#she had her initial claim managed for her while she was still in

[corellianhounds]

You know what people like better than a Strong Female Character™, Filoni?

A strongly written character.

Season 2 finale of The Mandalorian, after a more fractious and character-driven episode of “The Heiress,” has Mando begrudgingly asking Bo-Katan for help retrieving his kid only because it’s clear she’s had experience hijacking and navigating around Imperial ships, she has numbers with Koska and Axe behind her, and she is a legitimately good fighter.

Bo-Katan initially scoffs and refuses. To her, he is either intentionally or unintentionally the reason she lost the shipment of Imperial arms and munitions, and their culture clash only drove the divide between them even wider. Now he wants her help? Is he insane?

“It’s Moff Gideon’s lightcruiser,” Mando says.

And that gives her pause. She sneers at him with both derision and suspicion, saying nobody can just track down an Imperial Moff, especially a Moff who’s former ISB, especially by someone like you, Mando.

Mando grits his teeth and shows her verifiable proof and oh, noooooow she’s whistling a different tune. She readily agrees, giving him the same warning about leaving Gideon for her to fight. Din doesn’t care: his child is his only priority.

So the infiltration goes off and they get inside the ship with their collective crews. Mando beats Moff Gideon and saves his child, and then he shows up on the bridge with the Darksaber in hand, the tip of the blade humming at Gideon’s back.

Now Bo-Katan is even angrier. He, deliberately or not (and at this point she’s certain it’s deliberate, him continuing to foil her at every turn), did the one thing she told him not to do, and now this- this outsider, this cultist who knows nothing, is standing there with her sword.

And then he has the audacity to offer it up in forfeit, right there in front of everybody. There’s no possible way she’ll be able to challenge him for the sword now because people will know that he never wanted it in the first place, so he’d obviously just be throwing the fight and she’d have no legitimate claim over it.

He doesn’t even want it.

“It has to be won in combat,” she grits out through her teeth. She can’t even attack him here, not when he’s already tried to yield it to her and he’s holding the foundling he saved as a result of winning said fight in his other arm. The Mandalorian ideal, wrapped up in this new suit laden with more beskar than she’s seen in one place for a long time.

She can’t even begin to say how much she hates him right now.

But then in her periphery she hears Moff Gideon chuckle, and Bo-Katan bristles, knowing exactly what he’s about to say as soon as she hears him laugh and it’s going to ruin everything, but she’s too late

“Why can’t he forfeit the sword?” Gideon taunts. “Thats how I got it from you.”

The bright flash of a blaster bolt sails through the air and hits Gideon square in the chest, knocking him back with a grunt as she strides forward to kill him with her bare hands. There’s an immediate clamoring of voices, the drop soldier hitting her like a brick wall and holding her back while everyone else tries to break up the impending fight, saying he’s a war criminal who needs to answer to the New Republic for his crimes. Gideon groans, falling back against the console as his plastoid chest plate smokes, and Bo-Katan Kryze trembles with rage.

Koska and Axe are behind her. She knows what expression she’ll see on their faces, the immediate disdain and loss of respect. She shouldn’t have shot him. She shouldn’t have shot him because that’s more of an admission of guilt than anything, and now all of them know.

Gideon still somehow manages to chuckle weakly and she realizes that he knew exactly what he was doing. Even defeated and without recourse, he excels at psychological warfare and he’s just fractured any and all support she may have ever had at her back. The Nite Owls know. The cultist knows. The droptrooper, the assassin, the clone—

Everybody now knows that Bo-Katan Kryze, Mandalorian heiress to the throne of their homeworld, had at one point in time faced down Moff Gideon with the Darksaber in hand and had not fought to the death. They know that she forfeited the sword at the height of the Empire’s war, and they knew that Mandalore had fallen either because of her surrender, or because she was foolish enough to believe they would grant them mercy.

To them, she’s either completely inept and an idiot, or she’s a traitor, or she’s a coward, if not all three. Nothing about her actions was befitting of a Mandalorian and she’s fought so hard for so long to keep anybody else from finding out. With two sentences Moff Gideon has ripped any support or chance at leadership away from her entirely. It doesn’t matter what her intentions were when she surrendered; no one will ever truly know or believe her because there is no other way for them to see this freshly re-opened wound as anything other than a complete disgrace to her house, her creed, and her armor. Nobody will rally behind her now.

At the end of season 2, Bo-Katan is alone.

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

i need to hear those thoughts, pretty please,

Okay this is a very late reply, but I finally feel as though I can word the thoughts I have regarding them. I want to preface this by saying that all my talks of Jayvik being queer coded stem from my own personal aroacespec perspective. I don’t perceive all forms of close affection and devotion as romantic, but the visual coding regarding Jayvik, and Meljayvik leads me down the path of ‘this is something I personally interpret as romantic’.

MelJayVik is such a deeply fascinating relationship to me because I think a lot is gained from their relationships in the series by looking at them through a polyamorous lens. It may be my own bias, I’m willing to admit that, but the dynamic feels as though it was written to be Poly.

It begins with the obvious queercoding between Jayce and Viktor, and the visual and thematic parallels between them:

Both are written as representative of Jayce’s choices, which can be simplified down to politics and science, and as characters, they inform the choices Jayce makes, and the consequences of those choices, while simultaneously being their own well-developed characters and having their own agendas. I would argue the way it’s written and depicted in the animation, taking into account a lot of the animator’s personal romantic agenda regarding Jayvik, feels akin to the setup of a typical romantic love triangle.

Two people harbour feelings for Jayce, and Jayce is given the decision between the two of them, but that to me is where the similarities between them a love triangle ends… because Jayce never actually chooses. I know some may argue he does because of the final scene with Viktor, but I don’t perceive that as the case at all.

Jayce clearly has a deep love for the both of them, seen so clearly in his actions.

With Mel and Viktor, he truly feels like he can take on the world.

Jayce struggles to balance his life between politics and science because he wants both. He wants Mel and Viktor to be important in his life, but he isn’t capable of managing that, and his own biases and privilege do begin to damage his view of the system and his relationship with Viktor, and Mel does unintentionally worsen that divide. It’s why I love the polycule so much honestly — to me it isn’t just slapping three people together to stop any ship wars, no, it’s a genuinely complex and nuanced dynamic that has initial struggles and hardships.

And to claim that Mel doesn’t care for Viktor is said in complete ignorance of the source material. Mel does come to perceive Viktor as important. Initially, she does ignore him, and treat his presence as secondary to Jayce, but that changes once she recognises the flaw in her actions and how close she was to becoming like her mother. In the final scene of season one, she smiles at Jayce and Viktor. In the beginning of season two, she says that Viktor will come back to ‘us’. Not just to Jayce.

It feels tragic almost. They could have had such an interesting relationship with Mel now wanting to connect to Viktor, but she shattered the chance of that happening. The same way Viktor’s magic repels and rejects her, he does the same.

And god don’t get me started on their magic parallels. For as much as I criticise season two, this is a compilation of my thoughts on MelJayVik in canon, and so I am willing to analyse the way they’re portrayed in season two, and the fight scene in the council room In particular makes me violently ill.

It feels intimate on both ends.

I know people focus especially on Jayce and Viktor’s scenes, and I get it, the scenes between them are particularly intimate

However, both Mel and Viktor and Mel and Jayce also show intimacy in that scene. The way Jayce holds Mel after the fight, despite their previous ‘break up’ scene, and how even though there’s conflict between them, they still can’t help but handle each other with such care and affection. It’s just how they are.

And to me there’s something equally horrifying yet beautiful in the way Viktor bypasses Mel’s own magic, no longer rejecting her, but being intrigued and fascinated by her.

“The arcane stirs within you.”

They are connected by something more than just flesh, more than just physical, and that’s kind of insane to consider.

The tragedy of Mel regarding this is she loses both of these people: the man she knew, and understood, and allowed herself to be vulnerable with, and the man she wanted to know, and to understand.

So here’s how the Noxus spin-off can fix that and canonise MelJayVik! <- lying to myself.

[cesium-sheep]

dream about meeting someone at a bar who actually can do what I do, although they were talking like they were approaching it as a codified role and their scripts were still a little stiff/obvious.

she was excited about a different passion project when I woke up. I want to encourage her to do things she's passionate about but I do also want to be realistic about how well she actually knows the system she's looking to work.

[obsessedwithceleste]

Mother Brother Knows Best

Theodore Nott x reader

Based on this request 🫶🏽

Summary: In which Theodore is no match for the sheer determination of a twelve year old fueled by sugar, pumpkin juice, and spite.

word count: 4.1k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

“Take a picture mate, it’ll last longer,” Mattheo says, collapsing onto the sofa next to his brooding friend.

Theo looks at the boy next to him in annoyance. Mattheo had been meant to meet him in the library thirty minutes ago, and while he was waiting on his habitually late friend, he’d been forced to watch the love of his life practically sit on bloody Cormac McLaggen’s lap. What you saw in that boy, Theo had no idea.

Theo had fancied you for what felt like forever to him at that point, and it’s not like he was exactly subtle about it. At least he didn’t think he was being subtle, but ask any of his friends and they’d say that holding eye contact from across the room for over 3 seconds did not count as a declaration of love. But what did they know. Not that it mattered anyway because somehow, he’d managed to lose you to the toadstool that the Gryffindor house claimed to be a fully functioning wizard.

“I wasn’t staring,” he mutters defensively, breaking his steady glare away unconvincingly.

“Sure you weren’t. How is little y/n anyway? Haven’t seen much of her since she and ole McLaggen started snogging and such,” Mattheo responds easily, an amused grin spreading across his face as he watched his friend tense.

“Fuck off. Don’t remind me.”

With a silent snicker, Mattheo leaned back in his chair. Ever since you had started going out with Cormac, it had been increasingly easy for Mattheo to ruffle Theo’s feathers. The boy really had been taken with you for months now, and Mattheo simply saw this as payback for all the hours he’d been forced to listen to Theo’s rather pathetic pining. She doesn’t even know I exist this, and we made eye contact for a whole 7 seconds that. You’d managed to bring the ever stoic Theodore Nott to his bloody knees, and you didn’t even know it.

“So, about that charms homework…” Mattheo says eventually, breaking Theo’s blazing gaze away from you and Cormac once more.

“No time. Carter should be here any minute since you, are thirty minutes late.”

Mattheo raises an eyebrow.

“You’re still gonna tutor that little gremlin? Thought you were just trying to get on y/n’s good side. No point now eh?”

For the past few month or so, Theo had been tutoring your younger brother in charms and transfiguration and, while Mattheo was right about his initial intentions, the little bugger had slowly grown on him. Like a fungus.

Theo shrugs noncommittally as he spots the young Slytherin from across the library.

“Not just gonna let Carter fail. He’s a good kid.” He mumbles.

“Aw Teddy, you’ve gone soft,” Mattheo teases as his eyes follow the young boy making his way excitedly towards them.

Making a face at his friend, Theo tosses a scroll of parchment across the table and Mattheo reaches out to snatch it.

“Get outta here ya tosser.”

With one last smirk, Mattheo rises lazily from their place on the sofas, nodding once at Carter who sidles up to him before making his escape, a completed charms essay successfully secured.

“Hi Theodore!” Carter greets, swinging his bag onto the sofa next to Theo before climbing up himself.

“Hey buddy, what’re we working on today?” Theo asks, a fond smile growing on his face as the young boy makes himself comfortable.

Usually Theo wasn’t one for children of any sort. He found them to be, sticky. But Carter almost reminded him of a younger version of himself. Feisty and energetic with a sharp tongue. The pair honestly got on like a house on fire and Theo actually looked forward to their tutoring sessions.

“Levitating charms,” Carter replies with a look of disgust. “Ew. Is that Cormac and y/n?” He asks, spotting his sister across the library.

Matching Carter’s face of disgust, Theo nods his head in confirmation, pulling out his own charms book.

“He’s the bloody worst. I wish y/n would date someone cool for once. She has a talent for always picking the worst ones. I heard Cormac say he wants to see what’s under y/n’s skirt once, so I told him that the only way he was going to get laid was by crawling up a chicken’s arse and waiting. He didn’t like that. But his friends all thought it was funny. But then he locked me in a broom closet. But it was fine cause Enzo found me a few minutes later and beat Cormac’s arse for me,” Carter rambles, flipping through the pages of his textbook.

Salazar, for a second year, this kid was certainly mouthy, Theo thought.

“Think Enzo mentioned that to me actually.” He replies off-handedly.

“Yeah. He’s so cool. I think y/n used to have a crush on him a few years ago. Don’t tell her I said anything though. You’re cool too.” Carter says, looking down at his book. “Hey! Why don’t you date y/n? Then I could see you during holiday! Hopefully Cormac doesn’t stick long enough to make it to Christmas. I don’t want him to stink up the house.”

Theo feels his cheeks begin to redden at the boy’s statement and he begins to stutter. Damn he hoped his filter wasn’t this bad when he was twelve.

“Let’s just get back to the lesson,” he mumbles, hoping to redirect the young boy.

Lucky for him, Carter obliges, allowing the older boy to guide him through the precise wand movements essential to the spell in question.

“Windgardimum leviosum”

“Wingardinum liviosa”

“Windgarnium leviosauarasurausrus.”

“Now you’re just making words up,” Theo laughs as the boy fails to pronounce the spell correctly for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Because I am!” The boy says with frustration.

“Hey, c’mon, it’s fine okay. Ready? Win.”

“Win”

“Gaurd”

“Gaurd.”

“E-um”

“E-um”

“Wingardium”

“Wingardium”

“Nice! Now the second part. Lev.”

“Lev”

“E-o-sa”

“E-o-sa”

“Leviosa”

“Leviosa.”

“Great. Now put it together.”

“Wingardium Leviosa.”

“Perfect, now add the wand movements,” Theo instructs.

Moments later, Carter has a textbook floating through the air with ease.

“So will you date my sister?” Carter asks as he slides his books back into his bag.

Theo chokes on air. It had been a bit over an hour and the two had perfected the boy’s levitating charms and worked on turning a flower into a teacup, so Theo had assumed that their previous conversation was all but forgotten to the younger boy. Apparently not.

“Sorry?” He splutters, looking over at his companion.

“My sister. Will you date her? I saw you get all red earlier so you must like her, at least a little,” the boy says nonchalantly as if pointing out the most obvious thing in the world.

Theo feels the heat rushing to his cheeks once more.

“Look little man, I appreciate the support, but it’s not really entirely up to me to decide. Your sister is taken,” Theo tries to reason.

The boy just shrugs.

“We’ll just have to break em up then. Cormac is dumb as rocks, so it’s not like it’ll be hard,” he replies.

Theo can barely hold in his laughter. Salazar this kid was great.

“You know what Carter, if you can break those two up, yeah, I’ll ask out y/n,” he says, patting the young boy on the back.

“Deal.” Carter says, sticking out his hand. “But don’t think I don’t know that I’m doing you a favor too. I’ve seen you stare at my sister. Oh. And if I need help plotting, you have to help me too.”

Damn this kid was good. A right and proper Slytherin.

“Deal.” Theo replies, shaking the boys hand.

As he’s leaving the library, he hears Carter’s voice ring out.

“Hey Cormac! The village called and said they want their idiot back, so you better get going!”

Salazar he’d really found himself the perfect ally he thought gleefully. With a final snicker, Theo pushed open the library doors and headed back down to the dungeons.

You watch with silent amusement from the entrance of the Great Hall as your younger brother once again made Cormac’s life a living disaster, sending pumpkin juice flying all over the older boy’s robes. For the past week or so, you’d noticed your brother sabotaging your boyfriend’s every move with varying levels of discretion; from tripping him in the halls, causing him to trip into you, to sticking him to his chair in the library during a study date.

At first you’d found it annoying as you’d known your brother didn’t like your boyfriend, but thought he didn’t have to make the boy miserable. But then, as you were passing by what you thought was an empty classroom, you’d heard your brother’s voice whispering to one Theodore Nott.

“Do you think it would be too far to just get him expelled? If I have to see him snog my sister one more time, I’ll release one of Hagrid’s beasts on him myself!” You’d heard Carter exclaim, followed by Theo’s low chuckle.

“Easy there little basilisk. Let’s not get the guy expelled, as aggravating as he might be.”

You’d never really spoken to Theo much in the past, and aside from brief eye contact from across the classroom, you really couldn’t remember interacting with the boy at all. But he’d begun tutoring your brother a few months ago, and Carter would not stop going on about the boy. You knew your brother was quite picky with his friends, and very difficult to impress, so to be so taken with the bloke. You knew Theodore had to be something special. You’d started noticing him more after that, dark and broody, but also sharp witted and fiercely loyal to his group of Slytherins. Not to mention ridiculously handsome.

You subconsciously take a step closer, listening to the two boys.

“I don’t understand why she likes him. He’s so dumb. And mean. He’s always picking on me and my friends when y/n isn’t around. And he thinks he’s so cool because he’s a bloody Gryffindor. I don’t know why she wouldn’t just date you in the first place. You’re the best,” you hear Carter grumble as you feel yourself blush.

You hear Theo laugh again. “Let’s finish this chapter and then you can continue plotting Cormac’s demise okay?” You hear him say.

“Fine. Do you think y/n will break up with him if he smells? I wanna hide a dung beetle in his robes.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea. Now- quill pen into a telescope, let’s go.” Theo says with a snort.

After that, you’d begun to take your brother’s words to heart, noticing Cormac’s rash reactions towards the younger students, and loud outbursts whenever something didn’t go his way. You’d always assumed Carter was just goading at your boyfriend, but maybe he had a point.

Breaking away from your usual group of friends, you divert your attention to your younger brother who was now sitting alone at the long green and silver table on the other side of the hall.

“Morning Carter,” you greet, sitting down next to him at Slytherin table, quiet chatter filling the Great Hall.

“Didn’t want to sit next to your boyfriend covered in pumpkin juice?” Your brother asks innocently, taking a sip from his own pumpkin juice filled glass.

“Mm. I saw.” You respond dryly, side eyeing your brother as you filled your plate.

“It was an accident.”

“I’m sure. So, how are your tutoring sessions going? Mum and dad gonna be on you next holiday?” You ask.

“No way. Theo has me getting top marks on all my assignments. He’s the best,” Carter brags.

“Yeah? You seem to like him. A lot more than Cormac that’s for sure.” You comment.

“Well duh. Theo’s like, one of the coolest blokes in Slytherin, and Cormac is one of the biggest tossers in the whole school. Bit of an insult to even compare Theo to that wank-cloth to be honest.”

You struggle to maintain your composure, holding in your laughter, and before you’re able to probe your brother any further, a plate is plonked down across the table.

“Carter! My favorite little second year!” Enzo says brightly, taking his seat.

“Enzo it’s too early for you to be this cheery. No one is that cheery at 7:30 am let’s reel it in,” Mattheo groans, sitting down on Carter’s other side.

“Theo!” Carter exclaims as the brown haired boy takes his spot across from you.

“What’s up little man, how’d that charms exam go?”

“I got the top score in my class,” your brother responds proudly as you gaze across the table at his tutor.

Theo really was handsome.

Quickly shaking the thoughts from your head, you force yourself to zone back into the conversation.

“I remember being in second year charms,” Mattheo was saying.

“No you don’t, you never showed up,” Enzo snorts.

“Shut up pretty boy.”

“Speaking of second year. Where are your friends in second year?” You interrupt, suddenly realizing that your brother was in fact surrounded by a whole gang of sixth years.

“They’re all scared of them,” Carter shrugs nonchalantly, gesturing towards the boys around you.

Mattheo’s jaw drops open in mock offense.

“I can assure you y/n, we are prime role models for young Slytherins.” He says.

“Didn’t you and Draco just get a detention for sending a hoard of rabid pygmie puffs after a group of firsties?” Carter asks, taking a large bite of his eggs.

“Minor details.”

“Right. Note to self, Theodore is the only one of you to be left alone with Carter. Got it.” You joke, almost missing the tinge of red in Theo’s cheeks as he ducks his head, suddenly very interested in his breakfast.

“That’s fine with me. Theo skips class all the time too, so I won’t be missing much,” Carter says matter of factly as he proceeds to drown his pancakes and eggs in syrup.

Now it’s Theo’s turn to drop his jaw at the young boy.

“Little snitch, you said you wouldn’t bring that up,” he says, throwing a bit of his toast at your younger brother.

Carter just laughs, tossing sticky egg right back.

“That’s on you for trusting a twelve year old, I can’t be held responsible for my actions, I’m just a kid,” he replies, sticking his tongue out at his tutor.

You watch the scene before you play out, a smile growing on your face.

“Oh he’s going to make Slytherin house proud,” Mattheo says with a grin as Theo proceeds to throw a bit of muffin back your brother’s way.

“Woah woah woah there Theodore, leave y/n’s brother alone,” a voice says from behind you.

You turn to see Cormac approaching the table, dried pumpkin juice still staining the front of his shirt.

“Piss off Cormac,” Mattheo tells him, a scowl quickly taking over his face.

“Don’t think I will. Can’t stand by and watch my girlfriend’s brother get bullied,” he says, placing a protective hand on your shoulder. His gesture might’ve been nice a week ago, but at the moment you wanted to hurl.

“Right. Like you weren’t the one who locked Carter in a broom closet the other day you bloody bastard. How’d you like a replay of our little encounter?” Enzo sneers, going to rise from his seat only to be sat back down by Theo.

“I’m sorry, you did what?” You ask, fury rising in you as you whip around to face your boyfriend-for-not-much-longer.

“Relax, it was just some man to man bonding,” Cormac says, giving Carter a pat on the head. Carter smacks his hand away.

“Salazar Cormac, are you always this stupid, or do you just show off when we’re around? Get lost,” Theo says, the annoyance clear in his voice.

“Yeah! If I wanted to hear from an asshole, I’d just fart!” Carter adds, glaring up at the boy with crossed arms.

With a scowl, Cormac sneers at the group of Slytherin boys glaring right back at him before giving your shoulder a tug.

“C’mon then y/n. You shouldn’t be hanging out with this filth anyway,” he practically growls.

You frown at the Gryffindor. What on Earth had made you like this boy? The mix of sheer embarrassment, disgust, and rage sends a shiver down your spine.

“Fuck of Cormac. We are so, so done. And my brother isn’t filth.” You snap, abruptly turning your back on him.

You’re met with a satisfied smirk on Theo’s face as the other boys jeer at Cormac as he stomps away.

“Bloody hell, who let me stay with that tosser for so long?” You mutter, stabbing at one of your sausages.

“Not to say I told you so, but I totally told you so,” Carter says through a mouthful of egg.

“Point very well taken.”

The five of you eat in silence for a moment, but when you look up, you see Carter mouthing something furiously at Theo who looks mortified.

“What’re you two on about?” You ask, breaking the silence as you glance back and forth between the two boys.

“Yeah Theo, what are we on about?” Carter says pointedly at the older boy.

Mattheo and Enzo, now also fully invested, look between Carter and Theodore as well, a sinister grin spreading across Mattheo’s face as realization grows.

“Oh I think I have a good idea of what they’re on about,” he says, taking on a playful tone.

“Don’t you start.” Theo grumbles.

You look blankly between the boys as they seem to be having a silent conversation amongst themselves.

“Well this has been lovely really. So glad you all got a front row seat to the drama that is my life, but I think it’s time I head out,” you say finally when none of the boys speak up.

As if coming to a stalemate, four heads turn to you, and you leave to a chorus of “Bye, y/n’s and see you laters.”

You found yourself once again seated in the library, scribbling away on your DADA assignment. It had been a bit over a week since you’d dropped Cormac and you’d forgotten how bloody nice it was to not be constantly dragged down by him when studying. As you continue to scratch away at your parchment, a loud thud shakes you out of your focus.

“What’s up sissy?” Carter says, his bag joining his large stack of books on the table as he makes himself comfortable in the chair next to you. “Matt over here!” He whisper tells, gesturing frantically to the curly haired boy who was quickly making his way over to you.

“Ah y/n! Perfect timing! Been such a pleasure chatting with you for the last several hours eh?” He says, sliding into the seat across from you.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“Huh?”

Just then, a miffed looking Theo bursts through the library door, eyes quickly zoning in on Mattheo and your brother.

“What did you two do?” You hiss as the boy begins stalking over.

“Nothing!” Carter says quickly.

You glare at the two boys.

“We might have allegedly started a small fire in the dorms,” Mattheo grumbles, trying to look invested in one of the random textbooks that had been strewn across the table.

“You did what?” You whisper yell across the table.

“Allegedly!” He emphasizes, still not looking up.

“I know it was you two. And also probably Enzo.” Theo states unamusedly, walking up to the table, arms crossed.

“Us? We would never! We’ve been here studying with y/n this whole time!” Mattheo says, looking very offended for someone who was in fact guilty of what Theo was accusing.

“Yeah?” Theo asks. “You’ve been here reading Advanced Love Spells in the third edition?” Theo says, raising an eyebrow as he gestures to the book Mattheo was holding.

“Uh, yeah,” Mattheo responds.

“Really? Because it’s upside down,” Theo replies, snatching the book and turning it right side up before giving it back to Mattheo.

“I enjoy a challenge.” Mattheo retorts, doubling down as he snaps the volume shut.

Theo just dead stares his friend for a moment before sighing and slumping into the last remaining seat.

“I’m not covering for you if Snape asks me who did it.” He says eventually.

“But you won’t snitch?”

Theo glares at his friend.

“Don’t insult me.” He grumbles. Then turning towards Carter. “I’m advising to Snape that I begin tutoring you in potions too before you burn the entire castle down,” he tells him.

Carter just grins bashfully.

“Great! Now that that’s all settled, I’ll be off. Y/n, pleasure as always. Boys.” And with one last nod, and a sarcastic salute, Mattheo is off.

“One day, I’m going to murder him, and drop his body in the Black Lake,” Theo says under his breath.

“Alright. Which one of you is going to explain?” You ask, looking sternly between the two boys you were left with.

Before Theo has the chance to get a word in, Carter shoots up.

“I just remembered that I need to get a book for our tutoring session tonight! Be right back!” He exclaims, running off.

“Well I suppose that answers that,” Theo mutters.

“Are my parents going to get an owl? And if so, how bad will the howler be on a scale of 1-10?”

“I don’t think they’ll be owled. If anything, Matt will take the fall for the three of them,” Theo assures you.

“So what exactly happened?”

“Not entirely sure, but from what I gathered, Matt and Enzo decided that they would be able to help your brother with his potions homework, proceeded to forget about the cauldron sitting on an open flame, and then had the audacity to be surprised when a stack of parchment caught fire because Matt’s side of the dorm is a mess.”

You purse your lips.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. I’m so sorry. You share a room with them don’t you?”

Theo nods his head.

“How’d you know that?”

“Carter hasn’t shut up about you since you started tutoring him.” You reply with an awkward laugh. “Thanks for doing it by the way. And for letting him hang around you lot. He seems so much happier lately.”

A small smile appears on Theo’s face.

“We like having him around. Kid’s a spitfire. And an excellent alibi. Not that we’d ever get him into trouble,” he says quickly.

You let out a light laugh.

“I’m very sure that Carter would find trouble with or without you lot. He tends to go looking for it.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you wait for Carter to return, and you try to turn your focus back to your assignment. It’s significantly harder to concentrate you find however, with the handsome Slytherin sitting across from you fingering idly through one of the textbooks he’d picked up.

“Someone’s deep in thought.”

Theo’s voice jolts you into the present, and you blush knowing he’d definitely caught you staring.

“Just annoyed with this bloody DADA assignment,” you mumble, hoping he hadn’t realized just how long you’d been staring.

“Did it earlier. It’s a bit of a snooze.”

You nod your head in agreement.

“Would you want to work on it together sometime?” He asks suddenly, words practically tumbling from his mouth.

You look up at the boy in surprise.

“Um, I’m not sure a really need a tutor…” you say trailing off.

Theo gives you a lopsided grin, shaking his head a bit.

“I meant as a study date.”

You feel yourself blush for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Oh. Then yes. I’d like that.” You say, holding back the huge grin that was threatening to take over your face.

“I’m back!” Carter sings, skipping his way back to the table and effectively ending the moment. “Was that enough time for you to ask her out? I can only stare at those dusty shelves for so long before I start going crazy.”

Your jaw drops as you turn to your brother.

“Did you really just set me up?”

“Duh. Christmas is only a few weeks away, and you clearly don’t have good judgment. I can’t risk having to see some stinky loser over break! And Mattheo said Theo’s had a crush on you since forever, so it was really a win for everybody.”

Now it was Theo’s turn to look embarrassed and offended.

“You didn’t need to tell her the last bit,” he hissed at your brother.

Carter just shrugs in response.

“This is what you two get for putting a twelve year old in charge of your love lives.”

“Carter, I don’t think either of us put you in charge of our love life,” you tell your all too satisfied younger brother.

“Well you should’ve. I got better results in a couple weeks than you two did in sixteen years.”

And that’s a wrap! I know I strayed from the rec a tad bit, but hopefully I did your request justice🫶🏽 Anyway, live laugh love Carter🙌🏽

[synchodai]

When I say Tyland Lannister is my favorite character...

I am being 100% dead serious. Here is why I prefer this seemingly average nobleman over the many many many fan favorites in Fire and Blood.

Tyland Lannister is a second son in a story about second sons. Whether his feelings on this are as strong as Aemond's or Daemon's, we never know for sure in the books, but it's obvious that he's subservient to a mirror image of himself who only has more authority because of a few seconds separation between twins. It's a great display of both the arbitrariness and rigidity of succession.

His initial role in the Dance is as the master of coin for the greens. He's depicted as a typical Lannister: charming, comely, and cunning. He did what any savvy accountant would do and divided the crown's treasury amongst different allied regions for safe-keeping, ensuring that if King's Landing were sacked, their enemies wouldn't loot their coffers dry and they'd still have plenty of gold for their war efforts.

And of course, King's Landing gets sacked. Tyland is put in the black cells and ordered to be tortured by Rhaenyra to extract the gold's whereabouts. Winter is coming, people are starving and rioting, her army is dwindling, so she desperately needs that gold. Tyland is gelded, maimed, disfigured, and blinded but the torturers get nothing out of him.

Mind you, this man has been a rich, pampered bureaucrat all his life and he endured all that without breaking. When Aegon II releases Tyland from those cells, he has no fingernails, his eyes have been gouged out and/or sewn shut, this man who was once known for his good looks doesn't look human anymore — but he still manages to maintain his wits so much so that he plays an important role after the Dance.

Even with Rhaenyra dead, there are still armies raising their banners for her eldest surviving son, Aegon Trois. Tyland tells Adult Aegon to kill Child Aegon because obviously, the latter threatens the former's claim and Tyland's understandably angry over what his mom did. Aegon Dos is like, nah, I'll keep the boy hostage instead — that'll keep the armies at bay more than outright killing him.

So Tyland volunteers to go to Myr to hire sellswords for Aegon 2 since their armies are pretty much kaput after six years of this civil war. Tyland is blind at this point I remind you — there is a huge chance this man will never get to go home again. But he does it anyway, because even after years of fighting, he keeps his unwavering loyalty to the monarch he declared for.

Aegon II dies while Tyland is in Myr, and Tyland goes back to Westeros just in time to see Cregan Stark use his powers as the new Hand to marry Aegon III and Princess Jaehaera to unite the green and black sides. Cregan dusts off his hands, says my work here is done, warns the boy king not to trust anyone, then leaves for the North for everyone else to sort this mess out.

Now comes the part where Tyland shines as a character. He becomes the Hand of Aegon III and when you see his policies detailed in the book, it's clear that his goal is focused on repairs and renumerations. After what happened to him, he has every right to be spiteful and bitter against the blacks, but instead he "claimed a curious failure of memory, insisting that he could not recall who had been black and who had been green." He abolished the heavy taxes imposed on the smallfolk, sent out gold to lords whose holdings had been devastated during war, and set out to rebuild the Realm's granaries and fleet. Cleaning up is a tedious, unglamorous job — and because of his monstrous appearance and former allegiances, Tyland was looked upon with distrust.

And yet, while other regents grasped for power and tried taking advantage of the 13-year-old King Aegon III, Tyland seemed to be different. If he wanted power he could have married his twin brother's widow and convinced the boy-king to route more resources towards Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. But he didn't.

Instead, he genuinely seemed to be a father figure to Aegon III.

Tyland Lannister, blind and crippled, had always treated the king with deference, speaking to him gently, seeking to guide rather than command.

And for that, many lords saw him as a weak Hand. But Aegon, who cared for very little and never laughed and was always sullen, seemed to care for Tyland.

When the plague ravaged King's Landing, Tyland dutifully prioritized it over quashing the Ironborn raids at Lannisport. He was the last person to become afflicted with the Winter Fever, and the king sat by his Hand's side during his final hours. When the council starts discussing who should be the new Hand, Aegon (the boy who rarely ever speaks) says:

I would have Lord Rowan as my Hand. Ser Tyland thought well enough of him to offer him my sister’s hand in marriage, so I know he can be trusted.

This boy trusted Tyland, the man who only years ago wanted him dead.

So it's easy to imagine that this man saw Aegon III as the boy he was responsible for, as the son he could never have because of what the war had done to him. Tyland Lannister was a broken man who despite losing everything, his king and his brother and himself, kept a broken Realm and broken boy together when everyone else swarmed like vultures just trying to pick at carcasses.

What motivated this man's loyalty for a boy whose mother mutilated him? Did he regret pushing for the death of an innocent child and this was his penance? Did this man who gave everything for his cause think that this boy was something that could still give all that sacrifice and tragedy meaning? Was the mercy and kindness he afforded an apology for the horrifying trauma that scarred this boy — did he feel responsible for his mother's downfall and the failure to save his uncle? Did his disfigurement and blindness allow him to let go of the man he once was and become someone capable of seeing the folly of pride and power?

Here is his obituary in Fire and Blood:

Ser Tyland Lannister had never been beloved. After the death of Queen Rhaenyra, he had urged Aegon II to put her son Aegon to death as well, and certain blacks hated him for that. Yet after the death of Aegon II, he had remained to serve Aegon III, and certain greens hated him for that. Coming second from his mother’s womb, a few heartbeats after his twin brother, Jason, had denied him the glory of lordship and the gold of Casterly Rock, leaving him to make his own place in the world. Ser Tyland never married nor fathered children, so there were few to mourn him when he was carried off. The veil he wore to conceal his disfigured face gave rise to the tale that the visage underneath was monstrous and evil. Some called him craven for keeping Westeros out of the Daughters’ War and doing so little to curb the Greyjoys in the west. By moving three-quarters of the Crown’s gold from King’s Landing whilst Aegon II’s master of coin, Tyland Lannister had sown the seeds of Queen Rhaenyra’s downfall, a stroke of cunning that would in the end cost him his eyes, ears, and health, and cost the queen her throne and her very life. Yet it must be said that he served Rhaenyra’s son well and faithfully as Hand.

Tyland wasn't extraordinarily badass, noble, or even skilled. He was an excellent politician but no way the best. But I think that's what makes him compelling to me — that he's this down-to-earth depiction of a POW, a war veteran by all accounts, trying to pick up the pieces and slowly glue what remains of the Realm and himself back into something vaguely human.

We tell so many stories about the glory, the tragedy, and the losses of war. But I think it's important and beautiful to tell stories of those bravely and optimistically choosing to keep living in the aftermath as well.

[jin0]

TENNIS SUCKS AND SO DO YOU [Tashi Duncan, Patrick Zweig, Art Donaldson]

Summary : You were better off without them, you said for a decade despite seeing them every fucking where, all the fucking time. You were better than them, you said as you did the same shit they did and enjoyed it all the same.

Pairing : Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig x Tashi Duncan x Reader, Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig, Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan, Patrick Zweig x Art Donaldson

Warning : +18, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !, angst, canon injury, canon conniving, cheating, manipulation, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, tennis mentioned, rude language, cussing, foursome kinda, slight ball worship, pussy worship, vaginal sex (p in v), sadness, rehab mentioned, homelessness, gaslighting, genuinely everyone sucks here, no one is mentally stable and should be trusted.

A/N : enjoy

_________________________________________

As it had turned out, it had been way easier for you to admit the sick pleasure you got out of witnessing the downfall of the people you had loved for so long. Being easy to admit did not make it any less painful if you were being honest. Loving them the way you did, the way only you could since your college days made the situation just as sad as it had been cathartic.

You witnessed from the sidelines how Patrick, Tashi and Art’s old ways returned even after eleven years to tear them apart the way it had initially years prior. You still remembered how you used to be, it wasn’t hard they hadn’t changed a bit. Not even the way they looked at each other.

Outsiders would speculate on the nature of the relationship which had sparked fire in the media, two old best friends meeting again at a random challenger while one’s ‘wife’ cheered louder than she had ever been seen cheering. Some would assume the worst out of Tashi while some would pity her for being the stand in to Art’s internalized homophobia. Maybe other’s would hit the nail right on the head and guess that the three might share deep feelings for each other but the would never go further in the guesses, ironically respectful of the privacy of the three people the would spend weeks speculating on, expecting some form of answer at some point.

In the midst if all of this, you would remain. Alone but never lonely, alone and changed for the better while they simmered in their own toxicity, pulling at each other’s strings to bring the worst out of each other in hopes to come out on top, come out the best at the game of honesty they played in a pathetic attempt at convincing the others that they were the ones to say the truth the two others refused to admit to, while simultaneously keeping a lifetime’s worth of secrets.

You would remain, forever in love with them, enough to leave without a goodbye or a look back while they grew like trees in soiled dirt, intertwined but resentful of one another.

You hadn’t been able to watch the end of the match, content with watching Patrick and Art hug for the first time in about a decade. It was funny to you, really. How they had managed to part for so long when Patrick had loved Art first, loved him the way you had loved Tashi first. You all ended up falling in love, you with Art next. Patrick was a little more difficult to like. He was a cunt. And truth be told, so were you. But in their psyche, you lived as kindness personified, because at the root, you were what they aspired to reach when claiming a false sense of honesty.

You were the good ripped out of them by a forceful departure they could not have done a thing about.

You were kind and overly intelligent, academically and emotionally, doubled with a talent that made you all the more terrifying. To understand you was a struggle because all you said could be taken as exactly what it was. In the world of pompous etiquette and manners, you lived above and below it all. Born in a lower class family, you never feared to admit that your goal had always been to climb you way up until you reached what you wanted to reach. It was unclear to you and to them for a while so coaxing it out of you was useless, you didn’t know much about what you wanted, or at least, verbalizing it would be difficult. You aimed to climb, all on your own, through your own power and possibilities. Fucking Tashi Duncan was just for fun.

She wasn’t meant to be a tool in your machine, and frankly, she would’ve been a useless one too, you weren’t a tennis player. Maybe that was what had made your deep friendship so difficult to understand. People speculated that you used her for her money and status, which would make sense if your natural predator wasn’t a tennis racket and a ball. You just couldn’t play tennis for shit. And at first she would call you an idiot for trying when you clearly sucked. A friendship had blossomed when you had responded by successfully hitting a ball right past her head. You sucked at tennis but you had great aim it seemed.

You had reached Stanford on a scholarship, and artistic scholarship funded by a bunch of wealthy families, counting the Zweig and Donaldson families. You danced ballet initially but the possibilities had evolved so you did more than ballet or than dancing. It didn’t really matter honestly why you were at Stanford, the point is that you were there with them and sometimes only for them.

Again, it had started with Tashi, simple stuff really, hugs here and there turning into hugs everywhere. And hand holding which had also turned into waist holding. And the sleepovers were you started from standing at opposite sides of the room to sitting on each other and sleeping with each other in the same bed. Everything just kept escalating. Came a time were it was normal for you both to be showering together or to kiss each other’s cheeks in public. You were best friends with a little bit more on the side.

The speculation were inevitable really, but then came Patrick and Art. Things had been complicated to explain or understand but it did make sense to you four at least.

The night she had been invited to their hotel room, they hadn’t expected her to bring a friend. You didn’t really understand what she had wanted to prove, if she had wanted to prove anything at all but you knew that you didn’t really mind. A public would never bother you.

You had always been pretty obedient to her words, even more when she had her fingers inside you. When she had called you to sit on her lap while they sat on the floor, you had obeyed, climbing on top of her and zipping down your compressor shirt. You could feel their eyes on you, burning through your skin in hopes to see your breast the way Tashi could. When you two had started to make out, you wanted to laugh, hearing Art’s little gasp loud and clear. He was way easier to get worked up than Patrick. But Patrick was a slut so it made sense.

You had stopped her, pulling away with your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you attempted to regain your composure before pointing at them.

“Shouldn’t they be participating ?” You had said, amusing Tashi who patted the space next to her for you to sit. Again, you obeyed but kept a hand between her thighs while she kissed your forehead. Art and Patrick had stared at each other before Patrick rushed to sit next to you and Art next to her.

The rest was history. A long, tedious and sometimes painful history which at started really, the moment Art asked you out. You expected him to go to Tashi, and he had before asking the two of you. It was easy to love Art, the same as you loved your girl. Patrick though, it had been lust for a long time, a very long time before you accepted that he loved you and that you loved him too. You two couldn’t stop taking shots at one another you at his pathetic love for Art and him at you for being poor. Those were easy and no amount of venom in your voices could ever male you say words you didn’t mean. He was bitter at you for having Art and you at him for having Tashi, you were the same really but you would always say you had bigger balls that him because at least you unequivocally had both in all senses while he struggled to even have one.

You remembered how in a drunken admission he confessed hating you for being the romantic failure to his success, something he couldn’t bear knowing that he wanted to fuck you with all the love and adoration you ignited in his soul. He was glad to have his wish granted, waking up the next morning with you on top of him, sleeping soundly, more silent than you had ever been in your life with him around.

Then began the greatest love story never told, fueled by unyielding passion and love that transcended. Maybe the end could’ve been predicted. You loved too much with too much honesty for three people who convinced themselves that tennis was their only true love. You were okay with that, you knew it was a cover-up, a protection from the unpredictability of human feelings and relationships. You didn’t feel like covering up anything, not when you simply loved.

To you it made sense, to them it was a little more difficult, and the difficulty kept increasing slowly as everything rapidly turned to shit. One day it was all four of you, the next, Art didn’t love you anymore, not enough to share Tashi but enough to still crave your very existence like air. He was done sharing with Patrick too, something about having to admit to himself that he did love the man more than a best friend didn’t work in his mind.

They had all began getting into each other’s minds planting seeds of jealousy and doubt in a vicious cycle where they all made each other worst than worst itself. Then Tashi got hurt, and Patrick wasn’t there but Art was so she blamed the brunette while the blond rejoiced as he finally reached the sense of normalcy he had craved through monogamy. And where were you in all of this ? Left behind. You didn’t play tennis but you loved them so you thought it would be enough, it wasn’t. You couldn’t understand, they said. Tashi would never play like she used to or as she was destined to ever. And since Art was there, he would be the talent that prevailed and lived. Patrick, he couldn’t care less about you when he was loosing the two people who really mattered to him.

You had been disposed of in a matter of weeks, a useless, bothersome artefact found in the dirt and throw back in the dirt when you had stopped being fun. You would’ve never understood what it felt like to lose the very thing that one thought of when thinking of Love, yet you could’ve tried, you would’ve tried for them, for her.

Patrick was the first who should’ve gone, almost forcefully thrown out of the apartment you had all started sharing, ironically owned by his family. He lost the home of his heart and chose to give away his house too. But Patrick being Patrick, he refused to leave, stubborn and smug, he opted to stay and keep trying. He knew tennis and Tashi’s love for tennis. He had felt that love for a certain blond boy he had lost too.

With his stay, he formed a side, his own, while Tashi and Art formed another. They fought, regularly, everyday almost, about the same things and a multitude of little other things that they had never voiced prior to the incident. Because they were too ‘kind’ to speak up, but mean enough to use it as ammunition in petty arguments.

They fought about almost anything frankly and you, you disappeared, left off in the background, dissipating like sand, washed away by the sea and forgotten. You didn’t need to get involved they said. Yet you did, because you loved all three and maybe it was selfish but you still held onto the hope that they loved you too, enough to support you in your own moments.

But that was before the Patrick you had learned to love forced you with the brutal reality of things.

You fell. During a rehearsal, you fell, badly enough to hurt you foot and possibly for a little while. It wasn’t broken nor was it permanently damaged, you would heal quickly, you just had to be taken to the hospital to be given the necessary information on how to recover. You would also need to be taken home, you physically couldn’t walk. You called and called and called, calling about a hundred times with no answer from any of them. You ended up staying at the hospital for two days before deciding that you didn’t want to stay more so you left, on foot, which you shouldn’t have done. You had crutches, you thought, so this would be fine. It was at the end, your foot was fine, your soul though, not so much.

After two days in the hospital, you had returned home to another fight between the three. You were tired so you stayed silent until they took notice of you, standing there in silence. Weirdly enough, that seemed to aggravate them further, leading to sighs of anger and looks of disgust, as if you were the cause of all of this, all their issues and frankly all the issues in the world. Unused the first and last fight you were apart of.

It was about you not being there, you always running when things got hard for Tashi, running away because you couldn’t be the center of attention anymore when Tashi would be the priority. You didn’t really process much if what was thrown your way, too busy trying to defend yourself in vain. It didn’t matter really, whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter not when for the first time in weeks both Fire and Ice agreed on something while Tashi looked at you with the kind of hatred you’d never seen in her eyes before. All three finally agreed on something and it seemed it was on how much they couldn’t stand you.

“It’s fucking pathetic how low you’d go to feel like you matter to us. Let me make this abundantly clear, your presence here is only because of Tashi. The interest we have in you is only because of Tashi. Any amount of interest we have in you is because of Tashi. You don’t even matter to yourself outside of her.” How said Patrick bitterly. He looked disgusted by the very sight of you and his words translated about just as much venom as his gaze.

He walked up to you, still standing at the same spot you had been in since you had entered the room to walk in on them fighting once again. You hadn’t moved and now you were paralyzed by humiliation, as if even breathing would be a stain on their glory. You were going through it again in a matter of seconds. Years of improvement on your self worth all going down the drain because of three people.

You watched him with teary eyes as he stepped up to you, entering your personal space so that you could see properly how much he meant his next words.

“We barely tolerate you without tennis, but how much do you think we’d like you if Tashi hadn’t pulled you in like a necessary condition for her presence around ?”

You said still, to ashamed to cry or to breath, almost heaving from the ball of air stuck in your throat. You said as stoic as you could all while keeping your tears at bay. He chuckled while staring at you, false amusement to hide how annoyed he was with your presence here. You tried to look towards Art, who looked away, face indifferent as he silently agreed to his ex best friend’s words while your own best friend stared blankly at you then at your foot before getting up and leaving.

You weren’t one to stay where you weren’t wanted, so when they left to chase after Tashi, you took that as an opportunity to pack your stuff and leave. All that was left behind were the stuff you wouldn’t outwardly need or could ask a friend, if you had any left, to help you get.

In that moment you felt your luckiest despite the circumstances, your lack of relationship to tennis making it easy to rely on someone who wouldn’t be asking thousands of questions on why you were now excluded from the little group who’d been ruling the minds and hearts of about every student on campus. For the rest of the semester, you moved in with a friend from your dance studio, friend who quickly became your greatest form of support, pushing you to get back up and become the best dancer you’d ever been.

For the first time, you felt what Tashi meant when she said tennis would be her greatest love, you understood her drive to not just be a player among the lot but the player who stood above the masses effortlessly yet with lots of efforts. The rumors quickly spread, your separation from the group raising questions that you were too busy to answer, spending about every second of every hour dancing and improving your artistic skill while slowly letting the three people you had loved turn into distant figures in your rearview mirror.

The longing glances in the lecture halls and silent please turned into quick looks in their direction, acknowledging their presences before going back to what you were doing, before soon, watching it turn into nothing. You stopped looking, feeling their eyes on your before shutting down the instinct which you had lead to you them in crowds of thousands so many times before. Before you knew it, you brushed passed them, your scent burning through their being like the softest of caress and the sharpest of slaps while you simply didn’t notice them. You had stopped trying to ignore them and made them presence part lf everyone, barely noticeable.

Your dancing got better, just like your heart and your other talent. You divested into other areas of artistic expression, soon stepping out of Stanford to be known all over the world for your incredible voice and the amazing performances that went with it. You filled concert halls like one would fill their lungs with air and sold albums like no other. Your passion and devotion for your craft quickly became known all over the world, impossible to miss as your face appeared on Billboards and your voice resonated through radios. You got busy with like and you weren’t the only one.

You knew about Tashi and Art’s wedding, catching wind of it from friends you had made in college. It didn’t surprise you much, she could handle Art better. What had surprised you was for Fire to Part from Ice and vice versa, both disappearing from each other’s life. It wasn’t news that neither really deeply like to share, ironic considering the circumstances. You had found out about their daughter too, Lily, cute name. Art had probably picked it. Tashi would’ve named her ‘Tennis Donaldson’ if she could. Tennis Duncan even. She loved tennis too much, it had started to exasperate you, but inly slightly. You understood. You lived dancing just the same. Just healthily. You could see through the mist, watching her live vicariously through her darling husband he played for her. He lost the passion he had for the sport, but he had lost more.

You didn’t know what had happened to Patrick, or at least you feigned ignorance. You didn’t give a fuck about that little bitch. But watching him die wouldn’t be fun. You knew about the heroin addiction and about the alcoholism. It was known before during college and it had stopped briefly while you dated, keeping only the smoking. He had drifted from them, too busy getting fucked up on whatever he could get his sticky fingers on while fucking whoever he could get to give him shelter for the night. Being a crackhead was expensive and even Patrick Zweig couldn’t afford it, it seemed. You knew he lived in his car and tried to revive his dead tennis career every chance he got. He was embarrassing to be frank, but you couldn’t turn your back on him when you knew he could pick up a handgun any day and write your name in big bold letters out of spite for the amount of time he called and you refused to answer before choosing to block his number. The junky ex boyfriend trope was getting tired and the sex was good back in the days but never enough to entertain his mess of a life. And to be frank, you had grown to be just as spiteful and petty as they were, the wound of the past still fresh in your heart despite the decade of separation.

Over the last years, you had crossed his path about five times and each time you found him in a outer body state, off on whatever he had gotten his hands on but definitely not water. Each time you crossed him, you remembered the words he had said to you, ears prior, noting the irony of how he had turned out now that he was alone. It was sad, honestly, Art had been a beacon to him, Tashi too. But both found mutual benefits in each other, Tashi getting to live through her husband while Art got to live through the fantasy that he didn’t regularly got of on his best friends cock rubbing against his.

You, you were just collateral, too easy to love yet too mysterious to understand. You were like the easiest puzzle never solved to them, an equation on love and lust all packed in one basic formula that was so easy that it felt like a trap. People relying on toxicity to feel alive sabotaged shit like that, the easy shit that wasn’t meant to be overly painful. You’d been too easy, so you could be disposed of ln on the basis of an argument where you just didn’t fit anymore when the truth is that you fit in way to easily with each without having to give anything tangible. You weren’t bringing shit to their worlds but yourself yet you were indispensable.

And being indispensable, surprisingly, wasn’t sufficient to them.

~

The first time Patrick saw you again after the separation was in the street. Which street he can’t say, he’s not even certain he saw you for real seeing as that night he was high on whatever had been sitting in his car and a 4 dollar bottle of vodka from the corner store. His car slash home wasn’t too far, less than ten steps away, yet he couldn’t reach it. First he couldn’t fucking find his keys and on top of that, he had felt in a cheery mood, deciding to down half the bottle right outside the store. He was in a mood to celebrate, the news of Tashi and Art’s divorce plaguing his mind like the sweetest of highs.

In his sick mind, the man still lived the fantasy that he and Art were the same or that they could be, true rivals from the same place, both drastically changed by their circumstances but still and forever Fire and Ice. He wanted to believe that well in his thirties he still had a shot. He could still do this, get to reach the same level of stardom and face off his best friend and lover once again. He was insane, and slightly pathetic like that but the news made the possibility even greater in his mind.

Tashi and Art had been a unit of destruction he could’ve never truly beat, not on his own, yet he still dreamt and rightfully so. Because now, both members of the unit were parting ways and what better way to conquer than to divide ? She had done it, years prior, Art fully participating despite his seemingly innocent demeanor.

In the midst of his celebration, he had, once again, forgotten to exercise restraint and had drunken enough to stumble into an alley all alone, falling face first in a puddle of water. In his inebriated state, even felt the weight of his exhaustion, weirdly falling down all at once on his shoulders.

He was so out of it, he hadn’t noticed your figure almost floating towards his body before seeing you crouched down next to him. You started at him just like he did you, both quiet for a second before he cut the silence with a chuckle, you, on the other hand were less than amused, stoic and silent face dark as you watched him, probably gloating to see him in such a state.

“Are you real ?” Was all he had said, waiting for a response which had never came.

It was almost vicious how he could barely make out the walls around him yet could perfectly distinguish the features of your face. It hadn’t changed, fuck you were so pretty.

The rest was a blur of soft touches and movements he could understand. All he knew was that you had spoken to him, telling him to not drink and to cut the heroin. He had nodded, obedient and shameful as a result of his words from the past.

When he had woken up the next day, he was surprised to be in a bed, comfy and warm covers. Parts of him dreamt it was her house. It wasn’t. It wouldn’t never be, not if she had a say on it at least.

You had driven him to rehab, leaving without a word or a note for him to understand. He didn’t know much other than the fact that you had paid for him to stay there for six months and then maybe he could leave. You had even paid more to make sure that the establishment accepted him despite her not being a relative or anything like that. Top quality facility that would have him bust his ass off trying to get clean, and not just off the drugs but also the alcohol.

He didn’t know anything, he just felt like it was you who had been the generous donator to pay for him to get clean. The lady at the front desks and the doctor in charge of him were only told one thing that had a seemingly smug but actually hopeful grin stretching his lips.

“I don’t want anything really, it’s more for him. Maybe, if he gets better in his head, he’ll actually get to be good at tennis again.”

It was mean, you were mean, mostly to him. But he knew better. You both had a habit of disagreeing so whenever he’d shit on himself, you’d join him and suddenly he was bathed in the confidence of the universe. Ironically, it never worked the other way around.

He stayed, all six months though, per the doctors and therapist, he wouldn’t need to. He could’ve left after the forth month. They had a tennis court to help him work a bit so he chose to stay. Even made friends. But he stayed, the whole time. Out of respect for you in some ways but also because he wanted to see how well he’d do. If he could really stick it out for the whole six months and then more. He did, and he would’ve loved to tell you, but that didn’t happen.

~

The next you saw was Art. If “seeing” was an appropriate term to use in this situation. After retiring, the man couldn’t find it in himself to ever really leave the tennis world, even after he and Tashi had divorced. He was still fully ingrained in the tennis world like the champion who would’ve lost it all, should’ve lost it all. His career been over if he had lost to Patrick that day. It would’ve destroyed him, you knew that. You didn’t need to be there to know, you always could read him. You could read all three down to the nastiest of details they were dirty rotten books passing fungus and parasites to everything they touched.

Art was the prettiest of parasites, seemingly clean and well behaved, but he fucked like a man starved for pussy, real pussy, raw and without conditions or expectations. You knew he hadn’t changed a bit when you saw him at an even for Uniqlo. Your career also had you around these circles and you like these events the best, with big brands but really niche, making it easy to not be overwhelmed as soon as you stepped in the room.

You’d been the center of attention the moment you entered and he was quick to catch you, you both engaging in a stare off that had lasted for about three seconds to you maybe, a lifetime to him. You couldn’t be here, not really, how could you ? He had dreamt of you, screamed your name and moaned it while balls deep in his wife. Ex wife. She’d moan your name too, it was pathetic, both were. He had pleaded the universe for you and yet nothing, but here you were, the one night he wasn’t thinking of you somehow. There you were, ever so beautiful and breathtaking. Like a ghost grappling at his brain.

It was pathetic, to not see you for a decade and yet to have his heart beat out of his chest as soon as he saw you and his cock springing to life like never before when you turned around, allowing him to gawk at the curve of your spine, from your nape to your ass. He was screwed.

For the rest of the night you both engaged in a cat and mouse game, him the cat and you the mouse, but here, you weren’t running from him. You were disappearing into the crowd as soon as he was freed from whatever pointless discussion was taking his time from you.

Then came the end of the night and Art was frantic, aimlessly searching for you, terrified like never before to miss you and this time lose you forever. He could reach you, he could go to one of your concerts and press tour for one of your movies. He could do that, but Art had always been somewhat of a pussy. Enjoying his position off in the shadow while the rest of the world took actions and spoke on their feelings.

That day, he took action, forgetting any sense of pride and decorum when he grabbed you by the jaw and pushed you into the elevator, hands reaching under your dress to hike your legs up around his waist. The elevator had barely opened, luckily leading directly into the suite he had been offered that he and his eager hands dragged your docile body to the nearest flat surface. When he had reached the dinner table, he had laid you up on it, so delicately, as if you were a figment of his imagination, potentially disturbed by any rough movement.

He was almost panicking, fiddling with your dress, torn between savoring the moment and your presence or making you feel the weight of your absence. He chose the later, ripping through the fabric of the expensive dress while you whined at the loss of such a beautiful piece to add to your collection.

You liked clothes, you always did and your mewls of pleasure mixed with the sound of your discontentment at the loss of your new favorite dress had him tensing in his pants, balls tight and full of love and memories from how happy and grateful you used to be when he gave you a present.

His lips dragged along the tense vein in your neck, occasionally biting down on your flesh to mark you in the most visible way possible. If you were to disappear again, you’d be marked, sworn as off limits to anyone else. You’d be his to worship.

You had matched his eagerness, sliding slander manicured fingers into his pants and boxers to stoke his cock, mouth watering at the idea lf having him in you again, girth taking up all the space in her throat and rutting into her hole desperately for even more.

You did, have him fuck your throat. Your saliva coating his balls shamelessly while you choked, almost suffocating on him but whining like the desperate girl you were whenever he even thought of pulling out. He had let you have your fun on him, nasty words to match the nasty rhythm of his hips slamming into your mouth. Plop. Plop. Plop, resonating into the room while he drilled his long cock into you with vigor. He had cum once, in your throat, only one, holding your face still as he pushed the tip of your nose into his nicely trimmed pubic hair. You inhaled his scent, eyes crossing in pleasure while you came untouched. What a good girl you’d always been, cumming at the idea of having him lay his semen in your throat.

He pulled out, holding your jaw still while admiring your fucked out face before kissing your cheeks tenderly like he always did to bring you back. You were easy to overwhelm so making you dumb on pleasure came easy too. But Art was a hard working man and he would never stop at that.

“Already so dumb for me…” He had muttered into your skin, lips dragging across your cheeks, jaw and chest, to finally reach your leaking mound. It was his turn to inhale your scent, mind hazy with pleasure and completely taken by you. No amount of thinking ever mattered, you mattered, all of you. Art had found an altar within the confine of your folds, ready to worship it like he had been deprived off for years.

His tongue had lapped at your juices for hours, pussy drunk after the first orgasm he had pulled out of you and ready to sink into his addiction. His messy tongue hadn’t left you since he had started, essentially hours ago, swallowing your taste, drinking in your pleasure and praying for more. He sucked on your clit messily, movements becoming just as erratic as he was. He wanted more of you, more of this, he needed to live in your skin forever. You were so warm and felt so good and he loved you and he had missed you so fucking much and this was too much, ruining him from the inside and melting him into a puddle of arousal and unexpressed love. He was made to love you and you weren’t there, you had left and he needed to love you now and forever.

“P-Please… Baby please…” He kept starting, to dumb on your pussy to be able to finish his sentence. But finish, that he did. Cumming untouched himself, cock rubbed raw against the fabric of the covers, a wet patch under him, marking the spot he’d been soaking with his pour sensitive cock for hours. He was twitching like never before, moans exiting his mouth because of the air touching his sensitive tip, so red it looked like a popsicle. Lucky him you couldn’t see, or you’d swallow him whole until he was to cum without anything coming out.

For now he rejoiced in the pleasure of having you in this bed, shaking nonstop and coherent words and phrases erases from your vocabulary by his desperate acts on your now swollen cunt. His hands had been gripping on your hips, holding you firmly and relying on your ass cheeks for more grip when his attacks on you became too much and you would attempt to squirm away. You were now but a body, a doll, aimlessly moved by him will. His tongue went deep inside you, so, so deep, almost grazing your most sensitive point but still preparing your walls for his raw dick and the abuse it would lay on your eager pussy. He moved your body back and forth, having you rut your hips into his face. His blue eyes, clouded by pleasure and insanity looked up, faced by your breasts bouncing while you cried and cried, the pleasure too much. He freed one of your ass cheeks to reach a large hand over your tits, grabbing it roughly and toying with your nipple while he sucked on your clit. He had heard the sound of the sheets ripping and wanted to be the next one to be torn into.

He was too much, to passionate on you, slurping and slobbering on your weeping cunt as if it was his last meal. He was entranced by you, feasting on you with all the fervor he had missed out on showing you. As he lapped away, you jerked particularly harshly, too sensitive to handle much more. Your fingers tried to pull him away from you, hair tightly gripped in your hands but he was quick to fight back, sending you a glare before going back to you.

In one desperate motion, strength fueled by your impending orgasm and his own, hip humping the air as his large cock stood tall beads of cum leaking in large drops out of his tip, he flipped you over, you on top of him, seating on his face while he laid under you. The weight of your ass on his chin and your cunt smashed against his face, he could die happy again. His hands found your ass again while yours grabbed onto his growing blond locks and the other holding onto the headboard. You road his tongue like never before, smearing your cum on his face while you cried for your release.

“A-Art ! Fuck, Art, baby ! S-So good !” was all you could say at the moment, the rest, incomprehensible cries of pleasure and babbling that signified how far gone you were.

Art watched your tits bounce again, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth and all over your center as he dreamt of sucking your nipples until the were swollen and sensitive. He made love to your cunt, moaning inside you like he could do so well, grunts and whines of pleasure going heard by the entire floor if his suit wasn’t the only one here. His own eyes filled with tears, balls releasing cum all over his stomach and your back.

You gripped his hair like a rope you held onto at the risk of falling. He admired with desperation and passion, your head thrown back in pleasure as you finally came, crying out his name while drenching his face in your cream. You could barely catch your breath that he had thrown you off of him and onto the mattress. He stood between your legs for a minute, staring.

That was the clearest memory you had of that night, other than the week long ache between your legs and the pulsating of your clit at the sound of his name. You, on the other hand, were etched into his mind like a picture carved in stone to be remembered forever. Everything he looked was a reminder of you, even his daughter, Lily, a great enjoyer of your movies, one where you had played a princess destined to save her kingdom. Ironic how both he and his daughter saw you the same, the princess and the savior.

He marked you into his mind, your hair splayed onto the bed, eyes lidded with pleasure, mouth parted as you stared at his cock. Every piece of you he memorized. In every position too. And, intertwined amongst the sounds of pleasure exiting his throat, muffled by his mouth almost fused to a piece of your skin, pressed to your cheek or to your forehead in one of the most intimate acts he had performed in the last five years, he cried out for you. Desperately crying out your and the anger he had suppressed towards you. Anger or sadness, sorrow so deep it almost felt like grief. His movement became harsher, almost mean but so full of love too. He loved you so much, present tense, he hadn’t stopped ever. He was still angry at you for leaving though, so he told you in a mix of incoherent and inaudible words all mushed together, he voiced his feelings for how you had abandoned him, left him heartbroken, grieving in silence.

“H-How…How could you d-do this to me, huh ?” He’d say angrily, before pleading. “I love you… F-Fuck… I l-love you… Please… I love you…”

Drilling his raw dick inside you felt like life itself, your walls tightly holding him in while he kissed your thoughts away. Open mouth kisses, all tongue and teeth, this was life, made and in the making. He was making life with you that night, creating like he had never before. When you rode his cock, balls slapping against your ass while his lips latched onto your breasts to suck on them, that was life. When you’d been thrown on all fours, taking the nastiest backshots known to man, pussy molded to take him and only him in, that was life. When he laid you on your side, one leg raised up by his muscly arm as you took another load of his cum from the back, that was life. When he fucked you with your thighs pressed to your chest and ankles around his head, his swollen lips kissing you tenderly in contrast with the force of his hips slamming into you, that was life.

Life hadn’t stopped until sunrise, where you had both fallen asleep, you taking in his ‘I love yous’ and your tongue tied with pleasure, the kind you hadn’t felt in decades, to speak up. With each new position came more cum and more words from him, poor Art, fucked dumb by his sweet girl that had finally returned. Years of guilt and love unexpressed had finally been told in loud moans and babbling about how much he loved you and was sorry.

It didn’t matter.

You had both fallen asleep with his cock nestled inside you, sheets tossed to the floor and arms holding your body close. He slept with his face nuzzling into your hair, a scent of vanilla and citrus he had missed like a man lost in the desert missed water. Your fingers held onto his forearm with your back pressed to his chest. You were both molded against one another, peaceful and quiet.

Reality hit the next morning, when he woke up to you getting dressed. You weren’t in a hurry but you weren’t staying, he couldn’t let you leave though.

He was quick to leap out of bed and in front of you, hands holding your cheeks to force you to look into his eyes.

“Please… Look at me, please baby…” He had begged, your empty eyes finding him. “Stay. Stay and let me apologize, make up for what I did-“

“You didn’t do anything Art.” You cut him off, swatting his hands away and going back to the pieces of your dress. “And there is nothing to make up for. You wanted Tashi, I can’t fault you. The sex was good, let’s stop there.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, desperation evident as he tried to hold you in his shaky hands.

He followed you around the bedroom and out of it when you were done, running after you while almost sobbing before dropping to his knees in front of you. You sighed, exhausted by the exchange while he sacrificed his dignity once again, for someone but never himself.

“Please baby, stay with me. Please, I love you.” He was erratic, breathing quickening while you looked around.

“Art…” Your eyes dropped to him, staring into his beautiful blue eyes and holding his face tenderly. “You don’t love me. You’re bored and you love having me in bed, that’s it.” You tried to walk away but he crawled after you, holding onto your leg desperately.

“No !” he exclaimed. “Don’t dismiss me or my feelings, please. I love you, with everything I have-“

“Ironically after Tashi left, thought.”

“I’m a fucking coward, fine ! But I can’t lose you again, not like this !” He was scared, that morning, truly. Even more than when Tashi announced she wanted a divorce.

“You don’t lose someone you don’t have. You can’t have someone you don’t want.”

“Fuck you ! I want you, I need you, baby, please !” He needed to know that you’d be there tomorrow and for the rest of eternity. He couldn’t lose you again, not again. “Look at me and tell me you don’t love me.”

You threw your head around, amused by his desperation and how brazen it made him sometimes. “You’re ruining this Art…”

“I can love you for the both of us if that’s the issue. I want to be yours, I want to marry you, live life with you, be everything you need from me !” He wasn’t listening, never.

Thinking back, it wouldn’t lead to anything, the pleading and all. He could see it now. Hindsight was 20/20. It would’ve been useless and even disrespectful to ask you to love him again after discarding you that way. But to get you back and lose you so quickly had killed him a little more that day. He had needed to hear it though, to understand. And understand he had.

“Art.” Your voice was firm, like a line of cement in the sand and a pause in time, freezing him and his tears in place. “I never needed you. None of you. I just wanted you, and was content with that. You were the ones who discarded me because you didn’t need me.”

He remained frozen in place, giving you the opportunity to leave, your eyes glued to his, his beautiful tearful face as he stared in silence. When the doors of the elevator closed, he collapsed, crying harder than ever before, crying like he should’ve years ago when he had found your stuff gone. He had lost you again. His pretty girl. The love of his life.

He might’ve doubted his love for Patrick or Tashi, but loving you was like breathing air. It was easy, it made sense, before and still now. And you’d been ripped out of his life forcefully. Even now, when his pride managed to supersede his love for Patrick and Tashi, nothing could come above the love he felt for you.

After that night, he had been floating aimlessly around life, drained out of life. You were somewhere, everywhere in his life, but near him and that was punishment, cruelty for choosing Tashi and ruining all four of you. He needed to see this and had refused, now he didn’t have the choice.

~

The next to see you was Tashi, or if you had to be precise, it was Lily, her daughter.

There was a park down your block, you often went there to write and skateboard. Tashi didn’t know that. She didn’t know anything. To know about you was to punish herself for about everything she had done in the recent years. Including getting married. She would never admit that though, to much pride would be sacrificed if after a decade she admitted that she missed you even after the way things had gone. It would also require for her to admit that maybe divorcing Art was not really a good idea. Not when a part of her still loved him, a part you had created, the part that accepted to love and be loved beyond tennis because love, as painful as it could be, was beautiful. Even in the most vile and painful moments.

You’d been sitting for about an hour, head thrown back as you let the spring breeze and the sound of birds communicating through the trees seep into your skin. Your week had been hectic and this was the first real moment of peace you could claim to benefit from, truly, a moment of peace where life let itself float around you while you took a pause.

Your pause, ended brutally, the sound of rushing footsteps and then a little yelp waking you up from your meditation. You opened one eye, looking down in the direction of the sound to find a little girl, laying on the floor with watery eyes and a wobbling bottom lip.

Poor thing had probably tripped. You straightened yourself, leaping off the bench to kneel in front of the little girl. She was distraught, looking around and fiddling with her skirt.

“Don’t worry, there’s not that many people, no one saw.” You’d said to reassure her.

She looked at you timidly before nodding, accepting the assessment you’d made on the situation. You didn’t know if anyone really had seen or not, but you did know that the park was essentially empty at this hour of the day.

“Hurts…” She mumbled, still looking down shyly. You wanted to chuckle, she was adorable, but she could’ve thought that you were mocking her so you refrained.

“Do you mind ?” You asked, pointing at her knee that was visibly turning a little more red by the minute. She shook her head, holding onto your shoulders so that you could lift her up and sit her on the bench. She had grazed her knee, it was bleeding. You looked up at the little girl in silence, this would probably have her panic if you told her. She looked about seven years old max and seemed used to run around freely, she hadn’t called for a parent yet. Luckily, you had everything you needed in your bag. You’d learn to carry around a first aid kit because of how easily you got hurt and out of habit. It reassured Tashi, back in the days, to know that you were okay or at least had something to take care of yourself.

You chuckled, her memory would truly haunt you until death if it could. You’d see her face in a piece on bandaid if you let yourself.

Pulling out your essentials, you pulled out a bottle of water as well as cleaning alcohol. You saw the little girl tense but quickly regain her composure.

“You’re not scared ? That hurts sometimes you know…” That wasn’t the smartest thing to say to a kid, but you said it anyways.

“I-It’s okay… Mommy says bugs could grow in my boo-boo if not cleaned. I hate bugs.”

You grinned, amused by her rationality but also by her tight grip on your shoulders. She was scared, she just knew better.

“And what does your mommy say about you running around alone in a park ?”

She didn’t respond, too focused on your face. Like she’d seen it before, and frankly, looking at her, you felt like you had seen her before. The messy curls on top of her little head and the way her nose scrunched and her eyes narrowed when you dabbed the alcohol on her knee. You wanted to pay more attention, but the memories where ghosts that had to be ignored or they would ruin your life.

“I’ve seen you before…” She said. You hummed, quietly asking for precisions. “In the TV. You were really pretty. You had a sword and all… It was cool…”

She’d seen one of your movies, for children kinda. A little bit violent in some scenes but for children technically. With a princess who wielded the sword better than any knight.

“Did you like it ? I personally did. Loved the sword fights.” You asked, softly placing the bandaid on her leg and giving her a thumbs up.

“Me too, but I have to be careful because they’re dangerou-“

“Lily ?!”

You both were interrupted by a loud voice not too far, rushing quickly towards you. The little girl hopped off the bench with a smile, running in their direction after muttering a soft “mommy”.

You would’ve loved to turn around, but presently you were too annoyed to do so, angry to not have noticed her resemblance to the man you had seen a few weeks prior and the woman you hadn’t seen in years. You exhaled, seating back on the bench and watching as the little girl chatted away, explaining how “the princess from the TV healed her knee”. You watched Tashi search around until her gaze found yours and froze.

If you’d been in her head you would’ve seen it all, the fireworks, the crashing waves of a hurricane, the tornado, the screaming lady who resembled her but simply couldn’t be, Art and her’s wedding day, the fights you found yourself at the center of and all the times she’d have sex with him thinking of you but without feeling guilty because she knew he did too. You’d see that and about a thousand other things because she was going insane at the moment while you looked almost bored to see her.

She stood up, mouth slightly parted and her eyes never really leaving yours while her hands gripped on Lily’s smaller one, like she was afraid that she would run and disappear again, like she had previously done and like you did years ago.

For someone who was paid for her advices and known in the business for how easily she could get in someone’s head through words, Tashi was struggling a great deal at words right now. She was stuck between speechless and too angry to formulate clear words.

“Mommy ?” Was what brought her back. She looked to her daughter, plastering on a fake smile to appease the worried child and caressing her hair.

“How about you go play for a little while I go say thank you to the lady, okay ?” In any other circumstances she would’ve gone home, done with the whole outdoors thing and ready to get back to work but the situation was different with you present here.

When she assessed that Lily was far enough to not hear, she stomped towards you, angry eyes burning through you. She was ready to hand you a slap worthy of movies but was stopped by your less that amused eyes matching her expression. You were politely asking her to refrain with your eyes, an expression she’d almost never been on the receiving end of.

Tashi stood there, watching you attentively, like she expected you to disappear. She took the time to observe you, take you in. Your gaze was some distant point in front of you, possibly Lily, seeing how you smiled while she laughed loudly.

You hadn’t changed much in a decade, looking as young as when you were in college. They’d all felt the mark of time as it was engraved on their features, burnt with painful precision to signify the years of conniving, lies and deceit they’d been put through by each other to maintain the illusion that they were doing better than the next. You looked fine, they didn’t.

Even she, felt like she didn’t look good, worn out by the pretense of perfection of the wife and coach who only sought to bring out the best out of her husband, make him the best. Not that he could ever really become it, not when he was so busy trying to play for two. Ironically she did find respite in her motherly duty, finding bits of herself you had taken with you in her darling little girl. Ball of oxygen like she had never experienced before, the kind of fresh air tennis could bring her.

“She’s cute, your daughter. Looks so much like you, almost feels like Art didn’t have anything to do with it.” You said nonchalantly.

She could’ve carved your eyes out for that comment, slapped you with nasty words about your life and how bitter you were that it wasn’t you. She remembered how you four had planned it. You and Art were supposed to marry because you loved each other the healthy, reciprocated, committed way. Like a couple who wanted to grow old and have plenty of kids together did. Tashi, she loved you as much as she loved tennis, but tennis came first. Patrick loved Art as much as he loved tennis, but he loved Art more. They’d find mutual benefits being together, because they worked and loved each other in a way that worked. Loved each other like two pieces of one tennis driven soul. After one very long and celebration filled night where everyone had won something, you’d made a promise that reeked of love, the kind Tashi had never allowed herself to feel for anything that wasn’t tennis. She loved Patrick really, but you first and Art too. You all made her feel alive the way tennis did. Art wanted children, with you, and you wanted kids with him too. Patrick and Tashi, it was more of an eventuality for after retirement. Adoption maybe, or you. It didn’t matter, but it all worked out for all of you. That night, she felt like she was on top pf the world. She crashed a few months later when she fought with Patrick and Art had started his divisive bullshit. The fall of Tashi Duncan, the one who could’ve but never would again.

“She’s a good kid, more like him than you think. But you wouldn’t know, you’ve been busy.” She responded after a while, both to defend herself but also to spit out her anger towards you. It had to come out.

“Don’t expect me to stick around where I’m not wanted.”

“Oh fuck off !” Your nonchalance was getting to her, anger as evident as the sorrow in her voice. “The victim bullshit about how you weren’t wanted can work for the other two but I knew you first. No one in this world wanted you more than we did.”

“Yeah, maybe, but you treated me like shit.” Your tone wasn’t changing while hers shifted from assured to shaky.

“So what, you leave ? We scream at you once and you leave ?” You turned to her, looking into her eyes as if looking through her while she stared at you, awaiting a response. It was surprising really, how easily she lost her temper and composure when it came to you. You were like gasoline to her fire. She’d never show as much passion than in the moments that had to do with you.

She hated you in that moments, because you left her alone. She lost tennis, her mind then you. She couldn’t do this without you but she didn’t have the choice, she faked it until it felt real and suddenly you appeared again. On her screens, then billboards and then ad’s and commercials. Obviously she knew you shared some brand deals with Art, she’d done it on purpose so that she could feel bits of you in him. She smelled you all over him when he had returned from that trip for a brand she had forgotten. She only remembered the look in his eyes, like Life itself had been ripped out of him. They’d shared a look that day and it was all they had needed to know. She, who had started to doubt whether divorce really was the best choice, she now knew that it was. You hadn’t just been lingering around, you were the constant. The glue.

That night, Art had slept in the guest room, crying himself to sleep for her to listen through the walls as she cried quietly. They were pathetic truly. But at least they knew that they had to separate really. No more fight on his part to keep his family, no more doubt on hers to keep tennis. Neither could stand the other any longer nor could they stand the charade.

“You treated me like shit Tashi. You’re not the only one who knows the other and unlike you and your lapdog, I actually don’t mind the truth, even when it makes me look like shit. You treated me like shit, so I left. Or would you have preferred for me to be like your little white boy and stick around to get a taste of what the Tashi Duncan, never really Donaldson, bullshit, conditional love is ?”

You sounded more animated, brought alive by the commentary on a life you would never regret because you knew it brought you the peace they never could enjoy. She usually enjoyed getting a rise out of the other two, feeling like she was better for remaining collected when they didn’t.

Now, it didn’t feel like a testament of her success over you. She never wanted to win when it came to you, it wasn’t about that, it was simpler. You were like a drug she got addicted to, but the good kind. Like being addicted on life. You made her feel alive independently of tennis. With you around, she actually would’ve been okay losing tennis forever because with you around, the story about how tennis was a relationship where you owed it to someone else to entertain them, to build a relationship and whatnot, it just didn’t work.

She felt healthier, in her mind and body with you, like genuinely be alright no matter where life lead her. And one day it all started crashing. Slowly. She should’ve seen it coming, or at least she could’ve paid attention taken charge to fight this the right way. She didn’t. When things got bad for her she’d focus entirely on tennis and when things got bad between you four, tennis was all that mattered until it wasn’t there anymore. She wouldn’t be choosing tennis had she known that it would take you away.

She had lost tennis too at the end so frankly, it didn’t matter anymore but she refused to lose her right to be mad at you too, because that’s really all she had left of you. Her anger and a daughter who grew to emulate parts of you she didn’t know she had missed.

“She hates bugs.” She said. It surprised you, it was soft, a whisper. Almost like she wanted to hide. You could only chuckle because it made you laugh, thought it didn’t make much sense.

“Everyone should hate bugs.” You responded.

“No…” she sighed, annoyed that she had to clarify. “She hates bugs like you do. Has to take off her clothes to check that they’re not there and take off the invisible veil of their presence on her skin.”

“That’s the best way to free yourself from the bugs.” That was weird, and uncool. She looked at you like you were a freak and for a second she was taken back to college, where you were the cool mysterious girl who everyone wanted to fuck but were too scared to approach. You really were a weirdo who hated bugs and could throw up if a caterpillar crawled your way. You were so cool to everyone but her. Just like now.

If you could’ve described her expression, you could only associate it with the way she looked at Patrick usually. That was the look she gave him when he’d forget himself and talk to her like she was any kind of girl he picked up off the street at a bar to fuck. She looked at you like you had lost your senses and had about five seconds to find them which was funny because she was the one losing it.

She loved you a whole lot, which was insane.

She stood and looked at you from above with disdain and contempt.

“You’re a pussy who runs away at the slightest of issues. I loved you, I list tennis and you left me because I wouldn’t coddle you anymore.” She spat venomously, aiming to hurt.

You looked at her, indeed hurt but also surprised. You were more wounded by what her words meant than what she had said.

“Y-You… You think I left because you weren’t playing anymore ?”

“That’s exactly what you did.”

And for the first time you were affected. This was the first encounter that had really thrown you back in the past.

You felt tears well up on your eyes, the feeling of your eyes trying to soak up the tears to keep you composed, so overpowering your throat was stuck. You didn’t want to cry and she didn’t want to make you cry, but she also did, because then maybe you’d feel exactly like she had for weeks back in the days.

“If… If tennis really had been what had sealed the deal, I would’ve stayed for Art, fucked him and gotten pregnant, Tash…” You chuckled, trying to conceal the pain that came with understanding what her best friend felt. You finally saw her view, all because of a simple phrase from her. “I left… I left because I was useless to all of you, Tashi… Without tennis to make you happy, what good was I around other than to have sex and remind you of how disposable I am ?”

You had cried yourself to sleep countless times, begging for assurance that you were good enough, that you could be loved, that you deserved it and weren’t disposable. Patrick’s words had been etched into your skull like a scar that wouldn’t ever go away. And she didn’t seem to see it correctly because she looked disgusted but really she was angrier than before at you for speaking up after a decade and at everything that had a part to play in her loosing her best friend.

“I never said any of that crap to you, so why would you think that ?”

“Because you hadn’t said the opposite, Tashi. You sunk and pushed me away, made me feel like shit for trying when I could never understand but you wanted them. Even Patrick you wanted him around. I was the waste of air…”

And she would’ve screamed at you that no, you weren’t, she had loved you and still did and would burn herself raw to show it, because she loved passionately and her passion with Art depended on you now, kinda. She would’ve slapped Patrick’s jaw off and had him searching for you to apologize. She would’ve done this a thousand other ways and shown you the years of tear stains and sleepless nights where she could only fall asleep to your voice on the TV, singing your life away as if she didn’t exist and wasn’t watching you. She wanted you to hear it, all of her anger and hatred.

Instead, Lily returned, running happily while you whipped your tears. She could only hear the ‘mommy’ coming out of her daughter before tuning her out to watch you. You knelt, listening to her talk about her rocks and the other kids while she watched or admired. Before she knew it, you had rolled away on your skateboard leaving her again.

~

If you presently took time out of your day to think about your exes, it wasn’t because it felt good to think about them, but because they were all crumbling, Tashi included, the most put together one of them. Patrick, it made sense. But Tashi, it was a surprise, though not so much. After Art had unilaterally decided, to announce his retirement, most likely without consulting his wife and coach, you had expected a shift, a the divorce announcement which had followed a month later was part of that. But to catch the three of them together, yelling at each other in the middle of a school was even more a surprise.

You’d been riding your motorcycle downtown when you passed a school. Stopping at the red light, you almost fell off your vehicle when you heard three more than familiar voices in front of a school gate. You felt them themselves had noticed you when all three stopped to turn in your direction. You were remained still, staring straight at them through your helmet. Tashi, always in the middle would be staring into your eyes if she would and a part of you wished she was, to see how she would react. Didn’t matter though, a part of you knew she had recognized you first, her body shifting from anger to unprecedented sorrow, like seeing a ghost of the person you had lived the most in a stranger passing by. You knew they were gone yet you still saw them and felt all the love you had missed out on giving them.

Lily noticed you next, how, you didn’t know, but she did, waiving her arm so hard it could come off at any second. The rest you tried to ignore feeling slightly, but only slightly, humiliated that you’d been pulled so easily into an impromptu dinner at Art’s apartment where Lily stayed for the week because you had stupidly promised her to recount the tales of your movies and concert adventures all over the world. And obviously, after the dinner from hell where each mention you had made about your past and its relation to your current career was met with a snarky comment, mention about a more than private anecdote or a longing look that made you feel like you had passed away tragically, you had to deal with The Conversation. Years of work, years of you steering clear off these people, all gone down the drain because of one little girl that just so happens to be a little too curious.

You would’ve honestly chosen to have a bullet going through your forehead before you willingly accepted to be in a situation like this one. But you also hated being inconvenienced and Art’s look of desperation was enough of one without dealing with Tashi cussing you out again, so yeah you accepted. Patrick was pretty chill, actually really nice to be around when sober.

And then ensued the longest and lost quiet ten minutes of your life, with Art looking down at you like you could evaporate, Tashi looking at you like you spat in her face and Patrick looking at you with genuine happiness, almost glad that you were here. You, were looking elsewhere, everywhere, analyzing the space and checking for the nearest exit. You would’ve made a run for it if you weren’t so fucking lazy, really. Unlucky you, victim of her own lacks.

Patrick was the first to talk, hesitant but clearly not feeling guilty or ashamed of anything. Or maybe he was but had learned to deal.

“I’m really happy to see you. I get to thank you for rehab.” He said and you almost glared at him, which he noticed, grinning like he used to, the smug fuck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You spat.

It made him chuckle really, how hard you tried to detach yourself from them but kept yourself in their orbit at almost all times. You were a brat and he was glad to see it hadn't changed.

“Right.” He nodded, complying with amusement. “Well, whoever is responsible in your team for my rehab as well as the apartment I got after, you’ll thank them for me.”

“They’re getting fired.”

You were stubborn, maybe more than him even, and he understood, definitely more than the other two who too busy hating you or loving you unconditionally.

Then began another five minutes of silence, broken once again by Patrick.

“Okay, I feel this is a waste of time.” He had barely started that you were already standing up to leave, quickly stopped by a frantic Art standing up in a hurry to stop you while Tashi’s head snapped in your direction coaxing you into sitting down with her eyes. Patrick enjoyed this greatly, how pathetic you made these two. “I mean, if we’re going to be here, we might as well talk. We need to, we haven’t in a while after all.”

Tashi’s anger changed focus to go to him, glaring at him with disdain.

“Since when did you become a fucking preacher of all things healthy and positive ?”

“Since someone nicely offered me a nice stay at a top tier rehab center that offered solo therapy sessions. The kind we all need.” Every word seemed to be pointed at you and you almost whished you’d left him to rot in the back of his car.

“I go to therapy, you ungrateful fuck, you won’t be teaching me shit about a healthy mental state.”

“Oh, what do you go for ? To learn to be less of a pussy and not run when things don’t go your way ?” Responded Tashi, more than annoyed by your condescension.

“No, I go to learn how to deal with nasty cold-hearted cunts who fail in life and take it out on everyone around them because they lost their lapdog husband to do that. Clearly it’s working because I’m here.”

“Oh look at her, she had a voice and a purpose now.”

“Don’t talk to her like that…” Muttered Art, finally losing it enough to speak up. It was cute, coming from a good intention and making shit worse.

“And look who finally grew a backbone ! Arthur Donaldson, standing up for someone, how nice. Of course it has to be for her, because if you won’t be fucking her behind my back and moaning her name while balls deep in me, you’ll be defending her.”

“Don’t start Tashi. You moaned her name more than I did, you’re mad that I got to see her and you didn’t, so let’s discuss that !” His voice increased in volume, meeting her as she stoop in to get in his face.

“Why the fuck would I need to see her ? She abandoned me ? She’s a fucking traitor !”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you Tashi, because you drilled in my head that after your fucking knee gave up on you I didn’t serve any other purpose than a nice fuck to remind you that there was always someone more useless than you now !”

The voices were coming from everywhere, heated and hurt by the wounds of the past, the kind that couldn’t heal until they were acknowledged.

You were all breathing loudly, looking at each other in pure anger, the anger you had repressed for years, the nasty words and ideas that you had let fester in your minds, desperately trying to move on and to grow into better people. You were all bitter, and in a funny twist of things, the most insane one of you remained sat, smiling at the three of you, enjoying the show.

“Oh, sorry.” He raised his hand, waiving it nonchalantly. “Don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying this. Happy to see you communicate.”

Had it been anyone else, you would’ve punched their teeth in, but Patrick enjoyed this. Sober or not, he remained annoyingly toxic, thriving off of the chaos that follows him.

“You’re enjoying this ? Really ?” You sounded just as surprised as you were amused, balancing between two moods that had you going from hot to cold.

You watched him stand up and get closer to you, close enough for you to smell the mint body wash on his skin. Good Lord, he smelled so good you could fuck him right now.

His hands traveled from your forearms to your cheek, holding your jaw nicely while you tried to act utterly disgusted by his presence and his touch.

When he kissed you, all tongue and drool, it was a little more difficult to act, mostly when you pulled at his hair the way he like and when his hand moved to hold your throat softly.

“What do you need to drop this act ? You know you want us, sweetheart. You need us in your life and it’s really embarrassing that you’re still keeping up the bit after more than a decade.”

You would’ve been bewildered by his audacity had you not been almost fucked mercilessly into dealing with it. It didn’t mean you wouldn’t enjoy putting him in his place, which is what you did when you pulled him away from you by the hair before pushing him back into his chair but not pushing his hand away when it loved to you exposed hip bone.

“I don’t know what fucked up substances had been floating in your system that fried your brain, but you told me to fuck off and die Patrick.”

“You’re being dramatic.” He cut you off with a grin, enjoying the situation even more.

“If I remember correctly, you called me useless. That sounds pretty freaking clear to me. As a matter of facts, the two other’s didn’t even say shit to shut you up so you can choke for all I care. Because yes I left, but you gave me the only reason I needed to.”

And it was funny really, how anger made them all lose their memories because you had really been given a reason, but they still felt like victims.

“So you listen to what my bitch says now ?” Tashi chimed in, angering you further.

“I’m as much your bitch as he was so, yeah, if you’re not defending me, you’re agreeing with him.”

And the perspective wasn’t new to her. It just meant she was wrong all that long and that wasn’t something she could accept. She has thought for years that you’d looked for the exit, when in truth they had opened the doors for you.

And now, it was her turn to kiss you. Nasty and greedy, teeth knocking and pussies leaking as she cussed you out like never before. She wanted you and hated you for making yourself wanted after years. Wanted you so much she pushed you onto the table, swatting the teacups off the table to crash loudly. When her mouth traveled down your neck, biting along the way, as if she was attempting to catch up to years of not marking you as hers, you cried out her name all while pulling at her hair.

Maybe it was the use of the present tense that fucked with her brain on a cellular level. Or it was the way Patrick had kissed you as if he had rights over you when then knew she was the only one who had rights over you. And fuck, you looked so good when you were a bitch, that had her leaking out of her panties like never before.

She refused to take up responsibility but you also refused to admit that you had settled for less, accepting the apologizes hidden in her actions. Mouth mean and piercing when her touch was so soft, like an apology that wouldn’t come out.

When she slid your pants down along with your panties, you expected to get eaten out, instead confronted by a crying Tashi.

“What the fuck ?” You exclaimed, seating up and looking at her.

You tried to raise her hand but were pushed back down instead mouth stuffed with your panties while she hid between your thighs. You would’ve loved to get her tongue deep inside you but with her tears running down your inner thighs, it was hard to not be distracted. She sobbed louder, finally stopping before springing up and storming off.

Art was the one to stop her, worried for the woman he had seen cry maybe twice in his life. His eyes asked a thousand questions wonder and fear traveling through, powered by the fear of failing to rekindle the old flame that kept him alive.

“Why did you have to fuck her ?! Why do I have to deal with her again ?!”

It was harsh but you didn’t take it personally, never with her. She was a loyal person, ironically, and to lose the pillar that you were had killed her inside. Her finger pointed at you while she sobbed, letting go of years of resentment.

“You abandoned me ! You left me but you fucked him and you pay for the other to go to rehab ! He hurt you and you save his life when you should let him burn !”

The mask of assurance and anger was crumbling like a sand castle under a wave, traveling as fast as her tears. You wanted to reach and comfort your girl but now could be the wrong time.

“They get every piece of you, even from afar and I get nothing ! You give me nothing but fucking dust !”

This time you did reach out. Holding out your hands to her and letting her fall into your arms like she usually did. She never fought to reach you, she melted for you more than for anyone. Maybe that was why her marriage to Art had failed, because by default, you were the quickest route to her heart beyond the planning for the perfect tennis related life. You actually touched Tashi.

After a while she stopped crying and marched towards Patrick to slap him because he was a smug bitch and the source of all of this, but he was also a good sport and took it rather easily. He didn’t care about the slaps, not when they were a necessary step to getting you back into this circle, the correct universal order of things. And he was also pretty glad that she’d slapped him if it meant he could watch her lodge herself between your parted legs and stick two digits in your mouth to shut you up when you yelped at the coldness of her breath on you.

“You’re sick, you know that ?” She had chuckled when looking at you dripping center and rubbing her thumb on your clit. “I cry just a little and you actually get wetter. That’s fucked, even for you.”

Yeah you were weak to her tears and yeah it did make your insides throb but not because you liked to see her cry. It was because a very twisted part of you knew that only you could get her to act like that, only you could get her to lose that ego and be human for a second. And when she looked up at you with reddened eyes and lashes still a little covered in tears, you did moan because fuck she was hot. She was insane but she was hot and you’d missed having her tongue on you so you took it like the good girl she had trained you to be.

“See how easily things go when you stop being dramatic ?” Had scoffed Patrick, still grinning as he walked towards Art.

“Fuck y- Aah !” You couldn’t finish that sentence, nor when she sucked your clit in like she loved to do whenever you got mouthy. It trained you to be polite.

Patrick watched you slowly lose your resolve, twisted into a submissive little thing, the sweet girl he used to fuck into oblivion, not the egotistical pop star that refused to fucking talk to him.

While Tashi had her fun between your thighs, slid behind Art who evidently couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Oh, how he had missed you, all of you. To watch Tashi devour you like she did ignited a fire in him he hadn’t felt in about a decade, or six months if we went back to the last time he saw you. Here you were, laid on top of his kitchen like a godly offering meant for him to devour. He looked down at you core, watching your cunt throb in desire, never really satisfied until you were filled up properly.

He watched you with glossy eyes and a line of drool picking out of the corner of his mouth, he wanted his mouth of your tits, so nicely presented, bare under your top. Was that what you wanted ? For him to see you and think of your night together, like he had done for the last weeks ? Were you trying to get him to lose it ? He was going insane, more than usual. He could still see him jerk off in the shower, his bed or his TV whenever something about you came up in his head or his screen. He saw you and would cry at the loss of you all while cumming all over himself repeatedly.

“Look at this, pretty girl…” Muttered Patrick, running his nose down Art’s neck. “Look at your sweet boy, Art. Look at how hard you get him when you start acting nice with us ?”

His large hands slid under the blond man’s joggers, pushing the tiny briefs he wore to the side, to let his large cock be freed. You saw him sigh in relief, his long girth and thick balls finally freed from the piece of fabric barely covering them. You could salivate at the thought of him, how his pore dick just could never fully fit in the tiny underwear Tashi had him buy. He’d get aroused and need to push them to the side to breathe. Obviously, all that before you offered to get on your knees and relieve him from the itch.

And you were already getting crosseyed, losing your resolve quickly and forgetting why you were angry at them for all these years. You couldn’t remember, but you knew that you were ready to be used by every single one of them. Starting with your poor baby boy who tried his best not to jump you, respecting Tashi’s time with you all while leaking cum through his joggers. He tried to be so respectful that was the one to drop his pants and tug at his balls to give him a little friction.

A little always went a long way for Art, so when you saw him cum all over Patrick’s hand and not down your throat you were a little disappointed.

Tashi barely spared anyone a glance, to busy exploring your insides with her tongue. When your legs closed in around her, she knew you were close, enough to satiate a decade long thirst for your sweet juices. She sucked in your clit again and you tried to crawl away, too sensitive for the double sucking and penetration, her fingers sliding inside you to part you open properly.

You were so close, whining and moaning her name while rubbing your pussy on her face. But then she stood up, leaving you to cry out while you watched your orgasm die on her tongue.

“You really think I’d let you cum after you ghosted me for a fucking decade ?” She said, looking at you with a mix of disgust and amusement.

You wanted to scream and cuss her out for leaving you so high and letting you crash down, but you knew better and you knew she would do worst if you didn’t watch your mouth.

Patrick was the one to make a move, kissing forehead with another fucking grin. Was that the only thing he did ?

“Be nice to our girl, Tashi… She was certain that we hated her guts.”

“Yeah, well that’s not my problem. You fuck her if you want but she’s not cumming until I say she does.” Her gaze was decisive and you knew that was an order for the two men in the room as well as a threat to you.

You tried to plead with your eyes, pulling at her heartstrings to no avail, you’d need to make yourself be forgiven. But it was also easier to plead with Art who was still staring at you, desperately waiting for his moment. Patrick stared at you both, amused at your fickle attempt at restraint.

He'd always be the one to let himself be driven by his dick so really, he could salute Art for the attempt, had it been him, he would’ve fucked you stupid already. And he would, eventually, he wanted to, his throbbing cock a proof of that. But he wanted to deal with this shit first.

“How about we calm down and let all the anger go, huh Tash ? Look at our sweet girl, look how much she’s missed you ? How about we let her show us, huh ?”

For a few seconds, both looked into each other before she rolled her eyes, agreeing in silence. In mere seconds you were lifted up by Patrick, his hands holding onto your bare ass cheeks while toying with your pussy lips. His nose ran along your nose, inhaling your scent and the aroma of you on his tongue.

“You’ll get to put on a show for us, princess.” He said, nipping on your collarbone all the way down to your nipples. You closed your legs around his waist, throwing your head back in pleasure when his lips ran around your nipple, sucking it in vigorously.

He stopped in his track, turning towards a frozen Art, unmoving and red all over, from the tip of his ears to the tip of his cock. He watched the way you swallowed, eagerly waiting to get to suck him dry. He liked it, when you became just a little bit insane over Art’s cock, salivating at the idea of him drilling his cock down your throat.

Tashi had been watching you this whole time and the way you looked at the blond man. She liked how much you craved Art too, enjoyed watching you two fuck for hours, until you couldn’t think or form a coherent sentence. She stood up, walking in his direction and running a finger over the slit of his tip. He was shaking at the touch, almost ready to cum on the spot.

Tashi took his hand and followed after Patrick and you, dragging the man behind. She pushed him to the bed and Patrick threw you on top of him, Art’s arms wrapping around your waist protectively. He didn’t know what he was protecting you off but he wanted to be in his skin at the moment deep in every crevice of your being.

“Show us what you did together and I’ll forgive you.” She said, taking a seat right in from of the bed next to Patrick.

You could’ve refused, acted like you were better than that, had changed and grown out of that phase of your life and didn’t need her forgiveness. You could’ve been the mentally stable being you claimed to be, but you didn’t. Because you weren’t. You missed being used by all three of the people in the room, watched and admired as a vessel of their pleasure. You missed Tashi being mean to you in bed, so mean that you would cry for hours until she was done and cuddled you afterwards. You missed being used as a cum dumpster by Patrick and his disgusting ways of having sex, thick hairy balls rubbing over your face when he’d make you suck him off. And you missed Art taking you until you were left shaking in his arms, so roughly that neither of you could think a single rational, logical thought.

You missed the messiness of life with them, not prim proper and rational but genuinely sick and twisted, toxic filled bullshit that had you feeling passion like never before. You missed actually being better than them and rubbing it in their faces by always being the first to do the right thing.

You were just as twisted as them, calculated and conniving as the next. Birds of a feather, that was all you, all four of you insane and desperately in love, even if it hurt sometimes.

You didn’t talk shit out that night or the day after. You fucked all night, finally forgiven around 4AM, just in time for Tashi to sit on your face while Art and Patrick battled each other to eat the cum out of you. The weren’t sure whose it was but they wanted a taste. And that went along for the next day because while Patrick and Tashi could actually control themselves, Art never could, not with you. He kept going until his balls hurt and he’d been shooting blanks inside you.

Patrick wouldn’t apologize, not with words but with actions, because he was still an ego drive piece of shit and he refused to admit being wrong when it came to you. But he loved you so he became nicer and watched his words around you, because he refused to go insane again at the loss of you. Tashi would move on as if nothing happened, her girlfriend was back and she’d eventually get married with Patrick because she actually worked with Patrick and loved him the way she couldn’t Art, but never the way she loved you. Art would pamper you like you were heaven on Earth, worshipping the very ground you walked on and feeding off of your love for him just like you fed on his love for you, because you actually loved Art, loved him enough to get married and have that baby you talked about.

The dynamic was weird but it worked and it was all planned also. Nothing had really changed, except you, you became worse. Just as unstable as them.

[san8ny]

“I’m being stalked and find it hot”

u/READER - posted 3m ago / E.W / Prologue

For starters, I (_F) have a female neighbor a few doors down. She’s quite meek and shy, doesn’t really talk unless you initiate it, redhead with freckles, lives with her dad— nothing out of the ordinary.

Some background stuff to note as I tell this story, is that I’ve had several instances when I first moved into my complex where it seemed like I was being stalked, such as my mail and doorlocks being tampered with. Naturally, I confided in the neighbor I mentioned earlier since my management office were just not taking me seriously. Immediately, she begins reasurring me i’m safe, that she’d never let anything hurt me and that I should stop being so weird. It’s gotten to the point where i’ve began inviting her over for nights when her dad works overnight because I cannot keep sleeping in fear.

However, there was one specific night where when I invited her over, I felt somewhat guilty for taking her away from the comfort of her own bed and subjecting her to my cheap couch, so I invited her into my own bed, insisting we were both women and that we could sleep with no funny business since I trusted her. We both sleep, and everything seemed good. Hours later, I wake up and she’s no longer besides me. I check my bathroom, couch and she’s not there. I was about to conclude that she’d likely went back to her home, but my door was locked, meaning she was somewhere still inside my unit. Of course, I probably should’ve called out her name but something inside of me didn’t feel right. I return back into my room, and she’s there, laid in bed like nothing happened. I whisper her name but she’s in a deep-sleep. What the fuck was happening to me?

Next morning as we have breakfast, I bring it up and she just looks at me blankly, stating I was just seeing things. This was a thing she’d do, where she’d frequently just gaslight me, claiming like others I was paranoid, and honestly, I was starting to believe them, until it happened. I’m coming back from work earlier than usual on friday, and I see my door is already unlocked. I walk in, and im met with a distant rustling noise. There, was my very neighbor buried facedown in my laundry hamper. I couldn’t even begin to describe the emotions I felt, but I choked up and ran off back into the hallway. After a while, she exits my apartment and just walks to her own— like she hadn’t been making my life a nightmare..

It’s been a few months since the incident and we’ve began seeing eachother romantically, to which I accepted for reasons I don’t know. To this day, she still doesn’t know I know— that I saw that night, but my problem, is that I shamefully find arousal in her perverse nature. Something about her infatuation stirred me right to know she’d been the one stalking me, and not some other person. I know it’s sick, but I have never been the type to be pursued like this.

What do I do?

[fraugwinska]

Hey! Me again!

Could I get an Alastor x Female reader where she tells him she's pregnant, he's so stunned he thinks it a joke until she shows him the positive on the test and it shocks him to the core but after the initial shock he's overjoyed.

My dear jezebel <3 Thank you for being so patient! I took a few liberties from the ask, I really hope you don't mind! After a lot of rewrites and edits - I'm finally happy to share it with you! Thank you for the ask, my dearest! TW:Sickness&death-Light smut-Minors DNI-5.2k words

Autumn had always been your favorite season.

The most colorful of the four; from your bed you could always see various shades of red, orange, green and yellow, all mixed together to create a vibrant, warm impressionistic painting. Just looking at the bright shades outside had always made you smile.

There was also this peaceful ambiance around autumn that you could feel but not quite understand. Something so profound and yet ephemeral in a way.

"Should I close the window before I go?", Alice asked you, a sad smile on her face. Your favorite hospice nurse had spent her last shift before her holiday almost exclusively with you - somehow you both knew there wasn't much time left. The sickness that ate away at your body was unforgiving - you knew it was simply a matter of days now, and even that was generous. Alice must've sensed it, too.

"No, no.", you replied with a warm smile. "Leave it open. The night nurse can close it later."

Alice nodded, said her goodbyes and gave you a kiss on the head before exiting the room, carefully closing the heavy wooden door with a thud of painful finality. Breathing had become painful lately, but despite the sting you inhaled deeply, just to burn the smell of bristle leafs and warm wood into your memory. Right next to the memory of him.

Alastor.

Summoning him hadn't been easy, especially since you were bedridden and almost constantly monitored. Not only did you have to take special care of choosing the right night to be left unsupervised - you had to bribe Alice and make her believe it was her own idea to give you a few hours to be on your own, which you claimed to need desperately. The internet had been your biggest friend in the weeks before, preparing - you had used the time you had at your disposal to research on shady websites and occult forums who to summon, how to do the ritual and, in case he said no, which bargain to offer. And you chose Alastor.

It was the name that spoke to you the most - Unusual. Mature. Vintage. Mysterious. Powerful and yet gentle, in it's own way. 'Mans defender'. 'Avenger'. The more you read about him on dubious servers and obscure wiki's, the more you were sure it should be him. Still able to use your hands back then, in the chosen night you managed to follow all of the instructions perfectly, even while bound to your bed. When the living shadow appeared out of nowhere, twisting and contorting into the shape of a tall, handsome, dapper dressed demon, the tiny handheld radio you had in your hands slid from your weakened grip and your heart skipped a beat. As he stepped nearer, the perceived humanity of his appearance disappeared before your eyes - long, black fingers ending in red talons, small antlers sitting in between fluffy crimson-colored ears, razor-sharp teeth and blood-red irises shining with curiosity. He stopped just a foot away in front of your bed. As he began to talk, to introduce himself - as though being summoned by gravely sick human women were the norm - you stopped him with a raise of your hand, the action draining your already weakened body and mind.

"I know who you are. Alastor, the Radio Demon."

"My reputation precedes me, then!", he chimed, his voice pointed, melodic and so enchantingly and contradictorily full of life. His whole posture, his devious smile and the way his eyes glinted in the dim moonlight made it very clear that he was a dangerous creature, and yet, you felt strangely at ease.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this summoning, my dear?"

You swallowed hard, knowing full well that if you wanted him to accept your deal, you needed to choose your words carefully.

"I... I am dying."

Alastor's grin twitched, but he said nothing, only tilted his head and waited for you to continue, hands folded behind his back.

"I've been sick my whole life, I...", you felt the need to explain, so that your offer wouldn't sound so... well, pitiful.

"Ever since I was born, I have been bound first to my crib, then to a bed, the hospital and now this hospice. I have never been allowed or even able to go to school, or make friends, or just... do things that children ought to do. Even though my life was always going to be short lived."

You could feel tears forming in your eyes, but blinked them away - you didn't want to cry in front of him, you felt pathetic as you were already. "I missed out on every milestone, every first experience a girl should have. First trip to a park, first day at school, first friend, first kiss, first... everything. And I'll miss out on so many more. I just want to have one normal thing, one 'first' before I die. One memory of a real and happy experience. Of something good."

"And what, pray tell, would that be?", he asked, a brow raised, his smile growing wider. He could probably hear the beating of your heart as you took a deep breath. This was it. Now or never.

"I want to lose my virginity."

The silence following your calmly stated confession was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. It took a while for Alastor to say something.

"Oh my, you really don't mince words, do you, darling?"

You shook your head.

"I have no time to waste. Every second counts."

"Believe me, little one, I'm quite... flattered that you'd go through the trouble of a summoning ritual for this... let's call it: venture. But... why me? Aren't there any men up here you would rather be with?"

"Have you looked at me?", you laughed bitterly. "I'm a sick, dying 20-something in a hospice bed. No man would ever so much as touch me. If I'd even get to meet anyone, since I can't get out of this bed anymore without a nurse. I have nothing to offer a partner anymore. No beauty, no future, not even money. I have only my soul. Please."

The last word came out as a whisper. Alastor's eyes glowed red in the growing darkness, his grin ever-present. He seemed to consider it for a moment, the sound of humming static the only sound in the room and you feared he might reject you.

"If I were to agree, would you truly be willing to pay the price for it? Your soul, darling, is a very precious thing. Do you know the implications of it's loss?"

You nodded.

"Yes. You can have it. It's not worth anything anyway."

Alastor stepped forward, his eyes locked with yours. He didn't sit down on the bed, instead he stood right beside you, bending over until his face was just inches from yours, the back of his hand lightly brushing your fringe out of your face. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of blood and something earthy, like wet soil or moss. He smelled like a forest in autumn.

"It is worth quite a bit, actually. More than you can imagine, I'd wager.", his voice was quiet, almost unfiltered and utterly beautiful. "But I can see you are dead set on it - Pardon the wordplay."

His sharp claw pressed into your skin, eliciting a gasp. He followed the curve of your cheek to your chin, lifting it to better access the side of your neck, just under your jaw. Your skin broke out in goosebumps because for the first time in your life, you felt a touch that was not clinical, not meant to treat you or wastefully bide you more time. This touch was gentle and purposeful. Sensual, maybe. A soft sigh escaped you against your will.

Alastor let out a hum that was not entirely unhappy, before bringing his face dangerously close to yours. You could feel the ends of his fluffy hair tickling your face, the tip of his nose lightly brushing against your skin.

"A happy memory, you say. One satisfying experience in return for your soul. I am certainly not usually known for my kindness, dear.", he muttered against the skin of your cheek, before turning towards your lips. So close. Your heart was beating as loud and as fast as it could, making you dizzy. "But I think we have ourselves a deal."

The golden hour has passed, turning bright orange light into fading blue to black. And the air was turning colder. The memory of that night was the only thing you thought about as you slowly felt death approaching.

The way his lips felt against your mouth, his tongue and the sweet taste he left on your lips that still lingered whenever you ran yours across them, recalling the sensation just once more. He had been gentle, patient, always asking and never assuming or forceful. He made sure you were comfortable before exploring you, careful in the places he touched, mindful in tasting you, praising you for the sounds you made. He allowed you to do your share of exploring, too, and although he wasn't human you found his body still wonderfully, beautifully male, no matter his thin, soft taupe fur and his many, shimmering scars. The memory of the moment when he had finally filled you, tender and slow, was as much sweet pain as it was blissful pleasure, and you found solace in his warmth and the steady, rhythmic pace of him moving inside you as you spilled his name, over and over again until he spent himself inside you, bodies deeply connected. It was hard for you to believe that all of it had been actually true, and not just one big fever dream your dying mind had cooked up to send you off gently when Alice woke you from your sleep later that night, wondering aloud why you didn't turn off the little, handheld radio on the floor that was still playing soft jazz music.

But the little, red and blue marks on your collarbones and the one red-and-black strand of hair you had found on your pillow were telltale signs that everything had been indeed real, and you made sure every detail was etched into your heart, into your body and into your skin. It was, and would remain forever, the happiest moment of your entire life.

'I hope my soul is worth enough...' you thought as the coldness finally embraced you, tears running freely down your cheeks now, but the smile on your face was wide and warm, and the last thing you heard before falling into your final sleep was the gentle hum of a breeze that brought in the smell of earth and rain and leaves.

Alastor had no need for sleep. He usually didn't spend his nights sitting in his favorite chair, motionless, listening to music. He was far too busy, too full of life and plans and energy to sit around and just wait for morning. And yet, there he was, sitting and brooding for the last month, every night, his ears tuned in on the low, static-y noise coming from the old-fashioned radio he was holding. A radio eerily similar to hers.

'How did it come to this?', he wondered for the thousandth time, like a broken record. 'Why did I do it?'

He couldn't fathom the reason for his actions that night, why he had given in to the strange, frivolous request of the frail young woman. Why he had agreed to take her virginity, of all things, in exchange for her soul. Granted, she wasn't the first to offer him that, not by far. But usually, the soul was the last thing a sinner offered, after a great many things of lesser value had been already offered and declined in return. It was, in essence, the most desperate measure, taken only by those who had nothing else to lose.

And yet, she had promised him her soul in the very beginning, treating it not as a valuable bargaining chip, but as an expendable object. A thing without use or worth. He didn't know what had intrigued him so much that night. She had been sickly and fragile, her skin almost translucent in the pale light, and yet there was a spark in her eye. Determination, maybe. Her voice had been strong, if quiet, and her smile, although sad, was still familiarly bright. The way she spoke and her body language had made it clear that she had been not as much afraid of him, despite her frail and vulnerable position, as she had been anxious about his response. She was clearly clever and resolute, despite her lack of personal experience. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to follow through the summoning ritual.

"I have nothing to offer a partner anymore. No beauty, no future, no money. O only have my soul. Please."

He couldn't remember a single instance where someone had begged him with the simple word please and he gave into it. And yet, he had accepted her plea - The whole of her soul, in exchange for a meager, single moment of ridiculous passion. The mere thought had repulsed him before: Body on body, blunt thumps of fleshes, debauched obscenities... it was something that had never held his interest. He felt like it was something unrefined and animalistic, something he had always regarded as unnecessary and obsolete. Until then.

Her body had responded so eagerly, so sensitive, so ready to his touches. It had been clear she hadn't lied about her virginity, and yet her eagerness, her fearlessness had surprised him. Acting solely based on instinct and the morals he was brought up with, no real experience of his own himself, he had tried to be as careful and gentle as he could, and somehow, her inexperience had made it... easier. She was not expecting anything in terms of skill, and thus he had to guide her through the process, allowing him to set the pace and giving him ample time to react to her reactions. Sweet gasps, subtle tremors, faint flushes - all of which had told him how she had felt, what had been pleasurable and what had been uncomfortable. He had been able to take his time and make sure she enjoyed herself. It had been fascinating and even... pleasurable for him, too.

Despite the obvious pain, she had kept her eyes open, watching his face intently as they connected. He had felt the warmth and the tension around him, and her little, breathy gasps had been such pleasant sounds that when she had finally found her release, it had triggered his own, foreign as it had been. She had sighed his name in pure bliss, and in that moment he had felt as powerful and as satisfied as the night he had gained his title as Radio Demon.

And when the deed had been done, the girl had smiled so serenely, he was sure he had rarely ever seen anything that could rival her in beauty.

Alastor shifted uncomfortably at that thought, trying to will away the memory and the sensation that the mere thought of her smile invoked.

It had taken a few minutes, but eventually he had collected himself and put his clothes back on. Her eyes had followed him, the spark back in them and even brighter than before, her smile not faltering even when her tired lids had drooped down, slowly lulling her to sleep. Alastor had stood there, in the small, plain hospice room, watching her for a while, a strange feeling in his chest. The deal hadn't been solidified by a handshake, her soul not yet firmly bound to him and the contract void if not officially sealed, but he couldn't bring himself to wake her. Something had stopped him.

The memory of her face, pale and beautiful, smiling so peacefully even in her slumber, made the corners of his lips twitch. She would've made a magnificent addition to his collection of souls. And yet, and yet... He had decided then and there that her soul would find its way to him, eventually. But not through the proposed deal. So, he had left, the exchange unfulfilled, the pact broken, turning on the small radio she had let slip onto the floor just as he heard her caretaker returning to check on her.

'Oh, how the mighty have fallen.', he mused bitterly, a small laugh escaping his lips.

"Alastor?"

Charlie's voice was a mix of concern and curiosity, muffled by the thick, wooden door of his room. She sounded worried, probably wondering why he had excused himself from the hotel's interactions more and more for the past weeks. He was about to ignore her, not in the mood to talk to anyone, especially not her, persistent thing that she was, but when her soft knock followed her call, his smile widened tightly and his eyes flashed red.

"Charlie, dear, I'm afraid I'm not available at the moment.", he called out, his tone a bit sharper than usual.

"Sorry, but...", the princess sounded hesitant, and he could hear her shuffle awkwardly outside. "It's just... There is someone in the lobby, wanting to speak to you. It seems... important."

He got up from his chair with an annoyed sigh and switched off the radio, straightened his clothes and smoothed out his hair and bow tie with one swipe. Whatever business matter was brought forward, Alastor didn't feel like discussing it. The smile he wore was razor sharp and dark, a result of his annoyance and brooding mood, and yet he couldn't bring himself to feign his cheery personality just quite yet. Maybe this mystery visitor would be a suitable punching bag to let off some of that steam.

When Alastor finally opened the door and walked down to the lobby next to a flustered looking Charlie, his breath hitched involuntarily and he froze mid-stride. Charlie stumbled at the sudden lack of motion next to her, the deafening static sound and the chime-like tuning of a radio startling her so much she flinched away from him.

"H-Hey Al!?", she called in shock, "Are you okay?"

He didn't move, didn't even react - his attention was solely focused on the figure standing at the front-desk, who, just a moment ago, had talked to Husker before turning around upon hearing him.

Hell kept her skin white and almost translucent in it's spite, but granted her soft, shimmering silvery fur in it's mercy. Her frame wasn't thin and frail anymore, she looked plush and healthy, soft curves where there had been nothing more than skin and bone before. Keeping almost all of her human features intact, the small, round ears protruding from her hair, the pink-tipped nose and the long and slender tail were definitely characteristics of a dormouse, their ends almost silver and soft-looking. Her eyes were of the same gentle color that he remembered, and when her lips spread into a sad, tender smile his breath was stolen away completely.

It was the same smile. The very one he hadn't been able to purge from his mind, and most likely never would.

"Alastor."

The sound of her voice, quiet and melodic as it had been weeks before, felt like an invisible touch that pulled the air out of him. Not enough to suffocate him, but he was still reeling none the less.

"So you finally succumbed, it seems..."

His usual bravado was absent, his voice lacked it's sharp, jovial tone, sounding more like he was actually talking. Charlie could do little more but watch with widened eyes, seemingly unable to fathom the scene right in front of her.

"What are you talking about, Alastor? How do you know...", the princess spoke carefully and uncertain, her eyes wandering from one demon to another, but she was quickly interrupted, not by him, but by...

"It's a long story better told another time, Miss Charlie.", she said with a genuine smile on her face, still not able to take her eyes off Alastor. She took a few tentative steps towards him, careful, but certain in her movement, a confidence about her that hadn't been there before. Her head tilted in an enigmatic way and she spoke again, this time solely directed at him.

"I'm truly sorry to impose. But I was hoping we could talk... privately."

Alastor nodded mutely, not able to think clearly, before taking a deep breath and straightening his back to tower over her once again. Husk seemed to notice his shift in composure, raising a brow when he passed him by on his way back behind the bar, noticing the strangely satisfied looking smile on Alastor's face that was as unnerving and frightening as always, but with a different tint that even Husk must've trouble placing guessing by the suspicious look that fell over the cat's face.

"Of course, my dear, my office will suffice. If you'll excuse us, Charlotte? We'll be only a short while."

He didn't wait for her response but took his guest by her arm and guided her past an astonished Husk and clearly confused Charlie, leading the girl down the hall and to his office, the air between them thick with something undefinable, and neither of them dared to speak until the heavy mahogany door fell shut, effectively cutting off all outside interference.

Her cheeks were flushed when she stepped closer towards him. The tips of his claws brushed against her fringe, following the curve of her soft ear, across the back of her delicate neck to pluck a strand of her hair, pulling it towards him and running the silky fiber between two fingers and over the pad of his thumb, bringing it to his lips with a deep, pleased inhale.

She looked up at him, her smile shy but hopeful.

"You remember me.", she said with a chuckle, her voice a bit higher, her ears twitching and her tail swaying behind her, showing her emotions all too easily. Alastor nodded, not letting go of her hair just yet.

"How could I not, dear. It's not common for me to leave a contract unsettled, you know."

"I had a feeling that might've been the case, since it took me so long to find you.", she said quietly. "So, my soul..."

"... is still yours, yes."

She wasn't looking at him, directly. Her gaze went over his suit, to his hands and cane, then back to the floor.

"Why?", she asked, a hint of confusion and hurt in her voice, her silken hair slipping from his fingers.

"Why didn't you claim it? You had every right, after all. I offered, you agreed and..."

Alastor didn't speak, couldn't speak. The answer was right on the tip of his tongue, and yet he wasn't sure if he wanted to share it. It felt... strange, and foreign, and not quite comfortable. But it was undeniably true, now - with her in front of him - clearer than any time in the last weeks in his chair, each night, in front of the fireplace.

He wanted her. Not just her soul. Her. So, he settled on silence and a half-truth, instead.

"It wasn't the right time, dear."

Her face turned to him, her eyes searching his. He felt exposed, like her eyes were piercing him.

"And now...?"

"That remains to be seen. Why are you here?", he countered, stepping back to put a more comfortable distance between them.

"I came to see you, because..." She swallowed hard, and Alastor watched her throat, the soft swell of her breasts under her modest blouse, the slight rise of her belly. "When I arrived in hell, I felt... weird. I thought it was because of all the changes, this new body and... generally being here. But it didn't go away, this.... feeling. I made friends with a lovely imp couple, they took me in after I fell. The wife, Millie, took me to a doctor because she got worried when I couldn't stop throwing up..."

Her face grew hot, a flush spreading across her cheeks, her ears folding back against her head.

"Alastor, I'm pregnant."

A loud bang rang through the hallway as Alastor dropped his cane and a deafening feedback noise filled the room. For the first time in what must have been decades, his face betrayed him completely, the smile ripping at the sewn edges as it dropped violently. He felt dizzy and his head was spinning.

"Impossible.", he breathed, the word almost getting stuck in his throat. The very notion was ridiculous, unheard of - clearly that must be a crude joke. Alastor started to laugh, though sounding not as amused and booming as he would've hoped, but more hysterical than anything else.

She stayed silent, looking at him with sad, but serious and almost pleading eyes as the truthfulness of her confession began to sink in and his laughter slowly died. He took a tentative step forward, a million questions running through his head, the sheer amount overwhelming his usually so precise mind.

"So, a month ago, it...", he stopped, feeling the corners of his mouth pull wider.

"...yes. The doctor told me there are only a handful similar cases like this known since hell was created... The circumstances are 'too specific' and it normally takes a vast amount of intimate interactions' between a hellbound sinner and a living, fertile human he said... Seems like you knocked me up with one round, buster." She wrung her hands, her smile forced and unsure. "Listen, Alastor... I know it sounds impossible. I mean, I couldn't believe it at first when he told me so I understand you can't, too... but I don't expect anything, I really don't. I just... I wanted to see you again, and-and you deserve to know, and..."

"Darling, hush.", Alastor interrupted, a sense of clarity taking hold of his chaotic mind. He had never felt a desire for a family, not in his lifetime nor in his death. Partners were liabilities and a distraction, relationships nuisances if they strayed beyond the borders of business or at the very most friendly aquaintances. He had no need for things like these in the past, looking down on people desperate to seek out partners, claiming to be lonely when in truth they were just weak or simply starving for a touch of the 'opposite sex' to make up for their own inadequacy.

Now, faced with the reality of fatherhood in a matter of minutes and the prospect of his life being bound to another - one who, undoubtedly, bore his child, no less - Alastor would be lying if he had claimed a part of him didn't absolutely reel at the prospect. A responsibility greater than his own had just fallen into his lap - a vulnerability he never asked for and certainly didn't expect.

But.

A part of him would come into the world, no matter whether it would look human, or demonic like him, or whatever strange combination of them both: This child would be proof of him. Him, not anyone else. There would be a person dependent on him for guidance and protection, a legacy he would be allowed to leave, a lineage that could one day claim that he, Alastor, had been the founding cause. His legacy. His blood and his seed had created another being against all rules and logic, an offspring, maybe a girl, maybe it would resemble him, or her, or even... his mother.

Despite the incredulity and the sheer panic the revelation brought, the longer he looked at the tiny dormouse in front of him, the more he realized how similar her traits were to his own mother's. Soft, but determined. Sad, but brave. Young but aged.

No, this hadn't been just some fleeting fling - Alastor had to believe in fate, given what she told him. There had been a reason why he didn't seal the deal that night. Why he had agreed to her request so easily. The more Alastor thought about the potential of a shared offspring, along with a loyal partner on his side, about the what-ifs and could-bes, the more appealing and pleasant the future appeared. She was carrying a being he created, one that had his essence – All the more stronger his grin widened, stretching so far it caused his cheeks to ache, but his blooming glee knew no bounds. He saw, to his own surprise, not a weakness or vulnerability.

But his greatest achievement.

With a laugh, this time sincere and booming and loud instead of hysterical, he picked her up on her waist, knocking the air out of her in a gasp, and swung her around several times.

"O-oh! Oh my goodness!", she stuttered, eyes wide and brows furrowed. "Alastor, calm down!"

"Oh, no no no, I simply can't! Dear, do you have any idea what a marvel you have wrought!?", he exclaimed in delight, setting her back down and bringing both hands up to her cheeks. "We've created a magnificent abomination!"

Her head shook as she chuckled, still nervous but with an edge of relief in her voice. "That's certainly one way of saying it. But... are... are you saying that... you are okay with it? That you..."

"What, dear?", he cooed, her big eyes shining hopefully as her ears twitched curiously. His chest swelled with affection, and he gently squeezed her cheeks between his hands.

"Does a daddy on your side scare you, darling?"

"N-No-oh."

The title invoked a peculiar reaction, and he made a mental note to use it again soon enough, as her cheeks flushed in a dusty rose. Alastor felt an unfamiliar and somehow primal pleasure at the sight of it, a surge of happiness in his chest, the warmth of it nearly too much. He pulled her face against his, smothering her with a kiss. He wasn't familiar with such embraces, but she felt like she was specifically molded to fit perfectly into him, her ears flicking with every beat of her racing heart.

There were tears welling in her beautiful eyes, and as he kissed her cheeks and brushed them away with his thumbs. Oh yes, Alastor was filled with a new kind of giddy excitement.

"Come on, dear, let's not waste time to spread the good news!", he exclaimed, unable to reign his euphoric mood, and before she could comment on his actions, he reached out and lifted her over his shoulder in one fluid movement, ignoring her startled squawk. The look of utter bewilderment on her face almost made him break out into more laughter, but he was already out the door, ready to take his child's mother, who was, without a doubt in his mind, bound to him forever with a force much stronger than any deal he could've made, downstairs to tell the news to his fellow friends, who would have no choice but to learn what a truly dangerous deal looked like.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Amnesia

Levi Ackerman x Reader

Summary: When the Levi Squad goes out on a mission with a few rookies, accidents happen

Warnings: Angst, injuries, titans, fighting, jealousy, secret relationship

Work count: 3.9K

Masterlist

As the Levi squad moved through the training forests, their captain couldn’t take his eyes off the girl riding just ahead of him. He knew he should keep an eye on Eren, to see how he faired with the rest of the team but he couldn’t help it. He was painfully aware of the fact that a titan could pop out of the trees and snatch her from him in a second.

So as they continued on, his eyes continuously swept the terrain while also observing her.

Levi truly thought he would never meet someone he could love. Love wasn’t really a concept in the Underground. It was a dark place full of people just trying to survive. Love was nowhere near the top of anyone’s priority list. And when he joined the scouts it wasn’t as if he had time for anything resembling a relationship. Sure there had been fellow soldiers that he noticed had taken a liking to him but he always brushed them off, uninterested. But then Erwin introduced him to the second most recent addition to his squad. Y/N L/N.

He couldn’t quite explain it but his very sudden and unexplained infatuation with her but he had initially told Erwin, privately, that he wouldn’t add her to his team. Something about her made him irrational. She should never see combat, he decided. She was too good for all this bloodshed. But Erwin had insisted that he take her on a practice run so Levi complied. He was astonished by how well she worked with the team, never pushing herself to be in the position of glory but still managing to kill three Titans and assist with many more.

Eight months later here they were, creating an unstoppable duo along with the rest of the team. Of course, they had to keep their relationship a secret from everyone as she was Levi’s subordinate but they had managed so far.

Seeing as the sun was setting and the horses were beginning to tire, Levi called for his squad, along with Eren and a few other new scout members to set up camp in the trees for the night.

As they slowed their horses, Levi slowed his down so he was next to Y/N. “How are you feeling, soldier?” he asked, keeping his gaze up, looking for a good spot to rest for the night, trying not to show his care.

“Good, Captain. I could ride for another few hours,” she answered stiffly. Exactly like a good soldier.

Levi just nodded, proud of her stamina for some inexplicable reason. “I feared the horses would be of no use to us tomorrow if we did not stop.”

Y/N allowed herself a soft laugh. “Yes, I fear that too. Wise call, Captain.”

Levi suppressed a smile. “If you feel so well, soldier, you’ll be on watch tonight with me,” he said in a stern tone. As if to reprimand her. That caught the attention of a few of the other scouts as they began to prepare to set up camp in the trees but they all quickly averted their gazes as Levi turned to glare at them.

“Yes, sir,” Y/N agreed quietly.

~

As the group sat in the largest of the nearby trees, close together for warmth, Levi couldn’t help but glare over at one of the new scouts. Reiner. He was sat next to Y/N, a little too close for his liking. They were engaged in a conversation which didn’t normally bother Levi, he didn’t consider himself the jealous type. But every time she turned her attention away from Reiner to talk to someone else, it was like panic came over his expression as he desperately tried to get her attention back on him. But Levi knew that if he brought it up to her, she’d just dismiss it so he just sat and watched.

It wasn’t much longer before Reiner was pressed up against her, claiming he was cold. Levi sat across from them, staring menacingly whilst holding one of his blades. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t imagining threatening Reiner right now. He hated that he had to keep his relationship a secret. He wanted everyone in the whole damn army to know Y/N was taken. He knew Reiner, nor anyone else, would dare to even look at her if they knew she was dating Captain Levi.

He nearly said something about leaving her alone when Reiner suggested they sleep with each other for warmth that night. As Levi was seeing red and considering the implications of stabbing him right here, Y/N brushed him off. “I’m on watch with Captain Levi,” she informed him. With no hint of regret to lead him on.

Reiner visibly deflated but tried to smile through his disappointment. “M-maybe next time,” he tried to laugh off. Y/N just hummed in acknowledgment, looking to her boyfriend for help.

Levi looked up at the sky, determining that it was dark enough that he could reasonably call for them to go to sleep. “We have another long day tomorrow, get some sleep. L/N, you take first watch.”

“Yes, sir,” she obeyed eagerly, standing up from her spot next to Reiner so fast he nearly fell over.

She brushed past everyone as they began to settle down, jumping up to a higher branch with her ODM gear. Levi followed up after her, bringing his gear so he could set up a makeshift bed the same way the others were. She only spared a glance at him as she looked down at the others, making sure they were going to sleep. A few of them were already snoring, having learned early on to sleep when you can and because it had been a long day.

Levi settled where he knew he couldn’t be seen from below, beckoning Y/N to join him. Once she noticed him she complied, creeping closer to the trunk of the tree. Once she reached him, he extended his hand, which she took, drawing her to sit down, leaning against his chest while he leaned against the tree. “I didn’t like how he was talking to you or touching you,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of her head.

“I know,” she murmured back, “I didn’t like it either.”

“I wish everyone knew you were taken. Better yet, knew you were mine.” He pressed a soft kiss to her head.

“Captain Levi Ackerman, are you jealous?” she asked teasingly.

“Shut it,” he mumbled, eliciting a laugh from her.

“I wish people could know about us too,” she mused. “I’m worried about this training exercise,” she changed the subject. “Eren’s friends? They’re brand new scouts. They don’t have the instincts or skills for this team.”

“I know but we all start somewhere,” Levi rationalized, being surprisingly understanding. He usually drilled for perfection out of those he trained. Even if he knew he couldn’t expect perfection immediately he never let on. “I had questioned your ability to be on the team initially.”

“Yeah but I’m not an idiot,” Y/N giggled. “And you never gave me an inch of grace. I thought you hated me for the first few weeks I was on the team.”

“I was hard on you because I was worried for you. Look at you now, sharper than any other scout.”

“Even you?”

“Of course not,” Levi teased.

“You were that worried about me? When we had just met?”

Levi briefly deliberated with himself about how much he was willing to admit. “Something about you made me unreasonably protective over you. I was worried that you’d distract me so I told Erwin I wouldn’t take you but he insisted. That’s part of why I trained you so hard. So I could have peace of mind that you’re capable of taking care of yourself so I wouldn’t be distracted.”

“Did you do a good enough job?”

“I could never. I worry about you every time we leave the walls.”

“Well, so far, so good. I’m still here.”

“It better stay that way. Now get some sleep,” Levi insisted, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead.

“But I have first watch?”

“You didn’t think I’d actually make you stay up? I just wanted an excuse to talk to you privately.”

“But when will you sleep? What will we do if our fearless leader is tired?”

Levi smiled at her teasing and worry. “I’ll wake you,” he swore, lying through his teeth.

“Unlikely,” she countered suspiciously. But Levi just hushed her, bidding her to sleep. He kept watch, looking towards the path they had come from for any wandering titans, moving around despite the lack of sunlight. Once he felt Y/N fully relax he allowed himself to observe her peaceful face. He always took these peaceful moments to check on her, ensuring there were no cuts or bruises, even if it was a simple paper cut. Finding none on her exposed skin, Levi held her tighter, continuing to observe her peaceful face and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.

As Levi sat in the quiet, stillness of the night, he let his mind wander. Would it really be such a big deal if people knew about them? It’s not like the Scouts could afford to lose soldiers. Then everyone would know Y/N was taken and people like Reiner would leave her alone.

~

The squad had been looking for Titans to practice with for about an hour. The experienced scouts were getting wary as the sun had been up for an hour, the Titans should be awake and moving.

Levi had allowed them all to slow to a trot so as to save the horses’ energy. “It’s too quiet,” Levi murmured to his second in command, Eld.

“It’s not as if the Titans have the cognitive ability to hide in the trees to gather their numbers and then attack us,” Eld rationalized.

Levi just hummed in agreement. “Still, it feels like something bad is coming.”

They continued on for a little while longer, mostly in silence due to the Levi Squad members being uneasy. Then suddenly a giant hand launched out from between the trees, scattering the scouts. A 10 meter titan with a horrifying grin emerged from the trees, eyeing the meal that had appeared right in front of him.

All the members of the Levi squad immediately deployed their ODM gear, jumping up into the trees to take the titan down as quickly as possible. Levi watched his team begin to surround and confuse the titan. Y/N was poised to go in for the kill. But as she launched herself at the thing’s nape, Reiner swung from out of nowhere, knocking into her.

The force of his body hitting hers disrupted her momentum and she went plummeting towards the ground. Fortunately, her ODM gear was lodged into a tree because it caught her. It completely knocked the wind out of her but it was better than hitting the ground from 15 meters up. But in her shock, she didn’t realize she was in prime grabbing range as a giant fist encompassed her body. The pressure was so great she could feel her ribs crack as her arms were pinned at her sides. In all her shock, terror, and pain she must have blacked out because the last thing she was was the titan’s grin.

Meanwhile, Levi had watched in horror as that idiot swung into her, saving himself by falling into the tree. Levi had a momentary sigh of relief seeing the ODM gear catch her rather than her falling to the ground, surely to her death. But as the titan’s fist appeared, Levi’s life flashed before his eyes. “No!” he heard himself yell. Full of fear and rage that any creature would dare hurt her.

He reacted as quickly as possible, the others still barely registering what was happening. He launched himself towards the titan, cutting at its wrist, forcing it to stop bringing Y/N closer to its mouth. He moved faster than lightning, swinging behind its neck to cut at its nape. Absolutely no mercy as he cut out its crucial chunk of flesh. But as the titan began to fall, Levi realized his mistake, seeing Y/N fall out of the titan’s grasp. Unable to save herself due to her unconscious and wounded state. Then, a flash moved to catch her. Upon landing safely on a branch, Levi nearly sobbed in relief seeing Eren standing there, Y/N safely in his arms.

Levi quickly launched himself over, not giving a damn about appearances as he took Y/N in his arms. He laid her as gently as possible on the branch of the tree, kneeling close to her in order to look for signs of life. He thanked whatever cruel deity was out there upon seeing her chest move up and down with labored breaths. But the sound of her breathing was horrifying. Each breath rattled out of her lungs, an indication of how badly she was wounded internally. “Wake up, Y/N come on,” Levi pleaded, holding her face. He thought that if she would just open her eyes she’d be okay. They could get her back to the wall where she’d receive medical attention. “Come on, you’re not going to die out here,” he insisted, as if he were bargaining with her.

“Captain…” Petra’s hesitant voice spoke up, “she’s not going to wake up here. We have to get back to the wall.”

“We don’t have a cart, she won’t make it on horseback,” Connie said.

“We’re not leaving a wounded soldier,” Levi spat, picking her up in his arms as gently as possible. “We ride straight back to the wall. No stopping. If you see a titan do not engage. Our mission now is to get our comrade back alive.”

~

It was a hard, long journey back. Levi had precariously balanced Y/N on his horse the entire way, only stopping to ensure she kept breathing. But they made it back in only a day. The doctors said that the swiftness of their journey saved her life. She would have drowned in her own blood had they not reached the wall in time.

When the doctors had taken her in, Levi had been left shaking in the center of the barely standing building that had been converted into a hospital. “They’ve got her,” Petra had assured him, dragging him out of the way. The entire squad had tried numerous times to get him to leave the hospital and lie down but Levi refused every time.

After a day of operating and then leaving her alone to heal for a while, the doctors finally let him see her. But not without warning. “She’s in critical condition,” they warned. “She flatlined on the table a few times, meaning her brain was deprived of oxygen for longer than is reasonably safe. She’s also still got a tube breathing for her. We had to repair her lungs and put her in a medically induced coma.” Levi said nothing as they walked down the hall, keeping his face expressionless despite the fear pounding in his heart. He could hardly breathe as they told him everything that was wrong with her. But once they reached the door, the doctor blocked his path for a second. “One last thing: the titan caused massive crush injuries meaning her neck and torso are mostly covered in bruises. I’m just trying to prepare you for what you’ll see.”

Levi just nodded in understanding, not even fully processing her words. As the door finally opened, revealing her fragile body, Levi let out a strangled noise from his throat as he tried not to cry in front of the doctor. He was grateful when she just closed the door behind her, leaving him alone with Y/N. Stepping over to the bed, he took a seat on the chair placed beside it. She looked so fragile he was afraid to touch her so he just sat and stared at her, willing her eyes to open.

But they never did. In the two weeks Levi spent sitting at Y/N’s side her eyes never opened. She never so much as twitched. The only reason he left was when Erwin threatened to discharge him from the Scouts. He almost accepted the discharge except for his team reminding him that they still had a war to win. And if he wasn’t out there protecting humanity, what was to stop a titan from just running through this hospital?

So Levi went back to work. In some ways, he was sloppy and distracted, like neglecting his paperwork. But he more than made up for it in his performance. He took down more Titans in the three months Y/N was asleep than in the few years he had spent as a scout. He had also bullied and beaten the current class of recruits into one of the finest classes yet. He had thrown himself into his work, killing every titan in his path. And when he couldn’t kill, he was taking out his rage on arrogant scouts and recruits alike.

~

“Is that all you got?” Levi asked Dassler. He was one of the recruits that would be graduating in a month. He was a big guy, someone who had won all of his sparring matches simply by being heavier and stronger than his classmates. But he was ill equipped to deal with Levi’s quick agility.

Dassler yelled in frustration, unable to get a grip on the captain. He lunged forward but Levi easily dodged him, swinging his foot down to pin Dassler’s neck on the ground with his boot. As the boy struggled, Levi heard the frantic breathing of Hange as she reached the training yard. “Captain!” she called through labored breathing. “It’s L/N! She’s- she’s awake,” she breathed.

Levi didn’t even process her words fully or let himself feel anything, he just took off running. He ran straight to the hospital, right past the nurses and doctors, and straight up to her room. As soon as he burst in the door, nurses were on him, trying to push him out of the room.

“Sir, you can’t be in here right now,” the insisted multiple times. But Levi wasn’t listening. He was looking over their shoulders frantically calling her name, begging for some sort of confirmation she was okay.

But she never so much as looked at him. He only realized what happened when he heard the doctor asking her questions with more concern ebbing into her voice each time. “Do you know your date of birth?” She shook her head no. “Do you know where you’re from?” Another shake. “Do you know what happened in Shigonshina?” No. “Do you know who he is?” the doctor asked, pointing at him as he continued to struggle with the nurses.

The moment between the doctor’s question and Y/N’s response was the longest moment of Levi’s life. Even the nurses stopped, eager to see if she remembered arguably the most important person in her life. Any deniability they had had about their relationship disappeared when Levi carried her back to the walls.

With another shake of her head, she denied knowing her boyfriend and Levi’s heart shattered. He let out an involuntary strangled cry before the nurses finally got him out of the room before slamming the door in his face.

All he could do was stare at the door in shocked disbelief. This had to have been some sort of weird side effect of the coma. It had to be temporary.

As he began to spiral, Hange showed up with the rest of the squad. “Captain!” she called excitedly from down the hall. But upon noticing his expression, she halted, stopping the rest of the squad behind her. “What happened?” she asked in a grave voice.

“She- she doesn’t remember anything,” he admitted, still staring at the door. He could faintly hear worried murmurs behind him but he didn’t care. He was still so wrapped up in trying to understand what just happened.

Beside him, Hange’s jaw dropped as she tried to process the news. “Oh Levi, I’m so sorry.”

~

It had been a week and Levi had yet to visit his girlfriend. Everyone on the squad had encouraged him to visit, going so far as to suggest that he could miraculously bring her memories back. But all he could see was her blank, confused expression as she shook her head at him. He didn’t think he could handle her giving him that blank expression again.

As he sat in his office, filling out paperwork when he heard a knock on the door. Looking up, he found Erwin standing in the doorway. “Levi,” he greeted, “you need to visit Y/N.”

Rather than tell Erwin to mind his own business, like he had told the rest of his squad, he just continued his work. “She doesn’t remember me. There’s nothing I can do for her.”

“You can be there for her. What will happen when she regains her memories but her boyfriend wasn’t there when she needed him?” Levi stopped writing but still didn’t look up. He was aware that everyone now knew about his relationship but he still didn’t want the commander throwing it in his face. “You haven’t stopped working ever since you came back. I don’t think you’ve left the office since she woke up. Go to her, that’s an order,” he said before turning on his heel and walking out.

Levi clenched his jaw, putting his pen down. With a reluctant sigh, he stood up, grabbing his cloak. He made his way outside, towards the hospital. As he went, more and more people took notice of him, murmuring and whispering as he passed but he just ignored it. He walked straight up to her room, only hesitating when he reached her door. He reached for the handle but stopped for a second. The memory of her confused expression flashed through his mind again and with it came all that initial pain. Shaking it off, he grasped the handle, finding his girlfriend sleeping peacefully.

Careful not to wake her, he went to her bedside. Tracing a finger over her hand, she didn’t stir. Levi smiled as he observed her peaceful expression. He missed her beautiful face more than he’d like to admit to anyone except her. With her peaceful expression, he could almost forget that godforsaken image of her lack of memory. “You don’t remember me now,” he whispered, “but you will someday. And I swear I will be by your side the entire time because I love you,” he promised her, sealing it with a brief kiss on her forehead.

Masterlist

[animamii]

Lost | Eren Yeager

Based off of Lost by Frank Ocean aka my fave song

Plug!Eren au (maybe more like druglord!Eren??)

warnings; smut ofc. Drugs ofc. Pet names. The word 'daddy' in a sexual connotation.

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... Triple weight couldn't weigh the love I've got for the girl....

He just looked at her in awe, proud of his girl as she sat the kilo on the triple beam, adjusting the counterweights to receive the precise measurements. It wasn't long ago that she was a novice in the trade. Just weighing out measly dime bags printed with spades or dollar signs. In all honesty he couldn't believe he had her out here so eager to help him flip his brick. Maybe it was the way he would spoil her after every pound they sold. The trips to the Maldives and shopping sprees at the Chanel store. The Louboutin heels and Cuban chains and diamond necklaces with his initial on the pendant. Definitely from the way he would fuck her roughly on top of a bed full of money, a la Wolf of Wallstreet.

"You got it all nice and measured out?" Eren finally speaks, walking up to you. It takes you out of your concentration, your eyes on the tiny numbers on the beams of the scale. You look up at him, eyes now full of hearts. Ohhh how good he looked in that Versace silk button up. The way the collar drooped, showing just the right amount of chest.

"Uh huh. The perfect kilo. Not a gram more, not a gram less," you smile at the porcelain-colored mountain, honestly proud of yourself. It had taken you a while to get to this level of precision.

Eren puts a hand under your chin, "That's my good girl." His fingers caress the underside of your jawline. You give him a dimply smile in return, beaming from the praise. The intoxicating weight of his approval was almost heavier than the kilo in front of you. Eren’s gaze burns into you, his green eyes tracing the shape of your plump lips and then shifting downward to the work you’d just completed.

With a glint in his eye, he tilts your chin up just a little more, the pad of his thumb brushing slowly over your bottom lip. "Look at you, all grown up," he murmurs, his voice low and honey-thick, that rough edge of pride lacing every word. You held your breath, pulse quickening under his touch. “Think you can handle the next batch on your own?” he teases, fingers drifting to your cheek, then back to the hard line of your jaw. “Or will you still need me to keep an eye on you?”

You swallowed, hardly managing to hold back a mischievous grin. “Maybe I’d like it better with you here,” you reply, running your hand slowly down the smooth fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his chest through the silk. He just looked too yummy to keep your hands to yourself. Eren’s lips quirked at your touch, his hand settling on the small of your back as he leans in close, his breath hot against your skin.

“You know I’ll always be here to make sure my girl gets it just right,” he hums, his voice sending a thrill down your spine as he presses his mouth softly against your neck, tasting the heat of your skin. The air between you was thick, charged, the slightest pressure away from setting things ablaze.

As his fingers trace down your back, your mind hazily drifts to what this life had turned you into—a girl who could measure out yayo with the same precision Eren used when he unraveled you, his skillful hands claiming you with a possessiveness only his world could breed. A world that made him greedy and a little bit selfish. He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, a mischievous smirk on his face as he sizes you up. There was an intensity there, a look that spoke volumes—a dangerous combination of trust, desire, and something else that was just… Eren. It made your knees weak.

“Why don’t you wrap it up for me, then?” he asks, nodding toward the carefully measured pile of powder on the scale pan. “Let’s see if you’ve mastered that part too.”

You took a steadying breath, giving him a smirk of your own. He liked to test you, liked to push you to see how far you could go in his world—and you loved every second of it. The thrill, the risk, and knowing you had Eren’s undivided attention was addictive. Carefully, you start the process of wrapping the package, feeling the weight of his gaze follow your every move. Taking a card, some random fake ID, you start to sift the snow into the cocaine mold, already having prepped it by placing the cellophane wrap inside.

Once all 2.2 pounds are inside the metal casing, you use the press, placing both hands on top to make sure it's packed in tight. Eren can't help but salivate at the way your tits press together in the process, almost popping out of that flimsy tank top. As delicate as you possibly can, you lift the edges of the cellophane out of the press, placing the newly formed rectangle on the table gingerly.

With a tender touch you wrap the excess cellophane around the shape before sealing it off with tan packing tape. Once you know it's nice and sealed up you grab thicker kitchen wrap, encasing the now sturdy block in multiple layers of the plastic vinyl.

Finally finished, you hold up the neatly wrapped brick, meeting his gaze with a look of confidence. “Perfect, just like you wanted.”

He took the package from your hands, inspecting it with a slow, approving nod. "Not bad," he says, though his eyes held a sparkle that told you he was more than satisfied. "I taught you well, baby."

Without warning, he leans in and snakes an arm behind your lower back. Pulling you close, pressing you against the edge of the grand table. The kilo is softly tossed to the side, now being forgotten in lieu of Eren's choice of drug, his baby girl. His lips capture yours, hard and hungry, as if he’d been waiting for this moment all day. The taste of him was intoxicating—sharp and sweet, like the Russian Cream Backwood he had smoked earlier. The excess nicotine in his mouth now numbing your lips. Your breaths became heavy and full of him; a mix of cologne and smoke, of the kind of danger and excitement that no amount of money could buy.

Your fingers found their way into his hair as he kissed you deeper, his rough hands roaming over your body like he couldn’t get enough. The heat of his touch made you feel lightheaded, your mind hazy and focused solely on him. Although your mind was always focused on him ever since he had entered your life.

"You’ve earned a little reward," he mumbles against your lips, one hand slipping down to your thigh, sliding slowly, deliberately up your skirt. The coldness of his gold Palma chain bracelet sending shivers through your body. In contrast his breath was hot against your skin, and you could feel his grin as he left a trail of sloppy, lust filled kisses down your neck. "What do you say?"

Your heart raced, and you didn’t need to answer—he already knew. You were his, completely and utterly, caught in his web of desire, danger, and dark thrills that always kept you coming back for more. Simply put you were definitely addicted to Eren Yeager.

Eren’s fingers trace up your thigh, slow and teasing, pushing the hem of your skirt higher as he presses you harder against the edge of the table. You could feel your pulse racing under his touch, his lips trailing along your exposed collarbone with a heated urgency that made you melt. Every nerve in your body was alive, aware of every brush of his skin against yours, every inhale and exhale of his breath as he claimed you.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his voice low, almost reverent. Thumb skimming the inside of your thigh, making your breath hitch. “You’ve come so far, my pretty girl. From dime bags to kilos, and now…” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. “Now, you’re exactly where you belong.”

Eren's words sends shocks through you, a sense of pride mixed with something deeper, something raw. There was a part of you that had always wanted this—wanted to feel useful in his world, trusted and treasured by him in a way that no one else could understand. With Eren, you weren’t just someone to spoil or protect anymore. You were his partner, his equal, his mutual addiction.

Lust drunk, he lifts you onto the table, hands firm on your waist as he positions you exactly how he wants, his hungry gaze never leaving yours. Eren doesn’t say anything as he spreads your legs, fingers tracing over the soft lacy fabric between them, making you tingle. Looking down at you, cheekbones and jawline sharp, he puts you in a fawn-like state. You hold his gaze, heart thumping as he leans in, his mouth hot against yours.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispers, his voice sweet and heavy like molasses. Rough fingers slip beneath your now dampened panties, finding you warm and wanting, and you can no longer hold back the soft moan that escapes your lips. Slowly he starts to rub your pearl, causing more heat to pool to your sensitive area.

“I want this,” you manage to say between moans, your words melting into a whimper as his fingers move against you, slow and skilled. “I want you, Eren.” Your eyes are glossed over with desire, bottom lip pouting as your body begs for more.

He gave a low, satisfied chuckle, eyes darkening as he watches your reactions, drinking in every tremor, every shaky sigh. “Good,” he says, his voice carnal. “Because I want all of you, every last piece.” With that he presses closer, his touch growing bolder, his kisses deeper and more demanding. A slender finger now makes its way into you, pressing into your spongy walls, collecting all the slickness that was dripping from your entrance. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, losing yourself in the feeling of his body against yours.

As Eren adds another finger you start to unbutton his silk shirt. Fervent yet careful as to not pop one off. You would be in for it if you were to ruin his brand new fifteen-hundred-dollar shirt. Eyelids heavy with longing, you look up at him through your thick lashes. Eren is a sight to behold, bottom lip tucked tightly in between his pearly white teeth, brows etched together in prurience. He looks absolutely gorgeous, body defined and toned, muscles flexing with every movement he makes. Eren's fingers move at a moderate pace with stern pressure. Just enough to get your juices flowing, but not enough to make you any closer to cumming.

"Faster baby," you whine out as your hips grind against his digits. Eren smirks, looking down at you as you try to fuck yourself on his fingers. Listening to your pleas, he picks up the pace. You hum out as he does so, muttering out a quick 'thank you' under your breath. Looking down at the lewd sight, you notice he was only going one knuckle deep, was he really holding out on you? So much for a reward. "Deeper, Ren." Another whine leaves your throat.

"You're such a needy princess, aren't you?" Eren does as you wish, pushing his fingers in as deep as he can. Adding his thumb to your clit makes your eyes flutter, a wave of stimulus making your legs twitch. Loving the reaction your body gives him, he decides to add a third finger, all three digits now swirling from the bottom of your chasm to curl up into the top of your mound. It sounds nasty, the squelches coming from your cunt as he toys with it.

"You made me like this," you manage to say, your lips staying parted as you watch him add that third finger. The way it starts to spread you, stretch you out with that soft sting. The way those three fingers glisten with your slickness as he pumps them in and out of you. Eren thinks your pink lips look so pretty parted like that, they'd probably look better if they were put to work. Taking advantage of your attention being elsewhere, he takes his other hand, placing it under your chin as his thumb slips between your plump lips with ease. Your big doe eyes look up at him and he gets even harder as you look at him with that needy, (not so) innocent looking face. You moan around his thumb, almost wanting to bite it if you weren't lulling in and out of a pleasure induced daze.

"I did huh, made you so needy and spoiled," he grunts, adding force to his fingering to emphasize his words. Each forceful pump making you mewl, back arching. Eren loves watching you come undone beneath him, your legs jerking just from his fingers. The way your brows knit in pleasure, eyes rolling back as your breaths are light and quick. It's a beautiful sight, one that he never gets tired of. "Anything else my needy girl needs? Hm?" He asks as he takes his thumb out of your mouth, the cute little 'pop' it makes causing him to smile.

You nod fervently, "Need your dick inside me." You yank him by his Medusa belt buckle, pulling him closer as you try to undo it. Maybe it was the way you were trying with such rushed neediness, but it seemed impossible, with you cursing at the overcomplicated belt. Eren lets out a low chuckle as he pulls his fingers out of you, causing you to snap out of your thirsty tunnel vision. Fuck, you looked so cute looking up at him with that confused look on your face.

"Impatient, are we princess?" Shaking his head, he leans down and places a kiss to your temple. Instead of watching you fumble with his belt, he starts to do it himself, still chuckling at how insistent you were in your failed attempts.

"Jus' need you so bad," you respond, watching him undo the belt with ease. He tugs it out of his belt loops, half thinking about using it to restrain you or whoop you, but he remembers how good of a girl you have been, how he needs to reward you. His jeans drop to the floor with his boxers following suit. Your eyes don't leave the delicious sight of his V-line and happy trail as you hurriedly yank your panties off and toss them to the side.

"You're such a needy little thing, princess. You want my cock that badly, huh?" Eren playfully tilts his head as he gathers the precum leaking out of his tip, starting to pump himself as he watches you spread your legs instinctively. All you could do is give him a whiny 'uh huh' as you tug at his unbuttoned shirt, lust making your brain foggy. He laughs inwardly at your response, enjoying how easily you turn ditzy when you were sex hungry.

"Look at you, baby. So desperate for me. You're gonna look so pretty when I split you open right now," Dropping his shirt off his shoulders, Eren's hands move to your thighs, gripping them as he forces your legs open even more. He does a little double tap with the head of his dick, the heavy pats on your clit making you whine even more. He just had to tease you huh? Before you could say anything bratty, he pushes himself inside, a quick little push that forces a squeak of a moan out of you.

Eren pauses for just a moment, reveling in the way you felt around him, and you watched the flash of satisfaction in his eyes as he sank deeper, inch by agonizing inch. Your walls clenched around him, drawing him in, and his grip on your thighs tightened, nails grazing your skin. He loved seeing you like this—overwhelmed, consumed, all because of him.

“You feel that baby?” his voice is horse, dripping with satisfaction as he thrust into you slowly, relishing each whimper that leaves your lips. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” One of his hands cradles the back of your head, holding you up as you give into the pleasure. All you could manage was a nod, biting down on your lip as his rhythm began to build. The table beneath you creaked as he rocked you against it, each push and pull stoking the fire between you, making you shiver with every heartbeat.

“Tell me, princess,” he whispers into your ear, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone that made your insides flutter. “Tell me who you belong to.” His thrusts grew deeper, each one filling you completely, fingers digging into your hips, anchoring you to him.

“You, Ren,” you moan out, head tilting back as he sensually rams inside of you. “I belong to you.” Your brain is reciting romantic sonnets, love letters to the man that simply translate into airy moans. But hey, they would both be music to his ears.

The possessive gleam in his eyes only grows, and he holds you tighter, moving faster now, every motion a reminder of the hold he has over you, of the way he had shaped you into the woman you were now. And with every thrust, every whispered word, you found yourself surrendering even more, letting yourself fall further into the passion and darkness that only Eren could bring out in you.

Rough hands meet your chest, palming you through your thin tank top and bra. "Y'know, your tits looked fuckin' amazing as you were pressing that brick. All squeezed together and shit." Pulling the stretchy material of the tank top down, Eren removes your bra straps from your shoulders, letting the bra fall and rest around your waist as he grabs handfuls of your tits. Thumbs prod at your nipples, flicking at them like little joysticks as he jiggles the flesh and toys with them. He pushes them together, imitating how they looked when they were clamped between your arms.

"Yeah? it looked good daddy?" You purr under a lustfully lidded gaze, your soft hands making their way on top of his as he fondled your boobs. He groans, feeling your body arch up to meet him, and a wicked grin spreads across his face as he dips down, claiming your lips in a kiss that stole every last bit of breath you had left. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the heat of his body against yours, the intoxicating rush of his touch, and the knowledge that you were exactly where you belonged.

Eren can't help but be proud of how much you grew. Of who you grew into. When he first met you, you were just a sweet college girl trying to make ends meet by being a bottle girl. A little too naive and trusting, but he loved that about you. He still does. Now you were more mature, much wiser. Having learned so much from him, which made you forever grateful and dedicated to him. If he wasn't balls deep inside of you, he would shed some tears.

"I fucking love you baby," guttural grunts leave his throat as he pulls you flush against his sweaty chest, hands tangled in your hair as he planted breathy kisses to the top of your head. Your arms wrap around him, palms flat against his shoulder blades.

"I love you too, daddy. More than you know," your voice was soft, trying to keep from screaming in this almost love making moment. His length was getting to you, starting to see stars as he hit deep up inside you, tip touching your cervix. "I'm close, Ren." In that moment, nothing else mattered—the stacks of cash, the drugs and contraband, the danger that came with his world. All that existed was Eren, his touch, his voice, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. Your face is buried in his chest, leaving open kisses as 'thank you's' for fucking you so good. Your nails leave light scratches on his back, slightly stinging him but Eren loved the pain.

Eren’s hold on you tightens, his pace unrelenting as he buries himself deeper, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. Hearing you say those words, feeling your body responding to his with such devotion, drove him wild. His hands start to roam your back, his fingers pressing into your skin as if trying to memorize every inch of you, and he couldn’t help but lean down, whispering against your ear with a husky breath, “Then let go for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

His movements grew more intense, the friction almost unbearable as he watched you unravel beneath him, every inch of you trembling in his arms. Eren leans back just enough to capture your gaze, his eyes locked on yours, full of passion and pure love. “Come on, beautiful,” he coaxes, his voice like velvet, the warmth of his breath brushing over your skin. “I want to feel every bit of it.”

Your body finally surrenders, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you cling to him, crying out his name. Eren watches with satisfaction, feeling your walls tighten and pulse around him, pulling him even deeper. Upon thrusting out, he sees your cream painted on his shaft, more of your slickness dripping and puddling on the table. Cracked moans escape your glossy lips, strands of hair covering your face. In this moment—and every moment really—you were his muse. All Eren can do is look at you in awe, how perfect you looked all fucked out. Makes him want to fuck you even harder. Which he does, grip on you tight as he forcefully slams into your cunt. You can't help but scream at the overstimulation, the way he starts to pound into your cervix. Acrylic nails scrape his biceps, your legs are shaking as they wrap around him. The intensity of it all took his breath away, and with a final thrust, he loses himself in you, his body giving in as he harshly whispers your name like a prayer. The room goes still, your hearts pounding in sync, and as he held you close, Eren felt a deep, raw connection with you—a feeling he knew he’d never have with anyone else.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing heavy, he looks at you with a smile, thumb tracing over your flushed cheek. “My girl,” he whispers, words filled with a possessive pride that makes your heart race. “You did so well. You always do so good for me, baby.” A kiss is placed atop your head as he brushes his fingers through your sex tangled hair.

You're leaning on his chest still, catching your breath, still wrapped in the lingering warmth of his touch. Eren’s fingers trace lazy circles over your skin, his demeanor softening in a way he rarely showed to anyone but you. There was a comfort here, in this silence between the two of you, something almost domestic in the way he held you, thumb brushing tenderly over your arm as he hums a familiar tune you can't quite put your finger on at the moment, brain still fuzzy.

But the moment was fleeting. You knew that with Eren, there was always something else lurking beneath the surface, a restlessness that could never quite be satisfied, a thrill he always chased. And now, the look in his eyes shifted, a spark flickering as he reached for the package you'd so carefully prepared.

“You know,” he began, holding up the kilo, “it’s my last drop of the night.” His lips curled into that mischievous smirk you knew too well. “Want to come with me?”

You perk up, "Really? You actually want me to go with you to drop off?" Eren had never asked you to accompany him when delivering product. Always kept you behind the scenes. Always wanted to keep you safe. The thought of it sent a shiver of excitement through you—a chance to step fully into his world, side-by-side, as more than just his girl waiting for him at home.

"Uh huh, so you coming, or what?" He starts to get dressed, grabbing his boxers and jeans that are pooled on the floor and lifting them up. Body still sweaty and now coated in sex fluids, he feels a little less than clean. But business has to be handled before he can finally relax, right? Once he gets back home, he plans to take a long, drawn-out bubble bath with you nested between his legs anyway.

"Course I'll go," hopping off the table, you place your panties back on, core still soaked with both yours and Eren's arousal. Shaky fingers lift your bra straps back in place along with your tank top.

"Good." Eren's already dressed, your oversized fur coat in his hands, ready to place it on you. Giving him a cute little curtsy, you oblige and turn around, slipping your arms into the weighted sleeves. He grabs his jacket from the back of a chair and tosses it over his shoulder, slinging an arm around your waist as you followed him out of the stash house, heels clicking softly against the concrete. Eren’s car was parked just outside, sleek and dark, a perfect reflection of him. Of course he opens the car door for you, the gentleman he very much is, his hand out for balance even though you really didn't need it.

Eren slides into the driver’s seat beside you, his hand immediately finding yours after he starts the engine, casting you a playful smirk while reversing out of the driveway. “It’s about time you saw what your man’s really up to,” he teases, his grip on your hand firm and reassuring, placing a kiss on your knuckles. The notion has you melting, biting your lip as you looked at Eren with such puppy love. Of course he notices your enamored expression, making him smug, giving you a wink before his gaze returns to the road, his jaw clenched with that familiar intensity you’d come to love, the kind that made him magnetic, impossible to resist. It took everything in you not to lean over that center console, shower him and kisses and maybe even suck him off. But that could all wait until after the black duffle bag full of cocaine bricks was out of the backseat.

As he drove, you felt the thrill of the unknown rising in your chest, a mix of anticipation and excitement settling in your stomach. The city lights stream by, casting flashes of color across Eren’s face, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones, the glint of determination in his eyes. With him, everything felt like an adventure. It was his world, and tonight, he was letting you in.

Eren kept his hand on yours, fingers intertwined, thumb brushing softly over your knuckles in contrast to the hard edge of his persona behind the wheel. The gesture made you feel secure, as if he were grounding you, silently reassuring you that no matter what, he’d protect you.

It wasn’t long before he pulled into a secluded spot by the docks, where the only sounds were the distant crashing of waves and the occasional creak of metal. The car pulls behind a nondescript building by the water, lights dimmed, giving off an eerie feeling. Cutting the engine, Eren turns to you, “Stay close to me, alright?” His voice is serious now, the usual playfulness fading as he shifted into the role he wore so well—the Eren that commanded a room with just a look, the one people feared and respected in equal measure. But he softens slightly as his eyes meet yours. “Trust me?”

You smile, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Always.” Eren’s smile grew, a glint of pride in his eyes, as if he knew you were ready for this, that you could handle it. And in that moment, you knew, too. Stepping out of the car, he opens the back door to grab that packed black duffle bag that was going to turn into an enormous amount of cash. Hoisting it over his shoulder, Eren then goes around the car and opens your door as he always does, holding out a hand for you to step out. As you finally step out Eren can't help but cup your cheeks in his hands, thumbs skimming over your cheeks as he looks at you with a look you couldn't even describe. A bit of pride, a bit of nervousness, all love.

Leading you to the back of the building, right near the edge of the black looking water of the docks, you could hear the faint hum of the city in the distance, but here, it was quiet, almost unnaturally so. The night air was sharp and cold against your skin, and Eren’s hand in yours felt grounding, warm, steady.

He glances at you, a glint of excitement in his eyes as he led you to a side door, knocking three times in a rhythmic pattern. You’d heard Eren talk about his drops before, knew there was always an order to it—a certain number of knocks, a password, a specific point of contact. But you’d never seen it up close. Now, as you watched him in his element, the man you loved was almost unrecognizable. Gone was the softness he showed you, replaced by a cold confidence, a sense of purpose that made him seem larger than life.

The door creaks open, and a man with a buzzed head and tattoos creeping up his neck appears in the doorway, giving Eren a respectful nod. “Yo, Yeager,” he greets him gruffly, eyes briefly flicking to you, curious but expressionless. Eren nods back, mumbling a brief 'w'sup' as he pulls you close, arm wrapping securely around your waist as he led you into the building.

The hallway was dim, narrow, with walls that looked like they hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in decades. The air smelled faintly of cigarettes and some type of cleaning chemicals, and you felt little butterflies in your stomach, the thrill of stepping into Eren’s world fully, of seeing firsthand what he did when he wasn’t with you. You walked in sync, your heels clicking softly against the worn linoleum floor as the man led you down the corridor and up a flight of stairs.

Once you reached the top, you enter a room that was just as worn and dull as the hallway below. A battered leather couch sat against one wall, facing a scratched coffee table cluttered with empty beer bottles, playing cards, and loose cash. On a makeshift setup sat a small tv, one of those small 2010's plasma tv's, some public access cable playing on it as no one watched. A few men were scattered around the room, some leaning against the walls playing dice, others sitting on the couch, each one looking up as you and Eren entered. Their gazes were appraising, curious. But there was a silent understanding between them and Eren—a respect that was unspoken but clear. Eren wasn’t just another face to these people. He was something more.

With a subtle nod, Eren acknowledged the room. Even in this rough environment, he commanded respect with a quiet authority, an edge to him that everyone just seemed to feel. They offered him gestures, some lifting chins in greeting, others murmuring a quick “What's good, Eren,” before returning to their game. But when their eyes landed on you, it was as though a wave of curiosity washed over the room. Eren kept you close, his hand firm on your waist, making it clear you weren’t just some girl he’d brought along. You were his, and in this world, that meant something.

“Yeager, man,” one of the men on the couch breaks the silent tension, his eyes flicking to you briefly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t know you’d be bringing company.”

Eren didn’t bother to respond directly. Instead, just giving the man a nod, his hand still resting protectively on your waist. “Let’s just get down to business,” he said, voice calm but authoritative. He pulled you along with a confident ease, guiding you over to a workbench that definitely looks out of place. He lets go of you just long enough to set the duffle bag down as the men gather around the table, eyes fixed on the bundle. The man with the buzzed head, the one who’d opened the door, gestures for Eren to unzip it, and you watch as the two exchange a quick, wordless understanding. The bag comes open, exposing its contents—wrapped kilos of powder neatly lined up inside, stacked with almost clinical precision. There was a surreal quality to it, the weight of the moment settling as you saw firsthand the pieces of Eren’s world.

Another one of them—a wiry guy with boxcar scars and a slacked jaw—pulls out a small pocketknife and slices through the layers of plastic wrap, peeling back each layer to reveal the pristine white powder within. You watch, transfixed, as they inspect it, measuring it out with a scale, nodding in approval.

“Looks good. Quality work, as usual,” Buzzcut says, his gaze shifting to you with a curious glint. “Wasn't aware you had someone helping you out, Yeager.”

Eren’s hand wraps around your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he spoke, his tone low and assertive, carrying an edge. “She’s my girl. And she’s just as good as I am.”

The words made you stand a little taller, pride swelling in your chest as you felt the weight of his approval. It was a rare thing for Eren to show off any part of this life to others, especially when it came to you. To even let his two separate worlds collide. But here, he was doing exactly that—claiming you, letting the room know that you were someone they could trust. It was exhilarating, a glimpse into a side of him that was usually kept hidden.

The man with the scars gave you a nod, his smirk softening slightly as he purses his lips. “Well, if she’s good enough for you, Yeager, then she’s good enough for us.” Buzzcut gives an agreeing nod, before signaling to one of the others to count out stacks of cash. Eren accepts the money with practiced ease, slipping the large manila envelope into his jacket pocket before handing off the duffle. It was smooth, efficient, like a transaction he’d done countless times before, yet there was something different this time, a new layer as he glances at you and sees the awe in your eyes.

The deal wraps up quickly, Eren’s hand never leaving yours as he led you back out, giving brief nods to the men as they exchanged quick, quiet goodbyes. When you reach the hallway, he pauses, turning to look at you, his eyes softening as the door clicked shut behind you.

“That wasn’t too much, was it?” he asked, his tone gentle, thumbs brushing over your knuckles in a soothing gesture.

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Not at all. I actually…kind of liked it,” you admit, your voice low but sincere. “I liked seeing you like this. Seeing what you do.”

Eren’s lips curve into a slow, proud smile, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I wanted you to see it, to understand. You’re part of this now, too. Part of me.”

"I'm happy you trust me enough to let me even see this part of you," your manicured nails softly caressing his fingers as you look at him with gratitude.

"Course, princess. I trust you with my life. I love you," Eren wraps his arms around you, bringing you in his embrace. "Now let's go home and take a longggg bath. That room was hotboxed with cigarettes I feel like I reek." A smile forms on his lips, which rested on the top of your head. Eren turns you towards the dingy stairway, pressing one last kiss to the back of your head as he leads you out, his steps sure and calm, guiding you back down the dimly lit hallway.

As you walked back to the car, hand in hand, you realized something. Being with Eren wasn’t just about the thrill or the luxury or even the danger. It was about trust, a bond deeper than words, a connection that ran beneath everything else. And as you slipped into the car beside him, his fingers intertwining with yours, you knew you wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

The car hums as Eren started it up, pulling back onto the road with that effortless ease he had, every move calculated, every glance a mixture of mischief and calm control. The night stretched out ahead of you, the neon glow of the city lights casting a warm hue over the two of you as you left the docks behind.

"How’d it feel?" he finally asks without nervousness, eyes flicking over to you with that lopsided smirk you adored. "Being in on the action for real?"

You took a deep breath, letting the excitement settle as you thought it over. "It felt... powerful," you divulge, squeezing his hand in return. "But honestly? I think I just liked being by your side."

Eren chuckles, his gaze softening in a way that made you feel like you were the only person who could break down his walls. “Good answer,” he says, lifting your hand to his lips and brushing a gentle kiss over your knuckles. “Means you’ve got your priorities straight.”

You melt at his words, heart gushing and legs squeezing together. "Yeah, got my priorities straight?" Watching his face, the way he's so nonchalant and smug, all you can do is bite your lip. God, why does he always have to look so delicious?

"Mmhmm, my lil 03' Bonnie," he teases as he kisses your hand again, eyes not leaving the road. You were back downtown, close to the apartment. Cars and pedestrians littered the streets still despite the lateness of the night.

"Okay Jay Z," you giggle, head shoving into his arm that's rested on the center console. The adrenaline high that you had received from earlier had now died down, feeling that soft mellowness that was familial to one of an after sex high. Just simple pure bliss and the feeling of amor.

Eren pulls up to the front of the apartment building, too tired and too ready to get you in that bubble bath that he uses the valet, something he only occasionally did. Handing the keys to the valet, Eren opens the passenger door, extending a hand for you to grab. You balance yourself, feet tired from wearing those damn YSL Debbie platform pumps. Eren's hand immediately finding the small of your back as he leads you into the lobby, the late-night desk attendant looking up with a considerate nod.

As you step into the elevator, you both lean against each other, exhaustion finally settling in now that the thrill of the evening had faded. Eren was ready to go back to being domestic and loving, he wanted to put aside the drugs and dealing for the rest of the night.

Inside the quiet of the apartment, Eren wraps you in his arms from behind, his warmth against your back as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Come on, let’s get that bath going,” he murmurs, his voice a low, affectionate rumble.

You nod, leaning into him, savoring the feel of his strong arms around you. Together, you make your way to the bathroom, and he gets the water running, adding bubbles and checking the temperature as you sit on the edge, watching him with a smile. There was a certain sweetness to the way he moved for you, the way he could switch so effortlessly from dope dealer to lover.

When the bath is ready, Eren helps you undress, taking his time as his hands brush over your skin, his eyes darkening with tenderness as he admires you. You step into the warm water together, and as he wraps his arms around you, drawing you close in the foamy, fragrant warmth, you know without a doubt that you were exactly where you were meant to be—by his side, no matter where that led.

As he leans down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and resting his head against yours, you feel a sense of peace settling over you. In all honesty you could fall asleep right then and there, with Eren massaging your black vanilla shampoo into your hair. With each gentle touch, you feel yourself melting into him, the steady beat of his heart against your back calming you in a way only he could.

Eren tilts his head, nuzzling into the curve of your neck before planting a tender kiss on your skin. “You know,” he murmurs, voice softened with affection, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this lucky.” His words are a low whisper, meant just for you, and they carry a rawness that leaves you breathless.

Turning in his arms to face him, you find his gaze already fixed on you, eyes full of that rare vulnerability he only shows you. You reach up, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing softly over his jawline as you smile. “I’m the lucky one, Eren. Just getting to be here, to be with you like this... I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

A smile tugs at his lips, that slight, crooked smile you adore, and he leans in, closing the distance between you in a slow, sweet kiss. It’s gentle, unhurried, as if he’s savoring every second, pouring all his unspoken feelings into it. His hand drifts up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his touch both tender and possessive.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you feel his breath against your lips as he whispers, “I’ll keep you safe. No matter what.” His hand moves down to rest over your heart, feeling the steady beat beneath his palm as if grounding himself in the moment.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close, pressing a kiss to his temple as he relaxes into your embrace. The water sloshes softly around you as you both sink deeper into the warmth, sharing this quiet, intimate moment, content to just be in each other’s presence. The outside world fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, savoring the quiet joy of being together.

Eren pulls you even closer, his hand moving slowly up and down your back as he speaks in a soft, almost bashful tone. “I can’t believe you put up with all this,” he says, a hint of wonder in his voice. “My life... it’s messy, but somehow, you’re always here, right by my side.” He kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he takes a deep breath, as if absorbing the comfort of having you close.

You tilt your head up, catching his gaze with a reassuring smile. “You’re worth it, Eren. Every bit of it. Besides,” you add with a playful grin, “I kind of like the thrill.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head as if in disbelief, his eyes shining with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. “Then I guess we’re both crazy,” his words are light and airy as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. The two of you sink back into the water, wrapped in each other’s warmth, and for a moment, there’s no need for words. Just the comfort of his arms, the rhythm of his breathing, and the knowledge that no matter what lay ahead, you’d face it together.

After the cute intimate moments of washing each other's bodies, sticking Eren's hair up in a shampooed mohawk, and a little under the bubble action, Eren finally grabs two heated towels to wrap you up. He takes the time to dry you off, starting with your painted toes, all the way up to your drenched locks.

"All dry," his smile is pure as he ruffles your damp hair. Walking around with just a towel hung around his waist, he goes into the bedroom to get you pajamas. Of course it's one of his old tee shirts, this one a My Chemical Romance one he had since high school. "Arms up," he says as he places the oversized shirt over your head.

The simple domesticity that he could also bring, the soft tone he uses with you, all the little things he does like washing your hair and picking out your pj's, makes you feel swollen with amorous emotions. How could this be the same man that was selling coke to everybody in the city?

"You look so perfect, my pretty baby," he hums softly as he places a kiss on your forehead. Eren can't help but be so in love with you when you looked like this. Fresh out of the bath, bare faced and looking so small in his oversized shirt that reminded him of life before he became so involved in the drug trade. "I have one more thing for you, c'mere."

Shooting him a puzzled look, you follow him into the living room of the apartment. The living room dimly glowed from the tungsten lights, the city glittering from the windows. Sitting down on the velvet couch you watched as Eren shuffles around to search for something.

"Close your eyes princess," his voice is bright with excitement as he holds something behind his back. You do as your told, holding your hands over your face. More shuffles can be heard as he steps closer to you. "Okay, you can open."

"Eren," you gasp as he holds open a small black box that carries a delicate silver ring set with a dark emerald—the same green as his eyes, a color that had always reminded you of him. He takes your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger with a kind of quiet reverence.

“It’s not an engagement ring,” he says with a soft but steady voice. “Not yet, anyway.” He looks up, gaze meeting yours with a seriousness that makes your heart skip a beat. “But it’s a promise. A reminder that this is just the beginning for us. That I want it to be you by my side. Always.”

Your heart swells from his sentiments, and without thinking, you throw your arms around him, pulling him into a kiss filled with everything you felt—love, gratitude, the excitement of a future with him. Eren holds you close, with his hand resting on the small of your back, reminding you that no matter what, you were safe here with him.

As you pull back, both of you a little breathless, he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his eyes soft. “Ready for what’s next baby?”

With a smile, you nod, your fingers brushing over the ring, feeling its weight, its promise. “With you? Always.”

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈••┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈••┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈••┈••✦ ❤ ✦•

just a lilll rushed because omg I love this so muchhh. Idk I'm in love love loveee with everything about this.

[phantom-dc]

Double Jason AU?

Jason, fresh after the whole "2 Jokers/Bruce practically lobotomizing him" is sent back in time to before he made himself known to Batman. He decides that since a reguler crimelord gets beat up less by Bats then his failure Robin, Jason keeps his identity secret. But this presents a problem:

Jason worries that Bruce will find out that his coffin is empty, and will come looking. Talia offers an unusual solution: A cloned 15-year-old body to put back in. Exept that Jason is not one to stay down & the body wakes up.

Talia is worried, but Jason is a quick thinker; and has Talia present the clone as the original Jason, claiming she revived him as a gift to her beloved. Bruce is extatic and let's him be Robin again. Tim initially decides to step down, but later steps back in as Black Bird, unable to say goodbye to the vigilante life. (Little Jason is Jaylad for easier reading)

It's around this time that Red Hood becomes known in Gotham. Batman only knows him as a new contender in Gothams underworld, but the guy isn't a big problem (since Jason didn't do his whole "choose me or Joker" plan he managed to keep low on Batman's radar, tho still on it). Sometimes he helps the Bats out, even jokes a bit with the younger heroes but stays far away from Batman.

Then Joker decides that he can hurt Batman again by actually killing Robin (there is no way he's letting that birdie live, not when Batman got so deliciously violent after being "nearly" killed) and kidnaps Jaylad. The only reason the boy lived? Because Red Hood saved him and beat the Joker to death, Batman had to save him with the Lazarus Pit in the Batcave. Nightwing & Blackbird are gratefull, but Bats is furious that Red Hood killed and attacks him. In the fight, Red Hood loses his helmet and Bruce recognizes him. He looks a bit older, has some scars, a white streak & green tinted eyes, but that is definitly Jason.

Jason, not wanting to be "the failure Robin" again, lies that he himself is a clone, a testrun of the aging process for "a different project". Bruce asks what project & knowing he shouldn't tell Bruce about Damian yet, Jason admits to a thought that had been haunting him since Jaylad woke up: What would Bruce do if things had played out differently at the warehouse. It works, and while not coming out unscathed, Jason escapes. Bruce believes Jason is the evil clone, and Jaylad is the good original.

Oddly enough, a few weeks later Red Hood gets a visitor. It's Robin. He at first wants to fight Jason to "save" him, but realises that Jason has no intention of that. Evil clones don't usually offer pancakes. They like the same stuff, and slowly develop this odd big/little brother dynamic. Big J & Little J manage to keep it a secret for a while, until Tim finds out. He was curious where Jaylad snuck off to & followed him.

Honsetly thats it so far, not sure where to take this from here. Jason still became the Outlaws,and now there is a magic Robin again. How will Damian react & will the fam ever find out that the Red Hood is the original? How will they react when they realize Jason rather stayed dead then become part if the family again?

[sserpente]

Memories to Enemies 🎃

Synopsis: The TVA is no more—not like it was before, anyway. When the multiverse breaks free, Loki finds himself back where he belongs, on the verge of claiming the throne of Midgard and this time… this time he finishes what he started. But while he’s gained so much, he’s lost even more, for there was one thing the chaos of the timelines had not fixed—it hasn’t brought you back to him. You, the mortal he had refused to fall for until he realised it was too late all along. He never stopped searching for you after Thanos snapped his fingers and now, with so many timelines at the tip of his fingers and a tempad in his pocket… you were out there somewhere and he will find you. But when he finally does… he realises that not only are you the leader of the very rebels aiming to end his ruling, you are a Variant. And you don’t remember him.

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, people! 🎃 Requests from two anons. There are no spoilers for Season 2 in this. I’ll have some more spooky Halloween Imagines coming up this week (I hope), I just didn’t manage to get any writing done as I had initially planned because I spent the whole weekend queueing at Comic Con, haha!

Words: 2407 Warnings: smut

Additional NSFW warnings: edging, very light dub-con

“The rebels are causing trouble again, my king.”

“Which is to say you are unable to deal with a bunch of disobedient humans?” Loki looked up, legs spread on the makeshift throne in what used to be Stark Tower. He lifted his chin, his menacing glare all but intimidating the former politician, now reduced to nothing more than a lackey.

“N-no, of course not. I just thought you should know. They… they made it to the lower levels of the tower last night.”

Loki narrowed his eyes, leaning forward a little. “Who did?”

“The rebels, their leader… we caught her face on camera but… security managed to overwhelm them. I believe they were trying to plant explosives somewhere in the building.”

“Where are they now?”

“They’re being held in the cellars.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “You should have led with that, you fool. Send them up. No… bring me their leader. I believe it is time we have a little chat about where her… loyalties lie.”

The politician nodded and excused himself. Silence filled the room after he left and Loki sat back again and sighed. Those rebels were hardly a threat to him but if they had made it to the tower… he would have to up his game and patch the holes in his security. A spell or two should suffice. Possibly something that would make any uninvited guest grow mushrooms all over their body should they trespass.

If only… he sighed once more. If only he had you by his side. You had always loved this time of the year, made him hand out sweets for children and carve out pumpkins. After all this madness… he still had not found you again. You had been snapped away in the sacred timeline, so he had found out… and even though the now-forgotten Avengers had reversed the titan’s doing, you remained unfound, out of his reach. Wherever you were… he would tear every single timeline apart until he had you back by his side. Would you be overjoyed, to see him where he belonged? On the throne, ruling as he was meant to be?

“The prisoner, my king.” The politician returned after the metal elevator doors swung open yet again, dragging with him a young woman who carried herself quite regally despite her predicament. She lifted her head, her hair revealing her face…

Loki’s face dropped. It was you. You… you were the rebel foolishly trying to put an end to his reign? Desperation and relief paired with anger and disappointment, the sadness that had been residing deep in his heart after he had lost you not quite going away. Something was off.

“Leave her here. Get out.”

“No security, my king?”

“I can handle a mortal woman. Now get out.”

The politician nodded and left without another word all the while you kept on staring at Loki as if you were ready to plunge a dagger into his chest any moment. You probably were—and it broke his heart a lot more than he would have liked to admit.

Your eyes widened when he spoke your name. “So you already know me then.”

“Know you? I have been looking for you for years, pet.”

You blinked. “Pet?”

Loki’s face fell when he realised. You did not know. You did not recognise him. You did not… love him yet. It mattered little, now did it? He would make you love him again, he would restore your memories. Were you a Variant? Had you met him? Had Thanos’ horrors taken your memories? He had to find out, needed to find out.

“You will not believe me, of course. But you were in love with me. I lost you when Thanos snapped his fingers. My path, too, changed. That is a story for another time. Come here, pet. It is so good to see you,” he purred.

Containing his emotions and his excitement had never been so difficult. He all but longed to jump up from his throne and sweep you up into his arms, holding you close until you struggled to breathe. But he didn’t. He wanted you to come to him. Only you remained frozen in place. He could practically feel the defiance radiating from you.

“I’m not falling for your stupid tricks, Loki.”

The God of Mischief smirked. “Would you like me to prove it, pet? Ah, let’s see… I just so happen to know you love Halloween. Carving out pumpkins… handing out sweets to children… watching scary films and eating this disgusting snack you call popcorn… and of course, how could I forget, the hot chocolate with small marshmallows and whipped cream on top? It’s reserved only for months that have the letter ‘r’ in them, no?”

Loki watched with great satisfaction how your lips parted in shock. He stood, taking a step forward. “What else… ah…” He tilted his head. “There is a particularly sweet and sensitive spot on your body that has you absolutely feral for your lover. It is… right… here.” He took another step and brought his hand up to brush his thumb over the spot right below your ear. You shivered, clenching your jaw.

“Lies… y-you’re… you’re tricking me.”

“No tricks,” he purred, “only treats.”

To Hel with the restraint. With a low growl, Loki pulled you close, lifting you off your feet. Your rather pathetic resistance died quickly once you realised that you weren’t going anywhere. Loki was too strong—you’d do well to save your strength for when it truly mattered. But… did you want to?

Why, on Earth, was there a part of you that enjoyed his touch? The way he looked at you… so full of hope and lust… that could not be acted, could it? To win over the leader of the rebellion, make her compliant… was that his plan? Or was he telling the truth?

And if he was, then what would have ridden you to dedicate your life to stopping him at all cost? Heavens, last night, you had attempted an assassination.

Loki put you back down on your feet once you reached his bedroom. He had redecorated, of course. Everything was green and gold, even his bed sheets. It looked… beautiful. Homely, almost and faintly familiar.

A shiver brought you back from the depths of your mind when Loki sneaked his hand under your shirt, slowly pushing it up.

“Do you truly think it’s a coincidence you react this way to me?” He tilted his head, smirking when you flinched at his fingertips ghosting over your bare stomach. He was right. He was so right and you hated it. Part of you wanted him—right here and now. The other part was seething and then, yet another… wanted to give in to his advances out of curiosity.

“Why… why don’t I remember then?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, pet. We will restore your memories. You could be a Variant—a version of yourself from another timeline who has not yet met me. We will worry about this later. I missed you.”

He sounded so… genuine, so full of relief. It was not hard to believe him. But how could you? You hated this man, you loathed how he had taken Earth for himself and declared himself its ruler… you would never kneel before him… right?

Why were you questioning yourself? Perhaps… perhaps it was for when you gazed into his blue eyes, you detected just how troubled his soul was. There was more to this than tyranny. More than a hunger for power.

You ceased to resist when he pulled your shirt off of you. Mesmerised, dazed… perhaps even charmed, you lifted your arms for him to remove it and then allowed him to make short work of your trousers. Only a few more moments passed until you stood completely naked before him, breathing heavily.

His kiss was soft when he held your chin with two fingers, almost as if testing the waters. Your eyes… your eyes fell shut. Why… how did this feel so good?

“Give in to me, pet. Let me show you.”

You bit your lower lip. “I’m supposed to hate you.”

He chuckled. “Why yes… We can speak about your little rebellion after I have had my fill of you. You always longed to be by my side, pet. What changed?”

“I don’t know you.” And perhaps that was the reason. You did not know him. Did not yet see behind the mask. Would things be different if you did? You could have tried to kill him the very moment you stepped out of the elevator. So why hadn’t you? Would you, under different circumstances, support his cause? Aid in his rule? Rule… by his side? That was such a silly thought, wasn’t it?

And yet… even though the arrogant god kept calling you his pet… the way he looked at you made you feel like he regarded you as his equal. Maybe your subconscious knew that there was more to it. Maybe your soul had recognised him.

“Then I will make you know me again. You, my darling, are the one good thing that has ever happened to me. I will not give you up.”

You swallowed, unsure of whether you should regret the words that left your lips next. “S-show me.”

“With pleasure.” Loki smirked, lifting you up once more. The warm leather of his armour against your naked skin made you whimper but it was gone within a heartbeat, melted off his body in a green hue of his magic. It felt tingly, familiar… as if you’d felt it a million times before.

The God of Mischief crawled above you, spreading your legs as he did. Skin against skin, he towered above you like the king he was, his raven hair framing his handsome face. You resisted the urge to reach up and stroke his cheek—just about, for when he leaned down and assaulted your neck with his lips, you dug your nails into the soft bed sheets instead, fighting, desperately, for composure your body was eager to give up.

Every touch, every kiss… it felt right. And you were craving more.

A gasp escaped your lips when Loki sank his length into you with but one deep stroke—it was both out of pure bliss at his size and surprise at how wet you were. How had him undressing you slowly done that?

Deep and languid thrusts soon drove you to the brink of madness. No one… no one had ever fucked you as well as Loki was fucking you right now, and the fact that he seemed to know exactly what turned you on almost filled you with fear.

The intense eye contact, the gentle touches, the soft dominance radiating from him… without a doubt he would pin you against the bed if you so much as attempted to flip around and ride him instead without… without asking for permission?

You whimpered at the thought, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You were close already. Loki was working his magic… firm and yet gentle, you felt it teasing your clit, applying just enough pressure to bring you closer and closer to climax. Once he had you there, right on the edge, the delicious pressure eased, his rhythm speeding up.

“You’re enjoying it…” Loki purred—his tone smug, if anything. You groaned.

And then, once again… he pushed you toward that blissful cliff only to stop—again—right before you could fall. You realised soon enough what he was doing. He was edging you. No one… no one knew about your filthiest desires and kinks. So how did he? He really was telling the truth, wasn’t he?

You pretended to hate this but you loved it… loved how he was in control of your pleasure, able to take it away if he so wished… urgh.

“What is it, pet, hmm? Did you want something?” His strokes were relentless—how he managed not to rut into you like a beast you had no fucking clue.

“P-please…” you choked out, “…let me cum.”

Loki tilted his head. “I think you can do better than that.”

Another grunt on your end but this time, you were ready to throw hands—only the God of Mischief above you didn’t let you. The invisible force tormenting your clit wrapped around your wrists like invisible shackles, holding them in place.

“Please…” you repeated, “…I need to cum. Stop… teasing me…”

“Let me hear it one more time, pet. Scream for me.”

A groan of frustration escaped your lips. All helpless beneath him, there was nothing you could do but endure his torturing treatment. Your toes curled, that all too familiar knot in your lower stomach tightening…

“Oh, fuck, please, please, PLEASE! Just… LET ME CUM ALREADY!” Loki chuckled—he chuckled and then, finally, the delicious pressure on your clit returned. And this time… it didn’t stop again. You tensed up, all air knocked from your lungs as your orgasm washed over you. Contracting around Loki’s cock who did not stop rocking into you for a second, fucking you right through your moment of utter bliss until he too, came.

Loki’s moans were quite possibly the sexiest thing you had ever heard as he buried himself inside of you as deep as he could, coating your walls with his seed, twitching and jerking.

He rested his forehead against yours then, eyes closed—content, at ease… and so unlike what you had expected from a tyrannical ruler.

This… it had felt like your bodies were made for each other. Perhaps they were.

“I want to remember. I want you to prove to me that you’re not the evil tyrant I imagine you to be,” you said, breaking the silence.

Loki chuckled. “Hmm… ever so demanding, pet.”

“Why are you calling me that?”

“Because it turns you feral, am I not right?”

You bit your lower lip. Yes, damn it, he was right.

“We will find a way to restore your memories, I swear it. You are mine.” You shivered when he spoke your name. “You are the very reason I am not a tyrant. Whatever you see, whatever you believe… Midgard is in good hands—it is your home realm, after all.”

“So I’ll just have to trust your word? The word of a Trickster?”

Loki smirked. He knew. He knew that your heart already did.

"Yes. Now then... shall we carve a pumpkin together, pet?"

A/N: Party hard tonight! 🎃

[matan4il]

Update post:

Today, there was an attempted terrorist attack at the Meggido junction in Israel. The hammer-wielding terrorist was thankfully caught before he managed to carry out his planned crime. He's 17 years old, and you can bet the anti-Israel crowd will use his age as "proof" that Israel arrests and jails kids, without mentioning what these minors are being imprisoned for, instead of condemning those who brainwash children into carrying out terrorist attacks. Just one reminder out of many such attacks, in 2018 a 17 years old Palestinian terrorist killed a 45 years old Israeli man, so please no one pretend like minors are harmless, or ignore that when teenagers commit harmful crimes in other countries, they're arrested there, too.

It was obvious that some people have made up their minds about the incident with the WCK workers even before the investigation started, so I expect its conclusions will get perverted and ignored, too.

That same anti-Israel crowd will also ignore (unless they'll use it as ammunition against the Jewish state, by actually claiming that Israel, a nation still reeling from the genocide of Jews, and the continued killing of its citizens by antisemitic terrorists, is intentionally killing its own, because there's just no cartoon villain crime they don't think they can pin on the Jewish state) the fact that there's another IDF investigation that's been released today, which said Efrat Katz was accidentally killed by a helicopter rocket while trying to stop the Hamas terrorists who were kidnapping her into Gaza. The helicopter pilot didn't realize at the time that there were hostages in the car as well, this was only deduced later, from the testimonies of other people kidnapped by Hamas. In other words, as horrific as this truth is, accidents do happen during war. The worst, most tragic ones, and we can't undo them, no matter how much we want to. But they happen to every army, and are not actual evidence of intentional killings, or intentional war crimes. Just like someone having been killed is in general not enough to prove a murder took place.

This is 68 years old Efrat Katz.

The WCK incident report is now out, and I am linking the source publication, so that no possible bias can be attributed to re-phrasing by journalists from any side.

As was the initial impression (for those who don't simply want to believe in every evil, dehumanizing lie about Israel), it turned out to be a tragic accident, that entailed many factors, first and foremost misidentification, in part due to Hamas. As I've pointed out more than once, Hamas steals humanitarian aid. Due to this, the WCK operation had hired armed guards to protect it from looting. Tragically, one armed guard was identified without question on one of the WCK's trucks, and was mistaken for a Hamas terrorist, while at least one other armed terrorist was also identified and thought to be in the convoy's private cars. The vehicles did have the WCK sticker on their roofs, but at night, that wasn't visible to the IDF soldiers. Since the whole convoy was misidentified, the drone fired more than once at more than one vehicle, but this is linked to the same single mistaken identification. It means that even though this shouldn't have happened, the soldiers who fired at the convoy really did believe they were targeting terrorists, which is their mission.

The IDF has expressed sorrow over this incident more than once, has taken responsibility, has conducted an investigation, and following its results, two high ranking officers have been removed from their posts, and two more were severely reprimanded, which means this will be in their file forever, and will influence any future decisions made about their service.

This is 72 years old Nadjda Astreks.

She lives in the southern town of Ofakim with her husband, Alexnder. In the above photo, she's pointing to the bullet holes in her kitchen, left by the terrorists on Oct 7. The couple don't have a bomb shelter in their own home, so they had to go out to a public one when the rocket attack began at 6:30 in the morning. When they returned, is when the terrorists shooting at the buildings began, and the confused couple didn't know what to think or do at first. They went out, and saw the girl from across the street falling. Alexander approached her, only to see a pool of blood, and realize that she had been shot to death. A soldier who was running in the direction of the terrorists told them to go back to the neighborhood bomb shelter, where they ended up hiding for hours, without food and water, or proper toilettes, without knowing what's going on outside for a big part of that. It was fellow residents from their neighborhood who faced the terrorists and saved the people there, but the first ambulance for the injured was only able to make it there at three in the afternoon. Nadjda said that even much later, she's still having trouble eating, whenever she thinks of everything that happened on the day of the massacre.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[wilhelminyard]

y'all seemed to like this so here are more moments but the christmas edition :

• andrew and neil, for the longest time, never decorate their house for christmas because honestly who gives a shit? neither of them is big on holidays and decorating the whole house only to take everything down in a few weeks seems more of a hassle than anything else. so they just don't. until one year, it's their turn to host the annual christmas dinner with the rest of the foxes and nicky and allison almost faint when they find out andrew and neil didn't even get a tree. they both turn up to the house with enough decoration to make it look like santa's personal workshop. andrew flat out refuses to help but allison manages to convince neil to give her a hand with the christmas lights on the roof because she needs someone there to make sure she doesn't die and she doesn't trust nicky. nicky feigns offense but he'd rather not be out in the cold anyway so neil goes. when it's done, allison drags everyone outside to watch when they turn on the lights and when she does andrew can see neil's eyes lighting up with childlike wonder. then suddenly neil is more involved. he puts a wreath on the front door, ornaments on the tree and more lights anywhere he can. andrew mumbles something about the electric bill but neil seems so fascinated by this stupid tree in their living room that the next year, around christmas time, andrew puts stupid tiny christmas hats on the cats and even more stupid stockings with their goddamn initials and jersey numbers on them near the fireplace. then he drags aaron with him to buy a tree, threatens to cut his tongue off if he says anything and almost dies on the spot when neil comes home and looks at him with his oh-so-blue eyes filled with that same childlike wonder he had the year before and andrew vows to turn his house into a goddamn christmas tree forest if he has to as long as he can see that look in neil's eyes every year for the rest of his life.

• it turns out that andrew is incredibly good at giving presents. but he'll never admit it to anyone, ever. let alone the foxes. only neil is aware of this, because he never knows what to give people and has to ask andrew for help. so matt never found out that when neil was his secret santa that one year, the incredibly thoughtful gift he got was actually andrew's idea. neil is the one who has to be sujected to matt's overwhelming affection and tight hugs, meanwhile andrew's secret and his 'annoyed by the entire idea of christmas and gift giving' reputation is probably safe considering he bought aaron a "medical terminology for dummies" book. a win-win situation if you ask him.

• nicky gives them matching ugly christmas sweaters "with the coats and the armbands I figured that since you guys love to match so much we might as well make it fun for once". neil wears his immediately, unbothered, but andrew refuses to put this bright colorful piece of garbage on his body. not even his corpse would allow it, he'd come back from the dead and punch nicky in the face if he got anywhere near him with this atrocity. then neil says something about how andrew claims to be the one with the fashion sense out of them both but nowadays neil goes shopping with allison while andrew still wears the exact same black shirts he wore back in college and he finishes with "but you know I get it, it's hard to compete with your black-on-black aesthetic". andrew puts the sweater on just to spite him. kevin takes a picture and andrew strongly considers murder.

• for obvious reasons, it turns out neil has never watched a christmas movie when he was younger. matt believes this is blasphemy. he sits neil down for a movie marathon. matt can only stare in disbelief when neil ends up saying stuff like "you know what marvin and harry are actually pretty lucky because if it had been me instead of kevin mccallister I would have just shot them both" and "if you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is NOT all around but you know what is? the mafia." but other than that it was a pretty successful afternoon in matt's opinion.

• dan ropes them into a gingerbread house-building competition one year. andrew usually makes it his personal mission to avoid any and all festive activities but he agrees to participate in this one mainly because he wants to beat aaron. aaron is frustrated when he realizes that andrew's house is, in fact, better than his. aaron's keep falling apart for some reason. but he is the doctor out of the two of them, he is supposed to be the one with the steady hands so how the hell is he losing to an exy goalie whose hands are mainly used to punch people in the face when the sport gets too rough? what he doesn't realize is that when he looks away every time neil is trying to rile him up by just being his usual annoying self, andrew eats the foundations of his house. work smarter not harder.

[jariten]

Roundup-Catch up: August 2024!!

Let's catch up! Looking back at my list of August reads my head spins a bit. Most of this year I got way too eager picking up series from my shelf or the library and was juggling maybe 5 series at once. Which did a huge disservice to the reading experience for some of those series as I wasn't giving them my full attention. It wasn't until August I managed to wrap up most of them and enter the more focused way of following or reading through a series that I had previously. But in the frenzy I still had some great reads.

I had always heard whispers of No Longer Heroine by Momoko Koda but I'd never crossed paths with it. But when the english run of My Love Mix-up ended I had a huge contemporary High School Romance shaped hole in my heart and this is one of the titles that's filled it (I will get to the rest). I love mess, I love stories of teenagers learning to navigate the minefield that is human relationships so I can be the opposite of nostalgic for a time that, praise be, I will never have to relive. But I also read titles like this wondering how a constructive conversation around it could be had among young readers who from my experience can come off very frustrated and unsympathetic to the type of drama it depicts where the heroine and hero's feelings and decisions are extremely irrational and reckless. I really like the Yen Press, but as a license acquisition it feels kinda random? And in my honest opinion if you're 10 years late to a title you kinda have to make it an omnibus or collectors edition because waiting for individual volumes for, again, an over 10 year old series is pretty frustrating. But I will stick around to the end.

Yumiko Ōshima's Sava series was one of my favorites of 2022. The way she captures me with stories where honestly "nothing" really "happens" just floored me and made me optimistic for Goo Goo Datte Neko de Aru. A diary comic that begins with the passing of the cat Sava and her purchase of the cat Goo Goo (Short for Good Good). But Goo Goo isn't the only cat that enters her life. In rather rapid succession stray kittens begin entering her life. We follow for over a decade her journey rescuing, rehoming, and caretaking of countless stray cats (the latter to the dismay of her neighbours). Reading it today it highlights the challenges of clashing attitudes over stray cats and how these populations should be taken care of if at all. Famously it is also a chronicle of her cancer survival journey but its a rather short part of the whole but nonetheless maintains the Ōshima charm.

I want to make a gift recommendation for the upcoming holiday season: Your Letter by Hyeon A Cho. While I've had some really really good encounters with Korean Manhwa, Webtoons is still a world unknown to me. I think the Ize Press initiative bringing Webtoons to print in english is extremely cool, but the lineup just hasn't had any titles that caught my eye. Until Your Letter. A 10 chapter single volume story that I liked so much for its artistic presentation and the story it was telling about bullying and finding your place in a new environment that I immediately was overcome with the need to pass it along, which I did. Really think it would make a great gift for anyone 5th grade and up who are interested in comics. OR it can be read for free in its entirety on Webtoon!

Satou Gashi no Ie by Kyoko Fumizuki was a title picked up a bit at random. I'd gotten a taste of her work in the Suki Desu, Kono Shoujo Manga anthology and was one of the more memorable entries in an already extremely well curated collection. Satou Gashi no Ie is a 5 story one-shot collection with to meeee back to back hits. The titular story centres on a teenage boy named Richard who suddenly appears at his childhood's friend Elsie's school with a baby in his arms, that he claims to be his, and that he's a widower. But there are too many holes in his story. Who exactly is the baby's mother and how did he come to care for her at the end of her life? And how does this change Richard and Elsie's relationship? There's a warmth to Fumizuki's artistry in this era and the way that she hits all the story beats that really drew me in and augh I honestly have no words for it. This collection really stood out and among her peers I've yet to read anyone who could compose manga exactly like this. And you know what's cool? You can (In Japanese) read this and a handful of her other work from the same era for FREE on Manga Library Z!! (JP only) NOTE: crazy enough, on this very day (Nov 26) Manga Library Z suspended services but diligent users of nyaa have made sure that the works available there live on

[seikilos-stele]

The misogyny from David and Ben bothered me in this latest episode of Evil — I do like when the show tackles real-world isms and explores the trio’s blind spots, but I think until now they’ve managed to do it while still maintaining the trio’s care for each other.

Kristen as a white woman is ignorant about what David and Ben go through a men of color with the police, and she benefits directly from her whiteness when the police cover for her re: LeRoux. But she’s also outraged by the police targeting her friends, she doesn’t think they deserve it. When Kristen points out that the church exorcises far more women than men, David defends the church’s misogyny in the abstract — but he never applies that misogyny to Kristen or claims that she’s more emotionally attuned to the world than he is, more susceptible to evil. Ben has to take a stand about the jinn exorcism and points out David’s and Kristen’s Catholic upbringing sometimes makes them prioritize Catholic beliefs over other religions — but the three of them find a compromise and develop more respect for each other. All of these episodes explore the characters’ blind spots in a realistic way while still maintaining that they all care for each other; Kristen is willing to learn, David needs to be challenged, but it’s clear his misogyny comes partly from defensive being the only believer in a group of atheists. Just a few episodes ago, we had that excellent moment where David has to explain what a Black bluff is to Ben, since the racism Ben experiences as an Indian man is sometimes very different from what David experiences as a Black man: David has to subvert expectations by being successful and respectable; Ben has to subvert them by being working-class and down-to-earth. Society expects Ben to be a doctor or a lawyer, not a blunt contractor who works with his hands. He listens to David and learns. Kristen is outraged by police treatment of men of color and then has to grapple with exploiting her status as a wealthy white woman anyway. David internally struggles with the racism and misogyny of the church he’s devoted himself to while also benefiting from the latter. These are clever, realistic depictions of societal oppressions and how they impact a friend group who are all very different from each other but care deeply about each other and don’t like seeing anyone among them hurt.

This episode felt different. Unpleasantly so. I don’t think I would have minded if events were tweaked somewhat … if Kristen learned that the professor had sexually harassed someone else, and the guys initially dismissed it, their judgment clouded by their admiration for him. But the professor sexually harassed their best friend and Ben just shrugged and suggested he was joking; David breezed past it as irrelevant to their investigation. The love and care between the trio seemed to instantly evaporate in favor of making a point about how in #MeToo cases, men can even dismiss accusations from people they know very well. An excellent point, but at the cost of degrading the main characters’ relationship and (imo) edging David and Ben into OOC territory.