#like- once you're aware the lengths blocking will go

[purplerakath]

School Spirits - 1x06

Mad props to the blocking on that kiss scene, having the absolute bravado to introduce an apple crate in between kisses so Maddie just suddenly gets 4 inches taller.

Like- legit I get it Milo is a million feet tall, but to just do that in between the kisses takes guts. Bravo.

[matchadobo]

KIDD; overheard

wc: 2768

summary: kidd overhead virgin!freader moaning out his name

warning/s: nsfw🔞, fem reader, v1brators, first-time-s3x, cooming inside, cunnilingus, thr0at fucking, fluff in the end

you never had sex. you're a virgin. and kidd respects that. kidd had been courting you because you insist on doing it the traditional way. he just likes you so much he does sacrifices for you. he's not the type of guy who'd go through such lengths for a girl, but with you, man he'd do anything to let him love you.

you wouldn't expect that a man of his stature wouldn't talk you into having sex when you two started getting romantically involved. kidd was, of course, not a virgin. a man like him, who's built like a fucking fridge, who's tongue brings him so many places, who's charisma is unparalleled, and his overflowing sex appeal. you admit that your boyfriend is hot, and you want to know what i feels to bed him someday. he's perfectly aware of your situation and he gaves you free reign of your sexual status, he never forces you to go all the way. it's just all about touching between the both of you.

it's mostly on kidd's end when we talk about containing it. especially when you don't fix up yourself around him on domestic days. or when you don a pretty little dress.

you'd be fooling yourself if you don't wanna do more than touching and kissing with him. each time he takes his shirt off and his happy trail shows. how his muscles flex when he's reaching over something high or hugging you. you can't help but be curious of how it'd feel if he have his way with you.

so that one night where curiosity won over you, you decided to buy a vibrator since you can't find it in you to ask the guy that's been courting you and you who has been constantly insisting on taking things slow. once you're all alone, you discarded your clothes and lied on his bed. you were staying with him for the night. you could've done it in your place but, the scent of his cologne on his sheets and the sight of his things made you more aroused.

as you spread yourself on the bed, you don't know the first thing about vibrators. all you knew was how badly you wanted him, how you imagine him doing the stimulation and not this expensive fucking vibrating rod. as you felt the splurge of pleasure, you were out of this world. your eyes rolled at the back of your head and your mouth muttered his name with the filthiest intent.

little did you know, kidd was on his way back to his place. he just got off the elevator and is walking toward his unit with a handful of takeout for your date night. he was exhausted from work today and all he wanted to do was come home to you and feel you. not fully aware of your act.

"y'all fuck yet?" heat asked over the phone. kidd tsked through the call.

"if that's what the hell you're gonna talk about i'll block you." he almost hit the end call if it weren't for killer taking over.

"listen, we're just iffy about this courting thing. you always start your relationships with fucking or something." killer calmly retorted. "plus, it's been three months and you two are kind of a blur, aye? don't you think it's time to take a step much higher?"

"let me tell you freaks somethin': name is the most precious angel that ever crossed this earth, ya hear me? she ain't some whore i chase to keep my cock warm. i want to have somethin' special with her, cuz hey, she's one special lady herself." he took a deep breath before continuing, fishing out his keycard from his wallet. "ain't it enough reason to wait it out? i imagine sex with her like a good ol' scotch, aye? longer you wait, tastier it gets. i know she couldn't resist me either, the way those eyes linger ain't a wholesome thing. all the more reason the sex'll be so fuckin' sweet once she's ready." he emphasized on the last three words.

you were too lost in the glee of the stimulation, you didn't even hear the beep of his door as he got inside. as kidd settled his stuff down and calmed down by his couch, he started to wonder where you are. he roamed around his unit to find you, only to hear faint noises of your voices. they sounded like whimpers so he started getting worried and hurried to find where the sound was coming from.

he felt his dick tighten in his pants when he heard you moaning out his name loud and clear. his grasp on the plastic bag carrying your food tightened, he swallowed a hard lump down his throat. he couldn't resist barging in on you.

he would nut right then and there. when he saw you wide open right before him, you reached your climax just as he went in. your scream resounding in the room. so you sat frozen with your legs spread, one hand on the vibrator while the other played with your tits. you stopped immediately and hid yourself under his sheets, your face flushed red in sheer embarrassment. "w-what the hell?! i-i- what the fuck are you doing here, kidd?!"

he sighed before saying, "in case you didn't know; this is my room," he pulled his shirt over his head, walking a step closer to you. "and you're naked," he unbuckled his belt, getting even closer to you. "wide open." he kicked his pants away the floor, crawling by the bed. "moaning my name unbefitting of a cute little thing such as yourself." he pulled the sheets you were covering yourself with. "this much is fuckin' rich coming from someone who insists on taking it slow. your words bit you back in the ass, aye?"

you were flushed red at his proximity, your eyes shakily alternating between his. "i-i wasn't..."

"wasn't what? fucking yourself with that thing and imagining i was ramming into you?" he cocked a brow, canines tugging by his lower lip. "baby, hadn't i told you that you can just tell me if you wanna give it a go? i'm more than happy to teach ya," he gave your cheeks a soft caress.

his big hands trailed down your jaw, fingers tracing the edge of your face, down to the column of your neck until he wrapped his hands around your it and pulled you closer. eliciting a moan out of you, his grin widening. "aren't you a filthy, little slut too?"

he kissed you on your open mouth, the grip on your neck tightening. "what were you thinking about, hm?" he pressed the vibrator closer to your clit after flicking the button on. "was i too hot for you? you want me to fuck you up so bad, huh? stretch this tight, little thing wide, fucking, open." he pressed foreheads with you after licking your lips.

all you could do was pout and curl up your brows, your eyes rolling at the back of your head as you didn't even know what kind of high you're in right now. "nghh- kidd- please...!" you bit your lip, clawing at his arms.

"please what? i can stop." he gently whispered against your ear. "i can take care of mine just fine you know." he gestured to his bulging length underneath his brief. you felt yourself choke at the act, imagining how he'd be like.

"n-no!" you responded, squirming under him. he hasn't discarded the vibrator but only made it even more extreme. "k-keep going... i-i want to go all the way, okay?"

"aye." he nodded, giving you a long, wet kiss before turning the vibrator off. he ducked his head down and placed soft, gentle kisses on your inner thighs, teasing your sopping cunt by his stippled pecks. "ready?" he stared at you, his hot breath tickling your folds. you nodded with pressed lips, bracing yourself with his tongue.

he languidly dragged his tongue down the line of your folds, not breaking eye contact as he watch you squirm with only just his tongue. how you sound so much like a slut just for him. he pulled your hips closer, drowning his face within your opening and the flesh of your thighs. he hummed through you as a response to your moans, vibrations pumping through your veins. he took it a notch higher and slid a finger in. you were becoming limp at this point.

but you wanted to please him too, you want to help him with that tent in his pants. so once you pushed his head deeper and you pulled on his hair, you came in his mouth. he sipped in your juices, slurping in your cum.

"c-can i please you too?" you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"i was just about to say that." he stood up on the bed, holding your jaw by his hands. "go ahead, love."

you hesitantly raise your hands, still looking at him. your fingers crept on his waistbands, sliding them off. his pulsating length sprung out, dripping with precum. you couldn't help but act surprise at the size of him even though you already know that he's phenomenally huge. he would already cum right then and there when he saw the enormous difference between the size of him to your face, how your eyes try to fathom how you'd fit that in your mouth and in your cunt.

you start to wrap your cold fingers around him, a gasp escaping him at your contact. you pumped unsurely, from his flushed head down to his veiny shaft. you opened your mouth and gave a kitten lick by his head, keeping an eye on him before swallowing him whole. he was so huge you gagged when you were just by the half of him.

his hands found its way to the sides of your head as he pushed his length further in your throat, relishing on the warmth of your mouth. you dug your nails by the skin of his hips, eyes watering at the impact of the head of his length touching the back of your throat. he grunted as he tried to restrain himself to let you adjust.

once you let go with a pop, strings of saliva trailed from his head to your lips. there were scattered drools on your lips, you wiped it with the back of your palm. "w-wait, i- you're too big." you giggled shyly, tucking your hair by your ear.

"yeah? sure you can handle it?" he rubbed your chin between his thumb and index, studying your expressions. "i assure you, it will be a lot fucking bigger inside you."

you gulped deeply, face heating up. so you cleared your throat, and prepped yourself to do it once more. you slowly got used to bobbing your head back and forth, the friction of your lips gliding across the surface of his veiny length. as your saliva coated his shaft, it became more slippery and easier to slide in your mouth.

kidd was cursing out words each time his cock slipped in and out of your mouth. he pushed himself further, despite your protests of drumming his hips. he pulled on your hair tightly, fucking your mouth in an unforgiving pace. once he came in your mouth, he left it there for a while, his cum dripping down your throat. you had to catch your breath as residue of cum and drool littered your chin.

he sat down before you,"for a beginner, you're goddamn amazing." he placed a kiss on your forehead then to you lips. as he kissed you fervently; his hands went from choking your neck, squeezing your tits with his palms, and rubbing on your clit as he spread your wetness from your cunt to your inner thighs. "let me spread you up for the finale." he mumbled against your open mouth which elicited breathy moans. his thigh and shoulder provided support for your frame as he fingered you open.

your hand reached over his cheek, looking at him with the most vulnerable gaze. he memorized how sinful you looked for him, how your eyes begged for more and how your mouth uttered the neediest response from his stimulation.

you pressed your forehead by his cheek as you approached your climax, clawing at his arms. he watched how your cunt clenched around his fingers at each curl and spread. you ended up breathless after you came.

but he didn't give you any chance to pause and compose yourself, he lied you down the mattress and knelt before your body. he gave his length a few pumps after spitting on it, he teased his meat on your soaking cunt; savoring how you furrow your brows and gawk at him. he spread your legs by your inner thighs, pushing your hips toward his so you two could be very close. kidd leaned down and pressed foreheads with you, "i'm putting it in, aye?" he asked for permission and you hummed. he gave your nose a little kiss before sliding himself in slowly.

"f-fuck...!" he stuttered, breathless at the tightness of your innocent cunt. he could slide in without any pain from his or your end, your walls just clench around him a lot. you too were drooling and too lost at the fullness of his cock, he's way too huge for you to fathom. "if you keep clenching like that i'm not gonna last, love. i haven't even been fully in." he panted, smiling against your cheek.

once he fully got settled, the head of his cock reached your cervix; that's how big he is. after adjusting, he began moving back and forth. it took everything in him to do it slowly, he wanted to fuck you stupid in a harsh pace. you reached for his neck, slowly lling him down to kiss him. "i-it hurts, b-baby. i-i it feels sore." you said in between kisses. "b-but don't stop, i-it feels amazing too." you smiled meekly, a single tear falling at the corner of your eye.

kidd felt motivated to refine his performance, your words were like a brush on his shoulder. he kissed your tears away before saying, "i know, bunny. i promise to only let you feel the good part, hm?"

as you fist the sheets and his grip on your waist tightened, you two slowly found rhythm. kidd adored how pleasured you look right now, to the point that you don't know what to do with yourself. you played with your tits, sucked on his fingers, clawed on his arms, covered your face with the pillows, and clutched your tummy as you grew near. he was doing all of that to you and it was the biggest turn on for him. he reached over to hold your face in his hand, then he rubbed on your lips, and finally wrapped his hands around your neck. you swallowed at the constriction on your throat, his firm hand holding you in place. his other hand was holding your leg that was swung on top of his shoulder. "you close?" he asked, hips unceasing.

you nodded, your eyes becoming swollen at the amount of tears you let out. "me too, baby. i-i'm- ngh fuck!" he too was lost for words, he felt you clench again around him, you felt him throb inside you; the vibration coursing through your veins. "do you want me to p-pull out?"

you didn't know either. it was your first time and you know the risks. but it was kidd. you want him to release inside, to keep you warm, to let his cum drip down your cunt. so you shook your head and pulled him by the neck. "cum inside, release all of it."

from your words, he came right then and there, shooting up ropes of cum inside your womb. "if we're gonna have brats, i'm done for." he panted with his forehead resting on your shoulder.

"me too, mini versions of you are a headache." you giggled a bit, kissing his ear.

"can i just stay inside?" he lied gently beside you, "you just feel so good and i want to sleep like this."

another tear streamed down your cheeks, what a goddamn softie. you nodded turning your back on him and placing your hand above his which was resting atop your stomach. "i'm glad you're my first." you blurted out, blushing afterward.

"i'm glad you're my last, shortcake."

you gave him a glare but he just giggled.

one last hc before i wage war with my exams 🥺 this is for tHE FREAKSSS 🤪🫣

[naffeclipse]

What if Eclipse from AP was a naga? And this took place in the deep jungle of the amazon, where photographer y/n is trying to take pictures of the wildlife?

I'm vibrating at the speed of sound over this ask while also nudging my naga au

Naga Eclipse from AP would have the tail of a Green Anaconda, with an olive green scaly color dotted with black, framed by burning-like flares of orange along the length of his slithery body. He's also decorated with orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, slipper form. His upper half is scaley with a lithe deadliness to his musculature and decorated by frills surrounding his head with brighter orange-yellow colors, almost hypnotic in their gradient hues. One eye is deep emerald green, and one is midnight blue.

Lucky you—you're out on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition to explore a jungle closed off to the public, funded by Fazco, and occupied by two researchers who will be your bunkmates for the next few weeks. You're itching to take photos of the large river, including swamps, marshes and streams, and whatever wildlife is out there.

The few locals you did meet before you left to hike the rest of the way to what would be your new, isolated home warned you of a dangerous snake—a large, mythical beast. You take note of the local folklore. You understand the truth is hidden in there somewhere, and you are well aware of the dangers and diseases you could be met with in such a harsh environment, but you're determined.

It doesn't take long for you to feel eyes watching you when you first venture out by yourself. You take beautiful pictures of freshwater fish, big and beautiful, unlike any you have ever seen. Of course, you have hundreds of snapshots of the local flora, the trees, the floating meadows, the thick vines that drape each branch and hang thickly about the ground. You almost forget that you eerily don't feel alone.

But you swear something moves in the water—the ripples stop as soon as you look. The stillness is suddenly stiff, lifeless. Even the birds have stopped chirping.

You lower your camera and carefully put it away. A trickle of fear slips into your heart. You turn away from the river's edge only to be met by a low hiss and a creature, unlike anything you witnessed in your travels, spooling itself neatly out of the water, blocking your path to the base. An incredible creature with long arms and a great, serpentine tail that seems to stretch for yards and yards. You can hardly breathe in his presence—he's otherworldly with his frills and scales and fangs.

His eyes contain a mesmerizing shine as if staring into a fire as it burns or watching the ocean as it laps up against the beach, drawing your attention, demanding you don't look away. You couldn't anyway. Half-frozen, you struggle to keep from collapsing. He beckons with a sharp talon. He hisses softly for you to come closer, mouse. He wants to see you. You try to beg no without revealing how terribly you tremble. He doesn't let you go. He insists. His eyes flash with an allure. You almost step close when he murmurs that you need to be good.

But then your sense of survival kicks adrenaline into your heart, and you turn to run—

He strikes faster than your eyes can follow. Two loops of his green and orange tail surrounded you in an instant. You're dragged to the ground, your arms pinned under his mass, and the back of your head cradled by his large palm as powerful muscles squeeze you in the slightest—a gentle rebuke for thinking you could get away. You're hyper-aware of the terrifying bulk of muscles as you lie trapped in his coils. One strong twist and your eyes could pop out of your skull, and every bone protecting your heart and lungs would crumble to shards. You gasp. An urge to kick your legs and struggle erupts in your panic; a sinking feeling tells you it would only make things worse.

He coos over you, hissing and humming in an ancient song of the jungle you have no name for. When you whimper, he shushes you and strokes your cheek. He tells you how lovely you'll be. When you talk back to him, somehow finding your tongue amid your horror, you find out his name. Eclipse. He moves you more upright, resting you on his tail so you're not petrified by how vulnerable you feel lying down, but he never loosens his scaly bindings. He hovers over you. You gaze into his stunning frills of yellow-orange and wonder how a being like him came to exist. He studies you as you study him. He grins at how you shiver when he traces your collarbone with a sharp fingertip.

You remind yourself that you can still breathe. He hasn't crushed you—yet—but you don't like how wide his smile is. Sometimes, his jaw stretches a little too long as if dislocating from his skull, ready to devour you. His eyes gleam with a ravenousness as scales twist around you, holding you close enough to smell the slick green water he had been in and deep musk.

He tells you that he'll see you again very soon—away from other humans, lest you bring him a fine gift for a meal. You can only flex your fingers, silently pleading in your heart that he won't unhook his jaw and eat you alive.

Then, he unravels himself from your limbs. But before he lets you go entirely, he leans in close, his serpentine tongue flickering close to your neck and by your hair, tasting the air around you as you muster all your strength to not scream. He inhales deeply, pleased, before he murmurs, "Sweet mouse. You are mine. Say it."

You don't understand, but you echo his command, and when he taps your chin once in what might have been a loving gesture, you force your jelly legs to solidify before you run and run, all the way back to base. You slam the door to your room behind you. You touch your ribs, your arms, still caught in the heavy sensation of his loops as if he were upon you right now.

The stories are true—there is a giant snake in this jungle, and he wants you. You're afraid to discover if Eclipse's intrigue with you is only an exotic way to satisfy his hunger.

[smallestapplin]

Can you take both?

Neuvillette x fem reader smut

Cw : Reader is referred to as 'pear' 'love' and 'sweet', twin dicks Neuvillette, lowkey praise.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! I check who likes and if I see ya you're blocked. Yes 17 is a minor

18+ only!

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Neuvillette was certain of one thing as you lay under him, your chest heaving to catch your breath, your skin shining with a thin layer of sweat, your eyes glazed over and shimmering with unshed tears, you were beautiful.

Like a goddess laid before him, allowing him to worship you and your body, allowing him to drink in your bare form. He loves you and adores you, he needs to make sure you commit his love to memory.

"Neuvi..."

Your sigh of his name makes his pointed ears perk up.

"Yes, my pearl?" He awaits your response but you can't manage another word.

What little air you have is stolen from the grind of his hips, pressing his cock further into your well-used hole. His second dick rubbed your clit with every slow roll of his hips, sending sparks through your sensitive body. The dragon above you purrs lowly at your trembling form.

"You are breathtaking, my love. Letting me worship your body in such an indecent manner. I'm truly blessed."

You bring your arms up wrapping them around his shoulders to hold him close, he doesn't resist, letting you pull him down so his chest is pressed against yours.

"You're intoxicating." He mutters, quickly burying his face into your neck, breathing in your scent.

He's drowning in your scent, in your touch! you're taking over his senses, ensuring his world is nothing but you, and you aren't even aware of it, aren't aware of how you have the chief of Justice wrapped around your finger.

"I...I can't cum again-mm!"

He coos at you softly, pleased with your body shaking just from the tip of his cock kissing your womb.

"Too much-!!"

"Shh, just let me show you my love for you."

He's addicted to you.

"Mm...do you think you could take another? Let me be wrapped completely by your warm, welcoming pussy?"

Tears sting your eyes, you couldn't imagine taking both his cocks at once! He's much too big for that, right? Neuvillette groans, burying his face into your neck.

"Fuck. You're thinking about it, aren't you? thinking about being stuffed full of my cocks and being filled with my love?"

You toss your head back, crying out as Neuvillette grinds his hips into yours pressing the tip of his cock deep into you, letting it kiss your sweet spot.

His second cock leaking his precum onto your stomach, silently promising to fill up with his thick spent.

You dig your nails into his pale arms, leaving red marks in your wake. Neuvillette groans, purring at your pathetic attempts to mark him. He bucks his hips, slowly pulling out to slam back into you. Your eyes cross at the sudden stimulation, your mouth drops open letting out a silent shriek.

"Neuviiii! Fuck fuck fuck-!! M'gonna cum!"

A deep purr rumbles through Neuvillette's chest, he can feel your cunt flutter around him, trying to keep him inside you.

Your eyes go wide as Neuvillette pulls back, moving his second cock to your already stuffed hole. His lilac eyes stare down at where your bodies connect, being careful to slowly push his tapered dick inside you. You arch your back, tears stinging your eyes as your pussy stretches to accommodate the second length.

"So good...mm, my love, it's like you were made for me." He sighs out, trying to keep his composure.

He thrusts forward, making you take more of him. Your sudden squeak echoes in the bedroom, pussy fluttering around his cocks desperately trying to milk him for all his worth.

Neuvillette's eyes roll back, his mouth dropping open with drool dripping down his chin and onto your chest and stomach.

You both pause, letting allowing you two to catch your breath, while your juices cover his dicks.

"N..Neuvi, please, you're too much."

"Do you want me to stop?"

His voice was rough and ragged from fighting the urge to pump your pussy full of his cum.

You merely whimper, shaking your head no.

"Answer me, I want you to say it."

You mewl at his demand.

"Don't stop, please don't! I need you to fill me."

Fuck, he loves you.

He moves one hand to grab a hold of one of yours, locking your hands together for him to hold.

"Anything for you, my sweet."

He hopes you don't mind the marks he'll leave.

[3smo]

daisuke kambe !

warning: dom reader. gender neutral. gender isn't specific but daisuke is riding you. riding ofc. daisuke has sensitive nipples. not much went down here.

✿ disclaimer — I only write for characters 18+. if you don't like my content, please block me.

daisuke sighs as he finally gets to sink down on your cock. his legs tremble and his grip on your hand tightens once you're fully sheathed inside him. "f-fuck... yes..."

"you're so beautiful." daisuke hums in a breathy manner. one hand intertwined with his own, and the other placed on his hips guiding him up and down your hard cock.

daisuke fixes his position, hands now placed on your stomach and his knees right beside your waist.

his head falls forward, back arching when he picks himself up with shaky legs. the rim tightens around you once he reached the tip before dropping his hips down.

you groan at the pornographic sight, rubbing his thighs, kneading at the flesh. "there you go. just like that, sukie."

daisuke picks up the pace, slamming himself down on your length until smacking is heard throughout the room.

his heavy breathing quickly turns into a gurgling mess, lightly scratching his stomach to control himself, his perky nipple catching your eye everytime he lifts his shirt up.

his own cock hitting your stomach as he bounces on you, leaking all over you.

he slows down, catching his breath, walls clenching around you.

"can you still go on?" daisuke ignores you, his legs giving out once again as he tries to pick himself up and slamming back down on you.

daisuke shuts his eyes in embarrassment. he barely even started and he can't even finish it. "help me..."

"with what?" you teased him watching his open his mouth reluctantly - "...please move."

you smile at his flushed expression, his shoulders shaking pathetically, lust clouding your eyes. your hands slid under his thighs, picking him up slightly as you fixed your posture, your hips pushing up into his quivering body.

he's very much aware of the fact that you keep brushing past his prostate.

daisuke falls forward. he holds onto the headboard to hold himself up, whimpers spilling from his mouth.

"s...slow down, wait!" daisuke gasps in shock as your mouth wraps around his pink bud, biting down on his nipple. daisuke places a hand on your head, trying to push you away, squeaking loudly. "not there!"

"why not?" you question him, pulling away. your thrusts are slow, and teasing and he tries to muffle his whimpers behind tightly closed lips.

"b-because..." you wait for him, when he doesn't say anything else, you place your hand on his lower back, forcing him to ride you once again. daisuke cries out loud, shaking his head. "m'sensitive, sensitive!!"

this time you hit his prostate dead on. daisuke freezes, body going stiff as he leaks more pre-cum all over you. his fingers pulling on your hair, you don't mind the pain, hitting his prostate once again, this time burying him to the hilt.

daisuke shakes in your hold, he waits for you to move again, but you don't. you chuckle at his panicked expression.

"come on, baby, since you like to tell me what to do- you're doing the work."

...

[nabbit-unmasked]

TW for venting, autistic overstimulation, and species dysphoria.

Hey fellow neurodivergent writers,

Am I the only one who takes a lot more time to write for assignments compared to neurotypicals?

Writing by myself about things I'm passionate about, such as this post, don't take as much time and effort to do. I can easily flow through it and get 10-15 paragraphs in.

However, it's the complete opposite for writing assignments. Things forced onto you by others.

It's not like theres a neatly organized worksheet with a step-by-step process and clear directions given to you. You're all on your own to do everything, and I hate that.

It takes an insane amount of energy, time, and motivation for me to finish even one paragraph. If I'm writing fiction, I need time to think about what's happening now, what's coming next, and how the character is perceiving it. I need to think about voice, word choice, grammar, paragraph length, and how the reader is perceiving all of this. I'm trying to be 3 different people at once while simultaneously trying to make a good story.

It's a lot to process as is, but the writing process for just 3 pages takes days/weeks for me to complete, and sessions can take hours because I need extra time to process what's going on in my writing.

Even still, papers and due dates stack up. I have to repeat this whole process 3 or 4 times per workload. I'm constantly overworking my brain to get them done within a week so I don't disappoint my teachers and experience crushing guilt.

And then, on top of that, due date stack-ups STACK UP TOO.

And that's just for fiction. (Well, the due dates arent just fiction)

Nonfiction demands that you are accurate and 100% truthful. Reports demand a certian format. They demand extra citing for each and every single one of those sentences that took me 15 minutes to complete and move on from.

Neurotypical teachers even make it clear that they're aware due dates are stacking up, and this will determine "who's ready to prove they can do more and who's not," which given my previous points, is debatable ableist.

Neurotypical students seem to just write and write and get paragraphs of work done within 30 minutes. They don't deal with this haze of overstimulation and are able to get whole pages out in one block. Writing half of that takes me a whole block, and in Times New Roman 12pt font, I can get a fourth of a page done in a block.

I came to an arts school because I needed a safe place to be. I got in because I was good at writing. Now, I just want to leave the writing department. This is all too much and no one around me seems to understand that.

It makes me want to stop being human even more. Humans think this is the answer to everything, this is how you get education to get jobs to get money to get a house and food and to survive. You have to do it, theres no other way. Work for mankind so you can survive it. Stay in your lane. Don't do anything you aren't supposed to.

Then I look outside at the birds. They're free, their species didnt chose to make everyone do work, they can fly wherever they want and they're never wrong for being in space. Why can't we be more like birds? (And to bird therians/kins out there, I wish we could all be free like we're meant to be.)

[tialys]

Yo! I'm Noeul (he/they/she), 25, Mountain standard timezone. An avid (once)roleplayer, artist and author of 13+ years. Looking to get back into roleplay after a year-long break!

Some things about me and my writing:

I am an adult adult, lol. I have so many priorities IRL and unfortunately, life comes first before RP. I'll always be around to chat and discuss the RP throughout the day, but please be aware my replies to the RP itself will not be as frequent. It depends, but expect at least a few days to a week between replies. That said, if you're the impatient type or want quick responses and feel the urge to nudge me a lot, we won't be a match, sorry!

I love memes, shitposts, moodboards, playlists and virtually anything and everything that has to do with our characters and stories. Don't be afraid to send me anything pertaining to the RP, or even nothing related at all, I love making friends outside of the RP and chatting about anything.

Please don't be weird about my characters concerning their genders — yes, I have to say this after people started prying about their anatomy and being fetish-y/blatantly gross about it. I don't list things like "assigned x at birth" on stats because in my personal experience as a nonbinary person, it makes me heavily uncomfortable and feels very unnecessary to me. I love to explore gender identity with my characters and am happy to answer questions, but if the topic becomes ignorantly sexual/obviously malicious I will block without warning.

My literacy, if I were to make a guess, would be somewhere in the proficient range, though I honestly do not care. My way of writing is often described as cryptic and flowery (usually heavy on the metaphors, abstract, visual wordplay), so take that into consideration. Some characters of mine have more poetic POVs and others simple and blunt. It varies. I do this for fun and do not expect the same in return.

I am primarily a multi-para to novella writer, but length is always dependent on context of current events in the RP and who I am writing as. I don't really mirror nor do I keep track of word count, so I cannot give an estimate on my average post length. I also tend to write multiple characters a response, and length is pretty disparate between each POV.

I write officially in third person past-tense, but there are instances I may write in first person based on my inspiration and what is transpiring in the RP, but it literally applies to only a couple characters.

I like plotting, but I also don't mind just winging it and diving straight into a world, so long as we've discussed characters and general worldbuilding first. Really heavy planning makes me anxious and overwhelmed, but it's not a dealbreaker, I just tend to forget down the line and am not great at developing ideas on the spot. Plot points develop for me over time.

I exclusively use my own personal OCs and don't really make new characters for RPs, so keep this in mind! It should also go without saying that I do not share them and ask that you don't try to powerplay/take over as them.

That said, the majority of them are almost-exclusively humans and they're subject to change depending on the setting of the universe; for AUs, I like to experiment with them as different (humanoid) species and whatnot. Their ages range from early 20s to late 50s, but a lot are middle-aged. Do note, most are genderqueer/trans/nonbinary/male-leaning. (Also as an added note, I do have a lot of cop OCs, so if this is a trigger for you, it might be best to not interact with me)

When it comes to romance, I have had very toxic encounters with RP partners concerning romantic shippings, and as I'm very attached to my characters and also have them all involved with each other in some way, I'm not very comfortable shipping them out so freely. If we know each other (i.e friends, and I mean, actual friends), you're welcome to discuss it with me, but I'd like for our characters to actually interact first and potentially plan it in detail.

^ I'm not opposed to you shipping your own OCs in the RP, because obviously I'll do it with mine. My no-romance rule is subjective; a lot of my characters are involved/will be involved with each other, so that is bound to be written into the RP, but it is by no means the focus on the story.

I'm more than happy to develop platonic relationships however! Basically anything and everything besides romantic attachments I'm okay with, hah. I'm a huge sucker for the found family trope, so, take that for what you will.

I very much enjoy larger casts of characters! Realistically, I am unable to write 1 against 1 simply because almost ALL of my OCs are connected with each other in some way or form, so they're bound to make appearances and it's tough for me to write them as background characters. I don't mind the number of characters you write.

I'm good with sparsing out POVs in posts (say for example I have six (6) characters involved in the story so far) and rarely will ever write every single narrative in each reply unless some are super short or something.

Generally, I start off writing maybe only a couple of characters (or just 1 depending who I use) and the quantity of those will increase over time organically.

It's hard for me to really have "mains" in an RP, since all my characters are very near and dear to me. I'll probably favour writing some over others, and unless we discuss beforehand for plot purposes, consider all POVs as the mains instead of sides/NPCs.

Concerning my own boundaries, I'm pretty fine with virtually anything but if you still want to discuss anything beforehand with me then feel free to! I also ask that you please let me know of any triggers you have, and what to avoid; my story themes are often dark, violent and gritty, and the majority of my characters deal with more explicit topics, though it isn't a stipulation by any means.

I absolutely adore sci-fi, urban fantasy, high fantasy and dystopia. High-action, drama, dark and gritty are my go-tos, but I also enjoy more lighthearted and hopeful themes, things in-line with Studio Ghibli and whatnot. I primarily like to focus on my current main story (urban supernatural with a focus on the unknown, with an extensive history that I'm always more than happy to elaborate on), and have a handful of side projects/AUs that always need developing. If none of those suit your tastes, I am perfectly willing to make a new world and/or write in your universes!

For fandoms, I'm currently only interested in writing in the Star Wars universe, and have a Mandalorian and apprentice duo to go with it. A bit iffy on writing canon characters, but I do adore the Bad Batch.

That out of the way, here is what I am looking for:

Someone around my age, no minors, but also no one 30+. Sorry, just horrible encounters with people lying to me about their ages.

Long-term.

I do not judge writing styles — at all. All I ask is being capable of moving the story forward and keeping things interesting, otherwise, if you only want to write a paragraph or two, or keep things simple prose-wise, I am all for it. Obviously, I won't (read: try) throw out massive replies against yours, and I'll attempt to keep my language from stepping into Shakespeare territory.

A patient partner. I will always let you know if I can't respond outside my normal window.

Maturity, just in general. If it feels like you're intentionally ghosting me then my nerves set in and I may block if I ask you about it and get no response. It's happened, and I don't like my time being wasted. Communication is my top priority.

Writing is a passion for me and it helps me deal with a lot of my personal issues, I am not looking for critique or constant negative remarks and ridicule aimed at me. I am still dealing with past harmful encounters and I ask that if you have a penchant for being critical (even in sarcasm) of your partners, you should move on from my ad. I just want to have fun and create an impactful story.

I don't have any special cravings at this time; mainly just interested in found family and something adventurous? Exploring the world, charting new territory, etc. in any genre/setting.

For the place of RP, I really prefer email > Google Docs > Discord servers.

I believe I covered everything, but if there is anything I missed or you'd like to know about, please do feel free to ask! Thank you for reading~ and honestly don't hesitate to reach out even if you don't exactly fit the criteria!

(Also, because I’ve been getting people who clearly haven’t read my ad fully and end up wasting my time— please send the password moon when you add/message me. Thank you!)

discord: joonmyeon

[cosmousee]

hey.. I would like to have a free reading

What is blocking me from meeting my future spouse?

Thank you - DN

Hey DN!

Thank you for asking!

Onto your reading~

Before I pulled your cards, I saw both of you on the opposite ends of the vibration spectrum, which essentially means you are vibrating on different frequencies. You've gotta be on the same wave lengths in order to attract something. This is clarified by your Oracle Cards, which are:

Haunted House (22): The things that haunt you are the things you are yet to let go of.

Shapeshifting (35) (rev.): Transformation is not the loss of what once was; it is the evolution of a more powerful self

You cannot step into a new life before letting go of your old one. And similarly you cannot take your old self into the new life you are wanting. There are changes that you need to make, you have to match the person who's going to receive all those things. This includes changing your negative thought or behavior patterns, leaving things and habits which no longer serve you, the things you yourself are tired of feeling and you wouldn't want to project all that onto your partner, right? you'll be getting opportunities to learn how to navigate through this, but you might be clutching onto the life you already know and lean into the 'comfort' of it so to say, rather than taking that leap. This is blocking you from raising your vibration and reaching your goal and becoming a more evolved and powerful person, as indicated by the shapeshifting card. You have the potential to be at a level which just radiates powerful divine feminine energy, the kind where people can feel it when you walk into the room. You just gotta take conscious steps towards it.

I also channeled some thing along the lines of, having a life purpose, and of course its not like a level that you've completed one so you'll get the next mission, its a continuous process. However, there are some things which you would have to maybe achieve or fulfill before you meet your FS or you'll meet in the process of fulfilling your life purpose.

Moving onto your tarot cards:

Death, 7 of Cups, 5 of Cups, 9 of Cups and 10 of swords

Okay, so life purpose is all about fulfillment, and it also fills your own cup. It gives you joy and makes your heart full. Here, you are going after the things which don't really relate to your purpose and expecting them to give the same satisfactory feeling. And since they aren't meant to fill your cup, you're left with aching emotional needs despite feeling like you are doing everything to fill it. This maybe because you aren't exactly sure what your purpose is or you aren't clear on how to pursue that, don't worry about that, just think of what makes your heart soar, for REAL and chase that.

You'd be happy outwardly, telling everyone how happy and content you are, when in reality you're exhausted with all the things in life. You can go about your day with your friends laughing and smiling but you'd also feel detached or dissociated and when you come back home you crash into bed with your heart heavy and then go relive the same thing the next day.

The Death card is literally like you gotta end this cycle. You'll have to end this cycle, not even for like removing blockages to get to your soulmate, but for your own self as well. I know change isn't something you can do in a day or a week or a month, it takes time, but this is literally high time for you to start. It is easier said than done, but one step forwards is better than no step at all.

Also (and this is completely my own belief), its not like you have to be perfect before meeting your spouse, that oh you don't even have one flawed hair on your body. It's just that you get to a level, where you're self aware that oh these are some issues I have and I am willing to work on them and I am willing to communicate my needs to my partner so that it doesn't hurt me as well as them. I'm sorry I get worked up when spirit goes WORK ON YOURSELFFF

Oh and your future spouse might feel your energies, (you could as well), and be looking for you as well. Or even thinking if this energy is coming from an actual person. (This line from one song got stuck in my head the minute I started doing your reading and idk who sent it to me, just thought I should mention. It means that one can feel their person around them and wondering if they are real or not)

That's all I have for you today, thank you again for asking. I enjoyed doing your reading🎀����

[mossmotif]

Toxic gfs please 😖

TOXIC GIRLFRIENDSSSSSS

anon, my love, my world, how could i see this without immediately thinking about mei mei??

i was literally thinking about this ask all day, so a lot crossed my mind!! but what i really ended up latching onto was a childhood friends sort of au (v canon divergent)

obvs, i feel like having any sort of relationship with mei mei that lasts this long is going to turn sort of twisty and complicated. she's so honest about her greed, and i feel there's def an always present insecurity surrounding the reader concerning their value to her. not a pressing one, but one that's simply there. addressed so rarely that it's become dust covered and logical.

the tests start off small, like her asking you to do certain tasks for her. little acts of service like grabbing her snacks for lunch, or doing her work, or offering your gym clothes when she forgets her own. the people around you call you a pushover and a doormat. but things have always been this way, and the benefits are so easily identifiable.

she's kind to you. and despite what everyone else says, you're aware that once you turn your back that it's hypocrisy that fuels their attitudes, because it's your shoulder bumping against mei mei's when the two of you leave the room.

you're turned golden with the connection. she's always had midas on her side, tucked into her lashes, her teeth, her nails, any part of her that she can drag along your skin.

it's a hot summers day when she brings you out to an abandoned train track. she's brought you to the edge of a thicket. the old rusting tracks look like they're the ageing borders to another world.

something in your stomach croaks as mei mei playfully balances along the steel rail. your feet remain carefully planted into the loose gravel. the sound of hollow metal and rock clashing against each other is a pleasant one. despite your subconscious unease, you briefly close your eyes and take in the warm air around you as she reaches out to grab onto your hand whenever she misplaces her balance.

she brought you out here to celebrate getting through another year together. your ears had burned at her words: together. so much implication behind such a simple word. you found your mind running as she brought you out without any other explanation. it wouldn't matter as long as you were together. as long as you were there whenever she threatened to tip over while treading along the thin metal beneath her with her arms splayed out like an elegant bird's.

the thicket walks along with you both, never ending in its length. just as mei mei hops off the rails and stops walking, you wonder just how she stumbled upon this place.

"we're here." she circles you languidly as your steps also slow.

"here?" you question dryly as she stands behind you.

you're facing the thicket head on now, eyes sucked into a whirlpool of sameness and obscurity. the endless and thick lanes of bark all mold into something foreign. the birds have ceased to chirp. something rancid seems to waft out of its clearing, like a gaping mouth that's feasted and starved.

"yes," mei mei whispers. her mouth is dangerously close to your ear.

she rests her head on your shoulder lightly, staring up at you with a look you've seen a thousand times before.

your head rests against hers, leaning into the touch.

"what is it?" you ask. eager, and perfectly pliant.

she chuckles softly, raising her hands to block your vision. they act as a blindfold, though her palms seem softer than any fabric.

"a surprise," she answers cheekily.

she makes contact with your skin, completely darkening your vision. your senses frenzy as one is dampened. for a moment, all you're able to register is mei mei's body against yours.

there's the faint chance of her perfection melding into whatever it is you've made of yourself.

the chance is however eradicated by the sudden rise of a rank smell. it oppresses the other scents around you so strongly that the feeling of it sliding down your throat has you choking on your own breath and spit.

with the loss of your sight, the rot in the air grows heavy with every passing second, stalking its blind prey.

your expression twists beneath mei mei's palms and she seems to feel the shift of every muscle in your skin. her fingers separate from themselves slowly, allowing light to creep into your vision through her command and nothing else.

what hobbles across the train tracks turns the spit in your mouth rancid.

what you can only identify as a discoloured mound of flesh and teeth writhes between the thick trunks of the thicket ahead of you. its skin gleams with bright and volcanic cysts, oozing the smell of rotten and overly ripened fruit.

"mei—"

"shh," she hushes. her lips are so close that they're able to graze your ears now, her breath fanning across your face. she smells sweet, like lollipops.

"just look," she demands. her voice progressively becoming shrouded by the caws of birds

her hands have hardened around your skin and if you weren't so frozen by fear you would recognize the testing and prodding of her fingertips. they try to spot any flaking, any fools gold feathered across you.

when she finds nothing, when your feet remain planted into the ground and you remain in her clutches, when you mold and gouge against her instead of crumbling, mei mei finds herself smiling.

she turns your body towards her just as crows manically dive into the monster and begin to merge each other into a pool of unidentifiable gore.

you've gone weak in the knees, but she catches you, still grasping you by your soft cheeks. the fear in your eyes glints against the excitement of hers as her thumbs brush the sweat and tears off your face.

there's a sort of ownership in her hold that's never felt safer to you before now.

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Chapter 10 ~ Tip of the iceberg

Hidden Depths

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Genre: Fantasy whump

Written per Whumptober 2022 prompts

CW: captivity, left behind, buried alive, grief, panic attack, reference to past attempted noncon 

WC: 4014 3990

AN: this chapter begins with Carr's POV from the end of chapter 8.

Carr

Resh could speak endlessly about his little sister, apparently. 

Carr was grateful as she trudged through the dark tunnel. Her nerves were already shot, and she just didn't have the energy left to fight against her own mind. Resh's voice soothed her, kept her from trying to jump out of her skin every time she heard the crunch of his footsteps behind her.

Finally, she caught the murmuring of water. The river. She was so beyond exhausted that she didn't know how her body was still moving. Resh asked her a question, and Carr thought she answered, although she had no clue what she said.

Then she felt it. The slightest tremor in the earth. Knowing they were pushing it for time and fearing the worst, She reached out with her element right as the ground shook even harder, finding the overwhelming energy of a royal surrounding the entire length of her tunnel.

Fucking shit. Marcus was back, and he knew. Shit.

"Run," Carr shouted. A burst of adrenaline overrode her exhaustion and pain, and she took off, hoping Resh was right behind her. Daylight was streaming in around the corner; they were so close–the thought of Marcus catching them now was intolerable.

"Can you hold it?" Resh asked, the desperation in his voice unmistakable.

Carr cursed under her breath, skimming her hand across the crumbling wall to check her speed as she rounded the curve. She wouldn't have had the strength left to hold the tunnel together anyway, even if a godsdamn royal hadn't been blocking her ability.

"No, it… has t’ be… Marcus," she gasped, looking over her shoulder. Thank gods, Resh was keeping up. Still, panicked urgency filled her, and she shouted, "Hurry!"

The fucking tunnel was cracking apart around them. Carr ran for all she was worth. She almost fell once when the ground tried to crumble beneath her feet, but she recovered and pushed herself harder. 

Why did this last part have to be so long? It was torture running down this long ass tunnel, feeling like she would never get to the light signaling freedom at the end.

The cracking and shifting of the earth was so loud it vibrated through her bones, but the walls around them seemed stable so far. She didn't understand why, but she wasn't going to complain.

"Almost there!" she yelled, aware that Resh couldn't really gauge the distance from behind her. He didn't answer, and she couldn't hear him over all the noise, so she risked another glance over her shoulder. "Resh?"

Purple light illuminated the tunnel behind her. It came from Resh's eyes, which weren't brown anymore, but a glowing, luminescent violet.  

"Shit, you're a fuckin mage?” Mother fuck, holy shit, how the fuck was that possible? Carr shook her head. “No fuckin wonder we aren't dead yet."

But Resh using his magic was obviously slowing him down. She yelled at him to move faster.

The exit loomed ahead. Green grass and the tall fronds of the river reeds beckoned from beyond the opening. The blazing sunlight burned her eyes after being in the dark for so long. 

Almost there–just a few more steps. As if to mock her, chunks of earth, plant, and rock began to fall from the tunnel's roof, the whole thing becoming unstable as Marcus' ability overpowered Resh's magic. Carr dodged the debris as best she could, then burst out of the tunnel and collapsed on the soft grass, her limbs trembling. Her chest burned as she gulped down air. Fuck, that had been close.

She listened for Resh while she tried to summon the energy to fucking move again. But what she heard instead stopped her heart.

Carr spun on her knees to find half the tunnel had collapsed. The obstruction to the exit was very nearly as tall as she was.

"RESH!" she screamed. She leapt to her feet and threw herself at the mound of dirt and rock blocking the way out. Dug into it with her bare fingers. Then she found Resh. He had collapsed farther back and was curled over his knees, clutching his head.

No. No. A panic stronger than anything she had previously experienced turned her blood to ice, freezing her where she stood. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. 

Her vision blurred when Resh raised his head and frantically searched the tunnel ahead of him. She could tell he could barely see through the pain, but his violet eyes, which had dimmed significantly, finally found hers. The look of relief that crossed his face broke her fucking heart.

Get up, get up, get up, she chanted in her head, willing Resh to pick himself up, to get out. Carr broke free from her paralysis and clawed desperately at the rubble in front of her, completely ignoring her cracked and splitting fingernails, the sharp edges of rock slicing into her skin. Tears fell unchecked down her face, and she couldn't have cared less.

Resh shook his head, and the light in his eyes went out.

The whole fucking bluff the tunnel surfaced from rumbled, raining dirt and stone that glanced off Carr's shoulders. She was forced to back away or risk being buried as the rest of the tunnel collapsed, taking Resh with it.

Carr covered her face with her bloody hands and wailed. 

Only for a moment, though. Her body spun against her will, an ingrained instinct for survival driving her actions. But she couldn’t stop the small keening noises that emerged from her throat as she ran down the river bank. Noises she hadn't made since she was a child, left in a back alley, cold and hungry and dirty and scared and alone.

~~~

Carr's face was damp when she awoke. She curled up on her side and turned into the rough weave covering the pillow instead of using her throbbing hands to wipe the tears away. Instead, she pressed her hands to her chest, which hurt so badly she thought she'd cracked in two.

Her semi-conscious mind was slow to wake, mired in heart-wrenching grief. But even so, the pillow confused her. 

"Heya, you awake?" The voice was pleasant, a smooth baritone that belonged to someone familiar. 

Fuck, was she… Carr opened her eyes and stared at the wall in front of her. White with jagged lines of gray. Her gaze was drawn to a particular section of the decorative strip of tile, where she'd always imagined she could see the shape of a woman holding a child within the lines. Fuck that woman, and fuck her imaginary child. One of these days, she'd finally break that tile, so she wouldn't have to stare at that image every time she woke up.

"I know you're awake, Carr," the voice said, sounding annoyed this time. A hand landed on Carr's shoulder, its large fingers closing around the joint in what could be a threatening way.

The pack's lair. She was in her room in the pack's lair.

Carr assessed her state of dress as she twisted, dislodging the grip on her arm. It was second nature for her after all this time. She found she was still in her filthy clothes from the Center, thank gods. Her whole body ached, and she had to bite back a moan at the pain her movements caused when she sat up on her bed and glared at the speaker.

"Don't fuckin touch me, Nykim. How many times I gotta say it?"

The man's gray—or blue, Carr could never decide—eyes softened, even while he pursed his lips, deepening the creases around his mouth. "At least once more, Carr."

Nykim leaned back in the chair he was sitting in and crossed his arms over his chest, propping his feet on the edge of her wooden bed frame. He wore nondescript brown and tan clothing, a scuffed-up pair of leather boots, and his long, not-blond but not-brown hair was braided back, the tail falling over his shoulder. The faint lines on his tanned face seemed just a bit deeper, while the muscles straining against his tunic looked larger than she remembered. 

And gods, he'd brought a fucking chair into her room? How long had he been sitting there? How long had she been out? There were no windows in the room to assess the time of day, so the lit oil lamp on the wall told her nothing. She couldn't even remember entering the city gates, let alone making her way back to the pack's home. 

She eyed the city's most notorious pack master warily, trying to decide if he was angry or not. It hadn't exactly been ideal, her capture. Obviously, since it was clear Nykim had needed to pick up her slack. Fuck.

"Stop looking at me like I'm going to slit your throat and use your skull as my new wine glass," Nykim said with a sigh.

Carr huffed, narrowing her eyes. "Should I look atcha like you're gonna rip my spine out to add to your solstice garland instead?"

She'd seen him do both. He'd earned his reputation honestly, she supposed.

He just shook his head. "I expected you back weeks ago. What the fuck was the hold-up?"

Cringing, she rolled the edge of her blanket under her fingers. "Well, um, I might've caused a scene."

That was putting things mildly. She shouldn't have stabbed the prince and tried to run, but she'd maybe… lost it a little?

"I taught you better than that, Carr." Nykim steepled his hands in front of his face and pressed his fingers into the inner corner of his eyes.

"It's not my fault Andrin is dumber than a box of rocks," Carr muttered, wincing when the torn skin of her fingers caught in the fibers of her blanket and started to bleed. Fuck. She pressed the blanket to her hand, not giving a shit about bloodstains. "Tell me you didn't kick him out."

All the multiple times the prince had accused her of being caught for thievery consisted of two measly times, and both had been her trying to get Andrin out of trouble. She shouldn't have fucking bothered, but she had developed a bit of a soft spot for the kid.

Of course, Nykim ignored her question, thumping his boots down and leaning forward instead. "Let me see your hands."

His eyes flashed in warning when she hesitated, so she held them out with a sigh, wincing again when she got a good look at them. No wonder they hurt so badly. Her fingernails were ruined, the fingers themselves were sliced up six ways to the pits, and there were deep gouges all along the back of her hands. Oh, and on her palms, she saw when Nykim gently rotated her hands. 

Of course, he also found the fingers Marcus had broken on her left hand. They had healed but were still slightly swollen and tender, although how Nykim could see that through the dirt and dried blood baffled her.

"Reaper's pits, Carr, what the fuck did you do, dig your way to freedom using your bare hands?" Nykim’s lips pressed into a thin line. He released her and stood, abruptly leaving the room.

The door was still open, though, so she could hear him shouting down the hall. He poked his head back through the doorframe. "You hurt anywhere else?

She shook her head, hoping he hadn’t noticed when she’d flinched at his sudden reappearance.

Nykim scowled at her. "Don't know why I bother asking you. You never tell the truth anyway." He disappeared again, his voice whipcrack sharp as he lashed out at whomever he was speaking to. 

Carr held her hands up to her chest to keep the blood from rushing to them and making the throbbing worse. Then she stared at the wooden lathes crossing the ceiling as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world and tried to think of a good way to ask Nykim for help. The positioning hurt her neck after a while, but it kept the tears in her eyes while she waffled between hoping Resh was dead so he didn't have to face Marcus and feeling selfish for praying he was alive.

Either way, she'd be going back to check. With or without Nykim's help.

Someone cleared their throat, and Carr started, hurriedly blinking to encourage the moisture pooling in her eyes to dissipate. Nykim was back, standing right in front of her. He could be a silent fucking asshole when he wanted, but she still should've heard him approach. But instead of looking annoyed at her lapse, he just looked worried. Somehow, that was worse.

Nykim stepped off to the side. "Come on, then. Had the vermin draw you a bath."

The vermin being the new inductees to the pack, the ones that still had to prove themselves. Typical tasks for the low-ranking pack members included menial tasks such as drawing baths and serving the whims of the older, more experienced pack members. Of which Carr happened to be one, at the ripe old age of twenty-two.

But she was still below the pack master. She should be serving Nykim, not the other way around. Carr looked up uncertainly. "I know where the bathing room is, Nykim. Why’re you still here?" Surely he had better things to be doing than mother-henning over her.

Nykim sighed again and sat on the edge of her bed. He folded his hands in his lap, his brows drawing together. "Do you think so little of me, Carr? That I wouldn't be concerned when it took one of my betas so long to break out of that fucking farce of a prison they call the Reconditioning Center?"

Carr stared at him, dumbfounded. While she wouldn't have put it like that, yeah, she had thought Nykim wouldn't give a flying fuck if she escaped or not. Beta or not, she was still replaceable.

"You asked about Andrin," Nykim continued, shaking his head and looking… disappointed? "While I would've liked to have slit his throat for getting you caught, I merely gave him a few stripes and made him camp outside the city gates. He wasn’t to come back until you did. But weeks passed, and I heard nothing.”

She would’ve felt sorry for Andrin, having to fend for himself in the countryside, if she hadn’t been where she’d been. Plus, that was a pretty lenient punishment from Nykim.

Expression pinched, Nykim continued speaking. “So you'll surely excuse the concern I felt when the boy came running back to the lair, yelling that you'd returned, but he feared you were dead. The little shit was so afraid he pissed himself, thinking if you died, so would he."

Wrinkling her nose, she said, "I don't remember that."

"No shit," Nykim said sharply. "I should have you lashed for walking up to the gates and just… collapsing. Were you trying to get caught and sent back?" He held up a hand when Carr opened her mouth. "No, don't answer that. I'm still fucking here because I'm not sure your stubborn ass can make it to the bathing room on your own. So let's go. I'm taking your elbow, and you aren't going to complain, you hear?"

Carr nodded meekly. She would never have guessed—she sucked in a breath when Nykim placed a hand on her back to help her scoot across the bed. The lash wounds still fucking hurt when someone put pressure on them.

He removed his hand, watching her critically while she stood on shaky legs that barely held her. Without saying another word, he escorted her down the hall to the betas' shared bathing chamber, which was larger and better appointed than the ones the rest of the pack and vermin used. Actually, the vermin didn't even get a bathing chamber; they had to wash out of buckets. 

Carr padded on bare feet across the room’s cool blue tiles to the bath in the middle of the chamber. Steam rose from the water filling the white glazed tub, large enough for someone much taller than her to stretch out in. 

A table beside it held various soaps and oils, along with a pitcher and a tray of fruit, bread, and cheese. Carr hoped that pitcher contained well-watered wine and not the nasty ale some of the others preferred. She gripped the edge of the tub, eagerly anticipating the chance to properly get clean and not have to wash from a bucket underneath her clothes like she had at the Center.

But she hadn't heard the door close. She turned, raising her eyebrows when she found Nykim leaning against the wall. "You gonna leave so I can bathe in peace?"

"Nope," Nykim said, the light from the lamp behind him casting an ominous shadow over his face. "Gonna stand here so I can assess how much damage was done. I've been working the palace too long not to know exactly what kind of man our crown prince has grown up to be."

Was he shitting her right now? "I'm not undressin in front of you, pack master or no. I'll tell someone if I need treatment, same as always," Carr snarled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Now see, there's the problem. I don't trust you to do that," Nykim said. "You can't intimidate me like you can the others, so don't bother trying."

Fuck, what was she supposed to do now? "Nothing happened," she tried, but even she could hear the edge present in her voice.

Nykim just swung the door closed, engaging the lock. Carr pressed against the tub behind her, squeezing her arms around her torso. Her breath came a little faster, and she felt like the room was closing in on her. Trapped. She hated being trapped.

"Carr, I will not move from this wall. You are not trapped. Nothing is going to happen to you here," Nykim said, the corners of his mouth pulling down. "Did that fucker find out? Did he hurt you?"

Her mouth dried out. "Find out… what, exactly?"

What the fuck was happening right now? Her breaths were too shallow, her heart beating too fast. 

Ten fucking years of keeping her gender a secret in this pack. Of killing every asshole who pushed things too far and learned the truth. Was it all going to come crashing down because she'd collapsed outside the city gates? Because Nykim had decided she was someone of value and didn't want her to die from stubborn refusal of medical treatment?

She wouldn't be someone of value much longer. She'd lose her position, her place in the pack. If she was lucky, Nykim would kick her back out to the streets. If she wasn't, she'd be killed for knowing too many pack secrets. She avoided thinking about any of the other, darker possibilities. She felt light-headed, and black spots danced in front of her eyes.  

"For fuck's sake, woman," Nykim growled. 

Woman. The word clanged through her, and Carr thought she might faint on the spot. She couldn’t breathe. 

He stood up straight, neither his expression nor body language relaxed any longer. "Did you really—you did! You thought I didn't know!" He shook his head. "I thought you were smarter than that, Carrah."

"H-how… how long?" she gasped. Her back hit a wall, and she bit her tongue against the cry of pain that wanted to come out. She hadn't even realized she'd moved.

Nykim rubbed his temples, acting like she was giving him a fucking headache. "Long enough. Did. Marcus. Hurt. You? And don't fucking lie to me. You haven't been this jumpy in years, and that was before I apparently shocked you senseless."

Shaking too badly to continue standing, she slid to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them close to her chest. Nykim crossed the room and knelt in front of her, out of arm's reach.

It took her a long time to catch her breath. To process that Nykim had known and hadn’t cared.  

He waited patiently the whole time. 

"Marcus didn’t hurt me," she whispered tonelessly. "Not like that. Someone else." She flinched when Nykim slammed his fist into the floor.

"Tell me he's dead," Nykim rumbled. "You're deadly with or without your knives."

She gave a shaky laugh. "I put a pickaxe through his temple."

"And some other parts of him, I imagine," Nykim offered with a small smile.

"Yeah," Carr said, hugging her knees tighter. A tear slipped out. "Nykim, I… someone helped me. H-he knows… I couldn't… I couldn't…"

"Carr, I don't care if everyone in the pack fucking knows," Nykim said, shifting so he was off his knees. "I've allowed you to continue this farce because it seemed to help you in some way. And you really were safer in the beginning, pretending to be a boy. But you're one of the best that's risen from the vermin. No one will cross you unless they're fucked in the head. You don't have to pretend anymore if you don't want to."

"I'll think about it." Carr sniffed. They sat in silence for a few minutes before she admitted, "Thought you’d kick me out."

Nykim laughed, the sound a full-bodied chuckle that took Carr by surprise. "I'd have to be the one fucked in the head to do that. Now, will you please tell me where you're hurt? I'm too old to be sitting around on the floor."

Carr snorted, wiping away the tears that had escaped. "You aren't that old, Nykim."

"Thirty is pretty old when you've been in this life as long as I have," he said. The pack master stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands. "Talk to me, Carrah."

Gods, it felt weird to hear that name. It felt even more fucking weird to realize that the man she'd been half afraid of for the last ten years actually appeared to… care about her. Had it really taken Resh's kindness to open her eyes to how people she'd known almost half her life felt about her?

She took what seemed like her first full breath since she'd entered the bathing room. "The prince broke those fingers you already noticed and stabbed me in the thigh right after I arrived. He didn't really care about me, though. Was more concerned with torturin this other guy."

Carr spoke on her time in the Center, the things she'd seen, the information she'd gleaned from some of the other prisoners. She relaxed more and more until she got the part with Creve. "I was whipped for that. They said Resh spoke for me, that judgment for the kill would be up to Marcus when he returned."

Nykim raised an eyebrow. "You speak of this Resh fondly. He a good kid?"

"Yeah." Carr swallowed. "I tried t’ bring him with me, but he didn't make it. I wouldn't have made it if not for him. I'm afraid, Nykim. Afraid what Marcus’ll do to him. Will you help me?"

"Of course," he said. "Get cleaned up, and come find me after. I'll treat your wounds, and we can discuss what can be done."

Nykim rose from the floor fluidly, despite his claims of being too old. He offered his hands, and Carr extended her arms, allowing him to grasp her forearms to help her to her feet.

"You know, I had always hoped…" Nykim smiled ruefully, releasing her to step back. "I had hoped a few things, but it looks like this kid beat me to it."

Carr stared at Nykim's back as he walked away, gently closing the door behind him. After locking the door, she undressed and climbed into the tub, relieved to find her bath was still somewhat warm. 

And when she submerged her head, she felt like the water was washing away much more than blood and tears.

Next

Image Description

[ID: The banner is a blue-green background, with tree branches arching over a set of blue-green eyes, forming an approximation of a face. The words Hidden Depths are written in white above the eyes. end ID]

[mejomonster]

Chapter 150. So secondly, so much info on Fei Du. He disassociates so much from his own feelings, he's very numb to his own feelings. It's interesting, in that he thinks he operates completely on logic but emotions clearly influence his choices and actions its just he is barely even aware they ARE influencing his decisions. I do wonder if someone asked him why he doesn't kill, what he thinks the reason is. While I do THINK there's a reason and so far I don't personally think it's solely Luo Wenzhous influence as far as why he didn't become like the Zhou or Wei kids... I also think Fei Du might not be aware of why emotionally he is so driven to revenge for people who were harmed, to help protect people, to not harm others. But obviously he's driven to not harm, something possessed him to want to self harm to such an extensive degree as to Try and condition himself to respond with nausea and fear of pain when contemplating hurting someone or something. He must be really terrified of indulging such innate desire to be cruel, to go to such awful lengths to Try and train himself to NOT be that way.

Luo Wenzhou asked fei du why he saved Luo wenzhou. I should go back to that conversation. But like... despite whatever he answered, I wonder if fei du really realizes the depth of why he saved Luo wenzhou from the bomb. Of how deeply he does Care. It's like a cop said once of worrying fei du was the type with such a Strong sense of justice he'd go vigilante kill, and it's like Xiao haiyang being That Type and paralleling him... fei du does Care strongly, but he's not even fully aware of how much that influences his actions. Strangers can pick up on it even, but he can't. He's so disconnected from himself. You don't self harm in such intense fear of yourself hurting others, unless you're terrified of hurting others and terrified of losing control of yourself. He doesn't touch that Terror in his conscious thoughts, thats How terrified he is of it. Terrified enough to convince himself such actions are rational and logical and don't imply something seriously emotionally fucked at play spurring the action. Terrified enough his mind blocked out bits of that basement. There's a lot of trauma he copes with by being numb to his own feelings so he isn't overwhelmed by that Terror and feel of lack of control over who he is, over his impulses, over his past still haunting him. But it also means a numbness to the current present emotions that Are driving him but he just isn't really able to fully notice Because he copes by staying out of touch with his feelings. So even though they do affect him, he can't address it much. I thought at one point in his pov parts in the novel that maybe he just chose to ignore acknowledging the emotional aspect driving him, but now at chapter 150 I think he's actually just really unaware of it. I mean, makes sense, I was that way at 21-22 too. Took a lot of therapy to even know what i felt again. And his self harm and traumatizing himself more with that, to punish himself painfully FOR what to him was an instinctive trait from young to harm others/be okay with cruelty, is definitely feeding into the whole aspect of him afraid of himself. Enemies with himself. Unable to grasp which self is the self he feels is him now, that it's the same self actually and that the abuse at himself is self hatred and fear. There's just... so much to go into.

He was terrified of losing Luo wenzhou, and recently of losing Tao Ran, and he isn't able to recognize his emotions enough to know that. He's too disconnected and constantly reinforcing the disconnection by doing what's logical when any event happens, ignoring if he responds emotionally at any point, and insisting to himself he does not have those emotional internal reactions (that do occur). I wonder to a degree, if partly he cuts off his own awareness of his emotions because he's terrified of feeling loss again (his mom), terrified of feeling trapped again (his dads comtrol rhen becoming who his dad wanted and desiring things like his dad did), terrified of feeling weak again (at the Mercy of being what father wanted and now at the mercy of rhe shadow org that killed his dad and many others), terrified of being outside his own control (when he does enjoy cruelty or feel an urge to harm does he feel like his father is Still controlling him since he turned him into this), terrified of his own passion (his mom abused because dad "loved" her and his father "loving" cruelty and power getting him killed and fei du fearing if he feels love and desires power he'll do something just as fucked up and lose his loved one and lose his own power and life). There is SO much fei du fears will happen if he feels emotions, so he does as much as he can to ignore when he does feel them, convince himself he doesn't feel any, and numb himself to whatever he does feel so he can't recognize it.

(I do think personally fei du Cannot feel empathy for others, that angle he often argues... though you could argue he's wrong and his dad made him just think he couldn't understand others emotions. But if we believe fei du is right, and say he's like the protagonist guy in Flower of Evil kdrama, that doesn't mean he can't feel internally his own shit. The not feeling internal stuff is his own numbness and dissassociation to cope. That also doesn't mean he can't choose to want to help people, which he clearly has decided to do now although I'm still debating when and why he came to such a decision. Even if you argued he helps people out of selfish motivation, he said something to convince the people in his own secret organization that he would get revenge for them, enough for them to want to die for him. I think he does have some kind of sense of vigilante justice at least to a degree to convince people to his mission so thoroughly.)

Anyway my point is. Fei Du dissassociates and numbs from his own emotions. And the chapter 150 scenes are really fascinating in seeing a moment in time when he isn't quite Aware he's feeling stuff and that affects his actions, but the fact he IS numb and doesn't notice his emotions driving him causes HIM a blind spot. Just like Luo Wenzhous part of the chapter is about his blind spot of trusting people he loves to not do harm, Fei Du has a blind spot of not noticing when his own emotions affect his actions and decisions and memories. This chapter is the "blindspot" chapter, you could perhaps say. Fei Du draws a graph to try and figure out what's going on in his own mind, unaware of his own feelings so struggling to be able to map all of the factors affecting his own dreams and memories. With the help of the graph and thought process, recognizing at least that SOMETHING terrified him. Something terrified him in the memory he can't recall, and Tao Rans accident reminded him of it.

(Which like it's a sad scene and all but also it's kind of funny to me like... fei du you are THOROUGHLY motivated by Terror. Honey... you could've used a therapist to maybe recognize this in the many years you went ToT instead I'm guessing you just found ways to better numb yourself to your own emotions, thereby making the blind spot worse. I know you're afraid of your own feelings and the huge loss of control you fear happens if you feel them but baby... you can't make them Stop scaring you until you can... process them and work through them. And you just delayed all that until idk you finally decide to. When you had a good therapist ToT. I'm gonna go on a limb and assume his dad was very ANTI trauma therapy, and very PRO operant conditioning and abusing literally everyone. Fei Du baby I'm sorry you had to deal with that. Anyway.... my point is Fei Du is very motivated by his fears, it's one of the easiest ways until I'm proven otherwise to track his motives. Beginning of the novel, why the fuck would he seriously pursue Tao Ran when he doesn't love Tao ran, doesn't "love" anyone, is a playboy, isn't even marriage age, wants to infiltrate the cops but there's SO many easier ways like the university plan which he does later and Tao Ran is STRAIGHT. Logic would dictate pursuing seriously Lang Qiao, or Luo Wenzhou if he could get away with it, or just doing his intern plan. But he's afraid of exactly what he told Therapist Bai: losing what he considers his approximation of a family now that he's setting his secret plot in motion. Tao Ran and Luo Wenzhou are that family. Luo Wenzhou only fights with him, and fei du likewise only fights back and fears Luo Wenzhou will abandon him SOON and partly out of self sabotage and partly out of desperation to be worth Luo wenzhous trust, fei du keeps hinting his plot RIGHT AT LUO WENZHOU. That's sure not logical! That's dumb as shit! But fei dus emotions want him to be worth Luo wenzhous trust, and want Luo wenzhous approval and "family home connection." And in contrast his intense self hatred wants Luo wenzhou to abandon him sooner. Judge him asap. He cant just bite his tongue and fully lie to Luo wenzhou. His emotions are too desperate. Then comes Tao Ran: he's a way to maintain closeness to fei dus "family" he doesn't want to lose, Tao Ran won't date him either so it won't risk getting too close emotionally which fei du fears, and fei du can enjoy Luo wenzhou competing with him and not Only rejecting him, for a few more months. Pursuing Tao Ran is very emotional fear motivated. Logically it wasn't needed. Logically every single dumbass fight with Luo wenzhou was a bad idea (and fei du knows Luo Wenzhou is good at making him open up and be vulnerable so it was extra stupid to KEEP talking to him).

But emotionally fei du wanted to be near them until his plan ruined those connections. Just like emotionally, one of my favorite scenes, fei dus fear is why he grabs Luo Wenzhous hand in the car and holds it. He turns it to a flirt ploy later, but ultimately the reason he grabs Luo Wenzhous hand is emotional support. Is a rare moment he let the emotions go and let them be soothed, with the only person he feels safe to let them out with. Maybe he feels Luo wenzhou can hold him and his terrors and help him ride though them, maybe he feels in a self hating way that the awful fears he can't ultimately control will destroy their relationship and he lets those fears come out to get that self fulfilled abandonment. But Luo wenzhou never does abandon him. (And oh that's a rich area to explore... fei dus emotions when he held Luo wenzhous hand).

Fei du is absolutely driven by fear, of himself and his own feelings and what they'll cause. He clutches onto his loved ones because he's also contrastingly very afraid HE'S going to be the reason he loses them. He doesn't realize he has loved ones (and maybe that's also out of a fear if he Loves them consciously he will hurt them like his dad hurt his mom so he tries to disconnect from love too), but his desperation to have them and protect them From himself drive him. His fears about his own past, who he was, who he is now, who he might he if he doesn't beat himself brutally and torture impulses he's scared out out of himself and constantly crush down any emotions he notices and constantly FEAR when Luo Wenzhou makes him open up and feel vulnerable and Constantly put on an act and Put Up Walls both to others and inside himself against himself. Its just. He is only vaguely aware Terror drives his nightmares (and this Tao ran nightmare is far from the only one he has... he has nearly constant nightmares). Even though its a huge factor in everything he does.

Quotes below:

He was the one who’d bought it, not expecting that he’d use it only a couple of times before it became the tool of an individual surnamed Luo.—Before, Luo Wenzhou had simply been long-winded; now, in the midst of his jabbering, he also wanted to sum up all the trifling analyses in that jabbering, hanging them up on the whiteboard, accomplishing an omnidirectional exhortation directed at Fei Du’s eyes and ears; it was very deranged.

X

Luo Wenzhou really had been a little fretful that night, Fei Du had felt it, but it hadn’t amounted to anger. But in the end Fei Du hadn’t clearly worked out whether he’d really coaxed him out of it. Because of this, perhaps he’d kept thinking it over in his dream, and his dream for some reason had made a big fuss over a minor issue, enlarging this slight concern.

X

People’s consciousness and memories hid very complicated projections and very subtle distortions. Surface logic and unconscious logic seemed to use different languages. Although Fei Du considered himself very open towards himself, it was still hard for him to objectively decipher that day’s series of dreams, which was stuck like a fishbone in his throat.

 

Generally speaking, a dream that could startle someone awake must have touched some deep-seated anxiety and fear.

 

But Fei Du had examined himself, and he believed that he didn’t have anxieties; fears were out of the question. For him, “fear” was like a celebrity on TV—he knew such a person existed, could see them every day on the screen, but as for how they looked in reality and what their temper and disposition were like…he had no way to judge.

 

He hadn’t felt that he’d been in any way not calm when he’d heard the news of Tao Ran being taken to the hospital. The car crash had already happened, and only the doctors could remedy that; it had nothing to do with him. Fei Du remembered he had only spent the whole journey considering the sequence of events.

 

Could it be that “Tao Ran being injured” had been a huge source of stress for him, going so deep that it had touched some deeper and more intense thing in his memories?

 

In his dream, Tao Ran, who had been hit by a car, had appeared with his face showing signs of asphyxiation. So following that line of reasoning, an asphyxiated face was something else in his memories…but where had he seen it?

X

He’d determined to return to his old house to have a look at the basement. He had passed a lightless childhood there, borne the correction of electric shock and medication countless times, even witnessed his mother’s death. Fei Du truly couldn’t understand why there would be a flaw in his memory of the time he’d snuck into the basement.

[faveficarchive]

Home Fires (Part 1 Cont.)

By Christine "Roo" Toups

LOVE/SEX WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This story depicts a love/sexual relationship between two consenting adult women. If you are under 18 years of age or if this type of story is illegal in the state or country in which you live, please do not read it.

Carelessly, words and music by C. Kenny/N.Kenny/N. Ellis used without permission. 

NOTE: © copyright 2000 One Bard Writin'

Chapter 7 

Mel had taken up a position at the front door, her nose inches from the screen. On the other side, black flies buzzed and knitted their legs against the tightly?woven metal, and beyond the flies, under the searing outback sun, Alice said her farewells to Dinah. She couldn't make out the words, but the gestures ?hands swiping at tears, a last lingering embrace ?spoke volumes. Neville Bonner, his dark face an impassive mask, endured in silence the girlish expressions of sadness and regret, but as his daughter dropped her arms to her sides at last, he stepped forward and took Alice by the shoulders. Mel watched as he spoke earnestly to her, gesturing once towards the house before placing his rough, dry lips against her forehead. Mel regretted that her position did not afford her a better view of Alice's face as Dinah moved away, walking backwards in her father's shadow returning Alice's wave before turning into the sun. 

The solitary figure left standing by the plane placed her hands on her hips, her chest rising and falling in a long sigh of resignation. She turned and walked towards the house. Mel watched them, the retreating figures of Dinah and her father, and Alice as she approached the door; she was impressed that neither girl turned to look back at the other. She pushed the door open as Alice stepped onto the verandah, aware that she was probably the last person in the world the girl wanted to see at this moment.

"Thanks," Alice murmured as she brushed past Mel on her way to the kitchen.

Thanks? Okay, scan for sarcasm. Nothing. Mel closed the heavy door with care, and even before she pushed through the swinging kitchen door, she could hear the clatter of silverware being drawn from drawers.

Alice had spread a good quality lace cloth on the table beneath windows that opened onto a view of the paddock and windmill. As she carefully laid out the silver, the great knife on the outside, fork on the inside debate raged in her head. She heard Mel enter the room, and without looking up, she said, "You might want to check your bread."

Mel reacted as if startled. "My bread...?" A quick glance inside the oven. "Oh, my..." Using a couple of paper thin pot holders, she carefully moved the baking pan from oven to butcher's block. "I think it's alright," she said, poking the golden crust with a finger. "You just narrowly averted a disaster." Alice conjured up a smile and collected three mismatched plates from the cupboard. As she passed Mel to set the table, she was humming. "Just two place settings, Alice."

Alice turned the plates flat against her middle. "Am I sent to bed without supper?"

"I don't know what they're servin' at the corroboree," replied Mel quietly, moving the length of the kitchen. "Probably somethin' still wigglin'" She took the plates from Alice's hands and addressed her seriously, so there was no misunderstanding. "We'll miss your company at supper."

"You mean it?" Her face lit up with a jaw?breaking grin. "Aw, Mel, you're the best!"

Mel held up her hands in an attempt to stem the tide of enthusiasm. "Hold your horses now...Go splash some water on your face and run a brush through your hair..." She followed Alice into her bedroom, all the while issuing advice and directives. "I declare...you look like a ragamuffin. And you have Mr. Bonner walk you back afterwards. I don't care how late it is. I won't sleep a wink until you're back safe and sound."

"Can't I stay the night?" Alice dragged a brush through her hair, from roots to end. "Since it's Dinah's last night here...I could be home first thing in the morning."

Mel exhaled wearily. "I must have 'sucker' written all over my face. Alright," she conceded, jabbing an index finger at Alice's chest. "But you be home bright and early."

Alice tossed the brush onto her cluttered bureau and presented herself for inspection: dusty chambray work shirt, khaki slacks rife with horse hair and sweat. "Look alright?"

Mel knew her opinions didn't matter one way or the other, but she thought it sweet of the girl to ask. "You'll do...Better run if you wanna catch up to them."

"Strewth, yes!" Alice barreled out her bedroom door with the enthusiasm of a freshman fullback, leaving Mel rooted to the spot by sheer disbelief. 

"Not so much as a thank you. Well..." She turned to leave and saw Alice's dirty battered hat, with its sweat?stained kangaroo?hide band, lying brim down on the bed. "Honestly," she said, picking it up. "Forget her head if it wasn't attached." She shrugged and caught her reflection in the mirror, breathing genuine surprise into the word, "Sucker."

"Hey, Mel?" Alice's reflection joined hers in the mirror. "I ?"

"Forgot your hat," Mel finished for her as she settled the hat atop Alice's head, tilting it first to one side, then to the other, then back until it sat jauntily on the crown of her head. "Oh, well, you wear it however you like." 

"I wanted to say thank you, Mel." Alice straightened the hat, and in the ensuing silence, she could tell that her expression of gratitude had caught Mel off guard. "Those should have been the first words out of my mouth. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate this, and I promise," she elaborated, her words taking on the weight of a blood oath. "Not one word of this will ever reach my mother's ears."

"Better not," Mel cautioned, smiling crookedly. "Or you'll have company in the dog house." She tucked an errant strand of hair behind Alice's ear and ran her finger the length of a strong jaw; although Pappas family etiquette warranted a greater display of affection, she knew that not everyone was comfortable with such things. "Okay, scoot."

Alice stepped back, eager to be on her way and yet careful not to offend Mel with a too rapid exit. "You're okay, Mel."

Mel laughed. "The most tolerable in a long line of fiancées?"

"The most," Alice agreed, backpedaling from the room before turning and gaining momentum as she plunged through the screen door, heedless of the explosive return as it fell, unchecked, back to its jamb. * * * * * * * * * * CHHH?POK! Janice sat bolt upright, sending a small tidal wave over the side of the tub. She had drifted off in her tepid, wet cocoon only to awaken abruptly to the sound of a gunshot.  Oh, Jesus. She's killed her. She put the soap, which had refused to lather in the hard water, back into the soap dish and stood up in the tub, murky water running off her well?toned body in sheets. She wrapped the large bath towel around her as she heard the bedroom door open. "Mel?" As there wasn't a shy bone in her body, Janice stepped around the corner and breathed a sigh of relief. "Mel...are you okay? I thought I heard a ?" 

"The door. Remember?" Mel cast a lingering glance over Janice's exposed body. There was little she hadn't seen ? in half light, in Braille in the dark ? but this was different. Full afternoon sunlight was cascading through the bedroom windows, bouncing off the damp blonde hair, soaking into the golden skin of her exposed legs and shoulders. Mel tilted her head; she didn't remember that little starburst?shaped scar on Janice's collarbone; it looked new. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to kiss it.

Janice was encouraged to be the subject of such thorough scrutiny, and so it took a supreme effort to pull the towel tightly around her and tuck a corner into her cleavage. She even managed to conjure up a suitably flustered expression. "Hey, how would you feel if I looked at you that way?"

Flattered. Mel blushed, and her eyes instantly found other targets on the floor of the room. "I'm sorry. I just came in..." She bent and gathered a discarded pair of jodhpurs and the grimy white blouse. "...to collect these. I'm startin' a load of wash."

"Mel, you don't have to do that...Matter of fact, I'd prefer it if you left the blouse especially. I don't have a clean one to wear."

"Well, if you think I am going to let you sit down at my supper table in this ?" she held the blouse away from her body, out of respect for her nose. "You have another think comin'." She added the white brassiere to the pile in her arms.

"Aw, no, not that, too! C'mon, Mel...what am I supposed to do?" She threw up her hands. "Turn up in a towel?"

Mel backed towards the door, a quirky smile on her face. "Well, dinner will be informal."

Janice put her hands on her hips. "Don't tempt me, sweetheart." 

Mel moved towards the open bedroom door, turning at the threshold. "I'll find you something to wear. Alice probably has somethin' that'll fit you. Be right back."

Janice dropped onto the bed and crossed her legs, the towel riding up to mid thigh. "So help me, she brings me anything with cute little animals on it, I'll be sick," she muttered, her fingers tented open on either side of her, testing the spring of the mattress. She hadn't slept in a bed in five weeks, and the clean linens and firm mattress were like a siren's call. She fell lazily backwards, eyes closed, with her hands cradling her head.

That's how Mel found her minutes later. She stood in the doorway, a starched white blouse dangling from the fingers of one hand, while those of the other established a deathgrip on the doorknob. There was nothing furtive in her observation; Janice need only look up to see her. In the end, it was precisely the idea of those jade green eyes opening and fixing on her own that prompted Mel to slip the clean blouse over the inside doorknob and leave the room. 

Padding down the hall, mindful of the report of her heels on the hardwood floor, she wondered at her attraction to Janice Covington, a woman with a bit of dash and a predilection for hazard. She was a cynical, brilliant archeologist with the gift of keen insight. The image of Janice, stretched out on her bed clad only in a towel, crept into her mind, and she chased it away as counter-productive to her current retrospection. 

That was her gift - to be able to switch mindsets in milliseconds and to concentrate her intellect on one thing exclusively. She made an audible sound of amusement as she entered the kitchen. Wonder who I got that from?  Her own background consisted of mostly?absentee parents; she had been raised by an affectionate grandmother, with only occasional input from her mother. There had been select boarding schools in the Carolinas, and she was an alumnus of the college where her father had been dean. Although she was not without intelligence, she had to concede that she had traded on the family name and her father's reputation more often than she cared to admit. The name Melvin Pappas, mentioned in the right circles, opened doors and minds alike. And after his accidental death on a dig in March of 1940, she had flown to Istanbul, at her mother's request, to close his affairs. Chief among those duties had been replying to unanswered correspondence. There had been stacks of letters, unopened bills, and a dozen yellowed telegrams, one of which led her to Macedonia where a hail of bullets awaited her. In the end, it had been her father's good name, dropped in the receptive ear of Dr. Janice Covington that led her back to the half-nude vision recumbent on her bed. She didn't know whether to curse her father or to thank him.

She gave the bread a half an hour to rest and used her time well, slicing the veal thin and layering it upon a garishly?painted platter. She ladled new potatoes and au jus over the meat and placed a few sprigs of parsley along the perimeter, hiding the chain of purple daisies that bordered the platter. Along with the bread and the fresh green beans she'd prepared, there were green olives and sweetbreads like her grandmother used to make. It was a great deal of food. She and Alice would be dining on leftovers for a week. She took the platter to the table then lay a small dish of fresh butter beside the bread. After folding the linen napkins in a fan pattern, she swapped the placement of knives and forks and stood back to admire the table. "Well, it's not Delmonico's, but it'll have to do." 

"It all looks and smells marvelous, Mel."

Mel jumped, her hand to her heart. "Janice...I didn't hear you come in. Did you have a nice nap?" 

Janice shrugged and dug her hands into the front pockets of her slacks, feeling decidedly ill at ease in the borrowed blouse, which fit well about the waist and shoulders, but cut her just slightly across the bustline. It gave her a modicum of comfort to know that she couldn't slip effortlessly into the clothes of a thirteen year old girl. "You couldn't resist, could you?" 

Mel's eyes jumped from the firm breasts beneath the straining buttons to Janice's face too quickly to disguise what could only be described as honest-to-goodness lust. "Beg pardon?"

Janice fingered the colorful embroidery just above her left breast. Whomever the seamstress was, she had been a true artisan - the words St. Ignatius' School for Young Ladies were plainly visible in Shelley?Volante font?style. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

Mel couldn't suppress a laugh. "Janice, honestly, I never even bothered to look. I chose that one because it's cut large." Janice merely grunted her displeasure and screwed her face into a scowl. "Would you rather it were emblazoned Our Lady of Perpetual Debauchery?"

Janice folded her arms across her chest. "Honestly? Yes." She smiled wryly and, in doing so, changed the whole complexion of the conversation. "But I suppose it'll have to do."

"You are truly magnanimous, Dr. Covington. Would you care to be seated?" 

Mel held out a chair, indicating that Janice should take what was traditionally the head of the household's seat. The implication was not lost on Janice. "Only two place settings?" she inquired as she pulled the chair up to the table. "Alice not joining us?"

"I sent her on to the party." Mel opened the icebox. "It seemed the thing to do if I wanted to live with myself." 

Janice swiveled in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. "Was she being difficult?"

"Just the opposite," came the muffled reply as Mel groped about in the icebox. "She was civil and mature." She poked her head above the door and narrowed her eyes at Janice. "You know how that grates on me."

"She's got you here, Mel," chided Janice, displaying an upturned pinky finger. "Admit it."

"I knew I could count on you to be sympathetic and understandin'. Remind me again why I asked you to supper?"

"Because maybe you missed me..." She pinched her thumb and forefinger together. "...maybe just this much?"

Rather than confirm or deny Janice's intimation, Mel opted to change the subject. "What would you like to drink?"

"What've you got?"

Mel moved items from front to side, clearing a path for her reach. "Simply everythin'. There's milk and lemon squeeze...water, tea...oh, and some perfectly awful local beer." Mel displayed an unlabeled amber bottle. "I think it's bottled in a woolshed someplace. I don't recommend it."

"That'll do." Janice crossed the floor and took the bottle from Mel. Having been at the very back of the icebox for some time, it was half frozen, just the way she liked it. "You know me: I like living dangerously." She held the bottle up to the light as she walked back to the table and judged the meager amount of sediment floating within to be acceptable. 

"Why don't you put on some music?" Mel, her hands occupied with condiments, gestured with her chin to a standing oak phonograph beneath a curio shelf.

"Any preferences?" Janice asked, as she raised the battered lid of the phonograph. "I think I spoke too soon." She picked up a sleeveless 78 with more care than it had previously been shown in its lifetime. "We have a very scratchy copy of...ooh, Noel Coward." She made a face as she looked at Mel. "I think I was ten when this was recorded."

"The phonograph was a wedding gift...for Jack and Peggy." Mel popped the cap from Janice's beer and began serving the veal. "I think those albums are probably original to it."

"Billie Holiday," Janice crooned. She removed the slick black record from its sleeve with care and held it by her fingertips. "With Teddy Wilson. Naw, Mel, this is relatively new." It wasn't just new, it was pristine, and had, in fact, probably never been played at all, very likely due to the color of the artist. Considering what little she knew of Peggy Greenway and her narrow opinion of the Aborigines, she marveled that the album had been allowed in the house at all. "You Go To My Head, More Than You Know..." Song titles that might have easily been describing Mel, a possibility that was given further credence by the next song title: Them There Eyes. She looked to the table, where Mel had taken the chair kitty corner from her own, and seated the record beneath the needle, setting the volume to 3 on the dial. She opened the double doors on the phonograph's face to reveal the speaker as You Go To My Head opened with a combustible alto sax. She was sitting beside Mel shaking the napkin into her lap as a clarinet riff paved the way for Holiday's one?of?a?kind vocal stylings. The timbre was just a touch cynical, and Janice knew, without actually knowing Holiday personally, that she had been burned at love before. "This is nice, Mel," she murmured, feeling decidedly warm beneath the thin blouse. She looked down at her plate, trisected neatly with meat, starch and vegetable, all carefully prepared by a talented cook, and yet nothing looked as enticing as the woman seated across the table from her.

"Janice..." Mel turned an anticipatory gaze on her guest. "You aren't eating."

"Savoring the moment, Mel," Janice replied. She sliced into her veal with enthusiasm, but it was all for show. Food no longer held any interest for her. Mel's proximity had whetted a different kind of appetite. She lay the knife across the edge of the plate, dropped her free hand into her lap and speared the vaguely rare meat with a fork. When she looked up, she found Mel's eyes waiting, alight. Before she had taken one bite of veal, she was already anticipating dessert. 

Chapter 8 

"...sandstone ramparts hundreds of feet high, miles wide, pockmarked with caves." Janice absently swirled the warm beer at the bottom of the bottle. "But you know something, Mel, and this might be the beer talking, but I think it's the sort of dig I could just walk away from. The whole place just has a...a feel about it...more churchyard than graveyard."

"Kakadu's a spiritual place," Mel replied. "Small wonder you're uncomfortable. Your workers...are they local to Kakadu?" Janice nodded. "There's your problem." The serving fork hovered over the meat platter, targeting a slice of veal. "More veal?"

Janice waved her hand, fending off a third helping. "It's standard practice to employ the natives, Mel."

"You haven't found anything they didn't permit you to find. The real finds, the genuine rarities will elude you as long as you use locals to point the way." Mel tucked an olive between her perfect white teeth before sucking the pimento from its salty green blanket.

Janice was entranced, holding the last sip of beer in her mouth briefly before swallowing. "And what would you have done differently? Hire outsiders?"

Mel lifted an eyebrow. "If I had taken the job, then, yes, I would have imported a crew, but that's a moot point, Janice. The dig is yours." She laid her fork and knife across the plate, signaling an end to the meal, and to the discussion.

But Janice was persistent. "Why didn't you take the job, Mel? You were local; you were Moffat's first choice ??"

"Because I was local and for no other reason." Mel folded her napkin in quarters before tucking it beneath the edge of her plate. "Jack said it was probably because I work cheap, and it's true. I would've paid Moffat for the pleasure of headin' the dig."

"Instead, here you sit...one of a handful of warm bodies in a three hundred mile radius." Janice's voice held the unmistakable edge of sarcasm as she quipped, "Flies, heat, isolation: I can see what you like about it." Further conversation on the dubious virtues of the outback faded away on the dying strings of a violin passage. For a moment there was only the ghost of a heartbeat, the rhythmic thump thump thump of the needle as it rode the groove of dead air between tracks before sliding into the last song on the record. Carelessly, Janice's personal favorite on an album full of memorable tunes, began with the incomparable piano work of Teddy Wilson. Two beers brave, carelessly might also have described the way she looked Mel in the eye and said, "So tell me about Jack."

Mel pursed her lips and sat up straight, lacing her fingers around her water glass. Her eyes held Janice whole as she groped for a response. One of the advantages of outback isolation had been the almost total lack of peer judgment. Unfortunately, that same isolation left her unprepared to field even the most harmless inquiries about her relationship with Jack. "What's there to say? He's divorced as you know...a cargo pilot in the RAAF...He's 42..." She let her voice trail off, giving the impression that she had imparted all that she knew about the man. 

"Forty two..." Janice whistled softly, one short note of disbelief as she enjoyed Mel's discomfort. "What does he look like?"

"Dark hair, dark eyes...tall...my head fits just beneath his jaw when we dance," Mel replied with a little smile as a memory warmed her. In the smoky warmth of a first floor hotel room in Athens - champagne on the bedside table, Cole Porter on the radio, and a crown of honey?blonde hair tucked neatly beneath her chin while warm breath traveled the valley between her breasts and four bare feet interlocked, puzzle pieces on a hardwood floor... Indelible little details of first?time foreplay. The memory was so vivid, yet made painful by the realization that that life was behind her.

"He's tall, I got that much." Janice's fingers beat a lazy tattoo on the empty beer bottle. "What else? How did the two of you meet?" Mel stood abruptly, taking up her plate and glass. "Mel?" Her eyes followed Mel's retreating form across the kitchen. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin's wrong," Mel replied, as she stacked the dinner plates by the sink. "I don't understand your interest in Jack, that's all. Another beer?" 

Janice waved a hand dismissively. "Hey, you brought him up. Besides, I think I deserve to know a little bit about the man. After all, I'm sitting in his chair...eating his food..."

"Sleepin' in his bed...Goldilocks." Mel returned to the table for the meat platter. 

"Speaking of sleeping in his bed ?" Janice began pointedly. "How is he in that area?"

Mel's jaw dropped noticeably. "I don't know why I'm surprised you asked that. With your ego, you'd be forever beggin' comparison."

Janice laughed, but there was no heart in it. "I have a healthy ego, as you pointed out."

"With good reason," Mel replied as she turned away. "You spoiled me for any future lovers."

"And that's a bad thing?" 

"It is, yes," said Mel. "When you're tryin' to start a new life."

Janice shrugged. "What was so wrong with the old one?" A reply was not immediately forthcoming. Mel's back was to her, but Janice could see her hands were still and her head was down. "Mel?"

"He's a dear, dear, man, Janice." Mel began quietly. "He's kind, sympathetic, funny. I don't know where I would be if I hadn't met him when I did."

Janice fought to keep her composure. "You mean it was just a matter of timing."

"In a way...yes." At the butcher's block, Mel wrapped the leftover veal in waxed paper, secretly relieved to have something to do with her hands. "We met the very day my steamer docked in Sydney Harbor. I was comin' down the ramp, he was seein' his niece off. I broke a heel off my shoe and would've pitched right over the side if he hadn't been there."

"A real Sir Galahad," mumbled Janice, although it occurred to her, somewhat cynically, she conceded, that the niece Jack had been seeing off at the dock was very likely not his niece at all. Naturally, she was alone in her suspicions. 

"He insisted I share his cab, waited with me while my shoe was repaired and bought me a lovely supper." Mel slid the wax package into the icebox and stood in the open doorway, savoring the chill air on her body. "It was the best possible introduction to the country."

"Better than gunfire and death threats?" quipped Janice with mock surprise. 

"I know that tone, Janice," said Mel, moving reluctantly from the icebox to the table. "And it sounds suspiciously like jealousy." 

"Not at all," replied Janice, quick to dismiss the notion. "On second thought, I will take another beer." She rose from her chair. "You want a beer, Mel?" She could feel Mel's eyes pursue her into the kitchen.

"You don't have to be jealous, Janice." Mel's voice was kind and soothing, and she meant well, but she couldn't help saying the wrong thing as a general rule. "You're not in competition with Jack."

"I know that, and I am not jealous." Janice opened and closed the icebox without removing anything. "What I am is hot. It's hot in here."

From her place at the table, Mel gazed out the window where the windmill cast long shadows upon the hard?baked ground, blood?red in the twilight. "Sun's settin'...Why don't we take this conversation out to the verandah...where it's cool?" She switched off the phonograph and closed the cover. 

"Peachy." Janice bit back a more acidic retort, dismayed at the possibility of an in?depth conversation on the merits of her rival. Perhaps rival was not the right word, although it had seemed appropriate enough during the long flight to Coolinga. But now...here she was, a guest in Jack Greenway's home, where his personality permeated everything as surely as a sponge soaks up water. His chair. His food. His woman. She followed Mel from the room, convinced that any hopes of a reconciliation were about to be finally and irrevocably dashed to pieces. 

At the foyer, Mel continued out to the verandah, while Janice excused herself to visit the bathroom. She splashed water on her face and patted it dry with a hand towel, studying her fractured reflection in the cracked mirror as she did so. She had come to Coolinga convinced she would find Mel miserable, aching for the lover she left behind, but their reunion had been on the tepid side of passionate at best. Still, she was certain Mel had warmed to the idea of her presence. The woman had baked her sourdough bread. Sourdough bread, for Chrissakes! "If that isn't love, what is?" She was surprised to hear genuine confusion in her voice; she was unaccustomed to the feeling. 

All her adult life she had been able to have her way, whether by skill, wits or sheer force of will. In a field rampant with male counterparts, she was unique and notable for far more than her gender. By age 25, she had made enough money to live comfortably and to have the luxury to pick and choose the archeological commissions which most interested her. With her gifts, came hard?won notoriety; she had the respect of her peers. What she didn't have, however, was what she wanted most. Ain't that always the way? 

She pushed away from the counter and knelt on the bedroom floor to root through her satchel. To her relief, she found the object of her search nestled discreetly in a cocoon of woolen socks. Squat at the bottom, rising in a tall, graceful neck, the dark amber, 94 proof Tennessee Sipping Whiskey was the only Jack she was interested in at the moment. It had originally been intended as a gift to soothe the ruffled feathers of a mechanic to whom she owed money, but she would have to find another way around him. She broke the seal on the bottle, intending to down a generous swig or two before joining Mel on the verandah. She hefted the bottle carefully, almost reverently, tasting the full, sweet flavor of burnt caramel and vanilla at the back of her throat before a single drop of whiskey had touched her lips. 

Tapping, and her name uttered as a hiss. "Janisssss."

Janice opened her eyes, a revelation in itself, since she hadn't been conscious of closing them. Across the room, on the opposite side of a six?paned window, Mel rapped on the glass with her knuckle. She had seen the bottle, but there was no reproach in her voice as she said, "Bring that...and two glasses... and hurry, or you'll miss it!" she beckoned, conveying a sense of urgency before stepping out of view, leaving confusion in her wake.

Miss it. Miss what? Janice stopped in the parlor to collect two heavy glass tumblers from the sideboard and made her way onto the verandah, successfully navigating the explosive screen door without dropping her kit. Using the toe of her boot, she eased the door closed and looked for Mel, who was conspicuously absent. "Mel?" She set the whiskey and glasses down on a sturdy wicker table and sighed heavily, her frustration evident. "Where'd you go?"

Mel poked her head around the corner of the porch. "Over here...come see!"

Janice walked the length of the porch, her curiosity snuffling ahead of her like a keen beagle. Rounding the corner of the house, facing to the south, she saw Mel standing poised, dead center of the front stoop. Her head was tilted slightly back, and her mouth was opened in unabashed wonder. "What is it? If it's a dingo, I've seen plenty of those."

"Try not to sound so jaded, Janice Covington, and come here," Mel hissed reproachfully, fanning one hand to her, gathering the smaller woman under her shoulder. "Now," she whispered, as if more volume were an intrusion. "Stand just here..." She stepped back and guided Janice into her place on the worn gray boards. "Do you see it?"

Janice exhaled wearily, her eyes scanning the horizon, left to right, from soft sage and violet to a vivid spectrum of crimsons and yellows. It was breathtaking, and it wasn't a dingo. Points for Mel. "Yes," she whispered, trying to convey her pleasure. "It's beautiful, Mel." She felt warm fingers at her temples and a gentle upward pressure; unconsciously, she found herself leaning back into the support provided by Mel's lanky frame. She could feel two firm breasts, peaked, at attention, against the sensitive skin of her shoulder blades. She might have reveled in that feeling indefinitely if her breath hadn't been snatched without warning from her chest. Directly above her and to her left, divided by a line of native wattles, the sky was clear with a quarter moon and a blanket of dazzling stars; and to the right, off?set just slightly by the sagging tin roof of the house, the sun was setting, wallowing gloriously in the foothills, bathing the gums and mulga in raw, homespun gold. Day and night sharing the sky at the same moment. It was, Janice conceded, the oddest, most beautiful of dichotomies.

"It happens every sunset." Mel's mouth was just inches from Janice's ear, so close her breath stirred the tiny wisps of hair at her nape. "...a few minutes later every day. I find myself standin' out here, where you're standin' now...waiting. I know that must seem foolish to you, but I suppose I'm a simple woman."

Janice turned to face Mel, careful to maintain the physical and emotional connection that had been created. "You're not simple at all...you're a damned pioneer, Mel." She left those fathomless cerulean pools to turn her own eyes skyward again. "I mean, look at it..." The last vestiges of light were leaving the land, being replaced by a creeping carpet of mauve and ebony. It stole Janice's breath the way few things could. "I've been living in this land for six weeks...sleeping under the stars, and do you know, it never once occurred to me that this place had anything new to show me. How thick is that, I ask you?"

"Pretty thick," Mel echoed with a grin. She dropped her hands to her sides, unintentionally skimming Janice's hips as she did so. "Oh, sorry." I'm not. Janice turned on her heel. "I got whiskey, remember?" At the little wicker table, she opened the bottle and turned to Mel, who had taken a seat on a wooden glider. "How do you take it? On the rocks? With water?"

Mel countered brightly, "Oh, however you like it is fine."

"Two fingers. Neat." She passed Mel a tumbler and seated herself in an old bleached rocker that overlooked the wide expanse of horizon. Shaking out her damp hair, she took her first sip of whiskey...center cut, her father had called it...like the heart of a good watermelon...strong and flavorful and just what she needed. She sighed contentedly and stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles. The sun was a molten sliver on the horizon, and the worst of the day's heat was over at last. Trees growing by the verandah were full of sparrows and finches twittering in concert with their counterparts inside the small aviary. Somewhere to her left, just beyond the hangar, a dingo howled. She was primed to notice everything, most especially the woman she loved, sitting across from her, making a face as she swallowed her whiskey in one gulp. Janice raised both eyebrows inquiringly as Mel choked. "Uh, Mel? You might want to take it easy there..." 

Mel screwed her eyes shut, sputtered and nodded rapidly, holding her glass in front of her. "May I have..." cough "...another, please?"

Janice left her glass on the arm of the rocker and retrieved the whiskey bottle. "This is sipping whiskey, Mel...say it with me...sip?ping?whis?key..." She held the bottle over Mel's empty glass. "If you're not accustomed to it, it'll bite you back." Mel lifted her glass until it clinked against the bottle. "Okay, suit yourself." She refilled the glass, unable to shake the impression that Mel seemed to be marshaling her courage, fortifying herself for some earth?shattering admission. "What's on your mind?" she asked, giving voice to her thoughts; she toyed briefly with the possibilities, none of them favorable if your name happened to be Janice Covington. 

"I was...I was mulling over the virtues of a really fine whiskey," Mel replied, her fingers grazing Janice's as they clasped the neck of the bottle. "I don't have a great deal of experience with drinkin', as you know, but I find that I quite have the knack for it." Mel took custody of the bottle. "This has a...a kinda smoky quality to it..."  sip "...oak, I think."

"Probably aged in oak barrels. You sure you don't want me to take that?"

"Did you want another drink?" Mel asked as she held the bottle possessively between the pillows of her breasts.

Lucky bottle. Janice shook her head slowly, placing her hand over the wide mouth of the tumbler. She took two steps back, leaning against a support post. As she watched Mel go repeatedly to the well, she determined that at least one of them should stay sober. 

Mel settled back into the glider, the open bottle of whiskey tucked between the armrest and her hip. She kicked off her shoes, heedless of where they fell. Her face was flushed, warmed by the liquor, and her eyes were luminous in the moonlight. Meeting Janice's expectant gaze, her courage waned temporarily. It wasn't until she'd cautiously tipped back another shot of whiskey, that she found her voice. "If you drink from a bottle marked poison, it's almost certain to disagree with you sooner or later."

"If you're referring to the whiskey..."

"It's from Alice in Wonderland, and I'm tryin' to make a point. Please, don't interrupt." Janice settled back against the post, suitably reproached, while Mel focused on a knothole in the floor boards. "Lewis Carroll as prophet...it's not an idea many people can warm to." She kept her eyes down, unable to bear either the confirmation or denial in the other's face, and she was grateful Janice had the presence of mind to remain silent. "All my life I knew what I wanted, what was expected of me as a woman, and as the daughter of Melvin Pappas. These things were seldom complementary of one another..." Mel's voice trailed off; she groped for the bottle at her side, but her hands were shaking and her aim was slightly off. She felt Janice's fingers close over her own. "One more...for luck."

"I think you've had enough, Mel." Janice set the bottle on the table between them. "Just...take a few deep breaths and spit it out...whatever it is." She took a long pull on her whiskey, reflecting miserably on her inability to cope with rejection, and braced for the worst.

"I've made some mistakes in my life, Janice," said Mel, the words leaping from her lips, a verbal suicide. "I have done some things that I've regretted, and people I cared about paid the price." She looked into the bottom of her glass and was afforded an unobstructed, if distorted, view of her bare feet. "Oh, my...look a' that..." She tilted her head in wonder. "I have big feet," she said, as if the discovery were a revelation. 

Janice rolled her eyes. It's official: she's drunk. It's a damned record. The number one problem with drunks, in her opinion, was the propensity to be distracted by the smallest things. It was both blessing and curse. "You have nice feet, Mel," she said succinctly as she approached the glider. She took the empty tumbler from Mel's hands. "I think you should probably lie down for a while, sleep this off."

When Mel felt Janice's hand upon her elbow, she looked up into a pair of sparkling green eyes and felt compelled to apologize. "I'm sorry you came all this way, Janice." Strong fingers encircled her arm, drawing her into a standing position. "I know it must seem like a tremendous waste of time to you now, and if I'd known you were comin', I'd've stopped you."

Standing there, with Mel's arm wedged securely between her own hip and elbow, Janice felt her knees go to jelly. Here it comes. "Later, Mel...All this can wait till later." She stopped at the front door of a house settled with shadows. With her free hand, she groped for the lights. 

"Did you bring the whiskey?"

"It's fine where it is," Janice replied, frustration bleeding into her voice. "God dammit, what're you people? Bats?!"

"I haven't always liked the choices I've made, Janice," said Mel, flipping a light switch on the opposite side of the door. "Erratic, my daddy would've said." She leaned heavily into the smaller woman. "You steer, I'll walk...Following my, my heart one minute, my head the next..."

"Can't go wrong with either of those. Whoa, watch your head." Janice guided her across the bedroom threshold, relieved to find the light switch on the first attempt. She backed Mel across the floor until her calves met the edge of the bed. "Okay. Sit." 

"I made mistakes...Sit?"

Janice snorted. "Bend your knees...it'll happen by itself."

Mel's face softened. "You're so good to me, Janice," she said sincerely; the ache in her voice broke Janice's heart. "You and Jack...both so good to me."

Jack. There's my wake?up call. "Yeah, well..." As a sparkling retort, it failed miserably. "Get some rest, Mel."

"Did'ja ever do that? Try somethin' just to try it...to get it out of your system, like the cold or the flu...or to satisfy someone else's expectations..."

Better and better. Worse than a fling, an experiment. Janice set her jaw; there were no words to convey her hurt, her disappointment. When she turned to leave, it was all she could do not to bolt from the room. 

"I've hurt people, Janice..." Mel's voice stopped her at the door. "I hurt you."

"Yeah. You did...but I'm tough, Mel," Janice replied, her back to the room. "I'll get over it." 

"I won't. I can't. Janice...please look at me."

Look at her? Yes? No? Janice suspected that whatever steely resolve she still possessed would vanish at the first sight of tears. "That's probably not a good idea, Mel." 

With supreme effort, Mel got to her feet, dizzy at first, then queasy. "Please...You're gonna walk out that door, and I'm never gonna see you again...I just know it...So you turn around and lemme say this one teeny tiny little thing." 

Janice inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders like a boxer bracing for a blow. Mel swam into her field of vision...flushed and bleary?eyed, weaving just slightly as she smoothed her skirt with sweaty palms. Different picture, same effect. "Okay...I'm listening."

Chapter 9

Mel blinked rapidly, astonishment plain on her face. Clearly, despite her heartfelt appeal for indulgence, she hadn't anticipated Janice would yield quickly, if at all. Her legs were watery, anesthetized by a combination of whiskey and anxiety, but she was determined to deliver this next bit of information standing, if for no other reason than it might give Janice pleasure to knock her down. A quick inhale and on the exhale, the words, "I love you, Janice." There was the smallest twitch between Janice's brows, easy to miss unless one knew what to look for; but seeing it was one thing, and translating it was another.

Janice's response was inflectionless and noncommittal. "I see." The two syllable equivalent of a polar bear in a white room. 

Janice's apparent apathy took Mel by surprise and sent her scrambling for elaboration. "I plan on leavin' here when Jack returns next month." She shrugged. "Don't love him... love you." On the strength of that claim, Mel crossed the floor, knees shaking. "I'm askin' to come back, Janice... I'm askin' to be a part of your life again." Her eyes, swimming in hot, unspilt tears, scanned Janice's carefully?set face. "Well...say somethin'..."

Janice breathed in through her mouth; she could taste Mel on her tongue, a frothy concoction of whiskey and guilt and fear. There were few things that sobered a drunk faster than fear. "God knows, Mel, when I arrived here, I'd have forgiven you anything just to have you back in my life...And a few minutes ago, those words and your tears might've been enough to reconcile our differences. But frankly, now...I have to say I don't come that cheap." 

Light?headed with fear and apprehension, Mel stammered, "What can I do? What do you want me to say? I've been as honest as I know how to be."

Janice was tight?lipped. "In vino veritas. Wine or whiskey, you had to knock back a third of a bottle to be honest with me...to confess the truth: I was a mistake, and our relationship was an experiment." Mel opened her mouth to argue, but was cut off abruptly. "Mel, you said as much." She turned her eyes to the sagging ceiling, struggling to recall the exact turn of phrase. "Did you ever try something just to get it out of your system...? Ring a bell?" 

"If you're gonna go around quotin' me, at least get it right. I never referred to you as an experiment or a mistake. The truth is ?" cough Mel fought down a brief wave of nausea, holding up a finger indicating that Janice should wait. "...the truth is..." cough 

"The truth is you left me because you were afraid I would leave you. Somewhere in the back of my mind, that makes sense, in a paranoid, insecure kind of way. It's even kind of flattering. What I don't understand is your situation here and now?this mop-the- floors?laundry?on?the?line?dinner?on?the?stove domestic bent. I don't get the attraction, Mel. Granted, Alice is a great kid, any woman would be proud to have her as a daughter, but ?"

"I can explain."

Janice waved her off. "It's okay, Mel. I understand. You were raised in a conservative, Southern household, by a conservative, Southern grandmother. Your future included white picket fences and babies, and a husband. But before you settled down to all of that, you wanted to sow your wild oats, as they say...experiment with different things. Well, I had a good time. I hope you did; and now that you've got it out of your system, you can settle down to marital bliss with the partner your parents always wanted you to have...someone with facial hair, who dresses left or right." 

Indignation and embarrassment fought a pitched battle on Mel's face. "Now, you jes' hold on!"

"Although, I have to get my own two cents in here and say that you have lousy taste in men. I mean, I don't know Jack Greenway from Adam, but from everything I have heard and seen in the last few hours, I know that he's the last man on earth I would pair you with. What is it, Mel? Does he remind you of your daddy?" she asked facetiously. 

"Are you through? Can I talk now?" Mel asked through clenched teeth, a reaction that was as much anger as it was a way to bite back her rising gorge; too late she had discovered that she was a proficient drinker, but a terrible drunk. "You keep sayin' you understand this, and you understand that. News flash, Janice: you don't understand anythin'." Mel looked seriously down into the youthful face of cynicism; it was one of those times when her height was an advantage. "Now...you sit." She thrust a finger at the bed. When Janice hesitated, she raised a single eyebrow and from somewhere deep in her ancestral line, summoned up 'The Look'. "Your butt on that bed. Now." 

Janice lighted on the corner of the mattress, watching in silence as Mel struggled to maintain her upright position. "Maybe you should be the one sitting."

Mel took a step back and leaned against the wall for support. "You say you talked to my mama. Long conversation?"

"Ten minutes, thereabouts."

The corner of Mel's mouth twitched. "That's plenty time enough. Did you love your mama, Janice? I mean, before she left you and your daddy, did you have a good relationship?"

Janice scratched her ear and shrugged. "We were close, yeah. Is this going someplace?"

"Indulge me. Would it be safe to say that you did your utmost to please her?" Janice nodded and Mel countered, "Out of love and respect." Again, a nod. The tall Southerner melted against the wall, kept upright by sheer force of will. "You had ten minutes, long distance with Miss Julia Pappas. How was it?"

Janice labored for just the right word. "Interesting." 

Mel coughed, and then laughed into the back of her hand. "Don't play the diplomat, Janice; it doesn't suit you."

"You want me to say she was cold and blunt? Okay, I will. One minute into the conversation, I was ready to throttle her."

"Get in line," Mel said, nodding sagely. "Knowin' my mama as I do, I'm gonna guess that she didn't tell you I called her from the airport in Athens the night I left."

"Funny...she didn't mention it."

"We had quite a long talk...or maybe I should say: she lectured and I listened, a first for me. All those years growin' up, I managed to tune out a lot of what she was sayin' and find my own way, my own paths, always to her dismay. I could never please her, and she never tired...tires... of remindin' me of my failures. The way she saw it, leavin' you was the smartest thing I'd ever done, which only reinforced my opinion of her. I had called for understandin' and sympathy and gotten a slap in the face. She said, 'Come home, Melinda. I forgive you.'...like lovin' you was some kinda crime. She even offered to wire me plane fare, but I didn't want anythin' from her." She flushed and weaved. Janice was at her side in an instant. "I have to sit for a spell..." Without speaking, Janice helped her back to the bed, though she herself remained standing. "Look at you," Mel said, her voice softly marveling. "Even now, as angry as you are with me, you have such good instincts, Janice; that was one of the things that drew me to you."

Janice softened just slightly, though it would take more than flattery to win her back. "And Jack..." she prompted with genuine curiosity. "What drew you to him?" 

Mel closed her eyes briefly, as if conjuring forth the recollection. "His innate decency, I think. He spoke of his family, his daughter, with such affection."

Sitting on the bed, with some distance between them, Janice remarked on the only thing about Jack Greenway she liked, apart from his absence. "Like I said, Alice is a good kid. You had a ready?made family here."

Mel looked at her hands, trembling in her lap. "Certainly that was an attractive prospect. It wasn't until later in our relationship that I discovered I was merely the last in a long line of sweethearts. When he left here seven weeks ago, he gave me the house keys, two hundred dollars cash, and his word that he would be back. He gave me all that, but..." she held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. "No ring." She shrugged. "You don't give a ring to your house sitter."

"It never...well, it never went beyond that?"

Mel smiled, amused by Janice's delicate approach. "If you're askin' if we ever consummated the relationship, the answer is no. Oh, there were a couple of false starts, but I think he knew my heart wasn't in it. My first night here he took a blanket and pillow out to the sofa and never pressed the matter again."

Janice heaved a sigh of relief. At last, the 'experiment' had been identified and the only thing that shocked her more than the identity was Jack's surprising depth of character. "If you didn't love him, why did you stay, Mel?"

"Because I had nowhere else to go," Mel replied simply. "The truth is I got off that steamer flat broke, needin' isolation, time to think. This house provides all that. Jack. Well, I suppose you could say I fell in serious like with the man. He's kind and generous. He knows when to talk, and when to listen, and he doesn't hoard his emotions like a lot of folks do. So, when you ask if he reminds me of my daddy, I'll have to say ?no, he most certainly does not."

Janice shuffled uncomfortably. "Touche'." She had closely watched Mel's face throughout her confession, gauging sincerity or deception based on her observations. Her instincts told her that what she was hearing was the truth, stripped bare of all pretense, absent of mitigating circumstances. She wanted to return that honesty with words, a touch, a kiss...a caress...yet something inside screamed for caution. She didn't trust her hands, so she sat on them. "I want to believe you, Mel."

Mel turned to face her. "I don't know what else I can say, Janice, except that you are and never have been anythin' but what I absolutely wanted out of life." She extended a hand and cupped the heart?shaped face lovingly in her palm. "Can you accept that I made an awful, horrible mistake the day I left you? Do you know how much that has hurt me every day since?" Her hand, unsupported by Janice's own, began to tremble with the fear that she had misread the situation and moved too soon. "Tell me you don't want me...Tell me there's not this huge achin' chasm where your heart used to be...Tell me you don't love me, and you can walk out of here and never hear from me again."

Janice swallowed hard; Mel's hand against her skin was almost painful. Beneath her thighs, her own hands scrunched the bedspread into fistfuls. "I don't think I can do that." 

Mel dropped her hand slowly to her side, and swallowed deeply, audibly. "Do you hate me very much?" She dreaded the answer.

A smile turned up the corner of Janice's mouth. "Some day, I gotta compile a book of useless questions."

Mel almost wept with relief. Her plea, "Kiss me, Janice," carried all the weight of a dying man's cry for water, a request that, in good conscience, could not be denied. She leaned forward, meeting Janice halfway, and when warm lips connected, she felt a shudder run down her spine - hot and icy at the same time. "More..." she urged, her lips sliding against Janice's, an unquenchable thirst begging to be slaked. She plunged one hand into sweet?smelling honey hair, while the other slid beneath the blouse to cup a firm breast, its nipple made hard and erect by the single brush of a calloused thumb.

Janice was not prepared for the mindless lassitude that gripped her at the first touch of those talented hands. Heat coursed through her body like a fever. Had she not been able to taste the whiskey on Mel's lips, present in every kiss rained upon her face, she might have been content to endure such an assault indefinitely. She knew she should resist; it was the honorable thing to do, even if she would hate herself in the morning. "Mel...Mel, honey...we have to stop..." she murmured without conviction. She groaned, tilting her head back as feather?soft kisses grazed her from chin to cleavage, and fingers fumbled at the buttons of her blouse. "I mean it, Mel..." she protested, even as her nipples sprang to life, minds of their own. Traitors. Summoning up her last reserves of self?control, she wrested herself from Mel's embrace and stood. "I think we should stop..." She observed her lover laboring for breath, and she could see her reflection clearly in those wide, cerulean pools; it flattered her to be seen as an object of lust. "I gotta go splash some water on my face or...somethin'..."

Mel caught the retreating figure by the arm. "Janice...did I do somethin' wrong?"

"Aw, no, sweetheart, it's just...well..." Janice tugged at the front of the blouse, pinching the icon of St. Ignatius between her thumb and forefinger. "There's just somethin'...I don't know... indecent about being groped in this blouse."

"If it bothers you that much...take it off."

Janice chuckled. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"So would you," replied Mel pointedly. "Make love to me, Janice." She held Janice's gaze as her long fingers drifted down to the buttons of her own blouse.

Janice raised her eyes heavenward. "This is a test...it's gotta be."  Passion's gauntlet. She shifted her gaze back to Mel, who was murmuring soft obscenities as she struggled with the top button of her blouse. "Not tonight, honey. You have a headache."

Mel got to her feet. "I am not drunk," she said adamantly.

"Oh, yeah?" She held up three fingers. "How many fingers?"

"Ohhh," Mel grinned slyly and groped Janice. "I like this game!"

Janice squealed and captured Mel's roaming hands in her own. "Jeeze Louise, Mel!"

Mel managed a genuinely wounded expression as she stood there, both hands pinned against her chest by Janice's strong grip. "I'm comin' on too strong, aren't I?"

"Oh, God...don't ask me that. I'm almost certain I'll lie." She released her grip and gathered Mel to her in an embrace that seemed to temporarily satisfy their mutual need for intimacy without jeopardizing either woman's integrity. They had been moving in a slow, almost indefinable circle for a full minute before Janice was conscious of the movement. With the covert introduction of a melody, it graduated from random motion to sensuous dance. The words of the song wound their way from Mel's lips to her ear in a sweet, mournful sigh, taking on the aspect of a heartfelt confession. She would never again listen to the lyrics in the same way.

How carelessly You gave me your heart And carelessly I broke it, sweetheart I took each tender kiss you gave to me Every kiss made you a slave to me Then carelessly I told you good?bye But now at night I wake up and cry I wish I knew a way to find the love I threw away so carelessly.

"That was nice, Mel," Janice murmured. "Reminds me of that night in Athens...remember? Our first night together?" She felt Mel nod against her shoulder. "Cole Porter on the radio, $8 champagne on ice...you and me in the bed...on the floor... against the wall. It was perfect."

Mel disengaged and stepped back, putting enough space between them so that she might look Janice seriously in the face. "I promise, Janice, never to be intimidated by perfection ever again."

Janice winked and once again pulled Mel into an embrace. "I'm gonna hold you to that," she replied. She spun Mel out to arm's length and held her briefly by the fingertips. "Dip?" With a snap of her wrist, she pulled her partner into her and dropped her in a dip that even Astaire would have envied. Grinning, she queried, "Am I good...or what?"

"Janice...would it spoil this moment for you if I threw up?"

[heartofspells]

I’m planning on getting into writing fanfics, and I was wondering if you had any writing tips to share?

I am the world's worst to ever come to for writing tips of any sort. I do things my own way, something that's been gently criticized recently in the funniest of ways. I'm also not entirely sure if you're wanting straight writing tips or more tips for like posting and promotion once you HAVE written something.

Writing is a fickle thing in my experience, but a lot of that comes from focus for me. The lack of it is a challenge that sometimes you have to push past. I can only tell you how I write and let you take what you want from it. If it works for you, great! If not, you'll have to find your own way, but you'll do that anyhow. Everyone's brains work differently. Just know you're not required to stick to anything that's been "predetermined" for writing. Writing is an art. Make it your own however you need.

Plotting is the largest part of writing. Without a plot, you'll find yourself getting stuck. A LOT. Plot out as many of the larger details as you can. Make notes if that helps. Also, friends are a HUGE help. Sometimes they see things you don't, or they can say just a few small things that kicks at your brain and smashes down walls. I have so many stories that started out as one thing just then morphed into so much more, and all because of my friends and their willingness to listen to me about my random ideas. Smaller details can come later, so don't worry about those as much unless it's something you just feel you need to have mapped in full before starting. Like I said, everyone works differently.

Don't worry about word count, chapter count, chapter length when you start. You'll just drive yourself mad with it. Let the story become whatever it's meant to become. And if you're able, let the characters guide you. Let them tell you what they want and feels right. Some people don't/can't do this, I'm aware, but it's how I write. I have a set amount of things I know I want/need to happen, but I let them handle the rest and they never disappoint. If you've got their characterizations set in place at the beginning, they'll write the story for you. Sometimes they'll even be assholes and change the plot as you go, but that's okay, too.

If you're struggling along the way and can't get the words to come the way you want them to, don't stress over it. Sometimes you just have to force it. You'll fall into a groove as you go and dive into it, and then you can edit later once you've got your flow back. Finding a server on discord and sprinting is also a huge help, especially if you're a competitive person. Even sprinting alone is great, because you're just pushing for all those words. And again, you can edit later. It's really such a help for focusing and pushing past blocks.

I could say a lot more, but it's all mostly tailored down to myself. Feel free to ask specific questions if you want, but honestly, just diving into it is the best way. You figure out what works for yourself as you go.

Good luck!!

[vampireloverz]

you're not a ghost, you're in my head

pairing: johnny silverhand x fem! reader

words: 3.8k

cw/tw: reader is technically v but is not referred to as “v”, reader has a specific canon tattoo and pubic hair, canon typical slang, canon typical cigarette use by johnny, fingering with a metal hand (f → receiving), unprotected sex, light scent/armpit kink, light angst, cyberpunk 2077 spoilers

— “Johnny, the fuck do you think y—“

“Relax, kid,” his voice comes out in a gritty rumble by your ear as his fingers come down to replace yours on your clit, “You and I are just gonna have a little fun.” —

"Pleasure doin’ biz with you,” you shake hands with your client as they deposit eddies into your account, a nice little bonus on top of your usual fee for a job well done.

“Get us the fuck outta here,” Johnny says as you check your phone for Wakako’s message, you can feel his impatience tug at your brain, “I’ve had enough running around for today.”

If you’re tired imagine how I feel, asshole, you think, and he just gives a single dry chuckle in response. 

As you walk the blocks back to your apartment, you think about the past months since your life has turned upside down and, as hard as you fight it, you think about Johnny.

Being alone is a luxury you used to take for granted, something you used to actively run from, but now you haven’t been alone in a long while. Never really, truly by yourself. At first, it left you irritable, quick to anger, but now you’re left trying to pinpoint exactly when frustration turned to camaraderie. And, from there, into genuine friendship. For now, Johnny’s really all you have. 

You don't want to rely on other people too heavily— your clock is ticking and you’d rather not hurt anyone if you have to go down. Misty and Vik being involved already weighs on your conscience. It’s easier to push everyone else away, keeping them at arm’s length to shield them, that’s what you keep telling yourself. But Johnny… you can’t do that with him. You’re on death’s row together, hand in silver hand.

That doesn’t mean you don’t get lonely or wish you had someone to hold you and warm your bed every once in a while, and you’re beginning to feel the effects. Your shots are getting sloppy, joytoys are starting to catch your eye every now and again— especially when they have dark hair and sunglasses— and it’s infuriating. Sure, you could buy some company for the night, scratch the itch, but it’s the same issue as getting yourself off— having Johnny be your peeping Tom.

Johnny has to be onto you, you know he sees everything through your eyes, he feels everything you feel. It would be easier to hide how you feel from your own damn self. It’s Johnny, Johnny, Johnny on an endless loop. His opinions on anything, everything, and, despite your best efforts, you’ve grown fond of him. The attraction has always been there, but now there’s… an ache, too. More than just the urge to fuck him. You’re doing your best to ignore it.

“Hey, baby,” a pretty joytoy calls out to you as you walk past. You notice Johnny’s choice brand of cigarette dangling precariously from between their fingers, then you hate yourself for noticing, “You look like you could use a massage, relax a little.”

You shake your head and ignore the urge to say yes, please. What comes out instead is: “No, thanks.”

The joytoy shrugs, a tempting smile on their lips as they knock ash from their cigarette, “Your loss.”

The sun is setting, the streets become bathed in pools of warm, natural sunlight and blinding neon signs blinking on for the night. You shove your hands in your jacket pockets, painfully aware that it’s Johnny’s jacket. It’s not his, not really, but the replica is good quality, it even had him fooled for a minute. Each time you put it on, your brain reminds you of that old school movie where a college girl wears her boyfriend’s varsity jacket, this morning had been no different. You just hope Johnny hasn’t seen that.

You know he doesn’t peek around every single corner of your brain, since becoming friends he allows you some privacy, as much as he can. But if your thoughts get loud enough you can’t hold them back. And lately, they have been loud. Half of this sexual frustration is because you haven’t gotten off in a while, sure, but the other half is your brain and body yearning for the one thing you can’t have. 

You can feel yourself scowling, still in disbelief that you’re craving a digital construct while simultaneously uncaring that he’s quite literally all in your head, so you actively make the effort to relax your face and body as you reach your megabuilding’s elevator. Once you’re in your apartment, it's easy to distract yourself with a simple routine for the night; lukewarm shower, hastily thrown together dinner, and you’re tucked into your bed in no time.

You leave your blinds open since you like to observe the way Night City wakes up as you’re about to sleep. The traffic, the nonstop chatter from neighbors and people on the street, lights from garish, oversized billboards— you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t miss it. You shut your eyes and listen, focusing on taking deep, even breaths. A minute passes. Then two, then ten, then you lose count, slipping into sleep. 

You wake with a start at the sound of people laughing outside your door and realize your sheets are tangled and damp with sweat between your legs. You were dreaming— a warm mouth on your cunt, your orgasm so close you could almost taste it— but the dream and its pleasure fade from you quickly only to leave you sleepless and frustrated all over again. You squeeze your thighs together and roll onto your side, staring at the empty couch across the room.

A fraying end of your sheet catches your eye, you make a mental note to patch it up as you fiddle with it. The border of the sheet only gets worse but you keep curling threads around your finger before unraveling it again and again. It doesn’t help you find sleep or alleviate the ache between your legs so you decide to give the poor fabric a rest and give in to what you need.

 Your voice is thick and raspy with sleep, “Johnny, you there?”

A familiar glitching sound fills your ears as he appears across the room, lounging on your couch with one leg on your coffee table, “As if I got anywhere else to be.”

You can’t tell if he’s actually looking at you behind his sunglasses, “Do me a favor. Can you leave for a bit?”

Johnny doesn’t answer, his fingers just tap rhythmically beside his leg.

“Come on,” you groan, just about one step away from begging, “I don’t wanna have to take those pills. Just give me thirty minutes. An hour, maybe.”

He raises one brow and pulls a cigarette from his pocket, “You got plans tonight?” he asks as he lights it. The fire glints off his silver hand for a brief moment before he takes a drag, holding it for a moment before breathing out.

Your clit throbs as you see a flash of his tongue, “Listen, a girl just wants her me time. Just delta the fuck outta here for a while. Hang out in my memories or something.”

Another deep drag off his cigarette, you can almost hear him roll his eyes but he disappears without any protest.

“Preem,” you sigh, voice shaking slightly as you roll onto your back. 

You wait a minute or two before you get to work, trying your hardest to remember your pleasant dream as you trail your hands over your body. You slip your hands under your sleep shirt and palm your tits, squeezing them once and idly wondering what Johnny’s metal would feel like on your skin. The thought alone makes your pussy clench, you can feel how soaked you are against your pajama shorts before you reach down and touch yourself.

Once your hand is past the waistband of your shorts, you waste no time in gathering your wetness on your fingers and circling your clit, hasty and impatient. The minutes roll by and you can’t seem to pass over the plateau, each second without orgasm only makes your frustration grow. You roll onto your side, curling one arm under your pillow to support your head as you try to keep your fantasies away from appearing as Johnny, but nothing seems good enough.

“Damn it,” you groan into your pillow, your voice bleeds into a long, wordless whine.

Your body trembles with frustration as you try and decide whether or not to keep going, if it’s even worth it if you’re going to be left unsatisfied. Right as you’re contemplating firing up a BD, you feel weight pressed against your back— Johnny. You almost jump out of your skin and a wash of heat crawls up your neck and into your cheeks, embarrassment prickling at your skin.

“Johnny, the fuck do you think y—“

His hand curls over yours between your legs— the sensation of him touching you is still trippy but you’ve given up trying to figure out how you can feel him touch you long ago— and you bite your tongue to hold back a pleased sound.

“Relax, kid,” his voice comes out in a gritty rumble by your ear as his fingers come down to replace yours on your clit, “You and I are just gonna have a little fun.”

Your brain short circuits as Johnny starts to draw slow, lazy circles around your clit. His whole body is pressed to yours, leaving no space untouched. All you can think to do is grab his forearm and let out a sigh, trying to hold back a full body shiver, “T–Thought I told you to fuck off.”

Johnny chuckles and trails his touch down to where you’re slick and aching, “Something tells me you’re not too upset.”

Your hips roll forward unbidden, chasing the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long. It feels much better to have Johnny’s fingers on you instead of yours, you can feel the immediate effect he has on your body.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” his words are almost a laugh of surprise as he suddenly rocks his hips forward. 

“Oh,” you groan, pushing your ass back into him, trying to feel how hard he is for you.

You know this isn’t really happening, it’s some trick your brain has cooked up trying to let two simultaneous desires play out. Synapses misfiring, neurons receiving signals that aren't really there. You know Johnny isn’t actually pressed beside you but you don’t care. You can feel him, in your mind and on your body. The cool metal of his fingers is warming against your tits, the quiet hum of his thoughts and desires is buzzing around your head and he’s realer than anything you’ve felt before.

“Get these off,” Johnny impatiently tugs at your pajama shorts until you kick them off. He wastes no time in getting his hands all over you, palming your ass before pulling you against him.

You twist back as much as you can without straining yourself, “Kiss me.”

He scoffs with a touch of humor, “Needy,” but indulges you. 

The first press of your lips together is a little rough. The angle is not quite right, his beard scrapes your cheeks and chin, but it’s still him, so you enjoy it all the same. You press your tongue to his bottom lip, still half expecting to touch air and not Johnny, and he reciprocates in kind. His mouth is warm and wet against you, more real and perfect than anything you’ve felt before, he groans into your pliant mouth and the sound goes right to your clit— it’s a damn good kiss.

The hand that isn’t between your legs comes up to curl around your throat, using the lightest of force to keep you in place, close to him. Another pass of his tongue on yours and he’s pulling back, a drawn out groan falls from his lips when he ruts against your ass.

“Fuck,” he sighs against your lips before he moves, turning you over onto your back as he takes up the space between your legs.

Johnny’s back on you again in a instant, his hand returning to rest heavy and grounding on your neck, his thumb rubbing up and down against your jaw as he presses his lips to yours again. You reach your hands up to tangle in his hair and tug, smiling against Johnny’s lips when he makes a gruff, pleased noise in response.

You pull him back by his hair and tug at the collar of his bulletproof vest, cursing when it doesn’t budge, “Take this stupid thing off.”

Johnny lets out a little laugh and pulls back, resting on his knees between your legs, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

You roll your eyes and take off your shirt, tossing it to the side without a care. By the time you have your eyes back on Johnny, he’s naked too. He gives you a little smile and you take the opportunity to flip positions, pulling him down to the bed before you straddle him. He raises his eyebrows when you take his wrists in your hand. You don’t explain yourself as you push his arms above his head and into the pillows.

“Keep ‘em there,” you order, giving him a little smile before you let his wrists go.

You sit back, ignoring his cock pressing hot and insistent between your legs as you take him in, your hands greedily groping his chest. He makes a noise of approval when you start to trail your lips along his tattoos, kissing every so often until you reach his armpit. You trail your thumb through the dark hair there before you keep kissing downward, undeterred. You feel his breath hitch as you breathe in, cigarettes and the deep scent of sweat. It’s intoxicating enough to make you want to press your luck a little more. You close your eyes, kissing the underside of his arm again before you let your tongue peek out and touch skin, daring to take a lick of him. Johnny twitches and lets out an exhale through his nose, his arm almost shaking with the effort to keep still.

You hum, amused, “Ticklish?”

“Alright,” Johnny grumbles, moving to grab you by the waist, “You’ve had your fun.”

He flips you back to how you were originally, tossing you back onto your back hard enough to make you laugh and bounce once on the bed. He curls over you, his hands flex on your sides as he kisses you.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his flesh hand soft as it moves to span over your stomach.

The comment sets you squirming, turning your face to the side with a harsh little sound bubbling up from your chest. You shut your eyes and feel embarrassment prickle up your spine.

“No,” he takes your face in his hand, grips your jaw with purpose and turns to face him, “Look at me so I know you heard me.”

You blink them open, a hint of a scowl on your face as you prepare to tell him to knock it off but his cocky smile stops you. You swallow thickly, a heat crawls its way up your neck onto your face.

“See? Fuckin’ beautiful.”

You try to turn away, your cheeks now hot with embarrassment, but his hand keeps you in place. His eyes flick down to your lips as you laugh, “Shut the fuck up, Johnny.”

He makes a noise, low and deep in his chest, and finally relents, letting your face go with a quiet little tut. Johnny pulls back slightly, just enough space to trail his metal fingers down, pausing a moment to feel the hair between your legs. He turns his wrist to let his thumb part your folds and find your clit.

“Careful with that thing,” you say, your voice touched with nervous, excited laughter.

“Always am.”

Johnny pushes two fingers into your pussy, pumping them a few times until you relax, your slick makes the metal shine. He leans forward, pressing a kiss between your tits before he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks for a moment then breaks away, kissing a trail over your chest to your other nipple, biting it gently this time.

Soon enough, he stops, pulls back. You watch him take his cock in hand, your arousal glinting along metal as he spreads it over himself. He thumbs the head of his cock, the sight of him mixing his precum with you makes you dizzy, before he grips himself at the base, his silver hand accented by dark curls. Johnny angles himself downward, teasing you with just the tip again and again until you whine.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” he hums, using his human hand to hold himself above you.

“Y-Yea— fuck, yes,” your hands curl around his biceps, impatience makes you dig your nails in.

“Fuck,” Johnny’s voice trembles ever so slightly as he says your name, “C’mere then.”

He presses his cock into you and, after a moment, pushes inside steadily with a groan. You only make a noise of complaint when he stops, hips pressed flush against yours and his cock knocking something tender inside you.

“Johnny, ‘m good,” you gasp, thinking he’s stopped for your sake. He doesn’t move so you tilt your head to the side to bite at his wrist. It’s not enough to hurt him for real, but you soothe it with a kiss anyway, “C’mon, fuck me.”

He nods and only holds still for a moment longer, moving his arms to rest on his elbows on either side of your head. Johnny fucks exactly like you thought he would. Steady and hard, like he means it— he fucks you like he’s proving a point. Every thrust has his balls slap heavy against your ass, a firm, staccato rhythm that has you close to keening. He can feel exactly what you need, no guesswork or faking it when he’s in your head, and you can tell he’s loving it. 

You wrap your arms around him, needing to feel him close since you’re not sure how long this’ll last. Johnny presses more of his weight into you when he senses what you’re feeling and your legs almost ache with how far they’re pushed apart, one of his hands comes to cup your cheek, turning your face to his. Even with your eyes shut it’s easy to find his lips, soft amidst the bristle of his beard as he keeps up his pace. He lays into you like he means it, like he’s trying to convince you he’s real and here to stay. Like he’s trying to convince himself.

“You feel good, baby,” Johnny moans, his lips still close enough to brush against yours, “So fuckin’ good. I wanna feel you cum, need to feel it.”

You whimper, taking one arm down to tap his side and pant, “Here— let me just—” Johnny nods and moves, giving you room to snake your hand down to rub your clit in frantic, rough little circles, desperate to cum.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Johnny murmurs encouragingly, “That’s it.”

“Johnny,” you sigh, your voice warbling as you feel yourself getting close, climbing and climbing until you’re pushed over the edge. You cum holding your breath, your fingers still working your clit until the sensation is too much and you have to pull away and give in to the pleasure. You let out a shuddering groan as you feel your cunt clench around Johnny’s cock, pulsing enough to make your whole body twitch.

His rhythm falters, hips stilling as he presses himself can as close to you as possible, as deep as possible. You feel him fill you, and really, truly, you would swear on your life that it genuinely happened. You moan at the heat of him inside you before you catch yourself muttering praise into his ear, his lips pressing uncoordinated kisses to any part of you he can reach.

Johnny’s head falls to your shoulder as you both catch your breath, neither of you making any moves to pull apart from each other. It’s almost frightening how real this feels, as if he’s actually in your arms now, weighing you down into your mattress. You ignore how much you wish that were true and curl a lock of his hair around your finger before you tuck it behind his ear, trailing your touch down the back of his head. He makes an appreciative sound when you scratch gently at his scalp, so you keep doing so, soothing both him and yourself with the motions.

“There’s somethin’ I wanted to tell you,” he says after a while of laying together, nudging the hinge of your jaw with his nose.

“Yea?”

“I like seeing you in my clothes,” Johnny’s breath is hot against your skin as he chuckles, “Almost as much as you like wearin’ ‘em.”

“Shut up, Johnny,” you try to hide the laugh that shakes your voice by tugging on his hair, smiling when he gently bites you in retaliation. 

He takes your arm, holding you steady as he kisses the tattooed heart that holds his and your names. Johnny pulls away first and you make an involuntary, upset little noise as he pulls out of you, but he quickly kisses you quiet. The urge to smoke sneaks up on you, now a familiar feeling that comes from Johnny’s influence on you. You blink and he has one in hand, pulled out from whatever digitized place he gets them from.

“Get some sleep, kid,” Johnny murmurs around a cigarette, laying back and lighting it as your eyelids droop.

You let out a little hum, already half asleep, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You hope you get more of these opportunities, to feel him, be felt by him. Tears suddenly prick hot at your eyes, your throat tightens and you wonder how much of the grief you feel is you, how much is him, if the lines are too blurred now to even be able to tell. The hope, you think, might be both of you. It sits heavy with you, heavier than God as you theorize a way that you and Johnny may survive the separation.

“Hey, Johnny,” your voice no more than a whisper, “I wish we could’ve met some other way.”

Johnny takes a deep drag of his cigarette and you feel the ghost of the synth-tobacco burn in your throat. His gaze strays from the posters hung across the room, dark brown eyes trailing over the curve of your cheek and brows until he finds the courage to look you in the eye. His free hand reaches down to find your warm thigh and squeeze it, “Yea.” 

You hold back another sentimental thought, too intimate to be said aloud where it can become real, and eventually fall asleep watching the way the neon lights dance through glitching cigarette smoke. You don’t have to say it, Johnny can hear it anyway. He knows, and you know it too.

thank you so so much to @shibaraki for beta reading for me! youre the best 🤍🤍🤍

title is from forever by charli xcx

[gens1n]

hi idk why i love the homewrecking thing u wrote.. idk if ur taking suggestions or requests, but thinking of zhongli/diluc as ur college professor with his own successful life and wife and kids (maybe) and.. maybe ur failing and need a better grade.. who knows..!!!

contract (ft. dilf!zhongli)

pairing universitystudent!reader x professor!zhongli

genre smut

song inspo break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored - ariana grande

oneshot? series? one shot. pls don't ask for continuation, i'm still working on my other series </3

word count 2.3k

content warning mentions of sex, infidelity, homewrecker!reader, student-professor relationship, power-play themed

author's note i'm not taking requests since i'm afraid of disappointing the requester should the story i'm writing does not live up to your expectation :( but this prompt is too good for me to let go, so @ anon i hope you like this! also no diluc, i’m sorry maybe next time :<

art by @/artsbydrei on twitter :)

a whiny gasp left you as zhongli's warm hands palmed the back of your thighs, repositioning your body and simultaneously angling his cock better against your entrance in the limited space inside his black R8 Sedan, parked at the back of one of the old convenience stores a few blocks away from your campus. the calm pitter patter of rain drowned out the increasingly loud moans you were letting out from your current session with your History and Civilization lecturer. it was rather cold outside, contrary to the warmth emitted by your bodies inside the car, producing enough steam to cover the windows from any peering eyes. there was hardly enough room to move around, but that didn't stop him from guiding your hips up and down his length, the band of your mid-thigh pleated skirt slowly gliding upwards with each movement.

''you're really bold today, aren't you?''

''yeah?''

''wearing something this short in my class. didn't you see how the other guys were ogling you the entire time?'' he commented, tugging the end of your skirt. as composed as he looked, there was no denying the hint of annoyance in his expression.

''-ah ... did they? i didn't notice- ah!''

''maybe if you weren't so busy dozing off during my lessons, you'd be aware of their stares,'' zhongli growled, thrusting faster into you as he grew more pissed at the thought of you not paying attention in his class. watching your male classmates sneaking a peek at your juicy thighs every now and then was one thing, another thing was seeing how undisciplined you were being during his lecture. more than anything, he hated that he had his dominance challenged and how he had no control over you. zhongli just felt like fucking some obedience into you, to have your bratty ass listen to his commands for once.

you couldn't help it. as much as you found the older guy attractive, his deep voice rambling about the world's history at 8 in the morning was enough to lull you back to sleep. after all, the only reason you enrolled in this course was solely for the professor himself, not because you are a history geek, so it came as no surprise to everyone when you struggled to pass his class months later, ultimately affecting your GPA horribly. it took one terrifying warning letter from your scholarship sponsor for you to beg him to let you pass his subject. you couldn't risk losing the only scholarship that you have, which left you with no choice but to tearily promise him that you'd do anything for a pass. zhongli, on the other hand, saw this as his opportunity to teach you a lesson — a rather unorthodox one, at that. one thing led to another, and here you were, messing around with the married guy for the nth time this month.

holding in your waist in place, zhongli's passionate thrusts grew messier and more desperate as he fucked into you faster, eliciting more breathy whine from you. it was a wonder how your collective ragged moans hadn't reached anyone's ears from the outside. his warm cock was filling you up so good, it had you giggling at one point from how mad his lust blown eyes looked. the pleasure got more and more intense, zhongli burying his nose into the crook of your sticky neck as he continued to mindlessly groan about how good you were taking him. your fingers started fisting his dark brown hair when his tip finally reached that spot inside you, your breathing quickening as the sudden wave of pleasure engulfed your sweaty body. the furious part of zhongli was still holding back, not wanting to let you cum so easily, but that resolve was soon weakened when you started to mewl close to him, hot breath fanning the flesh of his ear.

''sensei, i'm so close—ah,'' you warned, using the nickname you know he secretly liked. heat rushed to your head, clit throbbing with every rough motion as he started placing sloppy kisses all over your neck, urging you to keep being obedient for him. your arousal coated your inner thighs, some of it wetting his knees and effectively dirtying the seat underneath him. it didn't take long before the tight knot inside you finally snapped, earning a sigh of pleasure from the man as he indulged in the tightness of your creamy pussy, thrusting a few more times before finally cumming inside you, filling you up with his warm liquid.

resting his forehead on yours, zhongli was busy catching his breath as he came down from his high, droopy eyes staring at your glossy lips, enticed by your sweaty appearance in a way he didn't expect. after seconds of pondering and going back and forth between his conscience and desire, he internally said ''fuck it'' before abruptly sealing your lips with a tender kiss. this caught you off guard, as this was your first kiss with zhongli since he preferred to keep it purely sexual with no intent for affection this whole time. but even so, you found it a pleasant surprise, eventually cupping his cheeks and leaning in to his wet kisses.

''how was that?'' zhongli asked after breaking the kiss, staring at you expectantly. god, he was so pretty from this angle, especially with the way the droplets of sweat ran down the side of his forehead. it was certainly a sight to drool for, he was exceptionally stunning that it physically irritated you that no guy your age seemed to compare to the older guy.

''amazing...''

''just amazing?''

''um, that dick. it's a ten out of ten. happy now?'' the bold remark you uttered had him averting his eyes in embarrassment, he instantly regretted pushing you to elaborate more as he wasn't an avid dirty talker, not with how shy his wife had always been in bed. though zhongli was not used with the nasty talk, he figured he quite liked it, a tiny portion of his mind was eager to try it more with you. clearing his throat, he tapped your bum as he spoke again. ''get back to your seat.''

smirking at his flustered face, you realised the man can't handle much dirty talking, which only made you more keen to use it on him next time. you lifted your hips up, eyes downcast to watch the string of cum connecting your core and his tip, before landing on the passenger seat once again, immediately searching for your abandoned panty that got thrown somewhere in the car. it fell silence as both of you put the neglected pieces of clothing back on. once he was done zipping his black pants and adjusting his belt, zhongli turned to you and cleared his throat once again, gaining your attention.

''i'm going to that store over there to grab some drinks. you need anything?''

''ah, about that. you might need to buy me more Plan B, sensei~'' the mellow tone of your voice while asking something like this from him had him coughing awkwardly, before he muttered a firm ''okay'' and dashing off towards the store, braving the stormy weather.

you sat touching up your makeup silently, the day's work done — class was over and your weekly fucking session with the History professor was also done. you contently applied the plum red lipstick over your lips, the white noise of the rain droplets landing on the mirror calming your nerves, until a notification popped up on zhongli's phone. you glanced over the screen, reading the first bits of the message. curiosity got the best of you and you ended up unlocking his phone to read the chat, already memorising the password pattern from the numerous times zhongli had to answer his wife and kid's calls whenever you spent time with him.

Wifey

Hey baby, do u mind picking me up from work today? The rain is too heavy, there's barely any taxi here :(

now, you weren't one to ruin people's marriage, as much as your actions directly oppose your sentiment. but to be fair, it was zhongli himself who initiated this affair with you, so it wasn't exactly you to blame, right? after all, you were just desperate for a good grade, and zhongli's willing to trade it for some good sex. it's a win-win situation. so why was your brain coming up with these sudden wicked ideas now? you needn't to ruin the already established mutualistic relationship between you and zhongli with these ideas. you knew they were terribly evil yet you find yourself tempted to proceed with them.

it took you a minute to contemplate, before you reached a decision and eventually typed back a short ''Alright'' to his wife. next, you took some pretty selfies on his phone, pointing it to a rather racy angle that showcased the valley of your boobs as you posed seductively for the camera. snickering as you checked his settings to change his current wallpaper of his wife and kid to the fresh selfie of you. satisfied to see your selfie adorning his homescreen, you found yourself scrolling through his gallery once again, taking a glimpse at what his wife and kid looked like.

the wife looked lovely and gentle in one of the family pictures you found. how cute. funny thing was, she was exactly the type of woman you'd expected zhongli to end up with. zhongli's a traditional man, it was only right for him to end up with a traditional woman — a submissive, obedient, and loving one. but what fun is there in following the tradition? it's about damn time he progress and get on with the modern ways. it was clear to you he wanted more of what rebellious girls like you could offer. maybe he was growing bored of the old ways. maybe you could change his mind about his wife. maybe, maybe, maybe.

putting his phone back at its place, you giggled as you took out your small bottle of perfume out of your bag, spraying it everywhere around the car, full intent on leaving your mark there. then you took a piece of amber-coloured teardrop earring off your right ear and dumped it in the storage compartment by the passenger's side. lastly, you fished out the pair of fake lashes you had always brought along with you. today, they will serve their purposes for you, you thought as you placed one lash on the edge of the passenger's seat where only the passenger could see.

zhongli returned not long after, immediately grimacing at the strong scent in the car as soon as he took his seat. ''what's this smell?''

''ah, i sprayed my perfume to cover up the mess of our session earlier, sensei. the scent will go away soon enough, don't worry!'' looking convinced, he hummed in approval before handing you the contraceptives and a can of coke, earning a questionable look from you, which puzzled him.

''coke?''

''...yeah? i thought the youngsters are into this kind of drinks?''

''oh, i'm sorry, sensei. it's too sugary for me as i'm kind of... on a diet right now.''

''diet? what do you need a diet for?'' zhongli raised a brow.

''you oldie wouldn't get it. other girls my age have stunning bodies, i need to keep up with them,'' you pouted, which confused him even more. he didn't see anything that needs changing on you, which was why he was still puzzled. but then again, he didn't know much about the recent culture among the younger generation, so he didn't have much say in this. resting one palm on your knee, he gently reassured you.

''i think you're perfectly fine the way you are.''

he watched as your eyes glittered with delight at his words. did his compliment mean that much to you?

''do you mean that?''

''of course. now if you don't want the coke, you can have this instead. it's actually for my hutao, but i can always buy more for her later,'' zhongli offered, pulling out the strawberry milk drink from the package he'd gotten earlier and passing it to you, which you accepted happily. you couldn't stop smiling at his affectionate action the entire ride home. not only did he complimented how you look today, but he was willing to give you the drink meant for his young teenage daughter. the small actions were nothing to ponder over, but you grew mushy over them anyway. he was starting to open up more to you, so it must be a good thing, right? he even had his first kiss with you today.

right before you exit the car, he held your arm, face stern as ever as he asked his usual question at the end of every private meetup he had with you. ''remember our contract?''

rolling your eyes, you sighed tiredly. ''no one in my life can know about this. satisfied?''

''mhm. good. off you go.''

''you'll mark my papers well, right sensei?'' your doe eyes and little pleas made him chuckle, adoring how hopeless you looked.

''yeah, yeah. don't worry about it.''

''hehe, thank you for today sensei. see ya~'' you bid goodbye to the dark haired man and ran — or rather, skipped — down the path to your home, despite being rained on. as you turned back to wave him goodbye, you watched his car took off from your house while your mind thought back to the antics you had pulled in his car earlier. while he did established in your contract that nobody in your life should know of this exchange, he never mentioned anything about anyone in his life finding out about you. you found a loophole, and you sure as hell will abuse it. truth be told, you were already anticipating the furious call from zhongli once the trails you left behind in his car arouse enough suspicions among his family members. you were thrilled to wait for that day to come, as selfish as that may sound.

this will be fun.

[captainmalewriter]

The Great Shift: Budding Musician

Max was laying in bed after having mediocre sex with his girlfriend Riley. He laid there on his bed, stone faced and naked as Riley laid down next to him after finishing.

"I can't believe you made me do all the heavy lifting, you really need to step up your game."

"Uhuh," Max said with a flat tone. He continued staring to the ceiling. Riley sat up and got in Max's face, though even this didn't provoke a reaction out of him.

"Hello!? I'm talking to you!" Riley waved a hand directly in front of Max. Max swatted her hand away in response. "God, what's gotten into you lately?"

"Nothing, I'm just frustrated," Max mumbled.

"Really? This again?"

"It's an artist thing, you wouldn't get it,"

"Seriously? Anyone knows what writer's block is, you're not special."

Max broke his focus off the ceiling and looked at Riley. She only shook her head at him.

"I get you're frustrated with yourself, but constantly moping about it isn't gonna help you write a new song. You need to get out and live life, and maybe stop feeling so sorry for yourself too. It's so pathetic."

Riley's last remark got Max up and moving. He hopped out of the bed, grabbing his pillow and a blanket as he stormed out of the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" Riley shouted.

"To the couch, I don't need this crap."

Max slammed the bedroom door shut once he left. Riley sat there, dumbfounded at what just happened.

"Give the ugly guy a chance they said, it'll be fine they said," she scoffed as she tucked herself into bed.

Now Max found himself laying in a cruddy sofa couch, wallowing in self pity and misery. He kept tossing and turning, but the couch simply could not replace the comfort of a memory foam mattress. Eventually, Max stopped tried to get comfortable and just accepted his fate.

Accepted it.

Just like he did when he missed an important deadline for writing a new song, and instead of doing something about it, he just rolled over and accepted his fate. His band had just started taking off, but were immediately dropped from a record label offer after Max failed to deliver.

"I'm just not feeling inspired right now... Maybe tomorrow I'll write something... I don't wanna force the music..." and other various excuses Max kept making. Eventually his bandmates got fed up with Max and kicked him out of the band.

"Man, this fucking blows." Max muttered to himself.

Max replayed all of his bad memories as he tried going to sleep. This, of course, only made him bitter and more unable to sleep. This continued for a while, until Max eventually closed his eyes and kept them shut in an attempt to fall asleep. He wasn't sure if it was working, as he was still very much awake and aware of his surroundings. What made him unsure if he was falling asleep was a sudden onset of vertigo he felt. He felt himself getting warmer and warmer, but also unable to move to do anything about it. The dizzying sensation ended with a feeling of falling, similar to the feeling one experiences when falling asleep.

It was after this imagined fall that Max was able to move again. Except instead of laying down on a couch, Max found himself standing. With a stream of water hitting him.

Max flailed at the sudden change in surroundings. He also winced from his eyes having to adjust from complete darkness to bright lights.

"Man, what in the hell is happening-" Max stopped midsentence when he heard himself talking in a voice that wasn't his. His Southern accent changed into a New Yorker's accent.

It was then that Max started realizing the full magnitude of the situation he was in. Warm water was still hitting his exposed back. Max was already naked, but the water was new. He was in the shower, and in a bathroom that wasn't his. His focus then shifted to his body.

"Yoo... This ain't right..."

Max slicked back the short, black curls he now possessed in place of his old shoulder length, blond hair. He felt around his new body, and although he was always skinny, the body he found himself in was more toned than flabby and skinny.

"Whew, goddamn..." Max couldn't help but trace along the muscles of his new set of abs. "Maybe I should hit the gym more,"

Max kept admiring his new body for a while longer until his eyes caught a glimpse of the shower supplies in the foreign bathroom. There was the usual shampoo and conditioner, but there was one item that caught Max's attention the most. It was sleek, long, and purple.

"Ayo, what the fuck is this!?" Max cried out as he held the vibrator in his hand. He knew it wasn't just an ordinary vibrator, it was one specifically designed for prostate stimulation. He recognized it from all the times he went to sex toy shops with Riley.

Max wanted to throw the vibrator as hard as he could against the bathroom wall, but something inside of him wouldn't let him. In fact, he started smacking his lips the longer he looked at it. He played with it in his hands, and grew more and more curious as he did so. He hit the power button, and the end of the toy started vibrating. He quickly turned it back off, but then he started slowly guiding the toy to his backside. He opened up legs slightly, and took a deep breath as he felt the vibrator slip right into his ass with ease. Max had never done anything like this before, but his new body was already accustomed to it. He felt a bump on his finger, signaling that he was on the power button. Then, after preparing himself mentally, turned on the vibrator.

"Oh Godddd!!" Max moaned as he felt a wave of pleasure roll throughout his body. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and he wanted more. He pushed into the vibrator so that it went deeper into him. His dick was already hardening, and he was moaning even louder than before.

"Hey!! Is someone in there!?"

A sudden knock on the door caused Max to stop. He stayed still, vibrator still in ass, and stood there.

"I know you're in there, I heard you moaning! Whatever you're doing, hurry up and get out here!!"

The voice on the other side of the door left. It was a man's voice, and it was also unfamiliar to Max.

Max stood in the shower, mad that his jerk off session got cut short. Begrudgingly, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. He found a white T-shirt and a pair of shorts sitting on the bathroom sink, and put them on. Although he couldn't find any underwear, so he ended up having to free ball in cotton basketball shorts.

He went out into what appeared to be an apartment. It was pretty nice, but Max couldn't spend time to admire the view. A TV in the next room was on full blast. He followed the sound into a living room, where there was a guy watching the breaking news report.

"There you are, Mr. Emilio Guardado." The guy turned to face him.

"Huh? And who the hell are you supposed to be? The name's Maxwell, not E-me-leo."

"Was Maxwell, you mean. Take a look at this."

Max took a card the man held out to him. The card was a driver's license for Emilio Guardado, and the ID photo matched the face he had just seen in the mirror. Max wasn't sure how to respond, but what he saw on the TV especially left him shocked.

"I guess, some weird thing just happened? People online are starting to call it the Great Shift, and now everyone's in different bodies because of it? Look, everyone who's watching this, I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be in a retirement home, I don't know what I'm doing here..." The news reporter was extremely panicked, practically breaking down in tears.

The dots were connecting in Max's head. Although being in a new body was definitely worth freaking out over, Max quickly realized that panicking wasn't gonna help him. Instead, he tried focusing his mind. He wanted to see if he could recall any memories from his new body, but all he got were his old memories as Max. It was no use, whatever caused the swap, Max had no recollection of the actual moment when the Great Shift happened.

Switching to Plan B, he began to analyze his new surroundings. He surveyed the new apartment, and soon found a guitar that seemed to be in perfect condition. It was covered in a thin layer of dust, but that didn't stop Max from grabbing it and giving it a strum. What came out was a beautiful melody, something Max didn't expect from himself. It must've been another perk that came with the new body.

"Making the most of the situation, huh, I can dig it," the guy said as he turned down the TV.

And from that point on, Max kept on living his new life as Emilio Guardado. He kept practicing the guitar, and he was getting better everyday with the instrument.

Max was only a songwriter in his former life, but with his natural talent at songwriting coupled with Emilio's guitar playing, Max quickly settled into his new life. The deep funk Max was in had dissipated, and his old charismatic personality had returned. It was that same charm that had attracted Riley in the first place. Although he did occasionally wonder what happened to Riley and his old body, he never bothered actually trying to find out. He was too focused on building up his new life as Emilio.

Emilio had already built up a name for himself playing at the local spots around the block during open mic night. Sure, Emilio's good looks and amazing guitar playing had a key role in gaining attention, but it was Max's songwriting and charming personality that tied the whole package together. With good luck on his side, The Great Shift had allowed Max to take the good parts of his old life and combine them with Emilio's body for an all new life.

Now it was time for Emilio's first gig at one of NYC's most popular gay clubs. Max hadn't prepared for the sudden change in sexual preference, but so long as he was the bottom, he was happy. And with a rising musician like Emilio, who wouldn't take a shot at him.