#portlands resistance

[dailyanarchistposts]

On May Day 2017, anarchists participated in lively demonstrations all around the United States, from the heartland to the coasts. In the Northwest, Seattle witnessed a successful block party at the site of a juvenile corrections center, while in Olympia anarchists barricaded train tracks to oppose fracking and clashed with police. Support arrestees here. Yet Portland, Oregon may take the cake for the most creative and combative May Day. Demonstrators not only defended themselves from unprovoked attacks from police who declared the march a riot—they also introduced exciting new innovations into the aesthetic of the black bloc street presence. Here, comrades from Portland explain their goals with the giant spiders they created for May Day, and offer a helpful guide for those who wish to make spiders of their own.

In an effort to bridge the gap between art and activism, giant spiders were assembled off-site and pushed up the street to the demonstration, stocked with water bottles, snacks, earplugs, and other party favors. The idea was to narrow the divide between “us” and “them” that often exists at demonstrations, and it was a complete success. We performed community outreach, engaged in cultural development, boosted morale, provided crucial supplies, and created an amazing photo opportunity in the process.

The concept is multi-dimensional: it works on many different levels. The idea began from frustrations around attendance at local demonstrations. In Portland, where the majority of citizens seem to be white, middle-class, and apolitical on account of these privileges, they don’t show up unless a demonstration concerns their interests specifically. However, Portlanders are fascinated by their own love of art and “wacky” stuff as well as the commodification of protest as “funtertainment.” We decided to embrace this love of the “weird” to test whether a hyper-localized approach to engaging people could succeed.

Our tactical art enabled us to fill a supporting role for other participants in the march, helping challenge narratives that the black bloc is an “othered” or “othering” tactic. Whether this separation is intentional or not, the fact remains that the general public is often hesitant to engage with us. Bearing that in mind—as well the tendency of the Portland Police Department to brutally shut down demonstrations—we stocked our Spiders with fliers, water, LAW (liquid, antacid, water, the eyewash with which street medics treat pepper spray), ear plugs, and snacks. We also included a few other party favors, because anarchy needs revelry!

We intentionally engaged with the folks around us. A lot of people walked up to ask what the spiders meant! It was inspiring to see so much dialogue between folks in everyday garb and folks in black bloc. We explained the ideas behind our actions as anarchists and the creations themselves: the three spiders representing Mutual Aid, Solidarity, and Direct Action.

A word about symbolism. The idea of using the spider as an icon of resistance is that spiders are always there watching, waiting, and keeping the environment free of pesky insects and other parasites that consume resources without supporting their fellow beings. While we may look scary, we’re here with you and for you. We are the spiders, and the insects are the societal ills that we fight against.

The symbolism of the black widow spider is rich with history that guides our work. We want to contribute to that rich history, adding our own interpretations. Mutual Aid, Solidarity, Direct Action are our black widow’s cruses. (Crux? Curse? Cures?)

In regards to developing our own culture, there are many barriers we face in this process. State repression is the biggest threat, of course. The specter of state repression can complicate organizing, planning, and building trust in our communities. Portland has a history of repression and slander, ruining the lives of activists and anarchists; these horror stories reverberate throughout the underground. We can’t allow ourselves to be publicly disparaged and forced into hiding by our adversaries and their culture war, so we create as a political act. Creating is intuitively human: we plan, we build, we think, we conspire, we imagine. It is also an activity in which everyone can engage to some degree while building new skills. It enables us to get to know each other, build trust, and share time and company.

More globally, seizing the Spectacle is a step towards our goals, because it allows us to dictate our own narratives. With the development of Public Relations and Social Engineering, the visage of capitalism has come to define its delusional reality. To paraphrase Guy Debord, lived experiences are now taken in as a collection of representational images. We can tell our own stories and show the general public what these three principles mean in action. We can create our own mythos, speaking out on our own terms, in our own language, with our own symbols. The state and media dictate too much of what we’re allowed to say and how it’s spun—it’s time to spin our own webs to connect and fortify our relationships.

We are building the bridges we need to move forward. The existing connections between art, activism, and anarchism are fiery and well-storied. The new wave of repression under Trump’s regime is still building steam, but it is already proving dangerous. We need to be more careful than ever. Art allows us to demonstrate and show our fangs, and we can use art to empower those around us.

[bestfuckinmusic]

Resist – The Solution... Revolution! - 1991

More Portland crust-core! Bit earlier than Masskontroll, but same cracking music!

[nando161mando]

"Anti-trans hate group/TERF organization headed by Kara Dansky of the Women's Liberation Front (WoLF), a front for Deep Green Resistance, is holding upcoming events in #SanFrancisco and #Portland. Back ground info here:"

[elvenmoans]

genuinely asking out of curiosity do trans kids still use these to make DIY stand-to-pees or do you guys have better methods now

I melted off the end of one back in 2012 and kept it in a baggie in my pocket. Non phallic STPs didn't really exist back then especially if you were a teenager. These worked really well if you could reliably place it EXACTLY over your urethra. It was really common pre-2012 transition advice

[sunburnacoustic]

@supersymmetries I think these were some of the posters we were talking about once! So colourful 🤩

And completely unrelatedly, Metric supported Muse!? Damn!

Muse posters part 1 not mine

[hotwifeluigi]

imagine trying to gaslight hundreds of people about their 12+ years of education lmfao could not be me

[wondercementpvtltd]

Cement is the bonding agent that puts everything together. Following are the factors one should consider while looking for the best portland cement for construction.

[klausysworld]

His Favourite Little Hybrid

Klaus had been away in Portland, Oregon to find and turn werewolves into his own personal hybrids. The trip had been far more successful than his one with Stefan which further proved that should he need things done efficiently, doing them alone was better.

So far he had 19 hybrids, turned and sired to his every word.

Klaus's pride was running high and his ego inflamed as he snapped the neck of the young women who had just taken a sip from his bloody wrist and let her body drop. It took a few minutes for her to reawaken, eyes bloodshot and stomach clenching in starvation. Klaus watched as her eyes darted to meet his, her head immediately bowing in both fear and submission. Slowly he crouched down to where she lay and slipped his hand to her jaw, lifting her face to look at her properly.

"That's a good girl" He murmured as she followed his gaze and crawled closer to him making the original smirk. Silently he held out his hand for one of the other hybrids to place a blood bag of doppelgänger blood in his grasp. Klaus brought it to her lips and tipped it down her throat. Without warning the girl began to gag and splutter, coughing the blood straight back out and onto Klaus's shirt. His face pulled to one of confusion and anger as he watched her panic. As soon as the realisation kicked in that she had spat it out on her sire she became overwhelmed with fear. Her emotions were peaked and she desperately tried to scrub the blood away with her hands. Klaus pulled her hands off of him, shushing her apologetic cries and telling her to calm down which she did without comprehension.

Klaus lifted her up with ease and sat down on a camping chair with her in hold. "It's alright love" He mumbled, "we'll figure out why that didn't work." he convinced though he wasn't quite sure what was wrong. Every other wolf had adapted to the transition almost immediately. He allowed her to curl against him as he thought for a moment on what could possibly have gone wrong, she drank his blood and died and then drank Elena's. That was all that was needed.

With a frustrated sigh he stood up and sat her down in the chair. "I'll be back" he muttered before walking back toward the portable cooler filled with Elena's blood. Footsteps followed him and he turned to find the same almost-hybrid looking up at him like a lost puppy. She clutched onto his bloody henley as he walked, staying close while he pulled out another bag of blood.

"Try this one love" He commanded, handing it to her with curiosity. Without question she did as she was told and took a gulp but her face immediately paled and Klaus quickly stepped to the side as she coughed it back out. The frown on his face deepened and he bent down to her height whilst his hand rest on the small of her back. "You are a werewolf aren't you love?" He asked, confused. She nodded with a sniffle and glanced up at him,

"I'm sorry" she whimpered but he shook his head.

"I don't believe this is your fault" he replied, his mind whirling with questions

"Will I die?" She asked quietly, weakly.

"No sweetheart. No I'll find what you need" He mumbled, "stay here, don't run off, understand?"

She nodded in reply and sat down onto the dirty ground. She was most definitely sired, he just didn't understand why she couldn't accept the blood. He was on the phone to witches in a fit of anger and a list of questions. Much to his disappointment and annoyance, nobody had an answer.

He returned to the girl empty handed, he found her lead against the same spot he left her in, skin slowly going grey as she trembled from the cold that she shouldn't have been able to feel. Klaus bent down beside her, his hand gently stroking her hair. He felt diminished by her dying. He had no way of overcoming or understanding it and she very clearly just wanted him to help her. It was bizarre how easily she had accepted his dominance, the other hybrids although sired still resisted. It was only when his wrist went over her face as he pet her head that she peeked her heavy eyes open.

The hunger returned within milliseconds and little veins scattered under her eyes. A small whine left her as sharp fangs alongside her werewolf canines pushed through her gums. Klaus's brows pulled together in intrigue as he presented his wrist for her teeth. With his permission she latched into him, her hands lifting to grab ahold of his hand so he couldn't pull away while she fed. Klaus's head tilted slightly and his lips parted as the intimate sensation of blood sharing shuddered throughout his body. Her tongue licked at his skin as she pulled herself off him and accepted his assistance when standing up.

She held onto his arm as he lead her through the woods, he called for the others to follow as he got to his car. It took a while and a lot of stolen borrowed vehicles to get back to Mystic Falls. He put his hybrids to work, including his last one: Y/n her name turned out to be and she was more than happy to do as he said.

The other hybrids could already see the favouritism that Klaus had for Y/n and turned on her because of it. She quickly fell to the bottom of this 'pack' though she never went to Klaus about it and whenever he was around, the others behaved how he would like so that he wouldn't suspect their bullying.

Klaus would have to stop by every day, to see the progress of his home but also to feed Y/n who relied solely on his blood. She was a clingy little thing but also most obedient and most eager so he didn't mind.

Once he moved in, he told his hybrids to compel themselves apartments or hotels, whatever they wanted. However nobody had taught Y/n what compelling was or how to do so and she was afraid to ask, besides she just wanted to be near her sire. So she would simply not rest and would hide in the mansion, being quiet down in the cellar so Klaus wasn't disturbed when he was painting or being entertained by a woman.

For some reason it hurt Y/n that her sire slept with other women, in her mind it meant that he didn't think she was enough for him. Why hadn't he asked her to satisfy him? She didn't understand but she knew that it made her feel worthless, empty.

It took weeks for Klaus to realise Y/n had been staying in the cellar at night. He had gone down to grab a bottle of wine for his... guests when he spotted his sweetest little hybrid leaning against the cold brick wall. Eyes closed and chest slowly moving with each deep breath.

"Y/n, love?" He called gently, kneeling down and gently reaching for her arm. Her eyes flew open in alarm and she flinched away from his touch causing her head to smack the back of the wall. Klaus hissed as though he could feel her pain and pulled her into his lap. "Sh sh, it doesn't hurt sweetheart" he told her and just like that, the pain was gone. He held the back of her head gently and kissed her temple softly. "Forgive me my lovely. I didn't mean to frighten you, nor cause you pain" he apologised, still frowning even as he felt her calm down. "Why are you down here sweet girl?" Klaus questioned, his tone kind.

"Sleeping" She mumbled, rubbing her eyes with a small stretch "Is it morning?"

"No, love. Why are you sleeping down here?" He asked, confused and concerned.

Y/n looked up at him in response and hesitantly opened her mouth. She was unable to lie to her sire but embarrassment made her resist "I don't want to tell you" she whimpered quietly and he tilted his head. Klaus opened his mouth to speak but the sound of drunken giggling echoed down the stairs drawing his attention and making Y/n move away from him and back to her corner.

Two girls made their way down into the cellar, asking for Klaus to come back upstairs. One of them spotted Y/n on the ground and teased that she could join them making Klaus's wolf growl warningly under the surface. "That won't be necessary" He dismissed as he pulled Y/n to her feet. Klaus proceeded to compel both girls to go home without the memory of ever meeting him.

"Come on love" he encouraged, taking her hand and guiding her up the stairs before going up again and leading her to his bedroom though she hesitated to sit down on his bed when he asked her to and he noticed her reluctance. "What's wrong?" He asked but she shook her head and sat down on the edge.

Klaus bent down and pecked the top of her head sweetly before pulling open his drawers and grabbing an old shirt. Y/n's cheeks went pink when he began to undress her. The room was quiet as he pulled the top over her head and slid her bra out from underneath it. His hands were careful with where he touched before tossing her clothes away and pulling back the covers.

"In you get my love, you need a proper rest if you've been sleeping down in the cellar." He ordered, smiling when she did as he said and curled up against the mattress and snuggling the duvet when he wrapped it round her. His warmth enveloped her as he slipped in behind her, his body wrapping around hers protectively. Something about having his favourite little hybrid cuddled up in his bed made his body hum softly and for her, having her sire, her master holding her so close made her feel content.

They fell asleep quickly and slept solidly throughout the night. Y/n woke when the sun did, and slowly turned to face Klaus's sleeping face. A blush overtook her soft cheeks as she nuzzled to him for comfort and remained there until he woke.

Klaus let her feed from him before telling her to do as she pleased for the day while he took care of his own business.

Night and night she found herself in his bed, in his arms. When she didn't come to him, he came to find her and bring her back. Klaus could feel his affections for his hybrid beginning to grow. She had no ill intentions and was utterly lovely, always obedient and never failed to please him. Y/n was, by far, his favourite little hybrid.

The others knew this and hated her for it. Klaus was cruel to his other hybrids and treated them like puppets while whispering pretty little things into Y/n's ear and petting her hair like she was the most delicate flower in the world.

Even when Stefan was threatening Klaus to send his hybrids away, he wasn't stupid enough to bring Y/n into it. In fact he tried to compromise.

"You can keep the small one" Stefan offered making Klaus narrow his eyes. "You know which one I mean. The pretty one, Y/n right?" he pressed and Klaus's gaze hardened. "She can stay, she's harmless but I want the rest need to be gone by morning"

"Or what?" Klaus questioned, his anger rising. "Or I'll get rid of them, and her." He finished before disappearing.

Klaus was furious and even more so when he found that Y/n had been listening and was now terrified that she would die. Of course it was easy enough for him to calm her down but knowing that Stefan had upset her so much made his rage rise. With much reluctance he sent his other hybrids away and kept Y/n inside at all times.

Over the next week Klaus was tense all of the time as he grew more and more frustrated as a result of still not having his coffins back. Y/n tried her best to be there for him but sometimes he frightened her and she would go down into the cellar to be out of the way.

It was only because Klaus needed a drink that he went down there again and found her asleep on the floor again. His anger left him and he carried her back up to his room with a small frown etched into his face. Her body curled to his automatically as he lay against her again and he promised to be kinder to her.

Eventually he got his family back and thought he could relax however Elijah turned out to be undaggered. He had appeared infront of Klaus and behind Y/n, Klaus could immediately sense the danger over his girl and had Elijah by the throat before he could smack Y/n's head off her shoulders. The two brothers threw each other across the room, smashing the furniture and ruining the downstairs. Y/n was hidden behind one of the sofas, her claws extended and clinging onto a pillow as she squeezed her eyes shut to block out the urge to save her sire. Klaus had commanded that should someone attack, she must hide which went directly against her instincts as his hybrid.

Eventually Klaus and Elijah calmed some what and were both stood panting heavily. Elijah glanced toward the soft sniffles and so did Klaus. Elijah noticed his brothers expression drop and his legs carry him over to the source of the cries.

"It's okay love" he whispered, picking her up "Don't be afraid" he told her, looking down at her eyes to watch the fear drain from them. She remained tense and on edge but the tears stopped and he was able to wipe them away. Elijah approached making Klaus growl warningly and place Y/n behind him protectively "Not her." he stated with no space more questions. "Y/n go to bed. I'll be there soon, I want you to relax" He ordered and she nodded, running upstairs and into his room.

He spoke with Elijah about their fathers demise and how their mother was still being held by the Salvatores as leverage. They spoke of a lot before Klaus explained Y/n's being here.

"She's sired to you" Elijah stated and Klaus nodded

"Of course she is, she's my hybrid" he answered

"And she sleeps with you?" Elijah questioned

"Not like that, we just sleep" Klaus mumbled and his brother nodded unconvinced

"Niklaus... you remember what happened the last time a girl was sired to you..." Elijah murmured with furrowed brows, concern swirling in his eyes at Klaus's intentions.

"I don't make Y/n do anything she doesn't want to." He snapped back, offended by the accusation

"You might not mean to-"

"I have not touched her!" The original hybrid yelled, getting to his feet.

"Niklaus." Elijah sighed, rising to follow his temperamental sibling. "This girl does not know what she feels or wants. She just knows she has to make you happy. It's clear you care for her, I don't believe you want to bring her displeasure however you must understand how easy it would be to do something with her that she doesn't truly desire."

"She's my hybrid, mine. I won't have you meddling and scaring her." He muttered before heading up the stairs to lay with his girl and assure that she was safe and in his hold.

Klaus kept her away from Elijah as his feelings progressed. Without thinking, every now and then Klaus would peck Y/n's lips in greeting or goodbye. Y/n wouldn't dare question it, she loved the attention and affection he gave her and wouldn't ever ask for it to stop. Soft touches became more common, a hand on her thigh or waist as he shifted closer to her. Often he would need her to be in his lap and listening to his plans while he twirled her hair in between his fingers and brushed his hands across her skin subtly to sooth his wolf.

But when Hayley came into town, staying with Tyler and helping the other hybrids break their sire bonds, Klaus began to pull away a little. He found himself busy more and more in search for the cure, keeping Rebekah at bay and dealing with supernatural vampire hunters.

The other hybrids knew Y/n wouldn't want to break her sire bond. They knew she would run to her master and tell him what they've been doing. So they left her in the dark again.

Y/n began to feel more and more isolated. Klaus told her to not go outside without him there but he was almost never home and with everyone else pretending she didn't exist, she had gotten much lonelier.

Despite Klaus compelling her to not feel sadness or negative things, the feeling still lingered in the back of her mind. No matter how hard she tried to comply with his commands and only be happy, the lack of touch, socialisation and most importantly her sires affection or approval began to take its toll. When Klaus forgot to feed her his blood, she began to fade. Klaus would often forget about her when he was busy, he didn't mean to and as soon as he had a moment to he would give her some attention but that became more and more rare the past few weeks.

It was because of this that she was far too weak to fight off the other hybrids when they chained her up in the cellar, when they forced wolvesbane down her throat before stuffing a vervain drenched cloth into her mouth so she couldn't yell out for help. None of them looked even the slightest bit guilty or remorseful as they left, planning to kill Klaus.

Unfortunately for them, Klaus was far more powerful and tore each one of them apart. As he approached the twelfth hybrid, only one question lingered on his mind.

"Where is Y/n?" He seethed. He had naturally assumed that she too had betrayed him and didn't understand how she could do so. The hybrid only shook their head,

"She would never help us" they rasped and Klaus's gaze softened for a second.

"Where?" He repeated

"Home" they whispered before having their head swiftly removed.

Klaus tore his home apart in search of his girl, it only occurred to him that she would be in the cellar after he had smashed every piece of furniture on the middle floor. Without hesitation he sped down there.

His heart stopped as he watched her sob on the ground, her face was covered by the cloth but he could see and hear the sizzling of her skin. Hurriedly he sped over and knelt beside her, ripping the gag out of her mouth and allowing her broken screams to break free while he broke the chains off of her throat and wrists.

"I'm so sorry" he whispered, tearing his own wrist open and pushing it to her mouth. Her cries were muffled as he pulled her into his lap and poured his mouth down her swollen throat. Klaus kissed her forehead repeatedly whilst encouraging her to keep drinking even after her wounds were healed. She went quiet after a while and pulled away from both his arm and him. Klaus pulled her back to him and brought her lips to his. Y/n couldn't help the tears that dropped again as her sire kissed her so deeply.

His hands held her face gently as he urged her mouth open so that he may express his love for her in the ways he knew how to. He needed her to stay with him, to never leave him.

Passion was poured from him to her as he brought her upstairs to their bed, she was laid down on her back while he leant over her. It was only when he finally let her lips free from his that she was able to notice the sheer amount of blood that soaked through his suit and stained his skin. Her expression changed to one of worry as her hands felt for any injuries.

"It's alright love" He murmured softly, kissing her hands softly "It isn't mine" he explained and she swallowed down the lump in her throat. The others had been cruel to her even before Klaus. She was seen as the runt of the pack. She was gullible and docile. She had no characteristics of a werewolf and didn't belong with them. They deserved it, she knew that but she couldn't use their death to mark her relationship with Klaus.

Klaus felt her withdrawal and looked down at her with a soft sigh. A soft kiss was pressed to her cheek before he moved off her and stood back up. Y/n sat up before getting off the bed and following him into the bathroom. She helped him wash the blood away from his skin despite the way it made her gag and squirm. Eventually they went to sleep with the promise of each others comfort for the times to come.

They remained close and Klaus grew some how more protective until the only way it could be described was as possessive. He couldn't imagine her ever being in so much pain again, it was so strong that it broke her compulsion of his. Klaus had only compelled Y/n to block out any negative emotions because he didn't like that she would feel so sad or think lowly of herself. It was the only way he thought would help. However it also meant that she was always thinking so positively of him, even when he did something truly awful.

It made her sirebond grow as well as her affections until she was convinced that she was truly in love with him. She thought he loved her back. He did, but the memory of Elijahs words spun round his head. He couldn't take advantage of their bond, he wouldn't hurt her or violate her, he just couldn't. So he tried to distract himself. He had told her to go out for once and have some fun.

While she was gone, Hayley Marshall came over to negotiate some information. One thing lead to another and he had her against a wall, cock buried inside her and clothes on the floor. His eyes were closed as he pictured Y/n's face while he fucked the werewolf until she screamed.

Under no circumstances in his head, had Y/n come back so early.

It was completely unexpected. She had bumped into Damon Salvatore who had both scared and upset her in a short amount of time making her want her sire for some comfort.

Her hope was soon diminished when she pushed the doors open and saw such a scarring scene. Klaus had only broken out of his thoughts when Hayley let out a squeak and whispered for him to stop. He lifted his head in confusion before catching sight of a horrified Y/n. quickly she spun round and sped away making Klaus yell out. He pulled out of Hayley, muttering an apology as he dragged his trousers back on and running after his sweet girl.

He found her back down in the cellar once again.

Klaus knew she wouldn't understand. He also knew that she shouldn't have to try to. He could feel the guilt filling him and he hugged her to his chest and felt her body tremble with whimpers as she tried to push those negative feelings away.

"It's okay my lovely, you can feel angry and upset now" He whispered, prepared for her to yell or fight at him but she only cried. She cried for so long that he wondered how she had any tears left to give.

She had been both traumatised and heart broken all at once but she also knew that he was the only one that could calm her, soothe her soul. So she tried to pretend that it hadn't happened.

Klaus tried as well but he could see the hurt in her eyes constantly. He had explained to her that it wasn't because he didn't love her, that he was so sorry and that he never wanted her to feel that way. She just shook her head and said she was being silly, they weren't together and neither of them had asked to change that. Had she of been any other girl perhaps he wouldn't have cared so much but she was his little hybrid and he couldn't believe the pain he had caused.

Klaus tried his best to spend time with her and make her smile but he wasn't so sure if she was smiling because she wanted to or because she knew that he wanted her to.

He began to wonder that about a lot of things. If she was just doing things because he wanted her to.

The one thing he knew that she definitely did like for herself was physical affection. So he made extra effort in doing so. It didn't take long for her to be curled against his side again, head on his chest and her hands in his while they watched a movie together.

Things sweetened for a small time before they soured once more.

Only this time it wasn't changeable.

Hayley was pregnant with Klaus's baby. Apparently they had still both had a good enough time before Y/n's interruption that night.

Y/n's light dulled when she found out. She was very conflicted. Part of her hated that Klaus was having a baby with somebody else, part of her put herself at fault for not offering herself to him so that he hadn't turned to another girl in the first place and the last part of her, the sired part, told her to be quiet and supportive. She should be seeing how she could help and promising to put her life on the line for this child.

Y/n tried so hard to do that.

But the other Mikaelsons weren't very grateful nor nice to her or her help. Hayley only felt awkward about her and any other supernaturals were uncomfortable in a hybrids presence.

It took months for her to pluck up the courage but eventually she went to Klaus.

"I think maybe I should go?" She whispered quietly, drawing his attention away from his painting.

"Go where sweetheart?" he questioned, his features twisting to a frown.

"I don't know...I just...I think that maybe I shouldn't be here anymore?" She murmured, eyes on the ground and her head screaming 'no'.

"Why not love?" He asked, putting his brush down.

"You don't really need me any more... you have all those vampires and stuff. Plus the baby will be here soon and well...I'd probably be in the way so.." she trailed, her words quiet and unsure.

Klaus could tell as she spoke that this was her way of saying that she couldn't watch him play house with another women. Especially since they still hadn't progressed their relationship. He understood that he was somewhat stringing her along, it was just that he didn't want to let go. But now he knew that he had to.

And so, with much reluctance, he agreed.

"If that's what you want" He whispered, stepping close to her. She nodded hesitantly and felt herself go rigid as his arms enveloped her before she softened and melted against him.

Over the next couple days, he had witches finding a way to help her digest human blood, he set her up a bank account and some identification so that she may start fresh wherever she chose to before having to do something he never wanted to do. Unfortunately the only way for her to be able to move away and on with her life without feeling such terrible guilt for leaving her sire or the urge to come back to him was for her to forget that he existed.

Klaus watched as she looked up at him in confusion before apologising and explaining that she was in a rush to get to the airport and wasn't looking where she was going. He told her it was okay and that she should try be careful to which she smiled and agreed before continuing on her journey, leaving Klaus to wonder where it may take her.

[jflemings]

guro x kerr!reader being completely oblivious to guro liking her and sam finds it so funny

— it’s so obvious

guro reiten x kerr!reader, sam kerr x sister!reader

blurb

sam resists the urge to laugh as you, once again, take guro’s blantent flirting as just being friendly. the norwegian visibly deflates as you walk away and begin talking to niamh and cat, the look on her face being priceless.

since you’d started working for chelsea’s media team last season, guro had been absolutely smitten with you. she had endured endless teasing from the girls over your obliviousness but she didn’t care.

sam waves her over to the booth they’ve claimed in the bar, biting off a smile when she sees the defeated look on her friends face. guro slides into the seat and puts her chin in her palm “i can’t believe she thinks i’m just being friendly! i’ve made it so obvious at this point”

“she doesn’t know you like her because you have asked her out on a date” erin says from opposite her “obviously the girl’s not going to think you like her if you haven’t made a move”

“I’ve made plenty of moves!”

sam swirls the ice in her glass “complimenting her t-shirt and telling her she’s good at her job doesn’t count” she says confidently “i’ve known her her whole life. trust me, you’ve just got to be up front and honest. nip it in the bud”

guro’s brows furrow as she watches you and niamh chat all the way to the bar. you’re clearly very invested in the conversation and whatever niamh has to say, even though guro is sure that with her intoxicated state she isn’t making much sense.

without warning — to herself or her friends around her — guro stands and marches straight up to you and niamh, putting her hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

your eyes brighten as you turn to face her “i was wondering where you just got too!” you tell her over the loud music “do you want a drink?”

“would you like to go on a date with me?” the words tumble out of her mouth and she bites the inside of her cheek “i mean—”

“finally” niamh says loudly next to you “wait ‘till i tell jessie about this. should i call her?” she contemplates out loud.

you pay your friend no mind as you lace your fingers through guro’s “i would love to go on a date with you” you say with a smile “can i get you a drink?”

guro smiles and nods, the alcohol only making her blush more prominent. beside you, niamh fiddles with her phone.

“i’m gonna call her. what time is it in portland? who cares, she’ll want to know that guro finally grew some balls of steel”

“niamh”

[wub-fur-radio]

Let’s Beat Fascism!

It’s time to celebrate another uneasy Independence day here in what we used to unironically call “the land of the free” and Wub-Fur’s got another of our patent-pending eclectic mixes of quality indie rock (or is that quality mixes of eclectic indie rock?) for your patriotic holiday listening enjoyment. Featuring contributions from Mary Timony, Antietam, Sleater-Kinney, Wilco, Together Pangea, La Luz, and 11 more bands that hope to be able to continue celebrating freedom and democracy on future fourths of July.

Apologies to our cover model, the late, great Woody Guthrie, who reminds us that all them fascists bound to lose — but only if we all do our parts! Organize! Volunteer! Protest! Donate! Vote! Resist!

▶︎🎶 Listen on Mixcloud

Running Time: 1 hour, 15 seconds

Tracklist

Intro: This Land Is Your Land by Shakey & the Rockets [Excerpt] (0:22)

Summer (2:46) — Mary Timony | Washington, DC

Wake Up, Sleepy T (3:52) — Antietam | New York, NY

Sparks (3:34) — Program | Melbourne, Australia

Voice in My Head (ft. Reckling) (2:44) — Together Pangea | Los Angeles, CA

Kink (2:59) — VACATION | Cincinnati, OH

Strange World (4:12) — La Luz | California

Hunt You Down (3:23) — Sleater-Kinney | Portland, OR

Roll (3:09) — Charles Moothart | Los Angeles, CA

Decider (3:25) — Motorists | Toronto, ON, Canada

Annihilation (3:35) — Wilco | Chicago, IL

We Ain't Got Nothin' (4:48) — Psychic Temple | Long Beach, CA

Kutashta (4:36) — Parsnip | Melbourne, Australia

Star Strangled Banner (4:17) — Bad Hoo | Victoria, BC, Canada

The Iron That Never Swung (3:07) — neutrals | Oakland, CA

Heartbreak Kid (2:59) — The Vaccines | London, UK

The Apologist Effigy (2:37) — The Laughing Chimes | Athens, OH

Hey, Guitar (3:51) — Pernice Brothers | Boston, MA

All tracks released in 2024.

[cirquellcuriosities]

We are running an Existence is Resistance Sale on our entire collection of a pride pins! 🏳️‍🌈

Early on the 6th a large wave of orders rolled in, illustrating the resilience of our beautiful and diverse community even in the shadow of current events.

Stay strong! You are loved!

Sale ends 11/14 on Etsy and our website!

[missmonsters2]

What We Are

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda discovers all the things that Vision's done for her that have made her heart flutter was your idea.

Warnings: it's not angst...but it's not not angst. Also not beta'd.

Note: why do i feel bad for stealing vision's thunder. Also I will fix my mistakes later when I mortifyingly see them later :-)

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was a Tuesday when Wanda dropped by. 

The rain had been pouring relentlessly, and she had magicked herself to your front door, but even so, she was still soaked to the bone. It was late June and just a few minutes past dawn when you heard the hesitant knocks on your door. 

The years of working for Stark have made you paranoid as you check through the peephole carefully to see who could be at your door. Your heart constricts momentarily when your eyes land on familiar red hair and those melancholy green eyes. 

You opened the door, swallowing as you took her in. Drops of rain dripped down her cheek, almost like tears, as you let her in. 

"Wanda," you blinked, the questions building in your mouth but unsure which would come out first. You settled with, "let me get you a towel."

You opened the door wider to allow her to slip through wordlessly before shutting and locking it with a soft click. The rain outside pours relentlessly that it almost feels deafening in the silence. 

She stood in the hallway between the kitchen and your living room. Wanda looked around the quaint home you've built for yourself and felt even more lost. 

You returned with a dark navy towel, sighing as you sling it over her wet head, gently drying her hair. "What's the point of using your magic to get here if you're going to get soaked outside anyway?"

Wanda didn't say anything, just allowing herself to be under your care. 

This is familiar. 

It was a time before Vision and just a little after when Wanda began to see him too. Then, it was Vision's job to take care of Wanda, and all of it went away—you went away. 

"You should take a hot shower," you told her. 

"I don't really catch colds anymore," Wanda mumbles softly. 

"Lucky you, but you're still dripping on my floor and your nose is all cold and red. I can't imagine the rest of you is toasty warm," you smirked at her, and Wanda wanted to tell you that the tip of her ears was hot, but then she'd have to admit she was blushing. 

You guided her upstairs to the bathroom, gave her a towel and a set of comfortable clothing, and told her to use anything she felt like using. Once she finished, she could meet you downstairs, where you'd be making breakfast. 

Before you left, Wanda's quiet voice stopped you. "Thank you." Her voice is hoarse like she's about to cry. But it was sincere, and you gave her a light-hearted smile to put her at ease. 

"It's good to see you, Wanda."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda's skin feels warm and soft, the bath doing her wonders. She hoped you hadn't been waiting too long, but Wanda couldn't resist taking a soak first. She wiped the bathroom mirror of the fog and looked at her reflection. The bath helped return some color to her skin, but she still looked tired with her dark circles.  

Wanda only towel-dried her hair just enough to ensure it wouldn't drip on your floor. She felt only a little embarrassed to be given clean underwear by you but not a bra. The clothes you give her are soft, comforting, and smell like clean linens and leaves. 

This is crazy, Wanda thought. 

She hadn't seen you in months, and prior to that, it was always sporadic and brief. 

Wanda hadn't known what compelled her to show up at your door, but she knew much of it was due to loneliness. 

Everyone was gone.

But Wanda had hardly slept and hated how Scotland looked suddenly and decided that Portland would be better—Portland—where you've been living for years. 

The smell of bread, honey, and mushroom soup filled the air when she left the bathroom. Her stomach rumbled unabashedly, and she was glad you couldn't hear it. As she entered the kitchen, she found you chopping dill and parsley. 

"Hey," you looked up at her, smiling as she fidgeted with the ends of her sleeve. "Have a nice bath?"

Wanda nodded, giving you an awkward jilt of her lips meant to be a smile. "Thanks. Did you need help with anything?"

You shook your head. "Should be finished any moment now. I wasn't sure how hungry you'd be with it being so early but I thought something warm would be nice. Why don't you take a seat? I left out some bread, butter, and honey for you."

Wanda felt something crawl at the back of her throat as she sat. It was such a traditional breakfast, and it reminded her how Vision once tried to make paprikash for her. 

"I'm sorry," Wanda said suddenly. "For just showing up here."

You were silent. The sound of your chopping paused momentarily before it resumed again. "It's fine," you told her. "I mean, I wish you'd call in case I wasn't home. It would've been awful for you to stand out there alone."

But Wanda didn't know how to explain that your unused phone number was more daunting than just showing up. She didn't know how to explain anything. 

"Are you not often home?" Wanda asked instead.

You hummed. "Not often, but occasionally I do consulting work for some non-profit companies. It gets boring being retired sometimes."

Wanda nodded. 

It was lonely being retired alone. She had looked around your house and found no pictures or indications that you might've been seeing anybody. It brought forth something strange that she didn't know how to identify, so she placed it aside to be forgotten. 

It was quiet again, and Wanda felt restless. There were just so many feelings inside that she couldn't sort them. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream. She was relieved. She was anxious. She was a mess.

"Breathe, Wanda."

The words were unexpected. She sharply looked up to find you not even looking at her as you squeezed lemon juice into the pot. 

Taking a deep breath and releasing it quietly, Wanda was pretty sure she just wanted to cry now. 

"I'm sorry," Wanda repeated. She didn't know what else she could say. "I know it's been a while since we've last seen each other—spoke to each other. And now I'm here, and I've shown up unannounced and taken a bath, and now I'm wearing your clothes—I must seem crazy to you."

You just started to laugh, coughing lightly to cover it up when she gave you a look. "You don't have to explain anything to me," you told her, stirring the pot before grabbing some plates. "I know it's been hard."

There was a pause as if you were hesitating to say it before you decided to. "You miss Vision."

The words instantly hit the back of Wanda's throat and made her eyes water. "Yes," she could barely get a single word out.

"I know," you told her softly as you came over with a bowl of mushroom soup that looked amazing, but all she could smell was her own salty tears. 

Wanda couldn't hold it in then as she placed her elbows on the table, her face in her hands as her shoulders wrack. "I can't believe they're all gone. I keep waking up and expecting to see him. I feel like I can't breathe. It's not fair. It's not fair."

You rubbed her back, and she leaned into you, the familiar feeling of it all like it was just yesterday she was at the compound, alone and confused after losing Pietro. 

Wanda didn't even know what you did for Stark, but you were always around. You showed her to her room, gave her Tony's stream services passwords, and gave her a list of all the shows and movies she was to catch up on. 

Wanda wondered where all of that went, and she could only vaguely remember ending when Vision was beginning. But Vision was different. He had said something so profound that it had given her the courage to keep moving on. 

"I know," you told her, brushing your fingers through her soft, damp hair. "You have a lot of love to give and nowhere for it to go. It's just what grief is, Wanda. And if you're grieving, then you're persevering."

Wanda stiffened in your arms. 

It was so familiar. It was just a rewrite of words she's heard before—words she had never told anyone else. 

"Did Vision tell you that?" Wanda thought wryly as she straightened herself to look at you.

You looked momentarily confused before guilty and awkward. You let her go, but Wanda hung on. 

"Did he tell you?" Wanda pressed on. "Those words—did he tell you that they were the biggest reason I could keep going?"

Wanda looked so angry. The idea of being betrayed by someone she loved sharing something so private had you sighing. 

"No," You reassure her. "Vision didn't tell me."

"Then why—"

"I told Vision that." You cut in, the words leaving your mouth in a tumbled mess that was awkward and clearly made you uncomfortable. 

Wanda sat there with mild shock on her face.

"You...?"

You rubbed at your brow, taking in a tired breath. "Vision was very interested in you, and he came to ask me why you were silently holed up in your room. He knew what grieving was, but he didn't understand it like we do. Not yet, anyway," you muttered.

Wanda looked at you. You looked tense and reluctant to share any of this information, and she didn't understand why.

"I told him because you were grieving, but you also still had love to give. I told him he doesn't understand yet because he's always been alone and is lucky to have never lost anyone. You can't grieve what you've never lost," you had a distant look in your eye, and Wanda wondered if you were reliving this conversation with him.

"I told Vision that you were going to be okay, though," you shook your head as if brushing the memory away. "Grief was just love that had nowhere to go; it is persevering through loss." 

The words rock Wanda much harder than they did years ago. Maybe because the truth behind the words that had given her way when she was lost was actually from you. 

You, who let her show up at your door unannounced. You, who would always let her show up at your door unannounced. 

You have always given her a way to remain still, a way to return, and a way to move forward. 

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" Wanda's voice cracked.

It cracked because perhaps before Vision, she thought there might've been you. It never came close to anything, but Wanda still felt it. And that's why she showed up at your door on a Tuesday in late June just a few minutes past dawn. 

You shrugged. "You seemed interested in Vision too. Curious, at the very least. We...I never really knew what we were. Friends, I think, at that time. Just barely, though."

Wanda remained quiet. The mushroom soup was going to go cold soon, but you didn't seem to mind as you tore a part of a piece of bread into uneaten chunks. 

You seemed thoughtful. "I used to think we were just a case of 'almost'. Almost friends. Almost teammates. Almost something and almost nothing." You turned to her and gave her an unsure smile. "But now you're here on a Tuesday when I had been considering an hour before you arrived that even almost is gone."

Wanda replayed the words in her head and felt the unease she was experiencing the last few months slip away. She's still grieving, but just as you said, it was just her love having no place to go. 

But...

Wanda looked at you as she took hold of the spoon and scooped some of the soup up. She's sure in time, her love will have a place to go again. 

"Did you tell Vision anything else?"

You smiled at her as you also began to eat. 

"I told him you'd appreciate paprikash. I can't take responsibility for him following my instructions wrong, though."

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Barry Shaw

This brainwashing is being introduced into high schools and even into the elementary educational system in America.

One example, quoted in a Jerusalem Post article on June 7, 2024, titled ‘Portland’s teacher union creates anti-Israel program,” reported that the Portland Association of Teachers are promoting an indoctrination program for children as early as pre-kindergarten to high school in which the next generation of Americans will be brainwashed to delegitimize Israel, describing it as an “illegitimate settler-colonial state.”

American children are being taught to participate in Palestinian protests turning them into anti-Israel activists.

Together with a group known as Oregon Educators for Palestine (OGP) they have created a curriculum that includes courses such as “Know your Rights in Teaching,” “Organizing for Palestine within Portland Public Schools,” and “Teach Palestine! Resources for Portland Public Schools” lesson guide.

Their document provides counter definitions to reduce the legitimacy of Israel by using key terms. For example, they deduce Anti-Semitism as being a “European Christian phenomenon” and Zionism as “a settler colonial political ideology and movement.”

Their guide recommends teachers to have the academic freedom (restriction) to select (reduce) writings on Palestine only to that written by Palestinian authors, as they put it, “to offer content and context based on the authors backgrounds and opinions.”

Part of their indoctrination removes words such as “terrorism” particularly when applied to acts of Palestinian terrorism.  Instead, they replace it with the word “resist.”

Everything is wrapped around concepts such as “Occupation” even if that applies to areas from which Israel withdrew its citizens in the search for peace.

Based on that novel concept, the barbarous attacks of Oct. 7, or mass killing by Palestinian suicide bombers and gunmen, can be translated into acts of “resistance to the occupation,” even when committed by Palestinians emerging out of their self-governing territories to kill thousands of Israelis in their hometowns inside Israel.

I know. I became one of the members of the Netanya Terror Victims Association after a procession of suicide bombers and gunman targeted my hometown that hugs the clifftops of the Mediterranean, the sea defined by their slogan of a Palestine “from the River to the Sea.”  

In the quest for this homeland, they murdered dozens of Netanya folk, some of whom I knew.

Now social studies lessons for grades 3-5 in America will include a week-long curriculum on “settler colonization and Palestine.”

The Portland Association of Teachers represents over 4,500 educators. In their description of the events of Oct. 7, we can clearly define what they consider progressive to be utterly regressive.

PAT educators handed out documents claiming that the horrendous massacres, tortures, rapes, and hostage-taking were, in the words of PAT, justified “resistance.”

In May, Mosaic magazine featured an article entitled “Anti-Israel Indoctrination Starts in Elementary Schools.”

This is the opening phase of a Jihadi education in America. One that accurately copies Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad brainwashing.

There is a battle going on in the California school system. Last September, a law suit claimed that a California school district tried to impose an anti-Israel curricula.

[hopelesslys-world]

50 SHADES OF FUCKED UP | CH. 2

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, reader is kind of a bimbo, heavily detailed smut, basically porn, loss of virginity, harsh language, anger issues, stalking, obsession, jealousy, controlling behaviour, DOM-SUB themes, BDSM Expand considered to be portrayed with incorrect/poor etiquette, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse/assault, statutory rape.

Tell me if I missed anything...( As you can see most of the warnings will appear in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Y/M/N: Your Middle Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

*𝘾𝙃𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙄𝘼𝙉'𝙎 𝙋𝙊𝙑*

┅┅

𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋. Was all I could focus on as soon as the elevator doors closed and she disappeared.

“Andrea,” I bark as I return to my office. “Get me Welch on the line, now.”

As I sit at my desk and wait for the call.

I look at the paintings on the wall of my office and Miss Y/L/N’s words drift back to me. “Raising the ordinary to extraordinary.” She could so easily have been describing herself.

My phone buzzes. “I have Mr. Welch on the line for you.”

“Put him through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Welch, I need a background check.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

•••

Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N

DOB: ( The Month and day you were born ). 1989, Montesano, WA

Address: 1114 SW Green Street, Apartment 7, Haven Heights, Vancouver, WA 98888

Mobile No: 360-959-4352

Social Security No: 987-65-4320

Bank: Wells Fargo Bank, Vancouver, WA:

Acct. No.: 309361: $683.16 balance

Occupation: Undergraduate Student WSU Vancouver College of Arts and Sciences English Major

GPA: 4.0

Prior Education: Montesano Jr. Sr. High School

SAT Score: 2150

Employment: Clayton’s Hardware Store, NW Vancouver Drive, Portland, OR (part-time)

Father: Franklin A. Lambert, DOB: Sept. 1, 1969, Deceased (The day before your birthday), 1989

Mother: Carla May Wilks Adams,

DOB: July 18, 1970

m. Frank Lambert March 1, 1989,

widowed (The day before your birthday), 1989

m. Raymond Y/L/N June 6, 1990,

divorced July 12, 2006

m. Stephen M. Morton Aug. 16, 2006,

divorced Jan. 31, 2007

Current Marriage Situation: m. Bob Adams April 6, 2009

Political Affiliations: None Found

Religious Affiliations: None Found

Sexual Orientation: Not Known

Relationships: None Indicated at Present

•••

I pore over the executive summary for the hundredth time since I received it two days ago, looking for some insight into the enigmatic Miss Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. I cannot get the damned woman out of my mind, and it’s seriously beginning to piss me off.

This past week, during particularly dull meetings, I’ve found myself replaying the interview in my head. Her fumbling fingers on the recorder, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the lip biting. Yes. The lip biting gets me every time.

And now here I am, parked outside Clayton’s, a mom-and-pop hardware store on the outskirts of Portland where she works.

You’re a fool, Grey. Why are you here?

I knew it would lead to this. All week…I knew I’d have to see her again. I’d known it since she uttered my name in the elevator. I’d tried to resist. I’d waited five days, five tedious days, to see if I’d forget about her. And I don’t do waiting. I hate waiting…for anything.

I’ve never pursued a woman before. The women I’ve had understood what I expected of them. My fear now is that Miss Y/L/N is just too young and that she won’t be interested in what I have to offer.

Will she? Will she even make a good submissive?

I shake my head. So here I am, an ass, sitting in a suburban parking lot in a dreary part of Portland. Her background check has produced nothing remarkable—except the last fact, which has been atthe forefront of my mind.

It’s the reason I’m here.

Why no boyfriend, Miss Y/L/N? Sexual orientation unknown—perhaps she’s gay. I snort, thinking that unlikely. I recall the question she asked during the interview, her acute embarrassment, the way her skin flushed a pale rose…I’ve been suffering from these lascivious thoughts since I met her.

That’s why you’re here. I’m itching to see her again—those eyes have haunted me, even in my dreams.

I haven’t mentioned her to Flynn, and I’m glad because I’m now behaving like a stalker. Perhaps I should let him know. No. I don’t want him hounding me about his latest solution-based-therapy shit.

I just need a distraction, and right now the only distraction I want is the one working as a salesclerk in a hardware store.

You’ve come all this way.

Let’s see if little Miss Y/L/N is as appealing as I remember.

Showtime, Grey.

A bell chimes a flat electronic note as I walk into the store. It’s much bigger than it looks from the outside, and although it’s almost lunchtime the place is quiet, for a Saturday. There are aisles and aisles of the usual junk you’d expect.

I’d forgotten the possibilities that a hardware store could present to someone like me. I mainly shop online for my needs, but while I’m here, maybe I’ll stock up on a few items: Velcro, split rings—Yeah. I’ll find the delectable Miss Y/L/N and have some fun.

It takes me all of three seconds to spot her. She’s hunched over the counter, staring intently at a computer screen and picking at her lunch—a bagel. Absentmindedly, she wipes a crumb from the corner of her lips and into her mouth and sucks on her finger.

My cock twitches in response.

What am I, fourteen? My body’s reaction is irritating. Maybe this will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog her…and not necessarily in that order. Yeah. That’s what I need.

She is thoroughly absorbed by her task, and it gives me an opportunity to study her. Salacious thoughts aside, she’s attractive, seriously attractive. I’ve remembered her well.

She looks up and freezes. It’s as unnerving as the first time I met her. She pins me with a discerning stare—shocked, I think—and I don’t know if this is a good response or a bad response.

“Miss Y/L/N. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Mr. Grey,” she says, breathy and flustered. Ah, a good response.

“I was in the area. I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” A real pleasure.

She’s dressed in a tight T-shirt and pants, kind of disappointing, earlier this week all she wore was flattering mini skirts and sweaters.

She’s all long legs, narrow waist, and perfect tits. Her lips are still parted in surprise, and I have to resist the urge to tip her chin up and close her mouth.

I’ve flown from Seattle just to see you, and the way you look right now, it was really worth the journey.

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N. What can I help you with, Mr. Grey?” She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders like she did in the interview, and gives me a fake smile that I’m sure she reserves for customers.

Game on, Miss Y/L/N. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties.” My request catches her off guard; she looks stunned.

Oh, this is going to be fun. You’d be amazed what I can do with a few cable ties, baby.

“We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” she says, finding her voice.

“Please. Lead the way.”

She steps out from behind the counter and gestures toward one of the aisles. She’s wearing Converse shoes.

Idly I wonder what she’d look like in skyscraper heels. Louboutins…nothing but Louboutins.

“They’re with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” Her voice wavers and she blushes…

She is affected by me. Hope blooms in my chest. She’s not gay, then. I smirk.

“After you.” I hold my hand out for her to lead the way. Letting her walk ahead gives me the space and time to admire her fantastic ass. Her long, thick hair keeps time like a metronome to the gentle sway of her hips. She really is the whole package: sweet, polite, and beautiful, with all the physical attributes I value in a submissive.

But the million-dollar question is, could she be a submissive? She probably knows nothing of the lifestyle—my lifestyle—but I very much want to introduce her to it. You are getting way ahead of yourself on this deal, Grey.

“Are you in Portland on business?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts. Her voice is high; she’s feigning disinterest. It makes me want to laugh. Women rarely make me laugh.

“I was visiting the WSU farming division. It’s based in Vancouver,” I lie. Actually, I’m here to see you, Miss Y/L/N.

Her face falls, and I feel like a shit.

“I’m currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science.” That, at least, is true.

“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” She arches a brow, amused.

“Something like that,” I mutter. Is she laughing at me? Oh, I’d love to put a stop to that if she is.

But how to start? Maybe with dinner, rather than the usual interview…now, that would be novel: taking a prospect out to dinner.

We arrive at the cable ties, which are arranged in an assortment of lengths and colors. Absentmindedly, my fingers trace over the packets. I could just ask her out for dinner. Like on a date?

Would she accept? When I glance at her she’s examining her knotted fingers. She can’t look at me… this is promising. I select the longer ties. They are more flexible, after all, as they can accommodate two ankles and two wrists at once.

“These will do.”

“Is there anything else?” she says quickly—either she’s being super-attentive or she wants to get me out of the store, I don’t know which.

“I’d like some masking tape.”

“Are you redecorating?”

“No, not redecorating.” Oh, if you only knew…

“This way,” she says. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.”

Come on, Grey. You don’t have much time. Engage her in some conversation. “Have you worked here long?” Of course, I already know the answer. Unlike some people, I do my research. For some reason she’s embarrassed.

Fuck, this girl is shy. I don’t have a hope in hell. She turns quickly andwalks down the aisle toward the section labeled Decorating. I follow her eagerly, like a puppy.

“Four years,” she mumbles as we reach the masking tape. She bends down and grasps two rolls, each a different width.

“I’ll take that one.” The wider tape is much more effective as a gag. As she passes it to me, the tips of our fingers touch, briefly. It resonates in my groin. Damn!

She pales. “Anything else?” Her voice is soft and husky.

I’m having the same effect on her that she has on me. Maybe… “Some rope, I think.”

“This way.” She scoots up the aisle, giving me another chance to appreciate her fine ass.

“What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope…twine…cable cord…”

Shit—stop. I groan inwardly, trying to chase away the image of her suspended from the ceiling in my playroom. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please.” It’s coarser and chafes more if you struggle against it…my rope of choice.

A tremor runs through her fingers, but she measures out five yards like a pro. Pulling a utility knife from her right pocket, she cuts the rope in one swift gesture, coils it neatly, and ties it off with a slipknot. Impressive.

“Were you a Girl Scout?”

“Organized group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Grey.”

“What is your thing, Y/N?” Her pupils dilate as I stare.

Yes!

“Books,” she answers.

“What kind of books?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.”

British literature? The Brontës and Austen, I bet. All those romantic hearts-and-flowers types.

That’s not good.

“Anything else you need?”

“I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” I want to see her reaction.

“For a do-it-yourselfer?” she asks, surprised.

I want to hoot with laughter. Oh, baby, DIY is not my thing. I nod, stifling my mirth. Her eyes flick down my body and I tense. She’s checking me out!

“Coveralls,” she blurts out.

It’s the most unexpected thing I’ve heard her say since the “Are you gay?” question.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing.” She gestures to my jeans.

I can’t resist. “I could always take them off.”

“Um.” She flushes beet red and stares down.

I put her out of her misery. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing.”

Without a word, she turns and walks briskly up the aisle, and I follow in her enticing wake. “Do you need anything else?” she says, sounding breathless as she hands me a pair of blue coveralls. She’s mortified, eyes still cast down. Christ, she does things to me.

“How’s the article coming along?” I ask, in the hope she might relax a little.

She looks up and gives me a brief relieved smile.

Finally.

“I’m not writing it, Bella is. Miss Clark. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the newspaper, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.”

It’s the longest sentence she’s uttered since we first met, and she’s talking about someone else, not herself. Interesting.

Before I can comment, she adds, “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.”

The tenacious Miss Clark wants photographs. Publicity stills, eh? I can do that. It will allow me to spend time with the delectable Miss Y/L/N.

“What sort of photographs does she want?”

She gazes at me for a moment, then shakes her head, perplexed, not knowing what to say.

“Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps…” I can stay in Portland. Work from a hotel. A room at The Heathman, perhaps. I’ll need Taylor to come down, bring my laptop and some clothes. Or Elliot —unless he’s screwing around, which is his usual thing to do over the weekend.

“You’d be willing to do a photo shoot?” She cannot contain her surprise.

I give her a brief nod. Yeah, I want to spend more time with you… Steady, Grey.

“Bella will be delighted—if we can find a photographer.” She smiles and her face lights up like a cloudless dawn. She’s breathtaking.

“Let me know about tomorrow.” I pull my wallet from my jeans. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” And if she doesn’t, I’ll head on back to Seattle and forget about this stupid venture.

The thought depresses me.

“Okay.” She continues to grin.

“Y/N!” We both turn as a young man dressed in casual designer gear appears at the far end of the aisle. His eyes are all over Miss Y/N Y/L/N. Who the hell is this prick?

“Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey.” She walks toward him, and the asshole engulfs her in a gorilla-like hug. My blood runs cold. It’s a primal response.

Get your fucking paws off her.

I fist my hands when she returns his hug.

They fall into a whispered conversation. Maybe Welch’s facts were wrong. Maybe this guy is her boyfriend. He looks the right age, and he can’t take his greedy little eyes off her. He holds her for a moment at arm’s length, examining her, then stands with his arm resting on her shoulder. It seems like a casual gesture, but I know he’s staking a claim and telling me to back off. She seems embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot.

Shit. I should go. I’ve overplayed my hand. She’s with this guy.

Then she says something else to him and moves out of his reach, touching his arm, not his hand, shrugging him off. It’s clear they aren’t close.

Good.

“Er…Paul, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.”

She gives me an odd look that I don’t understand and continues, “I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton, where he’s studying business administration.” She’s babbling, giving me a long explanation and telling me they’re not together, I think.

The boss’s brother, not a boyfriend. I’m relieved, but the extent of the relief I feel is unexpected, and it makes me frown. This woman has really gotten under my skin.

“Mr. Clayton.” My tone is deliberately clipped.

“Mr. Grey.” His handshake is limp, like his hair. Asshole. “Wait up—not the Christian Grey? Of Grey Enterprises Holdings?”

Yeah, that’s me, you prick.

In a heartbeat I watch him morph from territorial to obsequious.

“Wow—is there anything I can get you?”

“Y/N has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” Now fuck off.

“Cool,” he gushes, all white teeth and deferential. “Catch you later, Y/N/N.”

“Sure, Paul,” she says, and he ambles off to the back of the store. I watch him disappear.

“Anything else, Mr. Grey?”

“Just these items,” I mutter. Shit, I’m out of time, and I still don’t know if I’m going to see her again. I have to know whether there’s a hope in hell she might consider what I have in mind.

How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a submissive who knows nothing? She’s going to need substantial training. Closing my eyes, I imagine the interesting possibilities this presents…getting there is going to be half the fun. Will she even be up for this? Or do I have it all wrong?

She walks back to the cashier’s counter and rings up my purchases, all the while keeping her eyes on the register.

Look at me, damn it! I want to see her face again and gauge what she’s thinking.

Finally she raises her head. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.”

Is that all?

“Would you like a bag?” she asks, as I pass her my AmEx.

“Please, Y/N.” Her name—a beautiful name for a beautiful girl—flows smoothly over my tongue.

She packs the items briskly. This is it. I have to go.

“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?”

She nods as she hands back my charge card.

“Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps.” I can’t just leave.

I have to let her know I’m interested.

“Oh— and Y/N I’m glad Miss Clark couldn’t do the interview.” She looks surprised and flattered. This is good. I sling the bag over my shoulder and exit the store.

Yes, against my better judgment, I want her. Now I have to wait…fucking wait…again. Utilizing willpower that would make Elena proud, I keep my eyes ahead as I take my cell out of my pocket and climb into the rental car. I’m deliberately not looking back at her. I’m not. I’m not. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where I can see the shop door, but all I see is the quaint storefront. She’s not in the window, staring out at me.

It’s disappointing.

I press 1 on speed dial and Taylor answers before the phone has a chance to ring.

“Mr. Grey,” he says.

“Make reservations at The Heathman; I’m staying in Portland this weekend, and can you bring down the SUV, my computer, and the paperwork beneath it, and a change or two of clothes.”

“Yes, sir. And Charlie Tango?”

“Have Joe move her to PDX.”

“Will do, sir. I’ll be with you in about three and a half hours.”

I hang up and start the car. So I have a few hours in Portland while I wait to see if this girl is interested in me. What to do? Time for a hike, I think. Maybe I can walk this strange hunger out of my system.

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It's been five hours with no phone call from the delectable Miss Y/L/N. What the hell was thinking? I watch the street from the window of my suite at The Heathman. I loathe waiting. I always have.

The weather, now cloudy, held for my hike through Forest Park, but the walk has done nothing to cure my agitation. I’m annoyed at her for not phoning, but mostly I’m angry with myself.

I’m a fool for being here. What a waste of time it’s been chasing this woman. When have I ever chased a woman?

Grey, get a grip.

Sighing, I check my phone once again in the hope that I’ve just missed her call, but there’s nothing. At least Taylor has arrived and I have all my shit. I have Barney’s report on his department’s graphene tests to read and I can work in peace.

Peace? I haven’t known peace since Miss Y/L/N walked into my office.

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When I glance up, dusk has shrouded my suite in gray shadows. The prospect of a night alone again is depressing. While I contemplate what to do my phone vibrates against the polished wood of the desk and an unknown but vaguely familiar number with a Washington area code flashes on the screen.

Suddenly my heart is pumping as if I’ve run ten miles.

Is it her?

I answer.

“Er…Mr. Grey? It’s Y/N Y/L/N.”

My face erupts in a shit-eating grin.

Well, well. A breathy, nervous, soft-spoken Miss Y//L/N. My evening is looking up. “Miss Y/L/N. How nice to hear from you.” I hear her breath hitch and the sound travels directly tomy groin.

Great. I’m affecting her. Like she’s affecting me.

“Um—we’d like to go ahead with the photo shoot for the article. Tomorrow, if that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?”

In my room. Just you, me, and the cable ties.

“I’m staying at The Heathman in Portland. Shall we say nine thirty tomorrow morning?”

“Okay, we’ll see you there,” she gushes, unable to hide the relief and delight in her voice.

“I look forward to it, Miss Y/L/N” I hang up before she senses my excitement and how pleased I am. Leaning back in my chair, I gaze at the darkening skyline and run both my hands through my hair.

How the hell am I going to close this deal?

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[ series masterlist ]

DON'T BE AFRAID TO SPAM WITH LIKES AND COMMENTS. I WOULD ALSO APPRECIATE IT IF YOU COULD REBLOG THIS POST <3

[sicknessbysalem]

more niko and zak because i love them so much…

if you have any more requests, questions, comments, etc., send them my way!

tw emeto, panic, fear of being sick, fever

The hotel room was unnaturally quiet, the soft hum of the heater the only noise filling the space. Outside, the snow was falling in thick, lazy flakes, clinging to the window in a pattern of frosty tendrils.

Niko leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom after his shower, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed with concern as he watched Zak.

Zak had been pacing for the past few minutes, his movements sluggish and far too deliberate for someone who usually had so much energy to burn. His skin had that pale, waxy look to it—the kind that came with being unwell. And the way he kept wrapping his arms around himself, rubbing at his shoulders as though trying to shake off a persistent chill, told Niko that something was definitely wrong.

“You sure you’re good?” Niko asked, though he already knew the answer.

Zak paused mid-pace, his back to Niko. His shoulders tensed for a moment before he shrugged, but the gesture was half-hearted, weak.

“Yeah, just... I don’t know. Maybe something I ate,” he muttered, his voice a little too thin, a little too rough around the edges. When he turned to face Niko, there was a ghost of his usual smile on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll walk it off. No big deal.”

Niko wasn’t buying it. The second Zak had started complaining about feeling off earlier, Niko had taken note, but Zak being Zak had tried to brush it off, acting like a headache or an unsettled stomach was nothing to worry about. Except now, hours later, Zak was visibly worse, his complexion more drained, his posture less confident.

Niko and Zak played for the Portland Ravens hockey team for nearly four and a half years. They’d been best friends before the draft. Which meant that Zak knew more about Niko than Niko wanted to admit, and in the same vein Niko knew more about Zak and his stuff more than Zak himself wanted to acknowledge. Namely, the panic that always came with sickness.

Niko was used to sickness. His own, sure. But sickness nonetheless. He could continue, act like nothing was up even if he was puking between ice shifts which had indeed happened multiple times. But Zak was different. Zak got scared.

“I don’t think walking it off is gonna do the trick, bud,” Niko said, his voice tinged with amusement, but the concern was still there, lingering beneath the surface.

He took a step closer, watching as Zak swayed slightly, his hand going to his stomach as if to steady himself.

Zak huffed a breath, his attempt at a laugh falling flat. “Well, sitting here sure as hell isn’t helping either.”

Niko rolled his eyes and crossed the distance between them, his hand resting lightly on Zak’s shoulder, guiding him toward the bed. “How about this: you sit your ass down before you fall over, and I’ll make sure you don’t die of stubbornness.” His tone was playful, but the touch of worry in his eyes betrayed him.

Zak let out a groan but didn’t resist as Niko led him to the edge of the bed. “I’m not gonna die, you drama queen.”

“Maybe not, but you’re sure as hell looking like it.” Niko’s hand slid from Zak’s shoulder to the back of his neck, his thumb brushing along the base of Zak’s hairline, feeling the damp heat that radiated from his skin.

The gesture was casual, but it gave Niko all the information he needed. Zak had a fever, and not just a low-grade one either. The heat practically pulsed from him in waves, despite the way Zak was shivering like he’d just stepped out into the snowstorm outside.

Zak slouched forward, resting his elbows on his knees as another shiver rippled through him. His eyes slipped shut for a moment, his expression tight, as though he were trying to keep his nausea at bay.

“Okay, maybe I’m not at my best right now,” he admitted, his voice a little more strained than before.

Niko crouched in front of him, his dark eyes searching Zak’s face with a mixture of amusement and concern. “No kidding. You’ve got chills, and I’m betting you’re rocking a pretty nasty fever.”

Zak cracked an eye open, his lips twitching up into a faint smile. “You gonna take my temperature, Nurse Niko?”

Niko smirked, leaning in just a little closer, his voice low and teasing. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Zak chuckled, but the sound quickly dissolved into a cough, his hand flying up to cover his mouth as his body trembled with the effort. He hunched over slightly, wincing as the cough subsided, and Niko’s expression shifted, the teasing slipping away as he rested a hand on Zak’s knee.

“You’re really not doing great, huh?” Niko said, quieter this time. His fingers tapped lightly against Zak’s knee, a subtle gesture that seemed more like instinct than anything else.

Zak let out a soft sigh, wiping a hand across his face as if trying to rub away the exhaustion. “Yeah... guess I’m not. Feel like shit, actually.”

“Yeah, you look it too,” Niko said, though his tone was far gentler than his words. He stood up, pressing a palm to Zak’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating from him. Zak didn’t even flinch, too tired to protest the touch, which told Niko everything he needed to know.

“Alright,” Niko said, making a quick decision, “we’re gonna warm you up and settle you down.” He nudged Zak gently, making him scoot back on the bed. “Lie down. You’ve got chills ‘cause you’re feverish, and if I let you keep shivering like this, you’re gonna make it worse.”

Zak opened his mouth, probably to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he gave a slight nod, shifting slowly until he was lying on his back, his body sinking into the hotel mattress with a groan of discomfort. His arms wrapped around his stomach as another wave of nausea rolled through him, but he didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose.

Niko moved swiftly, grabbing an extra blanket from the foot of the bed and pulling it up over Zak, tucking it around him with surprising gentleness. Then, with a casual shrug, Niko slid onto the bed next to Zak, making sure to slip under the covers too, his body heat instantly noticeable in the small space between them.

“What’re you doing?” Zak asked, though there wasn’t much resistance in his voice. He was too tired, too feverish to do more than turn his head slightly to glance at Niko.

“Warming you up,” Niko said simply, lying on his side, one arm propped up so he could watch Zak more closely. “You’re freezing, and I’m hot as hell, so... you’re welcome.” He grinned, though there was an edge of something softer behind it—like he was taking this whole situation more seriously than his teasing let on.

Zak groaned, pulling the blankets up a little higher around his shoulders. “You’re just using this as an excuse to get in bed with me.”

Niko’s grin widened. “Yeah, well, I figured it’s what any good teammate would do.”

Zak chuckled, though it quickly turned into a wince as his stomach protested again. He closed his eyes, his breath coming slower, more measured, as if he was trying to calm his body down. “You’re not gonna let me hear the end of this, are you?”

“Nope,” Niko replied, his voice soft now. He watched as Zak’s face twisted slightly in discomfort, his brow furrowing. “But seriously... just relax. I’ve got you.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of blankets as Zak shifted uncomfortably, his face pinched with discomfort. Niko kept his gaze on him, watching closely, his hand hovering near Zak’s arm but not quite touching—like he was ready to help if Zak needed him but was giving him space to ride it out.

Zak’s breath hitched slightly, his hand pressing against his stomach, and Niko shifted closer, his brow furrowing with concern. “You okay?”

Zak swallowed hard, his eyes still closed, and gave a faint nod. “Yeah... just feel kinda gross.”

Niko sighed, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I know, man. Just try to rest.”

Zak opened one eye, glancing at Niko. “You staying there all night?”

“Hell yeah,” Niko replied, his grin returning. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t drown in your dinner.”

Zak snorted softly, but it was clear his energy was fading fast. His eyes fluttered shut again, and for the first time that evening, his body seemed to relax, even if just a little.

Niko watched him for a moment longer, his smile softening as he settled in beside Zak, his hand resting lightly on Zak’s shoulder. Something grounding and consistent.

Zak didn’t seem to mind, for once. So, Niko stayed.

-

The room was still cloaked in that heavy, warm silence when Zak stirred. At first, it was just a slight shift, his body protesting as he rolled over in the bed, the weight of the blankets pressing down on him. His stomach clenched, sending a ripple of nausea through him that made his muscles tighten involuntarily. It took a few more moments before the sensation fully settled in, hitting him like a freight train.

Zak’s eyes snapped open, his heart racing in his chest as the nausea surged—violent and sudden, making his breath hitch. He lay there for a second, staring up at the ceiling, trying to breathe through it, trying to will it away. But the tight knot in his stomach only twisted harder, and his skin felt clammy, sticky with sweat.

The nausea didn’t just sit in his gut—it spread through him, making his limbs feel weak and heavy. His throat constricted, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin, and he knew there was no waiting this one out. He had to get up.

Moving carefully, Zak pushed the blankets off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up slowly. His head spun with the motion, a wave of dizziness crashing over him as he sat hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

For a few seconds, he just sat there, breathing through his nose, trying to keep his stomach in check. But it was no use—the nausea was relentless, churning inside him like a storm.

He stood shakily, every movement slow and deliberate as he made his way to the bathroom, careful not to wake Niko. His chest felt tight, his breath coming in shallow gasps, as if he couldn’t quite get enough air. Panic flickered at the edges of his mind, making his hands tremble as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

Zak leaned over the sink, his reflection blurred in the mirror above. His face was pale, the fever still evident in the flush of his cheeks, and beads of sweat clung to his forehead. His stomach twisted painfully, the nausea rising in his throat, but it wasn’t enough. It never was. He felt the pressure, the horrible anticipation, but nothing would come up. His body was locked in a cruel limbo, and he could already feel the anxiety creeping in.

A sharp gag tore through him, his body doubling over the sink as he clutched the edge for support. But even then, nothing came—just the harsh, empty retching that left him breathless and shaking. He tried again, gagging harder this time, but it was like his body was working against him, the nausea refusing to give him any relief.

His breathing hitched, growing more rapid as the panic started to build.

Not now. Not like this. Zak could feel the onset of anxiety.

Zak clenched his jaw, trying to calm himself, but the anxiety was already making his chest tight, his hands trembling as he gripped the counter harder. He gagged again, this time more violently, but still, nothing came up—just the awful, dry heaving that made his throat burn and his eyes water.

It was too much—too overwhelming. His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind raced, fear mixing with the nausea, making it impossible for him to focus on anything other than the sick feeling coiling in his gut. He felt trapped in his own body, his breath coming in shallow, panicked bursts.

Out in the bedroom, Niko stirred. The absence of warmth beside him registered slowly, but it was the faint, strained sound of Zak retching that pulled him fully from sleep.

He blinked, groggy, confusion settling in as he reached out and found the space next to him empty. Then he heard it again—the unmistakable, awful sound of someone trying to be sick and failing.

“Zak?” Niko’s voice was thick with sleep, but concern was already blooming in his chest as he sat up. The room was dim, the only light coming from the bathroom, its door left ajar.

Niko rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

He listened for a moment, hearing another weak retch, followed by a soft, shaky breath.

“Zak,” Niko called again, softer this time, worry creeping into his tone. He padded across the room and pushed the bathroom door open fully, and the sight of Zak leaning over the sink, pale and trembling, made his heart clench.

Zak didn’t look up, too focused on trying to keep himself steady as another painful gag ripped through him. Niko’s eyes softened, and without a word, he crossed the small space, his hand coming to rest gently on Zak’s back.

“Hey,” Niko murmured, his voice low and calm. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Zak’s breath hitched again, and he squeezed his eyes shut, another dry heave wracking his body. He shook his head slightly, his hands gripping the sink harder as his body fought against the nausea.

“Can’t—can’t get it up,” Zak muttered between shaky breaths. His voice was hoarse, edged with panic, the frustration clear in every word.

Niko knew this all too well. Zak’s body had a way of locking up when he got sick, the anxiety making it even harder for him to get any relief. Niko had seen it before, seen how Zak would get trapped in that horrible cycle of nausea and panic, making it harder for his body to let go.

“Shh,” Niko soothed, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles on Zak’s back. “Just breathe for me, okay? Don’t force it. You’re working yourself up.”

Zak nodded, but it was clear he was still struggling, his breath shallow and fast, his body trembling under the weight of both the nausea and the anxiety. His fingers tightened on the sink, his knuckles white.

Niko stepped in closer, his hand sliding from Zak’s back to his arm, giving him something solid to hold onto. “I’ve got you, alright? Just breathe. You’re gonna be okay.”

Zak swallowed hard, his throat burning from the dry heaves. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering open as he leaned a little heavier against Niko. “I—” Another gag cut him off, his body lurching forward, but still, nothing came.

Niko could feel the tension in Zak’s muscles, the way his body was wound so tightly from the panic and nausea that it was making everything worse. He kept his voice soft, steady, as he guided Zak toward the toilet, knowing that the sink wasn’t going to cut it. “Come on, sit down. It’s easier if you’re not standing.”

Zak didn’t resist, too focused on the sick feeling in his gut. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, his forehead resting on the cool porcelain as he sucked in another shaky breath. Niko crouched down beside him, his hand still on Zak’s back, grounding him, steadying him.

“It’s okay,” Niko murmured again, his voice calm and reassuring. “You’re okay. Just take it slow.”

Zak’s breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, but Niko’s presence was starting to cut through the haze of panic, just enough to let him focus on something other than the nausea. He leaned into Niko’s touch, his body relaxing slightly under the soothing pressure of Niko’s hand.

“Breathe with me,” Niko said, keeping his voice low and steady. He inhaled slowly, exaggerated, hoping Zak would follow suit. “In through your nose. Come on, you got this.”

Zak’s chest hitched, his breath shaky, but he followed Niko’s lead, inhaling slowly through his nose. His stomach still churned violently, the nausea making his head swim, but the panic was starting to ebb, just enough for his body to stop fighting itself.

“That’s it,” Niko said softly, still rubbing circles on Zak’s back. “Let your body do its thing. Don’t force it.”

Zak gagged again, his body lurching forward over the toilet, but this time, it wasn’t just dry heaves. His stomach finally gave in, the nausea breaking free as he retched, his whole body trembling with the effort. The sound was awful, wet and raw, but there was a sense of relief in it, like his body was finally letting go.

Niko stayed close, his hand never leaving Zak’s back, steadying him through the retching. “That’s it. You’re doing good,” he murmured, his voice soft and comforting.

Zak gagged again, harder this time, and a thin stream of bile spilled from his mouth, his body shuddering with the effort. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and Niko could see the tension starting to ease from Zak’s shoulders, the panic slowly fading as his body began to cooperate.

“There you go,” Niko said, his tone soothing. “Just let it out. Don’t hold back.”

Zak heaved again, this time more forcefully, and more bile followed, his breath hitching between gags. The relief was slow, but it was there, each retch bringing a little more comfort, a little more ease to the tightness in his chest.

Niko stayed with him through it all, his presence steady and calm, his hand warm and reassuring against Zak’s back. And as Zak’s body finally began to settle, the nausea easing just enough for him to catch his breath, Niko leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

“See?” Niko said, his lips quirking

into a soft smile. “Told you I’ve got you.”

Zak let out a weak chuckle, his body trembling with exhaustion. “You’re... way too good at this.”

Niko grinned, giving Zak’s back a gentle pat. “What can I say? You’re lucky to have someone with a shitload of practice in the art of puking your guts up.”

For a few precious moments, it seemed like Zak had finally found some relief. His breathing had evened out, his body no longer shaking as violently as it had in the bathroom. Niko helped him back to his feet, one arm steady around Zak’s waist as they slowly made their way back to the bed. Zak leaned heavily on Niko, still drained from the effort of being sick, but the tightness in his chest had eased, if only slightly.

“You doing alright now?” Niko asked as they sank back onto the bed, his voice softer, laced with the kind of calm assurance that Zak had come to rely on.

Niko pulled the blanket up over Zak, tucking it around him with a kind of ease that belied the worry in his eyes.

Zak nodded, though he didn’t fully trust his stomach yet. “Yeah... I think so,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from all the retching.

His head still felt heavy, his limbs weak, but the nausea had settled for the time being, leaving behind a strange, uneasy calm.

Niko sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and watched Zak carefully.

“Just take it easy,” Niko said, leaning back against the headboard. “If you start feeling off again, let me know, alright?”

Zak gave a weak smile. “What, so you can lecture me about how you told me so?”

Niko grinned, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. “I would never. I’m too mature for that.”

Zak chuckled softly, though the sound was thin, tired. “Right.”

They settled back into the bed, the room once again falling into that heavy quiet. For a little while, it seemed like the worst had passed.

Zak’s eyelids fluttered shut, his body sinking into the mattress as the exhaustion started to take over. Niko stayed close, his gaze still flicking back to Zak every few minutes, watching for any signs of discomfort, though it seemed—for now—that Zak was in the clear.

But the reprieve was short-lived.

Not long after they had settled, Zak stirred again, his brow furrowing as a familiar unease crept back into his stomach. He shifted under the blankets, a soft groan slipping from his lips as the nausea began to resurface—this time, more intense, more insistent. His chest tightened, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he instinctively curled in on himself, one hand pressing against his stomach.

Niko noticed the change immediately. “Zak?” he asked, his voice low, cautious. “You good?”

Zak didn’t answer right away. His throat felt tight, and a cold sweat was already starting to bead on his forehead. His stomach twisted violently, the nausea crashing over him like a tidal wave, and this time, it was relentless. It felt different from earlier—more urgent, more overwhelming. His breath hitched, panic sparking at the edges of his mind as he pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to will it away.

But it was too late.

Zak’s stomach lurched hard, and he knew there was no holding it back this time. A wave of nausea surged up his throat, and without thinking, he covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes widening in panic.

“Niko—” Zak barely managed to choke out before his body betrayed him.

Niko was already moving, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Zak doubled over, his hand still clamped over his mouth, but it was no use. The nausea tore through him with a ferocity he hadn’t felt earlier, and before he could make it off the bed, his body gave in completely.

He gagged hard, and then the contents of his stomach came pouring out with no hesitation, soaking the sheets beneath him in a hot, wet mess. His whole body shook with the force of it, his breath hitching in between each violent retch.

Niko barely flinched. He reacted with the calm precision of someone who had seen this too many times before. His hand shot out to steady Zak, pulling the blanket out of the way as much as he could while he helped Zak lean forward, keeping him from slipping further into panic.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Niko said, his voice steady, though he moved quickly, already grabbing a towel from the side of the bed. He wasn’t phased by the mess—he’d dealt with worse himself on plenty of occasions—but Zak was already spiraling, the embarrassment and discomfort clear in the way his body stiffened, his chest heaving with each shaky breath.

Zak tried to speak, but another gag ripped through him, his whole body curling in on itself as his stomach heaved again. This time, there was no resistance—his body had decided it was done holding anything back.

The sheets were already soaked, and Zak’s face was twisted in both discomfort and horror as more of the contents of his stomach spilled out in a sickening rush.

“Shit—sorry,” Zak choked out between breaths, his voice trembling. His face was flushed, his eyes watery, and he looked completely defeated. “I—Niko, I can’t—”

“Don’t,” Niko interrupted, his voice firm but still gentle. He scooted closer, rubbing slow circles on Zak’s back with one hand while using the other to guide him slightly forward, trying to keep him from choking. “Don’t apologize. Just breathe.”

Zak gagged again, the sound raw and harsh, but this time, the nausea didn’t hold back. His stomach finally seemed willing to give everything up, each retch bringing a surge of relief, even as it left him weak and shaking. His breath hitched between each heave, his body trembling as it continued to purge itself, as if everything he had eaten in the past month was trying to force its way out at once.

Niko didn’t move from his spot beside Zak, his hand steady on Zak’s back, his voice low and calm as he murmured reassurances. “It’s okay. Just let it out. You’re alright, Zak. I’ve got you.”

Zak’s body jerked forward again, another wet gag tearing through him, and this time, it felt like his stomach had completely given in. There was no stopping it now—his body was done fighting, done holding anything back.

The sheets were ruined, but Zak barely registered it. All he could feel was the overwhelming nausea, the relentless churn in his gut as everything poured out in an unstoppable rush.

His breath came in short, desperate gasps between retches, and he felt his chest tighten again, panic creeping in as the mess spread beneath him. But Niko was there, steady and calm, his voice cutting through the haze of panic like a lifeline. “You’re okay. Breathe, Zak. I’m right here.”

Zak tried to catch his breath, but another wave of nausea hit him hard, and he gagged violently, his body shuddering with the effort. The mess beneath him grew worse, but Niko didn’t even blink. He just kept his hand on Zak’s back, his touch grounding, calming.

“It’s alright,” Niko said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Zak’s body began to settle. The retching slowed, his breath coming in shaky gasps as his stomach finally started to calm. He slumped back, exhausted, his body trembling from the effort. His skin was pale, slick with sweat, and his chest rose and fell with labored breaths.

Niko could see the panic, the aftermath of vomiting through a panic attack. He saw it, but kept his mouth shut as he gently pulled the ruined blanket off the bed, balling it up in a way to contain the mess a little more. His focus was entirely on Zak, who was now leaning over the side of the bed, his head hanging low, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

“You okay?” Niko asked quietly, his hand still resting on Zak’s back, the soothing circles never stopping.

Zak nodded weakly, though he didn’t lift his head. “Yeah... I think so,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. His body still trembled, but the worst had passed, leaving him drained and spent. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop,” Niko cut in gently, his tone firm but caring. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. You’re sick. That’s it.”

Zak let out a shaky breath, his hand rubbing at his face, still embarrassed by the mess. “I didn’t mean to...”

“I know you didn’t,” Niko said, his voice soft. He stood up, grabbing another towel from the bathroom and gently wiping Zak’s face with it. “Don’t worry about the sheets. I’ll call housekeeping. Do you want a shower? Clean up a bit?”

Zak leaned into the touch, his body still weak, but the panic had started to ebb, replaced by a weary relief. His stomach had finally given in, and though it had left him exhausted, there was a strange sense of comfort in knowing he didn’t have to fight it anymore.

Zak nodded, “Yeah.. no, I’m disgusting and I would rather not face housekeeping like this… I’m still sorry this is my fault I don’t-“

Niko smiled softly, his hand brushing through Zak’s damp hair. “Uh, no. Montreal was my fault, this,” Niko said, pausing to gesture at the mess, “is not your fault.”

“Not your fault you have… whatever that is that makes you puke so damn much,” Zak said, slowly getting out of bed and going toward his suitcase to grab a change of clothes.

“Then even more reason why you shouldn’t say this is your fault,” Niko said, already working on gathering up what he could for the poor housekeepers, “Go shower. You’ll be alright.”

Zak nodded, “Thank you. I owe you.”

“You’re probably contagious,” Niko shrugged, chuckling softly, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

[teaandransacking]

In response to the Lockwood x reader smut I think that the “we might die tonight” concept is good thank youuuu

Hi! I hope you like this.

fever dream high in the quiet of the night

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x female reader ~ Words: 1600 ~ content: heavy petting, swearing, sexual tension

a/n: let's agree that Lockwood is 18 or over for the purposes of this fic, ok? ok thanks.

The room is very still around you.

You wish Lucy and George were here, but they’re back at Portland Row, recovering from rapier wounds. Barely a scratch, Lucy insisted, but Lockwood won’t have anyone working unless they’re at full health.

That should count you out, really. You’re never at full health around him. He’s as distracting and frustrating as he is magnetic. You could just as likely kiss him as punch his stupidly handsome face. Most of the time you think you’d choose to do both simultaneously.

Lockwood eventually shrugs off his coat. You’re in the third (?) sitting room of this manor house in Surrey, waiting for the clock to strike seven. That, according to your clients, is when the Visitors arrive. It’s quarter past six - you’re always early, and for once, Lockwood is, too.

“Getting comfy, are we?” you snark.

He folds his long body into the armchair, and you have to resist looking at his lap. You could easily curl yourself up on it.

He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “We should rest while we have the chance. We’ll need our strength later, especially with our reduced numbers.”

You swallow. “Yeah. We’ve got this, though.”

He meets your gaze and nods one, decisively. “We’ll do admirably.” He stretches, and you almost miss it - the tiny wince that passes over his face.

He’s still in pain from the gunshot wound.

It was months ago, but-

Your throat goes tight to think of it. How you and Lucy and George closed ranks around him. How his eyes seemed so dim when he finally opened them. How limp he was.

You must make some sound of disquiet, because his eyes narrow and as always, he sees too much. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

He smiles, a little. “I’ll allow that I don’t know a huge amount about girls, but I do know when when they say fine like that, they’re far from it.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You’re a massive hypocrite, you know that? You force Lucy and George to stay at home and rest, and meanwhile, your shoulder isn’t even fully healed.”

Something flashes across his face - vulnerability or pain, you can’t tell. “It’s fine.”

“Oh, and now who’s insisting they’re fine when they’re not?” You hiss, stalking over to him.

He stands from the chair, his face murderous. “You do not get to be in charge here. It’s my name on the door. I am responsible for all of you.”

“Yes! A job that, might I remind you, you cannot complete if you are dead!”

The word comes out in a sob and, startling yourself, you crumple against him.

His arms come around you instantly, and he gently tugs you down into the chair, urging your legs up so you are curled in his lap. You panic for a second but manage to arrange your rapier so it doesn’t stab either of you.

“You have a fucking death wish, don’t you, you prick,” you try to snap, but the seeing as you’re half-crying, the words don’t have the desired effect.

“Believe it or not, I fear death much more these days, now I have the three of you,” Lockwood says softly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You freeze, and something in the air crackles.

You’ve never been alone together like this before. There’s always someone else in the house, or you’re walking somewhere - Tesco, Arif’s shop - and suddenly the yawning pit of need that constantly lives inside you around Lockwood opens its maw and begs.

“Can’t you just stay home just once?” you murmur into the soft, clean cotton of his dress shirt. “Just stay safe, for fucking once.”

“I’d be a pretty poor agency head if I did, darling.”

It’s the first time he’s used the endearment and it turns everything inside you to liquid. 

You lift your face and see that he’s gazing down at you, his dark eyes lust-blown, and he’s so tempting and so close. You slide your hand up his chest, cup his cheek. “Every time we do this, we court death. And I don’t want to die before we’ve had the chance to live.”

He inhales sharply at your words, and then his hands - warm and rapier-callused - cup your face and he captures your mouth a kiss.

It’s soft and sweet at first, then hungrier, deeper. Your tongues tangle. He tastes of bergamot and marmalade and it’s both exotic and comforting, and his mouth is pliable and delicious. You have limited time, so despite the fact you could kiss him for hours, days, you want more.

He makes a sad little sound when you break the kiss, and that alone makes you want to dive back in. 

Instead, you shift upwards, move to straddle his lap. When you next look down at him, his gaze is fixed on you, his eyes as black as night. He looks at you as if you personally hung the moon and every single star, and it’s heady, these feelings he always stirs inside you.

His hands slide down to your hips, pulling your body flush against his, and oh. He is definitely as into this as you are. 

His throat bobs as he swallows, and then he says, thickly, “Dreamed about this. Being near you. Like this.”

Your heart clenches. “Me, too,” you admit. You glance at the door. You’ll have to go out there soon. Endanger your life. Lockwood will protect you with his. You know it without a doubt.

“Hey,” he begins, and then he whispers your name in that low, buttery smooth voice. “Just be here with me. Don’t think about anything else.”

You almost snark back that he finally has a good idea, but this moment is perfect. You don’t want to ruin it, so you dip your head and kiss him, let your hands start to work on the knot of his tie. It slides through your hands, silky smooth, and then you’re deepening the kiss, plundering his mouth while your slip one, two, three of his shirt buttons through the tiny eyelets, then spread your greedy palms over the smooth, warm skin of his chest.

He groans into your mouth, and it’s a powerful thing, to rob Anthony bloody Lockwood of words, but then you find that any possible clever quip is stolen at your own mouth as his hands burrow under your jumper and cup your breasts through the bra. You arch into his touch, and he mutters something like “perfection” against your lips as he caresses you.

You grind into each other on the wide, soft armchair. He’s hard where you’re soft, and the pressure is exquisite. Impatient, you reach behind yourself, under your sweater, to unclip your bra, and when Lockwood feels the cups release and your bare skin against his, he swears, low and guttural, and making him come this undone makes you feral for him.

He pushes the hem of your sweater up, breaks the kiss, and then sets a hand under your bottom, urging you up so he can put his mouth on your breasts. His face is just a little rough from half a day’s stubble, and the tiny hurt grounds you as he lavishes attention on one breast and then the next, while the push and pull of pleasure makes you dizzy. You fist your hands in his hair, and it’s warm and silky.

You arch your back, pressing into his mouth, and all you can think is yes and don’t stop, and he doesn’t. He is nothing if not thorough, but then it’s not enough, and you’re impatient, every iota of you on fire. You unsnap your jeans and almost rip open the buttons, taking one of his hands from your chest and shoving it right where you want it.

To his credit, Lockwood is a fast learner - he can’t have become the UK’s youngest agency head for nothing, you suppose - and he finds your clit after a only few fumbles, quickly learning which movements make you cry out and press into his hands. 

You’ve wanted this for so long that you’re soaked, and it doesn’t take long before that tell-tale sensation begins to coil in your belly.

“Say my name,” he murmurs against the curve of your breast. “Please.”

And he circles his finger over you twice more and you come like that, squirming against him, breathing his name -  his first name - and he sighs as he works you through the orgasm, until you’re shuddering from it.

You drop a kiss on his forehead, and you’re about to ask if you can return the favour, find out what he likes, how he tastes, Christ that’d be hot - and the clock strikes seven.

Lockwood withdraws his hand, pulls your jumper down.

“This is not over,” you whisper.

He flashes that megawatt grin. “Not by a long shot.”

And reluctantly, you break apart and get ready to face whatever is behind the door in this old house. 

But you’ll do it together.