#orchard collab

[sillygoblinantics]

Bonnie’s Day Out!!

1st Official open collab!

What’s it for?:

Bonnie needs some books for her persona library! She’s still learning to read so something that’s age appropriate and not complicated! Trust me: she’s had to be read Lily’s work for a long while so she needs a break from it!

There’s no competition, no top posts, this is just good wholesome silly fun and a bit of experimentation for anyone wanting to try something new with their art! As this is a collab there are some guidelines.

Rules:

1. Nothing graphic (smut, gore, if it can’t be found in the kids section of Barnes and noble than it isn’t good)

2. Age appropriate reading material: what are books you would read as a kid or were read to you before bed?

3. Can’t just drop names

the idea is to redraw or remake existing books that youd recommend to 4 year old Bonnie!

I strongly encourage you to try and mimic or recreate the covers and characters from these stories as…well… Pokémon! (Photobashing, traditional or digital art, have fun with it!)

4. You can make as many submissions as you want but don’t try to push yourself with cranking out

5. No deadline!

(Cause I know it’ll take me a while to get to the chapter)

6. Have fun!

To join the collab use the tags below:

#book suggestions for Bonnie

#Books for Bonnie!

#Bonnie Orchard’s Library Donation

Thank you guys for showing so much support for this silly project of mine it means so much and I want to share the fun and invite yall to join in with this lil collab!

[sigyn-foxyposts]

"Idunn x bragi whiteboard dump!"

Art by me and @piratespacex 🍎🍏

Bragi, Idunn and their daughter Orchard! <33

Just the sisters discussing mpreg! (Idunn and Sigyn)

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Return to Radio Hall

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an alternate universe, once conceptualised, must be in want of a fic. This collaborative event by Bapple's Orchard is brought to you by our collective need to stop @bapple117 from writing a full-length Radiostatic romance novel set in Regency era England*. We've got so many great contributors, with art, short fiction and music, and so if you enjoy this piece I highly encourage you to follow the link to the masterlist for the event below to go see everything that my friends on the server have done.

*They could, and we know they could, and that is why we must stop them.

⚜Summary: Having made his fortune in the New World, Vox Vee returns to visit his former benefactor, Lord Alastor.

⚜Pairings: Vox/Alastor

⚜Content Notes: Unrequited love, Regency era AU, depiction of illness

The weather on the road to Radio Hall was treacherous; great peals of thunder accompanying the rumble of the carriage over the stones on the road as the rain sheeted down.

This ought to have been a triumphant march, the return of a protégé who had proved his mentor wrong, had made his fortune, had won the great game of life. Instead, Vox sat alone in his carriage as it ascended the hill towards the estate, the rain on the windows providing little distraction from the matters that troubled him.

Valentino would have said something to calm his nerves, something witty that made him scoff, if he had been there, but his lover had declined to accompany him across the Atlantic.

“Maybe for a season in Vienna or Paris, amorcito.” Valentino had sucked his pipe, eyes glinting red. “But not for this. You want to go visit your fusty old lord-of-the-manor, you can go by yourself.”

Of course, Valentino was more than capable of entertaining himself while Vox was gone, but Vox couldn’t say the same for himself. He’d spent the voyage over staring at the far horizon, for all the world like the protagonist of some interminably long work of literary fiction fixing his sights on some lofty goal, but all it had achieved was to make Vox wet and cold.

It had been seven years. Seven years since their catastrophic falling out. Lord Alastor had been his closest friend, his confidant and supporter, all of that blown away in an instant.

You will never be my equal.

That was the last thing Alastor had snarled to him, rage seeping from behind the man’s beautiful smile, and the thing that had kept Vox afloat all these years was the urge to make that statement a lie. To meet Lord Alastor again, perhaps invited to a soirée by a mutual acquaintance, to catch his eye across the room and to smile at Alastor as Alastor smiled at the world; with perfect, assured confidence. To say, without speaking, I’m not merely your pet commoner, your charitable project. To smile, with only teeth- I belong here now.

And he had done it. He had made his fortune, not in a way that Alastor would have approved of, but a fortune nonetheless. He had friends, and lovers, and power, and a life that any man alive would have been envious of. He’d been so close, so damn close to swanning his way back across the Atlantic with a retinue in tow, to being invited to all the balls of the season, a hot commodity simply by virtue of his status as a wealthy and unmarried man. But none of that mattered now.

Vox watched the rainwater slide over the window of the carriage, making his view a grim, grey blur. Alastor always had to do things on his own terms. Alastor had to have known that he was planning his grand return; a house in Kensington and a thumb on the nose to everything Alastor had said about him. Vox would have flaunted it. Alastor would have hated it.

That was when the news had come, from one of Vox’s cousins, still living near Radio Hall.

That Lord Alastor was sick.

That he might not last the month.

And of course Vox had thrown all his neatly laid plans aside and booked passage at once, on a ship that he didn’t even own. The whole way there he had prayed that he wouldn’t be too late, that Alastor wouldn’t have the final word in their argument. What was the point of years of striving, if he didn’t get to be right? If, in the end, he still had to come crawling back to Radio Hall?

The carriage crunched to a halt outside the main doors, a pair of footmen hurrying out to greet him with umbrellas. Vox shielded his face with one hand, peering up the front facade of Radio Hall, and smiling as he caught sight of the light from the window in the west tower. Alastor’s bedroom. He wasn’t too late, after all.

Escorted inside, he brushed off the entreaties of the attendants that he get settled in his rooms and change his clothes, making a bee-line to Alastor’s valet, Mr Husk. “I want to see him.”

Mr Husk looked him up and down, as insolent as ever. “Didn’t expect you to show your face,” he said, tone amused. “Thought you of all people would be glad to see him in the ground.”

“Then you are fucking mistaken,” said Vox, a crack in his voice. Alastor had been his greatest friend, his confidant, had been so important to him. Was so important, still. “Show me to his rooms.”

The ascent to Alastor’s tower was a familiar one, but Vox found himself viewing the passage with fresh eyes after so long away. The heirlooms and paintings that lined the walls seemed faded, the space itself more confined and dark after years in spacious white-painted apartments. Even the carpets were more ragged and less luxurious than Vox remembered them. Had it all fallen into ruin in his absence, he wondered, or had it always been like this, faded and rotten, with Vox too blinded by Alastor’s charm to see it for what it was?

He’d been in Alastor’s rooms countless times; late nights drinking in his little study and putting the world to rights, or playing cards with other friends before the fireplace. He had been young then, and naive, excited to have such an invite to the man’s inner sanctum. When Alastor had started to speak of the occult, in abstract, hypothetical terms at first, swirling the last of the whiskey in his glass, Vox had listened, rapt.

And when it came down to the less theoretical matters, more practical matters, Vox had listened and learned, a willing apprentice.

They’d traveled Europe together, scouring the collections of rare book dealers and antiquarians, a month here, a month there, and those not in their intimate circle had assumed him to be Alastor’s lover. Those close enough to see clearly knew the truth, however; that Lord Alastor’s obsessions lay too bloody and too deep to be sated by a simple man like Vox, or by any man for that matter.

It was on these trips that he’d laid the foundations for his trading company, connections with Alastor’s friends and with people who wished to curry Lord Alastor’s favor. He’d met people for whom a thousand pounds was a trifling amount and borrowed seed money from them, all from under Alastor’s watchful shadow.

He’d seen more in their friendship than friendship, or perhaps he had hallucinated it, just as he had imagined the painting in the halls to be grand and glorious, their frames golden rather than peeling gilt.

Now, the place smelled like a sickbed; like blood and feculence and rot.

“Mr Vee to see you, sir,” said Mr Husk, his tone bored.

Alastor’s voice was silvery as ever. “Let him in.”

Alastor’s bedroom was no different to the version in Vox’s mind, each ornament and piece of furniture committed to memory. The four-poster bed with the Radio family crest carved into the headboard; a stag recumbent on a field of thorns. The stuffed crocodile that Alastor kept in the corner. The fireplace, a brass basket of firewood before it.

Alastor smiled at him, face gaunt and tired. He sat up in bed, robe loose around his shoulders, blanket at his waist, a stack of pillows behind him.

Vox froze in the doorway, caught between the boy he had been and a hundred versions of the man he hoped he would have become by now. He had envisioned this moment so many times, but somehow never like this. Never with Alastor bedridden and sick, collarbones prominent at the neckline of his robe. The Alastor in Vox’s mind had been an invincible thing, dressed in red and laughing as he danced across a ballroom.

“Hello, Voxxy.” Alastor lowered his eyelids, his lank hair falling half over his face, his teeth glinting in the firelight. “How was the new world? Was it as glamorous and glittering as you had hoped? Did you have a nice vacation?”

Vox swallowed, heart in his throat. How dare he? How dare he sit there and pretend like the last seven years hadn’t even happened? As if Vox had just this moment walked from the room and returned, his absence as notable as the space between breaths.

“Alastor.” Vox forced himself to take a step forward, into the light of his former mentor’s fireplace. “I, uh-”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you come to grieve at my bedside?” Alastor tilted his head, the sly, teasing smile on his gaunt face instantly familiar. “Since you came such a long way, I suppose I could lay down and be quiet for a little. Though I’d prefer if you didn’t paw at my bedclothes, they’re enough of a mess already.”

“Alastor!” Vox choked.

“And your heart is worn on your sleeve, as ever,” said Alastor, a roll of his eyes as Vox stepped closer. “I thought I told you to guard your feelings better.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything that you told me to.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it has.” Alastor sighed. “Why did you come here?”

For one brief instant, Vox was the stag faced down by the hounds, frozen in place before he could flee into the night. The wind howled outside, rain dashing against Alastor’s window.

You will never be my equal.

Those were the words that had echoed in his ears all these years. Those words that he desperately wanted to be a lie, those words that he had fought to disprove. Every brick of the empire that he had built, every late night and every bloody victory had been in their service, and somehow it hadn’t been enough. He wasn’t Alastor’s equal. He was rich, but still of common birth. He was a competent magician, but he lacked Alastor’s natural talent. Faced with tragedy, all he had was rage and bluster while Alastor would keep smiling even on his own deathbed. Vox stood at the foot of Alastor’s bed, looking down at the man he had called friend, unable to say because I belong here.

“I heard you were dying,” said Vox.

“I’m afraid that’s true.” Alastor gave a gay little laugh, and narrowed his eyes when Vox winced. “Don’t look so shocked. A lifetime of good food and bad magic is bound to catch up with one eventually.”

“Can I help?” Vox asked, his heart once more on his sleeve.

“Well, that’s an ambiguous offer if ever I heard one,” said Alastor, his tone playful.

“You know what I meant,” growled Vox.

“And more’s the shame,” said Alastor. “I thought perhaps you’d want the final say on things. I know I would, in your shoes.” He was talking circles around Vox, the same way he always had.

“We’re not the same,” said Vox. A peace offering. I will never be your equal. “If I can help you-” If I can save you, he left unspoken.

Alastor gave him a long look, his smile tight lipped, then patted the bedspread beside him. “Sit,” he said, and Vox did.

This close to Alastor, the smell of death was stronger; a smell like a carcass left in the sun, and even in the light from the fireplace, Vox could see the strained lines around his smile.

“There’s no loophole to this one, old pal,” said Alastor. “Believe me, I’ve checked. Damn thing’s eating me from the inside.”

“There must be a way-” Vox protested, but Alastor interrupted him.

“Do you plan to spend my last days down in my library, as I wither up here? Or would you rather spend them here with me?” Alastor wrinkled his nose. “Well?”

“Alastor,” breathed Vox, staring.

How many years had he spent as a young man, waiting for something like this from Alastor? Theirs had simply been a friendship; a precious friendship, and Vox had been a fool to want more than that. But he had dreamed. Of being someone that Alastor might want to spend the rest of his life with. However long that would be now. A few days, or weeks, or more, perhaps.

With the utmost care, he reached out to his old friend, his mentor, the man who had taken him in, the man he had raced hare-brained across the Atlantic to return to, and took him into his arms, embracing him.

“You are a sentimental fool,” said Alastor, quietly, but he did not pull away. His thin body relaxed against Vox’s, his face against Vox’s shoulder, and he gave a single, shuddering breath.

You belong here.

[monocaelia]

fragile.

' you have broken down my defenses, and i don’t really resent it. ' - vita sackville west

in which you really don't want to care about him and his careless attitude, but you always find yourself coming back to him. always. feat. diluc ragnvindr & gn!reader w.c : 5k warnings : childhood friends to lovers, diluc lore spoilers, minor angst but ends w fluff, diluc ragnvindr. note : happy new year! sorry for the delay hehe, but this is for @seraphiism's 2023 collab event !! please support the other authors and enjoy the fic ^^

your mother had always instructed you to stay close to her side, to never stray far away from her lest you find yourself in trouble with the master of the winery or the other servants working the orchards and tending to the land of the estate.

but with a beautiful land of ripe grapes and friendly staff greeting you as you rush past them, how could you ever just sit still beside your mother as she did her job around the winery?

the late summer breeze rushes past your face as you weave through the wooden stakes holding the wiry vines of grapes above you. the warm sun rays heat your skin as you leap over the small rocks that litter the passage leading into the main area of the ragnvindr estate. the wind whispers in your ear, making you grin as your little legs take you wherever it guides you.

you feel free, the wind pushing past your wings to lead you to your newest adventure around the manor.

your feet land firmly on the grounds behind the manor when you hear the gentle sniffles coming from behind a couple of barrels. despite your mother's warnings echoing in your head, you take gentle steps towards the sound as curiosity takes over.

you're not expecting to see a young boy with fiery red hair and matching eyes that hold the warmest, flickering fire glaring up at you with tears at the corner of his eyes and holding a bleeding knee.

"...are you okay?" you ask, kneeling down beside him. you begin to frown when he pulls his knee away from you and his glare deepens.

"i don't need your help," the young boy hisses at you and you roll your eyes.

"really? you don't need my help even though you're crying in a corner all by yourself?" you scoff at him. he doesn't say anything in retaliation and you take it as an okay for you to help him.

you pull a handkerchief from your pocket; nothing too fancy as your family couldn't afford the finest silks like the nobles could. it's cotton, white, and had a simple design of a little sparrow emroidered in the corner.

"i don't have any bandages on me," you mumble softly. your little fingers gently wrap the handkerchief around the young boy's knee several times before tying a small knot on it. without even blinking, you lean down to kiss the wounded knee.

"what are you doing?!" the young boy exclaims, yanking his knee away.

"kissing it better," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "my mother always does that when i get hurt. she says it takes the pain away and makes it heal faster."

"that's stupid," the boy mumbles with a glare.

"says the one who tripped and fell and hurt himself," you argue back. you stick your tongue out when the boy shouts out a 'hey!' and roll your eyes.

"who are you and what are you doing here anyways?" you ask the young boy, kneeling beside him once more. he's still glaring at you, but it's less hostile than it was a few moments ago. "my mom said strangers aren't allowed to be here."

the young boys eyes are red, vibrantly so. the life in them burn brightly, reminding you of a fire as it flickers with warmth and a promise of a brighter tomorrow. like the hearth of a fireplace, the young boy seems to be the incarnate of warmth itself with the way he's filled with the flame of life.

"i live here, dummy," he quips back at you with a frown and your eyes widen.

"really? i've never seen you around, and i've been everywhere on this estate," you reply, bringing your thumb and forefinger to your chin as you remain deep in thought. truly, the only people you've managed to catch were all adults working for the master of this winery. never once have you seen a kid running along.

with a bright smile of your own, you lean towards the young boy. "we should be friends! since i don't know anyone else to play with here, we can play!"

the boy looks you up and down with furrowed brows, but he slowly nods. "...okay," he mumbles and you grin brighter.

"great! what's your name then? i'm-"

your name is shouted as hurried footsteps rush towards you. your mother pulls you aside as she looks at the young boy in front of you with panicked eyes.

"young master, i'm so sorry if my child said or did anything to hurt you," your mother says in a rush. she pushes your head down to bow in front of the young boy. she hisses something into your ear and you stutter out your own apology too, even if you did nothing wrong.

you find out the young boy you helped earlier that day was the son of the nobleman your mother works for, diluc ragnvindr. apparently, he's some big deal because he's the young master, but what kind of big deal hurts himself and hides between the barrels instead of asking for help?

you huff as you kick your feet sitting down by your bedside. because of the whole debacle, your mother had ordered you to stay inside to prevent even more debacles from happening even if you explained that the young master getting injured was not your fault. the sun shining from your windowsill feels so far away as you stare outside and ponder what to do.

until you hear a light pattering sound come from your window.

your curiosity is piqued as your small frame approaches the glass panes, wide eyes peeking over the wooden frame as your eyes scan the scenery.

the foliage of the trees surrounding your home cast shadows over your house with small animals running back and forth from the greenery above, causing the rustling of the leaves. the sun trickles in through the gaps of the leaves and your eyes settle on the boy with red hair standing outside your window, a small rock in his hand.

there's a proper bandage on his knee now as it was properly dressed, and his fiery eyes meet yours. he looks hesitant at first, but his brows furrow and his lips open to prepare to speak.

"...come outside and play with me," he tells you when you push open the window in your bedroom, a slight pout in his voice.

"you got me in trouble," you reply shortly, "and now i'm stuck inside because of you."

the young boy bites his lip, pondering what he could do or say to make things better. from the way he's thinking hard enough for you to see steam coming out of his ears, you could tell that he was trying really hard to think of anything to say.

"i'm sorry," he mumbles, kicking the dirt with his shoe.

"sorry, what was that?" you ask, holding your ear out.

the young master huffs, his cheeks puffed out in annoyance. he stomps his foot before-

"i said 'i'm sorry'!"

you smile at him smugly before crossing your arms on the windowsill. it was amusing to see the supposed young master like this; for such a renowned young boy, he was such a cry baby.

"okay, i can't go outside, but we can still play inside if that's okay," you tell him with a bright smile. "i'll let you in!"

"diluc..." he says, red eyes meeting yours. he reminds you of a fire with the way he's looking at you; so full of life but almost burning you if you get him too riled up. but the flames are tame now compared to the anxious flickers you saw earlier before he apologized.

"okay; i'll let you in then, diluc!"

ever since that warm summer, you and diluc have been inseparable; every afternoon is spent exploring the land of the winery but never straying far enough to get lost or end up on the other side of the lake where monsters lurk.

you were there the evening master crepus brought home another young boy around your age home; his blue hair reminding you of the blueberries your mother bought from mondstadt for you to eat. it was a bit of an adjustment with another young boy to play with, but soon you got along well with him as well.

his bright blue eyes always sparkling as you invite him to play alongside diluc and his little hand held in yours. he reminded you of the stars above with the way his eyes twinkle with youth and reflect the night sky above you when the three of you snuck out of your homes to stargaze with your hands holding onto each other until the morning sun began to rise over the horizon.

with your hands held tightly with diluc's and kaeya's, your youth together was only just beginning.

it's a cool morning where the early frost is beginning to melt as the sun continues to rise over the horizon, spreading her warmth and love across the fields of dawn winery. the young master has been gone for a couple days now; something about some sort of knight exam or whatever happening in the city of mondstadt. you would have gone with him, but your duties lie in caring for the winery whilst your friends head off to the heart of mondstadt to finish their training and hopefully become part of the knights of favonius that crepus ragnvindr had always encouraged them to be a part of.

you know having their father's praise meant a lot to your dear friends and you could only hope for the best for both diluc and kaeya as they were off doing their duties.

your ears perk as your name is shouted through the winery along with the sound of hooves rapidly against the dirt road. over in the distance, you can make out a red haired young man galloping over on his steed at near full speed. with wide eyes, you try to tell him to slow down before you get trampled and-

"oof!" you groan as a heavy body slams into you, both his weight and warmth tackling you to the ground. you're thankful that his arms cradled your head as you both go tumbling into the dirt road underneath you and the only pain was that of your body against the floor.

you don't even get to question why diluc had tackled you to the floor when he pulls his face away from you, giving you a clear view of his expression. he's smiling brightly, a wide grin on his face and his eyes of rubies twinkling brighter than any flame you've ever seen. the flames of his soul flicker brilliantly in his excitement and you can't help your own match his energy.

"i got in!" diluc says, his boyish smile growing wider. the small divots in his cheeks are cute and evidence of how hard he was grinning at the news. "i passed the trials got to do the oath swear and- oh, i wish you could've been there!"

despite growing up into a more mature-ish teen, it is moments like these where you're reminded that even as time passes and he grows taller than you, diluc is still the bright eyed boy that you've known since you were young. he looks so cute, in an endearing way, when he eagerly tells you all about his trials and how tough they were.

you really hope that the young master stays the same as he is now.

with a gentle hand, you reach up to ruffle his hair; it's soft to the touch and your eyes don't miss the way diluc pauses in his excitement as your fingers weave into his hair. you assume it's because he's not used to your praise and brush it off, even as he leans into your touch and waits for your words.

"why don't we head inside first? i want to hear everything that happened, but inside where it's warm and comfortable rather than on the dirt floor, diluc," you say to him, a slight lilt in your voice. you laugh softly when you see his cheeks flush a little in embarrassment before he gets off of you.

"i apologize, i was just so eager to tell you," diluc says softly, reaching down to offer a hand to you. you take his hand; you can feel the natural warmth emanating from his body through his gloves and, before you know it, you've been pulled up from the ground. his arm wraps around your waist to assure that you're balanced as you stand up.

"i just," diluc begins. you watch him as the young master of the winery averts his gaze briefly before he meets yours, warm rubies enveloping you with nothing but the comfort he holds for you ever since you were both younger.

"i wanted you to be the first person i told and to tell you."

a wave of something pleasant washes over you knowing that diluc, the heir of dawn winery and one of the most hardworking and talented man in all of mondstadt, rushed back home on horseback in the early hours of this chilly morning just to announce the news to you in person.

just so he could be your first in regards to his good news.

you laugh softly as something warm settles into the pit of your heart, squeezing his hand in yours as you tug him towards the main mansion of the winery estate with no intentions of letting his go for the time being.

even with the budding flowers of youth begin to bloom and the happiness that was promised to you has yet to come, you would have never expected for the spring of your youth to end so abruptly.

it happened all so quickly; crepus ragnvindr wielding a delusion, his death and the anger of diluc exploding, and the fall of your friendship with kaeya and diluc.

you weren't given the details of either one's situation, just a witness of a near death experience and the unforgiven apologies spewing from kaeya's lips as he held his injured eye in the midst of the rain washing down on them as if mourning both the loss of crepus ragnvindr and the wound wedged deep between the relationship of the ragnvindr brothers.

it was like in a mere second, the once warm diluc that would blush and hold your hand so delicately had been wiped away and replaced by a diluc grieving the loss of his father as the flames of his anger and betrayal of both his own brother and the knights of favonius for trying to brush the murder of his father under the rug explode and engulf his entire being.

he doesn't even give you a proper goodbye, leaving only a letter dedicated to you and his vision dimly glowing on his nightstand behind.

it feels like a fever dream when you hear the news of diluc finally returning after all of these years. you don't even hear it from the man himself; rather, from the whispers and excited chatter that the master of dawn winery had returned home.

part of you is excited at the news that he's alive; with no news of his existence after he ran from home in search of the truth behind his father's death other than the faint glow and warmth radiating from his vision clutched in your hands when you missed and worried for him, you were ecstatic knowing that he truly was home now.

that he's alive and breathing and still with you.

and yet, another part of you twinges in pain that he didn't come to you and announce that he was home. he had left you without even a single goodbye, not even bothering to visit you and explain his situation before leaving you questioning whether or not he even cared about how you felt about him.

of course, you aren't entitled to being the first to know, but after growing up together and usually being the first to know of everything in your youth, your heart aches knowing you were one of the last to hear of this at the winery.

it doesn't help knowing that you have not even caught a glimpse of diluc after his supposed return.

so imagine your surprise coming home one evening, the cool night air biting against your skin as you return home after a long day's work, seeing a figure leaning against your home.

at first, your blood turns cold as your heart races in your ears; it couldn't be anyone bad... the winery is a safe place and any suspicious figures are dealt with accordingly before they even step close to the winery grounds. you don't even have anything to defend yourself against if they did happen to be someone with malicious intent.

you take a step back to turn tail back to the estate but freeze when you begin to recognize the figure outside your door; red curls resembling that of flames flickering in the air and warm ruby eyes that you could recognize anywhere. despite standing in the dim evening light and having only the glow of the lantern outside of your home, you could make out the injuries through his dark clothing.

just what did he get himself into?

you hesitate at first, but eventually let your instincts take control as you begin to walk over to your home. it's as if you were both in the blooming stages of your youth again, bringing diluc home to mend his wounds after training for the knight exams.

caring for him was like muscle memory to you, even after all of the events leading to him leaving you in the dust.

you don't say a word as you open the wooden door and guide diluc in, pulling out a chair by the fireplace. wordlessly, he sits in it as you leave to prepare to clean his wounds.

your fingers shake ever so slightly as you remove diluc's coat from his shoulders, the heavy fabric falling to the floor with a thud. you apologize softly as you begin to unbutton his shirt and, as each button is undone and reveals more of his skin, your fingers begin to flinch every time your skin brushes against the skin of his chest.

his breath is warm, you can feel it against your skin as you slide off the remaining clothes on his torso. his chest is bare to you, and normally you would be gawking at how much he has physically changed since you were younger. but you cannot help but stare at how much he had been injured in the last few years you have seen him.

aside from the scratches from the most recent scuffle which led him to your quaint home beside his manor, scars litter his chest and arms. although most of them are healed, the damage that he had experienced was still evident on his skin and you hold back a gasp at how deep some of them had been; there's a huge scar that runs diagonally from the top of his chest to his stomach and you could already feel your stomach churning at the pain.

you couldn't imagine having to sustain those injuries for so long, and being alone through it all.

and, now, you hope that the injuries currently on his body heal faster knowing that he isn't alone this time. not when he has you by his side.

diluc's eyes burn holes into your skull as he watches you dip a towel into the bucket of warm water at your side; you pretend to ignore him. twisting the soaked cloth to rid it of the excess water, you gently begin to clean the wounded man in front of you.

a man you consider an old friend, but you fear he doesn't hold the same sentiment. not anymore.

it's quiet, the only sound shared between the two of you being the occasional sound of the towel dumped back into the bucket and the crackling of the fireplace in your living space. the moon casts her illuminating rays through the window of your home, but her light is nothing compared to the comfort of the fire in your home.

the comfort of the man in front of you, even if you didn't want to ever admit it to him now.

the glass jars containing the disinfecting ointment for diluc's wounds clink gently as you open them to spread over his skin.

"why are you helping me?" his voice breaks the thick silence between you two. his sudden question makes your hands pause, but you don't raise your head as you think of something to reply.

"and let an old friend bleed to death outside my door? you think i'm that heartless, diluc?" you ask him. your fingers resume their previous job of slathering the medicine over his new wounds. "i could say the same to you, why show up to my house like this?"

another silence follows your words and you assume he's done interrogating you for your kindness to him.

"i had nowhere else to turn to," diluc says after a while. your eyes catch his fists tighten on his lap as he takes another breath. "you've shown me nothing but kindness even after i was so cruel to you."

you exhale softly at his words. of course he thinks dealing with his own problems this entire time was the worst thing he could do to you. if you were being honest, it did hurt when he seemingly pretended you didn't exist or pushed you away when he had returned home from whatever he was dealing with away from mondstadt.

you had hoped for a joyful reunion, one filled with tears as you finally welcome home your old friend. but he never announced when he was coming home and you only figured out through the grapevine. he was never home when you looked for him and when you finally caught a glimpse of him, your eyes would meet for barely a second before he rushed off elsewhere and leaving you in the dust.

according to kaeya, his brother whom you've kept in touch with throughout the years. diluc had changed even more ever since his return; he kept his feelings to himself and his face remained 'constipated,' as per kaeya's words, due to his inner turmoil.

but from everyone else, he had always been so kind to them. the old women in the city would always praise how gentle the young master was, helping them walk across the city or carrying their groceries if they needed it. the young women also constantly swooned over how mysterious, yet warm-hearted diluc was; seemingly cold in nature but treating children and animals with such tenderness.

"it did hurt knowing you were ignoring me," you confess as your fingers begin to unravel the gauze to wrap over his wounds. "even if you wanted everyone to think you've changed and have become cold and guarded, i know you're still the same caring boy i've known since we were young. i hope so, at least."

his skin is warm to the touch, another feature you realize has never changed about your old friend. with bated breath, you lift your head to let your gaze finally settle on diluc's own. just as you predicted, despite the physical changes, you can still see the diluc you once knew within the scarred and older man in front of you.

diluc has definitely gotten older; the baby fat on his face slimming down slightly to reveal a more defined jaw and the bags under his eyes were evidence of his restless nights away from mondstadt. there are light scars on his face, nothing too deep to keep from his princely demeanor but are definitely proof of a troubling journey, and he has grown taller than the last time you had seen him in your youth.

but one thing that has never changed is the fire the lights up his eyes. so red and warm, you're tempted to hold his face in your hands to get a closer look. they're so vibrant, alive like the embers that flicker in the fireplace that lights your home, as they stare back at you in anticipation of your next words.

"you would never intend to hurt me on purpose. so if i should have to wait forever for you to be ready to come to me like you've had in the past, i don't mind doing so."

diluc's stoic expression wavers at your words. a sliver of guilt shines in his eyes and he looks away briefly as he digests the words you've spoken to him.

he couldn't tell you the reasons why he always kept you at arm's length; was he wary of your intentions for always being kind to him despite how he treated you or was he so used to people close to him lying to his face that he feared you were also pulling a facade?

or was he scared of you sharing the same fate as his family should he loved you with his heart on his sleeve, a fate of being held in his arms as he feels the warmth that once comforted him when you were young fade away like the embers in the hearth of a fireplace?

diluc did not want to know and he did not need to know, not when you're looking at him with such trust and compassion that he finds it hard to even hold any distrust towards you.

his dear friend from his youth who was always there to pick him up when he fell.

you did not break through the walls shielding diluc's heart for you had already found your place beside it, holding he's life with your gentle hands and protecting his soul's flames with your faith in him.

"i'm sorry," diluc apologizes to you, looking into your eyes. one of your hands is grabbed to be held by him, rough and scarred and so calloused as it held the memories and grief of what he went through to become like the man in front of you, the gauze held in your other. his warmth seeps into your skin, heating up your skin as the flames of his heart grow and encase your entire being within its embrace.

your lips part to say something, but he continues to speak.

"i thought keeping you away would benefit us both," he takes a breath as his eyes scan over your own features, taking in all that has changed since the last time he saw you in your adolescent years; how much you've grown both physically and emotionally. you look so much more mature than the naughty child who ran around breaking their mother's rules just to play with him or the dear friend who would bicker with him endlessly during their teenage years.

the years of their beautiful youth, years that he wished so dearly he could go back to and live in that peace for eternity.

but while the winds continue to blow and move time along, you've continued to stay the same despite the change.

you're still so kind, so inviting to someone like him.

you treat him like the friend you've remembered in your adolescence, even if his hands were bloodied with vengeance and his heart is scarred and wounded from betrayal and deceit.

he is still diluc, just diluc in your bright and beautiful eyes; he always had been.

his hands squeeze yours tightly, hoping that he has the courage to say what he wants to say.

"i don't deserve your kindness, or your love. but if i imagine a life where i have succeeded in pushing you away and we no longer talk," diluc begins, the fire in his eyes wavering as they hold your gaze.

"i don't think i would ever want to live a life where you're not in it."

diluc's words shake you to your core; it's something you wouldn't expect him to say now after all these years. as much as you want to immediately forgive him and push back the years of agony, waiting for any sign that he was alive while leaving his vision behind, or even watching as he ignores you despite being home after all these years, your heart aches knowing knowing he even did this to you in the first place.

"how can i know that you won't leave me like you did?" your voice is small despite being so close to him. in fear of having him see how much his actions have affected you, you face tilts down to your lap to avoid his gaze. "i can't just wait for you forever, it hurts sitting here all these years with a promise i don't even know if you'll keep."

you take a shaky breath as you speak again.

"you didn't even say goodbye."

your voice breaks as you say those words and you can feel the burning sensation as the tears threaten to spill over your eyes.

there's a moment of silence between the two of you before you hear him gently call out your name. his free hand reaches up to cup your face, tentatively guiding you to face him. he says your name again, softly as if even saying your name too harshly would cause you to break, and you hesitantly meet his gaze.

there's a tenderness that you recognize deep in those fiery pools in his eyes, one that flickers like the hearth of your fireplace and suddenly you feel like you're experiencing the most beautiful yet fleeting moment in life once more. diluc's thumb gently presses against your cheek to wipe away any tears that overflowed from your already wet eyes.

his pinky links with your own, a childish thing to do but one that you still hold dear to your own heart.

a promise between the two of you bathed in firelight and your youth reflected back at you in the shape of the young man sitting before you.

[oftenderweapons]

Bourbon Bossa Nova | MYG | Pt.2

This story is part of the Blue Crush Collab

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (nicknamed Sunny)

Wordcount: 11.4k

Rating: 18+

Genre: strangers to friends to lovers, composer!Yoongi x lifeguard!YN

Content warning: Allusions to death, child abandonment and family loss. Swearing, Alcohol. Sexual content (switch!reader, switch!yoongi; unprotected sex (plz be smart, use condoms); masturbation, both male and female receiving; oral sex, male receiving; powerplay with sub!yoongi; plenty of emotional, intense moments).

Synopsis: when you start your summer at Honeycomb Cove, you're only expecting sunshine, waves and annoying teenage bravado as you work as a lifeguard. What you don't expect is Min Yoongi. He wasn't expecting you either. Soon your morning walks are your favourite part of the day, until you realise it's not really the walks, maybe it's always been him you are, after all, waiting for.

Shoutout: to my lovely readers first, and my moots too. Thank you for staying around. This is all for you 💜

Here's part one, in case you missed it

And here's my complete masterlist, in case you're new HEHE

Six days went by without you seeing Yoongi. First you had your day-off, and though Yoongi waited for you by your tower, you didn't come. 

Truth was, you spent your day off working at the Firefly Ball at The Orchard, the retirement home you had been volunteering at for years. It took you about two and a half hours to realise you truly didn't have Yoongi's number, which reminded you of your short conversation before your non-kiss debacle. You couldn't tell him about not being there for the day; after all, you'd always gone on a walk even on your day-off during the previous weeks. Mostly, you couldn’t tell him about Laura helping you with the german short rows you needed to shape the sweater that had become his. You couldn’t tell him about Marvin trying to set you up with his lovely nephew — who is already very taken, of course, except Marvin doesn’t really like the girl and you’re already like family. You couldn’t tell him about that song you hate coming on thirteen times on the radio, and you couldn’t tell him about the excellent songs the people at The Orchard recommended you. You couldn’t tell him that you told Orla about him and Beatrice and she said she has some pictures of her in high school, from the days she started dating her future husband. You couldn’t tell him that she told you about Beatrice and Antonio, how she would have loved to spend more time with them, and get to know them, weren’t her husband so opposed to her hanging out with such ‘uncivilised extravagants’. Orla also told you about the samba that used to come from that house, how she loved walking by it. And then she asked to hear the young man play just once, with the guitar, because he was so good at it since when he was just a child and he must have become even better now that he’s a man.

The day after that, you did go to the beach, but this time it was Yoongi that didn't come. 

You had broken him, you told yourself. You had broken the beautiful, timid bond between the two of you. You had slashed it away. And once again, the day after that, you were left by yourself, dashing away from the tower before you could sink in the magnitude of your loneliness. 

You were sad. 

You felt like an empty fishbowl, a broken diapason no longer giving the right frequency. It was like a crack had damaged the truest, most intimate part of you. 

It was excruciating to feel so lost after knowing Yoongi for so little. It was as if the sun had dulled. You felt underwater, suffocated, with the ocean above you weighing you down. 

Being in that kind of mood meant that it was hard to convince you to join your coworker Hoseok at his friend's party — you had given up exclusively because the man was incredibly persistent and he was very hard to turn down. So you had done your hair up pretty and you had worn your cute white dress, checking yourself in the mirror before heading out, forcing yourself to put a spring in your step and not throw yourself at some regrettable glass of exceedingly sweet liquor. 

Once you reached the beach, you recognised the party immediately, a large group of people gathered around the fire, the full moon lulled by the sea as it laid a couple inches above the horizon. You scanned the crowd for the only person you knew, spotting the two bickering employees of the ice cream parlour. And a man that looked like the surf instructor who worked in the school a mile away from your tower. And there was Hoseok, surrounded by cheering people. Of course he was the life of the party; still, though everyone looked at him when he cracked a joke, he always looked at the same girl, over and over again. 

There she was then. His crush. 

And there he was. Yours. 

Yoongi, sitting on a bench, hands tucked in between his knees, shoulders squished together as he tried to make himself less noticeable. Maybe he didn’t want you to see him. 

Still, his shy wave in your direction made you change your mind. 

Confused, you made your way closer to him. To hell with fear, you would get your answers tonight. 

“Hi,” you spoke, and your voice could barely be heard with the crowd and the noise, the music, the chatting and screaming. 

Yet, Yoongi heard you. And he smiled. It was like getting kicked at the back of your knees. “Hello, Sunny.”

Your insides fluttered. You didn’t have much history with boys or men, only a couple relationships behind you and maybe three or four sexual partners with varying degrees of success. And apparently, Yoongi had been engineered to be your kryptonite. He was just the right side of shy, and introverted, and quiet and soft spoken, despite the bite in his sense of humour. After those initial adjustments during that first awkward dinner, he’d become so incredibly suited to you. As you looked at him, you suddenly felt so very known, maybe because anyone else at the party was more or less a stranger. 

And in all that strangeness, there was Yoongi’s warm, steady gaze. Familiar and gentle. To you, he was irresistible. You’d hoped that the days spent apart would have cooled your spirits; instead, seeing him again after so long made you appreciate those details you’d almost grown accustomed to. The way his hair curls softly when dried by the ocean breeze. The way his pale, pale skin contrasts so beautifully with the black of his hair. The way his gums show when he smiles, and how damn perfect his teeth are. And then those hands. Good lord, those hands. 

A part of your brain screeched to a halt. He’s abandoned you, Sunny. He’s left you alone. You left him alone once, after almost kissing him, and he realised you’re weird and embarrassing and inappropriate. And your sense of humour sucks. And you can’t make friends because when people get to know you they find you a lot worse than they thought you’d be. You frowned and shook your head at your own limiting beliefs, but you forgot to adjust your facial expression and your greeting to him came out sour. “Hello, Yoongi. Glad to see you.” You managed to pull your face into a smile. “Finally.” Very smooth, Sunny. Very damn unsuspectable.  

He blushed and looked down. “I was in the city. I had to deliver my mixtape.” The fact that he was seated, lower than you, and he had to tip his head back to look at your face made you even weaker. His jawline was splendid, but that was not the point. 

His glance was so intense, with his obsidian irises glimmering with the fire and the night sky. He looked beautiful and you were so damn fond of him. He was the best thing you had seen in a while, and quite definitely the most attractive man you had ever laid your eyes on. Had he put on something special tonight? 

You checked his outfit, but it was a simple black button down in some flowy, glossy material, some white flowers printed on it — probably lilies? — and he was wearing some undyed cotton jeans underneath. Plain, usual Yoongi fashion. 

And you checked his hair — slightly longer, but still inky black, still curled in the softest little bouncy waves at the bottom. It looked extra silky tonight. Very soft. The kind of soft you can comb your fingers through as you’re making out. The kind of soft you can caress as he’s kissing down your—

“You didn’t come either. On Tuesday,” he reminded you.

You shook the steamy thoughts off your brain, terrified by the way you were dangerously getting increasingly affected by his presence. “I had a day off for the Firefly Ball. At the retirement home,” you explained. “I always came here for our walks so I never really mentioned I have Tuesdays off. And then I didn’t have your number to call you.” You asked to sit beside him through awkward body language, a whirlwind of arms and wrists and hands until he nodded with a little laugh. 

He was impressed by the fact that you had come to meet him even when you could have slept in or done whatever it is that athletic, stunning, too-out-of-his-league girls do. “How was your time in the city?”

Boring. Sad. Lonely. Agonizingly slow. He had wanted to see you. He would have all summer with you; nevertheless, he would much prefer spending it in your arms, as your crush, rather than the sweet introvert who you pitied. He wanted to confess. He would do so at the end of the night, with the fireworks. He would sing you ballads all night and exchange shy or flirty looks and then he would confess. And if you liked him back, then good. 

If you didn’t… 

“It was sad… I don’t like the city. You can’t hear your thoughts.” He inched closer towards you. 

Sitting beside him had been an awful idea. He smelled like his usual self: a deeply set salty smell mixed with lemongrass and incense. Was it incense? Something spicy, but deep. It smelled like inspiration and artful meditation and invention. It also smelled like the kind of sex that resets your whole existence. What in the world do you mean? the rational side of your brain — not your strongest — objected, but it was quickly coerced into silence. “Excuse me, what?” You said, not even remembering what he’d told you mere seconds before. 

He tipped his head to the side and repeated. “I was saying the city is really loud. Lots of stuff happening and you can’t focus on your thoughts, because you know, the noise and stuff keep interrupting you and—”

You nodded eagerly in understanding, “Oh yes!” God, he must think you’re dumb or something. Of course he’s smart. Smarter than you, clearly. Living with all those academics must have helped with the braincells. His mom probably listened to Bach while pregnant. Or maybe he—

“How was the ball?” Yoongi asked, his face serene as he looked at you. And yet there was a certain gleam in his eyes, the kind of gleam you’d seen in the restless beast he’d become the last time you saw him, on his porch, drenched in rain, desperate, burning. 

You needed to slap your face and get your mind all in one place. Since you couldn’t quite slap yourself in public, you settled for a nice pinch to your leg and nodded, grounding yourself to the current conversation. “It went okay,” you replied. “The usual. Old people dancing, spiced punch, dreamy jazz and blues.”

And there it is, gummy grin all out. Perfectly symmetric pearly whites flashed to your face. “Seems like my kind of night.”

You snorted loudly, your laugh erupting without grace or composure. Yoongi was amused by it: he would make fun of himself forever if that meant making you happy like that. “You’re unbelievable” you murmured, half to him, half to yourself, for being this rowdy, antisocial mess.

Yoongi’s eyes fell to your lips. God, he loved them. So rosy, not too plump but always so happy. And he was pretty sure there were some freckles on them too. He was about to give in. There was nothing he wanted more than to touch your lips with his. Not even kiss you, just… Just touch you. 

“Come on, guitar boy, make your show!” a moderately tall, moderately tanned man hollered. He had impressive shoulders. “Who’s your friend?” he questioned, studying you. 

“____, this is Seokjin. You can call him Jin, but it’s better if you don’t call him at all.” Yoongi bared his teeth at the man as you introduced yourself, but it was only half disguised as a smile. Seokjin shrugged and cocked an eyebrow as he stared at Yoongi, daring him to make a move. 

It took half a second for Yoongi to realise how easily you and Seokjin would get along, how the adventurous, athletic, extremely sporty man could charm you with his stories and take you surfing at midnight to look at the stars from the sea, where no artificial lights could taint the immensity of the night. It bothered him. Bothered him and saddened him, and he just shook his head and let go. If that’s how it was supposed to go, then he would let it.

Seokjin passed a sticker-covered guitar to his friend, forcing the two of you up from your seats and away from the main location. It was just a few metres away, someplace more quiet, where the guitar could be heard over the blaring music. 

Only a couple people followed, and it felt like a true concert, a miniature one, mostly because of how skilled Yoongi was. After all, he is a professionist, and the fact that he has never mentioned playing live doesn’t make the experience any less exquisite. 

Soon more people were coming around, a few women sitting way too close for your eyes not to look at them with scorn. Were they thinking…?

No. You had no right to feel the tightening sensation around your stomach, not when Yoongi would look up and search for your eyes, to make sure you were watching — that you never stopped watching. You wouldn’t want him to find your eyes away from him to stare down at some dumb girl whose only fault was fawning over the same man you had a crush on. 

It was almost midnight when a loud beeping sound broke out from across the beach, blue lights in tow. The beach patrol. “This party is unauthorised!” An officer ordered from a megaphone. “You must leave the premises immediately.”

Your eyes met Yoongi’s, then Seokjin’s, whose face looked very white as he glared at a woman in shock, then in full-blazing hatred. No, not hatred: disappointment. The object of Seokjin’s pointed stare seemed equally shocked. 

Yoongi placed down the guitar, immediately reaching Seokjin and grabbing him by the shoulders — if it weren’t for the dramatic situation, the height difference would have been truly endearing, if slightly hilarious. “Didn’t you ask for a permit, you dumbhead?”

“I swear I did, Yoongi! Remember I made you check the papers? I did everything right!” Seokjin was panicking, staring at the other woman. “I did everything right, didn’t I?” At the woman’s silence, he asked again. “Didn’t I?”

“Officer! We have a permit!” Yoongi told the woman who arrived on the beach together with two colleagues. “We delivered it at the office and had it signed. This party is authorised.”

“We signed no permit,” her coworker stated coldly. “Leave the premises now.”

“Excuse me, officer, but my friend and I handed in the request personally,” Yoongi repeated, already losing his cool. The fact that he’d been sipping bourbon between a song and another didn’t help at all. He seemed ready to start a fight. 

The officer shook his head. “We have no permit for tonight.” 

“Listen, you—” Yoongi replied, visibly irritated, taking one more step forward.

You stopped Yoongi from pressing a finger against the fine shirt of the man’s uniform, doing the first thing that crossed your mind. You pulled him away and squatted down, pressing your shoulder to his stomach and picking him up effortlessly. 

With a kind smile, you tried to flatter the guard. “Officer, please excuse me. He has been really stressed over his job—”

“Sunny, what the hell are you—” Yoongi wiggled around a little, but you held him tighter. 

“Tonight he let loose a little, and drank a bit too much. Please excuse him.” You gave your most dazzling smile, looking sheepish, trying to project all your innocence and adorableness. 

“Don’t worry, ____. Do you need us to take you home?” the female officer intervened.

You shook your head. Apparently your good girl looks were giving you one more perk. “I’ll just walk him. Don’t worry. The people here are very cooperative, I’m sure you won’t have to deal with any issues.”

“Sunny! I swear to God—” Yoongi insisted, hitting his forearms against your back. 

“Easy, tiger,” you taunted him before waving at the beach patrol staff members before you turned and left. 

“Put me down!” Yoongi growled once you were a few feet away. 

“Shut the hell up,” you replied, calm and condescending. Yoongi felt a shiver roll down his spine, completely ignoring you as you went on chastising him. “Do you wanna end up in trouble?” you said, calmly, reasonably.

Heat started to warm his stomach, and it had nothing to do with the liquor. Sure, the alcohol made him more prone to a short temper, but he could still keep himself in check. This, however, this liquid warmth making him melt for you… This was all you. “We had the permit!” He complained, whiny, pliant, but still combative. 

“If you read the room a little, apparently Seokjin’s friend hadn’t handed it in, you dumbass.” Go figure, you were the one supposed to be the dull tool in the box. “You really thought it would be a good idea to lay a finger on an officer? After drinking? They could arrest you, Yoongi. And I won’t waste my pay on bailing you out of jail.”

“But I would have paid you back!” he protested while you opened the gate in his fence and dropped him down unceremoniously. He grunted a little and stormed off to the door as you followed him suit. 

“You would have slapped yourself at the thought of paying money to the fucking police!” you reminded him. “And it would be a big waste of money.” You stood behind him as he opened the door, then tried to slam it shut, almost causing it to hit you. The action made you startle, and maybe he didn’t want you to enter, but you also wanted to calm him down, and you deserved an apology about his lack of gratitude and basic decency. “Oh, come on, I just saved you at least a few hundred bucks, don’t be such a brat to me!”

He turned around with a cocky grin. “Or what? You’re gonna spank me?” He sealed his lips shut as soon as he realised what he’d just said.

Your face went dead serious, an eyebrow raised at him as your blood cooled significantly. A little cackle came out your throat as you said, your tone serious and dark. “Is that what you want?” It came out a bit more seductive than you intended.

“Don’t get all puffed-up now. Didn’t know you liked authority so much,” Yoongi’s body language got interesting: he conveyed challenge and curiosity as moved behind the kitchen island, putting an obstacle between the two of you.

“I don’t. I just think you're being a warmongering little shit.” You felt your body act on instinct, getting ready for the chase. You didn’t know exactly what was going on between the two of you. Actually you didn’t know anything at all. 

He licked his lips, looking at you from under his lashes. “That’s a difficult word for a lifeguard.”

That almost made you lose your cool, but you still managed to hold your horses since it was so obvious he was looking for a fight. “You think I’m dumb?” You asked, taking a slow step towards him. He took a step in the opposite direction. 

“No. But that’s a booksmart, not streetsmart kind of word.”

You took one more step towards him. “I might not be a little intellectual, like you fancy yourself, but I’ve read a few books, Yoongi.”

He bit his lip, put more distance towards the two of you. 

“What game are you playing, little mouse?” you taunted him. 

He could feel his heart hammering against his chest, blood rushing everywhere. He could tell his body was reacting in ways he was not proud of, grateful for the counter currently hiding his lap. “You might say you don’t like authority, but you sure like playing cops and robbers.”

You grinned at him and he grinned right back. With two large strides, you were on him, arms wrapped around his middle, and if it hadn’t been dangerous inside the kitchen, you would have tackled him with no effort whatsoever, his tipsy form completely incapable to stand a fight against your trained, honed and ready physique. “Gotcha,” you murmured in his ear and he just folded over himself, trying to hide from you the ridiculous state he was in. “What do you have to say about streetsmart nurses and puffed-up lifeguards? Still wanna start a fight?”

“Sunny…” he whispered, turning to stare at you. 

That day under the rain and that mad dash came back to you like a punch to the face. He was again dark eyed, pouty, beautiful. So easy; so, so easy to take. There, hanging from your very lips. 

“Yoongi,” you whispered back. “This is—”

He licked his lips, his eyes as if chasing shooting stars from your eyes to your mouth. “If you run this time, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it make sense.”

“How sober are you from one to ten?” Safety first, you told yourself. If he’s not sober there’s no chance you can kiss him, no chance to go further than this.

“Enough to tell you I’m not gonna regret this in the morning.” He was still caught in your arms, and it felt divine to feel the shape of you against him, warm and soft in the chill of an early summer night. His cheeks heated as he added, “Enough to tell you I’ve been thinking about this long before I had those drinks. Long before the party even started.”

Your hand moved to cup his cheek. “I’ve been thinking about this too.” 

He wanted to turn around, but he was not entirely proud of how affected he was by the current situation. However he did not fight it when you made him face you, your belly pressing against his, your breath catching in your throat. “I’m sorry— I—”

You shook your head and smiled as you looked down. “You thought about this, that day in the rain?”

“I’ve spent the last four days asking myself where I messed up,” he admitted, purring when you tentatively shifted against him. 

Your legs bracketed his, the puzzle of them causing him to hold his breath, then breathe out very slowly. He took a step back, but his arms were looped around you, so he managed to drag you with him until his back was pressed against the wall by the kitchen. 

“I thought I was… I thought you didn’t want this. I thought I was projecting my own desire, misreading the look on your face.” You shook your head and chuckled, your exhale caressing his chin. 

He licked his lip, then bit it a little and you stared at it, your eyes incapable of ungluing themselves from the glistening of moisture on his pouty mouth, so red, so plump, like ripe cherries. You tempted him, lowering yourself so close, your breath fanning over his lower face, close enough to kiss, yet not crossing the final inch yet. 

He whined, “Can’t you tell how much I want you, want this?” He shifted his hips and you both held your breath. “Like I wanted it then?”

Your hands moved to cradle his face, holding him as if he were delicate. “Then I can—?”

He nodded. “Yes.” Then more. “Fuck yes, please.”

You dove for him without hesitation. 

Kissing Yoongi must be what scientists feel when they discover some groundbreaking molecule that could cure some half-known disease. It’s revelating. 

You’ve been waiting your entire life for this. 

The kiss managed to stay innocent for two seconds more. Two seconds too many. 

Yoongi groaned against your mouth, then pulled you closer, pressing his hips against yours, then yielded again, maybe ashamed, maybe weakened by the sensation. 

You answered his need with your own, picking up where he left off. He gasped against your face, mouth sweetly parted, sloppy against your own, jaw slack as he got lost in sensation. 

“If you want to just make out, this is the right moment to tell me,” you advised him, but he shook his head, eyelids hanging half-open.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” you asked, a smile on your lips, so amused at the idea that this intellectual, eloquent, intelligent man had turned wordless in your arms, with his body writhing against your own.

“Some words here and there,” he replied, then tilted his head back in a way that summoned every inch of instinct within you, your face nuzzling against the column of his throat as you started sucking at the side of his neck. 

“Like what?”

“Like ‘make out’, and ‘right moment’, and ‘little brat’,” he hummed, then moaned, his hips rolling so softly, so perfectly that you wondered what he would do once undressed against your naked body. 

“I didn’t say ‘little brat’,” you pointed out in between a bruise and a kiss. 

“Too bad. I must have been dreaming it all.” He hissed as his zipper pressed against him just a tad too hard. 

“I could still—” You smirked. “You want me to…” Your hand moved from his waist to his side to his thigh, then went back to his ass, cupping one cheek and pressing him against your hip. You bent to his ear. “You like being talked dirty to?”

He nodded, thankful that you were making sense of him. 

“Being told that you’ve been bad?”

He nodded again, feeling heat flush his cheeks further. 

You frowned, trying to find the right way to go about this. “That you’ve been driving me crazy? You flirty little demon…”

He smirked and threw his head back, puffing out a desperate little cackle, his brow furrowed. “Please, Sunny, God I’m hating these jeans, love.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise and you kissed him slowly this time, taking your time. Did you want to undress him? Here? In the kitchen?

You shrugged at yourself. “You want to go upstairs or?”

“Don’t care, please, just…”

You considered it for two seconds, then you stopped him, grabbing him by the face. “Okay, let’s be clear. You want me to… be a little harsh?”

He let his eyes roll close, head tipping back as if he couldn’t hold it anymore, resting it against the wall. “Yes. Please, yes.”

“You want me to manhandle you? Get rough?”

“Yes!” he confirmed, his tone definitive. 

“Okay, good.” You moved your hands to his wrists, currently at your sides, his hands frozen at your tapered waist, as if not sure where he was allowed to touch. You pinned his hands to the wall, then skillfully twisted your body so that he ended up with his back pressed to your front, his cheek against the wall. “Like this?”

“Yes. Sunny, love, this— Yes.” He was struggling to form sentences. God. He was one lucky mess. 

“Is this what you like?” Adrenaline rushed down your spine. God, he was wicked, and perfect, and so, so needy. “Answer me, my cute devil.” You pressed your lips to his ear. “Or do you want me to call you a dirty little freak?” You didn’t feel like cursing out insults at him, but this, all these pretty pet names? This you could do.

And Yoongi seemed to like them as he shivered again, whining, his hips shifting against the wall. 

You chuckled, curious, delighted. “Who would have thought pretty, dainty Yoongi wanted this… Because you want this, don’t you?” Apparently, just as much as he wanted this, as much as he was turned on by your rough treatment, your brain was turned on by the fact that he wanted you to administer it. You always thought your shape and build meant that you would always somehow be a challenge to your potential partners, usually aiming at the fit, buff type so that they could handle you. You’d never thought you’d be turned on at the idea of overpowering a smart, lithe, uncharacteristically agile little mouse such as Yoongi. And yet, here you were, soaked against his writhing body as it ricocheted between you and the wall. 

“I like this. I like this a— a lot,” he said, panting faintly as you breathed against his ear. “I like you a lot, ____. Please—”

You chuckled. “Oh, you like me? A lot?” Tentatively, you skimmed the shell of his ear with your lips, making him whimper. At the first sign of him breaking, you added the tip of your tongue, causing him to moan outright, his glutes flexing against your pelvis as he tried to find a sliver of pleasure. You wanted to touch him, and he seemed okay with the idea of doing this here and, on top of that it was vaguely turning you on too. “Would you still like me if I put my hand into your jeans and stroked you?”

“I think I’d go insane for you,” he confessed. 

“Is that your consent to me giving you a handjob, Yoongi?” You checked, your hands still on neutral ground, one pinning his wrists gently, the other helping you prop yourself up against the wall.

He nodded before speaking, “Yes, I do.”

In a second, your hand left the wall, undoing the buckle of his belt. 

“Where the hell did you learn how to undo a belt one-handed,” he mused. He hoped you would shut him up with your lips against his. Unfortunately you didn’t. 

“I’m a lowly nurse, right? A nurse needs to know how to work with buckles one-handed. Now will you… finally… stay put?” You asked, finding his cock and squeezing it in a way that made Yoongi’s knees grow weak. 

“You’d have half the fun,” he opposed, right as you started stroking him, his tip so wet it was ridiculous. He felt ridiculous.

You blushed as you put on your shameless, steel-spined persona and asked, “What got you so hard, Yoongi?” You took a break, trying to find the words, then let your curiosity out: there was no harshness in your tone, no command, no bitterness, just simple curiosity, soft amusement. “Does it make you hard for a woman to toss you around like her doll? Or do you like being fucked against the wall?” You made your way slow and gentle further down his jeans, finding his balls and squeezing them. 

“You’re not fucking me,” he objected with a weak smile. Yet, he was glad that was on the table. “Yet.” 

You shook your head, smiling softly, “Yet”. Precious, delicate, charming Yoongi truly loved being treated like an object. How surprising. “What do I need to do to shut your pretty bratty mouth? Maybe keeping it busy between my legs?”

He purred at the prospect.

“Maybe shutting it with my hand?” You felt shame creep to your cheeks, then let the thought out. “Maybe stuffing it with my panties?” You’d seen it once in a picture on an adult website and the image had never left your mind.

He threw his head back. This had to be a dream. A fantasy. You couldn’t be what he’d been dreaming of for years, and at the same time be the gentle, nurturing presence he had known in the last five weeks. “Please,” he begged again, his eyes rolling shut, his hair falling all over the place as his lips disclosed shyly. 

This time, of course, you weren’t afraid. You pressed your mouth to his, not without licking his lips first, coaxing his tongue to peak out and lick up against yours. 

His sex was hot, hard, and not too big, but definitely big enough to work with. He was pulsating in your hand already, smooth and needy as he thrusted into your fist. You dreamed about him moving inside you, with that fantastic bubble butt you’d eyed more than you’d like or care to admit. He kept moaning and groaning as you carefully stroked him, trying to accompany his movements with your own. You imagined what this could become if you were stroking him with a bit more lubrication, trying to invent a way to make your hand wet without having to part yourself from him. 

You pushed his jeans and underwear to his knees, then moved the hand you’d been using to pin his wrists, letting it climb beneath his shirt to massage his chest, his shoulders caving in beautifully as he pressed harder against the fingers currently pinching one of his nipples. You wished you could see the hollow you knew was now carved in between his shoulder blades, but you simply bent your head forward and kissed it from over his shirt, nuzzling your face against it. 

“I’m gonna use lube next time, so I can make it even wetter for you,” you mused. “I bet you’re a picky, fussy thing in bed.” You delivered a trail of kisses up his nape. “I’d love learning everything you like.”

He chuckled and admitted, “I’m afraid I won’t be as picky with you.”

“Then I’ll get very specific about new ways to make you come.” 

He turned his head to the side so he could see you in the corner of his eye. “I could… spit in your hand?”

You blinked once, twice. “Sure.”

He grabbed the hand in between his legs, brought it to his mouth and pressed the flat of his tongue against the centre of your palm, delivering a wide, sloppy lick. Your hand was salty with his sweat and arousal, but he was too needy to analyse the taste further as he brought your hand back on his erection. 

You stroked and his knees buckled, the both of you smirking and exhaling in unison. He held on for ten, maybe twelve commendable seconds, then crumbled adorably with a weak, soft moan.

He ended up spilling into your hand, your palm stroking even when he started shaking. You let him go only when he sobbed for you to stop; yet he turned his face to the side and kissed your chin, then your mouth, sloppily, and whispered, “Actually, keep—” you understood what he meant and resumed the—

“Sunny, love, fuck! Please, fuck!” His knees wobbled and his cock quivered just once, another shy dribble coming out. 

You supported him with an arm around his waist, his lithe physique crumbling over you, his head on your shoulder. 

“Yes,” he whispered, completely fucked out, so spent and adorably pliable. 

You turned him around and held him, letting him rest his cheek on your shoulder. “You okay, Yoongi?”

“Never been better,” he admitted, voice saccharine and exhausted, before he started to stir. “Fuck, I made a mess.”

You shrugged. “All chill, babe.” You stroked the small of his back. “What do you need, Yoongi?”

He shook his head. “Just hold me please, I’m not sure I can stand on my legs,” he admitted before cackling. “I wasn’t expecting this.” Once more he chuckled. “This is kinda embarrassing to me.”

You pressed your cheek to his hair. “I’ve never done something quite like this either.” You drew small circles on his back. “I don’t know what to do. Or what to say.” You nodded to yourself, waiting for something, some sort of signal that you hadn’t just ruined your friendship with him because you caved in to some preternatural instinct to ruin him. 

“Do you want to go upstairs?” he asked, hesitating for a second before looking into your eyes. “I want to make you feel good too.” And next, he looked to the floor, his lips flushed in red, his cheeks a deep crimson. 

How dare he act shy after challenging you and letting you torture him like that? “You’re fucking impossible.” You grabbed his chin and made him look at you. “Ask it again. Look into my eyes and ask.”

“Fuck me, please.”

As a reward, you pressed your mouth to his, his hand grabbing your wrist and trying to bring it back to his length; however, you tutted and grinned. “Go upstairs, get ready. I’ll fix the mess you made on me and the floor.”

He puckered his lips and chased your mouth, holding you by your elbow. “Are we okay?”

You kissed him again, reassuring him. “We’re okay. I just need to see you come maybe three times more. Or maybe nine.”

He snickered. “So we’re cool with the idea of this being not platonic, like… at all?”

You stopped mid-breath. “I think this stopped being platonic the day I realised I ran because I wanted to kiss you so bad.”

“I thought you ran because you didn’t like me.” He didn’t care about his softening dick being out and covered in his release. He had more pressing matters at the moment, like your confession. 

“I ran because I wanted to press you up against the wall and make out with you and cover your neck in hickeys—”

“Seems like a great idea to me. I’m into that,” he admitted, acting pragmatic. 

You smiled mischievously. “Go upstairs and we can make that happen.”

“I need convincing,” he purred, haughty. 

The hand that had taken care of him so proficiently was still covered in his slick, and how convenient that was now. Lowering his trousers efficiently, you hit his left ass cheek, a wet squelching sound echoing in the kitchen. As he moaned, you shook your head, grinning just in time as he did. “I’ll give you more if you go upstairs and get all ready for me.”

He pouted and covered himself while you went to rinse your hands and grab a cloth. You marvelled at how, after maybe three or four visits at his house, you could move around so easily. Five minutes and the kitchen was clean, you heading up the stairs, following the mellow music coming from a room barely lit. 

There were a couple candles around the room, the smell of vanilla and bourbon drifting around freely, the mild orange halos of the flames contrasting with the full moon just out of the window. 

Yoongi was laying on the sheets, as lazy as a white Persian cat, stretched like a hedonist king. His hair melted into the darkness, and his eyes glimmered, dark and luscious, like black magnets, his skin pale, diaphanous and opaque like almond milk. 

He wasn’t naked yet, his white underwear the only hint that his skin tone is not the palest. 

You stopped by the threshold of his room, and stared at him like you’d never seen him before, never seen a man before, and from the reaction of your body ou do wonder if any of your previous partners really made sense, if you really should have slept with them considering how you are now burning for Yoongi. 

You kissed him tonight for the first time, you didn’t have the time to adjust from a platonic to a romantic or outright erotic disposition, and yet this feels the most natural, to the point that you question whether it’s always been desire right from the start. 

“Why are you standing there,” he asked, a gentle smile on his face. 

“You’re pretty to look at,” you admitted, with a little shake of your head and a helpless smile. 

He laughed shyly. “As much as I like being looked at, I have more pressing necessities at the moment.” He rose to his knees, moving closer to the edge of the bed. “Come, it’s your turn.”

You took a couple steps towards him, studying him some more. His chest was fairer than fair, the pink of his nipples perfectly matching the shade of his lips. It felt poetic to say the least. The shape of his torso made you think of Greek statues, balanced, lithe, mythological. 

“You know, you seem very tempting,” you told him, suddenly deprived of thoughts, words, just pure instinct left. 

“Why are you resisting, then.” 

He lured you in, like a mermaid, like an exotic, mesmerising bird of paradise. 

He cupped his palms around your waist and pulled you closer, making you kneel on the bed in front of him. “I’m going to dream of you in this dress.” 

“I’m going to dream of you up against that wall,” you countered. 

“Lovely to feel reciprocated.” His hand grazed your thigh, lifting the hem of your breezy sundress. “This colour makes you look unreal.” He skimmed the outside of your leg, his lashes lowered, his lips agape as he breathed in through his mouth. “LIke you just came out of seafoam.” HIs index finger continued its path upwards, stopping at the frilly hem of your panties. 

You exhaled slowly, your breath trembling. Despite being trained to act even during utmost emergencies, actual life-or-death situations, you can’t operate through Yoongi’s touch flooding your system with adrenaline and arousal. 

“Are you going to taste like seafoam too?” he said, tracing the hem of your underwear, inquisitive, shifting towards the inside of your thigh, venturing where your heat grew feverish, your core melting and dripping into the fabric. “Like saltwater, here?” 

The noise rumbling out of your throat was not entirely human and absolutely, not even remotely, coherent. 

He brushed his knuckle against the apex of your labia, which made you respond with a full body shiver, your torso tipping forward before you stabilised yourself with a hand pressed to his shoulder, your palm clammy, your grip urgent at first, then more controlled. 

“You’re so immensely beautiful, Sunny,” he whispered with awe, and that is the last thing you see before you let your eyes roll shut, overwhelmed by sensation, by pleasure. 

“Can I?” he asked, waiting at your threshold, lingering where the fabric of your panties wears thin and humid. 

You nodded, almost mindlessly, your eyes still closed. 

“Look me in the eye, Sunny. Show me you want this. Tell me,” he urged you. 

When your gaze does meet his, you’re caught in it, like black holes calling you to him, any chance of escape now useless, vain. “Please.”

“Please what,” he murmurs, teasing. 

“Touch me, please,” you reply, almost immediately. 

“Where?” 

“There,” you whine, your voice thin. “Be— between my legs.” The words stammer out of you, and Yoongi rewards you with a flirty smile, tongue peaking out. 

“You mean here,” he says, saccharine and yet dark, like molasses. 

“Under,” you whisper, tortured by the fact that the barrier of your panties is still there, between his fingers and your feverish skin. 

All patience thrown out of the window, you grab his hand, place it right where you want it, beneath the fabric, and sigh once you finally get exactly what you needed. 

Yoongi smiles, licking his lips before noting, “just as wet as I’d hoped.”

But the words don’t register: you are already out of this galaxy, eyes unseeing, ears unhearing, your mouth agape in a perfectly round shape, of which Yoongi takes ample advantage. 

He traces the rim of your lips with his free hand, then debates whether to slip his fingers inside your mouth. A few shallow gasps tell him enough of what he wanted the most. 

“I want to hear you, my little star.” The pet name coerces a whine from your throat. “Won’t you moan for me?”

You do. Of course you do, and Yoongi nods, pleased with himself. “Good girl,” he rewards you, his tone calm and deep, soothing. “The moment I saw you, I thought I was having visions.”

You gasp as he becomes more liberal with his touch: you’d manoeuvred him into touching you, but now he’s doing that unprompted, all on his own will.

“And now you’re here, like dripping sunlight on my bed,” he says, reverently, rapt. 

You moan his name and nod, engorged in the shallow gasps of your throat and the silky wet warmth of your core, where his fingers slide in and out, slow, accurate, thorough. 

Your hand cups the side of his neck, your eyes desperate as you hold his gaze, imploring him to subside the fire burning down your spine, melting your core and climbing back up with electric shivers across your entire back. 

“Kiss me,” you ask, your voice fragile and hoarse. 

He stares at your lips, licks his own and observes the wet pink of your tongue as your mirror neurons respond, mimicking him wetting his lips. 

This time, he does slip the flat of his thumb in your mouth, watching and craving the way your mouth closes around him, your eyes rolling shut, then your jaw going slack as a clever twist of his other hand catches you by surprise and coerces a broken plea from you. Pleasure burst from you like a pinched balloon, startling you with the unexpectedness. 

And Yoongi watches. 

He studies you, the way your hips buckle wild over his hand, the way you grip his forearm and push him deeper, until you can feel him pushing against the rim of your cervix, hard and deep where all your nerve endings seem to meet. 

It feels like drifting on the surface of the ocean, deprived of all thought, the overwhelming completeness of the universe surrounding you, transforming you into nothing but a recipient of all the sensation the world can offer. A sentient being: the most simple definition of life. 

And right now, with Yoongi coaxing every drop of pleasure from you, you are made of pure life. You are radiant and wide-open and all-encompassing. He stares at you, at the look in your eyes, the heaving of your chest. 

He nods to himself, so many things making sense all at once. Of course, we reproduce through sex. How can you be so full of life without it eventually spilling out of you? 

He gawks your reddened lips, cheeks and chest, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We should get you out of this dress,” he said, dragging his face down the side of your neck, reaching the base of it, nibbling at your collarbone as he starts undoing the buttons. “You’re made of fucking sunshine, Sunny. Sunshine and seawater,” he says reverently. 

You’re not sure this is actually happening. You must be hallucinating, because Yoongi pushes aside the front of your dress with his teeth and mouth, then repeats the motion to the strap of your bra, nudging it with his nose, sending electric zings through your shoulder, all the way down your arm, until the thrill reaches your fingertips. And just as you’ve come to terms with him kissing your neck, your chest, your collarbones and your shoulders, his mouth reaches your now bare breast, the precious petals of his lips pillowing your nipple. 

He makes quick, wicked eye contact with you before he turns wickeder still, and starts sucking. 

You groan a very unfeminine sound, but you’re both too far gone to mock your reaction. 

He’s undone the rest of your buttons, and you shrug off your dress, his hands urgently sliding to your back, then pressing to your ribs, pulling you closer to him, to his mouth. He hums in pleasure, his hair caressing your skin like dark silk. You reposition yourself so that your thighs bracket his, and the way your hips and his immediately start a game of tug-of-war drives you insane. It’s like you’ve been training your entire life to make this work, like you’ve always known this, you just needed him to unlock this part of yourself. 

You begin to grind against his leg, the friction of his thigh against your clothed core just perfect. 

“Perfect,” he says, as if reading your mind, hissing as his sex too finds just the right stimulation against your soft navel. His movements, the slow strokes, pull you even closer to the edge of your entire world. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this before with any other man, be he fictional or real. “You feel divine, Sunny. You feel like Sunday morning.” He grabs the back of your head, nudges into your hair, inhales you, and he seems so lost in you it’s almost poetic. “You feel like sunshine, and breeze and…”

You grip his hair, pull him from the crook of your neck and stare at him, breathless and unfocused. And you just kiss him. 

He’s harmless in your arms. Entirely incapable of anything but kissing you. His arms fall at his sides, his hips halt, his mouth is the only moving part of him. He’s like a leaf drifting in your currents, and little does he know the tide has just turned. 

You unhook your own bra, take his hands in yours and place them against your breasts, that are now tender with pent-up pressure. You both gasp in the kiss as his palms, soft and silky, make contact with your skin. The way he fondles you feels like second nature. He’s made of nothing but instinct and will, he feels like an arrow, tracing the fastest, most effective way to go from where he is to where you need him to be. 

And no matter how much you’re loving your current predicament, you know you need more. You need him inside. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you pull him down with you, drag him on top of you, the kiss undisturbed, uninterrupted. “Naked, please, inside,” you whisper, the urgency in your voice leaving him stunned. 

He’s just so pliant. You’re pretty sure that if you asked him to throw himself off a cliff he would, as long as you’d kiss him at the bottom of it. 

Yoongi rocks his hips against you, and you both moan, a little lost. That’s when you realise his underwear feels a little bit damp where his tip rests, and that renews your motivation. You roll him over, rising above him, and he’s stunned, staring at your hair. 

“Lift it up for me, love,” you tell him, and you’re not sure where all this agency is coming from, but you know you have a list of things you’re going to regret not doing to him — another surprising aspect of what you feel for him. 

He arches his hips off the bed, obeying your request, and you slip his boxers off him. And he’s so perfect. Crouching down and tasting him is the first thing that comes to your mind and you don’t even question it. You bend down and you do. 

He moans, and you regret not getting the sound recorded. 

“Come up here… You’re gonna make a sorry mess of me, Sunny,” he says, and it comes out so embarrassed, and so entertained too. “Let me please you, ____. I’m begging, sweetheart.”

You keep working him lightly, with little touches and small licks, and gentle nudges, your lips drawing his length, your teeth brushing against his flesh as softly as a lover’s whisper. But as you do all that, you slip your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and drag the fabric off your hips, down your thighs, till it reaches your knees, then you readjust yourself so that you can remove the garment entirely. 

“Is this the right moment to tell you I’ve done this just once?” He asks. 

You freeze. “What?” 

“I know, I was very poorly adapted to society. I’m not… I’m not entirely sure I know how this works.”

You frown, but nod anyway. “Okay. This is definitely not going to last, but I’ll make it good. I promise.”

Yoongi bites his lip, again, an embarrassed and amused expression on his fine face. “I’ll do my best.” 

“I know you will,” you reassure him, taking his hand in yours and kissing his palm. And then you place yourself astride him. “But I’m staying on top just to keep you rooted.” 

“Thanks,” he says with a chuckle. He looks entirely adorable. You want to eat him, just for a quick second, like a cotton candy bunny. 

You’re also sure you don’t want to stretch. You just want to grind and take him inch by inch, using him to ready yourself, feeling your body adapt to him. 

When you grip him, he hisses, but refuses to stop watching. The first three inches feel like the most brilliant decision you’ve ever taken, and you move on them for a bunch of seconds, then nod to yourself. 

All the way. That’s what you want, and the realisation dawns on you like the first day of summer. 

You let yourself slide on him until your butt rests on his hips. 

You both exhale with the wonder of those who finally discover the world was built in Technicolor after a life in black-and-white. 

“Fuck. Condom. Forgot,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“If you’re clean then—” 

“Used it that one time,” he reassures you.

“Fuck, good,” you swear, and it is uncharacteristic of you, but he’s making you see stars. He’s thick and blunt inside you, so hot and smooth and his flesh has the perfect give. When you squish him, your inner muscles responding to the divine feel of him inside you, the poor boy hums a long, restrained sound that culminates in a tender gasp. His mouth is wide, his eyes squeezed shut instead. “This… this is what it must feel like,” he whispers. 

“Yes, when you’re lucky,” you confess before rolling your hips, making him drag along the most sensitive spot of your inner walls. 

“I know I’m lucky. I feel very fucking lucky, Sunny.” His hips jolt and you squeak at the sudden bump, the thrust making you tighten around him. “Dammit, that’s what you do when I push inside you?”

You nod, a roguish smirk on your lips. 

He cradles your hips and then holds you still, pushing once again inside you. This time it’s deliberate and thorough, as if he’s searching the right angle, friction, direction. And when he sees your jaw fall, your lips agape, he nods to himself, and repeats the movement, intentful. 

You squeeze him, not entirely coherent, and this time the both of you lose reason a little. 

It becomes mechanic, natural, a push and pull that requires no thinking and all moving. 

“I think I’m close,” he says. “Are you?”

You frown, because you are actually close, but quite surely not as close as he is. “Close, but it’s okay if—

He slips all the way out this time and moves his hand so that his thumb can dip between your folds, tracing the cleft that runs from your entrance to the turgid bud of nerves at the top of your sex. 

You moan his name in warning. “This you’ve done more than once, though.” The devil’s in the details and there are only so many details you can know before you’re entirely damned: from the way he’s touching you, you’re probably both destined for a very hot circle in hell. There’s no way you can do this just once, no way you’re going to do this in the quiet. You just let yourself moan, and he chuckles, but the sound is filled with awe. 

“If I could bottle the sound, I’d get drunk on it,” he murmurs, and that seems to justify the way he looks barely sober now — nothing to do with the drinks he had at the beach earlier. This one is entirely your own doing. 

You lower your hips so that you can grind against his shaft, while his fingers keep working you leisurely. 

“I thought I’d done enough of it, but that was before you,” he says. “You feel like warm butter, Sunny. Like damn velvet.” 

“I need—” 

“Inside. Yes, I know,” he whispers. His tone is knowing, and it clashes with his admitted inexperience. 

“How do you know?”

“Because I fucking need inside you too,” is his only explanation. “Or you can make me come this way,” he suggests, “Watch me ruin myself. Bet you’d get high from my utter humiliation.”

You shake your head a little, and bite your lip. The picture he’s painted in your head has nothing to do with humiliation. “It wouldn’t be that. It would be the hottest, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Then bring it home, love,” he tells you with the flirtiest smile on his face.

So you pick up your pace, focus a little bit more on his tip and reach behind you to cup the rest of him. You slide the head of his dick inside you, work it with shallow, slow strokes, which makes him hiss. 

He doesn’t know how he finds the strength, but he manages to pull out just half a second before he reaches his orgasm. Just half a second of rationality before he loses himself entirely. 

And you know he’s let go: you can tell by the way his head tips back and he grunts in a way that doesn’t sound like him at all. It makes you shed your skin a little, and you allow yourself out of your shell. You ride him, hips swivelling like never before. You feel like water, and it seems absurd that no matter how much swimming, how much surfing, or how much sailing you’ve done in your life: you’ve never felt this fluid, this liquid before. You’re pure movement, and Yoongi can’t help but stare as you dance on top of him, like rain, like waves, like waterfalls. 

You grab at your chest, squeeze your breasts and pinch your nipples as you ride him, your hair like a halo, dancing with your movements. His own hands join yours and you bend forward, pressing yourself against his palm. 

He’s still spilling himself under you, his orgasm reaching his stomach and his chest. It’s messy, and yet you’re entirely fascinated by it. You can feel his sex twitch and release itself against your folds, and you marvel at how sensitive your bodies can grow. 

It’s with his final thrusts that you finally reach the apex of your pleasure, and you part from him just quick enough to slide him inside you, his hiss going unnoticed as you finally, finally squeeze around him and there you go, tumbling down into pleasure, your downfall glorious and ruinous at the same time. 

You want him as close as you can and you just throw your body onto his, taking him to the hilt, gasping at how marvellous it is to be so full, to be this close, this uniquely twined with someone. It is not a tidy or poetic moment, your perspiration and his release mixing together on your and his chest as you embrace. You stare at each other, stupefied by the animalistic nature of your joining, both wide-eyed and desperate. And then you kiss him, like it’s the most obvious answer to this all.

“Are you alright,” you ask him once the kiss fades out, and he nods, his hands caressing the sides of your face, cradling it. 

“I’m sure that thing you did when you pulled me back in killed me once or twice,” he confesses. “But overall, I’ve never been better.”

His humour steals a chuckle from you. “I’m sorry about the mess,” you say, apologetic. 

He shakes his head with a mischievous smile on his face. “Sit up, Sunny. I have plans.”

You frown, not sure about his intentions. Does he mean ‘plans’ as in the sense that he needs you to leave?

You try to roll off him, a little upset, but he holds you still as soon as he realises you weren’t moving in the right direction. “No. Stay on top, just sit up, love.”

Your frown is still all out, but you do as he asks you. And right then you notice his eyes drifting down your torso, from your sticky, messy chest to your sticky, messy sex. 

He brings his hands to the side of your breasts, pushing them together, looks deep into your eyes as he sits up himself, the shift in the angle of him inside you making you gasp. He holds your gaze until he can’t anymore, then dives with his face for your chest, the mess transferring from your boobs to his cheeks. And once he starts licking and sucking, once you feel him twitch inside you, you know the night has just begun. 

“Guess this means you’re ready for your third time?” you say, teasing and gleeful. 

“After all, they do say ‘third time’s the charm’,” he quips. 

And boy, oh boy, aren’t they just right. 

September is no longer terrifying. Not as you and Yoongi glide across the linoleum floor of Juniper Hall, his friends — maybe yours too, at this point — stare at you from the refreshment table. The Winery Ball is splendid, as usual, the true event of the end of the season, the closing of another cycle. The Orchard organises it each year, giving a chance for the members of the retirement home to celebrate one evening with their families, but also a way to keep them occupied through the final days of summer, and a kind initiative to include them in the social life of their community. Socially, but also creatively, is one of the best examples of Honeycomb Cove. 

Somewhere around the room, Hoseok was also dancing with his now-girlfriend, and you could hear Seokjin’s shrill laughter as he listened to his partner’s winded and absurd stories, her sarcastic — though wildly entertaining — rants. 

In another corner of the room, the brightest one, with an arm lamp, Laura was working at a new cardigan in Yoongi’s favourite shade of lavender. She’d become entirely smitten with the guy, and he often visited to keep her company; however, you also suspected he came around to hang out with you, and just maybe to hear some of your childhood stories. Marvin had yet to come to terms with the fact that you were now very happily taken, but his nephew was very glad the matchmaking shenanigans had to come to a much-needed halt. After all, Marvin liked Yoongi very much, and he liked live music even more than that. He was secretly glad you’d found such a perfect match for yourself, though he would never admit that publicly.

Still, the person who enjoyed the music the most was Orla: she and Yoongi had bonded almost immediately, and he did love spending time with her the most. They spoke a little Portuguese together every now and then, and she was becoming rather committed to the idea of reaching a little more fluency before ‘laying to rest for good’, as she said. Yoongi’s eyes would always glow glossy at the way Orla would talk about her declining health and what was left of her lifespan, but the cloud of melancholy would always drift by quickly, and his eyes would light up in determination as he fought to keep her entertained for just one more day. 

Like so, your life had changed forever, and in the span of one summer, you had entered a new season in your life, one that would one day lead probably to marriage, and a family. A dog. Kids too, if you were so blessed. Or maybe you would just adopt — both you and Yoongi were rather open to the idea of that. 

But first, marriage: you had both been on the same page about that, and he hadn’t made it a secret he had every intention of keeping the engagement rather short. 

You stared at your hand, resting on his shoulder as you swayed to the music, his gentle samba playing from the speakers, the sound so familiar as the first time he’d played it for you in his home studio, the melody reminding you of every walk by the rising sun, of every wave crashing at your feet on the shore, of music by the fireplace, of stars making his hair glitter like the ocean at midnight, of making love in the deep quiet of the night, when you knew each other not by sight, but by touch and taste alone. 

He’d given you Beatrice’s ring earlier tonight: a bright yellow crystal surrounded by exquisite smaller stones, forming a star. He’d put it on your middle finger, then kissed your palm before he said, “We’ll move it on the right finger when you’re ready.” He’d been confident, and calm and trusting, and you’d felt like the time was right, then and there, but you decided to be considerate, and see how winter would play out. You would return to the Orchard full time in just ten days, but you felt excited, with your truck in Yoongi’s driveway and your scrubs and your knitting supplies waiting for you at his place, in a wardrobe he’d fixed for you. 

He’d made you move in with him a month after that first night, with the excuse of making you save on rent, and the promise of letting you split the bills, since you would have felt too much of a freeloader otherwise. 

Truth is, he paid the bills in full, and kept your money on the side, just in case you would need it someday — but that’s not something you needed to know yet, and he kept his little secret with a little smugness. 

“Have I touched on the subject of how much I love you in this dress tonight?” Yoongi said as his fingers lowered into the low scoop of the back of your dress, chastely caressing the naked skin at the small of your back. 

“I know for sure you have elaborated on how much you love me with no clothes on, but the part with my dress on no, you actually haven’t mentioned,” you replied, fond, but also quippish.

You’re rather fond of all the ways your inside jokes have lined up, with the way you’ve found a common sense of humour, and with how sensitive, how aligned you’ve become with each other. 

“I guess I have some shortcomings to make up for,” he conceded. 

“You can start by saying how much you love him.”

“Oh, an easy one, thank you,” he said before caressing your face, his palm cupping your chin before his lips landed on yours, light and loving. “I love you as wide as the sky, and as deep as the ocean,” he declared, with that little lull in his voice. He’d told you Antonio would always tell Beatrice so before resting his lips on her forehead, holding her. And a few weeks later, he’d barged in the kitchen as you were cooking, excited like a little kid on Christmas morning. 

“Found it! I found it!” he’d cheered. He’d dragged you to the living room, where a pile of VHS towered dangerously on top of the coffee table. He grabbed the remote, and rewinded the tape just a little. “Here,” he’d said, his voice elated. He’d held you tight, like you were his teddy bear, his comfort blanket, his lifeline. And with his chin resting over your shoulder, his arms wrapped snugly around you, you’d both faced the screen and he’d pressed play. 

The voice that came on was soft, like the sound of wind gushing through the branches of osmanthus trees in the garden. And there was the lull of that declaration, by now so familiar to your ears. With the same pattern of stresses, the same intonation, Antonio proclaimed his love to Beatrice on the occasion of their tenth anniversary, both dressed in white, both crowned in flowers, both barefoot in the garden. Right there, the declaration, like an oath and like a children's rhyme. 

“And I will love you true, always. As wide as the sky. As deep as the ocean.” 

Your and Yoongi’s eyes had sparkled with unshed tears that night, as you stood there, years after that video had been shot on a cheap camera. It felt powerful, being testimony to a love like that, long gone from the world, but still alive in the memory, and in Yoongi’s very existence. 

And now swaying in an improvised ballroom, not barefoot yet — but sometimes soon, with a priest and matching rings and emotional friends — you looked at Yoongi and replied, just as Beatrice had, “As bright as the sun, as soft as the moon.”

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! If you want to know more about this collab, you can head over here!!!

[exitvelocities]

fic round up rides again

so in the latter half of the year i've opened fic meme for a second show (!) and generally written a decent amount. i'm a bit slow right now, but please do send me prompts, it helps a ton when i'm ready to rev up again.

ao3

i'm a fox and you're a burrow, mysterious lotus casebook, T the dihua wedding fic. i commissioned some gorgeous art from @tiny-breadcrumbs for it as well!

laws of physics lose their way, oh no! here comes trouble, G post-canon yiyong wakes up fic, wherein guangyan has a lot on his mind.

can't read my poker face, mysterious lotus casebook, E fluffy modern dihua actor au cowritten with @la-muerta.

i see you and i reach, mysterious lotus casebook, T dihua street racing au written for @dihuaexchange. comes with an edit and a mix.

river crossing, mysterious lotus casebook, T second collab with @la-muerta, post-canon dark llh fic. in progress.

flowering orchards, salty sea things, mysterious lotus casebook, T mlcweek24 short fic catchall

a tiny windchime, fangs of fortune, T fic meme dump for fof

can't cut the root, mysterious lotus casebook, T mlc fic meme dump

since i could not hide my love, chihayafuru, G shinobu, chihaya, and the path to being queen

fic meme exhausted parents kiss, mlc, dihua kiss on a scar, mlc, dihua kiss in danger, mlc, dihua lotus spirit llh, mlc, dihua kiss out of envy, mlc, dihua things you said at the top of the world/as i lay dying, mlc, dihua kiss on a place of insecurity, mlc, dihua kiss after a small rejection, mlc, dihua kiss on the nose, mlc, dihua shy kiss, mlc, dihua mlcweek "hulijing, marriage", mlc, gen mlcweek "role reversal", mlc, dihua mlcweek "alternate universe", mlc, dihua mlcweek "grief, li xiangxian", mlc, gen mlcweek "reincarnation, love", mlc, dihua mlcweek "confession", mlc, fdb/princess zhaoling mlcweek free day, mlc, dihua didi finds out, fof, jingxiao li lun fixit, fof, lizhou things you said i wasn't meant to hear, fof, jingxiao kiss as a promise, mlc, dihua see also: fic meme tag / meme post

miscellaneous mlc favorite character/ship poll mlc ot3 poll dihua and cars edit dihua necks edit ten years by the waterfall dihua edit mlc remix permission database dihua actor au edit dihua mafia au excerpts dihua mafia au edit dihua hand to heart edit mlc first anniversary edit dihua street racing edit dihua actor au bazaar shoot edit dihua discord server fangs of fortune ship diagram

[masquayla-the-splendid]

Some things from Twitter I grabbed from the limited amount of time SatAM was trending.

Thank you, team SatAM Reanimated. This is why I took 4 parts in that collab.

I think some need to realize localization does not equal bad. I can get behind "he's almost like a fairytale creature in that regard," but AM's "rad dude" contrasts more heavily with Mario at the time, I feel.

[More below cut]

Ex of localization: In Splatoon's Salmon Run, Mr Grizz is supposed to be the shady boss of the job you're working. The characteristics of a shady boss differ between cultures. In JP, he is characterized as overly nice and forgiving. In AM, he is characterized as ruthless, unforgiving, and rough, with the occasional compliment to keep you motivated. Either way, both cultures get the idea that something is fishy with this guy.

Bringing it back to Sonic, in both continuities, he is characterized as a carefree do-gooder with an attitude, more or less. He is cool. However, like the Splatoon example, he is given multiple ways to portray this to the right audience.

People have their aesthetic preferences, and it is incredibly convenient that we are able to communicate information across the globe, so we now know of these different interpretations, and can pick which one we like. It'd be one thing if that weren't the case, then I'd understand why people would be upset, because these interps would be gatekept from everyone else.

This one I thought was funnier than the original. It's generalized. (That's the Archie comic font iirc. 🤓)

It reminds me of how many Sonic copycats there were around the mid-late 90s because of how successful of a character he was.

The drawing on the left reminds me of some arcade collection games I played on my Xbox as a kid.

That also reminds me how many people who defend SatAM are 90s kids. This was their first impression, and they love it. I'm the oddball youngin who so happened to prefer this version after typing "Sonic Cartoon" into YouTube in the year 2013, but it makes me wonder how old are these lil petty babies who have nothing better to do than complain about a cartoon animal? (Trust me, you are going to look pathetic regardless of your answer.)

This one took me by surprise! Talk about sabotaging a Sonic story! I don't like this guy too much, but he is occasionally a credible source. I feel like that's the case in more recent times than say at least 10 years ago. This one you can take his word for, as there are mutple pieces of evidence to support this. (Im not your mom, do your own research. The feds wont be after you if you type "SatAM production history" into your search bar.) The first sentence is a full on mood. It felt like Lily Orchard's "Steven Universe is Garbage, Here's Why" video, and 90% of it is them struggling with story comprehension and changing their opinion every 5 minutes.

Anyway, I'm gonna go draw various localized characters, and there's nothing you can do to stop me! >:D

[arlerts-angel]

—"out of all the apples in the orchard, i'd pick you"

a/n: my submission for @postwarlevi's under the harvest moon collab! ♡ armin x gn!reader go on an apple picking date + mini moodboards! photos are not mine but were edited by me ༘⋆ this is sfw!

contains: armin x gn!reader, established relationship, modern au! reader does not have gendered pronouns and there is no description of reader. nicknames used (beautiful, angel)

"good morning, angel." armin says sleepily, stirring in bed next to you. it's the first weekend of fall, the season you anticipate the most with each passing year. the temperature starts to drop, the leaves change colour, and the farmer's market is open to the public. "good morning, my love." you reply, smiling at him. he rises from the bed to stretch, standing in his pajama pants. his messy blonde hair falls over his eyes.

"i have something planned for us today. the faster we get ready to go, the better." he says sweetly, tussling his hair. "i think you'll like it... i hope so, anyways." he says with a hint of nervousness in his voice. you sit up in bed and extend your arm out to him as a reassuring gesture. "oh, 'min! you know i love and appreciate everything you do for me." you smile lovingly at him. he smiles back and nods.

you finish getting ready for armin's surprise date and meet him at the front door of your apartment. he stands patiently waiting for you, keys in his hand. "you look beautiful, angel. you always do. i'm so lucky that you're mine. all mine." he says to you as you approach him, smiling like a kid in a candy store. "thank you, love. i will always feel the same way about you." you reply as you take his hand in yours.

after a quick car ride to a couple of towns over, you arrive to a open field full of apple trees. the leaves are green, some orange and red like the apples that grow from them. there's people galore congregating and children running around playing tag.

"armin! how'd you find this place?!" you ask excitedly. "luck, i guess?" he replies nonchalantly, chuckling softly. "you mentioned wanting to try apple picking once a few months ago, and i got an ad the other day that this place was opening soon so i booked us a little staycation." he smiles at you.

"you're so thoughtful, 'min." you grab his hands and squeeze lovingly. "thank you. i am so excited! c'mon!! let's go get a basket!" you exclaim, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards a booth at the front entrance of the orchard.

you and armin walk hand-in-hand through aisles and aisles of apple trees; fuji, gala, golden delicious, honeycrisp, and more for what feels like hours. with a full basket of apples, you both decide to call it a day and head to the air bnb he rented for the weekend. "that was so much fun! i can't wait to eat all of these apples! we can do so much with them!" you say happily. "i had a great time. i always do with you, my beautiful angel." he replies, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing it softly. "you are the apple of my eye, after all." he chuckles to himself. "pun intended."

you nudge him and roll your eyes playfully. "i'm surprised you waited this long to crack some dad jokes." he laughs softly at your comment. "in all seriousness, though, out of all the apples in the orchard, i'd pick you." he smiles and kisses your cheek.

[miz-blue]

Hazbin Hotel fanfic/fanart: Desperate Maneuvers (part 1 of 4?)

Title: Desperate Maneuvers (part 1 of 4?)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Rating: PG-13

Pairing(s): Alastor/Vox

Summary: (Regency AU) The once prestigious LeClaire family has of late fallen on trying times. So trying, as it happens, that the family's eldest son, Lord Alastor, begrudgingly agrees to enter into an arranged marriage with a wealthy commoner, a Mr. Voxley Smythe.

Notes: Part 1 of this fic was written for the Bapple's Orchard discord server's regency era AU collab, Pride Ring and Prejudice. (Server run by @bapple117.) This was originally supposed to be a contained scene, but I think it'll have two more parts plus an epilogue. If you find this post through a reblog, then check back to the original post which I will update with links as the other parts are finished. The story is also on AO3 too if you'd rather follow there.

This fic is a Regency AU, more or less. However, my regency knowledge is rather rusty, and also the setting is like some weird mash-up of canon and regency England. i.e. All the characters are still demons, and there's at least a little magic. And yes, Vox still has a TV head; it is what it is. Also, also same-sex marriage is totally fine, lol; the drama and angst come from classism and the characters being emotionally constipated.

A brief note on ages, Alastor is 30, and Vox is 28.

Fic is under the cut, and I also drew the end scene of part 1.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

"Aunt Rosie, this is degrading," Alastor protested softly, still seated on the padded leather bench of the coach. "I have no wish to be a public spectacle." He could hear the distant sounds of people as well as the faintest strains of music, and Alastor, previously inured to his fate, now found himself possessed of a certain anxiety, fluffy ears pinned back against his head.

His aunt sighed, expression sympathetic but strained. "Alastor, dearest, I need you to step down from this carriage. Right now." Rosie was already on the ground having been assisted by a footman. "The other coaches need to come through, and you are holding up the line."

Alastor took a shaky breath to steady his nerves before sliding closer to the door, but he showed no sign of exiting. Ever a font of patience, his long suffering aunt gentled her tone. "Alastor, for me, please, come out. Why, I hardly recognize anyone here so I doubt they'll recognize us!" It was such a baldfaced lie, unbefitting of any lady but especially one of Rosie's status. However, the falsehood did give Alastor enough momentary hope that when Rosie extended her hand to her only nephew's elbow, he permitted her to carefully but insistently tug him from the coach.

In the next moment, Alastor had set foot on the carefully tended gravel pathway to Battlehill Manor. "Good luck, sir," Husk called from the driver's seat, and Alastor spared him a tight nod before the cat demon was obliged to drive on. Husk was also Alastor's valet and sometimes butler--the LeClaires struggled to keep staff ever since the incident seven years ago.

Now truly abandoned to the capricious whims of fate, Alastor squared his shoulders and faced the stately manor ahead of them. It would seem there was no way out but through. Composing himself as best he could, Alastor offered his arm to his aunt who graciously accepted, allowing him to lead them to the manor entrance even though they both knew the way. The Carmines were distant cousins so Alastor had visited their estate several times as a child, though no invitation had been extended for some time. No, even tonight's festive occasion had less to do with Alastor and more to do with his intended husband, a certain Mr. Voxley Smythe. The two men were to meet tonight and announce their engagement. Lady Carmine was graciously hosting the ball on Voxley's behalf since he had no land or title of his own. What he did have, apparently, was a very lucrative business deal with the Carmines.

Lady Carmilla herself was there to greet them in the foyer. "Lord Alastor, Lady Rosie," she nodded respectfully to them both. "A pleasure to see you as always."

Another unnecessary falsehood. Alastor smiled through it, greeting her in kind. "We must kindly thank you again for your assistance in this matter and apologize for any trouble it may have caused."

She smiled politely back. "No trouble at all, Lord Alastor. Indeed, all the guests seem to be in high spirits."

The three demons made pleasant enough small talk for a few minutes before Rosie inquired after Alastor's betrothed. "Has Mr. Smythe arrive yet by chance?"

"No, alas, he is late," Carmilla replied with the faintest whiff of irritation. "Some important business or other. He is often engaged in work."

"Ah, that is quite alright then," Rosie said sweetly. "We'll go in, shall we? We ought not keep you from your other guests."

Carmilla stepped aside so that the two aristocrats might step past her. "Yes, please enjoy yourselves. I believe the dancing has already begun."

Alastor and Rosie both expressed their delight again before stepping into the hall proper. As soon as Carmilla was sufficiently far away, Alastor immediately set his sights to criticisms.

"He isn't even here yet? I cannot believe my situation has come to this," Alastor whispered, sotto voce. He almost needn't have bothered. Every soul around the two LeClaires was giving them a wide berth as if they were stricken with some loathsome contagion.

"Now Alastor, try to seek out a happy moment or two--for Nifty's sake if not your own. A dance even! Your dear little sister would love to be here. Ah, if she had her way, she'd debut tomorrow, the scamp."

Alastor scowled for only a second before schooling his face back to its proper smile. "Then let Nifty marry; she's the poor soul who actually desires such a union." If Alastor had his way, he would have chosen to never marry at all. After the deaths of his parents, his dowager aunt had resumed the mantle of family head while Alastor had been preoccupied with his school studies. At present, the two demons shared the load--meager as it was now--until such a time as it could be passed to Nifty or her future children.

Regardless of the gravity of their words, Rosie's serene countenance never wavered as the two LeClaires meandered around the outskirts of the party. "Nifty's enthusiasm for matrimony is commendable, but she's yet several years too young, and we are facing financial destitution now. And since that's your fault, dear, I am going to need your help fixing it." Her voice was a calm but ironclad murmur that only Alastor could hear. "Furthermore, Nifty's prospects are hardly ideal. Your present sacrifice may yet wipe some of the stain off our family name."

"How noble of spirit I must be," Alastor quipped dryly.

"Please, Alastor."

Lord, how it pained him to disappoint her. "You actually liked Uncle Franklin," he said sullenly nonetheless.

She laughed with genuine mirth at that. "Your late uncle and I were lucky, dear. Mayhaps you might be too. Stranger things have come to pass."

"Hmm, perhaps." Luck had thus far evaded Alastor, and he rather much doubted that he ought to find it in the arms of some crass lout, but he would soldier on regardless. He did not wish to ruin his aunt's night with needless quarrels.

Rosie walked with him until they had reached a long row of chairs set against the main hall's far wall. A number of guests sat at varying intervals, some catching their breath from dancing and others waiting earnestly to be asked. "Will you be alright here for a bit, Alastor?" Rosie inquired as he took a seat. "Since Mr. Smythe is not yet arrived, I was hoping to catch up with Earl Zestial..."

Ever the dutiful nephew, Alastor kept his forced smile in place and waved her on. "No need to concern yourself with my moods, Aunt Rosie. I suspect none shall endeavor to move me from my seat."

She offered one last rueful smile before disappearing into the slowly growing crowd. Alastor was left to lean against the wall, listen to the music, and try to remain calm. As he suspected, while some in attendance shot him curious or apprehensive looks, no one dared approach him. Alastor cast his eye about too, wondering if he might find his intended before Rosie did--or rather that the other demon would find him. Uncaring of the engagement proceedings, Alastor had no idea what this Voxley looked like and only knew a little of his exploits.

Yes, his soon-to-be husband, Voxley Smythe, some upstart commoner who had made a fortune for himself expanding trade routes for the East India Company before returning to England and making his fortune twice-over in various newfangled factories. And now—like some bloated carrion bird—he had come seeking a nest to roost in and a title to go with it. Of course, what better way to secure said estate and title than to marry for it?

In this rapidly churning industrial age, destabilized aristocrats teetering on the edge of financial insolvency were hardly scarce. Alastor had merely thought his infamous reputation would've kept him off the bargaining table. Either this Voxley didn't know about the rumors concerning Alastor's involvement with the royal family, or more likely, he didn't care. Surely the man could not be so unseemly that only Alastor would have him? In truth, the deer demon did not know. After initially consenting to the written proposal, Alastor had left the matter of negotiations entirely to Rosie.

Fortunately for the LeClaire family, Voxley had no children of his own, and his and Alastor's union would not produce any; thus Nifty would still remain the next in line to inherit what was left of the family's property and good name. Voxley's monetary contributions would keep the LeClaires afloat and replenish their coffers, and in return the man could leverage all the political and social benefits that came with a noble rank. In some manner, it was a relief that Alastor was simply a means to an end, not a desirable aspect himself. A prickly and solitary composer, the young aristocrat had hardly been overburdened with social ties even before his fall from grace. With any luck, Voxley would spend most of his time in London overseeing his various business enterprises and leave Alastor in peace at his ancestral home in the countryside.

Alastor cast a wary look about the large room once more. Zounds, what was taking the man so long? Imagine being late to a party in one's honor; Alastor found it rude and ungentlemanly.

Although…allowing himself a little ungentlemanly moment as well, Alastor at last gave into the desire to be elsewhere. No one stopped him as he slipped out of the spacious drawing room, up a small staircase, and down a side hall towards where he knew a veranda should still be, assuming Carmilla hadn't made any recent renovations to the manor. But no, it was still there.

Alastor sighed, leaning on the thick balcony railing and glancing out over the dark countryside. Every so often the moon would peek out from behind the clouds, bathing well-maintained gardens and the distant woods in a silvery glow. Crickets chirped faintly, and Alastor could hear the dance music from downstairs, the windows having been opened to the cool, spring night air. The young aristocrat drummed his fingers to the beat of a violin solo, feeling the distant echo of his own magical powers but as ever, he was unable to summon them. So lost in thought was Alastor that he scarcely noticed an interloper on his solitude.

"Hey."

Red ears perked up and swiveled, and Alastor's eyes widened at the familiar voice. Turning around, his gaze beheld some strange amalgamation--a ghost of his past decked out like an omen from the future. The Victor Owens now before him was a far cry from the timid, obsequious clockmaker's apprentice that Alastor had for some time befriended whilst studying at Eton. Now Victor moved with easy confidence, walking towards Alastor as if he had every right to do so. More surprisingly was the other demon's clothing. He looked like a proper gentleman now, smartly tailored in the latest fashion of London. Alastor felt vaguely embarrassed for his own expensive but now threadbare suit, but something new had been a bit out of his means at the moment.

Alastor forced himself to incline his head politely which Victor did in kind. "My, but it has been some time since last we spoke." Since last we fought, Alastor thought, remembering their messy parting of ways nearly a decade ago. Though he had seen Victor about town after that day, the two of them had pointedly ignored each other. Then when Alastor had gone from Eton, he had scarcely thought of Victor at all. University studies of music and sorcery at Oxford and later a more...specialized tutelage in Windsor had kept him busy. At least until everything had fallen apart.

"It has been some years, yes." The slightly younger demon came over to the balcony, leaning against it too.

Alastor nodded in acknowledgment, but otherwise he had nothing to say to his former 'friend' and thus allowed the brief conversation to lapse into awkward silence. However, Victor did not quit his presence, and so the two demons stared out into the dark countryside together.

"Are you alright?" Victor inquired after a moment, politely neutral. "You seem a bit...harrowed."

Alastor managed a thin smile. So they would be playing the part of amiable old acquaintances then? Very well. "Alas, I've been better. I am to be engaged, you see." If Victor was moving in more prestigious circles nowadays, then no doubt he was already aware of the general outline of Alastor's situation if not its full extent.

"Usually engagements are happy occurrences…" the other demon prompted, a subtle invitation for Alastor to elaborate.

"Not this one," Alastor obliged, voice laced with an undercurrent of misery. And yet it was perversely satisfying to air his grievances so freely to someone, especially someone like Victor who did not require Alastor to put on airs. "The situation is utterly not of my choosing. Sold off like so much livestock to some repellent stranger."

"Aren't arranged marriages par for the course for your sort?" Victor apparently couldn't help but jibe. "I'm sure he can't be that bad, especially when you don't even know him."

"Oh please, what's to know?" Alastor's clawed fingertips tapped irritably on the glossy marble. "He's a boorish, vulgar social climber. You'd know the sort."

Victor glared at him, gentlemanly facade starting to slip--as Alastor had hoped it might. "Would I now? And is that what you'd say about me too? A disgrace too poor in breeding to be considered for an aristocrat's hand?" Victor glanced shyly away. "For your hand?"

Alastor laughed, finally in better spirits now that he had been presented with such easy prey. "Yes, I see you've come up in the world a bit yourself. Still not over your little flight of fancy for me though, hmm? Well, I certainly wouldn't have married you either way, old pal."

Victor's face flushed angrily. "No, you wouldn't have. You're more the type who keeps his lower class friends like a dirty secret and then discards them to save face."

Alastor felt a twinge of guilt at that but hid it well. "It's not my fault you insisted on reaching above your station, my dear."

The other demon composed himself with some effort. "I have a station now myself," he retorted tersely.

"And money, I'm sure, if your gaudy attire is any indication. All of which is merely like gilding brass. Simply scratch the surface and the cheap base material shows through." Alastor smiled meanly at Victor's hurt expression. Yes, this was why they couldn't be friends--why it didn't pay to befriend anyone from the lower class. Alastor had always wondered if Victor liked him or merely wished to be close to someone of his rank. "Regardless you're too late anyway. As I stated earlier, I am spoken for. Though even if I wasn't, I still wouldn't take up with you."

"Fine, fuck you, Alastor. I see you haven't changed at all in your last seven years as a hermit. Still just a prick with an overinflated ego."

Alastor feigned an offended gasp. "You really are a vile and insignificant little man," he replied with a pitying laugh. "Now leave me be. A proper gentleman should know when his presence is undesirable." The aristocrat made a vague shooing gesture to which Victor offered a far more vulgar gesture of his own before storming off back into the manor.

Once his former companion had departed, Alastor slumped back against the balcony railing with a sigh. Where he should have felt satisfied amusement, there was only cloying melancholy. The crickets and the violins no longer offered any solace, but returning to the party would be far worse. In truth, Alastor had been so long out of public that the presence of so many people now unexpectedly grated upon his nerves, and he wished only to return home to sweet sepulchral silence or perhaps the playing of his own hands upon his piano. Alas, like many things Alastor desired, it was not to be. At least sequestered here on the veranda he would not need to endure so many eyes upon his person.

However, Alastor was scarcely left alone for another ten minutes before Rosie came looking for him, heels clicking smartly on the tiled floor. "Alastor! There you are! Honestly now, I had to ask several servants before one knew where you'd gone." She began smoothing out his cravat and jacket, clucking at him like a mother hen.

"I was just taking some air," Alastor said with a sigh, letting her fuss over him. He would never admit it, but the motherly attention was very soothing.

"Avoiding the party, yes, I'm aware," Rosie replied, not fooled in the slightest. "Mr. Smythe has presently arrived though so if you would please come back to the main hall, you may meet him properly."

Alastor's stomached flipped unpleasantly, but he kept his smile affixed to his face. "Oh? Has his highness finally deigned to grace us with his presence?"

Rosie hustled them both back towards the ball as quickly as she could without appearing improper. "Now, Alastor, you've agreed to this matter already. Please try not to immediately offend the poor man."

"Emphasis on 'poor'," Alastor replied caustically, making his aunt sigh in exasperation.

The two aristocrats rejoined the main event, Alastor obligingly offering Rosie his arm again as she led them through the room. There were a number of faces about them that Alastor did not recognize, and he couldn't help but wonder which unfortunate soul he was to be fobbed off to.

They were near the curving, elegant main staircase when Rosie finally appeared to set eyes on the man she was looking for. "Ah, here we are." She turned Alastor around before stepping to the side. Gesturing to the demon coming down the stairs towards them, she said, "Alastor, this is Voxley Smythe."

Victor stopped on the second step from the bottom, smiling down at them. "Just 'Vox' is fine," he said.

Alastor felt his own smile grow painfully tight. Fuck him indeed, apparently.

tbc...

[poppyandzena]

ZENA AND POPPY: PATTERN OF MANIPULATION AND ABUSE

This list is NOT the fullest extent of Poppy and Zena's victims and ex-associates. This list consists of victims who have made public statements and are comfortable discussing it. This list is subject to updates whenever necessary.

_

Milena | @transpersian | #milena

MILENA'S MASTERPOST

An ex-poly partner to Poppy and Zena est. early 2023. The relationship consisted of months of abusive behavior towards Milena. Zena was the perpetrator of emotional abuse most of the time and Poppy enabled it. Milena's story highlights manipulation perpetrated by Zena and Poppy's possessive nature.

Milena, very helpfully, has created documents not only for her own experience, but for other victims. I highly encourage you to follow her.

_

Courtney Peet/Orchard | @pleasetiemyshoe | #courtney

COURTNEY'S INTERVIEW ON LILY ORCHARD (REUPLOAD)

Courtney briefly collabed with Poppy and Zena on their YouTube channel. Courtney was interviewed about the trauma their sister Lily Peet/Orchard inflicted onto them. The interview was unsatisfactory as Poppy is a terrible host.

Courtney had to endure attempted manipulation at the hands of Poppy and Zena, but especially Poppy. While exerting a position of power as the platform for Courtney's experience, Poppy tried to rope Courtney into a relationship. Poppy became possessive over the dissemination of their story, trying to control Courtney's server and how other victims of Lily interact with each other. One of the most egregious acts Poppy did was allegedly send Courtney sibling incest pornography about a day after the interview, trying to fetishize the exact trauma Poppy was profiting on.

After fighting for more control of Courtney's server, the collaboration has fallen apart. Poppy shared a timeline of the events to her mod team of around twenty people, including information that she had Courtney's nude photo. Upon finding out, Courtney lashed out against Poppy, and Poppy censored screenshots to make it look like Courtney randomly attacked Poppy and deadnamed her, neither of which are true.

Poppy has compared Courtney to her rapist sister, and even claimed Courtney had an incest fetish to poison the well.

Poppy has also allegedly sent Courtney unsolicited photos of her genitals multiple times under the guise of "showing off her SRS recovery."

_

Brittany | @britts-galaxy-brain | #britt

BRITTANY'S POST ON POPPY

Britt is an outspoken victim of Lily Orchard. Poppy and Britt were in conflict because Poppy wanted to control Britt's language in calling Lily Orchard a predator and a pedophile. Keep in mind Britt has known Lily for many, many years prior to Poppy and has the screenshots to prove their claims. Poppy has tried to smear Britt as transphobic due to this. Poppy was also sexually persistent with Britt in DMs despite Britt's reluctance and lack of enthusiastic consent.

_

Dormiyu | @dormiyu , @dormiyusaur | #dormiyu

DORMIYU'S TWITTER THREAD ON POPPY AND ZENA

Dormiyu is an ex-member in Poppy and Zena's server. Between 10/27/23 and 11/02/23, Dormiyu was invited to Poppy and Zena's house. Dormiyu came alone by train, therefore not having easy access to return home early. It is alleged that Poppy purposefully exposed her chest to Dormiyu (at the time 18 years old). Poppy downplayed Dormiyu's discomfort as "asexual bullshit." Zena also downplayed and laughed off Poppy's sexual impropriety against Dormiyu.

Poppy's mutuals have been very cruel to Dormiyu upon the revealing of this information.

[sillygoblinantics]

I have a game plan for Bonnie’s day out

I’ll post the roughs here but once I render each part I’ll be putting them on its own blog so nothing gets lost!

Remember the fun of this series is that we know the destination and where the goal is but how we get to it is up to the wind!

I know how I want to go about it but I’m leaving it a surprise for yall as we move along! :3

I’m thinking of starting an open collaboration for a future chapter of BDO where yall can take part in!

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

Open Collab — Bonnie’s library donation!

Rules:

• books must be age appropriate for Bonnie (nothing that is outside of the Barnes and noble kids section)

• needs to be a Pokémon themed spin of an existing book! (Ex. Amelia Bedelia that has a gothilita instead of Amelia)

• No ai! (Can be a photobash, collage or drawn piece)

• no gore (i see you liquid orchard!)

• post as many suggestions as you want but the maximum is 4-6 so no one is posting too many!

• Have fun with it! There’s no winners or prizes just a collaborative project for a silly rewrite of a terrible story made by a shitty person!

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚☆.｡.:*☆ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

To make sure your submission is seen use the following tags:

#Books for Bonnie!

#book suggestions for Bonnie

#Bonnie Orchard’s library donation

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

[sigyn-foxyposts]

"Thrud has a crush on Gersemi now?!"

The ships we are coming up with for this community is crazy and I absolutely love it!! 😭 @piratespacex

[missameliep]

Title: All The Things I'll Never Tell My Mother - Part 4

Book: Desire & Decorum AU

Pairing: Ernest Sinclaire x Hayley Parker (OC); Prince Hamid x Elizabeth Foredale (OC)

Rating: Teen (see A/N below)

Word count: ~3,8k

Summary: The day after babysitting, Elizabeth is consumed by worries about her relationship, but a heart-to-heart talk with Hayley might help ease her mind before a defining conversation with her boyfriend Hamid.

A/N: English is not my native language; Non-English words translated in the notes by the end; TW: swearing, mentions of death, pregnancy; bold words are from a dialogue in Desire & Decorum - Book 1 - Chapter 16; the concept for this fic was inspired by @choicesficwriterscreations' event CFWC Female Characters Week 2021 and is part of a collab with the very talented Noe (@rosesnink) from whom I'm borrowing Hayley Parker. The fic focuses on issues like motherhood, past losses and the friendship between two very different women. Thank you Noe for letting me borrow Hayley and the support to my writing not only in the collab. This fic is dedicated to you 💗

The next morning  

The scent of tea and warm croissants fill the air.  

By the windows, Hayley cradles a steaming mug of Earl grey, enjoying the quiet morning.   

In the distance, down the path to the orchard, the silhouette of Ernest jogging is visible amongst the mist, but not Elizabeth’s. The two always go for a morning jog when she spends time at Ledford Park or Edgewater. Perhaps babysitting Alaska was too demanding, and she’s slept in. 

The sound of soft and hesitant steps beside her caught her attention. Turning around, she spotted Elizabeth lingering by the door. Her assumptions were incorrect judging by the dark circles under her eyes discernible even in that distance. Wearing no makeup and looking like she walked out of a Tim Burton’s cartoon is not an unusual look now that she’s almost finishing her Masters. The tension she’s holding on her shoulders is not what she expected to find...  

Noticing the other’s gaze, Elizabeth mustered a small smile and offered a good morning less breezy than intended and received an invitation to join her friend. 

“Needing a caffeine boost, I see.”  

“Always. Where’s Alaska?”  

“She’s got a belly full of mama’s milk and is sleeping like an angel!” Hayley laughed at the image at the monitor. “I appreciate the company, but it’s unlike you to skip morning jog...”  

“I was too tired...” She slumped on the chair across from her friend with little grace. “I didn’t get much sleep...”  

“Ooh, no sleep! Naughty!” Hayley smirked into her mug. “That’s why you were so eager to get back to your room last evening! I’m pleased it inspired you. Or was it Alaska?”  

“Oh! None of that...” Elizabeth sighed, pouring herself some tea and staring at the mug slowly being filled by the dark brew. “So, tell me more about your romantic dinner! Did you have the cannoli?”  

“Excellent. Food was amazing, cannoli was amazing, I took Ernest’s mobile away...” Hayley spoke it all very quickly, knowing exactly what her friend was doing. “Now, spill. What’s wrong?”  

“Nothing is wrong.”  

Hayley stared at her, meeting her eyes with a knowing look.  

“If it has kept you from sleeping, I guess it’s at least worth talking to your friend… don’t you think?” she sipped her tea.  

“I don’t want to bring down the mood...”   

“Thanks for the concern, but I’m a big girl, I can take it,” Hayley replied, a smirk curling her lips as she took another sip from the teacup.  

Lowering her gaze, the other focused on the items over the table, picking up a teaspoon. As the spoon swirled inside the mug, Elizabeth chewed on the insides of her cheeks. At last, the spoon clinked against the rim of the mug, and she spoke again, “Hamid is breaking up with me.”  

“What?” Hayley spilled the tea, her eyes rounding to the size of saucers. She reached for a napkin and dabbed her chin, while her head spun with too many thoughts to be put into words. “Lizzy, what happened? Did you fight? Do I need to kick his arse and knock sense into that thick head of his?”   

“Please, don’t.... You’re friends and –”  

“We’re friends too, darling. Don’t you forget that!” Hayley reached for her hand. “Besides, we women need to stick together.”  

“We didn’t fight... it was... an awkward conversation... but it’s more like... a feeling.”  

“A feeling? Do you take pleasure in giving people heart attacks this early in the morning?” Hayley asks in a high-pitched voice, touching her chest in a dramatic fashion.  

“Sorry about that...”  

“So, Hamid didn’t actually say he’s breaking up –”  

“He is too nice to do this here,” Elizabeth cuts her off and busies her fingers with a teaspoon. “but I could see in his eyes...”  

“I know you’re smart and all... but can you read minds?” 

“That’s the last thing I’d want now...” 

“What the actual hell happened that made you jump to that conclusion?”  

“Well... We talked last night. About babies. He wants one. With me. And things got awkward...”  

“Why?”  

“I don’t know if I want one. And now he’s definitely thinking his mother was right about him dating one of those nice women from good Muslim families’...”  

“Oh!” Hayley made a shocked face and leaned back on the chair. “You haven’t talked about that before?”  

Elizabeth shook her head and resumed sipping the tea.  

“To be honest, I’m surprised you’ve never talked... Hamid is crazy about kids.”  

That was no secret. Hamid is amazing with babies and has “a baby face”, his eyes glint and there’s a particular smile reserved to the babies they meet at the park or anywhere else. He’s got “a baby voice” too and can’t walk past babies without cooing about their cuteness.   

Sighing, Elizabeth looked back at Hayley, feeling naïve.  

“I just haven’t realized he could want one of his own...”  

“You mean you didn’t consider he’d want one with you.”  

She sighed. The question hit the mark.   

“I don’t hate children –”  

“Phew!” Hayley waved a hand. “Good to know since you were just babysitting my precious daughter.”   

The jest was enough to lighten the mood and Elizabeth chuckled. A small smile curled her lips.  

“Alaska is adorable.” 

“So, you never thought of babies?”  

“Except for hypothetical names for hypothetical babies from my crushes when I was twelve and played silly games with friends during recess, I don’t think I ever seriously considered the idea… Not really. Not even when grandma spoke about heirs… because Harry was going to be the next Earl, the pressure was on him… I had other priorities… mother, my studies… then my work with father...” She paused, looking outside, and her lips were pulled inside her mouth. “I sound so selfish now...”  

“You don’t. But what if you did? If there’s one situation it’s perfectly acceptable to be selfish is this one. It’s your body and life, after all. A baby is not a good you can return to a store, you know. So you must be positive you truly want this and not be sucked in by the romantization of motherhood. Your family and Hamid’s desires are not more important than yours.”  

“I know…”  

The answer was unconvincing, and Hayley pressed, “Do you really, Liz? Because the choice must be yours. It’ll affect you and your entire body. My brain is still fogged. I thought that was some bloody exaggeration... but pregnancy brain is a thing! No matter how dreamy some guy is, it’ll never be worthy having a baby just to please him.”  

Sipping the tea, Elizabeth went silent. For a moment Hayley couldn’t read her face at all, like she went to her own particular world where nobody could reach her.   

Elizabeth’s eyes flicked from the windows back to Hayley, and she whispered against the rim of the mug, “How did you know? I mean that you wanted to be a mother?”   

“I always knew, since I was a kid... I knew I’d be a mum someday, even if marriage was not in the cards for me. Life was so shitty sometimes, and trust me when I tell you I know how hard things can get and how fucked up the world is… but… the idea of having kids just gave me hope, especially when I was at my lowest.” Hayley’s fingers held the mug tighter and she averted her gaze for just a second before looking back at her friend’s face. “I thought… This love I got... overflowing... I could pass it on. I could protect someone, shower them with my love, to make them feel like they matter, like –” she cut herself, Hayley’s hand roughly wiped a tear threatening to escape her eye, but her smile remained. Elizabeth knew exactly which words she swallowed: “like nobody did to me in a long while”.   

Elizabeth reached for her hand. “You’re doing a fabulous job, querida [1].”   

Hayley whispered a thank you, and they sipped their teas.   

“People are different, Liz. Not everybody wants to be a mother, and that’s a perfect valid choice. But it must be your choice.”  

Elizabeth nodded and put the mug down.  

Noticing the more relaxed and open expression in her friend’s face, Hayley dared ask, “Your doubts... Is it about your mother?”  

Elizabeth was not even surprised Hayley brought this up. She knows practically every detail about her mother’s cancer. They talked at length about it, the long treatment, nights spent at hospital couches, struggles with medical insurance coverage... And most of all, she knows about the painful absence because she had to deal with hers a lot younger and by herself. Daughters of mothers who left too soon – hers after losing the fight to a terrible illness, Hayley’s killed in the line of duty when she was only seventeen... The shared pain made their bond even stronger.  

She took a deep breath and sipped the tea. “No, that’s not it... I know... I-I’ve talked to doctors... I know the odds... It’s a possibility, not a certainty, but... I think about all the things I’ll never tell my mother and–” she paused, looking outside, and her lips were pulled inside her mouth, forming a thin line.  

“People can get sick, Liz. Perfectly healthy people get shot or hit by a bus and die. Planes crash. Unbelievably twisted shit happens,” Hayley pointed out, refilling her friend’s cup. “Wonderful things happen too. That’s life.”   

“I know that... but... how could I put a kid through it? Knowing what I know? The consequences?” 

“Do you resent your mother?” 

“Of course not!” Elizabeth almost spit her coffee. “I’d do it all again." 

“You got your answer. You just do it. You make your choices. Have a baby or don’t have a baby. There’s no right or wrong. Those are different paths. You pick one and you move forward.” 

“You make it sound so easy...” 

“Did I?” Hayley laughed. “Because it’s a fucking nightmare! And exhausting! But  if you don’t choose, people will do it for you and that’s even worse.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s okay if you’re afraid,” Hayley said, reaching for her hand, and Elizabeth let her give a little squeeze.  

"This thing with Hamid is so new... This is the first time I’m in a very real, very adult relationship and I’m just trying not to mess everything up...”  

“You’re doing fine there. He’s crazy about you. We all see that.”   

“Not everybody...”  

“Who cares? You can always tell people to shove their wrong opinions up their arses...” 

Elizabeth sipped the tea and took a deep breath. If only she could be more like Hayley in this matter, but that’s not her; at least not yet. 

Hayley put her mug down to refill it with more tea and stared pointedly at her friend.  Putting her hands on the table, she leaned forward and waited until Elizabeth’s eyes met hers again.    

“Do you see a future with Hamid?”  

A soft smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes was more meaningful than anything she could ever say.   

“And what do you see in this future? Are there children?”  

“Hamid would be a loving father…”  

“But are you willing to be a mother?”  

“It scares me… I was so lost and scared the whole-time babysitting Alaska. I was so afraid to damage your baby!”  

“Damage her?” Hayley chuckled at the word’s choice. “Alaska is precious and I’m happy you wanted to do a good job, Liz… but was it really that hard? Or are you being hard on yourself?”  

“I’m not like you,” she whispered, “I don’t trust my instincts. I have absolutely no idea what to do with a baby!”   

“And do you think I do?” Hayley asked softly, a lilt of laughter in her tone. “I’m no super woman, Liz. I fucked up many times. I thought it was too hard, that I couldn’t do it anymore. I hid in the bathroom to cry... but I couldn’t hide forever, because there was this tiny baby – or maybe not so tiny – that needs me. So, I just get up and do it.”  

Hayley rested her cheek on a palm and smiled, the kind of smile that illuminated her entire face.  

“Sometimes Ernest looks me with those big blue eyes of his like I really am some kind of super woman. He just says the right words to remind me I’m not alone, that I don’t need to do it all by myself… and he’s right. I remember how privileged I am: I have a loving husband who takes fatherhood seriously, and a mother-in-law that supports us… I have amazing people around that love my baby, so eager to help...” She threw her friend a grateful smile. “Most women cannot count on such a support network… If you think you must do it all by yourself, you’ll burn yourself out. That’s not how you’re supposed to raise a child. Have you heard that African proverb, the one that says ‘It takes a village to raise a child’? Nobody is supposed to do it alone!” 

"That is a nice way to put it.” 

“It's alright to admit needing help. Or letting someone else take care of you sometimes...” Hayley was never subtle, and Elizabeth averted her eyes, taking a raspberry from the bowl filled with juicy berries.  

“You know why I was so pushy to get everyone to know Alaska as soon as possible?”  Without expecting an answer, Hayley continued, “Ernest and I have no siblings, Liz. Mrs. Sinclaire has a perfectly good health but is not getting any younger... You guys are my village, my family. I need to make sure Alaska feels that love too, to feel safe and know she’ll be cared for if anything happens to any of us." 

“We’ll be here,” Elizabeth said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “But you better not do anything reckless and live that very long life we talked about, chasing criminals with blue hair and walking aid –”  

“As if I’d dye my hair blue or need any of that!” She laughed loud and flexed her toned arms, making her biceps more evident. “I’ll be a hot old lady, building my muscles till the end.” 

Elizabeth joined the laugh, and suddenly the room was silent except for the sound of forks and chewing. 

“Do you miss it?” Elizabeth asked softly, “Your old life, work and everything else?”  

“Hell, yeah!” Hayley exclaimed, indulging Elizabeth in this sudden change of the subject. “I would bet 99,9% of the mothers miss it too. Because nothing will ever be the same. It can’t be. Being a mother is a life-changing decision. There’s no dropping out like uni, changing courses or do-overs… And the moment you realise it, and the ache you feel when you miss not only the things you did before but yourself… it almost feels like a mourning period, you know? But regret? Never. It’s what I wanted and nothing I have ever experienced before can compare to the love and the fulfilment of being Alaska’s mother. I love my work, it’s essential to me, to who I am, and I can make a difference in people’s lives. But when the time comes to go back to London, I know I’ll miss these days, when it’s mostly me and Alaska. I don’t think I’ll ever have another chance to watch her grow like this. This changed me, my priorities changed. I need to take care of her, and take better care of myself to come back to her… I must drink less, sleep more, exercise regularly…”  

“Hayley, if you say you’re willing to wake up early to take Alaska to a run in one of those weird three-wheelers strollers, I’ll be sure you’re one of those body snatchers!”  

Hayley snorted with laughter.  

“Who knows? Maybe the movie was inspired by motherhood…”   

They both let out heartfelt guffaws. When the laughter dwindled, Hayley patted her friend’s hand over the table.   

“Hey, Liz. I’m a very perspicacious person. But not even I can predict the future. Maybe you’ll have your happilly ever after. Maybe not. Maybe Hamid will eventually fall out of love or decide it’s wiser to marry one of those women his mother wished to set him up with... Maybe you’ll be the one to fall out of love. Maybe you’ll meet someone else, or your paths will part because you want different things... Life changes; people change. Nobody can predict what the future holds. So, talk to him, don’t let your fear blind you.”  

Before Elizabeth could answer, an unmistakable masculine accented voice echoed from the doorway, “That’s where you’ve been hiding!”  

Immediately, Elizabeth shrunk in the chair, wondering how much he could have heard of the conversation.  

Hayley grinned and teased, “I was just giving your girlfriend some piece of advice on how to deal with you… and win every argument.”  

“Allah Allah!” Hamid mockingly pouted. “My darling girlfriend sways votes at the Parliament on a daily basis, I already don’t stand a chance.”  

Hayley looked between them and took the baby monitor from the table. “Oh, Alaska needs me. I’ll see you two later.”   

She winked at Elizabeth and touched her shoulder. 

“Bom dia, meu amor [2].”

Hamid kissed his girlfriend’s forehead, and took the seat beside her and she returned the greeting in Turkish, like they always do. 

“Günaydın, aşkım.[3]”  

“You woke up so early; I expected to see you outside jogging with Sinclaire.”  

“I didn’t get much sleep...”   

His hands cradled her face, and his thumbs caressed her cheeks very gently. “Are you feeling ill?” 

When his deep brown eyes locked with hers, any word got stuck in the dryness of her throat and she merely shook her head.  

Hamid’s brows creased with concern at the prolonged silence. Soothing kisses at her temple and soothing words to try and chase the melancholy away. Her hands covered his, and he put some distance between them to look into her eyes.  

Blinking unshed tears, she forced the words out. 

“We need to talk.” 

Hamid’s mouth rounded in a perfect O shape, before he recomposed his expression into a more neutral one. His diplomatic skills kicking in.  

“Then talk we shall.”  

The smile offered was polite, and he let her hold one of his hands between her cold ones, while she summoned the words.  

“You want kids,” she stated very quietly, one thumb exploring the valleys between his knuckles. 

“I won’t deny the idea appeals to me,” his words were accompanied by a smile. 

“I don’t know if I want to have a baby. Ever.”  

Hamid’s face fell. Her heart sank. That was it, the moment she dreaded. Her mind was racing with so many thoughts and struggling with the little voice saying to just change the subject before it’s too late. Fighting the dryness in her throat, Elizabeth spoke again without looking back at his face, her words clipped, “I understand this is the kind of irreconcilable difference... that... break couples apart... and... it’s good the subject came out now and not in a year... and I-I want you to know that you make me so happy... the love we shared is... unlike anything I’ve ever experienced... and I will never forget –”   

“Are you breaking up with me?”, Hamid cut her off, eyes wide and composed facade gone.   

“No, I’m not!” she said, raising a hand to cover her face. Why is it so hard? She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “But I’ll understand if you want to.”  

“Breaking up with you is not in my plans, aşkım. Not now nor in the predictable future.” He took the hand covering her face and raised it to his lips, kissing it tenderly. “Probably never if I have any saying in what future Hamid will be doing in thirty years or so.” 

Elizabeth looked at him, searching for any hint his words were meant only to divert the conversation. They are learning to get better at communicating, however, diverting from difficult subjects is not unusual for Hamid. 

“I appreciate your words, I do. But I’d never forgive myself if I ignored this. You must think about it to be sure of what you really want for your future.” 

“I am sure. More than I’ll ever be about anything else. Whenever I envision my future, you’re there by my side. I can live with the idea of not having children, but losing you is... unbearable.”  

“Won’t you regret? Not having babies, I mean. I don’t want you to feel compelled to make any commitment based on –” 

“Love?” 

“Sometimes love is not enough.” 

“Are you by any chance saying John and Paul got it all wrong?” Hamid teased.  

"What if it clouds your judgement? And you lose focus of what’s important?” 

“You are enough,” he said, “You’ll always be enough.” 

“Maybe now... but... maybe in a few years...” She couldn’t hold back anymore, and a tear streamed down her cheek. Hamid’s finger wiped it very gently, and he stroked her cheek. 

“Why are you so determined to push me away?” 

“I might get sick. Like my mother.” 

“Then I’ll take care of you.” 

She shook her head, and looked up. “Hamid, you don’t know what it is like...”  

“I am a fast learner,” he said softly and cupped her face with both hands. She leaned into his touch, and whatever complaint she had died in her tongue when he brushed his lips against hers.  

“I will be by your side, Liz. No matter what. And I’ll support your decision, whatever it is. You are my home. I left Istanbul at eighteen. For years I wandered. I was not lost, but restless. Always seeking the next adventure... The world was my home, or so I thought. Like a rough sea was my heart. Once upon a time, I would have hated the thought of staying in one place or committing to one person. Until I met you, aşkım. Then I realized how awfully wrong I had been! Your heart called mine; I am certain of that now. You have stilled the waters of my heart. Every decision I make is clear when I am with you. You are more than I could ever dream of and everything I’ll ever need. With you, I found a kind of happiness I never thought possible. Whenever we are apart, the world loses its colours, and I long for us to be reunited.” 

His words were like a balm, soothing the ache in her soul.  

“I feel the same way, Hamid,” she whispered against his lips. 

“I’m pleased we can agree on this.” Hamid’s fingers delved into her curly hair, and he looked her in the eye. “I hope we can also agree on enjoying this delightful breakfast before tea gets cold. I am starving.” 

Smiling, she fed him a ripe strawberry, then kissed the juice from his lips. 

“I love you, my starving darling.” She kissed his cheek and passed him a plate filled with pastries.    

“And I love you, my Elizabeth.” 

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

Notes: 1. Querida (Portuguese/Spanish) - means darling, dear.  2. “Bom dia, meu amor” (Portuguese) - Good morning, my love. 3. “Günaydın, aşkım” (Turkish) - Good morning, my love.  

[siodium]

financial irresponsibility strikes again!! ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )

sO last week i went to check out some events with koko!! we went to aniplus cafe's creators spotlight event, mercury festival, and night at orchard (NAO). aniplus' one was focused on animanga merch, while the other two were focused on handmade crafts?? like beaded accessories, and polymer clay crafts. i never knew there were other types of artist/creator fairs aside from anime cons. O: this newfound knowledge has opened my eyes...... and wallet......

also going to three(!!!) events in one day wasn't the best idea bc i was so exhausted by the end of the day!! aniplus' event was alright. they converted the cafe dining area to fit a few booths. tbh i was just there for the dokja flapping wing standee from lushiette. the queue for her booth was insane!! possibly worse than the queue to enter bc of how slowly it moved. somehow i managed to snag the last (display) piece. unfortunately, i saw the person in front of me take the last alnst ivan freebie that i wanted to get with my purchase. but it's ok...... i got his boyfriend till instead.

mercury fest drained my energy the most bc the event hall was so smol and some aisles were so congested that i forgot how to breathe. ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)  i rly like the handmade crafts and cute trinkets that a lot of booths were selling tho!!! lowkey wanna try making things out of polymer clay now. aLSO it was very nice to see that a lot of creators were fundraising for palestine at the event.

i only bought one thing from NAO, and it was the crochet frog outfit. just wanted to let yall know that chi was tRAUMATISED at that booth. i got interested bc i saw that the artist was selling clothes for her original crochet ball character?? and so i tried to see if chi would fit. i was probably visibly having a hard time putting chi in, so the artist asked if i wanted some help. i thought she'd be gentle with chi bUT NO she stuffed chi in like he was just some cotton ball saldkasks. i was horrified, but i still ended up getting a frog suit for chi..... maybe when chi forgets about the traumatic experience, he'd wear it...??

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

list of loots + birthday gifts from koko (thank you!!) ↓↓

ivantill acrylic standee and candy bag set (@capybara_roll)

kim dokja standee + till acrylic keychain (@lushiette)

kim dokja print (@sanukett)

silver moon bracelet (@cideroll)

covid bunny sticker freebie (@barelybreathingbunny)

meiji apollo strawberry chocolate clay charm + chiikawa sticker freebie (@strawberriestudios.co)

tortoise melonpan clay charm (@kireikoii)

resin flower necklace (@rinsgarnet)

crochet frog outfit (@yenllys.studio)

sacabambaspis magnet (@planktonparts)

espurr charm (@y0ruist)

ducky sticker freebie (@domo.arts.studio)

sakura wagashi drops bracelet (@risu.craft) - 🎁!!

pillow bag (@theeverydayclub.co) - 🎁!! i have no idea what colour it is bc i can't find the exact shade on their website but it's like a pretty bluish grey colour?? the straps are super padded so it's very comfortable even with a kindle and a 350 mL water bottle inside.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

foods we ate!! ↓↓ (+bonus jinx standees bc aniplus is having some sus collabs right now 🤨 and i read the manhwa LMAO)

first time eating at supply & demand. didn't even realise there was a high end(?) italian restaurant so near to the aniplus cafe. we shared a crab and scallop tagliatelle, which was delicious, and "the morning after" pizza. the gooey egg in the centre?? amazing.

i got a hot cup of pancakes and maple tea, and it rly did taste like pancakes and maple?? like the aftertaste was of warm pancakes drenched in maple syrup?? i can't tell if i was tripping or not but it was good.

matcha bingsoo for dinner bc my stomach left the chatroom, and i couldn't eat anything until like?? after 10 pm. which was not very good bc there weren't a lot of 24/7 food places around. we did find a coffeesmith tho, so that's where we had "dinner" and rested before heading home~

[smuttaburger]

Hange’s Plan for fun

A/N: This is part of the Harvest Moon AOT Collab

Description: Hange has the idea to give the teens a little bit of Fall fun. Modern!AU

Taglist: @postwarlevi

“Hange, why did you have to have this idea?” Levi pinched the bridge of his nose as the teens argued in the back about who was going to pick the most apples.

“Because they need something fun. Plus I’m hoping it gets that stick out of your-,”

“Hey are we almost there?” Armin asked from the backseat, wrapping a hand on Hange’s headrest, as they were the one driving, much to Levi’s dismay earlier.

“Why are you driving? Do the words depth perception mean nothing to you?” Levi had asked, to which Hange had laughed.

“At least I’m tall enough that my feet reach the pedals,” which got all the recruits laughing hysterically before they piled into the Subaru Ascent.

“I still think I should’ve drove,” Levi grumbled.

“Levi, you’ve never been here. It’s a newer place and I only found this last year by accident,”

“How would you know if I’ve been here or not?”

“Because you almost never do anything fun,”

“Yes I do!”

“Spending time with Y/N doesn’t count,”

“I think it’ll be fun,” Armin piped up, his hand still on Hange’s headrest.

“Do they have food?” Connie asked and Mikasa snapped a look at him.

“Of course they have food. It’s an apple orchard,” Mikasa snapped, tired of the arguing from the backseat. Mainly the arguing was with Eren and Jean, typical.

“Fresh picked apples,” Sasha smiled, a little dribble of drool collecting at the corner of her mouth.

“Store apples just don’t taste the same,” she sighed and Mikasa nodded.

“Alright we are almost there. Ground rules,” Hange looked in the rear view mirror to see Eren and Jean arguing again, and the look on Mikasa’s face looked like she wanted to punch both of them in the jaw to shut them up.

“Hey!” Levi raised his voice at the teens and they all quieted down in an instant.

“Thank you Levi, now ground rules. No eating apples that you didn’t pick. Also no teasing the animals. No fighting while we’re there, And most importantly, no food fights,” Hange explained.

“Can we just duct tape Eren and Jean’s mouths shut?” Connie asked and Hange laughed and then thought about it.

“They probably have apple or pumpkin themed duct tape, so maybe,”

“You wanna wipe that scowl off your face handsome?” A voice cut through the din of small squealing children, excited to be at the orchard. Levi’s eyes snapped to see his girlfriend stepping out of her car.

“Y/N!” Levi gave a rare smile, to which the cadets looked on with shocked faces. The only expressions they’d seen on Levi’s face was either blank or a scowl.

“You really think I wanted you being all sour and cranky? As if!” Hange smirked, but Levi had ignored them, instead jogging to wrap his girlfriend in his arms.

“Who knew Levi had a girlfriend?” Jean asked and then Eren snickered.

“Or the fact that she’s a head taller than him,” Eren laughed, to which Mikasa smacked him upside the head.

“Do you want him to get cranky?” She asked.

“Look at you! When did you go shopping? I’ve never seen these in your closet,” Levi gave Y/N one of his extremely rare carefree smiles.

“Last night when Hange told me the plan to bring the munchkins here. Couldn’t not get all decked out,” Y/N smiled and grabbed Levi’s hand, knowing that hand holding is what he was comfortable with regarding PDA, especially in front of the recruits.

Y/N was decked out with riding boots, ripped jeans with a deep berry flannel tied at her waist and a matching berry red shirt that came to her elbow, and a white scarf wrapped around her neck.

“So these are the recruits,” Y/N smiled, her eyes scanning the teens before her eyes met with Hange’s.

“Hange!” Y/N squealed, running towards one of her friends, arms outstretched.

“Y/N! I’m glad you could make it!” Hange smiled.

“The plan worked,” Y/N whispered in Hange’s ear.

“Y/N I want to take the recruits out to the apple orchard out in the boonies. But I know Levi is going to be a cranky old man, unless you come with,”

“I’m in. Work is finally calmed down where I can take a day off. Just text me the address and I’ll be there,”

“Barely. Surprised that Levi didn’t smack two of them the minute I turned the car on,”

“Eren and Jean I’m guessing,” Y/N laughed. She’d never met them, but from all the stories that Levi told her when he’d tell her about work, that would be her likely guess.

“How’d you know?”

“Just a hunch,” Y/N laughed before turning to the recruits.

“Hey guys! My name is Y/N,” The recruits were taken aback from how opposite Y/N and Levi were.

This has to be a comedic set up. How could Levi, seemingly antisocial and doom and gloom Levi get a girlfriend, let alone one bubbly and social. The recruits seemingly all had the same thoughts, but pushed it aside because Hange had left for a moment and now had everyone’s tickets in their hand.

[razaldia]

Week of 8/7/23 Stream Schedule

TUES @ 6pm ET - 🐮 Story of Seasons: A Wonderful Life THURS @ 6pm ET - 👩‍🌾 Palia - Open Beta SUN @ 1pm ET - 🔫 APEX Collab [Tentative]

Streaming at twitch.tv/razaldia

More info about the games below!

Story of Seasons: A Wonderful Life has us in the very first days of Year 4 and we just got our first Blessed Tool! We'll be aiming to work on some more rare crop hybrids and expanding our orchard this spring!

Palia is a new multiplayer life sim. We've been testing out the Closed Beta and although I wouldn't call it an MMO and some of mulitplayer functionality is rather clunky, it's a good game for mindless grinding in a non-dangerous world. Gardening is quite limited and very time-gated but I think the home decoration friends will love this one. Open Beta launches on Thursday so we'll be hanging out to see the sights with Cottagers!

APEX Collab is a Charity Farm-a-thon reward! I'll be playing the game for the first time with some friends and although I can't guarantee many amazing plays, I can guarantee plenty of silliness and laughs.

Hope to see you all live, but if you can't make it, everything will get moved to Youtube!