of them panting after the impromptu makeout session. He smirked as he slipped his other hand out of his pocket and trailed it down Reiner’s chest, stopping at his pecs and giving them a generous squeeze, earning him a grunt from the blond. “To be honest, I thought you’d come just from me choking you. Kind of pathetic, don’t you think?”

Reiner’s eyes were tightly squeezed shut, biting his bottom lip to prevent any more embarrassing sounds from slipping out.

“S-shut up.” But that couldn’t have been less convincing. The affinity for choking was new, but the chest fondling was old news. The training camp had been torture for him since there were way too many instances of people accidentally brushing against his pecs or nipples, almost causing him to rupture a blood vessel from trying to suppress a squeak.

But Eren was taking full advantage of having it right in front of him, diving his face into them and massaging them with his free hand with a voracious speed as if they’d disappear.

“These have grown a lot, haven’t they?” Eren jeered, pulling back his choking hand to strip Reiner of the top half of his clothing to be even closer to those soft pecs. The second the fabric had been removed, his choking hand returned and he dove right back in, leaving a trail of hickeys on the cleavage made by his pecs.

“Eren! E—a-ah—”

“I’d say they’re almost D cups, I think,” he continued, his voice muffled from the masses of muscle. He pulled back slightly, eyeing them for a moment before opening his mouth and clamping his teeth around the perfectly pink and perky nipple, leaving deep marks in the velvety areola.

“AH! What the—ow!” Reiner’s eyelids shot open, looking to see what the hell Eren was doing down there. All he saw was him grinning proudly, his hand coming up to stroke the bitemarks and not-so-accidentally passing over the nipple, giving it a gentle squeeze and flick. “Eren, the fuck?”

“Get down on your knees,” Eren commanded, and Reiner found himself on autopilot at the conviction in the other’s voice, his knees wobbling before dropping to the floor in compliance. He kept his eyes on Eren’s knees, his previous bashfulness returning; how could he make eye contact like this? He knew what was going to happen next: the horrendous blush on his face and chest made it quite clear.

Meanwhile, Eren was taking his time enjoying the view under him. He bit his bottom lip, letting out another chuckle as he shook his head. “You know, Reiner, I always looked up to you. I never thought I’d see you like this. So...submissive.” He tipped Reiner’s chin up gently with his finger to get the other to meet his eyes. “You never let me get the upper hand in training. You were the one making me drop to my knees.” He frowned. “But now you’re looking up to me. Funny how that works, huh? It only took the murder of an entire village of people and my mom to get you like this.”

Eren teasing him about his choking kink was humiliating. Being on his knees to somebody he saw as a little brother, about to commit even more sinful acts, was humiliating. But being constantly reminded of all the atrocities he committed against his friends was pure torture. It was putting quite a damper on his mood, but he couldn’t exactly tell Eren to stop talking about it because he’d only jeer him more. The only way he could think to get Eren to shut up was…

He dove forward, opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around the bulge in Eren’s trousers, his hand coming up to further massage it. His trousers smelled of grass and disinfectant, but the distraction was clearly working, seeing as Eren’s agape mouth stopped forming words and only allowed a shuddering breath to pass through.

“You’re eager, eh? Alright, I’ll give you what you want.” With one swift motion, he unbuckled his belt and was about to let it drop to the floor, but his eyes flashed with intrigue as they switched between Reiner’s neck and the leather. “On second thought…”

He wrapped it around Reiner’s neck, and before the blond could say anything, he zipped the belt until it was pressed tightly against the pallid skin underneath, already causing it to pinken from irritation. He poked a new hole into the leather, sliding it through and returning his hands to unbutton his trousers.

“You look like a dog,” Eren scoffed. Once his trousers were unbuttoned, he pushed them down only slightly; he didn’t expect this to take too long, seeing as how undone Reiner already was. He gripped the other’s jaw tightly in his hand, maneuvering the chiseled face to look up at him. “Bark for me.”

Reiner, who was still processing the belt around his neck, spluttered about and furiously shook his head, trying to get it out of Eren’s grip. “Hell no! I’m not a damn dog.”

“Hm. Shame.” Eren’s grip on him lessened, only for it to return full force when he transferred it from his muscled jaw to his short hair, the locks sticking straight up in between his fingers. “Then put your mouth to good use.”

Reiner was going to object, but the warmth radiating from in front of him made him drop his eyes to be faced with what looked like an iron rod underneath the linen fabric of Eren’s drawers. He gulped at the sight; if this didn’t fit in his mouth, how the hell was this going to go inside of him? He would have cursed himself for thinking that far ahead, but the act was inevitable—Eren was going to fuck his brains out.

He took a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing a hesitant kiss to the tip wetting the fabric with precum practically sticking up out of the top. He had caught flashes of Eren naked whenever they came across a hot spring or all the boys bathed together, and what was in front of him hardly compared to what he had seen back then. Eren truly had grown in more ways than one.

He shakily lifted a hand and moved the fabric out of the way, allowing Eren’s cock to spring up proudly, almost as if he was mocking Reiner and his need for it. He licked his lips and leaned forward, licking from the base to the tip with a flat tongue, practically drooling over it with the amount of need swirling in his chest.

“F...uck,” Eren groaned, tipping his chin up as his grip on Reiner’s hair tightened. “Got a lot of practice with Bertholdt, I see.”

Just at the mention of Bertholdt, Reiner sped up his stroking and licking, yet again hoping this method would get Eren to shut up and to produce more of those sounds of pleasure. Sure, he seemed to be dominant in this dynamic, but Reiner was the one who held the most power as of now. He could leave Eren blue-balled and walk away, or Eren could do the same to him. They were caught in a lustful dance of power, and neither wanted to walk away, as sinful as it was.

“Wait, you’re going too— shit!” The grip on his hair was growing painful, and it only grew tighter when he opened his mouth wide and engulfed Eren’s cock up to the middle, using his tongue all the while to lap up his drool and his hand to stroke the places his mouth couldn’t reach. He very much successfully got Eren to shut the fuck up, and he smiled to himself as he graciously lent his throat as a substitute for yelling at him to be quiet.

“What a fucking slut,” Eren chuckled, brushing the few long locks of hair that flopped into Reiner’s eyes, tipping his chin up slightly to meet his eyes. “Look at me while you do it.”

Pervert, Reiner thought, but he wasn’t all that different himself, for he looked up at lightning speed and locked eyes with the commandeering man above him, feeling precum and saliva running down his beard. That’ll be a bitch to clean.

“Good.” Just that word was enough to send chills down his spine, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure as he reached his hand that wasn’t busy stroking down between his legs, trying to soothe the throbbing pain spreading in his groin. But he was interrupted by Eren groaning and his grip on his hair turning into stone.

“Since you wanna go so fast,” he murmured, cocking his head curiously before pulling Reiner all the way down his cock, the other’s nose nestling in the happy trail leading down his stomach.

GURK!

“It’s satisfying to see you choking on me,” he laughed, tossing his head back to let out a moan as he could feel Reiner’s throat tightening and moving around him, the softness of the back of his mouth leaving him breathless. “I’ll fuck you in a second, but in the meantime…”

He gave an experimental thrust, slow and shallow, leading to more gurgling and choking noises from the man below him, drool beginning to build up in the corners of his mouth and dribble down his chin. Reiner’s hands flung out to grip Eren’s thighs, trying to process the fact that he was being facefucked.

“Mmgh—nngf!” He tried desperately to slurp up as much drool as he could, but it was beginning to pour now, down his chin and onto the floor, gathering into a pool near his knees. His eyes were watering, the tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes.

“F-fuck yeah,” Eren growled. Now equipped with more confidence, he pulled out of Reiner’s mouth partly—giving the other a short sense of relief—before snapping his hips forward, lodging himself deep down in his throat. A horrid gagging sound released itself from his throat, squeezing between his cheeks and Eren’s cock. His stomach dry-heaved, but he had hardly any time to recuperate before Eren launched back into thrusting himself over and over into his mouth.

“Hah— fuck, this is good,” he groaned, a smirk ever-present on his lips. He could feel Reiner’s throat straining against the belt as it expanded, which only provided even more tightness. However, his smirk disappeared once he felt a familiar warmth building up in his stomach, signaling he was almost at his end. He lowered his head from the thrown-back position it had been in before, and he almost finished on the spot when he saw the lewdness on Reiner’s face. The blond was beet red, his cheeks looking as if he had been slapped over and over—which he had somewhat been, with Eren’s stomach—his mouth berry red and stretched to accommodate the cock he was sucking so deliciously, gobs of spit running down his chin, and tears trailing down those highlighter-red cheeks. God, he looked gorgeous.

“Well,” he mumbled, pulling out of Reiner’s mouth and allowing him a moment to breathe and cough out all the phlegm and irritation gathered up in his throat. He only added more spit to the pool in front of him, falling onto hands and knees as he spat out the last of the spit and precum that accumulated in his throat.

Eren let out an exasperated breath, rolling his eyes as he buried his hand in Reiner’s hair again and roughly tugged him up to his feet, the other whining and complaining the entire way. He faced the blond for only a second before turning him around to face the wall and shoved him against it, his chest pressed against the cold stone. While his hand was busy holding Reiner’s wrists together behind his back, the other trailed down to grip his ass, giving it a firm squeeze before slipping it underneath the waistband of his trousers.

“Your mouth pussy was fantastic, but I want to use the real one,” he explained, his lips leaving the tip of Reiner’s ears bright red as he stroked the soft skin underneath his hand and cupped the mounds of well-built muscle. “What a bubble butt. Heh, you really worked hard on this. If your muscles are this tight, I can’t imagine your asshole.”

“Mm!” Reiner whimpered, his shoulders hiking up to his ears to protect them from the assault of Eren’s hot breath and humiliating words. He tried to break free from Eren’s grip on his wrists, to no avail. Both his wrists and his neck were restricted, and although it was uncomfortable, it only made the throbbing ache in his pants even more painful. How he developed this kink, he had no idea—all he knew was that he wanted relief, now. “Eren...Eren, please. Fuck me. Ple—guh— ”

“Shut up for a second,” Eren commanded as he forced two fingers into Reiner’s already heavily lubricated mouth, sopping up the spit dripping from the roof of his mouth and tongue. He shuddered at the feeling of Reiner’s soft tongue wrapping around his fingers, amazed that such a thing was on his cock only a few moments ago and even more amazed that he didn’t come on the spot. He used his thumb to push Reiner’s pants down to his ankles, marveling at the view of his back muscles rippling under his pale skin, fighting against the restraining grip on his wrists, followed by the elegant slope into the two golden apples for an ass.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, lowering his head and opening his mouth to deliver a deep bite to the virgin skin at the nape of Reiner’s neck, sinking his canines into the flesh in an almost animalistic motion, causing Reiner to jolt from underneath him.

“Eren, stop with the biting!” Reiner pleaded, but he couldn’t help the whispery moan that passed through his lips at the thought of being marked.

“Sorry not sorry,” Eren replied with a snicker, resorting to leaving hickeys to further mark his presence on Reiner’s body, proudly screaming I was here and fucked him beautifully. “You clean back here?”

The mere insinuation that he wasn’t made Reiner want to turn around and snap Eren’s neck right then and there, especially considering he very much doubted Eren was. He grunted, the awkwardness of that question causing nausea to boil in his stomach.

“I...bathed for the festival earlier today,” he explained haltingly, his blush radioactive at this point. But when Eren didn’t move right away, he sighed and opened his legs slightly, wrestling one wrist free and trailing it down to his asscheek, spreading it open as a very clear invitation. “Hurry up.”

Eren’s eyes widened, and a heated smile filled out his face at the sight of Reiner coming completely undone and practically begging to get fucked. Before the spit on his fingers could dry, he spread Reiner’s cheeks with his other fingers and plunged his index and middle fingers inside, earning a squeal from the blond.

“S-slow! Slower!”

A confused look crossed Eren’s face, but he shrugged and continued to scissor Reiner open, curling his fingers against the soft walls to try and find that one spot that drove men crazy. He found out about that quickly while at the hospital, a male nurse being particularly caring and spreading his legs open to cure a patient.

“I thought you’d be looser than this,” he replied, genuinely baffled at how tightly Reiner’s grip around his fingers was. How the hell was he supposed to fit inside? They said the bottom being tight is more pleasurable, but he imagined it’d downright hurt his dick.

“You jackass, I haven’t done it in a-a wh... while,” Reiner stuttered, a grunt sneaking in between his words as he tried to accustom himself to the feeling. He was arching his back as much as possible, but he quickly discovered it could arch much more when a sudden wave of pleasure crashed over him and a lustful cry made his mouth drop.

“Found it,” Eren sang, a proud grin spreading across his lips.

“Hng-! ” was all that came out of Reiner, followed by heavy breathing and small whimpers as he tried to regulate his breathing, but it was difficult when Eren ruthlessly continued abusing that spot now that he knew its location. “Eren...it feels...a-ah…”

“My fingers are magic, I know,” he replied with a shit-eating grin, and although Reiner’s back was to him, he could feel the bratty expression he was making.

“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” Reiner groaned, about to insult the other once more before another wave of pure pleasure corrupted him and returned him to his panting, sweating state.

After a few more moments of scissoring and dirty talk, Eren pulled out his fingers, much to Reiner’s dismay, and gripped himself as he stepped closer and lined himself up with Reiner’s entrance.

“Alright, get ready,” he joked, bracing the wall with one hand and snaking the other around Reiner’s neck once more, pulling his head back so that he could see the look of shock in his eyes as he slowly pushed the tip inside.

“Ngh!” Tears were gathering at the corners of Reiner’s eyes again as he attempted, again and again, to relax and breathe the pain away, but it didn’t help that Eren was so well-endowed. “Just...slow—go slowly.”

Eren pulled out at a snail’s pace, looking down to see where they connected before pushing back in, earning a low groan from both the men. “I don’t even have to try. You’re so tight, I can’t fucking move. Feels like my dick is going to be pulled off.”

Reiner rolled his eyes, about to say something until a sigh interrupted him as Eren continued to pull out and push inside, staying at the same pace. “I can’t control that. I hope your dick gets pulled off. Maybe then you wouldn’t be a murderous basta— hngh!”

A slap echoed in the small room from Eren giving one solid thrust, the roughness of it seen from the reddening of Reiner’s ass. He chuckled at the other’s reaction and tightened his grip on his neck, the belt making it a lot easier to yank him back and force him to meet his eyes. “Watch your words, Braun. Or else,” he gave another rapid thrust, causing the fat on Reiner’s ass to ripple from the force, “that will happen.”

“O-okay, okay, I’m d-done!” Reiner cried, his arm reaching back to grip Eren’s shirt for leverage while the other clung to the wall for dear life. “I promise, I’ll s...nngh...stop.”

“That’s what I thought,” Eren taunted, licking a trail up Reiner’s cheek, picking up the salty tears spilling from his eyes along the way. “You think I can move now without losing my dick?”

Reiner didn’t answer. All he did was lower his head as much as he could with Eren’s grip on it, preparing himself to lose the small ounce of dignity he still had left. He arched his back and pushed back onto Eren’s cock, gasping at the feeling of it spreading him apart and leaving him so perfectly full. He swirled his hips, trying to find that spot Eren so easily discovered, all the while pulling out and swirling his hips as he pushed back. It was quite the ab workout, causing sweat to build up on his hairline and building a thin sheen on his skin.

This was heaven on Earth. The view was spectacular, but what was more spectacular was watching Reiner act like a complete slut, as if Eren’s cock was the only thing that could bring him relief and pleasure. He was really willing to give up all his dignity just to use it to pleasure himself, and Eren couldn’t have been more willing of a participant.

“I guess that’s the answer to my question,” he breathed, a moan causing him to throw his head back. He dropped both his hands to Reiner’s hips, riding alongside their gyrating motions. “Yeah...that’s nice. Keep moving like that.”

“Eren,” Reiner warned, looking over his shoulder now that his neck was freed. “Eren, move, goddamn it.”

Eren cocked his head. “Is that how you ask for it?”

“Oh, for fuck’s—Eren, please, fuck me. Ruin me, do what you want, just please fuck m— ”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” It only took half a second for Eren to comply with Reiner's wishes, snapping his hips forward and sending Reiner careening toward the wall, his face pressed up against the stone just like his chest was. He’d definitely have scrapes on his face as it bounced up and down with each merciless thrust that practically sent him up the wall.

“ Ahn—ugh! Fuck, fuck, yes! Feels good, f-feels so—hnngh! ” The dry slapping noises eventually turned into wet, squelching sounds that would have made Reiner cringe, but he could barely hear them in the fugue state he was in. Eren was right: he felt like a dog in heat, his mind on nothing else but getting pounded until he was filled.

“Faster! God, faster! Ngh, harder!”

Reiner’s moans leaked, and as much as he wanted to stop, he didn’t have the energy since all of it was going into not finishing right then and there. It was just what he needed, except…

He tilted his head back, which was difficult with how roughly Eren was slamming into him, but he eventually caught Eren’s eye and smiled. “Choke me, Eren. Choke me until I can’t breathe.”

Eren smiled back, his grin malicious. “You got it, sweetheart.”

He took that command to heart because instead of one hand this time around, he used both hands, wrapping them around Reiner’s neck and using that for leverage instead of his hips. It was honestly a nicer angle to better fuck Reiner into oblivion, and he used it to his full advantage.

Smack, smack, smack, smack…

“ Guh— ugh, fu-uck,” Reiner groaned, practically gargling his own words with how he could barely breathe. Meanwhile, Eren was struggling with holding back his own moans with how velvety soft Reiner’s walls were, hugging him like the most comfortable sweater in the world. How did he go this long without taking advantage of the hole that had been around him all this time?

“I never thought you’d be this easy of a lay,” Eren remarked, graduating one hand’s place from Reiner’s neck to his hair, pulling it and pushing his face into the concrete. “Who knew you’d open up to me this easily? If I knew, I would’ve fought Bertholdt for access to your ass.”

The fog of lust clouding Reiner’s brain long enough for him to understand and process Eren’s comments, and, even though it was nearly impossible to speak anything other than moans and whines and emote anything other than pleasure, he still attempted to reach backward and scratch Eren’s hip, leaving three bright marks on the tanned skin.

“After this is over, I’m going to kill you,” Reiner managed to say when Eren stopped shortly to readjust his angle. He was very grateful for that split second of clarity because once Eren started up, instead of brushing against that spot, he was directly nailing it over and over with perfect precision.

“ OH— oh, my God, I-I’m—too much, too much, I’m so— ah, hah... c-close—!” Reiner was incoherent at this point, finally reaching the “brains fucked out” stage of this brutal hookup. He could no longer think. All he could do was moan, pant, and cry out each time his spot was abused.

“ Hah—I’m gonna come soon, t-too,” Eren breathed, having his own difficulties with speech. He tried to act as cool and collected for as long as possible, but now, it was nearly impossible, with each thrust drawing out the warm feeling in his stomach more and more. It also didn’t help that Reiner kept tightening around him with each thrust, giving him all the components to finish. He just needed one thing.

“Where do you want it?” Eren whispered, dropping his head to take advantage of the last few moments to leave more hickeys all along Reiner’s neck and collarbones.

Reiner was beyond redemption at this point, evidenced by the fact that he all but screamed out, “Inside! Please, inside, come inside, I n-need it, I need you, please, I—”

His orgasm was sudden and unexpected, but Eren hit his spot at the perfect angle and speed, causing it to rip through his body. He was left speechless, going rigid as his vision spotted before going completely white, finally receiving the release he had been chasing over the past half hour. He heard somebody wailing, and when his consciousness returned to him, he realized he was the one making that awful noise, his vocal cords frying themselves with the unadulterated ecstasy running through his system.

Eren didn’t take much longer to follow, giving a few more slams—rougher than all the ones preceding them—before coming undone deep inside Reiner, groaning at the feeling of warmth coating Reiner’s walls and making his insides even hotter than they already were. But he wasn’t done. In his state of bliss, he managed to pull out of Reiner—earning a pitiful whimper from the other—and turn him around to push down on his shoulders so that he was on his knees again.

“Fuck, fuck—fuck! ” Eren couldn’t help the countless exclamations of pleasure that racked his body as he stroked himself furiously in front of Reiner’s face. The last of his come splashed on Reiner’s face, coating his cheeks and the bridge of his nose in the milky white substance. Yet again, he wasn’t done. He smeared the tip across Reiner’s lips, painting them with the same glossy color. And with that, he was done, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He grinned, satisfied with the result.

He had completely ruined Reiner Braun. His hair was tangled and sticking out in all different places. His eyes were red from crying. His face was completely coated in sticky, hot semen. He could barely open his lips without it stringing between them. Tears stained his splotched cheeks, and dried saliva ran down the entirety of his chin and throat. His chest was red as well, full of bite marks and hickeys. His neck was a completely different story—it was probably rubbed raw and full of scratches and finger indentations, all of which were hidden under the belt. And then…

“Turn around for me and bend over,” Eren said, his last demand of the night.

He had evidently turned Reiner into an obedient subordinate because without a single complaint or hesitation, the blond nodded submissively and turned around, revealing his back that was full of scratches and the deep bite mark at the nape of his neck. To think, he’d probably be targeting that nape in a couple of minutes once again, except it’d be for the kill. He wondered if, when he’d rip Reiner from the nape of his Titan’s neck and admire his dead body, the bite mark on his neck would still be there.

Reiner bent over, lifting his ass in the air and dropping his chest and face to the floor, a look of pure embarrassment on his soiled face.

“Beautiful,” Eren whispered to himself as he watched his come pour out of Reiner’s hole, running down his leg and dripping onto the ground. “Satisfied?”

Reiner, from his docile place on the floor, nodded his head, his hair flowing back and forth on the ground. “Y-yes...thank you…”

He then collapsed to the floor, his hips no longer able to sustain his own weight. His legs were trembling, never having experienced such a savage fucking before. It had always been loving, sweet, slow. But he quickly found that he had been severely deprived of something he so desperately needed. He’d probably get brain damage from all the choking he was going to do in the future, but that didn’t matter. He already planned on dying soon, anyway.

“I’m going...to kill you...after this,” Reiner continued, severely out of breath.

Eren walked over silently, squatting down and brushing the hair out of Reiner’s sweaty and dirtied face. “I’d like to see you try. You can barely walk.”

He laughed and pat Reiner on the rear, standing back up and walking over to the exit as he fixed his trousers and buttoned them.

“But thanks for the good fuck. I needed that. Honestly, if I hadn’t made everybody from Paradis come rescue me today, I’d save this battle for another day. I’m feeling very…” He lifted up his hands, looking at his nails and running his fingers through his hair. “...relaxed right now.”

Reiner was half-asleep, but he was conscious enough to have heard Eren’s words loud and clear. He snapped his head up and turned to stare at Eren to see if what he heard was the truth, but all he was met with was Eren adjusting his shirt and tightening his hair into a bun.

“P-Paradis?”

“Yeah. Heh.” Eren looked over his shoulder and winked. “I’ll catch you out there, then. If you manage to survive, come to Paradis. I’ll give you a very special welcome.”

And with that, Eren Yeager exited the room heavy with the smell of sex and quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Reiner Braun was left alone—used and besmirched with a fucked-out mind—to mull over what just happened and what will happen in only a handful of minutes.

Eren fucking Yeager.

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Star Wars AU:

(I JUST SPED-READ THIS WHOLE AU RN AND IM BRAINING SO MUCH AND WROTE THIS AS I WENT!!!!

TW: there is an explanation of Sally’s death, but not to detail really! As well as TW for blood!)

After Sally was killed and Fundy was taken,he switches between the personalities of ‘Ghostbur’ and ‘Alivebur’ maybe? (Maybe around Tommy being taken as well as Tubbo? He kind of switches back and forth on both these types of ‘states’? I cannot think of the correct wording but yeah)

Sometimes he’ll just Not Sleep or he’ll wake up after a vivid dream, panic seizing his chest (he sometimes uses his force to try and convince himself that none of this was real and that awful day was just a nightmare to try sleep. He was still living in his old home with Sally and small Fundy with childish giggles being the only thing he heard; but it never really works. He doesn’t think about the Knife he lost. Nope.) Either way, he is not very mentally stable at either of these times because he’s lost all these important people because he can’t protect them.

(He remembers how the blood leaked out of his chest and his vision slowly began to blur as he sat by the love of his life who had now been dead for minutes or maybe an hour before he got into contact with his family.

‘Hello?...’ he knew that voice... he thinks he does. The voice belonged to someone with kind eyes and wings that added to great hugs...

‘Phil?....’ a cough, god the taste of copper and salt of tears was a horrible mixture before coughing again, barely hearing the concerned voice and another voice in the background.

‘Wil, what’s wrong mate? What happened?’ The voices were conversing again, he’s slowly focusing more on the blood that’s leaking out of the open wound in his chest.

‘I-I...’ he either chokes on a sob or his own blood or maybe both. ‘I couldn’t stop them... please..’

He doesn’t remember the rest of the conversation that well. )

He’ll just go around in the morning back home with Phil, Techno and the addition of Tommy like usual, bags under his eyes and said brown eyes don’t have the same shine they used to and he’ll walk up to someone, a blue bracer on his arm, fingers tracing each indent (in a certain way it feels warm, as if her hands hadn’t even left it after she placed it on his arm all that time ago..) and just

“Have you seen Sally and Fundy this morning? I didn’t hear either of them when I woke up...” and their looks make him feel confused, why do they look sad like that?... it’s not like they just upped and left or something.... right?

And either it’s that moment where continues to block every single detail of That Day or he remembers everything so vividly and perfectly like it happened that Morning (sometimes both) and the memories flood in of the love of his life on the ground lifeless and his son gone and remembers the way his chest burned and his throat ached as he screamed and shouted and moved and Sally was cold, cold, lifeless, never to laugh or sing or dance or make fun of Tommy for being a Child or anyone-

No one to sing his little songs with as they sung their little champion to sleep after the child’s nightmares or temper tantrum’s of ‘I’m not tired!’ As he would hold a little stuffed toy of a weird blue creature dubbed ‘friend’ that Wilbur had passed down to him after the toy was once his comfort as a child, a gift from Phil.

—

‘Now Fundy, this is Friend, they look a little weird and a bit old and dirty, but I know they’ll keep you company too, okay? They’ll protect you and stop your nightmares... I promise you that. They’ll fight all the bad guys in you dreams, okay little champion?’

And if sometimes someone will catch him in his sons room with a singular candle lot whilst he holds a blue stuffed toy singing a soft lullaby as his voice cracks where Sally would’ve once add her own parts, no one questions it.

—

Then Tubbo is taken; sweet, kind and enjoyable and funny Tubbo with a heart of gold and steel - And Then Tommy, his stupid younger brother and those assholes who took both of his brothers away from him. And then it happens to Tubbo again.

And Dream as well.

Not as if he’s slowly starting to care about him. Nope. Dream is just.... an ally. (No one should be forced to work for those bastards god damnit, no one. It’s not like he cares about Dream more and more because this happened with Tubbo too-)

(He does his best to ignore the voice in his head that shouts at him that he can protect no one, but he’s already believed it from the beginning.)

And so if he slowly becomes stubborn and doesn’t care about his well being again and only talks about blowing the place that holds his brother captive to smithereens? (Like the Empire blew a bullet through his chest and his wife’s head.) Whos stopping him from blowing the place to kingdom come to get Tubbo back? (The injured innocents - the sane part of himself whispers in his mind, those who can’t protect themselves and need to be protected a voice that sounds like Sally says.)

Who’s stopping him? He’s doing it either way. He...He needs to. He has to doesn’t he??

Not to mention his excitement on light terrorism with Niki and Jack, if he’s allowed to go a little crazy he’s going to Make It Grand.

—

He’s so cold all the time (argbur reference? In my ask? Yes.) he wants to be warm again, but his warmth was taken... he doesn’t like being cold...when was the last time he felt warm?... he can’t remember right now. He misses Sally, he wonders if She or Fundy would be proud of him. (Iykyk 😔)

-

(I’m not sure what else should be added with ‘Alivebur’ , but please he needs so much therapy it’s not that hard to see when he’ll sometimes go into his own little world and relive memories or something completely new and talk to his dead lover and son who he also believes he’ll never see again.)

-

And when he finds out the Fundy that wears a helmet around him is the Fundy who was taken away from him so long ago and it’s the first time in a long time that he finally breaks down in front of someone? He doesn’t care right now.

And if he gives Fundy one of the hunting knives Sally gave him at their wedding? He wants his son to have a memory of his mother too.

-blue

Perfection. Absolutely perfect. I love all of this. Just everything about it is great.

[pact-mom-kyrie]

Hey after a year I wrote a thing. I called it “Brooding nerds“ because is about Alesso (sniper, priest of Grenth) being broody after the event of Hall of Chains. He got some weird powers because hey, he had been dead once before, in Queensdale. He feels alienated. Fron his brothers, from the guild, from everything. So his brother Enzo (mesmer, nerd) goes to talk to him.

Shout out to @disaster-bi-canach for always being there. I mention her main Sinéad here. Go and read all her stuff. Is really good.

Also HAPPY FANFIC DAY!!!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The nights on Istan were cold, or at least the wind blowing up Champion’s Dawn made him feel like it. The little town was gleaming under the moonlight, pretty like a painting with Churrhir cliffs beyond. 

This was the ancient homeland, thought Alesso. Or at least part of it. He was not knowledgeable enough about the story of Zephaniah, he has bearely heard the story of his ancestor, the man he had only known as Zephare. The only thing he knew for sure was what Koss had said to him: “Another touched by the gods?! By Dwayna, never knew a child of Zephaniah could get this pale, huh?”

Somehow it hurt. But he didn’t say anything. Koss seemed like the kind of nosy grandpa he had never known. Salva noticed though and glared at the old man. Somehow the judgmental gaze of sweet, kind Salvatore made him feel guilty, or at least act like it.

It felt nice, but it was not enough to make him feel better.

That was the reason behind him being sit down, brooding on his own in a cliff, reaper-forged rifle by his side. He had given the excuse of going up just to shoot any awakened that dared come close to the town. But there were none, otherwise, he would have seen them walking through the plains or the breach… that was kilometers away.

Such accuracy was unnatural.

“The eyes of a god” Maesta said while they were in the Priory. He only thought it was about the fact that now they shone like embers, but he realized soon enough that it was something more terrible than that.

When he shot an awakened soldier.

From the cliffs.

With his eyes closed.

“Now you’re just fuckin’ cheatin’ partner” Exclaimed Johnny, his voice a mixture of anger and excitement. 

Alesso knew that yeah, he was cheating. But he couldn’t stop it. He had been dead twice, and that allowed him to gain some weird boon, and it felt extremely weird. After all, who else could say they had held a tiny bit of that kind of power?

All of sudden, a portal appeared by his side, and from its glimmering depths, a figure appeared. Tall and aristocratic.

“Good evening, little brother, nice weather for alienated brooding isn’t it?” Lorenzo has managed, after all their years as adventurers, perfected the art of princely sneer. Alesso glared at him, but could only mumble a weak curse. Years ago, he would have said “Yeah, fuck you”, and close himself up. But not now. Not like before.

“Don’t you have an entire observatory to read? Or did you run out of paper for interviewing zombie grandpa?”

The mesmer almost laughed, but he just gasped as if scandalized “Don’t call Koss Dejarin like that, young man” he faked the intonation of a scolding mother “he is not your grandpa!”

Alesso snorted, his devilish laughter barely escaping his lips “So you’re accepting he is a zombie, right?”

“Well, to be honest...” Enzo got lost in thought for a second, half-joking, half-serious “Awakened have peculiar characteristics, and have different needs from other types of risen-type creature, so they belong to their own category in Howard’s classification of unde-”

“You fucking nerd” The sniper rolled his eyes, huffing slightly “Whatever, tell everyone I’m ok, just thinking of stuff and… stuff”

The redhead sighed deeply and sat down, looking slightly distraught. “Oh no, I came here because I am worried, you little twerp. You’ve been way too quiet and sullen. That is not normal”

“What is normal then?” Claimed Alesso, wiggling a bit far from his brother. He was slightly scared, not ready to face any of his siblings, and tried to mask his fear with annoyance.

It wasn’t working.

“You being with us, smiling when no one looks, competing with Johnny over shots, praying for the fallen of Elona, just...” Enzo looked down, into the town “not like this, not as if we still were the same idiots running around Queensdale”

Alesso winced. Queensdale. It had been five years, it used to feel like a month ago, and now it felt like yesterday.

“Gyro behaved the same when I came back this time. He checked my pulse, he looked at my pupils, almost asked me for a blood test, as if he believed I was… as if I am-”

“You are not dead, Alessandro Zeppeli” The voice of Enzo broke a bit as if he was trying not to sob “You re here, with us. Still the same fool that tried to wrestle a spider queen, still the same child that broke into the home of Thomas Silvertogue to learn how to be a spy”

Those words felt like a knife stabbing his heart. Lorenzo was not the kind of man who broke easily, even if his emotions were there for everyone to see. It was not simple nostalgia, but a sort of awed reminiscence, and Alesso could not help to feel it too. 

“I’m scared” He murmured. It would have been better if he didn’t remember the last time he had said that. The sight of the ashes of Commander Steinbrecher in an urn, the greatest hero of all Tyria, had sunken his heart into the abyss of terror.

“I know” Enzo replied softly “The letter you gave me. Maesta… she wrote about everything”

Alesso lowered his head, feeling smaller. Silent in his own uncertainty. He had a snarky comment ready, but he felt too tired to say it. He was tired of hiding his thoughts behind the words of an asshole.

His brother sighed “You didn’t read it” It was not a question “You had a letter from a noble of Kryta, an agent of the Shining Blade, and didn’t even peek under the seal, knowing it may have some valuable intel. Thank you”

“What? She is my friend. Besides I don’t know if she had enchanted it or something” the thief tried to explain, not ready to show how much he cared about their relationship “Also I don’t wanna read the correspondence of someone whom actually thinks you are hot enough to fuck”

Lorenzo scoffed, no doubt rolling his eyes. “There were no details of that kind if you are interested, dear brother. Actually...” His tone changed to a more solemn one “She was asking for an explanation about… the way I said goodbye in Lion’s Arch”

The sniper raised his gaze. That was not a good memory, if anything, it was extremely awkward to remember Enzo being a jerk towards anyone, more so the woman he loved. “Did she break up with you via letter? I mean you mocked her for being emotional...”

“I am perfectly aware of what I did and I am ready to face punishment for my actions” Once more, the princely manners return “but that is not the point, as a matter of fact, the letter made me realize that we have something in common”

“That we deserve a slap for being assholes in serious moments?” Alesso raised an eyebrow, cringe clawing his heart. Enzo looked surprised, not ready for such a display of painful self-awareness.

“No, not that. Maybe a bit of that, but this is something completely different. Something we cannot… solve, so to speak” Enzo looked above them, gazing at the starry sky, “She wrote you were given a portion of Grenth’s power. As well as she did, but since you’ve been to his realm twice, your abilities got… stronger”

The eyes of a god. The reason for his accuracy, his eyes changing, now gleaming in the darkness. 

“Here is the question, Alesso: do you think you’re the only one who has felt the power of a god running through his blood?” It was a serious question. Way too precise. He would have expected it from Salva, or from Commander Sirhasi, but not Lorenzo. Then again, he had the bad habit of underestimating Lorenzo.

“I think so. I am the only one who has been so close to the gods...” he stated with unnerving confidence “Damn now I feel like an arrogant little shit”

“Well you arrogant little shit!” the mesmer exclaimed joyfully, opening his arms “You are SO wrong I could write a whole treatise on how wrong you are. But since I love you so much, I will give you a short version: I have felt the power of a god too, and it was fucking awful”

And so, Alessandro Zeppeli, a descendant of the house of Zephaniah, Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers, opened his mouth and gasped like a fish out of water. Because he had no idea what his brother was talking about.

“W- what? When? Why?!” He almost yelled, more confused than ever. He looked all around him, somehow waiting for someone to appear, to confirm it was all a joke at his expense.

“Do you remember the battle in Lion’s Arch against the minions of Zhaitan?” 

How would he forget that? He had spent days with Ihan and Joseph cleaning the city, trying to heal his sadness with risen’s blood. Until Commander Sirhasi asked if he was alright and he ended up crying like the child he was into the norn woman’s bosom.

“Yes, that face tells me that you do” Enzo whispered. Maybe lost in his own memories of those awful times. “Steward Gixx told Magisters Irene and Gialinn to help him with a relic of Balthazar. He thought that someone had to wield its power and since it was a human god...”

“It had to be a human, and there were no other nerds close to you” he muttered.

“Yes. I had to carry a part of the spirit of a god of fire, fury, and mass murder. As powerful as I felt, it was not a good experience. I thought nothing of it later, just a weird experience in an extremely hard time. Until Balthazar returned..” he lowered his head, while Alesso put the pieces together in his head.

“Whatever remained of the fucker within you, resonated with him, then” The sniper stated, only understanding the implications a second later “So your behavior, the fire that sometimes escaped from your illusions… that was Balthazar...”

Enzo nodded “Yes. One time I spat molten embers, one night I cried fire, and sometimes I just wanted to kill someone. Anyone. And I hid it all from everyone but my colleagues of the Priory”

“Well shit, even I didn’t saw that coming, except the part when you almost scared Cesare to death, of course,” Alesso looked at his brother, making him recoil slightly “Did you use your illusions to hide? Because you are good, but not that good”

“You rude prick. I happen to be that good” Lorenzo sneered “I was scared of any of you realizing it, I didn’t want you t think I was going to join the Zaishen or something like that”

Alesso moved closer to his brother “I get it... but if there was anyone of us who would have joined that prick, it would have been anyone but you” he saw the mesmer smiling, moved by his trust “After all, the stick in your ass wouldn’t let you bend the knee towards that monster”

“Fuck off” the strange laughter of Enzo pierced the night, sounding like a weird harpy in the cliffs “The point is: you are not alone, dumbass. Your god loved you. Maybe all that happened is sad, and I cannot imagine how you feel about it but...” He sighed and hugged Alesso from the side “You are still out little brother. The one who creeps us out because he looks a lot like dad. You’re part of the best and strongest guild in Tyria. The weirdest guy of the whole Pact...”

Now it was the turn of Alesso to laugh, like a tiny devil mocking Champion’s Dawn “I get it, you old cheesy geezer” He returned the hug, and felt his loneliness fading away “Thank you, really”

“I know, I am amazing. You are welcome” The fake pride of Lorenzo was even worse than his stupid smile, and he knew it “No, but in all seriousness, it is alright. You can tell me every time you feel bad about your existential crisis, at least regarding your godly issues. You’re my brother, and we are very similar....”

“Ew. Don’t remind me that. Makes me wanna hide under a rock” Alesso broke the hug, stood up, and took his rifle before looking up to the sky, smiling “Maybe Grenth is gone but... I feel I can still carry his will as long as I am with you, my family... bunch of losers” 

Lorenzo also stood up, stretching his back “You better. Without you, we wouldn’t be as good as we are. Also, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my main familial obligation without you”

Knowing what kind of obligation he was talking about, Alesso sneered and said a single sentence. “To keep Cesare humble? Alright. Seems all this ‘Hero of Three Nations’ thing has started to go to his head, do you have a plan?”

The redhead smiled, malice covering his face “Oh yes, it includes portals. Lots of portals” he stated while opening one by their side.

“I may have an idea, but you lead the way”

The two brothers entered the shimmering pond of light, and for a moment there was nothing but peaceful silence in Istan.

Until the shriek of a heroic guardian pierced the night.

[carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich]

These Fanfics of Shin and Carla of nice and all...but we want the story on how Carla Tsukinami stoke your ham sandwich! The greedy bast*rd he is...

Anon, this is one of my favourite asks ever and I love you. Thank you so much for giving me an opportunity to shamelessly insert myself into the world of DL I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

I wrote myself as a nameless herione (because I don’t think most of you know my name) which also means you can treat it as a reader insert if you want to, but bare in mind this is based on how I would react in this situation and there are some details that are a bit specific to me.

“Hm, I wonder if I’m allowed up here?” The girl glanced back at the door to the rooftop of Ryoutei Academy, trying to spot any sort of kanji that could translate to “Keep Out” but found none. Shrugging to herself she concluded that if anyone caught her up here when she wasn’t supposed to be, then she would have to play the confused foreign student card and hope for the best.

A mild scolding seemed better than going back to the cafeteria anyway.

She looked down at the slightly sorry looking lunchbox in her hands and loosed a sigh. It was only her second day at her new school and already she felt herself desperately missing her friends and the familiarity of her old school. 

The other students had all been pleasant enough- aside from the boy with glasses in her class, who she’d caught eyeing the hemline of her skirt with obvious disapproval, as though it was somehow her fault that whoever made the school uniform had not done so with five foot nine female transfer students in mind- but the thought of trying to navigate getting food when almost all of the signs were in kanji she didn’t recognize made her gut roll with anxiety.

Besides at least the rooftop was pretty, with troughs of well kept roses lining the space and a perfect view of Kaminashi town, just beyond the iron railing, the lights from the small shopping district a warm glow against the midnight blue sky.

The girl walked over to the edge of the rooftop, intent on giving herself a moment to admire the townscape when a nearby rose caught her eye. It’s petals were such a dark red, they looked almost black in the modest illumination provided by the few lights lining the roof. She crouched down on the balls of her feet and set her lunchbox carefully to the side. Something about the scene, the dark flower with the night sky behind it, made her fingers itch with the urge to sketch it. 

“I don’t think I could do the dark colors justice with my watercolors and I can’t do realism with markers so maybe colored pencils would be best?” She muttered to herself she tried to find the perfect angle for some reference photos she could use later, while reaching into her pocket for her phone. “Acrylics could work I guess but I don’t have any canvas here and I-”

“What are you doing?” A low voice came from right beside her ear. The girl let out a high-pitched shriek and jolted in surprise, barely catching her balance in time.

She loosed a breath before turning her head in the direction of whoever had spoken, but before she could, they spoke again.

“Hahh, that’s no good… Hmph!” A rough shove sent her sprawling into the roses. Thorns scratched at her skin and she cursed as her hands plunged in the damp mulch, just barely stopping her from face-planting into the dirt. The rest of her however, was not so lucky, and she knew from the way her torso had landed in the soil that her skirt’s hemline had just become the least of her worries as far as her uniform was concerned.

A cruel laugh came from behind her and she turned to look up, filled with some mixture of anger and embarrassment. 

But whatever had been brewing petered out the moment she laid eyes on the culprit. He was quite possibly the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen; short choppy, strawberry blonde hair framed pale face with an eye the most incredible shade of gold. 

He was utterly stunning.

The effect was promptly ruined however, when he opened his mouth, face twisting into a sneer.

“Haha, how pathetic, crawling around in the dirt.” He continued to chuckle as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, wincing slightly at the way they stung where they’d scraped against the ground. 

“Heehhh, aren’t you going to say something?” The boy asked, the humor in his expression dying down as he regarded her as one might a spot of mould on a piece of bread. “Or is it that you’re so stupid, you can’t understand what I’m saying?”

The girl froze slightly, unsure how to navigate whatever was going on. Was this guy a bully? Her strategy for dealing with bullies until now had generally been to avoid them or ignore them, neither of which seemed like a good idea here.

“Oiii Miss idiot, are you going to keep ignoring me until I do something like this?” Before she could react the boy placed a heavy black boot on her hand and started to put his weight onto it.

Shit.

“What do you want from me?” She blurted out, praying silently that she hadn’t messed up the Japanese grammar, which really shouldn’t have been a concern given this encounter could feasibly end with a broken hand.

The pressure stopped briefly and she took the chance to tug her hand out from her under his shoe and get to her feet. The girl was a little surprised to find that the boy was no taller than she was, although his general aura of menace certainly made him intimidating enough without needing any extra height. 

“Ah, so you can talk. As for what I want… why don’t we start with an apology for shrieking in my ear earlier? It hurt you know?” He made a show of obnoxiously cleaning out his ear with his finger and the girl found herself completely lost for words. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, there were a lot of words swirling in her brain, all of them English and not to be used amongst polite company.

Biting back the urge to tell him to fuck off, she reminded herself that she was currently alone with this guy on a rooftop and angering him further probably would not end well. “I apologize for shouting in your ear, you surprised me. I’ll be going now.” Lunch forgotten, she went to make a hasty retreat to the rooftop door but was stopped short when the male put himself directly into her path. 

“Not so fast, you haven’t answered my question yet. What were you doing up here, sticking your head into the roses like some kind of animal?” The girl tried to keep her breathing even, as she felt panic rise in her veins.

“I wanted to take pictures as drawing references, I didn’t realize that-” an arsehole like you would show up “-someone else was already here, forgive me, I’ll be on my way.” She went to take a step around him, when the boy took a step towards her, forcing her to take one back. Soon her back was pressed up against the railing and she internally cursed.

“You just wanted to draw some pictures of the flowers? Isn’t that a bit childish? Well, I guess you still wear kid’s underwear so I shouldn’t be surprised.” The girl spluttered and instinctively went to yank down her skirt, a slightly ridiculous action, considering he must have seen everything when he pushed her earlier. 

“That-that doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she said, eyes on the ground as her face burned with shame. “Please, just let me leave.”

“You know, you still sound pretty demanding for someone who’s shaking and is covered in mud. Also,” he paused, sniffing the air briefly before glancing down at her knees, “ah I wondered where that awful scent was coming from, geez human blood really isn’t appealing at all.” The girl looked at her legs and caught sight of red liquid staining her knees, but that wasn’t what made her pause.

“Human blood? What are you-” A cold dread spread through her as she looked back up at the boy and the inhuman color of his iris. This had to be some sort of awful prank right?

“Oh, maybe I spoke too much, but that reaction isn’t bad, haha. Hey, what do you think I am?” He asked her, opening his mouth just wide enough to reveal a pair of gleaming white fangs.

“That’s… There’s no way… You can’t…” The girl struggled to process the image in front of her, trying to find some sensible sounding explanation. He had to be a nutjob with fake fangs right? A nutjob who liked to terrorize girls on rooftops and happened to go to a night school.

“Ah how boring. Shouldn’t most girls be crying with fear by now? I don’t want to but, would you react a bit more if I pierced you with these fangs?” He lowered his face and panic surged through her. Lunatic or something else, she had no intention of being bitten by him. The girl went to shove him away from her, but before she could blink he had her arms pinned above her head.

“It seems you still haven’t learned that I’m not the sort of person you should fight back against. Hey, how much would it take to make you cry?” His grip on her wrists tightened and she winced at the strength in his grip. “Your wrists are pretty thin, I’d barely have to use any of my strength to snap your bones.”

“Please stop!” She begged, as she silently prayed for someone, anyone to intervene.

“Oi Shin, what are you doing?” An incredibly deep voice came from the entrance to the rooftop and the girl said a silent word of thanks.

“Huh,” Shin looked over his shoulder, allowing the girl a glance at her savior. He was tall, with long white hair, that appeared dyed pink at the tips. A dark scarf covered the lower half of his face, while above it were a pair of piercing golden eyes. 

A shudder ran down her spine as her gaze locked with his for a moment, suddenly feeling a lot less safe than she had just a moment ago.

“Ah brother, I was just having a bit of fun.” The girl wasn’t sure which part of this statement horrified her more. That her so called savoir was actually related to the demonic pile of steaming garbage in front of her or that this was Shin’s version of fun. 

“That’s enough, we have matters to discuss.” The man walked over from the door to the roof, his footsteps stopping just behind Shin.

“Tch,” Shin let go of her arms, only to grip hold of her chin, moving his face uncomfortably close to hers. “Hey, if you tell anyone about what happened here, I’ll rip your tongue out, got it?” His fangs caught the light as he spoke, and the girl felt very close to tears as she muttered a soft yes. 

Shin flashed her that nasty smile of his before letting go. “Well then, get out of here!” 

Needing no further prompting, she hastily got away from him, pausing only to grab her school bag. As she did so, she caught sight of her lunchbox in the older boys hands and faltered. 

“Go!” Shin yelled and the girl concluded that the ham sandwich and peanut butter flavored chocolate bar contained in the hundred yen tupperware were not worth her life as she borderline ran to the rooftop door, slamming it shut behind her. 

***

Carla watched the girl flee from the rooftop with a dispassionate expression. 

“What exactly did you do?” He asked, more concerned with trying to keep their low profile as they furthered their objective than anything else.

“Nothing much, I just toyed with her a bit. She’s only a human so it doesn’t really matter does it? More importantly, why did you keep hold of that?” Shin nodded towards the plastic container in Carla’s hands. 

Carla said nothing as he opened up the box and pulled out a modest sandwich wrapped neatly in clingfilm. Removing some of the wrap, he sniffed it briefly before muttering.

“I thought so.”

Shin took a deep breath through his nose. “Ah, I see, a dry cured ham sandwich huh?”

“Normally I would never eat something prepared by human hands but to take away the taste of that polluted blood, it can’t be helped.” Carla lowered his scarf and took a bite of the sandwich, chewing a few times as he deemed it to be palatable before swallowing. “Oi Shin, take this.” He threw a plastic wrapped bar at his brother and Shin caught it without effort.

He turned it over in his hands before spotting the reason why his brother had given it to him. “Peanut butter huh? Well at least it seems that girl’s good for something.”

[thedistantstorm]

A Gentle Truth [1/3]

A Ghost finds his Guardian in the ruins of Tokyo. She asks him for a name. He agrees, but only if she grants him one in return.

It is not yet dawn. The sky is painted beautiful shades of velvet orange, violet-blue, and midnight over the once thriving metropolis. Once, it would be loud, as bright as daylight, and bustling with activity. Now, it is silent, the flicker of half-functioning lights from collapsed skyscrapers dull and short circuiting. There is no one in sight.

Except for one tiny, nimble Ghost, darting across rubble-coated streets and into buildings. He hovers over huge expanses, cracks that run kilometers deep into the ground, casting his gaze at them quickly before continuing on. There is a purpose in his intent, methodical searching. 

Then, all at once, his entire body freezes, hanging unnaturally in the air. Flick, shift. His small plating realigns itself around his body and he dips forward before hesitating, as if he cannot believe whatever his sensors have uncovered.

He proceeds slowly, over a destroyed roadblock with large chunks of the skyscraper above crushing it into the ground. Takes a left and finds a mostly in-tact alley. A warm breeze pushes at his back not unkindly; As if telling him that he's moving in the right direction.

On the other side of the alley, he takes a moment. The sun is not up yet, though the horizon is getting brighter. He looks around, takes stock. No movement on his radar for miles. Good. He reminds himself not to get so caught up in his search that he forgets to check his own six once in a while.

And then, he begins.

He always searches the deepest recesses first. Under large boulders and ruins, in small inlets and cozy nooks. As always, his search is fruitless.  He makes another check of radar. Still good.

The next thing he does is comb the area. The unsuspecting alley opens into a small respite from the apocalypse shattered city. It becomes a wide, sprawling greenspace that is not terribly deep, but ends at the foot of a temple that looks centuries older than the decaying metropolitan architecture around it, though it is surprisingly intact. 

Behind the small temple lies the sea and the coming dawn. If he is no closer, he'll take a moment to watch the sunrise.

The Ghost scans the body of a humanoid nearby, a pile of bones propped against a decaying wall. Not his Guardian. Undeterred, the back fins of his shell spin, reorienting. His Guardian is close. The Light, the feeling of the tether between their souls is almost tangible now.

Across the archway outside the temple, delicate vines of yellow-white flowers grow, petals kicked up and swirling in the wind. The Ghost turns his optic to look through the Temple to the golden glow of the sunrise.

A pointed breeze blows through the open space from the sea, stronger than the gentle nudges from before. There is the serene clacking of wooden chimes. The Ghost doesn't hear them, though.

The wind dislodges the petals scattered across the cracked stone pathway just enough to reveal the ivory of bone. There is something terribly heartrending about this body, he thinks. All the others he's scanned in this area were hidden, likely terrified. 

This one, unlike the rest, stands in defiance. A Guardian, something deep in his mechanical body dares to hope.

He can see where something has cut through bone, their ribcage irreversibly damaged on the left side by a sharp object, likely a blade. A killing blow. He shivers. It must have been painful.

Tentatively, he spins his shell, front half clockwise, back half the counter-clockwise, preparing to scan the remains. A fragile blue beam touches the space over their sternum and widens to catch the rest. Quick as a blink, as though electrocuted, he draws back.

"It's you," He whispers, voice tiny and awed and reverent. The carmel-smooth quality of his voice is not drowned out by the synthetic overtone of it. "Finally," He murmurs, louder. Warmly. Overjoyed. "I've finally, finally found you."

With gusto, he hovers around the skeleton, taking inventory. He catalogues the rising sun, peeking just over the horizon. For as long as he exists, there will never be a more wonderful moment. Once satisfied, he opens his shell like the jasmine blooms hanging from the nearby vines that blossom to greet the day.

Light floods him, overrides his sensors, overrides everything-

-and then there is nothing but the golden glow of daybreak, and the damaged wood chimes clinking in the dawn breeze.

He blinks. They gasp.

Two glowing eyes, almond-shaped and diamond-white stare back at him.

"Hello, Guardian," He coos, trying to remember to orient them, but also trying to peel his optic away from their gaze so he can determine the rest about them as well. This is his greatest moment. His Guardian - they don't know it yet - they are his purpose. The very sun he orbits around. "You've been down for a while, but that's alright. I'm here to guide you."

Full lips and a flat, wide nose scrunch almost imperceptibly. Confused.

The Ghost's shell spins idly. He gives them a once over. Awoken. Female. Does not speak common, he reckons, based on her bewildered gaze. He lowers himself, moving slowly, as not to frighten her.

"W-watashi wa…"

She frowns, looking at her hands, watching the ripple of pastel blue illuminate her digits. Her skin is an alabaster color not unlike the moon, with an ethereal bluish tint. Darker blue markings paint the inside corners of her eyes, where the bridge of her nose and forehead come together.

She is nothing like he expected her to be. She is so much more. She is perfect.

"You might not speak the common language," He tells her slowly. "Can you understand me?"

Her pout is back, but there's something cute about it, watching her ponder. "Ano…" She trails off. "Gomen," She finishes, looking to his optic, and he does not need to know what language she's speaking to understand that she's apologizing because she does not.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters now, because he's found her. Together, they can do anything.

Without thinking, he butts his whole being into her chest. She flinches, but before he can draw back, whining mechanically, concern and regret - the fear of rejection - flaring through his every synapse, pale fingers cup his being and cradle him against her.

He can feel it. He can feel the jackrabbit beat of her heart, her fear, her wariness. But he can feel her trying to smooth that feeling over with comfort. Reassurance. She can feel their connection.

Minutes old and his beautiful, perfect Guardian is already trying to soothe him. He thinks words of gratitude to the Traveler. There could not be anyone more lovely in the absolute entirety of the universe.

And she's his!

Instead of speaking, he projects those feelings back to her, like a wave of gentle hope and safety. He focuses on telling her without words that it's alright, that he is here for her. Her fingers envelope him a little more closely, and his fins sag in relief.

They can work with this. They can still communicate.

When she cautiously releases him, he hovers close to her. "Ghost," He says.

A pale finger points at him.

"Ghost," He repeats.

She puts a hand on her chest. He sees the exact moment she realizes she doesn't know her name, can feel her panic. She should know it, he's sure that's what she thinks.

He pushes every soothing thought he can toward her, saying, "It's ok. It's normal."

"Oh-kay?"

"Yes," He agrees.

"Ghost," She murmurs. 

"Yes," He answers. "I'm your Ghost. Yours."

"Mine?"

He bobs in the affirmative, fins spinning excitedly. She might know some common, after all. Shock was common among new Guardians, he'd heard. "You don't have to talk, it might take a moment for it all to come back," He rambles. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She smiles nervously, and nods, projecting a mixture of trust - he feels like he's been broken apart and put back together - and unsurity. Panic. Swirling together under the surface.

A loud sound, a crash, the pop of gunfire flattens his newly reborn Guardian into a crouch. Her eyes are fearful and alert, darting around. Above her, the Ghost sighs, drifting down in front of her.

"I'm sorry," He drones sadly, then erupts into sparks of Light.

She looks down at her chest, reaching for the glimmer of sparkling, warm Light in the air. He feels her terror, her grief at his disappearance is like a bomb going off somewhere in his circuits. He urges calm feelings forward, marking a location he knows will be safe for her to hide. He can't hear her thinking, but he can feel her probing tentatively in her mind, reaching for him gently after the initial fear that he's left her subsides.

I'm here, He tells her, testing the link all Ghosts and Guardians share. I'm with you, always.

Ghost, she answers. 

Yes, Guardian. We have to move. The sounds of the skirmish sound closer now.

She focuses, adjusting to the marker in her vision. Then, she dips carefully into the shadows, staying behind cover as much as possible. He continues to relay as much calm and serenity as he can.

But things become too close.

Fallen, his sensors tell him. Hide! 

She doesn't understand, the panic he's projecting overwhelms her until she's frozen under the weight of it. She cries out when a bullet grazes her arm. Out of pure instinct, she dives under a mangled barricade, breath coming in heavy pants, heartbeat escalated dangerously high. She scrambles into the skeletal husk of a building and holes up in a crack in the rubble.

The sound of rushed footsteps come through, hot on their heels. 

Breathe slowly, He instructs, praying she understands. Don't alert them.

Ghost, she pleads back. Her fingers find the wound on her arm, blood thick and tacky. She squeezes her eyes shut and tears escape. Kowaidesu.

He doesn't know what she's thinking to him, but he tries for context. She’s terrified. It's okay. It's okay. Stay calm. I've got you.

Really, he doesn't, all he can do is heal her when the coast is clear and bring her back if they kill her. The thought saddens him. He doesn't want her to die. He can tell her wound hurts. He wants to protect her. His job is to protect her.

The imminent danger passes eventually, and he phases out of her chest. She shivers at the loss, but he hovers carefully in front of her face.

"They're gone," He tells her. Safe, he says through their link. The wordless communication seems to soothe her the most. "I'm going to heal you."

Her breaths turn sharp when he sets to mending her, the gouged wound sealing back together in Light. She looks down at the torn fabric on but healed skin on her arm in confusion.

"Better?" He asks kindly.

"Hmm," She says, and holds out her cupped fingers to hold him. He hovers carefully above her palms, sinking down slowly. "Arigatou," She hums, sounding thankful.

He looks up to her. The tears on her face are drying. "We need to find somewhere safe for us to hide. I've heard that new Risen," He pauses, "That's you," He bobs, "Get tired quickly. I want you to be safe."

She focuses on him intently, and he can see her brain trying to process. It will be easier when they are somewhere safe, when she can rest and they can bond and he can explain.

"Kakusu hitsuyō ga arimasu."

"Hide," He repeats, unsure of what she's saying. "Safe."

"Yes," She agrees, and he perks up. Frowning, she stumbles through the rest. "Ghost…" She bites her lip, whispering, "You lead… way?"

He spins happily in her hands. Perhaps things would right themselves with time, as her mind adjusts to being alive once more. "Yes. I'll lead the way!"

She smiles at him, then, and releases him so that he can guide her. He thinks if he had a heart, it would have leapt right out of his body.

[icyharrington]

Sinful Thoughts (Michael Langdon X Reader) Part 2

click here for part 1 // tag list: (sorry if I forgot anyone!) @fuckthatfeeling @shado-cat @hxdesworld @the-captain-kidd @mrs-langdxn @natalielivesformusic 

plot: you’re the epitome of a good christian girl. michael langdon intends to ruin that. 

warnings: fem!Reader, high school au, fingering, michael is kind of a dick in this but in a hot way, u get finger fucked in a janitor’s closet oopsy😋

word count: 3.6k 

i. 

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

Your voice sounded foreign, like you were listening to yourself talk from another room. You swallowed a sudden wave of nausea as you waited for the priest to reply from behind the screen. “And how is it that you have sinned, my child?” The man’s voice was patient and calm. It didn’t make you feel any better.

You let out a shuddery sigh before responding. “I’ve been having bad thoughts. Sinful thoughts, father. Desires of the flesh...”

“I see. And have you succumbed to any of these thoughts?”

“No,” you said. Not yet, anyway. You considered this answer to only be a half-truth, as recently you’d been finding yourself grinding against your chair absentmindedly in class, watching that awful blond boy from across the room. You hadn’t touched yourself to any thoughts, at least not voluntarily, but you had a sneaking feeling that you were very, very close to breaking. 

The last straw had been this morning. You’d been preoccupied in class, as usual, eyes glazed over as images of Michael Langdon’s hands danced in your mind, when suddenly there was a hollow pit in your stomach. You’d jumped to your feet and hurried to the girl’s bathroom, immediately holing yourself up in a stall to squeeze your thighs together and will away the thoughts that were bringing you closer and closer to your breaking point.

Once you’d managed to coax the feeling away, you bowed your head and recited a few prayers. God had to be testing your will— that was the only explanation you could think of that made any sort of sense. You’d always had such remarkable self-control, but you could feel it dwindling with every lude thought that crossed your mind. You had to admit, though: divine test or not, you were beginning to frighten yourself.

“Good, my child. Now recite three Hail Marys and you shall be forgiven.”

Your face fell. “Seriously? What am I supposed to do about this? I mean, I can’t think about anything but this one boy!”

The priest’s voice suddenly assumed a tone that was far more casual than wise and all-knowing. “Honestly, kid, there’s a lot worse things than having a couple dirty thoughts every now and then.”

You went slack-jawed, staring at the shadowy figure of the priest with disbelief. Was he really being serious? Did he really not have any kind of solution to offer for your problem? You huffed, discouraged, and without another word you left the confessional booth, letting the door slam shut behind you. Maybe he’s right, came a hopeful whisper in your mind. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you just touched a little...

You shook your head as if to erase the thought like an etch-a-sketch. No way. You couldn’t. You’d gone your whole life without giving in to your desires, so why start now? It’s a test, you told yourself firmly. God is testing me.

You pushed open the double doors of the church and walked into the parking lot, the sky navy blue and sprinkled with stars. You sighed, walking briskly as you started the fifteen minute journey home.

You’d hoped that going to the confessional would make you feel better, or enlighten you somehow. Instead, it had only heightened your confusion and distress. You pulled your jacket tighter to you as a soft breeze blew your hair back, footsteps erratic on the sidewalk as you hoped to shorten your walk through the cold. 

Crunch. You stopped so suddenly you nearly lost your balance, whipping around as your heart jumped in your throat. It sounded as if somebody had stepped on a dead leaf on the ground behind you, but you’d been certain you were alone.

The sidewalk was empty. Not even a car was in sight. You scanned the premises anxiously before turning back around, quickening your pace. It was all in your head, you told yourself. You only made it a few more yards before you were interrupted again, this time by the sound of scurrying behind you, so clear there was no way you could’ve imagined it. You stopped, mumbling a desperate prayer and stroking your necklace, before gingerly turning around.

Nothing. The streets and sidewalk were empty. The streetlights cast eerie shadows down the uneven cement, overgrown with weeds and grass, but there was nobody there. What the hell? You thought, before scolding yourself for swearing.

You let out a panicked whimper, your body numbing from a mixture of fear and cold, and reluctantly you turned back around. You took in an indulgent breath, counting to three in your head before exhaling. It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head. It’s all-

You let out a strangled scream as a gloved hand found its way over your mouth, your body being pulled into a makeshift alley between two parallel fences. Immediately you were pressed hard against the old, splintering wood behind you, your flailing limbs tamed effortlessly by your assailant.

Then you heard a laugh. A very familiar laugh, at that. Your attacker removed his hand from your mouth, taking a step back, and even though it was dark you could recognize those angular features.

“Michael, what the- what the hell is wrong with you?” You managed, and you watched him grin at your natural reluctance to swear. A tear dropped from the corner of your eye and slid down your cheek, which you quickly wiped away with the back of your sleeve.

“I was going for a walk when I saw you, and I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“The opportunity to make me think I was about to be raped? Or murdered?” Your words came out at much more of a shrill pitch than you’d intended, and your body continued to shake from the leftover terror.

“Shhh,” he cooed, reaching a leather-clad hand to your jaw and tenderly wiping away the tears that continued to spill, forming dark spots on the front of your sweater. Even though you glared at Michael with contempt, that dreaded sinking feeling returned in your stomach upon having his hand against your skin.

“Don’t touch me,” you said, crossing your arms in front of you protectively.

“You say that,” he began, that stupid smirk giving way across his perfect lips, “but your thoughts are sending me a very different message.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“Hm,” he laughed dryly, thumb still working away the glassy stains on your skin. Then he brought his face close to yours, so close that his words caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end. “Tell me about your dream.”

You gaped at him. He couldn’t possibly be talking about...? “What dream?”

He shook his head, appearing somewhat annoyed with you. “When will you accept that I know everything about you, (y/n)? Your thoughts, desires, dreams.” You faltered under the weight of his stare, unsure if your lack of motion was due to some sort of supernatural hold, or your own free will. “So, (y/n),” he said, lips brushing your ear and making you shiver. “Tell me about the dream you had.”

“You’re crazy,” you said, pressing yourself as far back against the fence as you could in a feeble attempt to escape his presence. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you don’t remember? Waking up with your panties soaked through? Using every last shred of strength to stop yourself from touching that one part of you that’s off-limits.” You blinked at him, and again came that ache beneath your undergarments, demanding your attention.

“You remember.” He placed his fingers under your chin and tilted it upwards. “Don’t you?” 

You nodded, an act of betrayal against yourself. “How did- how could you know?” you stammered, shallow breaths escaping you as you fought to keep your composure.

“I’m more powerful than any god you could ever dream of,” he told you, lifting one hand to your hair and petting it. 

“That’s a lie.”

He tilted his head to one side, lips twitching upwards at the corners. He was loving this, the way you studied his every move with fear and lust behind your eyes. He darted his tongue out and ran it along his bottom lip, and you nearly whined at the way the moisture glinted in the dark. “But it isn’t, (y/n), and you know it isn’t.”

You glared at him, all at once frustrated with yourself for playing into his games, and without a second thought your palm was hot against his cheek, his skin icy from the nighttime chill. Your eyes wide, you brought your quivering hand back to your side, immediately regretting what you’d done. In the low light, you could almost swear his eyes were entirely black, glossy like a raven’s wings.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, our lord is with thee,” you choked, afraid. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, J-J-“ You gasped for air, realizing that your throat was being constricted as your body inched upwards against the fence. Michael’s hands, however, weren’t touching you; your feet left the ground and you continued upwards as if by magic, dragged by an invisible force that also managed to prevent you from breathing.

“M-Mi-Michael,” you begged, your hands grasping senselessly at your throat. “P-pl-“ your mouth opened and closed frantically as your legs dangled uselessly below you.

He chuckled to himself before casually flicking his wrist, and suddenly you dropped back onto the ground, chest heaving as you took in a gulp of much needed air. Waves of blond hair falling over his face as he bent over to reach your level, he spoke with a twinge of sadistic amusement. “Are you ready to submit?”

All you could do was look at him, entirely speechless, and his lips curved up into a triumphant grin. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, (y/n).”

Without another word, he strode out of the alley and into the night, leaving you alone to deal with your thoughts.

ii. 

All morning at school that next day, you compulsively checked the clock with a lump in your throat. Your stomach was unable to stop its incessant churning as you anticipated your inevitable crossing of paths with Michael later that day. You couldn’t shake the feelings of fear- fear for what he was, as it was blatantly apparent to you now that he wasn’t fully human- and arousal, and the combination of the two emotions was intoxicating.

You knew it wouldn’t be long before you unraveled in the palms of his ring-clad hands. There was just something about him that you couldn’t shake, and you thought maybe it’d be better for everyone if you just gave in to your desires.

You hated that you’d been brought to the point of nearly giving up- you’d been so strong until you met him. What was it about him that was powerful enough to change you?

When the time came to go to biology, you were forced to evaluate your options: the first was showing up and pretending like nothing was wrong, even though you knew Michael would be reading your thoughts all the same. The other was the more cowardly option- hiding out in a secluded part of the school while skipping the class altogether.

Michael would know that he’d won if you didn’t show up for class, something so out of character for someone as studious as you. You knew this. But wouldn’t he know either way that he’d gotten under your skin? He already seemed to be in tune with your every thought. Was there even any use pretending that you hadn’t been affected by him?

In the end, you wound up finding yourself hidden out in the janitor’s closet, knees drawn to your chest as you scrolled through your phone. Sure, it was the easy way out. But you were beginning to suspect that there would be no escaping Michael whether or not you went to class.

Sitting awkwardly amongst the mops and cleaning supplies, your heart jumped as the doorknob began jiggling gently.

You bit your bottom lip. You knew who was behind that door. It’d already been on the back of your mind that Michael might know where to find you, but your teeth began chattering in apprehensive excitement all the same. You watched the lock turn by itself- again, you’d known there was the chance that he could bypass whatever obstacles you put between the two of you. Every time he proved his supernatural powers to be more than a figment of your imagination, though, it managed to surprise you.

The lock clicked, and then the door was opening, a thin stream of light from the fluorescent-lit hallways cutting through the dimness of the closet. And then there was Michael with his beautiful hair and black jacket and expensive pants, towering over you as you became engulfed in his shadow.

He looked at you wryly, taking a step inside and shutting the door sensibly behind himself. “Is there a reason you’re in a dusty closet instead of biology class?”

Your fingers thoughtlessly traced your cross necklace for what seemed like the thousandth time that week, even though you knew it wouldn’t help you now. “You know why I’m here, Michael,” you said grudgingly.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he said, and you rolled your eyes. This was all a part of his plan to ruin you, having you swallow your last ounce of pride to admit that you were afflicted by him.

“I thought you knew everything,” you said sarcastically as he leaned forward and offered you his hand.

“Oh, believe me, (y/n), I do,” he said, helping you to your feet after you placed your hand in his. “I just want to hear you say it.”

He came closer to you, hips swinging slightly as he took his usual long, leisurely strides. Your back hit the dusty shelves, shaking something loose- there was a soft crash as something scattered across the floor, but you hardly noticed, too busy fixating on Michael as he closed in on his prey. Rolling his neck slightly, he licked his lips; his eyes were dark and glinted with a carnivorous sort of hunger.

“Fine,” you said loudly, resenting the way he regarded you so smugly. “I’m here because I couldn’t bring myself to face you. Because you make me want to do bad things. Un-Christian things. Happy?”

 “Now, how hard was that?” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, blinking innocently. “Tell me what you want,” he said, his tone gentle but authoritative, fingers trailing down your cheeks and ghosting your jaw.

“You know what I want,” you murmured, looking down as your face flushed with shame. Was he really going to make you say it? 

Of course he was going to. You shouldn’t have expected any sort of mercy from someone like Michael Langdon. He was eating this up, thriving on your weakness. And for some reason, as ashamed as you were to admit it, that raw, domineering power only made your center throb harder with want.

“Look at me,” he commanded calmly, so low you almost thought you’d imagined it. You obeyed, shuddering as his eyes seared invasively into yours. “Tell me what you want, and you can have it.”

“I want-“ you began, pausing to gather your bearings. “I want you to touch me.” You hardly registered the words as your own; it felt like you were outside of your body, watching helplessly from afar as you eagerly allowed Michael Langdon to strip you of your remaining dignity.

“That’s it,” he said, lowering his hand to toy with the hem of your skirt. “Let go of everything. Give yourself to me.” He hiked up your skirt to your waist, and you could only imagine how crude this scene would look to an observer as he rolled your nude colored pantyhose down to your knees. You whimpered, barely noticing the way the shelf behind you dug painfully into your back.

“Where do you want to be touched?” he asked, making you groan in exasperation. Wasn’t the fact that you were submitting to him enough? Why did he need to further humiliate you?

“Please,” you breathed, but he only shook his head at you, no sign of sympathy in his stoic gaze. “Michael.”

Your hand shot forward and gripped his wrist, tugging it desperately towards your dripping core. He seemed pleasantly surprised at this, and seemed to be rewarding your boldness when he starred to rub circles over the thin fabric of your underwear. You moved your hand to grip his forearm, hissing as he applied hard pressure to your aching clit.

“Your underwear is completely soaked through,” he remarked, sliding his hand up to the waistband and snapping it hard against your lower stomach. “Have I always made you this wet?”

You knew he expected an answer from you, freezing in place as he waited for your reply. He could probably continue this for hours if he wanted to, just destroying you bit by bit. You gulped and nodded quickly, hoping that would suffice as an answer to his question.

He worked your underwear down to your knees, bunching it alongside your pantyhose. Next you felt his dress shoes nudging between your flats, urging you to spread your legs apart. You complied, his fingers stroking your upper leg and dipping into the juices that had begun to dribble down your inner thighs.

When he’d coated a sufficient amount on his fingers, he lifted them to your lips; you parted them obediently and he slipped them into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around them, moaning wantonly at the taste of your wetness combined with the salty flavor of his skin.

“Who would’ve known that the sweet little Christian girl would turn out to be such a needy slut?” he mused, removing his fingers from your mouth to trace them lightly over your swollen clit. “Good girl,” he praised, dragging his moist fingers over your entrance before easing them inside your tight walls. You whined, grinding your hips down as you felt yourself being stretched out for the first time in your life. It was exquisite, the way he felt inside you, and you couldn’t believe you’d been denying yourself this for so long.

He started out torturously slow, allowing you to get used to the feeling of his fingers inside you before increasing the intensity. When you’d been properly stretched out, he thrusted harshly upwards, forcing a gasp from your lips as your vision blurred. Your eyes fluttered shut and his pace quickened, his fingers expertly reaching and working at your deepest points with each vigorous thrust of his wrist. Your arms braced his neck, holding him close to you in case he might change his mind, decide to leave you high and dry. The thought of that alone made you want to sob.

“That’s it,” he said, aligning his thumb with your clit and tracing shapes over it firmly. “Allow yourself to forget everything but the pleasure.” You were one step ahead of him, your mind already blanking out as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, thumb pushing against your sensitive bundle of nerves without mercy. You cried out, muscles tensing as you realized you were about to have your very first orgasm, and for the first time you understood, really understood, the reason people touched themselves, had sex before marriage. What was so goddamned sinful about wanting release?

You rocked your hips forward, your walls clenching around him, and he stopped, fingers remaining inside you and thumb hovering just over your clit. You whined, rolling your hips against his hand, but he moved his hand with your body, not allowing you to take more than he was willing to give. “Tell me,” he ordered, knowing very well you knew what he meant.

“Michael, please,” you pleaded, wiping away a bead of sweat that was traveling down your forehead. “Don’t do this, I- I need this-”

He hummed softly, just barely sweeping his thumb over your clit, pulling it away before you could buck your hips towards him. “You need what, (y/n)? I need to hear you say it before I can give it to you.”

“Make me come, Michael, I need to come,” you blurted, blinking back tears which wobbled precariously over the rim of your eyes. You saw him grin, and then your vision blurred as he resumed massaging circles roughly against your bud, fingers stretching apart inside you before pounding hard against your spongey walls. 

“Oh my- oh my god,” you sighed, too wrapped up in your ecstasy to care about using the lord’s name in vain. All you cared about in this moment was Michael and his beautiful hand turning you inside out, giving you what you’d been yearning for so desperately. He curled his fingers inside you and that was it- you orgasmed, a tsunami of pure, sinful bliss washing over you, and you made sure your face was buried in his shoulder to muffle the shrieks that you simply could not stifle. 

You laid your head there while he slipped his fingers out of you, wiping the excess moisture over your protruding outer lips. Mindlessly brushing away a strand of his perfect hair from his neck, you opened your eyes with a contented hum, still too flustered from your orgasm to think clearly. 

And then you almost screamed. 

Suddenly you had all the answers you’d been looking for. You knew for certain now who he was, why he had such seemingly supernatural powers that both frightened and compelled you. It was remarkable, you thought, that you hadn’t realized it sooner. 

Below his ear, etched in reddened, raised flesh, was a number.

6-6-6. 

[bellvtrx]

hello!! I couldn’t resist and brought in our third Black sister, so here’s Bella! [detailed trigger warnings under the cut]

tw: mild mentions of violence, torture, domestic abuse, dubcon, and really all the triggers you’d expect from bellatrix. I’ll do a tl;dr if you don’t fancy trawling through it !

tl;dr: bellatrix is incredibly unstable. she has a natural tendency towards violence that her parents never curbed, and she - much like her sisters - spent her whole childhood trying to get real affection and attention from them, which they refused to give. she is absolutely determined to make her mark on the world, and has latched onto voldemort’s ideology in order to do that. she was forced into marriage with rodolphus lestrange (which will be plotted out with his writer!) in the hope that this would make her the perfect pureblood wife. it, uh,, it did not.

tw from here ----

the black family home was not a happy one. bellatrix was the first born child, and a disappointment from the beginning for not being a boy, the son and heir druella had promised her husband, and this was made clear from the moment she was old enough to understand. with the birth of andromeda two years later, and narcissa after that, it became rapidly clear that druella & cygnus would never have a son, and that bella would have to be raised to be the heir.

naturally precocious, intensely intelligent, active & an incredibly talented witch, bella should have pleased any pureblood parents who wanted a daughter to be proud of - but not druella & cygnus. she was too good. she easily broke the boundaries they tried to put on her, and went further than they were comfortable with when it came to the dark arts. they wanted a pretty, malleable heir (like narcissa), not this intense, passionate, willful dark girl that confused and frightened them in equal measure. no punishment seemed to stop her, physical or otherwise. locking her in her room did nothing except make her destroy it.

there were some things bella excelled at that pleased her parents. she has always been charming, when she can contain her temper. she is elegant and has a dark, striking beauty that always drew all the attention. her memory is almost eidetic; her knowledge of etiquette is unsurpassed. unfortunately, she doesn’t follow any of the rules she can recite.

sorted into slytherin almost before the hat touched her dark hair, bellatrix rapidly established herself as the queen of slytherin. her mixture of charm & sex appeal - from a very young age - and the fact that she was genuinely unpredictable meant that she was a natural leader for the ambitious and violent. no one could tell whether bella would respond with sweetness or with a dark, terrifying rage - this ability to fly off the handle at the slightest touch made her feared and worshipped in equal measure.

bella’s relationship with sex is one of rebellion and control. she started young, and never stopped. she has learned that nothing ties men to you like a flase sense of love - obsession has always seemed more like love to bellatrix than anything else - and it was another way to say f-u to her parents, to break the misogynistic stereotype they slotted her into. ironically, this open-mindedness doesn’t stretch to the women around her; bella is a classic misogynist in that she views herself as an exception - the body of a woman, the heart and stomach of a man.

by the time bellatrix left hogwarts, her behaviour was out of control. the whispers in pureblood society, both awed and disgusted, drove druella to extreme measures. the betrothal with the lestranges had been in place since bella’s birth, but eighteen was young to be married. still, it seemed like the only way to potentially control her -- how wrong they were. despite being forced into bed with rodolphus, bellatrix never seemed to slow down.

now, bellatrix lives her own life. she is a member of the death eaters, and one of the most well-known members too. close to the dark lord himself, her feelings for him swing wildly from vicious jealousy and ambition, to lust, to terror, and all the way back round the cycle. she tortures and kills at will, but she’s clever - no one can prove anything. she believes muggles should be exterminated, or reduced to their rightful place as slaves; this knowledge is as key to her personality as her magic. andromeda’s betrayal made her physically sick, not because of the loss of her sister, but because of the man she married, the man she deigned to share her bed with. intractable, unstable, still unpredictable, and only spiralling further into violence, bellatrix is a dangerous enemy for the order indeed.

[airquietworks]

Shattered Mirrors (IzuOcha) (Part 1: Nightmares)

Summary: Ochako Uraraka knew she wanted to save people. She wanted to be a hero that could. But achieving that seemed impossible. She didn’t have an incredible quirk, like Deku. She didn’t have his reckless zeal and disregard for personal safety. When push came to shove, she didn’t know if she could save people like he did. When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see much of a hero. Just the picture of a little girl, haunted by her nightmares. 

The mirror’s glass reflects both all and none Of what’s a hero’s face and what’s beyond. To craft a mask blazing like shining sun, To fall to shattered shards of falsehoods spawned. “Ultra!”, they cry, as children fall to shreds Beneath the glass wielded by heroes’ might. Hearts ripped by eyes staring back, filled with dread, Gazes gouged by shadows at the mere sight

The birthing of nightmares from what she sees The flaws, so weak, that cannot match his strength. Chasing him to death’s door, she will appease Her hero’s call, going to any length. To reach the sky she knows she’ll meet her end, Or face that which will never be her friend.

Part 1: Nightmares One hero, drenching her arms with his blood, dying. Another hero, screeching his lungs out toward the heavens, dying.

And she was powerless to save either of them. She had watched, astonished, as Deku went at Overhaul with incredible speed and power. The shockwaves of his blows rippled through the air, blowing through her with every hit. The fury of their fight tore the land asunder. She could hardly comprehend the power he was channelling and his might looked almost impossible to match. But the toll it took on him was great. As soon as the battle stopped, his wails started scratching against her eardrums. She rushed to subdue the fallen Overhaul — leaving Nighteye, on the brink of death, on his own for a moment — and to ensure her friend’s efforts were not in vain. But as she looked up from the villain’s unconscious body, she was horrified to see her best friend looking more pained than she had ever seen before. Ochako stretched a hand outward in a futile attempt to help the screaming Deku — the rest of her body keeping the villain that had caused all of this chaos pinned down. But as always, she was a step behind him. She couldn’t reach him. Deku had saved the day and saved Eri, as well as countless other lives, and she could not even save him from himself. She watched on in terror as the energy around Deku exploded, encompassing the area in a blinding light. When her vision returned, Deku’s mangled body was still kneeling, but it had been burnt to a crisp. His skin was drenched in the deep red of his blood, his eyes washed out of any trace of life. His corpse slumped against the ground with a dull thud. The little girl on top of him, rolled over by the hero’s side, safe by his sacrifice. “No…” Ochako whispered as she stepped forward, no longer minding of the villain behind her. Her footsteps picked up speed as she desperately sprinted forward, her legs weighing her down like anchors. But as soon as she got there to grab onto him, he slipped through her fingertips. His body collapsed into nothingness, blowing away in a gust of wind. She was left alone with nothing but his memory to cling onto. As adrenaline pulsed through her, Ochako turned back to where she left Nighteye, hoping to salvage something, praying she could save someone on this day. But Nighteye’s face was planted in the dirt. His corpse, mangled and bloodied, lay motionless. She had left him when he needed help, trying to do more. She had failed. Heartbroken, Ochako collapsed onto her knees. She wailed her anguish out into the broken suburb. Nobody answered her.

Ochako awoke in a state of shock, her arms flinging outward before falling down to clutch hard at her blankets. Her eyes darted rapidly around her, being met with the recognizable surroundings of her room, shrouded in darkness. Her breath ran fast as her mind tried to restart in the wake of the horrors she had just witnessed. Realizing she had only been seized by a familiar, vivid nightmare, Ochako slowed her breathing to try to calm down. She ran through what had actually happened after Deku and Overhaul’s fight, needing the comfort of reality. It was just a bad dream. It didn’t really happen. Izuku had lived through all that. He had been rescued in time. He was safe. They were alive. But Nighteye wasn’t. Grimacing, Ochako let out a breath as she tried to focus on the positive thoughts centred on Deku. She brought her hand up to her eyes and felt the moisture of tears there. She groaned, rolling out of the bed in search of refreshment. Ochako’s body ached as she walked out into the dark hallway of the U.A. dorms and shambled into the washrooms. Her stomach churned in agitation as she trudged forward. Despite how awful she felt physically, she kept herself focused intensely on every ache and pain. It was far better than turning her thoughts back to her nightmare, or to the events that had caused it. She blinked as she stepped into the bright glare of the common washroom, grumbling as the lights stung her eyes. She lurched toward the sink, almost falling as she grabbed onto the cold faucet and turned it. The hiss of water seemed far louder than usual, but she ignored it as she leaned down to splash it on her face. The cold sent a wonderful shock through her system and she eagerly gave it a few more splashes as she tried to refresh herself. Groaning, she turned off the faucet and looked into the mirror at her own image.

She was there, somewhere beneath the surface. Same pink cheeks, same brown locks. Ochako Uraraka, the hero Uravity. Boundlessly positive, courageous, brave, powerful. An unflinching determination against the odds, just like him. But her surface looked nothing like what she wanted. The bags around her eyes were deep and dark, standing out against her pale complexion. Her cheeks were stained with a mixture of sweat, tears and sink water. Her hair was dishevelled, and the corners of her mouth pulled down into a twisted grimace at sight of her own image. Ochako sighed and splashed her face again. Every day, she tried to find a hero in that mirror. Every day, she felt like she failed somehow. She could not seem to match the speed of the intense, green-eyed image she was chasing after. Mumbling to herself, Ochako shut the faucet off and turned back towards the shadowy halls of the dorms. That image she pursued  — Deku, dauntless, with a fire in his eyes that could overcome anything — was becoming more and more muddied in her mind. After spending so long admiring him and his determination, she had become increasingly unsure about what to think of him. After being occupied elsewhere almost every time Deku fought — and inevitably got himself badly injured  — she got to witness it herself against Overhaul. The power Deku wielded was incredible, and his drive to save Eri, despite the odds being so against him, was nothing short of breathtaking. It’s part of what made her love...like him so much. She caught her own thoughts on the word and corrected herself. It was an accident. She was tired. It didn’t mean anything.

Stumbling through the darkness of her simple room, Ochako flopped onto the bed and sighed into her soft pillow. The comfort it offered these days was next to nonexistent. She turned over and stared up at the ceiling, allowing the familiar scenes to play again in her mind, despite the terror it was creating in her nights. Deku was an incredible hero, but his reckless abandon had become a source of confusion for her. She thought it was bad enough when he faced Todoroki at the sports festival, but his fight against Overhaul was thousands of times worse. Watching Deku throw himself to the brink of death to fight the villain had terrified her, more than anything she had ever seen in her life. She thought her heart might stop every time the two clashed with power beyond anything her mind could hope to grasp.

But, as she had long since decided, she wouldn’t let her feelings get in the way of her job. She had focused on trying to help Nighteye, getting him to safety as he clung to life in her fingertips, out of reach of her expertise. The second it seemed safe, rather than rush to help Deku like she wanted, she instead ran to secure the falling Overhaul, whom Deku had somehow managed to subdue. Despite her exhaustion, she had gritted her teeth and pinned the villain to ensure he could not escape. In that moment, she had thought it was finally over. How wrong she was. Her memory was picture perfect for what happened afterwards. Deku was screaming in agony while Eri’s power surged around him. The world seemed to stop as she watched him shout to the heavens as if he were about to perish. What he had done to fight Overhaul had cost him dearly. Her heart only slowed after Eraserhead managed to shut down both his and Eri’s quirks. The whirlwind of the aftermath had kept them mostly apart — she only had time to embrace him quickly to feel the fact that he was still alive — before they were each pulled back to their respective duties.

Nighteye perished the same day. The news rocked her to her core and send her mind spiralling downward as she tried to grapple with it. She had him there, in her hands. She was so focused on Deku...if she had just gotten him out of there faster...could she have saved him? The uncertainty choked her. Deku had saved them all, and she had saved none. That image of Deku, wailing into the wind, would not leave her mind. It had brought into focus the toll it took to be a hero. She wondered whether that was what it really took to be at the top and save lives — a complete disregard for one’s own life and safety. It made her question if she would ever be willing to make the same kind of sacrifices Deku did. She grumbled as she turned onto her side. She realized she was losing more of her needed sleep to this circling train of thought but she did not care. She could not help but fall into the same thought spiral that had plagued her for weeks. Ochako wanted to believe being a hero could not be as risky as Deku made it out to be — at least, not always. Indeed, she had overheard Aizawa himself scold Deku for his recklessness.

The damage that recklessness could cause was very evident. She was well aware of the damage Deku had done to his arms through his many battles, which had forced him to change his style or risk permanent injury. If he kept doing what he was doing… Ochako gulped as she turned her mind away from the thought of it.

She wanted to see Deku achieve his dreams. She knew he could, too. He even probably got closer to it by defeating Overhaul. Despite multiple scoldings, more than a few pro heroes sounded just as amazed by his power as she had been. She wished she could just feel unabashedly happy about her best friend earning the accolades she knew he deserved. But the screams in her nightmares wouldn’t let her.

There was an uncomfortable quiet between Deku and her these days. On the surface, she did her utmost to make sure it seemed like nothing was awry. She would greet him every day with the same bubbly cheer she always did. He would respond kindly, maybe a little nervous, but he maintained his usual, genuine friendliness. But their time together was increasingly strained. They were both consumed by internships and an ever-increasing amount of homework. No matter what she did, there was no getting around the reality that they couldn’t spend as much time with each other. Not that she necessarily wanted to. There was an uneasy dread hidden beneath the surface whenever she talked to him these days. Often, she might have a flashback to an image from her recurring nightmares when she saw him. It was uncomfortable and she found herself naturally wanting to be around him less as a result. She also struggled to define the newfound feelings when she looked at him these days. The admiration and affection were still there, powerful and pinching at her heartstrings in a way that was as irritating as ever. But there was something else there now, something darker. She would peek at him from afar and find herself getting agitated. A mixture of sadness and anger that mixed deep inside her gut as she recalled how close he came to destroying himself.  She wondered if resentment was really the right word, but it did not feel like it completely encompassed the feeling. It all left her more tepid and unsure around him than ever before. There was a small wall that had grown between them now, one she did not have the time or energy to try to surmount. They both had their hero training to consider and she didn’t need to rock the boat any further.

“Hey, Uraraka. Would you like to head out somewhere with Iida and me after class? My treat!” Izuku approached her after the final bell several weeks after the hideout raid, an earnest smile on his face. Iida hovered behind him, looking just as eager. A pang of yearning rung against her heart at the question. It had been a couple of months since they had last hung out, just the three of them. Everything had gotten so complicated so quickly. A part of her desperately wanted to say yes. “Sorry, I’m doing some paperwork for my internship tonight. Not sure how long it’s going to take me,” Ochako lied through her teeth, masking it with her usual upbeat attitude. She didn’t have to fake her own crestfallen expression, however. “But go on, have a good time without me. Maybe next time.” “Oh shoot, sorry to hear that,” Deku replied, looking just as morose as she felt. “We’ll try and get you something while we’re in town then.” “No need, no need!” Ochako waved it off, although she knew it would likely be fruitless to protest. Deku was quite aware of her frugality and often got her little snacks she would never buy for herself. “Your sense of duty and responsibility are admirable,” Iida interjected, stepping forward with his rather imposing frame. “It is regrettable that we can’t convene this time, but your reasons are fair.” “Thanks, Iida,” Ochako stated quickly, bashful under his kind assessment. “You guys go on and have fun.” Waving to them with a sunny grin on her face as they walked out of the room, Ochako felt guilt sink deep into her stomach. But she could not bring herself to go out with them. Not when she was still so mixed up around Deku. Not when she could sometimes hear his screams in the back of her mind. She told herself it would be better this way. She didn’t need to hang out with Deku anyway.

“Geez, Uraraka, you’ve been getting pretty banged up lately.” When her classmates first commented on it, she hadn’t even realized it herself. Hero class was tough. Scrapes and bruises were a natural part of it. If she messed up lifting a boulder or keeping herself afloat, there was an injury in store for her. But that was fine. Her wounds always paled in comparison to his, anyway. Get it looked at, put a bandage on it, wince a little, grit your teeth and carry on. That’s what Deku did, whenever he actually bothered to have his injuries treated. Not everyone understood, however. “This is your third visit this week young lady!” Recovery Girl scolded her before smooching her sprained wrist. “You need to be more careful.” “Sorry,” Uraraka mumbled from her sitting position in the infirmary. Her head was already feeling light, but she tried to stay attentive. She had training to get to after school. “I know you look up to that reckless boy,” Recovery Girl went on as she started rummaging through the cupboards. The matron didn’t need to clarify who she was talking about. “But don’t pick up his bad habits!” Ochako kept her eyes focused on her clasped hands. She could feel the callouses starting to form around her fingertips, rubbing irritatingly against each other. But this was nothing. Nothing compared to what Deku did every day. Nothing compared to him running headfirst into certain death — and winning. She wouldn’t pick up his worst habits. She couldn’t if she tried to. “I won’t,” Ochako mumbled low, lacking the energy to put spirit into her response. That was energy she had to save for others. For the people she refused to reveal her worst too. With Recovery Girl, there wasn’t much helping that. Ochako was left facing Recovery Girl’s back, but could practically feel the old woman rolling her eyes. The nurse turned with a large band-aid, stepping forward to stick it roughly on Ochako’s cheek. The bloodied gash that remained unhealed was completely hidden. “I know being a hero is rough work,” Recovery Girl sighed, reaching up with a withered hand to pinch her own temple. “But you won’t be saving anyone if you’re too broken to move. I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve had to tell someone that.” Ochako nodded along to the woman’s grumblings before being dismissed to get some bed rest. She agreed to the condition only to get out of the room. She had no intention of stopping her training regime. A hero did not stop for anything.

“Umm...Uraraka? Could we...could we talk?” She couldn’t recall him being this nervous around her since their first week of school. Izuku darted his eyes around, not looking directly at her. His evident anxiety spurred it within her in turn. “Of course, Deku! Is something wrong?” Ochako replied, smiling up at him with all the energy she could muster. Always work with a smile, no matter what the circumstance. Reassure the people around you. Never show your inner turmoil. Day in, day out. That, at least, was a part of heroism she had mastered. “Yeah…” Deku mumbled as he scanned his eyes around the classroom. The two were left undisturbed as the other students started to file in. This was often the case, with the pair of them striking up regular conservations before classes.

Or at least that had been the way it used to be, before the hideout raid. She knew they didn’t talk as much as they used to. It was an uneasy peace she was unwilling to disturb. Regardless, it was unsettling to Ochako to see that Deku’s eyes, their brows creased deeply with worry, never stopped looking around to ensure they weren’t overheard. He leaned down closer to her desk, bringing his hand up to his cheek to indicate a whisper. Ochako leaned in, eager to understand his peculiar behaviour. “Can we talk after class? In private? It’s something important,” Deku asked, looking at her with his timid eyes. Ochako frowned, mind buzzing at the peculiar request and his continued nervousness. Her heart, on the other hand, felt like it skipped a beat in elation, but she slammed that feeling down with a hard shove. Apart of her was inclined to brush him off again and avoid the mysterious request. But his pleading eyes wavered her resolve and she found herself unable to think of an excuse. “Alright,” Ochako replied, nodding. “But why-” “I’ll explain later,” Deku responded, cutting her off, before lifting himself up with a smile. He turned quickly to strike up a dialogue with Iida, leaving her in the conversational dust. She blinked a few times as she tried to adjust her vision to his sudden disappearance. That was...baffling, to say the least. She turned a glance toward Deku, who now looked completely normal talking to Iida about their upcoming classes. Although she noticed the sweat around his brow as a remnant of their own brief dialogue. Ochako sighed, left scratching her head at Deku once more. She supposed she would just have to be patient. “Sooo, what did your boyfriend have to say to you?” The chipper voice of Mina sounded from behind her. She groaned at the teasing. Having patience for an entire day was going to be difficult.

Ochako had always been drawn to Deku’s eyes. The way they lit up and sparkled when he chattered excitedly about other heroes. The way they looked so tightly focused when he was trying to analyze something. The determination and fire in them, burning with the power of an inferno, when he leapt into action. But the eyes he showed her now were different. Nervous, still darting around her, never starting at her directly. They told her she was something he couldn’t face, something that unnerved him, despite how unwavering he could be when he put his mind to it. The longer this routine wore on, the more anxious she became. She started to twiddle her fingers, mindful to avoid triggering her quirk inadvertently. Deku was hard to look at this way. She found his nerves rubbing off on her, and she looked down to focus on the floor tiling. The abandoned hallway magnified their silence, the lonely long halls suddenly feeling foreboding. The wall that had grown between them felt massive, looming over her with its intimidating scale. She wasn’t eager to try to float over it, frightened by what she might see.

“Are you...mad at me?” Deku finally broke the silence, his quiet voice remaining neutral despite his fearful eyes. Ochako looked up and blinked at the question. She felt a lot of things about Deku. She was confused and lost when it came to him, especially after Eri’s rescue. But anger? That...that didn’t seem right when he said it. Or did it? “No...no I’m not,” Ochako replied, repeating the phrase to reaffirm it for herself. “I”m not mad at you, Deku.” “Then why…” Izuku’s voice broke a bit, losing his neutrality. His fear came through more clearly, raising alarms in Ochako’s mind. “Why have you been avoiding me?” The air seemed to still as Ochako considered the question. Her mind churned rapidly as she considered what had caused him to confront her. She had been trying to talk to him less but she thought she had disguised that behind their schedules. “I...I’m not sure what you mean, Deku,” Ochako replied, trying her best to maintain a clueless facade. “You’ve hardly said a word to me since we rescued Eri,” Deku spoke with a misery that made Ochako’s heartache. “Did I...did I do something wrong? If I did, just let me know and I’ll try to make it up to you-” “You didn’t….” Ochako replied, managing to look up at him. He so unsure of himself, something she had not seen from him in months. She gulped at the distress this seemed to be causing him. “I’ve just been...a little out of it lately, I guess,” Ochako said softly. She managed an empty smile and made her best effort to beam at him. It didn’t even get the slightest of reactions. “We’ve both been working really hard in class and with internships and everything else. It’s just been really hectic, is all.” She scratched the back of her head nonchalantly, hoping he bought the flimsy excuse. She had tried to make her voice steady, despite how wobbly her legs felt. But Deku’s stony expression told her everything she needed to know. “Uraraka...you...is that really it? We didn’t...we talked to each other before despite all of that…” Deku stumbled through the dialogue. Uraraka frowned, perturbed by his lack of confidence in this moment. “I know…” Deku stopped his speech, tentative in his words. But he took a deep breath and finished his statement. “You’ve been really distant. I’m not the only one who’s noticed. What’s...what’s really bothering you? I promise I’ll do whatever I can to make it-” “I’m fine, Deku,” Ochako interjected, smile wavering under his analytical stare. She struggled to reign her feelings in. Why couldn’t he just drop the issue? “It’s just been exhausting for me and I’ve been having trouble sleeping.” But his eyes pierced through her, unrelenting in their intensity. Evidently, her rebuttals had got him fired up. She hid her own eyes in the bangs of her hair, no longer able to meet his eyes. She searched her mind desperately for a way to escape this. Maybe if she- “I’ve seen you do this before.” His voice punctured her thoughts, blasting through her formulating escape plans. “What?” she asked, startled and unable to find better wording. “Back at the sports festival. You were upset but you didn’t want to show it. Back then, I didn’t think there was anything I could do.” His explanation cut right through her, sending her mind reeling backwards in a panic. Her breathing picked up as she tried feebly to find a way out of this. “Deku, I don’t know-” “I want to be there for you, Uraraka,” Deku stated earnestly, regarding her with the kind smile she loved. “As your...your friend, I want to be there to help you.” He took a step forward and she reacted instinctively with a step back. She could not handle this. She could not handle him staring straight through her, ripping off her mask and trying to get her to bare her heart. She was not ready for this kind of conversation with him. “Will you let tell me what’s really wrong, Uraraka?” Deku pleaded with her gently, eyes beseeching a response from her. He was too kind, too good to her. Far too perceptive, too. For both their sakes. “I can’t, Deku,” she replied, refusing to meet his glance. She really couldn’t. She could not handle him looking at her that way. Her throat choked up and her eyes started to water as he did. She could not handle him trying to talk her through this. Her head spinning, she turned around and prepared to leave him. “Wait!” his shout managed to stop her tracks. For some reason, the power in his voice made her flashback to her nightmares, reminding her of the yells she heard from him each night. It made her feel all the worse. “I...please, Uraraka, I…” That did it. She could hear the misery in his voice. She sobbed and she hated it. “You almost died, Deku,” Ochako whispered. She heard him take a startled step. “And Nighteye..it’s just...I’ve been a little lost since then.” “Lost…?” Deku muttered. Their quiet exchange made the silence hanging in the hallway heavy overtop of them. Every word was a struggle to get out. Ochako tried not to let that show in her voice. “You’re….you’re incredible, Deku. Anyone can see that. And I want to keep up with you. I...I want that a lot,” Ochako recited, stopping herself from saying something more embarrassing — like what he really meant to her. “But you...you almost threw your life away there. You had to, to beat Overhaul. And I’ve had to really think about that. Is that what it takes to be a hero? Is that what I would have to do to be one? To save people?” “Uraraka, I…” Deku weakly tried to interject. But, in the throes of a chaotic mixture of frustration and misery, she refused to let him.

“You made me wonder if that was something I could do. And...and the thing is…” she sniffled and breathed, trying to contain herself. “I thought about my parents and how much they’re counting on me. And all the friends I’ve made here. And...and I don’t think I can. I can’t do what you do Deku. I’m not willing to do anything to save someone like you are.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment. She felt the urge to lean on something or lie down, but she focused on keeping her legs steady. “Uraraka...you don’t....you shouldn’t…” His words stumbled, lost in the maze of emotions she had erected around them. She could barely navigate them herself. “If it gets to that point...with my life on the line, I feel like I might run away. That might destroy me later, but I wonder if I could find a way to live with it.” She didn’t know why she was doing this. Her breathing felt shallow, her heart thrumming as adrenaline entered her system. She turned around to face him, looking straight into his eyes. There was not a spark of the fire that had been there before. That was replaced with a look of fear and loss. It hurt her knowing she put those on him. But she couldn’t stop herself now. Her mouth had run away from her. If he wanted to hear all her baggage, she could no longer deny him. “But I know, no matter what I say, I could never stop you from doing that,” Ochako stated aggressively through her tears, fighting through the urge to sob. “Because you’re chasing your hero too. And I’m terrified I’m going to lose you because of it.” She didn’t wait to see how he reacted. She did not think she could bear that. Instead, she flipped her head around and ran away as fast as she could from him. From what she had just said. Her lungs and legs burned as she fled, desperate to escape from the prison of her own churning emotions.

AN: Written for IzuOcha Week Day 6: Nightmares. Yes, this is late because it ended up being a lot bigger than expected. This is theming I’ve wanted to tackle for months. Part 2 will be published Dec. 15. The finale, Part 3, will be published Dec. 17. Thank you to RandomPersonaFanatic on the IzuOcha Discord server for editing this.

[official-negan-blog]

A Different World

Fanfic Request: Can I make a request where a girl loves the walking dead and loves Negan and suddenly on a stormy night, the power goes out in her apartment and suddenly the lights go back on and the t.v. comes back on but to the Simpson or something like that instead of the walking dead. And she heard something behind her and it's negan. She freaks and fandoms. Explains the whole world he is in and he sleeps on the coach. She goes to her room get all hands with herself cus of negan. Negan sees and then smut.

Warnings: Smut, swearing, sex

It was that time of the week again -- a new episode of The Walking Dead would premier tonight. You grabbed a bowl of popcorn and hopped onto your cozy couch to settle in for the next hour. The fact that it was storming outside made your apartment feel even cozier, sheltering you from the ominous thunder and lightning.

You flipped on the TV and began watching the new episode, focusing on every scene, and getting aroused every time Negan came on screen. God, he was sexy. You wished so badly that you could have a night with him. It would be filled with wild and kinky sex.

As you become further lost in your day dream, a huge flash of lightning appears right outside your window, the brightness blinding and thunder deafening. A millisecond later, everything stops working -- your tv turns off, the lights in your apartment go out, and your microwave clock is no longer lit up. 

You sit there in the darkness for a moment, still shocked, and considering what to do. Before you even decide whether to take a shower in the dark and wait for the power to come back on, or just go to bed, everything turns back on. You sigh in relief, knowing that no electricity meant no air conditioning and without such, it wouldn’t been a very uncomfortable night. 

You turn your attention back towards your TV, no longer showing The Walking Dead. Instead, you see The Simpsons playing. 

“This isn’t what I was watching”, you mutter confused. You grab the remote and change the channel, but can’t seem to find The Walking Dead again. Puzzled, you go to your TV menu hoping to find some sort of answer.

Just as you start to browse through the TV menu, you hear footsteps and some light shuffling in the kitchen.

“Hello?” you call out, suddenly terrified that someone had snuck into your apartment earlier and just stayed hidden after you walked in from work.

You hear the footsteps head toward the living room, where you lay, and in comes a man dressed in a leather jacket, holding a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. It took you a moment to realize that it was Negan. 

You blink hard and rub your eyes, making sure you weren’t hallucinating or processing the current situation incorrectly. When you opened your eyes again, nothing changed -- there he stood, just as he was before you shut your eyes.

You stand up immediately and back away from him, gripping a pillow out in front of you, ready to smack him if he came at you, still wondering if it was some sort of strange prank.

He looked just as confused as you, however, as he furrowed his eyebrows looking around your apartment, and then back at you.

“I hate to be rude, Doll, but I'm incredibly fuckin’ confused right now. Not one moment ago I was at the Sanctuary, ordering some of my men around. Where the fuck are my men, anyway? And where the fuck am I?!”

Your heart is beating fast in both terror and awe. You didn’t know how to act or what to say, especially as the current situation became more and more real as the seconds ticked by. 

“I’m as confused as you are”, you manage to say.

“Where the fuckity fuck am I?” he says, a mixture of anger and confusion.

“New York City”, you say back immediately.

“Fuckin’ how?”

“I don’t know. But you’re here, and there’s no zombie apocalypse, and everything is normal here. Well, relatively normal. The recent election this past November has kinda been a curve ball for this world.” 

“And just how the fuckin’ hell did I end up here?”

“I don’t know. Really. I didn’t do anything to cause this. There was a huge strike of lightening just outside my apartment and then you just sort of showed up. I thought someone had broken in, and I guess I technically wasn’t wrong. Not that I have a problem with seeing you in my apartment.” 

He ponders this for a moment before focusing on you.

“Well, I suppose I can’t be too disappointed. Anything is better than trying to survive at the end of the world. I’ve ended up in a universe with regular plumbing and no food shortages.”

You start to consider your next move. He couldn’t just walk out and leave. He’d have no place to go. Sure you being attracted to him worked out in his favor, for if it was some creep, you would’ve kicked him out the moment you saw him.

“I think you should stay the night. I, um, have a black t shirt from my ex and it’s the only men’s item I have in this apartment, but I think it’ll fit you. Unfortunately I don't have any pajama pants”, you say awkwardly. 

“That’s alright, Doll. I sleep in my boxers.”

You dig the t shirt out of your drawer and bring it back to him. He unzips his jacket and takes it off, along with his red scarf and t shirt. You watch him hungrily, staring at his toned abs and biceps, decorated with tattoos. You bite your lip as his muscles flex with every movement.

He slips the shirt over his head and sits down on the couch, next to where he placed Lucille.

“You can sleep on my couch. It’s really comfortable,” you say, not wanting to seem too desperate or aggressive for his attention. You couldn’t believe that you were trying to play hard-to-get with a supposedly fictional character-turned-real. You wanted to face-palm right there.

“On your couch? Darlin’? I was hoping I’d be able to sleep somewhere else, and WITH someone else.” 

He winks at you and grins, showing his perfect white teeth while scratching his bicep. Heat pools between your legs and you know it’s only a matter of winks, smiles, and other flirtations gestures before you jump his bones.

“I think it’s best you sleep here tonight because I’m, um, a bit of a bed hog and I’m terrible at sharing a bed with other people. But I’ll see you in the morning! Goodnight!”

You run into your room to avoid further temptation and awkward confrontation. But you leave your door open so he doesn’t think you’re angry or standoffish. As you laid on your bed, you thought of him, his abs, his beard and what it would feel like against your skin, and his deep, husky voice that dripped with masculinity.

Reaching down your pajama shorts, you begin to touch yourself, rubbing your clit and pretending it’s his tongue. You get really into it, letting out quiet moans and heavy breaths, moaning his name quietly.

Suddenly you hear someone clear their throat and you open your eyes and see Negan standing in your doorway, leaning against the frame. You gasp in horror and pull your hands out of your shorts and close your legs, hoping he didn’t see any of what just happened even though he obviously just did.

“You need any help with that, baby doll?” he asks, before he runs his tongue across his lower lip. 

“Um, it wasn’t what it looked like”, you said trying to cover up what just happened.

He chuckles darkly.

“Doll, I can fuckin’ see your wet fingers from over here. I know exactly what filthy thing you were just doing. I even heard you moaning my name. Don’t try and hide it from me.” 

His eyes turn lustful, pupils dilated, eyes glazed over, as he stalks towards you. You’re breathing increases and you feel the heat between your legs immediately return, your tight cunt begging for his cock. 

He reaches your bed and slowly leans over you, one hand by your head and the other one lightly grazing your hip. He lowers his face to yours and his nose lightly brushes against your own. You feel his breath against your mouth and he smells like mint. He must’ve been chewing gum just before he arrived in your apartment.

He tests your reaction by planting a light kiss on the corner of your mouth. You let out a faint moan and he leans back in, this time planting a kiss right on your lips, and then the third time opening his mouth and running his tongue across your bottom lip.

You eagerly wrap your arms around his torso and pull him against you as you open your mouth, inviting his tongue in. He slips his tongue past your teeth and runs it against your own. The feeling of it against your own drove you while and you wrap your legs around his waist. 

You feel his growing arousal through his boxers against your lower abdomen, making you yearn for his cock even more. You reach up and pull the black t shirt off of him and run your nails down his back, most likely leaving red lines for the next morning. 

He wraps his arm around your lower back and pulls up, exposing your chest and neck, where he plants delicate kisses. You hear a growl deep within his chest as he bites harder against the skin on your neck, a delicious blend of pain and pleasure.

He gently helps you sit up before pulling off your shirt, removing your pajama shorts as well. The hair on his chest tickles your skin, arousing you even more. He begins to move down your abdomen, planting kiss on it along the way down, before finally pushing your panties to the side and licking a wet stripe up your already-dripping cunt.

Your legs shake as you let out a louder moan. 

“You want me to eat this pussy, baby girl?”

“Please, Negan!”, you say breathlessly.

He quickly dives in, running his tongue along your folds and across your clit. Soon he adds his fingers, which make a lewd wet noise as they move in and out of you. You grab at your bed sheets, desperately trying to ground yourself in the pleasure that enveloped you.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, your back beginning to arch off the bed. 

He continues his motions, the feeling of his beard against your skin adding to the pleasurable sensations. Soon you come undone, releasing all over his hand and face as your body convulses and twitches. 

He comes back up to where your face is and gently kisses your collarbone, sucking yet another hickey into it.

“I want you to fuck me, Negan.”

“Don’t worry, Doll. That’s exactly what I plan to do”, he says, a smile spread across his face. 

It was an unusual smile. One that seemed to show a sense of compassion and tenderness, things you never really saw from him on TV. He was still Negan, but the angry undertones seemed to wash away minute by minute.

He reaches down and pulls off his boxers, all your clothes peppered about your floor, dispersed amongst each other. He gently parts your legs and wraps them around his torso as he guides his cock into your entrance.

“Shit, Doll. You’re fucking tight. I don’t know if I’m gonna last long with a pussy this tight.”

He begins to thrust in and out of you slowly, letting you adjust to his large size. His thrusts are met with your moans and whimpers as his cock massages your walls without missing a millimeter. He fills you perfectly.

“You take my cock so well”, he says softly, placing your legs on his shoulders, the new angle making your toes curl with ecstasy. 

“Oh God, Negan. That feels so fucking good.”

“I know, baby doll”, he says with a little chuckle. 

You feel your orgasm building up again, approaching fast. He feels you begin to tighten around his cock.

“Already, Doll? Aren’t you a horny lil’ thing.”

“C-c-cum. I need to cu--oh god, Negan! I’m coming!”

He wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing the sides gently, enhancing the pleasure of your orgasm as you descend into a delicious darkness. He picks up his pace, chasing his own orgasm that isn’t far off. 

His hips begin to stagger in rhythm as he cums, groaning as he fills you with his thick cream. Thrusting a few more times, he finally pulls out and collapses next to you, exhausted.

“Okay”, you say, taking a pause to catch your breath, “I guess you can sleep in here with me.”

The two of you get cleaned up and crawl under the covers and he wraps his arms around you as you fall into a peaceful asleep on his chest. But he stays awake because he wants to watch you sleep, your steady breaths pulling him into a much more desired reality. 

@negans-network

@ask-kakashihatake

[kateemmerson]

Dear Realtors - 10 ways home owners mess with the sale (and your mojo).

Realtors – Understand 10 ways your sellers unconsciously sabotage the speedy SALE of their home (plus mess with your income & reputation)

  92% of people are guilty of number 1, but NO-ONE talks about it and I am here to change that!

Dear Realtors – you have my deepest sympathy!

Selling all your client’s homes -Yuck or Yah? Or a bit of both? Everyone knows that selling a home elicits dread, anxiety and heightened stress for the seller and the buyer. But what about you and your pivotal role?  Don’t your client’s drive you nuts sometimes, or the current market place and trends that seem top make everything that much tougher for you to get the deals through?

If you are taking the time to read this, then I understand and respect that….

You have been in the business for a long time

Are brilliant at what you do

Always super duper professional

Engaging, generous with your time and go the extra mile

Passionate about people, families and homes

Have a great eye for what works and doesn’t……

… and yet still you feel like you are wading through sludgy mud. You are fast having to adjust to ever-changing market trends and the fact that more and more sellers believe they can handle the transactions on their own (yeah right!).

Everyone is trying to undercut your commission and you probably aren’t having as much fun in this industry anymore? You even think about getting out and doing something less “uphill” or stressful pretty soon. But, you also just LOVE this industry and it runs in your blood. And ….sometimes your blood boils when your sellers just won’t listen darn it, refuse to heed your advice or uphold their end of the bargain to get ready for show day or viewings of their property. Aaargh!!!

There is only so much responsibility you can take – the rest is up to them, isn’t it? On top of the painful sales and lodging of documents process, you also know all the other stressful stuff your clients dread in anticipation – which often means you are not their favorite person in the transaction.

It’s easy for them to mutter about when you want to view the house, or canceling viewings at the last minute when their child is sick, or another emergency arises. Or they complain about your commission, the photos aren’t right or you aren’t bringing enough people through to view. It’s always YOUR fault isn’t it?

So how do you find a way to approach this all with a new edge?

To stand out in the sea of sameness in the industry?

To be the REALTOR to offer something totally different with a uniquely compassionate angle?

A way for you to honestly help your clients help themselves and get on board? (P.S. HOME-OWNERS – If you are a homeowner about to sell and reading this, then you would be better off reading THIS ARTICLE WRITTEN JUST FOR YOU)

For them to ultimately get what they want with more ease and grace?

To enjoy a smoother viewing process, offers to purchase and ultimately the speedier sale of their home?

To offer them a way to handle and process all the stress of the sale and move in their hearts and lives?

A way for you all to feel invigorated about the process of selling and moving again?

I’m Kate Emmerson, the Quick Shift Deva, and I am hell-bent on supporting realtors and home sellers in today’s stressful times. Helping realtors to shift your vooma back into showcasing and selling homes and doing what you love, and letting me help you handle your clients and their hearts, minds and homes.

To help you offer your clients a unique way that has never been spoken about until now – one in which they willingly step up and take more responsibility for getting 100% ready to sell.

That’s my forte- speaking directly through you, to your seller. Coaching, cajoling, nudging and providing practical solutions to shift the sale of their home with grace, speed and ease. Helping them process the angst, stress, to de-clutter, pre- pack, handle inevitable show days/viewings, and ultimately being fully ready to make this move.

So whether your sellers are moving because it’s aspirational and they really want to, or because they somehow feel forced to, they still have a way of embracing the process. To feel way less stressed, more in control, at peace and actually excited about uprooting life, heart and home when selling this time around. To be able to embrace this dreaded process with a lightness of expectation of what’s unfolding.

This is such a potentially powerful and pivotal time in their lives– one that is usually their worst nightmare that fills them with angst and stress. Yet, it can be done with grace, ease and speed through the transition.

Can you imagine shifting the status quo and being able to say how much you LOVE dealing with your clients again?

How you feel more connected to them yet not taken for granted?

How you have discovered a way to make the selling process effortless and life-changing for them?

As an expert in letting go and moving on, I’ve spent 16 years researching home-owners and working in their homes, understanding what keeps them deeply stuck at the internal, psychological level. Holding on for dear life, not budging on ideas or price. When your client feels truly ready to move on, from the inside out, that particular home will sell with lightning speed. And I promise you that my process is down to earth, practical and simple to implement. Clients refer to my style as compassion with a kick!

You know you want me on your team!

I challenge you to have an open mind as you keep reading…

For most home sellers, the notion of getting their home ready to firstly invite you, the realtor, and then let total strangers trudge unceremoniously through their space, opening all the cupboards (oh yes, you know this is true!), deciding if this space suits their taste and budget can elicit feelings of terror and panic, even in the most resilient of folk. There’s always a heady mixture of emotions contemplating selling a home, aren’t there? It’s debilitating and overwhelming. Life is already busy and stressful enough, and this is just a huge added burden on their plate and they hold you responsible for it going smoothly. After all, what are they paying you for?

All sorts of things come into play for them.

How will they pack up everything?

Do they even want to use you, as their realtor if they don’t “have” to?

Are they making the right decision and do they have clarity about what they want?

Who do they trust to move their worldly possessions?

Will doggie Rufus adjust to the new house?

Will grandpa be ok in the new home?

How will they ever get their home show-day ready with all their current obligations?

Gasp – what about that hideous overflowing garage and shed they never got around to clearing out. It’s downright embarrassing and now they are thinking of having you walk through their space!

Will they ever find a beautiful new space that feels like home again?

Will their worldly possessions ever fit into that new space?

While it’s true they have to dig deep to face the above, and most people hate it, what if there is something far more critical that is the real sabotage to them selling their home? It all starts with what’s going on inside, and you can be the one to introduce them to this novel idea.

If you are reading this article and wondering how your clients might be sabotaging the sale of their home, chances are they are in one of a few places right now!

Where do you find your CLIENTS fit right now?

A. Life is changing rapidly, and they are just contemplating selling their home. This would be a very exciting and aspirational move to upsize, downsize or life-size. But right now they might be unsure which route to take along with a mixture of dread and excitement. You might not even be on their radar yet!

B. They are unfortunately being ‘forced to sell’ their home (perhaps due to economic, death, health, divorce or relocating), and are both resisting and dreading everything about life right now it. It’s all too much to handle, it really shouldn’t be happening, they are in shock, and now they have to wrench themselves from their safe safe nest. It couldn’t get any worse. They might view all realtors as another vulture trying to take advantage of them….. or you could be really clever and position yourself as someone who truly understands and can support this awful time in their lives!

C. Their home is just not selling and has spent way too many DOM’s (Days on Market), but they really need this property to sell fast. Enough already! There have just been far too many people trudging through the doors, they are sick ‘n tired of you and no real offers to purchase are materializing. They are losing hope of ever selling, blame you as their realtor, feel frustrated, trapped, and can’t move forward. Horrible all round!

My guess is that you are a Realtor wanting to up your professional game and find unique ways to support your clients to sell faster and with more ease. You are interested in unique ways to help you do your job better – you’re brilliant at what you do, but know something is missing that’s outside your scope of expertise.

You’re confused why a perfect property is somehow not shifting on the market, or you know your client needs help to get a grip on making peace with their life, moving on and handling emotional and physical clutter. You are exhausted from everything being an uphill battle with your sellers and need a business boost.

  Here are Kate’s 10 ways your clients are unconsciously self-sabotaging the speedy SALE of their home!

  PART 1: LOOSEN THE EMOTIONAL GRIP

SAY ‘GOODBYE’ EARLY ON In my experience, over 92% of sellers fall into this trap, and it’s the first way they will sabotage the sale! It’s also the one no-one else out there talks about because it is considered too fluffy, too soft, too naff. But it will affect the speed, ease, and ultimately the financial aspect of the sale. This is the single most significant factor that your client is 100% in control of and the one to take the most seriously. They have to be ready in their heart and entirely at peace to welcome this move BEFORE you put the “For Sale” up! Take control early on and help them emotionally “detach” from the home and say goodbye to this era of their life with mindful intent. Emotional closure right upfront will bring acceptance and significantly reduce stress.

Most sellers wait till move day to get the emotions in check and wonder why it’s so unbearably stressful. This psychological, emotional, and mental shift is how Kate supports her clients (with life-changing practical exercises) at this pivotal time to ensure they do not sabotage the potential sale. They are energetically and emotionally embedded into every brick in their homes and they have to loosen this grip before they can move on. Homeowners don’t usually wonder about how their “energy” is embedded into every brick and mortar of their home. This is where they realized the dream of owning this home, perhaps had their first child, started a business, danced around the kitchen table after signing the big corporate deal, made love to their partner, and watched little Jamie take his first steps. It might also be a space signifying struggle, heartache and pain – and now they have to say goodbye. It’s all very complicated at a heart level and most folks don’t know how to approach this time and process. Kate shifts that in a jiffy.

PLEASE STOP CALLING IT ‘HOME’ Too many sellers sabotage the process and hold on with double doses of superglue! They intensify emotional attachment, heartache and stress, by continually referring to this space as ‘home.’Yes, of course, it has been their home, and you feel like you are honoring them by speaking kindly about their “home”, but one of the pivotal shifts to make is to help them consider from this moment onwards, that they are a custodian of this space and start thinking of the home as a house. The challenge is that from now on, every time you all speak about it or think about it (after you have done the emotional closure that Kate’s teaches), is to always use the term HOUSE instead of home! Better yet, think of it as a guesthouse always ready to welcome new guests. Keep the term home for the potential BUYER. You can catch Kate live on the radio sharing her passionate house selling tips to Shado Twala on SAFM

HELP THEM CATCH A WAKE-UP ABOUT WHAT’S LURKING Most sellers do a little tidy up around the house, thinking they will clear out properly when finally packing the boxes and move. Beep! Remind them that buyers will open cupboards, and more importantly, they will get a “feel” of the house. If it feels stuffy, cluttered and overfull, buyers will feel stifled in the space even if it is seemingly the perfect house for them on paper and budget-wise. The moment your client decides to sell, please get them stuck into de-cluttering every single inch of the space. They need to, as I like to refer to it,  Zap Your Kr@p – Not only will it make the house appear more spacious and light for the buyer, but means they will also not lug any “stuff” that no longer serves them into the next phase of life. A house move is an ideal time to purge at every level. Let go and live a little lighter, taking only that which you love, use and respect into your new home. If THE SELLER fills up too much of the house, there is no room for THE BUYER to breathe new life into this space. Tone down that bright cerise wall, get rid of 75% of the objects d’art and remove the 30 family photographs stuck on the wall! Buyers need to be able to envisage THEMSELVES living in this space.

  GRAB PART 2 (WITH HEAPS MORE TIPS AND IDEAS) OF THE ARTICLE ON THE NEXT PAGE BY CLICKING HERE, OR BETTER YET, JUST CLICK THE IMAGE BELOW TO DOWNLOAD THE ENTIRE E-BOOK AT ZERO COST

Dear Realtors – 10 ways home owners mess with the sale (and your mojo). was originally published on Kate Emmerson - The Quick Shift Deva

[cometocourtyou]

untitled [cardinal fic]

following up that post about danielle and lise ending up with a bunch of cats

Between her wife and their cat, Lise isn't entirely sure which one is the more pathetic one.

Goblin (yes, that name was Danielle's idea, and yes, she is the one responsible for the vet visits) is wearing one of his Christmas sweaters, curled up in her lap, purring softly.

Lise sighs and reaches down to scratch his head. It makes the cat open an eye, give her an expectant look. She arches an eyebrow at him wordlessly as his purr cuts off and he just stares at her, waiting.

"Fine," Lise sighs and starts petting him with a long suffering sigh. The cat remains silent, for a moment, before his eye closes again and he begins purring again, a rather smug expression on his face.

If anyone had told her a year ago that one day, she'd have a Sphynx cat in her lap who's wearing a Christmas sweater, she'd have laughed in their face. Turns out, she's an absolute sucker for the guy. Especially given that they'd stumbled across him when he'd been a kitten and his eyes and ears had been so big and wrinkly and he'd just looked so pathetic at the shelter, wearing a cut-up sock.

She knows Danielle is trying to get her to say yes to a playmate, for Gobby. She's been dropping "hints" all month. The thing is, Lise is not entirely convinced that Goblin would tolerate another cat. He's very, unamused, when he finds he has to share their attention with another human. She doesn't want to imagine the kind of terror he'd unleash on another feline.

Though maybe he's that way because he is lonely and starved for attention. Maybe another cat would help, with that. Keep him entertained and occupied. It might even mean that they get the bedroom back to themselves. Oh yes. For the past four months, Goblin has been sleeping in the bedroom. Though Lise is using that term loosely. He keeps interrupting their sleep by meowing because something spooks him, or because he's too hot, or too cold, or hungry, or, worst of all, attention starved. It took her almost two months, to get him out of the bed again, after Danielle had allowed him to sleep in it one night. In that sense, he really is a greedy little goblin who will take your entire arm if you even think of giving him a finger he might sink his claws into.

"Why is it so cold?" Danielle asks as the blonde finds her way downstairs, to their living room. She's still in her PJs, her hair horribly messy from sleep. She reaches up and rubs her eye, watching Lise with a sleepy-confused expression.

"Because I turned off the heat in the bedroom," Lise shrugs.

"Why?" her wife whines and walks over. Curls up next to her and pulls the blanket off the back of the couch, so she can curl up in it.

"Because you were sweating in your sleep!" Lise laughs and leans over to brush her lips over her forehead. "Seriously, how can you stand it being so warm?" she asks her, watching her wife for a moment. Danielle shrugs and opens her mouth, but only lets out a loud yawn.

Goblin lets out a chirp of surprise and turns onto his back. Glares at her and swats at Danielle's hair, drawing a hiss from the blonde when his claws tangle in it and he yanks his paw back.

"Hold still," Lise sighs and grabs the strand of hair, carefully untangling the cat from it.

"Aw, look at you," Danielle mutters as she beams at the cat. "Aren't you a cutie, in your Christmas outfit? Look who's managed to stay clean all day! What a good boy you are, yes you are, yes you are," she babbles and Lise rolls her eyes. She'd have thought any cat would declare her wife a horrific monster when she baby-talks at him, but Gobby actually seems to enjoy it. Attention whore that he is.

"Wait until he's had his breakfast," Lise chuckles, causing Danielle to pause and give her a look, before she shrugs.

"There are more where that one came from," she declares and settles down again.

"Exactly what I was afraid of," Lise mutters and scratches Goblin's chin. She's putting up with the sweaters because it is kind of cold, in the house. She's wearing long-sleeved things, as well, so she's not cold, so she's not going to make the cat shiver or turn up the thermostat for him. In the warmer months, he does okay without them, but in winter they are kind of necessary. Plus, she has to admit, the reindeer print on this one is kind of cute.

"Got him one with Santa for Christmas Day," Danielle giggles, drawing a mixture of a groan and a laugh from Lise. "Hey, you said you didn't want him in those grubby socks!"

"Yes, I did," Lise admits. Aside from them being ugly, they'd easily unravelled, especially once Goblin figured out that it was a surefire way to get them to take them off him, if they caught him playing with a thread on it. Funnily enough, once they started putting him in the cat sweaters with the prints, he gave up on that. Almost as if he actually likes them.

"Do you know, what an Oriental Shorthair is?" Danielle asks her, after a while.

"Please tell me you haven't been looking at cats again."

"I haven't been looking at cats again," Danielle replies earnestly. Lise casts a look at her face.

"You're lying," she sighs. Her wife shrugs and reaches out to take her phone. She unlocks it and goes to the browser. Pulls up the shelter, and selects the 'Prospective Adoptees'.

"Her name is Princess," Danielle declares and shows Lise the picture of a white cat with huge ears, and a comical nose.

"No," she declares immediately. "Definitely not. Especially not with that name."

"We changed his," Danielle reminds her. She's right. Before they adopted him, Goblin's name had been 'Artus'. Sometimes, Lise thinks she should have let him keep that, instead of giving her wife the power of selecting a new one.

"Please, Lise. Please, please please please-"

"You sounding like a very spoiled child is not going to change my mind," she informs Danielle. "On the contrary," she adds at her wife's sceptic look. Danielle slowly sits up and looks at the display of Lise's phone, her lip between her teeth.

"She's beautiful," she murmurs softly. "I thought we agreed, that he needs a companion-"

"I am sure that Goblin would eat Princess for breakfast," Lise quips and shakes her head. "Look," she adds, calmer. "I have no idea, if Sphynx cats and Oriental Shorthairs are compatible, trait-wise. Nor do we know, if these two would like each other. I'm not getting a second cat to have the one we already own snap and start tearing shit apart."

Danielle lets out a soft sigh and puts Lise's phone down again.

"Sorry," she apologizes softly. Reaches out and gently scratches Goblin's tummy. "I don't want him to be..." she starts, her brows furrowing. "Neglected? Lonely? Miserable?"

"He's not," Lise argues. "He's got us. And he has us wrapped around his greedy little paws, doesn't he?" she asks pointedly as the cat begins to purr again, basking in Danielle's attention.

--

She must have went wrong somewhere, Lise thinks, as she feels the weight tug on her leg. With a sigh, she reaches down and pries Wendy from her leg. Picks her up and offers her a perch on her shoulder.

The sensation of the cat's naked trail curling around her neck makes her shudder as Wendy rubs her head against Lise's face.

"Brat," she sighs and grabs the bag of food to fill the three bowls sitting on the counter. When she's done, she pauses, and then grabs the bag of treats and offers one to Wendy. The cat jumps from her shoulder onto the counter and scarfs it down, watching Lise expectantly.

"No," she shakes her head and scratches her chin. "Your siblings will kill me, if they find out I'm pulling favorites," she tells her.

Which may be the truth. Goblin absolutely detests when he thinks Danielle or Lise give more attention to one of the other two. He'll scream at them until he is petted and played with to his satisfaction.

If anyone asks, Lise will deny having a favorite. She loves all three of them. Goblin was their first cat and he will always hold a place in her heart. And Odin is so cute, with his big ears and funny nose, and the dot of black fur on his forehead and the dark tip of his tail on his otherwise white coat. He's still not entirely used to them, still has moments when he gets spooked by either Goblin or Wendy. Lise would accuse Danielle of having gotten her will, since Odin is an Oriental Shorthair, but it was actually her, who fell in love with the guy when she'd seen him in the 'Please Adopt Me' part of the newsletter they get from the shelter.

But Wendy, Wendy holds a special place in her heart. She was so small and sickly, when they got her, having been found outside. The vet had cautioned them that there was a very real chance, of her not making it. She'd been riddled parasites, had pneumonia, and her left eye had been glued shut by an infection. She's pretty much blind on that side now, they've found. Like Goblin and Odin, she's extremely clingy and will perch on either Danielle or Lise's shoulder when they're doing something around the house that means she can't be in their lap. And she has the strangest meow. It's a mixture between a honk and a scream. The first few times they heard it, both Danielle and her thought something was wrong with the cat, that she was in pain, or scared, until they figured out that no, that's just her voice.

Lise thinks Goblin bullies her, for that sound. He keeps swatting at her when she does it for too long, and Lise wants to just hug Wendy and cuddle her and tell her she's perfect with her honking scream.

"Ready to gorge yourself?" Lise asks the cat and picks her up. Puts her on the floor and grabs the food bowls so she can place them in the cats preferred spots. Goblin eats by the door, Wendy has hers in the bathroom, and Odin's spot is beneath the window sill in the living room.

Odin abandons his play with Danielle the second he sees Lise with his bowl. He almost manages to trip her by winding around her legs as she walks over to his tray and sets down his bowl.

"Not hungry?" Danielle asks with a laugh when Wendy comes in and goes straight for her. Rubs herself against her and honk-screams in reply. The blonde reaches out and touches her thin shirt. "You need a bath, huh," she mutters softly. "And a fresh outfit."

"Please stop color-coordinating them," Lise quickly says. "I keep catching a glimpse of either her or Gobby and get confused."

"Alright," her wife laughs. "It's happened to me, too," she admits. "I was folding up laundry the other day and thought I was losing my mind because they kept passing by the door. I felt like I was seeing double," she shakes her head with an amused smile.

Wendy lets out a chirp and goes over to Odin's bowl. Sniffs his food, and Odin leans back, watching her, his tail twitching.

"Ten bucks says she gets whacked," Danielle whispers. Lise rolls her eyes at her. Between Goblin and Odin, the Oriental is the more tolerant one. But he has little patience when it comes to his food, and Lise sees him slowly raise a paw. Wendy pauses and ducks her head, slinking away.

"You have your own bowl," she reminds her. "What's wrong with your food?" she inquires and picks up the cat. Scratches her chest and kisses her forehead when Wendy closes her eyes in appreciation.

It took them some time, to realize that Odin is somewhat of a social eater. He doesn't go for his bowl unless either Lise or Danielle are in the room with him. They've tried if having one of the other cats around him would help, but it doesn't. Aside from them pissing Odin off when they try to go for his food, it hadn't accomplished anything, he still hadn't eaten. Hence why his bowl and water dishes are in the living room, increasing the chance of him being able to eat in peace with either or both of them around.

Maybe Wendy isn't hungry. Maybe she's saving her food again. Lise decides to give her some more time, to see whether she goes for her bowl. If she doesn't, they'll take her to the vet in a few days, and switch her back to her high-calorie food to prevent her from losing weight again. They'll just have to make sure that Goblin and especially Odin don't get their paws on that food, as well.

--

"Yes, yes, I know," Lise says, flinching when Wendy lets out a particularly loud scream as she pushes her to the side carefully and closes the door behind her. Odin keeps slinking around her legs and she's ready to call for Danielle, so she doesn't fall over him.

"Will you stop?" she sighs and lowers the bags of groceries she picked up. Put them down on the floor and crouches down so she can greet the cats, get them to calm down and leave her some room.

Goblin is strangely absent, from the greeting. It makes her tilt her head and wonders where he went. If he destroyed something again and is hiding in an attempt to escape punishment. Not that they do that, especially not when neither Danielle nor her have seen which cat did it.

"Come here," Lise sighs and picks Odin up and pets him. Kisses his head and cuddles him, as she feels Wendy glowering at her. The Sphynx sits back and starts licking her paws, acting like she doesn't care, though Lise doesn't miss how the cat keeps her in her sight at all times. As soon as Odin is out of her arms, she runs over and clamours to be in her lap. Lise shakes her head and scratches her head gently, strokes her sides as Wendy rubs herself all over her, a strangled purr coming from her. She sounds like a snoring giant with a head cold when she purrs.

"Hello," Danielle greets her, Goblin perched on her shoulder when she walks over. Slowly bends down to kiss Lise and then picks up a bag to get it to the kitchen and begin to unload them.

"Someone's, clingy," Lise observes when she joins her a few minutes later with the rest of the groceries and sees Danielle holding Goblin and cooing at him.

"He's limping," she tells her. "I think he fell off the cabinet, when we were out." she sighs and gently bounces the cat before kissing his bald head. "I want to take him in, if it's not better by tomorrow."

"Is it one leg, or..." Lise frowns, suddenly worrying that the guy might have hit his spine on the counter on his way down.

"Front left," Danielle nods. "He's not licking it, but not putting weight on it, either. He was giving me this really miserable look when I came home, sitting there in the hallway and crying out," she mutters, a sad expression on her face.

"Poor baby," Lise mutters and reaches over to pet Gobby. He's been climbing up on the kitchen cabinets for a few days. They've only been in this house for two weeks, the cats are still kind of getting used to the place. The cabinets they had before were lower, easier to get up onto, and easier to come down from, too, with the kitchen windowsill as an in-between station, plus there'd been a table they could have used to jump down onto, as well. But this place doesn't have that, and Lise is starting to think they'll either have to put some shelves up, or add a border to the cabinets to keep the cats from getting onto them. She hasn't seen either Odin or Wendy try to get on them, but Goblin has. The other day, he got stuck up there, yelling because he couldn't figure out a way to get down.

She really hopes that this is just a sprain, and not a more serious injury.

--

"Shit! Motherf-!"

Lise starts at the loud yell from her wife. Drops the laundry basket and runs towards where the yell came from, to find Danielle curled in on herself on the couch.

"What is it?" she breathes and hurries over, crouching down in front of her.

"He jumped on me," Danielle hisses, her eyes clenched shut, hands between her legs. Lise looks over to see Odin peeking out from behind the armchair, ears flattened to his head as much as he can.

"Oh darling," she whispers and reaches out to brush Danielle's hair from her face as her wife moans in pain. Lise checks her watch and hesitates before leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"I'll be back in a second," she promises. Hurries to the kitchen, to grab an ice pack and a bottle of water, along with Danielle's pain meds.

She's stopped rocking herself, when Lise returns to the living room. Her hands are out now, clutching at one of the cushions.

"Here," Lise mutters and hands her the ice pack, which her wife gingerly puts to her crotch, a hiss of pain leaving her. "Want some?" Lise asks her, rattling the bottle of pills gently.

"Yes, a hundred times yes," the blonde mumbles. Slowly sits up and grimaces in pain. "I am murdering him," she declares as Lise hands her two pills and opens the water for her. "Goulash is on the menu tonight," her wife mutters darkly. It makes Lise let out a soft chuckle as she sits down next to her. Gently reaches down and repositions the ice pack, drawing somewhat of a relieved sigh from Danielle.

"I'm sorry he did that," she tells her and brushes some of her curls away from her face. Her wife swallows and gives a slight shake of her head.

"He didn't know it would hurt me," she sighs, looking over to where Odin is still cowering. "Sorry, baby," she mutters and reaches out her hand. "I didn't mean it. No goulash."

Their cat decides that he's better off, leaving them alone, and slinks from the room in hurried steps.

"None of them ever jumped on me like that," Lise frowns, before remembering Goblin landing on her crotch once, having been spooked by loud thunder. That had been, unpleasant. She doesn't want to imagine what it's like, for Danielle. How much having Odin land on her privates probably hurt, given her current state.

The cats went a bit, crazy, while she was gone for a week. Not that Lise blames them. She found it hard, to be without Danielle. Found it especially difficult, given the reason for her absence.

She seems, happy, though. Lighter, somehow. And she's so, so happy for her wife. That surgery went well, that the flight back wasn't too bad, for Danielle. That she seems to be recovering well.

Danielle asked her, if she wanted to see the pictures, but Lise told her no. She'd rather wait, until Danielle is ready to let her see the real thing. However long that may take.

"Hm," Danielle lets out a soft sigh and leans back against the couch cushions.

"Starting to work?" Lise asks her and watches as the blonde nods.

"Yes. Sweet relief, how have I missed you," she jokes. She's only been taking the pain meds for sleeping since she got back from Toronto. At least the prescribed ones. Lise knows she's taken some ibuprofen at times, but most of the time, Danielle tries to do without.

--

"Okay, so," the vet starts, looking at the notes. "Wendy, Odin and, Goblin?" he frowns and Lise bites back a groan as Danielle snickers.

"Gobby," she offers. "Her idea," she adds and points at her wife, drawing a laugh from the vet.

"It's not the strangest name we've had," he assures them. "Though it's a strange combination, I suppose. I mean, a children's book character, a Norse God, and a fantasy creature."

Lise tilts her head a little at the statement. She's never really looked at it that way. Goblin and Wendy were their choices, Odin already came with his name and they thought it fit him well enough, so they kept it.

"Okay, which one shall we do first?" the vet asks, causing Lise and Danielle exchange a look, before she lifts Wendy's carrier onto the table.

"Wendy," she declares and opens it carefully and lifts the cat out. "It's okay, darling," she murmurs to her as the cat scrambles to get up onto her shoulder, eyes wide. "I know, I know," she mutters and gently removes her claws from her shirt and sets her down, holding her still.

"Any concerns?" the vet asks and Lise shakes her head no as he listens to her heartbeat.

"She's been eating fine, and doesn't seem sick," she shrugs.

"Which eye is the one-"

"Left side," Lise tells him. "Her left," she amends at the vet's look. Watches, as he checks it carefully, Wendy letting out a hiss and shaking her head to escape his grasp.

"It does look a bit cloudy," he nods. "She's completely blind, on that side?" he asks and Lise exchanges a look with Danielle.

"Our previous vet assumed she is," Danielle answers. "But we think she may be able to see a little? Like, tell the difference, between light and dark. Maybe see some rough outlines? She does duck, when something comes flying at her from that side, like a toy," Danielle says and reaches out to gently pet Wendy, who's trying her best to shrink, to make herself smaller.

"Ah," the vet nods. "Do you think it bothers her?"

"Not really," Danielle shakes her head.

"I think she had some trouble, when we moved. Ran into the doorways a handful of times, when they were playing. But she seems alright now," Lise shrugs. "She's able to find her way around, climbs, plays, eats... I never got the impression that it was causing her pain or anything like that."

"That's great," the vet smiles. "Her skin looks nice, too," he compliments. "Any irritations or stuff like that?"

"No," Lise shakes her head.

"Good. So, ready for your shots?" he asks the cat. If Lise didn't know better, she'd think she sees Wendy's eyes widen even more. The cat lets out her honking scream and tries to climb up on her again.

"How is she, with these?" the assistant asks Lise. Danielle hands her a towel wordlessly and Lise wraps the cat up in it, to prevent her from sinking her claws into her skin. She doesn't try to bite, but Lise had the unpleasant experience of a very panicked cat scrambling up her front and down her back before, and it's one she can do without repeating.

"My, aren't you a cutie," the assistant coos upon seeing Odin. It makes Lise let out a soft laugh. He is cute, she agrees, but it never ceases to amaze her, how people who don't particularly care for Wendy and Gobby will just melt at Odin.

"He's a rescue, as well?"

"They all are," Danielle nods, gently restraining him from jumping off the exam table. "We got him when he was still mostly a kitten," she adds and scratches Odin beneath his chin, drawing a purr from the Oriental.

"He looks a bit on the, heavy side," the vet says carefully as he examines the cat, and Lise finds herself blushing a little.

"We tried clicker training. He's very, food motivated," she offers weakly.

"We ended up having to hide the clicker. They were all very, insistent, on their rewards, but he actually went and grabbed it. He'd follow us with it and step on it and then scream at us, until he got his treat," Danielle explains, drawing a bark of laughter from the vet.

"Gotta love Pavlov, huh?" he chuckles with a shake of his head. "But yeah, Orientals can put on weight pretty fast."

"He's actually a social eater," Lise says. "Like, he won't eat, unless Danielle or I are in the same room. He'll yell at his bowl and scream at us, but he won't touch his food."

"How about when the others are around?" the assistant inquires.

"We tried that," Danielle shakes her head. "He's, unimpressed. Goblin hates when someone's around when he eats, so we had to separate them, anyway. Wendy doesn't particularly care either way, so we figured we'd feed them together, but no, Mister Norse Mythology here requires the attendance of his human servants," she sighs. Odin chirps at her and bumps his head against her stomach, rubbing up against her.

"We moved his feeding spot to the living room. That solved the issue, mostly," Lise offers.

"I'll have someone at the front desk give you some food recs, for him" the vet offers. "I know they're indoor cats, so unless you want to leash-train him and take him for walks to get exercise-"

"Oh no," Lise shakes her head at the same time Danielle does.

"Low calorie food it is," her wife agrees.

"Sorry, buddy," the vet apologizes. "So, his sister claws. Any warnings, for this one?"

"No, he's a very good boy. Aren't you?" Danielle smiles and holds him down as he gets his shots, Odin letting out a short yowl before resigning himself to his fate.

"All done," the vet declares and Lise lifts their cat up and puts him back into his carrier as Danielle gets out Goblin.

"Oh, someone's dressed up," the vet remarks as Danielle puts the cat down.

"He's been awful about licking himself," she sighs. "He'll do it until his skin is all red and raw. Hence," she gestures at the thin sweater she's put him into. They tend to leave Wendy and him naked, during the warmer months, but his skin has just been getting worse, and he won't stop licking, even when he's in either one of their laps.

"Aw, poor guy. Let's have a look, shall we?" the vet mutters and carefully pulls the sweater off. "Oh boy," he mutters at the sight of Goblin's chest. Lise flinches, as well, her heart aching for their boy.

"We've tried bathing him regularly, switched shampoos, gently rinsed him off. We've changed his food, as well, we thought it might be allergies..." Danielle trails off.

"Any big changes, lately?" the vet asks, gently pulling Goblin's paw away when the cat goes to lick that. "That may have coincided, with this happening?"

"I had, surgery," Danielle mutters, her brows furrowing. "It was pretty big. I was gone for a week, and after that it took awhile, for me to recover."

"I'm going to make a wild guess and say he's more attached to you, than he is to your wife?" the vet gives her a look, and Danielle nods.

"Wendy worships Lise, and Odin's kind of, both our baby, but Goblin prefers me, yes," she confirms. "Are you a little neurotic anxiety ball?" she asks him with a sigh.

"I'll give you some cream, to put on the worst spots. Try to see that he doesn't lick it off, it's not toxic, but it's not great if he keeps eating it, either," the vet warns them. "Aside from that, keep doing what you're doing. Put him in something that prevents him from licking incessantly at his skin. Offer him distractions, play with him, cuddle, maybe even try reading to him. Sphynx cats, like Orientals, are very intelligent. I'm sure you've noticed that already. But that also means they notice changes more than other cats might, and if it's something they feel like they have no control over, it can really upset them."

"Poor Gobby," Danielle mutters and kisses his head, drawing a meow from their cat.

--

Lise sits back and watches as Odin slowly sneaks closer on an unsuspecting Wendy, who's just cleaning her paws. She reaches up to keep herself from laughing and drawing the attention of the cats, presses a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Wendy lowers her paw and turns her head to start on her back, and Odin uses that moment to pounce on her, sending them both tumbling on the floor.

"Brat," Danielle laughs, Goblin curled up on himself in her lap. He's been a lot better, about his incessant licking. So much so that they keep him out of his shirts now, when they are home. They still put something on to prevent him from hurting himself when they're gone, and just by the state of his clothes when they've returned, Lise still thinks it's necessary. The other day, the front of Goblin's sweater was soaked with saliva when she came home, Danielle having left for a meeting already.

Odin has been somewhat of a pest, these past few days, annoying his siblings with play fights all the time. To the point where Goblin has started seeking refuge with Danielle, hissing at the Oriental when he dared approach them.

They've been trying to distract him, have played with him and done some more tricks and training. It's better, today, he's only mildly bothered Goblin earlier, and Lise thinks Wendy can do with someone putting her in her place every so often. She seems to enjoy the playing right now, at least, so Lise is not inclined to step in and separate them.

--

Lise gently strokes Wendy's back and watches as she licks her nose, looking miserable.

"No, nothing that we can see," Danielle sighs and reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, holding her cell phone up to her ear.

"I know, love," Lise murmurs when the cat lets out a pathetic sound. She quickly grabs the bowl when Wendy gags again and then throws up, causing Lise to pull a face.

"Can I, get back to you, on that?" Danielle asks and then signs off, drawing a deep breath. "We can either wait, until morning, or bring her in now," she tells Lise, having been on the line with the vet clinic.

Normally, she'd be inclined to wait until morning, but Wendy's been just absolutely miserable for the past few hours.

Danielle and her were in the bedroom, when they heard the retching down the hall. She'd been pissed, at first, thinking it was Odin hacking up a hairball, but instead they'd found Wendy in front of a puddle of vomit.

"I don't know," she sighs. "I mean, she does look worse, doesn't she?" she asks Danielle, deciding to trust her wife's judgment. She tends to, overreact, when Wendy's health is concerned, Lise is well aware of that. She just loves her so much and she's been through such a horrible ordeal already, she doesn't want her to have to go through something like that ever again.

"Compared to when it started? Yes," Danielle confirms. Frowns, at the cat, for a moment. "Let's take her in," she declares after a moment's consideration.

"Okay," Lise nods and slowly stands, to get Wendy's carrier as Danielle calls the clinic to let them know they're coming in.

--

"Will you stop?" Danielle laughs and tries to shove Goblin away from the counter where she's attempting to fix dinner.

"Hey, pest," Lise calls, jiggling one of the balls they have for the cats with a bell inside. Goblin looks up, ears going as he looks for the source of the sound, but then decides that whatever Danielle is doing is much more interesting. Plus, it involves food.

"Jesus, you're being a real pain," the blonde declares and plucks him up from the counter to put him onto the floor. The cat lets out an indignant scream at the treatment, not used to Danielle turning him away.

"You're hurting my feelings, Gobby," Lise sighs dramatically when the cat ignores her completely, going back to Danielle and trying to climb up on her. The blonde lets out a hiss of pain as his claws dig into her leg. Bends down and picks him up, an exasperated sigh leaving her.

"You are a little shit," she declares, but still kisses his head, drawing a meow from Goblin. Lise shakes her head at them and goes to wash her hands at the sink, figuring that she'll have to take over dinner prep now.

Sure enough, Goblin keeps demanding Danielle's attention the entire time, the woman unable to set him down again. Even on her shoulder, he keeps rubbing his face against hers and meowing loudly.

--

Lise lets out a soft sigh and slowly blinks open her eyes. And finds Odin's face inches from hers, causing her to let out a yell of surprise. It makes the cat jump and scurry off the bed as Lise sits up sharply.

He returns a moment later, tail moving slowly as he sits down and watches her.

"What?" she asks him and rubs a hand over her eyes. "What do you want, huh?" she inquires as he keeps staring. Lise slowly lowers her hand and tilts her head at him, Odin mimicking the gesture. She gives a slight shake of her head and reaches out to pet him briefly, before she gets out of bed to relieve herself. And finds a note taped to the bathroom mirror, telling her Danielle was called into work.

That explains why Odin woke her, Lise thinks and washes her hands, splashing her face with water.

"Are you hungry?" she asks him when she steps from the bathroom and finds him sitting right by the door. Odin lets out a yell and sprints down the hallway, disappearing down the stairs briefly, before he comes back when Lise doesn't immediately follow him.

"Yes, yes, sorry," she mutters and heads downstairs. Grabs a mug of lukewarm coffee, for herself, before she heads into the living room. Odin immediately goes for his bowl and begins to scarf down his food, gagging.

"Hey," Lise shakes her head and gently pulls him back, forcing him to take a moment. "Slow down, no one's taking it away," she assures him as she lets him go again.

--

Danielle's making kissy noises at Wendy, who watches her briefly, before she tugs her head under Lise's chin, a honk leaving her.

"Jerk," Danielle murmurs and sticks her bottom lip out in a pout.

"As if Goblin doesn't treat me exactly the same way," Lise chuckles, pointedly looking at the Sphynx curled up against Danielle, napping with a rather blissed-out expression on his face.

Odin is sprawled at the foot of their bed, undoubtedly enjoying the heated blanket Lise switched on for the Sphynxes. She has half a mind to turn it off, but he seems rather happy about having conquered the warm spot, for a change, without his siblings trying to shove him off it.

Lise feels Wendy beginning to purr softly and pets her, kissing the cat's head and receiving a lick on her chin in return, before Wendy also falls asleep as soft snores drift over from Odin.

"Maybe we should have opted for the baby," Danielle muses, her voice low so as not to disturb the cats. "I mean, taking care of one infant would probably have been easier than wrangling these three."

"Maybe," Lise replies softly, shifting a little to get more comfortable as she finds herself growing sleepy as well. "But I think I like our three 'kids' just the way they are."

"Yeah, me, too," Danielle sigh happily and reaches out to take her hand.

--

It's funny to her, how Odin will linger around in the bathroom when they are bathing the Sphynxes, but seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to knowing exactly when he's supposed to be the one receiving a bath, and then manages to hide for hours.

"Yes, we are very cruel," Lise nods as Odin lets out a yowl that nearly makes her ears bleed and tries to scramble from her arms again.

"Will you stop it? I swear, I will take you to the groomers and have them shave you, you little dirty goblin," she frowns at him when he continues to scream and flail around as she tries to get a better hold on him, so she cat put him into the tub without losing a limb or him falling onto the rim.

Danielle flinches at the volume of another scream and moves aside to give Lise more space. She finally manages to get Odin into the tub and lets out a ragged breath as Danielle turns on the water and fills the colander they use to wet him. He doesn't like having his body submerged, nor does he like it when they use the showerhead on him.

"I swear, he's the worst," Danielle murmurs and carefully pours the water over their cat, Odin yowling and trying to get out of the tub again. Lise shakes her head and puts him back, trying to calm him with some petting, but it doesn't seem to help, at all.

Danielle sets the colander aside and grabs the shampoo for Odin's fur and sets about scrubbing him. He's usually good, about cleaning himself, but one of the cats knocked over a flowerpot today, and he just rolled around in the earth, resulting in a desperate need for a bath. Funnily enough, both Goblin and Wendy look clean. They got some dirt on their paws, which was easy to clean, but neither one of them required a bath, like their reckless, dirt-loving brother.

"Odin!" Lise exclaims as he slips from her grasp and makes a mad dash around the tub, sending the showerhead flying, water shooting up and drenching both Lise and Danielle, since Danielle hadn't completely shut off the water.

"You piece of shit!" the blonde laughs and manages to get a hold of their cat again, hugging her to him. She's wet now, anyway. Danielle sets him back down into the bathtub and blows a curl of hair from her face.

"Can you..." she starts and Lise grabs the showerhead and turns up the water, deciding to skip the colander and rinse Odin off this way, hoping it will get it done faster.

He seems to resign himself to his fate now. He still yowls, but has stopped struggling and trying to escape, at least. When Lise shuts off the water, he gives her a miserable look and she does feel bad, for him. For doing this to him. But he kind of did put himself in this spot.

She grabs a big towel and wraps him up in it, starting to dry the cat off, to more meowing complaints about this undignified ordeal.

"There, all done," she declares after a while, when Odin seems sufficiently dry. He jumps off her as soon as she takes the towel away and shakes himself off before running from the bathroom. Probably to hide, again.

"Cheeky monkey," Danielle shakes her head, having cleaned the tub in the meantime. "And what do you want, Mister?" she addresses Goblin when he joins them, jumping up onto the sink and watching them with interest. Danielle raises the showerhead, aiming in his direction. "Quick rinsing?" she suggests. Goblin merely watches her, his tail flicking briefly, and she lowers the showerhead again with a sigh.

"He knows when you're bluffing," Lise chuckles and pats Goblin's head briefly before putting up the towel to dry.

"You are just too intelligent for us, aren't you?" Danielle coos and picks Goblin up, making kissy noises at him. Lise could swear that the cat gives her a 'Help me!' look, before he resigns himself to having his front showered in kisses. If she so much as though about attempting this with him, Goblin would claw at Lise's face and hiss at her, and she wouldn't expect anything else. But he's an absolute glutton for Danielle's attention, no matter how ridiculous.

Then again, she's pretty sure some of the things Wendy's put up with from her would have gotten Danielle her eyes scratched out, had she tried them.

[kateemmerson]

Home Owners - 10 ways you unconsciously sabotage the speedy SALE of your home.

10 ways you are unconsciously self-sabotaging the speedy SALE of your home!

  88% of people are guilty of number 3, but NO-ONE takes it seriously. Seriously? 

  Selling your home? Yuck! We all know that selling a home elicits dread, anxiety and heightened stress.

Perhaps for you, there’s a small dose of excitement about the future – but seldom glee and delight about the whole process that lies ahead.

If you dare announce to your friends at the dinner table you are about to sell, that statement will elicit groans of sympathy, followed instantly by stories from hell; opinions about how it’s currently only a buyer’s market, how realtors will rip you off, the awful removal companies will break precious belongings, or worse steal your stuff, what an awful upheaval, oi vey – the packing, the mounds of endless paperwork and basically just implying ….“are you mad?” And so it will go on, blah blah blah.

Do you know anyone that LOVES selling and moving home?

Yes, my clients!

I’m Kate Emmerson, the Quick Shift Deva and I am hell-bent on shifting home sellers (and realtors supporting them) to approach this from a unique and different angle. To feel way less stressed, more in control, at peace and actually excited about uprooting life, heart and home when selling this time. To be able to embrace this dreaded process with a lightness of expectation of what’s unfolding.

This is such a potentially powerful and pivotal time in your life – one that is your worst nightmare that fills you with angst and stress, or one that can be done with grace, ease and speed through the transition.

Can you imagine going against the status quo and being able to say how the selling process was effortless, smooth and life-changing? As an expert in letting go and moving on, I’ve spent 16 years researching homeowners and homes, understanding what keeps them stuck at the internal, deeply psychological level. When you’re truly ready to move on, from the inside out, your home will sell with speed and ease.

I challenge you to have an open mind as you keep reading…

For most home sellers, the notion of getting your home ready to let strangers and realtors trudge unceremoniously through your space, opening all the cupboards (oh hell yes!), deciding if this space suits their taste and budget can elicit feelings of terror and panic, even in the most resilient of folk.

There’s always a heady mixture of emotions contemplating selling your home, aren’t there? It’s debilitating and overwhelming. Life is already busy and stressful enough, and this is just a huge added burden on your plate.

All sorts of things come into play.

How will you pack everything?

To realtor or not to realtor?

Are you making the right decision and have clarity about what you want?

Who to trust to move your worldly possessions?

Will doggie Rufus adjust to the new house?

Will grandpa be ok in the new home?

How will you ever get your home show -day ready with all your current obligations?

Gasp -what about that hideous overflowing garage and shed you never get to clearing out. It’s downright embarrassing!

Will you ever find a beautiful new space that feels like home again?

Will your worldly possessions ever fit into that new space?

BREATHE.

While it’s true you will have to dig deep to face the above, and most people hate it, what if I shared there is something far more critical that is the real sabotage to selling your home? It all starts with you and what’s going on inside.

If you are reading this article and wondering how YOU might be sabotaging the sale of your home, chances are you are in one of a few places – where are you right now?

Where do you find yourself right now?

A. Life is changing rapidly, and you are contemplating selling your home. This would be an exciting and aspirational move to upsize, downsize or life-size. But right now you are unsure along with a mixture of dread and excitement – you don’t even know what’s involved up ahead.

B. You are unfortunately being ‘forced to sell’ your home at this time (perhaps due to economic, death, health, divorce or relocating), and both resisting and dreading everything about your life right now it. It’s all too much to handle, it really shouldn’t be happening, you are in shock, and now you have to wrench yourself from your safe nest. It couldn’t get any worse.

C. Your home is not selling and has spent way too many DOM’s (Days on Market), but you really need this property to sell fast. Enough already! There have just been far too many people trudging through the doors, you are sick ‘n tired of your realtor and no real offers to purchase are materializing. You are losing hope of ever selling, you blame your realtor, feel frustrated, trapped, and can’t move forward.

Perhaps you are a Realtor wanting to up your professional game and find unique ways to support your clients to sell faster and with more ease. You are interested in unique ways to help you do your job better – you’re brilliant at what you do, but know something is missing that’s outside your scope of expertise. You’re confused why a perfect property is somehow not shifting on the market, or you know your client needs help to get a grip on making peace with their life, moving on and handling emotional and physical clutter. You are exhausted from everything being an uphill battle with your sellers and need a business boost. You might find THIS ARTICLE I wrote much more suited to you and your profession. Or better yet grab my full 19 page E-Book for realtors HERE

Typical scenarios that unfold during the selling process: 

You make the decision to sell your home

You consider selling privately to reduce paying commissions – with the internet, you think it is much easier nowadays

You might contact a local realtor/estate agent to sell your home

Either you or the realtor/estate agent, gather current evaluations by looking at recent house sales in your area

Using this information and some market research, you come up with a market‐related price

Depending on where in the world you live, ‘home‐staging’ may be part of your realtor’s professional service to accentuate and highlight the assets of your home

You put your home on the market & wait for it to magically sell. After all, your job is done now, right?

And then you keep playing the waiting game- usually abdicating all responsibility!

Realistically, the price you want for your home is generally related to several factors: Yes, be honest!

The outstanding amount you still owe on your current mortgage/bond. Argh!

Other debt you might, have that you’re hoping to squash with accrued profit from selling your home

What you originally paid for the property

The money you have invested in upgrading and maintaining your property all these years

Your emotional attachment to the house and what you “feel” it’s worth (usually higher in your head than realistic!)

Other personal factors that might come into play to influence what you believe your precious home must sell for

So how do you start thinking differently about this whole property game?

Here are Kate’s 10 ways you are unconsciously self-sabotaging the speedy SALE of your home!

PART 1: LOOSEN YOUR EMOTIONAL GRIP

SAY ‘GOODBYE’ EARLY ON All sellers fall into this trap, and it’s the first way you will sabotage your sale! It’s also the one no-one else out there talks about because it is considered too fluffy. But it will affect the speed, ease, and ultimately the financial aspect of the sale. This is the single most significant factor that you are 100% in control of and the one to take the most seriously. You have to be ready in your heart and entirely at peace to welcome this move BEFORE you put the “For Sale” up! Take control early on and emotionally “detach” from your home and say goodbye to this era of your life with mindful intent. Emotional closure right upfront will bring acceptance and significantly reduce stress. Most sellers wait till move day to get the emotions in check and wonder why it’s so unbearably stressful. This psychological, emotional, and mental shift is how Kate supports her clients (with life-changing practical exercises) at this pivotal time to ensure you do not sabotage the potential sale. You are energetically and emotionally embedded into every brick in our homes, and you have to loosen this grip before you can move on.Homeowners don’t usually wonder about how your “energy” is embedded into every brick and mortar of your home. This is where you realized your dream of owning this home, perhaps had your first child, started your business, danced around the kitchen table after signing the big corporate deal, made love to your partner, and watched little Jamie take his first steps.It might also be a space signifying struggle, heartache and pain – and now you have to say goodbye. It’s all very complicated at a heart level and most folks don’t know how to approach this time and process

STOP CALLING IT ‘HOME’ Too many sellers sabotage the process and hold on with double doses of superglue! You intensify emotional attachment, heartache and stress, by continually referring to this space as your ‘home.’ Yes, of course it has been your home, but one of the shifts to make is to consider yourself, from this moment onwards, as a custodian of this space and start thinking of your home as a house. The challenge is that from now on, every time you speak about it or think about it (after you have done the emotional closure that Kate’s teaches), is to always use the term HOUSE instead of home! Better yet, think of it as a guesthouse always ready to welcome new guests. You can catch Kate live on the radio sharing her home selling tips to Shado Twala on SAFM 

CATCH A WAKE UP ABOUT WHAT’S LURKING IN EVERY CORNER Most sellers do a little tidy up around the house, but 88% of the homes I get called into just don’t take this seriously! You keep thinking you will clear out properly when you finally pack the boxes and move. Beep! Buyers will open cupboards, and more importantly, they will get a “feel” of the house. If it feels stuffy, cluttered and overfull, they’ll feel stifled in the space even if it is seemingly the perfect house for them on paper and budget-wise. The moment you decide to sell, please get stuck into de-cluttering every single inch of your space. You need to, as I like to refer to it,  Zap Your Kr@p – Not only will it make your house appear more spacious and light for the buyer, but you will also not lug any “stuff” that no longer serves you into the next phase of your life.A house move is an ideal time to purge at every level. Let go and live a little lighter, taking only that which you love, use and respect into your new home.If YOU fill up too much of the house, there is no room for the buyer to breathe life into this space. Tone down that bright cerise wall, get rid of 75% of your objets d’art and remove the 30 family photographs stuck on the wall! Buyers need to be able to envisage THEMSELVES living in this space.

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  Home Owners – 10 ways you unconsciously sabotage the speedy SALE of your home. was originally published on Kate Emmerson - The Quick Shift Deva