#small government liars

[geezerwench]

Republican "small government" passed yet another law. In Montana, state lawmakers passed a bill, SB419, banning TikTok. Completely. For everyone, not just state employees. Next, it goes to the governor's desk for signing.

----

"Montana became the first US state on Friday to pass legislation banning TikTok on all personal devices, sending a bill to Gov. Greg Gianforte prohibiting TikTok from operating within state lines and barring app stores from offering TikTok for downloads." - - CNN

Get you a VPN, gentles and ladymen.

[lets-steal-an-archive]

By Bernie Sanders | July 13, 2024

I will do all that I can to see that President Biden is re-elected. Why? Despite my disagreements with him on particular issues, he has been the most effective president in the modern history of our country and is the strongest candidate to defeat Donald Trump — a demagogue and pathological liar. It’s time to learn a lesson from the progressive and centrist forces in France who, despite profound political differences, came together this week to soundly defeat right-wing extremism.

I strongly disagree with Mr. Biden on the question of U.S. support for Israel’s horrific war against the Palestinian people. The United States should not provide Benjamin Netanyahu’s right-wing extremist government with another nickel as it continues to create one of the worst humanitarian disasters in modern history.

I strongly disagree with the president’s belief that the Affordable Care Act, as useful as it has been, will ever address America’s health care crisis. Our health care system is broken, dysfunctional and wildly expensive and needs to be replaced with a “Medicare for all” single-payer system. Health care is a human right.

And those are not my only disagreements with Mr. Biden.

But for over two weeks now, the corporate media has obsessively focused on the June presidential debate and the cognitive capabilities of a man who has, perhaps, the most difficult and stressful job in the world. The media has frantically searched for every living human being who no longer supports the president or any neurologist who wants to appear on TV. Unfortunately, too many Democrats have joined that circular firing squad.

Yes. I know: Mr. Biden is old, is prone to gaffes, walks stiffly and had a disastrous debate with Mr. Trump. But this I also know: A presidential election is not an entertainment contest. It does not begin or end with a 90-minute debate.

Enough! Mr. Biden may not be the ideal candidate, but he will be the candidate and should be the candidate. And with an effective campaign taht speaks to the needs of working families, he will not only defeat Mr. Trump but beat him badly. It’s time for Democrats to stop the bickering and nit-picking.

I understand that some Democrats get nervous about having to explain the president’s gaffes and misspeaking names. But unlike the Republicans, they do not have to explain away a candidate who now has 34 felony convictions and faces charges that could lead to dozens of additional convictions, who has been hit with a $5 million judgment after he was found liable in a sexual abuse case, who has been involved in more than 4,000 lawsuits, who has repeatedly gone bankrupt and who has told thousands of documented lies and falsehoods.

Supporters of Mr. Biden can speak proudly about a good and decent Democratic president with a record of real accomplishment. The Biden administration, as a result of the American Rescue Plan, helped rebuild the economy during the pandemic far faster than economists thought possible. At a time when people were terrified about the future, the president and those of us who supported him in Congress put Americans back to work, provided cash benefits to desperate parents and protected small businesses, hospitals, schools and child care centers.

After decades of talk about our crumbling roads, bridges and water systems, we put more money into rebuilding America’s infrastructure than ever before — which is projected to create millions of well-paying jobs. And we did not stop there. We made the largest-ever investment in climate action to save the planet. We canceled student debt for nearly five million financially strapped Americans. We cut prices for insulin and asthma inhalers, capped out-of-pocket costs for prescription drugs and got free vaccines to the American people. We battled to defend women’s rights in the face of moves by Trump-appointed jurists to roll back reproductive freedom and deny women the right to control their own bodies.

So, yes, Mr. Biden has a record to run on. A strong record. But he and his supporters should never suggest that what’s been accomplished is sufficient. To win the election, the president must do more than just defend his excellent record. He needs to propose and fight for a bold agenda that speaks to the needs of the vast majority of our people — the working families of this country, the people who have been left behind for far too long.

At a time when the billionaires have never had it so good and when the United States is experiencing virtually unprecedented income and wealth inequality, over 60 percent of Americans live paycheck to paycheck, real weekly wages for the average worker have not risen in over 50 years, 25 percent of seniors live each year on $15,000 or less, we have a higher rate of childhood poverty than almost any other major country, and housing is becoming more and more unaffordable — among other crises.

This is the wealthiest country in the history of the world. We can do better. We must do better. Joe Biden knows that. Donald Trump does not. Joe Biden wants to tax the rich so that we can fund the needs of working families, the elderly, the children, the sick and the poor. Donald Trump wants to cut taxes for the billionaire class. Joe Biden wants to expand Social Security benefits. Donald Trump and his friends want to weaken Social Security. Joe Biden wants to make it easier for workers to form unions and collectively bargain for better wages and benefits. Donald Trump wants to let multinational corporations get away with exploiting workers and ripping off consumers. Joe Biden respects democracy. Donald Trump attacks it.

This election offers a stark choice on issue after issue. If Mr. Biden and his supporters focus on these issues — and refuse to be divided and distracted — the president will rally working families to his side in the industrial Midwest swing states and elsewhere and win the November election. And let me say this as emphatically as I can: For the sake of our kids and future generations, he must win.

Bernie Sanders is the senior senator from Vermont.

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Fourteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Discussion of child loss/miscarriage and domestic violence. Oral sex - fem receiving, face sitting, Johnny is a menace as usual, Simon talks you through it, dirty talk, brief daddy kink, pet names. Nurse!reader, medical inaccuracies, feelings of fear and anxiety, PTSD. Dialogue heavy. Bunny making progress. What's in a name?

When you were a child, you got caught in a storm.

Getting caught in a storm as an adult is a normal thing. It’s not frightening and foreign like it is when you’re young. When you’re a child, storms feel like hurricanes. They feel life altering, life ending. With no concept of larger, or smaller storms, it’s hard to understand how you’d make it through the to the other side.

You remember this one vividly. Your mother was on her way to work, her night job, and you were clicked into the backseat, barely awake, staring out the rain pelted window. The wind was so strong it shook the car, blew it all over the road, your mom’s fingers like rebar gripping the wheel. It was terrifying. It was like you’d never be safe, like the wind would pick your entire world up and send it crashing down into a farm field that stretched a million miles long.

It felt, somewhat, like this moment, and hundreds of moments before it. Small thorns in a life that no longer felt like your own. A far cry from the dreams you had when you were that little girl.

The thorns, the storms, had twisted you into this version of yourself, this stranger, and that’s how you feel as you stand in front of Simon, cold panic crackling through your bones.  

Your mouth opens and closes without sound coming out. You’re a fish out of water, lips parting just to swallow dry air, eyes wider than saucers.

Penny cries in your arms, but Simon doesn’t move. Johnny doesn’t breathe, and you stand alone in the silence, baby vomit on your clothes, trembling in fear.

They won’t understand. They’ll know you’re a liar. They won’t trust you. 

They won’t want you.  

“It’s not… I arranged it months ago.” You blurt, words strung together in a stream of consciousness. “It’s not like, you can just go out and buy a new passport. It takes a while, and connections, and lots of hoops and money and I-“ Simon holds his hand up.

A signal to stop.

“Give me the baby.” He says, stepping forward, arms out, and your hands shake as you pass her over, avoiding eye contact until he tips your chin back. “Take a deep breath, go upstairs, get cleaned up. When you come back down, we’ll talk. Okay?” He looks to Johnny, who nods, and then back to you, expectantly waiting on your answer.

“O-okay.”

Simon still has the passport.

It’s in front of his knee, on the coffee table, but within arm’s reach, close enough he could snatch it up in moment’s notice.

“Were ye goin’ to leave us?” Johnny whispers, and you shake your head.

“No, I… it takes a while. I arranged it months and months ago, before I even met you.” Simon frowns.

“This is not a fake, it’s a real passport. How did you get it?” Oh, fuck. Your throat is as dry as paper, scratchy and stiff, and you force yourself to spit out a coherent sentence.

“I bought it… from a guy.” Brilliant. You sneak a glance at Johnny, who’s watching with a pink sheen on his cheeks, knuckles white against the arm of the couch. He looks upset, and guilt swamps you, worry over making him feel worse in his state eating away inside your heart.

“You know a guy who can get his hands on government issued documents?” Simon holds himself very still. Nearly a statue, his eyes never leave your face, and you move your hands under your thighs to try to stop their trembling.

There’s a familiar feeling building in your chest. A twisted, gnarled root of fear, growing deep. “I… it’s… no, he’s… I was referred to him, by someone else. He doesn’t even know my real name, I’m careful, I’ve-“

“Done this before.” Simon finishes, and your heart stops in your chest.

“Yes.” You whisper. How are they going to feel when they realize you’ve been lying to them about your name? You spiral, imagining the hurt flashing across their faces, the disappointment from Simon, the sadness from Johnny. “I use a new identity, when I move around.”

“Your name…”

“Isn’t my real one.” The admission stings, but that person doesn’t exist anymore. You haven’t been that happy, fulfilled, carefree girl in too long. You don’t know her. You don’t remember her.

She’s dead.

She’s a ghost.

“Will ye tell us? Yer real name?” Simon is thoughtful from where he sits on the chair, focused, as Johnny looks hopeful. They’re both looking at you with trust heavy in their eyes, and it gnaws, burns in your bones all the way through until your real name is slipping free with a whisper.

“That’s beautiful, bun.” Johnny murmurs sweetly, and they exchange a look, something stern etching across Simon’s brow before it drifts away.

“Do you want us to use it?” You shake your head.

“N-no, I… I’m not that girl… anymore. She’s long gone.” The room is silent, and you mull it over, toss it back and forth in your mind. You’re so disconnected from the person you were when you last felt whole, when you last felt real. How will you ever feel that way again?

Something flickers in Simon’s gaze. Something severe and almost sad, a storm in the middle of a sea, a little boat with nowhere to hide, and you get lost in it, lost in him, a million lives and a million emotions clouding the space between your bodies.

He swallows, and it’s gone.

“How does that work with your nursing license?” You blink, but you’re not surprised he knows to ask the one question that will undoubtedly unravel the rest of the threads. The biggest piece of the puzzle.

“I…” Fuck. Are you really going to do this? Are you doing this? 

Do you trust them? 

It’s not a question now, you know the answer. Know why it is you’ve been sleeping in their bed, helping with their baby, living in their house.

It’s more than trust.

“I had a friend in college. Dean.” You’re really doing this. “He was really smart, and really kind, and going places. We were on different paths, but we stayed in touch. As best we could… my ex didn’t really like me talking to… anyone.” Johnny’s fingers slide across the couch, hesitantly brushing your thigh, and it grounds you, calms you. “He became a fancy, big time lawyer. Like, really big time. One of the best in Texas,” Simon’s eyes narrow, head tilted as he stares at you, before it all flits away, and he returns to stasis, “possibly the country. He… he helped me.” You pause, unsure, and Johnny nods encouragingly.

“Helped ye how?”

“I’ve been running, had been running, for a while. Years. At one point, Dean got a judge in a different state to agree to change my name, my identity, everything, and then seal the record. It gave me a chance to disappear, a fresh start to build from. Or, I thought it did, anyway. My ex is… very determined, it didn’t take long for him to catch up.”

“So, your license…”

“Whenever I get a new job, I refer the HR department to my big fancy lawyer in Texas, and he makes sure my license is accepted and they understand the circumstances. I manage the rest… on my own. The turning over of a new identity- identification documents, passports, housing, everything.”

“Do they know anything about this?”

“No. I think they probably think I’m in witness protection or something, and per the court order, they can’t discuss the discrepancy with the name on the license to anyone in the hospital. Dean makes sure of that.��� You laugh weakly, but Simon doesn’t, he only studies you, laser focused. “I can’t really have contact with him anymore, because it leaves too much… out in the open, but he’s a really good friend. The best.” Tears blur your vision as you think about Dean, remembering the way he stared at you the night you turned up on his doorstep.

You were so young then. So stupid. But he gave you best chance he could, and you’d always be grateful.

Johnny reaches for where your hand is shoved beneath your thigh, and lightly tugs until it’s in his grasp, warm and safe.

“An’ ye change yer identity every time?” You nod, lips tucking in over your teeth.

“That’s what the passport is for. In most places, a passport counts for both a birth certificate and identification card, so they don’t ask for a secondary. It’s the easiest to use.”

“You were preparing to run.” Simon murmurs.

“Before Johnny became my patient, I was getting ready to, yeah.”

“Why?” You take a deep breath, but your chest feels too tight. Fear is still dripping down the back of your throat, making your stomach sick, your hands tremble.

“I knew he was here.” The words break apart into a sob, and your eyes slam shut.

The next thing you know, you’re breathing into Johnny’s warm chest, a hand running up and down your back slowly.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore.” You cry, gasping. “I.. I’m scared all the time. I run all the time. I d-don’t even know who I am, without it. I don’t know how to be here, or be a normal person, or have a normal conversation.”

“Shhh, yer alright, pretty girl. It’s okay.” Johnny hums, and you feel his diaphragm vibrate as he soothes you.

“I want to be with you… but I don’t know how. I’m terrified he’ll come here and- and hurt you, or Penny. That it will be my fault, like everything else has.” You cry harder, chest aching, Simon’s hands closing around your shoulders and pulling you back to tilt your face up to the two of them.

“It’s not your fault, bunny. None of it, ever, has been your fault. Do you understand?” You shake your head no, because you don’t. You’re good at running, at hiding. You’ve made a new life over and over again by doing it, and getting caught is your fault, no matter what they say.

You slipped up. It could happen again. 

“You don’t understand. I… I should have left, after he found me in my apartment. I should have left.” It sticks in your mind, playing over and over again. “I sh-should have left, I shouldn’t be here, I-“ your vision tunnels.

“Okay, okay. Easy, sweetheart.” Simon tries to settle you, but everything is bubbling up and you feel like you’re going to explode, like your skin is too tight, like you’re falling apart, all at once.

There’s nothing left inside of you, nothing left to do.

You break.

Millions of miles of denial and fear and agony splinter, shattering into shards that destroy you from the inside out.

“He’s going to kill me.” Johnny curses something thick as you sob, palm flat over your racing heart. “He t-took everything. He made me into… into this, and it’s only a matter of time. He’s going to find me again, and he… he’s-“ He cups your cheek.

“Shhh, bunny. We’re here, we’re right here.”

“No, he’s not. Listen-“ you try to pull away but Johnny stops you, holding you firm as Simon ducks into your line of sight. “Listen to me. He’s never going to touch you again, do you understand? We will never let him near you, ever again. We promise.”

“You can’t pr-promise that.”  

“We can,” Simon vows, “but… we need to know everything. What we’re looking for, who he is.”

No. You don’t know why, but there’s a barrier around Phillip’s name. Like you can’t force your tongue to make the sound, and you can’t tell them.

If they know, they’ll look for him. They’ll try to find him; you can already tell.

They’ll get hurt, or worse.

You can’t let that happen.

“I can’t.” You whisper. “I can’t.” Johnny pulls you back into his arms, and you curl up against him, his chin on top of your head. They look at one another, long glances you can’t interpret, before Simon takes a deep breath, his hand gentle on your knee.

“Bunny… do you have a child? Someone you’re trying to protect?” Your eyes slip shut, and despair grips your throat like a vice.

“No.” You croak. “No, there would have been one but…” you drag the truth into the light. “I lost it. He didn’t want it so… he got rid of it.” They both freeze.

“Sweetheart.” Simon whispers, Johnny’s arms going rigid, and you shrug, slipping away from this moment, from them.

“It was a long time ago.” You pause, keeping your eyes closed. “I’m fine.” Johnny scoffs.

“The hell ye are. And ye shouldnae be.” You shake between them, exhaustion settling into your bones like it belongs there, and they linger in silence with you, in the moment, letting it stretch long before Simon murmurs something and brushes his fingertips against your cheek.

“We’ll wait, until you’re ready.” You relax with a small sigh. “But if we don’t know who we’re dealing with, that means no more coming and going. I don’t want you outside this house without me, do you understand?”

“I’m going back to work.” You refute immediately.

“When you’re ready to go back, we’ll come up with a plan to keep you safe.” He says sternly, and you swallow, eyes wide.

“We jus’ want to keep ye safe, pretty girl.” Simon tugs your hand into his, and murmurs lowly.

“I know you’re independent, and you’re used to being on your own, but we’re here now. You don’t have to do this alone. We’ve got you.” Tears burn at the corner of your eyes.

You should tell them no, but you can’t.

You should be angry, or nervous, or even scared, but all you can feel is relief.

You don’t have to do this alone.

The house is quiet when you wake up the next morning.

It’s odd now, opening your eyes to an empty bed. All you’ve known for years, is being alone. All you’ve relied on for so long, was yourself.

But now, when your arms and legs spread wide between the sheets and you come up empty, panic flutters in your heart. “Johnny? Simon?” When there’s no answer, you stumble over the side, loping steps hauling you down the stairs and into the living room.

Johnny’s half-awake on the couch in his boxers, flipping idly through television programs. You breathe a little bit easier, and he cracks a smile. “Morning, pretty.”

“Morning.” You bend in front of him, swooping down to press your lips to his. “Where’s…”

“He took Pen to swim. She’s in classes and then has a playdate at a friend’s house after. Busy wee one, our Penny.” Fingers idly rub against the skin beneath his ear, tracing down to his collarbone.

“You eat breakfast?”

“Was waitin’ for ye.” Something dark and hungry glints in his eyes, and your knees go weak.

“Oh, w-well I can make you someth-“

“No.” He traces down the inside of your thigh, where he’s eye level, and then up, backs of his fingers stroking over the front of your panties, thumb skirting along the seam between your legs. “Not hungry for food, bun. Just for ye.”

“O-oh.” His thumb presses, just enough pressure brushing against your clit, and you gasp, hand shooting out to steady yourself on the arm of the sofa, where his head is.

His lips touch to the inside of your wrist, and he grins. “C’mere Bunny.”

“You’re still recovering.” Your fingers twist in the hem of the t shirt you grabbed off the floor, one of theirs.

“My face isn’t.” His hands wrap around the backs of your thighs, tugging you closer. “My face is the perfect seat for ye, pretty girl. Let me make ye feel good.” Everything tightens, your chest, your heart, each blood vessel stitched throughout your body. Your clit pulses, knot in your stomach tying so tight it makes you lightheaded, agony and arousal singing together in perfect harmony. It’s a song with perfect pitch, swirling around the two of you in euphoric polyphony.

You want this. Want him. Want to let it all go. 

“Johnny.”

“Got a seat for ye,” his fingers trace over his lip and down his neck, where his throat bobs with a swallow. You can’t pull your eyes away. “Right ‘ere.”

It doesn’t take more coaxing after he tucks his fingers into your underwear and rolls them down your thighs, giving you a light pat just under your ass, shifting and arranging until you’re perched across his shoulders.

“What if you can’t breathe?” Your voice hitches on a panicked note, and he rubs your legs soothingly.

“Then I’ll die a happy man.” You choke. “Just kiddin’ bunny. Ye cannae hurt me, I can breathe just fine.” His eyebrows crinkle and crease, soft expression puckering down to where his lips part.

Let go. You can do it. You want this. Just let go. 

“I- I’m not very good with…” You gulp, chest heaving. “With sex, I uh. I don’t have good memories of it, and I’ve never… I’ve never done this.” It’s the best you can explain, in this moment, and you pray it’s enough, that he’ll understand.

“We’ll go slow.” He promises, still rubbing circles into the backs of your legs, grabbing fistfuls of your ass and thighs, pressing long kisses into your skin. “Ye tell me to stop, if ye dinnae like it or ye want to stop, promise?” You nod. “Say it, pretty girl.”

“I’ll tell you… to stop.” He smiles, and urges you forward, palms still curved around your cheeks.

“Cannae wait to taste ye,” you move slowly, hesitantly, and he encourages gently, patting and rubbing patiently, eyes locked your face the entire time, “have been dreamin’ about it, since that day ye didnae wear any panties to work.”

“Johnny!” you hiss, playfully scandalized, heart trilling. He’s turned a miserable memory, a scary memory, into something not so bad, so easily. It means a lot, means more than you think he knows, and you’re just about to tell him when you feel heat slip across your skin, thumbs stroking down the seam of your cunt. He jerks you forward completely, until the bottom half of his face is missing, and all you can see beneath your legs is a crop of mohawk.

The first touch is heaven. He’s warm, and safe, and you melt onto him, indulging in the feeling of it all. His arms wrap around your hips, anchoring you in place, mouth sloppy against your pussy like he’s trying to devour you whole. You jerk, falling forward at the waist, one hand against the couch, the other fisted in his hair, trying to create space for him to breathe.

“No.” He growls, slamming you back down, nose bumping against your clit over and over as his tongue dives into you, curling up into your body.

You close your eyes. You need more friction, but you don’t know what to do, don’t know how to get it, and the longer you try to figure it out, the more you’re slipping away, kicking and fighting in darker waters.

Stay present. Stay here. With him. You’re safe. Let go. 

Your breath stutters in your chest. Two factions fight one another, one trying to catapult you towards an orgasm faster than you’ve ever gotten there in your life, and the other, trying and failing to stem the memories and anxiety that bleed freely from your brain. The pleasure is mixed with pain, with nightmares, and your muscles turn to rock, eyes slamming shut.

A big, warm hand settles between your shoulder blades.

You jolt away from it, but when your eyes snap open-

You see Simon.

He’s on his knees at your side, part of your thigh now pressed against his chest. He watches you intently, sweeping over your features and down to where you’re sitting on Johnny’s face, half relaxed, half coiled tense.

“You’re in control, sweetheart.” Even kneeling, he’s tall enough that he’s nearly eye level with you, and Johnny’s free hand searches for him when he hears his voice. Simon gives him a squeeze, and then lovingly strokes some of his hair from his forehead. “Our sweet boy just wants to make you feel good. Do you want that?”

“Y-yeah.. but I don’t… I don’t know how.” You squeak, burning with embarrassment, still clutching the couch. He pulls that hand free, into his, and rubs a thumb over the back of your knuckles, before placing it back against the armrest. It’s comforting, and reassuring, and he keeps the other one anchored at your back.

“Just relax.” He murmurs above your ear, now cradling your hips. “Hold onto the couch with both hands, like that- good girl.” His grip tightens, and then slowly, he starts to move you. “Find what feels good, take your time.” You roll your hips slowly, looking for the right amount of pressure, the friction you’re desperate for, and Johnny moans beneath you, his own hips flexing. “There you go, does that feel good?” Simon’s eyes are nearly black, and you nod hungrily. “Ride him just like that, don’t stop.”

“Oh my god.” You moan, tilting back. Each time Johnny’s nose or tongue rubs against your clit it’s like lightning striking in your blood, and warmth crackles around you like a blanket.

“Fuck,” Simon growls, palm pressing against your lower belly. “Look a’ the two of you, all mine.” The possession shivers across your skin and you moan, head heavy. Johnny’s tongue finds your rhythm, and then he’s flicking across your clit like he’s plucking a string, a perfect note.

“Johnny, ah…” He groans something in response, the vibration shooting straight to your brain. You tip to the side, face pressing into Simon’s neck, and he supports your weight, keeping a hand on your hip, now spread over where Johnny holds you. You're in a frenzy now, panting, chasing, rough pace only increasing with desperation.

“Good girl, rubbing your little pussy all over our sweet boy’s face. Is he going to make you cum? Can you show daddy how pretty you are when you cum?” Daddy. The word makes you dizzy, strikes you dumb. Simon’s lips press to the crown of your head, and all you can do is gasp and whine, hips jerking across Johnny’s nose and mouth, slick, lewd noises coming from between your legs.

“Oh, oh- fuck,” you gasp, fingers now tightening in Johnny’s hair, electricity sparking through your muscles like fireworks, “I’m gonna- I’m-“ You drag yourself across him, chasing the edge of oblivion, white light crackling behind your eyes as you clench them shut with a near shout. Your orgasm shoots through you, exploding every cell in your body into star light, everything heating together as your eyes roll backwards and your hips shake. Johnny grunts, still anchoring you down onto him, aftershocks rattling through your bones to your teeth. Simon pries him lose, keeping a hand on you, and him, as he pulls you back to reveal Johnny’s face.

He's soaked. Neck, chin, cheeks, stubble all coated in you, and your eyes goes wide, wicked pleasure at the sight curling in the pit of your stomach.

You did that. Your boy.

Simon chuckles like he’s reading your mind, tucking you into his chest before pulling you free and placing you in the space next to Johnny on the couch, laying down. He kisses him slowly, softly, running his tongue over his cheeks before returning to dip back into his mouth and pulling away. “Stay, ‘m gonna go get a towel to clean you both up.” He says quietly, kissing your nose before rising and slipping off into the kitchen. Johnny tries to tug you closer.

“How was that?” You can hear the smug smile and his face as he breaks the silence, and your cheeks burn.

“Really good.”

“Hmph, I was shooting for amazing, so I guess we’ll just have to try again.”

“That’s not… it was!” He laughs, and then gives you a half hug with his good arm.

“Ye were perfect, bunny. We’re so lucky to have ye.” Tears burn and threaten to spill.

“I’m the lucky one.” You whisper, and you don’t know if anything could be truer. It’s more than luck now, more than a chance meeting, a chance occurrence. It’s something bigger, something all consuming, something stronger than anything you’ve ever known.

Something bright, like the sun.

Something like… love. 

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat 10 part 1/2

Chapter 10 : Calling from Hell just to say the demons are suspiciously absent, is that fine?

masterpost

“Fucking Batman,” Val said under her breath. Her Red Huntress mask muffled the words and made them come out even meaner than she probably meant them. “Years late and too little, even if he’s not working with the GIW.”

Sam hefted her requisitioned Fenton bazooka and pressed her lips even further together. None of them liked this at all. It stank. It was suspicious. Danny hadn’t sounded distressed, but he’d been out of contact too long for such a short conversation to put her at ease. There hadn’t even been time to update him on what had gone on in Amity Park.

“There.” Sam followed Val’s pointer finger to see the nearly invisible outline of a jet in the faint light. It was landing in the right field. 

“It’s them or it’s a trap,” Sam muttered.

Val let out a mean laugh. “If it’s someone we don’t expect, they’re the ones in trouble.”

Sam huffed and said nothing. She couldn’t disagree, but Val seemed too confident for her comfort. They waited in tense silence to see the jet come to a landing. Not long after, a hatch popped open and the distinctive ears of Batman himself were the first out into the cold night air of a January night in Amity Park. 

He was quickly followed by smaller figures- 1, 2, 3 of them. Sam felt nerves churning in her gut. She tried to channel them into aggression. She had to be tough, tougher than usual. There was no cavalry waiting to help out.

Well, there was Tucker, but he was probably going to be more useful in the wings to feed them information. He was pretty good aim with a thermos but that wouldn’t do jack about Batman and a small flock of, what, junior associates?

“Does Batman work with children?” Sam asked under her breath. One of them was genuinely small.

Tucker snickered on the other end of the line. “Uh,  there’s supposed to be a Robin. Guy in yellow, green, and red I guess? Aside from that, there’s debatably like, 6 former Robins associated with him. But there’s also the Justice League’s junior varsity team, so it’s hard to say.”

She frowned at the lineup. She saw purple, black, and red. There was- yeah, okay, there was quite a bit of yellow when the little guy faced them, but she didn’t see any green.

“Showtime,” Val said. Sam crouched further behind cover as the other girl zoomed out on her hoverboard, effortlessly drawing Batman’s eye. She adjusted the dial on her sound settings to hear Val’s feed just a little louder.

“Batman.”

“You have me at a disadvantage.” Sam cringed at the gravely voice over her sound system. Batman sounded like he smoked a pack a day. She turned the volume down just a hint.

“Not really, there’s four of you,” Val said breezily. Sam suppressed a snort at the dodge. “You wanna meet Jazz Fenton? You’re going to have to prove that you’re not a plant. There’s a GIW facility-”

“Two miles west of here, yes,” Batman interrupted. “I researched.”

“Great. Do you have ground transport?”

“Of course. What is it that you expect me to prove?”

“That you’re not with them.” The subtle whine of Valerie’s weapons started up. Sam only heard it because she was hooked up to the helmet. “They do experimentation and keep prisoners. Show me that you’re not a cop.”

“The police would not support the capture and abuse of people.”

Valerie made a skeptical sound in the back of her throat. Sam couldn’t blame her. “Yeah, but they do.” Her hoverboard’s jet whooshed up in power. “Meet me there, outside the main gate.” She was off like a shot in the dark. 

The four out of towners didn’t take long to get four silent motorcycles out and dash down the lane. Sam thought about what she’d heard as she cut a more direct route on Valerie’s spare hoverboard, taken from Vlad’s deserted mechanics lab. 

Either Batman was a liar, naive, or he was exactly what they were worried he might be. The Justice League was famously affiliated with governments. Wonder Woman was even a member of the United Nations! If someone accepted the claim that Infinite Realms Residents weren’t really people, then they’d say just what Batman had. It wasn’t lying if you didn’t think the people you were hurting were really people.

Sam watched from a distance as the group reached the gated facility. One of Batman's people did something that unlatched the electronic security system. It swung open. 

“Not shabby,” Tucker said quietly. “I coulda done it faster.”

“Not unless it goes off the rails,” Sam reminded him. She clenched a fist against her thigh. They needed to see Batman's real colors before they risked him knowing about their group. It was hard to outplan what you didn't know about, and they'd need every advantage they could get. 

She let them all go ahead before she followed onto the property. It was eerily deserted, tire tracks where dozens of white Vans ought to have been. 

The GIW had deserted Amity Park weeks ago. They were pretty sure there was a skeleton crew stationed out here, but no one came and left anymore. They only occasionally saw an agent wander across the path of a security camera, which were sparse inside the building.

But that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous to be here. Even now, a camera swiveled over the lawn, blinking a clear light that was easy to miss during the day. There was a reason that they hadn't risked a second raid after Danny had barely made it out last time. 

Sam swallowed, hard. The bitterness in her mouth felt a lot like guilt. Who knew what the GIW had been doing? They could have someone else held captive. It was a big building. Danny might have missed someone when he was breaking Vlad out. 

‘We did what we could, and we are making a move now.’ 

She repositioned her weapon and waited, tense with nerves. All she was meant to do now was follow along via what she heard on Val's comms and be in the wings to facilitate an escape, if needed. 

“Left,” said Batman quietly. The comms were quiet for a long moment, then- “clear. Clear. Clear.” 

Sam shifted her weight from one foot to the other. 

“Red Robin.” 

“Got it,” came a response, barely audible. Val must have been hanging close to Batman, then. 

“You think now's a good time to try their computers?” Val said helpfully. 

Tucker snorted. “Could just ask,” he sang to himself, cocky as hell. “I know all.”

Sam rolled her eyes. He didn't know all. About half of the property was disconnected from the security system, meaning they had no eyes on whatever was down there. 

“Six stationed here.” 

That had to be Red Robin’s voice. Sam cocked her head and focused on it, frowning slightly. Did it sound young?

Tucker's computer chair made a click when he sat up too fast. “Wait, what? How'd-” His end of the line devolved into rapid typing. 

“Did you find a schedule?” 

“No, it's not in the system. They're on paper, I suppose.” Seconds passed. “My bet is that labs would be in this wing.” 

“Be my guest,” Val drawled. Sam could all but see her crossing her arms across her chest. 

The line went silent for a while. Then, faintly, there came the sound of a metal door opening. 

“Fu-” A GIW blaster went off. “Intru-”

The alarm was cut off before the GIW goon got out a full word, but odds were good he'd been heard anyway. Sam flexed her hands. Sitting this out sucked. She wanted to see what was happening. How many agents were there?

“Robin!” Batman snapped. 

‘The little one?’

Sam felt vaguely ill. They had to be okay. This was Batman’s team.

[shycloudkitty]

You're too sweet for a monster like me

Summary : Leon's drowning his pain and suffering with whiskey. But you might be his true salvation.

Pairing : Vendetta Leon! × Fem Reader (A little bit of pre vendetta)

Tags : Established relationship, self deprecating talk (Leon does with himself), mostly angst with little comfort. (But it's there) and alcoholism

A/N: Update on why I disappeared for a while. It's because things got rocky with my academics and I recently broke up :( But not to worry I'm not gonna let a little heartbreak set me back.

And for this fic I'm thinking it to be a little pre vendetta Leon, like the incidents that led to him having depression in Vendetta.

It's gonna a be short fic, may or may not write a part 2 about this. Let me know!

WC: 1.6K

Sound of whiskey getting poured in a glass fills the emptiness of the living room he was in. After all this was all he could do, the only thing he had control in his poor pathetic life.

One mission after another after another. Leon was getting tired after endless fights with the B.O.Ws, corrupt governments in countless countries that were ‘speculated’ to have a new damned virus or a bioweapon war waiting to happen.

And every damn time he was supposed to deal with it, he was supposed to do the government’s dirty work for them, he was supposed to fight every goddamned ugly creature created by the worst of mankind, he had to carry out every gut wrenching decision that government instructed him to do, everytime he was the last man standing and he was never gonna get out of this cycle.

Yes, that's right. He was just a little puppet for the government that was supposed to fight B.O.Ws for them. Someone who was blackmailed into this life and do their bidding, by of course the government.

At first, he tried to take it positively and thought of how many people he could save like he always wanted to and at such a large scale. Something he was extremely passionate about since he was a kid… saving people's lives, protecting them. That's why he wanted to be a cop and now that he was a government ‘special’ agent he would be able to do more.

But he definitely didn't expect the destruction those missions would cause on his own self too, taking every piece of his humanity, every last hope he seemed to have, gone & extinguished in the flames of every bioweapon war he was called in. He definitely didn't expect and could never have anticipated what he was getting thrown into.

When will this cycle end?

A question he thought every second of his life but never had the answer. Forced to play hero each time and with no real win, fighting was like choosing between the lesser of two evils.

He was just a weapon, just a pawn that the government moved each time when they wanted to achieve something. And why would a pawn's life matter in the grand scheme of things? A pawn was created just to be shot down. And that's what he was.

While he was lost in thoughts and his whiskey all alone. He almost missed the soft voice whispering his name, such a gentle voice calling out to him. Feeling a soft hand on his back, trying to get his attention. He turned back to see who it was… and there was the reason. You.

Soft eyes looking at him with a sympathetic smile asking him how he was or that he had eaten anything today?

Leon slowly shook his head to get out of the fog clouding his brain and blinked a few times to focus on you.

Leon's words slurred as he spoke “What?”

“I asked how are you doing today?” Your soft words of concern clearing his brain fog better, making him aware of his surroundings and himself.

Leon blinks once more and looks down at his whiskey and then back at you. “... Better than yesterday.” A lie, he was the same as yesterday.

He could see her lips twitch in a small smile as she sat down besides him on the couch and said. “You're a terrible liar when drunk…”

Leon managed a soft huff at her reply. It almost weirded him out that you could see through him, but he guessed that's what happens when you have someone who cares for you. Leon looked away, sighing deeply and replied. “I'm just tired…”

Leon heard a soft sigh, feeling the soft couch dip a bit as she shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder and gently held his hand. “Leon… I'm always here for you, you know that right? I may not be able to give solid advice to you, but I'm a good listener.”

You could feel him relax under your touch a bit and saw him look your way from the corner of his way, still not facing you. “...I know.”

“So, you know I'm also worried about you?”

Leon winces at that, the last thing he wanted was you to worry about his pathetic self. You already have done so much for him just staying by his side through all this. Hell, you were an angel just for putting up with him and actually loving him. You weren't supposed to be worried about him and you definitely weren't supposed to fall in love with him.

Leon clears his throat and shifts a little bit away from you although he didn't let go of your hand and says. “I…It's nothing.”

You couldn't help but frown at how closed off he was being for the last few days, you understand that his last mission was rough although he never went into details about his missions with you. And you knew he needed space to process all of it but you hated the way he was ‘processing’ his loss. Drinking, lost in thoughts and closing off when you tried to get close. It was hard for both of you.

You slowly shifted towards him again, getting close to him once again. Gently taking the whiskey glass from his hands and moving it away from him. “Leon…”

He looks back at you and he looks…lost. A raging storm of emotions present in those pretty blue eyes of his that you loved so much. “I know it's hard Leon and I'm happy to give you space to think but the way you're doing it… is making me worried.”

You took a deep breath and continued. “Is there anything I can do to help? I can't… see you like this.”

He closes his eyes and deeply sighs once more, years of weariness and defeat visible on his face. He shakes his head and whispers. “You're not supposed to worry about me…”

Leon feels soft hands cup his face gently as she replies. “Can't help it. It sorta happens when you care.”

Leon opens his eyes to see you staring at him with a soft warm smile, your faces close. He presses his forehead against yours for a while trying to calm his anxious thoughts. He then pulls you closer by your waist, pulling you in a hug and burying his face in your neck and taking a deep breath. Your scent filling his senses and offering some peace that he needed to ground himself.

He often wondered what he did to deserve you? Did God or whatever the power universe has, take pity on him and decide to gift him an angel? You were always so sweet, so gentle with him, loving, caring, understanding. You were his sunshine and he couldn't look away. All he could do was soak up in the warmth that you always seemed to radiate everywhere you stepped.

You were perfect and it scared the hell out of him.

He was scared that one day you will see the monster he actually was. That one day you will wake up and see him for who he was, the things he had to do to make a living and think what a disgusting monster he was, what he truly was… not some ‘Hero’ or the ‘Golden boy’, just some monster and a weapon crafted to perfection to destroy the undead. And he hopes that day never comes.

He continues to hug you tightly to himself, his face buried in your neck as he takes deep breaths to calm himself. He then softly whispered. “You smell…like daffodils.”

The sudden comment made you chuckle a bit and kissed his cheek, hugging him tightly. “Yeah, I bought a new perfume today, didn't think you would notice. Does it smell bad?”

“... No, it smells good. It suits you.” And sighed deeply. He then whispered. “You're too sweet for me. Don't know what you see in me.”

You turned to face him and kissed his cheek. “don't say that… I see that you're a hard working, resilient person who keeps going even when the odds are stacked up against him. Whatever it is that you're going through… you can pass through it.”

He turned his head to face you, his expression softening into something more vulnerable as you say that. Clearly touched by your words. Feeling a lump rise in his throat as he closes his eyes once more and exhales shakily.

You were so…innocent. You had no idea what was going on in his head or what actually he turned into. You also had no idea about the vicious but repetitive cycle he was in.

Opening up about this life of his…would ruin such a sweet and innocent thing like you, he was sure of that. He knew you weren't a kid or anything or that you never faced hardships in your life. But this…he can't tell you about what he faces out there, what kind of ugliness his line of work shows him everyday, the dark side of humanity.

He can't taint the only ray of sunshine he ever found in his life.

You look up at him with that sweet dazzling smile, thinking he was someone ‘great’. But reality couldn't be farther from the truth.

Hello everyone! Long time no see, I'm sorry for my disappearance. I promise I will try to be regular now, I know this was short I will probably try to make a part 2? Idk but this was mostly written for my creativity to start flowing again. If you liked it please like it and reblog. I would be very grateful 😊

Fun fact: Daffodils are a sign of hope!

Thank you for reading this, hope you have a good day!

-Bella

[sh1-n0bu]

yall this is my first time requesting something from someone so im a bit nervous but

imagine overstimulating venti until he cries 🤭

also can i be 🌊 anon ? PLEASE tell me if anything i asked made you uncomfortable!!

♡︎ 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙤 𝙜𝙤𝙙’𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 ♡︎

characters: sub!venti x nb!dom!reader

warnings: overstimulation, size kink, dacryphillia, reader’s genitals/pronouns are never mentioned so the cock can be interpreted as a strap on

notes: of course you can be 🌊anon! and yes, i’m slowly coming back to life. man author’s block is hard to beat. also, if this get’s flagged by tumblr when i wake up tmrw, i’ll delete it and post it again so don’t get too scared if it’s suddenly gone bbies

venti, or better yet known as barbatos to his people, was never really much of an archon.

he never plays by the rules, governs over his people nor even tries to abide by celestia’s rules. often, the wind spirit simply prefers to lay back and watch as his people takes care of any problems. they’re strong after all, his children always has been. of course, the windborn bard slurs out words of being the anemo archon in his drunk dazed self but no one ever takes it seriously.

and another thing was that, venti never worships the celestia. the floating island in the sky is full of nothing but liars, manipulators and cowards. besides… why would he worship those pathetic things when you’re right here?

why kneel before them when he can kneel before you?

why worship those who spat venom everytime they open their mouth when ballads and praises, songs of life flow from yours?

why chase after meaningless praises when your words sting like the strongest alcohol, burning his throat, making his eyes water as he becomes more and more addicted to you?

that’s exactly why the anemo archon prefers to worship you instead. when you braid his hair and comb out the knots as he nuzzles against your form, dazed and sleepy.

when you’re there to console him, help him through his darkest days when those wretches of celestia has done nothing.

when you’re kissing away the tears that spill from his eyes, shushing his slurred speeches and sobs of pleasure as you continue to ram into that one spot inside him, making him shriek and spill over his stomach again and again.

the windborn bard could worship you for eternity.

spilling another load into his stomach, the god in your arms spasms and twitches as his legs weakly wrap around your waist to at least try and calm the twitching of his small body.

dear stars above, you felt so big he could almost feel your tip in his stomach in his sex drunken haze. slurred whines of what seems to be your name flowing out of his mouth as he tries to keep his last threads of sanity together but how can he do so when he can just feel your previous loads slipping out of his rim and down to the sheets.

it all felt so hot, the room was so hot, everything was spinning. the warmth of your cum seeping out of his hole, the slight bulge in his stomach, the feeling of your finger wiggling in next to his already stuffed hole and pushing the cum back inside while your cock stays in — venti lets out a weak sound.

“look at you, little bird. you’re leaking out my cum that i worked so hard to put in you. can’t have my hard work being spent, right?” you coo out teasingly, a grin bit too sadistic tugging on your lips as venti writhes under you when you add in another finger. stars above, were you trying to break him?

venti couldn’t respond. he couldn’t even fully understand and register your words. brain too fried from the previous rounds of your just absolutely handling his small body around, pinching, teasing, smacking, leaving marks and hickeys but he loved it all.

as a response, the bard only weakly bucks his hips back into your strap again seemingly wanting more. my, what an insatiable little bird.

throwing his leg over your shoulder, you take out your fingers from his hole and squeeze his tiny waist once in a warning before fucking back into him again. small whines, weak noises and slurred whorish moans spill out from under you, the anemo archon far too fucked stupid to even try to properly say your name anymore.

making a grabby motion with his hands — a silent ask to hold you close while you fuck him full of your cum again — you decide to be nice and lean down, the absolutely filthy wet noises of your cock easily entering him causing venti to dig his blunt nails into your back, pulling you closer to himself.

feeling another orgasm building up embarrassingly quickly, the archon chases after your lips with weak whines, a sob following as you deny him of a proper kiss. instead teasing him by kissing his soft cheek. he didn’t even realize he was crying.

but soon those soft and weak whimpers and slurred words turn into a sharp scream as he feels himself cumming into both of your stomachs again, a sob of your name following along as you chase your high, getting more frantic with your movements.

the archon feels himself getting filled up again when your hips stutter, causing the short man under you to whimper a quiet “[n-nameee…❤︎︎]” in your ears.

after having caught your breath, you pull away from him slightly. pushing his hair away from his face, you couldn’t help but laugh as you wipe away his tears. but that laugh is cut off short as the archon bucks his hips against yours again, a cheeky grin pulling on his lips.

[itmeblog]

It's Black History Month

(Over here in the US of A) So here are some podcasts to check out.

Absolutely no Adventures - a fantasy (un)adventure story that follows Sig, the owner of Signature Eats bakery, as he aggressively avoids becoming embroiled in any daring quests or chosen one shenanigans even though the universe really seems to want him to do just that. This is a story about cutting Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey off at the knees to chill with friends and staying far, far away from the slightest whiff of adventure. And also baking. This is also a story about baking.

Afflicted - Lovecraft Country meets True Blood in this new series from award-winning producers Tonia Ransom and Jen Zink. In season one, a small East Texas town suffers supernatural disasters caused by a demonic book bound in human flesh…and only hoodoo can save the town from its affliction.

Apollyon - In the early 22nd century, the Apollyon virus wiped out 75% of the world’s population, and now most of the world is governed by the International Conglomerate of Research Scientists. Dr. Theo Ramsey is an ICRS research scientist who may have just discovered an effective vaccine for Apollyon, but the stakes to get the vaccine to the public are higher than she ever imagined.

Between Heartbeats - Tan immersive Urban Fantasy about the hurt, the powerful, and their growth within a broken world. We follow Sundiata, a guilt-ridden time manipulator with a knack for unemployment, and Nadia, a moralistic telepath determined not to lose control, as they balance frayed mental health against an unsympathetic police state. But when a malevolent presence rears is head, their neuroses become the least of their problems. Can our heroes make the most of their abilities before the option is taken from them?

Fan Wars: The Empire Claps Back - Two passionate Star Wars fans on opposite sides of the Last Jedi debate argue via Skype after their favorite forum closes down. If you love Star Wars (or call yourself a proud member of any fandom), you’ll love this romantic comedy told via

Harlem Queen - a Black historical fiction audio drama based on the life and times of Black, woman, "gangster" Madame Stephanie St. Clair during the Harlem Renaissance.

His Royal Fakin' Highness - What if Ophelia helped Hamlet get his throne back? This modern day, romantic comedy re-imagining of Shakespeare's Hamlet asks just that. As they stage an engagement in the wake of the king's death, these childhood frenemies must decide between duty and love.

InCo (This one's mine :D) - A Sci-Fi story about a disgruntled information seller, a mysterious space boy, and an android doing her best.

Janus Descending - a limited series, science fiction/horror audio drama podcast, follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place.

Lady Lucy - Lady Lucy is an audio drama inspired by Shakespeare's "Dark Lady" Sonnets, 127-154. Between running her brothel, fighting the Church, murdering her friends' abusive husbands, and pretending to be a poet, the last thing Lucy needed back in 1586 was a surprise visit from her former flame... Will Shakespeare.

Liars and Leeches - Tonya Wright felt it all after the tragic murders of her sister and brother-in-law in a random act of gun violence. Struggling to travel outside of her home, she now lives constantly on edge about perceived threats that seem to surround her.

Nightlight - Multi-award winning horror podcast featuring creepy stories with full audio production written by Black writers and performed by Black actors. So scary it’ll make you want to leave your night light on.

Null /Void - a science fiction audio drama about a young woman, Piper Lee, whose life is saved by a mysterious voice named Adelaide. Piper soon uncovers a malicious plot by a monopoly of a tech company and must work with her friends and an unusual ally to help foil their deadly plot.

Out of Ashes - (currently remastering season 1) Follow a group of survivors as they navigate the ruins of modern civilization and battle against demons, ghosts, monsters and the looming threat of extinction from an ancient power.

Small Victories - A recently recovered drug addict tries to start her new lease on life, too bad life has it out for her.  This dramatic comedy follows Marisol through the ups and downs of her life.

The Courtship of Mona Mae - In the 1870s, pioneers Mona Mae Christophe and Zekial Montgomery search the American West for Mona Mae's mother, Clara. Mona must recall a past, long forgotten in order to survive, so that she can find her mother, love and create a way of life for herself.

Vega a Sci-Fi Adventure Podcast - In a fantasy futuristic world, Vega Rex is employed by her government to kill off the world's worst criminals. She's never met a criminal she couldn't catch…until now. Join Vega as she journeys through a world of bumbling apprentices, powerful technogods, and her biggest challenge yet. Hosted by Ivuoma Hall.

Witchever Path - is an anthology series where your decisions effect the story. Our stories are based in America’s NorthEast, featuring characters finding themselves in the thick of the unknown while tackling issues like queer identity, gender, race, and spirituality. Stories often focus on the communities not typically seen in stories taking place in New England, and giving voice to the perspectives of those communities while uniting under some universal themes. And the supernatural happens. A lot.

(All descriptions were taken from websites)

If you want to find more and there are way more there's a directory :D

[matan4il]

My grandparents were all Holocaust survivors. A large part of my family was murdered in that genocide. I chose to deal with the family trauma by becoming an educator on this subject. I give tours, lectures and workshops on the Holocaust, on antisemitism and on Jewish history.

Intellectually, I'm perfectly aware of how the massacre that Hamas perpetrated is NOT like what the Nazis did. More Jews were murdered over the course of just two days in Babi Yar (33,771 men, women and children), which is just one Nazi shooting pit out of almost two thousand, than during the entire Israeli-Arab conflict. Even after the carnage brought on by Hamas, this is still true. The Nazis were far more systematic (which eventually made them turn industrial) in carrying out the genocide of the Jews than Hamas has been. There's no comparison in terms of scale and industrialization.

And yet emotionally, I can't help but be hit by the similarities in terms of the immediate brutality of the murderers and the experiences of the Jewish victims. Because I am listening to the testimonies and some are so eerily similar to my research, I simply can't process how these are from recent days, not 80 years ago.

Jewish kids hiding from their would be murderers, scared to make a sound for fear of being discovered and killed.

Jewish families completely wiped out.

Jews asking themselves how did they survive and the person next to them did not.

Jewish people executed in droves, their bodies piled up.

Jews begging to be spared, to no avail.

Jewish women raped, most of them then killed.

Jewish babies executed in barbaric ways.

Jews being burned, some after being murdered, some while alive.

Jewish communities devastated. Take kibbutz Be'eri for example. It was founded before the State of Israel. Despite many terrorist attacks, it has continued to thrive in Israel's south. A small, close knit agricultural community. Over 100 people (at least) have been slaughtered there. Homes were destroyed. Everything the kibbutz's economy was based on was laid to waste, too. Be'eri has become synonymous with the worst of the carnage. IDK how they'll build their lives again after the war is over. IDK if they can. A community of almost 80 years, quite likely gone.

Foreign reporters who had been to kibbutz Kfar Azza all talked about the eerie silence and the stench of death rising from the bodies. Eerie silence is exactly how visitors to the sites of the shooting pits describe those places, while the allied soldiers who liberated the Nazi camps talked about the stench of death there.

Some of the reactions to this massacre also remind me of the Holocaust. Even though the Nazis, the murderers themselves, documented their extermination of Jews, there are those who deny the Holocaust happened, painting the Jews as liars. Similarly, even though Hamas documented themselves, and released the footage themselves, there are people going around denying the atrocities, painting the Jews as liars.

Then there's the justification of the mass murder of Jews by insinuating they brought it on themselves... Back in 1943, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, aware of the plight of Jews under the Nazis, told government officials in Allied-liberated North Africa that the number of local Jews in various professions “should be definitely limited” so as to “eliminate the specific and understandable complaints which the Germans bore towards the Jews in Germany.” Understandable complaints. Understandable complaints of Germans against Jews. Roosevelt, the liberal president, said that while Jews were being exterminated by the Germans. In the same manner, we're seeing people justifying the murder of Jews at the hands of Hamas, even though it's a known antisemitic terrorist organization which has repeatedly called for the murder of all Jews in the world. According to the Simon Wiesenthal Center, a reportedly Hamas affiliated Imam declared, "If the Zionist state were to move to the other end of the Mediterranean, our war would not be over, for the enemy is the Jew.

And while I stand by my statement that the scale is nothing alike, the carnage that took place in Israel IS the biggest massacre of Jews since the end of the Holocaust. Not even during Israel's Independence War and some of the massacres of Jews that happened during it (like the Kfar Etzion massacre) were this many Jews murdered during a single day.

Just like so many were silent back then as Jews were being both killed for being Jewish AND blamed for their own murder, many are silent now as well. Don't get me wrong, there are A LOT of amazing people who reached out to their Jewish friends, who showed they care, who took to the streets, who held vigils for the massacre's victims! Many heads of state also condemned this vicious attack. But I'm looking at Tumblr specifically, and it is FULL of posts justifying Hamas' slaughter of Jews. They're being reblogged everywhere, spread in every fandom. People who claim to stand for social justice feel absolutely no shame sharing such de-humanizing posts on their blogs. And what do we do? Are we calling them out? Do we make it clear that it is morally unacceptable to blame Jews for their own murder? Do we unfollow these bloggers, so that at least the dropping numbers send out the message that it is unacceptable to justify the massacre of innocent people?

TLDR:

This massacre is not like the Holocaust, but the cruel antisemitism that motivated it is the same. Let's not let antisemitism thrive here. Please do what you can (whatever that is) to stand for what's right.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[matchalovertrait]

Alegría VS Caruso: Day 1, Part 3

Previous

Dulce’s lifelong friend, Matthew Fyres, agreed to take the stand in court to verify the digital evidence. He works in cybersecurity and is highly skilled in computer science.

Back in Italy, he lived a bit further from Dulce and Guillermo, so they didn’t get to hang out as much. However, their bond was as strong as ever. He was more than willing to help Dulce.

It was risky to use him instead of a random expert who would be undeniably neutral on the stance, but part of the strategy was to show that Dulce has a lot of support and loyal friends.

“Mr. Matthew Fyres, please explain your role and credibility,” Antonio calmly asked. He knew Matthew was quite nervous.

Matthew took a deep breath to soothe himself. “I work for the cybersecurity agency of Italy’s government. I cannot share much about what I do since I handle sensitive information, but I am a professional in this line of work.”

“And you have verified the digital evidence we presented thus far? Including Ms. Alegría’s cookbook project files and data from her channel?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Isabela smirked. It was her turn to question him.

“Mr. Fyres. I’d also like to point out the interesting timeline of the creation of these digital records. They only date back to about a year ago, correct?”

Matthew hesitated.

Dulce’s eyes widened.

It’s true! Still, it’s her work. She transferred everything over from-

“Yes..” Matthew admitted. He was stuck! He didn’t know what else to say to that.

The courtroom began to fill with a few whispers from the jury and audience.

Dulce was thinking of something, what was it???

Isabela took a sharp turn and faced the jury. “And the social media accounts? When the evidence was being presented, I noticed a small dip in viewership and subscriptions before Mr. Caruso’s video was published. There was one, correct?”

“Yes, because Mr. Caruso posted an Instagram story announcing the breakup. However, the percentages were an insignificant amount.”

“It was still a noticeable amount. Viewers and sponsors were already losing faith in her or only liked her because of Mr. Caruso. Her videos appealed to the masses because she was good at playing the part of a chef with humble beginnings. However, many comments in Mr. Caruso’s video prove that a good portion of viewers already had suspicions about her. He inspired other people to come forward with their opinions. Ms. Alegría is not a real chef. She is a liar and a manipulator. Her downfall was destined to come sooner or later–”

“Objection! Ms. Campos is making baseless accusations against my client.”

Too many objections can make a lawyer look like there is something to hide, but Antonio felt like he had to do it.

“Overruled. Continue, Ms. Campos.”

Antonio sat down, his mind racing.

“Here is my last question: So far, we’ve gathered that Ms. Alegría is rather skilled at exploiting others. Could she have persuaded you to fabricate or alter the evidence? Just like how she let Mr. Caruso believe there was a future between them AND persuaded him to let her take credit for his recipes?”

The courtroom burst with noise as people reacted to her bold claims. Some people seemed persuaded.

Antonio glared at Isabela. I miscalculated...

Dulce looked down. It was hard to concentrate with all the chatter. Gosh, can everyone shut up for a second?

The judge was exclaiming, “Order! Order!” to no avail.

Then, it clicked. Shit. My notebook! That’s where I originally kept all my recipes. Where did I last see it? Did I leave it in Tartosa?

She smiled.

No, of course I brought it! That's how I transferred everything from my notebook to my computer a year ago.

It’s in my office. It has the dates and everything.

Maybe we can do ink dating testing or whatever it's called!

Things look bad now, but her culinary friends would come another day. Her notebook could surely help too. She has to tell Antonio.

Previous

[jaytriesstrangerthings]

Not Sick Fic

744 words of Eddie not being sick and Steve not finding him endearing.

---

“I’m not sick,” Eddie argues, punctuating his argument with an aggressive sneeze followed by harsh hacking.

“Are you holding a loogie in your mouth right now?” Steve crosses his arms and tilts his head in what the Party has taken to calling his Mom Stance (trademark pending).

In a disgusting display of defiance, Eddie swallows. “No.” 

There’s a glob of neon yellow snot dripping from Eddie’s left nostril that he drags his crusty sweatshirt sleeve across before snorting up another drip of snot coming from the right side this time. 

“You are…” Steve sighs, exasperated, “so gross.”

The furrowed brows and grumpy pout paired with Eddie’s pink nose and puffy eyes could almost be considered cute if Steve hadn’t just witnessed him swallow a loogie.

“How the hell did I fall in love with you?”

Steve knows exactly how it happened. He could write a library’s worth of books about all the things he loves about Eddie Munson. That doesn’t change the fact that Eddie absolutely refuses to admit that he’s sick and is being very gross about proving his health.

“Because I’m so totally handsome and I can do cool guitar stuff.” His voice is scratchy and nasally and Steve can tell he’s trying very hard not to sniffle or cough. “And I’m super rich on account of the cool guitar stuff.” Eddie bats his thick black eyelashes and flashes a big bright toothy smile in Steve’s direction. It’s usually quite charming but the new bead of snot dripping towards Eddie’s upper lip causes his charisma to take a hit. “Gimme a smooch.”

Eddie sniffles harshly, sucking the snot glob back into his nose. He leans in, lips puckered up and chapped from extended forced mouth breathing, eyes squeezed shut. Steve reaches out a hand to stop Eddie from falling when he continues to lean forward. 

“You’re cute,” Steve admits, pushing Eddie back to balance on his own feet, “You’re also sick.”

“‘m not,” Eddie pouts again, opening his eyes and glaring at Steve.

Yes he is. Eddie is very sick. His nose is running a marathon and Steve could hear the congestion from a mile away. He’s running a 102 degree fahrenheit fever and shivering like a chihuahua on a sugar high. His eyes are red and puffy and his eye bags have eye bags. He’s sneezing and coughing and if the way he frequently grimaces and groans is any indication he’s nauseous too. 

It’s wild to Steve, how easily Eddie tends to ignore his own health and well-being. He’s going to work himself to an early grave and take Steve with him. It’s frankly astonishing how long Eddie’s made it and Steve is half convinced that Death is simply scared of Eddie. It wouldn’t be surprising. Eddie is absolutely horrifying when he wants to be. And also sometimes when he doesn’t mean to be. 

“Just lay down in bed, Eds. You’ll get better sooner if you rest.”

“Don’t need rest, ‘m not sick.” Eddie makes a noise like he might throw up if either of them make a wrong move. He clears his throat when the feeling seemingly passes. “Gotta finish planning out the next session for when the Party comes to visit next week and then work on some acous- acousti- ACHOO!” Eddie sneezes and a snot rocket launches toward Steve in a majestic arch of green and yellow nasal mucus. Steve, luckily, manages to move out of the way and not be hit by the bio weapon. 

“Did you just say “achoo” as you sneezed?” 

“I didn’t sneeze,” Eddie says, like a lying liar who lies.

Steve looks from Eddie to the small puddle of snot on the floor. “What’s that then?”

Eddie scoffs a couple of times, searching for a reasonable answer. His brain isn’t working at full capacity, which is reasonable considering he’s very sick, despite his resolute denial. “Science project.” 

Eddie lives and breathes gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, Steve will give him that, but Steve has mastered manipulate, mansplain, malewife. Especially that malewife bit. If the government ever comes around to letting Eddie put a ring on it Steve would make a wonderful trophy wife. 

“Yeah? What’s the hypothesis?” That’s right, Steve knows science words. He may be a certified Ken but he’s not stupid. Eddie, of course, is a Barbie, but that was never really a question.

“It’s about projectile paths and stuff.”

Steve cannot believe how endearing Eddie is even when he’s being this gross.

---

[piracytheorist]

Twilight Eyes Project: "Prepare for the Interview"

Previous episodes analyses

The anime takes this chance to start the episode with the introductory pages of the manga. As the narrator talks about how people hide their true selves behind smiles and bravado, we get treated to Loid eyes and a smile that is shown as fabricated in a painfully obvious way.

Another way for the narrative to take the audience along with the lies. We're into everything, and the symbolism is laid thick. Right of the bat we're told "Hi, this guy is a liar, enjoy :D"

In an anime-original scene, we see Loid walk to the entrance to welcome Yor to their apartment. The balance is still feeble, but it was Yor who proposed they get married, so he can relax his Loid eyes a bit.

Not yet real, let's not hope too high. But he doesn't need to look overwhelmingly polite now, since Yor is already in on the plan.

It's back to neutral when they discuss their sleeping arrangements,

and straight to Twilight eyes when he talks to himself about why he had to backdate their marriage by a year.

They stay on as he helps Yor with her stuff, and looks over his shoulder at Yor and Anya having their first interactions.

In another anime-original scene where Yor is settling in, Loid eyes make for a totally welcome, very diligent family man façade.

Back to Twilight eyes when it's time for the mock interview.

And on as he loses heart, and decides to get all of them acquainted with each other in an effort to make for a more passable family.

Loid eyes as he shares his plans for their outing.

This next moment I find interesting, because he seems to have Twilight eyes... and a small smile. They're in the opera, the lights are low in the audience, and most people's attention is on the stage. He has no reason to fake a smile, yet there it is as he watches.

Until he realizes Anya and Yor don't look like the ideal opera audience.

"Twilight eyes" still on, along with another small smile, during their museum visit.

More Loid eyes in the last anime-original scenes of the episode. Unlike the opera and the museum, here they are in a kids' art room, the boutique, and out on the street. Much more possible for someone to notice him, so he puts in a little more effort to look like the happy family man who is definitely very satisfied with how things are and would never work for a foreign government, never!

Twilight eyes as he listens to the politician's speech, though with a small frown this time. Definitely not something he could possibly enjoy doing, much rather expose a little girl to.

Welcome to my blog. I project on fictional characters here.

Anya and Yor have been failing all his efforts to instill some elite-ness into them, and we get closed "Twilight" eyes then investigative eyes as he practically fumbles for a new plan.

Yor used "caring for others". It's super effective!

As the wind blows his hair back, he rests on the rail and just gives himself a moment to look at the view, without having to investigate. His quiet reaction, the blush on his face, and the lack of internal monologue point out how his eyes (and brows) have lost the tightness from before. Real eyes.

Until he spots the children playing, seemingly without a care in the world. The very thing he's fighting for. Cue sad eyes.

Kinda find it interesting that the soundtrack piece that plays in this moment is called "try again". He was too tired and disheartened to be able to work with a clear head, until Yor suggested a very simple thing, for him to take a moment off to clear his mind.

Duty calls, as a man robs an old woman and Yor's spring to action influences Twilight to act too. Thus, Twilight eyes as he searches for the pickpocket.

Pickpocket spotted! And Twilight takes it all too seriously now, evidenced by the almost vengeful investigative eyes. I like how the anime took their chance to animate his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Yor appears just in time, and he leaves Anya with her as he goes to jump the criminal. And thus, "Twilight eyes" stay on, with a tiny bit of the elusive nightmare eyes.

A sense of Loid eyes as he puts himself back together, realizing he went too far.

Whoops. Let's just pretend everything is absolutely in order!

Sometimes winging it just works because what kind of secret life would one have if they just walked off like that?

A case of narrowed eyes (in the manga) that don't look like "Twilight eyes", to me at least. The old lady thanks Yor for her help, and Yor passes the credit to Loid, who looks slightly embarrassed by the attention.

In a manner, he knows he wasn't the one to first spring into action, and wouldn't have done anything on his own, but also this kind of attention is unusual to a spy, so it causes him to avert his eyes.

Then the old lady thanks him in specific, and his real eyes betray his surprise.

Hey, I've written an entire meta about this specific reaction of his here.

A little more serious as he regains his composure. He was prepared to reject the credit for helping, but in a show of humility he takes the thanks silently and doesn't comment further.

Then, soft, relaxed, real eyes with a smile that reaches them as he thanks Yor for inspiring him.

(just the manga panel cause I feel the anime fumbled this one adsfdsgghfgd)

Wide, but still relaxed eyes as he smiles at Yor, right before Anya points out what it looks like they're doing.

An unbecoming expression of surprise at the old lady saying they look like a lovely family. His plan is actually going smoothly, but he can't let anyone know there is a plan in the first place. Surely there could be other ways to react, so to not betray himself like that?

This seems to be the first time he's handling a mission of such a nature; he hasn't been a part of a family as an adult, so he doesn't know exactly how to act to make the Forgers look like a normal one. As a result, he's surprised that although his efforts to make an elite-passing family failed, a random citizen who spent a few minutes with them was already convinced they've known each other for longer than a week.

In a few words, this is an expression of "wait, we actually look convincing?"

Down the line he'll get to realize that a normal family is one that can stumble and look "weird" from time to time, and also wonder how it would feel like if he really had a family of his own. He's not there yet.

Back home, he switches to subtle Twilight eyes as he suggests a second go at a mock interview.

But as Anya gives a very satisfactory answer, he allows himself a moment of relief, and we get Loid eyes.

Anya immediately flops the next question, and even makes him feel self-conscious with her adoration of how he took the pickpocket down. However, as Yor and Anya sit side by side on the couch looking adorable like a normal family, Twilight remembers the old lady's words. We close with tired Twilight eyes as he reluctantly admits there was some progress done.

(no manga spoilers please)

[valtsv]

The implications "every god is a god of lies" has for VAL though? As thee liar's saint?

Every god is a god of lies and at the end VAL tried, for once, to be a god of truth and suffers for it

to be honest the real answer is both - because every god in the silt verses is a result of that human need to build something to keep our awareness of the inevitability of our own mortality at bay. every god is a god of lies, because every god is a construct that we've created, often to allow ourselves to look the other way and live in blissful ignorance in spite of the horrifying practices and systematic failures happening around us (and relying on our continued participation in them), yes, but also simply to give ourselves a sense of purpose and possibility against the inexorable, ever-encroaching tide of death. every god is a god of lies, in service to the one true god that governs us all - the oldest; the only thing that has been or ever will be certain. the end of all things.

setting that aside for a second, i think it's important to remember that VAL's god isn't just a "god of lies" - that's a human label that we've affixed to it in order to make it easier to explain to ourselves; to reduce it to a manageable size that we can believe we're capable of understanding and controlling. but the Last Word is actually a rhetorical god - a god of the power of words, and how we articulate and express them. VAL is the mouthpiece of a god that embodies what Shrue decries in their speech - words. and those words do nothing but uphold those terrible lies we've built our society on; reinforce them and bring them to the surface. it's intentional, i think, that the only times we see VAL enact any kind of meaningful change that doesn't simply uphold the status quo and perpetuate the cycle of violence are when she decides not to speak, but to act - such as when she tells carson she doesn't want to speak to her mother, or decides against killing the man who showed her a small but genuine kindness. her agreement with Shrue's broadcast is, i think, an acknowledgement of this - she's demonstrated a capacity for self-awareness before, after all (though she does tend to retain her conviction in her own delusions in spite of this - which, speaking as someone who experiences psychotic episodes, is a brilliant portrayal of the self-contradictory reality of living with delusional thinking, but i digress - so what she'll decide to do with this awareness, if anything, only time will tell).

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

the second act (not old enough ch.2)

pairing: leon kennedy/reader

cw: smut, age gap, mild daddy kink, oral f!receiving

summary: reader and Leon have a another little rendezvous a few months after their first. You're both sober this time and the ambiance is nicer, but is it enough for you two to become something more?

word count: 3.5k

ao3 link

Leon’s in a ballroom, mingling with government officials and other people whose names he won’t remember the next day. He’s dead sober, and all it gives him is hyper awareness of the fact that everyone who shakes his hand would throw him to the wolves and watch like a spectator sport. He knows that by now. He’s not the baby-faced rookie he once was, not so trusting, not like you. He’s knows he’s the best agent, not the best friend.

When he sees you, you’re wearing an elegant dress, something he’d never imagined you in. You look gorgeous, too - that was the one thing about you that hadn’t changed. You were always beautiful, no matter what you chose to wear. It wasn’t Leon’s opinion, it was a fact. He was sure of it.

You were chatting with other attendees, with a smile as fake as his. It takes one to know one, he thought, she’s a great liar. You’re playfully touching some older douchebag who looks familiar to Leon, but he can’t quite place him when every person here has their suits tailored by the same guy.

You catch his eye while he’s staring at you, not even gawking, but thinking, you can see he’s confused. Leon’s got his elbow on the table, pretending to drink, but it’s only seltzer in the glass. That secret’s between him and the bartender.

You make an excuse to leave the men you’re with for a moment, jogging excitedly towards Leon in a way that forces a smile from his stubborn mouth. It’s not even about him, you’re just cute in a way that’s so foreign to him. He learned cynicism so early, he’s been sucked dry of that type of sweetness, the kind you radiate.

He was probably the same at 18, but his memory is foggy for about a million reasons, none of them being alcohol anymore. Sobriety is still something he’s working on getting used to.

He stops you before you hug him with a gentle interrogation.

“Why are you here?” He’s neither happy, nor angry. It’s mostly confusion, maybe awe at how you can mold yourself so well to this atmosphere, too.

“Same reason anyone is, I guess,” You say with your typical nonchalance.

“What reason might that be?”

“To jerk each other off in the hopes of favors in the form of cash, status, or maybe even literal jerk off sessions.”

“Thought you’d say something different, but you’re smarter than I expected. How’d you get here? What age did you tell the bartender you were?” He points to the glass in your hand, half-empty.

“My date got it for me.”

“Your date, huh?”

“Yeah,” you can’t hide a sour face when you mention him.

“Not a match?”

“Never thought it would be.”

“So you’re here for cash or status? Since you clearly don’t wanna fuck that dude.”

“Cash,” you say, in a whisper, “I hate saying that. I don’t wanna be this ‘sugar baby’ or whatever. I just -”

“Hey, I get it. No judgment from me. You gotta do what you can to get by.”

You change the subject because your life isn’t the most comfortable or interesting topic for you.

“You seem very sober tonight?” You ask.

“I am.” Leon’s small smile is a proud one. “You seem more sober than the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah,” you say, heat rising to your cheeks, remembering things you did when you were drunk, “Thanks for making me take a cab home. I don’t wanna think about what else I would’ve done.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m thinking about calling you one now.”

“I’m not leaving, though.”

“You should be.”

“I bet you used to drink at my age, too. Can’t you just get off my back about it?”

“I don’t care about that. Listen, a lot of the men here are not good guys. I don’t want something bad to happen to you.”

“You’re not my dad.”

“Thank god. I’d be doing a shitty job if I were. Letting you go out and have sex with a stranger in a bathroom stall.”

“Hey! You did it, too. And you liked it.”

“You didn’t?”

You took a large swig of your champagne.

“That’s what I thought.” Leon gave you a smug smile. “Had you practically screaming.”

“Maybe I’m just easy,” you shrug and pause before saying, “or maybe I was faking it.”

“Yeah, you are easy, but you weren’t faking it, sweetheart. I have enough experience in that department to know the difference.”

“Oh? So you’ve had girls fake it with you?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t always good at it.”

Even though the sex you’d had with him was dirty, literally and figuratively, you loved it. It would’ve been better if there'd been a romantic ambiance. It would’ve been better if Leon was sober like he was right then, standing in front of you. He was so much hotter this way. Irresistible.

With a few more drinks, you’d get on your knees and beg him to take you into the nearest bathroom and do it all again, but you could maintain composure after only one glass.

You weren’t going to drink more anyway, not because you cared what Leon said, but because you wanted to remember the way he looked in that suit.

He gave you a knowing smile. “Whatcha thinkin' about?”

“Nothin’,” You said, turning to face the other way, hiding your embarrassment.

“Mhm.”

Leon was going to keep teasing you because the faces you made were so cute, but he wasn’t going to give into your charms this time. He would make sure you got home safe and that would be all.

Everything would be different if you were a little older. Sure, his sobriety would still give him the rationale he needed not to fuck you senseless in an adjacent room, but maybe you’d come over to his place after a real date. He’d take you out to dinner first because that’s what you deserve. You don’t deserve whatever this is, especially when you don’t understand how bad it is.

Your conversation alone feels precarious to him. You both have to lean in close to speak like every word is gossip, and in a way, it is, or it would be if it got passed around, and that’s the problem with the game you’re playing. Leon isn’t sure whether he’d get high fives or a stern talking to at the office if anyone found out about you, and he didn’t want either.

He didn’t want to take you home, not in that way, but he saw the way that other men looked at you, and it didn’t feel like an act of jealousy, it was protection. They’d hurt you, they’d use you. But what was he doing?

You were an enigma in Leon’s mind and maybe that’s what excited him. He couldn’t fit you into any box. You weren’t his girlfriend, you weren’t his friend, you weren’t his fuck-buddy - it was something entirely different.

The moment he first spoke to you the line had been crossed. He was already on the other side of it. Every move he made was wrong. Any choice was a bad one. Leaving you alone, telling you to fuck off, was just sending you to another man, one who’d treat you much worse. Yet, allowing you to stay, linger there beside him, even worse, allow himself to enjoy your presence - wasn’t he the same as the old creep across the room?

Later that night, Leon has you in a hotel room he hadn’t planned on booking. The employee at the front desk knew what you were going upstairs to do. You were both clearly antsy, unprepared to stay, and coming from a social gathering. She stared right through you and saw the future you hadn’t yet.

Leon gets you both a nice room because he’s too old to skimp on things like a nice bed to sleep in - he’ll wake up with back pain if he tries. He told you at the gala that you were getting separate beds, but ended up in a king sized bed with you. He couldn’t even be mad.

You were eager to get your hands on him the moment the door shut, but Leon stopped you, gently grabbing your wrists.

“If we’re doing this again, we’re doing it right this time,” he said, holding your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He looks like he’s not sure whether to lecture you or kiss you.

“Did we mess it up last time? I thought you were experienced.”

“Yeah, we fucked up big time.”

“It’s a good thing we’re doing it again then.”

“No, it’s not,” he whispers into your mouth, kissing you softly.

You knew what it was like to have him so deep inside you that you could feel him hitting your cervix, but this was the first time you’d felt the way he could tease you with only the tip of his tongue.

He would brush his tongue gently over yours and pull back when you tried to reciprocate. It was agonizing, yet tantalizing. If your hands weren’t fiddling with his belt buckle, you’d grab his face and force his lips against yours.

When he caught you trying to unbuckle his belt, he gently took your hands away, and whispered into your ear, “Don’t get greedy.”

You felt the tickle of his stubble against your cheek and then his teeth grazing your neck, threatening to leave marks on your skin, but that would risk the secret rendezvous becoming local news.

His hands were wrapped around your waist, and he guided you backwards to the bed. It took only a few steps backward for the backs of your legs to hit the bed frame, making you topple onto your back on the plush duvet. You expected Leon’s figure looming over you, so when he tried to stand, you took him by the lapels. He let you pull him in for one kiss, giving you only an ounce of the passion he had for you.

“Mm-mm,” he shook his head, pulling back from your lips, making you pout.

He laughed lightly at you, “Patience. You’re gonna like this.”

You wanted to say something snarky back, tell him he didn’t know what you liked yet, tell him you liked his lips on yours, but then he sank to his knees in front of you, next to the bed. He watched your expression shift from irritation to awe, relief, gratitude.

“Spread your legs,” he said, giving you the opportunity to comply before he pushed them apart himself.

Leon took off your heels for you, unbuckling them gently and placing them on the floor with such care. You already felt spoiled before his mouth was placing wet kisses up your ankles to your thighs all the way to the lace trim of your panties. You groaned at the first press of his lips against your clit through the fabric. You couldn’t even blame it on the drunkenness.

He wanted to laugh at how delicate you were, how quickly he could get you to break.

Sliding your panties down your legs, he asked, “Did you wear these for me?”

“Do you like them?”

“Love them,” he said, slipping them into his pocket.

Leon stood up and watched betrayal wash over your face.

“Hold on,” he chuckled, “Don’t get mad yet.”

He took off his jacket and tie, while you watched.

“Just don’t want anyone ruining my best suit,” he mumbled.

Your cheeks were burning, knowing that you were already soaking wet and could very well have left a stain on his suit.

He paid no mind to your embarrassment, though. His gaze was fixed between your thighs, only coming up to meet your eyes when he was on his knees again, so he could watch you melt. He kissed everywhere except for where you really wanted it. His lips and tongue trailed along your thighs and hips, and you thought his teasing would be endless.

“Please, Mr. Kennedy,” you begged.

“Just wanted to see how long it would take for you to say it.”

The noise you made when his tongue made contact with your clit was obscene. You felt him laugh into your core, making you even more embarrassed. Nothing mattered, though, once he dedicated himself to going down on you. He kissed you with a kind of reverence not even your lips had felt. Normally, you’d find the sounds of your wetness embarrassing, but hearing the way he savored the taste of you was sexy.

He didn’t have any further remarks to make you hot and bothered. He needed nothing to push your buttons because you were giving him every reaction he wanted. Leon let you tug on his hair, despite the fact that he would rarely let anyone near it. You didn’t need to force him to do anything though because he was giving you exactly what you wanted, a determination, a devotion to this like no other man before.

For once you were trying not to come because it felt so good you couldn’t stand the idea of losing the feeling. You only ended up lasting five minutes at maximum, but neither of you were counting.

You tried to warn him that you were close, but all that came out was incoherent babbling, which quickly turned to sobs of relief. You were on the verge of tears while your arousal was soaking his face. He led you through your orgasm with his soft lips, and then stood up and leaned over you, meeting you face to face. You weren’t sure whether you should feel gratitude or embarrassment when you saw his messy hair and plump red lips, but he smiled and kissed you on the cheek, giving you the “my pleasure” to the “thank you” on the tip of your tongue.

Leon stepping back to take off his belt felt like a cue for you to get on your knees, but watching you get up off the bed, Leon said, “Leaving already?”

He wouldn’t have been mad if you were, as long as you got home safe.

“No, I was gonna return the favor.”

“It wasn’t a favor. I enjoyed myself, too.”

“Letting me down easy? I promise I’ll do a good job.”

“I’m not doubting your abilities, but that’s not what I want right now.”

Truthfully, he would feel wrong doing it. It wouldn’t be sexy to see the innocence in your eyes. It would feel criminal, like he was corrupting you in an irreversible manner.

“What do you want right now?”

You wanted to make him unfold in front of you, so you could level the playing field.

“You know what I want. Unless, you’re tired.”

The dazed look in your eyes lingered, and ever the worrier, Leon needed to know that you were still fully into this.

“I’m not tired.”

“Don’t need a break?”

“It’s been like five minutes,” you whined, “That’s a long enough break.”

“I thought an orgasm would satisfy you, at least for a bit, but you’re still so impatient.”

“You can’t just stand there almost naked and expect me not to want you.”

“You don’t need to flatter me. You already have me.”

Desperation coursed through your veins, causing you to whine, “Oh my god, Leon, just fuck me already!”

Leon looked at you wide-eyed, a smirk of amusement barely concealed by a stern expression on his face. You weren’t on a last name basis, but he hadn’t expected the first time you’d say his first name would be in a sentence so demanding and naughty. It felt like insubordination, even though it wasn’t.

“I didn’t expect you to have such a dirty mouth,” he said, stepping towards you slowly.

Your nerves were high but your arousal was higher.

When he didn’t get a response from you, he said, “You’re going all quiet on me now, huh? Pretending to be a good girl again?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kennedy…”

There was something inside of you that needed him to be proud of you, but the apology was still mostly in the hopes of gaining what you wanted.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, pretty girl,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You looked at him through dewy, yet grateful eyes.

“You can’t help it when you’re like this, right?”

His fingers started playing with your pussy again, feeling your evident arousal, which hadn’t subsided post-orgasm.

You nodded, giving him a pitiful, yet adorable look.

“Please…” you said, after a beat of silence, minus the sounds of your wetness.

“Please what?”

“Please, Mr. Kennedy…”

He smiled and laughed lightly, realizing you assumed he wanted respect rather than clarification.

“No, baby, I want you to ask for what you want,” he said, brushing your hair out of your face and rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“I want you,” you said, barely being able to think with his hands still touching you.

“Okay, I wanna go slow, though, yeah?”

You nodded, wanting it now, in whatever fashion he would give it to you.

You thought slow sex was boring sex until Leon came into your life. He brought a heightened passion to every encounter regardless of the speed of his thrusts. His lips were on yours, capturing every breath until he couldn’t stand the thought of not hearing your pretty noises.

His kisses trailed down your cheek to your jaw to your neck all delicate. His breath in your ear telling you how beautiful you looked and how good you were being. His words made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, but his fingers brushing your nipples made your back arch off the mattress. Not to mention the slow strokes of his dick, coaxing needy moans from your mouth.

You thought you’d be begging for it harder and faster, but every thrust inside you felt deeper and that was beyond satisfying. Soon, your legs were pressed up against your chest and he was so deep inside you that you could see his dick in your abdomen with every thrust. The feeling of him hitting that sensitive spot inside you was bringing you closer to the edge, but the sight was what was making your eyes roll back into your head.

Leon saw how close you were and he whispered to you, sweet and sexy all in one, “I can feel you squeezing around me, baby. You gonna come for me?”

You wanted to say, “Uh-huh”, but it came out as a strangled moan and then, “Daddy!” as you came.

He ignored the slight pang of guilt that came with the word for a moment to let himself drink in the overpowering feeling of pleasure. His orgasm following yours quickly.

Lying next to you, after you both came back from oblivion, he asked the dreaded question, “Did you call me ‘Daddy’?”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean to. It just came out. Did it make you feel weird?”

“A little, but it was hot. I think you could’ve said anything coming out of your mouth would be hot, though.”

Leon holds you while you sleep and tries to forget about any lingering guilt he feels after you call him daddy. Your warm body pressed against his and the feeling of your steady heartbeat and soft breathing seem to do the trick. 

The next morning he calls you a cab back to your apartment. You both have busy schedules.

You ask him on your way out, “My 19th birthday is coming up and I’m having a party. Do you wanna come?”

You’re hoping he’ll say ‘yes’, sort of expecting him to based on the night before.

But he doesn’t. He says, “No offense, but I think a 37 year old man hanging out with a bunch of teenagers would be kind of weird. Don’t you think?”

There’s a twinge of embarrassment inside you, realizing that he was right and you probably shouldn’t have even asked. Then again, you really want more time with him, so you say, “But you hang out with me and it’s not weird.”

You thought that was the truth, but when he doesn’t meet your gaze, you continue, “Is it?”

Leon sighs before speaking. “We really shouldn’t be doing this.”

It’s the nicest way he can say it, but it hurts.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re too young for me.”

“I wasn’t too young for you last night.”

The statement hits him hard, even if you didn’t mean for it to - it’s just true.

“Yeah,” he says, not knowing if he means that you weren’t too young for him to have sex with or that you were. Neither answer feels good.

With tears in your eyes, you ask, “Did you use me for sex? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No,” he says, “I actually care about you believe it or not, but that’s why we can’t keep doing this.”

“What do you mean?”

“You deserve someone who can give you more than this.”

Leon wipes the tears off your cheeks and you ask, “Why can’t you give me more? You could be that person.”

“No, I can’t.”

The unsaid apology fills his blue eyes, and you accept it, reluctantly, when you stare into them.

He kisses your forehead as a final goodbye and says, “If you need anything, you can always call me.”

You hug him tightly, holding something that will never be yours, just borrowing time. He allows you to, rubbing your back. This is all he can give you…

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

“Mr. Vanserra,” Odessa began, sliding into his pub before it was open.

“Why did I give you a key?” he grumbled as she made her way forward, mug of coffee in her hand.

“That’s why,” she said with an easy grin. “Have you heard the rumors?”

“No,” he replied, taking that first sip. Lucien didn’t know if it was the beverage itself or merely the act of drinking something hot that seemed to bring him back to life. “Is Bernard in the harbor again?”

She laughed. “No. He quit drinking, remember?”

“Oh, of course. That explains why he was here carousing all night,” Lucien replied with a bite of sarcasm. “Tell me.”

“Remember the florist?” 

No, he didn’t—people seemed to forget that Lucien hadn’t lived here for centuries. Merely eighty something years, the vast majority spent making his little pub profitable. The florist had been gone by the time he came in—she’d simply moved away to be closer to great, great, great grandchildren he thought. Someone had to tell him that, anyway. Still, Lucien wasn’t about to admit all that. It would remind people he was still relatively new despite living there for nearly a century.

“Of course.”

Odessa’s grin told him she knew he was a liar. She didn’t call him on it, which was one of her better qualities.

“Well, she swore she was never going to sell that storefront. I think she was afraid of another pub—she was always going on and on about young people and their drinking habits. She sold it, though.”

“To who?”

Odessa shrugged. “No idea. Someone I’ve never seen before, and I thought she must be from the inland but her accent…sounds awfully familiar.” He narrowed his eyes. “No one from Prythian is coming out here to work.” Certainly no one he knew, anyway. 

“Maybe they’re from Rask, then. They’re always sneaking over the border, stealing our jobs—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Lucien interrupted, uninterested in yet another long-winded diatribe on why everyone who wasn’t from their home was an evil. It was a common refrain—everyone thought so, Prythian included. Nationalist sentiment was especially high as one of their independence holidays was nearly upon the city. Flags of cerulean and white hung from nearly every storefront, waving in the breezy, ocean wind. Lucien's shop was no exception, though the whole thing amused him. He didn’t care one way or the other. It was simply good for business. 

He did like Vallahan, of course—when he pictured his future, he didn’t see himself leaving. The memories were still far too fresh to return to Prythian, and despite the time that had passed, it seemed very little had changed. His mother was still married to Beron, his brother likely still schemed. Feyre’s oldest son was nearly grown and she still governed as High Lady of Night, her inner circle also unchanged.

She came to visit sometimes, spending an evening in his home above the pub. Rather than the small room he’d once furnished, his home had expanded to three bedrooms, an actual living room, and a full-sized kitchen he spent a lot of time in. One of those bedrooms was designated for Feyre only, dressed up in soft lilac and cream to suit her tastes.

She spent more and more time each visit, telling him of everything he’d missed. It was mostly amusing personal stories or inter-court drama that still amused him. She was careful never to mention Elain. At first, Lucien had thought she was dancing around the subject to spare his feelings. In time, however, he realized that Ferye simply didn’t know. Elain didn’t keep in touch, and Feyre hadn’t reached out.

Sometimes he wondered if the human male had died or not. If Elain had gone crawling back to her sisters, begging for absolution that they’d absolutely give her. Was it wrong to hope that Rhysand, at least, might give her a little hell? 

The pain had lessened to a dull ache in his chest. Some nights it pained him more than others but for the most part, Lucien could ignore it entirely. She’d made her choices, and he’d made his. There was simply no road where they might meet again. Elain would return to Prythian, she’d embrace being faerie, and would likely find some new male to torment for the rest of her days. Lucien had no intention of returning unless he could return to Autumn itself.

“Do you have anything else for me?” Lucien asked Odessa, pulling himself out of his depressed thoughts. He took another sip of his rapidly cooling beverage while Odessa continued to grin. 

“You’re not going to say hello? I heard she’s very beautiful.”

The thought made his stomach clench. He’d had enough of  beautiful females. Sure, when he’d first gotten to Vallahan, he’d made a name for himself, sleeping with whoever interested him to mask his own pain. For twenty years Lucien had acted that way until one morning he woke up miserable, angry, and still in pain. It wasn’t helping. It had never helped. What was the point of moving away if he was going to bring all his same bad habits with him?

So he’d stopped. Sometimes he missed the warmth of another body in his bed, but it passed easily. 

“Why don’t you say hello to her for me?” Lucien suggested. Odessa had just as fearsome a reputation with females as Lucien did. Her smile only widened.

“I’m trying but she’s like a nervous little fawn—scampering off anytime someone gets a little too close.”

Lucien only shrugged, draining the rest of his coffee before sliding the porcelain mug over to her. “Sounds like your problem. Not mine.” If there was more Odessa wanted to say, she wisely kept her mouth shut. She took her mug, threw Lucien a rather saucy wink, and sauntered out of the pub. She had other people to make the rounds with, spreading the gossip as far as she could. Lucien promptly forgot as he made the climb back upstairs to fully dress himself for the day. It promised to be warm, and when the weather was uncomfortable, folks retreated indoors for respite and a drink. When it was pleasant, they sat outside drinking and eating and talking well into the early hours of the night.

No matter what, Lucien came out on top. 

He took his time bathing before braiding his hair off the crown of his head once the warm air had dried the strands. He dressed casually, leaving the buttons in his shirt undone just below the collar, and a little untucked as well. It made him seem rakish, and Lucien rather liked his reputation, even if it was no longer deserved. 

Perception was everything, after all. 

Back downstairs, Lucien unlocked the back of the pub so Bernard could drop off meat and the cook could start preparing for the lunch. He made his way to the front to set out chairs, gaze turning to the florist just across the street. There had once been boards over the windows and the yellow paint had been chipping and peeling along the street. 

Who had purchased it, and painted it? The peeling paint was gone, revealing pretty limestone washed brick and vibrant, sage shutters thrown open. Planter boxes held swaying flowers and the yellow, rounded door had been thrown open. 

Lucien made his way across the street, narrowly avoiding a horse pulled cart filled with sun mellons stacked so high he was certain a few would spill out before they reached the grocer. Knocking on the front door, he called out, “Anyone home?”

Inside was far nicer than whatever had existed before. White walls ought to have been boring and uninspiring, but the owner had hung up pretty, twinkling lights where the wall met the ceiling along with bright floral displays that made the space seem alive. Bright.

Beautiful, he decided. 

“One moment!” called a soft, feminine voice. “I—oh, no—” her voice became muffled as the sounds of something crashing abruptly ended whatever she’d been about to say. Lucien hopped over the counter to push open the swinging door where a pair of fair legs jutted out from beneath a pile of heavy looking boxes. The soft smell of honey and jasmine invaded his senses, causing his heart to race. 

“Let me help,” he said, pulling that first box of what looked like discarded hardware off her form.

“This is my fault,” she said, pushing at the boxes on top of her. “I knew I shouldn’t…”

Lucien nearly dropped what he held directly back on the woman now staring up at him. Anger bloomed in his chest at the sight of those wide, brown eyes, half obscured thanks to the tangle of hair in her face.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, dropping the items loudly to the floor. He was panting, he realized, his anger warring with familiar desire. His blood was awake, chanting the same word over and over.

Mate, mate, mate, mate—

Elain blinked, bottom lip trembling.

“Oh, here we fucking go,” he muttered, turning his back to her. “Did Feyre send you?”

“No, she didn’t send me. Why? Did she finally realize the error of her ways and exile you?”

He wanted to throttle her.

He wanted to inhale her scent from the crook of her neck.

“Turn around and go home, Elain,” he dismissed, needing to get away from her. He’d lose his mind if he had to live across the street from her, and Lucien wasn’t picking back up and starting over. He’d come here to get away from her and she had no right to encroach on his territory. “Surely your husband needs his diaper changed?”

“Oh, go to hell, Lucien,” she spat. 

“I don’t want you here—”

“I don’t care what you want—”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear!” Lucien exploded, his rage betraying him. “Everything has been about what you want since I found myself tethered to you! I bow to your whims and you don’t consider anyone—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” she interrupted, rubbing her temples with her fingers. “Poor, sad, Lucien. Maybe you can write about it in your journal? I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

They stared at one another, jaw set, shoulders squared. It was a fight she wanted? He could give her a fight.

“There are no humans here,” he informed her, making a show of examining his nails. “Just fae,”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know.” Obnoxious. “Does Feyre know you’re here?” He tried a different tactic, desperate to convince Elain to leave before she ruined everything. 

“I’m sure you’ll tell her,” Elain replied, her irritation plain. 

Lucien wanted to vomit. He could feel bile churning in his stomach, burning a path up his throat. This was all wrong—it had taken him nearly a century to stop dreaming about her, to push her out of his mind and move on. He was happy.

And here she was, come to ruin that, too. Elain Archeron felt owed, and had decided to get back everything taken from her even if it came at his expense. Especially if it came at his expense. Elain would think nothing of staying here, would think nothing of encroaching into the next place he moved, on and on until she’d marked the whole word as hers, and he simply had nowhere else to go.

“If you stay, I will make your life as miserable as you’ve made mine,” Lucien threatened. Elain blinked up at him, eyes watery. If she cried, he thought he might lose it and fully explode with rage. 

“I died,” Elain hissed, closing the gap between them to jab her finger into his chest, “and the first thing I heard when I came out was your horrible voice declaring we were mates. I could never make you half as miserable as you’ve made me.” Lucien was unmoved. “Watch me.”

He turned, then, delighted to have gotten the last word, and made his way back into the street where the air didn’t smell like her. Small mercies. His body was a betrayer, heart thudding not with hatred or fury, but excitement. Some stupid part of him wanted to go back into that room and bury his nose in her hair. Instinct, he supposed, that he couldn’t wholly overcome.

Smelling her wouldn’t make him like her any better. Maybe fucking her would ease some bruising ache in his chest, but it certainly wouldn’t ease his aching heart. 

Lucien made his way back into his emptied pub, ignoring that it was nearly set up for lunch. Renatta would be in soon to serve while Lucien worked the bar and a few back of house staff cooked and stayed on top of dishes. He wanted to simply close it all down, pack up his things, and continue moving west. Lucien had a life here. A world that made sense, with friends who’d only ever known him as Lucien—not a High Lord's son, not an emissary to a court, or anyone of importance. 

Why should he go, he asked himself silently, seething with anger. She should return—surely she had a host of hybrid children that would be missing her? The thought was a punch to the gut, another reminder that he was never going to have that. His whole future had been ripped out from under him not once, but twice. Elain had gotten a lifetime with the male she loved, more than Lucien had ever been given, and still she was unsatisfied.

Spoiled. 

Lucien would make her regret it, he decided. She was an outsider, had purchased the business of a well-loved person, and was about to be known as the enemy of Lucien who was loved. For whatever that was worth. Lucien knew everyone and Elain knew no one. A few well placed rumors, a couple pieces of salacious gossip, and she’d become a shut-in. No friends to speak of, no social life, and little business to sustain her. He’d have her back on a ship to Velaris before the first frost bit at his nose. 

The thought offered Lucien a small amount of relief. And not to prove Elain right, but before he went back downstairs, Lucien fired off a quick missive to Feyre, furious she hadn’t warned him. Were they friends or not, he asked? How dare she meddle in his life knowing how badly Elain had wounded him. Not all mates were happy pairs. Lucien could think of very few who were happy. 

Feyre needed to butt out.

Once his letter was on its way to Prythian, Lucien felt like he could breathe a little. Taking the stairs two at a time, Lucien went behind the bar to wipe down glasses and prepare himself for what he hoped was a decently busy day. 

Renatta was there in her long, lacy blue skirt and her cinched top which she swore caused her to receive better tips. Lucien thought it was because her breasts were spilling out over the neckline, in danger of coming out entirely each time she bent low to drop off drinks or pick up plates. He wasn’t going to say that, of course—if nothing else, it would make a room full of half drunk males happy. 

She made her way toward him once she was done, leaning up on the counter with a smile on her face. “So,” she began, looking him up and down with an expression he was immediately distrustful of, “there's a new female in—”

“No. Matchmaking,” he interrupted, a familiar refrain he’d repeated a hundred times before. 

“She’s so pretty—”

“I heard she had screaming fever,” Lucien informed Renatta, a lie he was well aware of. Prythian had never had a case of screaming fever, to start, and Elain certainly bore none of the tell-tale scratch scars on her face from the ailment. “I heard she was on the run from a High Lord in Prythian.”

Renatta loved gossip—it was what made her so good at serving tables. She’d spread it among the patrons that night under the guise of friendly customer service. Everyone who came through would hear the rumors—Elain, too, who would have to stutter and stumble her way through explanations no one quite believed.

Lucien grinned, turning toward his tap as Renatta stood to seat the first people coming in. Her eyes were bright with excitement, bouncing toward them with a secret she’d get to share. The night passed in much the same way—Lucien stayed so busy he didn’t have time to think about Elain.

He wouldn’t have thought of her at all had she not come storming over that next morning. He’d managed to throw a pair of trousers over his hips, unlaced and revealing a trail of hair that vanished along the waistband. He assumed it was Odessa with his coffee,  banging to let him in so they could gossip quietly for the next hour. 

It was Elain, arms crossed over her chest, hair plastered to her face thanks to a drizzling rain just outside. Lucien hesitated, suddenly too aware of his body. Lucien was uncomfortable, made worse when her eyes widened in horror, causing her to stumble back a step. 

“You—put on a shirt,” she ordered. Lucien’s temper flared.

“What do you want?” he replied, unwilling to do anything she asked, even if he privately agreed with her. Lucien was tired of her face, of her voice, of everything about her that she kept shoving in his face.

“Stop telling people I had screaming fever,” Elain hissed, looking over his shoulder rather than at him.

“I didn’t tell anyone that,” he lied, barely able to suppress a grin. “Maybe I just told them I found you impossibly ugly and they drew their own conclusions.”

Her eyes snapped to his face, narrowed to slits. “You’re a liar.”

He only shrugged. That was well-known. “Is that all?”

“You can’t run me out of this place, Lucien,” she said, unaware that the sound of his name on her lips made his whole body jerk with excitement. Traitor. 

“You can’t control everyone to get what you want,” he shot back, venom dripping from every word. “I’ve been here for eighty years while you shacked—”

She slapped him. Lucien saw her hand strike forward, felt her palm collide with his cheek. The string was brutal, filling his mouth with the coppery tang of blood. He grabbed her wrist before she could snatch it back, holding it tight enough that when she tried to pull back, he was certain he was bruising her skin.

Was this the first time he’d ever touched her? Like genuinely touched her? Lucien thought it might be. He’d once daydreamed what it would be like—nothing like reality. “If you do that again, I will make you regret it.”

“I already regret it,” she hissed, yanking vainly again. Lucien didn’t release her, though he should have. He could feel her fluttering pulse beneath his fingers, could practically taste the sweet scent of her. He hated her and he wanted her in equal measure. He didn’t want to let her go because touching her skin was soothing something angry in his chest. 

She was going to do far worse than hit him if he didn’t. He’d deserve it, too. Reluctantly, Lucien forced himself to let her go, watching as she cradled that hand against her chest. She looked like she wanted to pummel him. Lucien would like to see it, if only to witness a little spunk from the otherwise docile Elain. Sure, she was constantly telling him off, but those words were toothless. Elain always did what he wanted if he insulted her forcefully enough.

Only, Lucien didn’t want to right then. He suddenly felt exhausted, worn down by his strange life and the female with her heaving chest staring up at him with so much hatred.

“Leave me alone, Elain. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to speak to you. I want nothing from you.”

That ought to have been the end of it. Lucien certainly hoped so, anyway. He reached for the door, but Elain slammed out a hand, preventing him from shutting it in his face.

“Why not go back to Prythian, then?” she suggested silky. His anger spiked again.

“Why not go back to the humans you love so much?” he shot back, eyes trailing to her ears. The tips warmed, turning a bright shade of pink as though she were embarrassed he could see them peeking out from behind her mass of thick curls. 

“You don’t know anything at all,” she hissed, turning on her heel to stalk off. “And if you don’t stop telling stories, I’ll start telling stories about you. Maybe I’ll tell them who you really are. Or maybe I’ll tell your brothers. I heard they were looking for you.”

Lucien paled and Elain smiled, triumphant to have the upper hand for once. 

“This isn’t over!” he yelled at her retreating back. And to his surprise, she looked over her shoulder and offered him a rather rude gesture with her hand. Lucien would have laughed had he not been so surprised to see it. She vanished inside her little shop, leaving Lucien half naked on the front step of his own.

Game on, Elain Archeron.

Game on.

[forever-rogue]

Hey babes, can you do a Mando x reader where the reader is a bounty hunter and leaves the ship to complete a mission and is only supposed to be gone a few hours but they’re gone all night and Din starts to panic and the next morning they show up slightly injured sand Din completely loses it and he was so scared then feels guilty? (fluff and angst) (sorry this is long!)

AN | This! It’s everything. Enjoy🥰

Warnings | Mention of injury [blood, bruising, cuts - nothing descriptive]

Pairing | Din x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.4k

Masterlist | Din, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I'm going with you."

"Umm….no?" You looked up at Din and found him in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as though he had any kind of authority over you. Sitting back on your haunches, you momentarily stopped packing your bag and shook your head, "wait - are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling you," it was a simple but assertive statement that he clearly wasn't going to expand on. With you a huff, you stood up and walked over to him, stopping just in front of him. He was slightly intimidating but you'd never admit that.

"Well, Djarin, I hate to tell you this, but you are not going with me," you reached up and patted his helmet right where his cheek would be, "I'm going solo."

"It's not safe."

"Nothing we do is safe!" You waved your hand around, gesturing vaguely, "we're bounty hunters."

"I am a bounty hunter," he insisted with a sigh as you rolled your eyes dramatically, "you are an enemy of the new republic."

"I prefer the term pirate," you couldn't help the way the corner of your mouth tugged up in a small smile at his heavy sigh. You'd learned early on that it was a common theme in his daily life, "and, in case you forgot, I'm on the up and up and my charges were cleared. So."

"So," he repeated, almost mocking but lacking any real malice, "you've still got plenty of enemies out there. The government might forget but scorned criminals rarely do."

"You don't think I'm capable of handling myself."

"No," he sighed in exasperation, "no. It's just…dangerous."

"I can handle a little danger, Din Djarin," you insisted softly, annoyed and slightly touched by his concern, "I wasn't the pirate queen for nothing!"

"I don't-" you turned on your heel before he could say anything else to go back to your packing, "why are you being so stubborn?"

"Why are you being so overbearing?" You countered, slipping the last of your supplies and your trusty blaster in your bag. He remained silent and you knew you'd caught him weaving a web he couldn't quite explain, "I'll be okay. Don't worry about me, Din."

He remained silent for a moment and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. You zipped up the bag and tossed onto your bed. After a few tense moments of silence, he exhaled heavily and gave you one, sharp simple nod, "you'll be back soon."

"A few hours tops," you promised softly, "but you know how these things go. Hostile negotiations and all. I'll do everything in my power to keep it short and sweet."

"Good," he grunted in response, "just watch your mouth. That's always what gets you in trouble."

"It's kind of touching that you care so much," you smiled coquettishly, wishing you could see his expression under the helmet. You just knew that he was probably stammering and blushing, "one might almost think you have feelings, Mandalorian."

"I don't like you like that!" He insisted nervously and you grinned like a loth cat.

"I never said you liked me like that," you teased, "I just said you have feelings, generally speaking. But it's good to know that you definitely don't like me."

And you were beaming as he stood there slowly dying on the inside. 

"Just…be careful."

"I will," you smiled softly, "I'll be back before you know it."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It turned out that you were a liar.

It turned out that Din's feelings ran even deeper than he had anticipated.

Because when you didn't return home by the end of the evening, he was starting to panic. You'd promised it would be a few hours.

A few hours had come and gone. And you weren't back. 

Din was going to wear a path into the floor if he kept pacing as he was. Grogu was on the floor, cooing in concern as he watched his father grow increasingly worried. 

"I know," Din turned to him and sighed, "I know there's no use worrying."

More babbles reached his ears. He listened to them and nodded in understanding, even if he didn't completely understand what his son was saying. He got the general gist.

"I'm sure she's fine," his hands found his hips as he nodded thoughtfully, "but then she should be back."

There were a few beats of silence before Din threw himself onto the couch. If he was going to stress and worry, he might as well be comfortable, right? Truthfully, he was anything but.

He tried to watch a few holos, skipping between channels every few seconds, his mind light-years away. 

"It wouldn't hurt to go and see if I can find her," he wasn't even sure who he was trying to rationalize with. Himself? Who knew at that point. Grogu gurgled at him before waddling over to the couch and climbing on top of it. He clambered slowly into Din's lap and made himself comfortable. He reached up and gently stroked his big green ears before exhaling slowly, "I don't know exactly where but I could just…look around and see?"

Big, inquisitive blinked at him. How was his small, young son going to be the logical one?

"Fine," Din agreed in a haughty tone, "I'll stay here. But if it's much longer I'm going out there to look. But you'll have to stay here."

Grogu's eyes widened as his ears drooped sadly.

"Fine…I'd take you with me."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At some point with his worrying, Din managed to fall asleep. Granted, it wasn’t a very deep or comfortable sleep; he was half sprawled on the couch, startling with every sound that seemed even remotely out of place. Unfortunately, none of those noises turned out to be you. You, who had managed to worm your way into his heart despite his best efforts; you, that were the bane of his existence and one of the best things in his life. 

Eventually he sat up with a heavy sigh, trying his best not to wake Grogu. At least the little one didn’t seem to have any trouble sleeping. Din slowly stood up and started to pace around the kitchen, debating if a fresh caf would soothe his worries or ramp up his anxiety. On second thought, he decided against it, opting instead to straighten everything up. The small home the two of you shared on Nevarro was generally kept tidy but it was something to keep his worried brain occupied. 

He got so wrapped into what he was doing that he almost - almost - didn’t hear the telltale creak of the front door. Din froze for a moment before he heard your familiar footsteps start to shuffle into the house. Something was off. 

He left the kitchen so fast that he almost ran into you in the hallway, your name rolling off his lips in surprise at the same time as you said his. You laughed nervously as you felt him take you in, mentally counting down the seconds before he realized you were hurt. Not gravely so, but still…you knew DIn and you knew that he’d have a conniption.

“H-hey,” your voice was small and nervous and it was painfully obvious that you were trying to deflect him, “sorry, I’m late. It took a little longer than anticipated.”

“You’re hurt.”

It was even a question, just a simple statement. You shrugged before giving him a noncommittal shrug, “you should see the other guy.”

“I don’t care about the other guy!” his tone took a sharp edge that had your eyes widening in surprise. It was the closest he’d actually gotten to admitting his feelings for you. You blinked a few times before swallowing thickly, “kriff.”

“‘m okay,” you insisted but you could tell that he didn’t believe this for a moment. He was regarding you with intense scrutiny and it made you almost squirm, “Din…please say something.”

“You’re bleeding,” he tried to mask the worry in his voice as he took off his glove and brushed away the blood from the cut on your cheek. You froze at the feeling of his skin on your skin, his touch surprisingly gentle. You’d forgotten all about the knife cuts on your face and shoulder. You had no doubt he could see the blood that had soaked into the fabric of your. He made a small sound of concern and part of you really wanted to jump into his arms and let him hold you, “where else. Show me.”

After a moment of hesitation, you nodded and slowly lifted your top, thankful for the fact that you still had your bra on. Your shoulder was almost done bleeding, but there was a gnarly gash there with the sides already bruising. Your left wrist was sore and bruised, the color radiating into your forearm. You weren’t sure if it was broken or sprained, but you did know it was painful. 

Din sucked in his breath before shaking his head. You hated the churning feeling in your stomach; it was an odd combination of joy that he clearly held some modicum of affection for you, and the other part was upset that he was so worried. His hand rested on your cheek for a  moment before he brushed his knuckles along your jaw. 

“C’mon,” he reached for your hand without waiting for an answer as he gently pulled you to the refresher. You silently sat down on the edge of the tub and watched as he gathered the supplies that you normally used on him. Oh how the tables had turned. He reached you gently before kneeling down, the black T of his visor intently trained on you, “this might hurt a little bit.”

“Okay,” you nodded slightly before closing your eyes, finding yourself leaning into his touch, seeking it out like an animal seeking out the sun’s kiss. You couldn’t hold back the hiss that escaped your lips at the contact of the alcohol he was using to clean your wounds. 

“I know,” he cooed softly, his voice so low and gentle. You bit the inside of your cheek as he tended to your wounds, but you knew that the pain and discomfort was written all over your face, “I know, cyar’ika. You’re doing so well.”

Your heart leapt with affection at his gentle words and touch. You’d known that deep down he was a soft-hearted and kind man but having him display his affections so openly was an entirely different thing. 

It didn’t take the Mandalorian very long to take care of your wounds; years of practice on himself had taught him a thing or two. He just hated the idea that it was happening to you instead of him. He should have gone with you…he shouldn’t have taken no for  an answer. 

When he was done, he patted your knee gently and slowly straightened back up. You looked up at him with a soft smile, “thank you, Din.”

“The cuts will heal just fine,” he held out his hand to help you up. You tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, “your wrist is sprained. It’s not broken. But you’ll have to take it easy with that hand.”

“Okay,” you felt so small next to him, sheerly from his height and the bulk of his armor. You swallowed thickly, “guess I should have let you come after all.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed quietly, neither agreeing or disagreeing with you, “who did this?”

“I don’t know,” you admittedly honestly, “it was some man, I didn’t get a good look at him. He caught me when I was running out.”

“I’ll go back and find him-”

“But I got what we were looking for,” you reached into your pocket and pulled out the stolen pieces of kyber crystal you had retrieved, “now it can go back to the rightful owner.”

He nodded, taking one of the pieces and admiring it with curiosity. But, like always, his attention shifted back to you, “I’m coming with you next time.”

“I expected nothing less,” you laughed softly, the sound going straight to his heart. It was like every little thing you did had become something he loved, a small piece of his soul. 

The two of you remained silent for a few moments, a shift rifting through the air. Din’s hands found your face as he gently cradled it, studying you intently. Your face felt like it was on fire, and you wanted nothing more than to be able to kiss him. But you couldn’t - wouldn’t - do anything without his permission. 

He brushed his thumb along your bottom lip, causing every fiber of your being to hum in content. 

“Din…” you almost whispered his name and caused gooseflesh to burst all over his skin. It would be so easy for him just to lift up the helmet enough to kiss you. It would be so easy and simple, and he yearned and ached for it. 

“Cyar’ika,” his breathing was stunted and he was so close to doing it, to doing what he’d been dying to do since he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He reached up and started to push the helmet but you grabbed onto his wrist and stopped him. 

“No,” you whispered, surprising both of you. Despite how much you wanted this, you didn’t want him to do anything just because of the intimate moment, “not like this.”

He seemed to know what you meant and he dropped his hand, but nothing before lacing your fingers through his and gently squeezing it. 

Before either of you could say anything else, a soft, gentle babbling caused both of you to look towards the doorway. Grogu was there, happily looking between the two of you. You and DIn took a step apart, and he cleared his throat. 

Grogu padded his way over and plopped down in between the two of you. You’d never been more thankful - or annoyed - for his interruption. 

You met DIn’s gaze and offered him a small smile. 

You knew he was returning it under the helmet. 

It held a small promise of soon.

[thecreaturecodex]

Skelm, Palace

Image © Paizo Publishing, accessed at Archives of Nethys here

[Talking with me during the development of her red hag, @soylent-crocodile referred to it as "a species of Starscreams". Which is a great description, and also an accurate assessment of the palace skelm. Although it's obvious that Grima Wormtongue is also a major influence on this PF2e monster. The fact that palace skelms and red hags are the same CR and would absolutely hate each other is the icing on the cake for me.]

Palace Skelm CR 8 LE Monstrous Humanoid This humanoid figure is almost human, except for the pair of gleaming antlers growing from his skull. He is dressed in fine noble’s clothing.

Palace skelms are creatures that delight in the corruption of power. They often are found among military officers and politicians, some of whom transformed into skelms in that position. Palace skelms spend their time either jockeying for power or abusing the power that they do have, treating their subordinates with casual cruelty. A palace skelm is an excellent liar, and they can even insert their words into the mouths of others. They encourage competition, jealousy and paranoia in any court they find themselves in, turning functioning governments into a den of vipers to exploit. They are ostentatious by nature, and frequently flaunt their wealth and status with finery.

Most palace skelms prefer to exert power from behind the throne, ingratiating himself to a ruler and warping their perceptions so that they only trust the skelm. Coups and political upheavals are dangerous for palace skelms, as they simultaneously allow for more opportunities to inflict suffering while increasing the risk of the skelm’s true nature being exposed, or of the skelm losing their grasp on what power they have. Palace skelms have a tendency to self-sabotage, as their interlocking schemes can spiral out of their control, and their answer to being caught in the act is usually murder.

Palace Skelm     CR 8 XP 4,800 LE Medium monstrous humanoid Init +4; Senses Perception +16, scent

Defense AC 22, touch 14, flat-footed 18 (+4 Dex, +8 natural) hp 102 (12d10+36) Fort +7, Ref +12, Will +11; -2 vs. emotion effects DR 10/cold iron

Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee gore +18 (1d12+6 plus trip), slam +18 (1d6+6) Special Attacks incite violence Spell-like Abilities CL 8th, concentration +13 (+17 casting defensively) Constant—tongues At will—message, paranoia (DC 17) 3/day—clairaudience/clairvoyance, enthrall (DC 17), invisibility, suggestion (DC 18) 1/day—charm monster (DC 19), curse of the outcast (DC 21), private sanctum

Statistics Str 23, Dex 18, Con 17, Int 18, Wis 17, Cha 20 Base Atk +12; CMB +18 (+20 trip); CMD 32 (34 vs. trip) Feats Combat Casting,Combat Expertise, Deceitful, Improved Trip, Improved Vital Strike, Vital Strike Skills Bluff +21, Disguise +21, Diplomacy +14, Intimidate +21, Knowledge (local, nobility) +14, Perception +16, Sense Motive +13, Sleight of Hand +13, Stealth +16; Racial Modifiers +4 Intimidate Languages Aklo, Common, tongues SQ change shape (Small or Medium humanoid, alter self), corrupt speech, skelm traits

Ecology Environment urban Organization solitary Treasure standard

Special Abilities Corrupt Speech (Su) As an immediate action, a palace skelm can corrupt the speech of a creature within 30 feet. The skelm can say up to twelve words and makes a Bluff check as opposed to the Perception of other creatures that can hear the original speech. If the skelm succeeds, the perceiving creatures hear the palace skelm’s words come out of the speaker’s mouth. If the skelm fails, they hear the original speech. If the Perception check succeeds by more than 5, the perceiving creature hears both phrases, and knows that the skelm spoke the words. If the skelm’s Bluff check against a target succeeds by 5 or more, the skelm can cast suggestion or paranoia on that target as part of the same action. A skelm cannot use a spell-like ability on multiple targets in this way at a time, even if it successfully deceives multiple creatures. Incite Violence (Su) As a standard action once per day, a palace skelm can incite violence in all creatures that can hear it within 30 feet. If a creature fails a DC 21 Will save, it makes a melee attack against an adjacent creature of the skelm’s choosing, choosing its most powerful weapon or natural attack if it has multiple. If a skelm uses this ability and an affected creature has no creatures adjacent to it, the creature is instead stunned for 1 round. This is a mind-influencing, compulsion, sonic effect, and the save DC is Charisma based.  Skelm Traits (Ex) A skelm gains a +4 racial bonus on Intimidate checks and a -2 penalty on saving throws against emotion effects.