#maybe some of you europeans are awake

[morgue-friends]

"A Maiden's Token" | Count Orlok x Female! Reader

Warnings: dub-con, count orlok is his own warning, blood kink, penis in vagina sex, sexual tension, creampie, oral (f receiving), death is mentioned, no aftercare, reader probably has stock-holm syndrome.

Fourteen days, that's how long you've been here. That's how long you've been left on your own every daybreak and then expected to entertain death itself every evening. As the sunset on the snowy horizon, you made your way back into the castle, dragging your tattered dress by what remained left of it through the snow. Upon entry, you were shocked to see that the fireplace was still lit. Occasionally, it would flicker out during sunset as if the castle consciously knew a force of darkness would be awakening.

With a sigh, you lifted your dress and dropped down by the fireplace suddenly out of breath. Maybe it was the consistent blood loss or the freezing temperatures of the European mountains that you were succumbing to. As far as you knew, he hadn't given you any reason to believe that you'd have an extended stay at the castle. At the end of the day, your chances of reaching the next morning relied solely on the temperament of a man. Your mother had taught you well enough about men to know that when they get bored, they tend to move on.

You felt the presence of tears threatening to depart from your eyes as you thought of your poor mother. She must be so worried and heartbroken. Ever since the two of you arrived in Europe after leaving America, her overprotectiveness of you has grown enormously. When you told her of a Count from a neighboring country requesting your services for painting a self-portrait of him within his own castle, she warned you against going and you decided to shelve away her concerns as mere fairytales. You gripped the silver locket necklace hanging around your neck for security and sighed. Your mother had gifted you this locket on your most recent birthday, and holding it helped you think of all your fondest memories with her.

Now, here you sit, sleep deprived and undernourished. He left you only bread, some grapes, wine, and a bucket of water. You were thankful for the water as you refused to be inebriated in your current situation. It was almost shocking to see he had the decency to have the water refilled each day, but you knew it was only because he'd hate to let his food source run dry.

Suddenly, you were startled when you heard the pouring of wine into a goblet behind you. You hadn't even heard him ascend up the stairs of the castle, and yet there he was in his full glory at the head of the dining table. Now, whether he did ascend the stairs and walk right past you or he simply just appeared at the table was something only god himself would know.

"You have been crying." The Count's thick accent hung heavy in the air, his voice sending a rippling wave of goosebumps over your skin. The tone of his voice was accusatory and not at all sympathetic. Even with English clearly not being his first language, you could hear his overwhelming disappointment. Over the two weeks he's kept you here his English had somewhat improved either by hearing you speak it whether you were asking to excuse yourself to find somewhere to use the bathroom in the empty bucket he gave you. Or from your begging and pleading for him to just let you go home.

Your cold hands desperately wiped the tears from your eyes, and you stood to your feet. He watched you approach the elegant dining table, and you took your seat as far as you could away from him. It was painfully obvious that this night would go just about the same as every other night. You two would intensely stare at eachother while you'd ate your bread for dinner, he'd make you get up and walk to the guest bedroom where he'd make you strip naked and feed from you and then you'd pass out from the pain and awake in the morning to the Count missing and nowhere to be found.

It wasn't even like he needed to feed from you. From your understanding, as he explained it, he'd go into the nearby village and 'have his fill' after he had siphoned a small amount from you. It made you feel like some kind of appetizer or twisted desert for him to be keeping you alive this long. Even with his figure shrouded in darkness, you could still tell by his posture that he was growing impatient with waiting for you to finish your 'dinner'. It was almost like the flickering flame of every candle avoided his very figure as if the fire itself was scared of this entity.

When you finally finished, you stood up from the table and waited till he rose from his seat before you allowed him to lead you to the guest room. You had gotten so used to his grotesque heavy breathing that when he suddenly stopped, the silence was deafening.

"You are crying again." At least when he said it this time, he sounded somewhat amused. It was like he knew that you've accepted your fate and that there wasn't anything you or god could do about it. The door to the guest room opened slowly without him having to touch the handle, and you stepped inside, fingers already loosening the ties of your corseted dress. "Forgive my tears, my Lord." You cringed at the title you gave him. Of course, an entity this dark would be so egotistical to have you address him as a Lordship. You had wondered if this kind of evil was something that would come from inside someone or from the beyond.

"Why would I need to forgive such fragility? You are a human girl. It is in your nature to be weak and fragile." A vein could have popped in your forehead, and you wouldn't have even known it. His words made you seethe and boil with anger, you had to bite your tongue so hard not to say anything that would get him to eviscerate you on the spot.

"Ah, there she is, my cochetă, my minx, be angry so that all your blood may flow freely." Your body winced at the nickname he gave you. He had called you it frequently rather than your real name. Even when you had unknowingly signed away yourself to him in a contract, he addressed you only by 'cochetă' which he explained was romanian for Minx since you weren't at all fluent with the language yet. You dropped your dress and undergarments off in a chair away from that bed so that you may spare it from any more trauma. After taking your seat on the bed, you draped the blood-stained blanket over your shoulders in an attempt at making you feel like you haven't soiled your modesty.

"I have seen all you have to offer. You will not hide from my eyes." With in an instant, you removed the blanket, not from your own will but because he compelled you to do so. Another tear fell down the side of your face, and this one he wiped away with the side of one of his long pointed nails. Your head fell back onto the mattress, and the Count leaned over you and dropped his face to below your exposed left breast. His breath against your skin felt like ice, and you shut your eyes in order to brace for the pain that never came.

Instead of the feeling of two fanged teeth penetrating your heart, you felt the knuckle of one of his fingers brush against your clit and your back arched. Your eyes widened, and you sat up to meet his stare. There he stood, completely unafflicted by your reaction. In fact, it was almost as if you were the one who did something wrong. Impulsively, a heat pooled in your lower abdomen, it's warmth radiating down your legs. You squeezed your eyes shut in hopes to catch your breath and calm yourself down. What he did to you was only causing a natural response from your body, and you had no control over such responses.

Nonetheless, you still felt the urge to mentally shame yourself for being a such sinful whore who's body responds like that to the touch of something - someone so heinous. It was almost as if the devil himself had cursed you with such blasphemy with the way your nipples hardened to a peak and your thighs squeezed together, trying to prevent you losing yourself to sin any further.

You didn't even open your eyes back up when you felt his cold hand grab a hold of one of your thighs, you were then pulled further down the mattress closer to the edge of the bed and to him. A hand that was so cold that it felt like it was devoid of any life and any warmth worked it way up your chest and grabbed one of your breasts. You bit your lip to hold back a gasp when the peak of your nipple was rubbed back and forth by his thumb. It wasn't until you felt the contact of his mouth around one of your nipples that your eyes shot wide open.

You looked down to see that he had your left breast peaked in his mouth while he suckled on your nipple. Your body betrayed you once again, and that heat you were feeling at your core seemed to grow much hotter. A swipe of his cold tongue against your nipple made you look down again, and you got a good look at the head of the man doing this to you. He had since discarded his hat in the dining room, and now you have a much closer look at the spirit you were dealing with. The back of his head was rotten and decayed even under the several thin tufts of brown hair on his head. It felt like you were looking at a corpse of a man that should have been locked far away in a coffin in the depths of hell.

You weren't even paying attention when a hand parted your thighs and brought attention back to your clit, he pulled back the hood and started rubbing slow deliberate circles around it, being mindful of his claws. He switched to your right breast, and at this point, there was no use controlling your gasps and whimpers anymore. He was so gentle with you. Maybe this was foreshadowing that tonight would be the night he'd finally get rid of you, and this was just him rubbing salt in the wounds and making the evening last as long as possible. He'd never touched your nether regions before, but when he fed from the blood of your heart, he'd often rub his hands around your waist as if he was mockingly consoling you the way a lover would.

The hairs of his thick mustache tickled your nipple and you weren't ready for when he dragged downward a long lick from your breast, to over your stomach and then finally stopping at the mound between your legs. You exhaled deeply when he resumed and dragged his blackened tongue down your slit, getting a taste of your wetness in his mouth. This wasn't something you should be enjoying, just the symphony of approving noises that left your lips made you feel appalled with yourself. It wasn't until you felt his lips lock around your clit that you became heavy lidded and utterly defeated.

You settled with the idea that he's being so cautious with you because he's going to make you reap what you sowed when it was time for him to experience his own pleasure. And regardless of how good he made you feel in this very moment, you still hated him. He tricked and imprisoned you in this hellish imitation of a castle. He left you alone and unattended during the day, allowing a pack of wolves to ensure you never take your leave. It was because of him that your mother was a several weeks journey away, worried sick about you, and you weren't even sure if you'd ever see her again.

You were on the verge of crying again until he rose to his feet, his figure demanding your full attention. His clawed hands fiddled with the buttons of his trousers, and your breath hitched. The hefty fur cape he wore would frequently would drape over his frame and seculde him in almost total darkness. You never knew what his daily wear looked like since he seemed content in hiding in the shadows of your vision only to reveal slightly more of himself to you when he fed from your body. What came to your vision when he glanced back at you was the erect bulbous head of his cock. It was engorged and jutted upward toward the ceiling as if it demanded your gaze on it.

He crept closer to you, staring intensely as if trying to gauge your state of mind, trying to see whether you were going to fight or flee. Instead, you just allowed your head to fall back onto the mattress. It was pointless to do either of those, and deep down in the darker realms of your subconscious, this behavior from him was welcomed. When the head of his thick member prodded at your entrance, your breath hitched, and you closed your eyes tightly.

Instead of thrusting inside, he thrusted his shaft upward, dragging it along your slit to coat himself in your wetness. When the shaft slid up against your clit you couldn't help but mewl out, still feeling that knot in your lower belly that was just waiting to be undone. When he finally seized the moment to thrust inside you, your eyes shot open, burning and stinging with tears. The Count let out what sounded like an inhuman hiss as his length seeped into your heat, inch by inch. The stretch was almost unbearable. It felt like you were being split right down the middle into two halves of yourself, and you weren't sure what half you pitied more. Your mouth opened to make a noise, but nothing came out. Such an intrusion of this nature left your throat speechless and strained. He pulled his hips back, and a clawed hand shot up to your face and held you in place upon his re-entry.

Those pointed nails of his were so sharp it felt like you had needles digging into your skin. Beads of red came into your vision dripping down your face from how much pressure those thick claws of his put into your flesh. When you tried to snatch your face away from his hand, he only pulled out and thrust into you more harshly. The squelching noise your cunt made around his length felt nothing short of sinful. To your disbelief, you learned he still had more of his shaft left to give you when he pushed himself further inward to the hilt. The thick head of his cock struck your cervix like hammer and a painful cramping sensation followed behind it. He hummed a noise of satisfaction as if he was he was impressed you were able to take all of him to the hilt.

Your breasts bounced on your chest when he roughly pulled out entirely only to shove himself back in. You gave a whine in response, and it was only then that he had seemingly guaged a fine line of pleasure and pain for you. Adjusting himself, he started up a pace of feverent rutting that made your legs tremble pitifully around his waist. The pressure of his hand on your face left when he leaned over to get a taste of the clotted blood that dotted across your forehead. His body was so much larger than your own that he had to contort himself over you to be able to taste the crimson he created and be able to continue his rutting.

The frequent movement of your body from the impact of his hips against yours was beginning to loosen that knot you felt in your belly. Your moans grew louder, and so did the beating of your heart against your rib cage. Inducing this creature to feed from you because your heart enticed him was the last thing you needed right now. The pace of his thrusts harshened, and so did the primal look he had in his eyes. Having him over you and staring at you like this, as if he were a lion and you were a weak gazelle soon to be eaten. For such an entity of darkness, he had such expressive eyes, sometimes they were so black you could see your reflection. Sometimes, they were so white and cloudy, you'd wonder where he had come from, heaven, hell, or neither.

"Please..." You weren't quite sure what you were begging for, but in your heart, it felt like it was for release. Release from the built-up pressure in your belly, release from the castle, or even release from life itself. Your hand reached up, and you cupped the flesh of his face. His skin was so cold, so rotten, and yet there was a feeling of life as if there was perhaps a soul present, but you knew better. There wasn't any life within him, as he was death itself. There was no soul within him, as he claimed the souls of others.

The closer his body, his cock, brought you to this peak of of pleasure that you pleaded for, the wider the smile grew on your face. A smile that didn't go unnoticed as his lips claimed the skin of your neck in what felt like possessive kisses. Perhaps this union of flesh solidified the extent of your stay at the castle through your own submission and your yield to the power he had over you. Those kisses trailed up to your own lips, and you tasted death from his mouth to yours. You tasted your own blood from him, and you tasted his hatred and his darkness, and yet you no longer had fear for it. With a painful clench of your walls, you came undone, your release washing over you in thick waves.

The spasming, clenching, and squeezing of your canal made the already deep and ragged breaths he took erratic, as did his rutting a few quick snaps of his hips and you felt a spurt of cold fluid inside you. The chill of it rose up your spine as it felt as if death itself had released into you. A deep animalistic growl vibrated off of the stone walls around you and bounced around in your skull. When he removed himself from you, you felt the remainder of his spent coat your inner thighs.

You looked away as you sat up on your own elbows, trying to balance yourself, and when you looked up, expecting to meet the eyes of a starving beast, you were met with an empty room. He had left you, spared you even. You couldn't imagine the type of carnage and havoc he'd wreak upon those villagers tonight. Reaching up to clutch your necklace for security and your hands found nothing but skin. He was gone and had taken your necklace with him. He took it as if you had bestowed upon him the honor of having a maiden's token.

[avaf00rd]

Little Shits 4

Arsenal wfc x teen!reader

Auswnt x Teen!reader

summary: you cherish some special and cheeky moments with you club team during your birthday week, and the end of Camp with you national team.

warnings: none, maybe that its edited shit - someone teach me to feel confident with my writing again so i can actually write something good

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

“You can’t make up your mind, mind, mind, mind, mind!” You and Alanna screeched into the microphones on the team bus back from Marvel stadium.

“Make it stop!” Kyra screamed over the extremely loud music, covering her ears, causing other girls to laugh and yell in agreement

“Shawty is a eenie meenie miney mo lover!” You sung into Caitlin’s face in her seat, she recorded you as she laughed, you would later find that video on her insta story.

Alanna threw you over her shoulder as you walked back to your bus seats once you were both finished your karaoke song. Voices gone.

You and your national team had just won against Uzbekistan with a wicked 10-0 and were officially going to Paris. Something you had been losing sleep on for weeks.

“You have ruined Justin Bieber for me you two!” Mimi yelled over the rows

“Oh get over it!” You yelled back laughing

You had some of the sprite bottle that was in your backpack to cool down after the performance before Alanna laid on your shoulder from next to you. “Tell me I’m dreaming and we don’t have to get on a 3am flight”

You pinched her

“Ow don’t pinch me” she exclaimed as she rubbed the now red skin

“Dreaming?” You laughed “we are going to be awake the whole night before that it’s fine”

“I’m already tired” she said before muzzling herself back into your shoulder.

“You’re boring” you said already bored at her energy level, getting up out of your seat while the rest of the bus was still singing and going nuts in excitement.

When the bus reached the Hotel you all took the lift to your respected rooms. You all had roommates this camp, and you were with Caitlin as she would usually room with Sam.

When you reached your room you both plopped onto your bed's before you reached over to the phone next to you as Caitlin got up to use the bathroom.

“Room service?” You asked as she had left the room to shower, before she quickly popped around the corner again and pursed her lips at you grinning. Implying a cheeky ‘yes’.

You dialed in the number as the phone rang to the kitchen and greeeting the staff on the line. “Yes just two of your cheese burgers, two fries, one side salad, two chicken nugget meals please and your umm…chocolate Sundae as well as your strawberry one” you said, ordering a lot for you and the hungry brunette

Caitlin came into the bedroom once again, giggling at your requests on the phone.

“20 minutes is fine. Thank you!” Before hanging up the phone and putting it back on the bedside table.

“I’m not gonna have any room for my airplane food!” Caitlin said

“I don’t understand how you like that stuff”

“Airplane food is great” she shrugged

You both had 1 hour before you had to leave for the airport. It wasn’t long at all, considering you both had stuff scattered around the apartment. Caitlin’s face cringed in confusion at your choices but left it before she got on the phone with her girlfriend and your Arsenal Teammates Katie.

—————————

“No fucking about alright? Everyone is tired” Mackenzie warns you and Kyra as you are lined up for boarding, large carry ons in hand and an all too eager duo consisting of you and your best friend.

“Hm” Kyra shrugs at the tall brunette

“We won’t, I’m tired too you’ll be fine” you reassured Mackenzie

As you slowly made your way down the boarding bridge you yawned more than twice on your way you were sure. Greeting the flight attendants you and Kyra made it to your respected seats.

You had fallen asleep after an hour, which is what you were specifically not meant to do due to all of the London Aussies trying to align themselves back with European time. But you slept for five hours and now you were up. Bored as nothing else as basically the rest of the plane slept.

Peeking over the small separator of a wall between you and Kyra, you found her dead asleep. Mouth hung open like drool was about to drip out any moment. You sent a photo of the girl in her state to your Matilda’s group chat, attaching ‘I hope all you who didn’t have to leave at 3 are having fun🥰’.

Quickly deciding to get up and go to the bathroom, you found Mini waiting at the bathroom door for someone to come out so she could go. She found you walking down the aisle and smiled at you before opening her arms slowly to hug you.

You lazily accepted her arms and slumped into her embrace. “I fell asleep just before” you said leaning into her side, keeping your feet grounded as the plane slightly felt wobbly.

“Naughty” Mini chuckled

When the older woman came out of the bathroom, Mini offered for you to go first but you insisted she go. Then noticing a very tired toddler in her seat a few rows down from the bathroom as you waited, Harper yawned bringing her smaller arms up to stretch which made your heart melt. Her tired and slow eyes found yours as she smiled before opening her arms for a hug.

Even though you were quite a fair bit away for her, you made your way back down the aisle to sit next to her in her overly large seat. She crawled into your lap, resting her body there. You, Carefully stroking her arm and looking around the plane at some of the girls asleep, you had completely forgotten about needing to use the toilet before Mini came down the aisle once again.

———————————————

“And to all those returning home, welcome home” the captain said sweetly over the overhead speakers, Kyra rolling her eyes. You had slung your carry on over your shoulder and prepared to get straight out of your seat once Kyra had gotten her over-head carry on out.

“Hello London” you said once you finally made it to baggage claim and stopped to stand and stretch for a moment, before resting on your suitcase waiting for the other girls to grab their’s. Katie would be picking both you and Caitlin up and would drop you home. Teyah picking Kyra up.

“Oh my gosh can I please get a photo y/n!” You heard an excited voice behind you. Your tired expression immediately vanished as you turned around on your heel to meet with the voice.

A girl and a boy that looked about 10 years old stood there cutely with their phones out asking for a photo. “Me?” You asked smiling

“Yes! Only if that’s okay” the short boy said

“Of course” you smiled before putting your handbag on top of your suitcase so you could take the photo.

“We are Australian too! We are on holidays” the girl explained once you handed her phone back to her after you all took the photo

“Oh I thought I heard some Australian accents” you laughed “what do you think of London?”

“It’s very cold” the girl said

“Yeah” they both laughed

“Oh I agree. Bit different from Australia. What are your names?” You asked them

“I am Emma”

“And I’m Luke I play soccer like you!” The small boy said after his sister

“That’s awesome wow!” You said excitedly.

“Hey y/l/n, Katie’s here” Caitlin said from behind you. Not seeing the two young fans that you were talking to just yet.

“Caitlin Foord!” The little girl said excitedly before they both ran off to her. The small boy waving to you as he ran.

You looked a little to the left to find the Irish girl standing there smiling at the interaction, you walked towards her before she started to do the same to you when she noticed you. You hugged, a hug that felt long because it felt soothing to be in her arms like always. Every time Katie hugged someone, it was liked she always framed them in her arms perfectly.

“How you going tiny?” She asked looking down at you with that wide and comforting smile.

“Good”

“Good” Katie mimicked you

“Very tired but I’m happy” you shrugged before pulling her back in. Before feeling a slight tug at the hood of your jumper. Caitlin pulling you away from Katie, so she could greet her. You grabbed your suitcase quickly while they kissed and did whatever else you chose not to look at for too long.

“Let’s go” Katie said grabbing your suitcase off of you so she could hold it before you all walked to her car and out of the airport.

————————————————————————

“Vivvy I don’t need your help” you groaned as Viv came over to where you sat at the dining table, attempting to help you with your homework for the 10th time tonight.

“We aren’t starting this movie until it’s done and unless you want to be hated from us collectively I suggest you pick up that pen” Viv stated trying to keep her words firm and clear.

“Kyra I’ll have one” you pointed to Kyra who was at the fridge getting herself a coke. Completely ignoring Viv who attempted to help you hurry up.

“I give up we are starting the movie” Viv said before walking back to the living room where most of the girls were already.

It was a team bonding night with some of the girls who lived super close to you, Kyra and Alessia’s building. Everyone forced the idea on you that you would host. As no one else was bothered to host and cook for everyone.

You were quite a good cook as the 16 year old yourself. So you gave in, but had deadlines for your online school due tomorrow that you were nowhere near done. The girls found out about your deadlines and made sure you finished them.

“I’ll just ask for an extension” you shrugged getting up and heading to your kitchen to grab the coke off the island that Kyra left for you.

“You can’t just ask for an extension every time” Caitlin, your Australian teammate, said from her position leaning against your kitchen counter, digging her grimey fingers into the leftover salad on the counter.

“out” you flicked her fingers out from the bowl and pulled her arm with you into the living room. “Yeah well I don’t know my teachers so I don’t care” you shrugged before you both sat down on the couch. Caitlin having to take the floor, sitting in between her girlfriend’s legs, due to there being no more space left in the couch nor the beanbags.

“Excited to be 17 tiny?” Laura said from her position on the couch next to you

“Very” you smiled sweetly. It was your birthday in two days.

“That reminds me. Game day in two days, so we can’t watch this full movie” Kim said from the other end of your couch

“Oh come on” Leah groaned like a child to her club Captain

The movie had been playing for around 45 minutes now. When Kyra’s intrusive ideas quickly sprung up and she was sharing them with you. “If we snuck out no one would notice” she whispered

You quietly chuckled at the comment that came completely out of no where, before some of the girls turned to look at you, as the movie scene playing was definitely not that funny.

“Mate how are you gonna do that”

“Your gonna do it with me” Kyra said, you laughed quietly dropping your head and shaking it.

“Yeah and where the hell are we gonna go”

“We can literally just go to my apartment or the lobby. Just to see how long they notice, or how long it takes for them to finally find us” she said finally now leaning back into the couch to act casual, but waiting for your response. Instead you headed to the kitchen

“I’m grabbing water” you said as the rest of the girls eye’s stayed on the screen, Kyra’s following you before quickly getting up and following you when you motioned her to do so.

“I’m in, come on” you whispered before grabbing your key and heading for your front door, which was luckily behind the couch where the rest of your friends lay.

“Should we take our phones?” Kyra asked looking back before she shut the door behind her.

“Nah” you shrugged before Kyra finally shut it, very, very gently.

Bad idea.

————————————

Vic’s Pov

I got up to use the toilet, softly apologise to girls as I stepped over their legs that sprawled out over the carpet before I made my way to the bathroom. I knocked, remembering that Kyra had gone in not too long ago.

“Kyra?” I questioned softly after hearing not response, knocking again. “Kyraaa” I dragged out as I very very gently opened the door slightly to see if she was even in there. When my head finally poked through, I saw no one there. Walking in to double check, there was no one.

“Guys where is Kyra?” I yelled from the bathroom not too loudly. There was silence for a moment as none of the girls bothered to respond to me.

“Where’s y/n?” Katie yelled back, making me exit the bathroom and go out to see the rest of them. “Y/n” Katie slightly yelled across your small apartment. Going to check your bedroom and guest bedroom. “Did you say Kyra was gone too?” Katie asked me as she walked to the rooms, the movie now paused.

“Yeah she’s not in the bathroom like I thought she was” I said before following Katie, me laughing slightly once we checked both rooms only to find them not anywhere.

“Fuck me” Kim said under her breath, now getting up front the couch, Teyah also getting up along with Lia. Viv and Leah asleep on the couch.

Kim went to the kitchen to grab her phone so she could call y/n and Kyra. “Kim” Katie said motioning for her to look at herself, holding up both there phones as she walked out of the room. Signalling they left them.

“Why do they do this” Caitlin said as she went to your front door to look out into the hallway, before completely disappeared down it to look for both of you.

end of pov

———————

“You dumb kid why did you say no when I asked about taking phones?” Kyra groaned as you both sat up against the wall, the outside of your apartment building. You and Kyra had ventured down to the lobby, only to think that it was too obvious, so you walked outside into the dark and sat outside the building. Dangerous. Yep.

“Oi Don’t call me that. Why did you ask me then?” I rushed

“This is boring come on” Kyra said before getting up and reaching her arms out, offering for you to latch on so she could help you up. Kyra dragged you back through your libby and then out a door. Leading to the car park.

“It’s so scary down here no” you said standing in the emergency doorway that you had both snuck into. It was 11pm, pitch black, and Kyra was making her way over to the box trolleys. The trolleys that the residents used to take up large items.

“Push me” Kyra said sitting down in the middle of the trolley, putting her hands in her lap, and crossing her legs.

“No” you hummed

“Yes”

“No”

“Yes”

“Only if you push me after” you gave in. It sounded fun.

“Don’t push me into a car” Kyra laughed as you started to walk with the trolley “faster cmon”

After spinning the trolley around for no more than two minutes filled with laughter and Kyra screaming as the trolley headed for the cement wall. "Okay off, my turn please" you said tugging on Kyra's sleeve before you helped her out of the trolley. As you went to hop in, you both heard the squeaky but heavy door leading to the car park swing open from he other side of the lot. Thinking someone was here to kill you both, you shared a paranoid look before instantly moving behind the red car you were both near, you peaked through the car's back window to see if you could see the figures that had entered, you heard the voice of a female before your eyes landed on Katie, Kim and Teyah.

"Is it a man?" Kyra asked, not looking, her back against the car.

"what? oh, no, worse. Kim Little"

Kyra just looked up at you and smirked before pulling you away, further into the dark parking spaces filled with cars. "Oi!" a strong Irish accent was heard, you looked back as you and Kyra ran through the large car park, locking eyes with a stern Kim Little. "Get back here!" Katie yelled again, a slight goofiness in her voice.

Kyra pulled you behind a car as you noticed Teyah and Katie running up to follow you, you and Kyra ducking out again and running behind another car. "Stop" Teyah breathed out as she ran after you two again. You turned back around only to realise you were running straight towards your captain Kim.

"Ah shit" you chuckled as your jogging came to a stop "hey it was funny-"

"we didn't know where you were, everyone was looking for you two!" Kim exclaimed

"Why" you asked smiling and still breathing heavily, recovering form your chase. Hearing the squeals and laughs from afar, Katie and Teyah were still taking off towards Kyra as they basically played tiggy.

"cause we all care about you. And it worried me that you and Kyra just left"

"Kyra's 22!" you said throwing your arms up

"Is she" Kim said, motioning towards Teyah and Katie tackling Kyra into the cement ground while she broke out into a giggling fit. "besides you're 16!"

"and you're over reacting" you breathed out before grabbing your jumper off the ground near the door and making your way to the exit. Getting in the elevator by yourself, pressing the button with the number 16 on it, heading to your apartment again. Though the lift stopped at ground level, above the car park, someone also trying to get the lift up.

Once the elevator doors opened, a blonde girl with a messy bun and her head in her phone was walking in. Not seeing you yet. "Shit"

Leah looked up from her phone at you. "There you are" Leah said, hitting the back of your head before rubbing your hair aggressively.

"Ow" You groaned, rubbing your head.

"I was looking outside for you, where's Kyra?" Leah said as the lift dinged and you both walked up the hall.

"Kyra's with Kim, Katie and um Teyah" you said, now unlocking your apartment door.

"Where on earth did you go" Leah asked now

"first outside, then the car park" you grinned

"look who it is!" Viv said as you both walked in, from her spot on the couch next to Beth, Laura and Alessia.

"Where is the rest of yous'?" Beth asked you simply shrugged, not bothering to answer, before collapsing into Laura's lap on the couch.

"You're kinda sweaty" Laura said from above your head.

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

Your birthday happened to land on a Thursday, which was your day off. Which meant your birthday would be spent not in the gym, and relaxing, just how you preferred. You sat up in your own bed, in your own apartment face timing your whole family on your computer. Once that ended, you stayed in bed, smiling and your heart warming at the Instagram posts your friend's back in Australia had created for your day, and the one's from your teammates also.

After a slow 30 minutes, you finally left the comfort of your blankets and got into the shower to freshen up for the day. You would be meeting the 'London Aussies' for breakfast this morning. Which included you, Caitlin, Steph, Macca, Sam, Kyra and as of late, Mini and Charli. It meant a lot to you that they took the morning's out of their day off to spend it with you on your birthday. Something you weren't sure would've even been thought about when you nervously moved across the world.

Steph offered to pick you up. So after applying some light makeup to match your usually-bronzed Australian self, changing into a warm outfit consisting of Jeans and a crew neck, Steph had texted you that she was now out the front of your apartment complex.

A wide grin was plastered on both your faces as the glass door outside your lobby opened, Steph leaning against her car waiting for you, large bouquet of yellow flowers in her hand. "Happy birthday Dancing queen!" she exclaimed before engulfing you in a tight hug, slightly lifting your feet off the ground in the warm gesture, you giggled at the comment before she let go of you.

She handed the flowers to you, "for me?" you asked in awe of them as she smiled.

"Of course" Steph said warmly

"Thank you it means a lot to me" you said hugging her again.

"Okay let's go i'm starving" She said before skipping off to the other side of the car to drive. You chuckled as you got into the car

"Where are we even going" you asked on the road, curious as to where you and your Aussie teammates would be eating

"I forget what it is called but I have taken you here before, you loved it" Steph said. Moments later, the car pulled into the parking lot, you remembering the cafe now. You saw Kyra getting out of the car with Charli, from your window.

Meeting up with all your Australian teammates from all around London once again made you happy, almost was the highlight of your day. During the breakfast, you got photos together at the table, some of the girl's mentioning that they would post them on their stories later for Instagram. You spoke about the Olympics, Sam's recovery and wedding plan's, along with plan's of Steph's big day also.

"You're gonna love the present from me and Katie" Caitlin grinned, nudging your shoulder, You let out a quiet but excited squeal.

"What are your plan's for the rest of your day y/n?" Sam asked you before sipping her iced coffee.

"I have been invited over to Beth and Viv's place for dinner tonight. So just chilling at my place then I will head over for that" You said to the girls, them all nodding.

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

Your birthday breakfast was over and Steph had dropped you back home, after taking you to the super market. To buy you whatever Sweets or snacks you wanted for your own apartment. You heard a knock at your door so you walked over to it and peeped through the door. Only to be met with a man in a fluro green vest and black hoodie.

"Y/n y/n/n?" the man asked. You hesitated at first, the multiple worried chats from Leah pondering into your mind about not talking to people who just show up at your apartment. That was before you looked down at the large box with pink wrapping paper and yellow ribbon, the object softening your initial expression. You quickly nodded at the man, before singing on a line from the form he put in front of you.

"Thank you" You smiled before he headed off, leaving the pink box at your door. You went to pick it up, it was heavier than you expected, but you brought it inside and placed it on your dining room table. You unwrapped the gift and saw the card from Katie and Caitlin. Their sweet words about how they were proud of your journey and their love for you had you smiling to yourself. You had received multiple gifts, most of them at training yesterday though, they all made you extremely grateful for the teammates you could call home now. The gift from Katie and Caitlin was a light pink Smeg mixer for baking may not seem to exciting, but baking and cooking for the people closest to you was your love language at this point.

Your teammates had become used to you hosting dinners, with your cooking skills. Also getting used to and comfortable with you regularly bringing them baked treats you had made. Some of them like Katie, Leah and Kyra had become quite demanding that you visit them with treats now.

On the cardboard box the mixer, Katie had written largely in thick-red sharpie 'I expect a shit ton of cookies now', her writing taking up the whole left side of the box. You laughed to yourself at her antics before opening up the box and taking a look at your present.

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

You and Viv got out of her car, where she had parked it outside her and Beth's flat. You were here to spend your birthday dinner with them. "Ready?" Viv asked before she opened the door.

"Uh yeah why" you questioned. Quickly before the door swung open and lights were turned on

"Surprise!" yelled a group, you shooting your head up.

You were met with the beaming faces of your whole family. Including your parents, older siblings, grandparents and closest cousins. Your jaw hung low really fast in shock. Your Australian family was all her in front of you. "What are you-" you yelled in excitement before running into your mother's arms. You greeted your whole family eagerly before hugging Beth who watched you interact with a proud smile.

"who did this?" you asked looking up at her, Beth still holding you

"i may have organised it. But you can thank your siblings" she grinned at you before you hugged her tighter.

You spent the rest of the evening eating pizza and talking with your family. You ended up having to get takeaway as Viv bought the wrong meat from the butcher to make for dinner. Forever grateful for your biggest supporters in your life and your Arsenal and Aussie teammates.

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

Not my best fic at all so i apologise. And i'm so sorry it took so long. Uni is kicking me in my ass daily so it's hard to edit a such.

xxx

[defectivevillain]

those who fall

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “What’s your name?” You ask your companion. “Hannibal,” he responds. The man doesn’t look the slightest bit malnourished, despite your predicament. Either he’s new here, or he’s been able to keep his hunger satiated. “Hannibal,” you repeat, taking note of his vaguely European accent. “That’s a strange name.” Hannibal just blinks. The man looks almost expressionless, but you can see a hint of irritation at the edges of his faux smile.

word count: 3k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical blood and violence, death, suicide, cannibalism, gore, suicidal ideation/self-harm. Emphasis on the cannibalism — both willing and non-consensual cannibalism. Mentions of throwing up/vomiting.

author's notes: Happy spooky pride! (I'm being told it's also called Halloween...? Weird.) Here’s a really fucked up fic. :3

If y’all haven’t watched The Platform, here’s the trailer, which should explain things. I’ve also attempted to write an explanation, but it’s long and bad. Here it is anyways, in case you don’t want to watch the trailer:

There is a vertical prison system that stretches more than 300 levels down. Each floor houses two people, and there’s a large hole in the middle to accommodate a table. Each day, a single table starts at Floor 0 and makes a stop at each floor. The table is loaded with a ton of dishes for a large and extravagant meal. Floor 1 gets the table for a short time before it drops to Floor 2. So on and so forth. People aren’t allowed to take things from the table to save for later, so it’s a scramble to eat enough to keep them nourished until the next day. They’re all eating from the same table, so as the floors get lower, there’s less and less food left. Inhabitants stay on their floor for one month, before they’re exposed to gas and moved to a different floor for another month. Basically, the lower the floor, the less likely you’ll be to get any food. In theory, if each person ate only their own ration, the food might last. But some people are greedy, wasteful, etc... A floor below 100 is virtually a death sentence, because that means 200 people pick at the food before you get to.

heed the warnings listed above before reading!

You wake up, blinking away the traces of a gas-induced sleep. It’s the beginning of the month, which means you’ve been transported to another floor in the facility. Groaning, you blink blearily, only to find someone staring down at you. You flinch and get up, hoping he’ll move away. But he continues looming over you, looking at you with a scrutinizing gaze. 

“You must be my new roommate,” he says emotionlessly. 

“How’d you wake up so fast?” You respond, squinting at the daylight seeping through the room. Typically, the gas is strong enough to leave you knocked out for at least twelve hours. But this man is already awake, and there’s no telling how long he’s been standing before you, watching you. The thought unnerves you. 

He just shrugs in lieu of a response to your question. You take a deep breath and turn towards the far wall, dread coiling in your chest as your eyes find the number of the floor you’re on: 139. Fuck. You’ve never been this low before. You had the 76th floor last month and the 23rd the month before that, then 87, 6, and 53. You had no idea the floors went down past 100; all you knew was that you’d be getting a new roommate this month, in light of your past roommate’s death. 

Floor 139 is practically a death sentence. You’d normally be able to fast thirty days, but you spent all of last month fasting at Floor 76. (You didn’t have much of a choice, as the food never made it down to you in the first place.) You push yourself to your feet and walk near the center of the space, glancing down only to find more floors stretching down as far as the eye can see. There are dozens—maybe hundreds—of people beneath you. You want to throw up. 

“You look frightened,” your new roommate remarks, breaking you out of your spiraling thoughts. You glance at him, unable to hide your irritation. 

“Of course I am,” you snap, beginning to pace around the edge of the hole in the floor. “The food will never make it down this far.” 

“How do you know?” He hums. There’s a knowing smile on his face, as if he wants you to concede and utter the words aloud. 

“The food didn’t even make it down to level 87,” you recall, shaking your head as you try to fight off memories of an aching stomach and a debilitating weakness anchoring you to your bed. “And we’re fifty-two levels beneath that.” 

Silence. You swallow hard and try to maintain your composure. Panicking won’t do you any good.  And you definitely don’t trust this stranger enough to show him any sort of emotional vulnerability. You bite the inside of your cheek and think for several minutes. “What’s your name?” You later ask your companion. 

“Hannibal,” he responds. He takes another step backwards and light falls on his face, revealing a chiseled facial structure, brown-grey hair, and glimmering brown eyes. The man doesn’t look the slightest bit malnourished, despite your predicament. Either he’s new here, or he’s been able to keep his hunger satiated. 

“Hannibal,” you repeat, taking note of his vaguely European accent. “That’s a strange name.” Hannibal just blinks. The man looks almost expressionless, but you can see a hint of irritation at the edges of his faux smile. 

“How’d you lose your roommate?” You continue determinedly, desperate for some information on this guy. Something about him unsettles you. It must be the unbothered way with which he analyzes your surroundings, as if you hadn’t both just been given a finite expiration date.  

Hannibal studies you for a long moment. “You don’t want the answer to that question.” He eventually answers. A shiver rolls down your spine. 

“You killed them,” you realize aloud. 

“And ate them,” he confirms casually. Your heart starts thudding quickly in your chest. You pretend not to be affected by his confession. Internally, you’re scared for your life. To think that you’d survived months of starvation, only to die at the hands of another human? “What happened to your roommate?” Hannibal continues, before you can truly collect your thoughts. 

“They jumped.” You remember to say, the taste of bile climbing up your throat. There’s no need for further explanation. 

“Ah.” A tense quiet descends on the air once more, and the two of you spend the seemingly countless hours before the table’s arrival in silence. 

When you finally hear the telltale whirring of the table above, your stomach growls. You need food rather desperately—especially after not receiving any legitimate nutrition last month. Your hands are shaky; your vision is blurry; and your legs feel as if they’ll cave in at any moment. 

The glassware rattles and the table sinks down to your floor. Hannibal and you both look at the remnants of the meal from above, only to find plates licked clean and glasses entirely empty. As you expected, there is nothing left for you to eat: not even a crumb or bone. 

There is, however, a man crouched on the table. He stares ahead with blank eyes, as if he doesn’t even see either of you. You look at him for a few moments, immediately promising yourself not to get any closer. In this place, vulnerability is weakness. You’ve seen it happen before: someone will extend a helpful hand to another person, only to be stabbed through the back in the same breath. There is no saving anyone here. You are all destined for death, regardless of when it may come. 

Hannibal regards the new arrival for several seconds, before quickly reaching out and grabbing his collar, yanking him off the table and onto the pavement. You watch in disbelief as Hannibal brandishes a knife—when in the hell did he get that?—and stabs him several times. Your roommate’s ferocity ensures the man’s death. Calmly, Hannibal drags the corpse by the ankles until it’s closer to the walls. 

Then, he sinks his knife into the body’s skin. The victim, unsurprisingly, doesn’t so much as flinch. The knife pierces the skin of his chest and Hannibal sinks his hand into the cavity, gripping the entrails and pulling them out with practiced precision. He gets to his feet, holding the liver in his hand. You watch in silent horror as his head turns and his gaze finds you, his eyes trained on you even as he raises the organ to his mouth and begins eating. 

Your stomach turns in disgust and revulsion. You’ve survived months of fasting—you never ate another human, despite the earsplitting screams from above and below indicating that several other inhabitants did. Even though you know you need to eat, the thought of tearing into that corpse is enough to make your appetite disappear. You quickly turn your head and clamp a hand over your mouth, before raising it to cover both your nose and mouth. The scent is enough to make you nearly hurl. You close your eyes and pretend you’re somewhere else—anywhere else, but trapped on this floor with a cannibal. 

Your ears are ringing at the confirmation that Hannibal is a seasoned killer. This was not his first kill, and it likely won’t be his last. There is a very good chance you’ll be his next meal. Fear pulsing through your veins, you manage to pull your knees close to your chest and close your eyes. The cool metal of your lighter grounds you to this horrible moment, this stiff and unfeeling air. 

If you had known just what horrors you would be subjected to, you would’ve chosen a different object to bring. Maybe you would’ve even chosen a weapon to protect yourself or a form of entertainment. But your naive self chose a lighter—not even for smoking, but just to watch the flickering flame. Your finger now twitches to bring the flame to your skin, but you resist the urge. There is enough pain and suffering here without your own self-inflicted torture. 

It is hard to sleep that night. Your thoughts are buzzing too loudly. It takes a while for your eyelids to slip shut, and once the table comes rocketing by, you shudder awake and have to fall asleep once more. When you finally succumb to slumber, your dreams are distorted and cryptic. 

The weird sensation of something in your mouth pulls you from slumber. You open your eyes to find Hannibal standing over you, the crimson light casting shadows across his face. You instinctively want to belch at the foreign material, but Hannibal’s hand is secured firmly over your mouth. You immediately catch on to what he’s doing: he’s feeding you some of the corpse’s meat. 

You try to fight back—attempting to shove him off—but his grip is too strong and you’re weakened by hunger and lack of sleep. You’re forced to chew, unless you want to choke and die. A shudder runs through your entire body as you chew, disgusted with the texture. The taste of iron and copper runs through your mouth; the smell alone is enough to make you gag. After what feels like far too long, you manage to swallow. 

Satisfied, Hannibal steps away—and you immediately fall off your bed and to the floor, stumbling to the sink to drink some water and flush the organ down. “Fuck you,” you spit at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. It comes back bloody, and you take extra effort to scrub your face clean. Hannibal doesn’t seem to be affected by the insult. Rather, he’s wearing an understanding smile on his face—and you’re growing more and more overtaken with the urge to punch that look off his face. You clench the faucet with an increasingly tight grip, until there are bolts of pain sliding through your fingers. 

“You will thank me soon,” Hannibal remarks, staring at you. You can see his heated gaze in the cracked mirror before you. It’s clear what he’s trying to say: if you don’t eat, you will die.  

“I won’t,” you say numbly, your heart roaring in your ears. “You should’ve left me alone.” Your voice breaks at the end of that sentence; if Hannibal notices, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he only looks at you imploringly. 

“You need proper nourishment.” Hannibal maintains. 

You hiss and walk back to your bed, turning to the side so you don’t have to look at him. You’re not foolish enough to turn your back on him—not when you know just what he can do. You don’t want to indulge his murderous sensibilities. You spend the rest of the day split between seething and suppressing the urge to throw up.

When night falls, Hannibal goes to sleep. You only pretend. When you hear the steady rise and fall of his breathing, you push yourself up quietly and sit on your bed. You will not fall asleep tonight. You don’t want a repeat of last night. 

Despite your quiet movements, it doesn’t take Hannibal long to notice that you’ve shifted. “You’re not sleeping,” he says aloud, admittedly startling you as the uneasy silence across the space is broken. When you comprehend his remark, you can’t stop the wry laugh that falls from your lips. 

“I don’t trust you,” you respond candidly. There’s no point in pretending otherwise.  

Hannibal lets out a strange noise. It takes you a few moments to realize that he’s just laughing. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already,” he then says. “You are… the least insufferable of my companions so far.”

You blink in the near darkness. “Thanks.” You say dryly. That statement isn’t reassuring in the slightest. You don’t want to wake up to find him forcing organs down your throat again. The thought sends a renewed wave of nausea through you, and it takes you several moments of measured breathing to fight it off. 

Eventually, you fall asleep. You can only fight off the exhaustion for so long, and if you’re not eating, then you definitely need to be resting to conserve energy. 

You wake the next morning breathing hard, expecting to see Hannibal looming over you. But he’s only sitting on his bed, regarding you with a blandly amused look. It appears he won’t be forcing you to consume human entrails again. 

But little do you know, Hannibal doesn’t have to force you next time. 

It’s been sixteen days since that horrible night. Sixteen days without food. Your body has grown incredibly weak. You can barely push yourself up to get to the faucet across the room. Speaking takes too much energy. Most of the time, you just lie on your bed and stare at some point in the distance, losing yourself in memories long gone. 

You can’t find the energy to waste on getting angry. Instead, you’re just… empty. The movement of the table is the only thing that helps you discern the time. The corpse Hannibal took all those days ago has since become a rotted pile. Neither of you have seen anything resembling food on the table. The people above are merciless. They eat the rations of several people; they spit on everything in reach. 

You don’t bother to look up at the table’s arrival today. There will be nothing for you to eat. And indeed, when you finally drag your eyes over, there is only glassware and silverware… scattered around a person in the center. They sit cross-legged and stare ahead with that similar unseeing expression from the man all those days ago. 

You don’t need to watch to know what happens next: Hannibal drags them onto the pavement, brandishes his knife, and kills them. He dissects them with the mercy of a disinterested scientist, before sparing you a simple look. There’s a single drop of blood carving a path down his lips. Hannibal wipes it away. 

You extend a hand wordlessly. 

Hannibal stares at you, a complex emotion passing over his face as quick as lightning. He places a bloodied chunk in your palm. The crimson stain spreads across your skin. You look down at it and feel… nothing. There’s an echo of disgust and horror, perhaps. But beyond that, you’re an empty shell. This place has changed you. Emotions do not survive here—instinct does. And your instincts tell you that you need food. 

Minutes later, the gnawing pain in your stomach has subsided and there’s the horrifically familiar taste of iron settling on your tongue. You swallow hard and slowly push yourself to your feet, mechanically walking over to the sink and getting some water to wash it all down. Your hands are shaking but you manage to satisfy your thirst. Turning the faucet off with shaking hands, you lean against the wall and sink down into a sitting position. 

There’s dried blood on your hands. It doesn’t matter that you washed it away—you can still see it. It haunts you, even when the night arrives and the floor is drenched in crimson light. You’ve since migrated to your bed, but you can’t get yourself to move from your sitting position and lie down. You can’t give yourself comfort. You don’t deserve it—not after what you’ve done. 

You’re not sure how long you sit silently, watching the darkness settle and fade into a dusky light. There’s a persistent pain in your back and your cuticles are picked open, yet these sensations fade to obscurity when you remember the meal you just willingly consumed. You had no choice seventeen days ago. You can’t say the same for yesterday.

There’s an uncomfortable wetness clinging to your cheeks and eyelashes. You’re crying, you realize. It’s been a while since you’ve cried, even with all the horrors you’ve witnessed here. You shakily wipe at your tears, but they keep falling. Falling prey to the burning in your throat, you bury your head in your bent knees and struggle for breath. 

At some point, there’s a hand on your back. You’re so exhausted that you don’t even flinch, because you can’t seem to muster up the energy. Your body is wracked with chills and phantom shivers as you try to comprehend just who is offering you comfort. The same person who kills others with ease and feasts on their remains… is wrapping an arm around your shoulders and sitting on your bed next to you. 

You don’t have the strength to push Hannibal away. You lack the strength and fortitude to do so. Hannibal is the only human contact you will have, if you continue living. You don’t have a choice—if you want to maintain your sanity, you’re forced to cave into the loneliness screaming behind the confines of your rib cage. That’s what you tell yourself as you reluctantly begin to relax in his hold. You cling to him with increasing desperation. Hannibal’s hand rises to the nape of your neck, cradling your head in what feels like an intimate gesture. 

You can’t stop the sobs crawling out of your throat. 

You want to assign Hannibal the blame. But you know it’s not that simple. He didn’t put you in this prison system; he is nothing more than another participant: one with the courage to keep themself alive, at any cost. Perhaps you should be more like him.

…It’s a chilling thought. 

You have never been so desperate for answers, inside bleak cement walls that give you nothing except more questions. The sparkling silverware; the gleaming glassware; the callous cruelty of those above; the painful plight of those below. There is no solidarity or community amongst the people in these walls: only the concepts of superior and inferior… and the fallen. Those who have been above, have savored without suffering… only fall from grace and stumble into starvation’s relentless grip once more. 

Your tongue recognizes the taste of copper; your hands the crimson stain that becomes a murky brown as time passes. You have fallen. And of one thing, you are certain: you will never rise again.

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

hannibal taglist: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Calling Your Name - No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: This one’s very sad, and very horny. I’m pregaming for Chapter 21. Title from I Don't Want to Live Forever by Taylor Swift and Zayn Malik.

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary/Warnings: Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. Usual warnings, with extra emphasis on smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, angst, smut

The last birthday Ben had celebrated was his 68th. Big fucking party, with lions and champagne, where women who Ben couldn’t remember the names of had thrown themselves at him, and men he’d never met in his life had congratulated him on turing 27.

It had been his eighteenth 27th birthday party. In another twelve years, he'd be 28. 

The event had cost a small fortune. Likely the GDP of one of those tiny fucking European countries that had been forming as the Soviet Union fell apart. Vought had rented him a castle—Ben hadn’t even known America had castles—and flown thousands of people Ben didn’t like out to celebrate.

Today he was 106, and alone in a haunted apartment as Her voice in his head called him old.

Did you take your meds this morning, grandpa?

No. Mallory still won’t just fucking give me drugs.

He could picture Her teasing pout. Woe is you, Pretty Boy. 106 and nobody to buy you cocaine.

He sighed into the empty room, and a small part of him still hoped she’d just appear. She’d walk out of the bedroom door or in from the hall, and she'd throw herself into Ben’s arms. She'd call him a grumpy cunt, and he’d get to kiss Her until she moaned and pleaded, and tell her he loved her. Maybe she’d get on her knees, or let Ben fuck her right here on the sofa. She’d smile at him. She taunt him and ask if Social Security had an expiration date, but she’d be smiling at Ben the whole time so he’d just scoff and let her.

She hadn’t told Ben her own birthday. He’d asked, once, all the way back in the safe housem, and She’d laughed. Told him she stopped celebrating her birthday when Homelander kidnapped her. 

“It loses the magic, Pretty Boy.” Her voice had been amused and bored, but there had been something hollow in Her eyes. “Being legally dead makes birthdays seem kind of pointless.”

He’d dropped it then. Now he wished he hadn’t. Ben wanted to know so that he could be a pain in everyone’s ass about it. He’d make them throw a party, and someone would provide a cake—homemade, chocolate, with a disgusting amount of frosting and ice cream just in case She hated cake—and everyone would sing that stupid birthday song in a voice worse than Hers until She felt loved. 

He’d make sure she felt loved. Ben would buy her a gift—he wasn’t sure what, but he’d figure it out—and it would make her feel seen. Then he’d stand silently behind Her while everyone celebrated how fucking perfect she was, and cut the cake so he could make sure she got the largest piece. 

Then he’d fuck Her. He’d carry her home, into this same apartment, and up the stairs into the bed so he could fuck Her. Romantically. If Ben got to do this, it would have to be romantic. In this perfect world he was creating for himself, they’d been fucking for a while now and he’d already told Her he loved her, so he’d know all the things she likes in bed, and which of them made Her come apart the fastest. Ben would be able to use that knowledge to throughly wreck Her—turn her into a sweaty, moaning work of art below him—and remind her that he loved Her the whole time.

That was what he wanted for his birthday. Her, home, in Ben’s arms so he could fuck her and tell her he loved her. So he could get some proper fucking rest tonight, and wake up with Her at his side. So everything could finally be good again.

He didn’t have a cake. He hadn’t told anyone it was his birthday, because it didn’t really fucking feel important. They had work to do, and no one on the team was going to jump out of their chair to celebrate one of Ben’s infinite birthdays. So he grabbed a candle from the cabinet—Balsam and Cedar, Her surprisingly aggressive purchase—went to light it, and realized they didn’t actually own a lighter. She was a walking lighter, so neither of them had bothered to purchase one.

It was almost midnight. This dogshit fucking day—where he’d eaten dinner with the team and combed through Vought records and tried not to think about how She was here, wasn’t home—had been the same as yesterday. Would be the same as tomorrow. All the days would be the fucking same, numb, thoughtless shit until She was home.

She’d tell Ben her birthday when she got home. He’d figure out a way to get Her to tell him. He wouldn’t be able to trick it out of her the way she was always somehow getting Ben to say what she wanted him to. If he asked, she’d ignore him or tell him to shut the fuck up.

He could fuck it out of Her. That was the only field between them where Ben seemed to have the slightest advantage. She wasn’t as fucking excellent at hiding how much she wanted Ben as he was at hiding how much he wanted Her. But he had months of practice. Weeks and weeks in the safe house of fucking his hand to the thought of Her without her catching on. And every time Ben had touched her she’d whimpered his name and fallen apart and fucking begged, so that’s how he’d figure out Her birthday. He’d make her cum on his face once—just because he wanted to—then he’d fuck Her into the mattress until Her perfect, insane, brilliant fucking brain was empty and she was molding into Ben’s body.

He’d lean down, lips against Her ears, and hiss the question.

“When’s your birthday.”

She wouldn’t answer immediately. She’d just moan and stare at him with lust-blown, pretty eyes. So Ben would pull all the way out of Her until she whined, and slam back in hard enough to break the bed before asking again.

“Tell me your birthday, beautiful, or you don’t get to fucking cum.”

It would be a bluff. She was a goddamn force of nature when she came, and Ben wasn’t strong enough to deprive himself of watching Her lips part and head throw back, feel Her back arch off the bed and her cunt squeeze around his cock like it had before on his fingers, hear Her scream his name. Maybe She’d squirt. Ben had felt how fucking wet she could get, maybe if he fucked her right, She’d squirt.

And She’d call the bluff. Even in the haze of Ben’s  body over hers, between moans and begs, she’d call him on his shit.

“Fuck,” she whimpered when he repeated that same move again. “Fuck you, Ben-“

“Birthday.”

It would take a while, likely several minutes of that exact dance, but he’d get it. Ben would lean down to Her mouth and kiss Her, sloppy and deep, fucking her faster, and tell Her he loved her. 

Then She'd tell him, and cum.

This was a foolproof fucking plan. Ben was a goddamn genius.

Maybe I don’t have a birthday, Benjamin. Have you considered that?

Everyone has a fucking birthday.

Well, what’s yours?

Ben frowned into the air. She was a figment of his imagination, she should know his birthday. Today.

Oh. The room was silent for a second. I forgot, I guess. Sorry. 

Don’t apologize. If you want to do something for me, come home.

It wasn’t really worth saying. This wasn’t Her, and even if it said, of course, Pretty Boy. For your birthday. The real her would still be across the river at Vought tower. And Ben had to be okay with that.

I want to. You know I want to, but I can’t. I miss you and love you, Ben, more than anything, but I can’t come home.

He sighed. I miss you and love you too.

Stop saying that-

Shut the fuck up. If you’re allowed to say you love me, I can say it back.

But-

No. It’s my birthday, no telling me I can’t say that I love you on my birthday.

Silence, then okay. For your birthday. Old man.

I love you, brat.

I love you too, Benjamin. Happy birthday.

End Note: I made Ben a Taurus, and I stand by that.

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd

[collapsedglasshouses]

Consequences || Noah Sebastian x Reader [Part 2]

IF YOU DIDN'T READ PART ONE, READ IT HERE.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Summary: Even though Y/N felt slightly guilty about the eventful night with Noah, she can't help but follow him to his room that night.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, mentions of previous sexual events, swearing, alcohol consumption, oral sex (male receiving), (pls let me know if i forgot something <3), metric system (if that counts as a warning lmao, i'm european i don’t know anything about feet and inches)

A/N: Soooo, here is part 2... I dont even know what to say except that i was absolutely flabberghasted with your reactions to part 1. Thank you all so much! For those who want to know, I listened to Miracle on repeat while writing this ;) I'm always open for suggestions! Pls let me know if you liked this chapter. Enjoy!

When you woke up the next morning your head almost immediately started spinning. For the first few seconds you thought that maybe everything that had happened last night was just a dream but when you didn't feel any different after staring at the ceiling of your room for quite some time, you let out a frightened sigh.

Noah and you really hooked up last night. Noah really ate you out while watching your favorite movie. Noah and you really got intimate while your brother was celebrating his thirtieth birthday not even twenty meters away from you.

"Fuck..." you mumbled to yourself before you grabbed your phone to look what time it was. 10:23 AM. You didn't even sleep that long.

Slowly you got out of your bed and looked at yourself through the mirror that was hanging next to the dresser on the wall. The longer you looked the more guilt crept into your veins. You couldn't believe what happened. Even though you enjoyed every second of it, you couldn't wrap your head around how to go on from now on.

Would Noah and you continue as before? Were you now officially more than friends? Could you even go back from this? You had absolutely no idea...

After debating what to do, you decided to just go with the flow and went downstairs to be met with the mess the birthday party left behind. There were a lot of empty cups laying around and you felt the stickiness beneath your feet on the floor, causing you to shiver in disgust before tip toeing to a bar stool in the kitchen area to avoid as much floor contact as possible.

You weren't the first one to be awake since Jolly was sitting at said kitchen counter, eating a piece of Nick's birthday cake and mindlessly scrolling through Instagram.

"Good morning" you greeted him before grabbing a piece of cake for yourself.

"Are you okay?" You immediately tensed up and looked at Jolly who gave you a concerned glance. Is he talking about last night? Is he talking about why Noah and you just disappeared into thin air?

"I-… Uh… I threw up yesterday and Noah noticed I was gone and than he tried to make me feel a bit better." Tried to make me feel a bit better? Are you kidding me, Y/N, why don’t you just directly tell him Noah went down on you?

"Actually… just wanted to know why you looked so disgusted walking towards me." he began "But I’m glad you feel better now."

Internally you were this close to slamming your head repeatedly on the kitchen counter but on the outside you just forced a small smile onto your face "The floor is sticky. That’s why I looked so distraught." - "Thank god, I thought you decided you hated my face now."

"Jolly, you have long blown out hair and tattoos, if anything I would say I saw my fucking guardian angel." you joke and hug your friend from the said, who couldn’t help but gift you with the biggest smile you seen from him all week.

Right after you let go of Jolly, you heard steps behind you and were shortly met with Nick and Noah joining you in the kitchen.

"Good thing you took care of Y/N last night." Jolly spoke and making Noah and you stop in your tracks, while Nick just looked confused.

"Uh… Yeah… Thanks for taking care of me… Because you know… I threw up." You stumble not even daring to look your brother and his best friend in the eyes. "Oh right, yeah. She was totally wasted. She wasn’t even able to form clear sentences while we watched Spirited Away."

You immediately covered your cheeks since you noticed they were getting pretty warm while he grinned at you mischievously. He wasn’t wrong about you not being able to form clear sentences but for other reasons than Nick and Jolly thought.

"You really threw up? Holy! I always thought you could tolerate more alcohol than me, (Y/N/N)." - "Maybe, but yesterday was way different… Believe me."

You gave your brother an apologetic smile before quickly glancing at Noah who smirked a little while taking a sip from his water bottle. If he wouldn't have been so fucking pretty while doing that you would have slapped him in the face.

After Folio and Bryan had also found their way downstairs you began to clean the house.

About two hours later you all found yourselves laying on the couch while One Piece was playing in the background but no one seemed to pay closer attention to it since everyone still dealt with the hangover from yesterday running through their systems.

You were scrolling through Instagram when you let your mind wonder. You looked to your right and your gaze instantly landed on Noah. The last two hours everything seemed normal. You chatted as normal, he even helped you again to put the 'Happy Birthday' sign down. It seemed like nothing had ever happened between you and you didn't know if you liked that or not.

For you, even thinking about yesterday made you blush and you started to feel that weird feeling in your stomach but it seemed like Noah wasn't even bothered in the slightest by his previous actions.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Folio threw a pillow into your face. "What?" you asked aggressively, throwing the pillow back to him, while the others chuckled. "What were you thinking about, Y/N?" Jolly asked teasingly but you just rolled your eyes. "What do you want, Folio?" - "I was asking if you wanted Pizza or Chinese Take Out for dinner?" Noah would be nice. You cleared your throat. "Fried Rice sounds really nice actually."

After the food was ordered, Nick threw a blanket over your lap, being the caring big brother he was. Before you could even process what was happening, Noah was also slipping under the blanket your brother just gave you.

"Would you all be down to do a small second celebration for Nick since we all got split up so bad yesterday?" Jolly asked and not even an hour later you were all sitting in a circle around the couch table and were playing stupid party games while eating your food.

"Oh! I know something. Never have I ever sent a dirty text to the wrong number." Folio stated and your brother and Bryan drank a sip from their beers. "Two each other?" Noah joked and everyone laughed at that. "That would have been intentional." Bryan smirked and winked at your brother who blew him a kiss before they laughed again.

"Never have I ever had dirty thoughts about a friend." Noah, Bryan, Jolly and you drank a sip. You could nearly feel Noah's gaze burn into you but you decided to not return it to avoid any suspicion.

"Never have I ever dumped someone over text." Noah and Nick drank a sip. "They learned that from each other" you joked and made the others chuckle a little.

"Never have I ever kissed or hooked up with a friends sibling or a siblings friend." Nick said and looked into the round. You also let your gaze wander over the others, but no one raised their drink to their lips except Noah and you.

Bryan howled teasingly while Jolly pointed at you two while smirking. You realised how your cheeks grew a lot hotter but before Noah or you could say anything, Folio came to your rescue without even knowing it. "Come on, guys. Everyone and their mothers know that Noah and Y/N were making out at that one party when they were seventeen. You know... They were drunk as hell, I think Davis was even filming it and even Nick knows that." Your brother began to nod. "I mean, it wasn’t the nicest thing to be woken up with Davis showing his phone under my nose but…" He chuckled awkwardly.

Meanwhile you took a deep breath and looked at Noah who smirked knowingly. Yes, you made out at that party but no one til this day knew that this was the day you lost your virginity to your brother’s best friend. Also no one knew that this little thing didn’t seem to be a one time thing.

Jolly seeing how nervous you got just went on with asking questions. Your mind still wandered through events happening almost ten years ago when you noticed a hand coming to rest on your thigh and than slighty squeezing it. You immediately tensed up and looked almost unnoticeable to your right. Noah wasn't even looking at you, seemingly paying close attention to the conversation your friends were having.

Slowly but surely his hand made its way up your thigh while drawing small circles on it. Were you hallucinating?

You took a big sip out of your beer when his hand landed on your clothed core and he suddenly started massaging you threw your panties. You immediately placed your beer bottle on the table before pulling the blanket closer to you and looking at Noah. His gaze was still on his friends and nothing on his face made it even slightly clear that he was almost fingering you under the blanket.

What was this supposed to become? Something made you mad about this. You knew this was wrong. You knew you needed to talk this out before anyone would get hurt. And than suddenly an idea popped into your head. If he wanted to play games, you sure as hell could take part in it.

Your hand started wandering as well and landed on his left thigh. Even though he tried his best not to look nervous, him suddenly biting his lip gave it right away.

The other boys were still full on discussing something about a video game when your hand landed right between his legs. He took a deep breath which made you grin while you slightly stroked him through his sweatpants.

His movements on you came to a hold, him being too surprised by your action and trying to contain himself, when your hand slipped through the waistband of his pants.

You gave him only a few strokes before he cleared this throat and started to shift, making you remove your hand from him. Guilt crept up your neck when Noah excused himself from the group, saying he was tired.

You looked at him while he stood up and adjusted his clothes. You shot him an apologetic glance when he started walking towards the stairs but you weren’t met with the emotion you thought you would.

Noah signaled you to come after him.

Does that mean-…? Does he want to-…?

Approximately five minutes after Noah you also wished the boys a good night before making your way upstairs and firstly going into the bathroom. You looked at yourself through the mirror and started to think about what was going to happen when you would enter Noah's bedroom.

You weren’t able to form a single straight thought in your head so you just splashed a few drops of water on your face in an attempt to cool you down at least a little before quietly making your way to Noah's room.

You again paused while looking at the door, feeling your heart race so fast you weren’t quite sure if you just had a heart attack. Your mouth went dry when you quietly knocked on the door.

Everything seemed to go a bit slower when you heard him shuffle and than open the door for you, staring directly into your eyes. You didn't even know what to say when you made your way into his room and you definitely didn't know how to go back from this when he closed the door and you slightly pushed him against it.

"What are we doing?" Noah asked quietly while bringing his hands up to your face while your arms wrapped around his torso. "I don't know, Noah. You tell me" You whisper, goose bumps forming on your arms when you noticed you could feel his breath on your face.

"Fuck... I just can't stop." he whispered before kissing you hard. A slight moan escaped your mouth.

Without thinking twice you worked your way to get him out of his pants, before he helped you out of your shirt. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and walked to his bed, while you kissed, your tongues fighting for dominance.

You signaled him to lay down to which he obeyed before he pulled you with him, but you swore to yourself that this time was payback. You helped him out of his shirt, before instantly attacking his neck with kisses. His hands found their way to your hair while he quietly whimpered under you.

"You don't even know what you do to me, Y/N." Noah almost cried out while you kissed your way down to his waistband.

"Than tell me." you demanded while slowly pulling his underwear down to expose his cock. You heard him quietly swear while grabbing the sheets under him. For a moment you were surprised you had this effect on him, before you continued your mission.

"Tell me, Noah." you whisper while taking him in your hand. "Tell me what I do to you." You pressed a kiss to his tip, causing him to buckle his hips up.

"Every time I see you, I want you all to myself." he let out under his breath before you took him into your mouth. "I just can't stop thinking about you."

If you didn't know any better, you would say butterflies filled your stomach because of his statement. You took him as deep as you can while his hips started to move in your favor. One of his hands tangled in your hair and the mix of him quietly cursing out your name and holding you in place while you pleassured him sparked a fire in your core.

"Fuck, Y/N." he curses, careful not to be to loud, "I'm so fucking close..." A moan escaped his mouth and he cupped your cheek with his other hand while you were going up and down his shaft in a steady tempo. "Can I-... Can I cum in your mouth?"

Almost moaning at his request, you nodded and hummed around him. When Noah released into your mouth with a groan it sent shivers down your spine. He slightly twitched as you worked him through his high, hands letting go of your face before pulling you up to his face while you swallow.

"I-..." He started but than there was a knock on the door that let you both freeze in your place.

With widened eyes you stared at each other before you heard the voice of non other than your brother at the other side of the door. "Noah, are you still awake? Can I come in?"

Before you could even think you rolled yourself off of and under this bed, while he dressed himself as fast as he could. "One second." He almost cried out before stumbling to the door and throwing your shirt under the bed in the process, that you quickly pull to yourself before holding your breath.

You felt like you were a fucking teenager hiding from the parents of your person of interest in an attempt to not get embarrassed.

So when Nick came into Noah's room, wanting to talk about something tour related you couldn't help but feel like this all was just some confusing fucking dream.

READ PART 3 HERE

[happypedrohours]

Good morning, fellow Happy Pedro Hours partakers! We hope you had a great night and we're looking forward to the next one aka tonight, June 22nd!

The first pit stop after a night of fun with friends is definitely some hot drink to wake up and face the day, so we asked some of our writer friends what they think Pedro Boys would drink and they came up with some brilliant ideas that you will find under the cut.

Jack has neat black coffee because he doesn't see why you should add anything else. Except whiskey, of course.

Shane doesn't like coffee but he's been known to sneak a white mocha frappucino when nobody is watching.

Javi G, being very European, would do a cappucino in the morning but if he wakes up later in the day, he'd switch to an espresso with a bit of sugar in it.

Or Javi G would drink a cortado.

Pietro Alvarez will do a double espresso with almost an equal ratio of sugar.

Maxwell Lord skips the coffee because he's already way too wound up on a regular day, so maybe he'd go for a decaf or just some tea.

Marcus Moreno doesn't drink too much coffee in a day because it doesn't always agree with his stomach. He'll have a plain cup in the morning at time, but if he stops at a coffee house, he'll try a cappucino because Missy always raves about it.

Tim will drink black at the police station because the coffee isn't any good so leyt's not even consider that powdery creamer, but if he orders at a coffee shop, he'll sometimes go for some cream in it.

Joel Miller (pre-outbreak) drinks Folgers because it was on sale. He adds his cream and 2-4 spoons of sugar (depending of it he had to bail Tommy out of jail or back him up in a fight or threaten to fight a kid because they gave Sarah a weird look). Joel is that dad, we love him for it.

Joel Miller (post-oubreak) drinks any coffee he can find, even beans are welcome. He stays awake and doesn't have to deal with his nightmares.

Or Joel would drink weak American coffee in like a tub

Din might drink caf if Grogu has kept him up when he was trying to sleep while the ship was in hyperdrive, otherwise he sticks to water. Very practical.

Dave York is a man who "closes deals" so to speak. He has some fancy Italian blend that he tells his secretary to get him and he hides it from Carol and the kids because he wants to be the only one who has it. Also too expensive to share.

Or Dave York is a coffee snob, interested in different roasts and beans.

Ezra is happy to have anything that will keep him awake so he can keep an eye on his pod. Taste doesn't matter. If he's ever able to relax, he might like some caramel. It's not too fancy but not too basiceither.

Frankie drinks Lifer juice (black coffee). Dark roast, though, he needs to be wide awake. Benny was making taco jokes all night and he dozed on the couch and has a crick in his neck. We're taking volunteer applications to give him a massage.

Strong coffee for Frankie, I can actually see him going for like a triple or quadrupple espresso when given the chance.

Or Frankie takes his coffee just black and strong.

Oberyn would go for some tea or herbal infusion instead.

Dieter drinks any and every sweet thing you can put in six shots of expresso to keep him awake and with a grin for this next scene with the actor he left with one of his monogrammed butt plugs up their ass and did not call the next day.

Or Dieter drinks "extra everything, cream, sugar, any of those coffee syrups if you have them."

Lucien has Cuban coffee with his cigarette in the morning and the afternoon.

Javier Pena drinks it black with a spoon of sugar or two because the Senora says he needs some sweet. He's a sucker for pleasing ladies, old and young.

Or Javi P obviously drinks Colombian coffee.

Thanks to @avastrasposts, @nerdieforpedro, @lady-bess, @for-a-longlongtime for their thoughts!

Do you have other coffee order headcanons for Pedro Boys? If so, we'd love to hear them! Drop us a comment to share them!

[solomonara]

Game: 10 first lines challenge

Thanks for the tag @stevieraebarnes! Let's see if my first lines can hold a candle to your absolute bangers.

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!

1. Investigator: The crash of shattering glass, and a lot of it, startled the pleasant hum of socialite conversation into hiding.

2. For Good: Some days, Link wonders how they got so lucky.

3. Here, After: If asked, Sidon would not be able to say truly when it began.

4. The Cross Purposes Job: "Well, Mr. Jeffries," Sophie – or rather, Ludmila Popova, official representative of a wealthy overseas tech consortium that was definitely not a thinly veiled front for any shady Eastern European government, no matter how much they were funded like one, wink nudge – said with a charming smile.

5. Scarf: "Emma. What is that?" Georgia asked, stopping immediately inside the door to their apartment.

6. Fever Reducer: Bruce stared at the nearly empty shelf in the breakfast aisle, despairing.

7. Osteoclast: Dick knew, even before he was fully awake, that he wasn't going to enjoy what he discovered when he opened his eyes.

8. Per Aspera: Jason Todd was bleeding.

9. Looked After: Make sure he's looked after.

10. The Damned Prince's Bodyguard: The Damned Prince of Gotham surveyed his domain with a great deal of satisfaction and a very small amount of champagne.

Well, I don't know. Most of these introduce the main characters (but not Looked After or Investigator). Most of these ask a question or imply one (but not For Good or, again, Looked After.) And what was I thinking with The Cross Purposes Job. That's so many words... Maybe I should be looking at second lines XD

Hey @elwon, @dragonsorceress22, @bitterleafs, @burntheupholstery, @unicorncoalition you want to give it a whirl?

This invitation is also open to anyone who is reading it. Yes you! And tag me when you do it, I want to read your first lines (even you, stranger.)

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Nadokwak

At time of writing this, there are only a couple depictions posted, so this might be a short one -- we'll see if others pop up later tonight. Maybe this bird just isn't that artistically inspiring.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, you can find an explanation and the rest of this series at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting.

The entry our artist are working from for this post can be found here:

And the one for the next post, if you want to participate, is here:

Now, art below the cut:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) says the description put them in mind of waterfowl, which they gave a long neck and an erect posture for the effect of vigilance. Solid waterfowl; I really like the feather pattern on the neck. For more details on the design and its inspirations, see the linked post.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has drawn this really pleasant little scene, for which they credit Tove Jansson as stylistic inspiration. (I've got to read the Moomin books at some point; those little troll critters are always on my dashboard and I know nothing about them.) Genuinely delightful. Also note that the standing Nadokwak is holding a rock in its foot to stay awake while guarding the others.

So, the Aberdeen Bestiary:

This is, as you can probably guess from the image, the crane.

I don't have much to add to this one, other than that medieval Europeans really seemed to find cranes evocative. They're not on the level of, like, lions in terms of semiotic saturation, but they come up now and then, usually in a positive light.

I kept getting a sense of deja vu about this one, and Silverhart mentioned the same -- when I went to include one of my favorite Medieval Bird Factoids I think I figured out why. A previous entry, the Blisheag, is on a quite similar bird, and I had them confused.

Said Medieval Bird Factoid is not about cranes after all, so I'm going to leave this post here I suppose.

[napoleonic-sexyman-tournament]

Here is some light pro-Marmont propaganda:

He was a friend of Napoleon's since before he was a general and he accompanied him to Italy,Egypt and the 18th of Brumier

He was successful at Toulon, Matengo and Wagram

During his governing of the Iliriyan provinces he was a HUGE advocate for making the "iliriyan language " (a mix of croatian,slovenian and other Balkan language s) the offical language. He made it so the iliriyan language was offical and used in schools and everyday life but french was only used in legal areas. Just to note this was unheard of in croatian history till this point, the croatian language* was only ever removed and replaced by german or italian by the ruling country/kingdom. Also he was doing this 30 or so years before the croatian national awaking (it's really complicated to explain so I will have to simplify....in the mid 19th century a bunch od croatian writers and poets start "making" the modern croatian language by publishing grammar books, dictionaries,song and so on. Pretty much they were some of the first people to openly advocate for a croatia that embraced it's cultural heritage and language. They called themselves the "Ilirians".) Marmont was doing that before it was cool so I think that earns him some sexyman points.

Dalamtia was a literal s*** hole that was underutilized and forgotten by pretty much everyone (austrians,turks and venitaians). It was pretty much just villages and fields of mud. When the French arrived they built the first roads there (named : the Josephine, the Caroline and the Louisa) under the command of Marmont. These same roads are so good that they are some of the main highways in croatia. But the upgrades didn't stop there, Marmont saw potential and started building theaters and schools in bigger cities. Thus making the worth of the cities bigger. He made such a positive change in Dalmatia,that when the Austrians took back the land after 1813 Francis II/I said:" it's a shame that Marmont didn't stay here for another four or so years. He would've done so much good"

Croatian love this guy SO DAMN MUCH it's actually kinda stupid. In the coastal city of Split (one of the biggest cities in croatia) the biggest tourist destination and most culturally significant street in the whole city is named after him (Marmontova ulica/ Marmonts street). And all over the coastal part of the country you can find monuments and statues dedicated to him (sadly there aren't any OF him)

He wrote a bunch of memoirs about his time in the provinces....and ngl he has a goofy writing style. He just start jumping from topic to topic (thought that was kinda funny)

Accounts of people who saw him during the battle of Paris say that he looked "very dashing and brave sitting straight on his horse and wearing his riding breaches and boots as if he were a young general again".... I mean if his contemporaries thought he was hot (maybe they couldnt see the unibrow?)....that check of one of the sexyman criteria, right?

Thank you for reading this long ass post (I'm sorry I didn't mean to make it so long)

Ps. Sorry for bad grammar or spelling, English ist my first language

*Croatian language- all southeastern European languages where clumped together for most of history, I used the words "Croatian language" to simplify

I'm mesmerized by your url. No better url to interact with this blog.

[cynfuldelights]

what do you mean merlin made catholicism

Again staying awake at night, haunted by the implications of The Original Merlin helping to establish the Catholic Church. And on one hand I feel it's really easy to let this line slip by like a lot of other one-liners talking about long-term history. But this one takes the cake in terms of the sheer magnitude of implication. Like, Jim Butcher probably just thought it was a neat idea to throw in that he would never really expand upon further. BUT I DO. EVERY DAY. BECAUSE I FEEL IT'S SUCH A WASTE TO JUST BE A THROWAWAY LINE.

(Spoilers for Dresden obvs)

Like, if the Original Merlin helped establish the Catholic Church then that means they've been aligned with the White Council since practically its inception and vice versa. We're not sure when exactly this iteration of the White Council was created but regardless if it was created first or second this just cements the weird White/Christian ethnocentrism that exists in the White Council (a title that gets more accurate the more you think about it).

Like here's an obvious question: Were there wizards in The Crusades?

Probably, right? Like, sure, The White Council maybe has actually clung to their doctrine of non-involvement in human politics for thousands of years. But, like, that's kind of rich when OG Merlin was out there helping to create the Catholic Church, an organization that would be used to justify the monarchies of soooo many countries. You're telling me they remained apolitical, a THOUAND years ago when our conceptions of what counted as "political" are completely different? To say nothing of, wow I wonder if the Scottish magic practitioners were cool with the Anglo Christian wizards setting up shop in their ancient magical grounds. Do you think Britain/The Britons stole that too? Or are we to believe they just "handed it over willingly"? Or are we to believe that the Scottish mages got along with their invaders because of "apolitics"?

Another obvious question: Hey why aren't there any other wizard councils?

In some kind of United Nations-y situation, it feels like The White Council is supposed to be a conglomeration of cultures and practices across the world with a unifying board of diverse members who make major decisions. And that's really cool! I really appreciate the idea that there can be a global community for people who don't fit in to connect and learn from one another.

But uhhh. Why does it feel so hegemonic and imperialist?

Like, the Senior Council is diverse, that's true. Some of the members are POC, between Rashid, Listens-With-Winds, Martha Liberty, and Ancient Mai. But as you go through the list you kind of again wonder how any of these different people from different practices and backgrounds were able to cope with Western Euro Imperialism. Like, the most obvious example is Listens-With-Winds, a character who in his lifetime, witnessed genocide after genocide of not only his people but of all of the tribes across the United States. Rashid in his lifetime, likely watched the US turn the Middle East into a oil profit machine backed by US militarism and CIA support. Martha Liberty in her lifetime, watched Black people fight and claw for their basic human rights in a country that was built off the backs of their exploited labor. Ancient Mai, in her likely very long lifetime if the name is any indication, likely watched the exploitation of China and Asia by the Dutch, France, and the other European powers.

Again, are we to expect the White Council is WHOLLY APOLITICAL IN EVERY ONE OF THESE CONFLICTS?

And if they are, is that really being apolitical if it ends up working out in their favor anyways? Again, look at Edinburgh. Look at all the stuff Britain stole.

---

Ultimately I think this is a lesson in setting consideration for urban fantasy writers. Lindsay Ellis' video on Bright talks about this excellently, but to poorly paraphrase, you can't just import the real world without importing all of the baggage and strife that exists within it. You can't flippantly say, "Merlin helped found Catholicism." Without pedants like me going, "Uh. What the fuck do you mean?"

But also totally do that so I can harp on it endlessly this is the shit I love for.

I've got more like this brewing in my head I might put up, im also interested in what other implications people can think of

[wandringaesthetic]

Once again I must speak of humanity's highest art form, the Japanese Role-Playing Game

So Tales of Berseria ate my free time in a way that it's been a while since a video game did. I just beat it.

I'll get the easy stuff to talk about out of the way first.

Regarding gameplay. I played it on "normal." I should have played it on a higher difficulty, and you should too unless you are just remarkably bad at action RPGs. Starting from about the halfway point I got good enough at chaining combos together with Velvet that the difficulty became trivial. I ignored whole mechanics. I hardly ever bothered switching out characters.

Battles are the thing I like least about the Tales games I've played previously. They mostly translate the "action" part of "Action Role-Playing Game" as "pressing a lot of buttons" in a way that doesn't reward strategy OR skill very much. Berseria isn't an exception here. That said, there's probably a little more to it on a higher difficulty, and it feels a lot more "fair" than its direct predecessor (Tales of Zestiria) did, in that it does reward attacking enemy weaknesses and enemy attacks rarely feel totally unavoidable. The bell-like sound when you successfully KO, stun, etc an enemy and the combo counter going way up in the 50s does feel kinda satisfying in the way I imagine the lights and bells on a slot machine feel satisfying.

Overall visual presentation is uneven. In some ways, it feels like a game of an earlier generation. Like "we are doing as much as we can with these three tile sets, give us a break, let your imagination do some of the work." A few areas, windswept green hillsides and hazy, blooming marshes, are legit beautiful. Dungeons generally feel a little sparse. Towns are bright primary colors vaguely european anime world. Given that the world is being alternately overrun by daemons or under the iron grip of its government and church, the generally bright and sunny aesthetics feel a little discordant and I feel like this story could have benefited from the world backing up its themes and vibes a little better. Don't even necessarily veer away from the anime aesthetics much, just do something with the lighting. One of the moments where the aesthetic best backs up the plot and themes, IMO, comes late in the game. Your heroes are in an abandoned, far northern town. The sun is setting and there's a red glare on the snow....

SO ANYWAY NONE OF THAT IS WHY I WANT TO TALK ABOUT TALES OF BERSERIA.

From one point of view, this is a revenge story. From another point of view, this is a classic JRPG , you're awaking the elemental lords and preventing an ascent to godhood. From another point of view, you are the villain of the piece, on a mission to kill the guy who actually really did save the world, fucking up everything and everyone on your way. You consort with daemons, witches, pirates, and traitors. You eat people.

What is called reason... isn't. What is called selfishness... isn't. The people who are yelling about their feelings are maybe the most reasonable ones and the ones keeping it locked up are absolutely bridled by their emotions. What is luck? What is one's nature? What is free will?

(Why do birds fly?)

The writing, in terms of themes and motifs and meaningful echoes and variations on themes is really, really special. (At least if one understands that this IS a JRPG and this IS an anime and we ARE going to yell about our ideals.) Also the character dialogue (and there is so much dialogue, just SO MUCH both meaningful and unmeaningful this is also a feature of this series hope you enjoy listening to your six new wacky, grimdark anime friends for the next 60 hours) is very good.

Combs, apples, hair, swords, coins, flowers, compasses. Illness, grief, death, loyalty, faith, despair, perfection, children, hunger.

Maybe I'll walk this back when I'm not high on this game's fumes, but as a scholar of JRPGs, I think this is one of the top two or three best WRITTEN of them out there. I feel like I'd have to play it two or three more times to really highlight why, there is so much going on here. Like, if you accept that it is highly, highly character driven and the world's a little underbaked.

Anyway. Good and evil, order and chaos, darkness and light, reason and emotion, all that's illusions and if you must insist on dividing them, if they're not in an ourobourus yin yang, eating each other, keeping each other in check, shit gets fucked real quick.

[vixnovacoda]

Doctor's Medicine || Chapter 11

Hannibal Lecter x Original Character

Word Count: ~2k

CW/TW: NSFW 18+, graphic, disturbing content, dissociation, canon-typical violence.

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6][Chapter 7][Chapter 8][Chapter 9][Chapter 10]

[ao3 version here]

They were barely through the second glass when Hannibal tried to change the topic from favourite wine flavours and European countrysides. He lowered the wine from his lips, holding it how a trained hand would. “We’ve yet to touch upon the subject of your parents,” he said abruptly. 

   “Or yours,” returned Emma with the clashing of her nails against her wine glass resounding loud against the vastness that was Hannibal’s living room and its gothic decadence. The whole place was decadent, an oasis in concrete, filth-filled Baltimore - there was no sensible way that being a psychiatrist paid for this all on its own. It was made clear then that she didn’t know him well at all. Just bits of him.

   He took his time drinking, body turned to face her as he sat upright and perfectly poised on the other end of the sofa. The whole time, he sipped while she gulped. Not once had he broken form like a careful man being a gentleman with nothing to give away. “You don’t like opening up, do you?” assumed Emma.

   Then it broke briefly. Hannibal looked away from her. She could barely see the look in his eye, but it was clear enough by how he chose to focus on the skulls of dead prey, their lives having been taken away from man to be used as decoration, that he was questioning something. Maybe letting her inside this room while he had still been awake. It wasn’t clear what exactly. It was never always clear with him. Hannibal Lecter, the man who chooses horse hooves for chair feet. The man who designed his living room to be a forest; his hunting grounds. A place meant for calmness or to take home a meal. But she knew she said something he wasn’t expecting.

   “Then in that, we share,” came to utter Hannibal unexpectedly.

   “I suppose,” responded her. “However, I just simply don’t like getting close to people.” She lingered on him as the open fire painted the contours of his face like it were some greco-roman sculpture. If his head wasn’t so attached to his body she’d donate it to sit amongst the greats at a museum. “… Not anymore.”

   “Am I not ‘people’?” asked Hannibal in his usual manner, in his usual way that had you giving more of yourself up to him than he ever would; charming. Hannibal’s words were a bait she openly ate from.

   “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

   His head slanted, ever curious. “And what is your assumption so far?”

   The details of his sculpted lines turned less blurred. “A hunter,” she answered, her hand grabbing the back of the sofa between them as her body shifted closer. “You wait. You watch with care. You stand in a world of prey and take the ones you need in search of something, maybe you enjoy it, maybe it brings you calm. Either way, you’re alone.”

   “I am?”

   “It’s hard to find someone willing to hunt alongside.”

   The firewood crackled in the silence where they were at a stand still. Embers broke and sparks flittered, seen reflected in the only clear thing of that man she called a hunter, his eyes. Deep, dark forces of nature. Flecks of red. So much red in them. So… familiar.

   A bathtub, marbled by blood spilling, pouring over under my knees. I sit in it. I stare. There’s the body, then me. Fingers dip like toes in water, testing the climate. Eyes float to the surface. Iris of blue turned a glaring red. I bend closer, and it almost bleeds into my own.

   A hunger.

   That’s what it was. She had seen it before back in that house she was supposed to call home. Years passed where she might have almost forgotten. But, how could she when he was right there in front of her to remind her. Hannibal had that same look in his eyes, she was sure, and not a reflection like Will. Just, similar. Which meant he was one of the only people that understood her and what she felt. He had to. He just—

   With a grip larger than her own, Hannibal coerced the half-empty glass from her teetering grasp before she could taint the expensive upholstery or the remnants of his stripped-down suit – in which the shirt (a couple buttons undone) and trousers remained – and there she remained without moving an inch. Any closer and their knees would be touching. Then, a buzzing, tingling. A warmth filled her cheeks. She couldn’t help herself, but what was she doing? She barely knew this man she labelled as a friend mere hours ago. 

   Embarrassment swallowed whatever feeling she had while reality came rearing its head in. “But, what do I know? Maybe I am just projecting,” Emma stammered and lurched herself back, resting her tiring body over what was her side of the furniture. “Or deflecting the original question. After all, there's a lot of revealing oneself in discussing parentage, no hiding from the truth where the pieces come together. Even when buried, it never dies.” Though she wished it did. Then none of this would ever have happened. No pain. No tragedy. No dead Alex.

   The alcohol made light work with her, festering in all the nooks and crannies of her body, and the unrest fashioned lead from her frame as she slumped with a heave, spine curving against the armrest. Emma never believed in spirits, but as her heart felt cold while the tips of her fingers and the fireplace burnt, she might have sworn it was Alex. But she would never be so cruel to leave Emma at odds and staring at where heaven laid between the clouds that was Hannibal's ceiling for an answer. It had been this way not too long ago in the spare bedroom Hannibal had provided. Wide-eyed and brain ticking, she had stared at that ceiling. Unable to sleep, Emma was the one to search for the bottom of a bottle and Hannibal the one who indulged her thirst by uncorking a vintage when he probably shouldn’t have. 

   “Why are we still awake?” questioned Emma. Why am I alive?

   Hannibal’s voice waded through the confused silence like an echo. “I think only you can answer that one.” Followed by the pour of more wine. Drop after drop.

   It wasn’t a difficult answer when there was pause and alcohol in the air and the warmth of another who was in reach. She knew, like she had never known before. “… Company,” admitted her with newfound lucidity being consciously aware could never give her. “The world sounds different when I’m with you.”

   “What does it sound like?”

   “Like… Like a symphony.”

   The sofa sighed under the shifting of his weight as she swore he moved closer. “Harmony. When the right notes mix with the right instruments under the direction of the conductor, it is a cacophony of delight that is profound to the senses,” assuaged Hannibal.

   Makes a part of you from deep inside feel as if you could finally breathe , added Emma mid-thought.

   “Everything in sync. Everything right.”

   “See, you understand.” Too drunk with enlightenment under her breath to care, Emma threw herself upright to the rhythm of a bounce and eureka. “You’re the only one who sees me. Is it so bad to want to understand why? To be curious as to what you have buried when you’ve already begun digging up mine? Tell me anything of your parents, then I shall tell you mine. Is that so hard?” pressed Emma as she leaned forward, hunching slightly like a blind beggar to assuage and bend his gaze from above as predators pretending to be as innocent as prey ought to often do. This was the time. She was sure. He’d finally give a little; a test to their bond. To their friendship. Or whatever it was that they had and pretending was friendship. Survival.

   He looked at her.

   She looked back.

   And there was that look again. That hunger . When was the last time either of them had consumed? Too long, but Emma’s hunger was stronger, enough to beat Hannibal by a mile. He sighed through seething teeth. Just this once. That’s all she needed. That’s all she’ll get. “It was snowing the last time I saw them. Our home was covered in thick layers of its pure colour that you could barely see the horizon at dawn. A guise of innocent ongoings, one might say, or the blessing of god,” divulged Hannibbal, straining, like he was slicing off a part of him and serving it up to her raw on a platter. The act softened her. It was the closest she had gotten to understanding him, and sure, he could have been lying to get her to divulge something deeply personal. But only God would do that and he wasn’t God. He was far better than Him.

   Emma swallowed the hardened lump of salt in her throat. “There was a storm when my mother was murdered. It flooded our moors like an ocean. No one could leave,” she confessed.

   “Did you think it a blessing?” he asked.

   “Did you?”

   They stared amidst a revealing quiet, their eyes piercing through reflections.

   “Death is no blessing. It is just death,” spoke Emma through dry lips, suddenly more thirsty than she’d ever been.

   Hannibal slid her lipstick-stained glass across the table.  “I find that it is an end and a beginning.”

   “That’s one way to think about it, certainly.” Nodded along Emma half-heartedly and took glass to mouth; rapid and fast. Anything to completely satiate herself to completion. It wasn’t often she had told someone about her mother and she did not like this strange feeling that came to occupy her because of it. This bitter bile stuck within her like a rot, like a shame. Her fist clenched the wine glass stem with ferociousness. “I prefer to just let death be death.”

   “My, you really are a persistent force in the face of a battle, Emma Darcy,” commented Hannibal, with his sliver of admiration seeming all too genuine.

   Suddenly smiling and all too proud, Emma said, “I get that a lot. People are often surprised to find how unwilling I am to lie down and play dead.” She raised her glass almost triumphantly as she pushed down the rising rot.

   “And nor should you be forced to be something you are not.” Peering past the lip of the glass, she could see the beginnings of a smug smile like he knew something she didn’t. But, no sooner than downing the wine glass’s remains did the red liquid wash away the sight and her vision blur around the corners with a swallow. Light-headed and weightless. Unaware and buzzing. She didn’t seek to stop. The alcohol numbed the pain of her chrysalis – the pain that followed her existence, the pain she had come to stop. The change that was the end of her. Though it was less of a change or evolution and more of a breaking free from an ill-fitted cage.

   “Emma, are you still there?” came the sound of Hannibal’s dulcet voice, distant and far off, ringing and echoing, come to pull her back to the surface.

   “Yes.” She tried to follow it. Dragging, squeezing. Rising, and rising, and, then, free. Blinking away an old layer of a blurred world and struggling to centre her body upright, she repeats herself with a newfound conviction. “Yes, I always have been.”

   With reality rearing back in, she could feel the palm of his hand on her forehead, the other on the small of her back, as the warmth of his body melding with the closeness of hers. The beginning of early daylight cracked into rays behind Hannibal’s head and seeped into the smile that flitted across his lips. This version of herself, the one that had been begging to be let out – the one that found an easy way through the cracks of drunkenness – owed its life to him, and she matched his delight with awe and thankfulness at her saviour.

[elisysd]

12. You could be my luck even if the sky is falling down

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: Safe and Sound - Capital Cities

Julia woke up early the next morning, too excited at the prospect to spend a whole day with her family. It had been so long. Sure, it would not be just her family as the Verstappens would join them but it was a detail. She was so happy when Louis said that he would come, something she had never thought he would, especially since it would be a loud place despite having privatized the whole thing for the day. WHen she asked Louis if he was sure he would like to come, he had told her that he wanted to see Ethan more. That he wanted to be a good brother to Julia and try to be a friend to Ethan. He didn’t know how and he didn’t really find a tutorial on the internet on how to make friends but Julia was his favorite person on this planet and he wanted to make an effort. For her. And Julia had almost cried. A mix of feeling her heart swell at his words, and a pang of guilt that she hated.

She expected to be the only one awake at this hour but her mom had beaten her to it. The usually neat and clean living-room was filled with red and yellow flags that Julia was quick to recognise, caps, t shirts and other accessories belonging to her dad ack when he was racing. Soon, Lyanna came back from the kitchen, wearing a full red outfit in clear support of her husband. Julia noticed her top with the name and number of her dad and laughed slightly. Her mom had always been Charles’ number one supporter.

“You go all in, for today.” commented Julia.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had the occasion to cheer on your dad. I missed it.”

“You know, you should come to one or two races. We are soon starting the European ones. I’m sure dad would love to have you there. And I do too.”

“I’ll be in Monaco, as I do every year. For other ones… I can’t leave your brother alone.”

“Maybe Louis could come?”

“You know how it would be, Ju’. The noise, the crowd… it would be too overwhelming. And he is not that interested in racing.”

“You should let him decide by himself. And I’m not so sure he would say no… Maybe if Ethan manages to befriend him, Louis would go.”

“That would be funny. Do you know how many times your dad asked Louis if he wanted to come with him on race tracks and Louis said no? And there would come around Ethan and Louis would agree. I can’t even imagine how your dad would feel.”

“Yeah, another reason to add on his list of ‘why Ethan is bad for Julia’.” She sighed as her mom served her a cup of tea.

“Your dad loves to tease you but he likes Ethan. He always liked him, it won’t change now that you guys are dating.”

Julia drank her tea in one gulp, avoiding her mother’s glance. She felt the liquid burning her tongue and throat and almost spitted it out. Her mom was too busy preparing everything to notice her daughter’s pain as she took out some cardboards and felt tips from a cupboard.

“Do you want to make some to cheer Ethan and your dad?”

“Mom… I’m not four anymore.” complained Julia.

“Come on, it will be fun!”

Julia rolled her eyes and was thankful when she saw Louis' silhouette emerging in the kitchen, his brown hair all over the place and his eyes behind his glasses barely open. He high fived his sister as usual. It was their own way to say good morning to each other, and let his mom kiss his cheek before taking place on the kitchen stool. Lyanna was quick to serve him his breakfast as he was looking at the mess on the kitchen counter.

“Do you wanna make supportive cardboards for dad and Ethan?” asked Julia.

He shrugged but actually took a pen and a cardboard before silently starting to draw some lines that Julia quickly recognised as a helmet. As she thought Louis was about to aim for the red color, she was surprised to see him take the navy blue and color his drawing.

“I bet Ethan will love it.” she said.

“I watched some videos of him. Did you know that he had the belgian flag and the netherland one on it? He said because this way he always has a piece of his dad with him when he is racing and it gives him strength.”

Julia didn’t know. She never really paid attention to Ethan’s helmet and she didn’t feel like pretending she knew about it.

“Did you watch a lot of videos about Ethan?”

“Some. It helped me to make a list of questions I can ask him and topics we can talk about, so I don’t feel weird. It’s doctor Rinaldi who told me that it could help me, especially in situations where I could feel anxious.”

“I’m sure Ethan will be happy to see you supporting him. It will help him beat dad, you’ll see. You’ll be his lucky charm.”

“Who will be a lucky charm?” asked Charles, entering the room, all ready to race.

He had a bright smile on his face and Julia could see the glimpse of excitement he always had in his eyes whenever he was about to be near a racing track.

“I’ll support Ethan.” Louis simply explained.

“I’m wounded, Louis. Deeply. How dare you betray me like that?” feigned Charles, a hand on his heart.

“You are fine. And I’ve never really supported you, so you can’t feel betrayed.” stated Louis making Julia laugh.

“Yeah, that’s true, munchkin. And you are right, Ethan will need every little bit of support he can get because I won’t go easy on him.”

“The opposite would have been surprising.” told Julia, nibbling on a lemon cake.

“What about you? Who are you supporting?” asked Lyanna.

“Whoever will be in front at the first corner.” joked Julia, standing up and leaving the kitchen to prepare herself.

They finally arrived on the karting track where the Verstappens were already there. Ethan was already in his racing suit and was sitting on a picnic table, on his own, playing on his phone. As her family was making its way in the building after saying hello to Ethan, Julia stayed behind and sat next to him.

“How do you feel?”

“Good. I didn’t go back to the penthouse after yesterday. I didn’t want to see anyone. Or to speak to my dad. Didn’t even say anything to him this morning when they arrived. I don’t want to end up saying something that I will regret and I don’t want to fuck up my race and give him a reason to criticize me again.”

“Max didn’t really criticize you… I do think he just wants what’s best for you and he just doesn’t know how to show it.”

“Yeah he does a pretty bad job. But I don’t want to think about it. Do you want to see something?”

“Depends…” she said suspiciously.

Ethan scrolled down on his phone before showing her a picture. It was the cactus, proudly sitting next to a little replica of his helmet on his bedside table. Julia laughed. She found that as weird as it was adorable.They talked for a bit about how Ethan was going to manage the race and if he was anxious. He was not, he was excited and determined to win. That would be something he would brag about for a long time. Soon, Louis came to them a bit shy.

“Hey… dad is ready. He is waiting for you.”

“Let’s go then.” said Ethan.

“Ethan, hey? I just want to wish you good luck.” said Louis, avoiding Ethan’s gaze.

“Thank you, buddy. It means a lot. I’m sure it will make a difference on the track!”

Louis smiled at him and they all headed to the track. Max and his wife were talking to her mom, laughing together. Julia and Louis joined them as Ethan was making his way to Charles that was already in his kart, ready to go. It didn’t take long for Charles to take the lead as Ethan was trying his best to catch up to him. Julia found that funny. She couldn’t help but think that it would be a nice bruise to Ethan’s ego but she didn’t really want to hear her dad bragging about it all day long. So when Ethan was about to be overlapped by her dad, she started to scream his name as loud as she could to support him. But still, Ethan was pretty pissed off when he crossed the line almost a minute after Charles who was still in the kart but had taken his helmet off.

“Well, I have to admit it was fun,” said Charles.

“Fun wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe it. Humiliating would be much more fitting.”

“Maybe Max can join us for another round, what do you think?”

Ethan tensed up. Sure he would love to race against his dad but he didn’t want him to have another reason to say how he needed to work on his trajectories. But he didn’t have much time to explain it to Charles as he was slowly driving to the grandstands to talk to Max.

“Hey, Verstappen? A little race to remind us of the good times? You’re up for it?”

Max looked to Ethan who had still his visor on and was not moving.

“I don’t want to give Ethan another reason to hate me.”

“I’m sure he would love that actually. He just wants to bond with you. With his dad. Drop the World Champion act for a race, would you.”

Max looked at Charles and then to Louis who was busy talking with Julia who was explaining something to him.

“If you want to make this race a bonding moment between father and son, maybe Louis could join us as well.”

“Louis doesn’t like karting. I don’t want to force him.”

But Max didn’t really care and walked to the brother and sister.

“Louis? Would you like to try karting later? Julia, you are welcome too.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it. I don’t know how it works.” replied Louis.

“Ethan could show you! I’m sure he would like it.” said Julia. “It could be a team race. You could be with dad and Ethan could be with his dad? What do you think?”

“I’ll think about it.” replied Louis but Julia saw a spark that was not there a few minutes ago, as if being treated like a normal teenage boy was something he was not expecting to happen.

It took a while before Max joined them and this time the race was not as easy for Charles. He was busy trying to defend against Max who had not forgotten anything about being ruthless on tracks but their little fight allowed Ethan to not get distanced easily. It was his time to prove to his dad that he was underestimating him. As Charles managed to put a little distance with his rival, Ethan was now battling against his dad and didn't hesitate to bump into him. It was a petty move from him, he had to admit, but it cost his dad his trajectory and allowed Ethan to put a few meters between them. And Ethan was so happy to cross the line before his dad that seeing Charles winning once again didn’t bother him much. As Ethan took his helmet off, his dad came next to him.

“That was an ugly stunt you pulled out there but well done.”

“You would have done the same thing.”

“Yeah, it’s true. But I had fun. What do you think about making it a new habit? Everytime you come back home we take one hour to ourselves to go karting together.”

“I would actually love that.”

In the meantime Louis was trying to make her mom let him try racing to which Lya was worried. After all, he still had his ankle in a cast and Lya was scared he would get hurt even more.

“I just want to try normal stuff and have fun like a normal boy, mom! I don’t care if it hurts after. I just want to try.”

“Louis… I just want you to be sure. You hate feeling trapped, you will have seatbelts on and a helmet. And it will be loud. You can’t have your noise canceling headphones, darling.”explained Lya.

“I know and maybe it will be just a one time only but, I want to try. Please, mom.”

Lyanna sighed and looked at Julia in the hope that she would pick her side. The brunette just shook her head in order to make her mom understand that it was something she would not interfere in. Finally, seeing her son so excited and genuinely happy to participate in something, Lyanna abdicated and let Louis go to Ethan who proceeded to explain everything to him. Next to her mom, Julia was observing the scene. They were cute. Louis seemed to really like Ethan and it was one of the first times that she was seeing Ethan smiling so carefreely. He looked younger and Julia found herself thinking he was really cute when he was not serious or behaving like an arrogant prick. She liked this version of him and she wished she would see it more often. As Ethan was helping set Louis up, he looked over to her and winked at her as he gave her a slight thumbs up to tell her that all was well.

Of course, the race was different, slower as no one wanted Louis to feel humiliated. Ethan ever slowed down enough to let Louis overtake him and at the end, Louis snatched the third position, in front of Ethan but behind his dad. As Louis was trying to leave the car, Ethan went up to him to help him.

“Hey, buddy! That was a nice race, right? You were good.”

“You let me overtake you.”Ethan could hear the anger in his voice.

“I mean… I wanted you to have fun, not to be last.”

“I don’t like that. I want to win fair and square, I don’t want to be helped or to be advantaged or to be treated like a kid. That’s not nice.”

Ethan could see him struggling to get out of the kart. He offered him his hand to help him get out of it, to which Louis refused, saying that he would be fine by himself. On the other side of the room, Lyanna was helping a very struggling Charles get out of the car, without trying to get noticed.

“My back… fuck it hurts.” he complained.

“Told you, honey. You are not twenty anymore. That was a stupid idea.”

“But it was worth it. I won, and I had a very nice moment on track with Louis. So I don’t care about the pain. Could you maybe give me a nice massage tonight, you know to ease the pain? And maybe a few kisses would help.”

“Just a few?” teased Lyanna.

Soon everyone was out of the building and ready to leave. Ethan was chatting with Louis who was, no doubt about it, telling him anecdotes about silly things. If it could be boring for most people, it was not for Ethan. He liked Louis and Louis liked him. Not once did he mention that he was autistic or asked questions about it. And it felt good for the teenager that, for the first time in a long time, felt like he was not treated differently, that he belonged somewhere. Julia joined them after helping her mom by putting all the cardboards and flags in the trunk of the car. They were laughing so much that she was scared to interrupt, but the warm smile of Ethan and his hand offered to her made her relax. She took it as he pulled her against him and her head found naturally against his chest as he draped an arm around her shoulders.

“Can Ethan come eat at home? I don’t want him to leave and I want to show him my comic books collection, he says he wanted to see it. Right, Ethan?”

“Well, I don’t want you to feel forced to do anything… maybe you are tired and I would understand if you wanted to go back to your place to rest.”

“I would like to spend more time with you both, actually. And with your parents as well. You dined at mine, it’s only fair that I dine at yours. But I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t. My mom will love it.”

And indeed Lyanna was over the moon when Julia asked her if Ethan could come for dinner, and to her surprise, Charles was happy too. Ethan was a little scared, he had to admit, at the idea of dining to Julia’s parents. All of that was making the lie all too real and he understood Julia better when she had told him that Louis could never know the truth about them. He was a nice kid, full of life and so intelligent. And he never stopped praising Julia. It was like she was holding the sun, the moon and the stars for him. He was looking up to her so much. Ethan found it sweet and it made him regret a little to be an only child. He would have loved to have someone like Louis alongside him. And deep down, he made the promise to himself that no matter what would happen between him and Julia, he would always have a place for Louis in his life.

As Lyanna was preparing dinner, helped by Julia, Louis almost took Ethan by the sleeve to show him his room and his comic books. Nothing could have prepared Ethan for what he saw, with all the books that were there, Louis could easily open a bookstores or a library. Louis carefully explained how everything was organized and what books he preferred and why, it could have lasted hours if Julia had not come to interrupt them and as Ethan was walking away, Louis made him promise to come back soon so he could show him what he had not the occasion to.

“Louis adores you. I’ve never seen him open up so easily to someone.”

“It’s not hard to love him.” shrugged Ethan as they were taking place around the table.

The dinner went well, full of laughs and for once, Louis didn’t put his headphones on and participate in the conversation that revolved mainly around Ethan, before moving to Ethan and Julia.

“Do you still have Julia’s bite mark from preschool?” asked Lyanna.

“I do, actually. Your daughter left her mark on me. I was hers from the very beginning. It just took us twenty years to admit it and find our ways to each other.”

“It has to be like that sometimes. It’s all about timing. The right time at the right place. It just nice to see her so happy around you.”

“Mom…” complained Julia.

“It’s true. I’ve never seen you smile that big and that much. You’ve always been so closed off, not letting people come near you. So focused on your studies and career. It’s your biggest strength but also your biggest weakness. I’m just happy you let someone like Ethan get through you.”

“Don’t think it was easy, Mrs Leclerc…”

“Call me Lyanna, Ethan please.”

“Lyanna, right. Julia knows what she wants and doesn’t settle for less than what she deserves. As she should, by the way. I just had to prove to her that I was what she needed.”

“That’s very arrogant of you to say.” replied Julia.

“You will learn that the Leclerc women are hard to get, Ethan. Her mom was the same. But once you have them, they change your life for the better, right love?” said Charles, looking tenderly at his wife.

“I’m just so happy for you darling. You have no idea.”

Julia could see her mom almost crying and it was like a reality check of the pain that she would inevitably cause her, whether she would learn the truth or not. Julia faked a smile and excused herself. Ethan noticed the subtle change in her attitude and stood up as well, following her to the garden.

“Julia? What’s wrong? Did I say something that I wasn’t supposed to?”

“No, you didn’t. It’s just that… When did it become so easy to lie to them? The more we talk, the bigger the hole we are digging for ourselves becomes. It will end up in a mess Ethan. If the truth comes out, it will destroy everything. My parents, your parents, our careers, our friends, Louis… oh gosh Louis. He loves you so much, he is already so attached to you. I can’t do that. He can’t know. Never, you hear me. Never. I…” tears were falling down her face and her breathing was erratic.

“Julia… hey. Look at me. He won’t know. I don’t want him to know either, I like this kid, okay?”

“I hate that. I hate this situation. I thought it would be harmless, that it would only be a little lie, but now everyone is involved and we are both too deep into it. I’ve never imagined that faking a relationship with you would make me feel like that…”

“Faking? You are not really in love with my sister?”

From behind a bush, Louis appeared, his mouth agape and tears rolling down his face and Julia felt her heart shattered in a million pieces.

Author's note: Well, well, well... it seems like the secret is out...What do you think will happen next? Let me know your theories, I love to read them.

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. It helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

Taglist:

@herondalism @aundercover @musingsbyshreya @karmabyfernando @reengard @mycenterfold @smoooothoperator

[jennycalendar]

upside-down-y

“What do I do?” said Willow. She sounded so little in that moment. Suddenly, Jenny wasn’t imagining that woman in a clean-cut black suit and heels, but the little girl in striped sweaters and white tights. “If there’s no—word—for it? I like being a lesbian, or I thought I did, but I can’t call myself that if I like Oz. And I think I do.” “You don’t need a word for it,” said Jenny simply. “I need a word for it,” said Willow, a stress on the pronoun. “Maybe people in general don’t, but I do.” “Maybe there isn’t one.” “I need—” Willow’s breath hiccupped. “I need the words, a-and the rules. To make sure I don’t—” Abruptly, Jenny knew who Willow needed to be talking to.

decided that, in lieu of tonight's blogging, now might be a nice time to post a tumblr-only exclusive that i've not yet figured out how to work into the canon of what you make! i would like to write a larger fic about willow's adventures at some point, & also figure out when this development will happen within the timeline, and once i do, i think i'll understand better how to work this thing in. (but it is definitely what happens.)

this requires no knowledge of my sprawling fic 'verse except for: it's an everybody lives/nobody dies au, jenny and giles are together with their eight-year-old son, this is a few years post-series.

read for -- giles and willow having frank and very loving discussions about sexuality, jenny calling willow "baby" because she's now a mom who does that kinda thing, briefest sleepiest calendiles child cameo!!!

~~~~~

Willow called at some godawful hour, late enough for it to be edging towards early-morning and for Jenny to be too tired to check the time. She happened to have been pulling an accidental all-nighter that had spun out from a few lines of code that just would not cooperate, so she managed to catch the phone before the second ring, hoping that it hadn’t woken up anyone upstairs. The shrill tone felt impossibly loud to her tired ears. “’lo?” she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve.

Anxiously, Willow said, “Jenny!” and then didn’t say anything else, her breathing nervous and rapid on the other end of the line.

“Willow.” Jenny was too sleepy to think. “You. Need something?”

“I don’t know! I just! Something happened and I can’t tell Buffy about it, and I can’t tell my mom, because she’ll think—well—she keeps saying she approves of the political implications of my lesbianism, so I feel like this is going to go over like a lead balloon, but I don’t know—I mean, I don’t think I’m straight again! It hasn’t—”

Jenny felt very much like this was a conversation that required her to be more awake than she was. Shuffling over to the kitchen table, she took a long sip of coffee. “The political implications?” she repeated skeptically.

“It’s just—we—” Willow took a wobbly breath in, then, in an exhaled confession: “I kissed Oz!”

For one bizarre, sleep-deprived moment, Jenny was convinced that she’d somehow been thrown back in time to 1997. “Oz?” she repeated. “Like, Oz, Oz?”

“Like Oz Oz!” Willow confirmed tearfully.

“Like your high school boyfriend Oz?”

“He was in Istanbul for some—thing—I don’t remember—and I wish I could say that we got drunk or high or something, but I was really only a little buzzed, and he was completely sober, and we were talking about everything we’ve been up to—he was the road manager for this really cool Eastern European band, and, and he’s been doing some networking with other werewolves, and oh, that’s part of why we met! We were talking about all of the complexities of connecting werewolves to resources that will help, and the stigma, and he’s really—well—he never really did much in high school, which I used to have such a complex about because I felt like he could do more than he was doing, but I guess I’ve changed because I just felt, I was so happy to see him doing things that mattered to him! And then that they also have a positive impact! And he’s still got that, that smile where when he looks at you, you sorta feel like you’re the only girl in the entire world! He still looks at me like I’m just the same, and I thought at first, you know, maybe that was why I felt all fuzzy and warm around him, because I’m a horrible person who gets off on validation, but then I started looking at him too and seeing that boy and—and—remembering—”

Jenny had absolutely no idea why any of this was a problem, but her ability to assertively interrupt the Willow-babble was significantly impaired when she was inches away from nodding off in between sentences. “Isn’t that good?” she tried, but Willow had not at all stopped talking.

“—and then we kissed and we actually did a little more than kissed, like, there was some over-the-clothes action and some grinding, except then when we stopped all of that, he walked me to my hotel! Like a gentleman! And he kissed me on the cheek and said he was really happy to share this moment with me, and who even does that??? What do I do now???? What if I’ve just—but I loved Tara so much! I still love Tara! I mean, I have NC-17 dreams about Tara, those wouldn’t happen if I’m straight! And I haven’t been with a guy since Oz, and I haven’t wanted to be with a guy since Oz, but now I want to—to call up Oz and be with him! Which, hello, so clingy, it was just one really nice month and then a whole bunch of kissing—”

“—wait, you’ve been spending a month with Oz in Istanbul and it’s only now become romantic?”

“WE WERE AT A CONFERENCE,” said Willow, as though this explained anything at all.

Jenny sat down at the kitchen table. “Willow—” God, she wanted to be asleep. “People can be bisexual,” she managed.

“But I’m not!”

“So you’re not into men?”

“But I am!”

She was going about this all wrong. “Baby. Are you into men or are you into Oz?”

A long silence. Then, timidly, “There’s not a difference, though, is there? You can’t be a real lesbian if—”

“Please God don’t turn into one of those witches,” said Jenny, who did not have the energy to be tactful. “Willow, there’s no way to be a real lesbian. There’s no manual. We define ourselves with the words that feel best for us, that’s what the queer community is about. What’s the word that feels best for you, right now?”

Another long silence. “I don’t know if the word is lesbian,” said Willow uncomfortably. “I don’t—I didn’t—really—question it? When it happened. It was Tara, first, and then Kennedy, and then a whole bunch of other girls, y’know, on account of the traveling, and then nobody at all for a little while, so I just—I wanted to kiss girls and I stopped looking at guys, and the only guy I ever noticed before Oz was Xander, and Xander, I didn’t know he was everything. They don’t tell you in high school what to do with someone who’s everything, they just say you should marry him if he’s a guy, but I don’t—I’ve never really wanted to marry Xander. We’re not like that. So I figured, Oz, he was just a fluke! Especially because of how everything with Tara happened, and I never thought any guy was pretty like I think girls are pretty, but—I don’t know. Oz is different. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Jenny leaned back against the wall, listening.

“I don’t know if the word is lesbian,” Willow repeated. “But—it doesn’t feel right to say that the word is bisexual, either. I’ve dated more girls than guys, now. I’ve built my life around imagining a girl there.”

“But Oz is different,” Jenny prompted.She was met with a tiny sigh in response. “Is that bad?”

“What do I do?” said Willow. She sounded so little in that moment. Suddenly, Jenny wasn’t imagining that woman in a clean-cut black suit and heels, but the little girl in striped sweaters and white tights. “If there’s no—word—for it? I like being a lesbian, or I thought I did, but I can’t call myself that if I like Oz. And I think I do.”

“You don’t need a word for it,” said Jenny simply.

“I need a word for it,” said Willow, a stress on the pronoun. “Maybe people in general don’t, but I do.”

“Maybe there isn’t one.”

“I need—” Willow’s breath hiccupped. “I need the words, a-and the rules. To make sure I don’t—”

Abruptly, Jenny knew who Willow needed to be talking to. “Baby, can you just stay on the line?” she asked gently. “Just for a second, I gotta—” and she set down the phone, stepping quietly out of the kitchen and into the unlit hallway, halfway up the stairs to the little landing between the first and second floor, where the bedroom door was still ajar.

Her baby was asleep in the middle of the bed, curled against Rupert like a little puppy; his dozing father’s arm was round his shoulders. Jenny leaned over the bed, carefully untangling a drowsy Art from Rupert. Art, always cuddly in slumber, whined; she ran her fingers through his hair, and he settled. “Rupert,” she murmured, shaking her guy awake. “Rupert.”

“Mmh?” Rupert stirred.

“Rupert, it’s Willow.”

Rupert’s eyes flew open. She saw the panic and gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze, pressing her forehead briefly to his. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay. She’s okay. Nothing bad. She just needs to talk to you.”

~~~~~

Willow waited on the line, listening to the crackly static, trying not to breathe too loudly for fear it would tumble into crying before Jenny came back. She heard rustling on the other end and held her breath, waiting, until Giles, his voice all rough and sleepy like it got during those old early morning research sessions, said, “Hello, Willow.”

“Giles,” Willow all but sobbed, feeling a rush of relief. “Did—did Jenny—tell you?”

“Some of it,” said Giles. “Just the loose pencil sketch, really. But I’d like to hear it from you.”

Maybe the Oz stuff wasn’t really why Willow had called Giles. “How do you know when to stop playing by the roles you made up when you were twenty-two and trying not to be the kind of asshole who destroys the universe?” she said, all in one breath. “I, I didn’t decide I was a lesbian because of the magics, but I decided it while I was in the magics, and I wanted to be good at being a lesbian, but now I’m worried that I’m not, if, if I kissed Oz and I liked it. I don’t know what the word is for that.”

“Bisexual?” said Giles.

“That’s what Jenny said but it isn’t that!” said Willow tearfully. “And lesbian doesn’t feel like it’s right either, even though it did for years before this!I don’t know what it is! I like girls and I like Oz, but I don’t like—I don’t want—I don’t think I want, but I don’t know—I wasn’t trying to look, after Tara, because I thought it was simple as—”

“Does there need to be a word for it?”

“That’s what Jenny said!”

A soft, tender laugh, the likes of which Willow hadn’t heard since she was in high school. She loved that laugh so much. It always meant that Giles knew the answer, and really, the problem wasn’t anything to be that afraid of, and five minutes from now, the world would feel okay again. “Willow,” said Giles. “Nothing in a person’s heart is ever finite. We are always—always—growing and changing past the words we used to describe ourselves five, ten, fifteen years ago.”

“But what if I—” Willow swallowed. “What if I change wrong?”

Giles didn’t answer for a couple of the worst seconds of Willow’s life. Finally, gently, he said, “Then you right yourself, if you can. Lean on others, if you can’t. We’re all muddling through. There’s no certainty that I can give you, as much as I wish that I could, but I can—” Now it was his turn to pause. A heavy one. “I can tell you that I love you,” he said, finally.

She had never heard him say that to her before. Not that directly, anyway. “I love you too, Giles,” Willow whispered. The whole thing felt faintly unreal: that she could say those words, and not snatch them back. Not watch his face contort uncomfortably as he tried to wriggle out of genuine emotional expression. “I just don’t wanna do what I did to everyone. And I don’t—if I was wrong, if I’m not—”

“I don’t think that you were wrong,” Giles countered. “You used the words that made sense to you at the time. Those words might not make sense with who you are now. Who you’re growing into. This is good, Willow. You questioning this is good, and healthy. I think…you need to become comfortable with the notion of not having that neat answer, or that label, if the notion of a label has become…restrictive.”

“I don’t want to not be a lesbian,” said Willow unsteadily. “It made everything make sense, when I found out about that word—”

“Does it help you now?”

Willow exhaled. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know. I don’t want to not kiss Oz. It feels like I got turned all upside-down-y again.”

Giles was quiet again. Then he said, “When I was in my twenties, my group, it was all men, save one. Diedre. It hadn’t been intended, her being a part of the group. We’d all wanted a place to…to be ourselves, free of societal expectations.”

Willow’s heart flipped over. This was not something Giles had ever talked about. She’d known, of course—pieced it together through Ethan, and what she’d learned, later, about the kind of magic Giles got up to, but to hear it from him was completely different. She wanted to say something, affirm that she was there on the other end of the line, but she was halfway afraid that he would change his mind if he remembered that she was listening. She held her breath.

“I…didn’t mind the notion of including women within our group, even then.” Giles laughed softly. “It wasn’t something I talked about with the rest, but I wasn’t—I’ve never really—it’s always been about the person, for me, you see. Ethan and the rest, though, they…it wasn’t usual for them to, ah, prefer the company of a woman. They abhorred the very notion. But that was simply how special Diedre was. To, to all of us.”

Something tight and knotted in Willow’s chest was beginning to loosen. She sat down on the hotel bed, curling her fingers around the phone, listening like her life depended on it.

“You, you don’t need to have the right words for it, Willow,” said Giles gently. “Lord knows we didn’t know any of them. And I’d never—endorse—the other sort of things I got up to back then, but I, I think I’ve spent a lot of time refusing to engage with the parts of my life that have been…joyful. All because I was ashamed of the person that I was then.”

Willow wasn’t ashamed of high school Willow, exactly. It was just that sometimes it was hard to reconcile Willow-then with Willow-now, and that wasn’t even getting into the Willow-in-between. “So, for them, it was…guys plus the one exception,” she said uncertainly.

“Do you need to know what it was?” Giles’s tone was mildly pointed. Instructive.

“If I don’t—”

“What if you don’t?”

“I mean, that’s why I’ve been traveling,” said Willow, halfway timid. “To learn stuff.”

“And what have you learned?”

Willow closed her eyes, half-afraid of the answer. Oz had smiled at her in the light of the full moon, unencumbered, gentle. He’d listened to stories about Tara and Kennedy and everyone with thoughtful patience. He hadn’t made a single move. The kissing had happened by accident, and because she’d initiated it, and the nice thing about Oz was that he didn’t question that. He didn’t have a whole bunch of things to say about whoa, hold on, didn’t you go gay and change your mind about me? He just smiled at her, like he saw her, saw right down into her bones, and like what he saw was good.

And she’d missed him so much. The pinwheeling way he talked about things had baffled her when she was in high school, but now, after years of traveling, it was nice to be with someone who had just as many strange questions and quiet observations as she’d been collecting herself. She liked hearing him tell his stories. She liked him. She liked the person he’d become, and the person that she was with him. The people that they could maybe be together.

“I think I’ve learned that I wanna kiss Oz again,” she said, barely a whisper.

She could hear the smile in Giles’s voice. “That’s lovely, Willow,” he said. “I’m very happy for the both of you.”

~~~~~

Giles went back to bed. Jenny and Art had taken up just about all of it, making it nigh impossible for him to lie down comfortably. An attempt to nudge Art a bit further towards the middle was met by an unhappy, half-awake whine that positively tore at his heart, so he resigned himself to sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the bed for three minutes before Jenny, half awake, said, “Honey. Are you being stupid again?” and pulled Art against her like a teddy bear, clearing space for him in the middle.

“Don’t solve all of my problems for me,” said Giles, lying down and reaching to squeeze her shoulder. Their arms encircled Art, who turned his head towards his mother, soft dark curls against her sweater.

[crazybutgood]

Thinking of you! Hope you can stay up a little bit longer. Wrote something to help:

“Harry!” Draco snapped. Harry blearily opened his eyes.

“What?”

“The healers say you can’t go to sleep for another hour while the spell on your concussion finishes working.”

“Mmm,” agrees Harry tiredly, letting his eyes close again.

“No, no!” Draco sounds a bit panicked. Harry tries to sit up. He doesn’t like when Draco is scared. Draco shouldn’t have to be scared about anything - not anymore. They’d both been scared enough for lifetimes.

“Tell me a story,” Harry tried.

“So you can fall asleep in the middle of it? Not likely. You tell me a story.”

“Once upon a time…” Harry started, then laughed. Draco wasn’t Teddy and already knew all his Marauders stories. “I don’t know. I can’t think that clearly.”

Draco peered at Harry anxiously. “The healer said you might be a bit confused while the damage finished healing. But I can call her back…”

Harry reached up to that little wrinkle where Draco’s brown was furrowed. Maybe if he pressed there, Draco’s face would smooth out and the worry would go away. Draco caught his hand and held it for a minute. That felt nice. Nice enough for Harry to let his eyes start to shut again.

“Hey! No, sit up. Drink some water. For Slytherin’s sake, Harry! Stay awake or I’m calling Pansy and Ginevra to come badger you for the next hour!”

Harry obediently sipped his water. “What if we took a trip?”

“Took a trip? Tonight?” The worried look was back and Draco stood - to go get someone to poke at Harry’s brain again, Harry realized.

“Not tonight! Like, just in the future. I’ve never gotten to travel much. Where should we go?”

Draco’s shoulders inched down a bit as he turned and came back to sit near Harry’s bed. “Well, where would you want to go?”

“Is Paris nice?” Harry asked.

“It’s fine, but the tourist parts are extremely overrated. No, if you want to see an old European city we should go to Prague. See the astronomical clock, the old town square.”

Harry smiled tiredly as slid further down in the bed. He pushed himself up again, trying to stay awake for Draco, so Draco wouldn’t worry.

Draco saw him struggle with his pillow, and reached over to fluff it before Harry had even thought of it. He fussed with the blankets too for a moment, pulling them sweetly around Harry. Harry’s heart swelled at the affection, the little boy in the cupboard still hardly believing he was so loved.

“Where else? Where else should we go?”

“In Europe? Well, I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights in Norway.”

“That’d be cool,” Harry agreed. “What about America? Have you ever been there?”

“Mother took me to New York City the summer of fourth year. Right before the Quidditch Cup. I think she sensed that things were taking a turn for the worse and she wanted to have some nice memories together before that.” Draco was frowning again. Harry didn’t like it when Draco frowned.

“I want to see the Grand Canyon.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Great big hole in the ground somewhere in the west?”

Harry snorted. “I think it’s like…Utah maybe? Or New Mexico. That sounds right. I don’t know, all the states blend together when I’m not concussed. But yeah, it’s supposed to be really beautiful. We could rent a car and do several of their national parks. There’s the one with the big geyser too. That’s supposed to be cool. And the one with the alligators -“ Harry paused to yawn. “It would be cool to see an alligator.”

“If you can stay awake for another 30 minutes, I will take you to see all the alligators your heart desires. Tell me, what makes an alligator so intriguing to you.”

Harry chatted with Draco about alligators, then manatees, and then to moose until the healer came to check on him again. He hardly noticed, so excited to plan his trip with Draco, until Draco let out a huge yawn.

Finally declared well enough to sleep, they both fell into the fitful sleep of a hospital. But Harry knew that they’d keep planning tomorrow.

💜 sending love and the hope that you’ll be able to sleep soon! 💜

HELLO @kittycargo omg??? This is the bestest thing ever omg I can't believe you wrote a fic (and so quick!) based on me staying up akfjej 🥺 I *love* the setup you made for it omg and poor Harry jfjej I hope he's alright!! This is so sweet and omg the softness! Draco gently taking care of Harry and them talking about taking a trip together ❣️ they so deserve some time off for themselves,, 'the little boy in the cupboard still hardly believing he was so loved' MY HEART 😭😭😭 Harry is so cute going on a bleary tangent about all he wants to see, esp the alligators!!

I adore this so much, I've read this thrice now and I can't stop smiling 💕💕 I just finished the thing I'd stayed up for, and am pumped full of adrenaline but ready to sleep sometime soon too hopefully fjje and this was like the softest, sweetest surprise of a bedtime story!! Thank you thank you so much, this was so incredibly nice and thoughtful of you 🙏🏼💖💖 I hope you have a wonderful weekend!

[nimdreams]

I have been thinking about starting to share more on here, besides the bigger essays that I share on my other socials as well. Maybe some of the daily thoughts I have about my alterhumanity. I might also want to share more about my current 'types as I settle into them, like a post with what I look like as each.

Today I wanted to give a little overview of the main labels I am using now. In my last update, I mentioned going back to Golden Retriever therian instead of dog cambitherian and I have been feeling incredibly happy calling myself a Golden again. I hope I can stop going back and forth, which I mostly do out of insecurity and shame, and embrace my golden-self fully. I would still say that I do not identify as a golden retriever fully, but partially, which still falls under therianthropy, but maybe one day I will feel safe enough with who I am to stop calling it partially.

I also mentioned my dream self in my last update, an identity that I have labeled as voidling since. I know that in dreams I am mostly made of void, and am a part of the void. This happened through corruption by using too much chaos magic. Sometimes when I am awake, I yearn to reach out and touch the chaos magic, drink it in, let it completely fill me, and then direct it to work for me. Magic is supposed to run through my veins and I miss it when I am not dreaming.

My other kintype is Vulpecula, the constellation. This identity is a celestial fox spirit and part of the celestial realm. Where voidling is what I am in dreams, Vulpecula is what I am in my imagination and fantasies. I don't actively make up any noemata, it comes to me naturally. Everything that feels right, makes sense to me, and that I experience that doesn't fit my other identities. Such as being an eidolon/summon that I have talked about a couple of times before, is part of this identity. I have also been able to divide abilties I have in dreams, as well as abilities that I feel like I should have awake, over my two kintypes. Light and celestial magic is fully tied to being Vulpecula for me. Where voidling is something I have been becoming in dreams my entire life, Vulpecula is a newer identity that has been forming these past few years. All my feelings related to stars that popped up in those years, as well as fox feelings I have had since I was at least 10 years old, are combined into Vulpecula.

Lastly, I have been questioning hares since 2019 and have used theriotype, tried to link mountain hares, and tried archetrope, and folcintera, as well as trying out rabbit instead, but right now I think European hare folcintera is the best label. For me, that is a combination of both therianthropy and archetropy, which means I also have exemplars (an archetrope term) for this 'type. Even though I relate to both white and brown fur, which fits the mountain hare, as a hare I am incredibly connected to my country, the Netherlands, and a biome found in my country, heathland. I also have Dutch wildlife in general as a paratype for hare. Which is why I call myself a European hare, and I connect to both normal and albino coloring. European hare just really clicks for me, even if I find mountain hares more interesting.

I will also briefly mention what I posted about recently, how I see my body as physically fae. I don't want to go into it much yet still though.

Lastly I still identify as the Dreamer archetrope, for which I also have a few exemplars. I also have some hearthomes, paratypes, anteatypes, and common forms I shapeshift into as a voidling shapeshifter, that I might go into some other time as well.

Thanks for reading and maybe you will hear from me sooner than normal. These posts will be simpler than my posts usually are. I will read over them, but not as much as I tend to do and there will only be little editing if at all. I am not sure yet how I want to tag them. Probably something else than "nim dreaming", to keep those for what I consider more essay type posts. "Nim musings" perhaps.