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randomshyperson · 1 year ago

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Sanctify - Cult Leader!Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Kinktober #06

Summary: After your worst semester at NYU, your Aunt Agatha convinces you to join the Children of Chaos as an alternative, and very expensive form of therapy. Leaving the cult becomes a very difficult task when you develop an unexpected affection for their leader.

Warnings: (+18), dom!wanda and brat!reader, rough smut, face-fucking, power dynamics, brat taming (ish), praising, lots of tension and teasing, definitely blasphemous on some levels, a lot of plot, mentions of past toxic relationship, unspecified age gap. | Words: 7.900k

A/N-> I’ve been dying to write something about Cult Leader Wanda since I watched the second season of Yellowjackets and became obsessed with Lottie Matthews, so while writing this, I was picturing Lottie’s cult to be fair. I also like how I ended this, as it makes it possible to turn it into a series. Good reading!

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

Although the movement of the car brought a gentle breeze through the window, the weather was hot enough to actually make thinking painful. In an attempt to relieve the temperature a little, and perhaps escape Aunt Aggie's provocative reminiscences about the long journey and the events that made this trip necessary in the first place, you put your arm on the door, and propped your chin up, your face on the safety edge outside the window.

New York had been out of sight for hours and had given way to countless trees and a plantation further and further away. You figured it wouldn't take long for the radio signal to stop working, but to your pleasant surprise, the soft melody of cassette tapes hidden in the glove compartment by Nicholas were picked up once that happened.

Your cousin had grown up over the summer - His still youthful appearance now featured neatly cut curly hair and reading glasses that he often hung on the collar of his shirt. When younger, it was common to hear how much he resembled Sir. Scratch, his scumbag father in the words of Agatha and the other adults, not yours - but over time, he looked much more like his mother.

Nick met your gaze through the rearview mirror and gave you an assuring smile. You didn't reciprocate, but not because you were upset. Just because you were distracted by the huge sign coming around the next corner.

"Oh, boy, I've missed this place." Agatha commented with a nostalgic sigh, as soon as she noticed the entrance plaque. She slowed down enough that the wind wasn't enough anymore, so you returned to your original position with a low snort.

"There's still time to turn around." You muttered, getting a warning look from the older woman.

She leaned over, without answering you, to grab something from the open glove compartment. You pushed your hair back as a pamphlet was dropped into your lap.

"I know you hated the idea, but you need to trust your elders for once in your life, darling." Agatha began, as you grimaced at the crumpled paper. The title Children of Chaos was painted in red, but it was faded in several places. "The 70s were the apex for this place, I had a lot of fun here. It's such a unique experience, connecting with nature and the chaos that is part of us all."

Nick chuckled through his nose. "Mom, don't start your witch thing again, you'll scare her." Mocked your cousin from the passenger seat, but Agatha waved him off.

"She'll thank me when she gets there, I'm sure."

But you didn't do that. When the car finally came to a stop, and what looked more like a fancy farm merged with the forest took over your vision, all you did was crumple the Immersive Community pamphlet into your pocket and throw your old backpack over your shoulder.

Aunt Aggie and your cousin hugged you tightly, saying they were going to write, but they couldn't get past the reception desk since they weren’t part of the program. You saw Agatha take your mom’s borrowed credit card out of her purse to start your so-called treatment, and the last goodbyes left your tongue before one of the tutors started the tour of the place.

In between presenting a large number of different huts that served as dormitories and classrooms for the most diverse activities - painting, handicrafts or poetry were the ones you memorized - Mr. Emil Blonsky also took the time to welcome you, emphasizing how incredible the community was and how lucky anyone was to be there. You bit your tongue to keep from telling him that only those with money could.

Finally, Blonsky showed you the stables and greenhouses on the edge of the property, and on the way back to the rest of the huts, you noticed the path up the hill.

"And what's up there?"

The man stopped walking with a small smile. He was wearing clothes very similar to those of the other people you'd seen on the tour, the difference being a golden necklace with a strange symbol that was hidden by the movement of his loosely buttoned shirt.

"We must not go up there without permission." He begins, although he's smiling, there's something in his gaze that says this rule cannot be disrespected. " The Prophetess' Retreat is a sacred place of peace and reflection."

You look back at the hut at the bottom of the mountain, far enough away that you can't make out the decorations on the balcony, but still beautiful and quiet, high enough to make it look like the prophet had her own little piece of heaven.

"So, no bothering the boss without asking? Got it." You retort, getting a chuckle from the other at the summary. He starts walking again along the path towards the general area, but you can't help the curiosity burning in your chest. "About this prophet, will she be isolated up there or will I get a chance to meet her?"

Blonsky walks up beside you, and looks you in the eye to say; "You'll meet her when it's time to meet her, not early and not late."

You don't know what to say to that, everything here is so theatrical in a way. Mystical, you might say. It suits Aunt Aggie so well, that it's not hard to imagine her here, dancing to the midnight moon and talking to the trees. She already does that in New York, it should have been much simpler in the middle of the forest.

"Come, child. You must start the cleaning process soon." Announces the man as he picks up the pace on the trail. With a sigh, you decide not to contradict him by saying that you bathed before coming, thank you.

It was soon revealed that the cleansing process really meant a bath - the colleagues around you who helped you laughed when you joked that it was a strange way of saying that someone stinks, before clarifying that it was nothing of the sort. The Cleansing Process was a bath of salts and herbs, in a tub of stones and some kind of botanical baptism, the latter of which only members who had completed thirteen full moons could take part in. You would be invited to the baptism with the prophet's blessing, but there was still a long way to go.

Blonsky handed your uniforms, and explained the last rules before leaving you alone, or almost, since your hut was shared with six other people, and despite this, it seemed very comfortable and organized. There were bunk beds and private bathroom spaces, and at least three spacious shelves for each. The latter wouldn't be of much use to you, since you'd brought almost nothing and the vast majority of your belongings had been left at NYU. Just thinking about that place gave you a terrible stomach ache: You would have skipped dinner, but the mere suggestion of not attending made one of your colleagues frown in concern and repeat the rules, so you ended up giving that up.

The routine that followed was calm: it didn't surprise you that the new members were responsible for the hardest tasks, and it didn't bother you either. You were never afraid of hard work, and keeping your hands busy also helped to calm your mind, so it was a win-win. Besides, even if you didn't get the jobs nobody wanted, all veterans had chores. There was some rule about the amount of service time and dedication being rewarded, so those senior members could choose what they wanted to do first.

You didn't have to worry about this anyway: you would do what you had to do because, after all, the agreement was to stay here only for the summer. However, with each passing day away from exams, traffic, and New York's typical filth, it became harder to imagine leaving the Children of Chaos and their strange harmony and kindness.

After three weeks in the group, you learned to knit. You also earned the privilege of mail when you showed up for all your appointments without delay and decided to check the items in the privacy of your cabin during the last hour of prayer.

Since you hadn't yet found your faith or received your calling or whatever weird way Blonsky explained this, you barely joined in the prayer sessions. This evening, excited to receive news from home, was no different.

Aunt Aggie wrote about the store doing well and mentioned your mother, who didn't write to you with more than vague words about hoping you'd feel better soon. The best present was hidden in Nicholas' letter about the university being a sack without his favorite cousin. Wrapped in silk and next to a lighter.

You haven't earned the right to write outside yet - something about a month in isolation to accomplish. So you just clutched the items to your chest and wished your cousin knew how grateful you were.

Your initial intention was to save the weed for some more stressful day - which was rare in the leisurely pace of this place - but the last letter made you consider using it all that night.

The recipient's perfect handwriting, and the address you knew by heart. You didn't even open the item, you put it away in your drawer and stood up with the weed hidden in your pants pocket.

The common area was empty, as the vast majority of your colleagues were praying. You stepped up to one of the bonfires and threw the unopened letter into the flames, without hesitation and without caring to see it burn. You turned on your heels and continued along the trail, heading for one of the few more secluded spots you had discovered during the hours of exploring between tasks.

The rules were clear about the prophet's hut but said nothing about the road towards it. And since apparently everyone there was afraid of upsetting the boss, that spot was always empty and the perfect place to smoke in hiding.

You leaned against a tree, curled up and lit the weed, and tried to keep away all the painful memories about last semester that the damn letter had brought up.

You were halfway through a joint when you heard a voice at the end of the trail next to you.

"Good evening, Y/N."

"Jesus fucking Christ." You gasped, jumping with fright and almost dropping the blunt to the ground. You looked sideways abruptly, imagining that you were hallucinating because of the weed, and were almost sure that you were when the words escaped you due to the apparition in front of you. The most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life. Instead of a uniform, she wore a loose dark wine dress that hugged her curves perfectly; her long red hair cascaded down her shoulders and back and her emerald eyes shone curiously in your direction. The dim light from the fire lamps scattered along the trail and the moon really made the woman look like an angel.

You coughed awkwardly. "Sorry, you scared me." You clarified, the cigarette hidden behind your back a stupid attempt to mask what you were doing. Sure enough, your pupils were dilated, and it was very easy to see the smoke. So, as soon as you tried to hide it, you gave up, offering the woman an awkward chuckle and gesturing the cigarette gently. "Don't tell on me."

There was a soft pause, which you couldn't tell from the intoxication in your system. The woman watched for a moment as the charming gesture of bringing the cigarette to the smile formed on your lips and blew the smoke into the starry sky with your neck slightly stretched. Your mind seemed to clear, and before the woman could speak, you grimaced. "Wait, didn't you just say my name? How..?"

She smiled, folding her hands in front of her body. "It was premeditated that we met today, of course. I'm Wanda."

You've heard her name before, in conversation circles and in advertisements about her heavenliness hanging around.

"Shit." It was your natural reaction, which made her laugh softly, and it must have been the weed's fault that the sound echoed in your mind and made your body shudder.

"Don't worry, I won't snitch on you." She assures you with an easy smile playing on her lips, and you swallow dry, completely at a loss.

"Thanks... but I thought you were the boss." You mumble, and Wanda makes a funny expression, like a false realization.

"Oh, you're right." She murmurs amusedly. "I think I can let this one slide if you'll share it with me."

"Fuck, of course, here." Your limbs feel strange, almost too heavy to move around her. You awkwardly hand her the cigarette, certain that your face is flushed. Hell, the last time you were this clumsy was last semester, with-

"You swear a lot." Wanda's comment pulls you out of your daze. She takes a long drag before adding: "Especially for a Christian."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "My father's a Christian, not me." You retort, and end up grimacing. "And how do you know-"

"This is a very exclusive program, sweetheart." Wanda cuts you off again, the cigarette between her fingers but her gaze is completely focused on your face. "Having a lot of money or being someone's niece isn't enough to guarantee you a spot, but a good letter of recommendation might. And Agatha wrote me almost everything about you, except the reason for rushing to get you here before the next recruitment period."

The sentence was an invitation for you to speak, but you didn't fall for the bait. On the contrary, you looked away with tense shoulders, and Wanda didn't press. At least, not now. She took another drag before commenting more softly:

"We have general meetings every Wednesday. We encourage members to open up."

You grimace softly. "Group therapy isn't my thing."

But Wanda smiles lopsidedly, giving you back the joint. " Neither is nice weed." She retorts a little provocatively, attracting your attention. "If you want to try something new, show up next week. And if you want to try something good, you should try the weed from our greenhouse. It won't taste like crushed dirt." Adjusting her hair around her shoulders, she offers you a wink. "Have a good night, darling."

You think about the color of her eyes for the rest of the night.

-&-

Sooner than you'd expect, you'll discover that Wanda isn't the type to let things slide. Far from it, she notices everything, especially those who are being too slack and prone to not following the teachings of the Children of Chaos, possibly ruining their record of total efficiency or something.

She puts an end to your plans for a quiet summer, trying to go unnoticed among the countless other followers just as abruptly as she left her meditation hut. Wanda seems to appear at every moment that you consider escaping from your commitments - it even occurs to you that she has a particular interest in watching you, but the idea sounds so absurd that you push it away while forcing a polite smile before returning to your duties.

Less than two weeks after you met, you finally stopped avoiding Group Therapy and showed up on time to join the session. The presence of Wanda, in a loose dark purple dress and her red hair tied up in a neat braid, makes you almost give up, convinced that you couldn't say anything without stuttering in the presence of such a stunning woman.

But she offers a gentle smile, opening her arms softly. "Come along, darling, you're just in time." She greets and you stumble towards a corner in the background, begging the gods that you can attend in silence this time.

It doesn't seem so difficult when it's other people doing it. A young man with whom you've already shared the task of looking after the stables spoke of the frustrations of returning from enforced service with a missing limb, and how the support he didn't get from the government and family members, he found here. Bucky received a finger-snapping applause - something that was explained to you as a way to avoid triggers on the countless ex-combatants or victims of post-traumatic stress that make up the crowd - before giving his turn to another ex-military woman, Carol Danvers.

More stories were shared until Wanda's gaze fell on your slumped figure and she called your name. All the attention in the room fell on you too, and you chuckled awkwardly.

"Thanks, but I'm not good at public speaking." You retorted, but Wanda, with her hands folded over her stomach, gave you a gentle smile.

"Don't worry about it, dear, this is a no-judgment zone." She says, but you make no mention of getting up, and her gaze becomes more insistent. "It's important that we all make an effort to be present at these exercises. We encourage participation around here. Come along, dear, please." And she smiled so kindly that you could only trust her.

The group offered a small chorus of encouragement, and before you knew it, you were a few steps away from the redhead, who held out her hands for your wrists.

"I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes." Wanda guided, her melodic voice bringing goose bumps all over your body. "Turn all your attention inward. And tell me, is there anything in there that you'd like to share with the group?"

The memories of last semester hit you full force. But Wanda massages your wrists and it feels as if she can calm down the whole storm inside of you.

You sigh, before opening your eyes. "I... I don't know where to start." Your whisper is met by another chorus of support from the members, who retort that you're safe. Wanda releases your wrists to sit with the others, and you try not to be so self-conscious while you're in the spotlight. "I think I can share with you the reason why I'm here." You declare a moment later, taking another deep breath.

Bucky gives you an encouraging smile, mimicking that of the people around him, and you swallow.

"I don't have a history of fighting and overcoming war or any illnesses, so I'm sorry to disappoint anyone." You mumble, receiving confused looks.

The former sergeant assures you: "No problem competes with another. All our pains have their importance." And it seems to be something that has already been repeated here a few times because everyone shakes their heads in agreement.

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. "Right... well, I won't beat around the bush. A month ago, when I was first enrolled here, I had just been kicked out of my house. Well, it wasn't exactly my house anymore, because I'd been living on campus for about three years, but I think you get the idea." You say, laughing awkwardly at the anxiety in your chest. You try to clear your throat so that your voice doesn't come out so shaky, but only Wanda's gaze really helps to calm your nerves. "And the reason for this was a relationship that my parents, more specifically my mother, didn't approve of. To be fair, no one really approved, because, well, the person... hm, I don't think there's any other way to put it, was another woman. An older woman, and also my professor. And well, the whole thing would have been a scandal anyway, but I really let myself believe that when the worst was over, we'd be fine. Bad news, we weren't." You laugh sadly. You pause, imagining that you'll get judgmental looks, but everyone listens attentively. "For a while, I thought the worst part was afterward. When everyone knew and judged me, and how my mother freaked out, and I tried... but no. The worst part was not realizing what that love if I can call it that, was doing to me. How ill it was making me. And until I got here, learned things about myself, and managed to take a break from everything that was left behind... For a while, I really hoped to go back and fix everything, but now... damn, sometimes I don't even think about leaving this place."

The group celebrates quietly, exchanging words of encouragement. Your ears feel warm, and Wanda stands up again. "You can stay as long as you need, darling." She says, massaging your forearm. She calls someone else to speak, but doesn't miss the opportunity to whisper in your ear: "I'm proud, stay a little longer today, I want to talk to you."

And you think you haven't absorbed anything for the rest of the morning.

Eventually, the session ends, and as soon as the room is empty, Wanda turns her face towards you.

"You were brave today, sweetheart."

Your hands, busy putting the cushions away, tremble a little. But you offer her an incredulous chuckle.

"Yeah, right." It's your answer, which makes Wanda frown in curiosity. At her inquisitive silence, you sigh before clarifying: "Everyone's nice, but I know it's kind of silly that my big trauma is a break-up and not post-traumatic stress from war or something that actually matters."

Wanda presses her lips together, studying you for a moment, and you take the opportunity to put away the last of the cushions. Suddenly, she says:

"This lack of respect for your own feelings comes from parental negligence, I suppose." You turn your face away in surprise, but Wanda gives you a small smile: "James wasn't lying when he said that no pain should compete with another. We all have our internal and external battles, and we shouldn't belittle our pain. I believe we should honor it, and wear it. And here, dear, you will learn to do that." Wanda makes her way around to one of the cupboards at the back, and you watch her movements in silence, from reaching into one of the last drawers to returning to you with an item in hand. "I have an invitation for you."

She opens the box she's brought, and inside is a necklace very similar to the one the instructors wear. The main difference is the symbol, the crown that Wanda also carries on the pendant around her neck. You frown in confusion.

"What is it?"

She wraps the item between her fingers, her gaze on you. "The disciple's necklace. The last one from the current solstice."

You imitate the gesture, touching the item with the tips of your fingers. Wanda doesn't move her hand away as your fingers brush together, and you ignore your own shyness as you watch her bite her lip for a moment. "I don't understand what it means."

She licks her lips, and the movement doesn't go unnoticed by your eyes. "It means that you would be my apprentice. You would accompany me during periods of meditation, you would study my teachings closely, you would be... entirely dedicated to..."

"You?" you add, and Wanda lets out a shuddering breath, warm against your cheek. When did she get so close?

"If you wish." She whispers, and you pull away gently, your face hot but the last thread of sanity in your mind.

"I'm sure there are more experienced members dying for this position. It wouldn't be right-"

Wanda shakes her head, interrupting you. "They weren't chosen. You were." She assures you, pressing the box with the necklace against your chest. "And if it wasn't you, the place would be empty until the next solstice. You don't have to accept it, darling. It's not a summons. It's an invitation."

You sigh, holding the box against your chest. "I just... I've never done anything like this. I don't want to mess things up."

There's a bell in the distance, signaling the start of the next activities. Wanda glances outside briefly before stepping close enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth that makes your whole body heat up at once.

"Just listen to your instincts." She whispers, before pulling away with a small smile.

You write to Agatha about it the following evening, but you don't have the courage to seal the letter for sending. The whole conversation with Wanda seems too private to be shared in this way.

Although the woman said it was just an invitation, you could feel some pressure to make a decision, and it seems that the news had been circulating ever since one of the tutors couldn't find the box of the last chaos disciple pendant, and Wanda ended up mentioning that she had extended another invitation.

In a way, you were stalling. Between your activities and meetings, you hadn't made any decisions and you hoped that the end of the summer would force Wanda to choose someone else. But there was also the question of the new, burning feelings that had appeared since you first laid eyes on her, and which seemed to awaken every time you two were in the same environment.

The idea of departing, of leaving her behind like a closed chapter in your life, seemed absurd every passing day.

In your second month with the Chaos Children, you received a rather unusual request: take the prophet her morning drink.

The crumpled piece of paper was handed to you by one of your cabin mates: Kate Bishop. A former student, a little younger than you, who, after destroying a bell at the university, was sent here by her millionaire mother. Kate was to stay until she had balanced her irresponsible impulses and could take over the family's security empire.

She seemed a little reluctant to interrupt your concentration on cleaning the garden, but much more determined not to disappoint Wanda.

"Just give it to the kitchen staff, they'll know what to do. And prioritize, she doesn't like to wait." Said the girl, but you gave her hand a gentle tug before taking the paper.

"But why did she ask me?" you asked, but Kate had no idea and just shrugged before leaving the garden.

While the kitchen staff prepared the item, you tried to improve your appearance in the bathroom next to the lounge, wiping all the soil from the plants from under your fingers, and even what had run into your cheeks.

When you came out, there was another order on the counter and a small group of people who hadn't been there before. They didn't see you. Blonsky, accompanied by two other women you didn't know, were talking to each other.

"I bet it was Carter. She hasn't stopped talking about her private piano lessons with the Prophetess for four whole weeks." Said the first, but the other laughed quietly.

" Sharoon is a simp, that's all. Wanda wouldn't choose her after the episode with Rogers last year, she knows she can't trust her." Rebutted the other. "Besides, I would have assumed it was Bishop, after all, she already acts like a maid. Why train another when you already have one so dedicated?" The women laugh amongst themselves until they finally notice you approaching, and fall silent. Blonsky smiles, but he appears very vicious.

"Hello, miss. Wouldn't you like to have a say in who our next disciple is?" He asks you, but you shrug, moving forward in the queue in front of the canteen to grab the prophet's items that were clearly being prepared in priority.

"I don't know anything about it." That's your answer, but the shorter woman gets in your way.

"Come on, dear, it's easy." She begins with a giggle. "Every solstice, the prophetess chooses her disciples. There are 24 of them, 12 of whom will become apostles after their apprenticeship."

You grimace softly. "It's very biblical."

Blonsky chuckles. "Of course, it is, despite the multiculturalism of our group, Wanda was raised in a Jewish Christian home. You're not going to tell me you didn't know that?"

You clear your throat. "Not really. Sorry, I have to run."

But the man puts a hand in your way, only to stretch his body out on the counter and reach for some colored leaves that he crushes and drops into Wanda's glass.

"She likes it this way. I would know, I prepared many when I was her houseboy for the first few weeks here." He says, and you swallow dry, mumbling an awkward thank you before hurrying off.

The path is a little tiring, you think it makes sense of Wanda's physique if she had to climb that trail every day, and you mentally curse yourself for thinking about her body. It's not at all appropriate, honestly.

The door is open, but you knock anyway. The woman inside, wearing her typical long, loose dresses at the edge, is busy finishing a loose fringe in her hair and offers you a smile.

"Come in, dear."

You do so a little awkwardly, almost overwhelmed by the moment of entering the most private place in the whole camp. It's a beautiful cabin, you let her know, without stopping to admire the perfectly arranged surroundings. You would have thought that the privacy of this place would allow her to make some kind of personal mess, but everything is impeccably in place.

Wanda approaches to pick up the items, and the smile falters on her face at the first sip of her drink.

"Did you put... did you put maca root in this?" She asks, and your natural reaction is a short laugh.

"I didn't prepare it, Wanda."

But she doesn't smile again, her tone of voice remains the same but her attitude changes to one of false kindness. "My morning drink is an ashwagandha. I need my concentration to increase, not my libido." It really sounded like a scolding, and her attitude of handing the cup back to you, accompanied by the memory of the recent events, made your blood boil.

"Well, I'm not your fucking maid, so if it's not good, get another one downstairs, or even better, make it one yourself."

It's the first time you see any kind of fury in her gaze, hot and vibrant, and it makes something in you rouse. Your mention of leaving the cabin is prevented by her hands closing the door and trapping you against the wood.

Wanda takes a deep breath, and the gleam in her eyes changes. "Can I ask... where did this attitude come from?"

You hold the glass tightly against your body, very aware that you'll drop it if Wanda doesn't step away and let you breathe. "I just want to make things clear." You retort with a seriousness that doesn't do justice to the way your heart is racing. "I didn't come to this place to be your personal servant."

Wanda chuckles briefly, letting her gaze drop to your mouth. "Oh, of course not, darling." She whispers. "You're not the type to follow orders willingly. You'd do a terrible job."

Swallowing dryly, you retort: "And why am I here then?"

Wanda smiles innocently. "I asked you to bring my drink." It's her reply, clearly trying to tease you, and you snort impatiently.

"I bet you expected an answer. Well, I haven't made up my mind yet, so if there's nothing else, I'll just go."

Wanda moves to take the glass from you and put it on the table by the door. The next second, her hands are in yours.

"Don't be silly, of course, there's another reason." She retorts, pulling you along as she walks backward into the cabin. "I hear you love painting."

What you had assumed was her personal painting canvas is offered to you. The laugh that escapes you is shy and genuine.

"Wanda, I don't... paint anymore."

But she doesn't flinch, her hands still in yours. "I know you haven't since last semester. It was in the letter. But you've progressed so much, that I thought you could paint for me." When you don't answer, she makes such an adorable expression that your heart skips a beat. "Please?"

Wanda definitely knows how beautiful she is, and how those puppy-dog eyes can take her anywhere. You bite back a smile, agreeing, and almost forget to breathe when she jumps excitedly onto your neck, hugging it for a whole moment before letting go as if she hadn't turned you into a complete mess with one touch.

She doesn't complain about the cocktail again - instead, she drinks it entirely while you get comfortable on the painting stool, doodling for a few moments before starting to paint the only thing you could after so many months without touching a paintbrush.

It's only when the drawing is clearer on the frame that Wanda becomes restless again. Loud sighs take your attention away from the painting and towards her.

"Is something wrong?"

She smiles half-heartedly, and only now do you notice the soft color of her cheeks. "I shouldn't have ignored my own complaints and drunk that juice."

You frown in confusion, letting the brush rest next to the paints. "Was it that bad? If you want, I'll complain to the kitchen-"

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head and you have to shut up because she reaches over to push the canvas out of the way and stops right in front of you, close enough to touch.

"Remember what I said? About focus and about... my libido." She asks, and you can swallow dryly, looking up in the direction of her dilated eyes. She lets her hands rest on your shoulders, pressing the weight of her body gently into yours. "Well, I suppose you'll have to see for yourself. Hold out your hand sweetheart, no, no, down... yes, you can move my dress out of the way." Your trembling fingers brushed against her knee, and immediately obeyed the order. Slowly making your way under her dress, while Wanda bit her lip and watched you draw patterns on her thighs. Finally, your fingers reached the side of her underwear. Instead of pulling it down, you let the inks drop to the ground, and your other hand went under her dress too, repeating the same path as before while you and Wanda panted together. Your face fell forward, flush into her dress, and you pressed your nose against her, inhaling deeply the scent of arousal she exhaled so strongly.

Her hands squeezed your shoulders as yours began to pull down her panties right away. A moment later, gracefully as everything so far, she kicked the item aside and spread her legs gently so that you could slide your fingers between more easily.

You looked up the second your index finger met her warmth, gasping at the mischievous smile of the woman in front of you.

"All this time I've been here..." You started hoarsely, your fingers spreading the wetness between her folds, and enjoying the way Wanda's breath caught in her throat. "Were you this wet?"

Despite the failure of her own breathing, and the way it's harder to stand up with your intimate stimulation, Wanda gives you a mischievous look and leans her forehead against yours, her red hair making a curtain between your faces.

"I get like this every time I'm around you." She confesses, giving you a provocative tug on your lower lip that forces you to thrust inside her with more determination. Almost enough for her to lose her pose. Almost. "It's disconcerting, to be honest."

Your thumb presses down firmly on her clit, and Wanda almost buckles into you, the delicious sound that escapes her throat will be in your dreams for sure. "Well, should I apologize, high sanctity?"

She chuckles at the teasing hidden in the nickname, before leaning in completely and capturing your mouth in a fervent kiss that takes you out of orbit for a whole moment, intense enough for you to whimper into her tongue, and force her hips down into yours, practically begging her to grind your lap. Wanda's response to this is a dirty giggle mixed with a moan into your mouth.

Without breaking the kiss that turns into a much hungrier one the next second, you get to your feet, adjusting your hands to grab her thighs to pull her onto your lap and carry her around the room. Between stumbles, you press each other against the various surfaces of the room, tables, and cupboards, exchanging increasingly hot and desperate kisses, and you're pretty sure you're going to have Wanda against the bookshelf if she keeps grinding into your abdomen like that.

In a pause for breath, when she's still wedged between you and the bookcase, your mouth descends on her jaw and Wanda struggles to keep her eyes open. She whimpers shamelessly as your curious hands advance down her body, pulling her dress out of the way and leaving it barely hanging off her body for you to clasp your palms over her now-bare breasts.

Her patience for release is quickly exhausted by the precise stimulation of her breasts, your eager fingers teasing and pinching her nipples until you turn her into a whimpering mess. She gives a determined tug on the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your face back to hers in a hard, dirty kiss that makes you shudder. She breaks it only to give an order:

"On your knees." And you groan in obedience, falling to the floor almost at once, desperately pulling her dress aside to force your face into her, now with nothing in the way. Wanda arches her back once your hot mouth finds her drenched cunt; her hands desperate for some kind of support on the shelves behind her, while her chest heaves and her hips are restless against your face.

Your hungry mouth leisurely devours her, your tongue teasing her folds, spreading her wetness around and making a mess on your face. Your closed eyes show your dedication and surrender to the task, but Wanda tugs at your hair again, trying to gain a little control back and order you to quit the teasing and fuck her the way she needs you to. Fully dilated Irises then confronts her from between her legs, and Wanda loses her breath.

"Beautiful." She panted, staring back, shamelessly grinding herself into your face. "So beautiful... fuck... on your knees for me... oh, God, detka." She struggles to compliment you, but her native language begins to escape mixed with English shortly afterward, her climax approaching. You moan contentedly at the scene, aware of the state of your own underwear from all this play. Wanda's body begins to betray her, trying to pull away so you grab her thighs with a strong grip, and one of her legs ends up over your shoulder, increasing your reach just the way she needs it to fall over the edge.

Wanda comes on your tongue, spasming against the books, and in a deep moan. You don't let her pull away, keeping her restless hips in place as you lick your way through her previous climax in search of a new one. Soon her whimpering protests at the overstimulation turn into begging, and you fail to hide the smug smile at feeling her so at your mercy for a second time.

She's so close, so close, that the Sokovian comes back to her tongue, but there's a sudden knock on the door, and all the stimulation is interrupted by your fright. Wanda gasps incredulously, losing the time to react in time due to her own lust, and having to watch you stumble away - quickly wiping her cum from your chin with the back of your hand - as she tries not to fall down on her shaking knees.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" she asks in frustration through her teeth, but you, with a very flushed face, look at her with a certain desperation.

"Wanda, there's someone at the door!" You retort as if it were a very justifiable reason to steal an orgasm from her. Wanda huffs angrily, lunging at you and ignoring your confused eyes to pull you upright by the collar of your shirt, hurriedly throwing you onto the mattress. "W-wanda, what?"

"Quiet." She cuts in, pushing your shoulders until you're lying down and following the movement of your body to straddle your lap. The person outside knocks again, and although she's pulling her off, and is still shaking from her last orgasm, Wanda manages to speak in the same tone of voice as she does every morning meeting: "What is it?"

Your protests are muffled when Wanda sits on your face, and in fact, you would have forgotten any guests if Blonsky's voice hadn't sounded in the next second.

"Good morning, Reverend, I've come to join you for today's service." Says the man, but Wanda has to bite her lip hard because you're eating her out again, somehow even better than before. "Reverend?"

Wanda shakes her head, frowning at the difficulty of maintaining a rational thought when she has your tongue inside her. "Hm, I'm not going today, Blonsky... Deliver the service in my place." She fails to sound so breathless and has to close her eyes when your hands grip her thighs tightly, holding her down.

Blonsky then sounds concerned: "Aren't you feeling well, Reverence?"

Your nose nuzzles into her clit and Wanda reaches for the headboard, a satisfied sigh escaping her. "I feel great." She murmurs back and has to take a deep breath so that the next sound that escapes her isn't a moan. "Just busy. Anything else, Blonsky?"

The man clears his throat, Wanda has to press a hand against her own mouth as you reach another right spot.

"Hm, yes, Reverend... As you know, the deadline for the selection of the disciple is coming to an end." He begins, luckily unable to hear the muffled sighs inside the room through the closed door. "I have expressed my concerns to Your Reverence about a premature choice of new members-"

Wanda snorts impatiently. "Are you really going to question my choices again, Blonsky?"

"N-no, reverend!" He defends himself quickly. "Never. I just worry that the... affinity, that Your Reverence has acquired for some new members, might affect your judgment about their vocations. The premature choice of a disciple could result in their departure from our community, and we know how the withdrawal of one of our own affects everyone..."

"Don't worry about it." Wanda cuts dry, and now, she's remarkably close to climaxing. She doesn't care about the roughness, she thrusts her hips frantically into your face, muffling your breathless moans. "Y/N is the best choice... she's... so-god... dedicated and-hm... talented-" Wanda's lucky you're quick to react too. She would have screamed to the ceiling, exposing all the inappropriate activities in the room if you hadn't grabbed her thighs and spun her on her back onto the mattress. She didn't have time to lose this orgasm by the brief interruption of your movements - your fingers took the place of your tongue when you hovered above her, and your free hand covered her mouth when you sank inside her again.

Wanda came harder than before, squeezing your fingers and wetting the bed. She clings to your body in a desperate grasp, shocked by the achievement over her body, and grateful for the muffling of her moans. You keep thrusting until she stops squirting on the sheets.

You only remember that Blonsky is still outside because he speaks again. "I'll take your word for it, Your Reverence. And I hope you've made a good choice." He says at last, the sound of his footsteps moving away is ignored by you and Wanda, who meet in a hot kiss in the next second.

Your fingers continue to thrust lightly inside her, even though Wanda shudders from the excessive stimulation. And despite this, she also controls the kiss, which slows down so that she can ask in between: "Tell me, love. Did I do it? A good choice."

You kiss her a little harder. "I still don't know... what I want... or what I should do, Wanda."

She brings one of her hands up to your wrist, stopping your movements. You open your eyes to look at her. Wanda smiles, but her eyes are very mischievous. "You think too hard when the answer is right here." She retorts, giving your hand a gentle tug. You follow her lead, and soon, you have your drenched fingers with her cum inside your mouth. Your hips move instinctively, pressing down on her, and Wanda giggles mischievously, her free hand trailing down your back to encourage the movement. "Don't you want that, baby? You can be all mine."

You suck your fingerprints clean, removing them from your mouth to support yourself on the mattress now that you're so wildly grinding your hips against Wanda's thigh. She doesn't let you indulge in the sensation, grabbing your cheek and stopping your hips with the other at your silence.

Your soft protest is ignored, and your voice is almost a pathetic plea when it comes out. "It's not fair... I was feeling so good."

"Oh, darling, I can make you feel even better, every day if you decide to stay with me." She retorts, her grip softening on your cheek. You look at her, but there is still hesitation in your gaze and Wanda wishes to replace this doubt with something else. She kisses you but pulls away when you go to increase the intensity, ignoring your protest and pushing you gently away by the shoulders. "No playing, until I have an answer."

Wanda flees - because she doesn't think she'll live up to her words if she is under you - and slips out of bed before you can grab her back. Your next long protest is muffled against the mattress because you press your face down.

Wanda giggles half-heartedly as she stands up, reaches for her dress, and tries to adjust her appearance a little. "Thank you for the sex, sweetheart, it was a very pleasant surprise, but I can't let Blonsky lead a communion, he's not good at it. And you have errands, so if you'll excuse me..." Your silence made Wanda, now dressed, look at the bed again. To her surprise, you were sitting on the mattress, hanging something around your neck.

Your gaze met hers as the disciple chain was secure on your skin. The mischief in your gaze made her swallow. Twirling the symbol between your fingers, you smiled as you asked: "So how does this work? Should I confess my sins so that you can forgive me?"

"God offers forgiveness, not me." Wanda whispers back, brazenly watching you start to unbutton your shirt, the necklace hanging in the valley of your breasts is doing things to her.

"Hm, since I'm going to be forgiven, maybe I can sin a little more..." Wanda moved on instinct, crawling onto the bed to meet you halfway like a magnet being drawn towards you.

Your foreheads touched, and she sighed against your lips. "I should punish you for this blasphemy." She says, to which you smile naughtily before sticking out your tongue to tease her lips, eliciting a low moan from her.

"Promise?" You challenge, and Wanda gets tired of wasting time.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #kinktober 2023 #marvel imagines

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the-entitie · 10 months ago

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Why didn't you say anything?

Poly TF 141 x sex-demon reader (male intended but has depictions of fem):

A|n: Based on this writer's amazing work and this artist's au. And now this is very long.... I can't just write porn can I? Of well.

Prt:2 is done <3 》》》》》

Be warned I use more Catholic or deamon depiction of our succubus(male) reader, so please expect some body horror esk depictions. Also, the 141 are all in a polycule in this story.

CW: NSFW halfway through after the line break, sex addiction or dependence depicted for reader, threats to health, kind of eating disorder esk, talk of threats/acts of noncon and dubcon to reader (not focused on), polyamory, some talk of religion, why is this so long? And angst??? Ok....

Thinking about being a demon who became the 141's spy. The blood of the damned that ran through you, making you that much more dangerous and that much better at your job.

You fell under the deadly sin of lust, but it's been so many decades that you can't quite remember how you came to be. Maybe reincarnation, maybe you were summoned. It doesn't matter anymore, but it still hindered your intake into the military. You were practically a veteran by the time Price picks you up and drags you into his team.

None of the 141 had ever worked with anyone demonic for an extended amount of time. There had been the call ins and times when they picked up failed missions, but none of them ever really worked with a demon.

Ghost, as a wraith, was the closest any of them had gotten to working with anyone similar to you.

You started out as someone they called to scope out information before a particularly threatening mission. You were just the help, the one they called when they needed a spy. Until they leaned about how every other task force would drop you within a month of calling you thiers.

Price had worried that it was something to do with you or your attitude towards teamwork when he had taken you in, made you one of his men.

That was before he noticed this kind of cycle you would go through. Just when a mission would start, you would pull back. You would separate from everyone, not cold turkey, yet you just wouldn't be present. The training room was one person short, or their would be one less person here on the quieter afternoons he didn't even know this team had.

It was after the missions that you would be more than present again.

You were there again when Soap wanted to run his lycanthopic body to exhaustion just so he could feel just a little more human with the pains it brought. When he was hyper, feeling like he needed to move, you were there to shove him. Drag him into a game of tag or chase or anything to help him move. Soap has never been good at sitting still.

When Gaz needed to be called from the purch he picked to preen his damp or irritated feathers on that was away from the busy noise of the base. Or when his Avian blood told him to take to the sky, you were happy to be taken for a flight or watch him loop around, watch him stretch his wings, across the star splattered skies.

And there you were outside with the nocturnal Ghost, saying you didn't need the sleep most nights and got bored. Even when his form would flicker, tendrils of shadows lashing around his open skin, something that made most run. You stayed with him, hummed a tune you can't remember the origin of, in a language probably only those as old as you would remember.

When Price was struck with phantom pain, when he would feel this pang on his wing only to realize it was from the one that didn't exist anymore. You were there with him. Happy to share a cigar with the smoke that smoldered was neither from his drag nor you. There to sit and fill in paperwork long into the night shift, to just exist around Price when the team was still settling in, or licking wounds.

In the more common areas where Soap would annoy Gaz into another game of cards. You were there to keep the peace.

It had taken Price longer than he was willing to admit to know what was going on. It wasn't some manipulative, carrot and stick, trick no. And it almost seemed like you hadn't consciously been doing it. Before it clicked.

You were a demon, a succubus, to be specific. You fed off of the emotion or the intent of sex.

And you only got that when you needed to get someone to talk. You only lean into it when it's needed for a mission.

He honestly felt stupid, like a leader that failed, but he was quick to right that failure. It wasn't like this team didn't run off and blow off steam together or that they left soap to struggle through his heat alone, nor did they leave Gaz to sit and brood alone. None of that.

And if you were a part of his team, this team, then you can't be starved. Can't be left to weaken, to crave, no. Price wouldn't stand it.

So he talked to the team. Told them his theory, his plan to fix it, and when the team had gotten over the hurt of leaving you alone and weak. They jumped at the opportunity.

Starting small.

Being more openly affectionate around you, never quiet reaching out but still letting the emotions linger.

Those play fights that Ghost would tap out of suddenly just kept going, and those thick visceral emotions none could quiet place the origin of; would hang so heavy in the air you could practically catch it between your teeth.

Those days Gaz would pull back, preen his wings alone; became fewer and far between. Now, the nearest team mate had a lap full of fluffled up wings and pleading eyes. And could Gaz use those honey coated eyes of his to glance up through his lashes and beg.

The quiet chuckles and this ever so pleased emotion would wind around Price's incisors, a satisfied thrill of the dragon flooding a palpable semblance of the satisfied job.

Price started talking about to the team, and they started trying to be more connected, more present, with you so you could have that nourishment. And if that meant that private room doors were left ever so lightly ajar during late nights spent with each other. No one mentioned it.

Soap was the first to notice the actual change.

Your eyes would flicker, puplis vibrating softly before it was shut down, and you would disappear. Or you would actually pull back. He was also the first to tell Price. And thier leader waisted no time.

"You good there, lutenent?" His voice calls softly into your quarters.

"All good Cap."

"Not so sure about that one soldier." Price presses on, taking a step further in to push the door more closed, "You don't play well with this team?"

"No, I have no qualms with any of you. Sorry if it seemed so."

"Ya do always talk so proper like you know?"

"Apologies, old habits."

Price steps closer, easily taking the space offered my your open thighs. Letting that simmering feeling flush his skin.

"Maybe we should start making new ones. What do you say, Sugar?"

His hand hovered just over your throat, careful to keep you feel safe. Price of all people knows what a demon can do when cornered, and it wasn't like he wanted you to feel put off.

He sees what Soap saw, just as his palm cups the edge of your jaw, your pupils flicker. Body dropping almost leaning agaisnt him.

"Why didn't you say something, Suguar?"

"Not of my use in this team."

"You don't need to be useful to eat." He sounded almost angry, calming all the more when you do lean into him, "you never need to earn a meal. Just ask. We all want to help."

That night, he let you ride him.

Laid back against your bed, held your weight by your thighs, and let you set the pace. Even if he was so hard it hurt, or if your dark lion-esk tail would flick across the sensitive inside of his thigh. Or when he's come twice and is practically drooling before he notice just how much more like your kin you look.

He doesn't stop you from flicking a forked tongue over the overwhelmed tears, he only noticed the change at the hitch of your breath when Price tangles his scared hands in your hair. Accidently tracing the curving rams horns that has twisted around your more pointed ears.

Singing your praise, even as you tried and failed to explain that you don't matter in this, just his pleasure.

He shut that down real quick.

#cod x male reader #x male reader #call of duty #cod #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #john price x you #tw ed implied #wip.txt #succubus reader #deamon reader #x reader #cod x reader #monster 141 au

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the-artist-grimm · 22 days ago

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Hey, Grimm, I've been meaning to ask, but what other information do you have about the vessels (besides 7, 12 and 13, which you explored already)? I know 9 is gender fluid as well, but that's about it.

Also, credit where credit is due, you were the inspiration for my Forneus to be a former vessel as well, though I went with tarot instead of numerology as theme.

Crimson Angel AU - Vessels 1-12

(I don't have too much on the others but I got some notes!)

Vessels #1 and #2 - Tasked with breaking into Shamura's archives to find a way to break the spell

#1 (Unity) They were Narinder's only witness, and after their Lord was chained, killed themself to reach his side, knowing he'd resurrect them. They worked diligently but abdicated after 150 years, as after well over a century of having no luck in freeing their god, they were tired. They did not die in pain, they simply stabbed their heart and asked Narinder not to revive them. Narinder only realized it a while after, but they had loved him-and though he'd not felt the same, he did feel guilty for letting them go on for so long. Their lengthy service was because of their unrequited love, and had he'd known, he would've insisted they go live their life and leave him.

#2 (Duality) Was actually a set of twins, a Brother and Sister whom died together and asked to share the crown. Tag-teaming crusades and the cult, they managed to finally help him understand the spell, yet after 120 years the two were tired as well, and thus he released them from service, wanting time as well to contemplate what to do from there. To his horror, however, they returned to him in less than a year-executed by War for their 'crimes' against the Old Faith. He offered to revive them again yet they refused, and thus passed on.

Vessel #3 - Originally tasked with the archives again, then the first to try killing the Bishops

#3 (Trinity, the Spirit Realm) She was once a budding seer, yet died after one of her card-readings angered a client. Narinder originally asked her to try searching the archives for another way to be freed, but eventually came to understand he had no choice, and sent her to try and fight his siblings. Somewhat stable at first, her mind, however, gradually began to crumble under the weight of death and blood, and eventually his once calm vessel became violent and un-predictable. Narinder forced her to abdicate after 100 years of service, and she died a month later after her cards said she could take on War alone without a crown. It was her who made Narinder order Red to keep closer watch on vessel mental states.

Vessels #4-#6 - Tasked with trying to kill the Bishops

#4 (Balance) The oldest vessel at age 55, he was a former guard captain. An effective leader, he, however, was not physically fit to fight as much as required, even with the crown's aid. He voluntarily abdicated after only 60 years then was executed by Leshy after 5, he'd not heeded Narinder's warning to be careful of the Bishops.

#5 (Freedom, Curiosity) The youngest vessel at 18, they were very eager to serve, but were very lax about their cult. A wildcard in battle they somehow managed to do ok against witnesses, but in the cult it was more like college students throwing a party. After 130 years they still proved just as reckless, so Narinder requested them to abdicate. They managed to calm down after and even settle down, yet after 10 years they and their new family-a husband and child, were executed. Just as #5 had realized there was something nice about a peaceful life, a former follower ratted them out.

#6 (Perfection) Another ok vessel, but highly vain. They followed Narinder's requests at first, but gradually grew more fond of gaining their own power, to the point where for 30 years managed to avoid all contact with their god. It was Red who threw a bit of a rebellion that got them back into the gateway after killing them in their sleep, and Narinder forcibly took Red back. Their own cult murdered them come morning, once they realized their 'god' was nothing more than a vain false idol-one whom had grown very fond of violence towards their own people in later years. Murder was the followings' payback. They held the crown for 135 years.

Vessels #7-#11 - Tasked with trying to kill the Bishops' following/disciples, all under STRICT orders to not engage with the gods

#7 (Lady Luck) Forneus. you know her already, but lets review. Strong sense of justice, very capable in a fight, the picture of a perfect vessel-if she wasn't just a little arrogant. Her overconfidence never hindered her however, and while he did grow uncertain about how many lovers she took it wasn't a point where Narinder felt concerned. After 80 years, however, she called out to him via the crown more serious than she'd ever been-she'd discovered that she was pregnant. A trip to the gateway could kill the unborn, and resurrections could only affect her. Having never considered raising a child she suddenly was at an impasse and unsure, yet after a long talk with Narinder kinda uncertainly giving her encouragement, she decided to take it as a sign to step back, and relinquished the crown.

#8 (Infinity) #8 was not as effective as Forneus, yet they also were highly determined to do their best no matter how many deaths they faced. Served for 40 years and only abdicated upon the realization they were outliving their loved ones. Life was infinite for them, but not their family. Died 6 years later of grief, after watching their youngest sibling die peacefully of old age. Narinder had gotten lucky with them as a note-he'd chosen them on a whim after the twins had arrived, and it was by pure chance they proved competent. They, however, never noticed the twins, they were so small and quiet.

#9 (Sorrow) #9 was genderfluid and had once been a lover, and wanted revenge for their spouse who died after stealing from Chaos' domain. Though Narinder was hesitant about another anger-fueled vessel, they begged for a second chance, and he decided to give them a try. 25 years was all they lasted, since Red reported they were becoming increasingly cruel and violent in later years and Narinder took quick action to avoid it progressing further. They were executed for murder not long after, after becoming a vigilante killing anyone who dared praise a god's name. They willfully ignored Aym and Baal out of anger for never having children of their own-and once actually lashed out at them when they'd gotten annoyed at hearing the toddlers playing. They made the twins cry about 5 years in, and while they actually did apologize after that Narinder was more wary about letting vessels interact with the twins.

#10 (Completion) Vain similar to #6, yet not to the point of selfishness. He managed a Cult just fine and was decent at combat, but he served only 30 years, however, after falling in love. He died not long after marrying though, since as he could not rely on a doctor of Pestilence's cult for assistance, his spouse could do nothing to save him after he'd fallen ill. He ignored the twins but sent food when asked-including uh...corpses. He'd been born into Heket's cult and cannibalism had been an old habit he'd never kicked. He used to hide heretic bodies in the offerings chest forgetting it was a one-way system.

#11 (Potential) Decent leader, decent fighter, served 30 years where-upon the Prophecy was heard of. During one crusade through Darkwood they managed to hear from Clauneck about it-he'd given the reading to the bishops, and while the duck typically allowed fate to pass as it desired, their discussion of executing all sheep concerned him enough to give a warning. Narinder initially wanted 11 to take on the role of mentor for this promised liberator, but 11 did not like the idea of babysitting and abdicated, leaving on poor terms for either side. As such, they did not heed Narinder's warning to be wary, and were captured and executed a few months later. They in general disliked kids, and made sure the cats were all made aware of that every visit. Aym and Baal's later hesitance towards Anthea is partially because 11 often complained about how loud/rude/annoying children were, despite Aym and Baal having only whispered to each other once or twice during a visit. Narinder had tried to convince them it was 11 who was the issue not them, but neither can really forget that and 9's previous scolding. Anthea encouraging them to talk had them a mix of surprise and a little nervous early on.

Vessel #12 - Tasked with just learning how to fight, manage a cult, and hopefully act as a bridge to pass it on to the Lamb.

#12 (Stability) Ratau was the vessel with the largest gap between him and his predecessor. 35 years separated them since Narinder spent too long trying to find someone perfect to no avail, and Ratau's anger at the Bishops, the realization that the Sheep were nearly down to 1, and the frustration of not having anyone lined up made him decide to just do it. Ratau only lasted around 10 years however, his initial rage had faded and while he was well-liked by his following he was not strong in the face of conflict, and after the Fox incident, abdicated of his own will, with Narinder simply telling him that when the Liberator arrived he'd call upon him once more. Of all former vessels Ratau was the only one who took Narinder's parting warning of the Bishops going after him seriously-he set up his lonely shack, and lined his territory with traps. The friends he'd made also proved useful, and he managed to avoid capture for the next 40 years. He did notice the twins, and actually did kinda awkwardly wave at them a few times, but Narinder's protective glaring scared him off from doing it again. Had he not Ratau honestly might've tried getting to know them since he did like children, but because he was too scared he never even looked at them after out of fear.

Anyway, thank you! Though as a note I believe it was @/waokevale who was one of the first to make Forneus a vessel, but I'm glad my work inspired you too! Forneus is such an interesting character so its fun to play with her background! :D

And cool!! As pointed out by @/parememi Forneus, Ratau, and Anthea actually line up with the perfect tarots for themselves too which was a happy little accident, (Forneus is The Chariot, Ratau The Hanged Man, and Anthea Death) but while I thus have tarot associations for them because of that, the rest just got numbers.

I went with number symbolism mostly since I see the vessels as points on a clock, with them being a countdown to the '13th Hour' of the Last Lamb-the impossible vessel not meant to survive.

Boarders are by @/lambouillet

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl lamb #crimson angel au #anthea #cotl au #cotl ratau #cotl forneus #cult of the lamb ratau #cult of the lamb forneus #crimson angel au lore

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writingwithcolor · 1 year ago

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Conlanging Issues: A Compendium

NOTE: This question was submitted before the Nov 1, 2023 reopening and may not adhere to all rules and guidelines. The ask has been abridged for clarity.

Most of my questions are about linguistics. […] One of the major locations in my story is a massive empire with cultural inspirations ranging from North Africa in the far south to Mongolia/Russia in the far north […] The middle region is where the capital is and is the main root of culture, from which Ive been taking inspiration from Southwest Asia […], but most notably southern regions of India. I've tried to stick to the way cities are named in Sanskrit-based languages but added the names of stars to the front (because the prevalent religion of this region worships the stars [...]). So Ive ended up with names like Pavoprayag, Alyanaga, Alkaiduru, Alcorpura, Cygnapete, etc. Is this a consistent naming system or should I alter it in some way? The empire itself is named the Arcana Empire since [...] each act of my story is named after a tarot card [...]. Another region in my story is based more on parts of South China and North Vietnam, so I've tried to stick to names with a Chinese origin for that. I understand the significance of family names in southwest [sic] Asia, so I wanted to double check [...]. They have only two short given names. Based on the birth order of the child, the first half of the name comes from the fathers family and the second half from the mothers family. It is seen as disrespectful not to use both names because using only one is seen as denouncing that side of your family. Thus I have names like Su Yin, Dai Jun, and Yi Wen for some of the characters from this region, and the city itself that they are from is named Bei Fen. On the other hand, Im having further trouble naming characters. […] Ive been trying to give my human characters names from real human cultures to distinguish them from the website-generated names of say, orcs, elves, dwarves, etc, but I think I should change many of the names Ive used to be more original and avoid fracturing real world cultures for the sake of my worldbuilding. […] Im still very weak in the linguistics area (even after four years of French, sigh) and am having trouble finding where to read about naming patterns so I can make new ones up. I read your naming guides but am still having trouble on where to start for specific languages. […] Im trying to look into Sanskrit, Turkish, and Persian specifically.

You're Going Too Broad

In my opinion, you’re casting too wide a net. You mentioned looking into Sanskrit, Turkish, and Persian to develop fantasy names. These languages are very different from one another, so unless you’re using them separately for very different parts of your world, it will be hard to draw inspiration from them in a way that makes sense. You’re taking on a huge amount of research in order to worldbuild cultures that span a massive geographical area (basically all of North Africa and Asia?) and have very little in common. Are you sure you want to take on that task?

I could see it being more manageable if most of your story is set in a small region of this world, which you will then research in depth to make sure you’re being as specific as possible.

Taking Persian as an example, you’ll have to decide whether you want to use Old Persian, Middle Persian, or Modern Persian. Each of these comes with a different alphabet and historical influences. They’re also associated with different periods of time and corresponding cultural and social markers. Once you’ve decided exactly when and where you want to start from, you can then expand the borders of your area of focus. For example, if you’ve decided to draw inspiration from Achaemenid Persia, you can then look at the languages that were spoken in the Achaemenid Empire. A quick Google search tells me that while Old Persian was the empire’s official language, they also used Aramaic, Akkadian, Median, Greek, and Elamite (among, I’m sure, many many others and many more regional variations). Further research into each of these will give you ethnic groups and bordering nations that you can draw more inspiration from to expand out your worldbuilding.

Don’t forget to make sure you’re staying within the same time period in order to keep things consistent. It’s a lot of work, and this is only for a small portion of the continent-spanning worldbuilding you’re trying to do.

You can get away with painting the rest of the continent in broad strokes without too much depth if the story doesn’t go there and you don’t have any main characters from those parts of the world. Otherwise, you’ll need to put this same level of detail into your worldbuilding for the area with Turkish-inspired names, and again for the area with Sanskrit-inspired names, and so on.

I know this isn’t what you were asking, but I honestly have a hard time helping you figure out where to start because your ask is so broad I don’t quite know where I would start myself. So, this is my advice: focus down on one region and time period and go from there. Feel free to write back once you’ve picked a narrower focus that we could help you with.

- Niki

So there’s logistical issues in regards to your naming system for southern China-coded regions. One issue is history: mainly on how there is not simply one language in China but multiple due to having a lot of ethnic groups and the size of China. South China in particular has different dialects and languages than the North as seen in this map of Chinese languages and dialects. There’s also how historically Mandarin was not the official language until 1913 in China and historical China saw vast changes in territory dependent on the dynasty. Before then, Mandarin was primarily a northern Chinese language based in Beijing while southern China had its own languages, dialects, and dynamics. Not to mention, historical China saw an evolution of language just like English has Old English, Middle English, Early Modern English, and Modern English. For instance, Vietnam was once part of China during the Tang Dynasty and at another point, it was not part of China.

-Mod Sci

If You’re Borrowing Whole Words or Elements, Research More

The other issue is inconsistency with the cultures you’re deriving this conlang from. In regards to “two given names,” the Chinese name I was given was one syllable and then I would have a last name that was also one syllable. There’s also how not every family is perfect. Not every marriage is sanctioned and some children may come from single parents. Some families may not cooperate with marriage and sometimes children may be abandoned with unknown parents. There does not seem to be contingencies for these names under this conlang system.

The main problem with conlangs is that one needs to truly understand the languages one is drawing from. Tolkein managed to create conlangs due to training in linguistics. Mandarin is already a difficult language with multiple tones, and trying to use it for conlangs without knowledge of how Mandarin works or a good foundation in linguistics is just a Sisyphean endeavor.

-Mod Sci

Four years of French wouldn’t have taught you about linguistics as a science or anything about the language families you’ve listed - Indo-Iranian, Sino-Tibetan, and Turkic, nor any Asian naming conventions. I agree with Niki that you need to narrow down your research.

Pur/pura means city in Sanskrit (ex: Gurdaspur, Hoshiarpur). Prayag is a place where pilgrimages are done. Naga isn’t a place name in Sanskrit (google says it means snake), nagar is and it means town. X Nagar is a very common name for places (Ex: Rajinder Nagar). Many cities in Karnataka have names ending in uru (Bengaluru, Mysuru, Mangaluru, Tumakuru, etc) but the language of Karnataka is Kannada - a Dravidian language and completely different family from Sanskrit (Indo-Aryan). I’m not sure where “pete” came from. “Bad” and “vaal” are common suffixes for places too (Ex: Faisalabad, Allahabad). A disclaimer that I do not speak Sanskrit, I speak Punjabi, which is a descendant of Sanskrit and in the same linguistic family (Indo-Aryan languages).

- SK

Also, This Is Not…Really Conlanging.

Hi OP. Linguistics refers to the science of studying how languages work, not the discipline of learning languages. And nothing shows that gap more than how you have thus far approached constructing fictional languages and toponyms.

The reason why Sci and SK have a lot to say about your place names is because they don't resonate—you have borrowed whole words into your toponyms (place names) from a variety of languages—without an accurate understanding of what these words mean, how they’re pronounced, where they’re derived from—and expected them to work together. I suggest you read the links below on why conlanging is not as simple as choosing some languages and mashing their IRL words together:

Why Using Random Languages Wholesale in your Fantasy is a Bad Idea

Pitfalls of Mashing Countries and Languages in Coding

In your city names, for example, you’re using star names from multiple languages that use different sets of sounds represented by different sets of historical spelling rules. “Cygn-” and “Arcana” stick out like a sore thumb—the fact that one “c” is /s/ and one is /k/ is an obvious flag that they are Latin-derived English borrowings. This is because spelling rules were created in Middle English to make sense of the mix of “c” pronunciations across words of Indo-European origin due to a historical split called the Centum-Satem division. This is a phenomenon that is very specific to our world history, and to the history of English at that. Ironically, in your attempt to avoid stock fantasy names (which also often fall into the Latin-derived English pit), you are taking the exact same approach to naming.

Like Niki said, your selections are far too broad to code under a single umbrella. Do you expect that whatever language that city name came from runs the full gamut of sound inventory & spelling variety that spans multiple continents and hundreds of languages? Because that’s not how languages work. (And yes, I mean hundreds. Indigenous languages and linguistic diversity are a thing. See Niki’s note about just the languages in Persia. And nation-states bulldozing over those languages and pretending it’s just one language is a thing. See Sci’s note about China.) I haven't even talked about the variation in morphology (how words are formed) or syntax (sentence structure).

Please just read or re-read my guide on “naming conlangs” in this post and start from there.

~ Rina

PSA ON CONLANGING AND FANTASY NAMES:

For fantasy language asks submitted after Nov 1, 2023, the asker must indicate that they have read Mod Rina’s conlanging posts linked in FAQ 2 (Guides and Posts by Topic) of the Masterpost under the question “How do I make a fictional language for my story?” While this is an older ask, we are posting it as an example to our followers.

Per our new rules, any questions that can be directly answered in or extrapolated from the FAQs, or questions that indicate that the relevant resources haven’t been read, will be deleted with a note in the Deletion Log explaining why.

As always, if this post was helpful or educational to you, please consider tipping the relevant mods: SK, Niki, Sci, and Rina.

Edited for terminology errors

#asks #naming #languages #linguistics #Persian #Chinese #South Asian #worldbuilding #coding

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darkdemeter · 11 months ago

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OLD DRAFT CONCEPT : " GUARD DOG "

—- not my gif, credit to original poster! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader (x slight Natasha Romanoff)

A/N — Here's a little bedtime story for ya'll. Old draft concept for an upcoming and looong oneshot for Wanda in a mafia au setting. Bits and pieces may be recognised in the published column plot wise but overall, we're taking an alternate route, my babbies.

WORD COUNT — 2.2k

READER DISCRETION — Alcohol consumption — mafia business and semi dark themes — profanity — mention of death and murder — mention of black market and auction — reader and Nat have some history — player reader Tony is so proud — Alexander Pierce is of course an arsehole, what else is new? — Rumlow is a bad guy (duh) — I think that's it?

An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true.

Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation.

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration.

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market.

That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay.

At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t every single cent he spent on you three years ago.

Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs.

The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs.

Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one.

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.”

You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot.

Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment.

“Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particular deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need a refill and pronto.

“People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.”

“He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere oopsie?”

You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.”

Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women.

You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his fold, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work.

For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless.

When Steve casts a hardened stare your way and you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

“Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your refurbished liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress?

“Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun.

“Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

“Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, Sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.”

She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow.

Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support.

Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs. But she never committed to joining forces.

You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress.

Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand.

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included.

Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous.

She’s facing you, back arched and ass resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, the sweet bouquet of lavender rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

“Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin.

“I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow.

Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

“Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress.

“You really think she wants a guard dog?”

“Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you.

“We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

“No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

“I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

“And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

“Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you.

You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you.

“Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue.

At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head.

“I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.”

Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave, because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

“I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help.

Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing.

“Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.”

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST — (Even though I doubt this is worth putting the taglist on, here it is anyway)

@alexawynters

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nayatarot777 · 1 year ago

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what do they adore about you? • love pac

a love pac? from me? shocker, i know. but i’m in the mood to tap into some cute and lighthearted energy so…here it is 😂

there is an extended 18+ reading for this pac on my patreon where we look at what this person adores about you sexually in particular. go check it out if you’re interested!

if you’re interested in a personal reading, then please read the info here

• pile one • 🏔️

this person adores how who they’ve grown to know you as is completely different to who they met you as. this could be due to you experiencing some ego deaths while knowing this person, or this is just about this person being granted permission by you to peel back the curtain to see what was behind the persona that you originally portrayed. and they’re in deep adoration of what they see fr. they love how you’re such a good match for them and how you can meet them halfway. i’m feeling like this person knows that they’re a handful at times and not the easiest person for most people to deal with, however you seem to know exactly what to do to help stabilise them and still make them feel like an equal. there’s a dedication that you have to genuinely participating in team work with them and your commitment to them, and you’re so generous with your nurture and your emotional care too. you may have known this person since childhood or you make them feel the same way that they did when they were a kid - safe and loved and cared for. highly nurtured. they adore your physical beauty. you could be natural most days - no/minimal makeup, simple outfits - but yet your beauty is still so obvious and bright to them. you don’t need any enhancements of any sort, in this person’s eyes. they adore your self esteem and how you know how to give love and compassion to yourself, therefore it’s not a difficult task for you to give that to them as well as others, either. they adore your self-care rituals - whatever that may be. i’m seeing someone watch you do your skincare routine and just stare 😂. i’m seeing something specific about them getting home from a long day of work and you ensuring that they have a comfortable, structured space to relax in with a nice meal to eat that they can tell has been made with a lot of love by you. that’s another thing. if you cook for them, they LOVE your food. this person could be on some old person vibes lmao. “grandad vibes” i’m hearing, and they love how you match that. if you’ve built a stable home together, they love how you know how to keep it orderly and structured. again, i’m feeling like this person would be a little lost in relation to that 😂. especially if you have kids. not to say that they’re useless, but there’s definitely more of a calm energy to you when dealing with these duties and responsibilities, whereas they may feel like they don’t hold that same energy as much - they might be a bit more high-strung and frazzled usually. all in all, you’re extremely healing for this person. especially with how you celebrate any accomplishment that they achieve - whether they think that it’s big or small. you could be the type to constantly want to celebrate in some way - maybe even throw parties - and they admire how you see anything and everything in life to celebrate and value.

extended 18+ reading here

• pile two • 🍰

you could’ve been drawn to pile one, too, since 2 out of 4 of the same cards came out for the both of you. this person adores how you’re really on your boss shit. you could be someone who owns your own business (a business woman in particular), or you’re just very high in your work position. either way, you do the damn thing and they see it. they love that you’re able to be completely stable on your own, not having to rely on anyone if you don’t want to. you have a lot of knowledge about your work, finances, and just the way that the world works. knowledge that could even be seen as something to not speak about by the majority of people. knowledge about the government? especially if you speak to this person about politics - they LOVE that shit. even if they don’t understand it themselves lmao. they adore how you carry yourself in such a strong and powerful - yet divinely feminine way. you show everyone that there’s strength in femininity. you could also fit into the typical definition of a “classy” person. whether it’s the way that you dress, your mannerisms, the way that you speak, etc. this person can see that you’re highly educated - even if not academically, you have so much self-education in that head of yours - and they can tell that you’ve really put in the time and energy to graft in either your work/career as well as your self-development. how much you value yourself. just like in pile one, your self esteem is adored by this person. nobody can tell you shit about yourself. you’ve done too much introspection to let someone else tell you who you are or who you need to be. they know that you’re constantly seeking for answers within. they love your introspection and how you question yourself and your behaviours. perhaps even as a way of finding your own worth - not coming from a place of a lack of worth - but more so “am i living up to my full capabilities?”. i’m hearing that you could remind this person of their mother in particular? maybe their mother had this demeanour too, and you naturally match that same energy extremely well. they have so much respect for you because you have so much respect for yourself. they also adore how, although you’re extremely abundant, you’re still very down-to-earth. you don’t let your money or materialism get to your head at all. you keep yourself connected to what you believe truly matters - which is your internal state. they also adore how you don’t speak that much. you’re not someone who just runs your mouth and talks about your business to just anyone. you’re extremely self-protective and make decisions based on what you intuitively know is right for you. you’re not a follower and you’re not easily swayed by what people tell you - you’re a free thinker. you’re deeply in tune with yourself and they adore you for everything that comes along with that.

extended 18+ reading here

• pile three • 🏖️

i literally just heard “a baddie with anxiety”. PERIOD 🗣️😂. this person adores how you still view life in the best way possible with the best confidence that you can possibly muster up when you’re met with adversity. a lot of you in this pile struggle with pretty severe mental health issues, but they see you dealing with this extremely well. they also love how you’ve managed to release any fears and anxieties that have stemmed from the judgements of others - especially from your family. you did this for the sake of your own happiness and honouring your own joy - and most of all, honouring your inner child. you have a very healthy sense of self despite being someone who has gone through certain types of treatment from others that would usually result in the opposite. you’re the embodiment of strength to this person. i’m seeing fire signs heavily throughout this reading - Leo and Sagittarius in particular, but definitely Aries too. i’m hearing that you’re able to “re-parent” yourself. where your parents perhaps didn’t “match up” (for lack of a better term) to what they were supposed to be, you decided to be your own damn parent and implement the teachings and the wisdom that you needed to, towards yourself. you’re also a pretty big “larger than life” personality to this person. i’m hearing “goofy ass” for a lot of you 😂, meaning that you’re always laughing and joking and not taking life all that seriously. they adore the connection that you have to your inner child and how you can see life as one big playground, almost, despite everything that you may mentally struggle with. these psychological struggles could get worse at night, but they admire how you know how to re-group and acknowledge the following new day as a new opportunity to make the most out of your experiences in life - big or small. they love your acceptance and readiness to just experience life. it’s like you have fears about insignificant things when you get into a tough headspace, but the shit that you should probably be worrying about (in terms of important life things) are the things that you don’t take too seriously. and it’s like this is your good luck charm for yourself. to just keep things lighthearted and fun. they also love how you’re awakened. to what you feel like your purpose is, or what your life is supposed to be all about. you could also be extremely aware of how other people live their lives in other cultures to learn from them and take from their teachings to implement them into your own life - that sagittarius energy is coming through. they could love your culture and how you stick to your cultural roots too - especially if this person is a different race, ethnicity or culture to you themselves. you take pride in yourself when you know that you’ve done a good job with something. they adore your confidence in yourself and where you’re directing yourself in life. period ☺️. i love your energy, pile three. you seem like a fun but knowledgeable person to be around who sees the bigger picture to your existence and i have to respect it and admire it myself 😂.

extended 18+ reading here

#pick a card #pac #pick a photo #pac reading #tarot #pick a picture

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dark-side-blog3 · 11 months ago

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Ignore that this Home Alone inspired poly adeuce fic is a month late. Or choose to read it for 2024 Christmas, up to you.

I had a lot of fun writing this! Put it into a word counter just for fun, and I'm surprised to see that my first real WIP I finished in 2024 is 3k long! It was just so fun to imagine a twist one of my favourite Christmas movies, and I got so caught up in the fun of it I didn't make my deadline ^^; It was originally meant to be a short little crackfic, but it was just too fun! There are some cracky, campy elements, but that's just in the spirit of the movie I based it off!

Anyways: MDNI, warnings for standard yandere things, and creepy crawlies.

++++++++++++++++++++++

"Shouldn't we be pouring salt on the pathway?"

"Nah," you smile, splashing another bucket of water on the front steps. "This is so we can have a nice slip-and-slide for tobogganing tomorrow, Grim! Same reason I'm filling up a little ice rink in the back-- I wanna do some skating. I can't wait for it to freeze over and teach you how!"

Grims' head shakes fervently as he beams; "Just you wait! I'll show you the grace and speed of a master figure skater! I'm gonna be teaching YOU how to skate by the time we're done!"

"Well if you wanna do that, you're gonna need to be well rested. Can you grab us some cookies for before-bed snacks?" you encourage, the monster agreeing and scampering off inside the dorm house to pilfer the cupboard.

You continue pouring water on the steps and trudge around the house's perimeter to check on the steps leading outside to make sure they're freezing over like you intended. You have several other home security measures to check over...

Most of the staff, and students for that matter, went home for the holidays. Family to see, vacations to take... A life to live outside of the school and other people in it. Should anything happen, Crowley was unfortunately unavailable (what else is new, the old bastard), nor was Vargas, Trein, or Crewl. Normally they'd be spattered throughout the holiday to watch over the students. But there are other teachers on the premises, and hardly any students who can't return home for whatever reason, and they let it slip by... One night during the whole winter break when none of your trusted faculty members nor any of your more powerful friends like Malleus or Idia could help if you got into trouble.

And maybe, maybe your brain has been rotted by movies and defending yourself from overblotted students.

But it's better safe than sorry.

With everything seemingly in order, and the sun setting quickly behind the treeline of school woods, you rush over to the front gate to hang a large sign:

NO SOLICITORS

Hopefully, this will deter anyone planning to intrude on you tonight.

You trudge your way back to the front door, carefully avoiding the steps. You spend the next few hours snacking with Grim while watching movies together, playing card games, and chattering about what ifs and would you rather... Before too long, it's time for bed, and Grim is out like a light, thanks to several pounds of turkey stuffing, potatoes, and cookies you still had after the holiday party days ago.

The party was fun... It did leave you with more leftovers you knew what to do with, which is always great. You got to wish Rook Joyeuses Fête, decorate cookies with Jack and Jade (the merman being much better at decorating, likely due to working in the lounge), and say goodbye to everyone dear to you before they left for their own plans... But it also had Ace and Deuce.

Which, on the one hand, they're harmless. You know they are. They're just jerks sometimes.

They should be focusing on their studies, and you had to devote your time to keeping Ramshakle clean, and Grim on task to graduate... The little monster became somewhat of a family member. Surrogate son or little brother you're not entirely sure, but you want him to succeed.

And even if the pair of heartslabyul boys were gifted students that excelled at every course with time to spare, Grim wasn't-- Grim needed your help to study, to get to class, to handle some of his projects for him when his paws would cause accidents in the potion lab. Grim needs your help to get through college, and it keeps you way too busy for a relationship with either guy.

And even though they soured the mood of the party right after you told them as such, it's the truth, and that's what it is. You're not going to jeopardize Grim's future just to date college students.

They acted like jerks for the rest of the winter break.

When everyone was opening presents, they bitched at everyone for the gifts they exchanged, teased relentlessly, knocked over decor, and told each classmate going through the magic mirror over the week to 'take their time coming back, if at all'. Poor Idia had an anxiety attack when they started teasing him; it took you half an hour to calm him down enough to stop puking and stick to just dry heaving. Grim scampered off after Idia fainted a second time... It took another hour after that to help him through the magic mirror, with his robot escorts. You would have walked through with him, but he insisted holding your hand as he left would be enough, only dragging you somewhat through the portal.

It was rubbing you the wrong way how they were picking fights with everyone, and snubbing Grim anytime they saw you and the monster around campus.

Suddenly, the front gates screech open, drawing you out of your thoughts. You peek out the sliver of the window from behind the thick curtain in the bedroom to see two figures shuffle through the snow.

It can't be them. Even if you were just thinking of them, that would be too... Convenient. Like some movie logic. Thinking of people doesn't summon them.

Whoever it is will be getting a nasty surprise in three, two, one--

A muffled thud and string of curses can be heard from the other side of the glass. You sneak your way down the stairs so you can at least see who's at the door.

"Son of a--! Grim!" Deuce shouts. So much for not summoning them.

"Open the door, little buddy! We know that you're in there and that you're all alone... Your precious prefect is spending the last night of the winter break with someone else, right?" Ace yells, quickly being joined by a snickering and rapping at the door.

A shadow presses itself against the window, trying to peer through sheer curtains. You duck behind one of the striped couches on the outside of the room, close to the walls. Through the reflection of the glass cabinet, you can see the figure stay and linger at the window, tapping against the glass with a small can.

"Come on Grim. We've got tuna for ya if you just open the door and have a chat..." Deuce says, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yells through the glass.

His shadow straightens up, before pounding back on the glass, rattling the old pane against the tight frame, the narrow strips of wood being tight enough together that neither of them could just force their way through the window; Even if they shattered all the glass.

Which Deuce just might, slamming himself into the frame as hard as he could.

"I saw you move in there! Don't ignore us!" He shatters a pane, shoving his hand through to grab at the sheer curtains and tug, ripping them.

You duck back behind the couch, scanning for tools to protect yourself. Shut up. Don't be stupid, just think. Think quick, and smart.

The banging stops for a second. Before becoming far louder-- powerful enough to feel the floor shake. Metal creaks against its hinges, and the lock crashes into the strike plate of the door.

Ignore that, focus. Cleaning supplies. Always nearby, the dorm is filthy. Dish soap and mop bucket.

You dart out from behind the couch to grab the bottle of dish soap, grabbing it and rolling up against the wall just in time as the banging stops, the door knob jiggles and a thin wire pokes itself out from the cracks between the door frame. It makes quick work of the locks on the door, before opening, and Ace proudly struts into the room. The second he does, you pop the cap and squeeze the bottle, squirting bright blue goop into his eyes and smarmy mouth! And you splurt the floor for good measure!

You sprint back to behind the couch he pulls back, sputtering, and wiping it from his eyes in thick globs. You watch through the reflection of the cabinet as Deuce shoves his way past Ace as he splatters fistfuls of goop onto the floor, next to the bottle of leaking dish soap. Ace shoves Deuce for the push, and the resulting shove has both of them slipping on the puddle of dish soap you left in your hurry.

"Ahg-- Ace?! Why are you on the floor?"

A visibly wet smack as dish soap arches off Ace's gloves, slapping damply right into Deuce's face as he grunts from under his classmate: "Get off me, you buffoon! Go find the cat-- Grim, I'm gonna skin you for this, you little creep!"

"Don't make threats until after we have the little rat, runt. If he goes tattling we're screwed--"

"There's no one to tattle to! He's all alone in this big house! Even the ghosts aren't here! If we stick his claws in an electrical socket or force-feed him motor oil, no one would think anything of it! He's just a dumb animal that killed himself without supervision!"

Something glints from under the couch. You grasp at it, finding a spare ornament, and an unused ziptie, threaded through the top. There's got to be something you can use to create a bigger distraction and get you and Grim out of here.

There has to be something in reach-- going back to the bucket in plain sight of them is too risky. Shoving your hand under the couch, your clutch the first thing that your grasp: An aerosol room freshener. Score.

Wrapping the ziptie around the spray trigger, you tighten it and roll it over to the boys, still scrambling about on the floor. You watch from the reflection in the cabinet as Deuce gets a heavy spray right in the eyes, hollering in pain!

"AUGH-- Fucker! You think you're so smart, punk?! Your little bomb just gave away your position!" Deuce shouts, whipping out his magic pen, covering his eyes.

You feel a sense of dread. Primal instinct. You leap out from behind the couch just as he summons a caldron to crash into the couch, narrowly missing you as it smashes the solid oak to splinters. Splinters stick to your socks, embedding in your feet as you scamper off to another room, streams of water and gusts of wind being shot after you.

Just as you turn the corner to climb up the stairs and rush to Grim's room, you hear Ace curse exasperatedly, stumbling his way to the end of the hall to stare at you, still wiping his eyes on his sleeves. Another string of sighed curses leaves his lips as he watches you scramble up the stairs, making accidental eye-contact.

They know their plans are botched now.

Gotta climb faster.

On all fours, you claw up the stairs, just as a tug on your ankle forces your jaw to slam into them. Casting a glance backwards, Ace has gripped your ankle with his sticky gloves, grinning madly as you struggle to tug your ankle away from him, and try to dodge the other one of his hands trying to grasp for your other leg, only to end up sloppily groping your ass before trying again. You try to shake and kick him off, getting a hits to the side of his head, but not as effective as if you had room to wind up. He's gripping so hard it feels like he's going to break something. You scramble, shifting your weight side to side to get him off, prying yourself off the stairs and scratching your nails into the old wood. Your nails cling to the baseboard, prying the edge as much as you can, the wood creaking and snapping off with each desperate tug to pull yourself up.

The baseboard snaps, and you find yourself with a small wooden shiv, thinking to whip around and stab it into Ace's hand, leading him to retract for a second long enough for you to scramble up a step again-- before being slammed back down into the wood as you're grabbed again.

A girthy, irrate red centipede wiggles its way out from the hole in the baseboard, defensive of the now-ruined home.

You snatch it up, close to the head and the snapping mandibles as it wriggled and writhed, as you slowly reached back around to Ace, still clinging to your legs as you tried to shake him off. The teen was so focused on keeping you still as he pulled some ducttape off the roll with his teeth, that he didn't see the massive, snakelike body of the centipede until it was too late; And you stick it right on his face.

He seemed to freeze, giving you enough time to tug your leg again, just as he screamed an ear-piecing shriek!

Ace pawed at his face squirming violently on the stairs, thumping loudly on each step back to the bottom as you sprinted your way upstairs, into Grims room, slamming and locking the door behind you!

"What the hell is wrong--"

"PSYCHO PREFECT IS WHAT! Is it in my hair? Fucking thing was thick as a finger, and they put it right on my face! Is it in my hair?!"

"The prefect is home?! Dude! We're so screwed!"

"So go up there and get them, dipshit! Why are you standing still when they're up there getting a fucking bear trap or something ready?! Are you having an aneurysm or something?! Why are you just staring at me like that?!"

"...Ace... Don't... Move."

"Deuce... What are you talking about? Go get them-"

"Don't. Move."

"Deuce..?"

The telltale crash of a cast iron cauldron smashing through your rotten wood floors makes you nearly shit yourself, glancing back at a sleep-stirring Grim.

"DID I GET IT?"

"YOU ALMOST CRUSHED MY SKULL YOU NUTCASE!"

"DID I GET IT?!"

"You fucking moron!"

You snatch Grim up, using the blanket he was sleeping with like a hobo bag to hold him in, and open the window, edging your way carefully onto the roof. If you can just make safely to the other side of Ramshackle, you can try scaling down the ivy. And it will at least give you a head start-- Maybe hiding out in Sams is the best idea. A store owner must have a CCTV, right? And if Ace and Deuce try and kill either of you, then even if something happens to you, they'll get caught...

You wrap the corners of Grims blanket around your shoulders, like a makeshift baby pouch. You can definitely feel him squirming on your back, starting to wake up. You let go of the window, slipping down the rough roof tile. Laying on your stomach, you side-shuffle over, staying as low to the roof as you can to get the most traction. The edge nearly takes you by surprise when your foot doesn't connect with length that's not there. Slowly, you shuffle even closer to the edge, swaying your arm around the edge to find the vines of Ivy.

"I FOUND 'EM, ACE!"

Your head whips around to see Deuce leaning as far as he can out of the window before he scrambles to get onto the roof.

Whipping your head back to focus, you grab a fistful of vines and pull the rest of your body off the roof! You snatch another fistful with your other hand as you fall.

And fall all the way down, watching in horror as the ivy peels itself from the brick walls.

You feel Grim claw his way out of the pouch and onto your face just in time, as you land on your back with a sickening crunch.

"Oh shit," Ace comments, seemingly having been waiting for you at the bottom of the wall. You see Grim flee across the yard out of the corner of your eye, unable to lift your head.

The sound of snow crunching underfoot, and Deuce panting like crazy soon joins Ace in staring at you as you lay helpless on the ground. As soon as he arrives he gets asked: "Are we gonna get Grim?"

"No point, really..." Comes the huffed response; "We were gonna get him to fuck off, and he's fucked right off. Tonight didn't really go to plan anyway."

A boot gently kicks at your side as Ace turns his attention back to you: "Are you paralyzed or something? That was quite the fall."

You open your mouth to speak, but only a cracked whine makes it out. You cringe and try again, but nothing intelligible comes out.

"Holy shit, they're brain-damaged!" Ace grins, laughing as he backs away from you.

You feel Deuce tugging at your legs in the snow, dragging you from your shallow ditch in the snow. He begins tugging you closer to the dorm, before he drops your legs, moving to grab you under your arms and haul you that way, up against a wall. Breaking a window, he shoves you in, head first. The cold floors of Ramshackle are still warmer than the ice and snow.

"Alright. Hey, real quick, can you feel this?" Deuce begins poking you with a wire from an ornament, starting with your legs, and making his way up on both sides. You nod, wincing at some particularly sharp pricks, to which Deuce responds by rubbing the area to dull the pain.

"Can you say where you are right now? Do you know who I am? Who you are?" You nod again, voice stumbling through a pained response.

"Awesome. You're not brain-damaged! You're probably just winded from the fall. Is anything broken? Can you wiggle your fingers and toes? Try twisting side to side. If you can't it means your spine might be broken, and you need a doctor."

You comply, weirded out by the sudden care, but the doctor comment means they will call someone. And that someone will keep you safe, and them away. The pain's already fading, and likely nothing serious, but you could trick them... Deuce particularly seems like a soft touch. You wince as you try to twist, feigning inability.

Deuce makes a worried expression, like he's about to piss himself from fear.

He backs off slightly, giving you a bit more breathing room: "Try crossing your arms and lifting them as far away from your ribs as you can".

You comply again, feigning difficulty,

And duct tape wraps around your wrists instantly. Deuce presses his knee down into your chest to pin you down as he wraps as tightly as he can, while Ace ties your legs from outside.

"This really, really isn't my style. But we've got to get you somewhere that is not here when the teachers come back tomorrow, and we can't have Grim knowing where to find you." Deuce rambles, soaking his glove in a bottle of something, before pressing it to your face. He continues rambling, leaning in closer to whisper: "And I know how this looks! But I promise we won't do anything to you while you sleep. Or when you wake up! I swear! It's all more normal than it seems tonight-- or it can be anyways. And... And if you give me some time, give me a chance, we can even ditch Ace and forget this night ever happened! You just need some time somewhere else..."

The room spins with dark spots as Deuce presses his soaked glove further into your face. He continues rambling at you, while you feel Ace begin dragging you back out the window again. The snow doesn't feel cold this time as you fall into it. It just feels soft.

#my writing!#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere poly #poly yandere #yandere ace trappola #yandere ace #yandere deuce #yandere deuce spade #yandere adeuce #yandere poly adeuce #bug tw #creepy crawlies tw #yandere crackfic #sorta~! It is for sure all over the place. but so is the moive tbh #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #holidays.!

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nicorenarin · 2 months ago

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Phantom Scapegoat: Why P5X Deserves A Chance

Whilst many often shake their head at the concept of a 'gacha' game, it wasn't a surprise to see the Persona series take a shot at such a game. Persona 5: The Phantom X, or just P5X, was released fully in April within multiple regions of Asia and is planned for both a Japanese & Global releases within the future. Aiming to tell a brand new story within the Persona 5 universe, P5X takes place in a parallel timeline where new protagonist, Wonder, leads in the main role with a new group of Phantom Thieves.

As of writing, the game is about to release its 2.3.3 update, which will include an expansion of the side story 'Cross Fate', which covers the original Persona 5 palaces with both the new and old cast, yet it's clear that this story will aim to tie into the main story in one way or another through the developing concept of parallel worlds and timelines. The one thing we have to be aware of is that whilst the main developers are Black Wing Studios, a subsidiary of Perfect World Games, it was recently confirmed in an interview that ATLUS themselves are still helping to construct the narrative and the world of P5X.

My only question is... where was this writing all over the original Persona 5?

It's quite insane that whilst we are only nearing the end of the third palace, P5X takes the world we know of P5 and makes it insanely intriguing. We went from the third arc being centred around a generic 'yakuza' goon to focusing on a struggle for power between teachers that aims to uncover a bigger conspiracy deep within the school that Wonder and some of the other characters attend. Even the second arc, whilst initially presenting itself as a parallel of the Madarame Arc, I think it does it better.

Unfortunately, many on the internet aren't exactly too fond of such a game. It's understandable. A lot of mainstream gacha games such as Genshin Impact are known for their predatory practices in terms of pull-rates, the fear of missing out, etc. Yet, P5X doesn't fall into this pattern, nor does it show itself as a game not willing to listen to its community. As someone who has barely spent a dime, getting all the featured characters and still having currency to spare is a very good thing. The game cares about you and at times will throw summoning tickets and various other items at you either for nothing or for a simple task. They've even recently brought back Tycoon from Persona 5 Royal and taken it online, which has been brilliant.

Harkening back to the earlier point, I believe that a community like the Persona one unfortunately exposed an ugly side of itself with the rising popularity of P5X. The amount of times I see that it's a 'china game' or the reason they won't touch it is because it's 'chinese' feels rather horrible. I think it's perfectly fine to dislike gacha mechanics, but at no point does Joker emerge from the phone, point a gun to your head and force you to enter your credit card details. Many content creators such as JohneAwesome were skeptical of the game, but after playing it? He's now a huge fan! Who would've thought that playing a game like this would change your opinion? The game isn't perfect and many, like myself, have a fair few issues with the game, especially with how it can be better. Yet, I think it's better to try the game for yourself than make it out to be a devil walking.

With collabs with games like P3 and P4 basically confirmed, along with their potential involvement in the main story, P5X has an opportunity to be one of the grandest stories in the entire series and I truly hope it rises to the challenge.

#p5x #persona 5 the phantom x #persona 5 x

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centrally-unplanned · 1 year ago

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Another big stop in Tokyo for me was Jimbocho Book Town! It is a neighborhood of, depending on who you ask, up to 400 generally-secondhand bookstores flanked by some of the major universities in Tokyo. The local government even prints out maps of the stores to help people find them all:

Which, you will note, is not 400 stores, because the process of becoming an "official" Jimbocho Town Bookstore is an intensely political operation run by local stakeholders with tons of fights over what should qualify and what rights that entails - never change humanity!

"Book Towns" used to actually be quite a common thing, and they peaked during the literary boom of the late 19th century. Figuring out "what books existed" was a hard task, and to do serious research you needed to own the books (you weren't making photocopies), so concentrating specialty bookstores in one area made sense to allow someone to go to one place and ask around to find what they need and discover what exists. It was academia's version of Comiket! Modern digital information & distribution networks slowly killed or at least reduced these districts in places like Paris or London, but Jimbocho is one of the few that still survives.

Why it has is multi-causal for sure - half of this story is that Tokyo is YIMBY paradise and has constantly built new buildings to meet demand so rents have been kept down, allowing low-margin, individually-owned operations to continue where they have struggled in places like the US. These stores don't make much money but they don't have to. But as important is that Japan has a very strong 'book collector' culture, it's the original baseball cards for a lot of people. The "organic" demand for a 1960's shoujo magazine or porcelainware picture book is low, but hobbyists building collections is a whole new source of interest. Book-as-art-collection powered Jimbocho through until the 21st century, where - again like Comiket - the 'spectacle' could give it a lift and allow the area to become a tourist attraction and a mecca for the ~cozy book hoarder aesthetic~ to take over. Now it can exist on its vibes, which go so far as to be government-recognized: In 2001 the "scent wafting from the pages of the secondhand bookstore" was added to Japan's Ministry of Environment's List of 100 Fragrance Landscapes.

Of course this transition has changed what it sells; when it first began in the Meiji area, Jimbocho served the growing universities flanking it, and was a hotpot of academic (and political-polemic) texts. Those stores still exist, but as universities built libraries and then digital collections, the hobby world has taken over. Which comes back to me, baby! If you want Old Anime Books Jimbocho is one of the best places to go - the list of "subculture" stores is expansive.

I'll highlight two here: the first store I went to was Kudan Shobo, a 3rd floor walk-up specializing in shoujo manga. And my guys, the ~vibes~ of this store. It has this little sign outside pointing you up the stairs with the cutest book angel logo:

And the stairs:

Real flex of Japan's low crime status btw. Inside is jam-packed shelves and the owner just sitting there eating dinner, so I didn't take any photos inside, but not only did it have a great collection of fully-complete shoujo magazines going back to the 1970's, it had a ton of "meta" books on shoujo & anime, even a doujinshi collection focusing on 'commentary on the otaku scene' style publications. Every Jimbocho store just has their own unique collection, and you can only discover it by visiting. I picked up two books here (will showcase some of the buys in another post).

The other great ~subculture~ store I went to was Yumeno Shoten - and this is the store I would recommend to any otaku visiting, it was a much broader collection while still having a ton of niche stuff. The vibes continued to be immaculate of course:

And they covered every category you could imagine - Newtype-style news magazine, anime cels, artbooks, off-beat serial manga magazines, 1st edition prints, just everything. They had promotional posters from Mushi Pro-era productions like Cleopatra, nothing was out of reach. I got a ton of books here - it was one of the first stores I visited on my second day in Jimobocho, which made me *heavily* weighed down for the subsequent explorations, a rookie mistake for sure. There are adorable book-themed hotels and hostels in Jimbocho, and I absolutely could see a trip where you just shop here for a week and stay nearby so you can drop off your haul as you go.

We went to other great stores - I was on the lookout for some 90's era photography stuff, particularly by youth punk photographer Hiromix (#FLCL database), and I got very close at fashion/photography store Komiyama Shoten but never quite got what I was looking for. Shinsendo Shoten is a bookstore devoted entirely to the "railway and industrial history of Japan" and an extensive map collection, it was my kind of fetish art. My partner @darktypedreams found two old copies of the fashion magazine Gothic & Lolita Bible, uh, somewhere, we checked like five places and I don't remember which finally had it! And we also visited Aratama Shoten, a store collecting vintage pornography with a gigantic section on old BDSM works that was very much up her alley. It had the porn price premium so we didn't buy anything, but it was delightful to look through works on bondage and non-con from as far back as the 1960's, where honestly the line between "this is just for the fetish" and "this is authentic gender politics" was...sometimes very blurry. No photos of this one for very obvious reasons.

Jimbocho absolutely earned its rep, its an extremely stellar example of how history, culture, and uh land use policy can build something in one place that seems impossible in another operating under a different set of those forces. Definitely one of the highlights of the trip.

#Ash Japan Adventures #Jimbocho #anime culture discourse

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years ago

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"Bubby!"

Community spouse- How ever did they come up with such a brilliant name?

As hard as you may deny or laugh off the title, there was merit to the claim. Rain or shine, you were always there when your friends needed you. Some went so far as to have you as their emergency contact, others a shoulder to lend on. On birthdays, your messages were the first many would receive, and during the holidays not one person felt left out with your thoughtful presents and dedication to the case. Your efforts were expressly noted by those lonely hearts this Valentine's day, when you'd handcrafted them baskets filled of their favorite sweets and hand written cards. The addition of "from your dear friend" could've been left out for some, but they'd take what they could get.

Even now, the needs of others prioritize over your own. You pry yourself free from the arms at your neck to pass off the gift you had purchased for the one you all gathered here for, willfully letting yourself to be crushed in your friend's embrace once the task is completed. So close together. Like lovers. You greet them with a brisk kiss, your lips posed on their cheek for no more than a second. They lean to catch them with their own as you pull away, but by now you've wisened to their attempts.

"I have a name, you know." Your first addition to the conversation. It's easier to call out the lesser offense than air out their disregard for your personal space in front of everyone. Your tone is jovial and playful. Always one to defuse stressful situations, but never when you were at the center. If you kept it up they knew they'd wear you down eventually.

Just a little more.

"Awwwwe" They mewl; cheeks puffed, smile drooping as they card their fingers through the thin strands of hair at the base of your neck. "I can't give my cute little spouse a cute nickname? I ordered a cake for us to share too."

A snicker comes from across the table. The salt shaker rattles as someone else brings their foot down on the originator's foot.

"So - Y/n, you're coming out with us this weekend to celebrate my graduation still right?"

The change in atmosphere is almost palpable. "Won't miss it for anything else. Just let me know the time and location."

There's tug on your arm, nails clipping your skin through the layers of clothing meant to shield you.

"And you're still gonna be my date, riiiight? Since the last one bailed on me, and you're too good a friend to let me stay out by myself?"

"Yeah...I said I would, didn't I? Excuse me-" You rest your hand over theirs as you stand, peeling it from your shoulder as you walk off. Their eyes follow you as you depart - feigning innocence to the accusatory gazes pointed in their direction. You held their hand. It's really does like you're an old married couple sometimes. If only you weren't so difficult - then they wouldn't have to go to such great lengths to make you theirs. Your friend takes a drink of water as they turn back to the rest of the group.

"You're disgusting."

"Pardon?" They grab a napkin and dab at their face. "The waitress said their were no straws left, so I had no choice but you're right. Who knows if they clean their glasses properly."

"I'm talking about them. The way you throw yourself at Y/n is repulsive and won't make them like you anymore than the rest of us. They're nice to you because that's how they are and not because they're in love with you. You're their friend. If your little stunt doesn't work this weekend and they don't like you as you so claim, I'll fucking kill you myself-"

"It will work. Y/n loves me- Even if they don't now they will eventually. This attitude is why none of you will ever see them again once we're together. I can give them everything, while all you do is take. If you really don't think we'll be a perfect match, I can always show them those little notes from your messages and we can see their opinion on you is afterwards."

#yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #yandere oneshot

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dopamineeymineymoo · 2 years ago

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suspension bridges || ghost x f!medic!reader

synopsis: you are an army doctor, callsign salvi, who had been on the field for even before you'd gotten that title. you'd been reassigned into task force 1-4-1 after your own taskforce had dissolved when it'd fulfilled its duty. you're a familiar face to multiple operators within the taskforce. one of them knows you for far longer than the rest.

warnings: medical inaccuracies, army inaccuracies, some medical jargon, some gore, implied medical procedures, inexperienced writer, more tags to be added as we go

author's note before we begin: I’m writing this to destress from the gruelling pressure of academics– i'm not a professional, but i do study some of the stuff i mention, specifically on the health-allied colleges; there is also the fact that I’m not from the west side of the world so I know jack shit on the actual mode of operations (except in theory, because that’s what I’m learning ATM). This isn’t meant to be accurate, these are just dumbed-down versions of stuff I already know– i might learn more stuff later on so I might add it onto the thing later on]

[this is part 1], [part 2], [part 3 to be posted]

2022

When your Task Force dissolved, with multiple members having dispersed to different tasks and duties, the different offices within the old base had been dispersed into various different locations. You had been given privilege. It wasn’t really within the higher-up’s control to assign you to a different base.

Overall, it had been awfully easy to convince you. Price knew his cards, knew the people he was pulling. It made sense that the task force he’d organized would have good chemistry.

It was amusing. Familiar faces are always a fun thing.

There's no rest for the wicked, is what you often hear. It always applies to people in your line of work, being both a savior of lives and its taker.

Of course, there's no better ice-breaker or introduction into the field than an emergency evac. The first time you'd been called into your new base had been when duty calls. There were some familiar faces on the team of medics you'd been assigned with, brief introductions and ranks were exchanged, and it's off to work.

Squeaks is one. A familiar face, one you'd worked with before albeit very briefly.

"Give 'em hell, doc." she'd said when you'd stepped into the ramp of the aircraft.

And hell you did give. It wasn’t an infrequent occurrence with your line of work where you had to be pulled out of your station to hop onto an aircraft to retrieve injured soldiers.

It’s been less than a week, about three days since you’d been reunited with some of your old patients, until your new patients ended up becoming recent.

“Reports as of ten minutes ago state that seven alert out of twelve, four obtunded, one is stuporous.” You take note, knowing that the rest of your team are listening in. Transcriptions of comms had been sent to you with data having already been filtered out appropriately. Need-to-know, is what it meant.

You eye two people, and in order call them out by their surnames. “Squeaks and Trinity, you’re on triage.”

“Yes Captain.”

“Reyes, Smith, Aisling, you deal with the seven. Make sure they don’t bleed out and add to the less pleasant numbers.” You move past them as they move to their station on the aircraft. “Body transfers to the cots are on Jones and Brown. Take them off the soldiers’ hands– keep them off too if there are any with cold feet.”

“The rest of us– two people require immediate intervention. One of them is in shock.” She hums, looking down at transcripts. “There were originally sixteen soldiers.” They knew what that meant. Two were KIA.

When the aircraft arrives in the landing zone, you and your team get into motion immediately. You help Jones and Brown in transferring the soldiers who can’t walk. Two soldiers that you don’t know personally help with setting the rest of the ones who need help walking inside the cot.

The one who was stuporous had fallen into a coma, but with a working pulse, and the four had varying levels of prognosis at the current assessment.

You’re used to this. The speed, the quickness in thinking and the steadiness while you work under these less-than-favorable circumstances. You’ve worked through worse, but that’s not a mindset you should get used to. Makes you complacent. There’s no room for complacency in this place.

“Captain Salvi!” Squeaks calls, “Five out of sixteen aren’t on the vehicle.” You hear.

You curse under your breath, “Squeaks, take over.” You wait for them to shuffle over and take over with keeping the soldier alive, before pulling back to walk towards the seven who were sat at the sides. From Squeaks, you take the tablet and swipe through the updated charts.

They’d reported the four missing names, reported well but unable to make it to exfil for whatever reason.

They all stand in attention– all who can, that is. “At ease.” You tell them. “Where are your superiors.”

One steps forward, “Ma’am, they’ve told us to head to exfil ahead of them.” He tells you. “They’re moving to another base, picked up by allies in Mexico.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Mexico?”

“That’s all we’re aware of as of now, ma’am.”

You breathe. Something's up, then. Your attention is called by the pilot in front. "Laswell's on comms." He'd said.

"Patch me in?"

“Watcher 1 to Echo 1-6, do you copy?”

“Solid copy, Watcher-1.” You retort, and look back at the soldiers before you. “Heal well, boys.” You say before backing off and walking back to the front of the plane.

There’s a crackle on Laswell’s end, before she proceeds. “Price needs you ASAP, but there’s no time for RTB. You clear for an impromptu mission?”

You curse under your breath. Not so much as an introduction. Is this how it's going to be? “Always.” You tell her. You're no stranger to these emergencies. “Not as much as a debrief, huh?”

“I’d say sorry, but you know how it is.”

“No rest for the wicked.” You say. “Think I can join them before they get picked up by Mexican Special Forces?”

“I’ll tell the pilot in advance to drop you off for RV.” Laswell tells you. “Watcher-1 out.”

You walk over to the cockpit, placing a hand on the seat. The other hand reaches for your ear piece to switch channels so you can speak with the pilot. “You got the coordinates?” You ask, and with the confirmation, you continue. “Don’t land. I’ll prep for HALO.” You tell him. “Three of them need immediate attention. I don’t want them dead on arrival.”

“Copy.” The pilot replies. You back away, and head towards the hamper where you check your kit twice for anything you’d need. While you were in charge of MedEvac, you knew the risks. As long as you were beyond the line of fire, there’s still always that chance of attack.

In this case, you were the attacker.

“Approaching RV point.” You hear in your ear. “Prepare for HALO.” High Altitude, Low Opening. You’re hoping that it’s dark enough that no one will notice the parachute– then again, this isn’t the first time you’ve done this.

Trinity walks over to you. “Captain–”

“Report to Brown. I’m headed off.” You shrug on the pack, and head towards the ramp. Before that, though, you turn to your team. Most of which are paying attention to you as you walk.

“Scott, Hudson, support with transfers.” You call, and the two of them nod. Their physique will help Brown and Jones with transferring the patients into gurneys with both haste and cautiousness.

Squeaks and Trinity approach you as you all move out of the aircraft, handing you their digitally inputted evaluations. You read through them as you move, swiping through the tablet as you read through the list. “That’s about it. Are we clear?” They all affirm.

You get a signal from the pilots. That’s all you need before you approach the ramp and drop in.

***

2001

It was a Saturday when Sergeant Simon Riley had first been forced on Medical Leave of Absence. This was on the insistence of the base’s, refusing to give him clearance until he’s deemed better, where he’d been assigned to a rehabilitation clinic not too far from his current place of stay– fortunately not too far from base.

The previous mission was bad– certainly not the worst that has happened, especially not the worst to come, but it was bad.

When the paperwork for the leave was undergoing process and Simon had been forced to confine himself to med within base, the perpetrator as to why he’d gotten hurt had been very accommodating to his whims– not that Simon had many of them, but the one who was supposed to receive the bullets (plural) that took Simon down. Doesn’t matter anymore– no man left behind, and all that.

You know what they say about people torn into bad situations– you should have seen the other guy is what he would have said if he had been in a lighter mood.

Except he’d damaged his peroneal nerve in the process.

Fortunately it’s something easy to get back from, but that’s with rehabilitation. Hence, where he’d first met you.

“Hello, Sergeant Riley.” You say, eyes twinkling with mirth and without that jaded look that he’d grown so used to witnessing in people within this line of work. You introduce yourself, first with your name. “I’m the one assigned to looking after your progression with your injuries– ultimately, medical clearance isn’t up to me, but anything I report goes into consideration. Anything you want to ask?”

“How long ‘til I’d get this off?”

“According to your chart–” you look through his charts. “Some weeks.” You hum, impressed at the prognosis. “Medical will clear you then– higher ups seem insistent in getting you back, huh?”

“I’m a good shot.” He tells you. “Some weeks, then– you any good in cuttin’ it down, Lieutenant?”

You laugh, waving in front of him. “Well, if you don’t fuck up your own injuries. Sure. Got a good prognosis anyway, considering the shit you’ve been through.” Then you remind him again to call you by your name. “And fortunately for you, your ass landed in my expert care.” There was a grin on your face as you told him that.

Overwhelming confidence in this. Infallible.

He’d been told that his injury hadn’t been so severe that it’d take him out of commission any time soon, but he’d been uncertain about that. It had been near damned frustrating to be so vulnerable. The injury is no scratch–that’s a huge chunk of his lateral knee fractured by the bullet, taking the nerve with it. While the medics had said otherwise, he just didn’t think someone could just regain proper function out of it again.

So when that stubborn pessimism is met with that near-blinding optimism–

It was hard not to believe in your confidence, and that was considering that Simon knew not to believe in good things.

The first day was for initial evaluation. You’d told him that you wouldn’t begin with all the exercises and stretching just yet. He’d been compliant.

For the first day, that is.

***

2022

Upon landing, you waste no time in moving towards RV. You made sure that there’d be no one following you, putting on the nightvision equipment you’d taken from the team that was pulled out for medevac. With a rifle in your hand, you traverse to the agreed upon location.

Only, you don’t exactly find them there.

“Bravo 0-6, this is Salvi, how copy?” You say into your comm, listening for the radio for any response. “Echo 1-6 to Bravo Team, how copy?” You wait about two seconds before your mouth opens to ask again, once more before you radio Laswell.

“Bravo-06 to Salvi, solid copy.” Price’s voice cracks on the radio, and you breathe out a sigh of relief. “Just got… held back a bit.”

“Give me a sitrep, Price.” You question, continuing to move around so that you aren’t a sitting duck at the RV point. “There’s no one in RV.”

There’s a chuckle on the other line. “We’re on the way, got held back for first aid. Someone decided to be stubborn and skip on the medevac.”

“Damn.” You hiss under your breath, word caught by the comm. “Based on the data I’ve got, there’s only the four of you– Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant Mactavish and Sergeant Garrick. Is that correct?”

“Affirmative.”

“Price, you aren’t injured are you?”

“Nope.”

“Good. I have a lot of choice words, then.” You say into the comms, knowing that the rest of them are listening. You were of a higher rank than the rest of them, which means that you can easily berate whoever got himself hurt and didn’t jump on medevac.

“Hell Runneth Loose.” Gaz utters under his breath, joining on the comms.

“That’s what I’m here for, Garrick.” You say. “Give me a location, set the RV at a midpoint so I can get a look at it.”

“Exfil would be further out.” Price points out.

“I have two working legs, Captain. I can use them.” You retort. “Details.” It was less of a request and more of a demand.

He tells you, and you move quick and silently towards the agreed upon location. It’s an abandoned building with a lot of debris, but standing strong enough for it to serve as a good and safe temporary camp.

You arrive first, so you scout the area for any hostiles that might be at site. There are none, fortunately, so it seems that whatever they had to deal with further West of the area hasn’t reached this place. Has to be one hell of a trip, if that’s the case.

“Echo 1-6 to Bravo Team, no sign of hostiles in the area.” You say with finality into the comm. “We’re clear.”

“Copy that Echo 1-6.”

You keep watch, keeping an eye on the perimeter in case the situation changes. Fortunately, it doesn’t, and it remains to be clear. “Approaching RV.” You hear a familiar voice on the comms.

But there’s the distinct sound of something that whizzes fast, piercing through air. You immediately duck, lowering yourself so that the wall could hide you from wherever the attack comes from. “Bravo Team coming in hot!”

“Couldn’t fucking warn me you’d had tangos comin’ over?” You hiss, raising your gun towards the perimeter, at the general direction from where you know they’d be coming from.

“A very recent development, in my defense.” Price hisses. “There’s not many, it’s manageable. You in a position to snipe, lass?”

“Affirm.” You tell him. “Get in the building, Cap, I’ve got overwatch.” You set up quick, shooting from the top of the building. You pray to whatever’s still left up there that they’ve got no RPGs– this building is doomed to fall in on itself and that’s just with the bullets encasing on already fragile wall.

And it wasn't likely, anyway. On foot, having gear like that is unlikely.

You take down as many assailants as you can, registering in your head who are friendlies by attire alone. Not usual protocol, given that you can’t be certain how positive your i.d. is of the people trailing so close to one group, but you can be certain at least that the one with the bucket hat is price and the rest that he’s allowing within his proximity are friendlies.

They come up the building, taking position and securing the area.

A hulking figure is placed beside you, heavy with a thump against the wall. You look up, seeing that it was Sergeant Mactavish who’d placed the patient on your side.

You turn your head towards Sergeant Mactavish, whose eyes shift between yourself, Ghost, and the battlefield. “Sergeant Mactavish-- pleasure to meet ya." You smile. "Hell of a first meeting, huh?"

"I'd say." Soap grins. "Need any help?"

"You take overwatch while I patch him up.”

Soap nods, shifting to take your position. “Roger that, Doc Sal.”

You didn’t need to look twice to be certain who it was that he’d dropped into your hands.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure seeing you again, Ghost,” You start with a smile. “But I believe that these are less than pleasant circumstances.”

The man leaned against the wall, debris falling between you both. He eyes you for a moment, before looking away and back to the battlefield. He huffs, not that you can hear it, and tilts his head forward in a nod. “Gotta stop meetin’ like this, y’reckon?”

You nod, “Line of fire seems to love you out there.” There’s a joke in there, a reference to a mission together once before. “Where are you hit, Lieutenant?”

“Left lumbar– just a graze.”

“Nice of you to be specific this time.” You quip, opening your pack to get the materials you need.

“Learned my lesson.”

“Whoever taught you must have ripped you a new one, huh?” There's amusement in your voice. "Hold still."

"I'd say." Soap grins. "Need any help?"

"You take overwatch while I patch him up.”

Soap nods, shifting to take your position. “Roger that, Doc Sal.”

155 notes · View notes

truetonorth · 3 days ago

Text

Friends Don't Lie

MDNI

"Luke and Sawyer's friendship goes way back. They're inseparable, compatible to the bones, unable to stay mad at each other… Unless it's about a girl, and about a girl it was. Everything would be alright, if Luke didn't lie.

But he did. And friends are not supposed to lie."

----------

pairing: sgfg!luke x original character

word count: 14.7k

tw: smut, referenced self harm

a/n:

hello! i hope you enjoy this little angsty story about sounds good feels good ! luke and my original character sawyer. i hope you like her, because my girl is messy, not going to lie.

thanks to my girl allie for helping me tame the english language and being an amazing critic 🩷

feel free to leave me requests!

----------

Pounding on the door echoed through the entire Hemmings house. Luke had the impression that soon, it’ll conjure an earthquake that could crumble the foundation and knock down the walls. If only he had any motivation to pick himself up from the warm bed and open the front door… But Luke had none. The cold had been tormenting him for a week, —which also meant a week of house arrest and skipping school–, and because of that, he lay buried under the covers, with his chest slippery from a warming body balm. The usual, messy decor of his room was joined by a used pile of tissues on the dresser, and multiple empty mugs after tea and aspirin. Back on Sunday, when he started sneezing and his mum pulled out an old mercury thermometer from the cabinet above the fridge, the prospect of being sick seemed like the most appealing thing on Earth. Then, one by one, Luke lost the energy to play the guitar, his phone screen was too bright even on the lowest setting, and his fever reached the levels where Liz forced him to take cold baths. And at school… Suddenly, everyday there was something happening, people fighting and arguing, teachers playing movies instead of teaching a class, and giving out free A’s for bare minimum tasks like painting the best birthday card for their elderly cat. Fucking awesome!

Liz Hemmings raised her gaze from the pages of a very exciting crime novel. For some unknown reason, she assumed it had to be her husband, who once again didn’t feel like looking for keys in his leather briefcase. However, the banging didn’t stop, if anything, it only intensified. She wanted to call Luke, but remembered that she herself tucked him under the covers and prohibited from even going as far as to the bathroom. With a sigh, she rose from their beige corner sofa and opened the door for an unexpected intruder.

The woman squinted seeing Sawyer Ashwood on her doorstep.

“Good Morning, Mrs. Hemmings!” the blonde girl practically shouted, as soon as the door opened enough for the tiles in the hallway to become visible.

Sawyer Ashwood’s blond hair flew in all directions, free of the woolen hat she was crumpling in her hands despite the winter weather. Her navy coat stayed unbuttoned as always, although unlike some of the other high schoolers she wasn’t keeping it that way to show off her outfit; running out of school, the last thing she wanted to waste time on was something as mundane as closing all the buttons. It resulted in a furiously red blush on her cheeks, and a very similar color covering the tip of her nose. The chattering teeth were a nice addition to the team, but the girl didn’t seem to mind at all. Of course, Ashton was standing right behind Sawyer, his jacket buttoned up neatly, with the scarf tucked in tightly and a hat covering his ears. The only thing missing were Calum and Michael, but Liz would ask her questions later.

“Is Luke even still alive? He hasn’t texted in four days and yesterday, we were supposed to play GTA. But he never logged in! Ashton didn’t want to come. but I need a mediator in this conversation. Otherwise, I might rip his fucki- his head off,” Sawyer explained, falling into her usual chattiness. Out of all the Liz’s friends’ children, she started talking the earliest and hasn’t stopped ever since then.

“Luke is sick…”

Liz didn’t even have time to finish, because as soon as Sawyer heard that her friend was living and breathing, she rushed into the house. She quickly kicked her shoes off her feet and ran towards the stairs. Sawyer knew the Hemmings house as well, if not better, than her own. Whenever she and her parents would come over for dinner, they ended up staying the night. The Ashwoods occupied the guest room, while Sawyer and Luke sat on his bed under the blanket, reading comics and playing games until well past midnight. Sometimes, he would show her what song he was currently learning on the guitar and his mum would barge into the room, rushing them to sleep. There was also the fact that Ashwoods lived just a street away – it might have been a long street, but ever since Sawyer got a skateboard for Christmas, the distance didn’t scare her at all. Luke’s parents saw her as often as their own kids, and Sawyer saw them more than her own parents, who always ended up staying late at work or simply wouldn’t notice that their daughter wasn’t home.

Ashton calmly crossed the threshold and started unbuttoning his jacket with steady fingers. He was the most composed out of their friend group, and would often look with confusion at their erratic behaviour and ideas. That said, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t participate when it came to putting those ideas to live.

“We had to play with Dirk,” he explained.

“The one who pulled at her braids?” the woman asked.

Ashton confirmed. About a month prior, a boy from their grade made such questionable choices and decided to pull on Sawyer’s messy braids in the unofficial smoking area behind the school gym. Sawyer, as expected, didn’t bother with talking to the teacher and simply punched Dirk in his freckled nose, which ended with a hemorrhage for him and a principal visit for her. Talking to the teacher, Dirk disclosed that the last thing he heard before getting punched was Luke Hemmings’ tired not again, and then the blond was on him. The very next day, Evelyn Ashwood was sitting at Liz’s kitchen island, complaining about her daughter and her uncontrolled temper. It seemed to always be Evelyn’s favourite subject – she had to pick her daughter from school, talk to teachers, drive her to a mandatory psychologist appointment, maybe an anger management class, all for Sawyer to act up again and again, just to make her mother’s life harder.

Liz only sighed.

“Fine. In that case, go join them, I’ll make some tea. Just don’t sit too close to Luke,” she asked, and Ashton nodded in confirmation. He started climbing the stairs, before turning back to his friend’s mum.

“Calum and Mike will probably come in a bit. They still had classes when we left.” It was a nice way of saying that Sawyer skipped her last hour, since Ashton’s schedule was different. If anyone cared to ask, she would explain that Ashton was absolutely necessary in this scenario and she couldn’t let him go home, because then, he probably wouldn’t agree to come out again. Liz couldn’t care less; she was used to her son having these four basically attached to the hip. When Sawyer was expelled from their first high school, Luke basically begged her to allow him to switch too, since the girl was his best and only friend. Although she was sceptical at first, watching him find new friends never failed to put a smile on Liz’s face.

Of course, there has always been Sawyer, and Liz doubted she would ever disappear from her son’s life. Thankfully, her opinion of the girl was much more positive than her own mother’s. Some would even say that Liz treated her like one of her own… And it certainly was true. Sawyer would kill for Luke (scientifically proven, as she did beat people up in his name before), and Liz would never take affection like that for granted.

Entering through the doorway covered with posters of various rock bands, Ashton saw the blue navy coat draped over the guitar stand, as well as her red hat somewhere under the desk. He closed the door behind him, only to realise that Sawyer was already lying on the bed next to Luke, –the same Luke they were supposed to not sit too close to–, and vividly retelling everything that had happened at school during the last week. Every single time she gestured, and Sawyer talked with her whole body, Luke almost got hit with her fist across the face, but Ashton wasn’t there to save him. No, no – if Luke didn’t get sick in the first place, Ashton wouldn’t be forcefully dragged to a pottery class and Michael wouldn’t have to suffer through sitting with Sawyer during most classes, meanwhile Calum had to sit alone. It was their joint decision to let Sawyer eat him up, and only intervene if she got physical, but her rage over yesterday’s game seemed long forgotten. Without a word, Ashton sat down at the foot of the bed, listening to Sawyer’s exaggerated story by himself.

Luke, however, didn’t look like he needed saving at all. He shifted on his pillow and stared at Sawyer’s profile, inhaling her every word and organizing it in his head.

----------

Six years later…

He felt pathetic. Or maybe he simply was pathetic? Luke didn’t know. His life was falling apart before his very eyes, and he didn’t know how to stop it from happening, or whether he even wanted to stop it at all. Maybe what he needed was for everything to just crumble into ash – to get a fresh start. That depressive dilemma had appeared in his head ever since they came home from the last tour, and with it, Luke made a few questionable decisions. Not knowing where his life was at, he felt unable to find his footing, both physically and emotionally. The band was on hiatus, even though their friendship stayed intact. The label clearly communicated that if the next song that they deliver wouldn’t be a hit, the hiatus might as well turn into a permanent solution. He wanted to write, chase the adrenaline of being on stage, but just thinking about the claustrophobic rooms and sharing a bed with Calum made him want to puke. Luke couldn’t remember when was the last time he ate a home-cooked meal, but surprise, the relationship with his parents and siblings also got strained ever since he turned eighteen and decided to be as independent as it gets, which somehow also meant not calling home. Then, there was Sawyer… The one person Luke really wanted to talk to, who was mad at him, and he couldn’t even be frustrated about it, because she had every right to hate him.

The need to sort his shit out was overwhelming, but he didn’t even know where to start. Parties became a perfect form of escapism for pretty much everybody, and thus drowning their sorrows in alcohol. Instead of looking for solutions, his thoughts circled the same situations, even though Luke thought them through millions of times. Funny, since he wasn’t a person prone to reflection, certainly not in the context of his own life. He couldn’t change the past anyway, and dwelling on it could be destructive.

“Fucking God, Luke…”

Ashton appeared out of nowhere, or maybe Luke was just too drunk to follow his movements. The red bandana sat unevenly on his head, and his eyes drilled into the blond’s face as if he was expecting him to do something. Well, good fucking luck because Luke rarely knew what people expected of him anymore. In his current state, he couldn’t bring himself to worry about Ashton’s concerned scowl. After the last few beers, he felt all warm and cozy inside, not the usual crazy drunk, and even Irwin wouldn’t fuck this up with his mothering.

“Sawyer is here,” Mike said, appearing out of the crowd that occupied the kitchen and beer pong table. His face was equally worried, and only after he announced their newest guest, the words and their meaning crushed into Luke like a truck.

His face turned pale. She was the epicentre of his whole plague, the moral dilemmas engulfing him every night before falling asleep. For a second, an idea struck him, —he could run away, lock himself in one of the bathrooms in their rental–, but Sawyer could already be noticed cutting through the people. Her blond hair bounced with every step, and the brown, constantly smudged wings gave her narrow eyes a military grade sharpness. The chapped lips, pulled into a thin line, were unnaturally closed. Luke would rather be talked to death by Sawyer, recently it’s been all he dreamed of, rather than being on the receiving end of this fury that radiated from her whole body. Fucking hell, he was not only the recipient, but also the reason.

“Shit…” he whispered to himself, taking a panicked step back, but Sawyer was already approaching; there was no way of escaping her, and Luke knew that too well from pure experience. Boys who messed with Sawyer Ashwood never met a happy ending, because she wouldn’t stop before making their lives miserable. They used to laugh about it, joke about having brownie points because of their bond. Except Luke didn’t know where that stood anymore. Could one mistake ruin a lifelong friendship? Apparently, because once Sawyer was close enough that he could count her freckles, her hand connected with his cheek without hesitation. This was what they used to laugh at, but now everyone watched with an open mouth, not knowing if they should laugh or call the police. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Calum abandon his cigarette and some brunette on the terrace, making his way towards the scene.

“Fuck you, Luke,” she hissed through her teeth, her every muscle tense. “You’re such a motherfucking dick-”

A girl stepped away from the observers, standing between Luke and Sawyer. He swallowed hard; this wouldn’t end well. Her blue hair barely reached her shoulder and thick-rimmed glasses sat low on her nose.

“Sawyer, please, stop. This is my fault, don’t take it out on Luke. You’re embarrassing him.”

Sawyer pursed her lips and looked away from her. Her bottom lip actually seemed to quiver – it reminded Luke of many times when his friend was close to a breakdown and pushed it down for appearances. The facade fell, letting her muscles relax. Seeing that, Luke allowed his shoulders to fall. He didn’t even dare to look at Grace, because he worried it might pump his friend full of rage again. Or maybe an ex-friend? Luke knew one thing for sure; he looked at Grace way too many times to do it again without a guilty conscience, even though deep down he knew her words were pure bullshit.

“Fuck all of you,” the blond simply stated, before turning on her heel and heading for the main entrance. Watching her disappear in the crowd, losing the view of her head behind a corner, Luke felt like he didn’t know where he was himself. What the fuck did just happen? Only then did his cheek start to hurt, and he held up his hand to touch it. He needed to put something cool against it to prevent bruising; funnily enough, it was a trick Luke learned from Sawyer.

Grace approached him and placed her small hand on his shoulder. Oversized hoodie and black jeans swallowed her whole, but Luke remembered her figure even through the haze of all the alcohol. Involuntarily, he wondered if tonight she’s also wearing lace under all these clothes, but he shook the thought off in a second. It was the alcohol thinking, or so he wanted to believe. If not… Well, that would make Luke Hemmings a very shit human being. In reality, he was just too childish to forget how much fun it was to play with matches, even though everything around was getting engulfed by fire.

“Sorry about her-” Ashton’s scoff interrupted Grace. Luke could feel all the alcohol evaporating from his body. He noticed Calum pushing through the crowd towards them. Everyone around seemed to forget about the assault that took place when Hot In Here blasted from the speakers. “Is this funny to you?” she snapped at the drummer.

Ashton brushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes; he was getting ready to argue.

“You’re funny to me, Grace. If anyone here is taking it out on someone, it’s you, on both of them,” he stated nonchalantly. Calum reached them, and instead of standing in the clearly antagonistic circle, leaned against the nearest wall, giving him a good view of the argument.

“Then write a song about it or something, but stay out of this,” Grace whimpered, offended by his words. Luke focused on the floor, trying to get the memory of her hips, waist, stomach, thighs out of his head… “It’s not me who has a problem, it’s her!”

“You cheated on her,” Calum murmured, catching everyone’s attention. It was clear his head was working overtime to understand what was happening, yet he still managed to defend his friend.

“If it was me, I would also have a problem with it,” Michael added, making Ashton smile in triumph. If it was up to him, they could bully the blue-haired girl all night. Maybe it wasn’t within the traditional framework of fun, but he was having lots of it knowing that they’re one step closer to getting rid of her. The last thing he wanted was for her to get attached and Luke being too passive to do anything about it. It was clear he had to put on his paternal shoes once more, for one last dance.

Grace seemed outraged by his statement, although everyone in their group knew that Calum was right. In desperation, she looked towards Luke for help, but to no avail – he still watched the floor as if it was the most interesting thing ever. First of all, his friends weren’t wrong; Sawyer had every right to be pissed, and Luke knew it damn well. Second of all, he simply felt guilty, because even though all the anger concentrated on Grace, it takes two to tango.

“Luke, say something,” she tugged on his sleeve, completely ignoring the accusations.

“Luke, go chase your fucking friend,” Ashton corrected Grace, not so subtly kicking him in the shins. He received a pointed look, because after getting slapped, Luke didn’t need any more violence inflicted on him. Contrary to what his friend might have thought, his brain could still distinguish a completely wrong reaction from a good one.

“Grace…” She looked at him hopefully. “Come on, let me go.”

He left the rental after pushing through the people. Going back home definitely proved that keeping relationships can be complicated, because as much as everyone was proud, nobody had a problem showing that they should have handled certain things differently. On the contrary, random people from their school or the neighbourhood had no problems glueing themselves to the band, as if they were part of the group in the first place. Constant texting about free tickets, invites to the parties, or rather nagging whether they would like to organize them. The worst part was, it felt good to be liked and wanted after being sidelined by the label; it was certainly easier to allow those people in than make amends with their loved ones. When things got complicated, they simply decided to escape them by moving out, and now, vodka bottles covered the kitchen counter every weekend and their dinners consisted of instant ramen. It wasn’t smart in the longshot – Luke knew that when he saw another couple doing lines in the bathroom or people jumping to the pool from the balcony. But for once, he needed to rest. The smell of weed hung thick in the air, so when the fresh wind outside hit him, he almost gasped.

He ended up in their wanna-be courtyard. The path leading to the garage was fenced from the entrance pathway with a little, brick wall; the first week they moved in, Calum bumped into it with his car. Now, Sawyer Ashwood sat on top of it, a lit cigarette between her fingers.

Sawyer had never been drop-dead gorgeous. She had never taken his breath away, never made his heart rush. Her view never made his thoughts get clouded, obscuring his common sense. He would not jump into the fire after her, and not because she wasn’t worth it, but because Luke strongly believed that Sawyer would rise from the flames just to beat him up over making such a stupid self-sacrifice. Or worse, she would haunt him in the afterlife.

When Luke looked at Sawyer, the complete opposite happened. A wave of pure, uninterrupted thoughts would flood him, his heart and breathing slowed down to their natural rates, his hands stopped shaking… It was like a calm in the middle of the storm, like the realization that everything is going to be okay. Common sense broke through the intoxication. When he looked at her, he thought about the memories of their childhood and the carefree years that had long passed. With Sawyer, Luke could finally feel like a responsible adult, because she never really grew up. She would always need someone to pull her away from the trouble, from the fights, remind her that all this rage and chaos were hollow and pointless – only for Sawyer to pierce her own tongue in the school bathroom the next day and call in a hurry, because it started getting infected. With her, his life had an ounce of significance, because someone needed him, and Luke knew damn well that without Sawyer, he would fall apart so many times. At the end of the day, together they could fall apart just enough to still make sense.

He approached her slowly, hoping she would see him coming and they could avoid another fit of anger – it was a stupid assumption in Sawyer’s case, but nobody ever said that Luke was smart. Her hair was flowing in the wind, many dye jobs leaving it anything but the underlying blonde. The ends still had a green hue to them from her last idea, while towards the root, the color looked like the perfect peachy pink, to finally reveal the darker roots. The messy eyeliner and strategically placed white pencil made her eyes look more round, and the raspberry lipstick peeled off her chapped lips, staining the white cigarette paper.

Luke, for some reason, thought he’d be able to sit down next to her, but before he even reached the wall, Sawyer stood up and threw the cigarette under her sole, and then unceremoniously slapped him across the face, again.

And again.

And once more.

And yet again.

She finished, pressing her hand to her stomach. From the scowl on Sawyer’s face, Luke could tell that it hurt from all the blows – he did have an exceptionally chiseled jaw, and it wasn’t feeling much better. Maybe if they allowed her to actually fight people for more than one punch, she would build a stronger endurance.

“Are you done?” he asked, touching his throbbing cheek. Thankfully, she didn’t break the skin, because it would make rounds in the papers. Luke knew damn well that he could have stopped her, caught her wrist before she even landed the first blow, and every other one that followed. He also knew that he deserved it, and a part of him thought that taking the punishment was more honorable than running away from it. Bullshit. “Because it hurts…”

This time, Sawyer punched him in the chest with her closed fist instead. Luke looked at her with confusion, making her snort.

“I meant it, Luke, fuck off. You have no right to come crawling back to me, expecting that we’ll reminisce about the good old times and I’ll magically forget. You really fucked me up this time,” Sawyer admitted, brushing her unevenly cut bangs out of her eyes. Her voice was hoarse; from the cold, or from the cigarette, or maybe from crying, but it made something break inside him.

“That’s not what I expected,” he lied mechanically. Because that’s exactly what he expected – that’s how it happened in the movies. The power of friendship could overcome pretty much anything, and he knew Sawyer Ashwood from the diapers and breastfeeding. Theoretically, they could have lost touch multiple times throughout the years, but they never did, and that must have accounted for something. All Luke really wanted was to be back in his room, sitting on his bed, sharing a joint while he showed her how to play Wonderwall on his guitar. “Look, Sawyer… I don’t know what got into me that night. I never meant for any of this to happen. But maybe it’s for the better, ok? Grace is a bitch, the way she played it out–”

“Fucking God, Grace isn’t the one who decided to fuck her best friends’ girlfriend!” the blond interrupted him, clearly unable to take anymore of his pathetic explanations. It hurt him that she only seemed to blame him, not her ex. “It’s you, Luke! You’re the bitch! You’re a two-faced piece of shit who only thinks about himself!”

Luke fell silent and sat down on the wall. He looked at her, trying to keep his composure. Liz raised him better than to use verbal insults, and he was really holding himself back. But he wasn’t like one of her exes or boys who bullied her in high school; he deserved at least a bit of respect.

“Was it so hard to swallow that I was finally happy?! You have your fuck-ass band, and I have to read what happens to you from fucking gossip magazines, because all of the sudden I’m too lowly to be a part of your life! If you don’t want me anymore, why the fuck would you go and ruin the one thing where someone did actually want me?!”

“She clearly didn’t want you that much since she fucked me!”

Well, Luke got punched in the face again. He should have expected it. Looking into her resentful eyes, you couldn’t say that Sawyer was close to tears, because she wasn’t. Sawyer was angry, only angry. She had already cried too much over this, and if she was going to shed another tear, it wouldn’t be for the comfort of others. Luke should have known that he had broken something inside her, hurt her to the bones, but apparently, he only had enough empathy to see his actions as a favour.

“You’re such a dick…” she began again.

“Sure, Sawyer, you can insult me. I deserve it. But if you thought I did it on purpose, then maybe it’s a good thing you’re not part of my career, because that’s a place for friends, and friends know each other,” Luke spat out. Sawyer only shook her head, slowly losing energy for this. He wouldn’t understand it; she was naive to think he ever would.

Sawyer Ashwood knew Luke Hemmings before she even knew herself, but apparently it wasn’t good enough.

“Most of all, friends don’t lie, Luke. If you had told me when it happened…” Sawyer’s voice rose an octave higher. That was the worst part of everything, what actually hurt her so deeply wasn’t the cheating, but the fact that everyone kept it from her. She felt pathetic admitting that it was this simple; that Luke might have gotten off easy if he stayed honest. After months of ignoring her, missing birthday wishes and making her feel like shit, she would take him back if he had the balls – it made Sawyer feel weak and stupid.

She cleared her throat.

“If you had just told me you slept with her when it happened, I might have been able to swallow it.”

“I couldn't,” he said, forming a logical explanation in his head. Luke thought about it for a long time, before realizing that he never wants to be in a position where he would have to tell her. His reasons were so cliché, especially after always hearing from Sawyer that she was much more into women. Revealing this secret had no better purpose than to make a fool of himself, and Luke had enough of that on tonight’s record. He was sure when Ashwood looked up at the sky; sure that she would ask why, that she would want to know. “You say that now, Sawyer,” he added, shrugging.

Luke was just so fucking sure she would ask any time now.

But instead, Sawyer turned on her heel. She wanted to get out of this place, out of this situation and people who were wasting her time and energy and sanity. She had already wasted two decades on Luke, only to end up with a broken heart. Sawyer might not have been an internationally acknowledged artist or earn millions of dollars, but she expected so much more. Sawyer deserved so much more. For years, Sawyer Ashwood considered her life less than satisfying, –she didn’t have lots of friends, wasn’t particularly attractive, got average grades at best, had shit parents who couldn’t care less–, but at least she had Luke. She had a friend who would be there no matter what; but that train left the station a long time ago, and he jumped it before she could even notice. Funny how everyone around her always said that nothing good would come from her friendship with the four boys, but she always believed in them.

Now she was eating her own shit, because no way Ashton, Michael and Calum would take her side. They were his friends, his band.

“I couldn’t, because you would ask ‘Why did you do it, Luke?’, and look at me with your huge doe eyes, and I wouldn’t be able to blame it on alcohol. I was so wasted, Sawyer… But despite everything, I just didn’t want to see you with someone who wasn’t me.”

In one of the pop music videos, or a romantic comedy on Netflix, they would be seventeen and played by actors half their age. She would turn to him and start walking; he would do the same, just so they could meet halfway and kiss. A cute kiss – something seemingly deep to be romantic, but in a way that the movie could be rated PG13. That’s why, when Luke noticed Sawyer turn back towards him, he stood up and smiled to himself.

“Well, you did amazing, because I don’t want to see you ever again. Leave me alone. You’re too pathetic to look at Luke, so much that it hurts.”

----------

“There you go.” Ashton’s voice woke Sawyer from a trance. The blonde didn’t know why she agreed to meet with him. Maybe it was the shock – she didn’t expect the invite at all, and when it came, she texted back sooner than her mind could analyze every possible angle.

She kept on going back to everything that happened, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, as if it would give her any answers.

Just to make the rent, Sawyer shared her time between a reception desk at an art gallery and a rave club in the center. The first job was just for her, within the area of her interest, but the second one was what made the difference; at least on the nights when she wore a tighter blouse or her boobs were showing a bit more, and the tips would flow in much better than usual. She met Grace at that club, during her shift, feet hurting from standing around and hands constantly sticky from grenadine, no matter how many times she washed them. A petite, pink-haired girl approached the bar and ordered two drinks, one with alcohol, while the other one was without. Sawyer asked her why would anyone stay sober at a rave, and Grace shrugged, admitting that technically, her date wasn’t off the clock yet. Sawyer decided not to comment, but then, right after she presented the drinks on the counter, Grace pushed the mocktail towards her with a cocky smile.

They seemed like the perfect match from the beginning, or maybe Sawyer just liked that when she was with Grace, her thoughts were taken off everything else. When they were together, she didn’t feel the need to google her best friend’s name or look through his recent concert videos on Twitter. She wasn’t tempted to text him or call him, even though she knew he wouldn’t pick up and minutes after being sent to voicemail, Sawyer would be deleting any traces of her call from their chat because she felt embarrassed. Then, she would get mad and scream into her pillow. Then, she would punch the pillow, but that didn’t change the fact that she felt stupid.

Sometimes, you have to beat stupidity out of someone, her father would always say. So Sawyer would; her open palm connecting with her cheek, sometimes harder and sometimes missing the aim completely. Sometimes concentrating the blow on her nose rather than the cheek, or hitting the lip with her nail, making it bleed. She would slap until the cheek was red and first tears streamed down the burn.

But she didn’t need that with Grace. She was the perfect distraction, and enjoyable at that. Sawyer could really see herself falling for that girl – her humor, her body, the way she kissed her worries away and made her scream without much effort. Grace always made the cutest promises and gave the most convincing arguments… And turned very fast from sweet to bitter, over the smallest things. But Sawyer would much rather cry over her relationship than the guy that clearly forgot she ever existed. At least Grace wanted to talk to her and touch her and kiss her in public; at least she wasn’t ashamed.

She clearly didn’t want you that much since she fucked me!

It made Sawyer feel so stupid, to not notice any signs before. No matter how many times she analyzed the course of the four months since she and the band reconnected, she couldn’t find any hint that this would happen. Grace didn’t seem fazed by her girlfriend knowing a pretty famous band. She wasn’t rendered speechless by shaking Calum Hood’s hand. She sure as hell didn’t seem to be attracted to any of them. Hell, for all that Sawyer knew, Grace was a full on lesbian. All of that made her go in circles around those few memories she had of their interactions, trying to find the moment when Luke looked at Grace differently, or where her body language changed. She tried to find the solution to the problem until her head hurt and frustration set in, and from there, the line to screaming and kicking and hitting was very thin.

Irwin passed her a strawberry beer and sat down next to her. A few metres away, a group of high schoolers was starting to drink away to celebrate the weekend. Sawyer couldn’t look away, even though her gaze harbored a lot of disgust.

It’s on those parties where people would promise each other things, like friendship until the grave. Eventually, the only thing left of them was a hangover and disappointment.

“Look, if Luke sent you here to apologize for him…”

“Now, where did that idea come from?” Ashton asked, furrowing his brows. He took a swing out of his bottle, looking towards the group too. Back then, those parties seemed like a lot of fun, especially when they had to make a run for it away from police. Now, when his house would turn into a club every weekend, it just looked silly. “No, Luke didn’t send me. After all, you could say I’m a little pissed at him.”

Sawyer frowned. Maybe it made her naive, but his words simply didn’t make sense in her head. They haven’t been spending any time together recently, nowhere near what they used to. Her perception of Luke, Calum, Michael and Ashton changed from the real state of things to the way the media presented them, to their Instagram posts and fan commentary on their behavior. She felt left out – like just another consumer of their unbreakable friendship. She knew that the three guys would follow Hemmings into a hurricane, and honest to God, Sawyer couldn’t blame them. Maybe she would follow him too… Honestly, Sawyer was already losing it herself, how much she would be able to do in the name of their childhood friendship.

“Why? Ashton, you’re best friends.”

Ashton put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, so that Sawyer could lean on him. She swallowed hard – Ashwood had never been that person, but recently, she really needed a hug. Another thing to add to the list of reasons of why she felt like a fucking idiot.

“I’m friends with you too, Sawyer.” She snorted at his statement. Sawyer expected him to roll his eyes, but he just stared at her with the same disappointment she gave to those kids. His arm dropped from her shoulder, and for a second, she wanted to protest, the weight leaving a phantom pain behind, but he already wrapped his hands around the bottle. “I mean it. Mike is mad at him too. He even said that if Luke won’t stop acting like this, we’ll need to look for a new guitarist. Calum basically breathed down his neck until he deleted Grace’s number and blocked her everywhere.”

She looked down on the pavement. Sawyer had always been hasty. She drew conclusions too quickly and then stubbornly wouldn’t admit her mistake. She hated that about herself, but couldn’t change that behaviour – or maybe she just didn’t want to, because it meant too much work. Everyone always told her at times like these that she should go to a specialist; her highs weren’t supposed to be this high and lows weren’t supposed to be this low. But Sawyer didn’t trust specialists, ever since a bunch of them proved unable to diagnose ADHD in her youth. Everyone told her parents that she was normal, because during an appointment she could sit calmly in an armchair instead of running around the clinic; then they would come back home, where she still couldn’t concentrate, remember the instructions or keep order. Her mum would get mad at her and stop talking to her own daughter until she cleans up her act; her dad would scream, because what fourteen year old forgets to put a plate in the dishwasher or can’t study for a simple math exam. They would call her lazy, an idiot, a fuck up. Sawyer would go to her room and cry, try to muffle it with her pillow or t-shirt, hell, sometimes even fist, because her dad would always say that she doesn’t get to cry because of her own incompetence. She didn’t know she ended up in a psychologist’s office at the end of her freshman year,it could have been her terrible grades or another fight, but it was on this doctor’s recommendation that she finally got a diagnosis…

…and an explanation that she couldn’t get angry about it, because it’s completely normal that it’s harder to diagnose girls.

Even when they prescribed her medication, Sawyer didn’t want to take it. Because of the doctors, she had to manage without the pills her whole childhood and most of the teenage years. If she did it for that long, she could also manage now. It was too late for therapy or other crap that everyone suddenly deemed necessary. All Sawyer wanted was to forget; if all of her symptoms were normal until now, she intended to continue treating them like that. Unfortunately, that very attitude made her unable to cope with it all, and as a result, Sawyer developed a series of traits that she didn’t try to get rid off, even though she could. In the end, she could blame almost everything on ADHD – even though, more often than not, it was the result of her sulking and oversights.

“Ash…” she sighed. “I appreciate it, okay? You know I love you. I- I love Luke too. I just can’t understand why none of you would tell me about it.” Sawyer shrugged.

Now, it was Ashton’s turn to act like the pavement was suddenly very interesting.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t know anything. It was Luke’s fault, yes, but you allowed me to be in a relationship with someone who cheated on me.”

“Sawyer, you know it wasn’t our place to tell you about it,” he cut in.

Sawyer pursed like lips into a thin line, because Ashton was right, as always. If they had run to her with this information, she would have been pissed at everyone; Luke would probably be lying in a grave right now, probably beaten to a pulp with an easel or another random item lying around her small room.

However, after a moment of silence, she asked quietly: “Is he even a bit sorry about the way he acted?”

It was just a shallow manifestation of her desires. Ashwood wanted him to regret it, even if he didn’t shed a tear. She wanted it to stay with him, etched on his consciousness forever, haunting his every relationship. First of all, Sawyer wanted Luke to realise that his pathetic excuses from the party were fucking worthless.

“He is.” Ashton hugged her again. It took him a second to find the right words. “Only… Hemmo style, you know.”

Sawyer knew. She could clearly imagine her friend drunk to the point of unconsciousness, with red eyes, babbling incomprehensibly to anyone who would listen. His style was to suppress problems, often more than necessary. Looking them in the eye… She had never seen Luke do that. Before it even occurred to him to draw conclusions, to come to the terms with consequences, he had to drink and fuck and party them away.

Not that Sawyer was any better.

“I know,” she muttered.

----------

“Hi.”

Sawyer jumped. The kitchen in her friends’ rental home was huge, even by her standard, and Sawyer grew up wealthy. A black bikini hugged her pale body, revealing many tattoos, and wet hair stuck to the nape of her neck. Without make up, her under eye bags could shine with all their glory, and pale lips almost blended in with her skin tone. She only wanted to grab more of the sparkling water before getting back to the swimming pool in their garden. When Ashton invited her last time they saw each other, she initially didn’t want to come, but caved in once Calum and Michael also texted her, nagging to agree. Luke was supposed to be gone, and it was the only fact to convince her – she was ready to rebuild the friendship with the remaining three boys, but the wounds from that night were still fresh.

She made an attempt to just move on and forget, even though that wasn’t something Sawyer would usually do. She truly meant it when she said that she wasted enough time and energy on everything to do with Luke in the span of the last few years.

Sadly, when she turned around to face the entrance to the kitchen, Luke was exactly the person to stand there. Seeing a purple bruise on his cheek, Sawyer felt pride. At least she made a physical mark, if her words didn’t seem to land.

“Hi,” she said, speeding up the process of pouring the drink into her glass. She could feel his eyes scanning her exposed body, and although the suit covered everything it should, under his gaze Sawyer felt almost naked. He probably judged her ink, wondered how Grace found her attractive in the first place. From multiple, messy tattoos on her arms, to an ornament on her stomach and silly cat design on her knees, she could become a color book. It definitely wasn't something Luke was used to seeing on the bodies of all the model’s and pretty girls that came to their parties. Their hair wasn’t fried by bleach, the black polish on their nails wasn’t half-scratched and their lips weren’t chapped. But as she stole a look at him… That definitely wasn’t disgust.

Once upon a time, she wished for Luke to look at her like this. Grace was the first person who managed to make her move on from this sick fantasy of his affection; not only friendly touches, but something on a completely different level. When it first appeared in her dreams, she wanted to wash her eyes with Listerine, but soon after that, Sawyer just… went with it. She couldn’t fight her body’s physical reaction even if she tried, and her body definitely reacted.

It was a shame it didn't get the memo that Luke didn’t exist to them anymore; especially when her nipples started to harden under his gaze, and the black bra did nothing to hide it. The only thing Sawyer could do was hurry to the terrace.

“Sawyer, can you bring some more beers?!” Michael called from the pool. She closed her eyes, irritated. It didn’t help that instead of going further into the house, Luke just stood there, staring. Sawyer was growing pissed at him again, for that simple fact alone. Sure, it was her decision to come over, but he could at least make it easier for the both of them. Her head was working overtime to understand what he was expecting – after the conversation with Ashton, she couldn’t find her footing between hating Hemmings and just wanting him to finally find a good enough excuse that would let her forget and move on. But Sawyer also knew that getting back to how they were wouldn’t satisfy her. She desperately wanted back her friend, the one who gave the best hugs, always helped wash the dye out of her hair, and would listen for hours as she babbled on about the new art exhibition or her last, terrible hook up.

“Sure!” She opened the fridge, but couldn’t find any new cans inside. Sawyer huffed, and started checking the cabinets. She had no idea where it was, and after stumbling through the plates, glasses, almost empty spices, she was nowhere near finding the six-pack.

“It’s here.”

Luke came up behind the kitchen island, fitting into the space next to Sawyer. She turned, leaning her hips against the counter, and drilled her eyes into his face. Even though he opened a floor length cabinet and pulled out what she needed, Luke wouldn’t stop staring at her face, and as a result, they maintained a heavy eye contact that made Sawyer’s skin tingle. The stupid lip ring seemed to taunt her, because she wasn’t able to look away.

It was hard to pinpoint when she started finding Luke attractive – one day, maybe after she saw him in a suit for Ben’s graduation or after one of the Sunday dinners, when they went to the beach, to surf with his family, she came home and the only thought in her head, as Sawyer slipped her hand under the waistband of her shorts, was Luke’s eyes, and his lips, and the texture of his palm when he grabbed her arm, and the way he could push her around with little effort. She felt giddy because of the overwhelming feeling the whole day, knowing deep down that this wasn’t good; not how friends were supposed to think about each other.

“Thanks,” she breathed, taking the beer from his hand. Once upon a time, they were the same height, but now Luke towered over her with multiple centimeters in favor. Sawyer felt trapped between his hard body and the counter. Usually, she would be too stubborn to be the first person to look away, but today, all Sawyer wanted was to be smart.

She looked away, and tried to make her way away from him, away from the kitchen. The longer Sawyer stayed close to Luke, the harder it was to remember that she didn’t want anything to do with him. Her mind and common sense might have been saying one thing, but her body and the nostalgia flooding every second she looked at him… She would prefer him to come back home after she left for the day. Nothing was easier knowing that she could jump back to the old routine, yearning for every sign of him. It would also mean absolute lack of self-respect, but at the end of the day Sawyer knew damn well that she didn’t have much of that in the first place.

Luke’s whole palm closed around her thin upper arm when he grabbed her.

“You don’t have to run away from me,” he said, brushing blond hair out of his eyes. He was dressed neater than usually, an ironed t-shirt and dress parts that Sawyer had not seen him in before. Not that she had seen much of him since they left. Only then did she realise that it was Sunday, and Luke probably came back from the dinner at his parents’ house. She used to be invited to those, and even continued going after Luke was across the planet, but things flaked off once the big drama at her house happened and Sawyer cut ties with her family. She had always loved Liz and appreciated everything that Hemmings’ did for her, but deep down, she knew that Liz would talk about her to her mum, and Sawyer wanted nothing to do with them. She could do well just fine by herself, and giving them an opportunity to keep tabs on her was as far out of her interest zone as possible.

“Luke… I really don’t want to talk about all of that,” she admitted, not bothering to pull her arm out of his grip. “It’s better if we just ignore each other.” In her hand, that was the only solution that made sense.

Sawyer always missed Luke, she thought about him and watched out for him in the news. She fixated so much on his person, she seemed to have forgotten that although Calum, Mike and Ashton were friends she made much later, they were also a huge part of her life and a comfort zone. Knowing that they valued her as a friend even after all this time, made her want to make amends.

“Sawyer, you’re at my house,” he scoffed.

“Oh,” Sawyer matched his tone and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you going to be a dick again? I’m here for your housemates, Luke,” she clarified, although both of them knew that. What she didn’t know was that Ashton told Luke about her visit, and it made blond that much more motivated to leave the family dinner earlier. “Now, will you let me go, or do you have some more brilliant comments?”

“I’m not being a dick…” He immediately let go of her arm, the warmth of his touch leaving a red mark on her pale skin. Luke tried to find the right words, something that might give him a fighting chance.

When he came to his childhood house, Liz noticed the bruise on his cheek from the moment she opened the doors and his brother teased him about it through the whole dinner. Luke had been on edge since that party, not only Sawyer making a valid scene, but also his bandmates switching sides; the last thing he needed was Ben and Jack being nosy about the plum markings on his face. Naturally, Luke snapped at them and admitted that the reason for his appearance was Sawyer. His mum always dropped a plate of potatoes, and she didn’t even wait until they finished eating before asking what the fuck did he do to provoke her. Of course, as much as Luke tried to play it down and lead his mother away from the topic of the blonde, the more she drilled, and eventually, Luke had to end up telling her some version of what happened recently. Simply saying, Liz was not a fan of that – she lectured him on how to treat a woman, especially a woman that you have feelings for. Luke wanted to laugh, but after another twenty minutes of the one sided conversation, he was pretty sure his mum might have been right.

There was nothing casual about the way he felt about Sawyer Ashwood.

Looking at her then, ready to leave that kitchen with her back turned on him, miscellaneous colored hair glued to her nape and a black swimming suit hugging her hips tightly, Luke felt like this was his last chance to get that point across. All he wanted to do was get back to how they were, except not really, because this time around, he also wanted to be able to kiss her lips anytime he wanted; he wanted to know her every tattoo in detail, trail his tongue across every inch of her skin, make sure that when they go on the next tour, she’ll be waiting back here for him. Even if Sawyer wasn’t able to see it now, Luke would give her time, but beforehand, ruin her so thoroughly she wouldn’t be able to look at anyone else.

“I meant what I said at the party,” he said, ready for the hurricane that it might invoke. “The part about how I didn’t want to see you with Grace. I was jealous that she just gets to have you…” The blonde turned around, her expression hard to read. Luke was ready for her to approach him and slap him in the bruised cheek again, but she just stood there, considering his words. He took it as a sign to continue. “Look, I fucked up. I should have been calling and texting while we were away, fuck, send you letters. But a part of me wanted to move on.”

“And did you? Move on I mean?” she asked, her brown eyes darker. She set her glass and the beer on the counter, leaning on it with her hip. The two meters of space between them seemed like a lot, but at least Luke was able to think straight; when she was close, he felt a step from complete madness, his every bone screaming to just close the distance and finally have the kiss that he dreamed about for years. It wasn’t just about the way Sawyer looked; it was about knowing how fierce she was and she would match him beat for beat.

“No! Why would I sleep with Grace if I did?” he asked, exasperated. How could she not get it? Sawyer was never a good student, but Luke would never call her stupid. Maybe she wasn’t the best from math or geography, but she would figure out any situation.

“I don’t know Luke! You’re giving me mixed signals all the time!” Sawyer needed no time to get just as riled up, and although it should have made him scared, it only made the desire under his skin crawl. He couldn’t bear to look at her and not feel it stirring in his stomach, when all the blonde was wearing was the swimming suit. “We've been best friends since we were born, and then all of a sudden you leave and cut ties with me! Then you come back, and start inviting me to parties as if nothing happened. You sleep with my fucking girlfriend, but for some reason, it’s because you want me? Sorry if it doesn’t make any fucking sense!” She gesticulated with her hands, and raised her voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Calum coming up to the glass terrace doors, closing them to give the two some privacy. He was not stupid; he knew that Ashton probably planned it exactly so they could bump into each other and work this out, because Irwin couldn’t help but meddle in people’s business.

“I do want you! Why is that so hard to believe, Sawyer?!”

All her life, all Sawyer wanted was to be loved and cherished, and she found a friend who did just that. Was it wishful thinking, wanting to have that friendship forever? It all begun getting complicated when she started having a fucking crush on Luke, or maybe just on the way he looked, but back then, she was able to control it. Sawyer could move past that. She could sleep with other people, women to take her mind off his appearance, and guys who could pass as him under the right light. She could gaslight herself into relationship after relationship, acting like he wasn’t the person she thought about when they fucked.

“Because you said you want me as a friend, and then you stopped taking my calls! You told me it was all going to be ok, but it wasn’t, Luke! I needed a friend, so many times, and you wouldn’t pick up your damn phone! You lied to me about Grace! I know I used to be able to read you, but not anymore! I don’t think I even trust anything that’s coming out of your mouth-”

Luke cut her off – he wasn’t able to listen to this anymore, mostly because deep down he realised that Sawyer was right about everything. She had no reasons to trust him, but he also knew that this call was coming from somewhere else. He only noticed it after his mum pointed it out, but the blonde always seemed to put herself down. Luke knew it was probably because of her parents; her dad would always comment on her clothes being too revealing, then being too baggy. Once Sawyer was too skinny, another time too fat, and then on a good day he would buy her sweets on top of that. It didn’t help that her mum would always talk about Sawyer getting a nose job in the feature. At some point, she started modifying her appearance for her own pleasure, but also to give her parents something else to talk about than her face and her body.

It’s not that Luke had always been attracted to his best friend, but he grew to appreciate her looks a bit too much. Maybe it was contemplating her profile for too long, or stalking her social media when Calum snored a bit too loud. Her pointed slim nose and the warm brown of her eyes, that stared into your soul and saw every little piece of you; her petite body, shoulders covered in light freckles and those fucking tattoos, that she somehow positioned in all the right places. Multiple times, Luke would dream of painting them over with his tongue – the vines on her underboob, the tribal below her navel, that fucking tramp stamp she got illegally done at sixteen that said “babygirl”. He also dreamed of tasting the cherry Carmex off her lips, and seeing how sensitive her nipples were, since Sawyer rarely wears a bra and more than often, he was able to get a good look at them.

Fuck, Luke wanted to have his way with her, trapped in his sheets of hours, and showing just how strong his desire was. Just how pretty and attractive she had always been to him.

First, though, he had to shut her up – and the only effective way to do that seemed to be connecting their lips in a kiss. It was bruising, because the longer Luke listened to her monologue, the more pissed he would get; at himself and at everything around them that just wouldn’t let this happen properly. He should have invited her on a date, showered her with tour tickets, and flown her out to cities just to have her at his side for a few hours. But it was too late for that, and instead, the only idea in his head was to close the distance between them and just show her first hand how much she meant.

At first, she just stood there, unmoving and shocked. The last thing Sawyer expected was for him to actually kiss her, to feel his hands grip on to her hips and hold her in place. Would he stop if she stayed unresponsive? Just how far was Luke willing to take this? Sawyer knew damn well that if he allowed to take her foot off the break, she wouldn’t be able to stop again. She closed her eyes, slowly putting her own hands on his shoulders, letting her lips purse, trying to kiss back just when Luke decided to pull away. His eyes were glazed over and hooded as he looked at her, breathing hard.

“Do you trust this?” he asked, his voice hoarse. His fingers trailed to the naked skin on her stomach. “Was this honest enough for you?”

Sawyer frowned, trying to make sense of his words. Her brain was screaming, going into overdrive. This was definitely overstimulating, but the restless butterflies in her stomach made Sawyer hesitant to stop. There was no going back from this anyway, and even if Luke would turn his back on her again afterwards, at least she would know if those years of daydreaming were justified.

“No,” she breathed out, inhaling sharply, before letting her hands drift to the nape of his neck. Standing on her toes, Sawyer pulled him down, almost causing Luke to trip over. Last second, he hugged her waist, using the blonde as an anchor; soon enough, he used that same grip to lift her onto the counter, putting their faces on the same level.

Sawyer moaned when he used her thighs to pull her to the edge; maybe because she was only wearing a swimsuit, but his every touch burned her skin. She was sure if she just took a second to look down, Luke would actually be leaving red marks in his wake. But the kiss was too all-consuming – she could taste the cigarettes he started to smoke recently and a hint of tea that she knew for a fact Liz made everyone drink after the dinner. When his tongue slipped into her mouth, it forced her to gasp and cling to his neck harder. And that fucking ring… Feeling it against her lips was driving Sawyer crazy.

His hands explored her skin, skimming from the thighs to the sides of her stomach, sometimes hooking under the lines of her bikini bottoms. Luke had the placement of her tattoos burned into his brain, and Sawyer noticed that his thumb always circulated the lines on her hip, the design on her knees. She could feel his fingertips touching the material of her bikini top, and scoffed when he wouldn’t even grab her breast through it. They were way past shy, when she could feel the material of her panties slowly become soaked in the arousal.

“Just touch me,” she suggested, breaking the kiss. Her forehead resting against his, the blonde tried to collect herself at least a little bit. The calloused fingertips of his fingers caused by playing the guitar without a pick made her shiver. The way Luke looked at her, Sawyer could tell that he was too far gone. She herself was only able to think straight because of the stress that inwillingly settled itself in the back of her head.

Sex wasn’t anything new to her. In a way, Sawyer was a highly experienced person, and her ex partners would confirm just that. No matter how many hook ups she had though, Sawyer was sure Luke outdid her. She was also sure that her experience, as considerable as it was, wouldn’t be that valid when it mostly limited itself to fingering and eating out girls. Luke might have been the third or fourth boy she would ever be involved with sexually, and it wasn't even that Sawyer was worried about not pleasing him, but simply making a fool out of herself. In her mind, this was a one time thing. She wouldn’t be able to get Luke to herself ever again, because for all the blonde knew, he might have forgotten about her by the very next day.

Maybe Luke Hemmings really wanted her, but it was just another whim of a spoiled rockstar.

Sawyer didn’t care as her lips trailed kisses down his neck, finding a particularly sensitive spot just below his jaw. She left multiple open mouth kisses just there, before closing her teeth on the creamy skin. On her lips, she could feel the short hairs of his stubble. At least Luke finally groped her chest, and hearing that just a little graze of her teeth can make him moan, Sawyer was excited to see what else she can cause. After making sure that her mark would be visible, the blonde straightened, catching his gaze again.

“Sawyer.” It was a warning, when her hand reached behind her back to untie the knots of her suit. His breath sounded laboured, even though no one had taken their clothes off yet. Juts from sitting there, knowing what was to come, Sawyer could feel her thighs tremble in anticipation.

“Luke.” With a teasing smile, she let the black material drop to reveal her chest. The blonde always considered it was nothing to write home about; if not for the nipples, Sawyer could probably pass as a ten year old, but she never felt tempted to do anything about it. Surgeries were too expensive and invasive, and she enjoyed not having to wear a bra enough to not feel too insecure about the size of her boobs. That said, when they immediately caught Luke’s attention and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed, a weird sense of pride coursed through her. He seemed entranced, unable to look away.

“The guys can probably see everything in the window,” he explained, although his hands started climbing up the newly exposed skin. Sawyer smiled to herself; seeing him unable to stop his own reflexes made her desire even stronger. If he wasn’t standing in between them, he would have to clench his thighs.

“Then take me to your bedroom, or move on and fuck me here,” Sawyer whined, letting her own hand let go of his neck to play with her own nipple. If Luke wasn’t going to, she had nothing against pleasing herself; wouldn’t be the first time someone watched her masturbate.

Luke bit his lower lip. When he kissed her, there was no bigger plan behind it, definitely not going to bed with his best friend. Sawyer shocked him with her boldness, but Luke wasn’t the only one who changed in the last few years. If he actually took her to his bedroom, there would be no going back from this. They would fuck, and Luke would become even more confused about what the fuck was happening between them. As if the situation wasn’t confusing enough! Even though she considered this a one night stand, Luke didn’t think he would be able to survive it and move on; he would become inconsiderably whipped for Sawyer, and it was a positively scary feeling, especially knowing the kind of girl she was. Most guys wouldn’t survive Sawyer Ashwood, and it was probably the reason she almost exclusively dated women – why waste her time on someone who wouldn’t be able to handle all the wonderful and bad that came with being hers.

She was fierce and loud, and definitely not media trained, or even possible to tame. She had feelings bigger than herself and didn’t know how to deal with them. She wouldn’t tell him if something was wrong, she wouldn’t express her feelings… Fuck, both of them were simply terrible at communicating, terrible at relationships. But Luke knew for a fact that he had a lot of time to figure it out, here, with her, and maybe Sawyer would just work with him.

“Fuck,” he huffed, and gripped her underthighs. Sawyer’s legs curled around his waist, and soon, Luke was carrying her to his bedroom.

Even though he moved, the room was still messy, although it had less personality. No posters, no books, just a bed and a nightstand, with a single picture from Ashton’s graduation on it. He never stayed in school long enough to get one from theirs, and when Sawyer’s ceremony happened a year later, she ended up having a breakdown and never showing up. Out of the two of them, he always had the better prospects of getting an education, but somehow she was there alone?

He dropped her on the bed, hovering over and connecting their lips again. Sawyer’s legs never stopped hugging him, pressing their hips together. After all those years of build up, all she wanted was to just get to the main part. She pulled him down, making Luke drop his whole body on her; it was a trick to flip them, so the blonde could be on top. In no time, Luke sat up straight and started kissing her breasts, teasing one of the nipples with his thumb and tracing the valley between them with his tongue. It was a weird sensation, his hot tongue against her skin, not so long submerged in the cold water. But all of that cold was present now, when the arousal heated her like a furnace.

Sawyer moaned in pleasure, fiddling with the ties of her bikini on the back, to take the bra off completely. She threw it somewhere on the floor, before moving on to Luke. He couldn’t stay fully clothed while she was almost naked – her hands found the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, not caring about all the buttons. Luke helped her, raising his arms and taking his lips off her skin. One of her hands splayed across his chest, moving down to his stomach and below the navel. Sawyer bit her lip.

She did just that in her dreams so many times, feeling like a teenage fangirl, even though she knew Luke Hemmings better than most. At some point, he just stopped being real to her, an urban legend that Sawyer kept on believing in, a conspiracy theory. Seeing him half naked, touching his skin, made a part of her brain tingle; the exact part that was slowly doubting he had ever been real. Except Luke was really fucking real, touching and kissing and having his way with her. Maybe she was just another girl for him, but for Sawyer, this meant a lot.

She might have tried to gaslight that importance out of this encounter… But at the end of the day, Sawyer would be analysing this over and over while falling asleep, rethinking his every touch, every kiss. Her dreams didn’t come true often enough to let this go easily.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a cocky grin across his lips, although Luke really wanted to hear that she did like it.

Sawyer had always been the kind of friend who would put on a neutral face and push toward the final goal, except now, he had no idea what it was. Was she still mad or did this mean everything had been forgiven? He was about to see her naked for the first time ever, and not knowing if she did it out of desire or spite crossed his mind more than once. Luke needed anything to grasp onto, even if it was a simple compliment.

“I’m just wondering what Grace thought at this very moment.”

The pointed look she sent him was enough to make Luke’s blood boil anew. Even in the middle of all of this, she had the ability to piss him off, even if just a bit. He sure as hell wasn’t getting back to this now; instead, Luke connected their lips in yet another kiss, placing her down on the mattress. He settled between her legs, while continuing to kiss down her body. His lips traveled over her skin, tongue slightly darting out to leave a wet pathway. Finally, he could explore all the ink on it, and one look up told Luke that Sawyer enjoyed it just as much.

He hooked his fingers under the band of her bottoms, and Sawyer wasted no time to lift her hips to help him slide her off. Her lips fell open when, instead of coming fully back up, Luke settled at the feet of the mattress and started kissing up from her calf. Well, that was oddly familiar. She watched with glazed eyes, moaning softly every time he bit down on her skin or got awfully close to her core, just to back out again. While she rested on one of her elbows to be able to see Luke, the other hand sneaked into his messy hair.

“Stop being a tease, Luke,” Sawyer huffed, pulling at the ends of the blond strands. He looked up, the blue eyes crashing into her brown ones. They were so much darker, but somehow still familiar; Sawyer realised he looked at her like this before – when they met up before prom and she wore a form fitting black dress, when they tried sneaking into a club and Sawyer made a point of wearing pants low enough to show off the stamp on her lower back. “Fuck,” she moaned, so lost in the realization that only the feeling of his fingers finally making contact woke her up.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, spreading her open with his fingers. Sawyer bit her lips, waiting for him to finally do something more than just admire and tease. It was such a guy thing to do, but she decided to stay quiet for now, if only for the sake to finally find some release.

Sparing one last look at her blushed face, Luke finally lowered his lips. Sawyer gasped, feeling his tongue exploring her, up and down, skimming over her clit. She waited for his movements to organize, to find the rhythm that she so desperately needed. It took him a second, but eventually, Luke concentrated on her most sensitive spot, circling it with his tongue and pressing it flat. When she almost gasped for him to do more, Luke teased at her entrance with one finger, slipping it inside painfully slowly. Just his finger was much bigger that what Sawyer was usually used to start with, but she took it like a champ, without a sound. Last thing she needed was for Luke to think of her as inexperienced.

Besides, it only took a second to get used to the feeling. Under Luke’s actions, Sawyer turned into a mess, her legs bending at the knees and falling over his shoulders, pulling on his hair a bit stronger than necessary, back arching on the mattress. The last thing Luke expected was for Sawyer to be so vocal about her pleasure.

They both seemed to have forgotten about their friends sitting by the pool, wondering where the blonde had disappeared, even though the sounds coming from Luke’s window were pretty telling. Ashton never expected for this to happen when he invited Sawyer over, but as long as his friends weren’t fighting, he couldn’t care less. Besides, everyone around Sawyer and Luke seemed to have suspected that there was something bound to happen between them. Some people didn’t believe in friendships between boys and girls, while others thought that when you get to know someone this well, you either start to love or hate them. Judging by the moans, these two fell under the first option.

“Luke, I need more.” Sawyer pulled at his hair again, forcing him to speed up the movement of his tongue. Luke was becoming sloppier with every second, the taste of her arousal and the sounds getting into his head. He looked up, not understanding what she meant at first. Propping herself on shaky hands, Sawyer’s palm cradled his cheek, pulling him away from her clit. “Luke, please, can you finally fuck me?” she asked, her tone full of pretension.

“Is Sawyer Ashwood going to beg?” Luke asked with a teasing smile, but obediently left the valley between her legs, kneeling on the mattress to kiss her neck yet again.

“Fuck no,” she scoffed, Sawyer’s fingers finding the button of his jeans and undoing it together with the zipper. She started to pull the material down together with his boxers, her short nails scratching at his skin when the jeans got stuck. Noticing it, Luke helped her, pulling them low enough for his hard cock to spring free. “Oh my- Shit,” she cursed, seeing his length and girth. Blush immediately covered her cheeks at the thought of making him fit alone. The last time Sawyer was in bed with a guy, he was much smaller, and she did everything to forget the encounter afterward.

“Wha-” Luke looked up, and seeing her red face and eye trained on his cock, he knew something was up. Anyone else would have taken it as pure awe, but he knew Sawyer well enough to know that she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that his size was impressive. “Wait, is this your first time?” he asked, face paling. That would elevate the pressure drastically, because of all the people in the world, he wouldn't want Sawyer to have a bad first time.

“What? No,” she breathed out, finally lifting her gaze to his shocked face. “But you are maybe the third guy to sleep with me? Feel blessed,” she added, shrugging it off. It wasn’t that big of a deal, and nothing could have been worse than her first time at some stupid party, when Sawyer decided to pull the first available blond guy into a free bedroom and strip him, both of them so drunk that it took him almost five minutes and three condoms to finally find her entrance.

“Do you have a condom?” She bit her lip. There was never a point for Sawyer to get on the pill, but now that she started sleeping with guys, maybe there were certain things to reconsider.

Luke only nodded, stepping off the bed and almost tripping because of the jeans stuck at his knees. He kicked them off completely, before opening the night stand and pulling out a string of foil packets. He ripped one off with his teeth, opening it in the blink of an eye. The whole time, Sawyer watched his movements, studying the muscles on his stomach and everything happening below the waist, committing it to memory. The messy blond hair fell over his forehead, and all she wanted to do was snap a photo, finally having one of her own, one that no paparazzi could ever take.

“How do you want me?” Once the condom was rolled on his cock, Luke joined her on the mattress again, finding Sawyer playing with her clit. He leaned down to her chest, taking a nipple between his teeth, eliciting another moan. Usually, he preferred his partners to stay quiet, but something about Sawyer showing off just how pleased she was made him even harder.

“What does the chef recommend?” she asked, her voice hoarse from the moaning. Luke laughed, before laying down with his head on the pillow. His hand started stroking his cock, and he could see the fire that it ignited in Sawyer, if only by her lips parting open.

“I want you to ride me,” he announced, reaching out to pull her closer. Sawyer straddled him obediently, sitting on his thighs. “Touch me, Ashwood,” he challenged, knowing that she wouldn’t back down from it.

Although tentatively, Sawyer wrapped her hands around his cock and started stroking it, riding on his thigh, where her clit received the perfect amount of friction. Luke gave her a few moments to get used to his size, and when she sped up her movements, he gestured to take over. With one of his hands, he guided Sawyer’s hips up and made her sit closer, guiding the head to tease her entrance.

She had been right in one thing – her appearances weren’t similar to the models Luke was used to sleeping with. They didn’t have tattoos or piercings in their noses, their breasts were small but at least stuck out a little bit, there were no razor bumps on their pubis and they knew how to handle a guy. But Sawyer’s rawness, all those things that she might have considered imperfections, were exactly what attracted him the worst. The blonde was real, as real as it gets; she didn’t have money to get lasers and dyed her hair at home, she wore basic cotton underwear and wasn’t a particular vixen. But Sawyer still had her confidence and didn’t care what he thought about all those little details. In the world of perfection and appearances that Luke’s routine had become, she reminded him that this was what life actually looked like, and what he actually wanted.

“Should I go slow, or…?” He asked. Sawyer’s head was thrown back in pleasure, as he continued to slide his cock on her clit. His breath was getting laboured, because just watching the blonde as he ate her out before was enough to work him up. Luke knew he wouldn’t last long, but she also seemed close to the finish line. They could always go again – Luke would cancel all his plans just to prolong this moment of understanding between them.

“Just go,” she cried out, biting her lip and looking down at Luke. She moved her hands from his thighs to his chest, letting her nails ram into his skin as he started pushing his cock in. Her mouth fell open, and soon, a moan escaped it. “Fuck, Luke, yes,” she gasped, slowly letting her hips drop, taking more and more of his length.

“Sawyer, you take me so well,” Luke groaned, closing his eyes at the sensation of her tight pussy. Somehow, the realisation that he was one of the first guys to ever fuck her made him proud; a stupid, manly sensation that puffed his ego anyway. Luke grabbed her hips, helping Sawyer pace herself. Honestly, he was enjoying the slow start that allowed him to feel every inch she managed to take. “Shit, such a good girl…”

“Shut up,” she cut him off, not letting him get too creative with the nicknames. Once his whole cock was inside her, she took a second to get used to it. Sawyer had never felt so full before, even with a vibrator.

Only after a minute, she started swaying her hips to the sides, her nails scratching Luke’s pecks. His hands helped to guide her, showing Sawyer how to move on top to pleasure both of them. She moved her hips in circles, lifting off the last few inches before falling back, each move deliberate. His tip touched the specific spot inside her every time, making both of them gasp.

With every second, she sped up her movements, making them more chaotic and sloppy. She quickly got tired of using her legs to lift her hips up and down, and soon, Luke had to help Sawyer up by lifting her himself. She was committed, and tried to last as long as possible. It was hard when the pleasure was attacking her from everywhere.

Thankfully, Luke intervened, sitting up and driving his hips to fuck into her. Sawyer grabbed his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, moaning into his swollen lips. She could still taste herself on them, and somehow, it made her come even closer to the release. His moves got sloppier by seconds. Soon they were moaning, holding each other tightly.

“Come for me, c’mon Sawyer,” Luke urged, kissing the corner of her mouth tenderly.

“I can’t. I need-” she said, just when he drove his hips up with a bigger force than before, leaving her to whine. Sawyer’s head rested on Luke’s shoulder.

“What do you need, baby?” Luke’s voice was tender. As his hips snapped up to fuck into Sawyer, he realised that even if it wasn’t her first time, he still wanted her to remember it fondly. Even before he came, Luke knew that he wanted this to happen again. He aimed to please, if only to etch himself into her memories, fuck her up so badly she wouldn’t be able to find the same pleasure anyway else.

“Touch my clit,” she asked, and in no time, Luke’s finger was pressing against her sensitive spot, moving in circles. It took only a few more snaps of his hips to feel her thighs tremble, and hear her moaning his name.

Even though Sawyer got her orgasm, Luke rode her through it, chasing his own release. Her body fell limp against him, but after two more sloppy moves, Luke spilled into the condom, his back falling spent against the headboard.

“Fuck, you were incredible,” he mumbled, tired from the activity. Slowly, Sawyer raised her head from his shoulder, looking at him with a smile that could make a whole city light up. “You are incredible, Sawyer. And beautiful.” Luke leaned in, kissing her nose. He brushed through her tangled hair with his hand, taming it.

Fuck, he had never been the one for the aftercare, but with her, all he wanted was to make sure she felt good and wouldn’t be sore the next day.

“Thank you,” she chuckled. “We have to work on your head abilities, but…” Luke raised his brow. He hoped that they could be honest at least now, because well, this was quite a vulnerable situation. As if seeing his doubt, her expression softened. “Every time I was with a guy before, I wanted to forget about it right after, but I don’t want to forget this,” she admitted, blushing slightly. As if on cue, she started slowly lifting her hips to free herself of his cock.

Sawyer slid off the mattress, finding her soaked panties on the floor. Typically, Luke would be the one to run from a conversation while she pushed for it, but maybe they exchanged roles. Maybe Sawyer was tired of being the bigger person, the mature one, who will prompt every conversation and motivate the solution to conflicts. For once, she didn’t want to put her heart on her sleeve for him and see the reaction it would trigger.

“You can take a pair of my boxers, they’re in the wardrobe,” he proposed, seeing how she scanned her bottoms with doubt. Sawyer nodded, and approached the dresser door, soon finding a pair of black underwear. “So, I was good?” he asked teasingly.

“Average,” she threw over her shoulder with a smirk, putting the boxers on. They were almost falling off her hips, but all she needed was to get downstairs, where her clothes waited on the washing machine in the bathroom.

Sawyer found her bra on the floor, and came up to the bed, sitting down, and letting Luke tie it over her nape and back.

“Friends don’t lie, Sawyer,” he reminded her with a scoff, but seeing her profile twist in doubt, Luke swallowed hard. “We’re friends, right?”

“I-” Sawyer stood up, looking at him with lost, brown eyes.

She really wanted to say yes. Why throw away so many years of history because of one mistake? But a part of her couldn’t just lie to him, as if the second they weren’t done her mind hadn't drifted to the thought of Grace’s having him first. As if she could forget all those nights she needed to talk to someone and would dial his number again and again, just to end up with ten voice messages and even more doubts about her life than before. They had an idea of each other, but nothing else. Maybe she would be able to get to know him again, but Sawyer knew that it would take time to gain the old level of trust; even though it would break her heart, seeing how he looked at her with hope filling his eyes.

She had Luke exactly where she wanted him, but somehow it wasn’t all as easy as she thought. It didn’t feel as good as she thought to deal the killing blow, even though Luke hurt her first.

“I don’t know,” Sawyer admitted, coming up to the door. Maybe Luke needed a taste of his own medicine. “Call me when you figure your shit out, or if you want to do this again.”

With that said, Sawyer left his bedroom, and Luke’s body slumped over the headboard. He followed her steps as long as he could, before closing his eyes and exhaling.

Luke Hemmings knew two things:

First of all, in no universe would he have the space and mental capacity to figure his life out while sleeping with Sawyer Ashwood.

Second of all, Luke wouldn’t be able to let go of Sawyer now that he knew how it felt to have her.

#5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #michael clifford #calum hood #ashton irwin #luke 5sos #calum 5sos #ashton 5sos #michael 5sos #5sos smut

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year ago

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What if it was another Prime who was reincarnated into Orion Pax? Like instead of The Thirteenth who was reborn as Orion Pax and late became Optimus Prime, what if it was Prima? Or Solus Prime? Or Heck! What if it was Megatonus!

How would the plot change? What would their interactions between the Team, Decepticons and Humans be like? What would their reaction to finding Unicron be like?

Thank you!

Ooooooooh this is a REALLY good prompt. I like it a great deal. Also I loved this idea so much that I took it to my friend @spreadwardiard and with his help, planned out several parts for this AU.

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Where is Thirteen?!

It had been decided long ago that the Thirteenth Prime would be the one to return, that he or one of his incarnations would lead Cybertron during its darkest hour. The original Primes all knew this, especially those who perished and were returned to Primus's embrace. It was the rule. And so when Thirteen vanished from among them, sent up to be prepared to enter the living realm, they were all eager and waiting to see what would come of it.

But nothing came. Things continued to grow worse in the living realm, and while they couldn't see it, they could FEEL it. Thirteen should have been up and operating by now. He should have been doing something.

Liege Maximo was not generous by any definition of the term, but he was cunning and calculating. He could tell quite easily that something had either gone wrong, or Thirteen had gotten lost somewhere in his mission. Whatever the case, it needed to be rectified. As such he intended to go the Well's edge, to possibly attempt to hitch a ride with some unsuspecting mech so he could look through their optics and get and idea of what was going on. It would be bending the rules, but he knew how to play his cards. The only reason his plans fell apart last time was due to his belief that Solus would not be overpowered by Megatronus. He was wiser now, he would play his games carefully.

He really should have expected Primus to note his desire and do something with it.

'This was wrong, very very wrong. Thirteen couldn't be gone. Thirteen was supposed to be operating this frame, NOT Liege Maximo. The younger Prime was a fool, but he was the one meant for this task, not Liege, never him. The frame he occupied what quite clearly meant for his diplomatic compatriot, the singular member of the original Primes that Liege failed to gain any sway over. He both admired and resented that fact.

Whatever the case, this was wrong. Horribly and unmistakably wrong.'

Something obviously had deviated from the plan. All Liege could do was internally scream when he found himself within the small and still sparkling like frame quite clearly intended for his fellow Prime. The body he occupied had Thirteen's face, it had his structure, and most disgustingly it had absolutely none of the sharp features Liege loved in his old frame. He hated it with every fiber of his being, and momentarily he considered flinging himself and the abominable frame he operated back into the Well. However that idea was banished when Liege came to the conclusion rather quickly that if HE was operating Thirteen's intended frame, then Thirteen was still up here somewhere, lost and quite possibly stuck in some limbo.

This was not his job. He was the most 'evil' of his fellows, he was the most selfish, and he was NOT meant to be the kind and empathetic leader Primus had likely sent Thirteen up to be. Why in the stars was HE here then? As much as he seethed at the question, he soon found himself with an answer as Alpha Trion came to collect him. The elder Prime knew it was Liege immediately, and in return both were let reeling and wondering where their fellow Prime was.

Alpha Trion: You should not be here Liege.

Liege Maximo: I am well aware of that Trion. Where is Thirteen?

Alpha Trion: I do not know. The Covenant offers no wisdom aside from the assurance that he yet lives.

Liege Maximo: He has a duty to fulfill and I have no interest in remaining in his frame.

Alpha Trion: That much is obvious, but there is little we can do at present. Thirteen must be located and put back on task. Until then, you must operate in his stead.

Liege Maximo: What? I am no empathetic fool like Thirteen. I have wishes, desires, things I wish to have.

Alpha Trion: I am well aware of that Liege. But you have always been charismatic. Use that ability and Thirteen's frame to find him and bring him back into the fold.

Liege Maximo: And what do I gain from this arrangement?

Alpha Trion: A chance to obtain power. If you find him, you will have Thirteen's audial. You always wanted a say in the developments of Cybertron did you not?

Liege was still not pleased with the arrangement, but it was one he had next to no choice in agreeing to. He had no interest in playing messiah for Primus's mortal creations unless he could lord over them, and that was not on the table so long as Thirteen was lurking somewhere. Regardless of his future plans, he still needed to find wherever his fellow Prime had wandered off to, if only to assess the situation. If Thirteen failed to perform, them Liege could begin looking into doing as he wished. Until then, he needed strength and influence, resources he would gain through his search if Thirteen was buried as deep as he predicted.

As such, Liege went with Alpha Trion and contented himself for a time in gathering intelligence as his frame developed. Taking into account the rather docile appearance of his new frame, Liege developed a designation and personality to match. He needed contacts, and his prior personality would simply not cut it, at least so long as he paraded himself so openly. He had been given a set of cards to play, and while not fond of them, he would put them to good use. He chose the designation of Orion Pax, a name he found to be fitting for his purposes. He needed to be seen as intelligent, but kind. He played that role before with Solus. He could do so again. It did not take long for him to be known as the most knowledgeable and kindsparked archivist serving under Alpha Trion. This ended up with the Master Archivist giving Liege, or rather Orion, quite a few side glances, untrusting due to his prior betrayal.

Orion Pax opted to keep his distance from his fellow Prime for both their sakes, but mainly for his plans. Alpha Trion knew him well, he knew that Liege, or Orion, was a master manipulator and speaker. If the Recorder Prime knew all his thoughts, there would be battle between them. As it was, they were only bound by shared duty. Thus while Orion learned under him, he otherwise kept to himself and tried not to be suspicious.

He grew slowly but observed dutifully. He saw the situation on Cybertron and laughed in the face of it. The mortals were so very foolish. They chose their Primes on whims and chained themselves without any subtly. Using reprogramming and castes was so very inefficient. If the mortals really wanted control, they would make their population believe themselves in command through careful usage of propaganda and education, not forced labor. It was too obvious, and there were always mecha willing to look past the veil. How very foolish of them. It was so ridiculous to him that often he spent extraordinary amounts of time digging through files, not for enjoyment, but to dig out the gems amidst the slag. He needed servants like his loyal beasts from so long ago. He needed mecha who would follow him and do his bidding even if they weren't aware of it. And for that, he required competent individuals to serve him.

It was somewhat hard for him to work his way through the archives enough to understand the world in great enough detail to begin his search. It took him millennia, of which he spent patiently working away under Alpha Trion even as he grew in knowledge. He could be patient, especially when he finally found mecha that garnered his interest that were within the realms of his sphere of influence. Orion was of course only a middle caste mech, data caste specifically. There were rules to his station, ones that he found just as foolish as the caste system, but that he was required to adhere to while he blended in and grew in power. With that in mind, there were only two mecha who he could influence who seemed to not be wrapped up in the lies told to them.

Orion Pax: Welcome to the Archives. How may I be of assistance?

Ratchet: I am looking for medical case records from the Rust Plague. I couldn't find them at my local archive. They said the files were transferred here.

Orion Pax: That would be correct. We had those files moved here in response to an influx of medical personnel. I will guide you to the records, please follow me.

Ratchet: Thank you-?

Orion Pax: My designation is Orion Pax. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

It was not hard to throw his weight around as Alpha Trion's student to have files moved. And it was also not at all difficult to purposefully have certain files checked out when Ratchet came, forcing the medical student to return time and time again for more. Orion always made sure to be the one to help him, and to offer nothing but kindness with a hint at a desire to break free of the castes. It was perfect, and before too long, Ratchet came to him without need for manipulation, often speaking on the cruelties of their world. He played his cards well, and in return he gained a loyal ally who was well on his way to climbing up the latter in the medical field.

Jazz was not so easy to take into his circle as the spy was quite simply able to see through his manipulations. Thus Orion instead opted to speak half truths and lure the spy in with promises of a better future. Jazz was rightfully skeptical, but Orion showed his worth by performing a few minor interventions, saving the lives of a few mecha with well placed documents and a few whispers amongst certain circles. Jazz didn't trust him, but he didn't need to. He only needed to serve. In that regard, he was exemplary, doing exactly what Orion needed him to do if Orion could simply convince him it was for the benefit of their endeavors to free the people of Cybertron. Meanwhile behind the scenes, Orion used the influence he garnered to begin his search for his fellow Prime.

Vorns were spent going through records, visiting locations, and trying to find anomalies. It was an impossible task, and quickly ended with Orion deciding that moving along and preparing the way for Thirteen was the best course of action. He had already cemented himself as a 'freedom fighter' amongst his allies, so he might as well use that reputation to make greater contacts. Thirteen would naturally be drawn toward things that aligned with his duty, at least, that was the hope. Thirteen was most likely to be involved in organizations and communities that focused around freedom and care for the weak. As such it simply made sense for Orion to seek out a mech with growing influence down in the pits, if not to find Thirteen, then to increase his own sphere of influence via association.

Alpha Trion: You wish to go to Kaon and use archival funds to do so.

Orion Pax: I do. There is a mech there, one who has named himself after our fallen fellow Prime. He speaks of freedom and fights for it.

Alpha Trion: You have never cared for freedom Liege. What is it you really want?

Orion Pax: Now, don't be hasty Trion. I am going to Kaon to look for Thirteen, just as I said I would. He is most likely to be around those fighting for his precious freedom.

Alpha Trion: What do you gain from this Liege? Don't play games with me.

Orion Pax: So untrusting. If you must know, I intend to establish contact with the gladiator Megatronus and extend my sphere of influence. There is much to be gained from eliminating this ridiculous waste of resources you call the caste system.

Alpha Trion: Such as potential for you to manipulate the order of this world?

Orion Pax: Why I never insinuated anything of the kind Prime. I merely wish to see the people of this world free to act as they will-

Alpha Trion: Preferably for your benefit.

It was quite the affair to convince Alpha Trion to find his expedition, but once it was done, Orion Pax studied Megatronus and prepared the perfect personality and arguments to use. He needed the gladiator to find him useful if nothing else, and due to his position, he brought much to the table. There was no way Megatronus would turn him away, and with the gladiator's help, Orion could ride his way straight into a position of power able to manipulate Cybertron. Finding Thirteen would be a bonus since he could throw his sibling Prime into the position of poster mech and control things from the sidelines. It was a perfect plan, one with little room for egregious error.

Only as soon as he finally secured a meeting with the gladiator, he suddenly found himself vividly remembering the chaos that was his first attempt to control the flow of things during the first age as one mech stuck out like an energon crystal in the rust sea. He came expecting to meet Megatronus, and possibly even locate Thirteen hiding away somewhere as a small domestic worker or even settled with a family. He was not at all ready to meet Megatronus and find himself being stared down by a masked mech who looked nearly nothing like his brother Prime, but was quite clearly the one and only Thirteen.

Orion Pax: Greetings, it is a pleasure to meet you-?

???: Greeting accepted: Orion Pax aknowledged.

Orion Pax: You know my designation? How-?

Megatronus: The moment you reached out to me, I had my associate here look into you. I do not like acting without the input of my second.

Orion Pax straining to keep smiling: Oh? I was unaware you had someone with such capabilities on your side, much less a second in command.

Megatronus: Why yes, Soundwave is a highly capable friend and compatriot. I would have never gotten this far without his aid in planning and management. He is a true ally and the only who I believe could best me in the arena.

Orion Pax struggling to not break character: I see. In that case, shall we begin discussion? As I stated in my message, I wish to hear more of your ideals and operations.

It was against all the odds, yet somehow Thirteen happened to be the mysterious spymaster and second in command of Megatronus of Kaon of all mecha. The Thirteen Orion, or rather Liege Maximo recalled was soft spoken, a diplomate of few words but endless empathy and consideration. This mech... he had to be Thirteen, his spark signature and everything about his told Orion as such, but he was different, wiser, and no longer the naïve Prime from so long ago. He had not been idle during his time in the living realm, and yet no matter how hard Orion looked into "Soundwave" he could barely find anything. All information on the mech was hidden behind Prime and council level security. If he went to Alpha Trion asking for the information, the recorder Prime was likely to become outright hostile.

He couldn't risk it. He would just need to work on his own. Now that he knew who Thirteen was, he just needed to move him into a position where Orion could manipulate him. But that quickly proved to be a challenge as the moment he tried to use his persona on Soundwave, his brother Prime noted him immediately and cornered him.

Orion Pax: Soundwave! I would be in your debt if you would look over these speeches I have composed for Megatronus-!

Soundwave: Liege Maximo's games are waste of time. Megatronus: No fool. Tolerates you because of usefulness. Hard to win trust.

Liege Maximo: Why Thirteen, I do not wish to harm him or anyone for that matter. I merely wish for this world to be made into the best version of itself. Does that not start with removing the caste system?

Soundwave: Liege Maximo: Betrayed us. Had Megatronus kill Solus. Was punished by Megatronus. Liege Maximo: Does not remember last attempt at manipulation?

Liege Maximo: I am well aware of my faults Thirteen. But that is why I need your aid. You were meant to inhabit this frame, not me. If I had my way I would never have come to the living realm as I am. You are far better suited to lead this people. Can I not help you get there?

Soundwave: Manipulations: Useless. Liege Maximo: Will refer to Soundwave by designation. Not Thirteen anymore. Soundwave: Has no interest in ruling. Megatronus: Better suited.

Liege Maximo: Then why don't we put aside our differences for the time being to help him? He wants to fix things doesn't he? If I prove untrustworthy by the time he gets to speak to the council, then we can discuss this further. How does that sound?

Soundwave: .... Parameters: Acceptable. Liege Maximo: Will be killed if Megatronus is harmed.

Liege Maximo: Of course brother. I would never touch your Champion, at least not without cause.

Soundwave: Final warning: Do. Not. Touch. Megatronus.

Orion or rather Liege Maximo finally found Thirteen, but it seemed that his fellow Prime was not at all trusting. It was an agitating turn of events, but manageable. Now with Thirteen at least within his realm of influence, Orion could finally begin working to accomplish his own aims.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #megatron #megatronus #soundwave #liege maximo #orion pax #pre war cybertron #alpha trion #the thirteen primes #where is thirteen au #alternate universe #I have so much planned for this #kinda want to write an actual fic but I have too much to do right now

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