#like no one else will ever get it in a way some other people do

[catalinasroom]

jjk fics that have my whole heart

As time goes on, more will be added!

ryomen sukuna

he's (not) my man @indiewritesxoxo

in a last ditch effort to save your family's failing ranch, your father arranges your marriage to a man you've never met. now you've got an even bigger problem - a six foot something one who clearly can't stand you either. looks like navigating newlywed life is going to be a little tough when he's already talking about divorce! (series)

knocked out up @indiewritesxoxo

getting back shots in someone else's bed post-breakup is fun - until you have a bump to show for it a few months later (series)

she wont go away @saatorus

of all the people in your chemistry course, you get stuck with ryomen sukuna—the most insufferable, arrogant asshole on campus. he barely does any work, runs his mouth like it’s a sport, and somehow manages to make your life even more exhausting than it already is. if this project doesn’t kill you, he just might. (26k)

Saturou Gojo

soft as it began @gojover

district four’s only victors—satoru gojo, dazzling and deadly, and you, cunning and stubborn—are dragged back into the arena for the quarter quell. with the capitol watching and a rebellion brewing, the hunger games are no longer just about survival. they’re about trust, betrayal, and the unresolved past that still burns between you. (tbd)

Law of Attraction @shokocide

Newton said the smaller the distance, the stronger the pull. Gojo Satoru thinks that explains the way he feels when you’re close. (18.2k)

Just Friends @madamechrissy

a guide to ditching the world's most persistent nerd @sixeyesonathiel

gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten. he rejected your chocolates, ignored your attempts at friendship, and solidified himself as the most insufferable nerd you've ever met. years later, you're a party girl with a trust fund and a talent for avoidance, and he's still everywhere—top of his class, heir to an empire, and somehow, still your problem. (series)

love Comes in Small Sizes @sixeyesonathiel

you and gojo satoru have always been a thing—never defined, never simple. he’s reckless with his wounds (and your heart), you’re the only one who can patch him up, and neither of you will admit what you really want.

but when life tears you apart, the universe sends a tiny, glitter-covered reminder that some bonds can’t stay broken forever. (series)

free Throws and Figure Drawings @sixeyesonathiel

satoru gojo is many things—basketball star player, campus menace, objectively the best-looking guy in any room—but he is not a model. so when you, some quiet, intense art student, shove a flyer in his face and ask him to pose for a painting, his first instinct is to laugh. his second instinct is to say no.

it’s supposed to be easy money. sit still, look pretty, collect cash. but between your infuriating perfectionism, your absolute refusal to be flustered by him, and the way you stare like you’re trying to figure him out, satoru starts to suspect he’s in way over his head (22k)

Coming down @writesvani

You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try. (series)

Velvet Lies @joemama-2

crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. (series)

Megumi Fushiguro

lets play ball @lokissweater

“ won’t you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor? ” 　(series)

not even a little @gumii-bearr

megumi fushiguro is your roommate, he's also a scary guy... a scary guy that's weak for you. (13.8k)

I'm already Yours @gumii-bearr

megumi learns to be honest with you and tell you what he wants. (9.3k)

you Hitting on me? @gumii-bearr

megumi doesn't like clubs, but then he sees you. (4k)

Kigatsukeba @manicpixiedreamkira

Suguru Geto

no. one Party Anthem @indiewritesxoxo

your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens (series) ft. ryomen sukuna

how to baby trap marry your best friend @indiewritesxoxo

best friend or baby daddy, one thing's for sure, you're not getting rid of him!

All I Need @dihydromorphinone

well - your high school teachers warned you. college sucks - it's hard, unforgiving and ruthless. and you have to pay for it. ha! but.. there is some good to it, you think, as you see your psychology professor - and damn, he's hot. as fuck.

it seems that fate had some mercy on you; your major is psychology, so you'll be spending most of your time at the university at his lectures. and he's such a fucking eye-candy. but little did you know... fate binding you two together was not an act of mercy, no - rather ruthless cruelty, because your crush on the professor seems to develop. but you can't cross that line, right? ...right? (series)

Choso Kamo

hey emo boy! @gojonanami

saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? (5.3k)

Hey, Emo boy! @shokocide

Choso doesn’t do distractions. But then you walk into his show and ruin his focus with one look. And now, he’s handing you his guitar, his heart, maybe more. And baby, you haven’t even seen what those fingers can really do.(10.5k)

[jinxbabys]

cw: sub-bottom vi. fem-top reader. mean dom reader. degradation. strap-on referred to as cock. 1k words. men and minors dni.

synopsis: after the breakup, vi realizes you’re the only one who can give her what she craves.

a/n: rewrite of one of my old fics!

since your breakup with vi, there’s been numerous rumors circulating around campus—stories of her charming girls with sweet, romantic dates, only to take them home and leave them thoroughly fucked. under normal circumstances, it might bother you. except you know vi, you know how tightly wound she gets, how unsatisfied she must be, because it’s clear none of those other girls have put in the effort to actually fuck vi. 

you haven’t heard a single whisper about any of them actually giving vi what she needs, stretching her out the way she craves, pressing their cocks deep inside her tight pussy. you imagine it must be eating her alive. vi’s always had a greedy hole—an orifice that’s bottomless and sweetly pathetic.

besides, you’ve seen them; the women she dates. they’re harmless, prudish, well-mannered, pretty in a conventional way. not one of them could fuck vi properly. they wouldn’t even know where to begin.

so it’s funny, really—watching vi try to provoke you. the way she flaunts them like costume jewelry, hoping to catch your eye. but you offer nothing in return. no reaction, no flicker of interest or jealousy. there’s simply nothing there worth responding to.

which is why you aren’t surprised when vi appears at your doorstep a week later, shy like an abandoned pet. she’s blushing, trembling, her sea-glass eyes rimmed with guilt and some shadowy element of hope.

“can i help you, vi?” you ask, not unkindly, but with practiced indifference.

”i just—i feel bad about the way things ended between us,” she stammers, the lie crumbling on her tongue like wet sugar.

”mmm, you do?” your fingernails tsk-tsk against the doorframe. “okay then. will that be all, vi?”

when you begin to shut the door, vi thrusts her hand against the wood with a thud, face suddenly stricken with shame. “baby, wait i—fuck. i miss you, okay?” she reluctantly admits.

you smile. you already knew that.

that’s how vi ends up in your bed, silk sheets wrinkled like the petals of a crushed rose. her legs are held up to her chest and your strap is buried deep inside her cunt, pressing painfully against her cervix. it’s a fitting consequence for her betrayal—for being such a stubborn slut that she sought out pleasure in other people, instead of coming to you.

”you missed me, huh?” you murmur, thrusting sharply, your voice velvety with cruelty. “that’s funny. i heard you’ve been keeping pretty busy.”

the sight of her stretched open, pussy weeping around you, is so familiar that it nearly bores you. but no, there’s joy in it more than anything. the sadistic kind of joy one only feels when their favorite toy remembers its owner.

vi goes cross-eyed as you slam into her again, a noise halfway between a sob and a prayer tumbling from her open mouth. you touch her slit—just a trace—and she shivers, instinctive and pathetic.

“yes, yes—mmffuck!”

it’s overtly apparent; no matter how many girls vi brought home, no matter how many times she tried to replace you, nothing could compare to this. the realization fills you with a sense of pride; a deep feeling of assurance that you are, in every way, irreplaceable.

”fuck, baby, your pussy’s a mess,” you murmur in astonishment. after all these months, how could you forget what a sloppy, wet hole she has? “bet none of those girls knew how to take care of this greedy little thing.”

vi shakes her head with something like reverence, her voice catching. “ahh, only y-you—it’s only ever been you—hunghh—i swear!“

you meanly grope vi’s breasts, admiring the way her fat tits jiggle. once upon a time, the sight of vi’s naked body might have stirred something possessive in you—jealousy, perhaps, at the thought of someone else witnessing her like this. but now, as you watch vi unravel beneath you, all you feel is a quiet, amused detachment. an urge to murmur something soft and cutting about how pathetic she is.

her legs tremble as she holds them back for you, muscular thighs quivering with exertion. her puffy cunt is laid bare, exposed to you without shame. she looks like an easy whore, like she’d crawl across glass if it meant getting filled by you again.

you know vi—know her body better than she does herself. she needs to be filled, used like she’s a worthless doll, stripped of all purpose except pleasuring you. she needs it hard and unyielding and constant. from the look on her face—wrecked and anguished—you were right to assume that nobody else came close to giving her what she craves.

“you just needed someone to fuck you right,” you coo. “someone who knows what a sick little baby you really are.”

“yes,” she gasps. “please—need it harder, fuck!”

you relish in how desperate she is for you. vi’s so cute when being fucked open; demanding everything from you, whilst unable to give anything back but cries and spasms. it makes you feel delirious—fuckdrunk, even. all you can hear is the wet percussion of your hips against hers, and her high, helpless mewls. you’re hitting all the right spots, striking cords deep inside her gummy walls that make her jolt with electricity. you’re fucking vi in a way no one else will ever be able to replicate.

"fuck, vi... you're so tight," you notice, stunned, but still relentlessly jackhammering your cock inside her.

her pussy is creaming around your strap, leaking down the curve of her ass. her body—that magnificent machine of muscle—is locked up tight, close to tipping over the edge. her abs twitch involuntarily, plump breasts bouncing, arms trembling as she attempts to hold her legs apart for you, and her thighs—those strong pillars—quake like leaves in a storm.

vi squeals suddenly, pressing her hand against the taut plane of your abdomen—a futile attempt to slow your unrelenting pace.

”i’m gonna—gonna—ohhh!” 

her eyes roll, those bright coins of consciousness swallowed by the dark. vi’s tongue spills from her mouth, silly and helpless. her thighs snap shut instinctively but you pry her open again, unwilling to let her escape the pleasure you’re giving her.

“come for me, vi,” you say. “who knows if i’ll ever want to fuck you again after this, so make it count.”

taglist: @2ftall @jinxedbambi @mxchi-mxxn @g4ys0n @maddiluvsu @just4jinx @rhian88 @mars4hellokitty

[geddyqueer]

tidbit tuesday

since the people asked. idk how quickly i'll finish this but here's some 8x17 reaction fic:

"I was homeless," Buck says, as the light turns green. "When I was younger."

He feels, rather than sees, Tommy's gaze linger on him briefly before he takes his foot off the brake. "When you were traveling?"

"Yeah. And for a while in LA, too. Like—I was sleeping inside, but I didn't have a mailing address for a long time. And then I was couchsitting. And then I lived with five other guys, and then I squatted at Abby's for a few months after she ghosted me."

Tommy releases a long breath at that. "The green apartment?"

"Yeah," Buck says.

"Did you ever find a pair of black Chelsea boots? Size 12? In a closet or something? I never got those back from her."

Buck turns to look at him. He's focused very hard on the road. "Were they Red Wings?"

Tommy nods.

"Yeah," Buck says. He remembers the way they were molded to someone else's feet, the way they chafed at his ankle bone, but that they carried him along through the loneliest days back then. "I wore them into the ground."

He realizes, as Tommy bursts out laughing, as he bursts out laughing too, that this is the first time they've actually talked about Abby since the night they broke up. Not like they've had time, in the intervening months. Maybe they'll have time now.

"I'm glad someone was wearing them," Tommy says, when he finally catches his breath. "I'm glad it was you."

He turns onto Bedford Street and slows down.

"The loft was the first place I ever lived that was really mine," Buck says. "Other than the old Jeep, I guess. I lived in that for a couple years. Sometimes I'd find short term rentals, but usually I just slept in the car."

Tommy's hand makes its way across the center console, open and inviting, and Buck slots his hand into it. They're pulling into the long stretch of empty street parking in front of the next house, now. It doesn't look like Eddie's here, but Tommy leaves the driveway empty anyway.

"This place felt like mine for a little while. Not—not anymore."

"Whatever I can do to make my house feel like home, Evan," Tommy says. "For as long as you want to live there. Even if it's just a week, or for—I don't know. Just say the word and I'll do it, okay?"

"What if I want a bunch of flamingos in the front yard?"

"Plastic ones, I hope," Tommy says. "I can't afford to put in a flamingo pond right now."

"But you would do that?"

"If I had the money, and you really wanted it, then yes," Tommy says.

"I don't think I want a flamingo pond," Buck tells him. "Not right now, at least."

"We can table it," Tommy says, and he gets out of the truck.

Buck sighs, and squares his shoulders, and heads once more unto the breach.

[lighting-and-shadow]

Post LADS Main Story: NonMC Reader x Sylus

So I had a thought again: you being reincarnated into the world of LADS, but after the story ends. Ever is no more. Wanderers have been cured and don't exist anymore. The world is relatively peaceful.

MC has found her happy ending with one of the boys, something you find out during a stroll in Linkon City. And it's not Sylus.

I was thinking it would be Xavier for the angst factor. Because, to Sylus, she chose the prince of the people that caused him so much pain over him. She chose the light Xavier represents over his darkness. She chose someone who, in Sylus' mind, was born with everything over him who worked to get everything he has for her sake.

Or maybe she chose Caleb. And that would hurt too because Sylus realizes that while they only had each other in the past, she overlooks that for her present. That their history isn't nearly as valuble as her history with Caleb.

Either way, it causes sad boy hours. The man is devasted. And while he and MC still have a friendship, it's a bit toxic. No longer do they play Kitty Cards or spend time at the claw machine. With the new love in her life, all that's left for Sylus is scraps.

She uses him. Calls him when she needs something or she wants to do something. But if it's him? She blows him off. She treats him like a joke.

Maybe not even truly realizing that she is (but part of me wants to go the bitch route because I've made her so nice in all my other current works and WIPs; I blame @rcvcgers for this (I say this with love, because I honest to god love Rotten Apples), and need to channel that anger).

Then it gets worse: he dies. She remembers her past with him, and gives back the other half of his soul. And then she turns her back on him for good, cutting ties because their morals are just incompatible. He's so devasted that he takes his own life, no longer immortal because his sorceress abandoned him (just like everyone else did).

But anyways, you figure this out, and basically come barging into his life. Not to make him love you. Not to get her to love him. But to give him something to latch onto.

Let's say Sylus was your favorite in the game (as he is for me, clearly), so you act like a total, batshit crazy, fan girl. And there's something about that crackhead energy that makes him drawn to you.

So you bug him. And bug him. And bug him endlessly. Because even annoyance and anger are better than emptiness and coldness he carries right now. Sure, he hides it well behind snark and flirting, but you know him better. You've watched him from behind a scene for quite some time.

I imagine the reason you're kept around is because of the chaotic nature of who you are and the knowledge you have. And because Sylus doesn't have it in him to give a shit. You're not a threat. If anything, it was the twins that convinced him of your use.

So you live at the base, occassionally witnessing the toxic nature of him and MC's dynamic. And you come up with a plan to help him get over her. Not by making him love you, you'd never be worthy of that, but of getting him to realize that his sorceress is dead. That even it's technically the same the person in soul, she's not the same at her (Aether) core.

Doing so makes you fall even further in love. You discover things about him a simple game could never. You see sights and experience parts of this world that could never captured by a screen or some code. And it hurts.

It hurts because he's more than just a character to you. He cares for you, is soft with you. He buys you things, helps braid your hair, takes you to fancy venues, stands up for you, protects you... You almost think that he loves you.

But that's silly. Who would love you? Who would love the real you, and not the one you present to the world? The one that cries at nothing? The one consumed by anxiety and insecurity? The one that hides under layers and layers of walls capped off by an impenetrable mask? The one that hid herself and changed herself for so many years? The one you're not even sure still exists?

You're such a fraud.

(This whole prompt was inspired by the Webtoon My Derelict Favorite, and I couldn't get it out of my head).

[brazenautomaton]

Disney asking Sonny Bono to extend copyright terms was not a huge extended push to buy a lawmaker. It faced no opposition or argument. Disney just asked "Hey, could you extend copyright?" and then Bono just went "Sure, sounds good," and Congress just went "Sure, sounds good." You can't cite it as an example of buying laws when they didn't need to buy anything and nobody opposed it. It's a completely bizarre outlier and the only thing the "infinitely agentic corporations buy the law" camp can point to to support their case despite it not being what they claim happens.

Yes, certain groups think they benefit from copyright. You're doing that "what they're basically saying" thing where you condense an insane argument to something different that isn't insane and isn't the argument. The original argument was "The rich, who have class interests, defend copyright as a class in order to maintain the power of the rich and harm you. You should oppose copyright because the class interests of the rich are opposed to you." This is an attempt at persuasive argument that is wrong and insane.

"There are some companies who think they benefit from copyright and some companies who think that they benefit from copyright abolition" is a true statement that is no longer an attempt at persuasive argument. It contains no reason why someone should support or oppose copyright.

And here is the case I find most compelling for copyright: If there was no copyright, why would anyone ever pay an author for a book they wrote? Andy Weir wrote "the Martian" as a series of blog posts, and it was a really good story people liked that could be a popular book! In a world with copyright, he is able to go to a publisher from a position of power and say "Hey, I made this thing, it's really good, a lot of people want it, and you can have it if you pay me what it's worth." In a world without copyright, they just say "Cool story bro" and then print it and he doesn't get paid anything. The different publishers can't compete with each other with the quality of the story they are selling because unlike other physical products you can do better or worse, this is just the same story. Disney and Warner Brothers and Dreamworks don't all create their own versions of the same story, they wait for one of them to make a movie and then literally just sell a copy of the same movie.

The incentive structure collapses. Why would you spend millions of dollars making a movie when your competitors can just copy that movie you made and sell the physical object containing the data for the movie for way less because they didn't have to pay for making it? Anyone who pays an artist in any capacity loses because then all of their competitors get the benefit without paying. You get a situation like with the FDA, who won't permit medicine to be prescribed for certain uses without specific tests done for that use in particular, so new uses for drugs that are out-of-patent never ever get approved because whoever does the test for it is essentially lighting a giant pile of money on fire for no benefit. We have SEEN what happens when people don't have the exclusive right to something that costs them a lot of money to do. They don't do it.

Movies, television, video games, and any form of art that requires significant coordination between a bunch of people stop being made. People still write novels and indie comics because that can be one person's passion project, but anything with a budget stops being made. All music becomes garage bands. Why would you hire a record producer, sound mixers, talent scouts to put the band together, get high-quality recording studios and equipment, when all that does is make it so you lose more money when everyone else starts selling it?

A bunch of smug Communists say "ha, good, there are no more Marvel movies," and then everyone else beats them to death with tire irons because it is good for movies and television and video games and forms of art that require significant coordination to exist.

Just like with health care, people act like the deranged way that the American system does things is synonymous with the concept of doing it. The existence of copyright is a good thing that allows art that has budgets to be made. The existence of copyright that lasts for the lifetime of the creator plus seventy years after that is a bad thing. Copyright should be made shorter, not abolished. A patent lasts for 20 years and patents are completely uncontroversial.

What do you mean by "in-group signalling" in that post?

I'm referring to the way a lot of people seem to treat "unconditional hatred for Generative AI" as a signifier by which someone reaffirms their belonging or allegiance to the category of Artist (imagined as a special category of people wholly separate from the category of Non-Artist) based on the conception that the only reason why someone might not hate GenAI (or might hate it but think some criticisms of it are unprincipled) is because they 1) aren't an Artist themselves, and thus 2) they either don't understand what being an Artist is like or they categorically hate and oppose Artists.

To name a concrete example:

Just a couple weeks ago I got an anon message pretty much along the lines of "I get it, you don't have a creative bone in your body and have to pretend that art theft is fine because you're incapable of creating art yourself" (despite pretty clear evidence of me being an Artist™, such as the fact that at the moment that anon was sent to me, you could scroll down like two posts on my blog and find me showing off how some of my music was featured in a doom metal compilation album).

This anon was sent in response to me saying that, while I have problems with the GenAI industry, I think "it's art theft" is not one of them because (by virtue of being a copyright abolitionist) I think describing any situation where a copy of something is made without affecting the original as "theft" is patently ridiculous. Like, that's a pretty clear example of how performing enough unconditional hatred of AI art is treated as a signifier of belonging to the Artist™ in-group, and failure to perform it is treated as a sign that you can only possibly be a ignorant and/or malicious Non-Artist.

[kxsagi]

“𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲”

a/n: based on this!

it’s honestly unfair how famous you are. 

not just “front row at fashion week” famous or “gets surprise flowers from designers” famous. no, you are the woman. the woman of the decade. the woman of the century. the woman everyone either wants to be, wants to marry, or wants to be adopted by. it’s global. international. peasants know your name. politicians have posters of you in their offices. pop stars write songs about you and your career. your wedding at twenty was televised and momentarily broke peace treaties in three countries because no one wanted to miss it. 

and despite all this, you still look like you’d throw hands if someone touched your man without permission. 

you married young, and to a man whose name can silence entire stadiums. a man just as disgustingly in love with you as you are with him. the kind of love that makes people sigh dreamily and gag a little. mutual. sickening. soulmate-coded. the internet has never recovered. 

so when you walked onto that late night interview show in your sunglasses and million-dollar smile, the audience erupted. cheers, tears, screams of “MOTHER!” and “SHE’S HERE!” filled the room. you waved like a benevolent queen, high-fived a teenage fan in the front row, and sat down with the grace of someone who knew the world revolved around her and her alone. 

the interviewer blinked at you like they couldn't believe you were real. “i have to say, you look stunning tonight.” 

you laughed, low and easy. “thank you. i stole this outfit from coco chanel herself.” 

the crowd screamed again. 

the interview went smoothly at first. questions about your upcoming projects. your career milestones. your recent appearance at the met gala where you’d made headlines for not blinking once during the entire red carpet. the fans ate it up. the comments online were already calling you mother, icon, CEO of their hearts. 

and then, mid-way through the interview, the host leaned forward with a little glint in their eye. 

“so… we’ve all seen the fan edits. the montages. the insane compilations. i have to ask… how’s your sex life with your husband?” 

the audience sucked in a sharp breath. 

your lips twitched. 

“oh, naughty,” you hummed, voice dripping with amusement as you crossed one leg over the other. “buttttt i won’t be saying anything, because i’ve seen the fandom edits. i know what y’all are capable of. i’m not giving you another frame to turn into a ‘me x my husband moaning in 4k’ tiktok.” 

the crowd exploded. half of them screamed. the other half cried. one person fainted. 

the host choked, laughing. “wait, wait. you watch the edits?” 

“of course,” you replied smoothly. “i have to see what my digital doppelgänger is doing. sometimes the plots are better than actual TV shows.” 

a fan in the audience shouted, “IS YOUR HUSBAND JEALOUS?” 

you smirked. “jealous? he makes fake accounts just to defend me in the comments.” 

that was the end of the interview, essentially. nothing else mattered. the internet went feral. the words 'naughty but no moaning tiktok sorry’ trended worldwide. fan accounts posted clips of the moment on loop, edits rained down within hours, and despite your very clear warning, the fandom somehow went harder than ever. 

there were now more suspiciously well-edited videos. some with you and your husband in soft domestic bliss, others labeled “you can’t tell me they didn’t do it in the kitchen after this interview.” some of them were too well-edited. you scrolled a bit through tik tok days later, narrowed your eyes, and muttered, “that audio was fake. i did not say ‘daddy’ like that.” 

your husband passed by, peeked at your phone, and mumbled, “i kind of like that one. they gave me a six pack.” 

“as if you don’t have one.” 

the fanbase? oh, it's unhinged. there’s the main fandom, the professionals who have followed your rise since you were eighteen and treat you like royalty, and then there’s the reader x character fandom, a subculture so passionate they’ve created an entire parallel timeline. you’ve seen it all. fanfiction with 300k words. hand-drawn comics. romantic timelines. detailed analysis on your zodiac compatibility with your husband (as if you weren’t married for four years now). 

and you? you love them. adore them. blow kisses and comment emojis and once personally called out a stalker in the dms like: 

❌ you. in the bushes yesterday. blocked. 

✅ everyone else. you may continue to thirst in peace. 

the world can’t get enough of you. neither can he. your names are etched into pop culture history like an eternal love spell. and even though you tried to warn the internet… somewhere, in the depths of fandom editing hell, a new video is rendering. 

title: “reader x husband – ‘naughty’ scenes the interview DIDN’T show 😭💥💍🔥” 

you sigh, drop your head back, and mutter, “gosh. i love being famous.” 

and the comments? 

“THEY’RE NOT JUST A COUPLE. THEY’RE A RELIGION.” 

“i want a love like that or i’ll perish.” 

“her and her man are SO unserious. goals.” 

“mother is mothering again.” 

god help anyone who thinks they can match your energy. 

you’re the woman. and he’s your man. the world’s just lucky to witness it. 

characters: any boy from blue lock 😚💙

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[the-bloody-ruby]

Yan!Baldwin IV X Reincarnation!Reader

✎Summary✐ you got reincarnated as Baldwin's wife.

⚠Warnings⚠ historically inaccurate mentions of death, guy of lusignan, racism?(I don't if it counts as racism btw it has nothing to do with skin color).

✎Note✐ reader is a female in this. Author hates this but decided to post it anyway. This is not the actual historical figure but the figure from KoH movie.

✎Tags✐ @jsprien213

✎Part 2✐

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You don't understand how it happened.

How did you end up in Jerusalem?. It's Not our modern day Jerusalem, it's 1181 AD.

From what you understood, you are during the anjou household reign of Jerusalem, most likely during king Baldwin IV time due to Saladin's name being mentioned so it must be around that time. But that's just a guess, if it is true then The king must be about 19 at this point.

When you first opened your eyes you found yourself laying on an a soft mattress, According to who they seemed to be maids, you had fainted while walking through the garden. You do have some blur memories of walking through a grand garden even though you know for sure that you did not walk through such garden ever in your life.

the last thing you remember, that you know that you actually did, that you went to sleep on your bed in your home, that's it. You didn't die while sleeping, did you?.

maybe you somehow took someone's else life, a someone from history none the less. It may sound bazaar but it's the only logical explanation in this unlogical situation.

While you were dozing off, trying to think of a solution to this disaster, The door was pushed wide open. a woman with fine clothing and jewelry enters with servants following her in. "I see you have finally decided to wake up." Her tone was sharp so was her glare.

You stared back at her, not with the same coldness but with confusion. "Who are you..?" You do know that she has to be a noble due to her clothing, but which noble? And why did she visit you? Why is her tone was as if you two know each other?.

She scoffed "It seems like the maids were right, It seems like you actually went mad this time." 'This bitch-' you thought to yourself, you can only say such things in your mind because you don't want to insult someone who might has the power to execute you on the spot. "Who are you?." You ask again, this time with determination.

"Sibylla of Jerusalem." You face went pale, you thought knowing her identify would make you understand the situation better but it only confused you more, why would she visit you?.

You look away, you feel like you're gonna faint again. "Tsk.. Pathetic.." She mumbles as you grip on the bedsheets, she grabs your chin and makes you look directly to blue eyes. "Hold yourself better, you are no common girl, remember that you are queen of Jerusalem, wife to my brother, you are y/n of Jerusalem.. Even if I don't deem you worth of such honour yet here we are.."

You are not sure if she wanted to scold you or mock you, either way her words hurt you even though you don't know why, it just stungs.

"We're having dinner this evening, you should be fine by then." She stated as she turned her to leave. you wanted to protest, you are in no condition to join a stupid dinner. "But-" "absence is unacceptable." she cuts you, she doesn't even bother to turn around to look at you yet her words held a warning in them. With that she finally left you alone.

Now you know whose life you are in, yes life not body because you are 100% sure that this is your own body, whatever. In history her name was forgotten so she's only known as Baldwin's IV wife or the Saracen queen.

Basically Baldwin and her got married to secure an alliance between Jerusalem and some Saracens, and to prevent Saladin from getting anymore power since your people are also in odds with Saladin.

You pity her.

No one cared about her, she was just a tool for her family to gain more power, Jerusalem's court despited her because she is still a filthy Saracen in their eyes and not to mention that king Baldwin IV, her own husband did not spare her a single glance during the entire of their marriage. It's not personal, it's just she's the least of his concerns.

In the end of the day she was executed because she attempted to poison to Sibylla but failed, it is unclear whatever she was truly guilty or framed.

No.. No. You won't die like this.. You won't live like this! You don't want to die with sorrow and tears!.

You won't allow history to repeat itself, you don't care if it's gonna change tomorrow's history or not, you value your happiness more than history that you might not live to see.

If you want a peaceful life, you have two potions.

you earn the King's favor and then you will live peaceful as the queen.

Which you are mostly to take, run away after securing a good amount of money.

Just in case, you're gonna try to secure both plans. You will try to earns his favor while earning enough money to escape.

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Evening came fast.

You didn't want to leave bed but you also didn't want to piss off sibylla so it sucks to suck. Even though you still don't understand, how can she threaten you?! I mean yes she is a princess but you are the queen here for God's sake!. Damn was the old owner this weak that no one respected her title as queen?, however this will change, You didn't die to live again to take bullshit again.

The maids may not be fond of you but they sure did well in dressing you up, you don't like you're about to throw up at any given moment at all But the hard part isn't not looking like you're about to throw up, the hard part is not actually throwing up in front of everyone.

"Come on y/n!." You cheer up on yourself in front of mirror, you were right about the body thing, it is your body. you look like you, not like the actual historical figure (even though there is no surviving portraits of her but okay). 'I'm happy that i didn't lose you, my sweet sexy asf face' you wink at yourself before someone's voice interpreted your flirting session with yourself. "What are you doing?." God.. Why can't they leave you the fuck alone?. First Sibylla, now this?.

"wHaT aRe YoU dOiNg?." You repeat mockingly before turning around only to see Baldwin IV in flesh and blood standing in front of you, you recognized him easily due to the mask. Your face went paler then it went with sibylla, why is God doing this to you? You are praying for the ground to open in half and sallow you.

His blue eyes just stared into yours, it felt like he is staring right through your soul. "..." He didn't mutter a word, You don't know what he is thinking but whatever it is, it doesn't seems like something you want to know about.

You wanted to cry, really. But not in front of him because it would only worsen the situation, after all you just mocked a king.

"..."

It's been quite the few minutes, he didn't say anything yet. 'You know what? I already ate shit so let's just walk away and pretend that nothing has happened.. Maybe he will just ignore it and then I'll get to keep my head..' You thought to yourself.

You proceeded your plan and it actually worked! He let you walk away although you felt his eyes still watching you like a hawk.

Dinner was as awkward as you'd expect. You tried your best to just focus on your platte and ignore everyone else on the table. "Are you alright?." It's Sibylla, even though her words seems out of concern, her voice holds no kindness to it.

You looked up from your plate, you stare back at her but this time with more confidence since the last time you two spoke. "Yes, I am fine." You replied to her question with a calm yet confident note.

That caused sybilla to stare at you. You have never acted like this before, you were always quiet and shy, never once you looked right into her eyes with such directness.

"I heard that you fainted in the gardens today. you should look out for your health more your Highness... It would be a shame if you become so sickly like someone we know.." Said the man who is seated next to Sibylla, who you assume is guy of lusignan.

At his words Baldwin looked up at him, that caused guy to shift uncomfortably in his seat, he hated everything about Baldwin, especially his blue eyes when they stared right through his soul.

'God.. It's so awkward...' You thought before deciding to gamble with fate again. "Your majesty.. Your food will get cold.. Please eat." You hold his gloved hands in yours as you tried to give the kindest smile you could manage. He moved his eyes from guy's to yours before he pulled his hands away and continued his meal.

That went as smooth as possible.. You could feel Sibylla's glare but you couldn't care less, what matters now is to earn Baldwin's favor.

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Im back from the dead 💪🏻.

Idk if you guys will like this but enjoy and if you got any notes for me then go ahead 💃🏻.

[euon111a]

— B L O O D L U S T

summary: sleep with one eye open, don’t walk alone late at night, don’t trust strange men who show up at your gramma’s door. and definitely don’t move to Mississippi.

warnings: sacrificial pact/curse bond oath, themes of violence, self bloodletting, death, vampirism, supernatural elements, voodoo/occult themes, biting, minor choking/breath play, spitting, blood play.

w/c: < 11k

notes: okay, so ik everybody says this, but yes this is my first time writing, so it’s probably not gonna be perfect. yes, I’m hopping on the sinners train, I’m just original like that. there’s absolutely no use of y/n, this is entirely second pov and specifically afab reader. this also isn’t proofread, and like kinda fast and long so my bad. also, this was supposed to be out like last week, but i got kinda scared of publishing, and kinda hate how this came out, sooo yeah. i don’t have high expectations for this, chances are there might be a part two, but hopefully those who read enjoyed.

You weren’t stupid. You knew real quick what your family was.

There wasn’t a talk, or a conversation ‘bout it, but the older you got, the more clear it became. You knew when you overheard your neighbor talking to his wife ‘bout how your family ‘walks with shadows’, and how the other females of your blood ain’t ever been right in the head. It was there in the way folks steered clear of your doorstep, looked at each other like there was a secret there that only they knew of. You weren’t embarrassed of your family, never had been even when you put two and two together, you knew what you was, and you took pride in it. Safety was a rare thing to come by, and in desperate times, some people just had to do desperate things to keep the ones they loved safe.

That’s just how life was.

Blood was thicker than water, put above all else, and that’s how it’s been for generations. Blood kept you safe, kept you alive, and you didn’t know it at first, but you understand it now. It makes sense. Plus, everybody knew what New Orleans was like, the connection certain people had, the stories, the rituals, the pure energy. Who’s to blame a young couple hundred of years ago to do what they could to keep their children, their grandchildren, and their great grandchildren safe from everything wrong in the world? They did what was needed, and there’s no shame in using your resources wisely.

But everybody’s human, and people make mistakes, so when your older brother came to terms with things and realized his part of the pact was coming up, he got scared, tried to back out. He ran off, tried to get some sort of help and then he just— disappeared. Ain’t nobody know if he died, if he just ran away and got somewhere where the shadows wouldn’t interfere, or if his part of the oath was completed, but nobody’s seen him again. Talk went around about his disappearance, people claiming to hear his voice at night, hearing his screams, the earth listening to them, and then just emptiness as the sun came up. But that was all just rumors. Things grew as quickly as it started, people bringing up the jars your daddy had lined up by the porch, the roots under the porch chairs, the herbs on the windowsill. Then it was bringing up how your family never went to church, always had everything set up for y’all’s benefit, how your momma had slipped up one night and mumbled the same prayer she’d set over you to your father in public. The rumors stopped after a week, just magically went swept under the rug like a dust bunny, but everybody remembered, kept their distance and called out Bible verses to you whenever you stepped into a shop.

Your parents had their stuff packed by the next week, they’d always been waiting for a fuckup, told you to keep on your toes, but after a heavy lightning storm had lit a neighbor’s house on fire, people started suspecting your family. Before you knew it, you was dragged up to Mississippi to your gramma’s for safety and a fresh start. Your parents hadn’t bothered telling you what state they was holed up in, told your gramma to keep it strictly secret and to get you prepared for your “time”. They told you as soon as you was old enough to fully understand, not that ripe age before you finally develop a conscience but the moment before. Told you what was comin’, what had already happened for your momma, for her momma, and for every person born from the same blood before them.

It had to happen, can’t go around tryna change fate no matter how scary it seemed for your feeble mind when they first told you. It’d hurt, it’d be a hard transition, but it ain’t about the pain. It’s about the renewal, the safety. It’s about making sure you stayed whole, had a place among the shadows. So you embraced for the inevitable, learned to live with it.

Now that was five years ago, you’re a grown woman now. Your gramma was smarter at keeping things secret, had a little bouquet of herbs nailed to the front door and a sloppy baron veve etched into the porch wood where the door mat lay. Plus, life was a lil more secretive in the countryside, nobody really went around lurking for things they shouldn’t. Things was simple for a while, you helped her where she needed it, tended to her little shop in town, and she’d mutter that same prayer your momma did before you went to bed every night.

But when you got your menarche, or what your gramma called, “the final binding”, that faux simple life had changed. She shared her deepest secrets and knowledge with you, bathed you in the river, blessed you with her own gris-gris bag, and cut off a small portion of your hair just to set on fire. That night as soon as the stars started littering the sky, she slit open your palm with the same shard of glass she used on your momma, and letting the blood pour down onto the ogou feray she dug in the dirt behind the house. It was as if things shifted right as the blood hit the dirt. The air settled, the flickering of the flames in the fireplace stilled, as if the entire earth around you took a moment to rest, to soak in the warmth of the blood. Your gramma warned you of dreams that night, to not be scared and to be open, to let it happen, to listen to what they were telling you. She told you over and over to not speak, to let the spirits and the shadows do all the talking, that’s all you needed.

There was this change, this tension deep in your gut as if a heavy weight settled in you, like a hug from someone who wasn’t there, but who squeezed on tight to make sure their presence was known. The first man in your dreams hadn’t said anything, not at first. He just watched you, studied you, gazing at you as you struggled to wrap your mind on just how real the dream felt. His eyes bored into your soul as if he was peeling back every aspect of who you were and soaking up the information he learned. He told you to keep an eye out for the night man, but hadn’t told you anything else even when you tried to ask, just cut you off to say that you’d know when you’d see him, that you’d tell yourself before your mind knew, and then you woke up.

Every night’s been the same since your cross into womanhood, your sleep was the only interesting part of your day. When your eyes were closed, you’d be reunited with family members you didn’t know of, talk to people from the past and those who just encountered the cold touch of death. You’d see life as it was beyond dreams, the physical pull of something holding you back from going too far. You dreamt of visions of warnings with symbols of men on fire and rivers of blood, the weight of more than one person lingering in your dreams but only one ever being seen. It hadn’t stopped, kept growing, kept getting more real, more fulfilling, drawing you closer and closer to that magnetized energy that chased after you, but kept hidden behind shadows until it was time.

The heat was particularly heavy today, thick as ever, clinging to you like a second layer. Stuck to you the same way a quilt wraps ‘round you in the middle of the night. Ain’t no wind in the air this time, just the same scorching heat, pressing down like the same warmth of a brand against cattle. The nights had gotten restless, air so damp it’d slip through the cracks of the windows and have you waking up drenched in sweat. Just an endless stream of heat that don’t quit, even when the moon’s settled high up in the dark sky.

Not a lick of shade out in the countryside, nowhere to rest against to hide from the sun, just the same old open land and the same old humidity pressing on your chest. No trees in wrap around and cling to, no wild grass to linger on, just pure sun to skin. 24/7. The fields stretched out in endless rows, plants swaying like dying ashes in the breeze, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. That tiring damp in the summer air that stuck to your every pore thickened the further you went into town. The air was heavier there, clinging to you like a different weight, sticky everywhere you went, like the streets themselves was grabbing hold to you. But ain’t no peace anywhere in the summer, just the constant blend of day to night, the burn of the sun and the heat against your back.

Dust had clung to your shoes, your clothes, your hair, your lungs with every turn of the car had another puff of gravel thickening up the air. Moments like these you were particularly missing home, the weather down in New Orleans never reached as dry as it was in Mississippi. Normally, Mother Nature was less cruel back there, there’d be a week of hotness, but then the weekend would be blessed enough to have a long cloud of rain at night. Today though, it was extra sticky, and Gramma had been mighty adamant on going to town, so you brought it upon yourself to keep her company, despite her complaints against it. The shop smelled of old wood and herbs, the kind of scent that clung to the shelves no matter how often they were dusted. You traced your fingers along the countertop, the grain rough against your skin, listening to the way that momentary silence settled around you. It wasn’t an eerie quiet—just the kind that came when the world outside had dimmed, when the street beyond the window had almost emptied, when the only things left awake was the crickets and the slow hum of the overhead lamp.

“You stay home tonight.” Gramma’s voice was steady and sharp, carrying that same tone that told you that there really wasn’t no room to try to argue against her. She had you perched by the counter like some restless child who didn’t know when to quit, like you wasn’t grown enough to be on your own without her breathing down your back. Your eyes flicked away from the window, quick and ready to ask question after question as to why, but she was already turning away. Already shifting toward the older woman at the shelves, the one running her fingers along misplaced coffee tins like she had nothing else on her mind but finding the right one.

You scoffed—not loud, not reckless enough to be heard neither, just enough to let it sit on your tongue for a second before you straightened up. You settled back in as soon as she returned to the counter. “Gramma, it’s the weekend.”

The words carried, just enough weight to sound like they actually mattered, but she barely blinked, didn’t even react. Didn’t flinch, or pause, or give even the smallest sign that she was reconsidering.

Instead, she dragged that coffee tin against the countertop, tapping her fingers against the lid like the conversation wasn’t worth stopping her movements. “And?” That’s it. It was flat, unbothered, almost bored, and if you wasn’t related to her, you’d genuinely take offense to her tone. Like the weekends had never meant anything to her. Like you wasn’t looking for any excuse to get out the house tonight.

“Weekend don’t mean not waiting.” Your brows furrowed slightly, trying to untangle her words so they made sense. You didn’t even really understand what she meant, and right now wasn’t really time to go ‘round tryna decipher her words. So, you just let her talk, let the weight of the words you didn’t really understand sink in. Eventually you’d actually make sense of her ramblings, but right now wasn’t one of those times.

“Alright, prophet, you got any clearer messages, or am I supposed to just go ‘long with you?” It meant to be a joke, just enough of a tone in your voice so she would’ve known you wasn’t taking her too seriously, but from the look on her face it rubbed her the wrong way. It flattened that sad attempt to humor her and shut you up real quick.

She shifted the tin aside, settled it among the others, before pointing a finger at you like you cursed her head off. “Ain’t my job to spell it out for you.” She didn’t raise her voice or scowl, just went back to cleaning up the counter with a dusty piece of cloth. And that was it. That was all she said. No explanation or soft edges to her words to make you think she was messing with you.

No room for another shit joke.

And no space for argument.

Just her certainty and knowledge that she wouldn’t share with you pressing down like the kind of knowledge that don’t come from guessing, just from years of watching the same thing unfold again and again.

The weekend clearly didn’t matter.

Not to her, so it wouldn’t to you.

And then it was quiet again. Not just cause she was mad or the fact that you was a little scared, but because there was that unease in your gut. The kind you get after waking up from a nightmare. The little jingles of the bells by the door, the slight sniffs customers made when scanning different candles and herbs was the only thing that distracted you. That and the muffled sounds of lively conversation outside. Your gramma must’ve snuck up behind you while you did your best to try to eavesdrop on the conversations that went by ‘cause next thing you know, she’s giving you a quick swat to the back of your head. You jolted in surprise, quickly turning around to face her instead of being nosy as you rubbed the back of your head, fixing her with an annoyed look.

“Junebug, go’n get some more tins— and none of those dented ones again.” You sucked in a slow sigh at your gramma’s order, sharply turning your head to watch her as she busied herself with helping a customer. You hopped off the stool, letting the wood creak under the shift of weight. Your eyes followed her as she slipped behind the counter, fingers tapping against the wall like she wasn’t waiting on you.

“Yes, ma’am.” Words carried out of habit more than anything else, rolling off your tongue without thought. And then you moved, purposefully slow. Like the steps to the back of the shop were new, unfamiliar, weren’t anything other than the same thing you’d done a hundred times before.

Like it wasn’t routine or repetition, just so you could experience something new.

Because Gramma asked.

Because the night hadn’t changed anything yet.

Because you did the same things you’d always done— even when she allegedly knew something was coming to break the cycle soon enough.

Stuck doing the same bullshit routine, everyday, every week.

You had all night to think now. Time to sit and stew in her words. Which wasn’t always a good thing, because the possibilities was practically eating you up. Thinking meant letting every idea come to fruition— the weight of expectation, the uncertainty, the fact there was no turning back. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. Couldn’t afford screwing everything up. Your gramma had left after supper to close up the shop, said she’d come back before to play audience in case tonight was the night. But the echoes of her words still sat heavy in the your heart, pressing against your mind like a reminder.

You’d already cleaned the house two times over, not from the what-if’s or the possibilities, but just out of habit. It was always like this whenever she rambled unexpectedly. Bringing yourself to clean every nook and cranny of the house. To keep yourself from going crazy in anticipation. You hadn’t really meant to, but your body would move before your mind caught up—back and forth, tracing the same stretch of floor like movement might keep you steady. But your hands always needed something to do. Not because it’ll matter, but because control is control, and if you can make sure everything is in place, at least something will feel certain. Something other than wringing themselves over what might happen. Preparing for the unknown ain’t just about routine— it’s about settling the nerves, about making peace with the unknown, about bracing for something that doesn’t come with clear instructions because your gramma wanted to use it as a teaching moment.

Your breath came slow, fingers curling against the countertop, repeating Gramma’s words under your breath to remind yourself that this is just another step, just something possibly meaning to happen. And then you sat, forced yourself to just wait, like stillness and movement kept fighting for the reins of control. Forced yourself to take a breath and relieve the weight in your chest.

You weren’t sure why you were panicking, ain’t like she admitted that tonight was the night, but something in your gut shifted. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the clock— but you noticed the stretches. You could practically feel everything, the way time dragged on, the wind outside, the cool of the night seeping through the window you was standing too close to, just so you could see before you were seen.

Gramma never said it’d come gently, never said it’d be announced— just that it was coming. That’s the way it was with her when she was your age, so you just needed to be ready. You couldn’t let yourself freeze, no matter how heavy the air gets, no matter how much your pulse shifted, you had to force yourself to move, to breathe, to listen. Had to check yourself, to make sure you were there, awake, whole.

After an hour, you made peace with not knowing who will come, how it will start, or what will happen next. You told yourself you were prepared, even if that doesn’t quite feel true. You weren’t scared, or unsteady, or doubtful, just ready for the test. The moment everything would change. You took another breath, long and deep, because what else was there to do?

Just sit.

Just wait.

Just make peace with the inevitable.

Nothing felt different.

Nothing looked different.

But that didn’t mean the weight of it wasn’t pressing down on you. So you waited more, and more. Sat with it for a while. Let it settle. But then two hours came, gramma wasn’t back, and the night man wasn’t here, so you took the liberty to finally make do to your room.

The sun’s set, darkness has come up, the sky black, empty and cloudless. No stars, no moon, just a long stretch of black on an endless canvas. The air’s thick, heavy, weighing down every movement of nature and every breath of the land. The trees connect through their limbs, tangling up into one big blob of wood and leaf. They speak to you, sway with every inhale the ground takes, deep and low. They sob, they weep, they ache, they groan. The wind stops, and for a moment, there’s stillness, no crying, no breathing, just emptiness.

The ground shifts, it moans, hollow and ragged as if life itself is pained just from its own existence. And then the earth inhales, and you’re back home. Everything’s the same, the dining table, the old painting on the wall, the faint crackling from the fireplace, but something’s not right. You can’t move, you can’t breathe, you’re not there. Not really. You’re rooted to the floor beneath you, stuck in time, prisoner to the land as it shackles you through your bones.

And then, a light. Freedom.

You can’t see it, but you can feel it, in your core, running through your veins. It’s hot, warm, a brand burning you beneath your skin, keeping you there. The red glows, vibrant and thick, and then just there, in you. He whispers your name, right there, in your ear, in your head, in you. The heat grows, it’s intense and pulls you down, magnetizing you to his voice. You try to move, try to blink, try to breathe, but you can’t. You try to listen to him, but he’s not talking anymore, you know he’s there, can feel the weight of his gaze even as you can’t see him.

Then— just, nothing.

No darkness, no silence, no weeping.

Just, emptiness.

You wake up to the same emptiness, that gnawing hollowness, that gut feeling of something being terribly wrong when nothing’s gone wrong yet. The house itself was still, like even it knew something was just off. The air was too thick, too quiet, too unmoving. The shutters of the window slapped softly against the glass, a soft ray of moonlight pushing through the wood and onto the raggedy rug by the foot of the bed before bleeding slow into the dark corners. Everything’s the same, everything’s okay, but something wasn’t quite there.

Maybe it was the dream, the heaviness of its weight still settled deep against your ribs. Maybe it was the whispers still lingering in your mind, unintelligible, unknown, but latched onto your chest like a sickness with no name. That silence that stretched too long and too thin finally interrupted. The familiar sound of the front door opening in the distance, shutting with a screechy creak and it was only then when you heard the faint sound of gravel crunching beneath wheels, that you sat up.

The air in the room sat too still, thick with the kinda silence that came when something was taken away from a child and they’re getting ready to unleash all hell. You slowly rose up from the bed, the floorboards silent under your feet. The hallway was too dark and way too empty.

The chair by the hearth was empty, rocking ever so slightly, like it had only just been left by someone. The shadows along the corner of the room shifted, melting into each other before disappearing out the window and into the night again.

Then— three knocks.

Soft, slow, deliberate, like the owner of the hand knew patience, knew you’d answer. For a moment, you wasn’t sure if you imagined it— too caught up in your own mind and the tricks that was surely being played on you. But the air shifted. Like the entire world had stilled and listened, waiting for you to respond.

Then it came again. Three knocks, heavier this time, sharp enough to carve through the prolonged silence.

Through the thin curtain, you could just make out three figures, standing still on the doorstep, waiting— like they’d been expected all along. The moment stretched even further, threatening to snap out like a band. But then you heard it. Finally noticed it.

The silence.

Not just the absence of sound, but something heavier, stretching into your ribs until all you could hear was your own breath, your own pulse beating against your ears. But you were stuck, rooted by the fireplace, caught between the weight in your chest and the whisper in your mind telling you to stay put— to just forget, to sleep, to leave the door alone. But that lump in your throat disappeared, and without thinking, without meaning to, your body moved on its own. Standing by the door, slowly turning your head to the side, you pressed your ear against the cold wood. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, maybe the sound of the wind, the creak of the porch floor, the rustle of fabric against fabric, but there was nothing.

Just a stretch of air.

“Junebug,” the nickname snapped you out of whatever trance you were in, the sound cutting clean through the walls. Your fingers curled around the door knob, not turning, just there, like the weight of your own grip was the only thing keeping you from moving and taking a step back. The voice that called out wasn’t your gramma’s. It had a feeling to it— low, smooth, drawn out just enough to make room for silence, to let it settle in the empty spaces between the syllables. There was another pause. Not long, but long enough— the kind of pause meant to remind you that this wasn’t a dream or a trick of your own mind. “I know you’re awake.”

There wasn’t any rise in his tone, no accusation or teasing in his words. Just fact. Like he knew you were alone, like he knew it had already been decided that you’d be alone, right now, tonight.

You stepped away from the door, staring at it like it would’ve forced the damn thing to tell you what exactly was behind the door. Like if you looked long enough you’d see straight through the wood, past the silence and whatever waited on the other side. There was something different, the living room felt wrong, the walls were off, it was too— raw. Like they was listening to you, like the air itself was watching you, getting ready to judge you for every wrong move you made. You took a slow look around, scanning the room like it was your first time actually seeing it.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for this time. A sign that you weren’t going crazy, or that this was the thing your gramma tried to warn you about. Maybe you were looking for a clue, a strange flicker from one of the wax candles, the same whisper in your head, or some kind of confirmation that this was happening now. They should’ve spoken by now, the shadows should’ve told you what to do, what not to do, but they didn’t. Just kept still and quiet.

It was the test, had to be. You knew it, had to know it. Gramma wasn’t there, wasn’t able to help you no matter how much you needed it right now. She wouldn’t come back to help you, wouldn’t come back to guide you, to remind you what needed doing. And the longer you brewed in your own thoughts, the more you came to realization of what had to happen. You couldn’t be scared, couldn’t run off like your brother did, this was the inevitable.

And then, something inside you just clicked.

You hummed low and certain, not a strangled gasp or a means to fight the truth, but of understanding. Before you even meant to, before your mind even had the ability to second guess, your fingers tightened around the doorknob and twisted. The door creaked open, just enough for the night air to seep into the warmth of the house.

You didn’t know the people in front of you. If you were foolish, and didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought they was some lost folks, some wandering souls who knocked on the wrong door. But you were smart, and you did know better. Hell, you knew what they were before they even introduced themselves. Your gaze peeled off the three shadows in front of you to scan the porch, to the familiar stretch of land in front of you.

She really was gone, her car wasn’t in the driveway, that faint cinnamon smell that lingered on her wasn’t close enough to be smelled. This really was happening. The very thing she’d been getting you ready for this whole time. And that weight, the one that was sat in your bones for as long as you could remember, the one that pressed down to keep you tethered to reality, kept you waiting for what was to come— wasn’t there anymore.

The wind spoke it. The glow in their eyes confirmed it. The energy sealed it. Those whispers and dreams finally came to be.

He was actually here.

“Well now,” a pause, and then a long, slow exhale, like he was deciding whether to speak at all. He tilts his head, just a fraction, not from curiosity or amusement, but just to watch. His gaze slowly drags along you and the space you’ve wedged yourself into, forcing yourself to block that small gap between the door and the doorframe. “Ain’t exactly the way to treat company, now is it?” The tone in his voice was what set you unnerved, like he had all the patience in the world, like he knew you’d eventually open the door, but the look on his face told something different. You saw it, it was quick but deliberate enough for you to see the glow in his eyes, the weight to them. He didn’t say anything after, let the silence drag on as he watched you, not rushing or giving you a look that demanded you to answer.

“You gon’ kill me?” Quick to the point. The one to the left of him let out a little sigh, maybe it was amusement, maybe it carried something deeper that you just couldn’t catch. The kind of sigh someone releases from the same question being asked over and over again. The night man barely looked over to her, had barely attempted to reassure you, to actually acknowledge it. Just glanced back at you, a quick flicker before turning back to the open door. Then with a measured breath, a subtle shift forward before finally speaking, his voice low and deliberate.

“That what you think this is?” No frustration. No sharpness. Just a question without a question mark, something that didn’t need an answer but demanded one anyway. The silence pressed on again, like everything around you wanted you to answer first. You weren’t sure now, not with the way his lips twitched up, not a full smile, just the suggestion of one. You waited again. Waited for something else, a whisper to guide you, for the wind to say what needed saying.

But nothing came. Just more silence and waiting. And the man was watching, watching like he already knew what would happen, already saw how this would play out and how it’d end.

“Aren’t you?” He let your question settle— didn’t push you to say anything else, just let the air stretch as his eyes shifted towards the people on either side of him. Then, a slow shift. Not much, just the slightest lean back, just enough to make it feel like he was really listening to you, like he was actually considering the words before deciding whether they’d mean anything at all. And then, the same flicker of a smile, like he was testing how long you’d hold out before deeming the silence to be too heavy to carry.

His eyes followed your every move. Even when you glanced back into the safety of the house, even when your gaze flickered down to your feet as you thought to yourself. You didn’t need to look up to know, you could feel it. Like he hadn’t moved at all, but somehow, with that silence, he was closer to you.

“That really what you wanna ask me?” You finally looked up, eyebrows furrowing at his question. You gave him the slightest shake of your head, not of certainty that you could’ve asked something else, but because you forced yourself to accept that you asked the wrong question. That much was clear. He made it clear. You nibbled on your bottom lip, pressing your teeth against it, trying to hold onto something physical to keep your mind from running in circles. And suddenly, the only thing you could think about was what gramma would do. Digging through your every thought, every rule and every warning you’ve been taught for this very minute.

What should you be asking?

What were you supposed to know?

What could you do so he wouldn’t stare at you like that— like he was waiting to see how you’d hold up before you overthought his very presence?

Nothing came. No pull in your chest, no reminder or flicker of knowing. Just that same hollow stretch.

“Don’t reckon I ever learned the right thing to ask.” You admitted hesitantly, rubbing the side of your neck as you pressed your lips together. A rough, vibrating sound left the man, something that came deep from his throat and rumbled into the air. Half a laugh, but heavier than one, more felt than heard. Or maybe the kind of laugh that never really forms, just the edge of it, that slight drag at the end, turning into something that was just shy of a growl but had some sort of bite to it.

And then finally, the sound— the ragged drag of breath, the edge of something close. It lingered in the air, and then a whisper. Right against your ear.

“Antre.”

Just there, curling against your skin like breath in the cold winter air. Like the moment has already moved forward before your mind could realize that it was. It was the push you needed. It’s fate. The thing you needed to get the safety you needed.

The whispers were done now. There wasn’t nothing left to try to negotiate, nothing left to question. They spoke for you, and it was needed. Already set in stone. So, you stepped back, slow and steady, opening the door despite the fact that you ain’t even know his name, or who they was. The earth made it happen. The door swung open, not with force or pressure, but the way it had to, like it knew what to do. Then he moved, a small step forward until he was close enough for you to fully see him without the casts of the shadows around him. For a second, he was just watching, like he was judging you on how you were measuring the weight of what was about to happen, the sight of you stepping back, the weight of the land moving for you. His tongue peeked out from in between his lips, dragging slow across his bottom lip, like he was ‘bout ready to pounce on you the same way a lion does to a deer.

“Come on in, then.” Your words landed soft and steady, wasn’t just permission but a statement of what was already happening. His eyes flicked up to meet yours again, a lazy grin on his face that ain’t shown an ounce of comfort or kindness. With slow steps, crossing the threshold like he’d already been inside a thousand times before, he made his way into the house. His shoulder brushed yours, not forcefully or by accident, but a deliberate gesture just enough to be felt and to stick to you. And when he turned towards the living room, the space stretched out before him, his gaze dragged. Not admiring the warmth of the decor, not on the shadows lurking around or the flicker of the fireplace, but at you. Then he took a deep breath in, savoring the air like he was settling back in after a long trip, like he was coming home from work.

“Juju always did say you’d be a smart girl.” His words landed easy, absentminded, but they wasn’t. Not really. He didn’t bother looking at you when he said it. Didn’t even really bother waiting for a reaction, didn’t seem to need one. He just stepped aside, giving space for the others to follow. Like they all understood they belonged here, and you was just some slow girl who was catching up too late.

You opened your mouth, to ask how he knew your gramma by name, to try to catch that missing piece before it disappeared forever. But the moment already passed, had kept you just a step behind them. By the time you realized it, he was already at the couch. The fabric groaned under him as he settled in, not stiff or weak, but at ease, like the house had already decided to hold him. His legs stretched out against the floor, spread out in a way that’d only be comfortable for a man. His fingers dragged lightly along the grain of the wood, taking in every texture of the couch, purposefully letting the place sink into him the way he was sinking into it. He leaned his head back against the head of the couch, his gaze glued to you as if he was waiting for you to say something before propping his arm up against the back of the couch.

“How you know gramma?” You asked quickly, a little too quickly, and he noticed. His brow lifted, not like he was startled or offended by your question, just letting the question sit before deciding what to do with it. He moved slightly. Just enough for the couch to groan beneath him, for his shoulders to sink a little lower, for his hips to shift up deliberately, like he was settling into the comfort of the house before answering your damn question. The woman snickered, but his hand was already lifting up to wave the sound off before it could finish off into a laugh.

That couple was too settled, too at ease. When your eyes finally dragged back to him— you caught the way he was looking, not like he was just watching or peeking at a stranger. It was something deeper, something far too intimate for a random. It was like water moving into cloth, taking its time to sink in, to claim space, to belong where it wasn’t invited. It wasn’t hunger, though it was almost there. But then his gaze slid down just slightly so his eyes could linger on the exposure of your neck, before he gave out a small breath of air.

“Funny that you don’t already know,” he spoke gently, curling around the space between you two. The weight of it settled into the quiet between you. He let it sit there. Let the silence soak into him, like it belonged to him as much as anything else in the room. He ran his hand along his inner thigh before casting a quick glance towards the empty space beside him. Just long enough for the meaning to settle before his eyes found you again. “Ain’t your fault, I s’pose. Got all night to remind you, ain’t in no rush.”

You blinked in momentary surprise, your eyes following his as he looked down to the cushion beside him. You could hear his order even if he didn’t speak it. The whisper in your ear, telling you to sit down, was enough confirmation. The whisper wasn’t there, not in the way the voices usually were, or the way instructions were given, but in the back of your head like you would’ve been stupid to not want to listen. But it was there, spiraling in your head until it was all you could think about. The words were soft, pressing against your ribs like a breath that hadn’t even left your mouth but still forcing through every fiber of your being. You were moving again before you had the opportunity to object, the cushion sinking beneath you as you forced a gap between the two of you. Not enough to be safe, or to go unnoticed, or out of arm’s reach, just enough to remind yourself that you had the opportunity to move if you needed to.

“You scared, or is that pretty head of yours just figuring out how deep the remembering’s gotta go?”

“I ain’t afraid.” You snapped back, a little too sharp, a second too quick, and an awful lot defensively. He caught it. Didn’t bother calling you out, or pushing back, just casted a look towards the two people he came with. For a second you’d expected one of them to call you on your bluff, but the three of them shared a glance, like they was having a conversation with just their eyes. His tongue pressed slow against his teeth, just a moment of hesitation like he was holding himself back from words that weren’t necessary just yet. All he did was take a look down to the space between you two before trailing his eyes up along your body.

“Ain’t me keeping all that space there.” He noted with a low voice, letting his eyes dip along the curve of your waist before finally meeting your face. You held his gaze for a split second before looking away towards the comfort of the fireplace like it’d give you all the answers you sought.

“That’s ‘cause you’re a stranger.” He didn’t respond at that, tilting his head to the side like he was weighing the word. Stranger. He tapped his fingers on the back of the couch just where your shoulder rested against, and though it wasn’t a means to get your attention back on him. It worked.

“Stranger ain’t the right word, girl. Reckon you know that too.” You captured your bottom lip between your teeth hard enough to keep the annoyance from surfacing at his lack of a real answer, but gave him an unsure shrug.

“I don’t know y’all, you won’t tell me what you are.” The words hung between you, capturing the heaviness of your words, the helplessness at the edge, the frustration there. He let the silence drag even longer at that. Not in avoidance or the lack of an answer, but just to study that look of annoyance on your face without the interruption of his own voice.

“Ain’t the name that matters,” he shifted forward, slow and certain, like he wasn’t considering the movement, just following a second instinct. His hand slowly moved along the curve of the couch, inching its way up to lightly brush along the fabric of your nightgown. You tensed under him, tight enough for the muscles in your shoulders to coil up just enough that you were certain he’d notice. “You can call me whatever you want— the night man, the stray, night walker. Most call me Remmick,” his hand didn’t stop, not right away, just kept following the curve of your neck before letting his hand settle there. The weight of his palm rested lazy against your skin, like it fit there, like it was a missing piece. “Ain’t too picky. S’pose I’d like to hear how it sounds from you first.”

Your gaze flickered down, catching the lack of warmth to his hand, that tight steady pressure against your neck. His thumb pressed against the side of your jaw, a slow, guiding gesture as he turned your head back to him. You peeked over, just a glance, to try to see through the shadows that hid the couple he came with. But it didn’t linger, not long enough before his thumb was tapping against your jaw to bring your eyes back to him instead. “Eyes on me.”

You were quick to look back at him, not just cause he gave your throat a gentle squeeze to snap your attention to him once more. That ain’t what pulled you back. Not really. Your body was already moving before you did. Like it was second nature. Like you was already following something that wasn’t spoken, something he didn’t have to voice twice for. That slight pressure, not like he was forcing you or demanding, just enough to remind you of where his hand was and where you were. He slowly leaned forward, just enough for the tip of his nose to nudge against the side of your cheek. “Remmick?” You mumbled slightly, tense, taken aback, confused. But the question just hung there in between the silence of the room and the creak of the couch as he moved closer. He didn’t answer right away, apparently didn’t need to, just kept his hand firm against your neck and his nose pressed against your cheek.

He inhaled slowly, deeply as if savoring every molecule of your scent and the way his name fell off your tongue. His lips brushed against the warmth of your skin in a languid path, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he inched his way towards your ear. He paused, taking another long, deliberate inhale, flooding his senses with every inch of you. “Ain’t even started yet, and you already tense,” his words murmured against the delicate skin of her throat, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. His head dipped lower, his lips dragging a path of heat downwards until he found the flutter of heartbeat at the base of your throat. He stilled, the heat of his breath heavy against the pulse he hovered over. “You feel that?”

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the nerves in your stomach and that red flashing light in your head that told you this was a bad idea. "Feel what?" It came out real pathetic, barely audible like he was choking the life out you. His tongue flicked out, a fleeting, teasing caress against that rapid pulse but he was quick to reach down and grab hold of your wrist to stop you from moving.

“I’ll show you.” His grip on your throat tightened, just enough to get your heart beating against your chest like an impatient bird locked up in its cage. You jerked under him, your feet kicking and sliding against the fabric of the couch as you sucked in a sharp breath through your nose. The first touch is barely there. Then— the weight of his hand. Not holding you still, just there, pressing up against the side of your face like he was tryna give you something to lean into.

This is wrong. You gotta move. Who cares ‘bout the test? Do something. Don’t just let him sniff up on you like a dog in rut. Do something idiot.

But you couldn’t, you weren’t sure why. Maybe you liked it, maybe you was afraid, but you let him. And then, that press.

The faintest drag of teeth against flesh, just enough to have you pulling back with a shiver, enough to feel the sharpness before they sink in. His lips grazed the spot, pressing a soft kiss there, tasting the skin, testing to see if you’d pull away or lean into it. But when you didn’t fight back, just gave out a strangled hum, his teeth pressed against the pulse. It ain’t a lunge or a tear. Not sloppy or all tongue. Just pressure. That brief shock of something sharp, turned into heat, thrumming against his teeth like your body already knows what’s happening. Just sharp, fleeting pressure, like the moment before a needle breaks the surface.

Then a slow bloom of heat, something real warm rushing through your nerves like a delayed reaction. And again, your body registers it faster than your mind, not in alarm or fear, just instinctive awareness that something’s pulling, something’s taking. The faint ache of punctured skin shifts curling deep into your gut, and there’s that tug, like a slow surrender. Your pulse stutters for half a second, like your body was fully adjusting to it, almost liking it. And then— a strange, lingering warmth. You could barely make out the little groan that slipped from his lips, like it took everything in him to not indulge in the moment.

A deep, humming sensation sits beneath the surface, not of pain, but a profound growth of pleasure that suffused through you. You hadn’t even noticed the way your head had gone slack, lolling back against his hand until the pad of his thumb running along the side of your jaw had brought you back to your senses. A weak, breathy grunt escaped your lips, pushing yourself up against his hand, and he let you, quietly easing your body back. Keeping the warmth of his mouth against you deliberate, and lazy. “Shh, I know,” He murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble against your skin. His thumb traced the hinge of your jaw, a slow touch as he cupped the side of your face to guide you to look away.

Not too deep. Not too much. Just enough for the taste of you to hit his tongue, enough for the air between you to shift, and stretch so damn thin you was sure you’d pass out. It was something far more complex, a maelstrom of sensation that curled like smoke through your veins before it transformed into a quieter, more deliberate pleasure. Something just enough to mean something without taking too much. And when he pulls back, the wound isn’t much. Your hand flies up to the side of your neck, instinctively searching for the two marks, just a lingering warmth, just enough that you’d feel it long after he’s moved back from your throat. Heat blooms first, a sudden rush, something bright against the dull ache where his teeth settled in.

“You bit me.” You slurred out, as if the realization had only just dawned on you now that’d he gone pulled away from you, your voice laced with something between shock and offense. You brought two trembling fingers to your face, staring down at the crimson slick of blood and saliva that clung to your skin like a dark, glistening dew. His eyes followed your movement, a constricted, hungry glint in the shine of his pupils as he took in the sight of it. Your eyes flicked around the room, only to be met with the absence of a crowd, the dark curl of shadows stretching out over the walls.

He grinned then, a slight, wicked curve of his lips that sent a bolt of energy straight to your soul. His tongue darted out, painted in the crimson smear of your blood painting his tongue a dark, enticing red as it swiped across his bottom lip in half means to clean up the mess he’d made. “Gon’ be good and let me do it again? Or stay all dramatic?” You blinked in confusion at his question, like it’d be a normal thing to go around getting your neck chomped by the night man, but you couldn’t find it in you to try to speak or object. He leaned in closer, breath hot and heavy against your skin as he dragged the slick flat of his tongue against the indented mark his teeth left on your throat. The sensation was a sharp bolt of pleasure, one that seemed to send a warmth in your belly. His hand slid higher, fingers curling around the slender column of your throat, squeezing with a deliberate force that made your vision blur.

“You gon’ kill me.” Your breath came out too ragged, messy and taut, dragging in shallow breaths, like your body was forcing you to stay still but your mind was fighting for you to run.

You could hear the tremble in your voice, tried to ignore the ragged breaths of your body to keep from panicking any more. You tried your best to keep a level head, to remind yourself that this was a test, and you had to do what you could to not get cold feet. You forced yourself still, to remind yourself that this was a test, panic wasn’t an option. Couldn’t afford cold feet.

“Ain’t taking more than you can give,” he corrected with a gravely voice, lips hovering a mere hairsbreadth from the dark, blooming mark he'd left upon your throat. You wanted to push him for an answer, to ask him to help you make sense of his words, but instead, you lavished in the feeling of his lips planting a soothing kiss to the tender flesh. “You gonna let me?”

And without knowing, you was already nodding at his question, sucking on your bottom lip to keep from getting a shaky mouth. “Is it gonna hurt?” You could feel the smirk growing on his lips at your question, humming low and firm against your skin as one hand slipped down along the curve of your hip.

“Wasn’t easy for your brother. Can be easier for you.” His hand slid from your jaw to your shoulder, fingers curling around the delicate bone, anchoring you to him. His eyes held yours, a molten gaze that seemed to see straight through to the terrified, like he was tryna make sure you fully understood his words, yet didn’t say anything else. You stared up at the ceiling, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to connect the puzzle pieces he laid out for you.

He brought two fingers to your chin, tilting your head to the side so you can meet his scorching gaze once again. You felt the slow, deliberate slide of his fingers against the flesh of your bottom lip, parting it with a gentle insistence that brooked no resistance. “Open your mouth,” your eyes snapped to his face, scanning every inch to see if he was making a joke of you. He looked down at you, the glow of the fireplace casting a dark light in his eyes that shadowed his face so perfectly he looked unreal. “Ain’t gonna say it again.”

You hesitantly parted your lips, your eyes following every subtle shift of movement in his face as he watched you. He slowly nudged your lips further apart, his fingers pressing deeper to prop your mouth open just a little wider. Just enough that he could see the pink base of your tongue. His mouth opened, and before you could react, he was spitting the thick mixture of the coppery tang of your blood with the warm, iron laced flavor of his saliva directly onto your tongue. For a split second, a wave of emotions slapped you in the face, more offense to the man who just spit on your tongue, but the longer the taste lingered there, the more you actually liked it. It tingled across your taste buds, a dark, taboo essence that sent a strange sensation alive in your stomach.

Before you could even begin to process it, his fingers were pushing in deeper into your mouth, easing you to swallow that offering. As his digits pushed past your teeth, your tongue instinctively curled around them, the muscle fluttering and moving against his fingers with a mind of its own. He sucked in a slow breath at the sight, giving you a little nod of silent encouragement to keep going. He took cruel advantage of your mouth, using the slick, silken heat of your tongue to coat his fingers. “Oh, look at that.” He strained out with a slight groan, the hand placed on your hip slowly guiding you up against him so he was rested pressed in between your legs.

He eased you to swallow the combination of your shared essences sliding down your throat in a thick, viscous rope. The sensation was odd. The sheer depravity of it sending a bolt of hot, forbidden pleasure moving through your veins. It was as if, in that moment, you could feel his presence inside you, the claim upon your body and soul growing stronger, more absolute with each passing second. Your throat worked convulsively around the invading fingers, muscles clenching and rippling as they struggled to accommodate the sudden, unwanted intrusion.

As you finally managed to force down the last of the combination, your lungs burned with the need for air. As you gasped and choked, fighting to fill your lungs with much-needed oxygen. As you fought to regain your breath, lungs sore with the desperate need for oxygen, his fingers remained an unyielding presence in your mouth, a lewd plug preventing the heavy gasps from escaping. Each ragged, strangled inhale sent a fresh surge of humiliation coursing through you, the hidden knowledge that your body kept responding to him without hesitation. It was a twisted parody of intimacy, a perverse mockery of the way lovers might share breath and saliva in the heat of passion. And yet, despite the degradation, and deep humiliation of it all, you couldn't deny the way your body reacted, the way your skin burned up like it was on fire.

His lips crashed against yours in a messy kiss, his tongue slipping against yours, as if he meant to devour you inside out. He licked into your mouth, his tongue swirling and twining with your own in a way that physically stole your breath. It was quick, and sloppy, and not nearly as long as you secretly wanted it to be. He broke the kiss, forcing your head to turn towards the warmth of the fireplace before trailing quick kisses along your jaw. Moving further and further down back towards the mark he left a few moments before. His breath ghosts over the skin first, dragging out the anticipation. The way he kisses against your skin is controlled—slow, wet, not rushed, not impatient like the kiss was. You were so locked onto the feel of his mouth against your neck that you hadn’t even noticed the feeling of teeth there again.

The bite wasn’t like the one from before. It was sharp, deep, cutting through skin enough to the point it bordered on painful. The bite was this hot fire that seared through your flesh and bone, piercing the very essence of your being. You couldn’t even force out a scream or a gasp at the heat of teeth tearing through skin, muscle, and sinew to pierce the pulsing artery beneath.

All you could feel and see was the blood that gushed into the air, a scarlet fountain that splashed across his face to paint his skin a glistening red. All you could smell was the scent of your own blood, thick and cloying, the metallic tang of it burning through your nostrils and your tongue. The room spun, tilted wildly as the strength drained from your body, with each spurt of crimson.

As your body struggled against the change, your mind soared. Memories blurred and bled together, the line between past and present, reality and nightmare, dissolving into a hallucinatory haze. All you could think about was gramma. All your memories revolved to this very moment. All the life flashing back before your eyes, just for this.

For the feeling of the life leaving you.

All you could feel was the pain. So immense. So unbearable. So real. The last thing you felt was your heart stutter and pause in your chest, your lungs burning for air that could not fill them.

And then— just sleep.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Hear me out.. yandare!human!Serial killer Klaus who’s obsessed with Y/n and has been for years, always coming to her little flower shop, and killing any rude customers, a potential lover, etc. anyone who gets in the way of having her until finally, reader finds out and is just as crazy as Klaus so they fuck in her little flower shop after a messy confrontation. Obviously daddy kink, breeding kink, the usual ! If you’re into knife/blood play I’d love to see some of that (a fic and a mood board would be KILLERRRRR)

Bloody Flowers -Yan!Klaus M.

DD:DNE

Warning: Serial Killer!KlausxVoyeur!Y/n, Murder-Talk of Murder, Murder of Teenagers, Talk of Past Murder-Serial Killer at a Young Age, Torture, Kidnapping, Abuse, Misuse of a Dead Body, Twisted/Toxic Relationship, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, Breast Feeding Kink

-This couple gets off on the idea of murder, they enjoy their victims watching them fuck-

This is a Very Dark Fic!

Klaus had been in love with her for as long as he could remember.

They had gone to school together their whole lives, though they were never friends. Klaus had always been too shy to talk to her and their friend groups never overlapped-mostly because Y/n had been friends with the weird kids and Klaus had no friends at all. Klaus was the weird kid that the weird kids were weirded out by-he never fit in anywhere, though he never minded that he had no friends. The only time it bothered him was when he wanted Y/n’s attention, unable to force himself to speak to her no matter how many times he tried.

He had always loved her, since the day his family moved to Mystic Falls and he saw her for the first time in his second grade class. Y/n was his first and only crush in his entire life, she was also the only kid who ever treated him kindly, never leaving him out like the other kids did when they all gave each other Valentines or brought in treats for their birthdays. Other kids always left Klaus out but his girl never forgot about him, always delivering him a Valentine card with some type of candy or bringing him a cupcake that she’d brought for her birthday while everyone else was eating and he was across the room reading. Every once in a while she would even ask him about whatever book he was reading-giving him her undivided attention as he explained whatever he was reading whether it was a book on the human body as he was learning where all the different organs are in the body and what they do-or about some serial killer (which ever one he was obsessed with that week). She never treated him badly like everyone else did-even his own family.

They were separated upon going to middle school though she would still smile at him in the hallways and wave and continued doing so all through high school as well. Klaus-as he aged-became much better at speaking to people, becoming what the old ladies at the nursing home his mother worked at all his life described as a “charming young man”-and charming he was. He became the kind of guy who could talk a woman into being completely comfortable in his presence despite the fact that they had never met him a day in their lives-it served him well and he never lacked victims when he hunted.

Klaus had known what he was by the time that he was 13 years old-making his first kill when he was 15. Katherine Pierce had bullied him since the second grade, having started his first day of school and he had fantasized about killing her since that first night as he laid in his bed-thinking of all the different ways he could cause her pain-all the different ways he could make her suffer. He had enjoyed beating her pretty face in-a hammer having been his tool of choice that first time and to this day that kill was the most thrilling feeling he had ever experienced. She was still missing and had been since they were in Sophomore year of high school-only Klaus knowing where her body was really buried along with all of his other victims-all 58 of them.

Klaus never left Mystic Falls-though he had always wanted to. He could never leave Y/n, he still visited her once a week, seeing her when he came to her flower shop in town when he came to buy flowers for his families graves. His parents and siblings had all been killed in a house fire while he was out one night-he had set it himself of course, having made it look as if Mikael had been the one to do it, murdering his entire family. Klaus had been on a date to the movies (with a girl he killed 3 years later once no one would even think he could have had anything to do with it) he had told the cops that he had snuck out to meet the girl making it seem as if Mikael believed his whole family would perish in the blaze. They ruled it a murder-suicide and dubbed Mikael a “Family Annihilator”.

Y/n always made sure that she had the bouquet for him exactly as he wanted it, 2 black Dahlias for his parents and and 6 black roses for each of his siblings. He left each of his family members a flower every single week, Y/n never forgetting his order and always making sure she had those specific flowers for him every Sunday as they weren’t exactly popular flowers being bought every day in a place like Mystic Falls.

Her flower shop was one of the most popular places in town, people from every neighboring town always coming to her store to get their bouquets or their arrangements for their weddings or funerals or men that need a bouquet for their wife after spending too long with their girlfriend. Klaus had deduced that his girl knew about almost every single affair in this town and the surrounding ones and they kept her in business. She had the most exquisite arrangements, never seeming to lack for any kind of flowers anyone ever needed. Klaus may have helped her out in the beginning, setting yet another fire at the popular flower shop two towns over and making it look like it was done for the insurance money so the business never opened again, but every other shop Y/n put out of business herself. She was passionate about her job and she brought a smile to every face that walked into her shop-no matter the situation. She was such a bright, sweet soul, a light to everyone that came in contact with her and that was why it was so shocking to Klaus to see her crying as he arrived that Sunday afternoon.

As he walked in the door of The Shadow Garden-a name he loved knowing Y/n carried all kinds of plants including toxic ones and things like cobra lilies and Venus flytraps that trap and digest bugs-he turned his head to greet the only woman he had ever loved. For the first time in his life however, she didn’t have a smile on her face as she saw him (though she quickly tried to wipe the tears with her hands, smiling sadly as if it covered up the entire incident). Klaus was instantly worried, he had never once seen his girl without a smile on her face, even when they were small children in school he had never seen her anything but happy. He opened his mouth to question what had happened that was so bad that she was shedding tears-however he was cut off by a loud, deep voice just before he could even say her name.

‘I don’t understand how you could fuck this up so badly! I mean, aren’t florists supposed to be good at putting together flower arrangements?! That’s literally your job and somehow all of these look like absolute shit!’ The man in the back of the shop was looking through the fridge at all of the different flower arrangements and Klaus instantly felt a familiar desire rising within him. He was desperate to wrap his hands around this man’s throat and watch the fear on his face as he realizes that he wasn’t going to be getting out of his dire situation, that he was going to die with Klaus’ hands around his throat.

Y/n turned quickly, picking up the flowers that were behind the counter for Klaus as they always were on Sundays at 4pm. ‘Here. On the house today. I’ll see you next week.’ She insisted, walking around the counter and handing them to him quickly though as she moved to open the door for him he grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

‘No. Why is he yelling at you like that?’ He asked, keeping his voice as soft as he could with the familiar murderous feeling getting stronger the longer he saw his girl with tears on her beautiful face.

‘Klaus, you don’t need to-‘

‘Tell me what’s going on, Y/n, because if you don’t I’m going to ask him.’ Her hand tightened in his more and Klaus felt an excited jolt shoot up his spine as she was holding onto him now.

‘I made the arrangement he asked for and when he got here he didn’t like it. I pointed out that I made what he asked for and he started shouting at me about how I’m incompetent and how everything is awful. I’m fine, you don’t need to involve yourself, please? You don’t need to worry about me-‘

‘But I do worry about you. You don’t deserve to be treated like that and I won’t allow it, come sit, clean yourself up gorgeous.’ Klaus couldn’t have told you where the confidence with Y/n came from but he needed to see her smile again-though he did enjoy the blush that turned her face even more red for a good reason this time.

Just as Klaus got her to sit on her stool behind the counter the man stomped back up to the front with a vase of different colored lilies. ‘This is the least horrible thing in here, and my girlfriend loves lilies, I’ll take this, and the next time-Ughh!’ Y/n gasped loudly as she watched Klaus having suddenly grabbed the man’s throat, choking him roughly with one hand, the man instantly using both hands to try and pry Klaus’ hand off which he quickly realizes that he is unable to do. Y/n’s eyes are locked on-and not on the man but instead Klaus’ bicep-that is fully flexed and way bigger than she would have expected from Klaus who most people assume is a lanky, weak guy. His grip on the man is unrelenting as he glared down at him.

‘This woman here that you’ve spent the last at least 5 minutes making cry is the kindest, sweetest girl you will ever meet in your life. She spends every day arranging flowers to make other people’s days a bit brighter and instead of just telling her kindly that the arrangement you ordered isn’t exactly what you want now that you see what it looks like, you decided to scream at her, belittle her and insult her! Now, you are going to apologize to her, you’re going to buy this arrangement, and you are going to leave-and you can be damn fucking sure there will be No “Next time” because if she ever tells me that you’ve walked your ass back in this shop, I will hunt you down and I will kill you. Do you understand me?’ The man nodded to the best of his ability before Klaus released his throat, holding him by his collar now as the terrified man looked at Klaus before looking back down at Y/n who Klaus now noticed was staring at him instead of the cowering man. ‘Y/n?’ Klaus spoke, gaining her attention, confused by her staring at him now as she’s never done it before.

‘Yes! Sorry, h-he can just-‘

‘No, he can’t. Do what I told you to do-Ronald!’ Klaus demanded as he looked at the credit card he was holding to pay with, seeing his full name on it and making a note of it to find him after this.

‘I’m very sorry Y/n, I was horribly rude and it was wrong of me to insult all of your beautiful work. Please forgive me?’ He whimpered as he handed her the credit card and she quickly rang him up, charging him double before handing him his card back.

‘Thank you for the apology, I don’t accept it you huge piece of shit. Now get the fuck out.’ Klaus’ eyes went wide in shock as he released the man and allowed him to run out of the store. ‘Wow…thank you Klaus, that was really-‘ she quickly stopped herself before she could tell him that it was “Hot”, not wanting to humiliate herself even more. ‘Okay, well, I think I have been thoroughly humiliated enough for today, this was fun. Here is your flowers for the week, seriously they’re free, especially after all that. Thank you for your help.’

‘Please don’t be embarrassed, I’m glad that I could help you. I never want to see you cry like that again, you’re too beautiful to cry.’ He admitted before taking his flowers and stepping out towards his car, beginning to look up the man that was going to be his next victim.

The next day as Y/n was closing down the shop there was a knock at the door. ‘We’re Closed!’ She shouted back as she finished an arrangement for the next day-having quite a few orders she still needed to fill tonight to be ready for first thing the next morning as there was a wedding that needed to be delivered to and she needed to have it all ready for her driver to just pick up and take.

‘Y/n! It’s Sheriff Forbes!’ A women shouted and Y/n turned quickly to see Caroline’s mom at the door with another younger male cop prompting her to quickly unlock the door and let them in.

‘Liz, you need some last minute flowers? You know I’m always open for you.’ Y/n smiled but the Sheriff wasn’t smiling.

‘No sweetheart, I need to ask you a couple of questions quickly. There’s a man that’s been reported missing and one of the last places he used his credit card was here. Did you seen this man yesterday or have you seen him since?’ She asked, showing Y/n a photo on her phone of the asshole from yesterday.

‘Yes, he was here yesterday. Bit if an asshole, but he bought lilies for his girlfriend.’ Y/n told her as she wondered if Klaus had been serious yesterday? Had he really meant it when he said he was going to kill the man? …No…he couldn’t have been serious, could he?

‘Girlfriend? You mean his wife?’ Y/n quickly shook her head.

‘No, he was very clear about the fact that he was getting lilies for his girlfriend. I know what he said, he didn’t like the arrangement he ordered and he picked a different one instead. He paid with a credit card and he left.’ She explained to Liz who was writing it all in a notebook.

‘Did anything seem off with him?’ She asked, clearly just finding out that the married man had a girlfriend.

‘He seemed pissed off about something but I have no clue what. He was only here for about 5 minutes. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.’ Y/n stated, putting on her best sympathetic attitude, she didn’t want to give Liz a reason to look at Klaus-God forbid she be wrong and frame him for murder…though the idea that Klaus had defended her and then still killed the man for so much as making her cry was way more of a turn on than it should be in any case.

‘You gave us plenty sweetheart. Thank you very much for your help. You get on home, it’s going to start getting dark soon.’ With that Liz was gone with her partner, hopping into her car and speeding off.

Y/n closed all the blinds and turned off the “Open” sign before continuing to arrange the flowers for the wedding tomorrow-unable to get Klaus off of her mind.

What she didn’t know was that he was thinking about her as well, having been watching her on the cameras he had placed around her store and knowing as he saw that adorable, thoughtful look on her face that she knew exactly what he had done…

It was 2 hours later, the sun was long gone and it had taken Y/n more time than she had wanted it to, to arrange the bridesmaids flowers before putting together the brides bouquet. She had just finished putting it all in the fridge for the driver to find tomorrow for the delivery when she heard heavy footsteps in the back of the shop.

‘Hello? Liz?’ She called out, grabbing a set of shears tightly in her hand and holding them behind her as she slowly stepped towards the back, feeling arms around her tightly and fingers gripping her hand before she could attempt to stab the intruder.

‘No You Don’t Gorgeous!’ Y/n recognized Klaus’ voice instantly and she took a breath, relaxing herself in his arms which took him a bit by surprise. ‘Very relaxed for a girl who knows exactly who she’s standing here with, hmm? You’ve been putting it all together for the last 2 hours, I’ve been watching you. You have an adorable thinking face, truly.’

‘So it’s true? It was all you?’

‘That depends, what was all me?’ Klaus asked, wanting to hear her conclusions as he leaned closer and trailed his nose along her neck, never having been so close to be able to smell her like this and he loved her soft flowery scent.

‘All the people that have gone missing in the neighboring towns and in the woods the last few years…Liz’s husband, the Mayors assistant-all the people in town that have just up and left in the middle of the night in the last 3 years? Tyler?’ She knew she was right about Tyler when Klaus’ grip on her tightened. ‘He cheated on me and then the next night he was gone, Liz said he had left to be with her but I’m guessing you killed Hayley too…is that true?’ She wondered, placing her hand over his on her waist and easing his grip so that she could turn in his arms to look up at him-his eyes soft and curious now. ‘Did you do that for me?’

‘I…yes.’ He admitted, looking into her eyes and not seeing the fear he was so used to in his victims. His girl wasn’t afraid of him…

‘I wish you had told me. I would have loved to see that…I want to watch next time.’ She told him and Klaus could feel the excitement rushing through him at the idea of his girl watching him kill. ‘I can watch…right Daddy?’ The growl that exploded from his chest was a sound that went straight to Y/n’s panties as he tightened his grasp, turning her and pressing her down against the counter, leaning over top of her as he pressed his crotch to her ass quite hard.

‘Fuck I was right about you! You’re gonna be Daddy’s little slut, aren’t you Y/n?’ She was nodding her head quickly as he yanked her pants and panties down out of the way, unbuckling his belt and releasing his cock just enough to rub himself against her soaking wet cunt. ‘So fucking wet for me, Daddy left you waiting too long, didn’t I?’

‘Mmhmm! Need you Daddy! Please fuck me?! Please?!’ Klaus would never leave his girl to beg for him like that, he would keep her full every single day of their lives together from this moment on. ‘Oh Fuck!’ She cried as he didn’t waste a second in shoving his cock as deep into her body as he could get.

‘God, you’re dripping all over me Princess!’ He moaned, rutting up into her roughly, taking hold of her throat and pulling her back against his chest as he pressed his lips to her ear. ‘So fucking wet thinking about Daddy cutting him open for you, aren’t you?’ She nodded frantically as he fucked into her, her tummy twisting desperately as her body tightened on his cock. ‘I know Princess, the idea of watching Daddy work makes your slutty little hole drip. Daddy won’t leave you needy anymore, I promise. I’m gonna fill this slutty little cunt up! Cum for me Princess, cum for Daddy!’ He demanded, biting into her neck roughly as he felt her cum on his cock, filling her as deeply as he could.

‘Oh Fuck! Daddy! Yes! Fill my pussy Daddy, please?!’ She begged, Klaus holding her firmly to him as her body leaned fully into him. ‘Please? Fuck me Daddy…’ she whimpered as he pulled away from the now bloody bite mark on her neck.

‘Don’t worry Princess, Daddy’s gonna fill you up again, just you wait. You’re gonna keep these slutty little legs closed and hold all of Daddy’s cum in this little womb until I’m ready to fill you again!’ She whimpered as he pulled out of her hole, quickly pulling her pants up and fixing his before lifting her into his arms and moving out the back door to his car where he set her on his lap and began the drive to his home which was only just out of the town and hidden in the woods where you would never find it if you didn’t already know where it was.

Klaus carried her from the car into his family home that he now resides in completely alone before opening the door to the basement where she instantly hears a man screaming for his life. ‘Let Me Out Of Here You Psychopath!’ The man from the flower shop yesterday raged, he had a collar around his neck that was chained to the wall, a comfy looking chair was seated directly in front of the man and that’s where Klaus settled himself with Y/n on his lap.

‘Is this where you want to be, my love?’ Klaus wondered, unbuttoning her pants once again and pulling down the zipper. ‘Perched on Daddy’s lap with my cock deep in your belly, watching people bleed while you get stuffed full of cum? Is this what my baby needs?’ She whined, nodding her head as she leaned back onto his shoulder.

‘Yes Daddy…Want your cock! Please?!’ She pleaded as he pulled her pants and panties from her body completely, removing her shirt and bra as well to leave her bare on Klaus’ lap.

‘You want Daddy inside you, filling you up. Want them to have to watch you take the cock of the man that is slowly taking their lives away. My gorgeous girl, so fucked up for Daddy, aren’t you?’ He taunted, pulling his pants down just enough to free his cock and lifting you to shove himself back into you. ‘Such a good girl, taking my cock just right! Fuck! Gonna give Daddy perfect little babies, aren’t you?’

‘Yes Daddy! Yes! Want your babies!’ You cried out just before he began slowly circling his hips and rutting up into your body. ‘Y-Yes! So good! Mmm!’

‘You feel even better than I imagined you would Princess…Knew I would be filling you with my babies since we were in 10th grade! That was the first time I ever killed anyone and after beating Katherine Pierce to death all I could think of was fucking my cock into your little cunt! Knew I fucking had to have you! Such a perfect pussy, worth the wait baby! Gonna fill your little womb again!’ Klaus held her down on his cock as close as he could. ‘So full, aren’t you my love?’ She nodded, her body slack against him after yet another intense orgasm. ‘Gonna grow my baby right in here now.’ He insisted, hand against your slightly swollen belly where you laid back against him. ‘Such a good girl for me…this is where we were always destined to end up, since the day we met in Second grade. Been dreaming of fucking you since 7th grade!’

‘Oh Daddy! It-It’s so romantic!’ You marveled as Klaus thrust up into you again, ready to fill your womb once again and beginning a steady pace, his hands finding your breasts and rubbing his thumbs over your nipples as he imagined your breasts swollen and full of milk for his babies-and for him-his cock aching as he thought about wrapping his lips around your nipples and tasting your milk himself. He may never let you stop breast feeding just so that he could have your milk all to himself.

‘What’s romantic, my love?’ He wondered, panting as he continued rutting up into your body roughly.

‘All your victims are gonna get to sit there from now on and watch you fuck me, fill my body full of a brand new life right before you take their life away. It’s just, so romantic!’ She gushed and Klaus felt pleasure shoot straight up his spine as you said this, his cock squirting everything he could possibly give to you straight up into your womb.

‘That was it! That was the one, I just filled you full of my baby, I know it!’ He insisted, his voice strong in his conviction, positive that this was the moment he impregnated you.

‘Yes! Yes Daddy! Love having your baby inside me Daddy! You-You’re still gonna fuck me more, right…?’ You questioned quickly, not wanting him to stop fucking you.

‘Of course I am, Princess! Daddy’s never gonna stop fucking this perfect pussy!’

‘Oh Christ! For the Love of God! Please stop already?!’ The deep voice startled Y/n who jumped, whimpering. ‘I can’t take listening to this sloppy fuck fest anymore. A guy can only close his eyes for so long, I mean she’s gorgeous, but knowing that she’s letting a moron like you fuck her full of your kids has got to be some kind of sin! For the Love of God. Either shut up or kill me so I don’t have go hear this anymore!’ Both Klaus and Y/n paused, looking at each other before looking back at Ronald.

‘Daddy?’

‘Yes Princess?’ Klaus responded, lifting Y/n off of his cock and standing up from the chair.

‘Do you have a stapler?’ Klaus had taken a step towards Ronald before hearing what his girl had just said, turning back around and smirking as he knew exactly what she was thinking.

‘Yes Love, I do. I’ll go get it.’ Klaus turned and ran up the basement stairs quickly as she turned to the table that was full of sharp weapons, picking up the duct tape just as Klaus came back down. She pulled the duct tape and rubbed her hand over her dripping pussy before wiping her hand across the assholes mouth, pressing the duct tape over his mouth right after and wrapping it around his head and mouth over and over about 10 times before ripping it off and tossing the tape back to the table. ‘Now Ronald, I’m going to fuck my Princess again…many more times honestly. We have a lot of time to make up for considering we could have been doing this for years, and you are going to watch us whether you like it or not. Would you like to hold or would you like to staple?’ Klaus asked, looking at Y/n who’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘You would let me be the one to staple? Really?’ She asked, tears coming to her eyes at his sweet gesture.

‘Of course I would babygirl! I would be happy if you’d also like to help me play with my victims from now on, though I understand if you’d just like to watch as well.’ He explained and Y/n blushed a dark red shade.

‘Oh, Daddy! You’re so romanctic! I would rather watch, though I’m sure sometimes I’ll have an impulse to play with you, thank you for letting me know that I can ask to play too whenever I get the urge. That’s so sweet of you. This is why I’ve always loved you. My Daddy is so thoughtful-however I would like to staple if I may?’ She requested and Klaus was happy to let her have this one moment, knowing that if he let her join in for little moments now and then, that she would never be driven to actually kill anyone or have the urge to take any form of control-which Klaus knew he couldn’t give her.

Mystic Falls now has a serial Killer couple residing nearby…and a lot more people were about to start going missing…

Klaus M. Masterlist

Serial Killer!Klaus Moodboard

[everythingmp3]

being farmer!Van’s younger lover - headcanons 𐙚 🌾

I couldnt get the idea of her as a farmer out of my head, so here are all the thoughts I had while imagining, mostly what she’d be like with a lover! I dont know much about the actual life of a farmer, so I kept her activities rather vague, it’s more about the vibe and the fantasy of it all, you get the idea <3 hope u enjoy

warnings: the second half of this is nsfw! some very brief mentions of substance abuse/addiction

her backstory:

(feel free to skip this intro if you just want the main plot)

she moved to NYC after high school, broke, not in college, unsure what to do but too stubborn to give up on her dream to live in the city she had idealized since she childhood, so she fought and bled for her right to stay, worked many bone-crushing jobs, got into friend groups with people who were also just trying to survive, which worked out in her favor for a while, but. eventually she got into the wrong kind of drugs and fell off, partying instead of working, getting fired from one job after the other, barely scraping by, somehow cheating her way out of ruin again and again, sleeping on friends couches, until she was in her mid-twenties and couldnt take it anymore, physically, spiritually, so she and her girl at the time packed their things and moved the country-side in the south, dreaming of a quiet, normal, mundane life, hoping and praying for some respite

at first, they managed, but the relationship was crumbling due to Vans refusal to address her substance abuse issues and her overall disregard for her health, her hermit lifestyle of only going to work so she could come back home and crash, so eventually they broke up, dramatically so, her ex screaming at her that she had to get her shit together or she’d die before hitting 30, which did wake her up - it hurt like hell but she knew it was true - Van was tired of everything, people, cities, even small towns, she didnt wanna see or talk to anyone, so she looked for jobs that would allow her to shut down and be quiet, which she found: an older couple, in their 50s, was looking for help at their farm nearby, in exchange for a spare room, so it was settled: she packed a few things and showed up at their door ready to leave her entire life behind and just be a pair of helping hands

she got lucky. the man and woman who ran the farm - which would be hers one day - immediately showed her a parental kind of tough love when they realized how desperately Van needed help and guidance, they didnt make her talk about it, but they could tell that she was recovering from some heavy shit, so they gave her a very clear schedule and made her stick to it, even when she was tired or grumpy, they gave her clear instructions and made her work with the animals a lot because they knew the effect that kind of contact can have on a suffering person

sure enough, Van blossomed after an initial period of disciplining her body, eating better, and growing stronger each day, it took a good amount of sweat and tears to settle in, but after a few weeks she adjusted and found out that she was much better at physical labor than she´d assumed, her stubborn streak came in handy, she pushed and pushed herself until the tasks came more easily to her. she also went to AA meetings in the area on and off, whenever she felt like she needed some extra help to stay sober

once the couple both neared their mid 60s, they were so close to Van that leaving the farm in her hands only felt natural, they didnt have any children of their own, so she was the closest thing to a daughter they ever got and trusted her to take care of their beloved spot of land well and to eventually leave it to someone else whod keep that tradition up as well (at first she felt unworthy, incapable, but they convinced her and urged her to do whatever she pleased with her little spot in the world, expressing how grateful they were for the years shed spent with them, having given them a chance to feel like someones parents later in life)

Van decided to work with groups that use animal therapy to help people who are in a tough spot in one way or another, people in rehab or people who deal with either mental or physical pain that might be eased for while by having close contact to horses - she knows first-hand what caring for animals can do for a person who is struggling with self-worth, shame, or chronic pain, so she always makes a point of inviting those groups to her farm, making it a safe haven in a way, she also lets riding instructors teach their classes there

she makes money by letting people keep their horses in the stables, taking care of them, so people can come by whenever they want to ride them, she also sells some of her produce to surrounding farmers markets, its not a ton of money but more than enough to get by and live a comfortable life

how you started dating

your college town is near her farm and you decided to stay there during summer because the season is beautiful out there and its enough for you to back to your hometown for a few weeks during August before the next semester starts

one day you were a bit reckless and walked out further beyond the town limits than you usually did because the weather was so nice and you wanted to see some some pretty fields, but you underestimated the heat and had to take a break somewhere because you were afraid you might pass out and couldnt just turn around and walk all the way back

the tree you decided to take shelter under for a moment was right at the entrance of Vans farm and she come out to check on you because she saw you sitting there in the midday heat and got worried that something was wrong or that someone might have ditched you by the side of the road, since she wasnt used to having strangers wandering around out there

you were a bit embarrassed at first when she she said "hey there, you okay?" but you she was sweet from the get-go, joking around a bit, asking you what on earth made you come out there in that intense weather, gently chastising you for your lack of drinks and snacks, she ended up urging you to come inside and rest and cool down, to eat and drink something so you could regain your strength before going back home

you got along immediately, it took less than a few minutes for you to talk about anything and everything as she prepared some iced coffee, iced tea, and fresh blueberry pancakes for you - you told her again and again that she was being way too nice but Van insisted and told you that she spent more than enough time on her own, so once you werent hungry or thirsty anymore and seemed more lively again, she gave you a tour of and introduced you to her cats which was a sure way to get you to stay for longer (maybe that was calculated on her part)

after a while of you laughing and enjoying your time together, she offered to drive you back to your place and gave you a little pot of homemade jam to try as a parting gift, a raspberry vanilla mix that tasted divine and was your breakfast of choice for the coming days. as you said goodbye that night in the car parked outside your house she said "come by whenever you want, really, you dont even have to ring, just walk around to the porch and I will be around somewhere" which felt like flirting, not just southern hospitality, so you promised that you would take her up on it, your skin tingling where her arms rested when you said goodbye, her voice a bit strained when she told you goodbye, as if she was flustered from embracing someone that way, a sign that it had been a while maybe, a sudden rush of hope on your part that she wasnt seeing anyone, that you werent delusional to think that she might have been less friendly with strangers who didnt intrigue her, who werent as easy on the eyes to her..

she’d confess to you a while later that she didnt give you her number or asked for yours because she knew that shes a horrible texter and enjoyed the idea of being surprised by another visit by you, she also liked the vibe of leaving the ball entirely in your court, the fact that she had no way of reaching out to you and had to trust that you would keep your connection going (this same energy is palpable whenever she waits for you to come and touch her, she loves pushing your patience to make you initiate intimacy, even when its just a hug, thats her preferred way of teasing)

for the next few days you couldnt get her out of your head and kept clinging to the memory of how hot shed looked: dressed in a white tank-top and jeans that were cut off at the knee, working boots and white socks, her bronzed heavily freckles skin glowing in the midday sun, just like her wavy hair that seemed to burn like flames in that light, her cheeks and lips rosy from the heat, her voice raspy and low, her calves toned, just like her shoulders and arms... you remembered how your knees had touched when you sat outside on the steps together for a moment, how your fingers had brushed when shed handed you a glass, how shed looked at you while you ate the food shed made you, attentive, curious, and intense, like she was holding something back, the same way you had been. it was torture. you couldnt stop obsessing over every little look shed given you, everything shed said, reading into all of it until you were certain you werent just imagining the instant chemistry

after a few days of holding back, you couldnt wait any longer and went back to her place, and just as you stepped into her house it started thundering and pouring rain, which immediately made the atmosphere intimate and private as she lit some candles and put on all the warm orange tinted lamps to offer a contrast to the dark storm outside - you played it cool at first, but it was clear that you hadnt just come back for no reason, and the tension made both of you a little nervous at first, thrilled too though, pleased by the sense of "she feels the same way, doesnt she?"

one thing lead to another, some jokes at first, then more earnest words, you confessing "I thought of you a lot the past few days, you were so sweet to me" her brushing it off "basic decency" you caving and coming to sit next to her, a pleading look on your face, a bit of fear on hers, held breaths, beating hearts, soft eyes, you taking the leap, kissing her eagerly until she gently broke it and needed a second to breathe, to calm her burning nerves, so you told her to keep touching you, to just keep her hands on you, so she did, grabbing at you until she was ready to continue, dying to - a switch flipped in her when she felt you going slack in her embrace, sighing from the feel of her palms on your back, your arms, your face, a bruising kiss from her that quickly turned into more and more and until your clothes were scattered next to the couch and the rain kept clashing against the windows as you got lost in each other, kissing and touching and grinding up against each other, making each other come just from a few touches, using your burst of passion and intense sensitivity to each others presence to keep going and going, finally ending up in her bed, making out for ages, taking turns making each other moan and surrender

that night you slept over and the next morning you laughed about how cliché it was for her to invite you to move in for the summer before even having gone on a proper date, but! you couldnt have cared less, you were so overjoyed at the idea, both of you agreeing that it would be unnecessary to make you take the drive over to her place every day (she had no idea what got into her when she just straight up asked you if you wanted her to help you get some of your stuff so you could stay with her as long as you wanted because it had been so long since shed: a) had anything romantic going on b) had sex with someone and c) didnt shudder at the idea of sharing her space with a lover, quite the opposite, that first morning she woke up to the sight of you there in her bed, all peaceful and content and warm to the touch, she wondered how shed gone all those years without it

sfw

Van quickly comes to love the feeling of never knowing when she might turn a corner and see you laying in the sun on a blanket, in your bikini or underwear, tanning, or reading, or napping - she always stops in her tracks and takes a moment to just look at you while youre blissfully unaware, until the urge to touch takes over - unlike others, shed never think its funny to startle you by splashing water on you or taking your headphones off or anything, shes as gentle as possible, always, either lowering herself until she can press a soft kiss to your back, or picking a flower to lightly sweep over your arm <3 you usually pull her down onto the blanket and get all over her to keep her from walking away and continuing her work, which shes helpless against, shes never denied you, not once, always caving

loveees seeing you in her clothes! when you put a flannel of hers over your shoulders if it gets a bit chilly at night, or when you jokingly try on her working boots, she lets you steal whatever you want from her wardrobe and has a particular thing for seeing you in jeans of hers that are a bit too lose on you because theyre worn out, when you kneel down and she can see your underwear peeking out at the top... you wont stay in those jeans for too long, lets put it that way.

shes always been good about sun screen, its the one self-care aspect she never abandoned even during her worst times, but! she usually never splurged on the expensive kind, she used generic cheap sun screen until you started dating and you gave her some fancier kind, selfishly picking a scented one, a mix of vanilla and coconut because you knew it would mix very well with her sweat while working and the tabacco when she smokes - you also help her apply it, its ritual she came to cherish deeply, the way you carefully apply it not just on her face and arms but where she cant reach, always savoring the feeling of your palms massaging the creme into her back because she used to have to bend herself herself into a pretzel to apply it to her shoulder blades and the surrounding area (you dont care that it tastes bitter when you kiss her on her freshly lotioned nose <3)

when Ethel Cain said "he looks like he works with his hands and smells like Marlboro Reds" yeah thats her… the cigs are her little vice that she allows herself to keep, she doesn’t chain smoke, it’s more of a relaxation thing, usually not more than two a day, sometimes she also goes a while without any, and you dont convince her to quit because she looks too hot smoking 💘 you love those warm late nights where you sit on the porch together, your legs on her lap, her free hand massaging you as she stares off into the distance and smokes (you also got her nice lighter at the thrift store, gold with an etching of a pin-up model, it was more of a joke but she loves it)

for obvious reasons she much prefers cats over dogs and when you started dating one of her cats was heavily pregnant, so you ended up staying in the barn with her for an entire night when the cat gave birth to make sure it all went well, to see that the kittens were all healthy, and it made her fall for you even more, the care and adoration with which you handled the little babies and soothed the mother after she gave birth to all three of them, she also let you pick the names <3 you love to joke by saying "she’s stealing my spot" whenever one of the kittens crawls up onto her chest

Van always relies on her lovers to braid her hair! whenever shes single, she just accepts the fact that her hair wont be braided until someone does it for her again, she likes being incompetent that way, she mentioned it off-handedly that she cant braid her hair at her grown age, and you took the bait immediately, offering to style it any way she wants, a smug grin on her face when you first gently parted her hair into three even strands and gave her exactly what she wanted, that soothing feeling of having her love rake her fingers through her hair, her favorite part is when youre done fuss with her front pieces a bit to make it look more effortless and natural, shes pliant as hell, lets you do whatever you want (her mommy issues havent gone away, even in her forties it does make her blush when she sits between your legs and feels you tighten her braid the way a mother might)

speaking of hair: she doesnt trust hair dressers with her hair at all because shes way too scared that theyll take off too much or give her weird layers, so she usually did an okay job cutting her own split-ends, but you decided to buy actual hair-cutting scissors and looked up a few tutorials until you felt prepared enough and gave her a nice trim, taking about half an hour to really make sure all the strands flow nicely together, and she loves it, shes gone so long without getting her hair cut by someone else that it makes the whole thing feel super intimate - also, she loves that you picked up on the fact that her hair is the one and only aspect about her appearance where she embraces a kind of femininity, its her one point of true vanity, and you taking care of it fore her is very pleasing to Van as someone who knows that people usually focus on her more masculine traits when they call her hot, warms her heart that you take care of her hair like its your own :)

youll often cut up some fruit for her or bring her a bottle of cold water when shes been out in the soon for a little too long, its a simple thing but she remembers how it was to never have anyone do those little things for her, its special for her and makes the work feel a little easier on her not-super-young bones <3

she has a medium sized tattoo on her left hipbone that she got in her 20s and for the longest time she hated it because she didnt have enough money back then to get it done by an actually good artist, so the lines are kinda faded over time, but.. once you started dating, she realized how hot you think its looks, so she started using it to tease you, relentlessly, stretching her arms over her head on purpose so her shirt rides up and you can see the top of the tattoo peeking out above her waistband, more times than not youll get handsy with her and pay her back for tempting you (as if that wasnt her goal all along)

for a long time her polaroid camera just collected dust but one day she got the urge to take pictures of you around the farm, which started out innocent at first (you caressing the horses, laying in the sun, leaning against the fence, picking berries) but it quickly turned more and more erotic, you shed your clothes, she took some pics of you in your underwear, you convinced her to caress your face and put her thumb in your mouth while taking a picture of that, which got her good, so eventually you abandoned all shame and told her to get some milk so she could pour it in your open mouth and over your chest and take a picture of that, you in the grass.. kneeling... eyes closed.. mouth open.. milk dripping down your chin... shameless vulgarity, but so incredibly hot to her that she ended up putting the camera down and licking you clean. both of you laughing in the grass afterwards once you realized what you just did (she keeps a few of those pictures on her wallet, old fashioned romance is her thing sometimes)

she taught you how to properly ride a horse and definitely almost had a heart attack the first few times your horse picked up the pace, she always makes sure youre safe - you sometimes take the horses to a nearby forest and leisurely ride through it, slowly, chatting and laughing and holding hands whenever your horses are close enough to do that (you also fore sureee convince her to take you out on her horse sometimes, you love holding onto her waist and resting your head on her back)

her farm is so lush and rich in color during spring and early summer!💐 flowers of all kinds bloom all over the place, and before you were dating she never bothered to pick some of them for inside decor, felt kinda silly to her as the only one living in her house, she was never the type to play homemaker just for the sake of it, but you lovee picking little bouquets for her, you always take note of which flowers she points at and calls pretty, so next time you gather more of that kind, it became a sweet ritual for you to put little vases with all kinds of wildflowers around the house and she for sure dried the first bouquet you ever made for her and keeps it on her dresser or pressed in a book <3

one of your favorite things to do with her is to go out for a big dinner after shes been working hard all day! shell be starving by that time, so nothing feels better to her than sitting down at her favorite sandwich shop or restaurant or fast food chain and devouring a greasy salty comfort meal - I think she fucks with veggie burgers when theyre drenched in good sauce, pizza with a good amount of toppings, spicy too, I think shed dip everything in hot sauce, shed also love mexican food I think like a good burrito with a bunch of fresh ingredients and chips and salsa on the side, anything thats savory and mixes a bunch of textures! you dont do it too often because she does try to eat rather healthy but once or twice a week you both need it and cherish it, you will sit there for a while just eating and chatting and sharing a bunch of side dishes, people watching or gossiping, her giving you inside scoop when she sees a familiar face, making small talk here and there while referring to you as her "friend" even though nobodys naive enough to believe that thats all you are, still, she likes being coy about it

you realize that all the people who own her favorite spots know and love her, so they give her bigger servings and drinks on the house, which you benefit from as well ;)

if you have a difficult relationship with food or simply dont take good enough care of yourself diet wise, thats gonna be taken care of with her, always - Van prides herself on her harvest of fruits and veggies, the time and care she puts in them each season, she collects fresh eggs from her chickens, bakes her own bread, makes a beautiful summer salad that she perfected over the years with some strawberry slices and honey vinegar dressing and a bunch of different greens and cucumber to make it fresh and delicious, among other recipes that she makes you try and approve of - you eat wellll and healthy with her, and you take up baking because you wanna repay her for her cooking and know that she has a sweet tooth! she also keeps fresh home-made iced tea and a bunch of other beverages that you both enjoy in the fridge at all times when its hot and keeps reminding you to drink, you wont be dehydrated on her watch!

when she was younger it was a sign of luxury to her when she was over at a friends house and their family had Ben and Jerrys ice cream instead of the no-name brands, so as an adult she likes buying all those little things that used to seem expensive to her, and you two sometimes share a pot on particularly hot days, trying all the flavors and rating them, you kept a sheet with the scores, and its a thing she looks look forward to, going to the store and picking your flavor for the night <3 (she’s partial to anything with caramel and doesnt really care much for the ones that are heavy on the chocolate, prefers the creamy vanilla bases ones, she also always lets you scoop out the last few bites, whereas you let her have the first few spoonfuls (you also like to fuck with her by kissing her while you still have some ice cream in your mouth and transfer it onto her tongue with a sloppy kiss, she pretends its nasty but shes turned on by it, every time)

she likes to pretend shes a grumpy anti-tech country woman who hates all things pop culture but she does love that youre teaching her things here and there about whats going on, shes been so out of touch with everything that its fun for her to have someone there who gets a kick out of trying to explain a new slang term to her or a trend thats happening on social media or gossip about celebrities (you sometimes jokingly speak in a way that sounds obnoxious and like something a teenager on tiktok would say just to watch her give you a look of utter confusion and disbelief, like telling her that she has "rizz" when she says something smooth, laughing when she says "jesus christ do I even wanna know what that means...")

even though shes worked with animals for years and years it never got easier for her to watch any of them suffer, shes a huge softie! none of them are "just" animals to her, ever, doesnt matter if its a horse or a cow or a chicken or animals that arent "hers" but live around the farm like little mice or birds, she always feels her heart shatter when one of the animals gets sick or needs medicine or a visit from the vet, she keeps it together on the outside but youve consoled her a few times when she was scared that an animal might not make it or be in too much pain - she also still tears up whenever she talks about her cat who passed away five years ago, she still misses her sometimes and youre the first person shes shared that grief with bc she feels safe with you, its nice for her not to shed her tears in the dark by herself when shes scared of a possible loss or feels haunted by yelps that a sick animal made, you always reassure her that shes doing her best and that any animal would be lucky to end up there with her <3

loves to make you do little physical tasks with her so she can watch you struggle with something thats muscle memory for her, its very amusing to her when you get pissed off and start groaning and eventually give up and tell her to do it by herself because youre clearly too slow with it, shell say things like "come on, lets put those young bones to good use" and gesture at you to follow her and you always act like a petulant child even though you clearly love being bosses around by her and watching her be much better at whatever it is that youre doing together, sometimes youll just sit and blatantly stare at her while shes doing strenuous work so you can watch her break a sweat and jokingly cat-call her

she keeps to herself but she built strong connections with a good amount of people in the area over the years, so shes never truly isolated or unable to require help when she needs, people know they can count on her and that shes about as reliable as they come, so she often comes home with a basket of fresh peaches or a few bottles of freshly made syrup or coffee grounds because people like her and treat her like a daughter/sister/friend depending on how old they are (I like to think theres a mutual aid sentiment that she sticks to, shell give money where she can to those who need it because theyve also helped her out before)

on that note, she is usually way too stubborn to ask for support but if you get sick, she calls some people who can help her around the farm, so she has the time to tend to you and doesnt have to leave you alone in bed all day <3

you offer her massages whenever she seems a bit tense or worn out, sometimes youll just come up behind her and start massaging her neck and shell say "baby im okay really" at first, but then audibly gasp as you knead away some tension, melting under your touch and making little "hmm" sounds

she loves ending her day by sitting on the couch with you and watching a show or a film together while snuggling, she used to spend all of her nights alone, so the simple act of eating dinner together and then watching something with you is a luxury to her that she savors every time <3

you convince her to venture out a bit more than she usually did, so you end up taking little trips to more urban cities nearby (ones that are 1-3 hours away) and have fun days there, trying out cafes and restaurants, browsing through stores, getting some clothes (you know she likes brands like Carharrt and splurge on stuff here), getting drinks if you stay until nightfall, watching movies at the cinema, or just walking around and seeing where the day takes you

during the road trips you are in charge of the aux because her music is too depressing for summer days.. she has no idea how to curate a playlist thats lighthearted and fun, so she leaves it to you (I can see her enjoying it when you blast like an Oasis song that she remembers from her youth and make her sing along to it because you know damn well she remembers the lyrics)

also! you love to fuck with her by putting the most vulgar rap you can find on full volume, blasting lyrics that make her look at you in shock while asking “is this what you fucking listen to?? really?" only half-serious about it, you catch her smiling when shes imagining herself in the place of the guy saying out of pocket shit about his girl

you like to do the laundry because you never got to hang it up to dry in a beautiful spot of land like that before - it feels cinematic to you in a way when youre standing there clipping your shirts to the clothesline with the wind blowing in your hair and the horses nearby, but! Van does the laundry that has to be hand-washed, she likes the attentive act of getting out all the little stains in clothes that are too delicate for the washing machine, she has her tricks to get even the most annoying red sauce stains out, and she also has a thing for washing your underwear, something about washing her lovers intimate clothes is very romantic to her, so you let her do it even though you were a bit embarrassed about it at first

regardless of your usual style you started dressing a bit more "country" to fit her vibe and it’s hot to her - she likes when you thrift stuff like white linen dresses or shorts, cowboy boots, belts with bigger brass buckles, you always ask her for her opinion and maybe drag her to the store with you so she can decide what you try out next (she’d make you get a skimpy bikini for lake days, for sure, you’d be like "this is too much...." and she’d just say "not in my eyes" and buy it for you)

loveees to share all of her knowledge with you but in a teasing way, she likes to play teacher and make you memorize the names of plants and flowers, so she can randomly point at one and ask "whats that one called again, hm?" fully aware that you forgot, repeating it to you and asking again the next day, which makes you shove her and roll your eyes but shell press for an answer like "I didnt hear you baby"

you introduce her to the app that can identify all kinds of bird calls and she gets over her skepticism really fast and becomes obsessed with it, whenever youre in the forest by the lake or just out in nature and she hears an unfamiliar call she gets so thrilled when the app shows her a picture of the bird shes hearing, and she definitely makes you remember the names of her favorite birds and gets offended when you forget them, drilling you like a teacher until theyre seared into your brain

she knows from her own experience that the best way to beat a depressive mood is to get outside and find something to do, so whenever she can tell that youre feeling a bit off or blue she makes you follow her somewhere so she can try and cheer you up :) one afternoon when you were kinda sad she took you cherry-picking and lifted you up on her shoulders so you could reach all the cherries further up and your mood switched completely without you even being conscious of it, she’s great at coaxing joy out of you whenever you need it

in general you felt your nervous system recover from any stress you mightve dealt with before during those days where your senses were never overstimulated by too much noise or too many people around or a lack of access to fresh air and pretty nature, she never outright said it but she definitely kept her eye on you and made sure you felt better than you did when shed first met you, even just sitting in the grass and feeling the earth beneath you and hearing the natural noise of the farm for a few minutes often helps you unwind and relax 🕊️

you know from what she told you about her past that she never got to be carefree as a kid/teenager, that she had to grow up way too fast, so you make her do little things with you that girls might do at sleepovers, like putting on face masks or playing online games or buying little arts and crafts kits to make each other keychains and! you convince her to get one of the mystery boxes with little figurines in them like those sylvanian family animals, which you end up keeping on the windows isle, adding to them whenever you indulge in the frivolous joy of ripping open a package without knowing which little creature youll get (shes the type to put on a poker-face or make sarcastic remarks during the whole thing to disguise how much fun shes actually having)

master of home remedies! whether its a rash or a burn or a cut, she knows exactly what salve or creme to apply, she has a bunch of teas for any kind of ailment, stomach pain, period cramps, headaches, she knows how to dress any kind of wound (because shes had to patch herself up, many times) so any kind of pain youre in, shes gonna do her very best to relieve you of it (not just by giving you head, although thats always worth a try, to her)

shes somehow alwaaays chewing on something, either gum, or tooth picks, or even just random pieces of grass (which you make fun of her for, lovingly) its pretty rare that she goes a whole day without reaching for something to mindlessly chew on (one time you offered her your finger and said "if you need to always have something in your mouth... here" and she swatted your hand away and told you off but the blush on her face betrayed her because she does love to have your fingers in her mouth, she cant help it)

loves to kiss you on your hands/knuckles, the chivalrous feel of it, the devotion, its just a go-to move for her and you never ever tire of it or lose those butterflies you felt the first time she did it

her other favorite places to kiss on your body while youre not undressed are your cheeks and your shoulders!

sometimes she worries that youll get bored of spending all your days out there with her so she makes it clear that shed drive you to a friends place and be fine with it if you needed a few a days away (blatant lie, she wouldnt be fine) but you make it clear that youre not interesting in going anywhere, unless its together with her! you love your new routine of having time to yourself in the house or outside until shes done working and you spend the rest of the day together

she might be sober but she’ll gladly make you a nice cocktail or buy you a drink every once in a while because she thinks its very cute when youre tipsy and get even more touchy-feely and affectionate with her than usual

you like to spoil her by giving her hands some love, she uses them so much that she needs to use very moisturizing thick cremes and youll take some of that and massage her hand and and really make sure it seeps into her skin, sometimes shell just lay in bed at night and let you work away at her hands as she almost dozes off from how good it feels <3

nsfw

one might think she has less energy when shes been working hard all day but its actually the opposite, whenever shes breathing heavy and sweating and her blood is rushing from the strain of the heat combined with her physical work, she is so easily turned on by the sight of you, its primal in way, so sometimes when she comes inside all dirty and sweaty and flushed you can tell just from the look she gives you that youre about to be ruined (she will drag you to bed, tear your clothes off and lick and kiss and bite you all over, she gets so into it so fast that all you can do is lay back and make pretty sounds for her as she gets all the pent up energy out of her system, which is a new pleasure for her, the pleasure after-work sex)

shes a very even mix of gentle and aggressive! even though shes much stronger than you, she doesnt get off on the idea of domination, it turns her on way more to think that she is your protector when you when youre having sex, while youre in your most vulnerable state, it turns her on to know that she can hold you in a way that makes you feel weak and eager to sink deeply into that weakness, always gripping you and handling you with a firmness that feels caring and loving no matter how nasty the sex is (she could be in the middle of losing her mind while deep inside you but shed never let that lust and hunger turn her careless or too harsh, you know youll never feel used with her, no matter how hard you fuck, its always tinged with tenderness)

shes strong. very strong….shes been handling animals who weigh much more than the average human for years and when you first started dating you definitely felt a rush when she first grabbed you and you felt the sheer strength of her, it drove you crazyyy to feel how easy it was for her to pull you onto her lap or flip you over or carry you around 😵‍💫

at first, she held back, but when you told her that you trust her and want her to really make you feel how strong she is, she started to get into it during sex, holding you in place or wrapping her arms around you so tight and firm that you mightve just come from that sensation alone... she has stamina that never runs out and prides herself on it, but! when youre giving... its over. doesnt matter how physically strong she is, how firm her muscles are, shes so sensitive to your touch that all of her strength melts away that moment your touch your tongue to her or feel her up or fuck her, shes definitely less composed when youre inside of her than you are when shes in you, she whines and moans so intensely...

shes for sureee big into overstimulation, shes an eager giver when she tops, through and through, so she’ll keep going and going until youre shaking and sweating through the sheets, never in a way that’s punishing, always kissing and caressing you all the way through, whispering sweet things as you come for the fourth or fifth time and eventually tap out, laying on top of her, both of you drenched head to toe but so satisfied, so in love, dozing off until an hour later when you clean up and devour some good food together <3

her sex-drive is prettyyy high but its a consistent thing so she’ more of a "whenever youre down, im down, just tell me" type of person, whereas your bursts of desire are more intense and out of the blue, youre more needy and desperate with it, which works out well because sometimes shell just sit back and wait for you to come onto her, aware that it hardly ever takes long for you to get gripped by a feeling of "i need her now or ill die"

will take risks when it comes to having sex outside, any time, its her property, her land, so she will use it as she sees fit, which includes having you wherever and whenever you two feel like it - it’s rare that youre actually in danger of having someone walk up and see you, but it’s definitely happened once or twice that you lost track of time while messing around in the stables and someone quickly turned back around while coughing loudly to signal to you "wrap it up, people are coming", which always makes her feel kind of smug, the fact that people know damn well how lucky she is, having a girl like you to pull into a stack of hay, savoring the sweet dusty smell of the surroundings mixed with the taste of you while she hikes up your dress or pulls down your shorts and gives you head right there <3

it was a huge fantasy of hers, to have a lover that way, so sometimes you leave the stables with visible prints on your ass and thighs where they hay dug in, picking it off your clothes with her help, shaky legs as you leave her to deal with the people who came to ride their horses, a smile from her when she sees you struggling to walk straight as you go inside to freshen up (or jerk off, to finish what she started, telling her about it afterwards to make her get off to the idea of you in her bed touching yourself while she was outside being all professional..)

she can never ever get enough of seeing you on top of her!!whether it’s you riding her fingers or her strap, grinding down against her thigh, she doesn’t care how, all she wants is to see you lose yourself on her, she’s obsessed... 🫠

also, when shes the one fucking you, you both love using the furniture.. you bent over the kitchen table, one leg propped up on a chair so she has good access, her chest flush against your back, her kissing your neck as she holds you with her arm around your waist and gives to you from the back.. fucking you like that until she turns you back around to have you lay back and relax on the table as she finishes you off, really making use of the steady wooden table when youre squirming and losing it..

early morning sex 💘 she usually wakes up naturally around between 5 and 6 am because as a farmer her days always start pretty early and she loves when you stir and smile at her, still half-asleep and and all cozy and soft, it makes her wanna spoil you, so you often wake up to her gently moving your blanket away, so she can caress you and kiss your body and give you head, nothing too overwhelming, but enough to give you the kind of orgasm that makes you fall right back asleep all satisfied and limp and dazed from the feeling of being half-lucid half-dreaming while she ate you out

youll sleep for two more hours or so while she already gets to work, until you get up and prepare some coffee for her, so she usually takes her first break around 9am and has breakfast with you! you sometimes like to repay her for the way she woke you up by getting on your knees in front of her chair and taste her until she cant take it anymore and gets back up to continue her work, a bit scared she might mishandle a tool with the fresh memory of you looking up at her with a slick chin making her all weak and dizzy..

spit. shes more filthy than she is kinky, give her some intense loving passionate sex with a lot of spit involved and shes over the moon, loves when you spit in her mouth and then kiss her afterwards, when you lick over her chest or neck and leave a glistening trail where your tongue traveled up, when you suck on her fingers to lube them up before she fingers you or jerks you off, when you give her strap sloppy head before taking it all the way in with ease because youre so turned on and it is so wet with your saliva, loves when you let your spit drool onto her cunt before you eat her out 💞

very into sensuality in general, she could spend hours just lazily playing with your pussy and feeling you get wetter and wetter without ever getting bored, she loves to just feel you, having you sit comfortably as she switches between rubbing your clit, your whole outside area, teasing your entrance, and fingering you, shes in love with your cunt and wont ever turn down the chance to just hear you whimper and whine as you relax with your legs spread while she watches your pussy swell and get wet and take her fingers - will coo at you and kiss you wherever she can reach as she tells you how good you feel, will keep it up for as long as you want and you love those moments when you dont feel pressured to orgasm because she loves touching you just for the sake of it, not to get an ego-boost from making you cum (even though she always does, youre too in love with her not to drench her fingers when shes teasing you like that and whispering in your ear)

if you squirt... yeah shes licking it all up and doing exactly what she did before to try and make it happen again, as I said shes filthyyy 😵‍💫 would get so turned on from the sight of you ruining her sheets, would shush you if you apologized and insist that you never ever hold back even if it means she has to do laundry more than usual

her tits are a weak spot, super sensitive </3 her nipples will get hard if the wind blows a little too strong... and before dating you she kinda ignored her chest for the most part but with you she rediscovered the thrill of having her tits sucked while being pleased, sometimes you’ll randomly push her onto the couch and lift up her shirt to kiss her chest just to hear her moan for a few seconds, a little treat for yourself (and her) during the day

vocal. so fucking vocal. she can never ever keep quiet and you only go harder whenever you can tell that shes trying to stifle the sounds, you want them all out in the open, and it usually takes very little time for her to lose her composure which she gets embarrassed by for sure, once the orgasm subsides shes like oh... great. I sounded like ive never had sex in my life. yet again. perfect. but you loveee it, its so hot to you that this woman who is usually perceived as tough and strong and reserved is such a mess in bed

shes spent many years with her beloved truck and for the longest time she had fantasies about fucking in there, which came true once you started dating <3 you love straddling her in her seat when youre parked somewhere secluded, or when you come home from a late night drive, youve definitely fucked in the backseat a few times when she drove you out to a lake or a nice spot where nobody else was around, you both get a thrill out of it, the leather seats, the semi-public feel of it all, the risk factor, the way the car kinda smells like sex when you drive home afterwards (you also love to gawk at her when shes fixing the truck, makes her take her sweet time with it)

loves pillow talk and savoring the post-sex glow, its something she never rushes or skips, shes will move you onto her chest and caress your back or let you lay where you are and kiss your body, eventually resting her head on your stomach so you can stroke her hair, or youll just wrap your arms around each other and stay like that for a while

that post on here thats like "dont shave your bush I will kill myself" thats something she might actually say bc she is for sure soo into bush its one of the most erotic things to her, everything about it, she loves when it tickles her nose, loves the soft feel of it when she puts her hands in your underwear to jerk you off, loves the look of it when you get dressed and your underwear is see-through enough for your bush to peek through, hottt as hell to her

if youre the type to wear lingerie, she’d be very into it, never takes it for granted - one of the hottest things ever to her is when her girl wears clothes that are not what you’d consider fancy or special while wearing the most beautiful, delicate underwear, the contrast kills her every time, the sight of a nice lacy bra peeking out of a tank top that you stole from her... phewww shes on her knees. immediately. same thing with panties, she always interrupts you when youre getting dressed to admire you when youre wearing nothing but a pair of lacy underwear, also loves when you wear regular comfortable cotton underwear, the sight of it wedged between your cheeks somehow makes her wanna take a chunk out of your ass every time.. also loves you in her boxers. everything really, shes a lover of whatever you have going on beneath your clothes <3

face sitting. being the giver in a submissive way is so deeply satisfying for her, so shell often just ask you to ride her face, you might be lying in bed in the afternoon just relaxing kissing a little and shell straight up ask if you want to use her face for a bit, shell happily lay back and use her strength to hold you up by your waist when you get tired and cant really brace yourself against the wall/headboard that well anymore, shell take it all without ever complaining, doesnt matter if you suffocate her, drench her whole face, kinda fuck up her neck, she doesnt care, shell be too drunk on the feel and taste and sight of having you on her like that, staring up at you with glazed over eyes, maybe using one hand to jerk herself off because shes too turned on and cant take it..

maybe one time she was feeling wild and told you to do it while you were wearing a dress outside, her just laying down on the lawn and telling you do it right there bc you could climb off her fast if someone did happen to come around the corner - again, she might be private and reserved but being caught isnt really an issue for her, shed just be like "and what. I will have my girl the way I want when I want, deal with it."

didnt use any toys on her own but can definitely get down with them when its with you! I think she might be too shy to suggest this but she’d absolutely lose her mind if she saw you riding a toy to get off, like you straddling it on her bed to give her the chance to see you from whatever angle she wants, unlike when youre riding her and she cant see you from far away etc. - I also think shes the type of lover who wants to know/see how you masturbate, or how you did it before you met her, its such a private thing and I think she loves the idea of being trusted with that information <3

rediscovered her love of receiving/bottoming with you - with hookups she usually only let them do things that didnt feel too vulnerable, i dont think she let any of them see her in positions that made her feel too exposed, but with you she feels safe enough to admit that she does like being on her hands and knees, that she likes to be finger-fucked until shes near tears, that she sometimes likes to just have her face in the pillows as you eat her out or touch her from the back, its not something that happens too often bc it does require a lot of trust on her part, but when shes really horny and youre being sweet and kissing her all over to get her worked up shell sometimes cave and beg you to just do whatever you want and get rough with her

especially with a younger partner shes turned on by the idea that someone who has less experience can ruin her like that, its a nice secret to have because she knows a lot of people would look at a lesbian who looks like her and assume that shes a top, but shes a switch through and through, would never give up one or the other

she wears a thin gold chain that she hardly ever takes off, so sometimes when youre fucking it dangles over your face, or you pull her in for a kiss by gently tugging at it <3

one time you found a playboy from her exact birth year and month at the antique book/magazine store and brought it home for her, which was more of a silly present but she did find it sweet/hot and left it on the coffee table as decor (you made her flip through it with you and teased her by pointing out which models you assumed she found the hottest, which she shut down by saying "well I would do the same to you right now but theyre all like what.. twenty years too young for you?", so you doubled-down and said "oh dont flatter yourself, I like women my age too", so she did briefly have a fantasy of you getting with a girl your own age as she watches you two, which struck a nerve, but she kept that to herself, at least for the time being..)

youre obsessed with her physique because she has the distinct shape of someone who earned their muscles through hard work, who didnt try to grow them out of a need to become as big as possible but who genuinely needs to be strong to do their daily tasks, so her muscles are not cartoonish or over the top, she just has a firmness to her stomach and thighs and back thats hottt as hell to you, her abs are subtle but theyre there, and your absolute weak spot: her V-line. when shes wearing a shirt thats too short to cover up the spot right above her pants and you can see those lines that lead down into her underwear.. it’s over. youre staring shamelessly, and she pretends she doesnt notice but she loveees it, shell lay back and stretch out her legs and count you gawking at the sight of her exposed stomach 😵‍💫

sometimes when shes tired she’ll just lay flat on her back on the bed, arms and legs spread out and let you crawl all over her, feel her up, do whatever the fuck you want, shes happy to just lay there and take it all, so you usually spoil her and kiss and touch her all over before getting to anything more intense, straddling her, playing with her hair, teasing her, kissing her neck, massaging her, biting her, you know she loves being trapped and helpless while shes exhausted and eager to be showered in affection <3

the first time you were with her when she said "good girl" to her horse you grinned and asked "who, me or her?", so she shot you a smug look and said "what are you doing right now thats praise worthy, hm?" but she definitely took note of it and brought it up later on in bed, which did make her say it less to her horse from that point on (oops..)

one time during your first weeks of dating you couldnt ride your designated horse because you were too sore from the night before and the friction hurt too badly.. she felt a little guilty so she kissed it better after she couldnt help but laugh when you climbed off and said "yeah not today, no fucking way" while pointing between your legs

loves having her hair pulled, sometimes she puts her hair up in a ponytail during sex just so you can easily tug on it to bend her neck and kiss her skin there <3

if you 69 she is always the one whose face is getting smothered, always, she wouldn’t like it if it was the other way around, but every once in a while when youre both in heat and desperate to fuck the other person, she’ll eat you out while you’re trying to hold your hips up over her mouth while you’re jerking her off/struggling to taste her bc of your moaning </3, you both love orgasming at the same time, being together in that state of helplessness, it’s something you crave

if you lost your virginity to her, I think shed offer for you to do something to her that nobody has ever done before to make it kind of even that way, its mostly her way of adding to the sentiment of "I want us to be equals" because she never wants you to feel like shes eager to overpower you or see you as a girl she gets to "corrupt", maybe you laid in bed once and she told you this and she took a moment too long to try and think of something that no lover has ever done to her so you jokingly said "whore." - but youre creative, so you definitely found things that you would be her "first" for

if youre feeling freaky hear me out.. maybe youre the first to ever put your whole hand inside of her. would take a good amount of patience and lubrication but I can see her getting off on it sooo intensely once you manage to slip all of your fingers inside of her... you staring in awe and telling her how hot it feels, and slowly, very slowly, moving your hand a bit.. I think being so full of her lover would ruin her so hard. and she’d be turned on from knowing that none of her longtime girlfriends ever got to do it to her. anway.

her sexual preferences always depends on yours in the sense that she wants to know what you need and then give it to you, if you just want your brains fucked out she’ll gladly give in, if you want to pleasure her without being touched in return shes down as well, if you want both shes never gonna deny you, which means! that when she does allow herself to take charge every now and then by manhandling you and telling you "come here" or "lay back" it ruins you because youre not used to it, she looves the look you get when she decides to be a bit rough for once

to put it plainly: your pleasure is her pleasure, always!

thats all for now! feel free to let your own imagination fill in the rest 💌

[vaspider]

I’m having a Queer Moment, and I think given the current political landscape it’s an important one to share.

So I just watched To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything for the first time ever. It’s free on youtube and I needed something to have on in the background while folding laundry. (the laundry is not folded lol)

Everything I’ve ever heard about this movie started with some variation of “it’s a product of its time.” And I get that. I do. There are a couple moments where that really shows. But. BUT. Oh my god young queer people everywhere need to watch this movie!!! It’s fun and it’s lighthearted AND it deals with heavy themes AND it mocks the people who insist on being scared of us and it mocks them *in the right way for the right reasons* (I’m not really sober enough to expand upon that or phrase it how I want to rn. Hopefully someone will pick up my slack. Sorry.)

This is a fantastic movie. Honestly I think it & Birdcage should be mandatory viewing for teenagers in high school. (joking. mostly.)

Things like this are important right now. Especially for those of us who are scared. Queer joy is always possible. Always. I needed the reminder, so I am sharing it in hopes it reaches someone else who needs it too.

And thank you, Spider, for publishing all your asks, because I would have no other way of getting it out. Be well, you and your family. 💜

I am always happy to post asks about these movies. 💗

[trothplighted]

I was going through some of Rowling’s old interviews and came across one in 2004 where she spoke of Sirius:

“I am so proud of the fact that a character, whom I always liked very much, though he never appeared as much more than a brooding presence in the books, has gained a passionate fan-club.”

This wasn’t the only time she expressed surprise that Sirius became a fan favourite, and it’s honestly baffling to me??? He had an entire book named after and primarily revolving around him, and is canonically the closest thing to a parent that Harry, the protagonist of the series, ever had. Even if we disregard everything else we know about Sirius and his storyline, there’s no way in hell he wasn’t going to be popular. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said that a character like that was specifically designed for fan service (I mean...he's hot, has a flying motorbike, and is literally named after a star, lol). It’s bizarre that Rowling seems to have had no idea, and that she believed he was / intended him to be nothing more than a “brooding presence” in the series – which is at any rate an appalling and deeply unsympathetic way to describe his trauma and depression.

It made me think of how there's such a major disconnect between authorial intent and authorial execution when it comes to his character as well, especially in Order of the Phoenix. Characters like Molly or Hermione call him irresponsible/reckless/immature, claim he confused Harry and James, that he treated Harry like a friend rather than a godson, that he was biased against Snape, etc. Rowling’s interviews confirm that she intended to characterize Sirius in such a way and that Hermione and Molly are meant to be viewed as her mouthpieces. But Sirius’s actual behavior and relationship with Harry does not correspond with any of this and his actions + dialogue are for the most part very reasonable and sympathetic. (There’s also Kreacher’s storyline, which made me dislike Sirius a lot when I was younger, but upon my reread comes across as almost entirely nonsensical, contradictory, and seems specifically designed to paint Sirius in a bad light to the point where he’s compared to VOLDEMORT of all people by Hermione - who, in the process of criticizing Sirius, dehumanizes house elves entirely by claiming that none of them are capable of individual morality or have any ethical agency of their own. It's frustrating because she's 100% right that house elves should be freed but the way she infantalizes them is...pretty shitty and not the way to go about it. But I digress.)

Rowling seems to have done a complete 180 degree turn on how Sirius is presented by the narrative between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix, and I can’t really understand why.

I get the sense that the creation of Sirius’s character in particular was, at the very least, partly accidental on Rowling’s part. She didn’t expect him to blow up the way he did, and I get the sense that she doesn’t seem to have been thrilled by how much the early HP fandom liked/valorized him. There was an interview where she was asked if she liked him, and she said that she did, only to immediately list down all his alleged flaws and emphasize that “I do not think he was wholly wonderful” (which character in the series is wholly wonderful, lol? Sirius came across as a great deal better than most to me). There have been so many other interviews where she’s done the same thing despite the fact that Sirius's faults or perceived faults had absolutely nothing to do with the questions at hand. It’s such a startling contrast how she talks about pretty much everyone else from his generation, all of whom she seems considerably warmer and more sympathetic towards in varying degrees.

As I haven’t been back in the fandom for very long, this is the first time I’ve come across her interviews - I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into them or not. I wondered if you agree/disagree, as you’ve been in the fandom for much longer and I love all your metas about the series. Thanks :)

You’ve hit upon my personal Rage Point for the entire series, anon.

I want to start by pointing something out about Sirius and Kreacher, which is that in GoF Sirius tells Ron and Harry (and Hermione, though he brings it up to compliment her observational skills) that Crouch Sr.’s mistreatment of Winky is an indicator of his character. (“If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.”) This is, somehow, the same man who one book later is egregiously dismissive of and abusive toward his family’s house-elf, to the point that this dismissal causes his death (oh, and Albus blames him for dying, too.) Despite Sirius expressing two wildly different viewpoints from book to book, we’re intended to take that as his true self, as the authentic expression of his beliefs and position.

I’ve spoken before more than once about other drastic character shifts that happened as a result of the Three Year Summer, both as a writing break and as a paradigm shift in the notoriety of and ubiquity of the series thanks to the movies being released starting in 2001. I was in elementary and middle school while the books were being published, and OotP was the first book I remember seeing large-scale advertisement for in my school outside of a book fair - there was a big larger-than-life poster teasing the book cover with a release date during the summer to get us all hyped up for it. I’d obviously heard of Harry Potter before that, but that was the moment when the books went from “famous book series” to “cultural phenomenon,” at least in my mind. And I think that we can trace this shift in opinion on Sirius Black back to the Three Year Summer, too.

In my opinion it’s obvious that Joanne really liked Sirius, when she first developed him. I don’t think she’s telling the truth when she says she doesn’t think he’s wholly wonderful - when she first came up with him she absolutely did. He’s got pride of place as a Cool Character in all the ways she loves to lavish attention on someone. He’s set up with a phenomenal entrance in PS chapter one and then he spends all of PoA in the spotlight. He has a dramatic reveal of his true allegiances and his innocence, and he’s Harry’s best and most supportive parental figure throughout GoF who consistently gives good advice and who risks his own life and liberty to make sure his godson is safe. He considers coming back to England and living in a cave and eating rats to be his duty as a godfather, and while Harry feels responsible for his circumstances he’s always really clear that he (1. doesn’t care about the risks to his health and safety (2. will gladly sacrifice comfort and stability if it means being able to protect this boy (3. will not let Harry feel guilty.

These aren’t the actions of a man who confuses Harry with James - throughout GoF he continues to insist that his decisions are his own, made as an adult trying to parent and support a kid who desperately needs a stable presence in his life. Harry’s used to taking the blame for the actions of adults (my heart is still rent asunder by his expectation that Lupin is going to gaslight him about denying him the chance to face the boggart in their first DADA lesson) and he’s also used to feeling like he has to manage the emotional state of a household (see: all the times he plans out what to say or not to say to the Dursleys to get them to do what he wants), and Sirius doesn’t let him sink into either of those pits. He also prevents Harry from bottling up his feelings or concealing his distress, and never lies or twists the truth. He’s being very deliberately written as someone who serves as a positive role model and positive mentor figure for Harry, and then suddenly come OotP he’s moody and immature and subject to a number of very strange smear campaigns from characters the author confirms are intended to reflect her real opinions.

So… what happened, over the course of the Three Year Summer, to make her change her mind? We can’t ever know for sure, obviously, because Joanne hasn’t ever bothered to lay out how her feelings on each member of her cast changed and evolved, and she’s unlikely to do so at any point in the future because now when people talk to her they mostly talk to her about transphobia. But I have a theory.

See, between 1998 and 2003, the HMS Wolfstar set sail. While most of the seminal meta came out after OotP (see “The Case for R/S” as probably the one I and others my age are most familiar with as an introduction to the ship) and most of the really famous fanfics started trickling out around that time (The Shoebox Project started in 2004), there were fanfics before that point, a growing fan community, and a number of pieces of fanart and fancomics (check out the list of doujinshi in the linked Fanlore article, some of those date back to 2001). Edit: here is an archived humorous/gently snarky list of Wolfstar fanfic tropes created in 2002 - while I can’t personally remember the names of fics from before 2004 or so I want to point to this as evidence that there was an established fan community, even using the “WolfStar” name, prior to the publication of OotP.

Normally, I wouldn’t think that fanfic from prior to 2010 or so had much of anything to do with the author’s opinions on their work, because norms and fan culture around fanfic were much more focused around keeping these stories private and away from the prying eyes of The Powers That Be/TPTB.

I say normally, because Joanne was aware of fanfiction, and aware of fanfiction remarkably early in her career as a public figure.

Younger fans are almost certainly not going to know this, but one of the first real fandom divides in HP had to do with fanfiction, and specifically the question of how to treat fanfiction written by and for adults that featured sex scenes or other mature content. Since the books were children’s books (though there was an adult fandom since the start, especially online - the Harry Potter For Grown-Ups/HP4GU mailing list and its descendant communities still loom large in fan history as some of the early pillars of today’s digital scene) a lot of people didn’t know what to do or how to treat fanfic. This was also compounded by fanfic being a lot more subject to legal action or takedown notices - Anne Rice, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, and Anne McCaffrey all became infamous either for pursuing individual authors and archives until they took down their stories or instituting guidelines about what kinds of transformative works were acceptable, or both in McCaffrey’s case.

Rowling, however, was different. Rowling said that noncommercial fanfic was completely fine, that she wasn’t going to pursue any kind of legal action against fanfic authors, and that as long as adult-oriented fanfic was appropriately warned for and not shown to or targeted to children, she didn’t care if it existed.

This laid the groundwork for the founding of Fanfiction.net, for fanfic communities on LiveJournal, and eventually for Archive of our Own and the Organization for Transformative Works. In an era where legal disclaimers were common on fanfics as a mostly-useless attempt to prevent being shut down by IP holders, Rowling threw the doors open and democratized her stories in a way she - I would argue - ultimately came to regret.

I can’t prove that her sudden slander of Sirius was a result of latent unexamined homophobia and a desire for revenge against the fandom for daring to claim one of her favorite characters as a gay man. I can’t prove that his backstory of being kicked out of his house (for unspoken Family Drama reasons centering around him being filthy and disgraceful) only to be shoved back into it, or Trustworthy Adults suddenly painting him as dangerous to children and inherently irresponsible and reckless, or all of his trauma being ignored and painted over, or every scrap of his heroism being erased, has to do with Joanne deciding that if we’ve made him gay he shouldn’t get to be a character anymore.

I can’t prove it.

But I do believe it. I believe it because when you ask yourself “is this queercoded character being subjected to authorial homophobia”, suddenly everything about Sirius’s arc in OotP makes complete and total sense in the worst way possible. This is also why I think Tonks and Remus were paired off, why Tonks suddenly becomes more gender-conforming, and why Bill Weasley transforms into Normal Settled-Down Hetero William. It feels like her desperate attempts to take her characters and shove them back into a box that she controls. I don’t think she was at that point consciously and virulently homophobic, but I think her clear and evident discomfort with fans interpreting these characters who she wanted to be straight comes through in her writing.

I also believe it because she does the same thing to Albus, after his death. Someone who’s been uncomplicatedly heroic and praised by all parties and even used as her mouthpiece to pass judgment on Sirius suddenly becomes morally suspect and untrustworthy and shady and secretive, with enemies lining up as soon as he’s dead to slander him - and again, just like with Sirius, we’re meant to accept this as the correct version of events. He even confirms all of this to Harry himself in the King’s Cross afterlife. The old Albus can’t come to the phone right now, he’s dead, and only his critics remain. Coincidentally, Albus is of course the only confirmed gay character in the entire story. Funny how that works out, isn’t it?

I’ve been angry at her for 20 years for killing Sirius, and angrier still at her straightwashing efforts. I wouldn’t believe her if she said she wasn’t doing that, at this point.

It’s not as if I expected her to be a perfect ally as a center-left moderate cishet white woman in the late 90s/early 2000s, and I do think that Dumbledore being gay was revolutionary in a way that most modern audiences seriously fail to appreciate, but I wish she wasn’t so damned insistent that no one else could be queer in any way at any point. She’s also really evidently uncomfortable about any displays of affection between confirmed same-sex pairings - she was absolutely neurotic about the amount of physical contact between Mads Mikkelsen and Jude Law during FB3, to the point that she fought with David Yates about it. And her behavior contributed to the intense homophobia I and others experienced in our formative early years in fandom - no-slash mailing lists and archives, the immediate classification of all queer fanfic as inherently more mature or more sexual simply by virtue of having queer people in it, Wizards For Bush, etc. As a result, boycott or no boycott, I hope that Wolfstar is canon in the new series, I hope Mundungus stays the crossdressing icon that they are, I hope Tonks is canonically nonbinary, and I hope Joanne loses sleep over it.

[karikarasuno]

part two | part three | wc: 2.1k

“Oh, shit.” Ace hears you before he sees you. And he tries to keep the memories at bay. But one look at you and his senses are flooded with images of you from last weekend. The two of you cramped in the cabin of your pick up. You on your back with your knees pushed to your chest. Your calves hooked over his elbow. He shouldn’t have folded you in half. He probably shouldn’t even have fucked you. 

Too late now. 

“This is my brother Ace!” Luffy shouts beside you. Pointing at Ace. Completely unaware of how familiar you already are with each other. Ace should’ve known better. Everyone knows everyone. He knew he would be running into you again. This is just the last place he expected to find you. 

“We’ve met,” you say, shifting awkwardly away from Luffy and pointedly not looking at Ace. If it was anyone else maybe he’d be offended. But knowing why you’re not looking at him scratches a satisfied itch Ace didn’t even know he had. 

“Yeah at Whitebeard’s,” he clarifies, even though it’s essentially unnecessary since he knows Luffy doesn’t care about the details. “But how do you know each other?”

“Apparently Luffy works for me,” you explain, but you’re looking at Marco. Ace cannot help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “Technically he was my grandpa’s employee. I just inherited him with the property.”

“Yeah she almost shot me this mornin’,” Luffy says casually and with a cackle. 

“He was going through my fridge at 6am. I thought he was a burglar,” you say, eyeing Luffy like he’s lost his mind. And whenever people first meet him that’s usually their initial impression. But he grows on you quickly. 

“She’s got some terrible aim on her though,” Luffy replies. “Maybe you can teach her to shoot, Ace!”

“No,” you say immediately. “I mean that’s not necessary. I don’t plan on shooting you ever again. Just warn me the next time you’re in my house.”

“I thought he got kicked in the head by a horse?” Ace looks at Marco. Confused as all hell. 

“I did,” Luffy says at the same time as you go “he did.”

“Seems like y’all had a busy mornin’,” Ace chuckles, eyes still glued to you. 

“About that.” You hop off the bed and wipe your hands on your pants. “I’ve gotta get to work. Thanks again, Marco.”

“Yeah, no problem, kid,” he answers, looking suspiciously between you and Ace.

“Nice seeing you,” you nod to him as you walk towards the door. The one he’s currently blocking. “Again.”

He doesn’t move, though. Not when you’re standing a few inches from him and waiting expectantly for him to do something. You look up at him through your lashes. Just like you did that night. Right before you– “Excuse me.”

Ace almost jumps out of the way, your words forcing him out of the flashback. “Sorry.”

“See you later, Luffy,” you call out over your shoulder, hurrying out of the room without another word. Ace watches you go. He doesn’t intend to. You’re just so interesting. 

“What was that about?” Marco says, clearly amused. And smart enough to read between the lines. 

“What was what about?” Ace asks, turning towards Marco trying his hardest to remain nonchalant. It’s not really working though. Marco knows him too well.

“What did you do?” Marco presses, crossing his arms over his chest absolutely amused. 

“Why do you think I did somethin’?” 

“Well, she was fine until you showed up,” Marco adds, lips shifting into a smirk that Ace knows well. “You made her run.”

“I don’t know if you heard her, but she said she had to get to work. Maybe this idiot made her late,” Ace points at Luffy, who’s watching the exchange curiously while his feet kick over the edge of the hospital bed. 

“Is she the one you were talking to Sabo about?” Luffy adds, not helping Ace’s case in the slightest. “Something about doin’ it in her truck?”

Ace pales. Or maybe he bursts bright red. He can’t tell. Other than the fact that he’s both ice cold and burning hot. He reaches over and grabs Luffy by the collar, bunching his shirt in a fist and yanking him off of the bed in one movement. 

“How hard did you get hit in the head? Must’ve affected your memory,” Ace says, avoiding Marco’s eyes entirely. 

“Nope,” Luffy grins, “Memory’s all good. Doc said so himself.”

“We’re leavin’ then,” Ace grumbles, ready to strangle Luffy but he’s already in the hospital. And three attempts on his life in a single morning would be overkill. Ace will just have to wait until tomorrow. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” Marco yells to Ace’s back. He can hear the laugh in his voice. But he refuses to turn around. 

“Nothin’ to talk about!” 

****

Ace doesn’t think your hook up was a mistake. It’s actually the opposite. He wants to do it again. And then a third time. Perhaps maybe even a fourth if you’re up to it. What he regrets are the circumstances. Ace isn’t one for one night stands. He never has been. And in a town as small as this one, they are never a good idea. The only person who seems to get away unscathed and without a scarlet letter stamped to their forehead is Sabo. He doesn’t get it. But some things aren’t meant for Ace to understand. 

“So what exactly were you doin’ in SJ’s truck?” Luffy asks from beside Ace in his own truck this time. It’s much larger than yours. More leg room. But he refuses to spiral down that thought process.

“Who the hell is SJ?” Ace replies, slowing to a stop at a red light. They’re passing through the main part of town now. The dance studio is a block or so ahead. Ace wonders if you’re already there. 

“Are ya dumb? We were just with her,” Luffy laughs, removing the ice pack from his head entirely. 

“That’s not her name,” Ace says shortly, not really in the mood to entertain his little brother’s antics. 

“Yeah, but I can’t remember what it really is,” he shrugs, staring out the window. “And I don’t think she’d like it if I called her small Jinbe.”

“Probably not,” Ace agrees. 

“So what were you do-”

“We’re not talkin’ bout this.” Ace pulls into the diner and parks near the door. He’s starving. And he’s sure Luffy is too considering all the energy he’s burned in the few short hours they’ve been separated.  

Ace jumps out the car and Luffy follows, jabbering senselessly behind him. Ace isn’t listening though. He’s stuck thinking about you. He hasn’t really been able to stop since he saw you at the bar. He wouldn’t describe what he’s feeling as a crush though. It feels childish. Immature. And he doesn’t know you well enough to admit he likes you. Not like that anyway. But you’re obviously attracted to each other. And the chemistry is insane, especially considering you only spent a single night together and he can't seem to get you out of his head. 

Maybe it’s infatuation. It’s been awhile since Ace has actually felt anything at all for someone, so it feels like a bigger deal than it probably is. 

The bell chimes above his head. The diner isn’t crowded but the regulars are here. In their usual seats spread out amongst the tables. When Ace’s gaze falls on the cook and owner of the diner he suppresses a groan. One because Sanji is shamelessly flirting with the girl picking up her order. Two, that girl happens to be you. He quite literally cannot escape you.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask politely, sticking your hand in your bag to pull out some cash. 

“On the house,” Sanji replies, pushing the small paper bag towards you along with four drinks. 

“I can’t accept this without paying,” you urge him, pulling out a few dollars from your stack of cash. 

“A smile from a pretty girl like you is payment enough,” he says, leaning over the counter and into your space. Ace witnesses the way you smile and look away. Bashful. Well, now he’s jealous. That’s fucking great.

“Fine, but I’m at least tipping you.” You stick the dollars you counted before into the tip jar by the register. “Can’t have you thinking I’m taking advantage of your kindness.”

“Oh, sugar, I’d let ya do whatever–”

“Hiya, Sanji,” Ace interrupts, “we’ll have our usual.”

Perhaps, maybe just a little, Ace’s feelings for you are childish. A tad bit immature. He doesn’t like watching Sanji flirt with you. Even though he knows full well, as well as half the people in this town, that Sanji’s fucking the butcher. It’s harmless. Doesn’t make Ace like it any more, though. 

Sanji’s eyes slide over to Ace. He hears the edge in Ace’s tone, but he doesn’t say anything. Sanji is also very aware that Ace never orders at the counter. Luffy has a booth practically assigned to him at the diner. He sits in the same spot every time he comes in to eat. So obviously Sanji is skeptical. But thankfully he spares Ace the awkward confrontation and says “you got it.”

Before turning back to you and saying, “have a great day, beautiful. I’ll see you later.”

Ace watches you look through the bag to make sure everything is there before you glance over at him. It hasn’t even been thirty minutes since you were last together, yet Ace feels the silence between you starting to balloon uncomfortably. 

“Are you following me?” You pop it first. And he’s grateful that you sound much more playful than you did earlier. 

“No,” he smiles at you. “Seems like a coincidence if ya ask me.”

“Mm, right,” you nod, gathering your order in your arms. “Two times in an hour. What did I do to be so lucky?”

“I have an idea,” he says with a slight shrug. He knows what he’s insinuating and you seem to catch on quickly when the air shifts into something a little more thick. Dense. Flashes of lips, hands, tangling limbs is all Ace can think of. You’re standing so close he can smell you. Makes him feel like a creep. But he can’t control it. You had sex one time and it’s as though you’ve already permanently branded yourself to his memory. His senses. 

He doesn’t even know how. Or why. 

You bite down on your bottom lip. Chewing it between your teeth. He doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know your thoughts are probably going down the same tracks as his. He can see it in your eyes. In the way you return his gaze. 

“Listen, I usua–”

“SJ!” Luffy interrupts loudly. So loud it's as if he shakes the air around the two of you. Ace almost forgot you aren’t alone. But in public. “You joinin’ us for breakfast? Sanji makes the best corned beef hash!” 

“SJ?” You look over at Ace, evidently confused. 

“I’ll explain later,” he dismisses, not really in the mood to get into Luffy’s tendency to assign names to people.

“No,” you answer, turning your attention back to Luffy. “I just came over to pick up some coffees for the crew.”

“Bummer,” Luffy says before walking behind the counter and letting himself into the kitchen. 

“Does he always do whatever he wants?” You ask curiously, peeking over the counter through the small window to watch Luffy pester Sanji while he cooks. 

“Yes. All the time. Consequences be damned.”

“Ok well that’s good to know considering how often I will be seeing him.”

Ace chuckles at the concerned look on your face. He finds it endearing how you can’t seem to control your expressions. You wouldn’t even have to say anything and Ace could probably guess what you’re thinking. 

“Anyway, I should get going.” You angle yourself towards the door. “Can’t have Nami’s coffee getting cold.”

“I’ll see you around,” he tilts his head in goodbye. And this time when you leave instead of scurrying away from him, you smile at him over your shoulder. A feeling, weird and full and dizzying, fills his chest. 

“Can’t believe you already slept with her,” Sanji interrupts Ace’s thoughts abruptly. The feeling that he was indulging in immediately solidifies and falls rock solid into his gut. His head whips around to look at Sanji, who’s balancing three plates on his forearm and wearing an expression so casual that Ace is convinced he misheard him.

“What?”

taglist: @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @nico-ith @chillerkiller @jozhenji @starchild-unnamed @certain-tragedies @hannahbarberra162 @kanekisheart

[andy-15-07]

The One That Got Away

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count:1082| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

Pre-Outbreak – Austin, Texas

"You’re really gonna leave the house lookin’ that good and not expect me to say anything?"

You smirk, leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee in hand. "You’re really gonna be late for work again if you don’t stop flirting with me every morning."

Tommy wraps his arms around your waist from behind, lips brushing your ear. "Ain’t flirtin’ if it’s true."

"Still makes you late," you tease.

"And worth every second." He spins you around, kissing you like the world isn’t on fire, like nothing could go wrong.

Post-Outbreak – Jackson, Wyoming (Years Later)

"Tommy!" Maria's voice cuts through the biting winter air as she hurries toward him. "We’ve got a new group coming in. Patrol found them southeast , couple of 'em are hurt."

He sighs, tossing his gloves into the bin outside the stables. "Another one? That's the third group this month."

"I know. But there’s someone you’re gonna want to see." She hesitates. “I didn’t believe it at first.”

"What do you mean?"

Maria tilts her head. "Just… come with me."

He walks through the clinic doors, the cold following him in. Jackson’s med bay is warm but tense. People shift around, helping a few newcomers settle in. And then,

He sees her.

You.

You're sitting on a cot, bundled in a jacket too big for you, bandage on your arm. Your hair’s shorter, skin a little rougher, but your eyes , those damn eyes.

He freezes.

You look up.

And your whole body stills.

"...Tommy?" your voice comes out cracked, disbelieving.

His feet move before his brain catches up. “No way. No. No, you," he stumbles, chest rising fast. "You died. I saw the house. I saw the flames,”

“I got out,” you whisper, tears immediately spilling over. “I ran. I,Tommy, I looked for you for years.”

Tommy’s hands are on your face before either of you can say anything else. "Jesus Christ," he breathes. "You’re real. You’re,"

“I’m real,” you nod, laughing through the tears. “You’re real, too.”

Later That Night – Jackson Lodge

You're sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket Maria brought, sipping hot tea. Tommy hasn’t left your side.

"You really thought I was dead?" you ask softly.

"I didn't just think it," Tommy says, voice tight. "I knew it. There was no way someone could’ve made it outta that mess. We lost power, the whole block was burning, your street was overrun. I... I lost it."

You stare at the fire. “I remember the screaming. The smoke. I grabbed a bag and bolted through the back window when I heard the infected. I thought I’d find you on the road.”

"I went back for you. I swear. Joel tried to stop me, but I went back. Place was gone."

“I kept hoping maybe you’d made it out. That maybe I’d see you again.” You glance at him, smiling sadly. “Guess we’re both stubborn like that.”

He chuckles dryly. “You have no idea.”

A Walk Through Jackson – The Next Day

"So… married, huh?" you ask, nodding at his wedding band.

Tommy hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Maria. She’s good people. Smart. Brave. Keeps me grounded.”

"I figured you’d find someone," you say, forcing a smile.

He studies you. “That a problem?”

You shake your head. “No. Just… weird. We used to talk about getting a dog, a porch swing, a bunch of loud kids running around.”

Tommy sighs, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Yeah. We did. Life just had other plans.”

“Clearly.”

You stop walking.

“Tommy… do you ever think about what it would’ve been like if none of this happened?”

He nods. “Every damn day.”

Flashback – A Week Before the Outbreak

"You gonna marry me someday?" you ask, half-joking as the two of you lie in bed, limbs tangled.

Tommy looks down at you. "You kiddin’? I’d marry you tomorrow if I could afford a ring."

"You don’t need a ring."

"Well, I want one. You deserve more than some last-minute courthouse vows and a beer after."

You grin. "What if I like beer?"

He laughs. “Then I’ll buy you the fanciest beer in the state and make sure you’ve got that porch swing, too.”

Back in Jackson – Present Day

"Things have been… hard," Tommy says later that evening, walking you back to the guest house. “Even in this place. Even with good people. You keep surviving, but it doesn’t mean it stops hurting.”

You nod, voice quiet. “You were the only thing that kept me going some days.”

He looks at you, raw emotion swimming in his eyes. “I never stopped loving you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper.

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because you’ve got a life now. A wife. A town. And I’m just… a ghost.”

He grabs your arm gently. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk like you don’t matter.”

“But I don’t belong here.”

“You belong wherever you want to be.”

Silence stretches between you. Snow begins to fall.

“Can I stay?” you ask.

His voice breaks. “Please.”

A Few Weeks Later

Life in Jackson is calm. Quiet. You help in the greenhouse. Get to know people. Share meals in the dining hall. Sometimes Maria watches you and Tommy with a distant expression, unreadable.

One evening, as you and Tommy walk past the stables, you break the silence.

“Does she know?”

Tommy nods. “She knew the second I saw you. I told her everything that night.”

“What did she say?”

He hesitates. “She said love before the world ended still matters. She said she wouldn’t stand in the way of what we were… whatever this is.”

You stop. “And what is this, Tommy?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “But I know I don’t want to lose you again.”

You step closer, snow crunching beneath your boots.

“Then don’t.”

That Night – Tommy’s Porch

He brings out two mugs of hot cider, handing you one before sitting beside you.

"Think we ever get to be happy again?" you ask.

"I don’t know if it’ll look the same as before. But I think we can make somethin' new."

You glance at him, warmth flickering in your chest. “Even without the dog and porch swing?”

He smiles. “Well, we’ve got the porch. And I’m sure someone’s got a mutt around here.”

You both laugh.

Then you lean your head on his shoulder.

And for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like the end of the world.

It feels like a beginning.

[alpaca-clouds]

Romance in Fantasy Worlds. Or: WHYYY?!

Lazy Worldbuild Rant Number 2: Why the actual fuck do all fantasy worlds and almost all cultures in them copy-paste most attitudes towards sex and romance from the real world?

Don't get me wrong. I kinda know why. Because a) nobody IRL questions it, and b) nobody really wants to question it. So even those few fantasy authors that do realize that the mono- and heteronormative attitude humans these days have towards sex are not "natural" (in as far anything a human does ever can be, obviously), they would rather not challenge it. Besides, most fantasy books tend to be based in this romanticized idea of what the European middle ages looked like - obviously focusing on nobles or at least special people, rather than peasants.

But by all the gods, it irks me so much. Especially as mono- and heteronormativity also always imply some version of patriarchy existing in the world. After all, matriarchal societies tend to not have mononormativity, and are also way less likely to be heteronormative.

As some who have read me talk about this before know: I am irked by the drow worldbuilding in DnD a lot, but the one thing I will give that stuff credit for is, that it realized that in this matriarchal culture mono-hetero-normativity does not make any sense whatsoever and hence did away with it.

But really, though, there would be so many interesting ways to explore romance and sexuality in fantasy books.

Have a culture, in which romance is very strictly seperated from sex. Like, romance only exists for rasing kids, but it is basically assumed that those kids will always result from casual things outside of that bound, and people are superstitious if a heterosexual couple would actually conceive the kids together. It taints the kids, they say!

Have a culture in which romance really does not exist as a concept and everyone just does it with everyone with the kids just growing up in their village, where every adult will care for every child. The concept of "mother" and "father" does not exist. (This was fairly common for early humans, from all we know.)

Have a culture in which men and women live apart, only coming together for sexual encounters once in a full moon. Children will be raised by the women until a certain age, when the boys go live with the men.

Heck, have a culture in which the general belief is, that men and women should not touch one another, outside of specific rituals for conception. Outside of this homoromanticism is normalized, but heteroromanticism is seen as scandalous.

Recently I get fairly annoying especially when it comes to fantasy worlds of sort, that are basically stone age societies, meaning mainly hunter-gatherers. There is little evidence to suggest that hunter-gatherers do the entire "monogamous marriage" thing, outside of maybe a few exceptions. And yet, out of the couple of stone age or quasi stone age settings I know, most of them do monogamy at the very least, if not heteronormativity as well.

I mean, come on now. Read some actual anthropology people.

And that is without going into the fact that once we get to other fantasy species - or even scifi stuff - it is so boring to mainly get species that do two genders all the time.

*sighs* *looks at his Ursula K. LeGuin collection* Oh, Ursula, why were you the one who understood this? And why is everyone else struggling with it so much? Q-Q

[911coded]

I Can Go Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home. Where Is Home?

I don’t usually write after episode one shots, but I was inspired by this post and helped by @bidisasterevankinard when I couldn’t remember if Buck and Bosko had even spoken to each other. Also, I’ve never written drunk dialogue before and ended up modeling it after myself. I will slur one sentence, forget words, make up new ones, then speak the next sentence in full English. 🤷🏻‍♀️

The next night after shift, he pulls over into an empty parking lot before the turn to his house and sits in it, this feeling. Forget having trouble sleeping there, he doesn’t even want to be there. Will Eddie and Chris be waiting? In the moment, seeing Chris again for the first time in a year, he was able to push aside this feeling. But it’s curdling in his stomach like that time he accidentally drank spoiled milk and he’s afraid he will vomit up all the pain and anger he’s been trying to carry. The anger is new, must be at the next stage, or might just be Eddie’s fault. That’s it, he’s finding someplace to sit and have a drink, he can uber “home” when he can go straight to bed.

The badge and ladder bar only a few minutes from his house wasn’t full, but enough people were milling around inside to get lost in the crowd. Buck thought he recognised the handful of firefighters surrounding the pool tables, but only from scenes, not anyone he knew personally. A couple of minutes after sitting at the bar and scanning the crowd, the bartender made her way over to him. He handed over a card to start a tab, ordered a beer to sip, and a hand full a shots to get started. After he tossed the first one back, he looked the bartender in the eyes. “This is a terrible idea, but I’m about to make this all about me. I’ve had a shit few weeks, my captain died, and I’ve spent so much time trying to keep my team together, this is the first time I’ve had a chance to be still without a list to work from. This is either going to make me feel better, or a whole lot worse. If I start crying to the point of embarrassing, please call my ICE contact, but no one else, even if he doesn’t answer. He’ll answer, though, he always does,” he explained. The bartender stared back at him, silent and stoic, but nodded at him seriously. He nodded back and picked up the next shot.

After the fourth shot, “ICE. Fuck ICE. We should come up with a new name for your emergency contact, workshop it, spread the word.” The bartender tilted her head in question with a quirked eyebrow. “Hmmm, bet I can make it go viral. I have-I have a lot of instagram followers. Bobby would like that. We didn’t talk about it, and I don’t think I ever heard him curse but Bobby would say it too, cause fuck ICE.” Buck waved a hand emphatically and the bartender grabbed a glass before he could send it crashing to the floor.

The bartender was good. She kept the shots coming but made sure he paced himself and occasionally placed a glass of water in front of him with a blank stare until he drank it. “He was a good guy, but he was wrong, they don’t need me. Not now. But maybe I need them? Maybe that’s what he meant? It hurts to need people, though. Hurts when they shut you out, when they leave,” Buck continued with a sniff. Someone settled in the stool next to him and flagged down the bartender who had taken a moment to serve some young women at the end of the bar.

“Buckley? Hey man, you’re crying.” Buck turned to the voice and squinted at the woman sitting next to him. He knows her. Maybe? Oh.

“Bosko? Oh.” Buck touches his face and he can feel the wetness there even if he hadn’t noticed that the crying had begun. “Must not be too embarrassing yet since the bartender hasn’t called my ICE. Fuck ICE, we need to work on that.”

Bosko snorts in amused bemusement. “Yeah, fuck ICE. What are you doing here alone, Buckley? Where’s the rest of your crew?” she asked. She settles into the barstool and turns to face him.

“Don’t know, they aren’t really talking to me right now. I’m sad wrong? Or too concerned about if they are sad? Not sure yet. Eddie is at my place and he is talking too much. Ashhole. Sad wrong for him, too. Make everything about me, selfish. Captain Dad dies but not about me. Said-said I dn’t do enough, could do better. Got in my face, no sorries, just more mean. You were there, you saw. Once is an incident, twice is a-a coinkydink, three times is a pattern; I shouldn’t have to be afraid that my friend is going to hit my face in my own-my own cooking room. Did that once, 0/10 stars, would not recommend. At least he said sorry, made effort to make up. Am I still crying?” Buck asked, trying to make sense but pretty sure he was failing, nothing new there. Bosko had a fierce frown, not scrunchy like Tommy’s.

“Did dickhead Diaz hit you? Is that why you’re in here mourning your captain alone instead of with your crew? Do they know?” she asked, looking around to be sure she didn’t see any firefighters from the 118.

“No, that was Chim, brother. Long time ago, said sorry. Meant it. We’re good. Chim angry at Bobby for dying but not mad at me. Eddie mad at me. Dickhead Diaz, good one,” Buck replied with a giggle.

“I worked with that asshole for months, he didn’t know anything about me but somehow thought we were good friends. He told me all about you, his family, and his kid, but not once did he ask me about mine. Friendship is a one way street for that guy, and if you don’t stay in that perfectly shaped box he put you in, he gets frustrated and angry. He’s a dickhead, I told him we were not friends and walked away, haven’t heard from him since,” she shared.

“No, wouldn’t, didn’t need you anymore. Had me back. Sad. No, stupid. We should start a club. Edmundo Diaz sucky friend club. We need more members. Oh Josh! And Tommy! Was jealous of Eddie taking attention of hot pilot….with a cleft. Edmundo stopped talking to Tommy too! Said it was about me, but thas dumb. Dumb. Am I embarrassin’ yet? Time to call Tommy come get me?” Buck asked with a flutter of his lashes.

“Buckley. Dickhead Diaz doesn’t know how to have conversations that aren’t about him. And he has really good aim, so every fight is an opportunity to cause the most damage. Don’t let him do that to you, man, nobody deserves that, okay?” Bosko insisted.

“Ok. Don’t deserve damage. I’ll be okay. Bobby loved me. Two outta three works, I guess.”

Bosko sighs with a sad shake of her head and flags down the bartender. “Did he give you his phone? I’m pretty sure it’s time to call his ride,” Bosko said. When she turns back to check on him, Buck has folded his arms on the vaguely sticky bartop and is using them for a pillow, blinking slowly at her like a cat. The bartender shakes her head and when Buck actually hears her speak, it’s almost enough to get him to sit up again.

“It’s in his shirt pocket. I’ll close out his tab.” With that, Buck and Bosko are alone again.

“I think you’ve hit the embarrassing stage now, bud, how about I call your ICE?” Bosko asks, as gently as he had ever heard her speak.

“Fuck ICE,” Buck mumbled, blinks getting further and further apart, but he reached into his pocket and handed her his phone so she wouldn’t have to fish for it. His attention wandered and he vaguely heard Bosko’s side of the conversation enough to know that Tommy answered. “Yay!” he exclaimed softly, and raised an arm to fist pump that weakly thumped back to the bar top.

The bartender came back with a receipt, his card, and another glass of water. “Sign. Then drink. Thank you,” she demanded, then gave one more nod now that she had imparted her instructions and wandered away to do bartender things.

After he gulped down half the glass of water and signed a somewhat legible signature, he turned to look at Bosko. “I think she might be the strangest yet most interesting bartender I’ve ever met and I’ve been a bartender. A lot.” Bosko rolled her eyes but nodded anyway to concede his point. It may have been moments or hours when Buck felt a familiar warm hand rest on his lower back and the tension Buck had been carrying around for weeks seemed to seep out of his pores. Tommy. That’s what he had needed this whole time. Dumb. Should have known.

“Evan. Are you okay?” Tommy asked, forehead scrunched up in concern.

Buck twisted up into a mostly sitting position and beamed at Tommy which seemed to shock him into silence, if the wide eyes blinking at him were any indication. Bosko snorted and rolled her eyes at him again.

“He’s fine Kinard. He had a deal with the bartender to call you if the crying became embarrassing,” Bosko answered for Buck who was still beaming up at Tommy dreamingly.

Buck pointed at Bosko. “Yes! I’m sad and making it about me, but that’s ok. It’s my turn and it helped. I think. And Bosko’s here! We didn’t talk when she was my replacement but I think I like her and the bartender is really interesting,” he informed the still bemused Tommy.

“And hot,” Bosko pointed out with a smirk at Buck who had given up on sitting straight and was slumped against Tommy.

Buck’s forehead creased with an offended pout. “Well, yeah, but interesting. More important. Don’t obje-objec….that word. More than pretty. INTERESTING. But I’m done now. Tommy, I’m tired, take me home? Not with Eddie. Don’t-don’t want to see him. Dickhead,” he pleaded as he increased the pout by a factor of ten and fluttered his eyelashes in Tommy’s direction.

Bosko snorts out another laugh and holds out a hand to shake. “Buckley, take care of yourself. I’m sorry about your Captain Dad, he was a good man. Call me some time to hang out, you are a fun drunk. Kinard,” she said and with a friendly nod, went back to her friends at the pool tables.

Buck turns back to Tommy and looks up at him with the look that he knows turns him to mush. “Thank you for coming to get me, Tommy. You always come when I call, you’re the best. Take me home and tuck me in? I always sleep better with you and I’m so tired,” he pleaded.

Tommy sighs with a small smile and hauls Buck out of the barstool and on to his feet. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take you home and you can tell me more about Dickhead Diaz in the morning. I’m glad you called me,” he assures Buck and guides him out the door to his truck to go home.