#one last deranged ramble for the week

[canmom]

one of the things that frustrates me with actually-existing transhumanism is its lack of vision. suppose the singularitarians are actually right, and we won't logistic out any time soon, but those lines will go up for a few more cranks of the capability/scale/energy intensity/complexity handle. well, we forced the life to be more like machines (battery farms/mechanised agriculture/assembly line work/etc.), but now the machines are becoming more like life, and we are reaching the limits of treating life like machines. we can hope that at some point the understanding and capability will converge at a point where the rate of intentional modification directed back on themselves by the cyborg organisms will kick off an explosion of new forms and minds and ecosystems that will make the Cambrian look like a pitch drop experiment.

a really interesting future must prove all hitherto existing science fiction unimaginative.

[girlwiththegreenhat]

hey when they wrote "knight behind bars" and they wrote kitt helping a couple get together and they gave him the line "Some day, it will be my turn" [to find love]. did they know what they were doing. did they know that in some 40 years some gay autistic robot-obsessed little freak on tumblr would not stop thinking about it for weeks and write literal dozens of paragraphs screaming about it on discord. did they know they were going to ruin Me, Specifically, with this concept that feels like the culmination of everything kitt has gone through through the show and such a fascinating thing to think about in regards to michael and kitt's relationship,

one of the themes of knight rider is kitt developing as a Person, developing a line between the Knight Industries Two-Thousand, and Kitt. discovering humanity, his own emotions, the joys of the seemingly and logically pointless, and often through the lens of his own driver, his partner, his friend, Michael - his primary guide through all these experiences, his reference for those human things he doesn't understand. and as much as he initially claims to not be capable of experiencing emotions, of understanding feelings, he learns to. he experiences a wide range of emotions through the show even while claiming he doesn't, he even learns fear and insecurity. perhaps it's only natural a robot would learn to love, or at the very least be terribly curious about it and wonder if such a thing could ever exist for Him

the majority of people are not exactly kind to kitt. they talk about him like he's not there, they talk about him like he's a machine, a novelty, some people are even scared of or disturbed by him when all he's trying to do is make polite conversation and company. he's always Othered - there's no other cars like him (at least not anymore), but there's no other person like him either, he doesn't truly belong among humans or vehicles. some of the technicians at FLAG don't even seem to fully respect him as a person, at least they don't based on my vague recollection of how they talk about him in Junkyard Dog. when Michael asks him after KARR is destroyed if it feels good to be one of a kind again, he doesn't say yes or no - he only says it's a "familiar feeling." it may be familiar, but it's surely also isolating, and i think that's something he'd realize as he slowly picks up this curiosity about love. where could he even find it when so few people see him as an equal person to begin with?

and then there's michael. oh my god, and then there's michael. no matter what flavor you choose to read it in, the whole show is about their relationship, they're a duo, a set Not to be separated, they're Partners. they work together, they worry about and look after each other (forever insane about when kitt was a melted shell, Michael stuck around the garage for hours, waiting for any news like a worried spouse, constantly checking on him every opportunity he got... encouraging him to recover, and even helping paint back on his protective coating... kitt always looks after michael, but for once, it's michael's turn to look after Him), in a way they were Made for each other - Kitt more literally, being programmed for Michael and holding his namesake, but Michael was also made in a sense for the pilot program, hand picked and given a second life to work for the foundation and with this strange supercar. and even if they had a rocky start, michael comes to view kitt as a person - car, TV set, or computer core, Kitt is his partner, his buddy. he helps him find himself, guides him and teaches him about these things that make us human, and in a way, kitt becomes human - but his entire experience is still through the perspective of an AI in a car, it's still very unique and isolating, and I think he sort of grows into his own limitations, he's finally brushing against the walls that define him.

he learns of love, and then he learns to dream Of love. these things he sees in the movies, that michael tells him about, that he so often sees michael Partaking in that he gets so oddly jealous of, doesn't it all seem so wonderful? he's very curious. but who could ever love steel and circuitry, who could ever see him as an equal let alone a partner in a romantic sense? who would ever love a car and all the limitations That comes with? it's a problem for a hypothetical hopeful Some Day, in the meantime stuck between two worlds where he doesn't perfectly belong to either, where no car Can love him and no human seemingly Would love him...

and michael loves him anyway. before either of them really realize or talk about it, in spite of everything, in any form, regardless of the fact it wouldn't be a typical relationship by absolutely any means, michael loves him anyway. kitt is as much a person to him as bonnie or devon or RC, and that person is someone he loves and cares for deeply. the feeling is mutual, kitt's world revolves around michael, he's one of the most important people in kitt's life, and he'd do anything to protect him.

and it is michael that will finally teach him to love, and what it means to feel loved in turn, to be loved as the person he undoubtedly is.

[theokusgallery]

What do you think about middle aged sunflower ????

Okay I'm going to pretend I'm normal and didn't just have a conversation about it yesterday within which I had to restrict myself because of Discord's stupid character limit

Anyway. Gonna talk about fanfics briefly, because fics tend to get more complex with characterization.

A while ago, I got really into Marvel, and for two months I did nearly nothing except read spideypool fanfic all day and night. If you know anything about these two (that isn't from the MCU) (I hate the MCU, I hate it so so much, this is not who Spidey fundamentally is, he is supposed to be a friendly neighborhood loner loser and you Cannot just give him an Iron Man suit and a mentorship with Stark and intergalactic missions at 16 or however old he is in those movies when the essence of the character is that he is an average struggling teenager who just happens to get superpowers and fucks up a lot at the beginning of his journey and mostly works alone and quit the fucking Avengers himself) (wow I started rambling sorry. Ignore that), you'll know that they are both around... 25-30ish, currently. Something like that. The only other fandom that I read as many fanfics of was Ace Attorney, where depending on the timeline, they can be from 23 to like, 35 with a kid. So I'd say me being so invested in a ship with 16 year-olds is... kind of an anomaly.

I don't usually like the coming-of-age, teenage love stuff, and I honestly have never found a single sunflower schoolfic I liked (except Spiral of course but even then they're in college) because all of them tend to... infantilize both Sunny and Basil at great length. And also tear down anything that makes them interesting characters. I think a lot of OMORI artists (that includes writers) are very afraid of doing anything substantial with teenagers, despite, you know, the actual plot of the game, and as a result, a lot of the time most fics where the characters aren't aged up tend to be... incredibly boring. Of course there are some that are good — exceptional even — but in the end all I can think of is the huge gap in... quality? that sounds wrong to say about a creative thing... interesting-ness, let's say (a very personal and subjective concept), when I stopped reading Marvel and went back to OMORI. I stopped reading fanfics altogether because I just couldn't find one I liked as much as the average Marvel fic that I hadn't already read.

Maybe it's a result of the writers themselves being young? I know OMORI's fanbase is generally a lot younger than Marvel's, so that could affect it. I mentioned schoolfics because there's a lot of them and because they were mentioned in my rant yesterday, but it's not really about the fact that they're schoolfics, it's about the fact that more often than not, the setting is the plot, and since it's just your average highschooler writing their favorite blorbos into their own environment and projecting (which is very cool btw, 99% of my own writing is projecting), the plot is... basically nonexistant. It's boring. It's boring and the characterization is usually dull. But even outside of schoolfics, I think I stopped trying to read fics that start with Sunny getting out of the hospital after the True Ending for the same reason : it's often plain and plotless and boring. And, fuck, my favorite books and mangas and such are slice of life, I'm all for mundane plots! But there's a difference between a mundane plot/realism and just no plot at all.

(This is not, like, an attack of OMORI writers who make schoolfics or fics that start with the above mentioned premise, btw, I want to make that very clear. It's very much a personal preference. I think it's boring because all of the fics I read in Marvel had a very unique plot/premise is my point. And also because the characters were a lot more mature and complex. Different strokes for different folks)

I think that's what I'm kind of sad about. OMORI characters tend to be complex and morally grey in their own way, and people tend to forget about that because they're teenagers and obviously no one can do no wrong before the ripe age of 18. Children are all innocent and therefore cannot be more morally complex than cinnamon roll soft boys/girls (looking pointedly at Sunny, Aubrey and Basil. But mostly Basil). Also, I think people tend to straight-up forget that 16 year-olds aren't, like, 10? Of course they're not going to be as mature as grown adults, especially Sunny OMORI, Dissociative Amnesia World Champion, but like... When I was 16 reading OMORI fanfics, half the time I was like "a 16 year-old would not fucking say that". But also generally more mature characters are inevitably more interesting to explore to me because I prefer more mature themes — I'm simply extremely upset at the fact that people don't explore the complexity that's already there when they're 16, including the very mature themes that are already there.

TL;DR: I love middle aged sunflower, I love middle aged ships in general ! In fact, I will tend to prefer sunflower when it's aged up.

(... I probably should've led with that.)

[ohodie]

SECOND THAT

luke castellan x reader

★ “i’m restless, i’m wrestling with the song that you love, it’s been stuck in my head”

ABOUT - luke castellan is the only one at camp who sees right through your perfect and poised persona; and all he wants is the satisfaction of ruining it.

WARNINGS - smut, mentions of choking, both the reader and luke are TERRIBLE but luke is much worse lol, swearing, written from the perspective of a deranged luke, penetration, only loosely proofread.

A/N- i have NEVER written and posted smut before EVER. like i get close but i never go all out. so… no hate guys 😘 also i feel like this is a bit ooc for luke so just pretend he’s actually insane and terrible guys!!! if you ignore his incoherent ramblings, it’s PWOP sooo… anyways this might be the first and last time i ever write smut who knows

luke castellan is no amateur when it comes to pretending to be something else. growing up, the only thing that mattered to luke was receiving praise or recognition for being ‘great’ or ‘honourable’ or whatever.

when you live your whole life pretending to be a perfect person, you kinda start to believe you really are a perfect person.

and if everyone you meet also believes you are indeed a perfect person, what’s the harm in continuing to pretend?

at the end of the day, both parties gain something. you get the validation and acclaim that you truly deserve, and they get a role model they aspire to at least halfway resemble.

luke is the sweetest guy at camp- everyone loves him. and he deserves it, doesn’t he? he deserves their praise and love and respect. gods, he should be rewarded for pretending to be so admirable for so long. he’s entitled to it.

you, on the other hand? you don’t. you don’t deserve an ounce of the praise luke has worked so hard to receive.

to luke, you’re vermin. behind your polite smiles and sweet words, there’s darkness. there’s an evil lurking within you- he’s sure of it.

he sees it during early morning sparring sessions, watching from the wings while you tactfully dodge every attack that comes your way. and when you eventually falter, he sees how your eyes turn cold and your smile fades.

he sees how you take a shaky breath, brushing yourself off with your bony hands before flashing a toothy grin. he feels nauseous when you extend your arm out to shake the hand of your opponent- because how the fuck can they believe your little act?

your gentle kindness and bashful charisma is so obviously fake. of course, he’s not pissed that you’re acting; everyone at camp is acting to an extent. but you’re going all out, and he can still see through it. what pisses him off, is that nobody else seems to recognise how truly malicious you can be.

maybe it’s because you’re pretty. luke is no stranger to getting special treatment based on his appearance, and neither should you be. maybe that’s the whole basis of your appeal. it seems to be the only thing holding your pathetic little facade together, considering your sloppy acting skills.

if you were ugly everyone would be able to call out your bullshit straight away, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about sharing the spotlight. honestly, the only reason why everyone loves you so much is because half of them want to fuck you, and the other half want your attention or approval- not that it’d be worth anything.

it was the last week of spring, meaning only the year-rounders and a few of the older kids were at camp. you just graduated high school, and arrived at camp early.

of course, you just had to return to camp prettier, taller, more confident, and with a fancy college acceptance letter. maybe you were much smarter than you let on- but it became very apparent that your intelligence wasn’t the reason you got accepted into NYU once he learned what you were studying.

“oh, i’m getting a degree in art history,”

seriously? art history? that’s gotta be the funniest thing luke has ever heard in his entire life.

“really? why art history?” he asks politely, watching your every move as he awaits your dumbass explanation.

you shrug cheerfully, looking around at the few other campers scattered around in a tight-knit circle as they wait for you to tell them about your ‘lovely’ 18th birthday and ‘eventful’ senior year.

“i don’t know, my mum works with a lot of artists, so she said it’d be a good conversation starter,” you say cheerfully, as if it wasn’t the stupidest thing to ever exit your mouth.

luke can’t help but let out a little giggle, before instantly lowering his head to offer some non-verbal apology. but to his surprise, you laugh along. “yeah, i really wanna score a job at the MET or something. i don’t mind either way,”

luke nods politely, letting the conversation continue without interrupting with a snide comment or unsolicited laughter.

he plays along as the conversation continues, pretending he doesn’t want to grab you by the throat and push you against the wall, demanding you to confess. demanding you to tell the fucking truth; that you’re a manipulative sycophant who’s bound to end up in rehab for getting addicted to designer drugs.

why is he the only one that sees you for who you truly are? gods, if he knew any better he might be charmed. you were naturally picturesque- or at least you seemed to be. the way that you were sitting on the grass with your hair draping over your body; you looked gorgeous. but you always look gorgeous, that’s your best quality after all.

of course all of camp half-blood was fooled- you were to pretty and kind to be lying. maybe it was better to let them keep on believing that you were this perfect image of a girl.

but he’d still appreciate the satisfaction of seeing you for who you are- seeing you in your rawest form.

and then suddenly, he saw it. some athena girl asked you if you wanted to go on a run with her later, to which you politely declined. of course, you kept your composure, told her that you had to take a nap, offered her a sympathetic smile and a ‘maybe next time’. but she didn’t see the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head as soon as she looked away.

luke was astonished. you really were getting sloppy, huh?

and yet, nobody else saw it. nobody else saw the look of disgust on your face as soon as she finished talking. he was seething- how on earth could everyone be so blind?

luke looks around at the group of people surrounding him, his eyes darting back to you ever 5 or 10 seconds. they all look at you with awe- as if you’re the most precious thing on earth.

fuck that. he was going to put you in your place.

a few hours pass, and it was finally time for everyone to walk back to their cabins.

luke spots you walking alone to your cabin, your face dimly lit by the moon as it shines over the camp. he’s so overwhelmed with anger, he couldn’t fathom caring about the consequences of whatever situation he was about to put himself in.

he quickly catches up to you, meeting your walking pace as he shoots you a friendly smile.

“hey, y/n. you got a minute?” luke asks, still adorning that charming smile. you smile back at him, nodding your head ever so gently, as if it would fall off if you moved it too fast. like a rusty elvis bobble head bought 1976 that resides on the dash of your grandmother’s busted car.

“yeah, why?” you hold your hands behind your back as you walk beside him, slowly approaching your empty cabin. luke shrugs his shoulders. “oh, i just had a little question. mind if we talk in your cabin?” he asks.

you nod, opening the door for luke and letting him walk through. you close the door behind him, before leaning your back against the wall. luke stands in front of you, his cheery demeanour vanishing as he crosses his arms.

“why the fuck are you such a little bitch all the time?”

you furrow your brows, mirroring his posture as you cross your arms defensively. “excuse me?”

luke rolls his eyes, letting out dry laughter as he looks you up and down. “you heard me,” he adds, watching you anxiously begin to pick at your lips with your freshly manicured fingernails.

“do you have a problem with me or something?” your whole body feels tense as you continue picking at your lips, your eyes locked onto his.

“yeah, i do have a problem. i’m tired of your little ‘nice girl’ act. it’s getting fucking annoying,” luke scoffed, taking a step closer towards you. your eyes darken, before shaking away your hostile expression.

“are you sure you wanna do this right now, castellan?”

“is that a threat?”

you pull your fingertips away from your lips, shifting your weight to the other side of your body as you cross your arms once more. you let silence fill the room before finally speaking up.

“listen, luke. everyone pretends to be someone they’re not. you and i just tend to do it more than others-“

luke cuts your off, taking another step forwards. “fuck off, we are not the same.”

you roll your eyes, banging your head against the wall as you groan irritably. “so what? are you gonna go around spreading cheap lies about me now?” you ask tiredly. luke shakes his head, slightly shrugging his shoulders.

“nah.” he replies curtly, his voice blunt and expression vague. “mkay, then what the fuck is your problem?”

luke takes another quick step forward, tightly holding your chin in his hand as he lifts your head to face him. “you’re my fucking problem.”

you let out a dry laugh, staring into his eyes as you attempt to intimidate him. “you’re such a loser.” you whisper, refusing to fight back against the way he’s gripping your face.

he stays silent, biting his lip as he looks over your form. “and you’re a brat.” he retorts.

“are we just going to keep throwing insults back and forth all night, or are you gonna explain why you’re so obsessed with me?” you ask playfully, cupping his face in your hand as an attempt to patronise him.

luke is stumped. to be fair, he is entirely obsessed with you. and he has been for years now. and now he has you cornered, watching your weak attempts at asserting dominance over him.

luke was over it.

suddenly, luke leans in, harshly pressing his lips against yours. you retract your hand from his face, pressing it against the wall as you feel his body moving towards you.

he wraps his other hand around your neck, only gently gripping it as to not alarm you.

luke is surprised by how you sink into his grip, pulling away to see your closed eyes and swollen lips. when you wipe your mouth and look at him with those hauntingly innocent eyes, he’s almost fooled.

you scoff, smirking as you tear away from his grip and take a few steps back. “is that all you wanted?” you say confidently, watching him turn around to watch you carefully pace around the room.

he shakes his head, groaning quietly as he walks over to you once more.

luke purses his lips, trying to suppress any sense of genuine attraction to you. but when his eyes gaze over to your red lips and flushed cheeks, he can’t help but let his mind wander.

“if you’re done, you can leave, castellan.” you say irritably, leaning against your bed frame.

it goes straight to his dick when you call him that, especially when your voice sounds so hoarse and cocky. he feels as though he’s finally accomplished what he’s been yearning to do for years now. he’s seeing the real you.

he couldn’t dare squander this opportunity now.

he pushes you down onto your bed, watching how your hair flows over your newly made bedsheets as your head hits the pillow.

“but you don’t want me to leave, do you?” luke says lowly, hovering over your body as his hand hold your wrists together above your head.

“i don’t care what you do, castellan.”

luke groans, pressing another rough kiss against your lips. you kiss back for whatever reason, and your firsts relax within his grip. it was almost as if you got off on the idea of someone calling out your bullshit. or maybe you got off on the idea of somewhat hating your guts. either way, luke knew you were more than eager to continue.

he let go of your wrists, before biting your bottom lip. your mouth opens slightly, offering entry to his tongue, deepening the kiss.

you hand cups his face, while the other grips his shoulder. after a few moments, he pulls away and begins sucking at the skin of your neck, leaving purple marks on your delicate skin while you let out hoarse whimpers.

his hands begin to fiddle with the fabric of your shirt, causing you to push his body forwards as you position yourself to sit on his lap. you take off your shirt, throwing it away as you run your hands down his back.

luke looks down at your chest, growing more aroused at the sight of your lacy little bra. it’s as if you knew someone was going to see it.

you feel a hardness growing from under his jeans, poking against your upper thigh as you slowly grind against his lap. luke let’s put a low moan, continuing to bury his face in your neck.

“i fucking hate you,” he growls, gripping the sides of your waist with his hands as you move against him.

“don’t care, take off your shirt,” you demand hurriedly, running your fingers through his hair as you tilt his head up to look at you.

luke rolls his eyes, before taking off his shirt. he quickly presses another series of harsh kissses against your neck, fiddling with the clasp of your bra as you push your chest up against his. you giggle softly at his incompetence, before he finally unhooks it and ravenously pulls it from your chest.

luke pushes your body backwards onto the bed, trailing kisses down from your neck and onto your tits. you let out a quiet moan, before biting down onto your hand in order to stifle the sound. his large hands knead your left breast, while the other grips the area just under your right breast, resting on top of your ribcage.

luke’s hands slowly move downwards, hip thumb tracing circles against the side of your hip as you gently grasp onto his hair. his fingertips gently pull down your shorts, leaving you in only your underwear.

he rubs his thumb over the wet fabric, before tilting his head to look up at you. “pathetic,” he mutters, smirking at your flushed faced. you groan, burying the back of your head further into the pillow as your back arches involuntarily.

luke’s thumb massages your clit from over the soaking fabric, watching you squirm in response. he lets out a dry laugh, before pulling down your panties and tossing them onto the floor.

“luke…” you moan quietly, closing your eyes as your hips jerk into the mattress. his fingers trace your wet folds, before letting his thumb rub circles against your clit and forcing two fingers inside of you.

you whimper before pursing your lips, rolling your head around as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out. he quickens his pace, pressing down harshly against your clit while beginning to suck on the skin of your upper thigh.

luke holds down your hip with his free hand as you begin to squirm.

suddenly, he stops.

you look at him with a confused expression, your face red as he pulls his fingers out. he chuckles at your disappointed face, before taking off his pants and boxers. you stare at his length unashamedly, biting down on your bottom lip.

“so fucking needy.” he says lowly, his voice horse as he softly begins to continue massaging your clit. you moan, feeling your back arch as he positions himself in front of your legs. he forcefully spreads them open as he teases your folds with the tip of his erect member.

you let out a little whine, your voice trembling as you try to move your hips against his length.

luke rolls his eyes at your poor attempts at penetration, before slowly pushing his cock into your entrance. you let out a breathy, high pitched moan, your hands eagerly gripping your bedsheets.

he gradually pushes in the entirety his length, continuing to rub circles into your clit. luke tightly grips your waist as he begins to slowly pull out, before jamming himself back in. you let out a breathy yelp as you body moves with his thrusts.

like continues relentlessly pushing in and out of you, massaging your waist as his thumb gradually increases the speed of its attack on your clit.

you try to steady you breathing, your face flushed as lukewarm continues to deliberately overwhelm your body.

“mm… luke, i’m gonna…” you mutter, your hips jerking upwards. he smiles at you, amused by how blissed out you look taking his cock. “so soon?” he teases, rapidly moving against your body.

you let out a stammering series of whimpers as your back arches upwards, feeing yourself suddenly release. luke grins, continuing to rub circles into your clit as he rides out your orgasm.

luke slowly retracts his thumb, repositioning the hand to gently grip your hip. he begins to slow down his movements, before quickly thrusting into you repetitively. you squirm, the movements of your hips constrained by his grip.

suddenly, he pulls out, releasing onto your stomach. see? he was a gentleman.

luke gazes over at the girl he just reduced to a panting mess as he stands up and puts his clothes back on. he smiles at you as he zips up his jeans, before kneeling besides you as you turn your head to look at him.

“i wont tell anyone how fucking pathetic you are, don’t worry, princess.”

you nod, staring at him as he continues to look at your defenceless body. “such a pretty girl,” he hums, cupping your face in his hand before kissing your forehead.

he reaches over to your discarded underwear and gently pulls them up your legs, the gesture acting somewhat as a peace offering. he takes a step back, simply taking in how endearingly stupid you look.

you slowly sit yourself up, grabbing your camp t shirt and putting it on. “goodnight, luke,” you choke out, your voice hoarse and breathing shallow. he nods, smiling softly as he turns to walk away. “night, princess.”

[ch33z3grits]

Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Vampire Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut (f*ngering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, mentions of BDSM, mentions of org*es), dark romance, angst, manipulation, possessiveness/obsessiveness, mentions of Arson, mentions of violence, mentions of blood

word count: 12,535

a/n: y'all...Y'ALL!! I'm so so sorry for missing these last two weeks 😭😭 life been a lil overwhelming recently ngl, so I've been real distracted lately. But, I should be good going forward! Hope y'all like this chapter :) Also, also, thank you to all the kind people who reached out 🥹 thanks for checking in and leaving words of encouragement. And I'm editing this with like four days of sleep deprivation, so sorry for any mistakes!

Terry's song: All I Want is You-Miguel, J. Cole | Camille's song: Honesty-Pink Sweat$

Pt. Eight

Terry

Terry watched as Aston thrashed around as the security guards dragged him away, a man he assumed to be his father and Mr. DeWaterson following close behind. Onlookers watched in horror as they tried to make sense of what happened. The most senior partners of the firm began to pace around the venue frantically, trying to console potential donors and industry friends. But as everyone tried to return to normal, Aston’s screams reverberated off the walls, raw and frantic. As entertaining as his meltdown was, Terry couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. Aston’s thrashing, manic behavior was enough to make anyone uncomfortable, but what struck Terry most was the complete absence of control in Aston’s eyes—a wild, feral desperation that seemed beyond anything natural. It was so odd, Terry couldn’t even focus on the fact that he outed his true nature. Granted, it didn’t matter that he just told everyone in shouting distance that he was a vampire. His ramblings were so incoherent and all over the place, no one would assume that they were more than the delirious outbursts of someone unhinged. Aston sounded too deranged, too far gone for anyone to take him seriously. But as Terry watched him disappear down a hall, he knew, deep down, that the truth was far more complicated than simple drunkenness or madness.

Aston’s erratic behavior was much more than a random drunken episode. Sure, the sulfur he had ingested might have played a part in his frenzied state, but there was something more sinister at play. No, this was something deeper, something far more potent. This incident mirrored other times in Terry’s life where supernatural workings went wrong. Aston wasn’t merely intoxicated or out of control. He was under the intense, suffocating grip of a love spell. And not just any love spell. A spell powerful enough to bring even a supernatural creature to its knees. The thought made Terry’s stomach tighten, and a sharp exhale escaped his lips as his mind raced, locking onto the only person who could be arrogant and reckless enough to cast such a dangerous charm.

Stephanie. Of course, it had to be her. A thorn in his side since he stepped into Watkins & Grant. She was supposed to be a pawn, a temporary diversion, someone to give him easy access to Camille. In return, Terry would give her the attention she desperately craved, keep her entertained and satisfied—enough to keep her useful, but never to get too attached. That was the plan. But Stephanie, like plenty of other women in his past, had become consumed by him. She had become obsessed, her infatuation growing to an unhealthy intensity that was difficult for Terry to control. That obsession was more of a headache than it was worth, so Terry had created a plan that would get her out of his life once and for all. His generosity that week, his outward kindness towards her, had only been a means to an end, a carefully calculated move to draw her into a situation where she would be fired.

But Stephanie had used this night as an opportunity too. A spell, one potent enough for a vampire. And now, the aftermath was unfolding in front of him. Terry never imagined he would find himself thinking something like this, but in that moment, Terry was strangely grateful for Aston. Aston’s foolish attempt to poison him, as reckless and poorly executed as it was, had saved him from falling under Stephanie’s influence. Terry wouldn’t be making an ass of himself like Aston was since he was the intended target of the spell, but he would’ve lost control of himself and Stephanie would’ve been his sun, moon, and stars.

The idea of submitting to her demands, becoming obsessed with her like some lovesick puppy, made Terry’s jaw clench. But how did she get her hands on something like that? How did she know she would need something that powerful? Terry knew she was no witch, so she couldn’t have made it herself. So whoever did her work, did they know about him? Or did Stephanie know too? He needed to find out fast. And he needed to deal with her for even trying some shit like that on him. But, as always, there was someone far more important he needed to focus on. 

His eyes drifted to Camille, who looked to be in a state of horrified dissociation as she leaned against her mother’s shoulder. He licked his lips in a desperate attempt to taste any residual of her lips, of her mouth. His whole body seemed to buzz from their exchange on the patio. He had to force himself to concentrate to keep his mind from dwelling on how she so easily melted into him. How sweet she sounded moaning into his mouth. She had kissed him… she had actually kissed him. He wanted to feel triumphant. At least, more than he did. But he could tell that the night for her was overshadowed by the psychotic episode they just witnessed. But episode be damned. Terry wasn’t going to let this night slip away like it was nothing. After the breakthrough they had experienced tonight, there was no way he was going to let her out of his sight, not without some sort of resolution. He couldn’t bear the idea of letting her leave without a conversation, without clearing the air. Slowly, he pushed himself away from the balcony and crossed the short distance to where Camille stood.

Her mother, ever watchful, stiffened slightly at his approach, her eyes narrowing with wariness. But Terry wasn’t going to be deterred. Not tonight. Not after everything.

He gently grasped Camille’s elbow, the contact light but firm enough to draw her attention away from the place where Aston was just standing. “Camille,” he called out. She startled, a tiny gasp escaping her lips, as if she’d been lost in thought, unaware of the world around her. Her eyes blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over.

“Oh, Terry,” she murmured, her voice quivering as she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his torso in a sudden, almost desperate gesture. The action was unexpected, but Terry didn’t hesitate. He welcomed her, pulling her close, instinctively guiding her to rest her head against his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, her breath hitching as she pulled away just slightly, looking up at him through watery eyes. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. All of those strange things he said about you. I just don’t know. I think he’s just a little…sick,” she hiccupped, her form trembling as she pressed herself tighter into him, seeking comfort.

He shushed her softly, a comforting hand stroking the back of her head, his thumb brushing against her hair in gently. “Camille, there’s no need to apologize. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your burden to carry.”

As she pulled back slightly, their eyes locked for a moment, the raw emotion in her gaze leaving him momentarily breathless. He fought the urge to lean in and kiss her again. He knew there would be plenty of time for that later. Instead, he forced himself to continue, his voice low and steady, “Do you want me to take you home?”

He heard a sharp intake of breath from behind them. Camille’s mother closed the distance between them and latched onto Camille’s arms, beginning to pull her away. Camille just wrapped herself tighter around him and Terry held onto her tighter. Camille’s mother glared up at him.

“That’s very thoughtful, sir, but I think you two have had enough time alone,” Camille’s mother chimed in, her voice dripping with disapproval. She looked to Camille, who refused to meet her gaze. “Come on Camille… let’s check and see if Aston is alright,” she added, her tone much more gentle.

Terry’s grip tightened even more, his expression hardening with quiet resolve. His eyes narrowed at the gesture, the tension in the air thickening. With a calm yet undeniable force, he responded, “Mrs. DeWaterson, Camille’s comfort is my priority. Don’t you think seeing him right now would be too much for her?” His words were laced with power, the Veil weaving through his tone like an invisible thread, an undercurrent of power that would not be ignored. Terry knew that she wouldn’t be able to refuse his suggestion.

The woman blinked a few times, as if momentarily stunned by the lack of control over her mind as it scrambled to process his suggestion. The brief hesitation passed, and then, as if the words were her own natural response, she spoke. “You…you have a point.” She removed her hands from Camille and took a few steps back, still blinking with confusion. Terry felt a flicker of satisfaction, his body relaxing slightly. Good. Now, leave us be.

He watched as her eye twitched, fighting against his command. “Camille, please just remember everything at stake,” her voice quivered. Terry narrowed his eyes, doubling down on his influence over her. She stopped talking and turned sharply, her heels clicking against the floor with a speed and posture that seemed forced. Camille’s eyes tracked her slowly, her brow furrowing in confusion at her mother’s retreating form. But she didn’t voice any objection, didn’t make any move to stop her.

Terry gently cupped her chin in his hand, his touch tender but firm. He guided her face back to him, forcing her gaze to meet his again. Her eyes, still clouded with discomfort and exhaustion, softened as he spoke, his voice low and soothing. “You wanna go now? Get some rest?” His thumb brushed over her soft skin before he released his hold to let her move freely again.

She nodded as she unwound herself from his embrace. He noticed the way her shoulders drooped slightly, the weight of the night still pressing down on her, but there was a flicker of relief in her eyes.

Terry stepped forward, taking her arm gently but with purpose, guiding her away from the scene, towards a quieter, less crowded exit. Most people still lingered near where Aston had been, and the space ahead of them was mostly empty, allowing them some privacy.

He slipped a hand into his suit jacket pocket and retrieved his phone. His fingers danced over the screen as he typed a quick message to his driver:

Leaving now. Be ready for two stops. 

Just as he hit send, a message from Jabari flickered across his screen: 

It’s done. 

His lips curled into a slight smirk as he tucked his phone back into his jacket pocket.

He glanced down at Camille, her fingers still lightly gripping his forearm, the warmth of her touch a stark contrast to the cold, calculated thoughts racing through his mind. That same far away, worried look she had before had returned to her face. He gently placed his hand over hers, a subtle but deliberate action to bring her mind out of her worries and back to reality. Back to him. 

“You not shutting down on me, are you Camille?” He asked as he pushed the door that led them to the rounded driveway of the venue. She softly chuckled, shooting him a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “No Terry,” she said quietly. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

He sighed inwardly. He could feel the tension radiating from Camille, the way her mind was undoubtedly consumed with worry for Aston. She was probably replaying the scene in her head, trying to make sense of it all, wondering what could have pushed him to act the way he did. And then there was the question of Stephanie. Why he attacked her of all people. He could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes, the attempts to piece everything together, the deep concern, all wrapped in layers of confusion and helplessness.He shook his head lightly, trying to push his anger away. He could feel her thoughts swirling, even without her saying a word, and it made his stomach tighten. He placed his hand gently on the small of her back as they neared his private black car, his driver Lorenzo already propping the door open. The contact was meant to ground her, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside him.

His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face clenching momentarily as a surge of possessive jealousy rose in his chest. The thought of her mind occupied by Aston, of her attention lingering on someone else, ignited something dark and primal inside him. I should’ve fucking killed him. A long time ago. His thoughts twisted.

But he forced himself to breathe. This wasn’t about Aston. This was about Camille, this was just her normal reaction. She was compassionate, too deeply at times, and her concern for others was part of who she was. It didn’t mean anything beyond that. It didn’t change the undeniable truth of what they had shared, what was still between them. The kiss, the connection they had, it was real. The feelings she had for him hadn’t disappeared just because she was worried about someone else, even if it stung.

He gently assisted her as she stepped into the Suburban, making sure her flowing gown didn’t snag or catch on anything as she moved. Once she was settled, he slid into the seat beside her. The driver swiftly closed the door with a quiet click, then hurried back to his seat, the hum of the engine coming to life with a soft roar.

Terry leaned forward, his fingers lightly brushing the blacked-out divider that separated the front of the vehicle from the back. With a soft click, he raised it, the sound of the mechanism muffled in the otherwise quiet car. As soon as the barrier was in place, sealing them away from the rest of the world, the silence between them was broken by soft, shaky sniffles. Terry turned his gaze to Camille, watching her struggle to hold back the tears that had already started to spill over. Her face was a mask of effort, but it was clear the floodgates were ready to burst.

Without saying a word, he reached out and gently pulled her into him, settling her into his lap. She stiffened for the briefest moment, caught off guard by his sudden movement, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her body sagged into his, and she let go. Her sobs hit him like a wave, deep and wracking, her shoulders trembling with the force of each breath she gasped for. Terry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer, trying to offer her whatever comfort he could. He pressed soft kisses to the top of her head, his hands tracing slow, soothing circles on her back, willing her to feel safe in his arms. Her cries soaked into his chest, her tears staining the fabric of his shirt, but he didn’t mind.

His eyes closed, and he let out a deep sigh, pushing down the ache that rose in his own chest. It was unbearable to see her like this, so broken and upset. But at the same time, something inside him swelled with gratitude, because in this raw moment, she was trusting him enough to fall apart. She had found a space with him where she didn’t have to hold back.

As the sobs began to subside, Camille wiped her face with trembling hands, her movements hurried and self-conscious, as if she was trying to hide the emotions she couldn’t control. Her voice came out thick with emotion, a broken whisper. “I’m… I-I’m so sorry, Terry,” she choked out, the words trembling as she forced herself to calm down. “This is so inappropriate of me–”

Before she could continue, Terry gently cupped her face, his fingers brushing away the last of her tears. “Camille, baby,” he murmured softly, cutting her off, “please don’t apologize. Just let it all out. I don’t mind at all.” His voice was firm but tender, his eyes locking onto hers to add to his sincerity.

Camille

She wanted to feel embarrassed. She wanted to feel ashamed, to shrink into herself. But when she gazed up at Terry, his expression soft and free of judgment, only filled with genuine concern, she couldn’t shake the sense that there was nowhere else in the world she’d feel safer. His gaze felt like a quiet promise, one that made her feel sheltered, protected, even in her most vulnerable state. His words, gentle and soothing, wrapped around her like the warmest, most comforting blanket, filling the aching spaces within her.

But as much as she wanted to let herself be comforted by him, her mind couldn’t hold onto that peace for long. The tears kept coming, falling faster now, a steady stream that she couldn’t stop. She dropped her head, unable to look at him anymore, as though the simple act of hiding her face could somehow make her disappear. She just wanted to be invisible. She couldn’t bear the idea of him seeing her like this. Not her boss. Not the man she loved.

I can’t believe I’m crying like this in front of him, she thought, her heart aching at the vulnerability she was forced to reveal. He probably thinks I’m so dramatic...

The shame swelled as she imagined how Terry might be viewing her now. He already had to witness her fiancé’s ridiculous outbursts about him, absurd accusations thrown in front of his colleagues. He had seen her mother treat her like a stubborn child, dragging her and bossing her around like she owned her. He must think I’m just as dysfunctional as everything around me, she mused bitterly. A mess, just like everything else in my life.

Her humiliation grew. Camille tried to push herself off his lap, to get away from the intense vulnerability she was drowning in. But Terry’s grip didn’t falter. His hold on her was firm, steady, unyielding. Even as she tried to pull away, pulled her chin to face him. The movement was soft but insistent, coaxing her to meet his eyes despite her desperate urge to look away.

She shut her eyes tightly, fighting the pull of his gaze, afraid of what she might see reflected in them. His eyes felt like they could strip her bare, unravel her even more. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t bear to be seen. But still, she could feel him, his presence, drawing her in, not letting her hide from him.

“I’m sorr–” Camille started to speak, but her words were cut off by a kiss. Deep, tender, and so unexpected that her eyes flew open in surprise. But as Terry’s lips pressed against hers with gentle insistence, her eyelids fluttered, and the kiss deepened. A wave of heat pooled in the pit of her stomach, radiating outward to every part of her body. Her intimate areas throbbed with a sudden, overwhelming need, a sharp pang of anticipation that made it hard to think. Every nerve seemed to hum with the connection, her pulse quickening as his kiss lingered, soft but searing with unspoken desire.

After what felt like an eternity, Terry slowly pulled back, his lips leaving hers with a quiet reluctance. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing softly, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. It was as if time had momentarily stopped, and they were the only two people in the world.

“Camille, please don’t apologize,” Terry murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hand reached up to caress her cheek, the warmth of his touch sending a tremor through her body. “I deeply care about you. I’m drawn to you in ways I can’t fully explain.” His words were sincere.

His thumb stroked the delicate skin of her jaw, and she felt a shiver of warmth spread through her. “I know tonight’s been heavy for you, and I don’t want to brush past that, but…” He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing hers. “Nothing that happened tonight was your fault.”

Everything fell away and they simply looked into each other’s eyes, as if speaking without words. But Camille couldn’t hold his gaze for long. Her eyes flickered away, finding the window, her thoughts spiraling.

“Still…” she began, her voice shaking with self-doubt. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was unaccepta–”

But Terry’s deep chuckle interrupted her, full of warmth and amusement. Her eyes returned to his. “I kissed you back, didn’t I?” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you how I really feel about you, right?”

Camille opened her mouth to rebuttal but the words never came. And they didn’t need to because Terry continued.

“Like I said, I know tonight’s been a lot for you. But don’t beat yourself up about anything that happened. Especially not kissing me. I’m grateful that you did,” he said. He gave her a sheepish smile, his eyes soft but filled with something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name. She just stared back at him, her expression a mix of surprise and confusion, her mind struggling to process everything. 

“But… what about Stephanie?” Camille asked, her voice soft but laced with disbelief. She felt him tense beneath her. His eyes narrowed, and she could feel the shift in the energy around them as his expression turned more serious.

“Why would she tell me she’s your girlfriend if that’s not true?” she pressed, her gaze searching his, trying to find something—anything.

Terry’s face hardened, and he dropped his hand from her face, the softness of his earlier touch vanishing. He turned her to face him, as much as the confines of her dress allowed, her body shifting in his lap. 

“Stephanie is not, and never was, my girlfriend,” he said, each word deliberate, his tone unwavering. “She misunderstood our previous arrangement. It’s been over for months. She probably told you that out of jealousy.”

His words were firm, leaving no room for ambiguity, but still, Camille’s mind couldn't help but race. She nodded, as if to convince herself, knowing he had no reason to lie. Yet, a faint stir of doubt lingered in the back of her mind, a feeling that there was more to the story than he was revealing. But how could she blame him for that? He was a single man, and she… well, she wasn’t single herself.

Her thoughts immediately turned to Aston. The guilt crept in like a shadow, darkening her heart. I’m cheating on him, she thought, her stomach twisting. Yes, he deserves it, but… it still feels wrong.

The sharp edge of her guilt faded as she felt Terry’s soft lips brush against her forehead sweetly. “Come on,” he whispered, his voice soothing, “let’s not let you worry about anything else tonight.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and held it out to her, the screen lit up with Apple Maps. “Let’s get you home.”

Camille bit her lip, taking the phone from him, and typed in Kali’s address, her fingers trembling slightly. She pressed ‘Go,’ and the directions began to echo through the car’s speakers, the driver easing the vehicle into motion.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the low hum of the engine and the soothing rhythm of Terry’s hand rubbing gentle circles into her thighs. Camille tried to let herself relax, but her mind wouldn’t stop churning. Am I being stupid? she wondered, her thoughts tumbling over one another. Is Terry lying about Stephanie? Is Aston going to be okay? The questions gnawed at her, biting into the fragile peace she’d momentarily found. Is this wrong? Her heart felt like it was being pulled in two directions.

“Camille.”

The sound of Terry’s voice sliced through her racing thoughts, his words grounding her once again. She looked back at him and what she saw made her heart skip. His eyes were serious, intense, but there was something soft in them too, something that made her breath catch.

“I’m serious about you,” he said sincerely. “I want you to be mine. And I want to be yours.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, her mind momentarily frozen by the intensity of his confession. His gaze never wavered.

“Now, you don’t have to give me an answer right now,” he continued, his voice calm yet filled with purpose. “But we will be having a conversation about this. Sooner than later. Okay?”

Camille felt a flutter in her chest. She took a moment, letting the words sink in, before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod. 

“Okay–” As soon as the words left her mouth, his lips were on hers. She moaned as she lost herself in him. He kissed her with so much passion, so much fervor. And she returned his eagerness. He pulled away from her lips, moving down to her jaw and her neck.

“Terry,” she moaned, her eyes fluttering as his lips touched the most sensitive parts of her skin. He hummed softly in response, placing another kiss on her collarbone. He shifted her in his lap, his growing bulge pushing against her ass. She gasped as his tongue ran up the side of her neck. Her head fell back, giving him better access to her and making him smile against her skin. 

His kisses on her neck and shoulders turned into slurps and bites. Camille had no doubt that his actions would leave behind hickies in some areas. But she couldn’t care less. She felt like she was in heaven.

She moaned a mixture of curses and his name as he moved lower down, going towards her cleavage. Terry let out a deep growl as he tugged down the top of her dress, exposing her full chest. In one swift motion, he pulled her off his lap and laid her back down against the cool leather seats. He hovered over her as he tugged the rest of the heavy gown down her body, casting it somewhere behind them as soon as it was past her heels. 

He pulled back slightly, kneeling over her to take her in fully. She was almost completely naked, wearing nothing but black lace bikini-style underwear. He stared down at her, his eyes looking her up and down as they swirled with intensity. And it made her self-conscious. She moved to cover herself with her arms, but Terry grabbed them before she could. 

“Don’t hide yourself from me. You’re too fucking beautiful for that,” he muttered, pulling her wrists together and pinning them above her. He kept them gripped in his left hand while his right hand traced her body lightly, making her breath hitch. He chuckled, leaning down to plant another deep kiss on her lips. But then he trailed light pecks down her chest, gripping her breast in his large hand, guiding her nipple into his mouth.

“Ooooh, fuck,” Camille cried out, arching into him. He chuckled, the sensation sending vibrations through her. His tongue dragged against the sensitive puff, his hand releasing her heavy tit. It slid down to her panties, tugging the material to the side. His fingers played with her slick folds as he leaned back to look down at her again.

“Damn,” he breathed, his thumb circling her clit in slow, teasing circles. “I got you this wet already, baby?” She just whined in response, her eyes rolling back as he slowly slipped a digit into her weeping hole. Once he was knuckle deep, he pulled back slightly before plunging back deeper into her depths, adding another finger to stretch her out.

“So fucking tight,” he muttered. “Can’t wait to feel this pretty ass pussy around me.” Moans tumbled past her lips as he continued to fuck her with his fingers as his thumb circled her clit. After a few moments, stars began to form behind Camille’s vision. “T-Terry,” she stuttered, feeling herself clenching around him. 

“Just let go baby,” he purred. “Cum for me.” His fingers curled in a come hither motion, hitting a spot she didn’t even know she had. “Terry!” she shouted as her orgasm rippled through her. She writhed and twisted as her high stole her breath.

But Terry’s fingers continued to pump in and out of her at the same pace, making a squelching sound fill the air. She squirmed at the overstimulation, looking up at him with a pleading look. He gave her a smirk, slowly pulling the two thick fingers from her sex, bringing them to his mouth. She watched as he erotically licked his fingers clean, never breaking eye contact with her.

“Fucking delicious,” he growled, pulling at her panties lightly before snatching them off completely and tossing the fabric next to them. “Too sexy for your own good…” he trailed off as he released his grip on her wrists. But before Camille could reorient herself, he pulled her thighs farther apart, giving him easy access to her pussy. He licked his lips as he stared at her soaked folds, gently pushing her to the farthest end of the seat, lining her pussy up with his face. She closed her eyes in anticipation as she felt his breath hover above her quivering heat. 

“Look at me,” he demanded, forcing her to meet his gaze again. She propped herself up slightly, watching as the ocean colored orbs stared back at her. Without another word, his tongue took a long drag across her pussy, making her shout as her toes curled. He groaned, the sensation making her legs shake and setting every nerve in her body on fire. His tongue flicked rapidly, his lips sucked furiously, and his mouth slurped expertly. She attempted to run from him, but his strong hands held her on place, forcing her to succumb to sweet torture. He would alternate between slow, deliberate licks that pulled low moans from her to quick slurps that made her mind buzz. And in between, his tongue would plunge into her hole, making her feel stuffed. It didn’t take long for her to come all over his tongue, making him grip her even harder.

But he didn’t stop. He pushed her past overstimulation, her cries becoming gasps as her third orgasm crashed over her. Only then did he finally show her some mercy. “That’s it princess,” he chuckled, placing sloppy kisses on her inner thighs. “Wet these seats up.”

She attempted to catch her breath, her mind too jumbled to do anything but let him do whatever he wanted to her. 

But, something shifted.

He pulled back suddenly, as though jolted from a trance, his body flinching as he recoiled from her touch. It was as if an invisible force had snapped him out of a deep, intense daze. His movements were jerky as he quickly scooted back, distancing himself further, avoiding any form of eye contact. Camille sat up on her elbows, her brow furrowed in confusion. A cold knot of unease formed in her stomach as she looked at him. “Is everything alright?” she asked softly, her voice betraying a hint of concern as he shifted even further away.

He gave a quick nod, but his gaze never met hers. For a split second, Camille could have sworn his eyes flickered a different color. Was it red? But when she blinked, they were back to that familiar blue shade. She shook the thought away, convinced that she had imagined it.

“D-Did I do something wrong?” she asked, her voice catching in her throat, anxiety tightening around her chest like a vice. His eyes finally met hers again.

“No, baby, not at all,” he replied, his voice quiet but heavy with something she couldn’t place. “I just need to get you home,” he breathed, his words barely more than a whisper. Camille's mind raced, her instincts telling her that something was off, but she didn’t want to press him too hard. She decided, instead, to push forward, to be bold in the face of his retreat.

“I don’t have to go home…” she said, her voice trailing off into a teasing suggestion, a playful offer hanging in the air.

His eyes flickered over her body in a way that sent a chill down her spine, lust and hunger obvious in his expression. His chest rose and fell with deep, shaky breaths.

“We’re almost at your place,” he murmured, his voice tight, strained. “Come here.”

Camille, disappointed, slid towards him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of what was really going on. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and guided her naked body into it, pulling it around her shoulders with a gentleness that didn’t quite match the turmoil she felt radiating off of him.

“Terry,” she pleaded, her voice laced with worry and longing. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Camille. I promise,” he said, the words smooth but hollow. There was an unmistakable strain in his voice and it made her heart drop into her stomach. Something was terribly wrong. She could feel it, even as he tried to convince her otherwise.

He bent down to help her slip into her shoes, which must’ve fallen off as he had her legs spread wide, just as the car rolled to a stop. Camille’s gaze drifted toward the window, her eyes momentarily resting on the familiar shops lining the street outside of Kali’s apartment building. As the car door opened with a soft click, the driver stepped aside, allowing Terry to guide her out, his hand gently brushing against hers as they both stepped onto the curb.

“Can I walk you up?” he asked, his voice warm yet tight. He placed his hand on the small of her back, a touch meant to comfort, but Camille couldn’t ignore the tension in the air. She gave him a shy smile, trying to mask her disappointment.

“Sure, if you want,” she answered, her voice light but hesitant. She didn’t want to appear too eager, didn’t want to seem desperate. But the truth was, she didn’t want to leave his side, not just yet.

He flashed her a slight, reassuring smile, the kind that almost made her forget her unease. “Yes, ma’am. Lead the way.”

As they walked together through the lobby, Camille couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Terry wanted to spend more time with her at her place. The thought flickered through her mind, only to be dashed by the reality of the situation. Too bad this isn’t my place, she thought as they stepped into the elevator.

Her finger pressed the button to Kali’s floor as she sighed softly. What went wrong? They were enjoying themselves, weren’t they? At least, she thought they were. Her heart felt heavy, her mind racing to see if she had missed something. Missed a cue. But she couldn’t think of anything. She slumped a little as the elevator doors slid shut.

As they ascended, Camille couldn’t help but notice Terry’s foot tapping impatiently against the elevator floor, the sound almost too loud in the otherwise quiet space. He must be eager to get away from me, she thought, a pang of insecurity hitting her like a cold wave. She wrapped her fingers tighter around the fabric of his suit jacket, trying to steady herself.

The elevator’s chime rang out, breaking the silence. She quickly guided them out, her steps hurried as she led him toward Kali’s door, her pulse quickening with every step. Her embarrassment was crawling up her neck and into her cheeks. Getting inside was the only thing that she felt could make her feelings go away. She knocked a few times and prayed that Kali wasn’t wearing her headphones and drowning in her music.

Just as Camille’s heart began to sink with the fear of an unanswered door, it swung open with a swift motion.

“Cammieeee!” Kali’s voice rang out, bright and full of her signature infectious energy. “Oh, hi Terry…?” Her voice trailed off as if she asked a question.

“Hey, Kali,” Terry responded, his voice even more strained than before. Camille barely registered Kali’s excited chatter as she tried to slip past them, eager to retreat from the overwhelming moment. But before she could get any farther, Terry’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising force.

He pulled her back toward him, making her pulse race. He gripped the back of her neck and shamelessly plunged his tongue into her mouth. Her gasp was muffled by his tongue twisting against hers. She clenched her thighs together as she tasted herself on him, her mind drifting to what they had shared in the car. But the moment wasn’t long. He pulled away quickly, leaving her dazed.

“Goodnight, baby. We’ll talk later,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of sweetness and finality, before he turned abruptly, making his way back toward the elevators. His steps were longer, quicker than usual, as though something was pressing him to leave in a hurry. Camille watched him, her heart still thudding, until he disappeared around the corner.

A moment of silence lingered between Camille and Kali as they turned to face each other. Kali’s eyes were wide in surprise, her gaze flickering over Camille’s form as a soft pink hue spread across her caramel-toned cheeks. Kali’s eyes swept over Camille from head to toe, taking in her new attire. The elegant blue gown Camille had worn earlier was now nowhere to be found. Instead, she was swaddled in a men’s suit jacket, the fabric oversized and hanging off her shoulder. 

Camille gave Kali an embarrassed smile. She’s going to want to hear everything, Camille thought. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide the flush creeping up her neck. “After you,” Kali said softly. 

Camille stepped inside, the sound of the door clicking shut behind her feeling louder than it should have. She could feel Kali's gaze on her. Sharp, observant, like a hawk. But Camille pretended not to notice her best friend’s scrutiny. Instead, she caught her own reflection in the mirror near the entrance, and the sight made her freeze.

Her hairstyle was a chaotic mess, strands of hair falling loose and wild from where they had once been perfectly styled. Her lips were swollen and red, and most of her makeup had been smeared, leaving dark smudges under her eyes and across her cheeks. Her neck and collarbone were dotted with hickies, dark purple and unmistakable. The sight of them made her throat tighten and she quickly turned away, the image of herself only deepening her self-consciousness.

“Bitch,” Kali started, her voice intense but laced with amusement. “Are you really about to walk in here and not tell me what the hell happened tonight?”

Camille barely registered Kali’s words as they passed through one ear and out the other. Her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t help herself, her feet carrying her over to the window that faced the street. The timing was almost cruelly perfect. She saw Terry’s silhouette just as he hopped back into the car, his movements hurried as the driver closed the door behind him. Her chest tightened as she watched the car pull away.

A deep, heavy sigh escaped her lips as she stared out the window. Was I too forward? The question gnawed at her. Did I say the wrong thing? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to silence the doubts that swirled inside her. Did I do something that made him change his mind?

With a resigned breath, she stepped away from the window, her feet dragging as she turned back to face the living room. Kali stood there, her arms crossed. The silence between them was suffocating as she gave Camille a look that seemed to say, I know something happened. Now, spill. But Camille hesitated momentarily.

“Girl, did you hear me? What the hell happened?” Kali asked, settling into a plush chair. “You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked. You got this whole walk of shame look going on.” 

Camille let out a soft chuckle at her friend’s bluntness but it quickly faded as she thought about how heavy tonight was. She sank into the seat across from Kali. For a moment, she stared at the floor, then sighed, looking up to meet Kali’s eager eyes.

“Tonight was… crazy,” Camille said, the words escaping her lips like a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She felt like she was still processing it all, the events spinning in her mind, impossible to organize.

Kali, never one to hold back, let out a giggle. “Obviously, babe!” Her voice was filled with mock surprise, but the sparkle in her eyes showed she was genuinely intrigued. “That man tonguing you down in front of me? And called you baby? I have to know how we got to this point.”

With a deep sigh, Camille began, recounting every detail of the chaotic night. She told Kali how she and Terry had shared that intense kiss on the balcony. She explained how Aston had exploded and lost control in front of everyone, his fury turning the night upside down. Camille’s words slowed as she described the moments with Terry in the car, how their conversation grew increasingly intimate, how vulnerable he seemed, how vulnerable she had felt, allowing him into spaces she hadn’t planned on sharing.

As she spoke, Kali was hanging onto every word, her gaze never wavering. She leaned forward, eyebrows raised, eyes wide with a mix of awe and curiosity. It was clear from her body language that Kali was fully invested in the story, living each moment with Camille.

“I mean, like I said, tonight was crazy,” Camille said, her voice trailing off at the end, the words almost lost in the haze of her thoughts. Her mind briefly wandered back to the car ride with Terry and how he practically devoured her. How his eyes watched her as she came on his tongue. Her pussy throbbed at the thought. The intensity of it left her breathless, her heart still thumping a little faster at the memory.

“But…” Camille faltered, her voice dropping to a quieter, almost hesitant tone. She wrung her hands nervously in her lap as the embarrassment crept up her neck. “I think I might have been too eager,” she murmured, her face flushing as the memory of her boldness with Terry hit her again. The way she had practically invited herself to his place, desperately trying to cling to the moment they were sharing. Her chest tightened at the thought, a knot of shame curling inside her.

Kali tilted her head to the side in confusion, a flicker of amusement passing through her expression before it shifted into genuine curiosity. “Huhh?” she asked, her voice soft, almost incredulous. 

Camille sighed, sinking deeper into the chair’s cushion. “He probably thinks I’m a slut,” she muttered. She dropped her head into her hands. “I ruined what we had before it even got anywhere.” 

Kali’s eyes widened in dramatic disbelief as she gasped. “Okay, wait. I love you, Cam, but you sound ridiculous right now,” she said, the words tumbling out with a mix of affection and exasperation. She threw her hands up, letting out an exaggerated sigh before rising from her seat in one fluid motion, her body language speaking volumes of her frustration.

With a confident stride, Kali made her way to the kitchen, the sound of her footsteps echoing lightly on the floor as she moved with purpose. She reached for a bottle of wine, her fingers curling around the neck of the dark glass like it was an extension of her own energy. With a sharp twist of her wrist, she popped the cork with a satisfying thwip before pouring the wine into two glasses, the deep red liquid swirling in the light. Her movements were quick, almost theatrical, as she spoke.

“That man,” Kali continued, her voice rising slightly, the words rolling off her tongue like a lecture she couldn’t wait to deliver, “not only got you back here, but he walked you all the way up and french kissed you to hell and back right in front of me! That’s not casual, Camille. That seems like he’s pretty damn interested to me.”

Camille’s eyes followed Kali as she carried the glasses back into the living room, her heart still fluttering. “You think so?” Camille asked, her voice soft, the words feeling like a tentative offering. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Kali, watching as her friend set the glasses down, the dark wine shimmering in the low light.

Kali raised an eyebrow. She slid one of the glasses toward Camille, the stem of the glass cool and delicate between her fingers. “Cam, if that doesn’t scream interested, then I don’t know what does,” she said, her voice laced with a teasing certainty.

“And even if you came across too eager, tonight was a rough night, right? Terry likes you, he would give you some grace. And maybe you should be a little slutty. You deserve some dick, and you need to make that clear to him.”

Camille blinked, her mind slowly processing Kali’s words. Maybe I am being too hard on myself, she thought. Maybe I need to be clearer about what I want. She frowned as she absently reached for her clutch. But as her hand swept across the space beside her, her fingers met nothing but air.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and for a moment, she simply stared at the space where her clutch should have been. The feeling of something missing gnawed at her, unsettling in its suddenness. She sat up straighter, her mind flicking back through the events of the evening.

Wait a minute. Her heart skipped as the realization slowly crept in. She never placed her clutch next to her. In fact, she hadn’t brought it inside at all.

Camille’s mind raced, her thoughts spinning faster as she tried to piece together the fragments of the night. She could clearly picture the last time she saw it, lying innocently on the backseat floor of the black Suburban as her thighs sat on Terry’s shoulders. Its contents neatly arranged inside: her phone, her ID, her credit cards. Everything she needed to keep in sight.She leaned her head back as she realized her mistake. Fuck.

Terry

Terry’s voice cut through the silence of the car like a blade, low and menacing. “Lorenzo, if you don’t speed up this car, I will fucking eat you. No hesitation,” The growl in his words sent a shiver down the young supernatural’s spine, his fingers instinctively tightening around the steering wheel as he stole a quick, fearful glance at Terry through the rearview mirror. With trembling hands, he pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal, sending the car surging forward toward the destination Terry demanded as soon as he returned to the car.

The road and passing buildings blurred, but it wasn’t the journey that consumed Terry’s focus. It was the gnawing, insatiable hunger that clawed at him, burning like a fire that threatened to swallow him whole. His stomach churned painfully as the dark, overwhelming need for human blood swirled in his veins, a primal hunger writhing beneath his skin. Every second was a battle. Terry’s vision flickered as his eye color shifted back and forth. He could feel madness tugging at the edges of his consciousness, the urge to sink his fangs, and his cock, into the woman he had just dropped off pulling at his sanity. But he couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t go back.

His grip on his seat tightened, his claws ripping away the leather as he fought to keep himself in check, but his resolve was starting to fray at the edges. He had been fighting for what felt like eternity, but he couldn’t risk losing his composure. I’ve held on for this long, he thought, his breath coming out in shallow gasps. The thought of Camille flashed in his mind, a vivid image of her warmth, her scent, her pulse beneath his fingertips. Her naked body that she so willingly offered to him. The hunger intensified, his mouth pooling with saliva. 

He shook his head, trying to reason with himself. I can’t feed from Camille again. Not now, he thought. There won’t be an excuse that I could use.

He continued to soothe himself as he thought back to the moment where everything had shifted. He was eating her pussy like it was his last fucking meal. She smelled divine and tasted even sweeter. And her moans? It was the most satisfying thing he ever heard in his life. And the way she came on his tongue… it nearly made him feral. He was tempted to take her straight to his penthouse and claim every inch of her until the sun rose. But he contained himself, pulling away to kiss the inside of her thighs to calm himself before he lost all control. But then, it happened. His canine nicked her flesh ever so slightly, and a drop of blood landed on his tongue. It didn’t take more than a second for him to realize he got a taste of her nectar. Smooth as the finest wine and sweet and rich like molasses. He knew he had to get her away from him. And fast.

He hated how confused and dejected she had looked. He knew she felt like he was casting her aside. And he despised how he had to turn her down when she suggestively asked to stay the night at his place. 

Just as Terry was about to snap at Lorenzo, the car finally pulled in front of the destination. Red Rum. An exclusive BDSM playground in the heart of Houston that doubled as a space to supply vampires with Indulgences. The human members were aware of the existence of his kind and got off on being available for their consumption. The space was perfect for lust and bloodlust to intermingle. Although less popular than Crimson, and Terry didn’t have any ownership in it, Red Rum was useful to Terry during rare occasions like this.

Terry didn’t wait for Lorenzo to come to a complete stop. With a growl of impatience, he threw open the door, and stepped out of the vehicle, his dress shoes hitting the pavement with a solid thud as he strode toward the entrance with a predatory grace.

The bouncers at the door shifted, their eyes narrowing as they assessed him. But the moment recognition flickered across their faces, their expressions turned fearful. They stepped aside, clearing the path for him with the ease of men who knew better than to challenge someone like Terry.

He barely acknowledged them as he moved past, his gaze fixed on the door ahead. The hallway stretched out in front of him, long and brightly lit, the deep red of the lights casting an almost sinister glow.

His footsteps echoed off the polished floors, reverberating down the corridor.

At the end of the hall, a set of imposing double doors loomed. With a swift, violent motion, Terry pushed through them, the sound of the heavy wood slamming against the frame loud enough to be heard over the low hum from within.

The air was thick with the smell of sex and alcohol, moans of pleasure and screams of delight mingling with the sound of flogging and other types of play. But Terry didn’t even blink as his eyes swooped over the orgy unfolding before him. Instead, his eyes scanned for any stray wanderers. He felt a small hand grasp his bicep and he glanced down, his eyes meeting a short, fairly attractive woman wearing nothing but a collar with a leash who stared up at him with a warm, eager smile. 

She will do, he thought to himself.

Lorenzo

Lorenzo paced outside of the car as he waited patiently for his terrifying but well paying client. Although he didn’t drive him often, Lorenzo knew the ins and outs of Terry Richmond’s reputation. And from that reputation, he learned three things. One, don’t waste his time. Two, don’t try to fuck him over. And three, keep your eyes off his women. Up until tonight, Lorenzo followed those three principles to the tee. 

But when he saw the Indulgence that he brought back with him when he left his event… he couldn’t help but stare. She was gorgeous, and just his type. Dark skin, big titties, little waist. He would do anything to have someone like her to come home to every night. But he made sure Terry never caught his wandering eye. It’s not like he got to look at her long anyway. He kept the privacy barrier in the car closed. But he still got to enjoy her in his own way. 

From the way she was moaning, Terry was tearing that ass up in the backseat. Lorenzo’s imagination ran wild as he beat himself off with one hand and drove with the other. He couldn’t help but think about how her face looked when she came. How she looked right before she hit her peak.

And when Terry dropped her off at her place, she looked like an angel who the devil fucked just right. Skin flushed, hair messy, wearing nothing but Terry’s suit jacket and some heels that perfectly complimented her long, shapely legs. He had fallen in love. Lorenzo’s heart raced as his thoughts circled back to her, the image of her lingering in his mind like a haunting melody he couldn’t shake. He paced in front of the luxury car, the cool night air nipping at his skin, but it did nothing to distract him. He knew it was wrong to keep thinking about her, especially after such a brief encounter. But it didn’t matter. His mind kept returning to her.

Suddenly, a soft trill cut through the silence. Lorenzo froze mid-step, his body tensing, and cocked his head to the side, trying to make sense of the sound. It came again, more insistent this time, drawing his attention to the backseat of the car. His eyes narrowed as he peered into the dimly lit interior, scanning the floor. There, partially obscured by the plush seats, was a small blue purse, its clasp slightly undone, and the corner of a cell phone peeking through. It had to be hers, he thought. She must’ve left it behind.

Lorenzo couldn’t resist. He opened the car door with a quiet click, sliding inside just enough to retrieve the bag. The phone had stopped ringing by the time he pulled it out, but the screen was still lit, showing several missed calls. His brows furrowed as he noticed the repeated name flashing on the screen: Houston Fire Department. A strange knot twisted in his gut, a flicker of concern mixed with confusion, but he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he placed the phone back in the bag, his curiosity now burning hotter.

As his fingers brushed over the contents of the purse, they landed on something hard and plastic. His eyes flickered down to see a driver’s license. Glancing around quickly to make sure Terry hadn’t yet returned, Lorenzo pulled it out, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he read the name that appeared in bold, printed letters: Camille DeWaterson.

The name rolled off his tongue as he stared at the photo on the ID, tracing its edges with a light touch. Her face stared back at him, soft, serene, and strikingly beautiful, captured in the flat simplicity of a driver’s license photo. For a moment, it felt as though she was there with him, her presence tangible in his hands as he caressed the thin plastic like it was the real thing. His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself lost in the simplicity of her face.

But before he could linger any longer, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. His heart skipped, and panic surged through him. In a rush, he shoved the ID back into the purse, his hands shaking as he closed the bag with a quiet snap.

“What are you doing?” Terry’s voice cut through the air, sharp and accusing, making Lorenzo’s heart leap in his chest. He whipped around quickly, the adrenaline surging in his veins, his eyes wide with surprise and guilt.

Terry stood there, towering over him, his expression one of thinly veiled suspicion.

“Oh, sorry about that, sir,” Lorenzo stammered, his voice polite, the words tumbling out in a rush to cover his flustered state. He gestured toward the blue purse, which he still held in his hands, not having had time to set it down. “I... I heard something in the backseat and found this.”

Terry’s eyes dropped to the purse, and Lorenzo saw the brief flicker of recognition flash across Terry’s face. His posture stiffened. “Shit,” he muttered, grabbing it from him. He pulled out the phone and checked the notifications before his eyes met Lorenzo’s again. “Thanks for finding this. Let’s go, I got another stop to make.”

Lorenzo nodded, hurrying out of his way so Terry could slide into the car. But as he jogged back to the driver’s seat, Lorenzo wondered if Terry would really mind if his eyes lingered just a bit more on Ms. Camille.

Terry

Terry leaned his head against the headrest as his body hummed with satisfaction. His thirst was quenched and his balls were empty. Sure, it wasn’t under the most ideal circumstances, but it kept him from doing something he would regret. And maybe that slip up was for the best.

Although he didn’t want anything more than Camille in his bed tonight, Terry knew that his apartment wasn’t exactly “human-proof” at the moment. His love-drawing altar sat prominently in front of his bed, adorned with pictures of Camille. Pictures he had no business having.

And then there was his fridge, stocked full of blood bags courtesy of Elijah. He couldn’t risk Camille stumbling upon any of that. Sure, he could keep the bedroom activities in his living room. But there was no way he was going to make her leave right after. And her sharp eyes, too observant for her own good, might’ve caught a glimpse of something that would send her spiraling into confusion or fear. So dropping her at Kali’s place was for the best. Especially since it was the only place he could drop her too. 

Terry’s mind lingered on the message from Jabari, the one he had received over an hour ago. The simple confirmation that Camille’s old apartment was gone, consumed by flames.

Since he had her phone, he hoped she wouldn’t find out about the fire right away. The thought of her being burdened with the knowledge of her past being lost was something he wanted to delay, at least for a little while. She deserved the peace of knowing nothing was wrong, even if it was a fragile illusion. She deserved to sleep through the night without the weight of a seemingly tragic fire pressing down on her. He would make sure of that, even if it meant shielding her from the truth for a few more days.

When the news finally broke, he would be ready. He would be there to hold her, to offer comfort, to tell her everything would be okay. He would be the rock she could lean on, her knight in shining armor, sweeping in with solutions for every problem she had. Problems that he had carefully orchestrated.

But right now, his thoughts shifted. He had something far more immediate to think about. The events of the gala replayed in his mind, twisting and turning, and he knew he had to get to the bottom of it. As Lorenzo drove him back toward the venue, Terry’s mind worked over the best way to approach it. Aston was irrelevant to him, justice for that nigga wasn’t worth his time. But Stephania’s actions? Now that was something Terry couldn’t overlook. How had she managed to slip that love potion into his drink without anyone noticing?

The venue had to be crawling with cameras, but the problem was that no one had likely paid attention to the footage yet. To them, it was just another night, another drunk man making a fool of himself. But Terry knew better. He knew there was something deeper at play here, and he was determined to find it.

Stephanie

Stephanie stood before the full-length mirror in her bedroom, scrutinizing every inch of her reflection. Her fingers traced the grooves of her lingerie, the red of the set complimenting her tan skin. She could still feel the lingering tremor of fear from the night before. Aston’s attack had been a brutal, terrifying experience that rattled her to the core. She just had never seen a man act like such a crazed animal before. But now, in the soft light of the morning, she allowed herself to focus on something else. There was a silver lining to the chaos.

Terry had reached out to her earlier, his message simple yet filled with a quiet urgency. He wanted to make sure she was okay. And he asked if he could come over. That simple question ignited something deep inside her, an unexpected spark of hope. He cares, she thought, buzzing with happiness. Maybe she didn’t need a love spell after all.

Of course, she had eagerly said yes. She’s been living for moments like this. Just times where she could be with him without her having to share his attention. She couldn’t afford to let any trace of yesterday’s pain show. Not when he was coming to see her. 

For the past two hours, she’d been meticulously preparing herself, her hands working with practiced precision as she applied layer after layer of makeup, ensuring every stroke of mascara and brush of powder was flawless. She adjusted the tie on her robe, making sure enough of her was peaking through to remain tasteful but still inviting. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, and she ran her fingers through it one last time, adding volume, making sure it looked effortlessly perfect.

As she took one last glance in the mirror, her breath caught in her throat as she studied her reflection. The woman staring back at her looked absolutely stunning. But of course she did. This was herself she was talking about. Terry wouldn’t be able to resist her. She would make sure that the memory of yesterday’s horrors was overshadowed by the undeniable pull between them.

She poured two glasses of wine, the rich, deep red liquid spilling smoothly. She lightly chastised herself, wishing she had some of the potion left. Just enough to add to his glass. But she quickly brushed off the thought. Tonight, if everything went according to plan, she’d have more than enough time to try again. The taste of success was already on the tip of her tongue.

Setting the wine glasses down on her kitchen table with careful precision, she looked around her living room. The atmosphere had to be just right. With a determined exhale, she moved to grab a lighter from the counter, her fingers steady as she flicked it and the flame burst to life. She moved from candle to candle, igniting them one by one. Soon, the room was bathed in soft, sultry light.

She shuddered as her mind conjured up all kinds of ways he might have his way with her. On her floor like last time? Or would it be her couch? What about the coffee table? She swooned as her mind went even further. Would he finally cum in her? Would he sink his fangs into her neck? Her panties grew damp with each passing thought.

Stephanie was jolted back to reality by a heavy knock on the door. A wave of excitement washed over her as she smiled to herself, the anticipation making her pulse quicken. She glanced at the mirror nearby, her reflection staring back at her as she subtly adjusted her hair, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She gave herself one last look, and then hurried to the door to swing it open.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked with Terry’s. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but exuding an effortless confidence. He was dressed simply. A white pullover that clung just enough to reveal the outline of his toned arms, gray sweatpants that hung loosely around his hips, and a subtle gold chain that caught the light with every small movement he made.

The combination of his casual attire and undeniable charisma left her momentarily speechless. But she quickly composed herself. 

“Come on in,” she giggled, tracing his form with her eyes. He smirked, pushing himself off the doorframe to walk into her space. His cologne trailed behind him, making her eyes flutter as she breathed him in. She quickly followed after him and guided him to her kitchen table. “Wine already?” he asked as he sat down. “On a Sunday?” Stephanie just playfully rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Terry. As if you’re some saint,” she said, her mind thinking about he had Camille in that parking lot. God, that was so fucking hot.

Terry just smirked, watching her intensely as she sat across from him. Stephanie felt confidence surge through her as she watched his reaction to her. She would be getting her way in no time. 

“So,” he began, pushing his wine glass to the side. Her eyebrows furrowed at the action, but she listened as he continued. “How are you feeling? Were you able to sleep off what happened yesterday?” he asked, his voice soft.

Stephanie fake sniffled, hoping it would get some sympathy from him. She took a long dramatic sip of her wine before she responded. “Oh, Terry… I-I’m trying my best to stay grounded and not let Aston consume me. But it’s so hard, baby. I just wish you were here to help me through everything.” Instead of a sympathetic look, Terry just tilted his head, his smirk growing wider. Almost to the point that it looked sinister. Stephanie’s confidence faltered as she watched him lean forward slightly, propping his chin up with his hand.

“You’re so fucking funny, Stephanie. Do you know that?” Stephanie’s stomach dropped, blinking rapidly as she tried to understand what he just said. “E-Excuse me?”

Terry let out a low chuckle, the sound rich and amused, vibrating through the air. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and something far darker as he leaned back with a casual ease, the lines of his body stretching in a way that seemed both effortless and intimidating. He raised his hands, slow and deliberate, and clapped them together three times, each clap sharp and resounding in the now-quiet room.

On the third clap, something almost otherworldly happened. The flames of every candle she had lit flickered violently, as if caught by an invisible gust of wind. And then, with a sudden, eerie finality, they were extinguished, leaving the room much darker. The once intimate space now felt suffocating.

Stephanie’s heart leapt into her throat, a wave of panic gripping her chest. She shot to her feet, her breath coming faster, her body instinctively tense as her eyes darted around the room. 

Terry’s smirk only deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her flustered reaction. His voice was cool, almost mocking, as he repeated himself with slow, deliberate precision, “I said, you’re so fucking funny.” His gaze never left her, and there was something unsettling in the way his eyes seemed to pierce through the dimness. “You’re really sitting there, trying to make yourself seem like a victim,” he added, his words laced with a bite that sent a chill crawling down her spine.

It was as if Terry knew exactly how to dismantle her, piece by piece, with nothing more than a glance and a subtle shift in his tone. She could almost feel the coldness of his words wrapping around her, tightening with each breath she took.

Her eyes widened, nearly bulging from their sockets as she stared at him, her mind struggling to catch up with what he was saying. Was he mad at her? Was he somehow blaming her for everything that had happened?

Her voice trembled as she finally found the strength to speak, the words coming out in a shaky, breathless whisper. “Are you saying that what happened was my fault?” The question felt foreign on her tongue, an accusation she couldn’t quite comprehend. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to hold herself together. What was going on with him? 

“Oh cut the bullshit, Stephanie. Whatever you tried to give me was passed on to Aston. Everything that happened was your fault,” Terry seethed, his expression darkening. Stephanie’s eye twitched. How the fuck did he figure that out? 

She giggled lightly. It was an attempt to defuse the thick tension in the room. “Okay, Terry,” she breathed out, her voice lighter than it should’ve been. She raised her hands innocently, the gesture as much an offering of peace as it was a shield. “Let’s just calm down, alright?”

Terry’s smile returned, though this time it didn’t reach his eyes. Without breaking his gaze, he slowly rose from his seat. Each step he took towards her was measured, predatory. “Oh, I’m very calm,” he replied, his voice smooth with a hint of something dark. “But let’s get some things straight.”

Stephanie instinctively took a step back, putting distance between them, but Terry matched her movements, his long stride closing the gap with unnerving precision.

“After today,” Terry continued, his voice low and dangerous, “I don’t ever want to see you again.” The words hit her like a slap to the face, cold and final. “So I suggest you leave the firm. Use whatever money Grant has given you over the years and disappear.”

Stephanie’s jaw went slack. He couldn’t be serious. She could feel the heat of anger rising in her chest. How dare he, how dare he, think he could control her, order her around? The nerve of him testing her in such a way. No matter how powerful he was, she wouldn’t stand for it.

Her body tensed, filling with fury. She lifted her chin, her voice steady. “Watch the way you talk to me, Terry,” she retorted. “I know more about you than you know.”

The words hung in the air, loaded with a threat that she hoped landed with the force she intended. She saw the flicker of something in Terry’s eyes, but whatever it was, he didn’t flinch. He just scoffed like he didn’t take her seriously at all.

“I don’t give a fuck that you know what I am,” he growled. Stephanie's confidence wavered. That was the only leverage she had left over him, and she could feel it slipping away. Her mind raced, scrambling to regain control of the situation before he saw the vulnerability in her eyes. She couldn’t afford to lose her footing now.

Terry leaned in slightly, his voice low and taunting. “Who are you gonna tell, huh? Who would believe you?” He chuckled darkly. 

But Stephanie wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across her face as she met his gaze, her eyes glinting with the sharpness of someone who wasn’t willing to back down. She leaned forward slightly, her voice oozing with sweetness, but the threat behind it was unmistakable. “I don’t know,” she purred. “Maybe Camille.” Her smirk deepened, her eyes narrowing. “I’m sure she would love to know how she really fainted in that parking lot.”

Terry’s hand shot out and wrapped around Stephanie’s neck in a merciless grip. She gasped and sputtered as she attempted to pry his hands off of her. But nothing worked. Instead, he raised her slightly off her feet, dangling her in the air with one hand. She cried as she watched his appearance change. Eyes flickering to a deep red. Canines lengthening. Pupils narrowing. It frightened to the point that she closed her eyes tightly, wishing she could take back what she said. He pulled her dangling body closer to him, his lips nearly pressing against her ear.

“Don’t be fucking stupid Stephanie,” he whispered calmly. But the cadence of his voice wasn’t natural anymore. It sounded demonic. “I’m not particularly interested in killing women. But it’s not above me,” he growled, making her whimper.

“Take this as your one and only warning. Leave town and never look back. Or else.” With that, he dropped her, causing her to crumple to the ground. She clutched her neck as she gasped for breath. A few tears spilled from her eyes before she looked up at his towering form. He stared back down at her nonchalantly, shoving his hands in his pockets. Slowly, his appearance became human again. “And don’t you ever fucking speak of Camille again.” Terry turned on his heel and walked toward the door. With a final glance over his shoulder, he opened it and stepped out, leaving her alone in the dimly lit space. The door clicked slammed behind him, sealing off any hope of reconciliation.

Stephanie sat there for a moment, her breath still shallow from the intensity of what had just transpired. The sharp sting in her neck still pulsed with a dull ache. But as her fingers gently traced the soreness at her throat, it was not fear that consumed her, nor panic or regret. It was something far more dangerous.

Lust.

It crept through her veins, slow and insidious, taking root deep inside her. It was as though the intensity of the moment, the raw power he had wielded, had lit a fire inside her she couldn't extinguish. She had always been attracted to Terry—his strength, his confidence, his unyielding control. But now, after everything that had happened, it was no longer just attraction. It was an obsession, a fierce craving that clawed at her insides.

Her body hummed with the aftershocks of his presence, the memory of his touch still lingering on her skin, and her mind raced with images of what could come next. He was perfect. He was everything she had ever desired—the right mix of danger, power, and passion. He was toxic in the most intoxicating way. She had spent her whole life chasing something like him, and now that she had found it, there was no way in hell she was letting him slip through her fingers.

A sly grin tugged at her lips as she straightened, a new sense of purpose settling over her. She would lie low for now, give him space. But that didn’t mean she was done. Far from it. She would wait, she would plan, and when the time was right, she would make her move.

Stephanie had no intention of giving up on Terry Richmond. Not now. Not ever.

-------

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[muletia]

your yandere starscream snippet?? good lord... 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️as a fellow starscream simp I (and plenty of other followers) are willing to read more if u wanna expand on yandere starscream? (ignore or delete if u dont wanna :3)

[tfp] yandere!starscream x human!reader very incoherent and crack(ish) ramblings because I'm insane about this scrimblo

Imagine it’s four in the morning, and you suddenly wake up to get a drink of water. You lean over to grab the full glass on your nightstand, but you don’t even manage to touch the glass with your fingertips because you notice a pair of scarlet optics staring directly at you in the darkness. Oh, and they’re hovering right above your bed. The best part? This isn’t the first or last time this has happened, because he frequently breaks into your house at night just to look at you.

You’d better hope you sleep through his visit, because if you wake up and Starscream notices, you’ll be bombarded with a monologue about how you don’t pay him enough attention. How dare you bolt the doors against him?! You knew full well he would come to see you. And now, thanks to you, the door is ripped off its hinges, cold air is pouring into your house, and he absolutely detests the cold. So you’d better warm his majesty up—or he’ll shove himself under your blanket. Oh, and it’s only Tuesday, which means you’ve got at least ten more incidents like this to look forward to this week.

Since he enjoys breaking into your house—because it’s nice to have a place where no one takes out their frustrations on you with brute force, and where he’s at least somewhat welcome (or so he convinces himself)—he also loves to snatch a few “souvenirs” for himself. Especially when his obsession reaches its peak and he knows he won’t be able to see you for a while. Usually, it’s your clothes that he takes. They remind him of you when he desperately needs comfort.

He’ll nuzzle and cling to them, imagining he’s doing so with you, using them to stave off complete madness. The only downside of stealing clothes soaked in your scent is that the scent fades far too quickly, especially since Starscream often finds himself in rough patches. So you’ll soon notice your clothes disappearing at an alarming rate. Unfortunately, I’m afraid you’ll never get them back. Starscream will adamantly deny any knowledge of the theft and refuse to return the stolen items. By now, they’ve been so thoroughly abused that they’d never return to their original state of cleanliness anyway.

Without his obsession, Starscream is already demanding attention, but when you add a deranged and unhealthy love into the mix, his need for attention skyrockets. When you’re awake, and Starscream decides to visit you—which happens alarmingly often, especially during his self-imposed exile, he insists you keep your eyes on him at all times.

When you talk to him, you must look at him, listen carefully to what he has to say, and actively participate in the conversation. Otherwise, he becomes unbearable. You can’t walk away or leave him; you’re forced to engage. Any attempt to escape will result in manipulation—and if that doesn’t work, he’ll use force. How dare you use your phone in his presence? He’ll snatch it right out of your hands and force you into a conversation with him. Ignoring him despite his threats and insults? If you’re outside, he’ll pin you in place with his claws, forming a sort of cage, and continue his tirade as if nothing happened. If you’re indoors, he’ll trap you with his body instead.

The problem is that once physical contact occurs, Starscream has no intention of letting go.

He clings to you so desperately it’s almost disgusting. He constantly forces physical contact, whether it’s kissing, stroking, or demanding affection himself, often at the most unexpected times, like that miserable four in the morning. And since he’s nearly impossible to satisfy, these sessions can go on forever.

Hours spent stroking his helm and delivering monologues praising his majesty leave your wrist aching and your throat sore. And the next day? You can look forward to another session of the exact same thing.

He’s intensely possessive and jealous, ready to gouge out the eyes, or optics, of anyone who dares so much as glance at you. You can’t even mention your friends’ names in his presence. He’d be happiest if you stopped interacting with anyone else altogether, shrinking your circle of acquaintances down to just him. You don’t need anyone else, right?

After all, the only thing he needs to be happy is you and you alone.

He’s exhausting, demanding, and unafraid to use force to get what he wants from you, but you’ll never get rid of him, no matter how much you might want to. You can scream at him until your voice gives out, try to fortify your home against his intrusions, but Starscream isn’t going anywhere. He has no intention of giving up the only source of comfort in this vile and unjust world. He’ll fight for you at the cost of his sanity—or even his life.

[bearwithegg]

Fight Like a Girl || B.Blackwood || Part 3

Oh man this part nearly fucking killed any mental capacity i had over the last week (you should see the other guy) probably final part goobers

PART 1 HERE || PART 2 HERE ||

Kieran!Benjicot x f!Reader

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Blood, Injury, Gore, graphic descriptions of injuries

SPECIAL THANK YOU TO @spider-stark @venomnyx @karlachs-soldier for putting up with my insane ramblings while i took 500000 points of psychic damage trying to write this part difhlrdh

Tags: @nixtape-foryou @roseheart5

***

A swing from behind is all it took to bring you down. Amongst the bleating chaos it was hard to keep one's mind in focus, you were at no fault for that. A yell rips from your throat, but not due to the pain - that came much later - merely from surprise. Body and mind barely register the gash as you plummet into the mud stamped ground, another fallen to join the field of death littered with decimated bodies at the hands of the Green’s Army.

The swordsman, clad in the treacherous sigil of the false King goads you, a reminder of why you even waged this futile plight in the first place. Despite being prone and the bog beneath you seeping into the wound on your back, you do not let up because how could you not go out without a fight.

Distant shouts confirm this, you were on your own, no one was nearby to help you now. Garrus. You think. Where was he? He was only here a moment ago. But you couldn’t think straight. How long had this senseless battle gone on for? Mere moments like the striking of lightning or hours, like a storm brewing? Thank the Gods there were no Dragons to meet, only their cowardly foot soldiers, yet you look into the sky one last moment. No Dragons — only gloomy overcast.

Chest heaving as the pain slowly begins to spread from the wound outward, sharp and hot like the sun had touched you itself.

It would be easier to keep your eyes closed, accept death like one would a beloved and it was difficult to remain awake. Especially hearing the distant call of your brother's voice, you cannot will yourself to go; not yet.

A shaky war cry wrenches from a deep place of emotion, the swordsman while above you to prepare his final blow did not expect such a wordless decree. You will not win. A swift and firm stomp into the knee, buckling it the wrong way knocks him off course with a yelp of surprise. Certain you heard his bones snap or was it the remnants of battle in the distance? Regardless, you rise up and with a dagger unyielding in a firm grip and swipe left, across the neck exposed above his leathers.

Blood soaks you, like a torrential downpour from one of his compromised arteries. His body falls like a tree in the woods, indiscriminate of what it falls on because his body topples right onto yours. The gurgling sounds of him choking on his own blood and clawing at you distract from his limp weight and pressure of being buried beneath bodies.

It’ll haunt you for life, you think, the dying breaths of a man you killed echoing like a deranged symphony.

The pain came in waves, some more intense than others as you lay beneath a corpse, unable to move it off your body. The way your shoulder screams at the slightest movement, there is no room for doubt that the cut is deep, perhaps it was even to the bone.

You stopped calling for help, only until your voice shriveled up. It must have been hours, certainly, the distant sounds of metal clashing had long since ceased, and the only shouting was a mixture of victory and loss. Or was that your brother's voice? Beckoning from beyond the veil? Were you dead? Did mother await you in the whims of the afterlife also?

“Gods be good.” A voice aghast, pulls you from a delirious haze. “Another one!”

It was difficult to open your eyes, despite the dreary grey skies it burned to look up, the boy kneeling over you was smiling with relief, a reassuring hand on your face.

Another voice, further along the field you assumed, drew nearer.

“Send word for more men lad, the wounded will need to be taken back and treated.” That deep punctuating voice, familiar and warm.

“Help me with him first - he's stuck,” the boy grabs the corpse's arm and starts to drag it, the movement only serving to push you deeper into a blanket of mud, sinking you further into the ground and causing you to grit and whine.

“Mordin, leave the boy with me — go.” The command was firm and sharp. Scattering footsteps sloshing in mud indicated his swift departure. Silence followed. Thinking you must have imagined the brief exchange had it not been for a sudden weightlessness. The body that obstructed your movements and inhibited breathing now was moved off you, and you took your first full breath in what felt like hours.

If you simply had not heard him before seeing him, you'd have hardly recognised Benji. Covered head to toe in blood, a stark impression of his notorious namesake witnessed in person. And while this was further proof of how dangerous he was capable of being — his eyes were somber looking down at you.

“Benji,” you wheezed gratefully, with all the strength you could muster to reach out to him, you could barely move an inch.

His eyes widen, recognition flashing across his face and he drops to his knees beside you. It was a safe assumption that he didn't realize it was you under all the gore and viscera. “You were supposed to be in the back lines, what the hells are you doing all the way out here?” He reprimands, eyes flitting over you to inspect your wounds.

“Ambush,” you pant softly, “from the west.” breathing was beginning to get increasingly difficult through the pain. It was deep. His face contorts halfway into panic and guilt, you barely get out an airy laugh, “at least I held onto my sword this time.”

Following his gaze down by your side, your fingers gripped the hilt of the sword with such vigor, it felt like your hand cramped into the position.

His head drops and a bittersweet laugh falls from his lips, “you jest in a time like this? Foolish girl.” Though he did not say the words, the twinkle in his eyes was enough to know that regardless of the outcome he was proud of you.

“It hurts,” you manage to whisper through shaky lips, the silence that followed was louder than the wind that swept across the battlefield. His eyes never leave yours, they search for something, for what, you aren’t sure of but he hardens his resolve and looks up briefly, bottom lip tightly trapped between his teeth.

With a gentle tug, he pulls the dagger from your fingers, they too felt rigid and locked into their grip. Repeating the same motion for your sword and looping them both into his belt. You watch him with care because if you aren’t distracted then the pain will rear its ugly head, which is something you wished to avoid. He unbuckles one of his bracers, yanking hard at the straps before holding it close to you, “bite down on this, I must move you to the others.”

You suck in a breath, eyes partially wide at the thought of being found out due to a measly back wound. Adrenaline or panic, it wasn’t certain but you found enough strength to hold onto his wrist with a vice-like grip, voice shaky through uneven breaths, “find Garrus, he can stitch me up.” With that, your hand relaxes and slips from his wrist, falling slack against your chest.

“Where else would I take you? You dolt,” he smiles, lightheartedly and shakes his brace at you again, a silent push to do as he says.

You relent without further question, trust these days was as valuable as it was rare but you trust Benji — for better or worse. He had kept your secret, trained you personally and now was saving your life. The list of debt you owe the man increased tenfold by the week it seemed. Getting upright was half the battle, though try as he might to conceal his troubled expression upon seeing the wound on your back, he did a poor job of it. It must have been bad.

The pain had soared to such a high intensity, you could hardly remember the journey from battlefield to the safety of your tent… no this wasn’t your tent. Consciousness fleeting as the trees move and the scenery changes; was that the river you could smell? Or was it the lingering scent of death that wafted through the air? Familiar colours of House Blackwood embroidered the interior of the canvas in your surroundings — were you in Benji’s tent?

It held a surprising amount of warmth than you expected, a welcoming embrace disguised as an affirmation that mortal peril was not as close when you were guided by the hands of allies. You awoke on your stomach, needling and sharp pain coursing through the already tender skin of the ugly laceration parted onto you.

“Be still, Little Clover… Just a few more,” Garrus murmurs, his fingers featherlight against the skin of your back. The pressure you felt, merely the piercing of needle and cord, stitching your broken body back together. While painful, the journey ahead for recovery was no doubt going to be longer and harder. Recalling the books and their bountiful knowledge you used to read in the safety of Stylguard, first person accounts of severe wounds rarely acknowledge that pain is often a good sign. You hadn’t lost feeling in either shoulders nor arms, though this was not something you celebrated until much later on in recovery.

“Put me out of my misery,” you grit, a groan expelling from your throat, eyes clamped shut and slightly watering.

His amused chuckles blend together with another, someone else was in the tent – you need not ask yourself who either, “I fear it would make me a dishonourable man to execute another while they are unarmed.” Miscreant, you think, yet smile at Benji’s jab until inevitably wincing as the cord threads through marred flesh. There is a beat of silence but an air of mirth, “you may yet still fight like shit but your aversion to pain is admirable as well as your ferocity. I cannot say the same for the others with less severe injuries.”

You forget yourself, the company around you, because it was easy when Benji was near and scoff lightly, “pain is no stranger for me. None of these men have felt the pain of having a monthly blood, and they would cower at the pain it brings.” Another pause, the amusement in the air ripped from the drop of your words – taboo to speak freely about such delicate and ‘disgusting’ things especially in the presence of men, you clear your throat, “apologies.” But you weren’t sorry and felt as though you shouldn’t have to be. You had heard far worse from the mouths of men during dinner.

Garrus had thankfully finished not soon after, urging you to rest before departing to retrieve food for the three of you. Though your hands and the rest of you reeked of mud and rust from the dried blood, you needed to be clean of today even if the internal wounds will never heal, you could still wash away the stench of a dead man. Rising slowly, you are nearly startled back onto the bed by Benji rushing to aid you.

“I thought you left,” You reprimand, brows scrunched in response to the discomfort and pain. The undershirt you wore back to front for modesty sake, threatened to slip down your shoulders and expose more than what decency desired. The lone tie that kept the fabric together enough to stop it from completely falling threatened to undo every movement you made.

“I thought you were told to rest,” he counters, lips pressed into a frown, eyes looking away. “This is also my tent,” his indignance would have prompted laughter if the situation was different. You weren’t a complete imbecile, understanding that coming to his tent was the best chance at keeping your secret.

You give him a withering look, “and how does one rest covered in entrails and dirt?” Easy for him to enforce Garrus’ words, he had already cleaned the dirt and blood off his face and hands. He pulls a face, conceding at your words and makes no further comment, though flushed in his cheeks. “Thank you,” in your eyes a glint of amusement twinkles, “no need to sulk Benji — it’s merely a bath, not another battle.”

His jaw sets while his hands rest on his hips, eyes narrowed slightly at your jeer, “that is not the point nor the principle — do you intend walking all the way to your tent to wash yourself then?” Now his finger is out, wagging alongside his words as if he was admonishing a child for a minor wrongdoing.

“And you care about principles, now?” Your brow quirks, you have half a mind to mirror his stance if it weren’t for the fact you had been quite literally sewn together not even ten minutes prior. So you don’t. But the thought was enough to elicit a smirk. “If it will cease your pedantic worrying, I will bathe here,” your eye twitches with the jolt of pain shooting up your arm from the lazy gesture across the tent.

His cheeks begin to redden, as do yours at such an improper suggestion, “What is a man without honour and principle?” He huffs slightly.

“Your flair for the dramatic is ill suited for a man of such vicious notoriety.” You hardly suppress a smile, tongue poking into your cheek. Silence follows, either he is grossly offended by your words or has recognised that you are just jesting. Nevertheless, you slowly cross the tent, each step an agonizing shock through the back and shoulders.

You feel his gaze follow you before sighing, a soft chortle slipping in at the end of his exhale, “if you were as well-skilled with a sword as you are with that sharp tongue of yours, I’d fear for our enemy.”

Slowly turning at his words you regard him with a deadpan expression only muddied with a knowing look of your eyes, “stop being bitter and get me some hot water to put in the tub.”

Benji has often looked at you with curiosity, amusement, pride and a varying array of affection but he has never once looked at you with the dumbfounded expression laden on his face like he has just now. Even in times like this, you often forget that situation aside, the two of you were highborn and at this instance you weren’t speaking to a Lord with a matter of reverence but rather speaking to him like a servant.

”Apologies,” you clear your throat, “Lord Blackwood stop being bitter and get me some hot water to put in the tub, please.”

You could almost hear him thinking, the dead air in the tent was more than palpable but the thickness of something else continued to weigh heavy, as it so often did when the two of you were alone.

“You tempt the Gods with that inane behaviour and crass mouth, you are in good tiding with fate for me to not take that tongue of yours,” an empty threat really, he’s told you that before but even if that hadn’t been the case it was clear he wasn’t being serious. Even his jab is futile the second he concedes and goes to the hearth without any more complaints.

“Tongue or not, I would still find a way to torment you all the same.” You laugh and then promptly wince, he thankfully had not seen.

The quiet moments filled with lighthearted ribs back and forth seemed to be a sliver of the heavens placed inbetween unyielding moments of hardship, pain and suffering. A light one might see at the end of a cavernous abyss. Small moments, often menial, were filled with such delight that it reminded you that this is what life was. Yet these intermissions sprinkled throughout a world wrought with its own dark and poisonous acts of undeniable misery also served to remind you of what you were robbed of. A nice life. A happy life.

“Clover.”

An uncharacteristically gentle prod beckons you from thoughts of what could’ve been in a different lifetime. You blink, grounding yourself in reality — Benji, he stands before you, head tilted to the side as it often did, part of the many idiosyncrasies that made him, him. A hand hovering in your space, as if he was conflicted about reaching all the way out or perhaps it was to steady you.

“I am well,” you reassure, offering a smile and slowly make your way to the tub. Though, you supposed it was less a tub and more a misshapen barrel but it served the same purpose. “I assure you I will fare better once I rid myself of this filth.” You grip the sides of the tub, disgusted by your own reflection sullied with blood, dirt and sweat.

The water was not nearly warm enough but you cared more for cleanliness than comfort in this instance. The eyes that looked back up through the rippling water were not the same as the ones that looked in the mirror at Stylguard while hacking at once lengthy locks. That seemed so distant, the memory already thinly covered in a milky haze.

A sigh slips through parted lips, now came the difficult part.

Undressing — that is. Notoriously difficult to do with impaired range of motion in both shoulders. Which is how you ended up in this current situation.

Through burning cheeks, feeling as if you were suffocating from how thick the air seemed to get — if it weren’t for waning patience you’d have an amused smile at the farce the two of you found yourself in. Headstrong and ever the eminent gentleman (despite your often teasing sleights), Benji stared forward, unyielding and pointed to juxtapose the position of his body. The only body part of his remotely positioned toward you was the arm he outstretched behind him, which can’t have been very comfortable and added to the absurdity of the situation.

His fingers quite skillfully disrobing you without the advantage of sight at least meant that the two of you would be rid of such embarrassment sooner rather than later. Though it was ever the difficult feat, you could only raise both arms so high before the tender flesh pulled against the cord that kept you together.

“Oh for goodness sake,” you sigh frustratedly, feeling his hand suddenly stop, fingers barely hovering over exposed skin. The irritation was running deep, seeping through your skin now like an unchecked itch begging to be scratched but it was all over your body, “you would not feel the need to engage in such foolish hoop jumping if I was one of your men, just turn around and do it properly.”

“I would never compromise a Lady’s honour, even by looking,” his answer was immediate.

You’d have strangled him if you were capable of doing so. On the contrary there was part of you, old you, who buckled at the knees at such a sweet admission from a handsome man.

“At this current juncture, this Lady is asking you to,” you huff exasperatedly, patience wearing thin the longer it takes to do such a menial task; not even when you were a babe did it take this long to fret over mere bathing. In an instant the atmosphere has shifted almost entirely, the lighthearted mood sucked out into a vacuum and in its place something else.

The two of you were running circles around each other, a common occurrence that had first reared its head mere days ago. Two fronts whirling like the crucial hours before a violent tempest ravages the skies during a storm, unwilling to acknowledge what brewed in the centre of it all.

He clears his throat, you hear the rustling of his leathers as he shifts his weight from leg to leg, “you have put me in an impossible position by asking this of me – are you certain?”

“I have trust in no one else,” you affirm, quietly.

“Very well,” his footsteps are slow, careful – as though he ought not to startle you. Fearsome as Benji was, he could never frighten you. There was an innate warmth to his presence, so comforting and homely that it was hard to believe that he was capable of such ruthless and vicious acts of violence.

His hands were equally gentle, sliding the undershirt off each shoulder with such delicate handling, it made you feel like an heirloom almost. Almost. The rough fabric grazes over the fresh wound, pulling you back into the whims of reality, a sharp hiss pushed through gritted teeth.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, breath faintly fanning the back of your neck and in tandem sending a jolt down your spine. Not pain. Hackles raised though not engaging your fight or flight, nor spurring on fear. The feeling that had been simmering as a third party in the background of each encounter of late, an unspoken presence sifted between two finally uncovers itself – desire.

Gods, was it not the time for this, you think.

You unlace the trousers as loose as possible, making it easier for him to slip them past your hips. Part of the fabric felt solid, dried mud turned clay with a mixture of blood made it quite the task to peel off your legs.

Behind, you feel him move away, the warmth that radiated from him gone in an instant. The clinking of his belt buckle made your ears prick, but instead of querying, you remained silent, fearful that your voice would not be so steady – you step into the tub. Gooseflesh instantly rippled across your skin from the fact the water was far from warm, though it mattered naught as the dirt and blood slowly disseminated throughout the water.

With both legs in you start to visibly relax, no longer feeling as though you wished to chisel your skin off. By the time Benji has returned by the tub side, your body is submerged. The sleeves of his undershirt are rolled up, no longer wearing his belts or swords, answering the silent question you had mere moments prior.

When you finally look at his face, his eyes are already on yours, golden flecks sprinkled throughout. As if he couldn’t be any more impossibly handsome. His gaze is unmoving, even as he slowly reaches into the water and pulls your arm up by your wrist, thumb and forefinger coiled around it firmly. But not painfully.

“I can wash my own hands,” you find your voice as he begins to knead softly into your hand with the soaked cloth. Blood no longer coating your hands, dirt rubbed from the space between your fingers.

“I do not doubt it,” the outer corners of his lips twitch upward, suggesting a smile. When he was not intently looking at your face, his eyes drifted upward or past you but never down. And despite the frustration it caused in the lead up to this, you were grateful to a certain degree but also incredibly heartwarmed by him keeping his word.

Despite the cold water lapping at your collar bones and encasing your body, every meticulous adjustment of his grip on you or every tentative touch made you heat up. A permanent flush warming your cheeks as he quietly scrubs your forearm, upper arm and carefully washes your shoulders.

Slowly but surely, with every pass of the cloth accompanied by a steady and tender hand, you felt cleaner not just visibly but also internally. The blood that once stained skin, stood as a mark from the gods, a forever blight that threatened your soul for damnation, now had been washed away.

“Does it get easier?” You whisper, staring off into the tent.

He stops, the cloth remaining pressed into the crook of your neck as he exhales in thought. You barely shift, turning almost imperceptibly as your eyes meet his and there’s a flicker of concern? Surprise? Undoubtedly in response to the haunted look all over your face, “killing people,” you clarify before returning to stare back into nothing.

There was a brief stillness in the air, disrupted only by him clearing his throat. As gentle as a breeze, his fingers caress and cup your chin, seemingly holding your head in place as he begins to softly scrub at the dried muck on your face, “no.” His voice was deep yet soft, unwavering as if he’s thought of this question before. “It never gets easier, you simply learn to live with it.”

Live with it.

A macabre way to look at it, you think, but it seems to be a healthier way to deal with such a gruesome act, even if it was honourable to die in battle. You wonder if the Usurper and his family of parasites felt this moral conundrum when they murdered your brother.

You are doubtful.

“How does one live with such blood on their hands?” You ask, perhaps he was the best suited to answer such question, many slain under his own hand but even of your own observation Benji hardly fit the parameters of a well-adjusted Lord in Westeros. No one called ‘Bloody Ben’ could ever be well-adjusted, but it was hard to discern if years of bloodshed fractured him or if it had been there since birth.

Your head is turned, ever so slightly by his guiding forefinger and thumb still perched under your chin, his eyes bore into you but shows no ire or annoyance, “I honour the fallen. At night before I fall asleep, each name is passed to the Gods and if their name dies with them then faces suffice.” He cleans a particularly stubborn patch of dried blood on your forehead.

It was surprisingly pious of him — Blackwoods never quite took to the Faith of the Seven, much like northerners they remained loyal to the old gods yet Benji had never expressed piety like this.

“Even the slain Brackens?” The guileless smile on your face was an attempt to move on from the grim conversation you accidentally started.

The cloth hovers over your upper lip as he drops his head ever so slightly and chuckles, “even Brackens need honour in death. Gods know they lack it in life.” He presses the cloth onto the dried blood over your lip.

Once he’s rubbed it away, as if moving of its own free will, your hand comes up to grip his wrist, albeit weakly. Gaze sticking to your own, exhaling through parted lips as you attempt to get the words unlodged from your throat.

“I must thank you,” You breathe out. For what, you weren’t sure but it was the only way to express gratitude for the endless list of things he has done for you. You would have to thank him for a lifetime alone for what he had done.

The hand beneath your jaw shifts, his thumb runs across your lower lip to your jaw, just the mere action feels like dragging the tip of a hot needle across your skin in the best way possible, “that is not necessary,” he murmurs.

Possessed or merely a complete lapse in sanity, you will never know, but his soft gaze compelled you — no, bewitched you to lean forward and press your lips to his. Searing hot, your body ignited with a warmth that was unfounded until now, as though the barely lukewarm bath was filled with steamy water.

It was short, chaste and quite unexpected for both parties.

You pull away, aware of how hot your cheeks felt, your grip on his wrist loosens. Actions finally sinking in both your own mind and his. Like silt that had been kicked up in the shallow divots of a creek, finally settling into clarity.

Cheeks beet red and an unreadable expression apparent, the hand caressing your face had dropped.

Perhaps you miscalculated. The hammering of your heart was so loud there was no way in hells he couldn’t hear it. It was as booming as rolling thunder in your ears.

The two of you stare at one another, a silent conversation, a silent question hanging in the air between the two of you. Your mouth opens first, the beginning syllables of an apology croaking out before they are abruptly cut off by his own lips. This had been less of a shock than the first, it felt more needy and messy.

His hands came up to hold your head, thumbs grazing softly over your cheeks. He held you firmly as if you were going to disappear in a puff of smoke and you felt as though you might do just that from how light you felt. His tender caress accelerated the beating of your heart and jumbled any important thought crossing your mind, the only thoughts barraging your mind were of him, his hands, his lips, his voice; Him.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, if you had any strength you would have pulled him toward you with a fierce urgency. It’s almost painful that you can’t. The air around you two is static, tempestuous and intense all at once, like two stormfronts finally converging before an explosive storm.

“I’m afraid I could only part with —“

The two of you rip apart at a speed that sends Benji careening backward, toppling onto the ground and you sloshing a large wave of water over the tubs edge. Oops.

“— the…duck stew…” Garrus’ words slowly die in his throat as he stands dumbfounded by the entrance of the tent, two measly plates of stew held in each hand and still steaming. Eyes looking to Benji and then back over to you several times, mouth open and eyebrows raised.

The pause seemed to have gone for a century. And neither you nor Benji would be the first to break it.

“I forgot the bread,” Garrus finally says, putting the plates down on the nearest surface and turning back out of the tent without another word or look.

You shyly looked over at Benji who remained firmly planted on the ground, his cheeks looked as red and hot as yours felt. The thundering of your heart steadily continued partly from the after effects of the kiss and being caught red-handed by the man who was essentially a father to you.

Benji is the first to break, a deep laugh shakes through him before audibly falling past his lips, this in turn makes you suppress a laugh by biting on your lip. Though, ultimately you are unsuccessful and join his symphony of laughs with your own. Not even the pain that pulsed from each laugh was enough to stop you.

The two of you may have plenty to answer for later, but perhaps that wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things. A more gruesome fate awaited outside the safety of this moment — of the camp — it would be unwise to not take pleasure in the small mundane moments.

For once it was a kind reminder that maybe, after the conflict ceases, there is room for you to enjoy the life you wished for.

[starzzytisms]

I skipped my nap today to finish writing this because, if the title isn't already claimed, I am the resident Solula shipper.

Now, enjoy my horrid melatonin writing where I completely change any lore that I cannot cope with because I am deranged.

....

Read it.

It had been a long week, a long month even, but finally, Solar felt like he could breathe. He got Jack back. Jack was home and safe now, and Solar was never going to let his baby go again.

So, here they sat, peacefully on the downstairs couch, Solar softly rubbing behind Jacks head as the smaller fiddled with the TV remote. Jack flipped between at least three different streaming platforms before deciding on Disney+ and turning on Bluey, a show Dazzle introduced him to, that he then introduced his dad to.

When the two first started watching it together, Solar hadn't expected for it to grow on him, but here he was, watching the "Rain" episode, smiling softly as he imagined playing in the rain with Jack the way Chili did with Bluey. Next time it rains, he thought...

"Chili is my favorite," Nebula piped up out of nowhere, startling Solar. She always showed up when he least expected it.

"Mother!" Jack chimed in exitedly, jumping from Solar's lap towards Nebula, tightly hugging her. Nebula panicked from a moment at this, but after a moment of hesitation and receiving a soft nod of approval from Solar, she carefully wrapped her arms around Jack as well.

"You kind of scared me again, Nebula," Solar spoke with a lighthearted tone and smile.

"I apologize," Nebula acknowledged in her usual near-monotone voice. "I'm still trying to figure out how to make a non-startling appearance," she continued, now sitting down and releasing her loose hold on Jack as he slipped away to the floor and began pulling out his coloring supplies from under the coffee table.

"It's alright, I don't mind much," Solar reassured, giving Jack a certain dad look that asked "are you okay just coloring while we talk?" to which Jack gave a smile and thumbs up, getting back to picking out a coloring sheet.

So, as night slowly approached, the sun beginning to disappear beyond the horizon, Nebula and Solar rambled together for at least 30 minutes, sharing different things about space and Earth life and one another's interests, whilst Jack laid on his stomach on the floor, contently kicking his feet and coloring, only interupting once or twice to show Solar and Nebula his finished coloring sheets, though he was definitely tuckering out after the whole day of rescue and reunion.

Jack had been fighting sleep for a while, his hands growing ever-so-slightly slower with each passing moment as he colored, his blinks lengthening per each one. Solar and Nebula had clearly noticed, sharing an amused glance as Jack stubbornly tried to finish one last page. But it was only a few minutes more before his crayon slipped from his fingers, leaving his third coloring sheet of the night only half finished. His breathing evened out, and he was out cold, sprawled across the rug, expression softer than Solar had seen from Jack in a while.

With practiced ease, Solar slid off the couch and carefully scooped Jack up into his arms. The smaller barely stirred, only curling closer against Solar as he was carried upstairs. Nebula followed silently, observing the way Solar moved with such care, making sure Jack wasn’t jostled too much.

Reaching Jack’s room, Solar carefully laid him down in his bed, adjusting the blankets and tucking them around him. Jack groggily reached for his plushies, and Solar made sure all of his favorites were within reach and accounted for. He lingered for a moment, gently adjusting Jacks hat out of his face. Nebula stood in the doorway, watching.

Once the two were back downstairs, they settled onto the couch again. The quiet stretched, seemingly endlessly, between them for a short moment before Nebula finally spoke.

“I am not opposed to it.”

Solar blinked confusedly. “Huh?”

“The… mother thing,” she clarified. “Jack calls me Mother. I do not dislike it.”

Solar exhaled softly, his faceplate forming a small smile, something, in all honesty, Nebula had never seen from him before. “Neither do I.”

Nebula tilted her head slightly, studying him. “What does this mean?”

Solar hesitated, metal fingers tapping idly against his knee. “Well… do you want to be a sort of parental figure to him? Maybe even…” He trailed off, then took a breath, gathering every last possible ounce of his confidence. “I mean… a partner to me?”

Nebula was quiet for a few seconds, her expression unreadable, as per usual. Then, she nodded. “I’d enjoy that. Very thoroughly, actually...”

Solar let out a small chuckle and a sigh of relief, the tension leaving his shoulders. “I would too.”

Nebula shifted slightly before leaning against him, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder. Solar stilled for a second, then, ever so slowly, let his head rest atop hers.

“Who’s your favorite?” Nebula asked suddenly.

Solar raised an eyebrow, lost. “What?”

“Your favorite character,” she elaborated.

Solar let out a quiet laugh. “I like Socks.”

Nebula hummed in understanding. “Good choice.”

Their voices grew softer as the conversation drifted into nothingness, their exhaustion from the long day catching up with them. Before either of them realized it, they had both dozed off right there on the couch, still leaning into each other.

The house was peaceful. Jack was safe. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Solar felt completely content.

[ww2yaoi]

[In honour of Webgott Wednesday, here's the first scene of the other Webgott WIP I have on the go whose working title is too deranged to mention. Anyways, enjoy.]

Spring of 1952. San Francisco, California.

Joe and Web have a tradition.

In the middle of the week, every week, Joe closes up the shop for lunch and meets Web halfway to the Chronicle building in the park across from City Hall. Joe brings sandwiches he buys at the kosher deli next door and they eat and drink coffee and complain about work until their hour is up.

Today is no different. Joe finds Web in their usual spot on a wooden bench by one of the fountains, the afternoon sun beaming down and bathing the pavement in buttery light. Joe loves San Francisco in April. The air is warm and featherlight, the breeze comparatively cool with seaspray, and the soupy summer fog has yet to swallow the Bay whole. Everything feels new after winter’s damp and windy gloom, and Joe is briefly reminded of Austria, of its misty mountains and glass-like lakes. It had been a springtime of rebirth after a long, hard war.

Well, mostly.

Web is always a sight in his well-tailored suits, charcoal gray tweed today, his tie a deep maroon. He’s taken off his jacket and folded it across his knee, the sleeves of his starched white Oxford rolled up to reveal his hirsute forearms. This is his uniform now. The last time Joe saw him in ODs was probably when they disembarked in New York Harbour at the tail end of 1945. He thinks Web might have burned them.

“Hey,” Joe says.

Web beams like they didn’t just see each other this morning. “Hey.”

He hands Joe the cup of coffee that was resting on the bench beside him and Joe sits down in its place. He sets the bag of sandwiches by his feet and grabs Web’s usual order, a pastrami on rye with extra pickles.

“How was the cable car?” Joe asks like he does most weeks, passing Web his sandwich and grabbing his own, corned beef with lots of mustard.

“Swarming with tourists, as per usual,” Web says with a grimace, unwrapping the paper from his sandwich.

Joe smirks. “Y’know, some lifelong San Franciscans would consider you a tourist.”

“Ugh, don’t insult me,” Web says, shooting him a look. He takes a generous bite of his sandwich then talks out of the side of his mouth. “What do they want from me? I’ve lived here for five years.”

“Yeah, but everyone can tell you’re from New York.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you think you’re better than everyone else. The New York wafts off of you like the odour of a finely aged cheese.”

“You did not just compare me to stinky cheese.”

“Hey, I specified ‘finely aged.’ Didn’t I?”

Web rolls his eyes. “Just eat your fucking sandwich.”

Joe snickers, then takes a bite of it, chews and swallows. “How’s the paper?”

Web just shakes his head. “This election is going to be the death of me.”

“It’s seven months away,” Joe says, a pocket of corned beef in his cheek.

“That doesn’t mean the whole office isn’t worked up about it,” Web counters. “Journalists…” He trails off. “My editor is breathing down my goddamn neck.”

Joe wipes mustard from the corner of his mouth and licks it off his finger. “Well, that’s what happens when you miss deadlines, Schatz.”

“Astute observation, Lieb.” Web glowers, but Joe knows he’s just being difficult on purpose. Always the same song and dance with him. “The article isn’t right yet.”

“Which article is this again?” Joe takes a sip of his coffee. “The one about the, uh, the mayor’s daughter’s ballet recital?”

Web smacks Joe in the chest. Joe was expecting as much, and he grins at having gotten a rise out of him.

“Uh, no,” Web says insistently. “I’m writing about the steelworkers union.”

“Right, the steelworkers union.”

Joe takes another bite of his sandwich and chews thoughtfully. Web had probably told him about it at one point or another, probably after sex. Web has always been too talkative for his own good around Joe, but he’s especially rambly after an orgasm. Joe likely hadn’t been listening. It’s enough to keep up with the virility of a twentysomething in bed, he doesn’t need a fucking dissertation afterwards.

“How’s business at the shop?” Web asks, changing the subject.

“Slow.” Joe picks at his sandwich wrapper. “You’d think people’s hair had stopped growing.”

Web laughs. “Well, hopefully, that’s not the case. We’d probably get evicted. Maybe it’ll pick up this afternoon.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Is Sal still getting on your nerves?”

Joe makes a pft sound. “Does the day of the week end in Y?”

They finish their sandwiches and coffees in companionable silence, watching as people stroll through the park with their dogs or their children who aren’t old enough to be in school yet. A well-dressed housewife walks past them pushing an expensive-looking pram. A little boy in overalls, no older than two, toddles behind her, pulling a toy truck on a string. She smiles politely at them, her eyes shaded by a pair of cat eye sunglasses and her lips a rubious red. A scarf battens down her kempt blonde curls, tied around her head with a neat bow beneath her chin.

Mom, tot, and baby are making their way to the adjacent fountain when a baby blanket hanging out of the bassinet falls to the ground. A soft pink crumple, bleached by the sunlight against the gray pavement. The woman fails to notice and her little boy pays it no mind. They continue on their walk, unaware that anything is amiss.

Before Joe can even say anything, Web is getting up from the bench and jogging over to the abandoned blanket. He scoops it off the ground and approaches the woman, getting her attention by gently tapping her on the elbow. She turns and Web presents the blanket to her like some kind of fairytale fucking prince, eliciting a wide, white smile from the woman, her teeth square and straight like a row of Chiclets. She takes off her sunglasses and places them on top of her head, probably to get a better look at Web. Joe can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

The civilian world isn’t like the Army. In the Army, a pretty face like Web’s might get you relentlessly teased, or cause the men to take you less seriously until you prove otherwise. On the outside though, it’s all anyone seems to care about. People are always accosting Web, asking him for directions or chatting him up in line at the theater or next to him on the train. In the rare instances they go out to the Old Crow or the Black Cat, Joe has to keep a firm grip on him, in case some flit tries to take Web off his hands.

Web and the woman are chatting now, glancing down every so often to look at the baby in the pram. They’re far enough away that Joe can only pick up fragments of their conversation above the rushing of the fountains. Joe catches the words ‘daughter’ and ‘paper’ and ‘sweet.’ He fishes for his cigarettes in the breast pocket of his button-up and lights one, just so he has something to do with his hands. The smoke churns in his chest and the back of his neck prickles.

The little boy is shyly clinging to his mother’s skirt. She bends over and picks him up, balancing him on her hip. Web is smiling even wider now than he was when Joe first greeted him this afternoon. He waves hello to the little boy. Joe takes another sharp drag of his cigarette as Web says his goodbyes and then walks back to the bench where Joe is still sitting.

“Nice family,” Web says, plopping himself down again.

Joe doesn’t say anything. He taps ash from his cigarette onto the ground and tries to look preoccupied. Web checks his watch. He gathers up their sandwich wrappers and empty coffee cups and puts them into the paper bag to be thrown away. He’s still faintly smiling to himself as he does it. It’s just enough to make Joe’s anger boil over.

He scoffs. “Jesus, Web. Didn’t know you missed flirting with broads that much.”

Web’s head immediately snaps to the left so he can look at Joe. “What? I wasn’t flirting,” he insists. “I was just trying to be nice, and she was very clearly married.”

“Then what the hell are you smiling about?”

“Her kids! Her kids were cute,” Web says, raising his voice. He promptly lowers it as more parkgoers pass by them. “The little boy, Peter, and the baby, Judy. Christ, Joe. You know I like kids.”

Joe looks at Web. Web looks back at him. His eyes are so goddamn blue. Sometimes Joe thinks if Web were lying to him, he would be able to see it in his eyes, spot the untruth somewhere in that clear crystal blue, like a droplet of blood in water. Right now, however, all he sees is the person he loves most in this world, begging him not to be an asshole for once.

Joe’s jealousy fizzles out, mild embarrassment rushing in to take its place.

“Alright.” He shifts, letting go of some of the tension in his shoulders, and fiddles with his cigarette. “Y’know, I did hear something about you in Holland, depleting the company’s Hershey bar supply by giving chocolate to every sad Dutch kid you saw.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The corners of Web’s mouth turn up ever so slightly in a smirk, and Joe knows his attempt to break the tension has worked. “You know about that? Who told you?”

“I don’t know. Hoobler maybe.”

“Hoobler.” Web repeats the name thoughtfully, like he’s testing it out on his tongue after not saying it for a long time. “Well, in my defense, the Krauts were starving them.”

“Wow, my fuckin’ hero. Where’s your Silver Star, Web? Is it in your sock drawer with your Purple Hearts?”

“Shut up,” Web says, but there’s barely any bite to it. “How has this not come up in the last however many years?”

Joe shrugs. “Maybe we talked about it and forgot.”

The truth is, they don’t reminisce deeply about the war very often. It comes up every now and again. Sometimes they linger on the more lighthearted memories, like a particularly funny joke Luz told or the summer afternoons they spent swimming together in Lake Zell. Anything weightier than that spells trouble for the both of them. Web becomes unspeakably angry when he talks seriously about the war, while Joe feels like he could cry ten years worth of tears.

Half a decade ago, Web had given Joe a rough manuscript of his recollections to read. Joe had barely made it five pages into the thing. He’d quickly realized that if he knew the full extent of Web’s pain, he’d never be able to disentangle himself from his own. Since then, they’ve tried not to reopen the wound, although Joe supposes that implies it closed in the first place.

Web checks his watch again. “Shit, I’m going to be late.”

“Well, then, you better go.”

“Alright.”

Web squeezes Joe’s knee — about all the affection they can get away with in public — and gets to his feet, coolly draping his suit jacket over his right shoulder like he thinks he’s Frank Sinatra or something.

“Thanks for lunch, Joe.”

“You’re welcome, Dave.”

Web turns and smiles at him, walking backwards in the direction of Market Street to catch another cable car.

“Ich liebe dich,” he says in German, in case anyone is listening. “Du bist mein Leben, meine Familie, mein Lieber.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Joe waves him off. “All the same to you, kid.”

Web laughs, boisterous and beautiful, then finally turns his back to Joe. Joe watches him go, then heads off in the opposite direction.

[This fic is currently at 28k and hopefully I will finish it AT SOME POINT.]

[transgirltoking]

Sisters In Guilt

trying out writing fics for funsies, enjoy!!!

She was the first, the first to bully her meek little sister, and her first friend. As they got older, she started to drift from the annoying brother that Jocelyn used to be, instead focusing on her own blooming (albeit limited) social life. Spending most of her teen years couch surfing in order to escape her lackluster mother.

it wasn't until Jocelyn came out during her last year of high school that Jennifer started to feel any form of familial love. Jennifer finally starting to click with her sibling now that she could share much more with her, although she could never shake the guilt she felt from leaving her sister with their parents for so long. "oh... dont worry Jenny, mom and dad weren't uhm, too bad..." did little to assuage the gnawing feeling eating away at her.

Jocelyn always had a habit of downplaying abuse done to her, some of her earliest memories are covering up the bruises that her sister gave her. yeah she was mean but the way their parents punished her always made her sick to her stomach. sure, perhaps the punishment wouldnt physically hurt as much as the bruises, but she'll be damned if she lets someone ruin her sisters life just for a 'simple accident' even if that someone was their parents. unfortunately this habit followed her into school, where she lets pretty much anyone treat her like a punching bag either literally or verbally. Jocelyn always struggled with communication, being mostly non-verbal but prone to fits of rambling. the combination of silence mixed with seemingly deranged rants made her a rare pick for anyone seeking friendship, so rare in fact that the only friend that ever stuck around for longer than a week was her sister. The only one to understand this unhealthy quirk of hers.

which was exactly why when jennifer pulled up to the college her sister was attending classes in, she could sense pretty quickly something was wrong. she always comes running up to her car with that adorable smile yet she was no where to be seen. so she decided after a few minutes of waiting to walk in an check on her. she could faintly hear the familiar sound of muffled sobbing. sprinting down the hall she witnessed her darling sister trying her best to wipe away all her tears and appear normal as to not worry her sister. tear stained face jocelyn exclaims "I'm fine! I'm fine I'm just..." and before she could come up with some half assed excused then her sister was hugging her, protecting her from the world around them, as jocelyn's focus went from the sting of tears in her eyes to the smell of her sister she started to go slack. shouting many insults to herself in her head as she felt far too comforted by her elder. before she could start crying out of guilt for that as well, Jennifer scooped her off the ground, convincing her that if she feels like talking it'll be far easier to do in her car. Jocelyn merely looked up at her sibling with bright green eyes that could melt even the coldest, most heartless soul, barely letting out a pleading whisper "c-can I stay at your place again.... I really really can't deal with mom or dad right now... not after today.."

freshly washed sheets wrinkle and cheap springs creak as jocelyn sits on Jennifer's bed. this has become routine for them, Jocelyn spending just as many nights escaping her life in the sanctuary of her sisters home as she spends dealing with that very, VERY tiring life. A large part of her feels like a burden for inviting herself over so much, but after that night where her parents started calling her slurs. it was hard convincing jennifer to even let her leave at all. she felt the bed shift once more as jennifer took her seat at her side, reaching for the remote to lower the volume of some anime. a show that her sister always plays for her after a particularly rough day, ever since she was able to interrupt jocelyns crying and get her to smile by exclaming "jojo for jojo time!!!!". the memory serving as a pleasent distraction before jennifer slaps her hand on her thigh to get her attention, an old habit from adolescence and one that always made poor jocelyn jump and yelp. before jocelyn could start panicking her elder said in the most gentle maternal tone she was able to muster "please tell me whats wrong..." and just like that the floodgates were opened.

jocelyn was having a painfully average day at college, the only eventful thing happening was people snickering as she struggled to stay awake during a library science lecture. she feels awful for not being as attentive a student as she should be, but there's not much to do about the constant fighting that her nocturnal parents partake in. maybe it would be easier to pay attention if she got better sleep which she could get at her sisters but.... after all the talk of her being a financial burden by her parents during the previous week, it felt selfish to encroach on her space like that. she thought to herself "jenny probably wouldnt like me assuming she has the same thought process as our parents but yet again I have been over a lot.. perhaps I should just-" before she could finish the thought, an older student, around late 30's decides to become an object in her path. slightly annoyed she attempts to side step him, only for him to block her way in the halls. jocelyn wordlessly makes eyecontact with this seeming bridge troll, whatever, she'll just answer his riddles three and continue her way to her sisters car. the man towering before her opens his oafish jaws and before he even begins speaking jocelyn notices his shitty band shirt she imagines he probably gets lots of compliments on, even though the lead singer was recently outed as a rapist. which leads to her wishing she could just murder him where he stood, unfortunately a police investigation would take far longer than entertaining some stranger. so she does her best to focus more on the person in front of her than her visceral day dream. "heyyyyy so uh, you wanna go to the bar later?" said the idiot, jocelyn responded in monotone, not even making eye contact "I'm 20, I cant..." the fool looking at her with a devious grin and responding in a tone that made her skin crawl "aw cmon, I got some beers are my place, you can come over this sunday if youre interested, promise I wont tell anyone!" as if he would need to considering he yelled this out. poor jocelyn does her best to calm herself and continue responding in monotone "actually me and my sister are gonna see a movie that day so I can't, sorry." the numbskull responds as if offended, asking her curtly "some movie? oh come on just tell her you found something better to do." Jocelyn may not have much social experience but even she can tell this guy is being way too pushy, but he'll probably get angry at her if she just walks away, I guess the next best option is trying to excuse her totally normal behavior to this mouthbreather. "uhm, actually its this movie I've been waiting come out for a few months, its uhm.. its actually based off a short story from one of my favorite horror authors! he's well known for having bad endings but I read some reviews that said the ending of this is great! so I wonder if the adaptation is gonna be more direct or if they'll take more liberties, I mean dont get me wrong the original story is quite fantastic although I do feel like there are some points that could-" jocelyn only realizing she started rambling once the oaf began to obviously stop paying attention, and slowly began becoming more irate as he realizes that she wont budge on canceling her plans to drink with some stranger. she barely catches him matter of a factly state as he begun to walk away "yeah yeah whatever, go be a dyke with your sister, freak." this left jocelyn stunned, of course she faced her more than fair share of name calling but after time and time again of people around her stating its weird for her to talk so much about her only friend. the bluntness was the straw that broke the camels back, after the inital shock jocelyn just sat where she was an began to worry about her sister only feeling obligated to spend time with her, being a burden to yet another person, and to the only person she cares about.

Jennifer calmly put her hand on jocelyn's as she saw tears well up in her eyes once more recounting the days events. she looked upon her sister and said with complete sincerity the only thing she could think to say. "jojo... look, you dont have to worry about me disliking you, I know I said a lot of really awful shit to you when we were kids but I dont mean any of it now as an adult. yeah you annoyed the fuck out of me then but now you just make everyday I spend with you so much more amazing and wonderful and uhmm..... y'know what!!" jennifer startles her sister by jumping off the bed to search for something in her drawer, jocelyn knows better than to interrupt while she's focusing on finding something. in no time at all jennifer was pulling out a stained yellow pipe, barely the size of her thumb. holding it out the eldest sibling exclaims "tadaaah!!" and begins loading a bowl as she her sister stares quizically. jocelyn innocently asks "what does you smoking weed have to do with anything?" "why everything my sweet sister! look I know you dont like the idea of drugs much but please trust me when I say this will calm you down, trust me I've been saved by countless panic attacks by simply lighting a spliff" responded jennifer, casually packing down the bowl with her lighter and taking a hit for herself. "see? it really isnt that bad, didnt even cough. now you try." causing jocelyn to grab the pipe that was extended to her, also reaching out for the lighter to which an amused jennifer merely laughs at her "you're still a newbie so I'm gonna hold the lighter for you, kay? look I just dont want you taking too large a hit and coughing up a lung alright? dont think about it..." jennifer told her, while adding the last part for herself, its totally normal to sit this close and be so close and... is jocelyn finally wearing the chapstick she bought her? her lips look way less chapped and more soft and smooth. this makes jennifer uncomfortably happy, I mean its only because her lips are usually really bad and bleeding from picking at them constantly yeah, that's it. by the time jennifer was attempting to suppress her thoughts, she cant help but be caught off guard by her sister holding the smoke in her cheeks like a chipmunk. making jennifer erupt in laughter while jocelyn sat embarassed and confused.

after a while, jennifer successfully teaches her little sister how to smoke, praising her when she did right as her subject attempted to hide her embarrassed squeaking with coughing. after a few more puffs they decide to lay down, on the same bed, naturally of course, and just as naturally begin cuddling. I mean hey its not weird they're just high and need the warmth, or so jennifer says, attempting to further calm down the ever jittery little thing. eventually settling, jocelyn wraps her arms around her elder and starts tapping her fingers in random patterns on her sides. a stim she had ever since she was little, it used to annoy the living hell out of jennifer but with time she started to find it comforting, although she would never admit it. instead of her usually forced complaining about her sister bugging her, she rightly decided she didnt need teasing right now, but safety, pulling her deeper into her embrace and chest. both quickly realizing their position but neither choosing to acknowledge it. jocelyn instead silently looks up at her sister, her awesome sister. I mean yeah she was kinda mean and distant as kids but theyre much closer now and shes always really smart and brings her whenever she does stuff which shes really thankful for because when she hasnt seen her sister in 15 minutes then the panic attacks begin and she just generally is a sobbing mess and wow jocelyn is really starting to think she cant live or function without being always beside her, regardless of how awkward she occassionally makes her feel, her sister is the first and only person who has ever loved her and under no circumstances can she ever lose her.

Meanwhile, Jennifer is just staring into jocelyn's adorable emerald doe eyes. doing her best to Not imagine pegging her sister until she cries... damn it jennifer get it together! leave the daydreaming to jocelyn. Jocelyn, god she was such a fucking nag as a boy but once she transitioned jennifer realized that she was never the asshole burden brother she assumed, but instead the innocent little sister that needed her that she let down. it's then that jennifer thinks "I won't let her down again. I can't hurt her, I promise I'll give us the home we were supposed to have..."

it's then both sisters get an idea, an illegal idea. Jennifer is the one to think of it first, but she represses the though as she's done plenty before. Jocelyn is the one that acts on it, always really bad at communicating with her words. Jocelyn tended to be non-verbal and when she did talk then she would often forget the conversation due to some maladaptive daydream or stutter. So when she thinks of a way she can finally communicate how much her sister means to her, she dives in head first before even considering the consequences.

The first thing on Jennifer's mind is "oh wow, she is wearing the chapstick I bought her" followed shortly after "holy fucking shit im kissing my sister what the fuck what the fuck". she instinctively pushes jocelyn away as she starts to process what just happened, what COULDN'T have just happened. it would be really really fucking bad if she wanted it too. before she could get any protests though, her little sister whined out "jenny!" it was that damn nickname she got from some robot in a show they watched as kids, and whenever she heard it, all she was capable of doing was taking care of her little sister...

part 2 where jojo impregnates jenny coming: maybe

[cyanidecrystal]

SPOILERS FOR SHERLOCK AND CO. AHEAD.

Ok so I've been listening to Sherlock and co. for months now, not really cause I'm a big fan od the podcast, more so that I have adhd and I'm a fan of background noise. I've been enjoying a lot of it, it's easy on the ears. Comfy. But I have some criticisms that I feel should be at least put out there.

1. The way the show treats disability

So we all know this is the first Sherlock adaptation with a canon autistic Holmes and I appreciate that I really do, but I'm afraid that's where the positive disability rep really ends.

Whenever a disabled character appears the the episodes after that, you can bet your ass they're going to be the villain. There has been a lot written about the horrible DID portrayal, but I'd also like to call attention to the mentally ill stalker guy, who not only is shown as a deranged murderer but we get to witness a graphic torture scene with him. How fun.

The last one (so far) is the very obvious twist villain of The Sign of Four and I was really hoping I was wrong when I guessed he'd be the bad guy because he seemed like a real step in the right direction if he turned out good. Sadly, as I said if a character outside of the main cast is disabled they are evil. That's just how it is.

This is obviously a very old stereotype. Showing the villain as unstable and mentally ill or disabled as a shortcut to let the audience know they're dangerous or evil. Even though in real life, mentally ill and disabled people are way more likely to be victims than perpetrators.

2. Sherlock's violent outbursts

Ok, this point I'm way less confident with so if someone knows the books better and can tell me I'm wrong I'll accept that but does anyone else think that Holmes is really quick to hurt people in this series?

I've been kinda letting it slide for ages now but in a lot of the episodes it seems like they're going normally and then suddenly Sharlock starts torturing people.

The reason I've let it slide is because they're usually actual killers so u know what that's not so bad, but in the latest episode he just goes off on some low level guy, who seemed mostly just kinda scared.

Even thought these people are always bad guys it really takes me out. It's so jarring. Idk.

3. Watson bullying

Yeah, just hear me out, okay?

I get that this is kinda their dynamic but between Mariana, John and Sherlock, Watson is constantly getting teased and bullied and it usually seems like he doesn't rly enjoy it.

It's usually about things he's seriously self conscious about. Then when he gets a love interest/friend who's actually nice to him they act even worse. I know it's comic relief so I just let it slide till now.

Until the last episode where Mariana seriously crossed the line. The fact she continues recording not only after being asked not to but also after he thanks her for not recording in such a sweet and passive way that makes me think he expected them not to honor his wishes.

I really hope this causes some kind of argument or fight or anything between them, but I expect it will just end up with John saying "you were right, guys I needed to get back to it" and never think of it again.

Anyway, I'm still listening to the series so don't take it as some bitter hater ramble. It's just some things I've noticed that have been bothering me for weeks and weeks. Feel free to agree or disagree or add your own thoughts.

[sugarsnappeases]

KARAAAA BARTYLILY LIBRARY FIC PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-

LAURIE MY LOVELY YOU CAN HAVE ANYTHING YOU WANT FROM ME ANYTIME YOU WANT!!!!!!

bartylily library is my silly little fic which i think about constantly and which is probs like. one of the most ambitious things i've ever decided to write.... it has Chapters.... i'm so bad at Chapters. but i love her anyway. she stems from this post i made in like december and she's been stewing beautifully in my head and has developed a lot since then so this post is just gonna be like. general deranged rambling lol

so. lily's coming back to her volunteering job at the library in her hometown after having been away at uni (she's second year, just finished the spring term and she's studying english lit). the library has always been a Big Part of her life, she would visit literally at least once a week and not just to get books but also for all the events that they put on like craft things and holiday clubs and film nights and the like.

and she's been volunteering there for the last five years, since she was fifteen, bc like. obviously she has. it's a bit of like trying to please her parents and demonstrate how responsible and brilliant she is, but also just the inevitable next step for a girl who semi-grew up in the library, but also something that will look good on her cv, but also something simple, easy, uncomplicated. it's a routine that she knows like the back of her hand, it's something into which she can fall after how intensely stressful her terms at uni are and something to which she can escape from the whole Petunia Scenario going on at home. and she's good at it and she loves it and she needs it.

this holiday. however. there's an Issue in the shape of one Bartemius Crouch Junior. who literally couldn't care a whit about the library or lily's routine or the ease and simplicity that she's been craving all term. he's a Nuisance. a Menace. a Bother. and he's ruining her life and she hates him but he's also an Enigma. and lily has always liked studying. analysing things. pulling apart words and actions. it's literally what she does for her degree.

also. as shown in the snippet i just posted, lily's trying to hold onto the hope that she can fix him and set the library to rights again but this doesn't really last very long bc he's just so entirely resistant to any attempt on her part to change him. like she's showing him seven times that these books go here, it's easy, it's dewey decimal, and yet he still insists on putting them in the wrong place and she knows he's just trying to rile her up and it's working bc he's just SO infuriating!!

but then also on top of that he's so Interesting!! like he's so charming, a little outrageous but still charming, to all the library-goers and to madam pince (the main librarian), and she's watching him when he's wandering around the stacks and taking mental notes of and then going around and looking at all the books that he had paused and looked at, surreptitiously checking out the ones she hasn't read

and when she comes into study on wednesdays (bc she's lame and three days in the library per week is Not Enough) he's wandering over to bother her but also chatting w her about the things she's studying (which i've decided is gonna reflect what the english students at my uni (it's all i know!!!) study in the summer term of second year. which is shakespeare. so i'm gonna have to come up w lots of things to say about ol' shakesy p. haven't studied him since i did my a level so this could be interesting... i do think that the hardest part about this fic is gonna be the Intellectual Literature Conversations, which i think there are gonna be a few of, bc the literature i have intellectual things to say about nowadays is all in italian and decidedly unhelpful for lily's english lit degree. although i'm planning to bring up michelangelo at one point. i just can't help myself i'm sorry. they're gonna discuss the silkworm poem...)

anyway. they eventually kiss lol. in the back room of the library where lily is trying to lecture barty on how he can't just endlessly point the old men in the wrong direction bc if he isn't careful they'll keel over before they find the books they're looking for. yk the vibe. and then there's a lot of visits to the park right next door to the library. it has a little duck pond in it, if you were wondering. and they go to a gig. and he skives off from the library to hang out w her.

oh also! his community service is like. two months and he's been there for a month already so he's got four weeks left. and lily's holidays are five weeks so there's a little goodbye thing for him at the library when lily's still gonna be there for a week if that makes sense. and then he shows up again to visit on the next monday grinning at lily like 'did you miss me?' and then she skives off one day and they go to the cinema and like wander around the shopping centre and she goes to his flat and has to walk of shame it into the library the next day. it's all very like. normal. but lily's never really had that and she feels a little like she's a girl in an american rom-com getting swept off her feet. like she's a little giddy and it's so easy, simple, uncomplicated etc etc etc

and anyway then she goes back to uni x

seriously tho i think about them all the time and this fic is gonna be such a labour of love and i'm so so so so excited about it!!! hope this like. makes sense and is interesting thank you so much for asking i love youuu

[neighboringheart]

I'M IN HARDCORE SUPPORT FOR THE PREDATOR/PREY DYNAMIC YOU POSTED ABOUT !!

I'm an absolute simp for Bumblebee so any ship with him as the prey is perfect in my eyes.

The 3 ships that comes to mind immediately are BlitzBee, StarBee and MegaBee.

The Megabee scenario about a concerned Megatron worrying that Bee is distrustful of him while in reality the autobot is having the most insane thoughts were really funny lol.

So I'm curious in how you would go about the other two ships, if in all cases Bee is already into the idea and find it hot or if it's a life or death scenario as he is being hunted down by various deceptions ?

I'm rambling here, but all Im saying is that I need to hear more from you about this specific Predator/Prey dynamic bc I CRAVE MORE.

(also maybe a crossover with Bee ending up in the shattered glass universe to throw in some twisted autobots into the mix too 🫡)

ough ough ough okay I am home from work and have a keyboard to properly go buckwild with and yeah there's not gonna be much punctuation happening sorry but I'm feral and I am politely grabbing you by the collar to keep you here

adding a read more bc this got a lot longer than I thought it would but I hope you enjoy my brainworms

okay so for BlitzBee it would absolutely be something that Blitzwing brought up first and you might think "oh was it Random joking about it or something?" no it was Icy looking Bee right in the eyes and just going "I want to hunt you for sport. would that interest you?" and at first Bee did not get it at all and was unsettled but he ends up getting curious which is how the first occurrence of them disappearing into the woods for a week happened

Bee would end up finding out that oh it actually is kinda hot to have all that adrenaline going kinda like right after a really tough race except the bit of fear tingling up his spine makes it interesting and then being caught and having Blitzwing roughly fuck into him with barely any prep at all hurt but still felt so so good and after waking up the next morning and thinking for a bit yeah he got it he got exactly why Blitzwing was interested in that and it ends up becoming a regular thing for the two of them where they just disappear and then show back up again like a week later Bee looking like he went through a wood chipper and his abdomen a bit bloated from all the transfluid he's been stuffed with the last week but his field brimming so brightly with a fuzzy happiness that no one wants to bring up that he needs to stop whatever he's been doing

aside from Ratchet that is lol he makes it very clear how much he dislikes having to do a full systems check on him but also does NOT want to know who he's been fucking bc he knows it would have to be a decepticon and he doesn't wanna know a damn thing about it

as for StarBee tbh I really couldn't see either of them being interested in it or bringing it up aside from like...rid15 StarBee bc rid15 Starscream is feral in a very specific way and yeah I could see him wanting to hunt Bumblebee down and then claim him once he's victorious

idk how Bee would feel about it tho I feel like he'd try it just the one time bc Starscream keeps suggesting they try something more adventurous and Bee would much rather one of them gets tied up instead of being forced to go galivanting through the woods at the behest of his—frankly deranged—boyfriend but he goes with it just to try it once and afterwards they'd discuss it and Bee didn't hate it but again he'd rather that Starscream just tie him up next time which Starscream would be happy to do so they just stick to berth activities that involve less of bee ending up facedown in the dirt...took a while to get everything out of his seams lol

and then idw StarBee it would never happen bc Starscream would be too busy trying to convince Bee to put him on a leash (which Bee is so tired of this conversation he doesn't wanna do petplay) to think about predator/prey shit lmao

and then MegaBee...oh MegaBee my beloved...this could work for so many continuities in my head but yeah earthspark would be the funniest but the extra size difference in tfa is also very sexy I would imagine in either scenario the seed would be planted in Bee's mind after either getting chased by Megatron for real at some point or in a dream and then the image just sticks there for a while

in earthspark it would be easier ofc since they're allies so eventually Bee would get the courage to bring it up to Megatron who would just be bewildered beyond all belief like "you want me to what??? why would you want that?? I've hurt you before!" and it would take a lot of convincing on Bee's part to get Megatron to agree especially bc he'd be like "but aren't you and Breakdown an item? I could have sworn he mentioned it last we spoke" and Bee would just be like "yeah we are but like you know how some humans have an agreement with their significant other about like having one other person that their partner would give them a pass about fragging? mine was you...and his was Knockout but I won't give you the details...he's got some interesting kinks that I don't have the literal claws for"

anyways Megatron would eventually relent in that scenario and agree to it bc he does find the idea of fucking Bee to be much more appealing than he'd expected and he wants to try something new but as soon as he's actually caught Bee and starts to manhandle him a bit Bee would start struggling and begging him to let him go or something and Megatron would definitely end up using their safeword he just wouldn't be able to do it

they'd have to sit down somewhere Megatron shaking a bit bc even tho he knew it was just a scene and that Bee was just playing the part the thought of him returning to how he once was terrifies him and they'd end up having a long conversation that ends with the decision that if they were to try something like that again they'd change it to be more lighthearted bc Megatron did enjoy the chase and doesn't mind getting a bit rough with his partners but even Bee pretending that he's scared and trying to get away is too much but yeah they'd figure it out and have a lot of steamy fun

tfa MegaBee would be wayyyy different tho Megatron would be so into it and Bee would be so in over his head but he'd be wobbling back to the autobot base later looking like he'd been in a ten car pile up but feeling more blissed out than he'd ever been lmao he'd think about it on and on for weeks hoping to get to do it again

as for if he ended up in shattered glass? oh primus help any poor Bumblebee who ends up in that situation and lets hope any of them would already be a little bit of a freak otherwise that would not be a fun trip for him lol

oh boy I ended up rambling a lot more than I thought I would lmao but I hope you're seeing my vision here there are so many Bumblebees and so many of them deserve to get chased through the woods and then bent over and getting their cute little valves stuffed until the only thing they can ever think about is getting to experience that thrill again

ough even just the thought of earthspark Bumblebee with his doorwings twitching and thick transfluid dribbling from his gaping valve after Megatron pulls out makes me feel so so insane I need to do unthinkable things to him

so yeah the individual scenarios would vary a lot but I feel like in most instances it wouldn't be Bumblebee who thinks of it unless there was some kind of inciting incident whether irl or some kind of strange dream but most people who get together with him end up wanting to hunt him for sport bc he's just so cute and even tho he's certainly not helpless he can play that act very well and look real cute while doing it and he's usually enough of a freak that he'd want to try it

...now that I think about it...tfa ProwlBee would also be interesting as I'm sure Prowl would love to finally shut that brat up and chasing him down to stuff him with a spike sure is one way to do it but I've prattled on long enough this post is getting wayyy too long lmao I am nothing if not a passionate man 😂

[lucky-clover-gazette]

The Unhappy Pokéball Salesman

Comedy/Crackfic One-Shot | 1379 words | Rated G

Volo meets with a terrible fate. But is the strange new world of Hyrule really all that terrible?

A few weeks after getting his ass kicked by a fifteen-year-old and failing to slide into God’s direct messages, Volo of the Gingko Guild is depressed. But still, he refuses to cease his attempts to follow his own deranged intellectual curiosity to some kind of satisfying conclusion.

Read the rest on ao3 or under the cut:

A few weeks after getting his ass kicked by a fifteen-year-old and failing to slide into God’s direct messages, Volo of the Gingko Guild is depressed. But still, he refuses to cease his attempts to follow his own deranged intellectual curiosity to some kind of satisfying conclusion.

He breaks into Cogita’s garden shed and finds some supplies for a ritual that could allow him to wreak more havoc on the Hisui region. The Almighty Arceus notices this, and decides not to make the same mistake twice. It opens another rift in space and time, this time sending Volo through the portal instead of next-day-delivering a hero from the future to defeat him.

Volo wakes up in a different cel-shaded open world Nintendo video game, dressed in a merchant’s uniform and left with only his current team of Pokémon and the items in his backpack. A traveling… elf person? asks him if he’s okay, and then points him towards a nearby stable where where he can get some food and rest. Volo doesn’t bother putting on his fake merchant persona, just quietly and sullenly makes his way down the dirt road.

At the stable, Volo is immediately chatted up by Beedle, another merchant, who assumes that they are both in the same trade. Volo is very annoyed by the strange man in a crop top, but allows Beedle to ramble so he can get more information about this new world. Beedle informs Volo that there are people all over Hyrule (the aforementioned new world) who need supplies for their adventures, especially researchers and explorers interested in archaeology and ancient ruins.

Upon hearing this, Volo fully commits yet again to his charismatic merchant act, demanding more information about the world’s lore and opportunities for exploration. Beedle doesn’t really have the answers Volo wants, but Volo does find a newspaper that references a princess leading the research teams, who lives in Hateno Village. He figures out his route on a map and is advised by a stablehand to bring a horse with him on his travels.

Volo asks what the fuck a horse is, briefly breaking character. He is then informed about horses, and enthusiastically takes the opportunity to subjugate another animal for his personal gain. Also, the horse is kind of cute. And it makes him feel tall(er). And he names it “My Favorite Customer.”

Volo begins his journey to Hateno Village, appreciating the non-diegetic piano music as he rides along the path. That, at least, is all too familiar.

He finds himself in a tough spot when he comes across a camp of Alpha Pokémon on the side of the path. Volo crouches in the grass and attempts his signature back strike technique, but when he throws a Pokéball at the creature, it just turns around and screams at him.

Volo is nearly game-ended by a Red Bokoblin, but finds himself saved at the last second by a 5'2 blonde man with a fancy sword, magical arm, oversized Arc Phone, and vaguely ancient-looking toga outfit that arceus definitely would have liked more than Volo's cringe cosplay.

The hero (because that's definitely a hero, Volo realizes with great annoyance) offers him a hand and motions towards the gates of Hateno Village. Volo rallies and pretends to be grateful for the help, following the man inside the town with his horse. It's only once Volo is inside that he wonders what in Hisui and Hyrule just tried to kill him, if it wasn't a Pokémon.

As he walks through the town, Volo takes mental notes on the mercantile culture of Hateno. He also passes a statue of an angelic-looking figure, perhaps the goddess of this world and decidedly not the Almighty Arceus. Volo is surprised to realize that he feels relieved about this.

The hero brings Volo to a cottage, where a young woman waits inside. She introduces herself as Princess Zelda, and the hero as Link. Link pulls a Pokéball out of Volo's bag and shows it to Zelda, who is immediately interested. She starts drilling Volo about his place of origin and the nature of this strange technology, and he decides that she is the most tolerable person he’s met here so far. Volo happily engages in conversation with Zelda, also angling to know more about her world and its history.

Zelda explains that she and Link are part of their goddess's Triforce reincarnation cycle, and that they've had some rather traumatizing experiences as a result of their sacred roles. For example, Link literally died. And Zelda was a dragon for 10,000 years. Things are just getting back to normal now, and they're both trying to figure out how they feel about it all.

Never before has Volo considered the burden of being a god's chosen champion. He’d loathed the hero from his world for being Arceus's favorite, while Volo himself so clearly deserved the honor. But meeting these people, whose lives have been almost entirely defined by their destined sacred duties, he feels a bizarre pang of empathy for the hero who’d been pulled out of their time just to defeat him. Truly, Arceus's fickle cruelty knows no bounds.

Volo subtly suggests that Link and Zelda get rid of Hylia, ending the Triforce cycle for good. They appear to actually consider this, which makes him smile.

In return for his advice, Zelda tells Volo that the majority of research into ancient ruins happens near Kakariko Village, home of the Sheikah people. She describes the journey there as relatively simple, as long as he steers clear of monsters—which people apparently fight and kill here, wielding the non-sentient weapons on their backs.

Volo feels another strange pang, this time protectiveness, over the six creatures stored inside his Pokéballs. He winces as Link cracks an egg onto the hot cast iron of his cooking pot.

After a quick wellness check of his team, Volo decides that he likes the sound of the Sheikah and Kakariko Village. He also likes the sound of the Zonai people, an even more ancient culture who seem detached from the goddess Hylia as a religious figure. The lore here is elaborate, Volo can tell, and he can't help but feel genuinely excited about it all.

Back in Hisui, Volo’s life had been a constant balancing act between upholding his mercantile persona (working retail) and pursuing his passions. Here, people seem to actually get compensated, even respected, for their archaeological work. The Princess herself partakes in studies just like his own, and she doesn't even want to fight God about it.

(Well, maybe she might now. Oops.)

(Not oops. Volo regrets nothing.)

(Okay, fine, he might have some regrets, but that is not among them.)

Zelda also warns Volo about possible encounters with the Yiga Clan during his travels, a group of assassin-scientists who betrayed Hylia and royal family to leech off the power of an evil god. They apparently like to disguise themselves as merchants and cause problems for heroes.

Volo is pleased by the amount of options this new world is presenting him.

Before he leaves, Zelda gives Volo a sword (“Take this, it's dangerous to go alone!”) and asks him to deliver some artifacts she's been studying to Paya in Kakariko. She hands over a stack of stone plates covered in ancient writings.

It requires all of Volo's self control to respond appropriately to this, but somehow, he manages. Link passes him the final plate, which he’d been using as a cutting board, and Volo's eye twitches.

Volo of the Gingko Guild sets back out with His Favorite Customer, a collection of ancient plates, several appealing employment prospects, evolving feelings about various gods of various worlds, and a weapon that he doesn't know how to wield but is nonetheless excited to master.

In this moment, he can’t help but wonder if Arceus's divine punishment might have actually backfired. Then Volo decides that he likes the idea of making it backfire. After all, what better way is there to spite a god than to enjoy the punishment it has dealt?

(There's one better way, at least. Stuffing it into a Pokéball and using its powers to create a perfect world.)

But still, Volo does have to admit:

This new world isn't bad, either.

[hollyhomburg]

Jesus! I’ve been off tumblr for a while and just realised how many chapters of BILY I’ve missed: I’m definitely going to need to go through and re read everything again. youre a lean mean writing machine!

I will send more asks as I catch myself up so expect some possibly deranged and excited ramblings from me in future.

Also if you don’t already have a 🌻 anon I’d like to dub myself as 🌻anon please.

ahhhhh sometimes i wonder how people will find bily again! i'm so happy that you happened upon it! i hope you enjoy what ive done with it- especially because we're nearing completion on it!!

i always love to hear ramblings, the things that suprised people, the parts that they enjoy and the line that sticks out to them and stuff <3 i know i haven't been on here as much either (mostly because i've been writing more than i've been answering asks lol i have written like??? 30k words in the last 3 weeks???? which is alot!! i hope i can stay at this pace for the whole summer lol.

i had a 🌻 anon a long time ago... idk if maybe? you could pick another one? maybe 🌹???

[theshatteredrose]

Secrets: Best Left Untold? (Chapter 17) - Etrian Odyssey Untold 2 Fanfiction

AN: I really need to stop skipping forward to write future scenes XD Anyway, hope you enjoy reading~

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FFNet

-

Chapter 17:

Fafnir idly twisted a strand of Flavio’s soft, dark hair around his finger. Curled up against his chest, Flavio slept soundly, nestled under the blankets of his bed. All the stress of the last week had finally been released and he collapsed into his arms and willingly sunk into bed when Fafnir urged him to lay down to get some rest.

Flavio…he was so tired. So stressed. More than he realised himself.

Keeping up a happy front. Diligently working at the restaurant without a single complaint. Smiling. Laughing. Joking. Pretending to be ok.

All the while dealing with unwanted flowers, notes, letters, and threats – and Fafnir had been oblivious the entire time.

That was what infuriated him the most.

How could he have been so blind?

He was frustrated at Flavio for hiding everything for so long, keeping all his fears and stress to himself, but he was pissed at himself. They had been together since childhood. He knew Flavio inside and out. He should have known earlier. He should have picked up on the warning signs. He should have done something.

But he hadn’t.

He also found himself annoyed at how he was constantly pulled away from Flavio during the past week. Constantly sent on errands, shoved out the back to sort through stock even though it was not remotely necessary.

It was wrong to be angry at Regina and Arianna, with the former clearly playing matchmaker for the latter, and at the restaurant for keeping him and Flavio apart, he knew that. But there was still some resentment there. If he had not been kept away from Flavio, he may have picked up on his distress sooner. And he could have done something about it.

That was what he liked to tell himself at least.

Could he have saved the restaurant? Highly unlikely. Anyone deranged enough to burn down a building because of rejection was clearly an unhinged individual. If they had not done it last night, they may have done it sooner, with far more devastating consequences.

Or done something else. Something far more drastic. Something bare not worth thinking about.

But the bastard escalated things. They had drawn in the attention of not only Fafnir, but the rest of their companions plus the Grand Duchy.

Flavio shifted in his sleep, his brow furrowing with discomfort. Fafnir immediately tightened his arms around him, drawing him closer, a motion that brought Flavio comfort in his dreams. He relaxed and snuggled against Fafnir’s chest, falling back into a peaceful slumber.

Unfortunately, that arsonist from last night was not the only one Fafnir had to be worried about.

They were clearly the one stalking Flavio, true. The unwanted gift flowers, notes that turned threatening, and finally admitting to the arson of the restaurant for ‘his’ sake. Whoever they were, they were the definition of a stalker.

The other two, Flavio was hesitant to label of stalkers. That was hardly a surprise. He was likely in denial about the first guy for a couple of days. Until the knife incident.

But, in Fafnir’s mind, they were also stalkers. Just because they had different motives did not mean they were not stalkers.

The second appeared to be a conspiracy theorist of sorts. If his ramblings about that Mandelson that wandered about High Lagaard not being the same as the one that stood for the photo found in Stickleback Bar was to be believed. They could be nothing more than ramblings of a delusional crackhead, but Fafnir would take his claims that Flavio’s life was in danger seriously. For they were true, regardless of where he believed they came from.

As for Mandelson himself, he was a little more complex. Fafnir remembered that name. Met him once, found him obnoxious. Seemed to know a little too much about their guild, about the restaurant, about Flavio in general. Flavio did not believe that he was involved with the previous two stalkers, but Fafnir was unwilling to rule out the possibility.

There were too many coincidences. The first note starting with ‘beloved wife’, his obvious hatred toward the restaurant, only for the restaurant to be the target of an arson.

The three individuals had to be involved with one another. Conspiracy Theorist was because of Mandelson, and Mandelson was somehow related to the stalker turned arsonist.

Fafnir sighed and gently slipped his fingers through Flavio’s hair.

Flavio truly was too selfless for his own good. Always putting others first. Always putting Fafnir’s needs before his own.

In a way, Fafnir was to blame for Flavio’s reluctance to come forward to ask for help. He terrified him, back in Ginnungagap. To the point that he was petrified of losing him again, to cause him unnecessary stress. As if the smallest inconvenience would cause him to disappear again.

All he wanted was to make Flavio happy.

All that Flavio wanted was to make happy memories with him.

And he would. Fafnir would ensure it. He was not about to allow anyone to hurt Flavio, to take his future away from him. Away from them. Fafnir did not care who he had to fight. Three different stalkers or that so-called ancient evil residing withing Ginnungagap. It did not matter.

He made a promise to himself that he was going to show Flavio how much he meant to him, and he was going to keep it.

Fafnir kept his arms around Flavio, idly running his fingers through his hair until the light in the room began to darken. He did not want to move and he especially did not want to leave Flavio alone, but he needed to head to the hospital to escort Arianna back to the inn.

The three stalkers had kept their attention focused entirely on Flavio, but as things began to escalate, he could not afford to have his guild separated. For any reason.

“Flavio.” Fafnir gently began to urge Flavio from his slumber.

“Hmm,” Flavio murmured cutely as he started to stir, nuzzling his cheek against Fafnir’s chest, unwilling to wake just yet.

Flavio truly needed his sleep; it was clear that he had not slept well during the last week. But Fafnir was most certainly not going to leave Flavio asleep and alone, and vulnerable in his room.

Fafnir tightened his arms around Flavio and sat up, bringing his sleeping beauty with him. Flavio furrowed his brow and murmured something incoherent. His eyes soon flickered opened, however, and he gazed sleepily at him. It took a few moments for the fog to lift, and when it did, realisation flickered across Flavio’s face.

A sigh escaped his lips and he leaned forward, thumping his forehead against Fafnir’s shoulder. “You know everything.”

“I do.”

“What happens now?”

Fafnir rested his hand against the back of Flavio’s head and entangled his fingers through his hair. “First, I need to pick Arianna up from the hospital, then I need to tell everyone what has been happening.”

He felt Flavio tense against him. His hands moved up to grasp at the front of his shirt, his fingers twisting around the material tightly. It was one of his fears come true; he was causing trouble for others.

Of course, to Fafnir, he was doing no such thing. But in Flavio’s mind, he was. There were sure to be a lot of unnecessary apologies from him in the future. Fafnir better be prepared to counter them with words of reassurance.

“There is no other way, is there?” Flavio asked quietly.

“You’re not causing any trouble,” Fafnir quickly returned. “We’ll deal with this, Flavio.”

Flavio sighed and turned his head to the side, his forehead resting against Fafnir’s chin. “I just want it to be over with. I just want to make happy memories with you. I want to experience Christmas with you. I just want…”

Fafnir wrapped him up in his arms, holding him tightly. “And you will. We will.”

Flavio did not respond immediately. He took a few moments, simply resting against Fafnir, finding comforting in his arms. After a short while, he uttered another sigh as he lifted his head up and looked at him. “Alright.”

Fafnir cupped the side of Flavio’s face. “Lock your door, barricade it like you have been doing. I’ll be right next door, but I’ll return soon.”

All Flavio could muster was a small nod of his head, and it took all of Fafnir’s strength to pull away from him. After all that he had learnt, every protective cell in his body wanted to stay as close to Flavio as possible, to never have him out of his sight for longer than a few seconds, if at all.

But he needed to bring the others into the fold, alert them to their situation. And he needed to respect Flavio’s wishes not to be in on the conversation. So, just one more time they needed to part. After that, he was all but gluing himself to Flavio’s side and only the most extreme of circumstances were to pull them apart again.

Fafnir paused by the desk to pick up the drawer that held all the evidence and gathered everything he needed to explain the situation to the others. He would keep things short and to the point.

Flavio followed him to the door. As Fafnir stepped out into the hallway, Flavio leaned against the door tiredly. “I’m officially under your protective custody now, huh?”

“You better believe it.”

That finally brought a small smile to Flavio’s lips. “You know, I had wanted to spend more time with you. I guess I should have been more specific as to how.”

Fafnir lifted a hand to brush his fingers against Flavio’s cheek. “I’ll take whatever excuse I can.”

Finally, a small chuckle. “Alright. Don’t take long, ok?”

“I’ll be back soon,” Fafnir promised.

Flavio nodded his head again and stepped back from the door. He silently closed it and Fafnir stood still, waiting for the lock to be engaged. When he heard the telling click, he turned away himself, heading for his own room to place the evidence away. He would call for Bertrand and Chloe later; he would pick Arianna up first. He did not want to risk her walking through the streets alone.

He made doubly sure that his room was locked before he headed down into the foyer. Yet, as he moved to the exit, he was startled when the doors opened in front of him and a certain purple-haired princess stepped in.

“Arianna?”

Arianna smiled politely, seemingly have anticipated his surprise. “Sir Fafnir.”

“What are you-?”

“I decided to return on my own,” she explained as she attempted to close the door to keep the cold afternoon air out. “It appeared that Sir Flavio needed you more.”

While Fafnir was not pleased that Arianna walked back to the inn by herself, he was relieved that he did not have to wander too far from Flavio. “You have no idea how much.”

Arianna tilted her head questioningly to the side. “Hm?”

Fafnir motioned toward the stairs with a wave of his hand. “Come. There’s something I need to speak with you and the others about. It’s very important.”

Wordlessly, though her curiosity obviously piqued, Arianna followed Fafnir up the stairs. He paused outside of his room to unlock the door and motioned Arianna to step inside before he moved to knock on Bertrand’s door, his room just across the hall from his.

“Bertrand? I need you and Chloe to stepped into my room for a bit. We need to talk.”

He waited for a response, unsure if the two occupants were still in the room. They could have wandered down stairs during the hours since he had last seen them. But a moment later he heard the latch on the lock unfasten. He stepped back when the door opened, and a certain blond-haired protector and pink-haired war magus appeared.

Fafnir simple tilted his head toward his room, motioning for the two to follow him. The two stepped inside before him and he made the motion to close the door behind him.

Arianna looked around the room before she tilted her head to the side. “Is Sir Flavio not joining us?”

Fafnir shook his head as he closed the door. “This is about Flavio.”

Bertrand released a huff in the form of a sigh as he folded his arms across his chest. “I figured there was something up with the kid.”

“Have any of you noticed anything in particular?” Fafnir asked, looking at his guildmates each in turn.

Chloe fiddled with her glasses. “I haven’t noticed anything, just that he kept working hard as the restaurant’s waiter.”

“The kid has always been skinny, but he’s been more haggard looking lately,” Bertrand revealed. “Not to mentioned washed out.”

Arianna nodded her head. “Yes. And he is most upset about what happened to the restaurant.”

Bertrand arched an eyebrow as he gave Fafnir a pointed look. “I take it there’s something else?”

“There is.”

Fafnir turned to his desk where the drawer sat and just like Flavio had with him hours ago, he pulled out the folded cards that came with the flowers, and began to explain to the others the fear that Flavio had endured on his own.

He received a series of reactions; shock, disbelief, exasperation, guilt. Emotions that Fafnir went through himself. His was exponentially stronger, however, mixed with anger, concern, and protectiveness.

Bertrand uttered a loud, exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his noise. “Should have realised something was up. A survivalist that is both self-efficient and selfless? Never a good combination.”

He was not wrong about that. Fafnir could never emphasize enough just how selfless Flavio could be.

Bertrand dropped his arm to fold it across his chest once more. “How long has he been keeping this a secret?”

“A week.”

Arianna released a loud gasp and her hands flew up to cover her mouth. “A week…? D-during the week of…?”

Fafnir nodded. “Yeah. During the entire week of celebrations.”

Arianna grew pale and her eyes widened. She took a half step backwards and her eyes darted off to the side. A realisation had occurred to her and it was devastating. One that Fafnir himself had come to himself.

One he did not like, either. Of course, he held no ill will toward Arianna nor Regina. But, perhaps, if he were not forced into those matchmaking scenarios, maybe, just maybe, he could have seen something was bothering Flavio sooner.

“So,” Bertrand began. “We gotta deal with a stalker, huh?”

Fafnir placed the notes onto the desk and turned back to the drawer. “There appears to be more than one.”

“Huh?”

Fafnir fished out the letters and handed them to Bertrand. “Someone else has decided to get involved.”

A deep crease appeared in Bertrand’s brow as he began to read through the short letters. He appeared momentarily confused before his brow smoothed out and his gaze shifted to look out into the distance, remembering something.

“So, that was the guy’s name, huh?” he muttered under his breath. He shook his head a second after and turned his attention back to Fafnir. “But what does this guy have to do with this?”

“According to Flavio, and from what the guy said to him, Flavio looks like his recently deceased wife,” Fafnir explained plainly. “And from what Cass says, he’s right.”

Bertrand scowled and handed back the letters. “That’s his excuse, huh?”

“Appears so.” Fafnir shook his head. “Flavio admits that the guy keeps popping up wherever he goes.”

“So, that means we have three guys we need to worry about,” Bertrant stated before he shook his head with a sigh. “I knew the kid was popular, but this is a bit much. He doesn’t do things by halves, does he?”

Fafnir placed the letters next to the notes. He decided to leave the knife within the drawer as everything he had revealed so far was shocking enough. However, it was the next note he had yet to reveal that was the most concerning. And it was the potential reactions to said item that Flavio feared the most.

“That’s not the worst of it,” Fafnir said as he pulled out the final folded card. “This is why Flavio is so gutted about the restaurant.”

He unfurled the note and presented it toward the others. They had to huddled around, leaning forward to read it. The words written on the white piece of cardboard were short, to the point. But they were important. And everyone soon understood their significance.

They went through a series of powerful emotions within a matter of seconds. Disbelief, realisation, and devastation.

Bertrand dragged a hand over his face. “God damn it. So, it was arson.”

Fafnir nodded his head grimly and dropped the note onto the table. “Flavio blames himself. He’s absolutely gutted about what happened. Not able to eat, not able to sleep properly. It took me ages to convince him that it wasn’t his fault.”

“We’re obviously dealing with an unhinged individual here,” Bertrand stated.

“Yeah. Delivering flowers to burning down a building is quite a step.”

Bertrand folded his arms tightly across his chest, an intense scowl on his face. “Yeah. It’s possible, if we had interfered earlier, than this flower guy would have amped up his violence earlier, too. It’s clear that he, or they, or whoever the hell they are, have no problem jumping straight into violence. They could have targeted the restaurant while it was full, in the middle of dinner rush. They could have done something else. Something far more drastic.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Fafnir roughly ran a hand through his hair. “Flavio was hoping that after a couple of silent rejections they would take the hint and leave. But that obviously didn’t happen.”

Flavio was too naïve sometimes.

“What are you going to do?” Bertrand suddenly asked him. “Are you going to move into his room or have Flavio move into yours?”

Fafnir held his kind in thought. “I’m still debating that. If I move into his, I have a higher chance of meeting this ‘admirer’ of his. But if he moves into mine, he’ll likely be safer.”

“For a while.”

“True. And this stalker might target other rooms.”

That left him with just one option.

Fafnir turned toward his desk and scooped up the letters and notes, placing them back into the drawer. And then started to gather up his own belongings.

“It’s probably best that I move into Flavio’s room. I better start packing.”