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typewritingyip · 4 months ago

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Arcturus Three

Part Two - Pasts

Part One

Warning: Mentions of Real Events

———

In the two years since the launch of Arcturus One, the world had changed and not necessarily for the better in every case. The increased number of attacks was starting to frighten the public and there was still no discernable end in sight.

From the time that the crew of Arcturus One, there was a never ending stream of news worthy events;

On July 18th Detroit declared bankruptcy, Prince George was born on July 22nd, September 16th led to 12 deaths in D.C Navy Yard, both Serena Williams and Sebastian Vettel claimed their fourth championship titles on October 27th, and Nelson Mandela died at 95 on December 5th.

In 2014, on February 22nd ‘El Chapo” is apprehended, Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 disappears on March 8th its 200 people aboard; confirmed non-Quintesson attack, an avalanche kills 16 on Mt. Everest on April 18th, in October Malala Yousafzai wins the Nobel Peace Prize at the age of 17,

For the first part of 2015, on January 20th a musical by Lin-Manuel Miranda hits the stage called Hamilton, a pilot intentionally crashes a plane and kills 150 on March 24th, April 25th holds a 7.8 earthquake which kills thousands in Nepal, Ireland legalizes same-sex marriage on May 23rd, and same-sex marriage is then legalized across the United States on June 26th after reaching the Supreme Court.

The world kept turning and events continued occurring. Hundreds of thousands of innocents were killed in the time post launch. Miami, Edinburgh, São Paulo, Sanghai, and Stockholm were all coastal cities which faced attackers between the summer of 2013 and the summer of 2015. Further multiple inland cities were attacked. Over a million civilians were confirmed dead with another million or more remaining missions. Billions in property damage were done.

There had not been a moment of rest for 90% of pilots across the world, many of the experienced pilots with more than a year of service in have started experiencing overuse while new pilots attempt to reach the survival rates of the first and second generation pilots.

The third generation of pilots has only a 3% survival rate.

—

Most of headquarters was quiet, all the engineers working away in the warehouses and everyone else was watching the attack off the coast of New York. Three mecha were assigned there currently, which was a drastic increase from even a year ago.

The number of attacks was increasing rapidly and the number of new pilots was too, even though only one or two new suits were made every year. That number was only really replacing the suits that faced a catastrophic failure. The number of new pilots was trying to replace those lost in catastrophic failures too.

They were starting to lose this fight and there wasn’t a legitimate way forward, everything they tried was just getting more people and pilots killed each day. The only hope that currently was held, laid in the hands of the Arcturus pilots.

People were even loosing hope in that, after the public announcement of Cliff’s disappearance and then the lack of information released the further Arcturus One was getting from Earth. There was a few conspiracy theories about that crew, some people were pulling together the released footage and comparing it to the last few years, saying it was the same.

Not very many people know that Arcturus One was also technically missing, certainly it was kept from the public and their families, but a few pilots knew. How could they not?

Jesse was walking through the halls of MECHA, trying to find literally anyone to talk to. Ever since the announcement it felt like other pilots were avoiding him like the plague, other than those a part of the mission. Maybe they were starting to be seen as bad luck, he really couldn’t tell you.

All of the offices he’d been to were empty, most of the staff watching the attack on New York as if it were a sporting event. To be fair, they had to watch the attacks to ensure that the suits didn’t face a failure or start machining parts before they got back. It was becoming more and more stressful to be a mech engineer.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Jesse peaks into another office before sighing deeply, it was a ghost town. Turning back around, Jesse starts towards the hanger, it wasn’t the place he really wanted to go but he couldn’t stand being alone while an attack was happening.

It was hard for most pilots to sit and watch the attacks, new hardwiring instilling a strong desire to be out there fighting, a new instinct. Jesse certainly wasn’t the right person to talk about it, maybe Percy, it was loosely explained at the beginning of compatibility testing but who really paid attention to that.

—

Nine Years Ago - March 2006

There were certain things about this world that felt like they were falling apart and rebuilding at the same time, mostly cities and people. People were trying to rebuild their lives and cities were trying to rebuild everything else. Jesse Nelson, sixteen, had seen the cities around him fall and rise then repeat the cycle.

When you grow up in the ruins of a less than cared about city, it’s something that becomes normal, watching everything around you be rebuilt while nothing changes for you.

Oakland California had been almost burnt down in the first attack on the bay, what little was rebuilt was where most of them lived. Even twenty something years later. There were clear road ways and a few schools, it was labeled good enough.

Jesse had grown up in the rubble with his mom, dad having died in a different attack, but the two of them were enough in his eyes. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, Jesse was making his way through to school, ducking under the breezeways built into town.

It was mostly washed up convex boxes from the port that they were using to protect the major thoroughfares for the city.

There were a few of his classmates loitering in the dark, more than likely reading the news or making illegal bets on the next battle. It made Jesse’s skin crawl sometimes, seeing how people forgot that most of the suits that were trying to save the world had people inside of them.

With a deep sigh, the entrance to his high school was mostly blocked, pulling his bag off he tossed it onto the security table before lifting his arms up to go through the metal detector. Security around the so called next generation was high, even from themselves. No one could bring in anything metal, flammable, or sharp.

When the scanner beeped, Jesse couldn’t help but swear and a few other people who lined up behind him laughed. Stepping aside, his bag was grabbed by the security guard and he shuffled off to the side, it would be at least thirty minutes before he’d be let in.

Lowering his head, Jesse stared at the floor, scowling at it.

The metal detector went off again behind him and not even looking up, he slid along the bench to make room for whoever was behind him.

After a minute, when no one joined him, he looked up and back towards the security checkpoint.

A man stood there in the nicest suit that Jesse had ever seen, wearing a bright smile, and for a long moment, Jesse wondered how he got here without being mugged. He was still talking with the security guard, hand in pockets, smiling and looking around at everyone as they went through security. His eyes wandered over to Jesse and paused there, smile turning more so into a smirk, before looking back at the security guard.

“What’s his crime?” The man pulled a hand from his pockets, hooking his thumb towards Jesse, “He set off the metal detector, we have to wait for the principal to clear him.” The man just simply shook his head, “He’s with me.” It took a moment for the security guard to actually respond, “Sorry?” His smile returned, “He’s with me,” he looks over and gestures, “Come on kid, I’m springing you.” Jesse gawked before grabbing up his bag to follow.

That was the moment his life changed forever.

The man started into the school and towards the gym, Jesse just caught up, “Uh, who exactly are you and why am I with you?” With a light shrug, the man tucks his hands back into his pockets, “I’ve gone by my call sign for the better part of my life, so call me Swindle.” Jesse whistled lowly, “Damn, that’s unfortunate.” Swindle grinned.

“Yeah, I hear that all the time, so kid, what’s your name?” Jesse sighed deeply, “Jesse.” Swindle nodded, opening the door to the gym for him, the door was blocked off by a curtain and the room was dark, “Well Jesse, I think you may want to sit in on this assembly today. How old are you?” Ducking under the curtain, Jesse looks around slowly, “Sixteen.” Swindle hummed, “And family?” Jesse glances back, “It’s just my mom and I, why?” Nodding a bit, Swindle ducks under the curtain and looks around the space, “Cause I think you’ll want to sit in on this assembly.” He moves into the room.

Slowly, Jesse follows, looking around the darkened gym, “What’s it for?” Swindle checks the podium and picks up a packet from it before offering it to him, “MECHA is recruiting, offering benefits for your family, college education rebate, the works. If you’re found compatible, you could be the person that saves your city next.” Taking the packet, Jesse stares at it, “Wow.” He opens it and stares at the number on the first page before moving to sit down, getting out a pen.

Swindle smiled sadly, watching as he had done dozens of times, as someone far too young signed away their life.

By the time June had rolled around, out of the hundred and four students who had signed up for compatibility testing, less than a hundred passed the written test, then only six passed the full testing.

—

Each hanger had a slightly different layout, the one at headquarters was the largest and could hold twenty mecha. At present, it only had the three Arcturus Three suits plus suit eleven. Vortex was still going through reconfiguration after the catastrophic glitch that had happened with Felix behind the wheel.

Jesse, Hot Rod, wandered in and tried for only a moment not to swear before shaking his head, “Fuck man, I was hoping for pleasant compant.” Rusty grumbled, checking through a tool box, “And I was hoping to be alone.” Jesse grinned and walked over, stealing the stool to sit on, “What are you doing here man? Thought you only agreed to be on the Iliad if the people here left you alone.” Rust hummed and closed the lid to his tool box, looking up.

He frowned lightly, “Kid…” to be honest, Jesse looked exhausted and hadn’t been sleeping well. His own reformatting was scheduled a few days from now to adjust for the new tech in his suit, “I’m fine Ratch, just tired.” He attempted to lean back and nearly fell off the stool.

Rusty was quick to grab hold of him, “You’re dead on your feet, you’ve been wandering around avoiding TV’s, haven’t you?” Rolling his eyes, Jesse resituates himself on the stool.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rusty grumbled before grabbing the toolbox, then the front of Jesse’s shirt, “Come on kid, we’ll both get away from the news for a while.” Jesse shook his head, “Hey, come on Ratch.” But Rusty shook his head, “No.” and kept pulling.

Jesse stumbled a few times, trying to get Rusty to let go of his shirt and nearly slid in the mud once they were outside.

The familiar sprinter vehicle brought Jesse a bit of relief, knowing he wouldn’t be alone with Ratchet did make him feel a bit better, glancing at Rusty he was finally let go.

He almost dove into the passenger seat, “Hey trouble.” The engine purred lightly, a small screen on the dash lighting up.

“Hey yourself, fragger.” Jesse couldn’t help but laugh even as Rusty got in and scowled at the screen, “Both of you, behave.” Shaking his head a bit, Rusty puts the tool box in the back seat and buckles in, “We’re just going back to the warehouse kid.” The engine revved lightly before they backed out of the space.

The cab turned comfortably cool even with the humidity outside, the ground soft from that morning's rainfall.

All news on the radio stayed off.

—

One of the suits was destroyed, two of the pilots died, and one was in the hospital under critical condition. They were losing and not quickly, but a slow and agonizing loss.

Arcee had watched the attack from her barracks, a nearly empty room besides for a handful of cots, a futon which she sat on, and the old school CRT television in the corner. The space wasn’t much, but it was home, the same as hundreds of other barracks had been to thousands of pilots.

It was hard to help it, she held her head in her hands by the end of the massacre. It was painful, watching those you cared about get utterly destroyed. Most pilots tried to get to know each other, even if it was for the comforting thought that you’d have at least one person at your funeral.

She’d known Daniel, his dad and grandfather had been pilots too and now they all were gone.

Leaning back slowly, she drags a hand through her hair and sighs shakily. This way of life, the people you had the pleasure of knowing, was getting harder and heartbreaking.

They were dying faster and younger, surviving a year or two was becoming a rare state of affairs and anything more than that was making you a legend. It used to be surviving more than five years, there were only a handful left that survived ten years, who were still alive at least.

Picking up the legal pad that was on her coffee table, she stares at the pilots of the previous Arcturus missions.

To be perfectly honest, she didn’t know most of them very well besides Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, that was only because the twins were such characters. Breakdown was a legend in the east, but most of his family was. Then there was Hound, he was the model of a hybrid-class adaptation. Cliff was, well, Cliff. It was hard not to know the guy.

Even with all of that, before she had become hybrid-class herself, being in the rescue class didn’t leave much interaction with striker class pilots. Especially not in her patrol region.

—

Washington DC was projected to be an early target of the Quintessons; name still unknown on Earth, invasion.

It being the capital of the first country attacked, there was a lot assumed back then. A warehouse was built quickly and ready to be equipped with anything from military units to eventually mecha suits.

Three strikers, along with three rescue class were scheduled to be in that area at all times. As the years passed that number dwindled to two strikers and one rescue.

It had taken Arcee years to be allowed to test for compatibility, her mentor blocking it for ages, until Arcee had finally seemingly accepted the fate of being unable to test. Of course once his guard was down she went in for the written test in New York on an off weekend and when she came back with a near perfect score, even he couldn’t block compatibility testing.

Compatibility testing is something no pilot would ever willingly repeat and they choose to rarely speak on it, or their experiences with it. According to some related pilots it was slightly different between them but it was not a commonly talked about subject that would go into detail.

Acree of course, had passed with flying colors, which made her a prime candidate to be in the rescue class with a ‘score’ that high. The higher compatibility the more drastic the class.

DC had been beautiful once, before the war, though now it was just the bare essentials and what wasn’t was put up by the civilians for the sake of it being broadcast every other week.

The day not long into her career where both strikers were incapacitated and she was the only thing standing between the enemy and civilians, well, she pushed her suit to do things it wasn’t supposed to do.

It was meant to be a bright sign of hope, in its shining white and pink, that day it was stained green and was mostly broken when it was all over.

Her career as a rescue had been short lived, too much potential to waste it, even when her friends and family begged. The light white and pink traded for grey and fuchsia, not perfect but hers. Her suit and life, the work for the sake of the world, it was a calling for some like Acree and a demand of others.

—

His fist had left an imprint on the metal table in front of him, it was bleeding and he tried to ignore the light electrical shocks shooting into his fingertips.

All the scientists and engineers had to watch the attacks, had to watch the suits and people they put together for this be torn right back apart time and time again. It was for the sake of science, or so said Shockwave.

Perceptor scowled at the screen, shifting his glasses back up his nose. His hand was bleeding lightly, but both were shaking.

It was painful to watch the suits of fellow pilots be torn apart, it was painful to watch all the hard work that he’d put into it be destroyed, the funding wouldn’t let him repair and replace that exact suit and neither would Shockwave.

Someone new and more horrible would have to take its place.

Rubbing between his eyes, Percy’s glasses were shoved up on his forehead. Taking slow and deep breaths, it was hard. This job was hard and there was nothing that he could do about it.

Turning off the monitor, he sighed slowly before standing back up, shoving his glasses back on and moving across the workshop.

Shockwave was not in the lab today, last seen stalking around after Swindle and Blur for whatever reason. It was his newest pastime and most of the engineers didn’t seem to miss the man in the welders helmet.

It took a moment, standing there and looking around at everyone else who was still watching the attack for Perceptor to remember that he needed to breath. Lightly scratching at his implants, he bites his lip slightly before retreating for his locker.

Most of them wouldn’t get it, they saw their hard work being destroyed and the loss of some acquaintances, maybe friends. But for Percy, it was different, it would always be different.

His implants itched from the anxiety of it all, one of the many side-effects he’d experienced in the last few years. The implants that started at the base of his skull, like many pilots, to the extension wires that ran from them down to his hands.

On the days when he was nearly pale with illness, the wiring was almost visible through his skin.

Grabbing up his bag from his locker, Percy was trying to keep breathing evenly. Trying not to panic. There were very few he would willingly be around when in a state like this and he was thankful that they were part of his Arcturus crew.

The lock slammed back into place as he started down the hall.

Though his bag hung at his side, his bleeding fist was wrapped around the shoulder strap, he couldn’t think about anything but the past.

—

He’d been found compatible when he’d come over to the United States, looking for work in the field after he got truly tired of the mess in England’s system. Percy wasn’t a soldier and didn’t want to be. Not for the British army, not even remotely.

With his mother being from India, it was more than just a sore spot for them, and he tried to move past it.

Science had always been a big interest of his, miniature microscopes and wiring kits were the toys of his childhood. Labeled the nerd very young but content with the quiet reading time and long hours at home.

When he was young and his parents had worked with one of the few private companies for mecha design in the UK, they had lived in London, the first few attacks on the city had never reached the deeper parts of it. Not close enough to the post-war apartment blocks he’d called home.

It was the attack of 97’, when Percy was ten, that sent them to the countryside. As if the war was again sending children out of harm's way but it was him and his mother. He would always be grateful that she came along, even after the train lines were destroyed and contact with his father was limited. So long as he had her, it was easier to bear.

Being the nerdy one out there, that had been harder, and being the son of an immigrant made that even worse emotionally. Life isn’t easy for those who chose the path that they did, but he was thankful for it, grateful for it.

Through primary and secondary school, Perceptor just kept his nose down and walked the halls like a shadow. It was where it was comfortable and certainly where his bits of happiness lied. Though university is where he thrived, electrical engineering, nuclear engineering, mecha design, physics, and computer science. Just to name some.

It was the job offer from MECHA in the south-eastern United States that changed it all, the written test in the contract was just a bit of fun to it all.

He’d rather never mention his compatibility testing.

From there, it was just doing the work and loving the work. Even though his work was often destroyed in battle, there was too much effort and care put into it to give up. Arcturus had simply stared him long and hard in the face, before his name joined the list of dozens of pilots.

So many of which were no longer with them.

He knew, deep down, that there was something they could find out there, he just had to see it for himself.

—

The warehouse was loud with both Deadlock and Hot Rod in the secluded corner. Ratchet was currently working on a piece of equipment, hopes for more things that could hide the kid when they were launched into space. It was idiotic, sent to space to die when staying would lead to death regardless.

There was a crash and both the kids behind him swore, he sighed slowly and lowered his head to the worktop.

This wasn’t going to work, there was no way that they could get Deadlock into space without the other pilots finding out. Him and Perceptor going was bad enough, but adding the kid into the mix was just making everything more complicated.

One of the doors at the front of the shop banged open, “Rusty, I would appreciate a word, did you watch the attack, I—“ Everyone in the space stood frozen, staring at each other.

As if the day couldn’t get any worse, Ratchet moved over and pulled Perceptor in through the door, slamming it shut. So much for the big no trespassing sign Swindle insisted that he had, he’d had more visitors in the last few weeks than he’d had, well, ever.

Hot Rod was gawking and Deadlock had dropped his obscenely large hands in front of the redhead, angry that Ratchet was out of his reach and conversing with the outsider, the stranger.

Perceptor was staring, though his hand was throbbing where it was still bleeding, Ratchet took one look before slowly directing him back across the space, “We are going to discuss what you see in a moment, the fuck did you do to your hand?” Ratchet shoved the poor scientist down onto a stool, none-to-gently.

He was still gaping like a fish when Deadlock started to growl, “I, I hit a table.” The staring contest dragged on.

Swearing, Ratchet went about wrapping Percy’s hand, being careful, shooting looks that screamed, ‘Shut the fuck up’ over his shoulder and Deadlock continued to growl and his hands muffled Jesse’s voice.

It was going to be one very long night.

———

A/N

I did not originally plan for the chapter to end this way, so sorry for the cliffhanger as it will probably be another few weeks before the next chapter is posted of this.

This week is apparently the week of delays to my Monday and Friday schedule… I knew I was going to be busy yesterday, I just thought I’d have more done than I actually did. And today is when I’d usually start the work on part 33, but I’ve got so much to do. So that might also be delayed till Tuesday, if not just postponed till Friday…

Anyways, I am going to be making a post about re-vamping my tag list this week, so keep your eyes peeled.

see also:

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kmomof4 · 5 months ago

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X Never Ever Marks the Spot - A Birthday Fic for @zaharadessert

We're back and it's time to bring in Emma!!!! This chapter was so much fun to write and I so hope you enjoy it!! Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me!! It means more than I can say!!!

Thank you again to @snowbellewells for her beautiful banner above and her beta expertise!!! And to @hollyethecurious for the title and helping me out with grammar questions.

Rating: M for smut and scary moments.

Words: 2727 of approximately 24k

Tags: Inspired by Raiders of the Lost Ark, Birthday Fic for Zahara

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Chapter

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @djlbg

@lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic

@elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90

@suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites @myfearless-love

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 2 The Threshold of Adventure

Killian approached the wooden building nestled in the mountains of Nepal as a long stream of men came toward him, heading for the village he’d just left down below. Killian watched as they passed him by, paying him no notice whatsoever as the weather around them worsened.

The wind whistled, fresh snow - eager to join the layers that were already hard packed on the ground - swirling in the gusts that threatened to blow him off his feet. Once the last two men passed him by - holding each other up by the looks of it - Killian continued toward the bar on the edge of the remote mountain village.

He came to the door and rested against the door jamb for just a moment before she noticed him. A smirk touched his lips as he observed her cleaning off the tables, her back to him. She was bent over slightly, her jeans stretching enticingly across her backside.

She stilled suddenly, looking up at the wall she faced where his shadow was clearly visible. She quickly turned toward him, her eyes widening in shock, her mouth dropping open slightly as a quiet gasp passed her lips. Killian stepped inside the building.

“Hello, Emma.”

“Hello, Hook,” she replied after a moment. Her nickname for him. Well, it had originally been bestowed upon him by Cleo; first, because of his knack for finding things, and second, because she was the one who taught him to use his head instead of his fists - specifically, his right hook - to get what he wanted. The former term of endearment made him smile in fond recollection. He hadn’t heard that moniker in a decade and he realized… he missed it.

A smile slowly bloomed on her face as she took a step toward him. “I always knew you’d come back through my door. That somehow… you’d find me again. I never doubted that.” She took slow steps toward him, like a cat. “What are you doing here in Nepal?”

Killian stepped toward her, a charming smile on his face. “I need one of the pieces Cleo collected.” He’d turned his face away from her slightly when he spoke, and so missed it when her fist swung and connected with his jaw.

She packed quite a punch, and Killian couldn’t hide his stunned surprise.

“I’ve learned to hate you in the last ten years.”

The venom in her tone surprised him, but when he turned to face her, she couldn’t quite hide the deep and abiding pain in her eyes, no matter how much she may have wanted to. She always had been an open book to him.

He couldn’t face her. She didn’t know the truth about why he left without a word to her. At least, he assumed she didn’t. He didn’t think Cleo would throw him under the bus like that, but he couldn’t be absolutely certain unless Emma, or Cleo, told him herself.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said. It may have been true, but he was many years past the naiveté necessary to believe his behavior a decade ago hadn’t done exactly that. It was nothing more than a paltry platitude he extended to her now, and they both knew it.

“I was in love.” Her words were coated with pain, the anger still coloring her voice, but the venom no longer as potent. He could almost detect a note of defeat underneath everything she was trying to hide from him. Maybe Cleo had told her. “And you left us without a word.” Killian searched her eyes. He could almost hear the personal pronoun me in place of us in that last statement. “Why?”

Well, he was apparently wrong. Cleo obviously hadn’t told her about the ultimatum she’d given him when she found out there was more to their relationship than just harmless flirting between her two students.

He hated that he was now in a position to throw Cleo under the bus without her here to give her side of the story, but facing the only woman he’d ever loved, he owed her the truth. And he would give it to her.

“It was Cleo,” he confessed. “She found out about us, and she let me have it.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, remembering in vivid detail the tongue lashing she’d given him. “She told me I had a choice to make. If I was going to remain under her tutelage, I had to give you up. You had a brilliant future before you in archeology, and you wouldn’t reach your potential if you were involved with me.” Killian scratched behind his ear in a nervous gesture he’d had as long as he could remember. “I knew I couldn’t give you up. Not being around you every day, working together, but not able to be truly together. So, she sent me to Archie.”

She was silent for a long moment, then nodded, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “So neither of you thought that I should at least be consulted as the two of you made decisions about my life.”

“Cleo loved you like a daughter, Emma, and she wanted what was best for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Again,” she said, fury back in full force, “MY life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” she replied bitterly, turning back to the tables behind her.

“Look,” he said, taking a step in her direction. “I need a piece from Cleo’s collection. A bronze piece, about yea big,” he said, forming a circle with his thumbs and pointer fingers, “It had a hole in the middle, off-center, with a crystal. Do you know it?”

“Yeah,” she bit out.

“Do you know if Cleo still has it? Where is she anyway?”

Emma carried her tray full of shot glasses back to the bar and closed her eyes at his question.

“Cleo’s dead.”

“What?” He couldn’t keep the shocked dismay out of his voice.

“Got on the wrong side of the wrong people,” Emma murmured.

“And you’ve been hiding here.”

“What of it?” she snapped, turning to go back to cleaning off another table. Killian didn’t know what to say to that, so he went back to the reason he was here in the first place.

“I need that piece, Emma,” he repeated as she approached the bar again with another fully laden tray. As soon as she set it down, Killian grabbed her hand and stuffed a roll of hundreds into it. “Three thousand. And I can double it when we get back to the States.”

She stared hard at him for a moment. “I’ll have to find it. Come back tomorrow.”

Killian searched her gaze, but she didn’t flinch away from his scrutiny. He gave her a sharp nod and walked out, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Emma pocketed the money and walked over to one of the long tables in front of the roaring fire in the open hearth and sat down, pulling on a chain around her neck and drawing out from under her blouse the medallion the love of her life was looking for.

She took it off and turned it this way and that, letting the fire reflect off the surface. Cleo had been so excited when she found this piece, bringing her one step closer to finding the lost city of Tanis. She’d given it to Emma for safekeeping, but the Nazis didn’t know that when they paid Cleo a visit a year or so ago. So far, Emma had managed not to attract their attention, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they found her. Giving the piece to Killian would guarantee her safety, but it would put him in the bull’s-eye instead. She wasn’t sure she could bring herself to do it.

Suddenly the fire flickered and a gust of wind blew through the now-opened door. Emma laid down the medallion and turned toward the entrance. A thin man walking with the aid of a golden handled cane stood there, two taller men behind him. He was about her height with shoulder length, straight hair, but something about him - the glitter in his dark eyes, or the way he smiled - made a shiver go down Emma’s spine.

“The bar’s closed,” she called, trying not to let her nervousness show.

“Good evening, Fräulein.” He chuckled as he stepped further into the room. “We are… not thirsty.”

His German accent was thick and Emma’s blood ran cold. They’d found her.

“What do you want?”

His steps into the empty room were slow and deliberate, the men behind him keeping to his pace. Emma licked her lips and prepared herself for a fight. If only she hadn’t sent Killian away already. She could use a second pair of hands, or the firearm that she was reasonably certain he carried.

“I want the same thing your friend, Dr. Jones, wanted,” he informed her. “Surely he told you there’d be other interested parties.” His voice was oily. Not much different from what she’d always imagined the serpent in the Garden of Eden sounded like.

“No, he didn’t.” Emma’s eyes darted around as the man with the cane moved toward the fire, and the other two men took steps toward her.

“I hope, for your sake, he has not yet acquired it.”

“For my sake?” She couldn’t show any fear. Fear in the face of a predator virtually guaranteed attack. She’d don her armor and hope they bought it. “Look, I don’t know who you are, or who you think you’re dealing with, but you’d better not be threatening me here in my place.”

The man chuckled as he picked up a poker and stirred the burning coals in the giant fireplace.

“Oh, it is not a threat,” he assured her, still facing the fire, his back to her. “Do you still have it?”

“Yes… but I’m not going to just give it to you. Killian has offered me six thousand dollars for the piece. Are you willing to offer more?” She kept the other men in her sights as she backed away toward the bar, her arm behind her, ready to pull out her gun if they made a move toward her.

The man with the cane stood - the now red hot poker still in his hand - and faced her. She pulled out her gun from her waistband and made the mistake of aiming for him instead of his companions, who were much closer to where she stood.

One of them grabbed her wrist, making her drop the gun, and pulled her against him, holding her still as the man with the cane slowly made his way toward them.

“I was,” the man murmured. “But no longer.”

His dark eyes were dancing with delight as he got closer, and Emma knew that he would kill her slowly. And he would enjoy it.

“Please,” she whimpered, the poker now inches from her face. She shut her eyes, unable to stand looking at it or into the depths of depraved madness in the man’s gaze.

“Please, what, Fräulein?” he asked.

“I’ll give it to you,” she whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Yes,” he said, and she could clearly hear the smile in his words. A smile that no doubt matched the evil in his eyes. “Yes, you will, Fräulein Swan.”

The door blew open again, and Emma’s eyes snapped open just in time to see Killian’s whip wrap around the man’s wrist and pull taut, causing him to throw the deadly instrument across the room where it landed on the floor. The man dropped the cane, grabbed her away from his minion, and held her in front of him. A loud whoosh sounded near where the poker had landed, and Emma could just see out of the corner of her eye one of the drapes covering the window begin to burn.

“Let her go,” Killian growled.

Emma was accustomed to rescuing herself, and even prided herself on the fact that no one saved her but her, but at this moment, she would gladly hand that mantle over to him.

Emma watched as Killian’s attention was drawn over to her left, where he took aim and pulled the trigger of his pistol, machine gun fire going off briefly before coming to a stop. Emma elbowed the man who held her in the ribs until he let her go and she ran for where she’d dropped her gun.

She hid under the bar as gunfire erupted around her, only peeking out occasionally and taking aim at anyone who got anywhere near her. The fire was spreading, but no one paid it any mind as the back wall was now consumed in flames. The table where she’d been sitting when the Nazis got here was turned over and used as a barrier to hide behind by one of them. He took aim at Killian over the edge of the table, but Emma shot him in the back before he could shoot. Flames shot up from where the shot glasses and bottles of alcohol she hadn’t cleaned up yet had fallen on the floor when the table was turned over.

Machine gun fire went off again, but Emma couldn’t see where it was coming from. She crawled to the area behind the bar, trying to get to a place of relative safety and cover. Suddenly, Killian’s face appeared above her, where he was being held down on the bar by someone behind him.

“Whisky?” he rasped.

She handed him a nearly full bottle, and he swung it behind him, hitting whoever held him down on the head. As soon as he stood up, he looked back down at her and grinned.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She looked at him again to see someone swinging a flaming torch at his head.

“Look out!”

Killian ducked and grabbed the man by the arm, slinging him into the still-raging fire in the fireplace. His screams and the stench of burning flesh had to be blocked out since she couldn’t give in to the horror that threatened to overcome her senses. Emma rose up from behind the bar to see the ringleader reaching over the overturned table he was hiding behind. She was nearly out of bullets, or she would have shot him herself. But she knew, now that Killian Jones had barreled back into her world - and that the Nazis were after them both - she should probably hold onto some ammo, not knowing what kind of adventures awaited them.

Suddenly, the man straightened up, screaming, holding something in his hand. Even from where she hid - behind the bar and facing his back - it was obvious to her that he had her medallion in his hand, and that he’d plucked it out of the fire that was consuming the table he was hiding behind.

His fist released and he ran out the door still screaming, holding his hand to his body. Killian appeared above the bar again and held out his hand to her.

“Come on! We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“My medallion!”

She took his hand and climbed over the bar, then grabbed a rag, and ran to where her captor had dropped it. Grabbing the chain with the rag wrapped around her hand, she nearly stumbled as Killian dragged her out of the burning building that had been home for over a year.

Once they were safe from the flames, she turned and looked at him. She barely had time to notice the fear in his eyes as he gathered her in his arms and crushed her to his chest.

“Are you alright, Swan?” he asked. He stroked her hair tenderly, and Emma suddenly realized that he still loved her and had probably never stopped.

She nodded into his chest. “Yeah.” She pulled away from him and searched his eyes. “Some things never change. Adventure follows you wherever you go, Killian Jones.” She grabbed his hand and dropped the still-warm medallion into it. “Now you owe me another three thousand when we get back to the States.”

“Yep,” he agreed, pulling her close again and kissing her on the crown of her head. “But first, we’re heading to Cairo.”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! I'd love to hear what you think! We are heading to Cairo on Monday! See you then!

#x never ever marks the spot #krystal writes #bday fic for zahara #art by marta #inspired by raiders of the lost ark

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deadlyflan · 4 months ago

Note

for the meme: #3!

3.) What was your first impression of [TMNT iteration]?

[1987 cartoon] I was 7. There were flying Cadillacs and lasers and Raphael was sassy. I was hooked.

[1990s movies] I was 10. I already worshiped Jim Henson. When I saw my favorites winking and crying and smiling and kicking ass, I was in love forever.

[Archie's Comics] I was 14. On a roadtrip, I found a copy of TMNT Adventures #33. They were traveling through Nepal. There was a four-armed Tiger God Mutant named Katmandu. Raphael had a *girlfriend.* Michelangelo was silly about yaks. I needed more comics. ASAP.

[Next Mutation] I was 17. And a complete live-action turtle-snob. Henson would never have allowed these costumes out of whatever basement spawned them. And the scripts! Ugh! Where was the cinema-grade fight choreography? The award-winning narratives? The atmospheric lighting and the *drama* of the City at Night?!

[Mirage Comics] I was 20. They beat Leo to a bloody pulp and threw him through the window--AT CHRISTMAS!! I started writing fanfic.

[2003 cartoon] I was 23. I was in love. The voice cast! The character design! The fidelity to the Mirage Space Arc! Oh God, to be alive at time like this!

[2007 movie] I was 27. I was vibrating. I bought a screen grab of early production art off of eBay. I couldn't wait for the advertisements to premiere to see my boys again. The artwork wasn't even close to the final designs. The resolution was blurry. I was still thrilled.

[IDW Comics] I was 31. I was bummed that Dark Horse Comics lost the bid to publish the TMNT comics to IDW. Dark Horse had a much stronger editorial department with consistently incredible writing. IDW was famous for spending their money on flashy cover artists and skimping on the interior art. I crossed my fingers and hoped I was wrong. [2012 cartoon] I was 32. Overworked, underpaid, and without cable or streaming. I missed the first season, but got a DVD from a friend. I was intrigued by the turtles, but repulsed by the human models. The CGI felt cold and cheap. I wouldn't return to give the show a proper watch until 2020.

[Bayverse movies] I was 34. I hated Micheal Bay's needlessly cluttered character designs for Transformers. I despised his "blurred action" fight sequences. I hated his simplistic dialogue. When I heard he was the director for the TMNT, my heart lit a cigarette and took a sip of gin. They were going to butcher my boys.

[Rise] I was 38. I saw the flat character designs. The boys were angular. Stagnant. The kind of thing that would end up low-rent animated. Splinter looked like a yellow-peril style stereotype. I gave up before I even heard the commercials.

[Mutant Mayhem Movie] I was 43. I had adored The Mitchels Vs The Machines and that same team was working on the new movie! The leaked first art made my heart warm with 90s vibes: Archie's characters, gawky turtles, attention to atmosphere, all kinds of vibrancy! Very excited!

[MM Tales of] I was 44. I didn't have the right streaming services to watch it. After the high of the film, the animation style looked cheap. No line weights. No rendering. Simplified versions of the "hand drawn" shapes of characters' faces somehow stopped feeling organic and looked more like bad drawings. I knew I was comparing it unfairly to the film. I told myself to hush. I had been 10,000% wrong about 2012 and about Rise. I was being a snob again and I knew it. .

Over the years, I've been so wrong about so many of my misgivings. Even Next Mutation had a ton of heart. I have been so spoiled by so many Turtle options. Between all the shows and the movies and the comics--AND THE FAN FIC AND THE FAN ART AND THE ROLEPLAYING AND AND AND... I shouldn't turn my nose up at anything anymore. I'm just gonna look like an idiot again when it turns out to be incredible. Just like every other time. Except for A Very Turtle Christmas. That shit is nightmare fuel.

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lo1k-diamonds · 1 year ago

Text

Too Sweet 💜 Chapter 3 - But then you wake up for the sunrise

PAIRING: Demon!Yoongi x (f)reader

SUMMARY: Coming from unabashed wealth has its perks — like never having to lift a finger in your life. When that suddenly changes, you end up at a crossroads: how far will you go to have everything you want?

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

GENRE: Crossroad Demon AU (Sloth), smut, angst

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: implied trauma and abuse, including neglect growing up, unprotected sex, biting, pain mixing w/ pleasure, choking and breath play, anal play, degrading thoughts, nipple play, blowjob + face fucking, subspace and aftercare, crying, fighting

A.N. Getting attached to your demon comes with perks... and vulnerabilities. Here's to my favorite part 💜

Masterpost | Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Chapter : Next Chapter >

The high yet soothing ringing of the Tibetan Singing Bowl along with the water streaming down a gentle creek permeated your ears and all around you. You were lying face down on a massage table, naked with your hair carefully tied in a bun so your masseuse could spread the perfumed oils all over your back. As the wooden cushion striker rolled on the bowl to emit the healing verberations, you tried not to twist your nose at the recording of the rivulet. You supposed your money could get you anything but not a natural brook at that spa and resort you owned.

Your masseuse finished after removing the excess with a warm towel and bowed deeply before exiting the room. A moment later, the bowl stopped ringing as that person left as well, and you got up languidly. You let the towels that once covered you fall to the floor without much thought and reached for the warm robe waiting for you. This session had become something of a routine for you and as such, you knew exactly where to go to return to your suite up on the last floor.

You supposed you could just buy another spa and resort somewhere where there was a creek. Maybe in Tibet or Nepal; someplace untamed and breaming with healing energy. Not that it would solve anything, you mused as you got in the elevator. Those massages were good but they didn’t fix you and you didn’t believe a natural brook or even a monastery full of monks could help with that. You chuckled to yourself and brushed the bracelets around your wrists gently; you wondered how they would take the company if you ever engendered such a situation.

Truthfully, despite your searches, you were convinced that there was only one way to actually relax. To the best of your knowledge, there was no treatment or experience you hadn’t tried, and all they ever did was push the tension. You could feel it going from one corner to the other, one muscle to the next, tight within you without ever releasing. So far there had only been one way to accomplish that and you were starting to not care for any other way.

You thought getting high could have been a way but you wouldn’t make that mistake twice. After he had healed you a month back, you hadn’t touched anything but tobacco and alcohol. This was an accomplishment for you, but the real achievement was what you had found to replace your former addictions.

It started with touching your bracelets and wondering until you wished him to your presence and were startled when he came. You still remembered his piercing eyes just staring from across your suite, wondering why you would have called him when you had nothing you could possibly want.

Nothing except for him.

“I need a private jet,” you had pouted, unable to look away from him. As usual, he was all in black, looking like an executive about to have a neat whisky and fuck his secretary senseless.

The way his black shirt stretched when he chuckled and shrugged entranced you. “You have endless money, just buy one.”

“But I don’t have endless time,” you rebutted, a sly smile ebbing as you congratulated yourself for thinking so fast on your feet. “Buying takes time, asking you is way faster.”

His eyes squinted ever so slightly as if seeing through you, “Even if it costs you?”

You grinned, “It’s a fine balance.”

He had said nothing, only stood there looking at you, but you were daring. You walked up to him, gave him a cheeky nod, and got on your tiptoes to kiss him, just like you had days before to be healed of your addictions. Your heartbeat was now as strong as then, and while you were unsure whether the warm buzz in your bones was from the excitement or the expense, you couldn’t help the fluttering inside your chest. Because he didn’t push you back, nor did he break up your kiss.

Your phone started ringing and so you parted ways yourself, only to be told that the jet purchase had finally gone through and everything had been handled. You had laughed then and thrown your arms around his neck to kiss him again, and that was the beginning.

At first, you asked for simple things, most of which just filled you with curiosity: a secret, the answer to a current dilemma, the draft or script of a book or play you wanted to have access to beforehand. Every time you would use your time as an excuse, knowing very well that by doing so, it was only making it even shorter. Yet you did it with a wide smile because it earned you a kiss every time, sometimes even more than one, until it led to the real high you craved ever since you met him.

“You’re keeping tabs, right?” You would joke immediately, before he was even soft inside you, the sting still on your asscheeks as he rolled his eyes and moved away.

Regardless of his demeanor, he’d always show, take your kiss, and deliver. And all you could do was laugh and sigh because nothing compared to that. The thrill, the victory, the validation, the sleep — everything that came with him gave flare to your existence, and nothing compared.

You strutted across your suite to your bedroom, taking a deep comforting breath. You drew the black curtains to your luxurious bedroom and opened the windows to let the warm summer breeze invade the space. Your lips twitched in a mischievous smile at the thought of screeching at the top of your lungs for the whole building to hear.

You let the robe pool on the floor before you got on the bed. You took a deep breath and bent down in a downward dog pose, stretching yourself to retain a semblance of relaxation and maybe warm up a bit. After a couple of long breaths, you lowered to your forearms before collapsing your chest and knees into a puppy pose. That was when your neck finally stretched the way you liked, and when you brushed the bracelets around your wrists with a deep desire.

“What the fuck do you want this time?”

A shiver ran up your spine, mixing with the breeze puckering your skin. Your eyes were closed but you could just imagine the scene: you, with your hair up in a bun naked over the black silk sheets with your ass up while your chest pressed to the mattress, and him, behind you with a privileged view of exactly how ready you were for him.

“What are you doing, kitten?”

“Stretching,” you voiced calmly, resisting wiggling your ass. Teasing him was a tricky game; you couldn’t risk him leaving. Even if he never had without hearing you out first, you didn’t want it to ever happen. “And waiting.”

Silence stretched aside from the breeze billowing the curtains, but you didn’t break form to turn and see. You were confident he had his eyes on you just by the way your guts started slowly churning.

“Come on,” you beckoned, voice low and seductive. “Come make me feel—”

A whimper cut you off and blended with your smugness quickly.

Good.

You didn’t need to ask anymore; it was as if he could read your thoughts. That had to be why he was pushing a finger inside you crudely, unbothered by how unprepared you were.

Maybe because he knew how ready you already were. “Again?”

A quiet whine left your lips as they parted, “I want to relax.”

You just knew he could feel it — the way your muscles were relaxing as though a wave was washing over them. Inch by inch, from your core to your extremities — decompressing, releasing your tension slowly as he probed your wet hole with a single finger.

“Time… is ticking,” he said calmly and you cried, toes curling with how utterly surrendered you were. He had pushed in another finger almost hiddenly until he parted them inside you to grossly stretch you. “And you still haven't lifted a finger.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks with your moan, forcing you to grab the sheets as you hid your face. It was extremely difficult to acknowledge a word he was saying when both your mind and body were screaming for pleasure.

“You speak— as though— I have no time,” your voice thinned with every movement of his fingers with your nails gripping onto the sheets.

“It’s not that you have no time,” he acceded calmly despite your loud and long outcry — he was pushing his fingers into your wet walls until you were almost curling and breaking position. “It’s that you don’t value the time you do have.”

You were starting to sweat; both the physical effort and his fingers pressing a familiar spot inside you were creating an uncontrollable fire in your gut. You parted your lips and only a breath made it out as you shut your eyes and let the blazing wave engulf you. It was easy to become adrift with the sensations, but the threat of his receding fingers pushed you to speak.

“I value it. I value it so much—” He pressed harder, maybe to break you, and you moaned, bucking your hips to both alleviate and intensify the feeling.

He hummed, “Maybe.”

You didn’t answer because you could feel the switch in his tone. It had happened before, in other encounters you two had, and it lit up a secret flame inside you. His free hand groped the swell of your ass, squeezing it roughly as you burned from his touch, his eyes, and his ministrations. You had noticed it before and you suspected it was the reason you got away with it — he wanted you. You couldn’t quite pin down why it was that he didn’t turn his back on you or that he gave you what you wanted each time, but you had the theory that he wanted it just as much. That somehow, you did something for him too. You didn’t know if it was because he got a bit of your soul every time, because you were bratty, or just because he wanted to fuck you, but you enjoyed it either way.

You let a pleasure wave shake you as you bit on your lower lip; his fingers stretching you, pressing squelching sounds out of you could only mean he was preparing you, and the thought alone melted you. That was until his fingers twisted inside you and you felt something change on the outside and press your puckered hole.

You whimpered, both wanting whatever would come next and bordering overstimulation when his thumb pressed and got in. You immediately tightened as much as possible on a reflex and he actively bypassed your efforts by pushing in roughly. His thumb settled inside up to the node all while his other fingers curled and pressed on your walls, making you jolt. You wiggled, wanting to escape only for him to slide in and out with every movement. He ended up deeper than before and you cried out with the pressure sparking pleasure that had you throbbing in a vicious cycle.

Your eyes were shut and your nerve endings were on fire as your body utterly relaxed under his touch, “Please.”

You didn’t know what you were asking for, if anything for him to continue, maybe for him to even ruin you. And as always, he seemed to read your mind.

You felt something wet and cold drip down on your ass, going around his finger only for him to take it and press it in. The sensation unnerved you and had you jolting forward despite the odd angle on your neck, but he didn’t let you go far. He gripped your hair bun with his free hand and forced you to get on your forearms and fall back into him, and that drew a guttural moan out of you.

His thumb was all the way inside you, but the rest of his hand was replaced by his cock. It was the only thing that could push into you, stretch you so painfully well in its entirety until he was tucked to the hilt. You had tears in your eyes and whimpered when he swelled inside you, purposefully pressing to your cervix so you knew what would come. And you knew and still wanted it even if you’d cry the whole time. Though you suspected you wouldn't. It turned out you loved the sting and the way you felt full and relaxed under his touch.

You were so at ease you were spasming around his dick, sighing with his grip on your hair that was keeping your back taut, and maybe he didn’t like that. He let your hair go and you didn’t slack off, but he still smacked your ass so strongly it echoed in the room. It sparked a whiny moan as the pleasure shot through you, and again and again with every hit. Your hips swung to tease him, ask for more, ablate the sting, and feel him even deeper, and he kept going. He pushed you to euphoric levels as you fucked yourself on him; it was paradise.

“Is this what you wanted, kitten?”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could think — yes, yes it was. But as you moaned and kept going, despite the respite from his slaps, you thought you could push him a little.

“Actually— I wanted a mirror as the head of the bed or— to cover the wall— right there, you see?”

You tried raising a finger and pointing at the wall above the headboard but it fell quickly. He had snapped his hips into you as if he wanted to push your soul out, imposing the rhythm he wanted. You fought the urge to curl onto yourself, so melted by the impact of every thrust, that you couldn’t find your form. Not until he pulled you by the hair to meet his thrusts viciously, pulling your head up simultaneously.

Your eyes crossed in the mirror in front of you and your senses jolted awake. The head of the bed was now just a mirror from the mattress to the ceiling letting you see everything: you on all fours with your tits bouncing with every plunge, your red asscheeks, your hair in a ball inside his fist, his other hand busy with what you guessed was a full thumb inside your asshole, him fully clothed in black, snapping his hips to your hips to drive you nuts, and finally his eyes.

His dark piercing eyes locked with yours and they caught your insides on fire. You weren’t just a secretary he was fucking senseless, you were so much less. You were not worth getting his clothes off for, nor had a worthwhile touch. You were a body with a set of holes that he wanted to use, to make gush, and it twisted your guts, the wet sounds superposing almost to the slap of his hips. The hunger inside you to become more while knowing that he was fucking you because he wanted to use you, no matter how worthless you were, almost drew you to your peak but you waited. You waited, with eyes never parting from his through the mirror, for him to deny it, enforce it, or do something.

Yet all he did was feed into that perversity, “Fucking greedy cunt.”

You clenched and you could have laughed if he wasn’t so deep inside you, stretching you to the point you couldn’t articulate, let alone react. Whether he was calling you a cunt or saying your core was greedy for his cock, you loved it — both were true.

You arched your back even more for him, needing to feel him kissing your sensitive cervix. It shook you with the sting of every poke, but then you stopped breathing. You stood still, letting him rut into you. He fucked you, not desperately, but without hesitation, with sweat dripping down his neck as his Adam's apple bobbed. He used you and abused you but he was right there for you.

You whimpered and got your hand to rub your clit as soon as possible before that wave could wane, and it crashed. You cried your pleasure as if you had to proclaim it to the world, with a particular pitch to account for the stinging, only to feel his hips stuttering. Your eyes shot open so you could see his squinting, focused on himself disappearing between your ass cheeks until he shot his load inside you with a groan.

Your lips curved in a smile, pleased with the way you milked him right. You sighed, letting your face hit the mattress with the relaxation finally settling, even as his cum started to drip down your thighs.

You felt him move a little but didn’t bother thinking about it. Only when something touched your lips did you open your eyes quizically. His fingers were wet with a white fluid and you stuck your tongue out immediately, inviting him inside your mouth.

You moaned and clenched around his cock and thumb still inside you. The taste of your cums together was a unique type of drug that left you breathless and stupid on the spot. You suckled on his fingers, moaning the dopamine discharge lighting up your brain until he pulled away, and you whimpered. But not too much; you sighed to yourself. He’d keep on feeding you that unique blend — you trusted him.

“Was that all you wanted?”

You chuckled, “No.”

He cursed and rolled over; in a flash, you were lying with your back over his chest. Your ass was stretched and would slowly shrink back to normal, but his hard dick was still inside you. You chuckled as he heaved a deep breath, crossing his arms behind his head. You didn’t move a muscle.

“What is it this time?”

You pressed your lips, “Well, I was thinking about… an exotic place. An untamed, brimming with energy place. With a creek. You could get it for me.” He was silent behind you but you could feel him breathing. You chuckled, “Bonus points if it comes with a monastery full of monks.”

You jolted with the piercing pain of him pinching your nipples. You reached for his hands to incentivize him to loosen the squeeze, but he didn’t let up at all.

“Why would you need that?”

His voice was rougher and you imagined there was a hint of annoyance with your suggestion. You laughed quietly and he pinched harder, making a cold torrent tase you from head to toe. You held on to his wrists and pressed your heels to the mattress, but otherwise stayed absolutely still.

“For my meditation and healing.”

“You have money; just buy a place like that.”

“Can you imagine how long that will take? It took centuries with the jet, imagine in a foreign place like that?” You were pouting, “You can do that for me.”

One hand of his let go and you sighed and squirmed, thinking he was warming up to you. Only said hand wrapped around your throat, jolting you to press even more into him. You were even more vulnerable.

“Thought you said you valued your time.”

“And I do,” you rasped, heart beating with adrenaline. Your core throbbed around him in reaction, and you closed your eyes. He was so hard inside you. The way he was keeping you from riding him was such an unspeakable waste. “Can’t you tell?”

You tried rolling your hips and he pulled you by the neck harder, stretching you til your vertebrae popped. His hand pinched around your tits before he sank his teeth into your neck, making you writhe and moan uncontrollably. You were at the edge again, overwhelmed, unable to relax and release unless he guided you there.

He started moving and you sighed, fusing back into him without a trace of resistance. He had parted his legs and taken support on the mattress to swing his hips to fuck you slowly, stealing your breath away. You could only stay in place, whimpering and crying out your delight as he used you to his liking.

Even as he sped up, turning your insides to mush, you were still curious. Your wetness and his cum were dripping down your ass and you were burning with the lack of oxygen. The way his teeth were sinking into your skin had you gritting your teeth, and bliss was a moment away. But you wanted to feel it for yourself.

You let go of his wrist and traced down your body all the way to your core, touching lightly around your entrance only to quiver. Fuck, was he big and hard, no wonder you were burning so finely under his stretch. You moaned, both from the feeling of him pistoning inside you and the wet thick length brushing your fingers to use you, until his hand caught your attention. His fingers sank under your jawline just a bit to coax you to look up, and you gasped.

Above you, the ceiling had become a mirror and the view was breathtaking. Your sweaty and abused body was red and glowing, but what destroyed you was him. The sight of his cock ramming into your messy folds, glistening with every stab, and of his dark eyes set on you as he bit down your neck, not letting go of you, pushing you to your finish line.

He saw it and acted on it, and you thought maybe it was the plan all along. The hand squeezing your nipple was over your clit in a second, rubbing it perfectly and with every thrust a little more, until he let the blood flood through your brain again. You burst like a firework, arching even more into him. His teeth sank deeper, as did his cock, and his fingers kept you cumming. You trashed your legs, seeing white with such bliss, unable to come down for a while.

By then, he was licking your neck, stuffed inside you to keep his cum in while he took whiffs of your sugary white raspberry scent. You could have mentioned it or thought about it, but the lethargy spreading across your body didn’t let you.

You were ready to fall asleep when he moved to have you look up at him. He was sweaty and beautiful, with an intense gaze that gave you goosebumps. His eyebrow twitched and you sighed.

“I take it back.”

Your eyes were heavy so you didn’t catch the curve on the corner of his lips, “Good girl.”

Your haze was imposing but something perked your attention, making it impossible to fade into unconsciousness. His arms were keeping you above him, and he wasn’t leaving. You were normally too exhausted to even think and would wake up in to empty room, so you didn’t know what happened immediately after. You always assumed he just vanished without glancing twice but he was still there this time, with his arms around you.

You didn’t want to miss the opportunity. You sighed, “How did you… end up like this?” You were mumbling, fighting sleep. He stayed quiet and immobile, but you could hear him breathe near your forehead. “Were you… born one?”

You finally felt him shifting a bit under you, though his arms stayed firm, keeping you in place. “One?”

Your lips trembled before you whispered, “Demon.”

You were fearful but he chuckled, “I was born one; we all are. Reborn one,” he admitted and you furrowed your brow ever so slightly despite your closed eyes.

“How?” You breathed. It could be a dream.

“How…”

You didn’t dare open your eyes and break that spell; you imagined he was thinking, his mind wandering off.

“I made a deal, same as you, a long time ago.”

“How long ago?”

“I don’t know,” he smirked and shrugged. “Time has different meanings in different places.”

“Sounds interesting,” you cooed before nibbling on your lip. Your heart was beating fast with the thrill of that simple exchange.

It shook even more with his quiet laugh near your ear, “That’s because you’re ignoring the obvious.” His voice lost humour and you could imagine the detached eyes looking down at you. “None of this is good.”

You opened your eyes instantly, eager to catch that spark before it could vanish. His sharp eyes were set on yours and you almost wavered, but he had you. He was showing and saying more than ever before and for the first time in months it felt like you could have a conversation.

“How can it not be good,” you whispered, eyeing the straight line of his lips. “When it helped me so much?”

The line showed apprehension, “Are you sure it did?”

You almost scoffed, “Absolutely certain. No one has ever been so kind to me.”

“This isn’t kindness.”

You started laughing, despite your best efforts. Even though his demeanor screamed severity and his eyes showed sternness, you just couldn’t help yourself. Your laugh wasn’t mocking, it was almost jolly.

You cuddled more into his embrace, “It is. What? You’re toying with me? Of course you are, everyone is,” you shrugged, pulling his arms more around you. “It’s all everyone has ever done. Toy and use. You’re no different, but you are.” You paused, trying to put into words the nuance you had experienced only with him. “‘Cause at least you give me something in return. You’re the only one that has ever given me something in return.”

Your eyes lowered with the scattered recollections of what you had once sought to forget, but quickly they were back up. Your heart shook with what they found — there was a hint of emotion on an otherwise objective and unphased marble expression. At that moment, you were certain that your connection was not imagined.

“What was your deal?”

He didn’t even blink but you stayed put, still calm and relaxed, not just from your previous activities, but also because you were still together.

“What did you sell your soul for?”

Your insistence tipped the scales somehow because he sighed, “A way out. A way to leave and live out my dreams.”

Your eyebrows twitched curiously, “Did it work?”

He smirked and you finally saw a trace of emotions behind his eyes, “Yeah, but not really. That’s why details matter.”

Come now, kitten.

His entrancing voice still enchanted your spirit to this day. You nodded, “You didn’t know what you wanted and just said a way out?”

“I knew what I wanted,” he said, shifting under you but not with discomfort. He sounded assertive and you had a hunch that he was proud of himself. Your eyebrows twitched quizzically and he continued, “I wanted to be a musician, but I didn’t know what that meant.”

Your expression soured as your eyes lowered and you gave him a detached nod.

Your mind was about to pull you into the very dread you had been running from for years when he said, “It was my fault.”

You frowned, looking for the reason why he was telling you this.

The subtlest line sunk between his eyebrows, “I let myself go down that road. Others might have pushed or joined me along, but it was my life. My decision.”

You wondered then for the first time, with seriousness, if he could read your mind. Could he know your secrets? What you had been through? What you once dreamed and how it had all turned to shambles?

You pursed your lips, denying that idea. No matter how well he fucked you, that was probably impossible. Besides, it wasn’t your fault. What had happened to you, regardless of your stupidity, was not your fault. Whatever he was talking about, it was certainly only about himself.

Which made you wonder, “Is that why you keep telling me to figure myself out?”

He didn’t answer, he only clenched his jaw.

You sighed as you glanced up at the ceiling from your black silked bed. You were feeling down today and not even peeking up cheered you up. The mirrors were gone, sadly, so you could only remember how good it had been to feel him and talk to him right there, on your bed.

It had been months since you last asked for him; way more than you would have liked. It was your own doing, however. You were the one who decided to not call him so soon and actually try to do something with yourself. It turned out that it was easier said than done. There was only one thing your soul ever sought doing and you avoided it like the devil would a cross. Because of this, you were aimless and the temptation to feed your mind something else so you’d stop ruminating on old thoughts and pains was becoming hard to resist.

You missed the validation. You thought of your parents and the very little they had done for you in that regard, and it irritated you. They were something else you should avoid thinking at all costs for your well-being, and yet now that they popped up, you were annoyed. And since you couldn’t and wouldn’t ever get their validation, you thought of the one you did get.

Without words, just demonstrations — he had always shown up for you. He disagreed with your lifestyle and thought your wishes were futile and shallow, but still showed up every time. The last time had been the closest you had felt to being cared for, even though your storylines didn’t match completely. But they didn’t have to — he showed it in the way that he cared enough to prevent you from losing yet another piece of your soul. And you needed to feel that again.

You brushed your bracelets and heard a voice before your fingers lost contact, “Really?”

You sat up with giddiness, as if he had just surprised you, then got up and across the bedroom to reach him.

“What could you possibly want this time?”

There was a hint of exasperation but it didn’t phase you, “Is this really you?” You were inquisitive as you neared him, eying him from top to bottom. His typical black suit always made him look refined and now his hair was a bit longer, kept tucked behind his pierced ears. “Or is this something you show to me? Like a mask?”

You stopped in front of him and he chuckled, “Does it bother you?”

“Fuck no,” you scoffed. What kind of question was that? “It pleases me a lot. Hence, why I’d like it to be real.”

“This is the real me. I can change it but,” he shrugged and you raised your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Don’t change it, I fucking adore it.”

You pressed your lips to his and thought nothing of the way he took a second to kiss you back. It had happened before and you were just too eager to think twice. Just seeing him awakened you, talking sparked your interest, and brushing your lips together shot you up into the clouds. His taste inebriated you and the more his tongue pressed the exchange, the more the desire lit up inside you.

You buried your fingers in his hair and he reciprocated, pressing you close until your feet stopped touching the ground. He carried you back toward the bed and you sighed into his kiss — validated a hundred times over.

So when your calves touched the bed, you broke the kiss and gave him one look before switching places with him. You fell to your knees and searched for the black trousers’ zipper and bit your lip when you found it. Despite previous failed attempts at taking charge, you were pleased that he was letting you get on with it, feeding that flame within you.

You could have made it hot and slow by undressing him, pumping him softly until you closed your grip, licking softly around his sensitive balls, and maybe even nibbling on his thighs before flicking your tongue up his shaft and suckling on the tip. But you couldn’t be bothered to play it slowly when you had nearly obsessed about what he would taste like without your cum’s interference. He liked to give you that particular taste, like a last high before you fell asleep, but you had wondered how it would be if it was just him. And now you were about to find out.

You were happily getting his hard dick out and watering at the sight with your tongue sticking out when a strong grip by your hair roots stilled you in place. You looked up, batting your eyelashes innocently and quizically only to notice a hint of annoyance pulling his lip. You didn’t wonder if he wanted to stop — you knew he liked being with you and enjoyed your times together. Whatever it was, it was preventing you both from finding enjoyment in each other and you didn’t want that.

You gave him a nod and a smile, hoping he could read in your eyes how much you wanted this. You didn’t want to just fuck this time around. It wasn’t even just about learning his taste, it was so much more than that.

He released the grip on your hair and you knew that he was, as always, letting you do what you wanted. It was frankly refreshing. You set your eyes on his furiously red cock pointing at your face and nodded to yourself. For all the demon talk and lore you found online, one of the things that seemed real was that he was always honest with you. He never forced you into things, if anything he even pushed you to do better and have better. It just made you burn inside and want to give him everything even more.

And today that meant pressing your lips to the tip of his cock right before you let the hot plush skin part your mouth into an o. You knew, as you lowered your head, that you’d never take him fully. You didn’t even think you could get too much in without choking too soon because of how thick he was. But none of that was an issue for quite a few reasons: you were going to enjoy yourself and do whatever you liked, you’d look and feel hot doing it, you’d make him feel good partially just on those simple truths, and finally, he could always just use you.

You moaned with his cock sliding inside your mouth at the pace of your choosing and his grip around your hair tightened. Your tongue lapped at his tip, searching for his taste and having no qualms about getting it out of him with a bit of pressure. Your hallowed cheeks created a vacuum for just a second, yet he groaned and you tried again. His taste hit you with the force of a thousand flavors and your mouth slacked. You moaned deeply, your mind floored and overwhelmed with the sweet richness searing into your taste buds, and you drooled. Your spit was flowing down his shaft, dripping down his balls in a testament to how far gone you were. Until his nails sank into your scalp and he groaned.

That was when you tauted your lips again and decided that if his precum was a nectar, then his cum would be like an elixir from the gods and you had to have it. You cupped and caressed his balls as you got accustomed to his girth stretching your lips, tentatively sliding up and down to see how he’d react.

You were clenching around nothing, lewdly drooling and moaning over his cock as if you had reached an oasis, but his groans got to you. They sent shivers down your spine and puckered your skin down your nape as he gripped your hair tighter without ever forcing your head. It made you only want to work harder and as you got ready with a deep breath, instantly the musky scent added to the sweetness in your mouth. It lit up your brain like a Christmas tree, twinkling with every drop of precum dissolving on your tongue, and you whimpered.

After that, things became messy. Your hands favored his round asscheeks to press him closer as you sought to have as much of him as possible. You pressed him in so hard, trying to swallow him whole, but that just wouldn’t be possible. Even then, you angled your head better, slid lower, and took him deeper, again and again with masterful control of your breath and his thrusts.

At first, you wanted to please him, but the more the idea of him using you resurged, the more you found yourself hoping he’d grip you and fuck your throat numb. You had no idea where all that unrestrained hunger came from but you weren’t sure you had ever been like that with anyone else. With him, your emotions were raw while he reached within you deeply, poking a nerve that you didn’t think anyone had access to. You craved his unrestrained care and attention, even if it bled, because at least he would come back for you. He’d hold you to sleep and come back every time.

You looked up with watering eyes to find him looking at you. His gaze was intense, completely focused on you with his lips slightly parted. A thin shin of sweat was making his forehead and neck glisten and it tightened you up even more. You wanted that m— that demon, or whatever he was. You didn’t care if you’d burn in hell for it — it was worth it to feel alive and real.

You whimpered and pressed him into your face harder and wished with your whole soul that he knew what you wanted. His nails grazing your skin made you look up and you blinked at him almost pleadingly. A low growl passed through his gritted teeth and a moment later you saw white.

You knew pain didn’t work for you the same way as it did for others, especially when sex was involved. You also knew because of him that lack of oxygen was a powerful catalyst for you and that most importantly, you were safe with him. You could have wondered why but it never occurred to you, the same way there was no point in questioning why water is wet and the sunlight is yellow. All you knew was that you were safe to feel the sting, the roughness, his scent mixed with the sweat and sheer sex aroma all around you, the sweetness of his precum mixed with the salt of your tears, everything in a whirlwind that swept you off your feet, beyond getting you to your knees. And when he finally came, it propelled you into bliss.

You moaned around him, trying to swallow every drop of his release as though you were a woman starved for a week. The more you quaffed, the more you craved, drinking until you almost choked. He pulled you back by the hair to release his cock and beyond his cum trickling down your chin, you realized you were moaning. Your mind was lit up like a billboard sign and it took you a beat to recognize that you were spasming around nothing, worn out on both ends from his release and yours.

You were taking deep breaths to rebalance yourself when they somehow became shaky. He pulled you up by the hands and you did as instructed, unable to control the trembles and sobs now shaking you.

He observed you, sliding his hands on the sides of your neck under your long strands of hair only to grab you there and press his fingers into your skin. It felt surprisingly soothing and tears started flowing from your eyes. You could only stare at him, without a thought that could justify this until he leaned in to kiss you. Then your breath hiccuped and you squeezed your eyes shut, letting the tears fall with that deep emotion. He could probably taste himself in your mouth, his cum was still on your chin, and yet he licked your lips and pushed inside your mouth without reservations. His lack of hesitation shook you and had you reaching to grab him close. You felt as though you were a ball of wool of which he had finally found the loose thread, only to pull it and watch it unravel.

You didn’t stop crying, however, despite not realizing exactly why. You were ready to clean your face and step away, but as soon as your mouths parted, he was already sweeping you off your feet. You were in no condition to complain so all you did was hold on to his neck and let him carry you.

He had been there so many times but never to your ensuite bathroom. Still, he acted like he had been there a thousand times. He started the water to fill your bathtub with one hand before setting your feet down on the floor. He gently took your silk pajamas off as the water slowly pooled in your big tub. You watched him and let him, seeing him brush the strips down your arms and pull your shorts along with it. Your nudity didn’t bother you or him as he made sure to put everything away before he grabbed you once more and gently laid you inside the rising bath.

You didn’t let go of his hand, your heart was scared of him abandoning you. Instantly, you recognized that maybe that wasn’t the best course of action, but he surprised you. He crouched to your eye level and squeezed your hand, and you settled. You trusted him — that was the absolute truth.

You leaned back and let the warm water envelop you as he reached to grab oils and petals from the nearby counter. Your eyes were becoming heavy with the lull of the perfumes and dripping water, and when you opened them again, he was getting naked. Despite your lethargy, your heart still jumped at the sight and the implication. He did it slowly, or maybe your mind was just sluggish. You wondered why he didn’t just snap his fingers to get naked, but then you almost chuckled at the silliness of your thoughts.

The bathtub was big and could even fit three people if needed. You didn’t mind sharing it and didn’t expect what he did next — he reached around you and hugged you to him. Your last sob exited your lips then, only soothing deep breaths following suit. You were safe and you finally drifted asleep.

You inhaled a sharp breath when you woke up, startled to be immersed in water only to look up to your side with a dropped chin. He was still there, his arms keeping you firmly in place against his soft chest under your ear. He glanced at you, with your glistening sleepy eyes and puffy cheeks.

Then he raised a hand and rubbed your chin.

You blushed, still dazed not only by your nap, but by the whole situation. Was he wiping drool off your chin?

“You never told me what it was that you needed.”

His voice rasped quietly, yet your heart picked it up as if he had screamed it atop his lungs. It shook you unbearably, adding to your flushing cheeks that you pressed hastily. Water splashed lightly on your heated face and you swallowed. You never told him because… there was nothing you wanted. You only wanted to see him and be with him.

Shit.

You couldn’t possibly tell him that.

“I… wanted… a new phone,” you said slowly before chuckling and rubbing your face a bit more.

“A phone?”

His tone was dry but you were too busy making up something to notice, “Yeah, Apple has this new upcoming—”

He got up from the water, the sudden splashing cutting you off as you watched him go. The corners of your lips pulled; you couldn’t hide the sadness — you hadn’t even enjoyed that moment properly.

He gripped his hair for a second before facing you, “Why can’t you see further than this junk?”

You frowned, a bit confused, “What junk?”

“All of it,” he almost hissed, disgust clear on his features. “A jet, a building, money— I get it. You need comfort, sure, but a phone? Fuck! Why are you wasting your life away on junk?”

As he talked, you sat up straight until your lips pulled in a scowl, “Waste? Yeah, right.”

You got up, ignoring the dizziness, and stepped out carefully to reach for a towel. His eyes were so intense they could have been marking you like a branding iron.

You couldn’t have imagined how furious you were making him, “Yes, waste! You have time. Don’t you want to do something with it?”

You wrapped yourself in a towel and laughed, “Not all of us are meant to amount to something.”

He snickered, “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, not all of you have everything money can buy, safety, and health,” he pointed out gravely and you raised your chin.

“It doesn't matter.”

“No?” He sneered.

“No,” you said, dryly and confidently. “When you’re proud of nothing, attached to nothing, and have no meaning… you lose purpose.”

His expression softened for the first time and you looked away. You were not afraid to tell him what you felt deep down, but you were conscious about him seeing your demons. By the look on his face, you wondered if he had all along.

“You have things you’re passionate about,” he voiced simply, all anger gone.

Your mouth filled with bile, “No. I tried,” you admitted bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest. “It was maybe the only thing I tried doing for myself aside from summoning you. My parents didn’t approve. A music career is not exactly at the level of an Ivy League degree,” you smirked, shaking your head at the memory of that fight. “I thought I could prove them wrong. I thought I could become a big shot, with or without their support. I couldn't.”

You stopped talking; a huge lump in your throat was filling your eyes with tears. The memories you would like to forget were resurfacing and you hugged yourself. You could have asked for him to take them away… but you didn’t.

“They hurt you.”

You looked at him and your eyes filled to the brim. Yet you chuckled, “Isn’t that what everyone does? Use and abuse?” You rubbed your face harshly before you could break, “Isn’t that what you experienced as well?”

“Yes, but that was not what ruined me.”

You overlooked the surprise at the fact that he answered you and that you were even having this conversation. “What was?”

“Drugs and alcohol.”

You chuckled and nodded; those had been your escape and they certainly made you pliable, stupid, and vulnerable.

“But you… You’ve given up before trying.”

His voice was the gentlest you had ever heard from him but you still frowned, “I tried.”

Your anguish was threatening to asphyxiate you, but he added, “And gave up.”

You grimaced, you couldn’t breathe, “You have no idea—”

A sob cut you off and you trembled with the unspoken agitation repressed deep inside you.

He nodded, “I know. I know it broke you, but don’t let it. You’re not defined by how a few assholes treated you in the past. You’re more than other’s opinions, more than a period you’re not proud of, more than any addiction.”

You gritted your teeth so hard as he spoke that they clicked, “How would you know that?”

“You sold your soul to me,” he said calmly, eyeing your trembling figure knowingly. “What do you think I bought?”

You quivered under his gaze and wiped your cheek off the runaway tears. Beyond the turmoil that topic created inside you, you were aware of what he was saying. Aware that he knew you inside and out, that he would own you, and that he wouldn’t have this conversation if he didn’t see more for you. But you couldn’t have hope, you couldn’t believe it. It would shatter you if you did and you weren’t ready — you had just found such a precarious balance. You couldn’t unravel and let it all go to waste.

“If not a phone, then I have another request,” your voice cracked but in a second your eyes were void of emotion as your features stiffened. You couldn’t grasp how far he could see inside you, or how much he knew you, but as he straightened his shoulders, you assumed it was a lot. He knew of your nightmares extensively, so when the thought came to your mind, he knew you meant it. His cold eyes told you he knew what it was before you opened your mouth, “I want my parents to suffer.”

As soon as you said it, anger shook your balling fists. You let yourself blame them, hate them for your circumstances, for your story, for your pain. You never asked to be born. Was it so hard to support their only daughter in this hell of a world? If they had been there—

“Destroy their estate.” You said with a stiff jaw, remembering the number of times they had chosen work over you. Every time you had gone to them to be dismissed, every time you tried voicing a dream and were laughed at, and every time after that they just let you do shit freely. “It’s time they lose the only thing they care about.”

“They care about you.”

“They threw me away,” you countered with venomous eyes.

“Maybe they didn’t expect you to summon a demon and have all of your problems swept away…” he leaned back against the sink; his air of nonchalance didn’t soothe you one bit.

You were already triggered, “They didn’t expect it?” A sardonic laugh passed your lips, “Sure, I guess they didn’t. So isn’t it weird they didn’t contact me all this time?”

“Maybe they don’t know how to.”

“They just have to fucking google my name!” You exploded, throwing your fists in the air. “They don’t do it because they don’t care!”

“Or maybe because you wouldn’t welcome them.”

Your fists fell numb beside your legs and you eyed him with bloodshot eyes. He was a demon; maybe this was part of the torture. “I wouldn’t, but it shouldn’t matter. You think they should only reach out on the premise they can be white knights and save my pathetic life? No. Caring about someone is—” Your voice shook, realizing what you were about to say to the very demon that taught you that. He waited for you to finish speaking your mind. “Letting them live on their own terms. Helping them go through it, maybe preventing them from making some shitty decisions, but sticking by them regardless because—”

Tears streamed down your face and you had to turn around. You couldn’t say those things to his face, you were afraid he’d see through you. See who you were thinking about.

You sniffled and wiped your face before turning again, “They should care. Whether I’m fucked, alive or dead, they should fucking care and they don’t.”

He took a second to consider what you said, or maybe he was just giving you time to calm down. “Caring isn’t only shown by reaching out. People make mistakes in trying to demonstrate their feelings, especially when they’re hurt and desperate.”

His dark eyes were piercing you to your soul and your tears overflowed again. You smirked for a moment before hiding your face to clean them again. This bastard was not going to make it any easier for you.

“They had my whole life to show they cared. Instead, they left me alone.”

“Why were you alone?”

You blinked your heavy and wet lashes with the memory of being shooed away. Your mother was lying on a bed with lines attached to her and with people in white coats all around her.

“My mom was sick for a long time,” you remembered. “She… she couldn’t have more children.”

You looked down; your stupidity echoed behind your eyelids.

Maybe you should have had more kids.

You heaved a deep breath and rubbed your eyes. What a dick you were. It didn’t matter that you were high, you were such an asshole. They had been bastards too for staying absent your whole life, and you guessed the apple didn't fall far from the tree. Maybe more kids would have meant you wouldn't be the only one screwed up. You chuckled, that might have been better.

You looked up at him and wondered if things could have been different. If you had summoned him earlier, you could have wished for your mother to be healthy. Maybe that would have changed everything.

His impenetrable eyes didn’t blink once while you considered all this, and you looked down again. You wouldn’t have ever been at a crossroads selling your soul if things hadn’t gotten so shitty. There was nothing you could do about that now.

“Not their entire estate. Just— A branch of the family business.”

“It will cost you.”

You nodded, “It should.”

He sighed, “I’ll see what I can do.”

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solradguy · 4 months ago

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Hi Mr. Radguy! I can't find anything on the wiki, so I assume there's not much, but I'm interested in the People's Federation of China as mentioned in Guilty Gear for my own fan works. It's said that they own 60% of Asian territories, with the other 40 going to Illyria - do you know which Asian countries have been mentioned in GG across all the different media streams that could fall into these two groups?

The only ones I can think of are Korea and the destroyed Japan, but for all I know there's some niche mention of someone being from Indonesia or something. Hope this finds you well!

Hello!

Yes!! There's actually a GG World entry, International Affairs after the Crusades, that mentions which countries China expanded into:

China has further expanded their borders to encompass, Uighur, Tibet, Inner Mongolia, Mongolia, and Siberia [...]

This is, unfortunately, the controversial entry that was edited in Strive post-launch to remove mentions of the countries China took over, so this currently only exists in the Xrd GGW.

However... The "Uighur" GG World entry wasn't removed from Strive so... I don't actually know why they edited the International Affairs one. The Uighur entry says:

A self-governing region in the western part of the Federation of China. It saw little conflict during the Crusades, and is now a nature preserve, home to many rare species.

As for other countries that aren't listed here, I know about as much as you do. GG's story has never really gone into much depth in regards to what's going on in the continent of Asia....

The "Illyria" GGW entry mentions Illyria "including much of Asia" though, and we know that Russia is (mostly) part of the United Kingdoms of Illyria, but they've never really elaborated much on what's happened to the countries in western Asia, like the various -stans, Nepal, or further west towards countries like Iran or Iraq. The eastern bit of Russia is pretty vague too. China expanding into Siberia and cutting Russia in half is kind of odd. That's a big region!!

Depending on how the story for your projects go (and if these countries/regions need to be mentioned/brought up), you've definitely got a couple options for which union/alliance/confederation to include them in.

Hope this is useful enough to help you out, or at least enough to be kind of a springboard for some canon-reinforced headcanons.

Good luck ^^

#asks #I've been thinking about this since you sent it in a few days ago now but I've been really afk lately...#The weather's been nice and I've been going outside as much as I can haha

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salixsociety · 9 months ago

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Cleansing Tea Bath against Stress

From my grimoire to yours.

Tea baths have been used for millennia to cure various ailments, improve one's looks, and cleanse the taker: the first recorded tea baths date back all the way to ancient Egypt. Cleopatra was said to take herbal baths, as did empress Sissi. I, personally, do not get the opportunity to bathe often anymore. But now that I am spending some time at home in the countryside, with access to a bathtub, I think it's high time I take an herbal bath to shake the unnecessary stress I've been feeling.

The Ingredients

Kitchen Sage (Salvia Officinalis) Sage has a long history as a bath herb, especially in medieval Europe. The Romans considered it a sacred herb, using it in religious rites, and held it in high esteem for medicine. The same goes for Medieval Europeans, who sometimes referred to it as the savior herb. It has many healing properties, and is quite fragrant. I will try not to go too in depth about individual herbs here, but feel free to ask me about them! I will try to make a post about them. In this bath, the sage serves to relax, purify, and rejuvenate.

Chamomile (Matricaria Chamomilla OR Chamaemelum Nobile) Chamomile, both the German and Roman variety, is an especially potent relaxing herb. Historically it was especially well loved to treat symptoms associated with PMS and PCOS, which is where the genus name of Matricaria comes from. Roman Chamomile was historically considered a painkiller and relaxer.

Mugwort (Artemisia Vulgaris) A less popular, but very noteworthy herb for purifying. In Nepal, brooms are sometimes made of it (supposedly) to cleanse the home. Mugwort is still used in modern medicine to this day, and was very prized by Medieval Europeans, who used it both in their food and drink, and in their medicine.

St. John's Wort (Hypericum Perforatum) Be sure to take care when you obtain this plan! Please buy responsibly and check if it is protected in your area. St. John's Wort is another one of those herbs that people throughout history have prized immensely. Historically it was used to treat nearly anything, and this high regard is reflected in its common name, one of the most important apostles in Christianity. Nowadays there is research being done into St. John's Wort antidepressive properties, and various streams of herbal and alternative medicine use it actively to treat anxiety, panic disorders, depression, etc. St. John's Wort is also excellent against headaches. But I digress.

After these, you can add whatever scented or additional ingredients. Some options: - A few drops of essential oil - Your favorite strongly smelling herbs, like lavender (calming) or rosemary (rejuvenating) - A few spoonfuls of salt - A bath bomb - Whatever makes you happy - (a rubber ducky)

Of course, the herbs can't do all the work. Indulge yourself. Create a nice ambiance with some candles or some dim lighting, get the water to the right temperature, and try your best to relax as you take the bath. Do whatever takes your mind off what stresses you out and let the bath soak everything out of you. Best of luck to you, hold oe kreggel! If you enjoy my work, please consider purchasing or commissioning some of my written resarch, ordering a reading, or commissioning my art. Click here to see the options. Thank you!

#apothecaric allerlei #folk magic #folk witchcraft #witchblr #folk medicine #herbalism #grimoire #green witch #herbarium #spells #cleansing #rituals

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myfoodsflowers · 7 months ago

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Cymbidium elegans The Elegant Cymbidium 🌾☘ is native to Assam, China, Myanmar, Nepal, Tibet. It is found growing as an epiphyte or lithophyte in shade, near streams in forests, cliffs at elevations of 1700-2800 meters above sea level

#flowers #plants #orchids #gardens

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lettersfromaphrodite · 2 years ago

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[17.49]

― pairing : Chris x fem! reader ― content warnings : smut, fluff, gamer au, drabble, mentions to overwatch, explicit language, oral sex (f recieving), unprotected sex, established relationship ― word count : 2.099

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

«Hurry up, Chris.» you whined to yourself as you were wearing your headphones and adjusting the microphone in front of you; streaming videogames was one of your favourite hobbies and you managed to stream a couple of hours a day as soon as you got home from work.

Honestly, you were more than thankful to your boyfriend, Chris, offering you to be the admin of your gaming channel and therefore, sitting next to you during all your streams. Despite the fact that you started constantly streaming more than six months ago, the fact that an unknown number of people was watching and sometimes judging your gaming skills was enough to make you nervous and slightly worsen your aim.

Chris shared the same passion as you did, and your gaming set up included two almost identical gaming postation and therefore, this meant that not only he could sit next to you, but also monitor the viewers’ comment just in case someone was disrespectful enough to be banned. It was undeniable that you found his presence soothing; he would place a hand on your thigh to signal that the live had started - since you couldn’t see the live delay for yourself and, as soon as it was finished, he would kiss you while praising you with a wide and sincere smile, saying you did great.

Somehow, Chris managed to make everything seem less intimidating, and you were genuinely thankful for his daily presence in your life.

«What if I mess up and try to counter Winston with Genji?» you left yourself sink into the chair, re-adjusting your pyjama shorts – you honestly didn’t bother to dress up nicely beside your shirt, as you heard a light chuckle coming from next to you.

«Prepare yourself to be banned by the whole community of gamers.» Chris answered with a playful smile as he put on his headphones as well; you groaned to yourself, making him laugh at your reaction.

«Come here, sunshine, let me give you a good luck kiss.» Chris pulled your chair to his, and you immediately leaned in to peck his lips in a quick but soft manner; you sighed, feeling content with your boyfriend’s constant display of attention. However, Chris felt like he wanted more, and he wasn’t sure he could wait for your streaming to end.

«Hi, everyone!» you said as soon as Chris placed his hand on your thigh, staring into the camera with a bright smile on your face, «So many games came out this week, but I didn’t know what to stream! I guess for today we’ll settle for some quick plays on Overwatch until I decide what to actually buy.» you laughed, blushing a bit.

The stream started smoothly, you would miss some kills due to your nervousness, but Chris gently patting your leg or your elbow anytime you died helped yourself not to feel too frustrated about it.

«I know you’re about to come for my head,» you joked, focused on changing your character, «but I’m going to try walking this path again, this time with a sniper, because don’t we all love a bit of thrill.» you said, leading your character on the route where you died in silly ways at least four times, completely unaware about Chris’ sudden mischievous smirk.

Eventually, you felt Chris’ hand on your thigh; you glanced at him, just to see if anything was wrong or people were really spamming the comment section because “playing a sniper on Nepal’s control map is just unacceptable”, but he simply shook your head, showing you a playful and innocent smile.

The more the game went on, the more you tried not to focus on the fact that Chris’ hand was slowly inching higher on your thigh, making your skin immediately feel warm at the contact; you could feel his eyes fixed on you rather than the screen, and anytime you glanced at him, he’d squeeze your thigh and shook his head in a silent signal that everything was okay.

Chris’ hand was dangerously close to the hem of your loose pyjama shorts, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself from the desire to touch you; Chris was perfectly aware about the fact that you tensed up, and he was also perfectly aware that you were sensitive, but he wanted to have a little bit of fun.

As you felt Chris’ thumb stroke your thigh while applying a slight pressure every now and then, you knew it was not unintentional; your eyes widened, noticing what your boyfriend was up to. Your leg accidentally twitched, causing Chris’ hand to slide a little bit higher; you sent him a panicked look, but your boyfriend answered with a wink and a playful smile.

Only then, you understood how mischievous Chris looked in that very moment: messy hair in which he kept running his hands, and his pyjama shirt slightly unbuttoned; this small distraction caused you to die once again, the loud noise of an enemy’s special attack startling you and inevitably drawing your attention back to the game.

“Okay love,” you thought, “two can play this game” you jolted, trying to keep a neutral expression as you felt his Chris’ hold tighten on your inner thigh, hoping that he wouldn’t try anything in front of 900 viewers. Once again, you were perfectly aware about the microphone only few inches from your mouth, recording perfectly every hitch of your breath anytime Chris dared some bolder move as massaging his thigh.

You knew that at this point, the views probably dropped, since you couldn’t focus due to the growing wetness in your pants. “This is surreal,” you thought trying to chase an enemy player, “I can’t get turned on from this,” you managed to counter his attack and proceed straight to the point yet to conquer. All the hopes you held were short lived, as soon as you felt Chris’ hand taking advantage of the fact that your legs were spreaded – damn you and your habit of sitting in weird ways, just to place the palm of his hand directly on your wetness; your leg twitched and your knee accidentally slammed under the desk.

«Shit!» you exclaimed, «Sorry everyone, I kinda got startled by Genji screaming in my ear.» you lied, fully aware of the blush entirely covering from your face to your neck.

As you sent Chris another panicked look, your breath slightly quickened and your heart was hammering in your chest so loudly that you could confuse it for a game sound effect; Chris, however, simply winked you once again, his hold tight and unwavering. Luck was on your side, because as soon as you felt Chris’ hand sliding inside your shorts, the match also ended.

«Okay, today live ends here!» you announced, not planning to end it so soon, but you certainly couldn’t keep streaming when Chris was teasing you like that in front of everyone.

«Thanks everyone for following me today, see you in two days, same time! Bye!» you smiled cheerfully trying to ignore Chris slightly palming his growing erection with his head thrown on the chair, before turning everything off: live, webcam, microphone.

«Okay love, we can log out, and also» you whispered taking off your headphones, «what the hell was that for?» Having gotten what he was aiming for, Chris’s mouth was now stretched into a full grin and his attention directed completely towards you; his hand was still between your legs, but now he was applying more pressure to it, knowing well the effect it had on you.

«Your fans are absolutely right, sunshine,» he said, removing his hand from you for a brief moment, enough for him to stand up and balance himself on the armrests of your chair, pinning you against it and leaning towards you, «You look absolutely gorgeous today, I couldn’t wait to have you all for myself.» Chris’ lips inched towards you with a slow pace, and you waited for him to kiss you with parted lips and a hammering heart, anticipating the moment; as soon as your lips were few millimetres apart, he suddenly tilted his head, his lips busy tracing abstract patterns on your neck as he gently spreaded your legs using his.

«Are you sure you turned everything off?» Chris asked, sitting between your spreader legs and caressing your inner thighs in a rough manner, his fingertips toying with the elastic band of your pyjama; you glanced at the screen with a panicked look, and nodded as soon as you saw that you were completely offline.

As soon as Chris saw your affirmative response, he slid both your shorts and your underwear off your legs, licking his lips with a victorious smile at the sight of you already on the verge to fall apart when he still didn’t do anything. Chris knew the effect he had on you, and he loved to take advantage of it; wearing rings on his hands, bracelets, it was not casual, they were simple details which would focus your attention to certain places and he loved seeing you getting flustered because of it. Especially, he loved when he could feel your body shiver as a reaction to the cold metal of his rings encountering your hot skin.

«Chris!» you whined, as you felt his lips attaching on your clit and eagerly sucking on it; your hands flew in his soft brown hair and he moaned against your wetness, eager to please you and to hear your moans in return, knowing that he was the cause of your bliss.

Chris wasted no time in teasing you, and immediately his tongue was occasionally alternating kitten licks to more rough movements, his tongue flat and spreading your wet folds already clenching around nothing thanks to the desire that rapidly built up inside you. Chris fingertips reached out, spreading your folds so that he could draw abstract shapes against it while using the tip of his tongue, making you whimper at the need of further contact.

However, by now, Chris knew your body language and purposely avoided to give you what you were silently asking for; you jolted forwards, feeling your legs shake as Chris experimentally moaned against your wetness, and since he was pleased with your reactions, he simply decided to add it as well to the mix.

Quickly, you reached out to unbutton your shirt, feeling like it was getting a bit too hot in the room to be so overdressed; you took the opportunity to push your wetness even more into Chris’ face, which in response sucked on it a little more eagerly at the sight of one of your hands playing with your nipple and your chest rising and fall in quick, uneven intakes of breaths.

«Fingers,» you whimpered, «I want your fingers.» you pulled his face closer to you by the hold you had on his hair; you were close, but you wanted to come at least around Chris’ thick fingers scissoring and curling inside you.

«You’ll take what I give you.» Chris’ voice was hoarse and husky, and he detached from you just enough to answer your plead, before starting once again to lap at your parted folds; choking on a whine, you nodded at Chris’ sudden rough behaviour, before glancing down, and finally noticing that Chris was also busy touching himself while pleasuring you.

The sight of his fist tightly wrapped around his length in quick and sharp movements – while the silver bracelet he always wore was dancing around his wrist, mixed to the feeling of his mouth stimulating you, made you rapidly approach your orgasm. Calling for Chris’ name as if it was a prayer, your body shook, your muscles quickly tensing up and relaxing in a rapid succession, and Chris never stopping his motions of eagerly sucking on your clit until you eventually started to tremble in overstimulation. You were sure that your wetness was dripping on your gaming chair, but your eyes were locked on Chris, which sat back with his cheeks flushed red, leaning his weight on his hands as his pyjama pants were loosely hanging around his thighs, his length still hard and obviously begging for attention and release.

«If we don’t fuck within the next minute I’ll go insane,» you panted, your legs still spreaded and the sensation of your orgasm still lingering on your body; Chris agreed, nodding few times, before quickly glancing behind himself.

«On my gaming chair?» Chris asked, rising his eyebrow at you.

«On your gaming chair.» you nodded immediately, and you both moved to stand up at the same time.

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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