#not the place to absolutely bash this book move along to a different post for that

[valewritessss]

I need to know Rick’s thought process when he decided to make Percy pee his pants in the first chapter

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 154

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

I was able to get the Master Post cleaned up this morning.  I know there is a reblog going around with some of the links missing... I put that one up originally as a place holder so I could update my page links in chapters 101 through this one.   I did NOT anticipate it would get immediately reblogged, which made me squeak in pleasant surprise.  I’ll reblog the full post so everyone has the right one.

Also, thanks to @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, and @charlylimph-blog for keeping me going and all your help beta-reading and checking my links.  You three are the real heroes here!

“The quiet rooms are done,” Hannah yawned the next morning. “It’s a good thing we decided to make them available immediately, because the first one had people scheduling time before we finished the second one.”

“How many did we end up with?” I asked, pushing down my own urge to yawn. I had always prided myself on being able to resist the urge to yawn when others did, and I wasn’t letting that stop now.

The model of the Ark came up on the table emitter, and Hannah zoomed in on the highlighted areas. “Right now, we have twelve, just like you set up for the second Food Festival. But I’ll be honest, they rooms are already booked for the foreseeable future, and I don’t think that’s tenable.”

“Agreed. I’ll talk to the rest of the Council, but at this point, we need to see about setting all available spaces for quiet rooms.” I nodded and added that note to my agenda. “Moving on, food vendors being allowed in BioLab2. Any updates?”

Parvati flicked the data to everyone. “Grey isn’t thrilled with the possibility that the food will contaminate the aquatics, but is willing to allow vendors in ‘The Fairy Circle’?” She gave me a questioning look. “They said you would know what that meant.”

I just smiled and shook my head. “It’s where I go camping. Conor managed to pull off a prank that fooled even Charly and made a Faerie circle.  It’s a good choice, though: ten, eleven feet across, accessible, and far enough from the water that there wouldn’t be any risk.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Credit to Conor on that one. But, Grey was very enthusiastic about the idea of setting up some picnic tables throughout the woods and letting people bring picnics.”

“I already have some vendors on board, there,” I breathed in relief. “Especially the ones who specialize in the type of foods that lend themselves well to being portable.”

Hannah’s face lit up. “Do we get to taste test some of these? I’m really getting some bento box and pasty vibes from what you just said, and I’m not sure which I’m more excited about.”

“I think I can get that to happen,” I laughed. “I wouldn’t mind trying some of the options myself, but I can at least already confirm that all bases are covered for dietary requirements. Next up, where are we on the holiday date?”

“Still working with the other departments to finalize a date where all projects can be completed, paused, or at least at a point where they don’t require direct observation. Everyone is on board, though.”

“That’s the biggest hurdle,” I confirmed. “Means we can proceed with at least putting the rest of the events together in preparation for the final date. I trust you two in handling the party aspect of it, and Charly is already working Bash on another Kink Night event at the Undine - minimal planning needed there. So, let’s figure out who is coordinating the paint-tag fight, and we can loop back to the plans for the party.”

“While I am entirely sure Charly can handle planning for both the paint tag and the other - seeing as both were her ideas - it doesn’t feel fair to leave them both entirely on her shoulders,” Hannah agreed. “It says here that you already had Conor confirm we missed Holi?

“By about six months,” I confessed. “So we’re pretty much both too late and too early.”

“I do believe the arrows would be frowned upon, in any event,” Parvati joked. “I still have her paint formulas - flavors are not listed, but there is a distinct lack of both black and yellow.”

“Those were… scotch bonnet for the black, I know that one. I think the yellow was gochujang, which would still hurt if you got it in your eyes,” I recalled.

She flicked her hands, bracelets chiming. “I will ask for a new formula for yellow, but I think we can live without black paint. The yellow was lovely, though.”

“Ask nicely, and she’ll probably give you the glitter formula colors, which I think are different flavors from the regular palette,” I suggested. “And the glitter is ultra-violet reactive, so that’ll be fun.”

Emphatic stabbing at her datapad ensued - impressive, because it wasn’t even physically there, just emitted from the band on her wrist. “Once I have those, I believe Hannah and I can coordinate that along with the party.  There is no food component, it is only for one day, so the scope is far smaller than the Festival was.”

“And besides,” Hannah added with a shrug, “whip up some paints and some spongy balls to soak it up, set boundaries, invite anyone who wants to attend. Planning done.” She dusted her hands off for emphasis, but she had a point.

“I’ve got the care packages well underway, so we’re solid there. The party. What’s the plan there?”

Parvati dismissed the schematic from the table emitter and sent a different image to it. This one was practically the opposite of what I had expected: where I had anticipated Food Festival 2: Pyrotechnic Boogaloo, I was instead looking at a park that I was reasonably certain only existed in dreams.

Soft green grass that my toes wiggled to touch spanned a rolling, looping thoroughfare. Trees arched overhead like an arbor, and were either woven with lights are absolutely covered in fireflies.  Between breaks in the canopy, a night sky filled with more stars than I had seen in my living memory.  Here and there small braziers burned brightly with fire, resting on sturdy rugs and dotted around with cushions.

“Vati,” I whispered hoarsely. “We can’t use BioLab2 for this, can we? Will Grey allow it?”

“We can, and they are.” Her smile was the feral one that usually preceded a coup de grace of event planning. “This, however, is not BioLab2.  This is the corridors of levels twelve through fourteen, leading into the lab.”

My first urge was to guess what she was planning, but my mind came up blank. I circled around my desk to stand closer to the table. “Okay, talk to me. Make it make sense.”

She nodded. “The grass is real, laid down like sod. The terraforming teams have agreed to let us use it, provided we allow them to collect data on how it holds up to so much foot traffic and include a post-event question regarding the tactile feel on bare feet.  So, bare feet they shall have.” She winked when I realized she and Hannah were going to make it part of the theme. “The trees are an illusion, simple light emitters against the corridor walls, combined with the existing texture of the surface.”

When she moved the image to mimic walking further down the path, Hannah picked up. “The larger spaces are actually where the corridors are longer between quiet rooms. Rather than trying to pull off the tree illusion, we’re going to create a  night sky with shooting stars, comets, the works.  Like a dream.”

“I like it. It’s not what I was expecting, but I’m even more impressed for that.”

“We couldn’t compete with Charly,” Parvati confessed. “She is already going to have our base desires covered.  Anything we tried to do would look like a pale imitation. So, we went the other direction: What else do we do to feel alive?”

“We dream,” I laughed. “It’s all a fairy tale dream, isn’t it?”

“That’s the goal,” Hannah confirmed. “A beautiful dream. One day and one night where you can live out your humanity however you want, without having to compromise.  If someone wants to throw paint with childish abandon, then stroll and dance through a dream, and finish the night at the Undine trying something they never dared to do before, they can do that.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds decadent.”

“I was going for hedonistic, over all, but you’re on the right track,” Parvati laughed. “Hannah and I agreed that everyone on the Ark needed one perfect day.  And since perfect is different for everyone…” She shrugged. “We just decided to give them all the options.  The quiet rooms will be open if their perfect includes a botanical garden, or a cloud… the mess halls will be open if it means a feast, or even just decadent hors d'oeuvres they could never make an excuse to try. It’s literally all on the table.”

“Consider it signed off on.” I still couldn’t take my eyes off that grass, toes wiggling happily. “Just let me know the date when we have one, I need a pedicure to enjoy this completely.”

<< Prev  Masterlist  Next >>

[plant-flwrs]

late night rendezvous // george weasley

masterlist!

content warnings: smut!

soft and fluffy smut, i’ll put a little indicator (*) when the smut starts, so if you’re not into that you can stop reading there <3

a/n: i have absolutely no idea if this is good, i’ve been rereading it over and over again in my drafts debating if i should post it. give me feedback if u have any, i’d really appreciate it on this one! hope everyone is safe and happy and amazingly wonderful, love u guys, thank u for reading, thank u for following, thank u for just existing!! 

summary: You and George sneak off to the library for some privacy 

(6.2k)

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

The Ravenclaw common room, while studious and peaceful, was not romantic. George had laid you down on a couch gently, hovering on top of you perched on his hands whispering sweet jokes to you. It was lovely, but a sharp and unfamiliar pain was pressing into your back. You pushed George off of you slowly, turning around to see what you were laying on. A book was there, misplaced as so many books were in the Ravenclaw common room. 

You groaned, hearing George chuckle from behind you as you got up and put the book on the shelf resting against the wall.

“Want to go somewhere else, love?” George asked you, getting off the couch and walking over to you. You couldn’t help but admire him as he walked, his hair that was sticking up in odd places from where you had run your fingers through it, his wrinkled shirt that he hadn’t bothered to straighten when he stood, his lazy grin. 

“It’s almost curfew,” you said sadly, leaning your back against the shelf.

“That’s never stopped us before,” George whispered, close to you now as he rested his hands on shelf behind your head.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, resting your forehead on his strong chest. You felt it rise and fall with calm breaths, one of his hands moving to stroke your hair. You thought back to George’s body against yours a moment ago. His slow hands on your face as he cradled your jaw and kissed you. He was so slow and gentle tonight, a nice change from his usual confident and sly demeanor. 

You and George hadn’t had much time for each other this week; George was busy with Angelina’s rigorous Quidditch trainings and you had course work piled up to the sky. It was a Friday night, George had practice off, and you had managed to get your course load down to a much smaller pile. 

You lifted your head from his chest, looking up at him, “Where did you have in mind?”

George gave you an excited grin, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to hide how pleased he really was. He took a step back, letting his hands fall from the wall to your hips. 

“The library? No one’s in there this late on a Friday,” he was already pulling you off the wall, leading you to the door.

“Alright,” you giggled, letting him drag you off. 

You walked slowly behind him, crouching slightly as he held his illuminated wand to the Marauder’s Map. Filch’s footsteps were walking down an adjacent corridor, and Mrs. Norris crept down a hallway on the floor below you. George looked around a corner, doublechecking it’s safety, and grabbed your hand to pull you along. 

You two made it to the library fairly quickly. The candles in the hallway gave a dim light that prevented you from stepping on George’s heals, but inside the library was pitch black. George held his wand up and guided the way.

You walked past the front desk, Madam Pince long gone for the night. You walked past the first row of bookshelves, past the groupings of tables used for studying, past more shelves, past some desks, and to the back of the room. The back wall was covered in various maps, ancient printings of foreign lands. George walked along the wall until he was far into the corner, hidden from the door by a bookshelf that met the wall. You followed him, walking slower as your hand traced the maps. George sank down to the floor, his long legs stretching across the carpeted floor. You stayed standing, looking at a smudged sketch of what a birds-eye view of the Forbidden Forest looks like. There was small labeling in loopy cursive of different creatures that lived in different regions, marking the unicorns to live in a flower patch and mermaids to live in a small pond with a waterfall. George watched you, your face shining in the small light cast from his wand. 

He looked at the space around you, small and uncomfortable. He lifted his wand, moving the light from your face and the wall of maps. The light ceased as he moved it, and suddenly you felt a soft and plush material at your ankles.

“George?” you called into the darkness.

The light was back again, and you saw why it had gone.

George had conjured a few blankets, some pillows, and a candle. He was already moving to lay the blanket down over the floor, covering the small space from the wall to the shelf. He propped the pillows against the wall, falling into them once he lit the candle and placed it on an empty part of the bookshelf near the ground. 

You sank to the floor next to George, a bashful smile on your face. You curled into his side, resting your head on his shoulder as his arm pulled you close to him. Your arm fell on his chest, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. His hand on your waist, holding you to him, lifted the bottom of your shirt and drew shapes on the bare skin of your hip. 

“I’ve missed you this week, Georgie,” you whispered, watching as he used his free hand to cast away the light coming from his wand.

A flickering candleflame shown upon the both of you, casting moving shadows on George’s face as he looked down at you. 

“I’ve missed you too,” he sighed, somehow pulling you closer as if he was afraid you were going to drift away, “so much.”

You felt him shift slightly, and his lips were pressing open mouth kisses to your forehead. You closed your eyes, tilting your head up to him with an easy smile. He pulled away, gazing down at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, a small grin on his lips.

“So are you,” you replied, blushing under his intense gaze.

You moved in his grip, laying more on your stomach with half your chest resting on George’s. Your left arm was propping you up on your elbow, hand wrapping around George’s strong bicep. Your right arm stayed on George’s chest, your hand moving to the side of his neck. Your leg rested between George’s, and his rested between yours.

“Will you read to me?” he asks, his voice incredibly soft and vulnerable. 

You agreed wordlessly,  leaning over George’s body and picking up his wand from the ground beside you.

“Accio ‘The Tales of Beedle the Bard’,” you whispered, sitting up and waiting for the book to come to you.

You heard George chuckle from behind you, also sitting up and resting the back of this head against the wall. 

The book fluttered to you, coming from a few rows over. You clutched the book in your hands, scooting back to lean against the wall with George. 

“C’mere,” you whispered, patting your thigh and motioning for George to lay down again.

He obeyed, fighting a content smile as he curled between your legs and laid his head on your abdomen. His arms wrapped around your middle, and you moved down the wall so your back was on the floor but your shoulders were against the wall. One hand held open the book while the other played in George’s hair. 

He listened silently to your quiet and calming voice as you read the children's story to him, tightening his grip around you once again. Your hand ran down his neck, your fingers creeping beneath the collar of his shirt as you felt the muscles on his back tense and relax under your light touch. He sighed, burying his head into you as his eyes fluttered closed. 

You two stayed like that for a while; your hand running from his hair to his back, him shifting his head every few minutes to let you know he was still awake. You read to him with ease, a small smile on your face. 

The peace, however, was not kept for long. A creek in the front of the library caused you to snap the book shut, your hand freezing as it crept its way down George’s neck. George lifted his head from your stomach, looking towards the front of the library. He attempted to peak through the shelves, but thought better of it and simply blew out the candle. 

In the silence, waiting for another noise, you heard the soft purring of a cat.

“It’s Mrs. Norris and Filch!” you whispered as quietly as you could to your boyfriend.

George sprang into action, picking up the blankets and handing you the pillows and candle. He grabbed his wand and you grabbed the book, moving to stand behind George as he moved a few books to try and see through the shelf. His brow furrowed in concentration, and a bit of relief flood through you as you remembered who you were with. George and his brother were experts on escaping the wrath of Filch, and you had faith in him. 

George waved you on, leading you as he did before through the shelves of the library. You had no idea what his plan was, watching nervously through cracks in spaces as Filch shone his lamp down every row in the library. 

Filch nearly passed you both, but George crouched just in time, pulling you with him. You watched as Filch shone the light down the isle you and George had been curled up in, feeling relieved to have moved in time. Suddenly, George’s hand in yours was pulling you down a narrow space between shelves, one leading to the restricted section. You widened your eyes, never having been in the restricted section and also noticing Filch heading there as you both did. You silently trusted George, letting him pull you along. 

The light from Filch’s lamp was edging closer to your feet, but George pulled a sharp turn into the wall. You turned away from where Filch was coming from, looking towards George. He pulled open a curtain, revealing a little nook in the wall that seemed untouched and abandoned. There were cobwebs in the corners and dust on ever surface, but you and George climbed in anyways. He pulled the curtain shut slowly and silently, putting his fingers to his lips as he looked at you. You nodded, biting your lip as you slowed your panicked breathing. 

The nook had a large window parallel to the curtain, lighting up the space. You could see George’s giddy smirk, knowing he enjoyed risky moments like these.  You fought the urge to laugh, rolling your eyes instead. 

You watched the ground through the sliver of space between the curtain and nook, seeing Filch’s light pass by slowly. You heard his labored breathing and Mrs. Norris’s quiet purrs, holding your breath and hoping they pass without worry. Mrs. Norris stopped for a moment, and you heard her purrs get louder as she came closer to the curtain. She was nearly ducking under the curtain when Filch called her away, grunting as he spoke aloud to the cat.

“No one in here tonight, Mrs. Norris, now let’s go finish our tea and biscuits,” the old man said excitedly to the cat, limping away.

You heard the door slam shut, and you and George let out a breath the both of you had been holding. 

“Tea and biscuits?” George said teasingly, smiling wide at you.

“A man has the right to certain pleasures,” you said, smiling back at him.

“That, he does,” George leaned into you, still smiling, and kissed you.

It was slow and gentle, like he had been all night, and you melted into him. His lips moved against yours like honey, molding together like time was in slow-motion. He pulled away slowly, keeping his eyes closed.

“Reckon we can sneak back to our common rooms?” you asked, feeling relieved that you weren’t caught yet on your little excursion.

“I actually had different plans,” George said, pulling open the curtain and stretching his legs out as he stood.

“What might those be?” you stayed sitting, watching as he gathered all the pillows and blankets.

“I thought we could stay the night here,” he said, smirking, “I mean, when do we get this kind of privacy in our dorms?”

You laughed a bit as you thought back to the last time you tried to spend the night in George’s dorm. Fred had opened George’s curtain in the middle of George taking your shirt off, ending in awkward silence for the rest of the night. 

You didn’t usually go along with the twins’ crazy and reckless plans, avoiding the late night trips to the kitchens after curfew, and the unapproved raidings of Snape’s ingredient cupboard. This time, however, you couldn’t help but want to go along with George as he looked down at you with soft and loving eyes. 

“Suddenly finding the library enjoyable, are you?” you teased him.

“Only at night, when it’s far too dark to read any of the books, and everyone’s gone away,” he joked, holding the curtain open for you as you grabbed the candle, book, and his wand.

“I see,” you sighed, turning to face George and stepping out of the nook, “alright, let’s stay.”

You watched George’s smirk turn into an excited grin as he spun away from you, going back towards your spot in the back of the library. 

You followed him, giggling at your boyfriends excitement as he jogged ahead of you. He was eager to lay the blankets down, fluff the pillows, and light the candle, eager to have a moment alone with you. 

When you turned down the isle, George had somehow already done all of that, even though he was only seconds before you. He stood on top of a blanket, the candle lit and sitting in the bookshelf it was before, pillows fluffed, and blankets spread. He had a cocky grin on his face, one of his feet propped up against the shelf behind him as his arms crossed over his chest.

“Eager?” you teased, feeling a familiar pit of nerves form in your heart. You had been with George dozens of times, but nothing could stop that pit of nerves from forming just by the look he gave you. 

“Always,” he said, his smirk turning into an authentic smile as his eyes filled with excitement. 

You walked over to him, stepping carefully on the blankets and scattered pillows. George uncrossed his arms and spread them to you, grabbing your hands as soon as you were close enough and pulling you into him. He dropped his leg, allowing for there to be as little space between you both as possible. His hands stayed clutched in yours, but he moved them to rest on your lower back, pinning your hands beneath his. He pulled you close to him, his hips and chest flush against yours. 

“You seem a bit desperate tonight, darling,” you teased, craning your neck away from him to look at his face.

“I think you’re the most amazing girl in the world,” he said sweetly, moving his face closer to yours as he spoke, “I could spend hours talking with you, but right now, I’d love it if you shut up.”

You scoffed in mock offence, a laugh bubbling in your chest that pressed into George’s. While you were still smiling, George closed the distance between your faces and pressed his lips against yours.

(*)

He waited until your smile faded, keeping his lips unmoving against yours, until he finally did move. He was slow, and you pressed your face against his in an attempt to gain some pressure. He pulled away, a loving look in his eyes as he tilted his head. He placed open-mouth kisses on your cheek, moving over your nose, forehead, chin, and jaw. You couldn’t help but contently sigh at each kiss, something that made George feel butterflies in his stomach. His hands on your back pushed against yours, uncurling the fists they were in to lay flat against your back. His large hands covered yours entirely, his palms pressing against the backs of your hands. His fingertips pressed into your back, and he slipped his hands off of yours. You forgot you could move them for a moment, but once you did they crept up his body and rested on either side of his neck. One of his hands slid up your back, bunching up your sweater as he did, and landed on the nape of your neck. The soft material of your sweater fell once he released it, and it tickled your sensitive skin. His other hand moved back and forth from your lower back to your hip, and it seemed like he couldn’t decide where to keep it.

His mouth was attached to your neck, and he couldn’t focus on anything else. He didn’t care about the growing bulge in his pants, all he wanted was his lips on the soft skin beneath your ear. 

His mouth opened wider, exposing his teeth, and he scraped them against the delicate skin. You arched your back in reflex, pushing yourself impossibly closer to him. One of your hands drifted to his hair, pulling at random bits whenever George bit your neck again. 

The only sound in the quiet and abandoned room were you and George; you sighed and whined as George left his marks on your neck, and George groaned and moaned every time he heard you.

George lifted his head, pulling back to admire his work. In the dim light, he could see an array of purple and red marks already forming on your skin, and the sight alone made his face flush. He ducked down one last time, blowing against the newly-marked spots. You opened your mouth and let out a silent gasp, chest heaving at George’s movements. 

His hands moved to cradle your face as he turned his attention away from your neck. He looked into your eyes, seeing the lust clouding over your features for only a second before you pulled him in by the back of his neck. You controlled this kiss, still moving gently but with more force. Your nose pressed into his cheek, and his teeth accidentally grazed your lips occasionally, but you didn’t care. You were lost in George’s touch, not seeming to mind any of the awkward fumbles. 

George’s calloused hands stayed firmly on your face, his thumbs moving up to your cheekbones as he stroked them lovingly. You scratched his scalp, running your hands through his hair and down his neck. You were feeling a sense of impatience as you felt yourself become more aroused by what George was doing. Your hands crept down his back, feeling his muscles beneath the material of his old and worn pajama shirt. Your hands made it to his waistband, and you felt him take a sharp breath at the feeling. You lifted his shirt up, slowly moving up his chest as the shirt bunched. You pulled away from him, opening your eyes and looking at George’s bare chest. He lifted his arms, helping you pull off his shirt. You balled it up in your fists and tossed it behind you, hearing it hit the floor lamely on the pile of pillows. 

His chest was warm against your cold fingers, and he felt like you were shooting sparks into everywhere you touched him. He watched your hands move across his chest, biting his bottom lip as you bent your fingers to scratch down his abs. He hissed in enjoyment, swallowing as he met your eyes. 

“It’s only fair,” you whispered seductively, licking your lips as you ran your nails down his chest again.

“What?” he rasped out, hissing again and tilting his head back to lean against the shelf.

“You marked me up,” you lifted your hands from his chest, resting one on the back of his neck to pull his head down to look at you, “I mark you up.”

George swallowed, feeling himself get harder at your words. His eyes flickered to your neck, bringing his hand to lightly trace over his work. You nearly flinched, but stopped yourself. You looked down at George’s chest, already seeing five red streaks down each side of George’s toned chest. You leaned in, licking your lips and placing wet and loving kisses on the marks. George’s hands went to rest in your hair, balling it up off of your face so he could watch you. You looked up at him, and he opened his mouth in some sort of silent moan. 

You stood to your full height, wrapping your arms around George’s neck and kissing him again. Both of his hands were on your hips, his fingers creeping beneath your shirt as his thumbs pressed into your skin.

He pushed himself off the shelf, and you moved in synch; one of his legs moved forwards, slipping between your legs, and you took a step backwards. You walked a few paces, standing in the center of the isle. He was still kissing you the same way he had been all night, slow, gentle, loving. 

He pulled away, eyes fluttering open as he looked down at your swollen lips. One of his arms moved between you and he cupped your chin. His thumb traced over your bottom lip, pressing into it and watching it. He was entranced by everything about you. He pulled your lip down, opening your mouth, and released your lip, watching as it bounced back. Your mouth hung open, and you looked at him through your eyelashes. He made a humming noise, raising his eyebrows and breathing deeply. 

You began to smirk, but a surprised shriek swallowed the facial expression when George was suddenly collapsing onto the pillows and pulling you down with him. He laid on his back, and you sat on your knees between his legs. His head was propped up by a pillow, his eyes raking over you as you leaned to hover on top of him. You inched forwards, opening your legs and moving so you straddled him. You sat, hovering really, above his abdomen, hands flat against his chest. George’s hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them out from under you so you fell into him. You giggled, feeling your chest flush against his. It seemed that George was thinking the same thing as you; his hands slid down the sides of your body, slipping beneath your sweater. His hands were warm and rough, gently touching everything he could. When he was done roaming, he began to pull it off of you. You helped him, tossing it to land near his discarded shirt.

You leaned back, sitting down on his stomach as your hands slid back to rest on the tops of his thighs. You arched your back, stretching out and giving George full view of your still covered chest.

“Holy-” you heard him mumbled, feeling his hands creep onto your thighs.

He felt across your legs, sliding his hands down to your ass. His slender fingers kneaded it, and you sat straight again to look at him. His hands left your ass in a second, and he sat up on his elbows. You watched him slowly lick his lips, his eyes dancing around your chest. You reached behind you, unclasping the garment with ease. George’s eyes followed the lacey thing as it fell off your body, and you once again tossed it in the direction of your other clothes. 

George’s hands were on you with no hesitation, caressing and kneading your breasts. He sat up, sliding you down to land on his hips. He ducked his head down, connecting his lips to your chest. He felt the need to mark you, any way he could, to feel your skin on his lips and make you writhe with his mouth. 

His open mouth slid across your front, his tongue and teeth pushing into your skin with ease. George knew your body, he knew everything about you. There was nothing he loved more than feeling his skin against yours. 

His mouth worked on your chest, his hands pressing into your hips. He raked his teeth over the top of your breasts, and the sensation made your hips roll. George groaned into your chest, his body twitching at the unexpected sensation. You kept moving your hips against his, rocking back and forth in rhythm with your gasps. George was gripping onto your hips with such force that his fingers dug into your skin and he felt your bone, but he wasn’t even thinking about that. His thoughts were clouded by your breasts pressed against his face and the feeling of your crotch against his. He wanted to slow down; worship you more before he became undone.

With great struggle, he pulled himself away from your chest and stopped your hips with his grip. You whined at the lack of friction, pushing against his hands to continue the movement. You didn’t have much of a chance, though, as George was flipping you onto your back. He moved his hands from your hips up to the back of your head, cradling it in his hand and resting it delicately onto the pillow. He soothed down your hair, admiring it as it spread out across the pillow beneath you. 

You loved that about these exchanged with George. He was gentle; always treating you as if you were a delicate porcelain thing that could break with too much force. George always seemed to know what you wanted, he could read your face and movements like they were his own. He knew you wanted him, but he also knew you wanted to know exactly how much he wanted you.

His hands moved from the back of your head, pushing the hair from your face. They slid down the sides of your face, tracing your jawline and creeping down the sides of your neck. 

“You’re-” he paused, meeting your eyes and trying to think of any word worthy of describing you, “you’re ethereal.”

You swallowed hard at his words, chest heaving with a deep breath. You lifted your hands to cup his face, and he closed his eyes at the feeling of your soft hands on his cheeks. 

His hands moved still, moving from your neck to your collar bones, to your shoulders and down your arms, to your wrists and over your hands, to your breasts and down your sides, palms flat against your stomach, moving over to your hips where they grazed the sides of your ass. He moved south more, gripping the backs of your thighs as he put himself between your legs. You lifted your legs, feet flat against the floor. George’s hands ran down your ankles, slipping off your shoes. He did the same, kicking them off in a rush with his feet. He bent down, his hands firmly placed on the floor at either side of your head, and kissed you. 

He started with small and chaste kisses, lifting his head every time to look at you. Your eyes closed, face relaxed, lips still pushed out waiting for him to kiss them again. He hummed against you, the vibrations adding a different sensation against your lips. You opened your mouth, and George waisted no time slipping his tongue past your lips and into your mouth. His tongue was slipping in and out of your mouth, tracing over your lips and anywhere he could with a slow and sensual determination. 

Your hands moved from his cheeks to his hair, one staying to tug on the fiery locks while the other moved to his strong shoulder. You felt the muscles strain as he held himself up, flexing and tensing under your touch. You ran your fingertips down his back, landing on his hip and slipping your pinky finger into the elastic waistband of his plaid pajama pants. He groaned into your mouth, pressing his face further into yours. You hummed, taking this as encouragement. Your other fingers followed your pinky finger, falling under the waistband and moving to his front. You stayed above his boxers, immediately feeling the stretch of the thin material from his erection. He groaned again, thrusting his hips into your hand. 

You pulled your face away from his, watching his eyes stay closed as his brow furrowed. You slid your hand over him, moving slowly as his head ducked into your neck. You felt his nose pressing into the sensitive and marked skin, causing you to roll your head back in some sort of pained pleasure. George becoming so hard for you so soon made you become even wetter, and you clenched in an attempt to gain some sort of relief. George still had your legs spread and pinned beneath him, so you couldn’t rub your thighs together. 

You were still rubbing him, his soft groans and whines filling your ears as he moved his hips slowly against you. You pulled your hand from his pants, sliding it up his chest and over your scratch marks. His face contorted from the same pained pleasure you had been feeling, he lifted his head from your neck. You saw a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and realized how pent up this week must have made him.

“You alright, George?” you asked him, pushing his hair off his forehead and looking into his eyes.

“Yeah,” he nodded fervently, licking his lips and breathing heavily, “I just really need you.”

He paused, the both of you staring at each other before he spoke again, “Is that alright?”

“Of course it is,” you gasped with no hesitation, pulling his face to yours again and kissing him hungrily.

His words had made you writhe, your back arched as you pressed yourself against him. It was George’s turn for roaming hands, and he waisted no time. Without missing a beat in the rhythm you had created in your kiss, his hands slid down to your shorts. His thumbs hooked into the sides, sliding them, and your underwear, off with ease. You lifted your hips slightly to help him, only to press yourself against him. He groaned and thrusted into you without thinking, causing you to break from the kiss and roll your head back.

“Really? All that for one touch?” he teased, moving back to sit on his feet as he pulled your shorts completely off your legs.

“You were losing your mind over a handy just a second ago, darling,” you retorted, propping yourself up on your elbows as George moved to hover over you again. 

He breathed a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he gave you a quick kiss on the lips. He dipped his head down, tracing over the marks he had already made all over your chest with light and gentle kisses. Your hands went to his hair as he kissed down your stomach, reaching his final destination eagerly. His hands gripped the back of your thighs, lifting them off the floor by an inch. He licked down your folds, blowing teasingly on your clit.

“George!” you gasped, arching your back at the intoxicating sensation.

“Does that feel good?” he asked earnestly, having never done that move before.

“Bloody hell,” you groaned, fingers curling into his hair, “yes.”

He smirked, tilting his head down and placing a kiss to your clit. He blew again, this time for a few seconds longer, and you felt like there were stars behind your eyes.

“Fuck!” you called out, voice raspy and struggling to stay quiet.

“Well,” he said, pulling away and reaching over your body to the right of you, “I hadn’t realized staying quiet would be such a struggle for us tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, blushing slightly. You watched George lazily wave his wand in the direction of the door, casting ‘muffliato’.

“Just wait ‘till it’s your turn, Georgie,” you teased back, watching his jaw tense with lust as he crept down to his position between your legs.

He went back to work, his tongue swiping up and down your core and occasionally sucking and licking your clit. You were coming undone, shifting and twitching beneath him. He had to force your legs apart to keep you from crushing his head, his grip so tight that you hoped his fingerprints would be on your thighs by the morning. 

He pulled away, blowing on last time on your clit with a smirk as you tugged at his hair. 

“Careful, Y/n, you might rip some out,” his voice was raspy and his lips were wet with your juices. He put a hand over your hand in his hair, moving his fingertips delicately across your hand.

“You’d be so lucky,” you groaned, pulling him up to your lips by his hair, ignoring his warnings. 

He groaned at the feeling, coming in contact with your lips eagerly. You tasted yourself on him, licking at his lips as he smirked into the kiss. You pulled away, releasing your grip on his hair.

“You want a go?” you asked, moving your hand down to his erection again.

“No, I won’t last,” he groaned, catching your wrist in his hand.

You stayed in that position for a moment, feeling incredibly turned on by his firm grip on you. You blushed at the intensity, biting your swollen lip and nodding.

“Okay,” you whispered, and George released your hand.

You pressed your palm flat against his lower abdomen, and he lowered his head for a slow and gentle kiss. It was quick, and soon he was pulling away and tilting his head down to look at your bodies flushed together. 

“Ready?” he asked, looking up to meet your eyes.

You nodded instantly and moved your hand on his abdomen to pull down his pants and boxers. He helped you, doing most of the work and kicking them off in a bunch at your feet. His erection sprang free, hitting your core because of how close your hips were. 

You and George both moaned at the contact, and George’s hands were quick to work as he positioned himself between your folds. He looked you in the eyes before entering, asking silently for consent. You nodded, wrapping your hand around his neck and pulling him to your lips. He pushed his hips flush against yours, and you both let out guttural and lustful moans into each other’s mouths. 

His pace was slow, and you wrapped your legs around his hips so he could drive further into your core. Your ankles locked and your hips lifted off the ground. One of George’s hands supported his weight by your head and the other wrapped around your waist. 

“Oh my god, George,” you moaned, pulling away from the kiss and shoving your face into the crook of his neck.

“You’re so good,” George breathed out, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“George, George, George,” you chanted in moans, knowing he liked it when you said his name.

With each moan of his name he thrusted harder into you, filing you up and bringing tears to your eyes from the wanted pressure.

“C’mon,” he said, gently placing you down and unwrapping his arm from your waist. He brought his now free hand down to your clit, rubbing his middle finger on it, “cum for me, Y/n.”

You wrapped your legs tighter around him, barely giving him any space to pull out and thrust back into you. Your arms around his neck tightened, too, and George bit his lip as your walls clenched around him.

“You’re so close,” he moaned into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

He added his ring finger to the pressure on your clit, and you felt your orgasm wash over you. Your chest heaved, face contorting in George’s favorite way. He watched you moan and furrow your brow, loving the face you made when you came. Your legs fell from around George, your arms becoming limp as they rested across his back. George came right after you, pulling out and finishing onto your stomach. You watched him, feeling the hot liquid spread across your skin. He moaned, fighting the urge to collapse onto you. He gathered his wand, conjuring a towel to clean you up with. 

Once he was done, he tossed it aside lazily and fell onto you like he had wanted. He curled into your side, wrapping his arm around your stomach. 

“We’re really good at that, aren’t we?” he said happily, looking up at you from his place in the crook of your neck.

“I sure as hell am,” you joked, diving your hands into his hair, “you’re alright.”

“Alright?” he asked, sitting up and resting on his forearms, eyebrows raised.

“Mmm,” you pretended to think about his, pulling him back down by the back of his neck, “I suppose your really good, too.”

“I am really good,” he pretended to pout, sitting up and gathering his boxers and your underwear and handing them to you.

You watched him slip his boxers on, and you pulled your panties on. You laid back down, pulling a blanket over your body. George slid under the blanket with you, the bare skin of his chest pressing against yours.

“When do you suppose we sneak back to our common rooms?” you asked, tracing feather-light touches on his arm.

“Soon, if we have to,” he groaned, pulling you tighter to him.

“I just don’t want some first year coming back here and finding us tomorrow morning,” George chuckled at the thought, nuzzling his face into your side.

“You’re right,” he said, “I’d much rather Madam Pince find us.”

You giggled, feeling your eyes get heavy as George’s soft snores began to fill the small space.

[jasonndeans]

young gods - shane “dio” morrissey x reader

word count: 1,990

warnings: brief scene involving harassment and brief use of the f slur at the end.

chapter: 1/?

summary:  You weren't looking for anything when you met Dio, but you also couldn't take your eyes off of him. You were drawn to him, shrouded in black mystery and his softer side he kept well hidden under that duster. A part of you knew when you first saw him, he was destined to fly too close to the sun. At first, it wasn't really anything he said or anything he did. It was the feeling that came along with him. You'd never felt this way before, and the crazy thing is, you didn't know if you should. You knew his world moved too fast and burned too bright, but...how can the Devil be pulling you towards someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you? Maybe he knew that when he met you, too.

Dio didn’t have much to bring with him on the day he took you up on your offer to live with you in your small New York City apartment; small, albeit big enough for two. He carried almost all of his earthly possessions with him in his pockets — the keys to his father’s ancient, barely running Honda, a pack of cigarettes, loose cash and change, and his trusty switch. The rest would have to be crammed into his car and hauled over, mostly consisting of clothes and shoes, thrifted or stolen. 

“I was wonderin’ when you’d rescue me from the Smack Shack,” he’d quipped, lips curling.

“The Smack Shack” is what he’d dubbed the worn-down, abandoned place he and his buddies — all of them pursuers of a list of drugs, some of them sellers like Dio — often crashed in when a softer, more secure sofa couldn’t be reserved for the night. Thus, The Smack Shack. You’d visited a handful of times despite the fact that it gave you the creeps. Dio had your trust, as did…some of his friends. The neighborhood just wasn’t the safest in Manhattan, needless to say, and there was no guessing what shady characters were looming about in these hollowed out homes. You’re just glad he’s out of there. And with you.

“Ohh, I rescued you, huh?” You’d teased back, your voice lilting in a sing-song tone. “I must be your knight in shining armor.”

He hummed in the back of his throat with a mock grimace, leaning forward to kiss you. “Don’t make me sick, birdie.” His lips were chapped and tasted of smoke, and as much as you detested the habit, it was something so purely Dio. A smirk played on his lips upon pulling back with decorated fingers idly tapping out a rhythm onto a tabletop of a squat little sandwich shop you worked at. “I seem to remember things differently.” Expectant, he cocked his head, casting a shadow of his star-shaped earring onto his neck -- one of many, many things that endeared you to the boy in black.

As if on cue, you turned sheepish with a duck of your head and a bashful smile cast downwards. He was referring to the day you two first met. Officially, that is. Along with the thrill of waitressing and constructing sandwiches, you worked behind a cash register at a record shop -- Empire Records. Music’s always been a constant comfort for you, in your ears when you needed a voice to scream your sorrows, your rampages or your little victories. You’d amassed quite the collection of records as you grew and your music taste with you for a player you’d fixed up and obtained from a seller when on the hunt for more important things like furniture and necessities to fill your then new apartment. You didn’t consider yourself to be one of those douchey vinyl connoisseurs, but you liked the place well enough. It was only a matter of time before you noticed the tall, dark, handsome boy who’d frequent the place without buying anything. He’d stick to the Industrial Rock or Post-Punk ailes and he definitely looked the type, decked head to toe in grungey black attire, adorned with silver jewelry and chains. Every so often the two of you would lock eyes, make slightly painful small talk about whatever was playing through the speakers. You even inquired once if he’d learned your shift schedule with how often he’d appear when you were working, and, leaning suavely on his elbows before you, he’d replied:

“Maybe I have. Maybe I haven’t. That all depends...would you think I was a creep if I said yes?”

Perhaps a normal individual would confirm this, but you had to admit the guy was cute. Okay, he was hot with his dark eyes lined in black, brow piercing and air of confidence. So you smiled and shook your head. Dio smiled back.

You recall during one of your early morning shifts, Dio asked for your coffee order, motioning to the cup in your hands. You gave it to him and he advised against grabbing your morning coffee the next time it was scheduled on your calendar. With curiosity, you obliged and on that day and each day after, in he strolled with your cup in one hand, his in the other. So you carried on like that for a while, chatting over coffee, much to the dismay of your manager.

“Your boyfriend’s a distraction,” she’d remarked one day. “And a loiterer. I don’t care how dreamy he is, he can’t keep hanging around here if he’s not gonna buy anything.”

Admittedly, that caused your heart to sink a little. Yeah, you understood her frustration from a business perspective, but despite not even knowing this guy’s name, his gloomy presence brightened your otherwise dull work days.

When you transferred your manager’s message, Dio issued a breath of...disappointment?

“I don’t believe in money,” came his confession, almost hardly classifying as one what with how casually it was delivered. He chuckled at your raised brow. “Everyone’s a slave to these meaningless pieces of paper and metal, even you. ” A nail painted black pointed at you. “If I want something, nine times outta ten, I’ll find my own way to get it. Seems a little fucked up to work for the essentials for survival, don’t you think?”

For a moment, you sat with this new information. Yeah, it was a little fucked up to fork over hard-earned cash for things like basic needs, but how else was someone expected to live? Mulling it over, you sipped your coffee, once again brought by him. You shot Mr. No-Name-Kid a knowing look. “Am I drinking stolen coffee?” Your smirk couldn’t hide from him.

Dio only laughed.

One night as you closed up shop, you were disheartened at the absence of a certain trench coat clad “customer” in the store that day. You couldn’t place where this was coming from. After all, the two of you were only..what? Acquaintances at most? Names hadn’t even been exchanged, and yet you found yourself scanning the streets outside for any sight of him at the door; reminded of his face when bands like The Cure filled the shop.

Your sigh deflated you as you dug for your keys in your bag -- both to lock up and for your car. It was whatever. This guy had a life too and was under no obligation to visit you as you worked.  You turned the key to Empire Records, locking it shut and gave the doors a pull to be sure, Yup. All good. Nodding to yourself, you turned to locate your car in the lot next door. The night was brisk, pushing past the fabric of your cardigan as you walked an empty sidewalk. Under the glow of buzzing streetlights and neon business signs, you tugged it closer to you. The work day was dwindling, at least on this street, cars every so often rolling past. You’re about halfway to the car park when your ears catch a second pair of footsteps behind you. Your lips and spirits lift with the hope that they might belong to the heavy boots of Dio after all and you turn to greet him.

“Nice night, huh?”

This guy’s not Dio. His hoodie covers shaggy chestnut hair, hands in his front pocket as he trudges along. This dude reeks of weed and booze. You ignore him and continue on your path.

“Not a talker. Got it. Listen, honey, you don’t gotta clam up around me, I’m a swell guy. I’ll walk ya’ to your car, that’s where you’re goin’, right?”

Jaw clenched, you ball your cool hands into fists at your sides, keeping your car key poking out from between your fingers should this douche not get the hint. “I don’t need an escort, thanks.” Your reply is sharp, eyes remaining en route. Other than that, you try your damndest to ease calm through your body. Tempting as it is to dash to the safety of your vehicle, you’re not about to put any fear on display for him. You’re okay. Breathe. The lot’s less than a block away now.

Then a hand snakes its way around your waist.

“C’mon, baby, ‘m just tryn’a be a gentleman. Isn’t that what broads want?” His breath is rancid in your nose.

You jerk away, shooting daggers. “Offer declined, now leave me alone.” Now you pick up the pace with your destination in sight. You don’t make it far before you’re jerked back by fingers at your forearm that tug forcefully. The bastard opens his mouth to spew more drovel, but you don’t give him the chance to speak. Screwing up your face, you reel your arm back and jab him with your key in the ribs.

Pain sputters through his lips. No skin was broken (unfortunately), but he’s stumbled back a few paces and grabs where you’d struck him. “You bitch!” He spits, his glare glassy. “Fuck’s your problem?!”

You’re halted by a chilling mixture of fear and shock at your own actions, snapping out of it when the drunk stranger lunges forward. No time is wasted in absolutely fucking booking it now. He may be hammered, but you’re taking no chances. You pay no attention to the string of swears and slurs from behind you and finally reach your car. The vibrations in your hands make unlocking the door difficult, and glancing up you can see your pursuer drunkenly heading toward you.

“Fuck!” You cry. “Stupid fucking--!”

“If I were you I’d stop right there, you piece of shit.”

The familiar voice that hadn’t been there prior snaps your head up, scanning the darkness to catch Dio crossing the street looking more menacing than you’ve ever seen him. You could get in your car and peel out of there right now, but you’re frozen in place watching the scene unfold.

Your attacker finds his way to his feet again, looking dumbfounded at the character who’s walked onto the scene. “Who -- who the fuck’re you?!”

You catch a smirk on Dio’s lips under flickering streetlights. “That all depends on what your next move is, jagoff.” He looks pissed as all hell, though there’s a layer of calm to his words that stirs your stomach. Dio now stands in front of the other with his hands in leather pockets, like he’s provoking him. He’s always exuded this...intimidating aura, clad in all black and chains but you’ve never seen this side of him in action. Maybe now is a bad time to come to this realization, but you have to admit: it’s sexy.

“Oh that’s, ‘s cute,” Mumbles the brunette guy, snickering. “‘S this your boyfriend comin’ to the rescue? Looks like a fuckin’ faggot if I’ve ever seen--”

Dio’s boot to this guy’s crotch cuts him off in the middle of his “insult” and he crumples to the concrete with a groan; if that isn’t enough, Dio lands a second kick to his temple.

You can only stand there lamely with your jaw agape and watch him swagger over after he just knocked a dude in the nuts.

“Sorry I was late,” he says smoothly. “I was in a meeting. You alright?”

Stupidly, you blink at him in the low light. “I--um...I’m…” Real nice. You shake your head to jumpstart your brain. “Yeah, I-I’m okay. I’m good. Thanks. Really.” So he’d come to see you after all.

Dio nods, appearing grateful to hear you’re unharmed.

You two begin to speak at the same time and chuckle in unison. He falls silent, ushering you to continue. You look your rescuer in the face, unable to swallow a smile. You’d missed those eyes, seeming so warm in the cool of the night. “So, do I get to know the name of my savior?” You prod.

He laughs once, low in his throat. “Dio.”

[starman-john-tracy]

Radiation Poisoning | Chapter Six

by @starman-john-tracy and @asteria-star

In which John Tracy gets exposed to uranium and nearly dies, The Hood is evil, and Star generally freaks out a lot.  

Chapters: [One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Seven]

The landing is a brutal one. Alan slams them down onto the Earth’s surface like he’s trying to squash a bug. It’s hardly his best, but he’s got them home safe. Star isn’t entirely sure that Alan finishes his post-flight checks, judging by how quickly he’s out of his seat.

They have John on his way to the medical bay before Star is out of her own. Her fingers are numb unbuckling herself, one hand taken up by John’s book. There’s medical waste littered in a perimeter of where John had been strapped down, Star stands, staring at it for a moment, all the bits and pieces Scott had brought out to save his life. It's a graveyard, for someone she hopes isn’t dead yet.

There’s something about your feet hitting Earth again after a stint in space, it sends Star to her hands and knees. She doesn’t spend as much time in Zero G as John does, even on Thunderbird Five, but its still enough to send her head spinning, the world still blurring before her. She watches John’s book swim in and out of focus before her eyes, stomach turning… though isn’t entirely convinced that wasn’t happening before.

Climbing to her feet is like moving in a dream, the ground slipping up and out from beneath her. She’s not entirely sure how long she’s wandering, until everything snaps back into loud, desperate focus, at the doorway of the medical bay.

There’s a desperate, rapid bustle of movement happening inside. Wailing alarms and bags of blood being hung and Virgil barking short, sharp commands for Brains to pass him the sterile fluid, to increase the oxygen flow, to hand him a scalpel. John’s burnt face is obscured by the oxygen rig and tilted away from her, but one of his arm’s is hanging loosely off the side of the Gurney, and she can see the limp way his fingers are slightly curled, drugged. There are absorbent pads being laid across John’s waist and taped into place, leaving a long, sterile rectangle of blotchy blood-bruised skin exposed in the middle of them, ready for operation. Virgil is pulling on a paper gown.

“Ah, no.” The little grey head of Grandma Tracy pops up beside her, taking Star by surprise so absorbed she was in the sight of her best friends laid out, pale and limp and swarmed by people trying to save his life. “You shouldn’t be in here dear.” Ruth Tracy takes her arm, ever so gentle, and leads her back out into the corridor. “We’ve got to keep things sterile, and you don’t want to see this. Come sit with Alan, Gordon and Kayo upstairs now,” She advises, soft and warm, “I’ll make you kids a cocoa, and we’ll wait to hear together.” 

“No, I-” Star starts to argue before her eyes catch on Virgil’s hunched shoulders, getting ready to-  cut John open. He’s busy, he’s saving him, and he wouldn’t want her there anyway. Grandma Tracy is right, she shouldn’t be here. She lets Grandma Tracy lead her stumbling steps back in the direction of the main house. She almost lets the older woman lead her all the way to the living room, before her gravity scrambled brain catches up to the fact that Alan and Gordon and Kayo will all be there too.

“I’ve got to- ah-” she worms her arm out of the surprisingly strong hold, pointing over her shoulder in the general direction of away. “I’ve got to, um… bathroom…” she looks down at herself, what she’s wearing at the blood. “And find some pants. I’ll be right there, okay?”

The sadness in John’s Grandmother’s eyes almost makes Star cry again, but she covers it up with the John Tracy I’ve got this smirk. It must work, or the other lady just doesn’t care, because she lets Star go. The house is deathly quiet, everyone either waiting in the living room or down in surgery, and the silence is too claustrophobic in that particular house. There’s usually music and laughter and the muted sounds of Alan playing video games instead of doing his homework. Never anything like this. Star doesn’t know how long it takes before she realises she’s standing at the end of the hallway, staring at the twin rows of closed bedroom doors.

Bare feet pad softly on the carpet, but it's still loud enough that Star is sure she’d be caught, if there was anyone else up there to witness the quiet. The handle to John’s room is cold and slightly dusty, but Star is beyond noticing the chill against her bare skin. She lets herself in.

The room is just the way John had left it, Star can see that even in the darkness of the door closing behind her. Posters of hubble photographs and celebrations of space launches are plastered on every available surface, peeling up at the corners in their age, and there are books everywhere. John’s piled them, one atop of another on his bedside table and desk, no room left on the bookshelf once their final pages have turned. There’s pictures too, some in frames and others tacked haphazardly in amongst the space memorabilia. The Tracy’s are smiling in every single one of them.

There's a photo of the two of them, one Star doesn't think she's ever seen, up amongst them. John with a small smile and a patient arm slung around her shoulders, Star grappling him round the waist and grinning.

The tears are welling in Star’s eyes again, but she wont let herself make a sound. She’s not going to disturb this place. She wants to run further, to disappear in a network of criminal connections and bad choices, but she doesn’t want to -can’t- leave John behind, even if his room is all she has of him. John has a glorified nightlight balanced on his desk, and when Star’s trembling fingers flick the switch it alights the ceiling with the night sky. Star folds herself into the corner at the foot of John’s bed, the book she’d brought with her clasped tightly to her chest. Her fuzzy head comes to rest on the barely made bed, the duvet not tucked in at the bottom, and she settles in to wait.

She’s not entirely sure what for.

It's a long time before anyone manages to find her, despite Ruth Tracy's best efforts. In the end it's Virgil, miserable and exhausted but alright enough with John's prognosis that he's happy to leave him with Brains so that he can go and have a shower, who taps his knuckles against John's bedroom door, with a strong idea of where the missing miscreant might be.

"Star?" A worry-worn face with dark, wet hair plastered down over his ears and a towel slung about his neck, sticks itself around the door frame. "You in here?"

There's a little blob of human in amongst John's thick space-chill curing blankets, small and curled and dampening his brother's pillows.

"Hey." He says, very soft and a little awkward, as he settles on the bed beside her, elbows on his knees. "John made it through surgery well. The radiation's done a lot of damage, but short term he's in the clear."

Star goes light headed with relief, a pent up whoosh of air leaving her chest. He’s not dead yet. He’s not dead yet.

A big, tentative palm settles, warm on her knee. "How you holding up?"

Because if it's anything like he's holding up, it's not great.

Star pulls her knee away from him, closer to herself, and Virgil can see her jaw working for a moment as if she’s going to say something of value. She doesn’t want him being nice to her, doesn’t need his pity for something he is going to find out is all her fault. “You don’t have to be nice to me. I’m not your patient, I’m not a civilian, and you don’t have to pretend you want to be here. It’s fine. You-”

Her burning eyes finally work their way up to Virgil’s face, and she freezes, mid tirade and all. She’s had what feels like a lifetime watching John through everything, from injury to illness to the self-inflicted disaster that is his sleep schedule, but Virgil wears it differently. The shadows under his eyes don’t belong there, not like this. He looks tired and stiff and all hunched over, like he’s trying to make himself smaller, like he’s trying to minimise the blast radius of his breakdown. It’s so unlike John, who stumbles loosely through whatever he’s done to himself with almost casual bashfulness, trusting Star to help him gather up all the little pieces of himself he’s dropped along the way.

And what a mistake he made there.

“Are you alright?” she murmurs, guilt for snarling at him adding to the acidic mess eating a hole through the pit of her stomach. “You look like you need to eat something and get some sleep.”

Vigil laughs. It's something dry and humourless and absolutely heartbreaking.

"I've just spent two hours cauterising my brother's major blood vessels so that he doesn't bleed out." He shakes his head, droplets from where it's wet flicking out, "No Star, I'm not ok. But... no one's expecting me to be." He takes a deep, ragged breath, "None of us are right now and I'm not expecting you to be alright either. And anyway, I'm not being nice to you." He adds, sounding almost offended. "Of course you're not a patient or a rescue or a civilian. Star, you're a friend." He resists the urge to touch her again, after his hand has already been slapped away. He's staring intently at his knees. "I know none of us started like this but, I'd hoped, by now, that perhaps you felt the same. You don't only care about John do you? And don't deny that, I can see how you're tearing yourself up over what's happened to him. I… us too, you know? You're not alone in this, even if, maybe, you want to be..." He trails off, miserably.

Star’s hand flops in the general direction of Virgil’s knee, halfway through the aborted motion of giving it a comforting pat, only to change her mind at the last second. It’s still shaking, even resting against the sheets, badly enough even Virgil can see it. Star doesn’t notice, too caught up by the traces of dried blood against her pale skin.

“Just because I think of you as a friend doesn’t mean you have to,” she murmurs. Her voice is low and tired and drained of anything resembling emotion, as if she’d somehow exhausted her supply somewhere between finding John’s helmet without him and re-entry. “Not after this. You shouldn’t have to look at me, not after I let this happen to John. I was up there, I was supposed to be there, that’s the whole reason I’m allowed to stick around, to keep him safe. Look what I’ve done to him.”

Star breaks off then, Virgil’s miserable frame hollowing out her chest and leaving behind nothing but a sharp sting. She lets the hand drift to his wrist, cold fingers giving his warm arm a squeeze. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

“Of course I do.” Virgil seems almost offended by the suggestion that he might not consider them friends. He goes quiet though, for a long moment, letting her explain all the wrongs she thinks she’s done against his brother. He doesn't like the degradation in her tone. “I… I don’t think you did any of it on purpose.” He wants to take her hand and give it a squeeze, like he would any of his brothers, but he also doesn’t want to get slapped away. “I don’t think you wanted any of this to happen, so of course I’m not going to blame you or hate you or whatever it is you’ve got into your head.”

“Are you going to keep hiding in here?” He adds, looking around the dusty, safe space of his brother’s abandoned room, “I don’t think it’s helping anyone, really, definitely not you and least of all me or the guys.” Not that he’s told Scott about her role in all this. He doesn’t intend to either. Scott’s a hot head who likes to react without thinking. “Do… do you want to go see John? We should get you cleaned up if you do.” He’s noticed her staring and the red-brown still flaking off her fingers, stuck under her nails. “Everything in and out of that room needs to be one hundred percent sterile. Do you feel up to a shower? John should be awake soon and I think it’d be a comfort to him to have you there.”

…

Virgil is always so bright, even though it’s not Gordon’s garish shirts and Alan’s non-stop talking. He’s always there with a kind word and a solution that just seems to fade into the background of everyday life, with no demand for credit or thanks or anything at all in return. He tells people he’s not okay to convince them to admit they’re feeling like shit, not because he’s expecting anyone to worry about what he’d just said about himself. Star had always chalked it up to being the middle child, but to see him still trying to make her feel better, even when it’s his brother who is sick, and she’s spent the whole evening snapping at him, makes her feel a different sort of sad. He has his brothers, of course, but he just seems so big that this kind of lackluster emotion should be impossible.

I’m not going to blame you, he tells her, do you want to see John? He’s offering her everything she needs to hear, even the things she’s sure at least some of the others wouldn’t give her.

Star wonders what it is he needs.

She drags herself upright, fighting the punishing grip of gravity that sends her head spinning and her entire body trembling. Re-entry without preparation, without John’s usual barrage of supplements and reassurances and have you drunk enough water? without… without John, is rapidly trying to ruin her plan, but Star is nothing if not determined. She wants to tell Virgil yes, I want to see John, and make him assure her she’s not going to make anything worse.

Instead, she clumsily drags herself over to the bigger Tracy and pulls him into a hug.

There’s a short, sharp gasp from Virgil, and it takes a second or two for his brain to kick into gear enough to actually respond.

“S-Star?” His heart is doing double time, loud against her cheek. “I… ok...” Big, warm arms wrap around her back, ever so carefully cradling her close. “It’s… gonna be ok…” There’s a sharp gasp of breath and Star feels his chest shudder. The arms curl a little tighter. Shower-wet hair tickles her cheek as Virgil buries his head in her shoulder, clinging, just for a moment. Star’s not the only one trembling, it turns out.

“God.” Virgil breathes, hot into her collarbone, “Hell. I can’t believe I just… shit.” His voice rises in pitch with each word, “John. Fuck.” It’s not particularly like any of them to make expletives part of their casual vocabulary (Grandma would wash their mouths out with soap for one) but Virgil thinks that, just this once, he can have an exception. “I had to… damn it.” The wet hair shakes against her cheek, everything that’s happened in the last twelve or so hours catching up with him all at once.

He’s poked, prodded, cut into and stuck his brother with more needles than he’d thought possible, drawing blood for analysis, taking images of his bones and musculoskeletal structure and soft, swollen tissues, examining his cells for radiation poisoning, and turning poor John swiftly into a human pincushion. His brother’s small veins and aplastic anemia had made Virgil’s job more difficult, and he just knows that by now there’ll be prominent, spreading purple bruises all up and down the astronaut’s arms as grim souvenirs. He knows they won’t be the last of them, either.

Virgil shivers, hard.

The Laparotomy, the surgery he’d had to perform to correct John’s internal bleeding, sealing off his brother’s weak, leaking blood vessels, has taken more of a toll on the dark haired Tracy than he’d thought. Virgil squeezes his eyes tightly shut, for a moment, before pulling back and pressing his mouth hard against the young woman’s temple. 

Get it together Virg. Come on. They need you.

“Right.” He sucks in another breath, this time through his teeth, trying to force some semblance of control over himself. “I’m ok.” It’s a lie, blatantly, “I’m fine.” He seems to think that if he says it enough, it’ll be true. He unravels himself and holds Star at arms length, eyes raking over pale skin and dark circles, mussed hair and smudges of blood that isn’t hers. “You?” He needs to take care of someone right now, and he’s done all he can for John. That’s just the way Virgil is. Getting Star back up on her feet will help him bring back some semblance of control and normality, if only she’ll let him.

Star would have let him cling for the rest of the night, if that’s what he’d wanted, tucked up against his broad chest with one arm hooked around his shoulders, the other hand coming up to rest in his hair. He mutters, more to himself than her, Star knows, her cheek pressed up against the side of his jaw. His hair is seeping into her shirt -John’s shirt- and if it makes Virgil feel better, Star can’t even begin to bring herself to care about it or the vertigo or the fact that, while hugging him, she realises just how skinny John’s gotten by comparison.

Virgil shivers, full-bodied, and Star feels his lips against her temple before he holds her out at arms length. She manages to rally the strength to raise an arm, hand planted firmly against the side of his face, her thumb stroking gentle tracks across his cheekbone. There’s nothing to say, not you’re alright or everything’s going to be fine, because Star knows a lie when she sees one, and she can already taste its bitterness on her tongue.

“Right, ok. There’s an electrolyte drink, a shower and a good night’s sleep with your name on it waiting for you, and you are going to do all three.” He insists, before she can complain, “Doctor Virgil’s rules. We’ll go see John before your nap though, or you’re never gonna be able to drop off are you?” There’s a wry, tired grin, “I’ll even let you sleep up here if you want. John won’t mind. It’s not like he ever uses it anyway.” And that comes out far more bitter sounding than he’d intended it to. “Ah, sorry.”

 “And are you going to sleep at all during all of this?” Star muses, blinking fuzzily against the swirling room.  She’s gripping his arm, not just for comfort, but to make sure she doesn’t fall over.

Star grimaces at the sharp edge to Virgil’s words, but doesn’t say anything about it, just lets her hand drop back into her lap. It’s not like she even wants to sleep up there, but she’s not sure how she’s going to swing camping out in the medical bay, yet, or if she’s even going to try and swing it, yet. John might not want her there, and anything he wants…

She forces a watery smile to her face, for Virgil’s sake.

He looks almost reassured by it.

“The household is taking it in turns to watch over John.” He tells her, wearily, “I’ll sleep when I’ve done mine, and if you’re joining me, you will too. Now, shower.”

[rogersbabyyy]

anatomy lessons | roger taylor

summary: your best friend, roger taylor, is studying to achieve his bsc in biology and is currently focusing on the human reproductive system. he’s having trouble remembering his anatomy, so you offer some help.

pairing: smile/early queen era roger taylor x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k+

warnings/tags: SMUT!, fingering, squirting, oral sex (female receiving), foul language, best friends to lovers uwu, a bit of fluff

a/n- hi lovies!! this is my first queen fic that i’m posting on here. i hope you like it, and if so, feel free to send me requests or headcanon ideas for any of the borhap/queen boys! ps i highly doubt that biology students learn about vaginas in detail but whatever i dont care just pretend they do for the story pls<3

-

It was a quiet evening. Dressed in sweatpants and a jumper that you nicked from Roger’s closet, you busied yourself in the kitchen making a cup of chamomile tea, with the intention of sitting down to do a bit of reading afterward. Roger, your best friend and despairingly gorgeous roommate, was sat at the dining table, surrounded by a sea of thick and confusing-looking glossy biology textbooks, his eyebrows furrowed. He was trying his best to cram in weeks worth of information for a quickly approaching exam that he’d neglected to study for; you found it rather amusing. Not to mention, he’d been recovering from a hangover in bed for most of the day, and had a gig with his band, Smile, starting in roughly two hours. Roger was unusually intelligent, as evident by the university course he was studying, and yet he could be an absolute idiot when he chose to be.

“Want some tea, Rog?”

Receiving nothing but silence as a response, despite the frantic murmuring you heard from the dining table (he sounded like an absolute madman, talking to himself like that), you sighed. “Rog!” Sticking your head out of the kitchen, you yelled in his general vicinity for his attention.

“Mhmm?”

“D’you want a cup of tea?”

“Nah, thanks!”

You rolled your eyes and, nonetheless, pulled a second mug from the cupboard; you knew that he’d steal sips from yours anyway, he always did. As you put the kettle on and waited for it to boil, you leaned on the kitchen counter, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. You had a clear view of Roger from this angle, and it was entrancing to see him so focused, a sight that was usually only ever apparent when he played the drums. He was beautiful, as always, even with the frown lines that traced along his forehead, already dressed in his costume of the night with his blond locks a perfect mess.

The hiss of the kettle made you jump, and you flushed at the thoughts of Rog that had clouded your consciousness. Thinking about him like that wasn’t going to do you any good. You poured the tea, jiggling the tea bags in the warm water, adding a dash of honey to Roger’s cup, just how he liked it. Sucking in your stomach as you skirted precariously around his rather inconveniently placed drum kit near the kitchen’s entrance, careful not to knock the cymbals, you set the steaming mugs on coasters on the table.

Roger took a precious moment to glance up from his notes as you settled into a chair, curling one leg underneath you and nudging his tea in his direction.

“Said I didn't want one, silly.” He shot you a mocking glance paired with one of his signature smirks, yet tugged the cup toward him and blew the steam rising from it.

“Rather unfortunately for me, I know you too well.” You retorted. Roger snorted at the response, but promptly returned his attention to the work in front of him after sipping the hot drink cautiously.

“What topic are you up to?” You asked curiously, trying to catch a glimpse of the cover of one of the textbooks for any inclination.

“Human reproductive system,” He scoffed, flipping through one of his several textbooks frantically until he came to rest on a detailed, coloured diagram of the vagina. You felt a scarlet blush cloud your cheeks as he began chewing on the end of his pen, studying the image intently. You glanced down at the cup of tea in front of you, fiddling with the tea bag as a distraction as Roger muttered to himself.

“Can’t fuckin’ remember all this! Frenium of labia minora? Labium minus? What’s the bloody difference?”

Your thighs clenched together as he turned another page to a detailed explanation of the purpose of the clitoris and the existence of the female G-spot. Roger scanned the page quickly before beginning to jot down a note in his exercise book, murmuring under his breath in a staccato fashion as he wrote.

You’d liked him for years, since you were fifteen or sixteen and your hormones were running ramage. God, you were probably in love at this point. It killed you whenever you woke up and there was a stunning, tall blonde in your kitchen, helping herself to the eggs, wearing just a pair of knickers and one of Roger’s button downs. You wanted to be her. Even if it was just for a night. And when Roger suggested moving in together since neither of you could afford a full month’s rent by yourselves (you worked part time at a cafe and Roger relied on the sporadic earnings he gleaned from gigs), you thought that, perhaps, you had a chance.

Your train of thought was interrupted as Roger started up again.

“The most sensitive female erogenous zone of a female body is the clitoris… by stimulating the clitoris through masturbation or sexual intercourse… a sexual physiological response can be set into motion-”

Was he doing this on purpose? It was like you weren’t even there, as he bit his lip, concentrating, scribbling frantically.

“Roger.” His name came out in a choked tone, and you coughed once after speaking it.

“Yeah, Y/N?” He responded absentmindedly, frowning over another diagram.

“I can help you.” You were going to regret this. Oh, for sure. You were going to regret this when he’d reject you, and you’d end up crying at three in the morning listening to something sad on vinyl with the volume turned nearly all the way down. That’s usually what happened when a guy said that I thought we were just friends or there’s someone else. In those circumstances, Roger was there to slip in bed next to you and hold you while you sobbed into his shoulder and drenched his pyjama shirt. Not this time. Not if you fucked this whole thing up.

This caught his attention, his head snapping up, an eyebrow quirked. “What d’you know about this?”

You hesitated, starting to rise from your seat. “Nothing! Just teasing. I might call it a night, Rog-”

“No, you weren’t.” He hand clasped around your wrist, preventing you from leaving. Reluctantly, you sunk back into the seat.

“I’ve got a vagina, Rog, believe it or not.” You flushed as soon at the words left your mouth, shifting in your seat. He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as his eyes studied yours. “You can look… if you want.”

His lips parted slightly, still gripping his pen, as his eyes trailed slowly over your body. “You’re… you’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You interlocked your fingers together, fiddling, the heat refusing to leave your cheeks, as you realised the stupidity of your suggestion. God, maybe you should just go to bed and cry and never get up. Roger set his pen down softly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I want to.” It was barely a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear. You let out the breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding in a shaky sigh, your eyes meeting his; yet still not believing you’d heard correctly.

As if he read your mind, he repeated himself, louder. “I want to. Christ, I want to.”

Roger rose from his seat and offered his hand to you, a bashful smile forming on his lips. You took it, hesitantly, but gratefully, as he lead to you to the sofa and let you take a seat. He sunk down next to you, his arm stretching behind you to rest on the couch; a move you’d seen him use on countless other girls he’d brought back here. It was odd to now be in their position; oh, how you’d longed to be one of those girls.

“I-I s’pose I better-” You laughed softly as you tugged off your pants, leaving your knickers, clenching your legs shut self consciously as you glanced up at Roger. His eyes were dark as they surveyed the space between your legs, something he’d only come close to seeing when he walked in on you changing.

“If you want to… lay back fo’ me… and, uh, open your legs.”

You followed his commands, arms trembling as you fought to hold your weight as you propped yourself up on a pillow. Roger noticed, and his arm quickly finding a place at the small of your back.

“It’s okay, ‘ve got you. No need t’be nervous, it’s just me.”

Just him? Jesus Christ, you couldn’t believe this was happening.

As you settled into a comfortable position, you spread your legs slightly, causing Roger to bite into his lip.

“... May I?” His fingertips trailed over the grey cotton knickers that covered your heat (you wished you had the foresight to wear something lacy and a little bit prettier). A nod from you was all the confirmation he needed as he pried the fabric from your body, sliding the underwear past your ankles and throwing it to the floor.

You hissed quietly as the cool air hit your core, and Roger inhaled sharply at the sight of your pretty pink pussy, all spread out and ready for him. His boxers were already uncomfortably tight, his cock growing in his pants; fuck, he’d wanted you for years. You were his best friend, and this was all wrong, but you were fucking perfect. All those girls he’d been with, every single time he was thinking about you. He’d even gone as far to groan your name as he came inside some brunette tease he picked up at a bar (that didn’t end well for either party involved).

“Let me know if you don’t feel comfortable at any point, love.” His usual high voice had dropped an octave, becoming increasingly rough. His arms hooked around your thighs as he tugged you closer to him, making you squeal; you both laughed softly, breaking the tension for a moment.

His thumb came to rest gently on your clit, you were so sensitive, so needy for him, your pelvis bucked toward his hand involuntarily as you let out a quiet whine. Embarrassment washed over your face, and you apologised profusely,

“Shit, shit, shit, sorry Rog-”

“S’alright, love. Don’t say sorry. Only natural.” He smirked, as his thumb brushed upward over your clit; the cocky expression on his face told you that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Clitoral hood, glans, and frenium… the primary source of female sexual pleasure…” He muttered softly to himself, beginning to rub short, quick circles over your clit. Fighting back a groan, you gasped, clenching the edge of the sofa so hard your knuckles turned white.

“How does that feel?” Roger looked you straight in the eye, his expression serious, inquisitive, as if this was only ‘for educational purposes’, and purely platonic (and you both knew fully well that it wasn’t, not at this stage).

“Fuck… so good, Rog...”

“Can you be more descriptive for me?” He pressed harder on your clit, his cock throbbing as your lips parted in pleasure

“Oh, fuck! S’like… m’so sensitive, it’s like this pressure just building up in my pelvis, but it feels so fucking good.”

“Perfect.” Roger rubbed faster circles over the swollen area, almost coming in his pants at your expression; the way your pretty eyes fluttered shut, your jaw relaxing, your back arching up from the couch. He resisted the urge to squeeze his cock for some kind of relief, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. Despite how blissed out you looked with just him playing with your clit, if Roger’s many sexual encounters had taught him anything, it was that you needed friction.

He pulled away, making you whimper at the loss of contact. “Sorry, babe. I want t’make you come, alright?” He fought back a grin as his fingers rubbed over your entrance. God, he was going to be the death of you.

“When a woman is sexually excited, blood flow increases to the genitals so that the vulva and clitoris swell and the vagina lubricates itself…” He recited, spreading the wetness leaking from your entrance over your pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” Your hips bucked upward toward his hand again.

“So wet for me, aren’t you?” He murmured. “And there’s the labium majus, labium minus, all part of the vulva… Can I put a finger in you, love? Jus’ to have a feel.”

“Please, Rog, I need you.”

His cock throbbed once again, and Roger felt his boxers becoming uneasily wet due to the precum leaking from the tip of his cock. His finger entered you slowly, yet quite easily; you were so fucking wet. A moan caught in your throat as your pussy contracted around his finger, and Roger hissed softly. He could only imagine too well how he’d feel inside you.

“Fuckin’ tight little pussy you’ve got, hm?” He withdrew his finger slightly, only to thrust it in further. “Another one, babe?”

You nodded frantically as Roger pushed his ring finger into you. “All feels perfect, if you were wonderin’. No cuts or bumps. Perfect, smooth little pussy.” His fingers increased their pace, beginning to fuck you hard and fast. You’d been fingered plenty of times, but never like this. You’d faked orgasms plenty of times, but tonight, you knew that wouldn’t need to be the case.

“See if I can find your G-spot, huh? Shall I make you come? Give you the best fuckin’ orgasm you’ve ever had?”

You let out an obscene moan worthy of a porn movie at his words, spasming around his fingers. “Please, please, let me come Rog, wanna come so bad-”

Fuelling his ego, his fingers pushed deeper inside you, curling upward, searching for your G-spot; a slightly rougher spot of the vagina that he knew, if he touched it just right, was going to make you come like you never had before.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, Y/N. So long. Since we were sixteen, wanted to see you under me like this, wanted to make you come and scream my fuckin’ name.” His fingers sped up and suddenly curled just right, touching a spot inside you that no guy had ever found, making you scream as you clutched blindly at the sofa cushions.

“That’s it, huh? Are you close, love? Ready to come around my fingers?”

“Yes! Roger, please, please, please, I’m so close-!”

His fingers were a blur, his free hand gripping your hip to hold your squirming body still. Your slickness coated his fingers, sweaty tendrils of hair framing your pleasure stricken features, your hardened nipples apparent through your sweater. You looked so beautiful, he couldn’t help himself as he leant down to press his mouth to your clit, flicking his tongue expertly over the bundle of nerves.

“FUCK, Roger, oh my God, fuck, I’m gonna come, m’gonna come-”

“Come for me, darlin’,” He murmured against your heat, the vibrations from his voice and his fingers repeatedly nudging your G-spot sending you over the edge. A plunging shudder overcame your nervous system, a terrific gasp and a string of obscene curses the only indication that you were coming; well, that and the clear juices that ejaculated from your pussy and took Roger by surprise only for a moment. His hips thrust into the sofa for some kind of relief as he lapped at your core to gather the juices on his tongue. He’d made you squirt.

As you came down from your orgasm (still quite literally seeing stars), snapping your legs shut against the cool air that was enough to overstimulate your clit, you noticed the mess you’d made.

“Shit, ‘ve never done that before,” You were still trembling, looking in shock at the soaked sofa and Roger’s gleaming chin which he wiped with the back of his hand, beaming. “M’ so sorry, Rog, m’ so embarrassed-”

“It was so fuckin’ hot. Don’t you dare apologise, love, I almost came in my jocks. You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful.”

“Fuck, you’re good, Roger, that was… that was incredible.”

“M’ not bad, am I?” He smirked and gently kissed your forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up, darlin’.” He left the room and you took a moment to catch your breath and get your head straight. You were scared to think of what would happen after this. What if it was just one of those things you’d never speak about again, like when you caught him getting a blowjob in the bathroom of the apartment?

You didn’t get a chance to ponder this any further as Roger returned with a warm, damp towel, resuming his position beside you.

“Can you open for me, babe?” His voice was gentle, his free hand resting delicately on the side of your thigh. Slowly, your prised your still-trembling legs open. Roger’s face became concentrated as he carefully wiped the insides of your thighs and your entrance. The latter made you shudder, and he apologised softly.

“Sorry, love, you must be so sensitive.”

He finished up quickly, touching you as if you were made of porcelain, before wiping the sofa down, before folding the towel and setting it to the side.

“What you said before…” You paused, as you adjusted yourself so that you were sitting upright.

“Yeah, love?”

“That, since we were teenagers…” You trailed off, and it was his turn to blush.

“Yeah… yeah. I really like you. A lot. Have for a long time. I just didn’t want to fuck it up, I wasn’t ready to commit and I couldn’t hurt you, not like that. You deserve better than me.”

And in one swift motion, you looped your arms around his neck and pressed your lips to his, a kiss strangely more intimate that the experience that you both just shared. Roger responded instantly, groaning into your mouth, his palms sliding across your back to pull you closer to him. The kiss was wet and messy and passionately open mouthed as years of yearning for one another came to fruition. His hand cradled your face as his tongue danced desperately with yours, and he only pulled away when it became apparent that neither of you could breathe.

You laughed breathlessly, causing him to smile, as you looked him straight in the eye and proclaimed, “I think I like you too.”

-

Roger persuaded you to join him at the Smile gig that night. You rocked up to the small pub hand in hand, a subtle way of announcing to the all the people that knew you both what had happened. Brian simply grinned; a man of pure intelligence and intuition, he knew this was a long time coming. And when the usual gaggle of girls approached Roger afterward, he could sense your visible discomfort. So, he simply slipped his arm around your waist and pressed his lips flush to yours in front of everyone, much to your utter embarrassment. Yet, you couldn’t hide the smile that refused to leave your face afterward, earning Roger’s gentle teasing as he laughed and pecked one of your rosy cheeks.

Finally, that night, as you became distracted with saying goodbye to Tim and his partner, Brian took the chance to slap Roger on the back, leaning down to speak in a hushed tone, “Don’t fuck this one up. She’s brilliant.”

“Never.”

[jamesmydeer]

gee, I think you’re swell remus x reader

this time when i said soon, i meant it. i missed you guys! i decided to come back with a remus. i don’t know how i feel about it quite yet, but i really need to post. i think it starts strong, but kind of falls off. oh well, let me know what you think! thank you 3000 for reading! this is based off of elenore by the turtles.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: bad dad

masterlist

you got a thing about you / i just can’t live without you

Remus Lupin had been in the library for four hours. This wasn’t so out of the ordinary; he was a peculiar boy who enjoyed studying. At least, that was what y/n had come to observe about him. She too had been in the library for the same amount of time. However, it had been for a different reason.

Y/n L/n had been enthralled with Remus Lupin for the duration of her Hogwarts attendance. She didn’t know what it was, but something about him drove her mad.

Maybe it was his kindness. Y/n liked to think that was it. She couldn’t remember every time she had been bumped into in the halls, sending her books flying. She could, however, remember every time Remus had stopped to help her. No matter where he was within the hallway, he would walk over to her and help her gather her things. Each time, he would smile at her, hand her the last item, dismiss her gratitude, and run back to his friends. Each time, y/n feared her tell-tale heart would give her away.

Maybe it was his looks. After all, that was why she was in the library. She hadn’t enough courage to speak to him, so she had to be content with looking. Creepy? Extremely. Y/n realized this, but every time she decided to stop behaving borderline stalkerish, she would glance at him and see him smiling down at his potions book. Out the window her rationality would fly.

Maybe it was his intelligence. He was, without a doubt, the smartest person she knew. Or, knew of at least. Always top of the class, always answering the professors’ questions, and always in the library. Y/n envied him for this. By no means was she unintelligent, she was right behind him in academics. She envied him for the ability to answer questions in class. Y/n sat in the back of the class, by herself, mouthing the answers that would then be vocalized by Remus.

She thought no one noticed this. She thought no one noticed her. She was wrong. A certain boy noticed that every time he answered a question, she would mouth it in sync with him and smile when he got it right. That certain boy thought it was very cute.

your looks intoxicate me / even though your folks hate me

Y/n L/n had been in the library for four hours. This wasn’t so out of the ordinary; she was a peculiar girl who enjoyed studying. At least, that was what Remus had come to observe about her. He too had been in the library for the same amount of time. However, it had been for a different reason.

Remus Lupin wasn’t sure when it happened, but it did. It happened suddenly; after all, he was always one to fall quick. He had fallen utterly head over heels. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he just couldn’t help it.

Remus had intended to stay in the library an hour, hour and a half at most. But then she walked in at the hour mark. He had been standing to collect his things, but his heart quickly forced him back into his seat when she walked in. He tried desperately to look like he was studying, but he wasn’t. At all. She didn’t seem to notice him staring, much to Remus�� delight.

She was a bit odd, in the most endearing way. She was peculiarly quiet. She didn’t talk at lunch, she didn’t talk in class, and she didn’t talk in the halls. Remus liked to think she came unglued everyday in her dorm room, talking a mile a minute.

Sirius and James quickly figured out about his crush on Y/n. They then told the oblivious Peter, leading to a dorm room full of three rowdy boys and one bashful Remus.

Once James and Sirius finished their role play of Y/n and Remus, Sirius dropped the playful look. He sat down beside the boy and gave him a sad smile.

“You know who her dad is, right?” Sirius cautioned. Remus gave him a questioning look. He shook his head no.

As Sirius spoke, Remus zoned out. He didn’t need to hear anymore than the part about her dad working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Her dad hated him. Remus didn’t think he would ever end up with her, but it was nice to dream. After figuring that out, even dreaming felt weird.

there’s no one like you / elenore really

Remus tried to stay away. He knew he couldn’t be in the same room as her and not have her be all that his mind consisted of. So, he avoided y/n, which he thought would be a simple thing to do considering he never even spoke to her. He was sadly mistake.

Remus walked into the library, hoping to get some transfiguration studying in. The fifth years had decided to cram for their owls, and Remus knew there would be a student in every chair. Upon entering, he realized he was right. There was not a single open seat within the room. Remus wasn’t new to this. He had been shy of a seat in the library many a time as a kid, and always went to the same secondary location.

Readjusting his grip on his studying material, Remus set out for the Black Lake. It was always a peaceful place to study, and, although he far more enjoyed the peaceful serenity of the library, it was a rather pretty day outside. Silently praying to himself that no one was sitting under the tree he longed to study under, Remus exited the doors of Hogwarts.

Muttering a thank you to no one in particular for his study spot under the tree being unoccupied, Remus settled down and began to study. After getting two paragraphs into the impact Gulliver Pokeby made on the findings of magical birds, Remus was startled by a voice over his left shoulder.

“Ooh!,” y/n yelped, frightened to see someone sitting where she was just about to plop down. “Oh, I’m sorry Remus,” she spoke, a little upset that someone was occupying the spot she had planned on studying in.

“I’m guessing you had the same idea as me. If those 5th years hadn’t waited until the last minute to cram in all this studying, we’d have a nice seat in the library,” y/n rambled. She looked down and Remus was steady staring up at her.

Her head was positioned directly in front of the sun, effectively blocking it from the boy’s eyes while also creating the illusion that there were rays of sunlight coming directly from her. She looked quite literally radiant. It was as if she was an angel, Remus observed. He wasn’t supposed to think of her in this matter, but there was no way he couldn’t. He was snapped out of his dreamy daze by a soft call of his name.

“Oh, uh yeah. Yeah, crowded library,” he mumbled, mentally face palming for clamming up in front of her.

Y/n took his words as dismissive. She understood, he was trying to study and did not want to be interrupted. “I guess I should be going now.”

“No!” Remus called out rather quickly. Realizing that she hadn’t yet moved from her previous position, Remus looked down at his lap and blushed.

“I mean, you don’t have to leave, that is. I don’t mind the company.” Remus rushes out, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Y/n smiled down at him.

“No, I really should leave you to it. I’ll see you around Remus.”

She smiled sweetly at him, before turning and walking away. As soon as she was out of earshot, Remus promptly began chanting ‘stupid stupid stupid’ to himself. He couldn’t help it, really. When she was around, his mind went all fuzzy.

He tried to go back to studying, he really did, but the same picture of her glowing in front of him kept replaying in his mind. Struggling to shake the interaction, Remus began to copy his notes. He quickly grew bored of this, and his hand grew a mind of its own. His paper was littered with one name.

elenore gee I think you’re swell

Remus completed absolutely none of his work. The sun that had at first felt nice on his skin now caused sweat to form right along his brow. He shifted uncomfortably and stood, promptly bumping into his mates, who were waiting to scare the boy.

“Hello twats,” Remus sighed, walking forward past them.

“You sound chipper,” James slung his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “whoever put you in such a fantastic mood?”

“Probably us, James,” Peter spoke as if it was obvious. Sirius looked at him, seemingly unamused.

“You think?” James asked, reaching back and flicking him in the ear.

“Apparently not fellas,” Sirius smirked, snatching something from Remus’ hand.

“What do we have here?” James questioned, wiggling his eyebrows at the taller boy.

“Looks to be his Care if Magical Creatures homework lads,” Peter snorted, amused by his two friends lack of sense.

“Pete stop talking.”

“Well, he’s not wrong James. It just so happens to be notes on his favorite magical creature,” Sirius teased, Peter finally understanding the matter of their taunting.

“Would you shut up?” Remus begged, snatching the paper from Sirius’ grasp. “I just… couldn’t concentrate.”

Sirius, finding the matter at hand extremely comical, went to tease his friend some more. James places a warning hand on his chest, silently telling him to cut it out.

“I get it,” said James, patting his friend on the back in reassurance. “You know, it’s better to talk about it than to keep it cooped up.”

Remus let out a frustrated sigh. He knew James was right, but he didn’t even know where to start.

“I don’t know, she’s just… ugh! I can’t even think when she's around, much less talk. Even if I did want to ask her out, I’d mess that up for sure. What am I supposed to say? ‘Gee y/n, I think you’re swell!’ It’s hopeless.” As Remus ranted, James nodded along, face ridden with pity.

“Swell? I think you’re swell? I’m out on that one.” Sirius snorted, shaking his head in mock disgust and grabbing Peter’s arm, dragging him with him back to the castle. Upon passing James, Sirius received a slight kick to the back of his leg. He went to retaliate, but James’ expression was stern and Sirius knew he was already walking on thin ice. With a swift hand gesture, the pair were on their way.

“She come out here?” James questioned, knowing the answer, having passed her on the way out, but wanting his friend to open up.

“Yeah. She did.”

Remus sounded bored. He was bored. Bored of his hands getting clammy when he spoke to her. Bored of the polite smile she gave him when she caught him staring. Bored of not having an excuse to kiss her, or hold her hand, or even just talk to her whenever he wanted. He was bored, and he was going to do something about it.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Remus spoke, speed walking towards the castle.

“Hey wait up, where are you going?” James chuckled, trying to catch up with him.

“I’m going to tell my favorite magical creature that she’s swell,” Remus called out, a smirk on his face as he turned to wink at James. He then took back off towards the castle, stumbling every so often.

you’re my pride and joy et cetera

While walking around the castle, Remus remembered a multitude of things that put him in a bit of a pickle. Number one, he had no idea where she was. Number two, what if she was in a crowded area? While numbers one and two only made him more anxious, number three caused him to stop in his tracks completely. Number three, her dad.

Her dad hated werewolves. Her dad was one of the main reasons Remus couldn’t let anyone know about his condition. If her dad felt so strongly about werewolves, who’s to say she didn’t agree with him. She probably hated Remus too. A soft voice followed by a light hand on his shoulder jerked him out of his thoughts.

“Remus, are you alright?” she asked, face stricken with concern. Of course it would be her. When Remus wanted to see her, she was nowhere to be found. When he didn’t, she found him.

“Fine, thanks,” he dismissed her, turning to walk away.

“Actually Remus, I was kind of wondering if you’d seen my book. I think I dropped it while I was outside, and figured you might have seen it.”

Remus noted that she seemed frantic. He assumed the book was a school one, and y/n knew that if she lost it she would be in trouble.

“No, I’m sorry. If I do, I’ll let you know,” Remus rushed out, eager to increase the distance between the two.

“Thank you so much,” y/n smiled up at the boy, making him weak in the knees. “Have a nice day Remus.”

Before Remus could manage out a ‘You too’, she was gone. As he had many times before, Remus muttered the word ‘stupid’ over and over to himself all the way to his dorm room.

Upon entering his room, Remus was met with a chorus of ‘how’d it go?’s and ‘what’d she say?’s.

“Knock it off, I didn’t tell her.”

“What? Moony, you seemed pretty serious about it out there,” James asked, confused at Remus’ complete shift in emotion.

“I know, it’s just… it’s complicated J.”

James smiled understandingly at Remus, who didn’t seem to enjoy his friends’ pitying looks. Feeling claustrophobic, Remus plopped down on his bed and pulled out his study material, preparing to drown out all his inner thoughts with his schoolwork.

Upon opening his bag, Remus was met with a bright yellow book. He knew the book wasn’t his; his school books were tattered and dull. He reached into his bag and pulled out the book. Engraved in big black letters across the front was her name. Her name. It was the book she was looking for.

Unbeknownst to Remus, Sirius had been eyeing him the whole time. He saw the book. He saw the look on his friends face. Remus wasn’t going to read it. Sirius knew y/n liked Remus, as did the rest of the population. It was obvious. The book was a journal, that much was easy to see. So, Sirius was going to make him. Or at least, make it hard for him not to.

“Prongs! Wormtail! We’re late for that thing!” Sirius jumped up, ushering the two out of the room.

“What? There’s not a thing,” James spoke with a confused look on his face, only to be replaced with a suspicious one when Sirius shot him a wink. Sirius winks were never any good, but they hadn’t gotten him killed yet.

“Oh yeah, the thing, let’s go Pete,” James mumbled, grabbing Peter and rushing out of the door that was being held open by Sirius. As he went to trail the pair, he turned back to Remus, who was sporting a bewildered look.

“Open it.” With that, Sirius was gone.

Remus knew he shouldn’t, it was an invasion of privacy. After battling against himself for a minute, he came to the conclusion that he would not open the book. There were, however, two pieces of paper sticking out of the book that Remus would read.

The first was a letter from her father. The thought that the very paper he held once belonged to the man sent chills up his spine. The handwriting was sharp, there were no streaks or blobs of ink. He felt guilty, but after the first line, guilt was the last thing on his mind.

Dear daughter,

I’m sorry you feel that way. I don’t see why you would want to advocate for such reckless and ruthless creatures. I respect your sharing of your views, incorrect as they are. I understand in your letter you specified that you were accepting of any punishment brought along with your rebelliousness. That won’t be necessary. As my daughter, you are my pride and joy. That being said, I expect you to come to your senses, seeing that your opinion goes directly against the well-being of others. Werewolves are monsters y/n. I don’t expect you to change your views so soon, but I expect a letter back as soon as possible telling me why you would believe such ghastly things. Ignorance will not be tolerated in my household.

Remus was seething. He wanted to rip up the paper into little pieces. He couldn’t believe the sweet girl he had fallen for had spoken up against her father, only to be harshly condescended to. He had never felt so much anger towards one person. He started to pack his things and try to ease his mind, but then he remember the other note.

This one was from her, he could tell. The handwriting was sweet. That’s how he would describe it. She had clearly been in a rush to write the letter. The paper was crumbled and messy. Remus didn’t want to intrude further, but his eyes began involuntarily scamming over the words.

Dear father,

I appreciate your response, yet do not understand it. I would want to advocate for such “reckless and ruthless creatures” because they are humans. Before the are bitten, they are people. After they are bitten, they’re still people. In the kindest way possible, an opinion can only be invalid if it directly goes against the lives of others. If anyone’s opinion is incorrect, it’s yours. I’m not rebelling, I’m trying to enlighten you to what’s right. Sure there are bad werewolves, but what about that scared child who has to endure excruciating pain once a month and have such a large percentage of people hate them for it. They grow up knowing they can’t do what others around them can. They’re victims. They did nothing wrong, yet you treat them as if all they’ve ever done is wrong. The only ignorance I can sense is your own, and it is highly palpable. The real monsters are people like you.

There was more. Remus didn’t care, he couldn’t believe what he’d already read. If he read anymore, he might cry. He couldn’t believe she would stand up to her father for him. She didn’t know she had, but she still did it. In a flurry of quick movements, Remus folded the letters back and stuck them in the book, jumping up and running down the stairs and out of the Gryffindor common room.

elenore can i take the time / to ask you to speak your mind

Remus knew she’d be outside. He knew the moment she saw he’d left, she’d take his former spot. So, that’s where he was going. He pushed through the crowds of students, not caring if he bumped into anyone. He needed to see her. For once in his life, he wasn’t thinking about what he was going to say. He was going to speak his mind. He wasn’t going to chicken out. He needed to see her.

Remus flung the door to Hogwarts open, earning sharp glances from a group of students sitting on the stairs. Remus cowered under their stares, but quickly stiffened once he saw a familiar face walking towards him. She sent him an amused smile, causing Remus to smile down at his feet.

“Hey Re-” y/n started, but was cut off by Remus hastily telling her they needed to talk. Noticing the worried glance in y/n’s face, Remus chuckled.

“No, I mean can we? Can we talk?” Remus asked softly, trying not to scare her off. She nodded slowly, still a bit confused. Remus pointed to the tree the pair had previously met at, silently asking if that spot was alright with her.

“Sure,” she spoke, heading off in the trees direction. Now was the time for Remus to think of what to say; he still had no idea. He couldn’t properly formulate any words in his mind. He was cut off of his contemplation of whether or not to turn and run by a cough coming from below him. He look down to see y/n looking up at him, eyebrows raised in amusement. She patted the spot beside her, Remus gladly plopping down on it.

“You okay?” she questioned, and Remus realized she still had no idea what the topic of their discussion was going to be. Not that he did either.

“Uh, yeah, I found your book,” Remus murmured, handing her the journal.

“Oh my, thank you so much Mus!” Y/n exclaimed, politely taking the book from the boy. Remus was too caught up in the fact that she just called him Mus to see her open the book and find that the letters had been moved from their original spot. Once he gathered himself, he noticed the way she was looking at the papers. He knew she knew.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have read them” Remus started, feeling the guilt all over again. Y/n placed a reassuring hand on his knee.

“It’s okay, I would’ve done the same,” she spoke softly to him, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey, look at me. I think it’s great that you’re standing up to him like that. You should send it.”

“I don’t know. He’s already pretty mad. I’m surprised that one wasn’t a howler. I just don’t get how he can think the way he does,” y/n spoke exasperatedly. Realizing she had went on a bit of a tangent, she blushed, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey,” Remus started “Your dad’s an arse.”

Y/n chuckled at this, bringing a hand up to the scar that stretched from nose across his cheek bone, rubbing over it gently with her thumb.

She knew. Y/n knew Remus was a werewolf. He searched her eyes for the pity he expected. Like the looks he got from his friends after a full moon. He didn’t receive it. Her eyes were genuine. He expected her to cower away from him, to break eye contact. She did perform the latter, only to look down at his lips.

Remus quickly licked over his bottom lip, his mouth dry. He looks down at Y/n’s lips too. He’d looked at them before, stared at them even, but he’d never truly seen them. They looked nice. She was biting them and they looked soft. He wanted to find out if it was true. He looked back up at her, seeing that she had done the same. The eye contact sent a shock through his body.

“Can I kiss you?” Remus whispered, already leaning in. Her thumb on his cheek ceased to move, and she eagerly nodded, leaning in as well. Slowly, their lips met. Neither of them had ever felt anything like it before. After a second, Remus pulled back shyly. The couple met eyes once more.

“Good?” Remus asked, hoping more than anything that y/n would say yes. She didn’t, but Remus enjoyed her answer better. Y/n reached forward, running one hand through his hair and placing the other on her jaw. Nodding, she leaned in, kissing him with more fervor than before. Reciprocating the kiss, Remus brought his hands to her waist, pulling her closer.

“You didn’t happen to read the stuff I wrote about you did you?” Y/n pulled away to ask. Remus quickly brought her back forward.

“No, but I will now,” he mumbled against her lips. Moving the journal out of Remus’ reaching grasp, y/n smiled up at him.

“Gee, I think you’re swell,” she mocked, batting her eyelashes. Remus’ jaw dropped.

“How did you- when did you- why… Sirius?” Remus knew the answer. After a teasing smile and a nod, Remus snatched the journal from y/n’s grasp. He quickly stood up, holding the journal out of her reach.

“He’s so irresistibly charming,” Remus read in a high pitched voice. “You really think that?”

“Stop it Mus,” y/n whined, reaching for the book again. When her actions failed, Remus was sure to notice the mischievous glint in her eyes. She reached up on her tip toes and cupped Remus’ face.

“I do think you’re irresistibly charming, you know?”

“Yeah?” Remus smirked, not noticing his arms slowly falling down to his sides.

“Yeah,” y/n nodded, grabbing the book from his hands and running off towards the castle in a fit of giggles.

Remus shook his head, a soft smile on his face.

“Wait up!” he called out, grabbing her stuff and taking off after her. He was enamored. Absolutely smitten.

[undecidedpersonality]

Books I Read in May

For this first time in nearly two years... I have finished multiple books in one month! I have been in the longest reading slump and I might finally be out of it. In the month of May I finished 4 books and started a 5th. This push out of the reading slump started with watching Booktube videos as well as talking about my desire to read with my (non-reader) friend. I found that throwing myself back into the interest fully, with the helping of my favorite account PeruseProject, would get my mind in the right place to desire to read and it worked. So, in attempts to continue that, I wanted to come back to Tumblr and as a place to continue to talk about books (and other fan related contented) even if I am the only person that cares or reads it. I figure the easiest place to start, is with a reading wrap-up for the month of May.

Every Day by David Levithan

3/5 stars

In reality... I had been reading this book for 11 months since June of 2019. This is when my reading slump really started because I would only read maybe 15 pages every month. But at the beginning of this month I decided this would be the time that I finally finished it. And so I did. I think the concept of this was very unique and interesting and so the things that are a bit ridiculous in respect to decisions made by teenagers were given a bit of a pass. I also like how it tackled the concept of being non-binary or gender fluid even if A is almost forced into that identity, the talk, explanation, and understanding of it are done really well. I also enjoy that this book incorporates this concepts to show how it represents itself in young relationships as well as being represented in Young Adult novels which is almost never seen.

Lola and the Boy Next Door by Stephanie Perkins

3.75/5 stars

This was definitely a fun and exciting contemporary YA novel like I expected it to be. Without getting deep into the biggest problem of the novel, there is cheating in the novel. Although not as explicit as the cheating in Anna and the French Kiss, it stills exists and is... kind of annoying. The only other thing that may get in the way of reading was how eccentric everything possible is. But, that’s also one of the things that makes the novel so lovable. It so obviously exists as a novel and the acceptance of that makes it the experience that much more fun and wild even if the main character is naive and clueless, I personally just took it along with the extra-ness the encompasses the whole novel.

All the Crooked Saints by Maggie Stiefvater

4/5 stars

I am a strong lover of Maggie Stiefvater’s wrong and this one is no different. She does an absolutely amazing job of capturing scenery and emotions of characters no matter how big or small they are. At some points I could see where this could be kind of useless, but I did watch a book review where they understood that this was probably a tale for morals. If that is indeed the case, then I completely appreciate this focus on individuals and their wants and needs that are being blocked by their underlying darknesses that they have to overcome to get their ultimate desires. The relationships in this novel are so well played out and I think that is where the growth in this story is, rather than in the individual characters themselves. This story is ultimately about growth in relationships and how that can positively impact an entire community, and that is something you don’t often seen in YA fiction.

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas

4.75/5 stars

Yes, I am this late to the YA hype train. I know this book was super popular in the book community almost three years ago when the second book came out I believe, and I’m only just now reading it. But let me just say, I freaking loved it anyway. I was actually surprised to see just how many people on Youtube disagreed. I found reviews that just bashed almost everything that I enjoyed about this book. Sadly, because of my video browsing, I did find some spoilers (nothing too bad) but they also make me super excited to continue and finish this series. I’m in love with Tamlin (I’m told I won’t be for much longer). I’m SUPER in love with Lucien, we love a smart-ass, witty sidekick. I was in love with Maas’s writing style too, even though this was something others despised. I even marked certain things in my head that I’d like to someday incorporate in my own writing because she’s able to capture landscape and emotion so well and clearly. I do understand that at times her writing and the plot can be repetitive, but I enjoyed how consistent and lasting this made the character’s personalities.  And since this is a series, I expect to see more development in the second and third novel. Also, her talking about Alexandra Bracken in the acknowledgments is absolutely adorable and I’m jealous of their friendship.

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Currently Reading

Lastly, I started The Night Circus. So far I’m only about 50 pages in so I really don’t know what to make of the novel yet. We’ve moved through a lot of the build up to what I assume will be main action and conflict with some hints of plot twists and possible obstacles but I still don’t know where we’re going yet. I enjoy the historical aspect of it because it almost seems timeless for right now. Which is nice for me, because I have a hard time picturing old timey scenery or clothing or technology... or lack-thereof. I will definitely update when I’m done reading either in next month’s reading wrap-up or in a book review!

I’m not exactly sure how much I want to talk about books because even with simple, just-for-fun instances like this, I often get discouraged and want to stop. I don’t even know if Tumblr is the right place to do this at. I just want a space to express my love of reading (and writing) so that my mind stays on top of it and I can remember why I ever liked it to begin with. Thank you so much for reading if you’ve read this far, hopefully I posted more in the near future.

[holylangdon]

Hell Is Too Close (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Request: “I want a fanfic where Michael discovers that you are very powerful, so he seduces you, convinces you to join him, and then you two have some satanic sex with a lot of blood, your eyes turn black, and then… BAM! You two become the power couple from hell.” - ?

“So is there any way we could get more Michael smut ? I don’t have anything real specific but I would love it if you wrote more 🙂❤️” - Anon

“Michael daddy kink smut?!” - Anon

“Michael with a half demon s/o? That could be intesting! Thanks for reading this!” - Anon

Warnings: Demon!Reader, smut, mentions of blood, ritual!sex, dominant!Michael, daddy!kink, slight praise!kink, another classic case of me not knowing how to write an orgasm or the end

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Honestly the request here was a post that I saw a few weeks back in the Michael Langdon tag. If anyone knows who posted it, please DM me! I’d love to give credit

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Michael’s words grossly understated what he meant. He was certain that you were dead, long gone from the nuclear winter. He genuinely didn’t think you were strong enough to survive it. But he should've known better. After all, they do say evil never dies.

“What? A demon in your good, Christian Outpost?” You snickered. “How scandalous, sir.”

The two of you didn’t get along well, clearly. A vicious past had now come back to bite you both in the ass, even worse at a time where Michael had even less time to deal with you than normal. Usually, before the nuclear Armageddon, he’d at least give you some candy and send you on your hellish way, but now? He didn’t even want to look at you. It forced him to come to terms with all of the issues you’d inevitably cause. 

But, begrudgingly, he accepted the simple fact that he needed you. His father needed you, one of his most loyal followers, to assist Michael in his madness and destruction. And you? On the other hand, you were more than glad to stick by his side, because then he’d be forced to protect you.

And while 99% of the people you fucked over were dead, there was still that one percent that was out for blood. 

“Stop with the jokes.” He scowled. His body was tense as he watched over your every move, but somehow as you leaned back in your seat, he found himself more relaxed. The two of you sat in silence for a moment before you spoke up.

“You know that’s just how I am. Can’t quite help it, can I?” You said lightly. Now that... That was something Michael could work with. A glimpse of the real Y/N, underneath the sarcasm and wit. The soft girl that lurked beneath the surface, he was sure that she was there. Or rather, hoped. For his and your’s sanity both.

“If you’re going to be by my side, I need you to be... Tolerable.” Michael smirked, thinking back to his old ways. “I can’t just fuck you into submission anymore.”

You leaned forward again, your elbows resting on your lap. Slowly you moved closer to the desk, hovering over the hardwood. “You can. But you won’t.”

It was his turn to close the space between you, letting his lips press to yours for a moment in a half-kiss. “Don’t make me bend you over this desk, Y/N.”

And with that, he dismissed you back to the common room, unscathed. Disappointed, to say the least. You expected more after the anticipation you’d built for weeks and weeks of waiting to see him.

Michael arrived at the Outpost not but a few hours ago, but it seemed like so much longer as you waited in the room with the chatty humans. After his interview, Gallant and Coco wouldn’t stop talking about their hunger for Michael. You wanted to bash the pair’s heads against the walls, but you restrained yourself. The only quiet one was Dinah Stevens, the witch. She kept her nose buried in the book that rested in her hands. She was your favorite.

Soon, you returned back to your assigned bedroom, Michael having dismissed everyone for the night. You were so glad to finally be slipping out of the uncomfortable Victorian-era dress that you hated so much. You’d have to remember to ask Michael about that later. You were sure that anything with any meaning in this Outpost was at least partly his doing. It always was.

A small knock at your door briefly frightened you as you tugged a robe over your body. Muttering to yourself, you tied the fabric shut as you answered the door.

It was none other than Michael, of course. You pulled him into the room quietly, letting the door shut with a small click behind him.

“What do you need?” You hissed.

“I need you to be more powerful.” He remarked, pacing the room. He boredly glanced at you. “Tonight is a blood moon. You’re going to harvest it.”

“I... I’ve never done that before. Not alone.” You sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. A sly smile crossed his face as he turned towards you.

“Who said you’re doing it alone?”

Minutes later, you stood in the doorway, watching the man prepare for the ritual in the bathroom. Blood seeped from an open wound on his arm as he drew a large circle on the tile floor, unlit candles scattered around it. You had never quite liked rituals. To you, they were gross and messy and a waste of time. But for more power? This was the apocalypse, and you needed it.

You flicked your hand, lighting the candles at once. Michael seemed unamused.

“Do you know how this works?” He asked. You stood from your seat, nodding. You stepped into the circle with him, taking his hands in yours. “Focus.”

Michael began to chant quickly and energetically, his words full of force. You did as you were told, for once, and closed your eyes, focusing on his speech. You slowly felt the warmth of the purified power flowing into you. Ritual magic always felt... different. So cold that you felt like your veins were going to freeze, almost painful. But this was so, so unlike what you were used to feeling... It was a pleasant sensation all over your body as he summoned it straight to you, starting in your toes and working its way up your figure.

It seemed like mere seconds before his lips were on yours, his hands eagerly snaking around your waist to pull you closer. The kiss was needy and lustful, and he wasted no time in untying your robe and letting it loosely drop around you. You let out a soft moan as

It wasn’t long before you were laid across the cold marble floor, your hand wrapped around his length while he hovered over you, his lips leaving sloppy kisses along your neck. You shivered lightly. He knew your body so well, every little place memorized like the back of his hand from how many times he had done it before. He knew just where to suck, just where to lick, just where to bite... And you loved every second of it.

And Michael had to admit that he loved when you were like this. Completely submissive under his touch, willing to do anything he asked of you. He could tell you to stand up and suck his cock and he was certain you’d follow his every command. He thrived on the power dynamic that seemed to be between the two of you. He knew every move you were going to make before you even thought about it. It was electric.

Isn’t it ironic? He fed you more power, then took it away from you.

“Daddy,” You whined, grabbing his attention. It drove him absolutely insane when you called him that. His hand fell down your body, letting his finger glide between your folds carefully. He always loved how wet he could make you with even the simplest of actions, and this encounter was no exception.

“Yes, princess?” He mumbled lightly against your skin, his fingers teasing your clit. You bit back a moan at the touch, finally opening your eyes only to see his bright blue ones, carefully fixed on your body. His finger dipped inside you quickly, earning a needy gasp from you.

“Please fuck me?”

At your request, he lined himself up with your entrance, pushing into you roughly. A loud moan fell from your lips, pleasure overwhelming you as he rocked in and out of you. You bit your bottom lip in a half-hearted attempt to make as little noise as possible.

“Don’t.” He commanded, glaring at you. You knew just how much he hated it when you did that. He wanted to hear every little sound you made, your moans and light whimpers of his name feeling like pure bliss to him. He earned them, and he wanted them.

It wasn’t long before your body was begging for release, your breath becoming heavy on your chest as you begged Michael for your orgasm. His hands gripped your waist, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable as it washed over you. You moaned his name so loudly, your back arching as you came. He was shocked to look down as see your eyes flash back through the bliss that the pair of you had just experienced. 

“You’re mine, Y/N.” 

[echoeternally]

Small Salvation (Fanfic)

Oh boy, what haven’t I done in a long while? Let’s check the list...oh! Haven’t posted a Tumblr one-shot fanfic in ages! Let’s go do that, then!

Anyway, I didn’t quite have the time to gather all of my notes, recover from flight, and write up a strong, worthwhile chapter, so I scrounged this up between last night and today. A brand new Pokémon fanfic tie-in!

It’s a cute one-shot story for the first time that Blastoise and Carracosta met! Which is actually nothing that I thought about on vacation, but hit me with a blitz of inspiration this weekend.

So, here we are! Meet cute! Enjoy.

...

Under the cloudy morning sky, a blue turtle wandered into a ravaged town along the riverside. He frowned at the damages, as he observed the broken buildings. A statue of the penguin emperor was shattered, ice sculptures were smashed into shards, archways were caved in, and rubble lined the roads.

 Drumming on the trowels and brushes lined on his belt, the turtle made his way to the settlement’s office, but paused as he glanced at a home not far from it. He turned back and made his way into the office.

 An hour passed as he explored, spotting dust covered books and artifacts left in tact from the damage. He plucked them out and stored them in bags, rubbing his head as he went.

 “Maybe I’m going to need a wagon or something…”

 “Hey! Who’s there?!”

 Jolting, the turtle flailed and fumbled around, bumping a desk missing a leg. He wobbled, managing to regain his balance, and twisted around to the window. Or, where the window should have been, from the bashed open hole in the wall.

 Another turtle hurried over to the opening, though he seemed to wear a mask, or his face was covered oddly. This turtle wore armor, and held a spear in his flipper as he glared in on the other, who grumbled and glowered right back.

 “What are you doing here? Who are you?”

 “My name is Blastoise,” snapped the first, “and I’m here to research the desecration of Overton.”

 “On whose orders?”

 “The chain goes a bit, but I have allowance from his Imperial Highness.”

 “Absurd.” The second turtle scoffed. “I would’ve been informed of it.”

 Snatching a paper from his satchel, Blastoise stormed over to the turtle in the window, and unraveled it, shoving it in his intruder’s face. Backing a bit as he took the paper, the masked turtle scanned it over, tilting his head as lowered his eyes.

 “That’s from the Emperor’s palace,” he confirmed. “But why didn’t they tell me of it?”

 “You must not be very high on the pecking order,” mocked Blastoise, taking back his ordinance. “It’s ok, we all come back to earth at some point.”

 “Bah.”

 “Look, you’re a town guard, right?” Blastoise folded his arms. “I think I should be the one asking you what you’re doing here.” He lowered his eyes, peeking back out at the ruins. “You’re definitely not from here…”

 “They sent me over to keep the settlement from falling into further disarray,” explained the turtle guard. “I’m on rotation with a few others from the neighboring towns.”

 “Ah, well then you’re going to make everything difficult,” complained Blastoise. “I need to search this village for important documents and objects, in order to preserve them.”

 “Huh?”

 “Archaeology.”

 “Oh.” The other turtle rubbed behind his head. “Don’t they usually wait a few years for that kind of, uh, research?”

 “Given how destroyed this place is, I don’t think they’re inclined to wait.” Blastoise glanced behind him at a broken cabinet. “They’re likely looking to salvage as much as possible.”

 “Guess you’re delicate enough going through it all.”

 “Delicate?” Blastoise gestured to himself, “Does any part of this look delicate to you?”

 “Uh…not…quite?”

 “Excuse me?”

 “Ah, not at all!”

 “…You don’t get out much, do you?”

 “Not enough,” admitted the guard. “Parents sheltered me a lot growing up.”

 “And yet you became a guard?”

 “Hey, not everything lines up like you expect,” grumbled the turtle. “Didn’t your work ever teach you that?”

 “Sometimes.” Blastoise folded his arms. “Anyway, are you satisfied? I’ve got work to do.”

 “Hold on!” The turtle tapped his lance on the wall. “This place could be dangerous, and I need to make sure nothing happens.”

 “…Is that you telling me that you’re protecting me?”

 “What?!” The masked turtle blushed. “No! I mean, yes! But that…”

 “Wow.” Blastoise smirked. “From sour to sweet.”

 “Quit it! I’m also making sure you don’t cause more trouble!” He scowled. “Even if the Emperor requested your help, I’m stationed here. So, I’ll be monitoring you.”

 “Sounds like you’re excusing being a creep,” teased Blastoise.

 “I am not!”

 “Relax, just come in here already.” Blastoise picked a brush out. “I need to get back to work. Today’s my only day here.”

 “Well, you’d better get to it.”

 “Beg pardon?”

 “Ah…I, uh, I’ll be in there, just a moment.”

 He hurried around from the window while Blastoise shook his head, and ambled to the nearest broken shelf. As he gazed down to the floor, he spotted another couple of books, and bent over to store them in bags.

 Lifting his head and checking behind him, he glowered at the turtle guard, who winced and clung to his spear.

 “Um, sorry, I, uh, I didn’t…mean to stare…”

 Standing up from the floor, Blastoise blinked and focused down on the turtle guard. Noticing it as well, the guard straightened up.

 “…Huh.” Blastoise smirked. “You’re shorter than I realized.”

 “Excuse you, I am not short!”

 “Definitely are.”

 “Am not!”

 “Ok, if you insist, short stack.”

 “Grr!”

 “You know,” suggested Blastoise, “you could easily get around that by giving me your name.”

 “Wha…?” The turtle blinked. “But I did…?”

 “Not.” Blastoise lowered his eyes and tapped his foot. “You did not.”

 “Well, that’s rude of me. Sorry.” He slouched and rubbed his head, and then perked back up. “Anyway, name’s Carracosta!”

 “Such a pleasure to meet you,” mocked Blastoise. He gathered his findings and pushed a broken chair aside. “Now how about you help me move things along?” Blastoise strode across the room, lifting an eyebrow at Carracosta. “Unless you’d rather just rub your spear while watching.”

 “No, I can help.” Carracosta took two steps after Blastoise, but then paused. “Wait a minute.” He blushed and stiffened. “Hey!”

 “Took you long enough.” Blastoise smirked. “Come on.”

 “Maybe I should just watch you,” argued Carracosta. “After all, if you bend—”

 “Oh, fine, I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes. “I may as well be the bigger turtle…”

 “That’s ok, you’re forgive…” Carracosta blinked, and then fumed. “Quit it with the potshots!”

 “You make it too fun.” Blastoise swept at the desk before him. “On second thought, just stay there. I can laugh while I work.”

 “Absolutely not!” He stormed over and crouched down with Blastoise. “Tell me what’s next.”

 Chuckling, Blastoise handed Carracosta some tools, as they picked at the desk. They cleared debris around the room, tugging out a few different findings. And after they finished with the town office, they wandered to the next building, starting on the research there, excavating in the dirt below a crushed cathedral, and sorting jewels from a shop.

 “Geez, I can see why the Emperor put you on this,” piped up Carracosta, setting down a sapphire for Blastoise’s collection. “It’s still not even nightfall, and you’ve covered plenty of spots.”

 “Honestly, that’s because you’ve helped,” admitted Blastoise.

 “Yeah, but you directed me.” Carracosta smiled. “You’re really talented!”

 “Thanks, but…” Blastoise sighed. “The other reason is that I used to live here, a long time ago.”

 “Wait, really?”

 “Yes.” He spun back and looked at the village. “So much has changed here though, so it’s…harder to navigate than I remembered…”

 “Still sounds like you’ve got impressive skills,” complimented Carracosta.

 “Ha, maybe.” Blastoise shrugged. “I feel like there’s other things that I want to do with my life, though.”

 “Like what?” He snorted. “Settle down and have kids?”

 “Sounds nice.” Smirking, Blastoise poked at Carracosta’s arm. “Why? You did that already? Or are you offering?”

 “Nope, I haven’t, don’t really…wait, what?” Carracosta blinked. “Are you asking—?”

 “Hey, come on,” urged Blastoise, turning away to hide his red cheeks. “This home back by the town office caught my eye. Let’s go check it out.”

 “But…”

 Hesitating as he watched the tortoise double back, Carracosta grumbled and chased after him. They entered the home, as the door hinges snapped from the slightest push. Carracosta rubbed his head, while Blastoise studied the doorway and hall arches.

 “That thing nearly broke right off.” He turned to Blastoise. “What is it?”

 “It’s kind of roomy here…” Blastoise scratched his ear. “I’ve had to squeeze in to other homes. But, this one seems like it accommodates my size.”

 “Ha, so you’re too big, huh?” Carracosta grinned as Blastoise scowled at him, and then bopped his shell. “Ouch! What? You can’t take what you dish out?”

 “Oh, I can.” Blastoise folded his arms, checking the caved in kitchen. “You’re just having too much fun.”

 “Then that’s your fault.” Carracosta smirked again. “Quit treating to me to a good time.”

 “Why, so you can laugh and…?” He blinked and turned back to the guard. “Wait, you’re enjoying all of this?”

 “Kind of, yeah.” Carracosta shrugged. “It’s a different experience, at least, and that makes it interesting.”

 “Maybe I did bump you too hard…”

 “This is your work!” He tilted his head. “Don’t you enjoy it?”

 “Of course, but um…” Blastoise scratched his head. “No one else usually does.”

 “Co-workers?”

 “No, I don’t usually work with groups.” He picked at his shell. “I meant friends, or rather, other folks that have joined me previously.” Blastoise tugged at his arm, staring away at a heavy pot smashed into the cabinet on the wall. “Not that it happens all that often or anything…”

 “Really?” Carracosta held his hips. “But you’re good at it. And you’re fun to be around.”

 “You don’t need to pity me,” mumbled Blastoise.

 “It’s not pity, as you’re pretty entertaining,” insisted Carracosta. “Bit of a tease, but if you take away some of the mocking, I’m happy to have spent the day with you.”

 “Only some?” Blastoise smirked at Carracosta, but then leaned back. “Wait, did you call me a tease?”

 “Oh look, stairs! Let’s go wander upstairs before this whole place crumbles!”

 “The beams should support—”

 “Up we go!”

 Both blushed as they made their way through the shredded family room, and climbed the staircase. The railing was ripped apart in several spots, as they used the wall to guide themselves up.

 Blastoise wandered behind Carracosta, touching at the openings, still puzzled about their size. He bumped into the guard and stumbled back.

 “Everything ok?” Blastoise tapped at Carracosta’s shoulder. “Unless that’s how you get a—”

 “Hold on.” Carracosta paled, and pulled his spear back out. “Don’t move.”

 “Why?” Blastoise raised an eyebrow. “Are you ok, did I…?”

 His mouth hung open, as Blastoise gazed past Carracosta, spotting blood that stained the bedroom before them. Lifting his spear, Carracosta stepped in, poking at the blankets on the bed.

 Nothing budged, and he lifted them, only to find the mattress beneath. He scanned the room, noting its tarnished state with the broken dressers and mirror, but dropped his shoulders, as he looked closer.

 “It’s all dried out,” confirmed Carracosta. “It’s like that third house we went to.”

 “Why does this one have so much more though?”

 “Don’t know.” He spun back to Blastoise. “Did they mention what exactly happened here?”

 “All I was told was that the village had an incident,” murmured Blastoise. “This is supposed to be a quiet town. What could have possibly happened…?”

 “Hm.” Carracosta lifted his spear and shuffled back to Blastoise in the hall. “We only saw two houses with blood, so…maybe an affair gone terribly wrong?”

 “Seriously?”

 “It’s possible!”

 “What about the rest of the town?”

 “Uh…” Carracosta rubbed his arm. “Ok, maybe I’m thinking too small.”

 “Actually, that didn’t even cross my mind, but thinking of just the two houses with that scope, you never know,” determined Blastoise. “Unlikely based on everywhere else, but it wasn’t half bad of a guess based on the two homes.”

 “Aw, did it hurt for you to compliment me like that?”

 “Not at all.” Blastoise smiled. “And, ah, thank you, for protecting me.”

 “Oh! You’re welcome.” Carracosta glanced at a dropped painting as he blushed. “Just part of my job, nothing special.”

 “Here I thought you were starting to like me.”

 “But I already do?”

 “Wow, really?” Blastoise’s ears twitched and he straightened up. “Hang on, what was that?”

 “What was what?”

 “Something cracked.”

 “…Besides the whole house?”

 “No, in this next room.” He tugged Carracosta’s free arm. “Come on, right over here.”

 “Wait, wait! Get behind me!”

 Together, they pushed on the door stuck in the arch, failing to get it to budge. Nodding to one another, they pulled back and tackled forward, knocking the door away and dropping in.

 Pushing up from the ground, Carracosta helped Blastoise up, and they gazed inside of the room. A crib waited inside, its front buried under the broken door. A cracking egg sat inside of the crib, snapping open as the turtles gawked at it.

 “Is that an Egg?” Carracosta shook his head and blinked. “A baby was here this whole time?!”

 “Good gods, they’re coming out now.”

 Blue arms pushed from the egg’s shell, and a tiny turtle forced his way out of it, falling out and onto the mattress. He whimpered as he looked around his crib, shuddering as he searched the room.

 “Oh no…he…”

 “Hush!”

 Hearing them, the baby turned to the turtle pair with him. Blinking, he smiled and flailed around, as the pair stared at the newborn.

 “Oh my gods…” Blastoise fixated on the child. “He’s…alive. He looks fine, and he’s—”

 “Adorable!” Carracosta gently clapped and scooted closer. “Oh, look at him, Blastoise! He’s such a cutie!” He grinned and turned back to his partner. “And he’s like you!”

 “He’s alone,” uttered Blastoise.

 Carracosta’s broad beam faded, and he turned back to the smiling child. He slumped down as the baby tossed and turned, reaching out as he waved.

 “…What do we do…?”

 “…I’ll take him.”

 “What?” Carracosta spiraled back. “How?”

 “There’s…other work that I can do, doesn’t need to be field work.”

 “But—”

 “It can’t be you,” decided Blastoise. “You’ve got enough to juggle as a guard, and even more so if you get promoted to the Emperor’s knights.” He smirked as Carracosta’s mouth opened. “Town guards tend to get promoted to help fill in the ranks for the Empire, right?”

 “Well, yes, but…”

 “I can’t leave him, Carracosta.” Blastoise ambled over and leaned over the baby. “Not after seeing all of this, not knowing…” He shook his head. “This was my home, ages ago. It should fall to me to keep this place alive.”

 “Nonsense, don’t be a martyr over it!”

 “Even if I’m not, I won’t leave him,” reiterated Blastoise. “I can’t.”

 The baby reached up as Blastoise scooped him up. He smiled at the tiny turtle, gently cradling him as he made his way from the room. Carracosta pushed back up, and fixated on Blastoise and the baby as they stopped by the doorway. He turned back to the turtle guard, and tilted his head.

 “What?”

 “Nothing, I…” Carracosta smiled. “That’s noble and…really sweet of you.”

 “Ha, well…” Blastoise blushed and brought the baby closer. “Ah, I’m about to be very not-sweet, and ask you to help gather everything we found to leave with.”

 “Uh…that’s a lot,” realized Carracosta.

 “If you need—”

 “No, no, you leave it to me!” He pounded his chest and grinned. “I’ll get you all set to go, quick and easy!”

 “Are you sure?”

 “Absolutely!”

 Exiting the shambled home, Carracosta hurried around to gather his and Blastoise’s findings. He gathered everything together and tied it all up, and followed Blastoise from the lost settlement of Overton.

 They approached the nearby river and a boat made its way down. Blastoise rocked the baby as he reached for his supplies, but Carracosta batted him away, and lifted it back up himself. He placed it onboard, as Blastoise climbed on.

 “Thank you for all of your help.” Blastoise smiled to Carracosta. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

 “Likewise! And you take care of that kiddo, huh?”

 Approaching the baby, Carracosta waved his flipper as the tiny turtle giggled and grabbed for him, barely able to reach up. The older turtles laughed at the child, and the guard stepped back, smiling as the boat began to push away from its dock.

 “Good luck, I hope you reach knighthood,” called Blastoise, and he waved along with the baby. “I think you’ll do great.”

 “Ha, I sure hope so. And I wish you two well too!”

 “Thank you, Carracosta!”

 They waved until they were out of each other’s sights. Carracosta sighed and gazed at the sunset, his smile fading.

 “…Ah crap.” He slouched. “Didn’t even ask him where he’s from…”

 Groaning, the turtle guard hung his head and arms, wandering away from the riverside. He exhaled and dragged himself along, taking three minutes before he perked back up, and made his way back to the neighboring town he was stationed at.

 A couple of months later, Carracosta grumbled as he marched through the imperial city, wearing new armor and the colors of the Empire. He sulked as he glanced up at the palace in the distance, and went back to wandering through the city square.

 “Figures I’d end up knighted for the empire that struggles to keep any of them safe,” he muttered. “Should’ve taken up another job…”

 He fumbled back as a small mouse and duck hurried past him, laughing as the children played together. A swan bumped past him and knocked him over, as he flopped back onto his shell.

 Grumbling, Carracosta wobbled and spun himself around, glaring at the children and their guardian as they raced off. His expression softened as their laughter rang out from the city streets, and he lowered his head as he pushed back up from the ground.

 “Should’ve gotten that damned address,” he muttered, as he had four days ago, and two before that. “Gods, I could’ve at least been able to mail him…”

 He wandered back through his post of the city, and passed by a market stall. He glanced at the fruits gathered from the southern kingdom, and glumly picked up a bright apple from the basket.

 “Excuse me!” Carracosta jolted up at the voice, and spun back, spotting a blue tortoise, cradling a tiny turtle and shifting back to the vendor. “Sorry, could I just get one more apple? My son seems like he loves these.” The chinchilla smiled and placed her coins past her scarf, giving the extra apple away. “No charge? Are you sure?” She nodded and the turtle beamed. “Thank you very much!”

 “No way…”

 Blastoise spun away, giving Squirtle the apple to hold. Carracosta tossed his back and chased after the pair, hurrying up as Blastoise’s ears twitched.

 “Look, I offered…” Blastoise blinked as Carracosta gawked at him. “…Carracosta?”

 “Blastoise! It is you!”

 “Of course.” He smirked. “Should’ve known I’d run into you here eventually.” He smirked at him. “You’re the only knight that would scramble after me like that.”

 “Hey!” Carracosta straightened up and folded his arms. “That’s not a great greeting after it’s been so long!”

 “It’s been a few months.”

 “I didn’t think it’d be ever!” Carracosta dropped his arms. “Meant to ask you for your address or something to mail you, but that completely slipped my mind!”

 “Ha, so it did.” Blastoise smirked as he shifted his baby around. “Should’ve figured that one out too; you didn’t even remember your name with your introduction.”

 “Come off it,” groaned Carracosta. “What brings you here?”

 “Brings me?” Blastoise chuckled. “I live here now. This is where they’ve got me after I requested to stop field excavations.”

 “Wait.” Carracosta blinked and jerked back. “You…you live here now, in the city? We live in the same place?!”

 “Not quite, unless they’ve kicked the knights out of the palace.”

 “Where do you live?!” Carracosta bounced up. “Is it near here? Would I be able to visit? I’m sure I can clear time at some point to see you!” He blushed and rubbed his arm over his face. “You as in both of you. You and the baby, that is. Um…yeah!”

 “Well, well.” Blastoise blushed and grinned. “I don’t think anyone’s ever missed me that much.” He bumped the baby up a little more. “You must really want to see my kid, huh?”

 “Definitely, and his papa’s the extra perk!”

 “You’re not even being subtle,” teased Blastoise. He blushed as he gazed around the city square’s citizens. “I think at least five of them are staring.”

 “So let them stare!”

 Carracosta reached over and played with the baby, who giggled and reached up at him. Blastoise smiled as he held tiny turtle out to Carracosta, and they laughed as they batted at one another.

 “What’s his name?”

 “Squirtle, of course.”

 “He’s gotten even cuter! Ha!”

 The little one yawned and Blastoise brought him back in, while Carracosta sighed and stared back up to him.

 “So? Would you show me where you live?”

 “Don’t you have a patrol to keep up with?” Blastoise winked. “No slacking off, not for his sake.”

 “How about yours?”

 “Especially not for mine.” Blastoise looked up the street. “Which way are you going?”

 “Eastern bound today.”

 “Huh.” Blastoise rubbed his chin. “Well, that’s…convenient.”

 “Do you live that way?!”

 “Surprisingly for you, yes.” Blastoise smirked. “So, I guess you can escort my son and I home.” He lowered his eyes. “Just keep a sharp eye out. Our people need you too.”

 “Please. I’d defend this city with my life!” Carracosta puffed his chest out. “That’s my duty, after all.”

 “Right, right, we’re a big shot knight now, huh?” Blastoise stuck his tongue out. “You’re always going to be my short stack, though.”

 “Oh, not that again…” Carracosta slouched but popped back up, cheeks red. “Wait, your short stack?”

 “Anyway, your route is this way, right? Come on, you’ve been dawdling,” teased Blastoise, hiding his face as he hurried along.

 “But you just—”

 “Don’t make me tell the Emperor you’re shirking on your work!”

 With a broad beam, Carracosta chased after Blastoise and the baby Squirtle, as they made their way through the city streets.

...

...

...

And wasn’t that just precious? It’s so nice that they won’t go through any kinds of emotional trauma years later or anything!

But yeah, I had written up some small ideas for my ongoing works while away, still have to transfer them to my main computer, and yet this is what ended up getting stuck in my head after all that. I don’t get it, but I liked it.

It was really fun, because Blastoise and Carracosta are one of my oldest couples for my ongoing Pokemon fanfic, so it’s nice to visit their origins, and Squirtle’s too! It’s funny, because they’re more recent going chronologically, but they were one of the first that I came up with conceptually.

Didn’t really take the time to research archaeology, so it’s probably more of an “artistic interpretation” for it. But it works out for Blastoise, and gives a passable excuse for him and Carracosta to meet up.

They weren’t quite supposed to jump right into romance, but I decided to have them flirt a bit in this little story, since...I’m a trash shipper. Come on, you guys know this about me by now.

Anyway, not much else to go over, just some cute fluff to help get me back into the swing of things. I’ve got a lot of irl crap to get back to, but this was a nice way to relax before diving back in.

Hope you enjoyed this little bit! It’ll eventually find its way to the Scattered Petals collection on FFN, and I still need to transfer that to AO3 next. Projects for another day, though.

Thank you for reading!

[alexdanversfbi]

Supergirl, Sanvers Fandom and LGBTQ - in response to Twitter Posts.

I’m making a post to try & clarify some things since I made a post, & subsequent issues that have arisen from it. Forewarning, this is going to be quite lengthy but I hope you will read it carefully and fully.

Firstly, I’m a transgender man. I’m in my early 50’s. I’m happily married.

My wife (who now ID’s as bi, but for a long time until my transition, was lesbian, as I had lived as well), quite honestly have been involved in the LGBT community & push for representation and law changes longer than many Sanvers fans have been alive.

I say this to make the point, not to say it makes us better at it, or everyone needs to listen only to us - but that to say we’ve seen no representation, to poor & patchy representation, to representation starting to improve.

Both in laws of the land & on screen.

We’ve faced homophobia & seen transphobia up front and personal since childhood. My in-laws were a staunch allies for lgbt people. My mother in law was a beard to a friend of hers, as they went to underground parties simply so he could date another man. Sadly, my own family were less supportive, & while I wasn’t kicked out of my home, I didn’t get unconditional love & support either. While my father is now dead, I’m still facing it today with a mother who is terrible at acknowledging transgender me.

It all has a long way to go - and it might seem glacial to some, but in the decades we’ve seen it going on, there is far more good than there ever was. It’s still mixed in with the bad though. But more on that later.

I got into the SG fandom late.

Really late!

As late as about 3 months ago, because as a surprise for my wife, I bought her tickets for Ultimates specifically to see Flo as an early wedding anniversary present (it’s in May). She had watched the show (although had stopped before the end of S3 after the debacle of Sanvers and the ridiculous storylines being assigned to Alex). I hadn’t even done that.

However, she still talked about it, but because of what happened with Sanvers had said it wasn’t worth me watching it (she had watched it separately from me for a number of different reasons), because of how bad it was.

So I didn’t bother. Why watch something that was going to destroy any good it gave.

My wife though did say how there were (up until the shitstorm of S3) parallels to Maggie’s (& to Alex’s) stories to another program we did watch on UK TV Bad Girls, and Nikki Wade with Helen Stewart. Nikki was kicked out of the family home for being gay at 16. Was an out lesbian. Helen had only been with men, met Nikki, questioned her relationships - and eventually, unlike SG, they gave them the happy ending.

She also remarked how Flo had left for good reasons because of the way Maggie was written beyond the arc of girlfriend to Alex.

Remember, I wasn’t around the fandom, and to be honest, although my wife is a fan of Sanvers & Flo - she wasn’t really around social media either, particularly at the time Flo left. She hadn’t followed any Sanvers fans at that point.

So neither of us had seen the Flo hate. We’ve heard about it - but since neither of us were active at that time, we simply haven’t seen it.

It does not mean for one split second we condone stuff like that, any more than we condone hate sent to any actor or actress, regardless of the circumstances.

So I’m nipping in the bud any accusations of Flo hate from me now. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

We did see some Flo hate on Instagram as S2 of The punisher started and my wife went in on occasion to defend her.

I could do it - but I have crippling anxiety. Even writing this is because of the support of my wife.

It does mean I find it hard - extremely hard - to go in unannounced to people I don’t know to say anything.

My wife does though stand up if she sees anything. It’s just her online time is often restricted.

Back to SG now - we weren’t watching, even though Nicole Maines was cast, but because I was late to watching SG, it really wasn’t something I was aware of.

I will add, my main social media presence until the last couple of months was Facebook or Instagram. So it did pass me by.

Both of us actually, as my wife - due to disability - isn’t always the most active either. She had heard of it, but we often have other stuff in real life going on (hospital & doctor appointments etc), and that was one of those times, so it was there, but not up front & centre for us.

Now this might not seem like a big deal to some or a good enough reason to watch, but to me this is my Maggie moment when I did realise what was going on fully.

As a Transgender man, to see a transgender superhero finally being cast - that was great news.

What wasn’t so great - it was via SG. A program that had shown demonstratively poor judgement & queer baiting since the loss of Flo.

Were we worried that Nicole’s character would get the same treatment?

Absolutely we were.

However, coupled with having bought my wife tickets for Ultimates to meet Flo, I decided to watch SG, since it meant I had an idea about who we’d be meeting.

Then Nicole was added as a guest and that was it. Tough as it might be, we had two reasons to watch.

My wife warned me what was to come. How Sanvers broke up. How poor the writing became (not just Sanvers, but Alex, Mon-El and far more than I can get into here). Despite being warned, I loved the start. I loved (& still love Sanvers). I get why it became so important for a lot of viewers.

I hate how it was dealt with on screen at the end.

Utterly despise it in fact.

But remember, I only came into this recently, so I have no history of how it played out in real time on social media.

I’d become a huge Chyler fan (but I enjoyed her as Lexie) as I loved Alex, the wife is still a huge Flo fan.

Sanvers even had me drawing again for the 1st time in 15 years (see my pinned Tweet as it’s a Sanvers kiss).

But Ultimates was booked.

Then Nicole came along.

So we both grit our teeth and started watching the rest of S3, and what had already been shown of S4 (to show you how late this was, it was already to episode 13 of S4 when we started it).

Season 3 and the first 10 or 11 episodes of S4 are ….. at best badly written. Poor storylines, plot holes you could drive a bus through … but despite all this, we took what we could because the Nia storyline was being handled fairly well.

Now we could argue why settle for something so poor? Why not push for better representation.

I cannot stress enough (and honestly, the whole thing I was trying to put in a 240 character Tweet that has resulted in all this), that for us the show had now put in representation & produced something we’d not seen until now.

The show has moved on, and goodness me, if you truly think I expect people to move on, then it isn’t the case. I was merely trying to explain, that even previously staunch Sanvers fans might well now watch for completely different reasons.

It doesn’t mean there are other staunch Sanvers fans who should move on. You are just as valid in what you want.

It doesn’t even mean the fight for Sanvers as endgame should stop, and people of differing views can still want that to happen.

It was definitely not to bash Maggie (or Flo), particularly as it was Flo who was the reason we are attending Ultimates.

For me the reason I now watch is because of Nia and Alex.

My wife because of Nia.

As difficult as it is to palate for a lot of you (understandably), there are also going to be those who’ll watch the new LI because it’s another area of representation in having a gay black woman on screen.

We’ve (wife & myself) been around long enough to know what poor & good representation looks like. Heck, good representation is nigh on impossible to find - I can say Helen & Nikki were one of the lucky ones. In the 20 years since that’s happened, I’m struggling to find many others. They are out there, but when it’s only a dozen or so at best, it’s tough.

As my wife remarked the other week; when Jes MacCallan wears a t-shirt at Clexacon that lists wlw and it’s barely enough to be on the front of said t-shirt - that shows how poor it’s been. And then most didn’t have a happily ever after. Sure it’s not a comprehensive list, but it does help prove how poor it’s been.

But also remember as poor as that has been, there are some (like trans or gay men or black women) who’ve had even less. They deserve more, & sometimes that starting point is horribly bad.

We’ve also been around long enough to know it isn’t black & white. It isn’t linear.

Just like coming out, you constantly have to do it. That sometimes means taking what is the worst outcome, but using it to steadily push for the better ones. It sometimes means you might have to take that step backwards to move forwards.

It can also feel unsavoury to do that.

A prime example I can think of here in the UK is we remember when people first started touting same sex marriage - and at that point, they were in process of changing the law on same sex adoption.

For those not aware of the UK law that was - it allowed single gay people to adopt, but not couples .... so stupidly a gay person could adopt if single, and then become involved with someone else, but if you were in a committed relationship no go - anyway, from that law the discussion to get marriage in place started. Gay men were openly likened to those opposing the law change to peodophiles, as sadly still happens to gay men today.

That change in adoption law was a big step forward in getting the laws on marriage here changed.

Then came civil partnership. So many people were angry it wasn’t enough and many said it was in fact a step back. Yet, for us it was a huge step forward. I kept trying to explain then, you often have to take the least favourable option to keep pushing for the best outcome. That marriage could happen, but don’t dismiss what was occurring simply because it wasn’t good enough for you.

It is an exhausting situation, to constantly push for better representation. This is a process. Occasionally that process will force steps back - but as long as the overall push is bigger than that, it will carry on.

For me, I do think that Alex is slowly getting a better deal as a character and I’ve enjoyed the latter part of her story arc in S4.

Does it mean it’s as good as it was or could be?

No, it doesn’t. But it also doesn’t mean - and this is my opinion, and believe it or not I’m okay if people watching don’t agree - pretty much all of S3 (honestly that is a clusterfuck of epic proportions) and the first half of S4 are about as bad as it can be.

Nicole has also had good representation though. There is a lot that resonates for me. A lot I wish I could’ve seen as a child growing up, not in my early 50’s.

Think about that.

I’m finally seeing good representation in my 50’s for the first time.

Albeit in a program that has far from stellar representation for a long time.

This isn’t the 2nd, or 3rd or however many times it has gone on for lesbian couples on TV.

That for me is a huge deal. Huge!

Like a black gay woman is going to be huge for some others.

However, it also means if the LI for Alex gets storylines that Flo deserved I won’t be pissed.

You can bet I will be. As will my wife.

We’ll undoubtedly rip apart the producers for it at home, as we’ve done so many times. Just because people haven’t seen it, doesn’t mean it hasn’t been said.

I guess what I’m trying to say in all this rambling is I truly have no quarrel with people wanting to stay solely as Sanvers fans. I just want to be allowed to go beyond that (and I would love nothing more than Sanvers endgame), even if that seems counterintuitive to some of you.

I’ve never posted anything with ulterior motives to attack any group of fans. It might have appeared that way for some - but truly I simply posted something on my timeline as a general observation. It was not directed at anyone per se.

I’ve realised that it’s been construed as such, but those who do know me also know I will never disparage others intentionally. If it comes across as such, it was - believe it not - unintentionally done. If you don’t want to believe that, I can’t change that, but I do ask you don’t keep saying stuff about it to me.

I’ve not seen much beyond interacting with some mutuals on Twitter.

It appears there is a far greater history going on than I could have ever imagined between some people.

So for now - I’m going to post my usual things but to try to avoid posting directly to followers except family & friends away from the fandom.

To make it absolutely clear I never intend or intended to get pulled into a war of words with anyone.

I just want to enjoy Sanvers - and for me personally, go beyond that.

It’s just I’ve seen so much progress for the LGBT community, even if it could be faster.

I saw lesbian activists disrupting the BBC news in protest to the government of the time and Clause 28.

I saw the news report of the bomb that went off in a gay Soho nightclub.

I watched friends become stigmatised for being gay men at the start of the AIDS crisis.

I saw people fighting HIV & later AIDS & some dying as a result.

I’ve seen this and far more. I’ve actively campaigned on issues ranging from animal rights to LGBT rights, when the T wasn’t even part of the acronym, to nuclear disarmament and far more.

I’ve seen more positives finally coming about in the last 18 years than anything that’s gone before it.

We’ll face steps backwards. Some will be greater than others, but make no mistake, the strides forward are bigger.

Activism for better representation isn’t just something to hinge on one TV storyline or show - it can just be about that of course - but life is messy. It takes steps in many different directions for many different people.  

If people were offended, then I am saying sorry.

It has though been difficult to become embroiled in something that is far further reaching than I had any idea about.

One of the perils of being so new to the fandom I guess.

And now I’m off to cuddle one of our cats.

[choicesfanficanonymous]

Kin (Estela x MC/Taylor (f), Estela/Aleister sibling stuff)

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Summary: Post-ending (Endless ending). The world beyond La Huerta is gone, Taylor’s family are nothing but a fabricated daydream, and Estela’s only living relative is a walking reminder of her connection with the figure that tore her life apart. What do love and kinship mean in this burned and scarred world?

Word Count: 5384 words (sorry, a long one!)

“Hear me out, dudes,” Raj urged, setting down steaming plates of food on the table. “this place has everything; everything we need… except for…”

“Waterslides!” Craig exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

“…waterslides!” Raj finished.

“And how,” Aleister sneered, “pray tell, do you intend to build such a thing? I suppose one of you is an engineer, equipped to build a theme park monstrosity up to health and safety regulations.”

Jake scoffed. “Malfoy, when has anything we’ve done met health and safety regulations? I dunno… maybe jumping into the path of the Loch Ness monster’s psycho cousin with nothing but a ripped-up hang-glider was a stretch, but a slide? That’s goin’ too far!”

“Fine, enjoy your death-trap. I can assure you I won’t be running around beneath it holding a net.” Aleister wrinkled his nose. “But there’s no escaping the fact that a waterslide would be an absolute eyesore. I swear, paradise is wasted on you people!”

“But who build’s a world-class tropical resort without a waterslide?”

Around the tables by the pool that had been brought together for breakfast, the Catalysts, save for Diego who had spent the night in Elyys’tel with Varyyn, chattered animatedly. Since Rourke’s demise, it had become routine, along with the nightly dinner gathering. Dealing, as they were, with a loss so huge, so devastating, holding together was the best they could do. Raj was in his element- on almost full-time hospitality duty- and he saw it as a way of honouring his grandmother. If he could do anything at all to keep his friends smiling as they moved through unspeakable grief, he’d be doing her proud. Taylor, wracked with guilt for her failure to sacrifice herself to end her friends’ suffering, had been reclusive, but she was trying… she was trying so hard to be the supportive shoulder they all needed. Beneath the table, her fingers were entwined with Estela’s, stroking them in a circular motion, and feeling a soft and reassuring pressure in return. As she took a sip of juice- what strange fruit it contained, a mystery- Taylor briefly made eye contact with her wife, and it was enough to make her heart flutter. She tuned back in to the familiar bickering and reached for a breakfast burrito.

“This is ridiculous!” Aleister was saying. “When you’ve all emerged from fantasy land, we can talk about creating something that’s actually worthwhile. The sheer knowledge we have access to- the possibilities are…”

“Waterslide! Waterslide! Waterslide!” chanted Craig, banging his fists on the table. To his great satisfaction, Aleister’s face began to colour with increasing frustration.

“I’m sorry- how old are you; eight?”

“And what are you, the fun police? Estela- he’s your brother, stick it to him!”

In an instant, the table went quiet. Estela’s expression turned cold and stony. A hard glare resting upon Craig, who withered back with an averted gaze, she got to her feet and, without a word, walked away.

Aleister looked pointedly in the opposing direction, discomfort showing clearly on his flushed, drawn face. Grace immediately placed her hand over his, looking over him with great concern.

Zahra rolled her eyes. “Nice one, dumbass, you really outdid yourself there.”

Quinn’s brow furrowed, worry all over her face. “Taylor, is she okay?”

“I- I’ll go after her.” Her gut twisting, Taylor rose from the table. The silently bubbling tension within the group had finally breached the surface, and she felt a personal responsibility to resolve it.

She strode out onto the sand, picking up the pace until she had almost reached her wife’s side. Without looking back, Estela reached her hand out behind her, inviting Taylor in.

“It’s a shame we can’t fix that faulty connection between Craig’s brain and his mouth.” Taylor took Estela’s hand and grasped it tight.

“Family means something,” Estela growled. “My family is gone. Aleister is not… is not…”

With a tug of her arm, Taylor pulled her into a hug. Estela was tense, but she returned the gesture, her movements stilted.

“Do you want to be on your own right now?”

Estela took a moment before answering. “No. Stay with me.” She held on tightly to Taylor’s hand. It anchored her, holding her from losing herself in grief and rage. Slowly, she calmed herself and gave Taylor an encouraging smile. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I don’t worry about you- pretty sure you are literally the biggest badass on earth. But I do care about you. And even the strongest people can use a hand to hold sometime.”

“You can do more than hold my hand, you know,” Estela said, a smirk on her face and a glint in her eye.

With a giggle, Taylor nuzzled her face close to Estela’s and planted a sweet kiss on her cheek. “That’s a start, right?”

“I’m feeling better already.”

As she went in for another kiss, Taylor felt a gentle hand catch the side of her face, lovingly drawing her lips towards Estela’s. They met in a tender, lingering dance.

Estela came away, her cheeks glowing. She sighed. “Goddammit, I love you, Taylor.”

“Goddammit, Estela, I think I love you too,” Taylor said, a laugh in her voice. She playfully twiddled with Estela’s hair as she watched her expression become thoughtful.

“I do want to open up to everyone. I care about them,” Estela said. “Even Aleister, two-faced bastard,” she added with a snarl. “It’s just, some things I… can’t. He’s no brother of mine. Hearing it is a knife in my chest. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. Well, as much as anyone can. You know, I don’t think anyone’s expecting you to be a bubbly, outgoing life of the party all of a sudden. And everyone knows you care. It’s obvious. They like you for you. I think even Aleister does… in his snobby, terrified way.”

“He should be scared. Half the time I can’t stand to look at him. And the stupid thing is, I don’t even know if it’s the betrayal, or if I just don’t want a reminder of who I am.”

Taylor shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m getting the impression the ‘secret half-sibling’ thing is weirding him out too.” She kicked off her shoes and walked into the sea, enjoying the cooling feeling of the water lapping around her ankles. “Look, I know talking isn’t always your strong point, but it might do you both good to just put it all out there. Maybe that’d do something about that elephant in the room.”

“The last elephant on earth… maybe we should keep it, for now.” Estela sat down in the sand and rested her head on her hands. There was no hurry; they were together on this island for as long as they lived. Confronting Aleister, confronting whatever it was he meant to her, it could all wait.

“Just… just, don’t let it trample over you, all right? You deserve to be happy.”

In spite of everything, a smile tugged at Estela’s mouth. She watched Taylor wandering through the shallows, her face a picture of quiet contemplation. There had been a lot of that in the week or so since Rourke’s plans had been scuppered… introspection, coming to terms with new identities and adjusting to a future so different to what any of them had envisioned. Estela knew she was fortunate; grief for her tio and the earth aside, her future was far brighter than she’d have expected not so long ago. She just hoped her friends- friends… how long it had been since she’d had any of those- would in time find the same contentment. Perhaps more than anyone else, though, Taylor appeared lost. Estela looked over her wife protectively in the aftermath; with no quest for vengeance to occupy her, her purpose was now to support Taylor through a turbulent period of transition. And, of course, it worked both ways. Today felt like a bad day, but there would be tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that. Estela bit her lip, her eyes glazing over as troubled thoughts swirled through her mind. Perhaps Taylor was right. Perhaps she should stop skirting around Aleister, if nothing else but to avoid awkwardness for everyone else. She wondered, how did Aleister perceive her? The child of his father’s affair, he could quite easily resent her. Maybe he should. After all, at the end of the line, Rourke had acknowledged Estela as his truest heir, not Aleister. As much as she tried to shake the ridiculous thought from her head, Estela found herself coming back to a disturbing conclusion. Part of her was afraid that Aleister- not family, never family, but a genuine link to her mother- might turn away from her. She angrily pushed the notion from her thoughts. She didn’t need or want a half-brother, and certainly not a literal Rourke clone at that. It was just… part of letting go, and she’d grown enough to know that letting go was what she needed. Having been powered on anger for so very long, Estela wasn’t quite sure who she’d be once she had no living person to channel it towards. Would she simply implode? Perhaps… if she didn’t have Taylor.

The faint sound of sand beneath light feet made Estela alert. She glanced sideways to see Quinn approaching, a piled-up plate in her hands.

“I thought you might appreciate breakfast to go,” said Quinn shyly.

Surprised and touched, Estela sat back in the sand and offered Quinn a bashful smile. That girl really was too good.

“Thanks.”

Taylor came running back from the water and put her arms around Quinn. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Quinn beamed in response, and she carefully sat herself down beside Estela, making sure not to drop anything. “Well, I couldn’t let you miss out. I think we all know Raj’s heart would break just a little if you two didn’t get to enjoy his breakfast burritos.” Tentatively, she placed a hand on Estela’s arm. “And, if I’m honest, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Estela’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t shy away. “I’m… fine. Is Aleister…?” She shook her head. “However I feel about him, I mean… I don’t like him… but we’re on the same side. When it comes down to it, it’s not him who’s really hurt me, it’s his father.” Still, she could not say ‘our’ father. Her tio was the only father figure she’d ever needed. Out of nowhere, she felt a stab of pity for Aleister. He’d never had that.

“I think he and Grace were gonna go down to the library together. That’s their happy place.”

Taylor plonked herself down in the sand and began tucking in. “Honestly? I think that Aleister’s pretty happy on the whole. He’s just adjusting to… a lot.” She gave a little sigh. Poor Aleister. With everything that had happened since the revelation of his origin, she hadn’t taken as much time as she should have to make sure he was okay. Responsible as she felt for caring for her gang of friends, she knew she’d dropped the ball there. “Like we all are. But we’ve all got each other’s backs.” Relieved to see Estela looking a little brighter- another win for Raj’s cooking- she put her free arm around her. “I’m gonna have to give my compliments to Raj- these are so good!”

“We’ve got to be getting low on meat that isn’t squirrel or… dinosaur. Is there anything left in the freezer?”

Quinn furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “I think we’re getting near the end of our supplies. I’ve been meaning to do some baking but… once everything’s gone, it’s gone. We should talk to Varyyn; if the Vaanti can throw lavish feasts, there’s no reason why we can’t make La Huerta work for us too.”

“I don’t need to ask Varyyn to know how to hunt,” said Estela. She was quiet for a moment. They needed to start doing something. The initial high of the fight for survival ending had waned, and what was left was reality. Everyone was in pain. With emotions running high, the group could easily splinter, devoid of a clear way forward. Chilling around The Celestial wasn’t enough anymore. “But you’re right. We have everything we need here. I’m going to go hunting- or fishing, it feels like it’s gonna be a hot one.”

“You’ll teach me, right?” Taylor asked.

Estela just smiled. Honestly, she couldn’t imagine much she’d rather do with herself. She met Taylor’s eyes and answered her silently.

Beaming, Taylor raised her burrito. “To bringing home the bacon- or whatever the screwy La Huerta equivalent might be!”

“Cheers!” laughed Quinn as she and Estela bumped their tortillas to Taylor’s.

Having gathered a few supplies, all the while managing to avoid any awkward encounters in the wake of the breakfast drama, Estela led Taylor along the coast to the west, Furball trotting eagerly at their heels.

“There,” Estela said, nodding her head in the direction of a strip of land rising out into the sea. “There’s a reef just beyond the cliffs.”

Carefully, Taylor lowered herself down the rocky side of the grass-covered headland, gripping tightly with her fingertips in a precarious hold. Beneath her, Estela climbed down with ease, barely slowed by fact that she had the added complication of holding a spear under her arm.

Taylor huffed, a little breathless. A pebble plinked off her forehead, and she looked up to see Furball skittering around the edge, watching them with great curiosity. “You be careful, little guy! You don’t want to sl-“ She bit her tongue as she lurched downward, her foot missing the next hold. Scrambling to regain her grip, Taylor felt something firm beneath the ball of her foot, and she glanced beneath her.

“I think the fox is fine. You might want to check your own footholds.” Estela held the blunt end of the spear beneath Taylor’s foot until she appeared to have steadied herself. She settled on a jutting out ledge just above the water and held out a hand to guide her partner down the last little way.

“And we couldn’t have just swam out from the shore?”

“Not unless you want to catch all the waves breaking. It’s better to go straight to where the fish are.”

Stripping down to her swimming costume, Estela slunk into the water, her movements smooth and stealthy. Taylor followed suit, ducking under the crystal-clear water. Together they swam out to a colourful reef, where they found themselves surrounded by silver-scaled fish that appeared to shimmer in the bright sunlight. It was beautiful.

Running out of breath, Taylor returned to the surface and treaded water, watching as Estela rounded onto a target and popped her head above the water, hair plastered to her face.

“Hey, you want me to try and herd them over to you?”

Estela nodded. “Push them toward the sandbar, if you can.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Taylor swam from side to side, sending the fish swimming away from her- and towards the sandbar, where Estela was waiting. After a few moments, Estela streaked forwards, and came up with a writhing fish on the end of her spear.

“Okay, that was impressive.”

A little smile on her face, Estela beckoned Taylor over to the shallows surrounding the sandbar. She pulled her close against her chest and lowered into the water. “Here,” she said, taking hold of the fish with one hand and giving Taylor the spear with the other. “Don’t flail around so much. Be still… keep your eyes open… focus.”

Feeling her pulse quicken at the sensation of her partner wrapped around her, Taylor took a moment to redirect her attention to the task at hand. She held her breath and put her face under, trying to avoid sending ripples out into the water as Estela gently guided her spear arm backwards in preparation to strike. She didn’t move a muscle, and soon the fishes swam by them, oblivious. Seeing her chance and taking it, she thrust her arm forward, but the resistance from the water was greater than anticipated and she came short.

“Dammit!”

“Try again… you were close.”

Estela swam away, taking her catch back to the rocks, where Furball spun around in excited circles. Determined to catch something, Taylor slipped back beneath the surface and tried again… and again… and again… until finally…

“I got one!” she hollered, taking in a mouthful of water and spluttering.

“You’re a fast learner. Throw it here.”

The sun rose high into the sky, beating down hard on the La Huerta coastline. The pile of fish Furball had been diligently guarding had grown satisfyingly, and he proudly perched himself on top, watching as the women splashed about in the sea. At one point, Taylor had sat him on her shoulder, egging him on as he shot ice out into the waves, catching fish that got in the way of his short, powerful blasts. He only accidentally iced Estela one time. Leaving fishing to the pro, Taylor built up a small fire on the edge of the headland and managed to tackle the cliff face with just enough finesse to bring up a large fish to cook.

“Shit, it’s hot,” Taylor grumbled, very quickly realising that the water was very much the place to be.

Mrrrrp? Furball chirruped, and he sent out a small wave of snow. He bounced to the side and looked up at Taylor quizzically.

Taylor scooted over and sat in the newly frosted-over grass. “Thanks, little guy!” She pulled off a little piece of meat for him and tickled his back as he dug in. That little fox was totally unique, one of a kind. Had he ever had a family? Thinking about Estela and Aleister, about the families her friends had all lost, Taylor felt a bizarre loneliness. She could reach into her mind all she wanted, but there was nothing beyond sitting beside Diego on the plane. In fact, the more she tried, the less that came to her. Even knowing it was all fabricated, a lie, she wished the false memories of a childhood were still there. So she could at least pretend. Next to the lives of everyone she cared about, her existence seemed so… shallow… empty. You could scratch beneath her surface and you’d find nothing, no history at all.

“Something on your mind?”

Taylor jumped, looking behind her to see Estela hauling up the fruits of her efforts up onto the grassy outcrop. “God, you nearly made me jump outta my skin! You know you don’t have to sneak up behind me like a ninja, right?”

Estela crawled over, sitting down beside her wife with a little grin. “It’s fun making you squeal.”

“One of these days, I’m gonna get you so- “

“You can try, if you like. But you should know I don’t scare easily.”

“We’ll see…”

Brushing a wet strand of hair from Taylor’s face, Estela looked at her imploringly. “So, what has you so distracted? You looked… sad.”

Taylor shook her head. “It’s nothing. I…” And then she stopped. There was no point to hiding what she felt, not from Estela. “I’ve just been finding it harder and harder to recall anything I thought I knew before we came here. The fake memories Vaanu gave me. I know how crazy it sounds trying to hold onto something that was never really there, but… it’s all I’ve got.”

A thoughtful frown on Estela’s face, she considered Taylor quietly. “Maybe your true memories are taking their place, pushing them down. Is any of it left at all?”

“I can sort of recall things related to Diego. I guess those feel more real because he’s here, I’ve got something solid to build from. But anything else… no. It used to be like a blur, but now there’s nothing there. Blank. Of course, it was going to be like this- it’s not as if the memories I thought I had were ever real. I just feel hollow, like I’m missing something that should be there.”

Estela pulled her close, so they sat shoulder to shoulder. “I can’t imagine it,” she said softly.

Taylor winced. “This is going to sound insanely self-absorbed with, well, everything, but I wish I’d had a family. People to remember from my childhood. Hell, even to have had a childhood at all.”

“That’s not selfish. All those things; it’s part of being human. How could you not want that?” Estela gave a heavy sigh. “Memories, a past… family. Losing it all, it feels like you’re being ripped… torn to pieces. It’s the worst pain there is. But it hurts because what’s been taken away meant something. My mom, my tio… I would go through losing them again, over and over, if it meant we could have one more day together. Or an hour.” She leant her head against Taylor’s and closed her eyes. Hearing the gentle crashing of the waves, she could imagine they were sitting together on a San Trobidan beach. “I wish I could give you those memories… those hours.”

Grasping her lover’s hand tight, Taylor exhaled shakily. She slowly relaxed into a comfortable silence, closing her eyes to appreciate the feel of Estela next to her, giving unflinching support. Her stupid hurts and worries didn’t feel so shameful while she had that love surrounding her.

“Tell me,” Taylor whispered, after a long while. “Tell me about all the little things. The memories that make it worth the hurt.”

A small but warm smile came to Estela’s face. “For a long time I couldn’t look back. Looking back made me weak, and I couldn’t afford to be weak. Even when I was small, I couldn’t stand it. Mom wanted to protect me, and I never wanted her to feel like she’d failed. When I was eight, I broke my arm- or had it broken for me. Kids in San Trobida, they don’t know anything but fighting. That’s all we see all around us, on the news, it’s just normal… you learn to pull a punch young. It was after that, Tio Nicolas started to teach me to defend myself. I knew I would do whatever it took to follow after him; I was too young to understand, but I knew he was fighting so Mom didn’t have to worry anymore. When the riots kept me awake at night, I would crawl into bed with her. I wasn’t afraid… I didn’t know any different, but I knew she slept better if I was in her arms. I would go to sleep with her singing to me, stroking my hair, holding me like I was her whole world. I’d get up before sunrise, make her a coffee. Spill it everywhere ‘cause, you know, broken arm. And she didn’t care that I made a mess, she just knew I loved her.” Her voice became hushed. “I loved her so much, Taylor.”

“I know.” Taylor gently rubbed Estela’s arm, hoping that she could give even a little comfort. All she really knew of Olivia Montoya was from her virtual reality message, and from the haunting hotel room recording. “I- I wish I could have met her. She seemed so intelligent… brave.”

“She was. She was so determined. Whatever it took for her to get the future she wanted for us, she faced it. But she always found time for us. Just for us.”

“Like going on your lunch hikes?”

“Yes, like that. And when I was little, we used to walk along the beach and collect shells. We’d go swimming and look at the fishes; there would be tropical fishes in all colours. She showed me how to appreciate small things… beautiful things. Sometimes, it felt like the world was blowing up all around us; you need to find beauty in the little things when that’s your life. And she made it easy. Just being near her. She would sit and read on one side of the room, and I would sit on the other side. We didn’t have to say anything, I could just feel that she was there. After she was gone, I don’t remember being happy. Not until I met you.”

Taylor wrapped her arms around Estela’s waist and nuzzled her face against her neck. She suddenly started giggling.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Estela, my love, my soulmate, my heart’s desire, my dearest friend, my starlight… you stink of fish. Like, bad.”

Estela laughed and put her hands to Taylor’s face, pulling her in. She caught her mouth in her own, kissing her fiercely. Taylor’s hands travelled up Estela’s back and into her hair, holding her close as she reciprocated, the momentum pushing them down into the grass. After a moment, they both doubled over, collapsing into giggles.

“You’re not smelling like a basket of flowers yourself.”

“How about we finish this once we’re cleaned up a bit?”

Propping herself back up, Estela gazed over her wife, her cheeks hot. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart.” Taylor looked into those dark eyes, which were brimming with warmth, and felt herself melt. A promise like that? Not even a question.

“I’ll give these to Raj,” Taylor said happily, swinging the bucket of fish. “We are gonna be his absolute favourite people. At least until everyone’s sick of seafood.”

Estela gave her a quick kiss. “I hope so. He’s been on my back about the knives disappearing from the kitchen.”

“Yeah… I’m pretty sure there was a note pinned to the drawer. Something about ‘these knives are for cutting food, not people’. You may have been mentioned by name. In bold block capitals.”

“That’s our next job, then. Make some practical weaponry. We should get a hold of some of that amber the Vaanti use.”

“Sounds good. The cutlery is spared, and you can put your dagger-envy to rest. Everyone’s happy.” Taylor gave Estela a playful shove and headed inside.

Estela made to follow, but her eye was caught by a movement from the side of the hotel. It was Aleister. Her walls leapt up, her gaze hardened, and she turned away.

“Wait! I wanted to…” Aleister faltered, singed by the hostility that radiated off her. “I have something for you.” He wished he’d thought to just give what he’d found to Taylor, who was rather less the human equivalent of a bomb that could go off at any moment. “You needn’t think of it as a gift or anything sentimental. But it belongs to you.”

He thrust his hand forward, ignoring the clear mistrust in Estela’s eyes. She took from him several crumpled photographs.

Estela’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes grew wide, then scrunched tight shut, wet with tears before she could properly comprehend what she held in her hand. She turned herself away from Aleister and messily wiped her eyes.

Mirroring her actions, Aleister awkwardly turned to the opposing side, completely at a loss for what to say. Dealing with emotions was not his strong point. Words of comfort, sympathy? Simply callous coming from him. “I, uh, that is my mother and I… and Grace… we found these in a hidden safe in the library,” he said finally, still avoiding eye contact.  “I had wondered… he said he’d truly loved your mother… perhaps something might have been kept.”

Her fingers running tenderly over a photograph; a small child, arm in a sling, walking hand in hand with her mother along a beach, a rough but almost pretty town in the backdrop, Estela could barely hear Aleister’s words.

“My mother,” he continued, “knew that he’d put away some items from her room. Obviously, somewhere private… hidden. It’s not much, but it seems he couldn’t bring himself to destroy everything.”

A flicker of rage licked through Estela’s heart, but it was extinguished by a bittersweet wave of aching sadness and love.

“It’s the fish… the smell; it’s making my eyes water,” Estela lied, sniffling still.

Aleister snickered appreciatively. “Given the sensitive nature of our exchange, I decided it best not to comment on the… aroma. I am glad that you are at least aware of it.”

“A small price for dinner. I hope you’re hungry.” Frowning, Estela looked down at the ground and then pointedly into Aleister’s face. Well, shit, better get this over with. “We almost died because of you. You were so stupid, so arrogant, you almost killed the only people who gave a damn about you- “

“-Can we not do this now?” Aleister scowled and rolled his eyes. It had been too much to expect to get through to someone so blinded by hate. Estela was just like their father… never satisfied… out of reach. It was small wonder he’d seen something in her that he never had in Aleister. “Is it really so difficult for you to let the past be the past for five minu-“

“No.” Estela’s gaze became steely, and Aleister was momentarily forced into silence. “No; listen.”

“To your well-prepared character assassination? I would rather not.”

“You put your trust in the wrong person. Even the best people…” she felt her voice waver as she thought of her mother, of Lila. “Even the best of us can trust the wrong person… the worst person. In the end… you made your choice. You saved us. He… he told you he could bring your mother back to life. You were an idiot to believe it but… I understand. You’re a better man than Rourke ever was. And I can’t keep holding a grudge against you. I don’t want to.”

Aleister’s face registered surprise, but he quickly collected himself. “Uh, thank you. I know how personal this has been to you; how personal it has always been. You and I have been at odds so much of the time… but I would not have wished my father upon you. I’m sorry.”

Estela winced, her face clouded over. Her eyes flickered back to the photo. To her mother. The last person she imagined would keep her in the dark. Tears rolled down her cheeks and once again she had to look away. She felt a hand placed awkwardly on her shoulder, then hastily removed.

“Ah, I…” Aleister stammered. Where was Grace when he needed her? She’d have wrapped Estela in a hug and been done with it. Certainly, she could have done so without the fear of having her lights punched out. But yet Estela didn’t bristle at the bumbling attempt at physical contact. If anything, she looked… amused. “Is something funny?”

“You’re about as good at opening up as I am,” Estela said, smirking through her tears.

“A side effect of a life shaped by a treacherous snake,” Aleister said with a wry smile. He paused for a moment, trying to read her. “We have a certain kinship. A regrettable one, I’ll admit, but… I’m grateful to have it. He was never much of a father… my mother died when I was small… it has been lonely, I’ll admit. Perhaps, in time…?”

Estela’s mouth was dry. “…maybe we could have a couple of drinks, stew over how he screwed us both over?”

“That sounds appropriate. I don’t expect you to ever see me as family… kin… but…” Unsure, he held out his hand.

“Friends I could do.” With a deep breath, Estela grasped Aleister’s outstretched hand firmly. “I’ll leave the hugging to Taylor, though.” She glanced down to the precious photos held tightly in her other hand. “And, uh, thanks. Thank you… more than I can say.”

He gave her a nod of understanding, and they parted ways. Her photographs clutched to her chest, Estela realised she was trembling.

“Hey?” called Taylor, walking over, her brow furrowed in concern. “Hey, is everything all right?” She put her arm around Estela’s shoulder and inhaled sharply as she saw what was in her hand. “Wait- are those?”

Estela wiped her eyes and nuzzled close to Taylor. “Everything is… good. Uh, better than… uh…” Another deep breath. “It’s family… family stuff.” She put a hand to Taylor’s cheek and almost laughed at the stunned look on her face. “Let’s go up to the room, okay? We’ll get cleaned up and… I’ve got some things to share with you.”

[s0mebodyto-love]

finsta

a/n: I’m back with a Ben fic to output my emotions about real life things lmao so here you go!! My actual experience ends with the post, so I’m hoping something actually happens lmaoooo. Here’s college!Ben with some childhood friendship and some fluff thrown in too.

WC: 1750

Every Thursday night, the bar right across the street from the bus station hosts a karaoke night, and on many an occasion you find yourself there with your little crew. It’s you, your roommate, and some of the girls you sing with in an on-campus choir for non-music majors. The drinks are cheap and everyone goes to sing and have a good time right before the weekend hits.

The little Irish pub lowers its lights and the prices of drinks, and fills quickly. Bursts of cold air blow through the door as it opens and shuts, regulars going in and out to smoke and college students pouring in.

You and you friends swagger in, wrists donning loose orange paper bands showing that you’re the right age remain inside and order drinks. You get a beer, while the others in your group sip on vodka crans and ciders, and you all commandeer a table towards the raised dining area acting as the stage tonight.

At this specific location, karaoke can be anything. Throughout the night, you see people singing their hearts out to Disney, ABBA, and Fifth Harmony. Anything goes, and everyone is singing everything. It even comes down to a group of nearly thirty-somethings singing “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 29” that leaves you in stitches as you sing along.

However, the song you sing hits a little bit more towards home than you expected.

This week has already been a little bit rough. You’ve been on your period, and you reminded yourself of your on-again-off-again feelings for someone back at home… Ben Jones. You’ve known each other since the earlier days of schooling, back when you were 10 years old and him 11. Over the years, it snuck on you slowly just how much you liked him. Your families get along, and have known each other just as long as you two have.

You don’t talk a lot, and most of that has to do with the fact you go to different universities.

But whenever you’re both home, you find yourselves sitting at a high-top at the local coffee shop or shoved into a tiny booth at a local restaurant to sit, eat, and talk for three hours at a time, at the very least. There’s no one else you’ve ever been able to do anything like this with, and that’s made a large impact on your love life.

Any attempt at a date with anyone else is a comparison to Ben.

So this week, karaoke. Right.

You sang Maroon 5’s “Payphone”, rather poorly but you kicked major ass at the rap (which no one expected), and you got to sing it while an old flame from freshman year was in the room.

“Whatever happened,” you wonder, “to those plans we made for two? A load of bullcrap.”

~*~*~

The crowd tapers off from the pub around 1 AM, as a pair of girls sing Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” and as your crew decides to venture into the cold drizzle to get late-night pizza. At this point, you’re tipsy, two of your friends are drunk, and the last two of your friends are sober.

The pizza parlor is packed with college students leaving other bars in groups of 5-6 and pack into booths with the steam still rising from slices of pizza. Your crew stands in the front and orders, then moves into a similar booth and get to talking about anything and everything.

And you get to talking about Ben, after talking about a different date you went on that was okay but clearly was no comparison to the boy you know from home.

“He’s just… everything I guess? My person?” your rambling begins.

“I don’t know, he’s just always been one of my good friends, he knows my family, he’s known me forever… If I’m still attracted to him after all his bad hair phases, I think that means something?” You bring up pictures on your phone too, trying to make the point that one you two would be so good looking together, and two he’s just so attractive to you and you absolutely have to show that off to anyone who will listen.

“Like, see?” They do.

The conversation moves forward after that, but you’re stuck. As you always have been.

You’re quiet the rest of the night, your thoughts stuck throughout the car ride back to campus.

As soon as you and your roommate walk through the door to your apartment, you book it to your bathroom; no longer shared after one of your other roommates moved out at the end of last semester.

Drunk you pees, then sits on your phone for five minutes, typing away on a caption for the finsta post you know Ben will have access to, but unsure if he’d ever read it.

i know you can see this and i hope i’m making this obvious enough. because here is where im most open, and if i don’t get it out now im afraid i wont. liquid courage. its you. it has been you since i realized i cant spend three hours with anyone else in a starbucks and get away with it. no one compares to you, and no one will. and i get you probably don’t feel the same. but if i don’t say anything i know ill regret it. youre the person i see when im singing all these dumb fucking love songs, and im sorry. and here i am, i guess. im sorry. ignore this, or maybe tell me what you think. im sorry.

You smash period and enter repeatedly so the block of text isn’t the focus of the finsta feed, and post.

It’s like in “We Bought a Zoo”. Twenty seconds of courage, even if it’s the liquid kind.

~*~*~

The next day sees no response from Ben, and you’re not surprised. He’s not on social media often enough, let alone that he’d actually see your drunk post. But you let it be, because you’re almost afraid to know what his response is.

A week passes by, and still nothing. Your friends are wondering about it too, and you have no updates for them.

And you’re too afraid to text him.

Friday night sees you driving four hours home, and mid-drive it appears.

[@yourfinsta] @bennieandthejones has liked your photo

And then, a text.

I think we need to talk. When are you home again?

Your heart pounds, and before you can think about it, you call him.

Within one ring, he picks up.

“Hello?”

“I’m literally driving home right now. I have a busy day tomorrow, but I can squeeze you in at noon-ish. Lunch?” Your voice shakes a little, but then so does his.

“Um, yeah. Okay. Usual place?”

“Yeah, I think this calls for real food and ice cream.”

“Ok, I’ll see you then. And y/n?”

“Yeah?”

He pauses, hesitant and unsure of what he wants to say.

“Nevermind, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hangs up, and your heart starts pounding again. That night at home, your sleep is rough but you make it through.

~*~*~

At 12:03, you arrive at the local diner you and Ben frequent when you catch up. He’s already sitting in a booth, wearing a maroon sweater and dark wash jeans. You slide into the bench opposite him.

“Hey.” You greet him.

“Greet” he says in response. An inside joke, a good start you suppose.

“So… I guess I have some explaining to do?” you ask, and he nods.

“It’s just… I want you to know I don’t want to force you into any of this. I was drunk and when I’m drunk, a lot of my feelings come out whether or not they should. And that’s what happened that night. And you’re stuck in this because of that. I’ve had these feelings on and off for years, which is why I never really pursued it. But recently… I felt those feelings really strongly, especially after I ended up on a date and then I realized that all I really wanted was for it to be you, and not this random grad student I went out with.” You take a deep breath.

“Long story short, I think I’ve liked you longer than I actually know. And not telling you was kind of killing me. Please respond.”

Ben looks at you very seriously, closed fists pressed against his chin and elbows propped up on the table. He takes a minute to think, and the minute starts to feel closer to an hour. He starts speaking slowly.

“Did you know”, he questions, “that I started having feelings for you back in high school? You were dating that kid from the high school in the town over, and I remember feeling this immense jealousy because it should have been me. That never went away, and I remember you two breaking up because college was looming and I knew that starting something wasn’t a good idea. I was leaving too, how could I ask you to start something when I was about to leave? And then you ended up going to school far away and I couldn’t ask you to tie yourself to me when there’s so much to experience. I took what I could get, and that was this. For us. I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrows furrow together.

“You have no reason to apologize here, you goof.” You look down at the table, skin flushing slightly. Ben makes his way from his side of the booth to yours and carefully puts one arm around your shoulder, while grasping at your hand with his open one.

“I’m apologizing for not doing this sooner,” he mumbles, gazing at your lips before looking back into your eyes. “Is this okay?”

You nod yes, and verbally confirm.

“I’m good, yeah.” You whisper, leaning in closer towards him. You two are still maintaining eye contact, and your heart is pounding.

He leans in quickly, pressing his lips against yours briefly before pulling away. His lips were softer than you expected, and they were sweet too.

“Still good?” he asks, arm still around you and with no apparent plans to move back to the other side of the booth.

“More than, yeah.” A small smile is on your face, cheeks flushed and slightly bashful. You’ve never been one for PDA, and this was more than enough for you.

“Good. Where does this put us then?”

“Together, I think.”

“I like the sound of that.”

[wickedbananas]

How to Rock MozCon 2018 Like the Marketing Superhero You Are

Posted by FeliciaCrawford

MozCon is just around the corner, meaning it’s time to share one of our absolute favorite posts of the year: the semi-official MozCon Guide to Seattle!

For those of you following the yellow brick road of I-5 into the heart of the Emerald City to spend three days absorbing all the SEO insight you can hold, this should help you plan both how you spend your time at the conference and outside of it. For those watching on the sidelines, scroll along and you’ll find a treasure trove of fun Seattle ideas and resources for future cons or trips you might make to this fair city by the sea.

And if you’ve been waffling on whether or not to take the plunge (to attend the conference — I wouldn’t recommend plunging into the Puget Sound, it’s quite cold), there may still be time:

Register for MozCon!

We’re now over 99% sold out, so act fast if you’ve got your heart set on MozCon 2018!

Official MozCon activities:

We know you’re here for a conference, but that’s only part of your day. After you’ve stuffed every inch of space in your brain with cutting-edge SEO insights, you’re going to want to give yourself a break — and that’s exactly why we’ve put together an assortment of events, activities, suggestions, and Seattle insider pro tips for how to fill your time outside of MozCon.

The MozCon kickoff party!

With day one behind you, we’re guessing you’ll be some mix of energized, inspired, and ready to relax just a bit. Celebrate the first day of MozCon at our Monday night kickoff party with a night of networking, custom cocktails, and good music at beautiful Block 41 in Belltown.

Meet with fellow marketers and the Mozzers that keep your SEO software shiny while you unwind after your first full day of conferencing. It’s our privilege and delight to bring our community together on this special night.

Our famously fun MozCon Bash

There ain’t no party like a MozCon party! We invite all MozCon attendees and Mozzers to join us on Wednesday night at the Garage Billiards in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. From karaoke to photobooth, from billiards to shuffleboard, and peppered liberally with snacks and libations, the Wednesday Night MozCon Bash is designed to celebrate the completion of three days of jam-packed learning. This is the industry party of the year — you won’t want to miss it!

Birds of a Feather lunch tables

In between bites of the most delicious lunch you’ll find in the conference circuit, you’ll have the opportunity to connect with your fellow community members around the professional topics that matter most to you. Each day there will be seven-plus tables with different topics and facilitators; find one with a sign noting the topic and join the conversation to share advice, learn new tips and tricks, and discover new friends with similar interests.

Monday, July 9th

Google Analytics & Tag Management hosted by Ruth Burr Reedy at UpBuild

Content-Driven Link Building hosted by Paddy Moogan at Aira

Mobile App Growth hosted by Emily Grossman at Skyscanner

Content Marketing hosted by Casie Gillette at KoMarketing

Local SEO hosted by Mike Ramsey at Nifty Marketing

Podcasting hosted by Heidi Noonan-Mejicanos at Moz

Workflow Optimization hosted by Juan Parra at Accelo

Tuesday, July 10th

SEO A/B Testing hosted by Will Critchlow at Distilled

Community Speaker Connection hosted by Sha Menz at Moz

PPC + SEO Integration hosted by Jonathon Emery at Distilled

Meet Your Help Team hosted by Kristina Keyser at Moz

Agency Collaboration hosted by Yosef Silver at Fusion Inbound

Site Speed hosted by Jono Alderson at Yoast

Featured Snippets hosted by Rob Bucci at STAT Search Analytics

Voice Search hosted by Dr. Pete Meyers at Moz

Wednesday, July 11th

Content Marketing Q&A hosted by Kane Jamison at Content Harmony

Paid Search Marketing for High-Cost Keywords hosted by Trenton Greener at the Apex Training

SEO A/B Testing hosted by Will Critchlow at Distilled

Team Hiring, Retention, & Growth hosted by Heather Physioc at VML

Local Search hosted by Darren Shaw at Whitespark

Machine Learning & Advanced SEO by Britney Muller at Moz

Reporting Q&A hosted by Dana DiTomaso at Kick Point

The delight is in the details

MozCon is literally brimming with things to do and ways to support our attendees when they need it. Aside from our hosted events and three days’ worth of talks, we’ve got things to fill in the cracks and make sure your MozCon experience is everything you’ve ever wanted from a conference.

Photobooth with Roger: Admit it — you see that cute, googly-eyed robot face and you just want to hug it forever. At MozCon, you can do just that — and memorialize the moment with a picture at the photobooth! Roger’s a busy bot, but his photobooth schedule will be posted so you can plan your hugs accordingly.

Ping pong play sesh: Don your sweat bands and knee-high socks and keep your paddle arm limber! During breaks, we’ll have ping pong tables available to burn some excess energy and invite a little casual competition.

The world map of MozCon: Ever play pin the tail on the donkey? Well, this is sort of like that, but the donkey is a world map and (thankfully) there’s no blindfold. You’ll place a pin from wherever in the world you traveled from. It’s amazing to see how far some folks come for the conference!

Local snacks galore: Starbucks, Piroshky Piroshky, Ellenos Yogurt, and Top Pot Donuts will happily make themselves acquainted with your tastebuds! Carefully chosen from local Seattle businesses, our snacks will definitely please your local taste pallet and, if past feedback is to be believed, possibly tempt you to move here.

Stay charged: Pining for power? Panicking at that battery level of 15% at 10am? Find our charging sofas to fuel up your mobile device.

MozCon is for everyone

We want marketers of all stripes to feel comfortable and supported at our conference. Being “for everyone” means we’re working hard to make MozCon more accessible in many different ways. The Washington State Convention Center is fully ADA compliant, as are our other networking event venues. But it’s important for us to get even better, and we welcome your feedback and ideas.

Here are a few of the ways we’ve worked to make MozCon a welcoming event for everyone:

A ramp on the stage

Live closed captioning of the main event

Walkways for traffic flow

Menus featuring options or special meals (that actually taste good) for dietary restrictions

A nursing room

Gender-neutral bathroom options

Lots of signage

T-shirts that fit different body types

Visible staff to help make everyone’s experience the best possible

A proud partnership with 50/50 Pledge, furthering our commitment to better representation of women on stage

Strict enforcement of our Code of Conduct and TAGFEE

Bespoke city exploration — Get to know Seattle!

In years past, Tuesday nights were reserved for our MozCon Ignite event, where brave folks from myriad backgrounds would share stories in lighting-fast Ignite-style talks of five minutes each — the only rule being it can’t be about marketing!

While MozCon Ignite has always been a much-loved and highly anticipated event, we’ve also listened closely to your feedback about wanting more time to network on your own, plan client dinners, go on outings with your team, and in general just catch your breath — without missing a thing. That’s why this year, we’re folding Ignite into the official MozCon schedule so everyone can benefit from the tales shared and enjoy a fun five-minute break between SEO talks.

Wondering about what topics will be covered at Ignite this year?:

The Ninja Kit to NOT Get Sick While Traveling by Dana Weber at Seer Interactive

My Everest: How 10 Years of Chasing Tornadoes Came Down to One Moment by Tom Romero at Uncommon Goods

Baseball Made Me a Better Engineer by Tom Layson at Moz

Trailblazer: How Reading One Book Changed My Life for Good by Lina Soliman at OSUWMC

Drag Queen Warlocks, Skateboarding Sorcerers, & Other Folks by Jay Ricciardi at Tableau

Voice Dialogue Therapy: Listening to the Voices Inside Your Head by Kayla Walker at Distilled

We’re opening up Tuesday night as your chance to explore the Emerald City. We’ll have a travel team onsite at the conference on Tuesday to help you and your friends plan an exciting Seattle adventure. Perhaps you’ve met a fantastic group of like-minded folks at a Birds of a Feather lunch table and would love to talk featured snippets over fresh fish n’ chips at the Pike Place Market. Maybe you’ve always wanted to catch the view at the top of the Space Needle (recently renovated and reopened to provide even better views!). Or perhaps a quiet sunset picnic overlooking the water at Gasworks Park seems like the perfect way to relax after a long day of learning and networking. Regardless of whatever floats your boat, we encourage you to plan local meetups, invite your newfound and long-standing friends, and forge a few irreplaceable Seattle memories.

Wondering what there is to do, drink, eat, and see in Seattle?

Well, who better to ask than us Seattleites? Using tons of real suggestions from real Mozzers, we’ve put together a Google Map you can use to guide your exploration outside the confines of the event venue — check it out below!

Seattle’s got more to offer than we can name — get out there and discover the renowned Emerald City quirks and quaintness we’re famous for!

Travel options:

Seattle’s got a pretty solid transit system that can get you where you need to go, whether you’re traveling by bus or train. The city also has its share of rideshare services, as well as taxis, bikes, ferries, and water taxis, depending on where you're headed.

Public transportation

King County Metro Trip Planner: Traverse the city by bus! You can also download an app to get real-time bus info (I like the One Bus Away app, developed here in Seattle by University of Washington grads)

Light Rail: Connecting the north end to the south, the Light Rail can move you across Seattle quickly (and even drop you off right at SeaTac for your flight home!)

Water taxis and ferries can float you right across the Sound (and offer a lovely view while they’re at it)

A Transit Go ticket or ORCA card will happily power your public transit excursions

Bikeshare programs: As you wander the city, you may notice brightly colored bicycles patiently awaiting riders on the sidewalks. That rider could be you! If you’re feeling athletic, take advantage of the city’s bikeshare programs and see Seattle on two wheels.

Rideshares and taxis

Uber & Lyft can get you where you need to go

Moovn is a Seattle startup rideshare company

Two taxi services, Seattle Yellow Cab and Orange Cab, allow for online booking via their apps (or you can call ‘em the old-fashioned way!)

Are you ready to rock MozCon?!

If you’re already MozCon-bound come this July, make sure to download the app (must be on mobile) and join our Facebook group to maximize your networking opportunities, get to know fellow attendees, and stay up-to-date on conference news and activities.

If you’re thinking about grabbing a ticket last-minute, we still have a few left:

Grab a ticket while you can

And whether you’re going to be large, in charge, and live at the conference or just following along at home and eagerly waiting the video release, follow along with the #MozCon hashtag on Twitter to indulge in the juicy tidbits and takeaways attendees will undoubtedly share.

Sign up for The Moz Top 10, a semimonthly mailer updating you on the top ten hottest pieces of SEO news, tips, and rad links uncovered by the Moz team. Think of it as your exclusive digest of stuff you don't have time to hunt down but want to read!

from The Moz Blog https://ift.tt/2yOfKka via IFTTT

[theravenouswriter514]

30 Day Writing Challenge

 I’m trying to push myself to write a little bit every day in the new year to ensure that my skill is exercised more. I want to improve as much as I can going into my sixth year of writing and my twenty-first year of living. I found one of the fairly common writing challenges on Pintrest the other day and so I thought I’d try it on here. Here is to day one! 

The day one challenge is to write about ten things that make you really happy.

Number one on the list is the obvious, writing. I find that my mind is the most at ease when I am writing. I’m not worried about anything else going on in my life whenever I sit down and take the time to write. 

Number two would have to be my precious puppy dog. He is a two (nearly three) year-old, tri-colored corgi. I’ve posted a number of pictures of him on here because he tends to be much more photogenic than me. His name is Sirius (yes, from Harry Potter). He is hyper one moment and cuddly and calm the next, so he keeps me on my toes. He has stuck by my side from the moment I brought him home. He was a graduation gift from my mom and he was born one week before I graduated from high school. He has been the best friend I could ask for on my college journey. He has kept me sane and he makes sure that I take frequent breaks from the screen to give him scratches. 

Number three is another obvious one, reading. Like writing, reading provides a moment of peace for my mind. It is very much an escape from the worries of the real world around me. All those overthinking anxieties and worries are out the window just for a cozy moment while I join ficitional characters on adventures, or engulf myself in the knowledge of nonfiction. 

Number four is one that is obvious if you know me in person, and that’s old movies. I adore the cheesy, emotional, funny, artwork from movies made anywhere between 2000 and the dawn of moving pictures. My favorites come from the 1980s and especially the Brat Pack era. Movies give me the same joy as reading, in the sense that I can leave my worries at the door for the hour and a half that I am watching a film. Films from back in the day are absolute works of art.

Number five is playing games and cracking jokes with my family. I was blessed with a very close knit family. My mom, dad, and two sisters are the closest friends that I could ask for and I am so thankful. Through the insanity of this past year they have helped to keep me sane. When we are hanging out I can usually forget about all other emotions aside from happiness.

Number six is to have a meaningful conversation with someone. On the scale of Meyers-Briggs I find my personality type to be somewhere between an INTJ and an INFJ. From the research that I have done on these personality types (if you are into things like that) they are known to be intellectually motivated. That is to say that we aren’t hugely fond of just small talk. We are introverts who enjoy the type of interactions that make us think. When I have a genuine and intellectual conversation with someone that gets me to thinking it brings me a different kind of satisfaction.

Number seven is going for a mind-clearing walk through nature. If you haven’t figured out by now, my mind gets crowded with toxic anxieties that make it hard for me to function. I started going on meditative walks around my house earlier last year to help clear away that anxiety and help me function. When I walk I don’t think of anything. I merely take note of the things that I see and feel. for example if I begin to think about an axam I have coming up then I will instead focus on taking note of the way the wind sounds rustling through the trees. This not only clears my head, but it also makes me calm. When I’m calm, I am happy.

Number eight is a cozy room and a soft blanket. I am at my happiest when I am in a warm and cozy room lit with candles and a reading lamp, under a soft and fuzzy blanket, with Sirius next to me and a good book in my hand or maybe a notebook and pen. It is my happy place. 

Number nine is a little odd, but it’s popcorn. I had braces for two years of my life when I was younger, and since I had heard so many horror stories about popcorn getting stuck in the wire and ruining your teeth, I cut popcorn out of my diet completely. I understand this doesn’t mean much, but I was an avid movie watcher even in my early teen years. I would go to the cinema by myself if I wanted to see a movie and no one could go with me. A movie isn’t the same without popcorn for me. So as soon as I got that wire off my teeth, the first thing I ate was a big bowl of popcorn. Popcorn goes right along with my happy place. 

Finally, number ten is more obvious, music. Like with movies I listen to old music much more often than new stuff. To me it feels like older music like Otis Redding, Jackie Wilson, Johnny Cash, and Billy Joel has much deeper and meaninful lyrics than much of the new popular stuff today. That’s not to bash any modern tunes, a lot of it isn’t my cup of tea, but I do enjoy some of it and some stuff is meaningful. I just find myself much more drawn to older artists and songs. 

There you have it, my list of happiness. I hope this writing challenge helps me improve my level of focus and overall writing skills. At the least, I hope it helps my journaling skills. It would also bring me joy if anyone else got something from my writing, even if it’s just entertainment. 

[borgeslabyrinth]

There’s been a sudden influx of fics where Flint and Silver are detectives and whoops my brain ran away with me last night. I have no idea if this will yield an actual au so I’m posting one part of it. 

In which Flint and Silver are detective partners, Silver is the living embodiment of “steal everything your gay little hands can carry”, Flint needs a vacation, and Thomas thinks it’s hysterical that everyone’s scared of his husband. It’s also slightly a Thin Man au.

(also all mentions of “Beaufort”, “the shark”, and “the mobster” are references to an earlier scene where Silver steals a glass paperweight from a mobster and names it Beaufort because Reasons)

By John’s estimate he had two hours before Max got her hooks out of Flint, which was more than enough time for how quick this job was going to be. He was going to get in, find out if Flint slept in a coffin, find something adequately sentimental to steal, and then get out. If there even was anything to steal; as far as he knew, Flint could just have a charging port like a Roomba and nothing else.

John had the door open in a few seconds and really, he was shocked (Shocked!) at how cheap the locks were. If he didn’t wind up in pieces in seven different dumpsters across the city once his thievery had been discovered, he was going to buy Flint some better locks. And maybe a security system. Or he could just give him Beaufort to act as a watch-shark, though John had a suspicion that Flint was still angry over his theft, judging by the fact that he tried to shatter poor Beaufort when John had suggested they have joint custody over the shark.

John had just closed the door behind him when he heard a noise from inside the bowels of the apartment. He was instantly on alert, one hand on his gun as he crept down the hallway. What were the chances that he walked in on a burglary when he himself was there to burgle? Or perhaps the mobster had hired a hitman to kill them because he was angry about the disappearance of Beaufort. Or maybe Flint really was the violent psychopath everyone believed him to be and he had six women held captive in some kind of torture chamber, or-

“Excuse me, what are you doing in my apartment?” A polite voice inquired behind him.

John didn’t scream as he whirled around, but it was a near thing. The man standing behind him was tall, had blond hair and didn’t seem like a threat, but that didn’t mean anything. John knew lots of murderers who seemed like very nice people on the surface. He also had a dog, but John also knew lots of murderers that had dogs. Dogs were not implicitly judges of good character.

“I’m sorry, what are you doing here? This apartment belongs to my partner.”

The man made a noise of understanding before closing the door behind him and letting the dog off the leash. “You must be John Silver.”

“How do you know that name?” He demanded, this time pulling his gun. This was absolutely retribution for the shark-napping of Beaufort. Flint was right; John was going to be brutalized over a fucking bauble.

If the man was bothered at having a gun pointing at him he didn’t show it. “Because you’ll find that this apartment belongs to my partner. I’m James’s husband.”

They were in the kitchen and “Thomas” was fixing them some coffee, though John was watching him carefully as he wasn’t fully convinced about this husband story. In the first place, Flint didn’t seem capable of showing the basic human emotions necessary to acquire a husband. Secondly, there had been not one, but two instances in which John had been discovered in an apartment that didn’t belong to him and had played the ‘secret lover’ card. Also, Flint didn’t seem like the type of person to own a terrier.

“Whose dog is that?” John asked, refusing to take his eyes off Thomas as he carefully measured out the coffee grounds and filled up the pot.

“Mine. His name is William ‘Billy Bones’ Manderly.” Thomas moved to another cabinet to get out two mugs. His knowledge of the kitchen could mean he was telling the truth, or it could mean that his intel was better than John’s.

“What the fuck kind of name is that for a dog?” John asked.

“He’s a pirate,” Thomas said as if that explained everything. “Sugar?”

“No.” Normally John took four teaspoons, but sugar seemed too easy to poison. He had read at least six books where someone put poison in a sugar bowl. “If you’re really Flint’s husband, why doesn’t he wear a ring?”

“Because, and I quote, ‘that fucking shit already knows too much about me.’” Thomas rolled his eyes as he gave a rather decent impersonation of Flint’s gruff tone.

“I’m the reason he doesn’t wear his ring?” John was decidedly pleased by this idea. It was so… 1950’s lesbian pulp novel.

“No,” Thomas said, bringing both of their coffees to the kitchen table. “He just believes that it is safer for us to keep his home life and work life completely separate.”

“So he has a secret identity? That’s so lame! Who does he think he is? Batman?”

“Well, you see, James used to be MI6, so he has a hard time trusting others.” Thomas said it casually, as if he hadn’t just brought John’s world crashing down. There was no way Flint was a spy. Flint was like the lamest guy he knew! Yeah sure, sometimes he’d bash someone’s head in, but most of the time he yelled at John for stealing things, and used a stupid flip phone, and ate soup. What kind of spy ate soup?

James was exhausted. He had had a very trying day; besides the whole event with the mobster and the hideous glass paperweight, his attempts to talk to Anne about the body in her morgue were foiled by the presence of Jack, who has really watched far too many cop dramas, then he had a departmentally mandated meeting with Max which had gone on much too long, not to mention that he hadn’t had anything to eat because Silver had stolen his soup that morning. James was tired and grumpy and he wanted his husband. Also something seemed to be wrong with the lock on his door.

“Thomas?” He called, dropping his keys in the bowl on the table in their entrance hall and removing his shoes. “Are you home?”

“In the kitchen!” Thomas called. Just the sound of his voice cheered James up. He sounded delighted which meant he probably had a story that would make James’s bad mood disappear entirely.

He expected to find Thomas making coffee or working at the table, not sitting down with the very bane of his existence.

“Silver, what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“I’m having coffee with my new best friend!” He exclaimed with a thousand-watt grin, touching Thomas on the arm. “Is it true that you killed Thomas’s father?”

“I do wish you would stop telling people I killed your father,” James sighed, going to put the kettle on for tea. He had a feeling he would need it. “If your father ever does die under mysterious circumstances, I’m going to be the prime suspect, because you have told every single person you know that I murdered him in cold blood. Including your siblings!”

“But it’s so funny how they always believe me!” Thomas grinned, coming over to press a kiss to James’s neck. “Besides, I’d visit you in prison.”

“You didn’t kill his father?” Silver asked, sounding far too disappointed at the prospect for James’s comfort.

“Of course not. I just threw him out of our home.”

“Technically it was his home, we were just living there.” Thomas corrected, still pressed against James.

“Wait,” Silver said, suspicious. “If that’s not true- were you lying to me this whole time?”

“You broke into my home; I’m entitled to mess with you.” Thomas turned back to him, triumphant and more than a bit smug.

“He broke in?”

“I certainly didn’t invite him.”

“Everything was a lie? Even the spy stuff? Flint, why didn’t you tell me you married a super villain!?” Silver exclaimed.

“You broke into our home; he’s entitled to fuck with you.” James echoed. “Now tea time’s over- get the fuck out.”

Silver stood up and flounced over to them. “I will, but only because I’m morally outraged at this duplicity.”

“Wait!” James grabbed him arm. “Turn out your pockets.”

“Why?” Silver purred, leaning into him. “I can tell you right now; there’s no pistol, I’m just so happy to see you.”

“Turn them out,” James repeated, shoving him away.

From his pockets, Silver pulled out three teaspoons, a bookend, a pair of cufflinks, a block of fancy cheese, and a soap dish. 

James however was unsatisfied; inside John’s jacket he found the clock from the entrance hall, and from the back of his pants, tucked alongside his gun, was a third edition of The Count of Monte Cristo. Stuck into his shoe was a single chopstick.

“Just in case I come across any vampires!” Silver offered in explanation.

James didn’t know if the chopstick was his, but he confiscated it anyways, putting it on the table along with everything else.

“How did he take all of this?” Thomas asked, looking over the spread. “I was in the room with him the whole time!”