#not looking forward to when this breaks and i crash. but like whats the pattern her? how long has this been happening?

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[cucuxumusu]

For @flamevbirdv, well this is more Jason carring Dick, but I hope you like it.

Dick is extra drugged. Jason can see it in the splotches of colour on the other’s black and blue suit, the remnants of magic, Ivy’s pheromones, and who knows what else had been going on in that battle. There are a hundred spells and chemicals mixed inside Nightwing right now and Dick keeps acting weird.

Bruce however has deemed him safe. The different magics and substances keep warring with one another and are unable to take proper hold of Dick so he doesn’t even need an antidote, he just needed to sleep it off and he would be fine in the morning. He, however, can’t stay in the battleground any longer.

Of course, it’s Jason’s turn to take him home, because, after all, he is Dick’s boyfriend.

The walk home is the most surreal thing he has experienced in a while. Dick keeps acting like a hormonal pregnant woman who has multiple personality syndrome and is having maniac surges. Jason would be amused by the whole thing if he wasn’t creeped out and slightly worried by it.

One moment Dick is kneeling on one of the rooftops, crying, holding him with a desperation Jason had rarely seen in him, and crying his heart out to him. He keeps apologizing for not being there, for not saving him from Joker, for not knowing he was dead, for not knowing he was alive. It breaks Jason’s heart just to hear him, that Dick is still blaming himself after all these months they have been together makes something inside him ache.

On the next roof, another spell kicks in, and suddenly Dick is jumping Jason. Groping him over the clothes, fondling with the zippers, biting his neck and grunting in eagerness as he rubs against his body all hard and possessive. Jason always enjoys when Dick is desperate and demanding in bed, doing whatever he pleases with him, marking his body, and showing the world who Jason belongs to. But Jason is not an exhibitionist, and he is definitely not doing it on a rooftop in the middle of nowhere.

Dick is laughing on the next roof, maniacally, in a strange resemblance of Joker’s gas that has Jason’s blood-curdling. In the next, he turns silent, quiet, and it’s even worst, because it looks dangerous, deadly, as if Dick has suddenly become a different person someone who can’t even recognize him. Jason keeps pulling him along with his hands on his body, guiding him to the present instead of the hallucinations and memories he is clearly seeing, dragging him forward until they reach the little home they had been sharing for the last months.

They crash into their bed after Jason manages to strip them both in the middle of another giggling fit, but the new surroundings are not much better. The sequence repeats, crying, anger, horniness, laughing, and the dangerous silences that make Jason’s skin crawl as Dick’s nails dig in his back. Sometimes the episodes even mix, and Jason has to hold Dick down from wreaking havoc on their little space. They fuck twice, fast and messy, and then hug for hours later. But as the night advances, the episodes seem to become softer, and less intense, and Jason slowly starts to relax into the patterns.

He feels emotionally drained just by dealing with him, so Dick has to be a total mess himself and it's probably going to take a while for him to recover both mentally and physically from this. It is still kind of reassuring. Dick never tries to hurt him in any way, even during the maniacally angry episodes he never goes for Jason, as if his subconscious knows who he is and can’t bring himself to harm him. Even during sexy times, when he looks desperate and mad with lust, and keeps whispering the most dirty words in Jason’s ears, he makes sure he is ready and willing every time. He sobs his name with guilt, he laughs it next time as if it’s the best word he has ever pronounced, he holds him, hugs him, making him moan in pure bliss...

By the time Dick finally falls asleep as dawn starts to illuminate their bedroom, Jason felts loved and cherished as he had never felt before. He knows that if he wasn’t in love with this man yet, he would definitely be now. Because if he had learned something tonight is that he means a lot to Dick, and that Dick, even out of his mind, loves him more than anything in this world. 

[party-dude]

Withdrawal is a bitch.

________________________________

Postal Dude x Reader / 18+, Lemon / Suck That Gross Man! / No beta reader or anything like that we raw dog fanfic in this house

I dunno man, he's hot and I'm horny.

The lock to Dude's Trailer turns, the door cracking open and creaking slightly as it moves. Outside the sun beams down and burns the ground below. You wouldn't be surprised to hear if the local stray cats were melting to the pavement today in this heat.

You step inside carrying a few grocery bags; leaving the oppressive heat of Paradise behind you. Mentally thanking whatever higher power exists that Dude's AC is actually working for once.

Humming to yourself, you turn your attention to the small kitchenette area in the trailer, opening up a cabinet and throwing whatever you bought inside.

You promised Dude last week you'd stop by and make dinner sometime, and today you're gonna make good on that promise. Taking in the silence of the place, your humming grows louder before eventually you break out into a full song and dance routine to the music in your head while you finish up. Spinning around the small area, feet tapping on the linoleum.

Suddenly, a bottle whirls by your head and crashes into the wall behind you. You gasp loudly and turn to see Dude, lounging on the couch, peeking out from under a blanket patterned with Krotchy; His brows furrowed in anger.

"Keep it down. Christ..." He grumbles quietly, sitting up and staring at you. He's obviously in a mood. You blink at him in disbelief, your head whipping back and forth from the bottle to his stupid face.

"I thought you'd be out, doing God knows what!? Why are you home?" You speak to him, hand on your chest, trying to stop your heart from failing at the sudden shock.

"Why the hell do you care? It's my fucking place, I should be asking why you're here."

He rises fully, sitting on the couch; turning the small TV on. Staring the thing down and ignoring you now. You catch your breath and take in his appearance.

To be blunt; he looks like shit. Hair matted to his head with grease and sweat, his stubble coming in full and thick. His leg twitches, bouncing up and down on the ground and you see his jaw move. His teeth grinding together.

Realization hits you and you take a few cautious steps towards him, like he's a dog that bites when nervous.

"Withdrawals..?" You ask him, putting on a passive voice trying not to press his buttons further. He glances at you from the side of his glasses, you can see his eyes shift back to the television before he scoffs. "Shut up."

You sigh. Walking over and sitting next to him, far enough to give him some space, just in case he lashes out again . He crosses his arms and ignores you further. You try again. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Just shut up." After a small beat he speaks again adding quickly to his first demand. "Just sit there, and shut up."

You can't help but crack a small smile at his request, if he was in a better mood you'd tease him at the way he wants you to stay close in silence. His tone today is doing something to you. You chide yourself in your head, calling yourself a masochist. Your legs clench together slightly at the harsh words; 'Shut up'.

Deciding against better judgment you lean forward, invading his space slightly. He said to just sit and shut up and that's what you intend to do. You tentatively reach out, a finger hooking around the top of his jeans, reaching a thumb down and grabbing the fabric, pulling and undoing the button quickly.

His head snaps to you in attention. "What the hell are you doing?"

You shrug. Leaning in more, wrapping your fingers around the zipper and pulling it down. His breath hitches and his arms uncross, grabbing onto the cushions next to him.

You fall to your knees to the cold, dirty floor below and you teeter to the front of him. Looking up at him, raising an eyebrow in silent questioning. His face dusts with a blush and he grits his teeth in defiance a bit before he raises and lets you tug the waist of his pants and boxers down to his mid thigh.

You grin at him. His bitchy attitude staying even though you're about to blow him is adorable to see. You lean forward, spitting into your hand.

You take him in your hands, tugging and lubing his cock up, watching as he groans and lets his head fall back. He swears to himself and his nails tighten into the cushions, digging into the fabric.

Once he's hard enough and at attention, you lean in and pop his head into your mouth, giving the slit a small lick, tasting the precum and making him whine.

"F-fuck!" His voice echoes, falling in with the noise of the TV behind you. You take him deeper, he's not that big; modest at best, so you take him easily. Getting into a good rhythm to make him whine and moan in ways that make you clench your legs together to try and control yourself. Speeding up, you whine when you feel one of his heavy hands wrap into your hair, knotting it into a handle to push you deeper onto him. He growls, thrusting up into your face, practically skull fucking you now.

You adjust quickly, moaning and looking up to him for approval. His glasses have slid down his nose a bit and his green eyes peer at you, full of lust and desire. He laughs and coos at you, teasingly. "Awh, mouth full? You're doing so well. You were made to suck this cock, weren't you?"

His voice makes your eyes roll and you whine against him, the vibrations making him groan again. "Fuck, Babe. Right there, keep going! I'm close. You - ah! You better fucking s-swallow too!"

Like you had a choice. He tightens his grip on your hair, holding you down while he finishes down your throat. You gag for a moment, leaning back off him when he's done and swallow; gasping for air.

"You asshole! I nearly drowned." You whine and frown up at him, wiping your mouth and catching your breath.

He looks at you unamused and with indifference, breathing heavily, coming down from the high he just had. He tucks himself back into his pants and reaches up fixing his glasses. He leans his head back, sighing up at the ceiling, his jaw clenches again.

You sigh, thinking of him like an animal that needs put out of its misery.

"Come on. I'll buy you some this time." His head snaps up to look at you, before breaking out into a shit eating grin.

"Fuck yeah!"

He stands quickly and grabs your arm pulling you off the ground and out the door.

[skzcollision]

churchboy!felix x afab!reader (1/7)

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genre: fluff, eventual smut, teen angst

synopsis: certain expectations come with being a pastor’s daughter. in everyone’s eyes you are a properly behaved girl, albeit rather timid. according to your parents, you aren’t as devoted to the church as you should be. they entrust you to an old family friend’s son, deeming him to be a good influence. these circumstances bring you two closer together and stir up all kinds of emotions.

MINORS DNI

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

It has been a good four months since you began doing these bible readings together.

You have built a genuine friendship over that time and despite dreading these meet ups at first, you found yourself looking forward to seeing Felix more each and every time. He makes it easy for you.

He knows how difficult it is for you to keep from nodding off during those sermons and bible studies; he knows that you do not enjoy church.

So to make things a little more pleasant for you, he lets you choose the time and place for these bible readings. He brings you snacks and he doesn’t mind when you veer off topic every once in a while.

Felix has created a comfortable space for you, not just spiritually, but in general. It’s inevitable that you start catching feelings for him. You have always found him physically attractive. After all, he is the main reason why you have perfect attendance at church.

But you enjoy the way he teases you, the way he is so sweet with you, and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. You love the smatterings of freckles across his face, you love the weird shit he says randomly out of nowhere and the way he is himself with you, and vice versa; you love just about everything about him.

So it is a disappointment when you plan a picnic with him this time and he makes it a point to sit a good few feet away from you.

You suppose it is your fault, as you have been dressing a little too provocatively for bible readings lately and last time when you were watching a movie together, you sat a little too close to his lap.

The thought that you could have possibly ruined things with him and made him uncomfortable breaks your heart.

“Felix,” you say, fingers dragging across the soft flannel. “Come sit closer, you’re hardly even on the blanket.”

He glances up at you over his bible, then pulls his gaze away, shaking his head. “Thanks, I’m fine here.”

A sigh leaves your mouth. “Did I do something?” Your eyes trace the pattern of the blanket, fingers playing with the frills of your skirt.

“Hey,” Felix’s voice is closer now, causing you to look up. He is leaning forward on his hands, eyes earnest. “Of course not.”

“Then why are you sitting so far from me?”

He pulls away and it is silent for a while. All you hear is the soft crashing of waves against the shore and a seagull in the distance. “No reason.” Felix clears his throat. “Can we get back to–“

“Are you afraid that I’ll pounce on you?”

Heat flickers in his gaze, but it is for a short moment—as if you had only imagined it. He’s good at hiding. Maybe even better than you.

“W- What?” His breathing sounds heavier now. “No, why would you…”

“I won’t, okay?” You shuffle closer to him, keeping your eyes locked. “I won’t, so, please… can we sit closer?”

His tongue flicks out to wet his dry lips and you see his Adam’s apple bob. “Okay.” With hesitation, Felix moves in closer to you. “Is this better?” You were both sitting side by side like you usually did.

“Closer?” You almost squeak out, hands clammy against your lap.

“Wha- closer? How close?” There’s panic in his voice now and you feel that if you don’t do anything he will run away from you right this second.

So you let your instincts drive you and you bury your head into his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. You breathe in the oaky scent of his aftershave and the florals of his fabric softener.

A yelp leaves him, but he doesn’t push you away, and instead freezes up against you. Your name rolls out of his mouth clumsily. “W- We can’t do this here.”

“Sorry,” after a moment, you loosen your grip on him and you lift your head to look at his face.

You believe yourself to be just as flushed as him, the tips of his ears pink. It takes everything you have to not smother him again.

Felix says your name again, softly this time. “Don’t be sorry.” You only realize now that the hand on the small of your back has not left and your heart skips even faster than it is already; you’re scared that he can hear it.

“Please,” your voice is hushed, hardly audible. “Let’s just hold each other.” You slide your leg over his, and your arms take their place around his waist again. “It’s just us here. No one will know.”

Felix gulps. “God knows.”

But he lets you hold him anyway. And he holds you too.

⭒

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[litnerdwrites]

I was out all day yesterday, so I couldn't upload it then, so here it is now. Day seven, extended version. I do have plans to make this a series, and once I have all three series planned out, I'll be sure to ask who's you want to see first. Be sure to look out for more Euphemia content until then too. On a side note, did anyone see Kerri's stories, where she was scrolling through the first few pages of Throne of Secrets. We got a glimpse at the first couple of pages and honestly, ever teaser just makes me more impatient to read it.

This is probably my favourite piece, and the longest that I've written. Even though it's extended, there's so much more that I wanted to add, that I'll probably put into the series. I really loved writing Lust, and trying to balance gentle, romantic side with his lustful, jovial one. Although, I don't think there was much room for the latter here but I'll be sure to give it ago in the series. What are some of your favourite Lust moments from the trilogy? Let me know! @princeofsinweek

Day 7: Lust/Lover

Speak Now - Lust x OC

WC:4,077

TW: Almost forced marriage, abuse (father striking his daughter, plus forced fiancé hurting bride), mentioned death of a parent, mentioned canon typical violence.

Amara was stone faced as her ladies maids tittered around her, tugging, tucking and tidying up her hair in preparation. They had tried to make smalltalk at first, but when she didn’t respond, they quickly gave up. 

She wanted to grimace at her reflection. She wanted to tear the pins and veil from her hair. She wanted to smear the makeup from her face, even if she had to break a few nails and tear her skin to do it. She wanted to rip the silk and lace from her body, and throw it to the pigs. 

She wanted to run.

But she couldn’t. 

All because she had nowhere to go. Noone to turn to. 

The gown itself was classic. An a-line gown made of silk, with a sweetheart neckline, and thick lace sleeves. The ivy patterned lace reached right to where her neck met her head, and somehow managed to irritate her skin. Yet, despite her growing discomfort, she remained like a statue, even as the maids began wondering if she even lived or not. 

“You will wed the Prince, and you will finally make yourself useful to me,” 

Even as it echoed in her own mind, her father’s voice remained harsh, arguably colder than even the northernmost flaming tombs. It became his usual attitude after her mother had been killed by who Amara now knew was the Goddess of Death in an act of vengeance. The father she knew and loved lasted until the funeral, but once people began moving on with their lives, things began to change. Gone was the gentle, doting father she knew, and in his place was a shell of a man who only sought power and fame. 

Even at the expense of his own daughter.

Part of her, thinking back to that night, when she felt as though things had turned around for her. 

Growing sick of the scent of alcohol and sex in her home, she’d wandered to one of the many cliff sides in Palermo. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, eyes locked on the crashing waves below, but not really looking at them. 

It would be so easy to just… Push herself forward, and let herself fall. So, so easy. 

But, before she could properly contemplate the idea, he was pulled from her  thoughts by the distant sound of music. As if in a trance, she made her way down the side of the cliff wondering if it was the cold, or anticipation that had her limbs trembling. What she hadn’t expected was to find a bonfire, and a single male dancing on the beach. 

The sculptures that nobles commissioned from renowned artisans to line their overly elaborate halls must’ve been inspired by the man. His skin was gold, and hair dark. His charcoal eyes seemed to glow under the light of a flaming circlet that wrapped around his head. Yet, somehow, she got the impression that if she met his gaze, she’d feel like she was trapped in a darkened abys

se of desire. 

“If you like what you see, then why not join?” The male’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. 

He had been across the beach a moment ago, but now he stood right in front of her. Too close. His face was too close, as he bent at the waist to examine her. It was only then, when she felt that flaming circlet flicker against her forehead that she realized how… Wrong- no. Not wrong. How… Strange it was. 

“Doesn’t your head get hot during the summer?” she had blurted out, before slapping a hand over her mouth. 

The man’s eyes widened, and he had jerked back, clearly surprised by the question. He observed her, eyes narrowing somewhat, before leaning back, letting his lips spread into a grin.

“There are no summers where I’m from,” he shrugged. She blinked up at him, hands still pressed to her mouth, but eyes wide and curious. He seemed so jovial when she first saw him, then he looked like he could see all of her secrets laid bare, before going back to seeming like he was having fun. “Should you not be more concerned by this?” he cocked his head to the side.

Amara dropped her hands from her mouth, and blinked up at him again. After a few moments under his expectant gaze, she raised a brow, and rocked on the soles of her feet, answering with a shrug. “No. My mother was a witch,” 

Lust’s brows shot up. 

“You seem remarkably comfortable sharing that, when all it would take is the wrong person overhearing for you to be condemned,” 

“You aren’t exactly human either, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she pointed out, “I know enough about malvagi to know that if you wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Clearly, you don’t. Not as of yet, anyway,” 

Lust’s brows shot up again, as he circled her. 

Amara held her chin high, eyes tracking the male. 

Silence stretched on for what felt like hours, though was likely only minutes.

“Do you know who I am, Stella Stregah?” he finally asked.

“A Malvagi,” she stated, matter of factly, before looking behind him, “Why are you having a bonfire all alone?” 

“Would you care to join me?” was the only response he gave.

“Will you attempt to use your powers on me?” she asked.

“Dance with me, and perhaps you’ll find out,�� the demon bowed at the waist, offering his hand to her. 

Amara eyed him skeptically, but shrugged and accepted.

Music filled her ear again, though there was no discernible source, as the demon guided her through the steps. Amara let him. She followed his lead, though never once made eye contact with the demon. 

“Which one are you?” 

“I am the Prince of Lust,” 

She narrowed her eyes on him. Taking a moment to examine herself, and thinking over their interactions thus far. It didn’t seem like he used his powers on her.

“Why haven’t you tried to influence me with your sin, yet?” 

“Believe me, I’ve been trying,” Lust huffs. 

“What?”

“Our powers can only inflate emotions that are already present. When I reached out to inflate yours, I sensed no emotion to inflate. Either you truly feel nothing, or they’re so deeply buried that even I can’t find them,” 

“I…See,” 

“Is that why you considered jumping from the cliff, Stella Stregah?” 

Lust raised a brow, examining the way her face scrunched. 

“That’s not your concern, Malvagi.” Amara snapped, moving to pull away.

He chuckled, yanking her into a spin, before she could, then caught her, and pushed her into a dip, hand cupping the thigh of her raised leg. His face was mear inches from hers.

“No need to be so wrathful, little witch. Let go of your troubles for a night. Release those pent up feelings and give in to your desires,” 

“I’m not sleeping with you,” she told him, point blank. 

“I never said you should. Not unless those are your desires,” Lust shrugged, not rising from the dip, letting his hand trail down her leg, “Dance. Drink,” she glanced behind him to see a table of drinks and food she hadn’t noticed before, and on the other side, comfortable looking chairs were laid out around the bonfire, “Rest. Talk. Sing. Give into whatever brings your pleasure,” 

“You mean to feed your sin,” 

“Perhaps. But can you deny that giving in to pleasure, forgetting what ails you, even for a single night, would be bad?” 

It wouldn’t. She knew it wouldn’t. 

“Surely you have plenty of people available to feed your sin,” 

“Yet I crave you,” 

Amara’s eyes narrowed. 

“If I give into pleasure, you won’t use your sin on me?” 

“Not unless you ask, little witch,” 

“Then it’s a deal. Just for tonight.” 

“Just for tonight.” 

It hadn’t been just for a night. 

She had returned two nights later, and made the same deal again, swearing it was the last time. Then again. And again. And again. And again. 

Eventually, she gave into more and more of her desires, spending more than a couple of those nights with him making love on the beach, or in a cave. One time, he’d even appeared in her bedroom while her father was out drinking. Lust had wrinkled his nose when he appeared, be it at the sorry state of the place she lived in, or the clear evidence of her father’s vices, despite his  own position, she couldn’t tell. 

Eventually, she’d found herself coming to enjoy the jovial prince’s company. Perhaps it was unwise to do so, given what she knew of the malvagi, yet, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Even as she began to desire more than just his body. Instead, she longed for tender nights where he held her by the fire after a particularly vigorous session of love making in a cave. 

Foolishly, she longed for the scowl he gave at her proposal to roast marshmallows over his flaming crown, before reluctantly agreeing if only she never shared it with her brothers, only to watch her oh, so tenderly as she made s’mores for them. Above all, she longed for the high she felt in his presence, which she recently learned wasn’t due to his sin, but rather her own feelings, and delusions.

That was all it was. Delusions. 

Princes of Hell are content to rule alone, with no desire to share their power with anyone. 

Now, at least she had her memories to hold onto as she got married. Then, when Prince Zarus would transform her into one of his own at the reception, right before injecting her with his venom, she’d likely lose all senses, or memories of her Prince. Perhaps that would be the mercy. To forget all of it, and be lost in the oblivion for the rest of eternity. 

A sharp knock snaps her from her thoughts. In the mirror, she watched the lady’s maids quickly shuffle out, but glanced away at her father’s entry. She refused to even look at him. 

He, obviously, noticed this too, but for once, did not strike her. Instead, he examined her.

“You don’t look like a whore, for once,” he comments. Amara said nothing. “Don’t look so sullen when you walk down the aisle. You are to wed royalty, and if you wish for comfort in your new life, do not let the prince tire of you.” 

“Don’t pretend this is for me,” she whispers, “All this is so you can gain wealth, power and immortality. You care nothing for how I feel about the matter.” Tears well in her eyes as she gazes at her reflection, feeling like an imposter. 

Her father approached, ignoring her flinch as he placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning beside her head to watch her in the mirror.  

She refused to meet his gaze.

“Nonsense. You’re the precious,” his hands squeezed uncomfortably tight, voice strained, “daughter that my wife left behind before she died. I am merely doing what is best, so that you might live a life of comfort,” 

Amara wanted to retort. To hurl insults and decor at him, but knew the guards would happily inject her before the wedding started, upon their Prince’s orders, and drag her down the aisle in that state of euphoria if that’s what it took. She didn’t want that. She wanted to put it off as long as she could. Yet, she also wanted to be rid of her father. 

Mercifully, another knock at the door dragged her father away with one, final, painful squeeze of her shoulders. 

She barely noticed the newcomer enter after her father, the woman draped in silver, emanating a familiar sensuality. Amara’s eyes snapped to hers as she pressed a finger to her lips. A slip of paper drops in front of her, before she uses transvenio to make her escape. 

Eyes wide, Amara reaches for the paper, slowly unfolding it. 

My dearest Amara, You don’t have to say yes. Meet at the back door and I can take you away from here, somewhere you’d be happy. I’d give absolutely anything for that, so I ask that if you wish to escape this, then come find me. I’ll be there until the reception ends.  Forever yours, Prince Lust. 

The message burst into flames, leaving behind a slip of paper with a map drawn on it. It appeared to lead from her room to the place he was waiting. The only issue were the guards outside her room. With furrowed brows, she shoved the paper into her pocket, hoping she’d have a chance on the way to the altar. 

Finally, when her father came to collect her, she walked to the end of the hall. 

“Father. I- I forgot my necklace! Could you go back and get it?” 

“Just leave it, before we’re late,” he assures, with thinly veiled irritation and faux kindness.

“But it was a gift from the Prince. He’d be terribly angry if I don’t,” she tried.

Her father raised a brow, but nodded to the guards, who turned back. She and her father had watched them head back up the hall, to her room, before she turned on her heel, reaching for the paper. She’d made it halfway up the hall before a firm grip pulled her back. 

“Where do you think you’re-” he noticed the paper. His eyes slid over the map, narrowing on it. Before she knew what was happening, a sharp sting was felt across her face, strong enough to send her to the ground, “You whore! You think you can escape this? You think you can embarrass me?!”

She shrank under his ire, more tears welling in his eyes. 

“I- I’m sorry-”

He yanked her up by the arm. 

“No. But you will be. Just you wait until the reception is over,” he hissed, “Now compose yourself,” 

She did her best as they stood in the hallway, certain that the guards heard everything. A put of dread opened up in her stomach and minutes ticked by far too slowly, yet far too quickly at the same time. Each second was like a step towards the gallows. 

She barely processed the guard’s return or her father clasping the necklace around her. She didn’t bother to hide her stiffness, or heartbreak, even as her father snapped at her to smile. As far as she was concerned, this was as good as walking to the executioner’s block. 

The doors to the throne room opened, revealing the altar, where the immortal throne, where Zarus, sat at the end of an aisle laid with red and black petals. 

Amara didn’t care much what plant they were from, only that it felt like a mocking reminder that the path to her future was scattered with more and more burdens to laden her shoulders. 

She didn’t notice when she got to the altar.

She didn’t acknowledge the priest, or her fiance. 

She stood in stony silence, with the eyes of bloodsucking monsters pinned to her. 

The lines she dreaded most were coming.

She hardly felt like she could breath, much less speak. 

She wanted to run.

She had to run.

She needed to run. 

Run. 

Run.

Ru-

“Do you, Amara Willows, take Prince Zarus to be your Prince and your husband, and to serve him and his court, for the rest of eternity?” 

Her throat dried up. 

She couldn’t speak.

“Amara?” a distant voice called.

She couldn't discern who.

She could feel her father’s harsh glare on her, and the Prince’s hand tightening on hers. 

“Amare Willows, do you take-” 

She couldn’t take it. She ran. Amara practically jumped off the altar, gown bunched in her hands, as she raced for the doors. There was yelling, and she felt pain in her foot as she stumbled, shoe falling off in the process, but she refused to acknowledge the pain as she made for the doors. It only really sunk in as two guards caught her arms in a bruising grip.

“Let me-” 

“Aren’t you supposed to ask those with objections to ‘speak now’ or some bullshit?” 

Amara’s head snapped towards the door at the familiar voice. Charcoal eyes met her own, and the flames that circled his head flickered somewhat brighter. As per usual, he wore an embroidered suit jacket and pants, foregoing the shirt. 

It was him. 

He was here. 

Her prince was here. 

“There is none in this court who would dare object to their Prince’s union,” scowled Zarus. 

“Luckily I’m not part of this court then,” Lust grins, ever the jovial one, “So allow me to say with all sincerity in my non-existent heart,” he mocked, only, there was something different. His eyes had an intensity about them that she’d never seen before, “that I object,” 

“Lu-” she tried to reach out, only for Zarus to appear in front of her. 

The guards back off when Zarus grabs her wrist. 

“On what grounds? You have no right to interfere in our affairs,”  

“I do when you take a member of my court,” 

“My daughter has never been a member of your vile court!” Her father interrupted, his face going red, from embarrassment or rage, she couldn’t tell. 

“You see, that’s where you're wrong,” Lust starts, as he begins his way up the aisle, “She and I had made a deal, that involved her allowing me to fuel my sin through her several times a week. Marrying you would prevent her from holding up her end of the bargain,” 

Her eyes widened as she recalled the deal she made, time and time again. 

“Each corner of The Underworld has its own set of laws. Human law, the law of the Shifting Isles, dictates that a woman may not enter such agreements without her father or husband’s consent, deferring only to their female line in the absence of a male relative,” her father snapped. 

“Yes, however, each law can be overturned by The King,” 

“Not without valid reason to-” 

“And there is,” a new voice called. 

The man who just entered is burly, with dark hair, tied back with leather, and upswept, dark eyes. A scar is carved through his right cheek, a silver gleam against his darker features, and fine black suite. Despite how bored the man seems, the way his hand remains in reach of what appears to be a dagger’s sheath makes it clear that he’s been assessing everything with a warrior’s eye. He came prepared for violence. 

Lust told her about him before. Anir. The King’s second. 

“Consent is the most important aspect of courtship and marriage. Yet your bride doesn’t appear to want to be here at all,” Lust muses.

“What nonsense-” her father snapped, but was cut off by a withering glare from Anir. 

“The King has asked me to confirm this. If it is true, then he’s willing to recognise House Lust’s claim of the woman, and has ordered me to leave behind a declaration of war as a result,” Anir holds an envelope between two fingers. 

“This is ridiculous-” her father attempted again, only to be cut off again.

“Of course my bride wishes to be here,” Zarus turns from Anir to Amara, grip tightening painfully on her wrist, “don’t you?” 

Amara winces, unable to speak from the strength with which he was holding her. Anir examined her, waiting, but the pain in her wrist became too much. She was sure he was crushing the bone, even before she heard a snapping sound coming from there. She wanted to cry out, only for the pressure on her wrist to vanish in a moment. 

That was the moment the petals scattered on the aisle started coming closer. It was as if she was falling.

It wasn’t until warm arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her to a warm chest, that she saw Lust kneeling beside her. Through her gaze, though blurred with unshed tears, she noticed a female demon, the one from before, gripping the Prince’s hand almost as tightly as he did her’s. Tighter perhaps. 

A warm hand gently guided her face away from the sight, so that she might meet the gaze of her prince instead. 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t make it,” she whispered, thinking to her failed attempt at escape,” 

“It’s okay, little witch. I’m here now,” Lust whispers, cradling your body. 

You turn to see the man, Anir, approaching too. His gaze is calculating as he observes you, likely trying to figure out what to report to his prince. 

“What’s important now is that you’re honest,” he tells you sternly, though not unkindly, “If you don’t wish to marry Zarus, speak now, Miss Willows,” 

Her heart races at his words, at the opportunity to escape. She wants to reach for it, to grasp it but-

“But where will I go?” she asks weakly. 

Lust, who was cradling her wounded wrist in his hand, smiled gently at her. Like he had many times before. 

“You’ll come with me,” he whispered. 

“But why? You have so many demons to feed your sin, so why-” 

“Because I want you,” he reminds her, “I’ll tell you as many times as you need. I want you. Not anybody else,” he leans down to your ear, “Come back with me, to House Lust. Join my court officially. Be mine. Let me make you my princess, and then be mine. Mine for eternity,” 

“Lust-” 

“Hush. Let me finish,” he waits for you to nod before speaking, “In return, I’ll give you all the comfort and pleasure you want. I won’t have dalliances with anyone else. I won’t look at anyone else. Nobody but you. I’ll give you whatever your heart desires, if you just say ‘yes’” 

He’s practically begging, in front of the entire vampire court, and his brother’s second, no less. 

You don’t bother to contain your tears as you lean up, wrapping your good arm around him. 

“Miss Willows-” Anir begins. 

“Amara, I forbid-” 

“Yes,” she manages to get out through her sobs, not breaking your gaze from Lust’s, “I want to go to House Lust. I want to leave this place,”

Anir nods, beginning to address the room again, but you pay it no mind. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Lust’s shoulders, mindful of the injured wrist, and buried your face there. The demon from earlier tried to console her, only for Lust to wave her away. He could feel her emotions. The fear, and heartache for her situation, all overshadowed by relife, joy, and desire for her freedom, for Lust. He felt no need to inflate it, instead, he gently encouraged her to let it out however she needed. 

It was only when Lust deposited her on a bed covered in deep plum silks, and overly stuffed pillows.

“Care for a bath?” he asked.

“As long as it stays one. I’m far too tired to do anything right now,” she murmured to him.

Lust chuckled, but agreed, as he helped her from, what he called, an inordinate amount of fabric, as she giggled and reminded him that it was only two layers.

“Two layers too many,” he huffed, before tearing the dress from her body and depositing her in the bat. 

While she soaked, Lust gently wiped the makeup from her face, before pressing a kiss to her temple. He brought some ointment and bandages for her wrist, silently wrapping it, before carrying her back to bed.

“If you don’t wish to sleep bare, I could have some night clothes brought,” he gently offered, as he helped her dry off.

Amara shook her head.

“I’ve slept beside you, naked, in caves, and on sand. I think I’ll be fine to do so while wrapped in the most comfortable silks I’ve ever seen,” she assured.

Lust smiled, nodding, before reaching for something from the bedside.

“I only wish for your comfort, little witch, before I make good on one of my promises,” 

Amara blushed at the reminder.

“You don’t-”

He ignored her as he took a ring in one hand, hew good wrist in the other. 

“I want to. Let me make you my princess. My fiance. My only lover,”

She stared at him, noting sincerity in his dark eyes. Amara nodded.  

“Then, from now until eternity, be mine, Lust,” 

Lust slid the ring to her finger, then pressed a kiss to her lips.

“Mine,” he nipped at her.

She giggled, and nipped back.  

“Mine,” 

[mercuryisfronting]

Home; A Re-Gene Reveal

cyrus x ricardo angst with the barest hint of comfort at the end. found this in my drafts, apparently i wrote it months ago 🩷

1,028 words

He’s just… staring.

Eyes tracking the orange patterns on your upper arm. Settling nervously on the bandage on your shoulder.

Your stomach twists like two vipers dueling for territory. You don’t move because Ricardo doesn’t, but you’re ready. Ready to run, ready to fight for your life. Your telepathy is moot against him, which leaves your greatest asset to simmer in the back of your mind, useless.

Can you fight him? Hand to hand combat?

You don’t think so. He’s strong, an active Ranger, you’re out of practice and injured. You may have been able to win sparring sessions against him in the past, but only sometimes, and barely. Your eyes flicker down to the ports trailing down his arm and you know that one touch, one shock, and you could be paralyzed. At his mercy.

You can’t let that happen, so you stumble backwards to put more space between the two of you. The situation finally catches up to Ricardo when you move and he takes an insecure step in your direction, reaching out nervously toward you. His mouth opens and shuts as words bob in his throat. You should use his shock against him. Is diving out his living room window off the table?

Memories of Heartbreak coils in your throat and you know it should be.

You couldn’t do that to him.

But he sees you look and his expression crashes into horrified grief. Anger, even. “Ay, no. Please,” He says quickly, lunging forward and grabbing your wrist. There's an aged agony in his eyes, and you don’t need to read his mind to know that he’s reliving the moment he lost you. The moment you threw yourself out of that window and he could only watch as you fell. “Please don’t,” Ricardo’s voice breaks and his grip tightens.

His touch hurts. From his grip or the electricity he keeps sending humming into your skin, you can’t tell.

You yank against his hold; the fear is suffocating. “Let go of me,” You try for anger, but when you pull again, harder this time, you can only find desperation. His grip is too strong. You’re trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

“Cyrus, please,” Ricardo glances back at the window and another, stronger, buzz of electricity spills through his touch and into your nerves. It hurts and the pain chokes out a muffled gasp. He notices and finally drops your wrist, clutching his hand to his chest. “Mierda, I’m sorry, are you okay? I didn’t…”

You know he’s sorry, his regret almost drowns you, but you can’t stop yourself from glaring. Hard, unforgiving, dangerous. Ricardo is dangerous but you are worse. You are a monster and he doesn’t realize what he’s apologizing to.

A killer.

The Farm made you a killer.

You could kill him, if you tried.

(You’ll kill him even if you try not to)

There’s a smothering kind of fear inside your chest when the memory hits you. You recognize the hallway you charged through to escape, the phantom pain of a bullet in your chest, the texture of the Farm’s medical gown on your skin. You see a body on the floor, bleeding, crying, scared.

It’s the woman you killed back then.

And then it’s Ricardo.

He’s on the ground, clutching a hand to his chest, right above his heart. You can’t read his mind but you can feel his fear as clear as your own. You scream like you’d screamed when you’d watched Anathema die. You scream but you can’t turn around, can’t run to him, because you’re still running down that hallway and the Farm is still after you.

Your body wrenches and it’s the hot bile in your throat that draws you back to reality. Where Ricardo is still scared, still silently begging you for help, but alive. Alive for now. “I’m fine,” You lie, voice wobbling as you frantically begin to shelve your emotions away. Ricardo steps toward you, and you force your feet to stay rooted in place.

You let him hug you, his body warm and faintly trembling, but you don’t hug back.

He’s mumbling to you in Spanish, kind, gentle words. Trying to convince you of things that you can’t afford to believe. Soft things: you’re okay, you’re real, you’re still you. It takes a few moments, but then Ricardo is pulling back, hands firm on your shoulders. “Cyrus?”

You can feel his hands, warm and safe. But you’re somewhere else entirely. Somewhere cold and empty where you can escape to when the pain gets too much to handle. Ricardo knows you’ve gone, but he doesn’t know where. How could he? He’s never been a tool. Could never know what it’s like to be torn apart and-

“I’m fine,” You repeat yourself, mumbling the words into his shirt, because your mind is wandering too far from reality. Speaking does little to ground you. “It’s fine.”

“Hey? What’s wrong?” Ricardo lets go of you. Looks at you with concern and gives you a few useless inches of space. You yank your sleeve back down. An arm doesn’t typically reveal much skin, but for you, it reveals everything.

No longer tethered to his hold, you take a small breath. Routine. Just enough oxygen to keep you alive. “I need some air,” you say quietly. You back away from him and he lets you walk toward the door, muscles tense. You pause before your hand reaches for the door and you hear him suck in a breath.

Ricardo wants you to stay. But when you turn the doorknob, he doesn’t stop you.

Except…?

“Wait,” You pause because you’re a tool and his words sound too much like an order. Maybe you want to hear what he has to say or maybe you're just too tired to fight your programming. You don’t face him. “Will you come back?” His voice breaks a bit and with it, your heart.

No. You should say. You need to leave and never come back. Instead, you lock the door. Fall to the floor. Sob.

When Ricardo's arms around you, you fall helplessly into his embrace. Dangerous as it may be, dangerous as you may be, this is your home.

[lover-of-mine]

This is "Let's Drown Buck, Giving Eddie a Shooting Moment and Triggering a Buck Breakdown: An Updated Season 7 Speculation Based on Exactly One Picture Posted by The Props Department and The Voices In My Head"

Okay, so, my Buck will drown in season 7 spec is in its 3rd installment, you can read installment one here, this one has the drowning work as a climax for buddie in a sense, a mid-season or season finale situation, you can read installment number two here, this one is a climax for Buck to break, and now I'm gonna type out a Buck drowning as a season premiere trigger. (You can go here to see all my Buck drowning thoughts)

So, this whole thing hinges on one thing: the fact that the show consistently mirrors Buck and Eddie's personal journeys, with Buck mostly being a few steps behind Eddie. I feel like we collectively got caught up in the way the lightning reminds us of the shooting, and we failed to notice the way the lightning is actually the well. The rain aspect, the night aspect, the team as audience aspect, the volunteering into the rescue that goes wrong over lightning, the way both of them are screaming, the moments of irrational action with the way Buck is trying to dig Eddie by hand and Eddie is trying to pull Buck up to him, the breathing thing with the way Eddie was about to drown and Buck's lungs weren't working, I think even the way Eddie saved himself and the whole concept of the coma dream can work here (here's a set for visuals).

We know Eddie didn't deal with any of his trauma until after the shooting, dude was very just move forward until he couldn't anymore. And one thing is true, you can draw quite a few parallels between the way Buck was acting in season 6 with the way Eddie acts in seasons 3 and 4. Up to the way you can draw direct parallels between Buck and Natalia to Eddie and Ana (here's a set for visuals), or the way he sounds like Eddie did with the just make the best of it, the way Buck is talking in the cemetery really reminds me of what Eddie tells him in kids today when he drops Chris off before the tsunami. And, well, let's face it, Buck hasn't dealt with any strong emotion ever and this man needs to break to move on with his life.

But, sure, how does any of this adds up to Buck drowning? Most of Buck's major traumas/near-death experiences involve water or breathing, the emergency tracheotomy on the first date with Abby, the blood clots in his lung, the tsunami, the well, the warehouse fire, the lightning leading to damage in his lungs (here's a set for visuals) also, Bobby nearly drowned in the plane crash, he got caught with Chris in a tsunami and then Chris falls back into the water, Eddie nearly drowned at the well, Maddie walked into the ocean, I think even the bathtub incident with Jee, creates this pattern of water hurting Buck or people Buck loves. So water is a common trauma factor here.

Why is this important? When you look at the shooting, there are a lot of things that make it as intense as it is: it happens by chance, it's a case of wrong place/wrong time, they're not supposed to be there but they are because Eddie got called there specifically, Buck has to save Eddie alone because they are there with another house and Buck doesn't trust anyone else, and it brings up a previous trauma for Eddie. I also wanna add the fact that, like it or not, Eddie is that attached to what's happening to Charlie because it makes him think of Christopher, at least on some level. So having Buck drown covers the previous trauma thing and it's very easy to make it happen by chance. So let's work out the rest of it, shall we?

Season 6 ends with Bobby and Athena finally going on their honeymoon cruise. I know I'm not the only one sitting here chanting *cruise disaster* because of that, because let's face it when does anything ever go right for anyone on that show. But the props department posted this picture of life vests. Also, one of the writers posted a picture of a script where you can read the word boats. The speculation of something is gonna happen in that cruise writes itself. Add in the fact that people don't know bathena are on the cruise to begin with and you have a GREAT season premiere disaster in your hands. (I don't really wanna bring up Grey's Anatomy here even though a lot of this has me thinking about 3 Grey's episodes, but if you've seen the show, think the ferry boat crash/Meredith drowning arc in season 3)

That means we have a whole ass ocean to drown Buck in while responding to that. Because what's another thing that keeps trying to kill Buck? That's right, city equipment.

Okay, so back to the shooting elements, wrong place/wrong time, they're not really supposed to be there, another crew, previous trauma, no one else they trust around. Not really supposed to be there/got called there directly can be cloudy, but it could just be a "we're going because it's Bobby and Athena's ship". So that's down. Another house, well, a call in that scale would have multiple houses, them getting separated is expected, so that's down too. Previous trauma, Buck getting trapped under something, Buck almost drowning, water, beaches as a whole, all cover that. Wrong place/wrong time, I keep going back to equipment malfunctioning in some way. Maybe they're lowering Buck somewhere and it gets loose, a harness breaking, the oxygen tank stops working, that's something that can happen by chance and create a situation that triggers a past trauma for Buck.

Okay, so we have a lot of elements at play here let's get to the actual vision.

At first, when I saw the life vests, I actually thought about this all happening while they try to save Bobby. They find Bobby, they get Bobby out, Eddie is working on him because he's the one with medical training, it takes him a moment to notice Buck hasn't resurfaced, then he dives back to go get Buck, mostly because that could have some fun implications on the dynamic between the 3, especially if we go to a situation where Buck could've gotten himself out but doesn't, a situation where Buck stops trying, also because I think Buck believes dying for someone he loves is the way to go, so dying for Bobby would be fine with him, but it wouldn't be fine with Bobby or Eddie, and Eddie not dealing with saving Buck's life again could absolutely redirect those feeling towards Bobby because he can't get mad at Buck for dying, so that could create some fun tension.

BUT, if we see Charlie as a surrogate for Chris, to have the situation be triggered by a stranger that reminds Buck of someone he loves, Maddie, Bobby, not Chris because then Eddie would also be irrational in the situation, Eddie is the one that gets reckless when children are involved, could be fun.

So vision: Buck and Eddie are paired doing water rescues or something, they spot someone, that someone brings a more extreme reaction from Buck, I will say he thinks the stranger is Bobby for convenience over the fact that this whole thing is happening on a cruise Bobby is supposed to be in, but it doesn't have to. They go through with the rescue, because again, the thing they went to do is done when Eddie gets shot, something goes wrong, Buck gets pinned down (I don't love the idea of Buck just stopping swimming, I like the idea of something he could get out of if he tried hard enough but he doesn't have it in him to keep struggling, so pinned down it is, also because that brings up the truck bombing), Eddie doesn't notice Buck didn't resurface for a bit (that can also be fun considering the way Eddie is always the last to know, he was the last to see Shannon in the crash, he only found out Buck and Chris were in the tsunami once they were safe, he was the last one to look up at Buck after the lightning, so fun implications all around) just long enough for us to cut back and forth to Buck struggling and Eddie, then cutting to Buck stopping, then Eddie noticing Buck is not there and diving back in. Then we have the fun little aspects of Eddie saving Buck, dragging him out, Buck being unresponsive, desperate cpr, "you're not doing this to me again", Buck finally reacting, sitting up and coughing up water, if we're lucky him dropping back into Eddie and a nice little "I got you, I got you" if we're even luckier maybe some forehead touching or Eddie burying his face on Buck's hair (let Ryan's emotional power out for a spin yk?).

Implication of this for Buck, Eddie, and buddie could be fun. Because you can have Buck spiraling over the fact that almost died again and he was actually okay with it for a while there, kickstarting a breakdown era, because he thought dying was supposed to give him some peace because of Levi and the whole happiness convention thing, and some fun parallels with 5b Eddie. We can have Eddie spiraling over the situation because he had to save Buck again, and Buck is not dealing with it so he's not dealing with it because they don't talk about what it's like being the one doing the saving. And Eddie is already pulling back from Buck, to have this create a real gap between them is easy as hell. And since I'm a "the shooting was Eddie's oh! moment truther" and I'm a believer that Eddie is fully aware of his feelings and just thinks Buck will never feel the same, to throw that energy on Buck would interesting. Just have Buck dealing with having his oh! moment in a very inconvenient moment and with the fact that Eddie is pulling away from him while he spirals.

Do I actually believe any of this is gonna happen? No, no I don't. But I will share the thought on the off chance it does so can get the bragging rights lol.

I will tag @slowlyfoggydestiny because we were talking about this the other day and her inputs helped a lot while I was trying to work out how to make the drowning a trigger, and also because she's been here with me through the whole "let's drown Buck" conversation 🫶.

If you read this I love you 🫶🫶

[bi-bard]

I Fell in Love with the Fire Long Ago - Will Halstead Imagine [Chicago Med]

Title: I Fell in Love with the Fire Long Ago

Pairing: Will Halstead X Reader

Based On: Would That I

Word Count: 1,429 words

Warning(s): mention of past relationships

Summary: Will has been through his share of relationships that crumbled apart. He knew better than jumping to the idea of true love. But when he meets (Y/n), he can't seem to stop himself from picturing what his future with them would look like.

Author's Note: This might be my favorite song on this album. It's gorgeous.

WASTELAND, BABY! - HOZIER WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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There were few people who would look at Will Halstead's dating history and call him particularly lucky.

He hadn't dated bad people. Quite the opposite. He had dated people who had a drive to help people. People that held goodness in their hearts.

The problem was that he kept getting involved with people in his place of work. Being in the same workplace meant that if the relationship crashed and burned, then it burned badly.

It was a hard pattern to break when so much of his time was spent in the hospital.

That was until he met (Y/n).

Well, it took him a while to properly meet (Y/n). At first, they would just wave and greet each other in the hallway of their apartment complex. It was just politeness.

It took Will far too long to properly introduce himself to them.

They had both gotten back around the same time. They waved at each other. And just as Will went to unlock his door, he turned around to face them.

"I'm Will," he said, pulling (Y/n)'s attention from their apartment door.

There was a pause before (Y/n) truly registered what was happening. "(Y/n)."

"Nice to meet you," he replied. "Properly, I mean."

"You too," they grinned at him. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah," he nodded.

(Y/n) walked into their apartment. Will lingered in the hall for a second, grinning at himself for finally getting over himself.

The two became more friendly after that. Simple greetings turned into small comments about work and the weather and the traffic and whatever other small topic could be discussed in the time that it took each of them to unlock their doors and walk into their apartments.

It was difficult for Will to not be curious. To not want to know more about them.

Their conversations only changed when Will got a few envelopes and a package with (Y/n)'s name on it.

He knew it was kind of late, but he couldn't really help his schedule.

So, he walked across the hall and knocked on (Y/n)'s door.

(Y/n)'s eyebrows furrowed as they saw Will on the other side of the door.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hi," they replied, still confused about why he was there.

"Um, sorry, I know it's kinda late, but I got some of your mail," he held out his hand.

"Thanks," they took the few pieces of mail from him. They spotted the package with the envelopes and immediately seemed to brighten up. "Holy shit! Sorry."

"It's fine," Will chuckled at their excitement. He thought it was sweet. It made him feel a need to bite back a wide smile that wanted to form. "Can I ask what brought out that reaction?"

"It's a CD that I've been waiting on," they explained. "It's like how people collect vinyl. I know there's a more convenient way to listen to my music, but the CDs are just so nice to have."

"I get it," he promised. "How many have you got?"

"God, who knows," they muttered. "Almost a bookcase full."

He raised an eyebrow. "Must be an interesting collection."

"Yeah, that's the word people use for it," (Y/n) nodded.

After that day, (Y/n) made a promise to introduce Will to as much of their collection as possible. It wasn't very often because of Will's schedule, but the two had managed to make some kind of pattern out of it.

Will got used to their little schedule far faster than he'd care to admit.

He started looking forward to sitting on (Y/n)'s couch, listening to whatever album they had put in. He learned more about music and the history surrounding different albums and artists than he ever would've on his own. But he wasn't complaining. He found comfort in listening to (Y/n) ramble about it.

Over time, he felt something fall from his shoulders.

Some part of his history fading away. Piece by piece until he was a clean slate.

It was one of the best feelings he had ever experienced.

He thought that he would be resigned to holding those feelings in forever. He was too scared of messing up what he already had.

However, sometimes, our feelings get the best of us.

It all started out like a normal night.

Will went over and knocked on the door.

(Y/n) opened the door and immediately welcomed him, asking him about his day and how work had been.

That was another thing. (Y/n) did far more than just rant about their interests. They started every evening by telling Will to talk about his day while they decided on an album.

They were a good listener too. Entirely engaged. It was nice to know that it was just an echo chamber in that apartment. It was... perfect. That was the best word that Will had for it.

That night, (Y/n) almost immediately grabbed an album.

Will barely got sight of the album cover as their moved. AURORA was printed in big letters and there were two people standing very close to each other.

"I think you'll really like this one," (Y/n) said. "Daisy Jones & the Six, have you heard of them?"

"Briefly," Will replied. That was true. He remembered hearing about the hit band with one album. He had heard Daisy's later work. Beyond that, it was a mystery to him.

"Well, I am happy to be your guide into this amazing world of music," (Y/n) almost bounced onto the couch after placing the CD in the stereo on their TV stand.

Will was happy to be guided through the world. (Y/n) was easily one of the most interesting people he had ever listened to.

Throughout most of the night, (Y/n) was excitedly talking about the history of the band, trying to not take too much of his attention from the music itself.

They had just gotten to "More Fun to Miss".

"So, she sounded kind of different on this song," (Y/n) explained. They paused, letting Will listen to the woman's vocals. "A lot of people wanted to know why. If something had changed. Well, this documentary came out and Daisy and Billy told the world that he had kissed her just before she recorded the final take.

"I mean, the world lost its mind for a minute. It was such a weird thing to have this moment confirmed that so many had assumed happened.

"I personally was never really a part of that line of thinking. I felt like too many people focused so much on that that it boiled Daisy down to who she was in correlation to Billy and not who she was as a person."

Will just sat and nodded. He was so drawn in by just (Y/n) talking that he barely noticed when the rambling stopped. He didn't want it to. He wanted to spend hours, days even, just listening to them talk about anything they wanted.

Because then, he could fixate so wholly on them without feeling a need to look away before he looked weird.

"Are you okay," (Y/n) asked after a moment.

Will blinked a few times. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"You just look a little... distracted," they replied.

"No, not at all," he shook his head. "I just... I just like listening to you."

"Oh," (Y/n) looked down, grinning a bit to themself.

Will felt ridiculous for how easily he could picture spending every day like this. Coming back here after the end of his shift, sitting next to (Y/n), and relaxing while listening to them talk about... anything, really.

He could see dinners and movies and dates. Introducing (Y/n) to co-workers. Kissing and holding each other and getting gifts.

He couldn't remember picturing a relationship so clearly since he was a teenager in high school, thinking about how he would spend the rest of his life with someone that probably just looked at him for a little too long.

"(Y/n)," he said quietly.

They looked at him.

As soon as they did, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to theirs.

It wasn't until (Y/n) started to kiss him back that his hand came up to cup the back of their head, essentially holding them as close as possible.

The entire moment was so... calm. Every other thought was silenced. The music even seemed to fade away for a little while.

Will leaned away first, smiling at (Y/n) as soon as he did. That moment was so much better than anything his mind had constructed.

Maybe that pattern was a little easier to break than he originally gave it credit for.

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Author's Note: Yes, I made Daisy Jones & the Six canon in the One Chicago universe. What about it?

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[hertwood]

dts s4 e9-10

e9: -another 4433 episode frothing at the mouth for it -if lewis had said 'thats what you get when you dont leave the space' after silverstone could you IMAGINE the things christian horner would've said. but max can say it after running over lewis' head. i guess -anyway i NEED another max/lewis championship fight yall dont understand -'christian is a bit like a jack russell terrier who likes to snap at your heels' no one does reads like toto jfc kaldjfasjdfalksjdf -'i don't believe to be successful you need to be an asshole.' SUSIE I LOVE U MWAH -the way lewis's voice gets high pitched when hes passionate abt something i love him i'm putting him in my pocket -not dts giving michael masi a whole introduction one episode before he gets murdered by public opinion -the shots of jeddah at night are So Pretty i actually really do like this track -the way rb talk about max's ruined quali lap is how i talk abt logan's deleted quali lap in jeddah. btw -the way they use mick's crash to set up "oh theres a safety car all the cars are gonna bunch up now~ wonder if anyone will use this opportunity for new tires :)" just setting up all this information for us to know NOW. for no particular reason :) -not max complaining that the SAFETY CAR is going TOO SLOW hes such a BRAT -god i need to see this race. aus23 levels of chaos it seems -i'm sorry but rb being like 'idk why max is being investigated 🥺 hamilton's the one that drove into the back of HIM 🥺🥺' like omg like max didnt do this EXACT thing to daniel baku 2018. its a PATTERN babes -when will my mans win again :( i'm sad :(

e10: -havent even started but i'm gonna CRY watching this episode i swear i am so serious -i'm already just so stressed out. being a max AND lewis girlie is only for god's strongest soldiers fr -'they like all this drama, but when we actually start racing they dont like it' max is so REAL for this -lewis hamilton rainbow helmet u will always be famous 2 me 😍 -checo max underrated ship btw. that cockwarming fic abt them *chefs kiss* -music is just making my stress worse (phenomenal) -part of me wishes i spent this winter break watching old races instead of watching dts, and this is a moment i'm really feeling it. i'm looking forward to at some point being able to watch this race and form my own opinions -( the end of the day i think regardless this result is never getting overturned and i'm at peace with that and i think other lewis girlies should work on that too~) -i will say. and maybe i'm missing something. i do understand the discourse abt only the lapped cars between max n lewis being allowed to unlap. BUT. if every car got to unlap themselves instead. would the result have been any different. how much does that particular detail matter. -ok now i'm just JEALOUS of u bitches who got to watch this live. i could've been there instead i was experiencing such intense trauma that i've forgotten most of 2021 (also i didnt know f1 existed) -OH I SAID I WAS GONNA CRY I KNEW I WAS GONNA CRY -i love lewis. i will always pick lewis over max. THAT BEING SAID -i watch this and i just feel relief. knowing the pressure he's been under his whole life from his father. for the first time in his life since he was little he gets to lift that pressure off his shoulders. i'm so happy for him. and like. you can TELL. how easier it is for him after this win. no matter the technicalities of this win, i find it impossible to be upset with all that context. i just feel overwhelmed with love

[foreverrunningfree]

@czigonas wanted to see me answer those artist questions and I did them all so it’ll be under the cut

1. Art programs you have but don’t use?

As of rn I cannot draw on my laptop/tablet so technically paint tool SAI and photoshop(idk what version). But I guess I hadn’t used photoshop for /years/ back before my drawing hiatus. Sorry but SAI is so much nicer to look at and to use, for me personally.

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left,right, or forward?

I flip flop my canvas a ton to a) look at it for wonkiness and b) to get specific lines in a direction that feels good, but the actual act of drawing I typically like to have them looking left cause most the the lines flow from top right to bottom left which is nicer to do since I use my right hand to draw even tho I am ambidextrous.

3. What ideas come from when you were little?

This question confuses me on what it’s actually asking soooo? When I was like 12 I had to write a story for school so I did a story about a plane crash in which the survivor came face to face to a rat/bat/cat/dog creature thing? I’ve always wanted to redraw the creature, idk if I have the original drawing I did and I don’t feel up to digging to see if I kept it during all my moves.

4. Fave character/subject that’s a bitch to draw?

My favorite animal color patterns aka brindle, merle ,roan, spots/stripes. So time consuming. In terms of shape, human faces for sure.

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself?

Before hiatus, probably 90% /shared/. Currently, probably 75% /posted/cause I can’t post the porn to tumblr lmaoooo but I have shared them with like half a dozen friends.

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously?

I’m sure there’s a ton but if it’s subconsciously then how would I consciously know?🤔 ok serious answer, probably every single 2D animated movie or show I’ve ever seen, and all the various artists I follow. I mean, there’s parts of my style I can pinpoint you to what it’s inspired by.

7. A medium of art you don’t work in but appreciate?

I’ve never /seriously/ tried oil paint, acrylic paint, or pastels but that shit always looks so good. Also watercolor even though i have tried and enjoyed using watercolors but I am far far faaarrr from being proficient in them. Non drawing wise, I fucking love dioramas, especially those that are then filled in(?) with acrylic(?). I watch a lot of those videos on YouTube.

8. What’s an old project idea you’ve lost interest in?

Most of my old animal ocs I had in the same universe in my mind and had a comic planned that I never got around to. I still love and wanna revisit those ocs. But also my dragon age ocs who I’ve SERIOUSLY BEEN CONSIDERING drawing in @soaps-hoe-141 universe 👀

9. What are your file name conventions?

Before hiatus/ on my laptop, subject or character and whatever was happening in the pic. Now using procreate on my iPad? I don’t think I’ve named a single one lol.

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw?

Nothing, no clothes, nude, nakedness please and thank you. lol but I guess I do sorta enjoy figuring out clothing in general, folds and shit, getting that practice in. Like how it hangs and creases in poses since I’m not used to drawing it.

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing?

I don’t usually listen to /only/ music while drawing, I much prefer having a favorite movie playing in the background and/or a show I enjoy rewatching/am actively watching. I also watch a lot of gamer YouTubers I put on as background noise/short watch breaks that their voice is just soothing to me even if I’m not /watching/.

12. Easiest part of the body to draw?

I’m not sure… maybe boobs/pecs for humanoids. General body shape for animals?

13. A creator you admire but whose work isn’t your thing?

Honestly can’t think of a single one. I mean, plenty of artists do work(or with a medium) that I can’t or don’t want to do/use personally but I read the question of “isn’t your thing” as “subject you don’t enjoy”. If that’s correct, then idk what to tell you. I don’t follow or remember people who majority does things I can’t enjoy on some level.

14. Any fave motifs?

Quite a lot of religious imagery I guess ex. Circles around a persons head. Less serious answer is drawing characters in meme formats lol

15. Where do you draw?

Please don’t tell any physical therapists I live like this… on my back on my couch with my head on the arm rest while holding my iPad propped up on my chest like 8 inches away from my face lmao

16. Something you are good at but don’t really have fun doing?

Idk???? I do shit for my own enjoyment so I’m not sure? Maybe perhaps backgrounds? Like I could do something decent if i wanted to but I’m not into it so I usually just don’t?

17. Do you eat or drink while drawing?

I take breaks… but while actively drawing? I often drink aka let the horny demons out while I enjoy whiskey lol.

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you’ve broken?

Broken broken? Next to fucking none? some charcoal sticks but otherwise…. None… I majority do digital art so really nothing to break there lol

19. Fave inanimate objects to draw?

Idk? I like doing life charcoal drawings? Of whatever, but particularly statues if that counts? I usually have living beings as my subjects.

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy?

Ok, I hate this question, cause we are all good at different things. Maybe it’s just most of those I follow have different strengths than me???? But I guess if I had to pick, recreating from life(or picture) is a lot easier for me than some others(like making it life like/very accurate).

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways?

Yooo, anything I’ve reblogged honestly. Love everyone.

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing?

Absolutely none, again don’t let the pros know cause damn. But I will do stretches or take breaks as needed.

23. Do you use different layer modes?

Absolutely. Mostly for lighting and shading but yes, if I’m doing digital imma take advantage of it.

24. Do your references include stock images?

Yes? I don’t really understand what it’s asking?

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were not inspired by?

Idk? I don’t usually get feedback of that sort.

26. What’s a piece that’s viewed a wildly different interpretation from what you intended?

Again idk? I guess my shit is straight forward?

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff?

Almost never, again don’t let the pros know lol I do sometimes jump between pieces or start a new sketch before going to something farther along.

28. Any art events you have participated in, like zines?

Nope, wanted to and have tried before but I tend to NOT do something if I feel pressured to do it.

29. Media you love but doesn’t inspire you artistically?

Again I feel like this is a weird question or maybe it’s just my understanding of it but I can feel inspiration from all sort of artist shit even if it’s something I’ll never do(ex making a crochet animal or dioramas). I guess I can feel inspired to create from other creators even if it’s not direct inspiration/subject/medium.

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated?

Underrated as in no one has seen aside from a few people irl would be my colored pencil pieces I did during afternoon naps when I worked at a daycare a few years ago.

[cosmicanger]

A 1/2 review of Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood 2019 review

By Sam B.; Rewatched Jul 24, 2019

To be at the end of an era is one helluva thing, and Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time In Hollywood almost feels prophetic now, coming at the tail-end of an age for cinema, a medium that has since been irrevocably altered, with no clear path forward. The film itself is the opposite of a eulogy, a ressurection of some falsified past. It is a vile motion picture.

The first two interimible hours are a sub-par hangout movie with some cranky metatext. Dicaprio plays Rick Dalton, a star who never quite gets his due, in a startlingly nondescript role that leaves Leo floundering to make any choices in performance. Brad Pitt is very good and very wrong for the role of Cliff, a happy-to-be-here wife-killer stunt double who offers Dalton ceaseless half-earnest validation (the better version of this Hollywood arrived during the film’s awards campaign, in Pitt and DiCaprio’s interview with Marc Maron). The male bonding here is witless and monotonous; Without the too-clever dialogue as a distraction, Tarantino’s just a hack who can’t structure a narrative.

It’s an ugly looking film, too; The cinematography is piss-yellow and lifeless, as if the colorist colorist were a drunk housepainter for a Days Inn. For a filmmaker so enamored with artificial pastiche, Tarantino gives the audience little to gawk at, the low-key energy of those long drives distending into uninspired boredom.

The relative absense of Charles Manson himself in the film is one of the less sinister, clearer creative decisions in the film, because the leader was already omnipresent in California in the late sixties, his hoard connected to every production and party. It’s been argued that this is meant to be emasculating, but the lack of an actual figurehead prohibits any demystification of the cult, let alone real insight into its impact on culture. Manson is made a ghost, breaking any warm delusions the film presents about old Hollywood. The camera explores Spahn Ranch and its inhabitants with the same mild curiosity and nostalgia as the Sunset Strip as if guided by that spectre, but Tarantino offers inconsistent answers to what, exactly, he’s haunting.

OUATIH is hyper-focused on cultures that oppress women, though to what end remains unclear for most of the runtime. Much has been made of Margot Robbie’s lack of lines, but I am less concerned with that metric (her hacky, maudlin setpiece remains the only scene in the film to achieve a childlike wonder) than the quesy evocations of engendered violence. The casting of Maya Hawke (whose mother, Uma Thurman, was critically injured in a car crash on the set of Kill Bill due to negligence and pressure from Tarantino) as Flower Girl feels like commentary, but whether it’s an apology, a brag, or an expression of guilt never gets explored, mostly out of formal ineptitude and cowardice. When Margaret Qualley asks Brad Pitt to suck his dick and he responds asking her age, she muses, “Nobody has asked me that in so long.” This is a heartbreaking line, and coming after the camera has lingered on her feet for several minutes, could be read as confessional, a feeling of complicity on the part of Tarantino. But he demonstrates zero understanding for how this widespread pattern of trauma reverberates and replicates into the present day, compartmentalized into some vague historical evil. It is a useless evocation of real tragedy reduced to an allegorical complication. There are startling few hints at Manson’s white supremacy. The film’s defenders have used the Manson family’s racism as a way of justifying the climax, but this doesn’t take into account Hollywood’s own skiddishness in displaying it. Tarantino has never before shied away from tackling racism’s intersection with misogyny (see: his film directly before OUATIH, the heinous, nonsensical Hateful Eight), and the avoidance here doesn’t read as maturity. If it’s still positing the girls’ white supremacy as justification for Tarantino’s leering, condescending, misogynistic lens, that’s no less infantile, privileged, and stupid than his past work. Pitting two forms of oppression against one another in some kind of quantitative system of value judgement isn’t just lazy semiotics, it’s reactionary political theory.

All decorum falls aways by the time Dalton uses a flamethrower on a screeching, bloodied young girl in a scene that recalls New French Extremity’s sadistic obsession with desecrating women’s bodies as an antipathic aesthetic act. Rick gets the flamethrower from the set of a Nazi-killer flick, just as Tarantino gets the ending from Inglorious Basterds. But unlike his previous flirtations with historical revisionism, there are no films explicitly *about* the Manson Murders’ ripple effect off of which Tarantino can riff, so the ostensibly optimistic ending has no clear path forward. What future is he imagining, besides one where Polanski career is unsullied in some hypothetical alternative path where he’s never caught? The titular fantasy, where Rick Dalton and Tarantino finally get to be the stars of a world where history has been subsumed by cinema, is childish. That very same history carries countless women’s stories of suffering at the hands of men in power, and with a single gesture Hollywood offers not liberation, but total erasure. In its wake remains a film that, despite any political or nostalgic pretense, delights in the evisceration the bodies of women to protect a philosophical status quo.

[denimbex1986]

'"Maybe I didn't hold you / All those lonely, lonely times

And I guess I never told you / I am so happy that you're mine…"

An adult Adam is cross-legged on the floor, gazing upwards, child-like. His deceased mother mutters the words, never once breaking eye contact, while decorating the Christmas tree.

On the surface, the candles and fairy lights should have evoked a homely warmth, stirring early memories of festive joy. But in this scene the air is thick with regret, and the song's poignant lyrics say more than dialogue ever could.

All of Us Strangers first introduces Adam (Andrew Scott) years after this, in his London tower block, with little but his laptop for company. That is, until his neighbour Harry (Paul Mescal) arrives at his door. What unfolds is a cross-generational gay love story, both heartbreaking and beautiful.

But when Adam decides to revisit his childhood, the film also hits home in another way. Watching through tears, in the dim of the movie theatre, I'm struck by how profoundly it resonated with me, as a mother to my boy.

Motherhood is a redefining experience, one that pushes you to reflect while also looking forwards through new eyes. The film articulates that reconnection with your inner child, and the notion of wanting to do things differently for the baby who's now in your arms.

All of Us Strangers captures a weight carried through to adulthood by many queer people: the distance that can be born from your parents not really knowing who you are. The film arrives as a new generation now starts to navigate its own approach to parenthood, determined not to repeat the past.

All of Us Strangers is steeped in grief. But for a story that orbits a man who lost his parents at the tender age of 12, it's far deeper than a physical absence.

Stuck in a sort of purgatory, Adam is seeking out things that make him feel closer to what he's missing. Against a score of '80s hits, which would have formed the soundtrack of his formative years, Adam arrives back to his childhood home. From the wallpaper to his record collection, it's just as he remembers. His parents are still there too, just as they were on the day they died.

Through Adam's conversations with his dead parents, it becomes clear that even in life they were out of reach.

A father, too repressed to comfort his son when he was crying; a mother, too overwhelmed to centre the needs of her child.

In these new interactions Adam's instinct is to suppress his feelings, comforting and tending to his parents' emotions instead. It speaks of a child who learned that his own feelings were a burden, that vulnerability wasn't welcome.

These post-mortem exchanges offer a chance for catharsis, though. Adam is given the opportunity to come out to each of his parents in turn. Their responses are filtered through the moral panic of their time, but having them meet this older, more worldly, version of Adam allows for some growth.

Adam's inner child continues to push through, still yearning to be seen for himself rather than the image that his parents once cultivated. Much like the film's own use of reflection, his parents saw what they wanted to see mirrored back at them, projecting their own expectations rather than truly seeing Adam for the boy he was.

It's a generational cycle that needs to be broken, and this is echoed in his mother's own regret. There's a push and a pull, as his parents start to realise that they were themselves stuck in a pattern passed on to them.

As Adam crawled between his parents in the middle of the night, in his childhood pyjamas that no longer fit, she told him of her yearning to get better, with time.

But of course in reality, a fatal car crash robbed her – and Adam – of these chances. The thought of the childhood that could have been still continued to tighten with that knot in his chest.

For those of us now trying to parent more consciously, to be led by our children, giving them space to discover exactly who they are, free of assumption and expectation, All of Us Strangers has struck a chord.

Our sons will not keep their tears hidden away, un-wiped, behind closed doors. Neither will they be given a complex about sitting with their legs crossed, or burdened with the presumption that they should surely have a girlfriend. Their childhood home will be a sanctuary, removed from those that don't understand, not a place they want to run from at the first opportunity.

The film and the thoughts it has provoked cling as tightly as that final farewell embrace between Adam and Harry.

Days after sitting in that movie theatre, now two-stepping and twirling around to The Housemartins with my own baby, who loves to dance, in his childhood home, these feelings are further solidified.

"Let's build a house where we can stay [ba ba ba ba build], add a new bit every day…"'

[leam1983]

Intimacy, Part Two

I start my shift at twelve-thirty on Mondays, so I can take it slow this morning. Walt starts at eleven-thirty, so he still has a few moments left.

We're discussing in the kitchen, in the wake of what happened last night - and also in relation to the morning talk radio's chosen topic of consent. I've noticed how in typically Straight circles, what happens is you eventually single out the other gender from your group of friends. You've got your guy-friends, and only those guys with close friends of the other gender end up forming a really healthy understanding of boundaries and consent. All too often, you're left with guys yakking it up with other guys and reinforcing toxic patterns. If you're not lucky, you're left with a situation where the only thing that motivates any sort of closeness is basic lust.

Walt opines. "Oh, that works with everyone, all orientations considered. I used to have a handful of female friends as a teen, and didn't really interact with other guys until I turned seventeen. What saved me from maybe making a serious mistake was my being so shy that I didn't even dare to initiate anything. I felt it, though - for several guys in my later circle of male friends."

I nodded in agreement. "So consent isn't just basic politeness, it's a validation check for anything that could follow. What's funny about it is I was so out of it by the time you asked if you could kiss me that I don't remember how you phrased it."

He chuckles. "I was so nervous. You were thirty-six and I was about to turn fifty-six. I'd kept myself out of the dating circuit for a few years and I was so afraid I'd misread you that I probably didn't make much sense."

I remember he danced around the topic after-hours and on the lunch break, rocking on the soles of his feet and looking away in that way he does when he wants to affect evasiveness. The phraseology's left my mind, but I remember he started by drawing a parallel with how used he'd become with assisting me physically.

"I enjoy doing it, you go out of your way to pick me when you need help and there's just something in your eyes that makes me reel whenever you ask," is what he probably said. I don't remember the exact words, because I'd spent weeks avoiding him out of increasing unease. I wanted Walt like I'd never wanted anyone before, and didn't want to open up to someone without an absolute proof of reciprocity.

I remember imagining this would turn out into a complete disaster weeks in advance. I imagined Walt giving me a kind, if withering smile and more or less saying "I'm sorry you misread me, kiddo. I'm actually as Straight as a two-by-four." My panicking is probably why I don't really remember the exact sequence of events.

All I know is Walt asked me, and I replied. It then started with the first of several long cuddles in the changing room.

Things didn't really go any deeper until a few weeks later. We'd both had a particularly shitty day and were looking forward to spending a few minutes in one another's arms, before leaving for the night. Things unfolded as planned, but we both could tell the day had left a mark on us. We needed something bolder than shared body heat and whispered reassurances.

Walt's bachelor pad was Spartan in that Consumerist way of his of chasing for the absolute high-end of what was absolutely necessary. It didn't look like a space he lived in, it was just someplace to crash and spend a few hours sawing logs. We were both hurried, but Walt was, well, Walt - whispering how I had to squeeze his tongue, explore his mouth - savor him the way he would me.

With terms set and consent established, what happened happened. I especially remember the climax, Walt pushing me away so he could frame me in his field of vision, while his other hand insistently pushed me onto him. I realized his lust was just a component of his greater love and respect, and I thanked him for it.

He then hit me with the corniest line imaginable, except he infused it with absolute earnestness.

"Where have you been all my life?!"

I'd later realize that while I'd had Prof, I would've taken a Walt - or someone like Walt - earlier on in life as well, if that had been possible. He needed me, and I needed him.

Can't get much more consensual than that, I'd say.

[occasionally-good-authoring]

Ichor Chapter Five- I Can Only Meet People One Way. Bleeding Out.

@xanadaus. god. i might really get this done.

Luis threw his knife only a second after they opened the door. I had just pulled my dagger when the knife hit what should’ve been the Fae’s head. It flew back into their house and hit the far wall.

“Now, was that really necessary?” They spoke with a heavy accent I didn’t recognize. Looking back, I think it was Greek. 

“What did you do to Jamie?” Will tried to push past the Fae into their house. They closed the door enough to block her way in.

“Settle down, William. I don’t want James, you can take him off my hands. I’ll let you all in if you don’t attack.” I noticed then Mariana had her bow drawn, an arrow trained at the Fae’s head. I think she knew it wouldn’t do anything, but it was better than getting hurt because she wasn’t prepared.

She hadn’t planned for this. None of us had.

“And why should we take your word for it?” She asked. Panic washed over Luis’ face and spread to me, though I didn’t know what it was for.

“Because my words can never lie. Do you know nothing of my people, little girl? We are bound to the truth, tied to it for evermore. You’re a fool to call me a liar and worthless to doubt my speech.”

“I’m sorry for my sister. Tenebris aren’t taught extensively of the Fae. If the offer still stands, it would be an honor to take James from you.”

Luis talked so sweet, I almost believed him. The Fae seemed satisfied with his groveling. I didn’t expect that from him. I half-expected the same reckless abandon he had with Hari, even though there was something behind it, I expected familiar patterns would take more importance. 

“Leave your weapons at the door, Tenebris. I don’t want demon blades in my home. They tend to draw, unwanted visitors.”

“I’m afraid our weapons aren’t the cause of that, Fae.”

“Just drop your dagger, Tenebris.” 

I hadn’t even realized I was holding it. Muscle memory must’ve taken over without me even realizing. They smiled at me. I leaned down, never breaking eye contact, and set my dagger gently on the porch. 

“Thank you. Now do have your friends follow suit.”

“If you think I have any control over them, you’re dead wrong, Fae.” The Fae, surprisingly, laughed. They opened the door wide and smiled.

“Come in, Tenebris. And do call me Kallisto. Fae makes me sound old.” 

Above us, the vulture cawed out a laugh. It sounded more like a warning none of us heeded. We set our weapons down on the porch—Mariana putting them all in the bag she brought—and followed Kallisto inside. It didn’t take us long to see Jamie.

He was in the living room right off of where we came in. Unconscious and tied up, rope burns on his slack wrists. Blood on his face. Slumped over in a way that looked like it hurt. 

“What did you do to him?” Will yelled. She tried to rush Kallisto, grabbing a flower pot off a side table. Luis held him back, earning himself a few solid blows from Will. Mariana pulled her bun out, which was apparently held together by a dagger disguised as a hair clip.

She pushes Kallisto against the wall, dagger to Kallisto’s neck. They smiled and I knew the only reason Mariana was standing was because Kallisto was letting her. A bead of blood ran down Kallisto’s neck.

“Kit, get James for me, will you?” Kallisto said calmly. They didn’t need to ask again. Luis was having more trouble keeping Will from attacking Kallisto. If Kallisto couldn’t have killed Will within an instant, Luis would’ve let him.

I ran to Jamie, tripping over my feet. My hands were shaking—for how long that had been happening, I had no idea—as my fingers stumbled over the thick rope. I heard a crash behind me, Will had dropped the flower pot. 

I scrambled to where the flower pot lay on the floor, shattered, and grabbed the sharpest piece I could find. I went back to Jamie and cut the ropes holding him, he fell forward onto me, much too light for a twenty four year old anywhere, let alone a Tenebris. We gained muscle fast and easy, Jamie however, was skin and bones.

I wish I could’ve blamed it on Kallisto, but he was that way since I first met him. I picked Jamie up bridal style.

“Let’s go, I’ve got him.”

Luis had to knock Will out to get them to stop. Mariana didn’t want to take her dagger off Kallisto’s neck, so Kallisto did it for her. They set Mariana flying back with a wave of dust that put red welts over any of Mariana’s exposed skin.

She pulled a small knife from her bracelet and threw it at Kallisto. They must not have been expecting it because it nicked Kallisto’s cheek. Luis threw Will over his shoulder.

“We have to go!” he yelled.

We ran out the door, the vulture and Kallisto laughing behind us. Mariana grabbing the bag of weapons as she ran.  The portal was still open, Luis handed Will off to Mariana as we came to it, Mariana shoved the bag into his arms. He grabbed his brass knuckles out of the bag and waved us through. 

He came through last, the map was still in Will’s back pocket. He tore it out and rubbed where the circle was, the portal fading until both the glowing circle and the portal were gone.

“Get to the infirmary.”

I listened, carrying Jamie there. With Will out, it was left to Niamh to patch everyone up, the only other person who had enough medical training not to do more harm than good. 

I set Jamie on the nearest open bed, Mariana put Will on the one next to him then melted into the one beside him. Niamh—who had been talking to Hari while wrapping his hand—stood up quickly. 

“Do you know what happened to them?” Niamh asked, going to Jamie first.

“Not Jamie, Luis knocked Will out—long story—and the Fae threw some dust on Mariana.”

Niamh nodded. “Okay. Hari, Kit, you two get out while I work.” 

I left the infirmary and leaned against the wall. I was exhausted, adrenaline had worn off and I didn’t get as much sleep as I thought. But I knew I couldn’t fall asleep, not now. If they needed me, I had to be awake. Hari stood next to me.

“You should get a bandage for your hand, Kit.”

“What?” 

Hari gestured to my hand and when I looked down, blood was dripping from a cut in my palm and along my fingers. The shard must’ve cut my hand. 

“Oh. Yeah, I probably should. Thanks.”

I couldn’t bring myself to move. Hari shook his head and walked off. I was acutely aware of my blood dripping onto the floor. My whole body was heavy. I just couldn’t make myself move. It would stop soon, wouldn’t it, I remember telling myself.

Luis found me next, burns along his hands from his brass knuckles. He was wrapping the burns with a roll of bandages, presumably found in the kitchen, but we kept first aid kits everywhere. No one has time to get to the infirmary with an Auru attack.

He leaned against the wall next to me and held the bandages out to me.

“Wash your hand then wrap it, come back when you’re done.” I nodded and took the bandages. I flexed my injured hand, wondering how I didn’t feel it. I was starting to now, a dull throb. When I didn’t move, I expected him to take a more forceful approach. I mean, he had just knocked Will out. 

He put his hand on my shoulder.

“Come on, Kit, I’ll patch you up.” It was easier to walk when Luis grabbed my good hand and walked with me to the closest bathroom. He turned on the sink. “Put your hand under the water.”

I did so, Luis rubbing the dirt from my hand. He turned the water off and dried my hand before wrapping it.

“Go get some sleep, it’s been a long day.”

I looked back to the infirmary.

“If any of them wake up, I’ll come and get you. Sleep, Kit, you look like death.”

I woke up to a scream. It wasn’t mine, though it took me a second to figure that out. I had been dreaming of the day Max didn’t come back. The desperation on Phoebe and Delia’s faces when they woke me.

Me trying to put on a brave face. Finding Max in that damn alley.

It was coming from the infirmary. I ran there, threw open the door to find Will and Mariana trying to wake Jamie up. 

“Stop,” he screamed over and over again. He wouldn’t wake up. I was frozen in the doorway, just watching. Will was crying and trying to pretend she wasn’t. Mariana was shaking Jamie. I was standing in the doorway.

Luis came behind me, wormed his way past and joined in the efforts. It took ten minutes for Jamie to wake up, sobbing when he did. He clung to Will. Mariana and Luis stepped back, talking about something I didn’t hear. 

I slipped out of the infirmary, the only thought I had being What had Kallisto done to him? My dagger was still in Mariana’s bag.

The dining room was a mess. The map was thrown onto the table, crumpled almost entirely to unreadability. Mariana’s bag was on the floor, weapons spilling out of it. Two of the chairs were flipped over, we must’ve knocked them over coming back in. The other six in all sorts of disarray.

I bent down to grab my dagger. I put it back in its sheath, reveling in the weight of it on my belt. It radiated heat. 

The residue of the circle Hari used was still on the map. It would take a two hour drive to get to the dunes, maybe longer to get to Kallisto’s house. They’d most likely have put the illusion back, so I grabbed the map. I had no idea if my dagger was made of iron. I picked up one of Luis’ knives. I didn’t have a place to hold it, so I tucked it into my bracelet. It was heavy and bronze with a leather pocket faced towards my wrist. 

Max had made a deal with a Fae to get it, so it held whatever I put in the pocket. It was engraved with butterflies, vultures, and snakes, a group I never understood. 

“This’ll keep you safe, Kit. Never take it off.”

And I never did. 

I went to my room next. I hadn’t changed clothes, so I was wearing something practical. Thick jeans, a black tank top, and a worn green and black flannel. I put on boots and my leather armor. I grabbed a bag from my closet, sturdy and leather, and filled it with whatever medical supplies I had. One roll of bandages, surgical tape, and cotton pads. The map went in next.

I went for the front door, looking into every hallway before I turned into it. They’d either stop me or try to go too, neither of which would end up good. This was my decision, nobody else would get hurt if it went bad. I was going to come back with answers.

Had to. 

I had reached the front door, even had my hand on the handle.

“I know what you’re doing, Kit.” It was Niamh. “And you’re not doing it.”

I didn’t bother turning around. “You can’t stop me, Niamh. I have to do this. We need answers.”

“I’m not going to let you get hurt, Kit! We don’t need answers, we just need to help Jamie.”

“How can we if we don’t know what happened to him?”

“We let him tell us, Kit! You’re not doing this, Kallisto’s dangerous.”

I finally turned around. “So are we, Niamh.”

She scoffed. “It’s different! They’re a Fae, they’re untrustworthy. Even if they’re Seelie, this would never be a good idea. You’re not going, I won’t let you!”

I hated what I said to her, even then I did. “You can’t stop me, Niamh—” I pulled my dagger— “you’re too scared to lose.” She backed away, hands clenched into fists. Then she ran and I swallowed my guilt. I did what I had to do, didn’t I?

The illusion had been put back up when I got to Kallisto’s house. The parking lot was empty again, though the sun had started to rise, golden light bleeding out from the ground.

I stepped to what I thought was the illusion and moved the plants at the bottom, just as Luis had. There was a slight shimmer at the ground. I pulled the knife from my bracelet and it cut through the illusion like wet tissue paper. Kallisto’s house looked the same, though the vulture was gone. I tucked the knife back into my bracelet and walked to Kallisto’s door.

They opened it before I could even raise my hand to knock. My confidence wavered. They had known I was coming. Not even hindsights made it clear as to why they let me get this far, but with my memory what it is, my hindsight can’t be worth too much.

Kallisto stepped aside.

“Come in, Kit, I’m making tea.” I took a step forward. “Leave your dagger on the porch.” I dropped it and followed them in. Right past the living room—the chair Jamie had been tied to was still there, ropes and all—and into a small kitchen and dining room. The cabinets were a burnt orange and plants were littered all around the counters. In the middle, there was a black metal table. 

A kettle was on the stove. Their house full of antiques that must’ve been priceless, but Kallisto had no interest in selling them. They reached for two mugs that sat in a red dish drainer, one blue and the other yellow. Then they grabbed a box of tea from a cabinet just above the stove.

“What did you do to Jamie?” I asked. Kallisto dropped a tea bag in each cup and sighed, turning around to face me.

“Nothing, Kit. Do you want sugar or lemon?” 

It only occured to me then that the second cup was for me. I didn’t want anything Kallisto gave me, let alone anything I would have to drink. But I’d already pushed it by coming here in the first place. If I wanted answers, I would have to play nice.

“Tying him up doesn’t seem like nothing. He had blood on his face, Kallisto. That’s not nothing.”

“Blood gets many places it’s not supposed to be. Do you want lemon or sugar? I’ve found it greatly improves the taste.”

“No, thank you.”

The tea kettle began to scream. Kallisto grabbed it and poured the boiling water into the cups. A spoonful of brown sugar in both, lemon in theirs. They set the cups at the table, took a seat one one side, and motioned to the other. I sat down, facing Kallisto. They set the yellow cup in front of me. 

“I did what I had to, Kit. If I hadn’t needed to restrain James, I wouldn’t have.” Kallisto rubs their neck where Mariana’s knife passed. It was already halfway healed, but a Fae can’t be as used to it as we are. “I don’t want attention, Kit. It comes with danger in my line of work.”

“And what line of work is that?”

Kallisto smiles and takes a long drink of their tea. How they did that, I didn’t know. Mine was still losing half its weight in steam. 

“Come to me with your wallet, and maybe you’ll know.” They take another drink. “Try the tea, Kit. It’s very good.” 

I brung the cup to my lips but didn’t drink any of it. The steam coming off of it filled my lungs. It felt grainy, like it was being dragged along my throat. The water collected in my lungs, my head got lighter and lighter.

I stood up quickly, reaching for my dagger before remembering it wasn’t there. I lunged for the dish rack, seeing a small paring knife. My knees gave out before I could. I hit the ground hard, my head hitting the ground with a loud smack. The pain shot up my arm, but I wasn’t awake long enough to really feel it.

I woke up with a pounding headache and something wet running down my neck. The room I was in had baby blue walls and smelled like blood. Thick mustard yellow curtains kept almost all light from coming through the windows. 

The only thing in the room was me and the chair I was tied to. My hands were tied back, pushed behind the back of the chair so I couldn’t move them without dislocating my shoulders. I knew how to do it, but with my left shoulder still injured, I wasn’t privy to doing so.

There was rope tied tight around my waist and my ankles were tied to the legs of the chair. The rope was thick, made for fishing if I remember correctly. Niamh dragged me out to do it a few times. her family had a boat before they died. 

My bracelet was digging into my wrist so much I’m surprised it wasn’t bleeding. When I breathed, I could feel the remains of the steam. I rubbed my wrist where the bracelet was best I could. The leather pocket was still in my reach, my heart speed up as I reached in, praying to anything that would listen Kallisto hadn’t thought to check.

Luis’ knife was still there. 

The door creaked open behind me. My chances of making it out dropped. They made the rules now, not my ability to cut a rope. Kallisto closed the door and walked in front of me. I slowly pulled the knife from the pocket of my bracelet and tried to get it inside the ropes. 

Kallisto was wearing a white sundress that fell to her ankles with bishop sleeves. A thick belt the color of the sunset was around their waist, a silver dagger tucked into it. By the way they stood, I knew they weren’t versed in using it. They had the posture of someone who didn’t use a weapon. 

“Why did you come back? I have no answers for you, nothing to offer. So why did you come?”

“I needed to find out what you did to Jamie.”

Kallisto sighed. “The same thing I’ve done to you, deal with a threat. I cannot lie to you. Whatever I say is the truth, so believe me. I did nothing but defend myself against James.”

Who did they think they were talking to? Jamie wouldn’t go after anyone without reason, and as far as I knew, he had no reason to hurt Kallisto. 

But saying that would get me nowhere. 

“Jamie wouldn’t drink anything you gave him.”

“Neither did you.” They smiled. I kept sawing at the ropes with Luis’ knife. I wasn’t used to this type of burn. His must’ve used less hinc metal, because it felt like a cup of warm coffee compared to my dagger.

The steam. It was the steam. But then how did Kallisto end up alright? If it was in the steam, it had to have been in the tea. And even then, what had they used? Chloroform made the most sense, but Tenebris have immunity to that. Along with most man made poisons. 

“How? How’d you end up okay, was my tea the only one spiked? That doesn’t even make sense, you grabbed them from the same box.”

“It’s best to save your questions for the devil. He’ll answer before I will.”

I laughed. “Who am I gonna tell, Kallisto? It’s not like you’re letting me out of here.” It was true. I was going to die in that room. Even if I got out of the ropes, how would I get out with Kallisto right there? 

Maybe I would make it out. But my chances were lower than low. Eighteen and I would already be gone. How long, I wondered, would it take them to find my body? A week? A month? Would there even be a body to find? 

As I found out, my death itself didn’t scare me. What brought me real fear, was who would protect everyone if I was gone? Niamh certainly wouldn’t. 

“Valerian root. The tea neutralizes the effects.”

Kallisto sat on the floor in front of me. The dagger started to slide more out of their belt. If I could get my hands on that, I would be set. 

“So all I had to do was drink the tea?” I asked. Kallisto nodded.

“Yes. And I would’ve let you go.”

“Why?”

“Because you wouldn’t have come back.”

Suddenly, something screamed outside the window. I had no idea what it was, an 

Auru’s scream never sounded that human. Kallisto stood up quickly, fast enough to see the window shatter. In the empty frame, there stood something I hardly know how to describe.

Its limbs were long and its skin paper white. Eyes pure black. It was human and it wasn’t. It was a demon, the same kind Tenebris had been born from. It screamed again and climbed through the window. It walked on all fours. 

Luis’ knife cut through the ropes on my wrists. The demon rushed Kallisto, pusheng them to the ground. They tried to fight it off, drawing the dagger and trying to stab it. It knocked the dagger out of their hand, sending it clattering right in front of me. I got my hands free and made quick work of the ropes on my waist. 

Kallisto was the next thing the demon threw at me, knocking the chair onto its side, my head hitting the ground hard. White stars burst in my vision, Kallisto laying on top of me. Their body had my arms pinned, one to the ground, one to my chest. Luis' knife had fallen out of my hand. The demon was crawling towards us fast. 

I reached desperately for the knife. My fingers pushed it further away. The demon reached us, doing me a favor and pulling Kallisto off. I had to work faster. That thing would tear Kallisto apart piece by piece if I let it, and I wasn't keen on letting it. I was able to grab the knife and get past the ropes on my ankles. 

The demon was focused on Kallisto. I could’ve just run away, I should’ve ran away. Every part of me wanted to run, get safe and then maybe come back and bury Kallisto right. If there would even be a body to bury. 

I grabbed the dagger Kallisto had lost. When Kallisto died, it wouldn’t be like this. Nobody deserved that kind of death. Alone. Afraid. Stripped of all dignity except for that in the fight given before. Max didn’t deserve it. Aine didn’t. Kallisto didn’t either. I could save them, for once, I could save someone.

So I did.

"Hey!" The demon turned, its mouth covered in Kallisto's blood. Both too dark and too shiny to be human. It screamed and ran towards me. It slashed at my chest, the claws hit and put a deep gash in my chest. But so did Kallisto’s dagger. Its hand dangled by a single flap of skin. It slashed again, going for my neck.

I lurched back, tripping over the chair. It tried to jump on top of me, but I kicked it and flipped back onto my feet with the momentum. It hit the wall with a sickening thud and ran at me with another scream. I waited until it was right in front of me to move.

I stabbed up, landing a hit to its chest. In turn, it bit my forearm. I pushed it off and tried to stab its neck. It caught my wrist and flipped me over onto my back, knocking the dagger out of my hand. I gasped for breath as the demon got on top of me. 

It moved to bite my neck, I jerked my head to the left and its teeth sunk into my shoulder. It tore a chunk out. I wrapped my legs around the demon and flipped us so I was on top. I slammed its head against the floor, over and over again. 

Its brains splattered all over the floor and my hands. I didn’t stop until its skull was shattered. 

I collapsed on top of it, rolling onto the floor and feeling the blood leave my body. I was going to die there. On the floor next to a demon and Kallisto. I looked over to Kallisto, still conscious but barely. Bunches of small yellow flowers grew out of their wounds, slowing their bleeding.

I pushed myself off the floor, crawling over to Kallisto. They could spare some of whatever was keeping them intact. Kallisto’s eyes opened when I picked the flowers.

“Put them in the wounds and press,” they said. Their voice was weak and breathy. I did as they said and felt the blood get slower, though it never stopped. I stood up. Kallisto was in no condition to stand up so I pulled them up. They groaned as I dragged us both through the house.

I had to get us in clear sight of people before my legs gave out. They were so close to giving out, muscles weak and shaking. My head was getting lighter and lighter with each step, but even when we got to the parking lot, I refused to fall.

If I fell, there wouldn’t be any getting up. The world blurred around me. I kept walking, my feet dragging on the pavement. Kallisto had gone limp and quiet, dead weight. I should’ve dropped them and kept going. Leave them in the empty parking lot and keep on. I couldn’t bring myself to leave Kallisto. Not like that. 

We reached the road, just as empty as the parking lot. It was littered with potholes I could barely avoid stepping in. I couldn’t fall. The world blurred even more, watercolors mixed together so bad it was almost gray. My foot landed in something much softer than asphalt and my ankle fell sideways, cracking painfully and sending both me and Kallisto tumbling down a ditch.

Kallisto fell out of my arms and I could barely find them again. When I did, I pulled them close to my chest. I dug my hand into the soft dirt and pulled us up to what I thought was the road. The wet dirt clung to my hand, caking underneath my fingernails and slowly crawled up my arm.

My whole body felt like lead but I kept pulling us up towards the road. I wanted to cry and maybe I was. We were going to die. Both of us. I couldn’t save Kallisto, just like I hadn’t been able to Max. Our bodies would be found, but that gave me no comfort. What did burying a body have to do with anything? 

All my body would do was let everyone know that I died slowly, begging for my life. What comfort was that? I was going to die. Kallisto was going to die. That was clear to me. 

My arm gave out. No matter how hard I tried to keep pulling us to the road, it did nothing. We might as well have been dead already. For all I knew, Kallisto was gone. Maybe if I dropped them, I could get to the road. Get safe. But that wasn’t an option, not really. I had taken them this far. I couldn’t leave them, not then. 

“Hy’s over here! I got hym!” 

I knew that voice, or at least I thought I did. Hands pulled Kallisto away from me, I screamed and tried to fight. I was going to get them safe, nobody deserved to die like that. They had to get safe. The hands went to the sides of my face, I found they belonged to the voice.

“Hey, calm down. We’re taking Kallisto too, but you’ve got to let me help you. Stay still.”

The hands went to my chest, fingers scraping over the wound. Pain burst through my whole body, the blurred world finally fading to black. I was dead. At eighteen, I was dead. 

And I thought Max died early.

I woke up, eventually. I knew where I was, but couldn’t place it. An IV flowed into my arm. I could see Kallisto in the bed to my right, green hair spread out over a pillow like it was a fan. Whatever they put in the IV made me feel like I was floating.

I hated it. I needed control over myself.

What really caught my attention was the figures to my left. One was sitting up on the bed, a thin blanket covering his legs. The other was sitting on the foot. They were holding hands, I think. If they were, it was tentative, as if they were ready to pull apart at a moment's notice. 

“Don’t make this a hobby, Hari,” Luis said. He didn’t look at Hari. “I don’t care what you think you owe, I won’t have you running yourself into the ground to pay it.”

“Then tell your friends not to go missing so often.”

Luis laughed quietly. “I’ll try.” He curls the fingers of his free hand. “Is there anything I can do?”

Hari shakes his head. “No, just rest, my dear. I’ll be fine by the morning.”

“I’ll let you sleep then,” Luis said. He stood up, but Hari didn’t let go of his hand. Luis didn’t walk away, ripping his hand out of Hari’s grasp.

“Stay,” Hari said softly. “Just till I fall asleep. I’m not safe here, Hernandez-Garcia.”

Luis sat back down, closer to Hari. 

“You are, I promise.” But he didn’t leave, not until an hour later when Hari had fallen asleep long before.

[windcarvedlyre]

This got out of hand and turned into a writing experiment lol. Also fleshed out the AU a little in the process. Enjoy. No on-screen explicit content.

---

"Why are you like this?"

Komaeda said nothing, expression blank as he stared at the bridge in front of them. Sauntering forwards as if he hadn't just ruined everything. Again.

His shitty coat was even more tattered than usual. He sighed as he pulled a still-smouldering leaf from his hair and flicked it into the abyss below them. Hinata's fists tightened at his sides.

"We got through the door, didn't we? I don't understand why you're still upset about this, Hinata-"

"You set fire to a government building!"

Komaeda turned back to face him, tilting his head. "And?"

"With people inside!"

Komaeda smirked. "People?"

This again. Hinata inhaled and exhaled through gritted teeth. "Look, I know they had staplers for heads and their fiscal policies made zero sense, but-"

"But what, Hinata-kun? They were shallow characters in a weak story. How could budget debates be an adequate stepping stone for your hope to shine? How could they get you off this train?"

Something tight in him snapped. "How do we know they wouldn't?"

He stormed in front of Komaeda, stopping just before the bridge, whipping his hand into the other's view. The number was unreadable as always. It reshuffled from static into a random assortment of kanji. "It keeps changing, right? But I have no idea if that's good or bad, or if there's something so wrong with me that I'll be here forever!"

Komaeda winced, so subtly that Hinata almost missed it, but quickly plastered over it with his trademark infuriating smile. The one that said he was about to-

"Don't worry, Hinata-kun! If we persevere I'm sure we'll find a challenge great enough to solve this!"

God damn it.

He giggled wheezily, eyes wide, gripping his sleeves now, knuckles of his non-prosthetic hand white as if he'd crumble without holding onto himself. "The length of time it's taken to overcome this only means the payoff will be spectacular!"

"You've said that for the last 50 cars. But nothing. Has. Changed. We've even lost our guide- which you're also at fault for, by the way. Do you actually want to help me or are you trying to keep me here!?"

"That's not-"

Bang. The ground lurched beneath them as the train suddenly halted. Hinata's foot slipped, his limbs flailing for purchase they couldn't find- oh god, why didn't the train have guard rails-

But his fall was halted. He choked, something tightly gripping his shirt collar from behind, before he was yanked backwards and away from the edge. His back collided with Komaeda's chest.

Both of them stood there, breathing heavily. Hinata stared into the abyss he nearly met his end in, barely registering as the bridge retracted and a new car crashed into place in front of them. When did Komaeda's hands start gripping his upper arms? Was he shaking?

Suddenly they remembered themselves, jolting apart from each other.

Hinata stood there awkwardly, fidgeting with his tie. "Uh... thanks."

Komaeda was avoiding eye contact. He opened and closed his mouth as if hesitating to say something. "Sorry, I-"

"Let's just go."

Hinata was so tired. Maybe the next car would give him a break.

-

He hated this fucking train.

The new car was a hotel room, soft carpets trailing towards a large, plush bed against one wall, exit door embedded in the opposite end of the room. That was fine. The problem was the decor. Everything was either black or neon magenta, obnoxious heart patterns smeared across every surface that could carry them. Soft saxophone music played from a similarly garish speaker in one corner. Komaeda cracked open a chest at the bed's foot, winced, let it fall shut again, and stared at a particularly tacky carpet as if he'd rather be anywhere else. Glancing inside himself, Hinata only got a glimpse of some bottles and straps before he quickly concluded the same.

The exit door was locked. Of course it was.

The two of them sat on the bed for a while, feet apart, neither saying anything, until Komaeda awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Surely the train wouldn't... want us to... uh..."

He should have let him fall.

"Stop talking. Please."

Komaeda clammed up again, tightly folding his arms around himself. Hinata glanced around for the twentieth time, hoping that maybe this time it would reveal something else, but the room had no mercy. The wall patterns taunted him.

He looked at Komaeda again.

Hinata was not going to do that. He had not been thinking about that alone at night. He was not staring for too long at that prick, picturing himself shoving him against the bed, pinning him down by his wrists, leaning in and wiping his insufferable smirk off his face by-

Okay, maybe he was picturing that. But nobody had to know, and nobody ever would, because he was not going to act on it.

He wasn't.

Komaeda stared back at him. He glanced down at Hinata's lips. He swallowed, larynx bobbing in his pale throat.

He wasn't.

--

Two hours later, the door of the car's opposite end closed behind them. Its locking mechanism's click echoed in the cavernous silence between them.

Komaeda shuffled awkwardly where they stood. Hinata couldn't look at his face. A scuff on the floor seemed much more interesting.

"Komaeda-kun! Hinata-kun! There you are!"

Their heads whipped upwards in unison. Usami stood on the bridge ahead, waving enthusiastically and beaming as if they were the best thing she'd seen all day.

She paused, staring at the door behind them. "Oh! Is that the love car?"

Hinata paled. Did she- did she know that they-

"Did you talk out your differences after all?"

Both of them spluttered.

Hinata composed himself first.

"What... do you mean, exactly?"

"The train sometimes sends that car to people who can't get along! You just have to let out the feelings you've been keeping from each other to leave! I'm sure you worked that out, though... I'm so proud..."

She wiped a cartoonishly round tear from one eye. A choked, almost hysterical laugh escaped Komaeda.

"Right! We did that! Talk!"

Hinata barely restrained himself from throwing himself off the car as Komaeda leaned closer to whisper in his ear.

"Let's never speak of this again."

Hinata tried to ignore the way his breath tickled his neck. "Agreed."

I was talking about infinity train with a friend last night and... god, komahina infinity train AU.

Hinata starting off with amnesia and a pretty average number. He runs into Komaeda- who has a number large enough to trail up his forearm, but covers most of it with his jacket sleeve- and they normally work pretty well as a team but can't deal with disagreements or more social challenges for shit. Maybe dealing with a ghom attack would make them realise how much they truly care for each other.

Usami is the mandatory NPC sidekick. She's really going through it.

[malibusmoke]

Trans Bruno Bucciarati + Eating him out

NSFW minors DO NOT INTERACT 18+

CW: cunnilingus (giving), trans man Bruno, I use words like cunt/pussy/clit/dick/hole, Squirting, GN! Reader.

Um sorry. EXTREMELY self indulgent smut here. I need Jesus, but don't we all. No proofread I have covid and I'm horny asf . I put some shitty Italian in it because you guys seem to like it, don't @ me I can barely remember the alphabet right now (:

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』『♡』•『♡』 under cut!

Taking care of Bruno after a long work trip, wrapping your arms around his waist the moment he comes through the door.

Sucking dark marks into his tanned skin and nipping at his neck, listening to the way he lets out breathy moans. He reaches his hands up, carding them gently through your hair and pressing his body further into yours.

'You're so pretty.' You hum, licking a stripe up his neck and slotting your thigh between his legs, 'been working so hard lately darling, huh?"

'Yeah,' Bruno lets out a muffled groan as you catch his soft lips in a hungry kiss.

His tongue moves slick against yours, letting you explore his mouth and moaning when grind into his clothed crotch.

You reach down, squeezing his plush ass and rolling your tongue around his. Bruno moans and rolls his hips forwards, breaking the kiss with a wet pop.

'Y/N…' his blue eyes were half lidded with lust, and he ran his palms over your chest.

A sharp spike of pleasure runs through your chest as he reaches down to palm at your sex, making you let out a needy moan.

"I can't hold back much longer," he mumbled.

"Fuck." You pant, brushing a lock of your boyfriend's thick black hair behind his ear, "Let me take care of you?"

He let off a coy smile, rolling his hips forward once more and catching your earlobe between his teeth, "I'd love that."

____________

Propped up by pillows with his shirt undone, neck and tattooed chest marked with hickies and bite marks, Bruno panted and stared up at you.

"Can I?" You murmur against his lips, dipping your fingers just beneath the waistline of his expensive trousers.

"Mhm," he smiled. He reached out, grabbing onto your shoulder and forearm, always wanting to touch you or be close to you.

The white of his pants contrasts perfectly against his tanned skin, you think, as you tug them gently down his smooth thighs.

And oh, oh fuck, he has that set if lingerie you bought on. The one with the patterns that match his chest tattoo, tight around his pretty cunt and barely covering those perfect ass cheeks.

"God," you let out a groan and grab at his hips "You're killing me. So fucking beautiful."

A dusting of pink smattered his cheeks, "I think I look better with your mouth on me though…"

You crashed your lips against him, moaning into his mouth and sucking on his tongue. Your boyfriend pulled away with a soft mmph.

"Let me take yours off too, my love," and how could you resist when he touched you so softly? Your tshirt and pants were pulled from you, before being folded nearly by Bruno.

You chuckled at that, nuzzling his forehead with your nose and pulling him against your now bare chest.

"What?" He huffed playfully, kissing at your neck and rubbing his thigh between your legs.

"S'nothin babe.'

You lick your lips and crawl backwards down his body, lifting his slender thighs and pushing one over your shoulder.he gasped at the feeling of your hot breath against his wet pussy.

You hum, nuzzling your nose into his cunt and smelling his thick arousal. Kissing around the edges of his lingerie, nipping at his thighs and drawing moans from your boyfriend.

You drew it out as long as you could, leaving your tongue over his warm skin, touching everywhere but where he wanted, making his hips buck up.

"Please my love," he gasped, his hands tugging softly at your hair as you teased him, "I can't take much more teasing."

You hum, dropping on more kiss to the left of his crotch, "then let me eat you out?"

A strangled whine left his throat, cunt tightening around nothing, "Yes, god yes Y/N."

You didn't want to take the lingerie off, instead pushing the strap to the side, freeing his pretty pussy, it was puffy with arousal.

Leaning in you lick a stripe up his outer lips, listening to him moan. Fuck you could just tell how wet he was, all from just a little foreplay.

You sucked on them for a while, pulling them into your mouth and listening to your boyfriend's hitched breathing. You reach up with a hand, spreading his pussy lips and groaning loud in appreciation.

His clit was hard and rosy, labia thick and shiny with his own leaking arousal and hole twitching at even the smallest of your touches.

"You're soaked," you moan, grinding your own hips down into the mattress, "god you must be so pent up babe."

Bruno whimpered and nodded his head, reaching down and entwining his hand with your one on his thigh. He'd been busy all week, barely even getting time in between meetings to call you after being called up to Milan last minute.

"Didn't get a chance to touch yourself?" You murmur into his skin, peppering light kisses around his sex, before delving in with the thick flat of your tongue, sweeping it through his folds and drawing a high pitched whimper from your boyfriend.

"Ah, ah, I tried," he arched his back, painfully turned on and begging for more. You ran the tip of your tongue in a zigzag motion, lapping at his slick and sucking at his inner labia.

"Mmm, but I couldn't without you there…"

You hum in acknowledgement, before blowing hot air across his aching clit.

"Aw how cute," you giggled as Bruno whimpered and ground his hips forward, "Your dick is twitching."

You leant forward and gently sealed your lips around it, sucking softly and lapping at the tip.

"Hm- hngh sì sì!" Bruno moaned and whimpered as you slowly blew him off, biting his lip and wondering just how he managed to find someone as perfect as you.

You couldn't help but hump the pillows beneath you, pushing one finger gently against his quivering hole, feeling the way it slipped inside his hot, clenching walls.

You pulled from his clit and licked back up his pussy, pushing a second finger into him and pumping them in and out slowly.

"You're amazing, Bruno," and you could tell he liked the praise by just how hard he clenched on your digits.

He smiled breathlessly, squeezing your hand, "And you're perfect. I'm not gonna last like this…"

You suckled harder at his throbbing dick, curling your digits up against his spongy bundle of pleasure.

His hips were rocking faster now, chasing the overwhelming pleasure, lewd wet noises were echoing around the room, mixed with your boyfriend's whimpers and moans. His pussy was so hot and wet and tight, pulling your fingers deeper into him. With each time you pulled them out you could see the thick cream on them, and fuck did you want that on your tongue.

You swirled your slick muscle hungrily around his clit, your own moans sending vibrations to it that made his thighs clench around you. Pumping your fingers with more vigour now, you angled them perfectly at his g-spot, intent on making him fall apart.

"Oh, fuck," his fingers scrambled frantically at your hair and hips ground against your tongue for friction, he was practically crying.

"I know baby I know," You moaned. He was close, you could tell, his back arching beautifully and eyebrows knotting in ecstasy.

"Ngh-, ah!" He pulled your head down, smothering it in his clenching pussy and whining loud, "sto venedo! Più forte!"

One more harsh suck to his clit sent him toppling over the edge, his pussy squirting over your face, clit pulsing in your mouth. His whole body shuddered and shook with his orgasm, jaw dropped open and eyes rolling back with a silent scream.

"So good," you hushed and pulled off from his oversensitive clit, licking squirt from your lips "you're so good baby, so good for me."

You moved forwards up his body, kissing his nose and forehead, stroking his cheek and slipping an arm around his shoulders.

Bruno whimpered, thighs still trembling as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. It was cute, he always got so shy after you'd eaten him out.

You were still slowly pumping your fingers to work him through it, and you slowed down the pace a little.

"I got you, I got you." You hushed, letting him come back from the overwhelmingly powerful orgasm. He nodded and curled up further into you.

Finally slipping your fingers from inside of him, you noticed that the panties were a little wrecked. You sighed, making a mental note to buy him plenty more, and raised the soaked digits your lips, watching the thick ring of cream slip down your palm. You stifled a groan, sucking your digits clean before pulling Bruno into a hug.

It was quiet for a while, all calm and with soft kisses pressed to each other's skin. You couldn't help but realise how beautiful Bruno was…

"Hey, you doin' okay?" You checked, voice soft against his neck.

"Mmm" but he knew you wanted a real answer, to make sure he wasn't out of it, "yeah, yeah I'm… really good… m okay."

You could hear the smile in his voice, and you pulled him even closer. "I'm glad."

Bruno pulled back from your chest, looking into your eyes, and leaning up to push his lips against yours. It was loving and passionate.

You lay like that until Bruno's thighs stopped quivering with aftershocks, which was when he decided to roll over on top of you with a hum.

"Now if you don't mind," he smiled sweetly, bending down to suck at your neck, grinding his hips down against you in a way that had you seeing stars.

"If you don't mind darling, I'd like to return to favour~"