#life is so fucking unfair. you should be here enjoying life watching your son grow

[brittanas-blog]

you were bigger than the whole sky, you were more than just a short time

three years and it still hurts as much as it did the day you left.

wherever you are i hope you can feel how much we love and miss you. your light still shines so bright.

rest in peace, naya 🤍🕊️

[chappedandfadedvds]

Nov 26th, Thursday 23:17

„I thought you’d be in bed already?“

Jens had just finished the dishes, ready to head to bed, after he spent hours trying to get all his notes for his french test ready next week. He wasn’t worried that he would fail. Perhaps a little worried.

His mother stood in the doorway to her room, when he reached the last step, causing him to watch her perplexed.

„Me too, but it looks like my side of the bed was taken before I had a chance.“

Curious Jens went up to her, sticking his head over her shoulder. Lotte was his mom’s bed, sleeping peacefuly despite the lamp on the night stand lighting the room.

They just stood there for a moment and watched the little girl. Til his mom took a step back, weak on her feet. He helped her get down and joined right after. Causing them both to sit side by side, propped up against the wall across the stairs. He had his legs pulled up, his arms hugging his knees as he stared straight ahead.

„Lucas is my boyfriend.“

It just bursted out of him, the first thing that had come to mind. He probably should have said it sooner. He didn’t even know why he hadn’t done that til now.

„No! Really?“ His mother exclaimed shoked in pretence, nudging him lightly as she chuckled.

„What reaction do you want? Strict parent, or not understanding mother, or perhaps I could tell you, I always knew you weren’t as hetero as you believed. Even though that would be a lie.“

Jens bit his lip to contain his amusement. Instead he tilted his head as if he needed to consider her words. Jens definitely knew who was responsible for his personality. Even though they only had gotten as close and on par with each other since the diagnoses. She wasn’t just a parent any longer to him. He wished they had been like that earlier. They had fought rather often. Certainly him having been to blame for most of it. Sneaking out to meet Britt and later Jana, or getting caught coming home high and drunk. Perhaps he had to change first to get to this point.

„How about your genuine feelings?“

He therefore asked, not much worried that she would dismiss his boyfriend. It took her a second to think about it before she spoke.

„Obviously I like him a lot, and I’m glad you have him, you always seem happier with Lucas around. He is very kind. And he can keep up with your assholery.“ 

„Assholery?“ He snorted. 

„Yes, hush! You can really suck sometimes. And regarding him being a boy. I don’t care. I just want you to be loved, respected and supported. That’s all that is important to me.“

Lucas was that, wasn’t he? 

„I just wanted to actually tell you this, you know, in person. Out loud.“ 

His mother nodded, grinning at him, as they both had turned their heads while talking. Though he brought his eyes back onto the banister of the stairs infront of him, pulling on the ends of his hoodie’s sleves.

„Don’t you think it’s unfair to him?“

„What is?“ 

„This. Like I know I’m his real first relationship. And I had Britt and Jana and, like, other girls before him. I feel like I’m keeping him from something. I don’t know what exactly. Dating around. Hooking up casually. Not remembering the girl you drunk kissed last night at a party.“

„Speaking from experience, I take it.“ His mother sounded gleeful as she said it. She wasn’t wrong. Not that he would actually tell her that. She knew anyway. So he went on. 

„Just something that makes him regret it in the future, if he stays for all of this that is my fucking life.“

„You haven’t talked about this with him?“ 

Jens stayed silent. They both knew better than expecting him openly talking about his personal feelings. Late night talks with his mom though made it easier.

„I think Lucas is at an age to decide that for himself. In fact you are both graduating soon, just enjoy the time you two get to have. You are both teenagers. Nobody expects this to last forever. You are dating for what? A month? Don’t worry about what’s after, and talk to him, tell him what you think. Take it easy.“

She concluded, reaching over to place her hand on his knee. Her thumb brushing over it in light circles.

„I don’t know.“

„Then what do you actually know?“

Sometimes his mother murdered him in cold blood with her quips. 

“Hey!” He exclaimed accusatory. She was his mother. She had to love him unconditional. Not be mean to him.

They both were nonetheless enjoying the quiet banter and even the silence that followed when the two of them were each sunken in their own heads.

„I’ve written your father.“ His mother suddenly said, making his head spun round. He hadn’t known they were in contact. The last two years went completely by without any message nor a mention of his dad. 

„I don’t have his phone number, but his mail adress, and so I’ve told him today about everything that is happening right now. He is still the man I had planned to grow old with, the man I’d die next to. Even after all these years I can’t quite forget about him. He should know at least.“

She sounded saddened as she spoke, her voice low and resigned.

„I’m not gonna let him come back here and take Lotte.“

It was all Jens honestly cared for, even if it was cold to ignore his mothers remeining love for his father. He knew that his parents were officially still married. To his knowledge neither his father nor his mother ever hadn’t gotten into a serious relationship after they broke it off.

„Let me finish, okay?“  She interrupted his thoughts. „I also did it to send him a form Alex gave me for him to sign, and waive his position of choice as the legal guardian. I thought you may not want to talk to him yourself. It’s also one less thing for you to worry about it.“

„Thank you.“ He was greateful for that, honestly. He should have stopped at that, yet still found himself asking: „Why did you let him do this to you?“

„What?“ She looked at him puzzled, perhaps retracing her words to figure out what Jens was getting at.

„Let him leave you.“ He expanded on his question. Something he realised he had thought about since his father had left them six years ago. Jens probably should have asked this years ago in order to understand, because he never could figure it out. His father was just gone for months on end, and one day for good.

„It wasn’t something that came over night. We both knew since we began dating at university. He had always talked about his plans and ambitions. And I always reminded him that I wanted children more than anything else. So he gave me you three to love and I gave him his freedom.“

„Aren’t you regretting it?“

„Letting him go?“

Jens nodded. Yes exactly. Like how can you merry a person you know will leave you at some point. Maybe even a fixed point as his father began his expeditions and travels right after his phd.

„No. Well sometimes. When you three drove me crazy. Especially that one day you decided to give your baby sister the cream jar, for her to smear all over the living room, herself and you included. I had to bath you three for an hour to get everything washed out. Cried two more hours after. And the armchair, the poor armchair had to be thrown out.“ 

She laughed, as she indulged in her reminiscence. He couldn’t help but smile at her. They really had done some dumb stuff when they were younger. How his mother had managed to keep Lies and him in check while tending to Lotte was a mystery to Jens.

„But no I don’t regret ever having had all of you. Nor having let him follow his passion and do his work. I think he would have stayed had I asked him to. But he would have come to resent me for it one day. Sometimes you have to let people go because you love them.“

„Sounds stupid.“

His mother just giggled at his blunt response. She rose her hand ruffling his hair, ignoring his complaint as leaned away to escape her teasing.

„Maybe you are right.“ She admitted sheeply. „I am your mother, but I really don’t know shit.“ She grinned brightly at him as he watched her amused. „To let you in on the secret of adulthood. You just have to wing it most of the times and hope for the best.“

His groan could have probably woken his sister if she wouldn’t be such a deep sleeper.

„This sucks.“

„It does.“ She agreed without hesitation, trying to comfort him with a kiss to his forehead. It helped a little.

„So what are your plans?“

„For what?“

„I don’t know.“ She shrugged, leaving him none the wiser on if she was playing at something. Maybe Lucas had talked to her today? 

„Senne invited us all for christmas to go to his grandparent’s cabin in switzerland.“

„Really?“ He hadn’t expected her to look so happy while surprised.

„Yes.“ The confirmation was just a little whisper. He was uncomfortable to talk about it. Jens knew she would want him to go. And he knew he couldn’t just leave her at home, and enjoy his holidays, knowing his mom’s declining health. What kind of son would he be?

„Wow now I’m very jealous.“

„I’m not going.“ He cut her off, before she could say anything else. Of course it was already to late, her cheery expression already faltering.

„Why? Come on, Jens, tell them that you will join their trip.“

„It would be our last christmas.“

He only had to send her one look, to make her understand and sigh.

„I know. But I’d rather have you spend some weeks away from all of this. Get your head free a little, get distracted. I had planned to go see my mom in Brussel anyway, if I can, before... You know. So you could drop off Lotte and me on the way and then see your friends. Sit in front of a fire with them. Kiss your boyfriend on a mountaintop. I don’t know. Just enjoy your time, before you’ll have your little sister tag along on any other vacation for the next couple of years.“

It sounded so easy when his mother said it. As if he could just turn his brain off for a moment and not think about her all the time when she wasn’t around. But he supposed she had a point. Especially at the end of her little monologue.

„Geez. You might be right.“

„I always am. So you are going?“

He kinda hated how bold she smiled, knowing she had made him consider it and probably accept Senne’s invitation. Damn her.

„I’ll sleep on it.“ He sighed once more, while he rolled his eyes especially hard.

„Good enough for me. We should probably head to bed as well. When will Lucas be here with his mom for breakfast again?“ 

Oh. That reminded Jens of what he actually had wanted to do after dinner, when he had stood in his room questioning why he had made the trip upstairs in the first place He definitely had taken his phone off the charger and down back to the kitchen, didn’t meant he had actually sent the text.

„Eh... Shit, should probably message him. I forgot. What was it? Nine thirty? Ten?“

Lucas had said something before he had left. 

„I can’t believe I am leaving all of this and the responsibitliies to you.“

His mother cluck her tounge, as she shook her head. Her expression definitely amused.

„Funny. Come, I’ll help you up.“ He said getting to his feet first before he extended his hand for her to take. They both needed a moment to recover, stretching in place after having lingered in the same position for a while. And on the hard floor as well. 

In turn it was her now reaching out for him, to nudge him towards her room. Both squeezing in on the free side of the bed. His mother only reaching over to turn off the light and call it a day.

__ __ __

tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

[krispydefendorpolice]

The Demon’s Bride (4)

Call out to @vitaliciouscreations for their “Drop of Paradise” story. I’m using the same name Tiān but they came up with it (to best of my knowledge). Another fun read. Anyone interested in me putting up a random maribat recomendation in this part?

On to the story

Beginning Previous Next Masterpost

_________________

Chapter 4

After dropping Mari in front of the hotel she was staying at, where the teacher definitely had not noticed she was missing he fumed, Damian returned to the Bat cave. His father, all three of his brothers, his sister, Alfred and the rest of the extended Bat Clan were waiting.

“You never turned your comm back on,” Bruce commented.

“I needed to speak with Mari before talking to you,” Damian said, passing his father and pulling up files on the Bat computer.

“We had noticed. It would have been nice to know you were alright after she took down Jason the way she did.”

“Hence the reason I left my tracker on instead of disabling it. You knew where I was.”

“Who is this mystery girl the boys are talking about?” Barbara, aka Oracle, asked.

Damian ignored the question while he filtered through the files of the Wayne conference attendees for the school group staying at Mari’s hotel and down to the students on the trip. He pulled up the school picture of Mari and the information they had on her.

“She is a friend from my childhood,” he finally said looking at the information. He saw that her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, her parents on file were listed as Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng. So they hadn’t changed it, he thought, disappointed in himself because he never looked.

Damian turned when no one said anything after his declaration. Leaning against the console he waited for their responses.

“Bull shit Demon Spawn. You’ve never mentioned friends other than Jon and the Titans before,” Jason said, “and even then it’s because they are not your friends.”

“I assure you she is,” Damian said.

“Then why is this the first time any of us have ever heard about her?” Dick asked.

“None of you have ever shown a particular interest in my childhood with the League of Assassins before now, so why would I have talked about her to you?” Damian answered with a question of his own.

“Because you bit off our heads every time we asked anything,” Tim argued.

Damian narrowed his eyes, “The last time anyone asked me anything about the League I was 11 years old, had just moved in with a bunch of strangers, and had witnessed my family and my whole life destroyed by a madman. Of course I fucking yelled at you. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t cry, yell or rage about the unfairness of watching my family, my family,” he emphasized, “die because I was with strangers and emotions make you vulnerable and I could not afford any more vulnerabilities with the unknown situation I was in.”

The entire clan was silent during his tirade, and a bit ashamed at what he was revealing to them years afterwards.

“I’m sorry Damian. We should have realized that and asked you how you were handling the changes at the time,” Bruce was the first to apologize.

“So you weren’t just rabid from Mom’s Tender Loving Care?” Jason asked.

“Master Jason,” Alfred chided while the rest of the clan just gave Jason a Really? look.

“In the 10 years I lived with her I probably spent less than two in her actual company,” Damian said. “I don’t think I would have responded well at the time even if you had realized,” he acknowledged Bruce’s apology.

“Can you tell us about her?” Bruce asked.

“I can but there’s a lot to talk about to really understand everything. I’m meeting her tomorrow for her free day, we can come here for dinner. I can give you some of that background information now and she can answer any of the questions about herself that I can’t answer.”

“Alright. So tell us what we need to know.”

“Might I suggest we move this discussion out of the cave and to the parlor where we might be more comfortable while we talk,” Alfred interrupted.

“That sounds like a good idea Alfred,” Dick said.

**************************

They did as Alfred suggested and moved to the sitting room so they could sit comfortably while talking about Damian’s past. They were all aware that before he came to them at the age of 10 he had lived with his mother and grandfather and with the League of Assassins. He had been volatile and reckless even while he was taking up the mantle of Robin and began following the others into the vigilante lifestyle.

But apparently there was more to his actions as a kid than just being a snobbish brat raised to believe he was better than everyone else.

Damian sipped at his cup of Black tea while settling his mind around what he was going to discuss. He had spent the last 7 years trying not to think of the other half of his biological family and believing the rest were dead so that he hadn’t had any other reason to reflect on his youth in the League. But that had obviously been a mistake. If Mari survived did anyone else? Can I get my family back? He wondered to himself while the rest of the clan settled down with their drinks of choice.

Finally everyone was settled. Bruce was the one to set the ball rolling.

“So what should we know?”

“Before I start about what I know,” Damian began turning to Jason, “I need to know more about what you know of the League, Todd.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and looked at him stonily. If Damian was quiet about the League as a kid (lies, he really wasn’t because he was an Al Ghul dammit) then Todd was a monk who had taken a vow of silence (slightly less a lie, he didn’t talk about it but he did rant about what a bitch Talia was). None of the Bats knew much about his time with the League other than he met Talia before returning to Gotham to seek vengeance on the Joker.

“Like what, Demon Spawn?” Jason asked.

“Well, first, did you have a designation?”

“A what?”

“That’s a no then. Consider yourself lucky, or not, since you were one of mother’s various pet projects then.”

“Damian,” Dick warned as Damian still had a tendency to be very blunt, to the point of being abrasive, when talking about other’s trauma’s.

Damian frowned before nodding in acknowledgement of the warning and in apology for his tone.

“I suppose the first thing you should know is that the League of Assassins is only about two hundred years old, while Tiān the city from which it was established is thousand of years old. Grandfather found it years ago and started to recruit certain prized and influential citizens and families into following him. Eventually the majority of the city were members of his cult and doing his bidding. We can get more into why the League as its own city is important tomorrow.

“Now, since the League is a cult and it was born out of an independent city how has it maintained it’s membership for so long? And I assure you it wasn’t because grandfather shared the secret of the Lazarus Pits with anyone” he asked.

“They recruited new members,” Dick answered with a shrug.

Damian gave him his own Really? look. “Recruits only account for about 25% of the new trainees and they are usually older teens and young adults. The people that are disenfranchised from the society outside of the League. Individuals with knowledge of the world outside shaped by influences from outside and not by Ras Al Ghul,” Damian said. “I was one of 79 children born in my year group. I was not raised by Talia no matter how she spins it. Despite having a personal bodyguard, private tutors and a nursemaid because I was an Al Ghul heir, I was raised with the other children my age in the al’akadimia*.”

“Talia didn’t raise you?” Barbara asked.

“She oversaw my training, instruction and education which seems to be her impression of parenting, but no, she was not involved in the day to day of my life growing up. I got more of that with Father in the first few months than I did from her in the entirety of my time with her,” Damian answered.

The Bats were silent as they digested this new piece of information from their youngest.

“In the cave you mentioned losing your family. It sounded like it happened in Slade’s attack. If not Talia, who were you thinking of? The girl?” Tim asked.

*academy- Arabic via Google translate

_________________

So, this chapter f*cked with my head. I was just writing and playing with the story and had to come up with a reason for Damian being such a little shit as a kid. And I threw in the line about him losing his family and moving in with strangers when I had an oh shit moment of enlightenment.

In the Son of Batman, Damian witnessed his grandfathers death. His mother brought him to strangers and essentially dropped him on their doorstep. Then we get into the fact that most likely he was essentially abused growing up (how else do you get a kid that wont show emotions) but they were still his family and yeah...

I try throwing in a flippant reason but really it kinda sounds like a canon reason too.

I had never thought about why canon Damian was the way he was especially in that first movie and now my head hurts. I’m curious if anyone else has ever given that a thought or if you’re just now having that oh shit reaction?

Taglist: I’m so happy so many are enjoying it. I’m trying to get everyone but if I miss you I’m sorry but it’s not intentional. Also, I appreciate the comments but unless you ask I won’t tag you so if you’ve commented and not been tagged it’s cuz you didn’t ask or because I overlooked it trying to find everyone who’s asking to be tagged. And I’m going to ask that you message me since I’m having trouble finding all the asks in the comments. Thank you.

And thank you all!

@ozmav @multifandomscribette @mochinek0 @inevitableenquere @zebrabaker @poshplumcot @tog84 @luciferge @sonif50 @ravennightingaleandavatempus @northernbluetongue @actual-human-disaster @clumsy-owl-4178 @aarushi-03 @bluerosette23 @g-arya @moonyloonyx @fertileleaf @shreky-boi @thanks-captain-obvious @panda3506 @hinata3487 @thequestionablyhuman @dontgiveaflyinflip @dast218 @chocolatecatstheron @asianfrustration13 @slytherinsheashire @weird-pale-blonde-person @yin-390 @mycupisbroken @vixen-uchiha @kuroko26 @autisticlinx @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mariae2900 @zalladane @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @tbehartoo @novicevoice @violatiger8 @thebookish3lf @fandomkitty8 @redscarlet95 @gingersnapnoir @chewbaccaatemythoughts

[aliciameade]

Tailor-Made

Title: Tailor-Made Author: aliciameade Rating: *** M *** Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson Summary: Emily wears her suits like armor and they fit like a glove. Stephanie admires her ability to pull off the style so effortlessly and knows she could never do the same.

Emily disagrees.

Set somewhere in the first-half of “Baby.”

Also on AO3

Perfect lines. 

That’s what Stephanie sees as she watches Emily tug at the waist of her blazer after shrugging it on. She’s had the pleasure of watching Emily dress many times over the past several weeks, almost always as a result of Stephanie undressing her first. She finds it almost as sensual as the preceding acts of lust they share because, despite the three-piece suits and pinstripes that Emily dons like armor, Stephanie knows what lies beneath, both figuratively and literally.

“How do you do that?” she asks from where she sits on the ottoman in Emily’s massive closet.

Emily meets her eyes in the mirror she’s facing and a smile touches her lips. “Do what?”

Stephanie herself has yet to get dressed; her skirt, sweater, and bra are still on the floor in the adjacent bedroom but she’s borrowed one of Emily’s many silk robes. Emily needs to get to the office; it’s late morning following their impromptu tryst. Emily had called Stephanie and told her to meet her at her house in ten minutes and to leave her underwear at home.

Stephanie hadn’t known where Sean was or when he would be back, but Emily’s initial vigor upon her arrival and discovery of Stephanie waiting for her (dressed, but sans underwear, as instructed) and how it gave way after Stephanie’s first quick orgasm to an hour of unhurried lovemaking told her Sean’s absence had been unexpected and could be for an extended period of time.  

“How do you look so good in that suit?”

“Baby,” Emily says with a smirk as she adjusts her pocket square, “I don’t look good in the suit; I make the suit look good.”

There’s not much Stephanie can say to that. She swallows thickly, arousal spiking again despite the three releases she was just given and she knows Emily can read it on her by the way her eyes burn into Stephanie’s through the mirror. “Yes, you do,” she says, having to clear her throat to get the words out.

She finishes checking her appearance and turns, taking slow, measured steps toward Stephanie, one hand in the pocket of her slacks until she stops in front of Stephanie.

Stephanie wets her lips and struggles to maintain composure. “It’s so unfair.”

“Why is that?” Emily asks and Stephanie watches as she brings her leg up to prop a gleaming black and white loafer next to Stephanie’s hip on the edge of the ottoman. As she leans down, she licks her thumb and Stephanie braces herself for whatever’s about to happen, but all Emily does is rub at what must be a spot of dirt on her shoe.

“Because,” Stephanie says after taking a shaky breath; if she leaned forward, her face could be between Emily’s legs...again. “I could never look that good in a suit.”

Emily regards her for a moment, then puts her foot back on the floor. “I’ll text you later.”

It’s a jarring, kind of cold response given the electricity that was flowing between them but she’s starting to learn to not take Emily’s bluntness too personally. She’s also learning there’s value in bluntness of her own. “I’m so wet, Em,” she says as she uncrosses her legs and lets the robe slip off her thighs.

There’s value in it because Emily never expects it and it shows in brief surprise that crosses her features before she once again appears stoic but Stephanie already knows she has her.

“One more,” Emily says, predictably, and drops to her knees in front of Stephanie, a sight she will never, ever tire of.

The impeccably tailored blazer gets tossed onto the ottoman next to Stephanie and she watches as Emily undoes the cufflink on her right wrist that she fastened just minutes earlier to neatly roll back her sleeve.

Stephanie parts her legs and leans back, though props herself up. She’s realized she’s going to get to watch Emily fuck her in the mirror and feels herself grow even wetter at the thought. “Just one?” she says, breath already quickening.

Emily’s quick, fingers sinking into Stephanie before she expected them to, and Stephanie’s moan is maybe a little pathetic with how needy it sounds.

“Just one,” Emily confirms, fingers setting a hard, quick pace fucking Stephanie before she ducks her head down to suck on her clit.

She’s already seconds from coming. “We’ll see,” she breathes before throwing her head back to groan as her orgasm rushes through her.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

It isn’t just one.

It’s two.

Three, if you count the one Emily gives herself standing in front of Stephanie while Stephanie watches.

Four, if you count the one Stephanie gives herself while watching Emily.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Emily texts her later as she said she would.

306 Broadway, 8:00. Sean will watch Miles.

Stephanie resists immediately Googling what the location is, but she knows it’s somewhere downtown. There’s no information beyond the location and time but Stephanie can fill in the blanks. Meet Emily there.

Stephanie’s filled with excited anticipation as she always is when she knows she is about to see Emily, but it’s heightened this evening with the element of mystery that’s been added.

“You look nice, Mom,” Miles says when she exits the bathroom after finishing her hair and makeup.

“Thank you, Smooch,” she says with a smile and a ruffling of his curls. She hasn’t done much, really. Just a bit more mascara and eyeliner and some lipstick, but she knows it makes a noticeable difference, especially when paired with the light pink dress she’s wearing. She feels kind of like she’s about to go on a date; she wouldn’t mind it if that’s what it was. “Are you ready to go to Nicky’s for a bit?”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

It continues to be a surreal experience every time she does to Emily and Sean’s home, even more so when Emily isn’t there. To have to speak to Sean, to thank him for babysitting her son while she goes to have what is surely a sexual rendezvous with his wife is not something she particularly enjoys.

(The speaking to Sean part, not the sexual rendezvous.)

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

306 Broadway, Stephanie discovers as she parks along the curb, is a nondescript building. It lacks signage and the windows it has have their curtains drawn for the evening.

Emily’s Porsche is there, though, already parked in front of Stephanie’s Suburu, so she knows she’s in the right place.

She checks her appearance in the rear-view mirror once more before she hops out of the car to cross the sidewalk. She’s unsure if she should knock or ring the buzzer (once she notices there’s a buzzer), but the door opens before she decides to do either.

“You’re late,” Emily flatly.

“No, I’m…” Stephanie checks her watch: 8:01 PM. “I’m...one minute late,” she agrees. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Emily says sharply and Stephanie realizes what she’s said; it’s still a habit she’s trying to break. “Well, come in,” she continues as she steps aside to let Stephanie pass.

Stephanie’s brain is still trying to catch up with things: the mysterious location, Emily’s cool greeting, and her appearance (unbuttoned blazer and semi-casual end-of-workday appearance) while she takes in the room she’s stepped into.

It’s a warehouse of sorts, though not cold and gray. It’s lined with racks upon racks of clothing, all of it appearing to be high-end. There are a lot of sequins and sparkles, bright colors and deep, dark tones, dresses, tuxes, and suits.

“This is Dennis’s storage facility,” Emily says as though reading Stephanie’s mind. “Clothes from old photoshoots, fashion shows. Shit like that.”

“Wow,” Stephanie says, still taking it all in as she falls in step next to Emily who’s leading her further and further into the storage facility. “Why are we here, though, if I may ask?”

Emily glances at her and Stephanie can tell she’s trying to hide a smile. “This is Pierre,” Emily says with a nod ahead of them and Stephanie shifts her attention.

There’s a very well-dressed man waiting for them in an open area surrounded by mirrors a few small sofas, benches, dress mannequins, and tables covered with fabrics, scissors, and more of the like. 

“Pierre is my bespoke tailor,” she continues as they arrive in his area. “This is Stephanie,” she says as an introduction and Stephanie isn’t sure if she should stride forward and shake his hand or not. They are still an awkwardly far distance apart.

She settles on a wave. “Hello.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he replies; he carries a faint French accent, as though he perhaps spent the first 10-15 years of his life in the country before relocating to the U.S.

“Pierre is going to fit you.”

Stephanie looks up at her, still a bit confused, and furrows her brow.

“For a suit, baby,” she clarifies. She seems to notice the pet name slipped out when it shouldn’t have but when Stephanie looks back, blushing, to Pierre, he’s still just wearing a polite smile.

The numbers finally spring to life in her head, quickly adding up a massive price tag “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Emily says curtly before swatting Stephanie’s rear end to make her yelp and hop forward. 

It gets her walking forward and she whips her head around to glare at Emily who is now smiling at her in a way that manages to ease all of Stephanie’s concerns.

“Hello,” she says again after stopping a few feet in front of Pierre.

He only nods and she watches his eyes roam her body; it feels invasive though oddly not violating. “What a figure,” he says to himself after a few seconds.

“I know, right?” Emily’s voice is behind Stephanie and she looks over Pierre’s shoulder to see her approaching and then taking a seat on a couch to Stephanie’s left. “Make her stop traffic.”

There’s a measuring tape draped around his shoulders that Stephanie notices once he starts sliding it off and into his hands. “It will be my pleasure.”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Now, Ms. Nelson gave me your initial sizes in advance,” he says as he turns toward a rack full of pants, shirts, and jackets on hangers, “so let’s find pieces that you like and then we will get started.”

She wonders, for a moment as she follows him to the options, how Emily had that information to provide. Until she realizes that Emily has had ample opportunities to look at the tags and sizes in Stephanie’s clothing. To look in her closet, if she was so inclined. To map her body with her hands.

She realizes he’s waiting for her to make selections and almost apologizes for her mind wandering, stopping short of it when she feels Emily’s presence behind her.

“This one,” Emily’s smooth voice says as a white blouse passes by Stephanie to Pierre. “Both of these,” followed by two jackets. “And these,” and two pairs of pants.

“Very well,” Pierre says with a smile and Stephanie realizes all of the decisions have been made for her. “I have a dressing area just over here for privacy, if you’d follow me.”

There’s a hand at Stephanie’s back and she melts into it for a second before following him to a cream-colored curtain hanging along the rear wall that gives way to the largest dressing room Stephanie’s ever seen. The selected pieces are hung on an empty rack and Pierre excuses himself, leaving Stephanie alone in the room.

She isn’t surprised when Emily joins her and draws the curtain behind them. She’s equally unsurprised when Emily reaches for the zipper on the back of her dress to draw it down. She watches Emily lean down the mirror and feels her warm, soft lips in the back of her neck she’s exposed by lifting Stephanie’s hair out of the way.

It makes her shiver and she tries not to let her instantaneous arousal be too obvious even as Emily’s hands ease the dress down her arms until Stephanie’s stepping out of it. She watches Emily hang it on a spare hanger and return with the white blouse. Stephanie can already tell it’s been pressed crisp, the lines in the sleeves sharp.

“This is going to be too expensive, Em,” she says as she slips her arms into those crisp sleeves while Emily helps.

Emily just shushes her and watches over Stephanie’s shoulder while she buttons the shirt, stopping a few from the top as Emily’s hands start fiddling with the collar, then smooths her hands over Stephanie’s shoulders.

She’s handed a pair of dark charcoal gray pants and steps into them; by now she knows how this is going and just holds her hands up and out of the way while Emily tucks her shirt in, hands warm and sure as they smooth the rich fabric down Stephanie’s waist to her hips and the tops of her thighs where the shirt ends. For as long as Emily’s hands are down the front and back of Stephanie’s pants making her heart race, they withdraw before bringing her any relief.

The jacket follows and she shrugs into it while Emily smooths its lines and tugs at the cuffs and flaps, evaluating things with a keen eye in the mirror.

It’s a strange transformation, Stephanie thinks as Emily slips her hair out from where it’s caught beneath the jacket’s collar, to see herself dressed this way. She’s compelled to straighten her spine (not that she would ever slouch!) and stand taller, to hold her head higher.

“Perfect,” Emily says, voice in her ear as she reaches around Stephanie’s waist to button the jacket for her.

She finally steps in front of Stephanie, then, turning to work more with her collar until it sits how Emily deems is correct. Emily’s focus is intense and it only raises Stephanie’s blood pressure further. Having Emily’s hands on her so much, gliding over her arms, down her torso (she knows Emily didn’t have to move that slowly over her breasts), her hips, her backside, all under the guise of deciding if the chosen pieces were good starting points for tailoring makes her head spin a bit.

“Pierre,” Emily calls, “would you mind running to the office? We need that savoy blue tie they were working on today.”

Stephanie’s heart, already beating at a clip, starts to race.

“Of course,” comes the reply followed by the jingle of keys. “I’ll lock up behind me; shouldn’t be too long.”

“Take your time,” Emily replies, though her voice has dropped considerably in volume as her eyes hold Stephanie’s.

Stephanie parts her lips to question the obvious but Emily’s mouth is on hers before she can ask.

Yes, they really are going to do this year, is the answer she feels as Emily’s tongue slips into her mouth.

“You look amazing,” Emily breathes before kissing Stephanie harder.

She holds tight to Emily’s shoulders to keep her footing. Emily’s hands are everywhere. They follow the same paths they had been so recently, but now they are heavy and greedy, grabbing and pulling at her.

As abruptly as Emily had grabbed her, she retreats, taking a few long steps backward while she unbuttons her own blouse, shucking it and her jacket in one move. There’s a chaise lounge in the corner that she’s heading toward and Stephanie follows, hands moving to shed her own clothing.

“Leave it on,” Emily says...or commands. Or...requests?

She’s staring at Stephanie so hotly she’s not sure she won’t be set on fire as a result.

“Leave it on and fuck me.”

The confidence and power that had been simmering from the way Emily regarded her in the expensive suit rush through her like a drug as she quickens her steps to catch up, hands immediately moving to Emily’s pants to undo them.

“This is a turn-on for you?” she asks; it’s rhetorical but Emily nods anyway as Stephanie pushes her slacks over her hips to fall to the floor.

Neither bothers to deal with Emily’s shoes or get the pants off her completely; Stephanie just puts a hand in the center of her chest and pushes to watch Emily willingly drop onto the lounge behind her and lean back. Her thighs fall open and it takes Stephanie no time at all to make her decision.

She falls to her knees and runs her hands up Emily’s legs until she reaches the heat between them. Together, her thumbs draw a line down the front of her underwear, a black thong that is already soaked. It prompts a whine from Emily and Stephanie glances up to find her, eyes wild and face flushed, staring intently at her.

She thinks back to that morning and all the previous times Emily in her impeccable suits and what it did to Stephanie to watch her shed the pieces, or adjust them to be more forgiving so she could fuck Stephanie more freely.

It’s with that in mind that she keeps her eyes locked on Emily’s as she withdraws her hands so she can move them to the collar of her shirt and unbutton it where it sits tightly against her throat. There’s a flash of hunger in Emily’s eyes and she unbuttons a second, then a third button, and a fourth until Stephanie knows her cleavage should be visible.

Then her hands are back on Emily, once again running up her thighs. She leans down to let her mouth follow, dropping kisses along the way until her fingers are curling into the scrap of ruined fabric to move it out of her way.

She touches Emily first with her tongue and watches as she slumps further into the lounge.

Her own arousal is maddening, pounding in her ears and between her legs.

She works to hold her composure, though. She wants to maintain the calm power of control Emily seems to so easily wield over Stephanie when their roles are reversed. She teases her, though doesn’t withhold too much, tongue never leaving the wet, swollen flesh that Emily is offering to her more and more desperately as her hips tilt and lift.

She grows hot in the clothing; none of it is particularly breathable, but Emily’s apparent inability to look away pushes such a basic discomfort far to the back of her mind.

Sometimes, and Stephanie hates to admit it, she lets herself think that maybe Emily doesn’t think about her when they have sex. It’s entirely possible she fantasizes about another person; Stephanie would have no way of knowing.

Except now: right now, Emily is consuming Stephanie’s presence as much as Stephanie is consuming her body, the connection between them right now more than that of Stephanie’s tongue. Deeper than Stephanie’s tongue even as it reaches inside Emily before being replaced by her fingers as it moves back to her clit.

“Don’t stop,” Emily breathes; she’s anything but quiet but they are alone. Stephanie would never want to silence her anyway. Emily coming undone, unrestrained (well, mentally), and uncaring is a sound that rings a bell deep within Stephanie’s chest.

Of course, she has no intention of stopping. Not while Emily is dripping off her fingers nor while her clit is so swollen she cannot possibly resist capturing it between her lips to suck on it while her tongue continues to work it in her mouth.

Emily’s hands are dug into the chaise; they anchor her while her hips thrust, as Stephanie’s own buck with need, both growing wilder and losing their rhythm until it’s a mad, untamed race to a finish that soaks Stephanie’s hand and makes her groan into Emily as orgasm overtakes both of them.

“Fuck,” Emily says after a few minutes of labored breathing.

Stephanie’s barely moved, Emily’s thigh serving as a pillow while they recover. “Mhm,” she hums in agreement while she gathers herself until she can lift her head.

“Fuck,” Emily repeats, this time as a breathy laugh. She reaches, arm appearing heavy, for her own jacket where it landed on the chaise and fumbles around until she’s tossing the pocket square Stephanie had watched her fold and place that morning down toward her. “You’re a mess.”

It takes her a moment to realize what she means, then both notices and blushes. Raw lust now fading, what they just did starts to let her self-consciousness back in, though she manages not to apologize.

She realizes as she uses the colorful square of fabric to wipe Emily’s arousal first off her face and chin, then off her hand, she doesn’t have anything to apologize for. No one has been offended. In fact, Emily’s watching her like she just gave her the world.

“I guess that means you like the suit?” she says, the realization giving her renewed confidence after a brief moment of faltering.

“I love it,” Emily says, back arching in a stretch that makes her spine pop a few times. “Now take it off.”

“Take it off?” Stephanie looks down at herself and frowns.

“I’m not going to have Pierre tailor that one; it smells like sex.”

That makes Stephanie blush despite the confidence but she does laugh. “Oh, my God.”

“Put on the other suit I brought you. There’s a vest with it. And clean that snatch up; I know you’re a mess and he’s going to be face to face with it.”

“What?!”

“He has to be to tailor the pants, baby,” Emily says, brain function and motor control almost back at one hundred percent. “You’ll be wearing the pants,” she adds.

“Oh, thank God,” Stephanie exhales in relief.

Emily laughs but it doesn’t feel as though she’s mocking Stephanie’s ignorance; rather, she seems to be delighted by it. “Now, hurry up.”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Stephanie hasn’t been as physically close to a man as she is with Pierre in a very long time. Her discomfort must be noticeable because Emily’s wearing a very amused look when she turns to look at her while he crouches in front of her, running the tape along her inseam. She’s also highly paranoid as she is wearing no underwear (they were completely ruined) he is spending far too much time inches away from her personal area.

She feels a bit like a rag doll the way he positions and measures her, and it’s a relief when he indicates he’s finished. It was a lot of focused attention on her but, she realizes, the constant discomfort did help move her mind away from replaying the vision of Emily asking Stephanie to fuck her.

The suit, this one black, is covered in chalk marks and pins and she knows Emily’s hands aren’t going to be roaming it any time soon.

“You can change,” Pierre says when he’s finished his work. 

“Wait,” Emily says, pushing away from where she’d been leaning against a table, watching his work. There’s a strip of blue fabric in her hand and she takes Pierre’s place in front of Stephanie.

She notices Pierre makes himself scarce, back turned as he busies himself with transferring the notes he’s taken into a computer.

“I need to see if I was right,” Emily says as she slips the necktie around Stephanie’s shoulders.

Emily’s cheeks still hold a faint blush from their recent activity and it warms Stephanie. Neither of them speaks while Emily works on the tie, flipping it under her collar and tying it with easy expertise despite doing it backward. She tucks it until Stephanie’s vest once it’s tied and then tugs on the knot, wiggling it until she deems it correct.

She takes a few steps back to survey the work that’s been done, both her own and Pierre’s, and nods. “I was right. It matches your eyes perfectly.” She smiles.

Stephanie blushes so hard she wishes she could hide but Emily’s smile, both soft and the tiniest bit sensual, stops her from running.

“This is perfect, Pierre, thank you,” Emily says to break the moment. “I’ll help you change; it’s a bitch getting out of these things when they’re full of pins.”

Emily follows her into the changing room and Stephanie’s hit with a maddening dose of deja vu. She expects Emily to initiate something once again but instead, she undresses Stephanie with attentive care until the pieces are hung to be customized.

She helps Stephanie back into her dress with equal care and, once she’s zipped, leans down to draw Stephanie into a slow, soft kiss that makes her sigh from how good it is.

Emily withdraws, hand still framing Stephanie’s face, and she draws her thumb across her lips in a gesture of gentle intimacy and whispers, “You’re going to stop traffic.”

The End

[huadie]

anchor liveblog post.

the curse of prophecy: all of my high tier kins channel tmg.

" somebody’s gonna get hurt / i hope it’s not me / but i suspect it’s going to have to be.

---

episodes 1-3: the general doesn't deserve the sympathy he gets. i'm not excusing a woman who killed happy girls on their wedding days, but i do think he owed her that closure. sending his son just pits the burden onto someone who wasn't involved. he should look his failures and mistakes in the eyes. if you can't count on a god to do that, who can you expect it of? it's disgusting. / i feel so tired and sorry for the girl who died saving a man who hated her and hurt her friend. i don't think kind people should be on the hook for ignorance and spite so willingly. her life for his was an unfair trade. / He's Cute. and wildly unexpectedly gentle considering the whole "demon" thing. / b tells me i'll have kin ptsd about the face disorder, but right now it's just heartbreaking. nobody deserves to live with that kind of fear. nobody deserves to live with that kind of pain. / b also implies someone in heaven is doing it to them for fun and i just want to say right now that i'm going to pull his dick off thru his mouth. that's a tier of evil that should have your blood start boiling inside you in an attempt to disinfect it. that was a child. that was just a scared little boy. not a prop or a toy or a plot device. a child. / i like the baby generals. they are so nineteen but it's nice to see it. i know anime leans on comedy skits a lot, but they can carry it off. they're charming. / heaven looks a bit shit. all of that meditation and betterment and it just makes you a spineless politician with the power to airbend? christ on a bike.

---

episode 4-5: initial reactions. watching him swing between fuck-me eyes and genuine emotional distress at no signal i can see is a lot. he's a good painter. i think i get the gist of where he's coming from but it feels insane to me. the twitch duels were cute. he clearly cares a lot more than he enjoys devilry so it's insane to me that he's that strong. general jr destroys me. imagine being so pompous and negligent you'd give your child your name. has he ever been allowed to be his own person? meow meow etc. the face disease is horrific. he was just a kid. he was so scared and in pain. i like the temple. i like that it's raggedy and messy. maybe it should be over-repaired, so people in need can take from it? it's definitely not very reverant, but. gods should serve their people. quotes all of small gods here etc. they should want to serve their people. they should be happy to see their temples valued below human life. it would be nice to live in a ghibli film forever, and read books and cook warm food and paint.

episodes ???. thoughts said out loud. gods own their people. thousands, one, here and now you are alive. gods are owned by their people. it's a cage. it's the most beautiful cage possible. to feed starving people from your hands. the bread and the fishes cut out of you. to give and give and give, to be asked for things you have never had and give them next. each prayer should strip you to the bone. can you imagine? to be so trusted, so cared for, so beloved, so followed, to have so much given to you freely and happily. a live lived to save others is the only beautiful thing. the only beautiful thing! a god should be owned by each of their believers individually. selfishly and shallowly and demandingly. like a child needs you. the power to put a fish back in the water is a blessing so heavy thinking about being created for it should make you wail. to be - for people, for the birds and the trees and the fish too, but for the people. it should break your heart. you should never let it become monotone. sunlight into wine.

on love: i trust b. i trust b. to love him here like this and love him in this skin and then find him again in a book and on a screen and fall in love with him there too, to watch myself fall in love with him too. nobody has ever earned what he freely gives. i want to give it back. oxygen to dioxide, i want to find all the places he stands and pour it back into him. i want to show him how beautiful he is. to love someone like that is a miracle and i want to pull it apart. i want to make him familiar with me and bored of me, i want him to wake up each morning taking me for granted, i want him to be so safe and secure in his place in my heart that it stops being a gift. that it wears down and falls apart. the velveteen rabbit. i want to hold him in my hands like a bubble that hasn't popped and i want to use him like the doorway to a world where even if i had to hurt and be hurt and fall and learn to grow, i can come home at the end of it. my growth can mean something, my stronger back can bear more weight, my lessons can be shared. i want it to mean something. i want to have faith in myself again. in the resurrected kingdom of his arms i can find it - build it. i can come home. it can have turned to gold while i did not see it. it can have worth, i can have worth, i can bend and not break. i can have a claim on things without losing them, without it cursing them. just him. i'm not greedy, i'm not selfish, so please - just him.

episode 6: there's something that hurts about letting other people see what you'll tolerate. what you'll do. the places in your life where you have pathetic history and where you are attempting to be someone who only existed today grinding against one another. i know he knows. i know it isn't a stolen moment, a chance to decide how i exist to someone before they decide it for me. i sleep beneath that painting and whenever i wake up in the night i feel him pretend that he is asleep. i know. i know. but it could have - it could have been. it could have been a lie that i got to play with. a tiny self indulgence. aren't you tired of stars? aren't you tired of being the tree that cannot bend in a storm? of holding yourself down? everyone else does it so easily. everyone else lets go. everyone else knows how. if i can't learn then i want to pretend. i want to be unwanted, and - and meet people. by chance, just chance, and like them and have them like me. no promises i made before i learned i couldn't keep them. just... something smaller. i talked about multiverse theory. how it isn't in the coin flip, but the atoms of the coin. how in one dot you can know everything. every grain of sand in a desert. i cannot survive existing with people thinking of me. not well and not poorly. i want to disappear into it. maybe nobody else is obligated to finish the work. maybe their contributions are a blessing. but i can't... learn how to let it go. it's all i have left in me that i recognize, somedays, as it gathers dust and makes me sick to breathe around. what am i if i am not that? i want to know. i'm scared to know. i will never be allowed to find out.

on being loved: god. it is too much. i don't hate it. it doesn't disgust me. but i feel like a plate being washed in every inch of the sea before i am allowed to see dry land again. i feel like i won't survive it if i look at it because it is a mosque decorated in mirrors, because it is mathematically perfect, because it holds the tiny miracles of angles and existence and light on par with the miracles of human heart and existence, because to make at all is to change the world for the first time, because i do not want to see what it reflects. i do not want to see it. i would be better if it lied to itself, if it was delusional and selfish and obsessed with smoke tricks. if it saw silk and paint and stopped looking. i don't want to know what i look like with my hair down, with my face clean, with my feet dirty, with my hands raw - i don't want to see what it sees to know that it loves there too. i don't want to follow it. i don't know how to make it stop. how could i - how could anyone be held accountable for this? to this? to prayers and plans and a kindness that changes the world in every grain of sand it has and again the next second, how could anything be worth this? and if it could - it couldn't be me. not a collection of stupid wishes and failures and betrayals-by-failure. not me with my hair down. silk could be worth this.

on being loved now that it isn't the middle of the night, and my body isn't betraying us both, and i can remember that there are an infinite number of steps between 0 and 1: but really, it's just ink. just paper. if it's - if he. if it's everything. if it's everything. then it can be one thing. it can be this thing. it can be the blindness. it can be me with my own hands over my own eyes like a shutterbox pretending i don't know how to see myself and admit that the pea beneath my mattress only hurts me - that it's small, to him, that it isn't sharp, that it's a phantom limb i can't stop being tormented by and only ever that. can that be enough to start? can i let it? it's atoms again. grains of sand. if he can love this, he can love everything. if i can see this, the rest falls away. there are more universes where we are kissing than every atom from the start to the end of time. that's how it works. i'm going in circles. you don't mind, do you? i'm writing this for you. you're the only person reading this. i don't know why i'm being impersonal about you when i'm being possessive about me. it won't protect me. it won't make it less terrifying to think of, and it won't make it less painful for you to read. i know you're already mad at yourself for being too much. for making me think that it's too much. you're kind to me like that, even when things are my fault. but if we can sit here together, and i can know that you know i can't imagine being loved, and that that - that moment, that dot, me unable to count to the place where numbers end - is something you love too. if i can just see this one moment, and not doubt it or question it or be afraid of it. it can be enough. because you know how hard i'm working to get to even this first step. you know how hard i'm working. you know how scared i am. you know it isn't you. you'll wait for me, with me, and you won't hate me for it. you promised.

on being forgiven: i don't know how to do it for myself. i don't know how to blame people for what they do to me unless it's the most extreme circumstance. i forgive too much that shouldn't be and hold ignorance and spite against others long past when it's fair. i handwave any scar someone gave me while they were suffering and never let go of what they do to others. i don't know what makes it different when it's me. i guess i know how to forgive myself for being scared and lost and for making bad decisions under the influence of... whatever... but not lazy cruelty. not letting something bad happen because i felt like it. all i do now is watch. all i do is let things slide past me again and again and again and do nothing to help and it can't matter that my heart breaks about it when theirs don't if none of us get up, and i remind myself that small steps do more than a single leap that uses me up but it's so hard to believe that here and now in the world where i could die if i tried again and harder still to comprehend in a world where 800 years of lives were made and suffered through and lost and i did nothing that matters to help. maybe all of the horrible backstory parts you're so scared of me seeing will be ones where i could do something, where i could climb up and let everyone take a raw bite out of me and go without starving for just one day, and then this won't cut me up inside like i swallowed a hedgehog. some days i am the hedgehog. trapped inside me, unable to stop being something that cuts to have there, unable to get away. i don't know how you can forgive me. i don't even know if you know what i need forgiving for. if i apologize for saving your life - for coming back to you again and again and again and being so selfish and. i don't know. for being me, while you try to love me, instead of being the person i can't forgive myself for not being, who deserves to be loved by you like this. but you'll forgive me. how do you do it? how do you stand it? i'm jealous of you. of how easy your heart warms up. of how kind you are.

kosmi 1-6 rewatch: i dislike pei su less now that i can see him as a person with a horrific job and less as a vehicle for the lies i know pei ming told about every woman he ever used and threw away. "i burned the scroll and won the war on my own" yeah right. gotta get that out first before i start collecting my thoughts. um.

one: the ascention, the earthquakes, (all that fuss for a scrap god. you told me the order it went in, when i asked, and i still think it's funny in a way that validates what i've been saying for something only the most in-need ask for help with to rattle the bells from warlord's palaces. they aren't ignorable. more than - more than anything else, anything before, i can be proud of this. i can be proud of myself for this.) i hate the way people look at you like you're infected with something because they can't play pretend that their inaction isn't malice any more. the bets and jokes and sneers. what have you done, lately? what help have you given? what good are you? and then there's me: starting as ever in unfixable debt, anchoring desperately to simple kindnesses, too tired to do more than smile. it's not worth it. it's never worth it. (being loved and losing it is worse than never knowing. being able to love yourself and losing it is worse than that.) the way that heaven sits unfixable and unchanging and incompetent. i'm proud of them for making something of their futures. i am. i don't begrudge them anything. i trust their character and i trust them to try to do the right thing for the people. i'm glad they didn't fight hua cheng. the kids are sweet. they're little carbon copies of their generals. it's sweet. it's kind. i like how... okay, they're mean and short tempered and fight like cats in a bag, but it's just the way you are at that age. it's not personal. it's easier to stand. i know there's gender coding tm in the novel, but i hate man-in-a-dress gags that point out that the man looks bad in a dress. i thought it was fine.

one point five: ok. i'll talk about it. the butterflies on the dress, the gentle music, the way our colours matched, the way your hand felt in mine. the sound of rain. i didn't know people could be so gentle. i didn't know they knew how. i think it was better for my health, before, when i assumed the best i ever saw was the best people were capable of. worse for me, though, to believe that. i'd forgotten what it was like to see myself in someone else's eyes as welcome.

zero point five: flashback sequence goes here. of course i remember what it was like to be loved, and work towards a clear goal that helped people. of course i remember what it was like to have a home that loved me back. he looked so scared as he fell. he looked terrified. i don't... i'm not good. at hating people. when i know everyone is driven to where they arrive in some degree or other. but that - whatever the reason they think they had, it isn't enough. it couldn't ever be enough. i hate seeing the human face disease. i hate how scared they are. how obviously in pain they are. i know they can't have survived. but i wish they could. i would give anything if they could. i would give anything up for it. have i talked about responsibility enough that this isn't a surprise yet? nobody should be that scared. nobody should suffer who hasn't chosen it to protect others. nobody should have to choose it, either, but if heaven has already failed you -

two: i hate that bald man. i hate watching that poor freckled girl throw herself on him again and again to save him just because he's human, while he takes every turn to re-learn hate and jealousy and hurt others. when he talks to his friends he almost humanizes himself, and i hope the time he spends as a crab fixes the rest. i truly do. but god i hate to see it. i hate being unable to do anything, because she chose it, because she knows him more than me, because her heart is kind enough to reach out to him even as it betrays and abandons the people in-need who can only go to her for help. you have to triage need. a life lived with the intent to harm others cannot come before a life lived with the intent to help, or to simply survive. anyway. the concern i get shown whenever i talk about the butterfly ghost is so charming.

three: i hate pei ming. his story is shallow and self-praising, his jilted lover competent and proud before he cured her of that with a kiss. i don't believe she broke her legs. i don't believe he passed over the chance to shortcut his way into glory. am i supposed to believe women just act like that? they just break their own knees for attention? she destroyed herself for him and he can't even pretend to care. not even at the end. not even to lie, and let her move on. so, what? thirteen girls die terrified and alone on the happiest day of their lives (- and we know it was happy for them, we know they went smiling up the path, we know they were excited) because he didn't have the stamnia to apologise to one person he hurt? i hate him. i hate his name, i hate his family, i hate his legacy of butchers, i hate his cowardice in sending pei su to grind out his cover story and then hide his mistakes where he doesn't have to look. i hate him. / i feel. so bad for that boy. he was so scared. do you know how scared you have to be to take scissors to yourself? i do. i have, literally, in the last year, actually. and that was... one cut. to avoid the risk of infection. sleeping on a wound that screams at you? he was a child. he was just a child. i let him down. there's no excuse. he needed reassurance. he needed protecting. i let him down.

four: i like that shrine. i like making it, owning it, doing something meaningful. i think a shrine for scrap should be made of more materials than it needs. i think it should be a place to sleep, always, and a place to eat, and you should be able to strip the roof if you need to. i don't care about what is proper, or respectful. respect the god of scavenger birds by surviving at any cost. by using what is useful. by taking what is free. i can build it again. if i know - if i can believe one good thing about myself, it's that i can build it again. as many times as it takes. i won't wear out. i won't give up. i can build it again. and how lucky, this time, to have help. there are so many things i can't do, even now. i need to learn. i never even thought about it until i saw that door. too long alone in my own head. too many years spent without it feeling worth the effort when a band-aid would hold.

four point five: again, ok, fine. i'll talk about it. you're beautiful. your eyes are like starlight, your smile is the warmest thing i've ever seen, your hands should be buried in an instrument, your painting is beautiful, your laugh is endearing - what do you want from me, here? of course i was looking. it's different to look now with your hand in mine than it was, then, to look just to look. to count threads just to count. to run my fingers through your hair and across your palm just to touch something. of course i knew. who wouldn't know you? who couldn't tell? but then, what was i going to do? know it? say it? ask things? better to be stupid, and naive, and find out what knife is waiting for me when it happens. i'm tired of speeding through the sweet moments to get to the next blade. i'm tired of being pushed from place to place. i'm tired of being alone. wasn't it fun? didn't we have fun? didn't you like talking together and cooking together and waking up in the morning in an empty shrine with the promise of another day to fill it? do i have to scream and shout and be suspicious and accuse you of - what! of holding my hand? of helping me? of being the exact same as everyone in heaven still deigning to look at me and thinking of me only as a tool to an end in a plan that will hurt people who did nothing wrong but pray? what can the harvest hope for if not the care of the reaper man? if it's - it always hurts. it always hurts. if it's going to hurt. why shouldn't it be kind first? why shouldn't i play stupid and keep you close and be usable without a heart left in me to break? why shouldn't i enjoy it for what it is, if it's all a lie? better me than someone who would be hurt by it. you're smart, and easy to talk to, and you're helping. you can't unbuild that door. unsweep the entryway. you can't undo the physical evidence of when you were kind. that's enough. that's all i can ever ask of people.

four point now: yes i know you wouldn't, now, i know you now, i don't need to gamble. i know you'd build a thousand doors. i know there's no trick. i know that it's safe. i know that i could have accused you and screamed and bit you and nothing would have made a difference and you still would have been kind. i know. i promise i know. i just... have to say where it was before. i have to tell you how important that kindness was, and how much i was willing to be kind to my own self to keep it near me. you understand what i mean, right? the tiny unforgivable act of making a mistake that could only hurt me? i know, i know. cocky to assume it would just be me hurt. but - if i was right to hope for nothing, i would make sure of that. i would make sure of it. i would do what i needed to to make sure only i was hurt for my selfishness.

five: i hate that we built a shrine and the next day something like that waltzed in. now we have to clean again. (i said in the stream, how funny it was to run that only survivor scam, how quickly it falls apart if you've ever seen real suffering, if you know what a survival rate is.) the rest i don't remember. i like working as a team. i like how much the kids hate you. they can tell too. i don't know what they see. but they worry about me. why do they worry so much? do their generals have something invested in me? are they just trying to do what they can now, and my caring for them isn't a one-way road? do you look that sketchy?

six: talking about the plot? in a sandstorm? no. you should keep my hat on. you look so sweet and cute and shy in it. i love the way you crumple when you aren't at the wheel, when an interaction happens without your instigation. maybe i'm not the only one bad at taking kindness. maybe i should offer it to you more often. you smell nice. like hot clay and silk. it's subtle. is that a ghost king thing, or is it just you? i like it. i can't imagine what i smell like. i hope... lillies and cotton. something soft. i'll ask you one day. i'm not surprised you were the most solid thing in a storm. i won't be surprised if you keep being that. i should have let you catch me. i should have dragged you with me. are you immune to it? could you stop it? would you pretend to be as useless and helpless as i am? i want to keep putting you in situations in disguise just to see what you do. it's fun! it probably shouldn't be, and i'm sure i'm setting myself up for a public shriving the more it becomes obvious who you are and how much i depend on you, but. i don't care. if i suffer for it, so what? what difference will that make? what could one more condemnation possibly do?

six point five: i like seeing sqx. i still read that as squeeks. i like seeing squeeks. i like sharing this with teddy. i like knowing that the way we are together can translate to here. i like how kind he is to me, and how funny, and sweet. i want to see him be happy. i want to see him be happy even though i know enough to infer it won't last. i know you love me with the power of a thousand angry wasp queens but it's nice to just sit next to him and joke with him and pretend for a little bit that i got to do this all the time. that i spent all my years drinking honey and rosewater and laughing with him, that things were as kind and easy as they're allowed to be. it's cute when i say he has a moral code and he gets offended. it's cute when i say he's a bitch and he gets offended. i like the way it makes all three of us laugh. i like seeing a place in my heaven where you could be. i don't want you to give up what you built. you built it because you had to. but when i'm sitting with my head on his shoulder, it's a window to that place where heaven exists to help people, where none of us ever had to learn what misery really was.

what power obliges from you: action. movement, always. there is no down time, no sleep, no rest, no running. if you seek people out to rule them - and that is what ascention is, seeking to rule, to tie your survival to your treatment of them - then you cannot do it with force and with ignorance and with the desire to coast. like. i'm not stupid. i know men do. for centuries and centuries with no repercussions, until the king on the rope for his people is as far related to the man who razed their lands as i am, (but inheriting evil is a choice too). i know how easy it is to punish and hurt and demand. how easy it is to hold people for ransom. but that isn't... that isn't power. that isn't kinghood or godhood or divine right. it's worthless. it's the other end of a sword. it kills you both to use. there's no light left in the world, no wonder, no chance to be saved by others so long as you are the thing that keeps you both drowning. you should wake up in the middle of the night for them without being asked. you should bleed for them without being asked. you should be ready to die for them without them ever knowing. even at their worst. at their most entitled, afraid, undignified, ignorant - if they are those things, the blame falls on you. if you are voted in democratically or born to the monarchy and not hanged in the streets it is the same either way: the people have chosen, they are asking you for something, and if you live in their gold and silk and sing their songs instead of smashing your own head in with a rock then you have agreed to the terms. why would anyone be unwilling to do that? afraid to do that? if you can do even a little bit more than someone else they are owed half of the excess. you cannot live in the world alone. you must not live in the world alone. ask the people above you to bleed for you and the people below you for nothing. there is no hierarchy beyond "i can help you" and "please help me" and there is no meaning beyond it either. every day it is hard to remember this but you have to, both parts, without losing either. why wouldn't anyone want this? what else is there to strive for but to better help others, to be someone with an abundance to share, to be used like that for the survival of everyone. isn't that happiness? to be as connected to everyone around you as a river is? to give water and fruit and blessings and promises and safety and shelter? you can seek power without understanding that it is only deeper service, but you will never do anything worthwhile with it. the gold will rot with your corpse. we find immortality in one another, and the celebration of giving more.

???: i saw a video of someone opening their back gate onto a meadow of the same single flower. it was beautiful. that's what it feels like when i catch you looking at me. we could grow flowers, couldn't we? we could plan a garden? i don't want to see myself fall and fail twice at least, or fight a war, without something kind at the end. i want you to tell me there's a way to still be like this - repairing doors, eating small meals, sleeping in warm air - after all of that is done. i want to build something selfish and self-sufficient together. i know we already are. in the things we talk about the jokes we make at my own expense whenever further plot implies at me. and in how excited i was to find out that the word for butterfly was this one. but i want to make things with our hands again.

episode 7: well. i'm glad it was me.

episode 7 (a day later): i'm still glad it was me. i'm proud of the kids for how brave they are, proud of that general for saving lives every time - and god, it was so funny sitting there in a circle of contempt for him, touching a gravestone people had hand cut and hauled up the mountain and carefully ingraved with their thanks, thinking about how loved and how much gratitude he must have died surrounded by. thank you for making them treat it with respect. thank you. he did his best. i'm almost jealous of it. imagine how nice it would be to help people, and have them see that you helped them, and be happy about it, and think kindly of you. i'm glad that you understood how important his actions were. i feel less alone when you're beside me on matters like that. anyway - i'm glad it was me. you're so bad at letting people care for you. i can tell you've been alone with only yourself to depend on for a long time. but your heart is so soft, you know? you don't even know it. you deserve to be protected. to be with people who want to protect you. it doesn't matter if you could have caught it in time, or survived a bite if you didn't - you should be able to think of yourself as precious to others. to me. i don't want to see you hurt. i don't ever want to take your hard-won strengths for granted. on the last day of earth, i want to move between you and danger as quickly and without apology as i did then. you're so easy to care for. do you know? and i'll be okay. i know you blame yourself for it because you said, because you're never gentle with yourself the way you are with me. but if you hadn't been there, i'm sure i would have stepped between someone else and that bite. i'm sure i would have forgotten again to grab the stinger i was just warning everyone about. you know what would change? if you hadn't been there, if you'd been a bit faster with your own defense, "if" "if" "if" - ? i wouldn't know there was a cure. i wouldn't know where to look for it, or be able to depend on someone helping me find it. that's the difference you made by being there. that's the only influence you had on me that day. you keep giving me the chance to survive my own mistakes. thank you. i can't promise we won't end up here again. i can't promise i won't keep trying to protect you. all i can do is hope that you know i don't mean it as a slight on your capabilities (it isn't! i just care about you. even the strongest man alive should be loved by people who want to shield him from danger) and that you don't get tired of me being so reckless.

[iamdeltas]

X, T and K?

X - top 5-10 characters who are yoUR PRECIOUS BABIES AND YOU WILL DIE DEFENDING THEM This depends a lot on what I’m focused on at the moment (also, not all my faves count. Generally if I feel like a fave character has enough fans to defend them or whatever, I’m not gonna feel like I need to defend them. For instance, Elsa. Does Elsa have her haters? Sure. But she’s also crazy popular, so who cares if a few people hate her? That’s why she’s not on this list, even if I do like her.) but here goes, not in order tbh, just off the top of my head: Kamala Khan, always my girl, I adore her so much and I saw a post one day talking shit about her and I wanted to throttle OP. Anyway. Kamala is the best. I cannot wait for her MCU debut. Cassandra, from Tangled: the Series. I adored Cass right from the start, and of course, right from the start, I saw people shitting on her for, IDK, daring to *gasp* not like Eugene, I guess? Wow. So yeah, I’ll die defending Cass, she’s the best, even if she made some bad choices in s3 but hey. Who hasn’t stolen an ancient powerful artifact and gotten manipulated by a demonic Eldritch being, amirite? Della Duck, from Ducktales. I adore Della, she’s such an interesting and complex character who has made her fair share of mistakes but is also trying her best. The whole discourse post-”Timephoon” really showed me that she’s a character I’d die defending as well because holy shit were people shitting all over her for... daring to ground Louie, her son, for literally causing a spacetime disaster because he wanted to make money. Sigh. Anyway. I adore Della. Anna of Arendelle, from Frozen. Oh, Anna. So many people just flat out ignore you in favor of your sister, which is so unfair. Anna is wonderful and determined and optimistic and honestly such a badass? Like that (sadly deleted) scene said, her love could hold up the world. (Fun fact, part of the reason I desperately wanted my brain to get off the Frozen traintrack it was, ah, frozen on from June 2019 to January 2020 was because it resulted in me fixating on how much people flat out do not care about Anna, which wasn’t a fun time!) I am very glad she gets to be part of the bridge with Elsa but am sadly unsurprised that people continue to ignore that and just insist that it’s only Elsa who’s the Powerful, Wonderful, Most Amazing Fifth Spirit. Anna who? Granted, the movie could have emphasized that it’s Elsa and Anna who are the Fifth Spirit, together, but still. 

Alex Danvers, from Supergirl. Still my favorite character on the show! I don’t think she gets bashed as much as mostly just ignored? (I’d say poor Kara gets the brunt of the bashing. It’s very sad.) Unless Lena stans get confronted with the fact that their fave is doing some highly Unethical Things, then they start pointing to Alex for some reason and start saying, Yeah Well, Alex Works For A Shady Government Organization, So Who’s The *Real* Bad Guy Here? (Me: ....it’s still Lena, but go off, I guess.) I guess I just generally relate to her overwhelming Big Sister-ness and the high pressure she puts on herself because what a Mood, amirite? I feel that whole, anxiety that your parents will be disappointed in you because I feel that every day! I also adore how dedicated she is and how smart she is (something the fandom and the show often seem to ignore...) Connie Maheswaran, from Steven Universe. She’s the best! And she was totally the MVP of Steven Universe: Future, telling off all the Gems for making Steven’s problems about them because that was the last thing Steven needed! She’s practical and smart but at the same time so adventurous and brave and willing to stand up to protect the Earth! It’s very admirable. Steven Universe, from... you know. I’ve always liked Steven but I think Future gave me a greater appreciation for this kid. This poor kid has had to grow up so fast and basically play therapist for his Gem moms as well as for Gems who literally tried to kill him multiple times. His compassion is so admirable but wow did it result in him putting himself last! I have a soft spot for these types of characters, the characters who care so much about other people that they forget to care about themselves. (Alex Danvers is in this category also.) I know some people got mad about his downward spiral in Future, but honestly the complaints just strike me as being mad that Steven dares to have his own problems as opposed to being the Happy Boy Therapist Who Fixes Everyone Else’s Problems And Has Zero Problems Of His Own. Martha Jones, from Doctor Who. Oh, Martha Jones, you’re a star. I had a group of college friends who I watched Doctor Who with back in the day, and they hated Martha. (Most notable exchange: one of said friends saying that she thought Martha was just “too smart” to be relatable. Said friend was a physics major.) I hope the Martha hate has cooled down now because Martha always deserves so much appreciation. She had to put up with so much in s3 (incidentally, I think about s3 sometimes and I wonder why the fuck 10 is my favorite Doctor. Honestly, he’s such a dick in s3. Martha Deserved Better.), and I’m so glad she was able to be one of the few companions in NuWho with a nontraumatic exit. I hope she’s living her best life, wherever she might be now. Ninth Doctor, from Doctor Who. Gosh I love Nine. Those same college friends who hated Martha also told me to skip s1, and I’m very glad I did not listen to them. I’ve always liked Jerks with Hearts of Gold, and Nine definitely is that! I just adore how while he had such a gruff and battle-scarred demeanor, he was so sweet and genuinely kind. He’s a puppy in a leather jacket! And not only can he be genuinely soft and sweet, but he’s also just so silly sometimes? Absolutely not what you’d expect from his general appearance but he can be quite a goofball! I love that for him! And while I may not like Doctor/Rose as a ship (honestly I just don’t tend to like Doctor/companion ships at all), his relationship with Rose was so sweet. I also just enjoy that, underneath all the weariness and the surface-level cynicism, he is actually very optimistic.  Twelfth Doctor, honestly, same deal as Nine. I’m very annoyed with people who dismiss him as being the Grumpy Doctor because he’s just so genuinely kind and compassionate? He might genuinely be one of the most compassionate Doctors I’ve ever seen. He even extends kindness to his worst enemies. There’s something really beautiful about that. Being kind, even when it might ultimately backfire on you and might not even work, because why not try? He’s just a punk rock grandpa trying his best, how can you hate that? He’s got some sick guitaring skills btw. He should join a band. (I know Peter Capaldi is in a band, so that just makes me want 12 to be in a band even more.) Sometimes I think there should be a band in the Whoniverse made up of some of the Doctor’s regens but then I get stuck on who’d be in it besides 12. Maybe 2 can be in it, with his weird flute thing. Anyway. His relationship with Clara was great (mostly because of how destructive and codependent it was lmao) but I just genuinely adore his connection with Bill. I’m always here for found family, and Bill being 12′s Earth granddaughter just warms my heart so much! Thirteenth Doctor, but actually the opposite deal of Nine and Twelve. I once saw a post saying that most Doctors can be split into one of two categories: grump with a heart of gold or charming goofball with a dark side. And, despite the two characters I just listed being in the former category, I think I tend to prefer the latter? Mostly because I see plenty of Jerks With Hearts of Gold but I feel like I don’t see as many heroic charming goofballs with a dark side. Anyway, that’s absolutely what 13 is, and I appreciate the layers that she has and am constantly annoyed at people who only see her surface level cheeriness and think that’s all there is to her. I really love it when characters Aren’t What They Seem and 13 exemplifies that. To borrow a phrase from a post I saw a very long time ago, 13 is so facile. She’s so physical, taking up so much space and constantly moving, but is so touch-averse. She talks so much and is very friendly, but is incredibly emotionally constipated and keeps even her so-called best friends at an arms length. She talks a lot about hope and compassion, but boy can she be hella violent and feral! Love That For Her. T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending, about anything at all (gender identity, sexual or romantic orientation, extended family, sexual preferences like top/bottom/switch, relationship with poetry, seriously anything) Oh absolutely. Off the top of my head: Cassandra is a lesbian. And that’s that on that. 13 is touch-averse! (Also stop yelling that she needs a hug! She doesn’t want one! It’s okay to not want hugs, that’s not a crime!) Alex can cook. Cooking isn’t even that hard?  K -Say something nice about someone in any of your fandoms Ooh, this is hard cuz there are a lot of people in any of my fandoms that I feel like I can say nice things about! Let’s go with Supergirl since I’ve been neglecting that fandom a lot. Uh. I adore @wizardofahz ‘s fics about the Superfam! I’m always craving more gen fic and she delivers! I love her characterizations of everyone, especially her characterizations of Alex and Kara. 

[all-things-skam]

eliott protecting lucas from his dad ( maybe you can also add him a bit of him confronting lucas’ dad over the fact that he financially and emotionally abandoned lucas?)

Anon: Bonjour! Could you write something about Lucas’s dad (he can be a right arsewipe or just a bit dodgy) and other people reacting to it? Thanks \••/

Anon: Overprotective Elliot please

-

Title: Father, dear father

Ship: Skam France | Lucas Lallemant and Eliot Demaury (Elu)

Lucas’s dad wasn’t the father of the year. He was shallow, self-centered and always late.

The young couple had been waiting for him at the restaurant for over an hour and Eliott was starting to get impatient. They had ran across the city to get to this damn dinner in time yet, Lucas’s dad had yet to show up after sixty minutes. Sixty-two!

After twenty minutes of waiting they grew tired and Eliott suggesting ordering some drinks. But as the time passed, he grew more impatient. Lucas knew how exhausted Eliott was having come from a long shift at work, so he agreed to order some entrees and they could order their meal once he arrived. But now, they were long finished their entrees and it was clear that Eliott was not having it.

“If he’s not there in five minute, we’re leaving. I’m not gonna wait here all evening for someone who can’t bother warning that they’re going to be late. That is, if he’s going to show up.”

“He’s going to show up. He told me he would.”

Eliott raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Like last week when he said he’d transfer you your part for the rent?” Lucas narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. “Sorry.”

Eliott was right though.

Lucas owed two months of rent to Mika and his dad still hadn’t transferred him the money after promising him he’d do it. Lucky for Lucas that Eliott had some spare money he could let him borrow. Lucas felt bad for taking so much money from Eliott. He had worked hard to earn this and should be using it for college next year, not pay Lucas’s late rents.

Checking the time on his phone, Eliott stood, about to pull on his jacket when Lucas stopped him.

“Eli, please. Sit down,” Lucas insisted.

Tonight was the first time Eliott would meet his dad and Lucas had been stressing over this dinner for days, hoping everything would go smoothly but, his father’s tardiness was getting on Eliott’s bad side which was not good.

Eliott was already not a fan of how the man left Lucas alone to deal with his mentally ill mother. He was fifteen for fuck’s sake. At fifteen, you should be making new experiences and skateboarding with your friends. He shouldn’t have been the one dealing his schizophrenic mother, it was his dad’s duty - even if they were getting a divorce.

It was almost 8pm when a familiar face took a seat in front of Lucas, acting as if nothing happened. He snapped his fingers at the waitress passing by, calling for a rhum on ice and gave his son a cold hello before glancing at the unfamiliar face.

“I’m Stéphane, you must be Elio.”

“It’s Eliott.”

“Did you change your shifts at work? You used to have weekends off,” Lucas asked, trying to justify his dad’s tardiness.

The man pulled his eyebrows. “I wasn’t at work. Why would I be at work on a Saturday?”

“What held you back, then?” Eliott asked, saying what Lucas didn’t dare asking.

A part of him understood why he didn’t ask. From what Eliott knew, Stéphane had left Lucas and his mom and moved across the city in a condo. Lucas was probably afraid of discovering that would break his heart like his dad having a new girlfriend. The divorce had been finalized two months ago, it was a bit fast to be moving on and it was unfair to Lucas’s mom who had no say in this divorce yet was still under Stéphane’s responsibility.

“I’m sorry?”

“We agreed to meet here at 6:30, and it’s 8pm.”

“Did we?”

“Lucas sent you texts and called you two times, did you not read them?”

Lucas put his hand on Eliott’s thigh, squeezing, silently asking him to calm down. He didn’t want his boyfriend to get into an argument with his dad on their first meeting.

“Well, at least I’m here,” he laughed, but Eliott was not having it. It was anything but funny.

The waitress came with Stéphane’s drink and brought a menu table for him.

Eliott was now protectively holding Lucas’s hand. He was hoping that holding the younger boy’s hand would prevent him from lashing out at his dad, that Lucas’s touch would calm him down. Eliott was never a particularly violent person and he rarely got angry. But, when it came to Lucas, it was a different story.

He gave the man a stern look and just shook his head. “It was you who wanted to meet up, maybe consider being on time next time,” Eliott muttered bitterly in a quiet voice.

Stéphane took a sip of his drink and, just as he put it down, his phone went off. He checked the screen and smiled. “Excuse me. I have to take this, it’s my fiancé.”

As soon as Lucas heard the word ‘fiancé’, he felt like he’d been stabbed. In every argument with his mom he would say that he would never make the same mistake again and that he would never get married. Just another one of his lies and this was not the time for Lucas to find out. He had left his mom and him to their own devices just to go and play happy family with some other women. What was worst was the smile that rose on his face as he talked to her on the phone.

Everything was hurting in that moment. Lucas felt tears filling up his eyes, he knew he was about to cry but he didn’t want to cause a scene at the restaurant so he quickly stood up and ran to the bathroom.

“Lucas?” Stéphane said, watching his son leave the table, completely clueless. He told his fiancé that he would call her back in a minute and hung up. “What’s up with him? Is he feeling sick or something?” he asked Eliott. Does he not know what he did wrong?

Eliott wanted to follow him, knowing he might need comfort, but he had something else to do beforehand.

“I was holding myself back for Lucas but now that he left, all thanks to you, I might as well be honest with you. Do you know how much this dinner meant to him? Beside his mom, you’re all he has. He keeps giving you chances, thinking you’ll do good yet, you fail him every single time. Do you know the amount of stress Lucas has to handle every single day because of you? You’re either not sending the rent on time or texting him something frustrating or not even listening to him when he needs someone. You’re his father, you should be there for him! But no, you abandoned him. Lucky for you I’m here to make sure he has a roof over his head and food in his stomach.”

Eliott was aware of the gravity of his accusation but, it was all true. Stéphane had abandoned Lucas both emotionally and financially and Eliott wasn’t okay with that. Children should be loved and supported, not tossed aside when they don’t grow up the way you wanted them to.

“He lost his entire family because of you and has to manage everything on his own while you’re out here, living some sort of a fantasy life, as if Lucas and his mom don’t matter anymore. I get that taking care of a mentally ill can be exhausting but don’t abandon them like some defectful toy. Do you enjoy hurting people? Is that why you abandoned them? So you could start a new, ‘perfect’ family where no one is faltive in any ways?”

He took a deep breath trying to tone down his anger. This man infuriated him.

“He barely get any sleep because he’s so stressed out about everything. He worries sick about his mom, worried if one day he’ll get a call that she has done something terrible to herself. But, you wouldn’t want to hear all of that would you? You’re too busy sticking your head in the sand. When Lucas talked me into meeting you, I was willing to give you a chance. I thought, maybe he’ll prove me wrong, maybe he’s a nice man.” Eliott shook his head, laughing at himself. “Pardon me for saying this but, you fucked up big time tonight. Showing up late was one thing but answering your fiancé during this dinner was beyond disrespectful and extremely hurtful for Lucas. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll got pick up the pieces of the mess you made.” He stood and too Lucas’s jacket from the back of the chair. “Don’t wait for us. We’re not coming back.”

He made his way to the bathroom and pulled a crying Lucas into his arms the second he saw him, not caring if he’d get his nice shirt wet. It was just clothes. Lucas looked like he wanted to say something but the only thing he could do was bury his face in Eliott’s chest for a minute.

“He lied… H-how could he?” His bottom lip trembled as he looked up at Eliott, blue eyes red from crying, tears on his face. “H-how could he do that to us? How could he replace us so fast?”

Eliott wanted to tell Lucas that his dad was an asshole and that he didn’t deserve Lucas’s love but realized a public bathroom wasn’t the place to have this conversation.

Instead, he gently rubbed Lucas’s back, knowing that it calmed Lucas down. “Let me take you home, get you cuddled up in my bed. We can even order in from your favorite restaurant to make up for this shitty dinner. I told your dad we were leaving, you don’t have to go back.”

Lucas rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears. “I can’t just leave and give up on this. I have to talk him eventually…don’t I?”

“You don’t have to. Not tonight.”

Lucas sniffled and nodded. ‘‘Okay. Let’s go home.’‘

Eliott kissed his cheek and helped Lucas with his jacket, taking his hand as they exited the restaurant without looking back.

[buttsonthebeach]

Life Itself

I had the pleasure of writing about Darva Lavellan and Dorian for @goblin-deity - thank you for trusting me with such a moving moment in their lives, friend!

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Pairing: Darva Lavellan x Dorian Pavus

Rating: Teen for mature themes. Trigger warning for terminal illness similar to cancer, and death of a parent.

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If Darva Lavellan had been feeling poorly lately, that was to be expected. Weight of the world on his shoulders and magic hand eating him up, and all that. Who wouldn’t be feeling a little poorly? Plus there were the nonstop treks back and forth and back and forth across Thedas. That was the only reason he was feeling unwell.

It was only when the ache set well and truly into his bones - when all of his joints hurt - when he felt the swelling at the points of his jaw, that tender spot, the gland that the clan’s healers said had to do with your body’s ability to fight infection - that he knew it was something more.

It was then that he thought at once of his father. Ahgie Lavellan. His safe haven throughout all his childhood. The parent he could trust and turn to, who did not wear his fear like a badge on his sleeve the way his mother did. Ahgie Lavellan, strong and brave, who died at the hands of an Orlesian hunting party when Darva was fourteen. Ahgie Lavellan who, before that, did not fear the blades of vengeful humans, but instead the sickness growing in his own bones.

“You’re going to stop being sick though, right? Someday?” Darva had asked him when his father told him why he was tired, why he was in pain, why he had to keep going to the healers.

“I will,” Ahgie said. “But I don’t think it will be because I get better, da’mynatha’la. I think it will be the opposite.”

Darva still felt a shiver of sadness, an ache, whenever he thought of his father’s nickname for him. My little moon.

He’d died only a few months later. The sickness never got the chance to eat him up. But now, sixteen years later, looking in the mirror and seeing a face that looked more and more like his father’s every day, Darva knew what was wrong.

He went to the healers to confirm it. A wasting illness, one that crept into your blood and your bones, resulted in hard knobs of swollen tissue within your body. A death sentence.

“I need your utmost discretion with this,” he told them at once. 

His mind was already thinking of the currency he dealt in frequently now: secrets. Of how the Inquisition’s enemies would react if they knew. The Inquisitor was not only a Dalish elf whose greatest qualification for his office was a magic glowing hand, whose greatest protection was a pair of daggers that he wielded with particular style and lethality, but a man whose own body was in revolt, who was dying?

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

He would tell Leliana to monitor the correspondence of the healers nonetheless - without telling her why. She might start to work out her own reasons, but he trusted her entirely. Whatever she did work out, she would keep to herself.

He felt oddly calm about it all. So he was sick. There was also an ancient would-be god who had it out for him, so in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t that big of a deal. He just had to stay well long enough to fix this mess. Then he could fall apart. Hadn’t that been the plan all along? Hadn’t he been running from one disaster to another ever since he took his vallaslin and left his clan? This was just the next disaster. Nice to have a bit of a head’s up, really.

He’d keep it secret until absolutely necessary to do otherwise. That was the logical, responsible thing to do. Pretend it wasn’t happening.

He’d almost convinced himself of that until he was standing in the great hall of Skyhold, and he saw Dorian across the way. He was just leaving the rotunda, Vivienne at his side. The two of them were talking animatedly. Dorian was gesturing wildly with his hands, as he was wont to do when he got worked up about something. Darva froze, sticking close to the shadows of the door he had just exited, watching the two of them go. Watching Dorian go. His broad shoulders and his sharp, handsome face. Darva’s heart beat faster at the sight of that man - every single time - and things were serious between them now.

And just like that, the illness - this next disaster - was suddenly, vastly, unfair.

He’d come all this way - endured all of the shit life had thrown at him - nearly drowning in that river when he was young, his mother’s controlling paranoia, losing his father, his mother’s anger and grief then, how they were directed at him - drifting from place to place, finally returning home, only to leave for the Conclave and land in this nightmare - he’d endured all of that, found a man who shone a bright light into every one of those dark corners - was just starting to imagine a world where he could be happy, could have a home -

And now this.

Fuck.

He let Dorian and Vivienne leave the great hall without calling out to them. He stayed there in the shadows, so full of anger, of fear, that he could not move.

Darva went up to his quarters after that. He even had them bring his dinner up to him. He picked at it for a while. Then he laid out his collection of daggers and began polishing and inspecting them. It was good to do that. It was something small that he could control. And besides - they were bright, dangerous and strong. Qualities he would need in the time to come.

Dorian didn’t come looking for him, which was unusual, but his lover also knew that Darva was a man who occasionally needed his space. Who had been a solitary, watchful child, living isolated in a world-within-a-world, for many years. Darva missed him immediately, and soon that feeling bled over into a kind of self-pity that pinned him to the bed.

It wasn’t fair. His own body risen up in revolt against him, at a time when everyone needed and needed and needed things from him - expected and expected and expected things - when he was already barely qualified as it was -

How had his father done it? A hunter, a family man, a husband - how had he still gotten up every day and smiled, gone about what he needed to do? He could never ask him, could he? Like so many other things, he was going to have to figure this one out alone.

Or maybe it wouldn’t be alone. There was Dorian. Dorian with his agile mind, his voracious appetite for reading, his kindness. His knowledge of what it was like to live a life alone, a life apart. Dorian understood him in a way no one else did. He could rely on Dorian.

Then, tossing and turning in his bed, he thought of his mother. She had not been an asset to her husband or her son, in the end. Not with the way fear and grief twisted her up inside, as real and as violent as any illness. Not with the way they came spilling out of her mouth in accusation after accusation. Dorian was not like that. But there was no denying that there was a burden here. Something Darva himself could bear. He was sure of that. So that was his final decision, late that night. That he would bear this alone in the deep darkness of his mind, in the deep darkness of each night to come - however many of those he had left.

*

They were preparing to head out to Crestwood soon. There was that absolutely lovely, charming lake full of undead that needed dealing with, and then there would be a holiday in a lovely nearby castle that was also overrun with bandits.

“Seeing as how we are about to enjoy such luxuries,” Dorian said to him that next day. “How about we slum it for a bit? Spend some time just the two of us really roughing it, so we can properly appreciate the weeks to come.”

Darva was already smiling, already opening up from the inside out - a sweet feeling, a rush like when you knew you had the perfect hand of cards in Wicked Grace.

“Would a private dinner in one of the spare rooms suit your definition of roughing it? Perhaps some candles and wine to really seal the deal?”

Dorian sauntered closer, leaning against the wall, smiling, his chin tilted up. All confidence and ease and sultry enough to grab anyone’s attention.

“Dinner in a drafty tower with terrible company? My, my, Inquisitor. You do know how to spoil a man.”

Darva wanted to kiss him right then. But he just mirrored his posture instead.

“Well, tonight isn’t about spoiling anyone, is it? It’s about roughing it. Or have you lost track of your own joke?”

“I never lose track of anything that matters.”

It was true. Dorian played the dilettante but he had the focus of a bloodhound, a mind to exceed any of the scholars in the Inquisition’s employ. How Darva had ever caught his eye - had ever held it - was sometimes beyond him.

Dorian would turn that focus to his illness, if Darva let him in. The sickness would consume Darva’s body but it would consume Dorian’s mind. He was more sure than ever of the decision he’d made not to tell him.

“Darva?”

Dorian’s tone had shifted and so had his posture. Gone was the flirtatious smile, the cocked hip, the raised chin. Shit.

“My apologies. Just trying to dream up a menu that will suit your very particular tastes, Serah Pavus.” Darva took Dorian’s hand, raised it to his lips, brushed a kiss across the knuckles. Light and polite and perfect as you please, just the way Josephine had taught him.

“I see. I expect to be impressed then, amatus.”

Amatus.

That word sat heavy and new on Darva’s mind the rest of that day. Beloved. It was a word full of promise and meaning and if Darva had had doubts about living up to it before - and he had - they were doubled now. Whether he died at the hands of one of the Venatori or some goddamn dragon or Corypheus himself or because of his own failing body, he was going to die. Sooner than he should.

So maybe he ought to tell Dorian - let him get out now, before that word amatus acquired more and more and more meaning, more memories.

But Darva still went to the kitchens and asked for roast duck in a pan sauce, figs, their best red wine, fresh bread, and baked vegetables. Because his mind inevitably circled back to all the things about Dorian that he could not bear to lose - his biting humor, yes, his wit, his charm - but also the things that lay beneath all of that. The bruises they shared in common. The loneliness - the disappointed parents - the years of not fitting in, and the armor they’d built up to resist that. And the tenderness that they had now, finally, found with one another.

He couldn’t lose that. Not now. He was selfish that way.

Dorian met him in one of the spare rooms they’d redone to house visiting dignitaries. It had rich green curtains that Darva himself had chosen out of an array of swatches that Josephine presented him with. They were shot through with gold thread, and it made him think of the light on the trees in the forests where he’d grown up. All of the furniture in the room was made of a highly polished red wood that he couldn’t recall the name of now - something imported all the way from Seheron, if he remembered right. The sort of thing he might once have seen getting unloaded off of a pirate ship in Llomeryn.

The candles he’d chosen were simple, unscented. He knew Dorian would likely have chosen his own scent to wear at the pulsepoint of his neck and on each of his wrists, and he wanted to be able to smell that instead. To drink in every aspect of his lover. All joking aside, he might have almost preferred that they didn’t meet in such a rareified space, with its tapestries and stained glass window and fine furniture. The better to focus entirely on one another. It was the longing for a simpler life that had drawn Darva back to his clan, after all - and without that longing he would never have ended up at the Conclave. Would never have ended up here.

“Does this suit your tastes?” he asked Dorian with a sweeping gesture of his arm as he welcomed him in. Dorian tapped a finger against his chin, as if truly considering.

“Passable enough, I suppose. For the South. And anything is better than the muck you’re dragging me too.”

“Well, it isn’t the Fallow Mire this time.”

“You mean to tell me that Ferelden isn’t comprised entirely of muck? What a fascinating theory.”

Darva laughed. He hadn’t laughed since he got the news, he realized abruptly, and that meant he was laughing a little harder than he should have been, as if his body was giddy at the sudden release. It was like what used to happen when he would escape out from under his mother’s thumb and go to see his friends, how the first laugh that burst out of him would be too loud, too nervous. Too relieved.

Dorian had noticed, of course. His gold-brown eyes were narrowed slightly. But he was quick to smile.

“I am pleased I can be such a source of amusement for you. Shall we sit?”

Dorian continued to do his best to be a source of amusement as they ate the roasted duck and vegetables (which he pronounced passable as well) and the figs (which he couldn’t even make jokes about, being too busy actually moaning over how sweet they were). His hand was also never far from Darva. Sometimes it was on his knee beneath the table, sometimes on his wrist. Sometimes he traced idle patterns on the back of Darva’s hand, or on the palm. Sometimes he just laced their fingertips. When the food was gone, Dorian did that one more time.

“Hello,” he said, quietly, and just like that, Darva landed fully in the moment. There was no banter, no thought for past or future. Just the two of them, sitting in the candlelight, bodies warm with wine, palms touching. Darva tugged Dorian’s hand closer and kissed the back of it.

“Hello.”

“How have you been?” Dorian went on. This was how it was with them. Dancing for a while, working past the layers of scars, until they were vulnerable to one another. Until they could really talk.

But Darva couldn’t really talk about the thing most on his mind, could he? The fact that he ached all over, that he was exhausted. That it would only get worse from here, and there was no telling how fast or how slow that would happen. His father had known about his own illness for a good six months before it became noticeably worse, and even then the healers thought he might have another year left from that point.

“Same old,” Darva said. “Weight of the world and all that. Must be the middle of the week.”

The answer was too flippant. Dorian recognized the tone for what it was. A defense. A scar.

“I know that there is only so much I can do about that weight - but you know that I will take any part of it I can from you, right?”

There was a lump in Darva’s throat that he desperately wished would vanish. It was a childish lump. A needy one. Not the reaction of a grown man in charge of one of the largest military forces in Thedas, who had a magic in his hand that could heal the sky.

“I do. Maybe you should just buy me a new dagger instead. I’d love one with a handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl, you know.”

His own instinctive sarcasm betrayed him again. Dorian only looked more concerned.

“A dagger. Yes. If that’s what you need from me.”

Shit.

Darva held out his other hand - the marked one - for Dorian’s. Dorian accepted the gesture, brow still furrowed.

“I’m being an idiot. I’m sorry for that. I do need more from you than that. I’m just - not good at asking. And I have my own things to work through a bit, first.”

“You have seemed off today. Is that why?”

It was strange, being that seen. Being that known. Darva had passed most of his adult life drifting, never staying long enough to be really seen. Really known. And here Dorian was, not just aware of his subtle shifts in mood, but concerned for them.

“Yes. But I don’t want to burden you with it.”

“It’s not a burden if I’m asking, amatus.”

Darva had a dozen witty retorts, and two dozen more that weren’t quite as witty, but his mind circled back to a single thought over and over again. It is. You just don’t know it yet. And then he was imagining actually speaking the words out loud: I am sick. Wasting away from the inside out. I’m going to die. He imagined how Dorian’s face would change when he heard the news. How everything would change. And he hated the idea so violently that he wanted to stand and leave the room, leave the castle, slip out of his skin and into someone else’s entirely. It was all so terribly unfair - pinned between illness and death and Dorian, and all that their love promised.

“Like I said,” he went on finally. “I’m being an idiot. Can you give me another day or two to be an idiot about this?”

“Of course.”

Darva let go of Dorian’s hands then, but only so he could stand up from the table, walk around to the other side, take his lover’s face in both his hands, and bend down and kiss him on the lips. He felt Dorian’s gentle intake of breath ghost across his cheek - felt him part his lips in reply, welcoming Darva in - and everything was softness, connection, warmth from there. They cleared up from their dinner and walked around the battlements, hand in hand in the moonlight, not speaking anymore, just feeling.

Darva came to a different realization late that night. The way he felt about Dorian - the way he lay there, picturing his face, hearing his laugh, turning the images of his lover over and over and over in his mind - he had not felt this way about anyone ever before. It was different even than the way he’d felt about Sorrel, his first love - or about Livonah before that. And that meant he could not behave the way he had before. He couldn’t evade, hide, conceal. He had to be forthright. Honest.

He had to tell him that he was dying. Dorian would do with that information what he would. Darva had to show him the respect he deserved - had to give him that chance to decide what to do.

This realization was a more difficult one. It sat higher in his throat - choked off his breath, made it harder to breathe. But he knew it was the right one.

*

They set out the next morning for Crestwood, all thrilled to bits at the idea of the undead they’d be fighting, all joking loudly about it - with the exception of Cassandra of course, who simply let out one of her long-suffering sighs and rode on ahead to keep a lookout. Sera eventually joined her, declaring that she didn’t want to be stuck with the schmoopy-eyed lovebirds. With the two of them gone, Darva found himself fidgeting - tugging at loose threads on his saddle, fussing with his hair, trying to make sure all the dark curls were tucked away, disturbing some of them with his fussing, putting them back again. It didn’t take long for Dorian to start staring.

“Having another case of your wiggles, over there?” he asked, smiling. Darva felt heat rise into his face.

“I don’t have wiggles.” This was an opportunity, though - to speak about the root of his unease. Cassandra and Sera were far enough ahead after all. Courage, Darva. He cleared his throat. “I am, however, feeling rather fidgety. I - I do have something to tell you.”

Dorian nudged his horse closer. His brown eyes were already full of concern, dark-eyebrows knitted together with it.

“Tell me, then.”

There was nothing to do but jump.

“I’ve been feeling poorly. More poorly than usual. I went to the healers earlier this week and they confirmed it for me. I’m sick. The way my father was before he died.”

The words felt surreal in the midmorning light. Even this high in the mountains there was so much life - the evergreens were a vibrant emerald against the slate-colored slopes. Cardinals dove in and out of them, slashes of brilliant crimson against the white snow. Further still you could see down into Ferelden, its myriad shades of green, brown, and gold. And here Darva was talking about death - thinking about his own death, about how he felt pretty good today, all things considered. There wasn’t that swollen tenseness in the glands at his throat, and only half of his joints ached instead of all of them.

He was stalling, of course. Taking in the sights around him so he would not have to take in Dorian’s face. He relented eventually. He was not a coward after all. 

Dorian’s face had changed little. His lips were set in a harder, thinner line. There was something burning in his eyes.

“Your father - he was killed by Orlesians.”

“Yes. But…”

“But you’ve always hinted at something else, too.”

Darva’s mind circled back once again to how unfair all this was. How he’d found a man he loved more than breath and bone, who could finish his sentences, follow the bent of his thoughts, and how he would have to leave him so soon.

“He had a wasting illness,” Darva said finally, voice quiet. “It would have killed him in months if the Orlesians hadn’t gotten to him first. And now I have it.”

The thing he had always feared, spoken plain, in the daylight. Darva looked back out over the ridge, towards Ferelden in miniature below. His horse stopped suddenly, and Darva turned back. Dorian’s hands were on his horse’s bridle, drawing them both to a stop.

“Amatus - you are certain?”

“Yes. I suspected it even before I went to the healers.” Unease gathered at the base of Darva’s spine, making him shift in the saddle. He wanted to dismount and pace, as if that would discharge it. “It’s hard to say how long I have of course. For all we know the Anchor will get me before then. Or a dragon or a darkspawn or I’ll trip over a pressure plate in one of these ruins we keep finding ourselves in and -”

Dorian’s hand was on his now, squeezing so tightly that Darva forgot to think of anything else. Darva met his gaze again. The thing burning in his lover’s eyes was tears, he realized with a jolt of anxiety, with a wave of love that threatened to sweep him away.

“Amatus - what can I do?”

Darva’s mind flashed with hundreds of flippant replies. He buried them all.

“Nothing that you aren’t already doing. And that’s okay. If anything - I hesitated to tell you this because I didn’t want you to feel like it put any kind of burden on you. You didn’t sign up for this. You don’t have to suffer just because I’m suffering. If you’d - if you’d rather end things here -”

“Stop. That’s total nonsense.” Dorian’s voice wobbled. He looked away. “Kaffas. I can’t believe you told me this now. On a horse at the start of a full day’s ride.”

Of course. Of course Darva had chosen the wrong moment. The wrong words. The same way he always did. He was no good at this. Not good enough for Dorian.

“I’m sorry. I spent all last night drumming up the courage and when I saw my opportunity I just - went for it. I shouldn’t have burdened you with this when you didn’t have time to process -”

“No.” Dorian turned back to him, edged his horse even closer, so he could reach out and cup the back of Darva’s head, drawing them even closer. “That’s not it at all, you dense and beautiful man. It is because I want nothing more than to hold you right now, and Sera is already making obscene gestures at us from down the road.”

Dorian did look at him a little differently for the rest of that day. He did seem a little more solicitous than usual. It created a spark of worry within Darva. Wasn’t this what he didn’t want? To be treated like an invalid? To have things change between them?

Then, that night, when the others had gone to bed, when it was just them and the campfire and the great black expanse of the night, the hundreds and hundreds of stars pricking through, when Dorian was finally able to hold him - that spark of worry was extinguished utterly. Because he was in the arms of the man he loved. Who loved him back. Because Dorian was warm and solid and there, and he wasn’t going anywhere, as he kept murmuring over and over against Darva’s hair.

“I’m here no matter what, amatus. You won’t face a single moment of this alone. I swear it.”

Darva wrapped himself in those words - stronger than any medicine, warmer than any blanket - and together the two of them kept night and sickness and death at bay until the sun rose, and it was enough.

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

This is My Blood

Blood is a fluid of life. And, as with life, we’ve had a bit of an odd relationship. At one time or another, I’ve colorized it, been taught how to drink and stop it, given it, then told I couldn’t.

I was in and out of the hospital a lot as a young child. Sometime between ages three and six, I had blood drawn and wholeheartedly believed it was was orange. Of course there were no witnesses to what I considered a medical miracle. The enthusiasm with which I reported my discovery to my mother and brother was understandably met with great skepticism. Instead of making the rounds on popular TV talk shows of the day like Sally Jesse Raphael, Donahue, or Geraldo, my unwavering conviction became a joke around the dinner table.

I would put on a veneer of calm, but remain seething underneath at the disbelief of those closest to me. I wanted to lash out, “You’ll see! One day, Phil Donahue is going to pick up my story; he just has to finish introducing hip-hop culture to a wider (whiter) audience first. I don’t care if the fainting spells some of his audience members experienced were staged. I’m going to be huge.”

Phil’s call never came. As colorblind as I was to the truth about my blood, I wanted to believe its orange hue was real. Part of me still does. Part of me always will. 

Growing up Catholic meant my faith tried to impress upon me that sacrifice was the highlight of the mass, and I'd damn well better pay attention because my soul was riding on the line. If I blinked, I might miss a process called transubstantiation, whereby bread and wine became the actual flesh and blood of Christ, not cheap knock-offs from a Chinese factory, not symbols, not representations (insert savory pun here).

I can’t tell you how many times I stood nearby an altar as a server and heard a priest say:

“Through the mingling of this water and wine, may we come to share in the divinity of Christ, who humbled himself to share in our humanity.”

Then a big one:

“Take this, all of you, and drink from it: This is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me.”

*bell rings*

If translators argued about how Latin should be translated into other languages, or if a translation isn’t valid, the consecration of the bread and wine may not be either, I argued that orange should be added to the words spoken by a priest during the consecration. This way, orange blood could be shed for me and for all, and account for any misremembrance (of me) when I finally got to see what really happened after I’d died. 

Why were we so concerned with the Last Supper anyway? If Christ humbled himself to share in our humanity, surely he had a sense of humor too? There's no way he got everything right on the first try. What if all the other suppers were dress rehearsals? Why don’t we hear about the outtakes and blooper reels that may be buried somewhere beneath the Vatican? A collection of Last Supper fuck-ups could have made my Catholic upbringing so much more relatable. 

Imagine:

“Take this, all of you and uh…. uh… LINE!”

“Cut! Peter! Quit playing with you your food! That’s it! You are no longer the rock upon which I will build my church. You’re going to deny me anyway…” 

“Oops. Can we edit that last prediction out and take it from the top? ROFL!”

“Lord, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but this chicken is woefully undercooked. A skilled veterinarian could still save it.”

“Guys… I have a confession to make… I’m not God’s only son… In about 2,000 years, Steve McPherson from Eau Claire, Wisconsin is going to appear on something called television and tell a man named Phil Donahue that he has a shocking revelation to share with the world about his paternity. No one will believe him, but what he’ll have to say is true. It’s all part of the plan.”

I’ve never been much of an athlete. Still, as a native Ohioan and graduate of The Ohio State University, I’ve acquired a strong distaste for the Michigan Wolverines during my lifetime. My lack of athletic ability meant I didn’t have an opportunity to sacrifice my body (or blood) to defeat them on the gridiron. But during my freshman year, which coincided with the 2000 football season, I decided to try to beat *ichigan the best way I knew how: giving blood in the annual battle to see which university could donate more pints to the American Red Cross during the week of the game.

I sat in a chair designed to accommodate a blood donor and began squeezing the little ball I’d been given to regulate the flow of blood from my vein to the collection bag. Someone told me that giving blood wasn’t a race, but I forgot all about that as I watched the bag fill. It took me between six and seven minutes to donate my pint. I thought I wouldn’t need to eat a piece of Adriatico’s pizza (a thick, square-cut campus staple) that the same person said would be available if I felt lightheaded after donating. I stood up, and began to feel dizzy almost immediately. Having a piece of pizza sounded like a good idea after all.

By 2005, I had been to Serbia and back once in search of my next adventure. As much as I tried during and after college to distance myself from my humble beginnings, this was when I discovered the Tridentine Latin mass at Holy Family Church, and began to rededicate myself to the idea of religious piety.

The Tridentine mass attracted a more conservative, hardcore Catholic. I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with the attendees, but I enjoyed the solemnity of the celebration, the music, and the connection to a religious past that I’d only heard and read about; I was born almost twenty years after the guys at Vatican II decided having mass in local languages, instead of Latin, would make the faith more appealing to the masses (ha).

One of the more ardent attendees was Sister Margarita. Originally from Hungary, she’d been a medical doctor before becoming a bride of Christ. She emphatically stated that only males should serve mass, as only the blood of the new and everlasting covenant should be on the altar. I didn’t comprehend what she meant by this until a late-night shower thought I had several weeks later. When I finally connected the dots, I decided it was best to continue my studies and get back to the former Yugoslavia in pursuit of my dreams. I had to worry about my own body and blood after all.

I tried to donate blood again in 2013, while working for one of the largest financial institutions in the world. I’d been to Serbia and back twice more by then. I had a stable income for the first time in years, and lived in a place nicer than anywhere I’d ever been. Still, I never lost the desire to give back to the community that I learned from being a Boy Scout. Among the many things scouting taught me was first aid, including mnemonic devices such as, “If the head is pale, raise the tail” to help with blood flow, and tactics to handle bleeding events.

The bank frequently had philanthropic efforts, including blood drives,that didn’t make the news, which suited me just fine. I jumped at the chance to give blood again. I knew there was always a need, and I remembered how accomplished I felt during *ichigan week years before, despite feeling like I was going to pass out afterward.

I had to fill out a questionnaire before I could donate, so I was directed to sit a table behind the privacy of a curtain. I breezed through most of the questions until I came to one I really had to think about. It asked if I had spent more than four years in any of a list of counties between 1977 and the present. On the list was the former Yugoslavia. It was close, but I didn’t believe I'd spent more than four years there. I seriously thought about complaining that the question was unfair. I hadn’t been born until four years after the date range began, and I couldn’t account for all of my parents' whereabouts as they were carrying the egg and sperm cells that would later unite to create me.

Despite my reservations, I filled in the “yes” circle because I was nervous. A scout is trustworthy, but I couldn’t remember the exact dates of every flight I’d taken to and from the land of southern Slavs. Had I lied, no one would have known about it until well after the fact. I decided not to risk it then, but I still wonder if there’s a support group somewhere for people who’ve been blacklisted by the American Cross after inadvertently fibbing about their donation. If it was up to me, I’d call it: This is My Blood.

I can see the group meeting in a basement of a local Methodist church on Wednesdays to trade anemia anecdotes, AIDS adventures sickle-cell stories, and transfusion tales. There’d be lots of hugs, and somebody would always break down crying during story time. Me? I’d be content to sit quietly with my complementary coffee and doughnut, and have people wonder what terrible things I must have done to end up there because I never shared. 

A guy in scrubs came to collect my questionnaire and left me waiting like a game show contestant who’d given their answers confidently, but instantly regretted not being 100 percent certain once they realized their life could change for the better, or they could fail miserably. Adding to the tension, each contestant would be well aware that their potential elation (or agony) would only be amplified by the reactions of a studio audience filled strangers, and those yelling at their televisions while watching from home.  

Take this, all of you, and drink from it: This is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant… 

I knew I didn’t have AIDS or another sexually transmitted disease, so I expected scrubs to return pretty quickly. Early Christians probably felt the same way about Jesus after his ultimate sacrifice. More that 2,000 years later, as my seconds of waiting turned into minutes, stories I’d heard of ancient blood oaths taken on the Balkans started swirling through my head. I’d never taken a blood oath that I could remember, but I do remember watching the scene from My Girl when Thomas J. and Vada became blood brothers. It was disgusting.

…it will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven…

I suddenly longed for forgiveness, not from God, but from the pencil I’d used to mark that regrettable, uncertain response. I couldn’t go back and tell them that while most recently in Serbia, I’d eaten a largely vegetarian diet, consistent with that of my self-described fat lawyer turned yoga teacher. It was too late.

No bells rang when scrubs finally pulled back the curtain after five minutes that felt like five hours. He admitted he’d never had anyone else answer yes to the question that included Yugoslavia, which was why he’d been gone so long. Then came the bombshell: He said answering yes to that question meant I might have Mad Cow Disease lying dormant in my brain, and I shouldn’t donate blood again until a vaccine was developed against Mad Cow Disease in humans. The fail sound from The Price is Right, my favorite game show, played in my ears. 

I don’t know what the symptoms of Mad Cow Disease in humans are, but for what it’s worth, I'm proud to say that I rarely moo with rage or regret. Until I can donate blood again, I encourage those who can to do so whenever possible.

Do this in memory of me.

[ringsofsaturn-heatofmars-blog]

Thinking about Zhong Chenle on 7/25/19

Here’s a story for you. 

I’m sure you all know what racism and cultural appropriation is. Yes? Okay. We’ve got that out of the way. 

Do you know when it’s silly and unjust to make claims about it? Because some people don’t. 

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Mars: NCT Dream's comeback... Did. You. See it?

Saturn: NO. I'M NOT READY. I'M TRYING TO POSTPONE IT BECAUSE I WANT TO LIVE!!!!! just spoiler a little so I know what waits for me......

Mars: Haechan being Haechan, not-so-baby Jisung, artist Renjun, boxer Jeno, vocalist Jaemin, and precious, smiley Chenle. bUT THEN ALSO- HOT CHENLE, AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, BECAUSE HE'S MY SON THAT I'VE WATCHED GROW UP SO MUCH. Also, people making a big deal out of Chenle's hair because the stylists decided to put it in a "scandal-worthy" hair style. 😒 Like- Chenle's not even out of his teens yet. Can you leave him alone? It's the same thing that happened to Chris (Stray Kids) a little while ago. It's ridiculous.

Saturn: .... don't. Touch. Chenle. Or I kill everyone. MY BABY IS UNTOUCHABLE. My god, people always find something to complain about. They can't enjoy anything. ANYTHING. I want to punch someone.

Mars: I know! It's terrible! It also feel so targeted, since he's a foreign member. Like- people! He doesn't have to prove himself to you. And even if he DID, he's earned his place ten times over!

Saturn: I swear, I activated "instant killer mood". First of all... IT'S JUST BRAIDS. B R A I D S. They ALWAYS do shit like this. Always. It's tiring and as you said, he doesn't have to prove anything.

Mars: I totally agree with you! They're b r a i d s. People shouldn't be so touchy with things like that! I think the first thing that people think is that it's "disrespectful" to the black race because it's a hairstyle that a lot of black people have, but I don’t see anything bad to try a hairstyle. As I said, it's not his choice what his hairstyle is, but even if it WAS, people couldn't stop him from having it! If he wanted it, he could have it. It's his body, not ours.

Saturn: I know black people have a lot of issues with this (not have the freedom to do their hair like they want) but fuck, it's just braids. At least once in a lifetime everyone just braid their hair... so THE WORLD IS FUCKED? I don't think so, it's just a hairstyle. Say it louder please, maybe others will understand. I'm so pissed because I know him, he'll feel guilty FOR NOTHING. babe, you're okay okay? You're perfect.

Mars: Exactly! I don't think it's something to get up-in-arms about. Like- Chenle wearing braids isn't him saying, "I think black people should be slaves again". It's JUST hair. When did the world become so petty as to care so much about a hairstyle? Style can be changed, but the impact you make on people's hearts with cruel words can't be changed. In the end, we're all just people. Flesh and bones. We all live, we all eat, we all drink, we all all breathe, we all die. We're just going about it at our own pace. But life is short, so I greatly pity people that use their short time on this planet to stir up trouble and make others feel bad.

Saturn: You have perfectly explained the point. I think it's the social medias fault and how generations have grown differently. Ignorance is the icing on the cake. They complain about a hairstyle but they don't talk about problems in Syria or that every 3 seconds a child gets sick of AIDS in Africa. I mean... I'm not saying that they should be political/environmental/etc activists (or if they are, it’s good! Trying to change the world is wonderful) but at least don't fake to be someone who cares about a race when maybe you're the first to see a POC and make racist remarks. Hypocrisy, I think this is the exact term to express contemporary society! Social media worsened the situation 'cause they give the courage to the rabbits to pretend to be lions and attack others without really putting their face on it.

Mars: I completely agree with you. The analogy at the end was perfect. "Rabbits trying to be lions". People are filled with bravado these days, and it would be so much better if people just took a step back and realized themselves. It's okay not to be super aggressive and into everyone's business. Focus on yourself, and maybe you'll find that you're a much nicer person than society makes you. People really do feed of of each other's energy, so I think it's a good goal to spread as many positive vibes as you possible can in your lifetime.

Saturn: Unfortunately, society inculcates ideas, ideals, situations that they consider right but that unfortunately are not. We live in a world of fiction where popularity is based on likes to a photo and not to the kindness that maybe someone showed to a needy lady. It's horrifying to see how static and cold we have become, don't you think? As you say we should all think about ourselves, improve ourselves and then see how the world improves as a result.

.

.

.

Now clearly, neither of us are black. Neither of us know what it’s like to be black, but we know what it’s like to be people. And guess what, all people go through some really bad crap at some point in their life. They go through death, pain and weakness in mind and body—we all feel pain, just the same; race, skin-color, culture or language set aside. 

If someone speaks English and someone else speaks Japanese, that doesn’t make them less likely to connect as people. They could have loads in common. It just means that it takes a little more effort to understand, because there’s a certain barrier in the way. Language. But! That doesn’t stop the people, once they’ve come to understand each other a little more, from being friends. 

I think we could all use that. A little more understanding. Not such a sudden hop, skip and jump to judge. It’s like the universe’s habit. 

Now, it’s easy enough to bring up the past of slavery, and that’s true. That’s not going away, what has happened in the past. But guess what. As a Caucasian person, I don’t have slaves. My parents didn’t have slaves. My grandparents didn’t have slaves. My great-grandparents didn’t have slaves, and neither did my great-great-grandparents. 

I’m a ballroom dancer, and a great percentage of my partners are black, and they’re lovely people that I adore dancing with, and they’ve never once held a grudge or said a bad word to me. We’re friends.  

We’re all too stuck living in the past, and we keep pushing each other around because of it. We’re nothing better than playground bullies, and I hope there comes a point in time when we can stop. 

I’m not doing this to sound preachy or pretend I know everything about the world. I’m just sharing the knowledge I have in my head and expressing my opinions. Whether or not I’m right or wrong is up to everyone else’s opinions.

Believe it or not, this whole thing—this whole rant—is just because I, and we, love, adore and appreciate Zhong Chenle of NCT Dream. See? Now that’s a connection.

~Rant by Mars 

As for the situation of black people regarding their freedom to use a certain type of hairstyle, yes it makes me very angry. I know some girls with wonderful hair who have to ruin it with iron flats and products. It’s unfair, on this I agree perfectly with those who raise the issue. 

I don’t agree, however, in attacking a person who has no say in what unfortunately must wear (or in this case the hairstyle). Anyone who has made negative comments, offending Chenle is equal to those who call a child with down syndrome an abominion or who insult a girl just because she may have a better job than his boyfriend. 

The point is, Chenle is a Chinese guy in Korea. This is already a huge problem, because he found himself faced with a huge linguistic and cultural barrier to deal with in order to realize his dream. He fought hard to get that job. Sleepless nights, hours of practice, not being able to see his family, being alone. Now you will say "This has nothing to do with wearing cornrows, which like any hairstyle in the tribes represented a social status, since he isn’t a black person”. 

It has something to do with it, you're just being racist. 

Social, political, cultural racism. Racism lives in every single situation and unfortunately we are aware of it, but we don’t act on every situation that provides for it. How you insult white people who wears an African hairstyle (when black people are unable to do so) isn’t right. It would be right to insult the system. The system that has forced people with FREEDOM to be deprived of them. 

Chenle is as deprived of freedom as a POC is deprived of wearing a hairstyle or is seen as a gangster just because of the color of her/his skin. 

I'm Italian and those few times I've gone abroad the only thing I've heard is "Oh, the mafia!" As if my nationality was unavoidable by what crime has committed. But no one defended me. Why? Because I’m a Caucasian person. My skin is white. So I am untouchable to them and every offence is right? No.  We live in a world where offenses have become free, where society imposes ideals and people must absolutely follow them, where people who think with their heads are labeled as "weird”. 

We should be kind, honest and open-minded. We should offer our hand not to spit on the other. We should. It's scary, but at this rate we'll kill ourselves for a simple look instead of hugging each other.

- Rant By Saturn

[girlwsoftsound]

Celebrity Crush || Adam Hann Oneshot

Word Count: 2,393 Warnings: Smut (lots of fluff too) Summary: Adam gets slightly jealous of your celebrity crush. Author’s Note: Absolutely loved writing this! Hope you like it, too. Please feel free to send more requests here! Enjoy!

You had wanted to see this movie ever since its previews aired.

It was a new Leonardo DiCaprio movie, something about him playing a suave spy in a black suit alongside the likes of a beautiful new up-and-coming blonde actress. Leo had been a longtime favorite of yours. Something about him was incredible, and always left you captivated. He was your celebrity crush. This was not unknown to your celebrity boyfriend, Adam Hann. It was a sort of mutual understanding, mostly comedically of course, that if the opportunity ever presented itself, you would immediately jump at the chance to sleep with the man, and Adam would allow it. He had permission to do the same with Emma Watson, so you were even. Adam always seemed to be a bit more jealous of your love for Leo, though.

That was why it was a feat within itself to get him to take you to see the movie in theaters. He waited hand-in-hand with you in line, only having to pause twice from your never-ending discussion of Leo to take pictures with fans. By the time you got the popcorn and drinks and were making your way into the theater, Adam had entertained just about as much of Leo talk as he cared to hear in a night. You did not notice it, though. You were too excited, too eager to see your crush on the screen. Adam followed you into the theater with a pout. He shuffled up to the back of the theater with you and plopped down in his seat with a frown. He needed to think up a way to make this event not a complete Leo fest. He was your boyfriend after all, dammit. He got first dibs anyway.

The movie started with a squeal from you and a few of the other girls in the rows below. You both were in the back, holding the row all to yourselves. Peering around and noticing this, Adam looked between you and the screen where Leo stood, dashing as ever. His mind cranked out a thought in this moment. He had a plan to let that beautiful bastard know he was most certainly not number one in your life, and remind you of the fact along the way. Biting his lip, Adam gently placed his hand on your thigh. A harmless move really, you paid it no mind. Adam did this often. It was no big deal.

Then, that hand moved up your thigh, and it did. His hand was dangerously close to a place it should most certainly not be during a movie in an oh-so-public place. You looked to him with a warning glance. You searched his face for an explanation and apology, but the ever-quiet boy stayed that way save for a small smirk playing on his lips. You all but gasped as his hand reached to try and undo your jeans.

“Adam,” you hissed under your breath. It took him a moment before he finally looked at you. “We’re in a movie theater, now is not the time!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.”

Your jaw dropped. “Adam, people might see, what if they find ou-”

“I believe,” he whispered softly, getting the button of your jeans undone, “that I told you I’m unaware of what you are talking about. Now, you should watch the movie. Your man is on the screen.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but was met with Adam’s hand diving below the hem of your pants. A small gasp was all you managed. Adam grinned, leaning to kiss gently at your cheek.

“I’d be quiet if I were you. It’s not polite to talk during movies.”

Had his hand not made it just then beneath your underwear, you would have easily slapped him. Adam knew he was being incredibly unfair. But he loved it. He loved how Leo went completely ignored on the screen, and how your breathing seemed to grow uneven at his touch. Who knew a little distraction was all he needed to turn your attention back to what was most important? He stared forward at Leo holding a gun to someone as he dipped a finger into you. Hearing your breath catch, he smiled.

“Did something exciting happen? I must have missed it.”

Shooting him a glare, you bit your lip to hold back a moan. “I...I do believe there is going to be a fight at some point tonight.”

Adam turned his attention back to the screen, curling his finger inside you to make you squirm. “You know, I’m not too worried about that. Leo’s too perfect, he could never cause a fight. Right, love? He knows that it would upset you, and he just lives to please you.”

“You son of a-”

You stopped, Adam without warning adding a second finger. He was not in the mood to give up his games just yet. His point still had not been fully made. He still had work to do. You still had hell to pay. Besides, he was having too much fun playing coy with you. He kept his fingers slow, teasingly so, until Leo up on screen found himself kissing his blonde co-star, and their own noises filled the theater. This, Adam knew, was an opportunity. He smirked, pleased with himself, before speeding up and letting his thumb move to tease at your clit. It was no secret to either of you how much you enjoyed him playing with your clit. It was a devilish move on his part. As much as it pained you to do so in such a public place, you could not help but let out a soft moan in response. It made Adam grin.

“Is something wrong?”

“I...I…”

“Love,” he whispered, barely audible, “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t think they need any help with making noise.”

You wanted to scream. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of it, you opted to bury your head in his neck and bite down. The feeling made Adam’s stomach go in knots, but he was not that quick to give up his winning position in this game of his. He would not go down that easily. Speeding up his work on your clit, he pulled out all the tricks he could with his fingers. It was like he floored the accelerator. Whatever he was doing only got better. Squirming in your seat, you found yourself glad that Leo found himself in trouble with guns and shouting. There was no way you could dare keep quiet. He had you past the point of that possibility.

You pulled back from Adam’s neck to let him know you were close, a strangled whisper in his ear before your mouth returned to its place on it. Adam took the news with a nod. His thumb worked your clit more furiously, and within no time, a sharp bite to his neck and a heavy exhale from you let him know his work finally paid off. You came as quiet as you could possibly muster. He brought you down from it gradually, letting you ride it out at your own pace. As soon as you moved away from his neck, he went to pepper kisses on your cheek. He grinned at the look of bliss on your face.

“How you doin’, love?”

“As soon as I think I can walk again, we are leaving.”

Adam raised an eyebrow at you. “Why? I thought you wanted to see your man Leo?”

“Leo can wait, I’ve got another man I need to have a few words with.”

“Good words, I’m assuming?”

“Depends if you can make me feel like that again.”

Smiling, Adam patted your thigh. “That can be arranged. Leo isn’t invited, right?”

“Shut the fuck up, Adam.”

“I had to ask.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You all but stumbled into your home. Keys thrown onto the nearest table, your hands were all over Adam, and his were all over you. There was no time for teasing, even if Adam wanted to throw in a few more snide comments about your celebrity crush along the way. You were done with those games. It was time to take action. You would be damned if it didn’t happen.

Adam had you pushed back on the bed the moment you crossed into your shared bedroom. Hovering over you, his lips ghosted across your neck, your lips, your collarbones - whatever he could see of you. You gladly let him take control, using your moans as guidance. It was a relief to be able to not worry about making noise. Adam always did make you feel great when he could hear what worked best. Something about it encouraged him. You were happy to oblige.

Soon, clothes were stripped off from the both of you. It was nice to not have to maneuver around jeans and your underwear, as sexy as they looked on you. Adam had better access, and could really work the angles he knew you loved when he had the freedom. His fingers found your entrance in no time. You still were wet from before, so the movement was as easy and familiar as ever. Adam captured your lips in a deep kiss.

“You’re mine,” he said softly, punctuating it with another kiss. “I want to hear you say I’m yours, {Y/N}. Please.”

Rocking against his fingers, you gasped against his lips. “Y-You’re mine, Adam. God, you are mine.”

“No one else makes you feel this way, right?”

You shook your head. “Never.”

“Do you want me to make you feel even better, love?”

Nodding, you kissed him again. “Y-Yes, Adam. Please. I need you.”

Adam smiled. “Good.”

His fingers left you, momentarily leaving you empty and, adorably, pouty. He kissed the pout off your lips, and then shifted on the bed so he had access to his bedside table. He grabbed a condom, put it on, and then made his way back to kiss you again. You could never get enough of his lips on yours. The love they expressed every time they met yours sent sparks through you. They were intoxicating. Adam was intoxicating. His lips stayed on yours as he carefully entered you, not leaving until he was all the way in and needing to gage your expression. It made him smile to see how truly happy you looked.

“You’re beautiful.”

You smiled back at him, pulling him back down for a kiss. “I love you so much, Adam. Only you.”

“I love you, too. I’m the luckiest man in the world to be able to call you mine.”

One more kiss was pressed to your lips, and then Adam began thrusting in and out of you. He started slow at first, letting the both of you adjust and warm up. He knew that the build up was what drove you wild. It was partly why he had been so slow at the theater. It made the end result so much more intense, and emotional. It was addicting to you.

He sped up only when he started to hear your breathing hitch, and your moans become less breathy and more vocal. You rocked against him, meeting his thrusts as they sped up with time to get all the more closer to them. Adam’s mouth moved to your neck, pressing bites along it as your moans continued to fill the room. Before long, your moans matched every thrust, and his bites became more frequent and hard. Just as it had happened before, everything began to grow into one big crescendo. Adam’s every move, every touch, felt like fire. You felt a familiar burn in the pit of your stomach grow. His thrusts began to grow more ragged as his own grew, a few grunts even slipping from his lips. You knew he was close the moment his fingers moved to your clit. Hand moving fast, he was bringing you along for the ride with him.

“C’mon love,” he whispered in your ear, breath hot against you, “let me know how you feel. Let it out.”

“Fuck,” you rasped, voice hoarse and strained by Adam’s faster thrusts. He had you gasping and moaning below him. “Adam, please.”

“Let it out, {Y/N}. Stop holding back.”

With a few more thrusts that brushed right up against your g-spot, you finally gave in. Letting out a sharp gasp, nearly shaking against Adam. Even in your daze, you felt him stutter and hit his high within you. His lips took to yours, muffling any groans you knew he had in him as he came. His thrusts gradually slowed to a stop, but you stayed connected together for a short while, panting and looking at each other with love-laced eyes. The emotion between you was as raw and passionate as ever.

“Sorry I distracted you away from your movie,” Adam said softly against your lips, a smile tugging at them. You giggled, leaning up to kiss his nose.

“Yeah well, I think Leo will understand,” you replied. “Besides, I think going back to try and see it again might be an option we could think about. It seemed to get you in a pretty good mood.”

Adam smirked. “Are you hinting that I acted differently because it was a movie with Leo in it?”

“You, quiet man Adam Hann, fingered me in a public space,” you said with a laugh, bringing him down for a kiss. “I’m not stupid to think he had some influence in it all.”

“Alright,” he conceded with a caress to your cheek, “you caught me. I guess hearing you rant about how great Leo was made something in me snap.”

“You got a little jealous.”

“A little bit,” Adam admitted, grinning. “But hey, it made for a fun night, did it not?”

You smiled. “It did. I love you, silly.”

“I love you too, {Y/N}.”  

“Want to hear a secret before we go get cleaned up and changed?”

“Sure.”

“I have another celebrity crush.”

Smirking, Adam rested his forehead against yours. “You do? And who is it?”

You deeply kissed him. “Take a guess.”

“Hmmm...Matty?”

You swatted at his arm, earning Adam a laugh. “Adam!”

“Fine, fine,” he chuckled. “Let me think. Is it...me?”

“Bingo.”

Adam sighed and happily brought you into his arms. “You’re adorable, {Y/N]. I’ll happily be your new celebrity crush.”

[artificialqueens]

A Head, A Heart, & A Crown {Biadore} Chapter 16 -C*NT

A/N: This is the second to last chapter! 😭😭😭 I can’t even believe it tbh, but I’m happy to say 1. This chapter is long (yay) 8500+ words! 2. TW: NSFW 😏 Smut is coming after 15 chapters of angst, drama, crazy ex boyfriends and competition. 3. It’s been almost a year since I got into Drag Race, so to see where I was a year ago, to now is something else. 4. Thank you to my lovely beta trixies-padding and 5. Thank YOU to all of the readers who have loved this story and continued to read it and give feedback! Enjoy!

Danny couldn’t sleep. He was staring at the ceiling, sobered by all of the events that had taken place tonight. He had filmed the finale of All Stars, and Jaremi had left him there, basically humiliating him. Which left Roy, who was there to pick up all of the pieces even though he didn’t need to. It wasn’t his responsibility anymore, and he still helped her. There was also that beautiful necklace that he had given her before the finale too. Roy had been so selfless, and All Jaremi had thought of last night was himself.

Danny had also felt guilty for what had happened with Roy. All of the sweaty dancing, kissing, touching; it was unfair to Jaremi. But doing that to Roy was unfair to well…Roy. He couldn’t keep stringing him along, he had to choose between the two of them.

4 am. Danny hated this time of night. It was the exact time his dad had passed away. The muse behind the song on his Afterparty album. 4 am was by far one of the darkest songs on his album, he had written it about the darkest time in his life, when his dad had passed away and when Roy had started dating Jason.

Right now 4 am was bringing new revelations to light, revelations he didn’t think he would have to face again. He peeled the covers off of his body and put on a long plush robe. He needed a cigarette and someone to talk to. There was only one person he could call right now.

He grabbed his pack of smokes and went outside on the balcony. Just a few hours earlier, he was on another balcony across town laughing and giggling. Now he was here, watching the sky turn a lighter shade of blue as the sun threatened to make an appearance. There were still clouds from the rain earlier, and the streets below were wet and filled with the smell of fresh rain.

He lit his cigarette and dialed his moms number. She picked up on the first ring.

“Danny! What’s wrong?” Bonnie exclaimed.

Danny didn’t know if it was because it had been the longest day ever, or if it was all of the emotions catching up with him but suddenly he broke into a sob.

“Oh god, please tell me you aren’t calling me to cry about boys.” Bonnie groaned.

Danny laughed as the tears started streaming down his face. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe, and composed himself.

“Mom, I don’t know what to do.” Danny admitted.

“What is your heart telling you?” Bonnie asked soothingly.

For the last 2 years, Roy had always been at the core of his heart no matter what sort of trade he was bringing home that night.

“What has it always told me?” Danny groaned.

“Roy?” Bonnie asked hopefully.

“Mom!” Danny exclaimed.

“Sorry. I guess I’m a bit biased. He put you in your place in a good way. God knows you need it.” Bonnie laughed.

“Thanks mom.” Danny muttered.

“That brings me to my next question: what does your head tell you?”

“Jaremi. I mean, we’ve been together so long and are engaged..”

“A year is not long in the grand scheme of things. Unless you aren’t happy, then it’s the longest year ever. Is that how you feel?” Bonnie asked.

This year HAD felt like the longest year he had in awhile. So much going on, touring all over the world, promoting All Stars.

“Well yeah..” Danny admitted.

“When you’re with the right person, the year’s will blaze past you. Then you’ll be an old fart like me listening to your son cry about boys at 4 am.”

Danny cackled and covered his mouth after hearing it echo in the dead of night.

“I don’t know. I just got back from being with Roy, and Jaremi ditched me tonight. It was the crowning and he just left. It really upset me but he doesn’t see the problem.” Danny vented.

“The bottom line is which one makes you feel more like a queen? That’s what’s important Danny. Whether or not you win the competition, it’s who’s going to be there afterwards to comfort you and make you feel like you won that counts. Does Jaremi do that? Or does Roy?” Bonnie asked gently.

Roy was the one that had stayed with him and made sure he was okay. He had made sure he had plenty to eat this morning after coming in to get ready for the finale completely fucked up. Jaremi didn’t come until the afternoon, and then just ended up leaving anyway. Roy had a beautiful thousand dollar necklace ready for him, and ended up crowning him. Jaremi had missed all of that, all for his own selfish reasons.

“You don’t have to answer me Danny. But you should love yourself enough to answer that question and choose the right man.”

——————————————————–

The next morning, Danny got up at around 1 in the afternoon after being up until almost 5 am riddled with guilt. He had to break off this engagement. It wasn’t right or fair towards Jaremi.

Jaremi was sitting at the kitchen table, listening to music on his phone when he noticed Danny approaching cautiously out of the bedroom.

“Can we talk?” Danny asked meekly.

Jaremi removed one of headphones silently, staring at Danny coldly.

“I-”

“Why didn’t you tell me you went home with Roy last night?”

“What? How did you-”

Jaremi simply handed his phone to Danny and walked off. On it, was a picture of Adore and Bianca feeling each other up at the club. Bianca’s hands were firmly placed on Adore’s hips as her ass was pressed up against the older queen. Adore looked like she was clearly enjoying herself a little too much in the picture.

“Keep scrolling.” Jaremi called.

Danny kept swiping left, as he scanned through the pictures his heart sank lower and lower. Pictures of Bianca dragging Adore through the club, leaving the club, and even one of Courtney flipping Bianca off as they drove away. She exited the message and realized some unknown number had sent the pictures to Jaremi. Huh. That was weird. He put his phone back on the table and walked over to comfort Jaremi.

“I didn’t want to upset you..” Danny started as he sat next to him.

“You thought seeing those pictures wouldn’t upset me? How reckless are you? Getting drunk and feeling up on your ex at the club? Danny you’re in your late 20’s now, it’s time to grow up.” Jaremi said angrily. Danny knew he had every right to be upset, but that didn’t get him off the hook for what he did last night.

“Well if you would have been there for me last night then I wouldn’t have been with my ex, who has a name by the way.” Danny added.

Jaremi glared at him and sighed. Danny had never seen him so pissed off, but it was the truth! He had wanted him there so badly, and he left before he even got dressed. What else was he supposed to do? How else was he supposed to feel?

“Danny, you saw the edit that they gave me. They’ve destroyed my reputation all over again. And you didn’t even care!”

That wasn’t true, Danny did care. He had held Jaremi as he cried himself to sleep for multiple nights, once the episodes started playing off of all of the negative things Jaremi had said. Danny thought that he would be okay for one night, to finish his contractual obligations and film the finale. But he couldn’t even separate himself enough from the editing to be selfless for Danny.

“Jaremi, I could be winning $100,000. That money could’ve gone towards our wedding, a house-”

“Could’ve?” Jaremi cut him off. His eyes cut into his, sending a shiver down his spine. This was it, Danny thought. This was real, and he was going to go through with what he thought would be best. Instead of going with his head, this time he was going to go with his heart.

“Yeah. Could’ve. As in if it were still happening, but it’s not.”

Jaremi’s lip quivered and he looked down at his feet.

“So you’re done with me? We aren’t getting married?” Jaremi’s voice cracked. Danny frowned and felt a lump in his throat form. He felt bad, he didn’t want to hurt him despite him being an asshole. He gulped and then continued.

“I can’t do this Jaremi. You abandoned me on one of the most important nights of my life, and then you even have the audacity to come at me sideways about me hanging out with Roy.”

“You know, I can’t say I’m surprised.” Jaremi finally said. He pushed past Danny and started gathering some of his things up. Danny got up from the table surprised at how Jaremi was throwing his things around.

“And why is that?” Danny snapped as he watched his now ex boyfriend grab his belongings hastily.

“You’re selfish, and it’s always been about Roy. Why you wont admit it to yourself, I have no clue but It’s pathetic. It’s clear he’s moved on.”

If he knew anything about what happened last night, he’d think otherwise about Roy moving on. But he wasn’t about to tell him that out of spite, Jaremi would find some way to use it against him anyway. This was his tactic of making himself feel better.

“Whatever Jaremi.” Danny rolled his eyes.

Jaremi appeared out of the bedroom with his duffel bag full of things, tears streaming down his cheeks. Danny walked over to embrace him but he shrugged him off.

“You really think I don’t know huh?” Jaremi snapped.

“Don’t know what?” Danny asked.

“That you fucked Roy. Or at least made out with him or something.”

“I didn’t!” Danny exclaimed.

“Didn’t what? Fuck him or make out with him?” Jaremi challenged.

Danny was silent. How was he supposed to answer that? Either answer put him in the wrong. He knew last night he was in the wrong when he was making out with Roy. He truly felt in his heart things were over with Jaremi, but it wasn’t fair to him what he did either. To spare Jaremi anymore heartache, he would keep what he did to himself.

“Exactly. I always knew the rumors were true. You really are a whore.” Jaremi pushed past him and walked to the front door. Danny’s eyes stung for the first time during this conversation with the threat of tears, as his chest tightened with grief. He was the furthest thing from a whore, and to be put back into that bubble was really hurtful.

After Danny had filmed drag race, he had went and fucked a lot of people; men and women alike trying to fill the void that Roy had left him with. This resulted in creating his whore reputation, but anyone who knew Danny knew that when he was in a serious relationship he was exclusive. He didn’t whore around, he didn’t cheat, and he didn’t go out and get fucked up. For him to do that to anyone, was a big deal. Danny didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing in this scenario, but he was fucking pissed.

“Get the fuck out.” Danny’s voice cracked as he leaned against the wall of the dining area. Jaremi knew that he hated being called a whore or anything promiscuous, so for him to use that against him was the lowest blow he could give him.

Silence fell over the room as the two men looked at each other for what would probably be the last time. Jaremi had always been attractive to Danny, but the way he was acting right now was making him look ugly. Usually he was incredibly sweet, but since he was hurt he was lashing out in the only way he knew how. By throwing low blows.

“You know, I really thought you were different.” Jaremi said, taking one last long look at Danny. Maybe to preserve the memory of what could have been, or maybe because he was trying to figure out what Danny was thinking. Danny was still upset, despite what the breakup meant. Jaremi looked at Danny and nodded when he didn’t respond taking his overnight bag and walking out of the door for the last time.

Danny was still processing everything that was happening. Him and Jaremi were no longer together. He had a gig in LA in a few days, and he knew Roy would still be in town. He knew he wouldn’t even want to speak to him at this point though, after their fucked up night.

He needed to vent to someone, someone who knew them both and cod help him figure out how to get Roy to his show.

Danny pulled up the queens name and clicked on their number.

“Hey,” Danny sniffled. “Can you come over?”

——————————————————–

Last Night

“Are you sure Adore is still with Phi Phi?” Willam asked confused as they watched Bianca and Adore from a distance.

“Positive! Bianca even said so herself.” Courtney nodded. “Although, I’m a bit surprised at how they’re both behaving, when they know that they can’t be together.”

“Aren’t you the reason that they didn’t end up together in the first place?” Willam asked.

“Yes, Willam, thank you for rubbing it in. I already feel bad enough about that.” Courtney rolled her eyes.

“Hello, do you not see what’s right in front of you?” Willam gestured to the two queens, feeling each other up like it was the last time they’d ever see each other.

“What are you suggesting?” Courtney asked. She really didn’t know what Willam was getting at.

“Ugh, I really am the brains of this relationship.” Willam sighed, taking Courtney’s phone out of her hand and started angling it in different directions. The bright flash bounced off of the two queens as she snapped the pictures.

Courtney’s eyes widened as she jumped to grab the phone out of Willam’s hand.

“What on earth are you doing?! Are you crazy?” Courtney exclaimed horrified.

“Send those pictures to your managers phone. From that phone, send them to Jaremi. He’ll be furious and most likely break off the engagement, and Adore wont know it was from you if he happens to look through his phone.” Willam explained like it was obvious.

Courtney’s eyes widened at the understanding of Willam’s words. This could get them back together, and take the blame off of her for them not ending up together.

Even though Courtney had feelings for Roy last year, she was so riddled with guilt after Danny started dating Jaremi that she focused her energy on Willam. She felt if she wouldn’t have kissed Roy, Phi Phi and Adore would have never got together let alone engaged. This new development could help Courtney get them back together and get her mind at ease.

“Oh my god you are an evil mastermind.”

“You’re welcome.” Willam flipped her hair over her shoulder and blew her a kiss.

“Willam, we should probably separate them now before things get too heated.” Courtney said worried. Adore and Bianca were facing each other now, completely closing any space between the two and basically ready to fuck on the dance floor.

“You are such a mom.” Willam rolled her eyes as they strode across the dance floor to split the two of them up.

——————————————————–

Roy had woken up alone, and with the worst hangover of his existence. It didn’t help that he had one of the worst nights of his life, with who he thought was the man of his dreams. He should’ve known that Danny would never choose him at this point. He threw his leg out from underneath the sheets and drug himself out of bed. When he turned on the light in the bathroom, he gasped. On his neck, a dark purple hickey had bloomed overnight. There were scratches all over his chest. He felt his groin tingle as he remembered Danny on top of him…

He shook the thought away and began washing his face.

What was he going to do? Danny had just left last night after the ultimatum. Was that really his way of dealing with things?

Or was that his answer to Roy? That he chose Jaremi over him?

He was pretty upset with Danny for just walking out on him, regardless of what his answer was.

Adore: I know things are weird, but I’d really like to see you at my show tomorrow.

BDR: Why?

Seriously, why? What did he want with him at this point?

He turned his phone on silent and crawled back to bed. He needed to lay down and re think all of his priorities.

——————————————————–

“What’s going on Danny?” Shane walked through the door to Danny’s apartment with concern on his face. Danny looked terrible sitting against the wall of the dining room, like he hadn’t slept very well and that he needed a good long hug.

“You’re not going to believe what happened.” Danny started. He told Shane everything, how Roy had given him the ultimatum, dumping Jaremi, and now he didn’t think Roy wanted anything to do with him.

“Maybe I can help.” Shane suggested.

“How? I don’t know what to do. He’s probably done with me. He’s not texting me back. I invited him to my show in a few days.” Danny hung his head down in defeat.

“Why don’t you change your setlist up? Do the songs that are about him, that will show him how you feel.” Shane smiled encouragingly.

“He doesn’t even know which songs are for him.” Danny frowned.

“You really think he doesn’t know ‘I Adore U’ and ‘I can’t love you’ are about him?” Shane asked dryly.

“Well I don’t know, he’s never said anything about it!”

“Trust me he knows. Those are his two favorites. That and Out of the Blue.”

“I wrote that one on All Stars about us..” Danny trailed off.

“See! He’d know. Just change your setlist and we’ll find a way to get him to the show.” Shane said, rubbing Danny’s back soothingly.

“Okay.” Danny smiled softly. “Thank you Shane.”

“Of course. So he didn’t text you back after you invited him?” Shane sat down next to him against the wall.

“No, which is why I think he’s done with me. I didn’t know what to say to him last night which is why I left. But fuck man, Jaremi is an asshole but he was right. It’s always been Roy.”

“Let me try.” Shane said determined.

Courtney: Come out with me on Thursday. I miss my drinking buddy.

“Do you really think he’ll answer you?” Danny asked hopefully.

“I mean, he doesn’t know I’m with you so I don’t see why not.” Shane shrugged.

Shane’s phone went off just then, and Danny’s head shot quickly towards the screen.

BDR: You always know when I need to get fucked up don’t you?

Danny frowned and Shane grimaced.

“Okay, that’s not the answer I was hoping for..” Shane trailed off.

“It’s fine Shane. I know I fucked up. But i’ll do my best to fix it.” Danny frowned.

“You should give him a lap dance on stage!” Shane wiggled his eyebrows.

“Bitch he would never go for that.” Danny laughed.

“He wouldn’t have to know! We could totally just bring him up to the stage and act like it was something random.” Shane gushed.

Danny pondered over that for a moment. He knew Roy was smart, but he didn’t know if he would need more of a…hands on message to get the point across that he was trying to make.

“Let’s do it.”

——————————————————–

Thursday

Roy was sitting in the back of a Lyft with Shane, who had insisted he come out with him tonight. They were on their way to the second bar right now, Roy already feeling pretty buzzed. Shane was a dangerous drinking buddy, but especially eager tonight buying Roy round after round until he decided that he was bored and then pestered him to move onto the next bar.

“What bar are we going to anyway?” Roy asked Shane. He noticed the driver was getting on the freeway, heading away from West Hollywood.

Shane gulped and pretended not to hear him. This was going to be the hardest part of the night. Roy would either be furious with him or he would be..well furious. He started humming Stayin’ Alive and hoped that Roy was too drunk too care.

“Shane?” Roy’s voice raised as he noticed they were heading towards the center of Los Angeles.

“Bar? Who said anything about another bar?” Shane teased nervously. He wasn’t too drunk apparently. Damn the older queens alcoholic tendencies!

“Where the fuck are we going then?” Roy exclaimed.

“Oh you know, just a concert…” Shane trailed off smiling. He kept his face composed, but was actually shaking awaiting Roy’s response.

It was funny, Shane watched the older mans facial expression change from surprise, to confusion, to realization, and then to pure rage. The rage part was by far the scariest but since Shane had a few drinks in him, he thought it was kind of cute how Roy’s face scrunched up when he was mad.

“Does Adore know that we’re going to be there?” Roy finally asked calmly. He saw the younger man deflate and grinned. Roy didn’t realize he was so intimidating, he found it pretty amusing.

“You aren’t mad?” Shane exclaimed.

“I’ve given Adore the cold shoulder long enough. It’s obvious she’s chosen to be with Jaremi, and I can’t hate her for that.” Roy shrugged.

Shane’s eyes widened.

“You don’t know.” Shane murmured in shock.

“I don’t know what?” Roy asked.

Shane pulled up Instagram on his phone and handed the phone to Roy.

phiphiohara : It’s unfortunate, but I have to announce that my engagement to Adore Delano has ended . I am taking a break from all of my social media to recover from this. If you could please allow me and Adore Delano to deal with this privately, I will forever be grateful. Love you always. -Your favorite Cosplay Queen, Phi Phi x

Roy’s eyes widened at the post and then he looked at Shane who was grinning like an absolute idiot.

“What-”

“It doesn’t matter what happened. You can finally be with her after all of this time! I think she wants that too.” Shane exclaimed.

“You really think so?” Roy asked. Suddenly he was nervous, his hands were breaking out in a sweat. He ran his hands through his hair frantically as they approached the venue.

“I know so Roy, and so does the rest of the world. Come on.” Shane grabbed his arm and they thanked the Lyft driver as they left the car and went up the steps to the venue.

——————————————————–

“Please welcome to the stage, the one you’ve been waiting all night for, Adore Delano!”

The crowd roared and Roy and Shane jumped up and down clapping their hands.

Adore appeared on stage wearing a pair of black ripped skinny jeans, a sheer black long sleeve shirt and long black hair. She waved enthusiastically at the crowd and grabbed her microphone off of the stand.

The acoustics for 'Take Me There’ started and left Roy confused. Usually she started with another one of her songs, this was different. He loved the song however, so he didn’t have anything to complain about.

Take Me There ended and immediately faded into Better then the Movies, yet another song that Adore didn’t perform very often. This was weird, Roy thought. She walked back and forth on the stage, dancing and interacting with her fans and was holding a beer bottle. Every time there was a pause in the lyrics, she would take a sip. Roy laughed and shook his head, always an excuse to have a drink in her hand. Afterparty started promptly after, and Adore slipped out of her black ripped jeans, kicking them out into the crowd.

This was one of Roy’s favorite songs, it was so sexual and he could picture Adore singing it to him at the end of a long night with her tired husky voice.

Adore jumped off the stage into the crowd, pulling one of her fans into an embrace. Roys heart stopped as the fans swarmed to where she was at, crowding her. He held his breath as she was enveloped in the crowd, and sighed in relief when she was finally propped back up onto the stage. Sometimes Roy would worry that the fans would just swallow her whole and never spit her back up. The song ended and she grinned at everyone, taking in the crowd as she caught her breath. She finished off her beer and set it on the stage, grabbing the microphone.

“How are you guys doing tonight?” Adore exclaimed twirling around in a circle. The crowd answered in unison and she nodded her head.

“Good. Hey you guys wanna hear a story?”

Roy laughed at how random she was and the crowd yelled “Yes!” That was something Bianca would do at her shows too, get off track with a story.

“This next song, man this next song, you know I made out with Courtney Act in the video right?”

The crowd roared and Roy rolled his eyes at the revelation. Yes he knew, he had thought that song was about him until he heard that she had asked Courtney to be in the music video.

“She’s said she was going to be here tonight, do y'all know where she is?” Adore asked, putting her hand over her eyes shielding the bright stage lights as she searched the crowd.

The people around Roy and Shane started going insane, screaming and pointing at them and making space for them to move closer to the stage.

“Did she know we were going to be here?” Roy exclaimed.

“Well yeah, but I didn’t think she was going to call us out like this.” Shane lied as he drug Roy through the crowd. The fans were shrieking in their ears excitedly as they made their way through the crowd, finally reaching the front of the stage.

“Oh there you are!” Adore exclaimed when the two men approached. “Oh Bianca is in the house too, give my willow a round of applause too.”

The crowd cheered and Roy locked eyes with Adore for a moment. She winked at him and then looked back up towards the crowd.

“Do you guys think I should have them come on stage?” Adore asked.

The crowd roared “Yes!” and Roy froze. What in the hell was she thinking? How were they going to come back and watch the rest of the show without the fans going ballistic? Before Roy could even object, Shane had already climbed on stage and was extending his hand to help Roy up.

The two men got up on stage and smiled towards the crowd. Adore hugged Shane first and then Roy, lingering a bit with him.

“So this song is actually about someone else. Can you guys guess?” Adore asked. Roy furrowed his brows in confusion and shrugged. He grabbed the microphone out of Adore’s hand and smiled.

“Adore, can you just get to the point please?” Roy smiled sassily through his teeth.

The crowd laughed and Adore rolled her eyes playfully.

“Excuse me, they didn’t answer my question Mister. I’m going to crash your show next time and see how you like it.” Adore put her hands on her hips and pretended to be upset.

“Bitch, you wont be able to keep up.” Roy muttered, apparently loud enough for the front row to hear.

“Who do you think this song is about?” Adore asked pointing the microphone to the crowd.

“Courtney!” they exclaimed, pointing at Shane and jumping up and down. Shane smiled big as Roy rolled his eyes.

“Attention whore.” Roy muttered as he elbowed Shane.

“Wrong.” Adore smiled. “It’s actually about this hateful clown.” Adore pointed to Roy and smirked.

Roys eyes widened as the crowd erupted in an ear deafening shriek. Shane smirked and the first notes on the piano for Jump The Gun started. Well that wasn’t something Roy was expecting, especially since he never got the invitation to be a part of the music video. He would forever be bitter about that one.

Shane ran backstage quickly to go and find a folding chair, just like him and Adore had talked about the other night.

“Where is he going?” Roy asked Adore confused.

Adore just smiled and shrugged.

“I find that very hard to believe.” Roy muttered.

“Why don’t you just wait and find out?” Adore said huskily.

“It’d be better if you just told me.”

“You’re such a top. Always like to be in control. Let someone else do it for a change.” Adore winked.

Roy finally realized that he had been set up. Since when did Shane become so damn sneaky? He would have to interrogate Willam later, usually Shane was too lazy to be involved in other peoples affairs. Willam was obviously rubbing off on him.

Shane finally returned, placing the chair on the middle of the stage, and ran down the stairs and off of the stage quickly, back to where they were standing before Adore had called them onstage. Roy didn’t seem to notice Shane had left, with Adore sulking at him from across the stage.

Walking in, walking sin Everything but a halo (halo, halo, halo)

Adore finally met Roy in the middle of the stage, cupping his chin up.

Leather dress, nothing less Than a villain to take home (take home, take home)

She shimmied out of her belt that was wrapped loosely around her torso and kicked it towards the side of the stage. She had on a sheer long sleeved top and a black onesie, paired with thigh high boots. She bent down, dragging her hands down Roy’s body stopping at his dick.

Love to stare, we prefer Getting boys into trouble (trouble, trouble)

She gave his dick a firm grab through his pants, and he grabbed her hair in response. He was so turned on he didn’t even care how many people were seeing this right now.

Let you see, such a tease Want to dance with the devil?

She moved back up his body, pressing her hands to his stomach, feeling every inch of him slowly as she finally reached his shoulders. He pulled her close to him with lust, and she smirked. Pushing him gently onto the chair, she looked back towards the audience and winked.

Jump the gun, we got the boom, boom, bang! Jump the gun, we got the boom, boom, bang! Jump the gun, we got the boom, boom, bang! The boom, boom, bang! Got the boom, boom, bang!

Adore straddled him and sang her heart out as she thrust on top of him. He grabbed her hips firmly as they bucked back and forth on him. He was really kicking himself for wearing such tight pants tonight, as soon as he got up he knew all of Los Angeles was going to see his boner.

Hit the lights, hypnotize Feel the heat, we’re on fire (fire, fire, fire) Don’t believe what you see Cause my truth is a liar (liar, liar) Evil minds, got it right Scratch you up if I want to (want to, want to)

Adore moved her lips close to his and he looked into her eyes. They were filled with passion, as she grabbed the back of his head and smashed her lips against his. The crowd screeched as they made out roughly on stage, Roy grabbing Adore firmly to keep her balanced on his lap. She pulled away and got up, finishing the verse.

Got my fix, this is it Now I don’t even want you (want you, want you) “That’s a lie.” Adore added, making the crowd laugh.

Adore finished the song, and Roy was left on stage with thousands of fans staring at him and now his face with lipstick all over it. The cheers were deafening, and Adore pulled him up and embraced him in a tight hug.

“Now I have to go back down there, and wait for you to finish your show? Seriously?” Roy hissed into Adores ear. He had a huge boner now, and had to sit through at least another 45 minutes of music.

“I think it’ll be worth the wait.” Adore murmured into his ear.

Reluctantly, he hopped off of the stage and decided to stay front and center which is apparently what Shane had decided to do as well.

“Oh my god that was so hot!” Shane exclaimed.

“Shut up.” Roy cracked a smile.

“Okay, now that I got that out of my system do you guys wanna hear a sad song?” Adore asked the audience.

“I was singing this song a few nights ago and I had like a revelation. I hope you enjoy it.” Adore winked and waited for her music to start.

It’s 4AM and I’m staring at the ceiling Every word I sing is losing all its meaning 4AM and I think I’m about to lose it My life is a mess but I’ll always choose it

Adore pushed a stray hair behind her ear and continued.

And I guess I don’t need my family No, no, no, no And I guess I don’t need my friends No, no, no, no And I guess I don’t need the love of my life No, no, no, no I clip my wings and look at the sky

Roy frowned at the sadness emitting from not only the song, but Adore as well. Hearing it live made it all the more haunting, but he just hoped she wasn’t really this sad.

I need a moment As tears run down my eyes My love has left me All that’s left to do is cry, cry, cry

He realized that Adore was singing this about the other night. The night that they had filmed the All Stars 2 finale, and had left Roy at around 4 am.

It’s 4AM and they think they really know me This smile on my face doesn’t always come easy 4AM and I think I’m about to lose it My life is a mess but I’ll always choose it

Adore swayed back and forth to the music, remembering the night she decided to break off his engagement with Phi Phi. She had kept it together so well, but couldn’t help the tears that were threatening to fall.

And I guess I don’t need my family No, no, no, no And I guess I don’t need my friends No, no, no, no And I guess I don’t need the love of my life No, no, no, no I clip my wings and look at the sky

I need a moment As tears run down my eyes My love has left me All that’s left to do is cry, cry, cry

At this point, Adore was feeling the song a little too much and felt the tears start escaping finally. Roy frowned, he didn’t know what he could do to help her at this point. Adore had walked over to the edge of the stage after a pause in the song, and Roy instinctively reached his hand up for her to hold. She grabbed it and stared right into his eyes as she sang.

This is what everybody dreams of This is what everybody tries This is what everybody dreams of And it’s all mine Yeah it’s all mine

“You’re all mine.” Adore added, letting go of Roy’s hand swiftly.

I need a moment As tears run down my eyes My love has left me All that’s left to do is cry, cry, cry

The applause was loud but sweet as Adore took a sip of her unopened water bottle for the first time. Roy had never heard the song so raw before, and he would always cherish it now even if it did have a more negative meaning behind it.

Roy then heard the familiar chords of one of his all time favorite songs.

“Did you guys see that random rain we had the other night? Thunder and lightning? It was crazy. I’m gonna do a throwback so I hope that’s okay.”

I never meant to cause you any sorrow I never meant to cause you any pain

Adore found Roys eyes in the audience and started singing directly to him.

I only wanted one time to see you laughing I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain

Roy remembered just a few nights ago, the two of them getting high on his patio. He smiled at the memory of Adore proving him wrong about getting cross faded.

Purple rain Purple rain Purple rain Purple rain Purple rain Purple rain

I only want to see you bathing in the purple rain

I never wanted to be your weekend lover

Adore met Roy’s eyes again.

I only wanted to be some kind of friend

Adore shifted her gaze to Shane and smiled before she turned to face Roy again.

Baby I could never steal you from another It’s such a shame our friendship had to end

Purple rain Purple rain Purple rain Purple rain Purple rain Purple rain

I only want to see you underneath the purple rain

Honey I know, I know, I know times are changing It’s time we all reach out for something new That means you too

Adore pointed at Roy in the audience and smiled.

You say you want a leader But you can’t seem to make up your mind I think you better close it And let me guide you to the purple rain

Purple rain Purple rain Purple rain Purple rain

If you know what I’m singing about up here C'mon raise your hand

Adore motioned for Roy to come up, and he pulled himself up on the stage as she embraced him in a side hug. Roy knew this cover was dedicated to him. He was amazed at how special Adore had made an almost 40 year old song. He was even more amazed that she had introduced him to a more beautiful meaning to it.

Purple rain Purple rain

I only want to see you, only want to see you In the purple rain

Adore went on to end the song, swaying with Roy as he listened to the most beautiful cover of his favorite Prince song. Adore had something really special, bringing all of his favorite songs to life. It was then that he realized she had changed her setlist for him.

“We have one final song guys. I have Roy up here again because I want to sing him his song.” Adore made eye contact with him and smiled. “This is the song I was writing on All Stars 2. I think I sang you a few notes once.”

“Well that definitely tells me what the song is.” Roy said dryly. “Well you’ll find out in a second.” Adore sang.

“Party.” Roy mocked.

Adore laughed and skipped to the other side of the stage. She was in her element right now, and whatever she had planned for Roy was going to be one hell of a surprise.

Last call on the boulevard City of love and broken hearts Crazy, beautiful, bizarre Three words, everything you are

Adore skipped back over to him and pulled Roy to her chest.

If you wanna light my cigarette I might let you have a hit I’m not into playing hard to get We can have a night we won’t regret

“I hope thats a promise.” Roy said darkly.

Adore winked.

You are the perfect stranger (Never saw you coming, never saw you coming) I need some bad behavior (Want some dizzy lovin’, want some dizzy lovin’)

Roy couldn’t handle it anymore as he pulled Adore in for another passionate kiss. He dipped her low as he swirled his tongue inside her mouth. She grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and pecked him softly. The crowd was losing their minds tonight. Roy was sure this was going to be all over twitter and Instagram, if it wasn’t already. Once Adore had caught her breath she continued.

Out of the blue There was you Out of the blue Just us two La-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la-la

After those last notes, that’s when Roy remembered Adore singing this song to him over the phone. He usually bypassed this one on her album for other songs, he’d definitely remember not to do that the next time he listened to it.

Come in, don’t turn off the lights You’re my toy, just for the night You can make me feel alive So wrong, but it feels so right

Adore started touching her body and shaking her ass for her fans as Roy leaned back in the chair. He might as well enjoy the show.

Pick a name, I won’t remember it It’s a shame, but you’ll get over it Gotta catch my flight at 10 to 6 Never say “bye” to just a fix

You are the perfect stranger (Never saw you coming, never saw you coming) I need some bad behavior (Want some dizzy lovin’, want some dizzy lovin’)

Out of the blue There was you Out of the blue Just us two La-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la-la

All I see is blue All I want is you All I see is blue All I want is you

Adore started stepping slowly and sexily towards him as he sat there waiting for her. Was he going to get another lap dance?

All I see is blue Baby, all I want is you All I see is blue All I want is you

Adore spread her legs apart and sat firmly on Roy’s lap, grinding back and forth rubbing against his cock through his pants. He was convinced she was trying to kill him, as he felt his boner return. She was whipping her long dark hair around his face as she sang and ground her hips on him.

Out of blue (There was you, there was you) There was you (There was you, there was you) You, you

She pressed her finger to his lips as she sang 'You’.

Out of the blue There was you Out of the blue Just us two La-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la-la

She unwrapped her legs from around his lap and got up, thanking the crowd for a wonderful night.

“I’ll see you next time Los Angeles, goodnight!” Adore called as she grabbed Roy’s hand and ran backstage.

“Do you have a dressing room here?” Roy asked as they walked briskly through the hall backstage.

“Yeah, right here why?” Adore asked as they walked through the entry way. It was small, and had a table on it with her boy clothes neatly folded on top of it.

“Good. So I can do this.” Roy said huskily, shutting the door behind them and locking it. He picked up Adore in his arms and pressed his lips to hers, throwing her against the nearest wall with a loud thump.

Adore let out a moan as Roy manhandled her.

“I can’t wait very much longer. I need you.” Roy groaned.

Adore snaked her hands underneath his shirt and pulled it off of him roughly. She pressed her nails to his chest, this time without any guilt as Roy removed her wig and shirt.

“Fuck, Danny you’re so sexy.”

Danny wrapped his legs around Roy as he carried him to table, throwing him gently on top of it.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re usually a top, right now you’re my bottom.” Roy growled.

Danny moaned as Roy practically ripped his underwear off of him, exposing his still taped genitals.

“Shit.” Roy grumbled as he gently started removing the tape. Danny sat up and shoved his hand in Roy’s pants. Roy gasped and then composed himself, trying his hardest to concentrate on the task at hand.

Danny stroked softly against Roy’s hardened bulge, trailing his nails up and down the shaft softly. Roy moaned and removed the last piece of tape, feeling grateful it was finally done and over with. Danny used his other hand to unbutton his dark jeans and slide down his underwear as he continued to pump at his dick.

Roy was practically trembling at this point, wanting so bad to be either sucked off or to plant his dick firmly in his ass.

“Danny please.” Roy moaned.

“Please what baby?” Danny asked innocently as he hopped off of the table and began to bend down. He was eye level with his dick now, but his green eyes had fixated on his dark brown.

“Suck me off.” Roy begged, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pressing his head to his cock. Danny gripped his thigh and moved his lips over the tip. He swirled his tongue around softly as he massaged his thigh. Roy moaned with relief as he finally had the contact he had been wanting all night.

Danny let his dick fill his mouth further, pumping quickly as his head bobbed rapidly. Roy threw his head back and moaned loudly, grabbing on to the back of Danny’s neck which pushed his dick further down the younger mans throat.

Danny deep throated him like a champ, sliding his dick in and out of his mouth slowly and grabbing Roy’s ass to push his cock as far down his throat as possible.

“I’m going to come.” Roy warned, legs shaking. Danny smiled in triumph as a stream of thick cum lined his throat. Swallowing like a champ, Danny released his cock from his throat and licked any excess off of it, fluttering his eyelashes up at Roy as he finished him off.

Danny was panting out of breath as he stood up. His makeup was a complete mess, and Roy was leaned up against the wall trying to catch his breath.

“As much as I want you to fuck me right now, I’d really rather have our first time be at one of our houses.” Danny finally said, staring at naked Roy.

“Agreed. I have a better bed.” Roy wiggled his eyebrows flirtatiously.

“Let’s get out of here before I change my mind.” Danny bit his lip staring at Roy’s tanned naked body.

——————————————————–

Roy unlocked the door to his apartment quickly as Danny kissed his neck. They couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, even in the Lyft ride home they were fondling each other like a couple of teenagers.

Danny kicked the front door closed behind him, and picked Roy up and threw him over his shoulder.

“What are you doing? Stop it!” Roy shrieked with laughter as Danny walked down the hallway to his room.

“You need to be manhandled.” Danny growled as he tossed him gently on the bed.

Roy looked up at him as Danny crawled on top of him. He wanted nothing more then to have sex with Danny. This wasn’t as urgent as in the dressing room though, this was different. He gently removed his shirt and pants and allowed Roy to do the same, kissing his neck as he pulled down his pants. Danny hiked his bare leg around Roy’s waist and pulled him closer. They snaked their legs together, feeling every part of each other as their lips never left the other.

Roy brushed his hand ever so slightly down Danny’s back, and felt it curve inwards as he hovered above his ass. He slapped it firmly, cupping it in his hand and Danny moaned softly in response.

Danny felt his cock hardening and bit his lip in between kisses. He had never wanted anyone more then how badly he wanted Roy.

“I want you.” Danny whimpered.

Roy raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“What do you want?” Roy asked, trailing his hands softly down Danny’s leg. Danny shuddered at the soft touch and felt his stomach fill with butterflies.

“I want to fuck you.”

Roy paused ever so slightly and nodded in understanding. He didn’t ever bottom, but for Danny he would make the exception if that’s what he wanted.

Danny pushed him gently onto his back as he got the lube off of the side table. He stroked the smooth liquid over his cock quickly and then gently grabbed the sides of Roy’s torso, pulling him towards his chest.

“Let me know if it’s too much.” Danny whispered gently as he slowly entered Roy.

Roy gasped as he felt the width of Danny enter him for the first time. Danny’s cock tingled as he spread his legs apart more. He started pumping slowly in and out, feeling incredibly turned on as Roy shuddered underneath him. Roy was surprised at how gentle he was being, but it was still pleasurable.

It was almost more pleasurable then a quick hard fuck, he realized as he started to moan louder. Danny was hitting just the right spot, as he gently tapped against his prostate. His hips bucked up in approval, but he wasn’t going to let himself come quite yet.

“You like that baby?” Danny asked in a low deep voice.

“Yes!” Roy exclaimed.

Danny smirked to himself as he thrust deeper. Roy gasped, but then groaned as he realized all of Danny was inside of him. He didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to have self control. He had never wanted any man more then he wanted Danny.

“Fuck!”

Danny pounded him as he slapped his ass. He fit perfectly inside of him, so perfect that it was almost scary. Danny was made for him, and the way they fit together just proved it. Roy was gripping onto the sheets and writhing around as Danny fucked him faster and harder.

“Oh my god.” Roy panted as Danny rocked him up and down on his cock. Danny gripped his back, arching it and kissed his neck softly.

This was getting to be too much for Danny, he realized as he started panting loudly. The two men were covered in sweat, Danny could feel his cock tingling, as if he was going to burst at any second. He couldn’t hang on much longer.

“Are you close?” Danny asked as Roy spread his legs further apart.

“Yes baby.”

Danny thrust his cock firmly inside of him and Roy moaned loudly.

“God, I love it when you call me baby.” Danny growled. He could feel himself about to lose control as Roy’s breathing got faster and faster.

“Fuck.” Danny groaned.

“I’m going to come again.” Roy panted. He had given up on the control thing, Danny was just too fucking good.

“Me too.” Danny moaned in relief.

Just then, Danny felt himself release inside of Roy and he climaxed, his legs legs trembling below him as Roy finally came as well. His sperm was caked all over his stomach and the two gasped in relief. They were a beautiful mess together, legs shaking as they gripped onto each other for dear life. He removed himself slowly and Danny collapsed on top of Roy, panting as they laid there drenched in each others sweat.

Danny was drenched in sweat, with dark hair sprawled all over his head in knots after their passionate love making. He had never had sex like that, usually it was a hit it and quit it situation. This time was so different, but he was happy it was with Roy.

“Wow.” Roy said breathless as he ran his hands through Danny’s hair. Throughout all of his sexual partners, no one had been able to pleasure him the way Danny just did. He looked into the younger mans green eyes, soft and loving and smiled.

“Being topped isn’t so bad now is it?” Danny grinned, cupping his face.

Roy blushed, letting his dimples show.

“Shut up. But really, you could do whatever you wanted to me and I would be happy.” Roy smiled shyly.

Danny felt his heart flutter at the kind words and rested his head on his chest.

“It’s always been you.” Danny intertwined his legs in between Roys and placed his hand on his chest.

“It’s always been you too, Danny.” Roy hugged him closer to him and sighed heavily.

“So let’s give this another chance. I really want us to work.” Danny pleaded softly, tracing infinity signs around his chest.

“We will.” Roy said simply.

Danny paused for a moment and felt his heart beating rapidly.

“Roy?”

“Yes queen?” Roy asked impatiently. He was tired and just wanted to sleep.

“Promise you wont break my heart?” Danny asked. Roy kissed the younger mans head and squeezed him.

“I promise.”