#taking shape and there's only so many times something can be repeated

[servuscallidus]

we're getting posts and newspaper articles from october but with lebanon and lebanese people instead of palestine and palestinians. just all over again and everyone batting their eyes but it's not as if it matters

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 257

Now Danny loves space. He loves everything about it, to the point his core quite literally is space. And he’s also a baby ghost, even if he could argue he’s not in human form. But see, being baby has an honestly great consequence once it’s noticed- despite the Observants’ best attempts at hiding it, the assholes. 

Of course he would be far more worried- and even a bit pissed- if his caretaker wasn’t who it was. Look, he’d never met Clockwork’s siblings before, but apparently everyone was really against Clockwork himself adopting. 

But Clockwork as his uncle is fine. Besides, his caretaker is Space! Space itself is holding him, cooing gentle words in the sounds of the very cosmos. And they’re huge, like parts of their body going through portals so they can fit outside Long-Now sized big- and apparently Clockwork can get just as big and they can get even bigger- 

Okay, he needs to take a breath- even if he doesn’t need to breathe- to stop his squealing because holy Realms this is so cool. 

Space is awesome! And he’s getting so much more rest than he did in Amity- and even if Space sort of shrugged at the idea of school at first, they did help him set up online schooling. So there’s that, and it’s just the start! 

He gets to learn so much about space and it’s honestly kind of… nice? To be taken care of? And he can do whatever he needs for his Core and Obsession with only a few interruptions to take care of his living needs. Erm, sort of living needs? 

But even that gets turned into a bit of play or even a lesson too! He’s honestly having such a good time right now! He’s learning so much about spaaace! And dimensions! And interdimensional portals and- oops! No one saw that. 

Ahem- But he’s learning so much about space and getting to explore other dimensions with Cosmos! And sure he no longer looks as human as he once did and all that, but he’s seen so many people who also don’t look human that does it really matter? 

Of course it doesn’t, and he matches his sort-of-dad! Even though the streaks of color in their hair are more of a brown-red like they’re literally bleeding out the cosmos around them instead of it fading to void and space like his own. But still! They match and it’s fun! 

And they’re going to go on another trip from the in-between to one of the dimension realities! He’s going to start a game of tag this time he thinks! But no cheating with portals or bending space! Tag! 

Look, the Justice League? Not paid enough for this. In fact, technically not paid at all due to being volunteers (not that it stopped them from finding money in their accounts) but still. 

There is some sort of figure… being… thing… zooming around the asteroid belt, about the size of Earth itself. Let them repeat themselves. A planet-sized creature (are those hands or paws? Tail or simply its body stretching? Hair or the Abyss-) is currently darting around the asteroid belt like a child running through grass. 

That is, without noticing or caring if something bug-sized might be crushed. And they are very much bug sized, as the governments are concerned about. Like really concerned about. Like talking about trying to nuke the entity if it wanders closer sort of concerned. 

Which they are all very concerned and very much like, against. Because it isn’t seeming to notice the asteroids it’s knocking into their area. It’s like… not a space whale or eel or anything like that but also is something like that. 

And they would also maybe like to see if they can attempt to talk it down first maybe and-

oh. 

Oh. 

That creature is the baby. And mama just arrived, stretching across the entire galaxy, from them to Pluto and beyond, like something took the cosmos and shaped it like clay into some sort of form. Like reality itself has wandered into their galaxy with what they are suddenly realizing must be a very young child. 

Shit, they really have to make sure no one tries to piss either of these things off-

[prael]

Delicacy

ILLIT Moka x male reader smut

Happy (kinda late) Moka Day!

Masterlist word count: 5,401 Kofi(donations/commissions)

"Ladies and-a gen-entleman! Step right up! Ge-get yourself a-a mystical item today!" The old Murgo's voice is loud, his tone is jovial. His accent is hard to understand and his stuttering speech patterns would indicate a man who is not well-educated, though you've always expected he puts it all on for show.

His skin is scruffy, full of moles and unkempt facial hair that creeps down to his thin neck. The elderly man's uniform consists of a long, purple-sleeved coat—sleeves that fall every time he waves an arm at the next item he tries to flog.

"Y-you sir! Consider this, this is truly a-a magical mirror, for as long as you lo-look into it, it will make you b-beautiful." He smiles at the group before him, pearly white teeth contrasting with his murky skin colour. They are the only noteworthy things about him, other than his height, a whole foot smaller than the usual man.

The rough-looking labourer by your side mumbles, "What a crock of shit!"

While the bald man at the front calls "I'll take it!"

Murgo, as Murgo so often does, announces the catch, "Very wise pu-purchase. Now, just remember, the m-magic only works if you look a-at in complete darkness."

Murgo collects his due payment and the man at your side shakes his head as he turns away. "Idiots," he grumbles before he walks away.

"You there!" Murgo singles you out. "Do you fancy trying a-anything?" He asks you with a smile.

Murgo's entire stall is packed full of oddities, and none of them are ever what they seem. You may not believe in Murgo's little items, but it's always interesting to come and see what he has to sell today. It's nice to consider his fantastical excuses and embellishments.

"M-may I interest you in a fan-antasy?" He sing-songs. "You must ha-have a wish to make come true? Consider this ma-magical music box! One wish! M-Make it come true!" He boasts about another silly item, something that always leaves you rolling your eyes. Wishes cannot be bought.

"Tha-that's a look of uncertainty. Well, how about this." Murgo holds out a hand containing a single chocolate. A perfect, colourful item shaped like a square. "Gen-entleman, please m-may I present, a most magical item to y-your attention! A chocolate! Bu-but not any chocolate! They say this one tastes of m-mocha, and its ingestion a-allows you to live a fantasy."

You scrunch your brow.

"Ingested fantasies might seem an im-impossibility, but I have p-proven through a rigorous scientific process..."

You know he's lying, as always, but you're not about to interrupt though. You doubt the old man actually has much training in anything even related to science, and everything about him can only lead you to believe that he doesn't own many resources to test things on anyway.

"...so, sir, I urge you!" Murgo finishes his meaningless rambling by saying, "Try and taste your fondest dream. Try the ma-magical wonder and live a dream so real, so plausible that y-you'll forget who you are!"

Live a dream so real... He's definitely lying, but you are curious as to the taste of his chocolate.

Your eyes switch from Murgo's insistent, excited stare to his chocolate, and back to Murgo's knowing smile. "Just this once," you tell him.

-

You sit at your kitchen table, staring at the little rectangular block that rests on the wood.

"A fantasy, huh?" you contemplate. You lean in close and give it a sniff; it certainly smells like chocolate, with a hint of mocha.

Shrugging, you hold up the chocolate and drop it into your mouth. Immediately, it melts away and you're overpowered by the delicious flavour. It's milk chocolate, but you find hints of cocoa and coffee mixed between your lips.

You chew a few times and then swallow. At that moment, Murgo's words ring around your mind. 'Live a dream so real,' they repeat.

You sit and you wait. Staring expectantly at the table, you blink blankly at the slab where the chocolate once rested. You tap your fingers. You scratch the back of your neck. And still, nothing.

"Wow." You shake your head, chastising yourself for thinking so optimistically, and push out the chair.

As you stand, your head spins. The world about you warps into another form, a dark space resembling nothing you have ever seen.

The ground crunches beneath your feet. Gravel, perhaps? Black grazes at the surface, but you can't quite make out any details. As if a curtain has fallen to obscure your vision.

You spin around and wave your hands to find a purchase with something.

And then you feel it. Feel... her?

Small, smooth hands in your own. They let go before too long, and then those hands brush up your forearms.

A shadowed girl—clearly a girl by her soft curves—gently touches your cheek, and you grab her hand again. A soft gasp escapes her, and then she giggles. "Do you know how hard it's been, to be stuck inside a piece of chocolate? Of course, you don't. Why would you?"

This... isn't real. Could you be dreaming? Could you be high, or drunk, or passed out? Perhaps poisoned? You bring your fingers to your face to ensure you're not gushing blood or anything odd. Nope, normal. Completely and utterly normal, so... what the hell?

She whispers as her fingers move along the waistband of your pants, "Did you like the taste of the chocolate? Of... Moka?" She laughs. "My name is Moka, do you understand? Mocha and Moka!"

She has the cutest laugh. Soft, genuine, and one that leaves you smiling. Smiling? You ask yourself what you're doing and how you possibly ended up with some mysterious woman pawing your crotch. Regardless, you answer.

"Yeah," you say, her laugh encouraging you to express honesty. "Definitely not a bad product at all."

"Of course not!" Moka cheers. You catch a glimpse of a smile in the shadows that surround her. "After all, I was made with all the finest ingredients to give a taste that absolutely anyone can enjoy! And you're no exception, are you?" Moka's weight presses against you, and she leans close to your ear to murmur, "This little bump in your pants proves that."

You let out a sharp breath, but no denial. Moka may be shrouded in darkness, but you don't have trouble appreciating her presence. You can feel the warmth from her body, her rounded breasts that are all too tempting to touch.

"I'm so confused..." you whisper.

"Good." With the utterance of one word, you see the brightness of a smile. How wonderful and expressive her face is. The darkness clears and the mystery goes with it. The girl in front of you can only be described as utterly breathtaking. She's wearing this smile that turns up a little more on one side of her mouth than the other, and you're absolutely enchanted by its beauty. There's this beauty mark on her nose, such a cute mole. And then her eyes... you could very happily lose yourself within them.

"So incredibly confused," you repeat, and watch with fascination as a lock of her dark hair slips past a black strip and over her flushed cheek.

Moka kisses you. A gentle, testing peck, but there's no time for timid, because she pounces, and suddenly you're drowning under her affection. Kissing her like this is all you can think about, and the way she tangles her small tongue around your own is wildly erotic, both innocent and sinful at the same time.

You are too complacent, but then Moka brings her body flush against yours. You don't know where she came from, you have no idea why she's here and what's going on, but your body is certainly not questioning that right now. Her lithe form under your touch is as smooth as the chocolate she came from.

"Take me," she all but purrs, "It's what I'm here for."

"But you're..."

"Not real? A fantasy? Exactly. That's all the reason you need to let go," she whispers and there is a clarity that brings her words like truth.

Real or not, you can't deny it. You want her, this exotic enigma. You tug her close, fingers tracing a curve, your lips following a line. Her body, her skin, you adore her. Every facet, every inch, you crave her. You take hold of Moka and lift her, she lets out the gentlest of squeaks but instantly wraps her legs around you, and just the sound and feeling of her draws a shudder out of you.

"I spent months in Murgo's storage, just waiting for someone like you. Every single day growing more and more frustrated as I waited. You can't imagine being that pent up, can you?"

She's taking off your shirt. Impatiently running her hands down your torso, like she can't get enough. You stumble until you plant her against the wall, holding her firm and kissing her with all the frustration she feels, biting and sucking and leaving her breathless.

Moka wraps her arms around your neck, curling her heels, pulling you close.

"I can't imagine it, but you don't have to wait for another second though." You squeeze at her taut thighs, making her whimper with delight.

"Taste me," she whispers and you take your lips to her neck. It's not exactly what she has in mind, but she knows it's inevitable. All roads lead between her thighs.

So you fall to your knees before her. Hands up her thighs, driving up the frills of her skirt. She's a delicacy, soft and pink, beautiful, just waiting to be savoured. And the moment your lips touch the inside of her thigh, she gasps, one palm smacking the wall behind her. The tension, the excitement, the breathless little whimpers that escape her, every little thing, has you completely engrossed.

The whole time you press a barrage of kisses against her thighs, moving closer to her core with each passing second, but the light, teasing kisses draw a litany of frustration out of her.

"P-please..." Moka whimpers.

The breath from her plea leaves her in a shudder. She huffs, already trembling. You test how wet she is with your fingers, feeling her damp warmth, her sticky arousal coating your digits. You're unable to resist running your fingertips up the folds of her pussy, using the natural slickness to help move, dancing around her clit and drawing cries from the breathless girl. Her pleasure is plain to see, the rising blush reaching her chest and the deep breaths escaping her.

You slide a single finger inside her, then quickly two, slowly finger fucking her pretty pink, twisting around and feeling her wrap around you.

"You like it?" you murmur and it's not like you could call anything happening now an act of romance, but you turn your head and kiss her thigh. Such a tender moment is shared despite the sordid acts.

Moka huffs, her fingers clinging to your shoulder. "I need it." She sputters, moaning and thrusting down to meet your slow motions. "Oh... It's so good..."

"It's about to get even better," you say.

You lap your tongue along the seeping moisture of her beautiful cunt, and you lick over her slick folds and lap up everything she has to offer. With deep, intense licks, you give her pussy the attention she's been begging for.

"Ahh! Oh, yes!" she shrieks, falling back against the wall and panting with pleasure.

The sweetness of her nectar assaults you, and your tongue finds the little spot that has her moaning each time you lick near it. Faster and faster you circle her clit, watching as her knees quiver and twitch. Closer and closer, your tongue working her into a frenzy.

"More... I-I... yes, don't stop!" she cries, pulling your face against her. She wants more, she won't wait, and she twists and tangles her fingers into your hair, pushing and grinding her dripping sex against you. "Can you imagine it? I was made for pleasure. To give and receive, only to be forced to hide away, all alone? To suffer every day, tortured by my need?"

Moka whimpers and struggles to keep her breath even. You must want to do something about that, don't you?

You grab her thighs, lifting her off the ground and shifting your hands under her, grabbing her soft, plump ass cheeks. She cries at the movement, but then her legs are wrapped around your shoulders, clutching you to her desperately. You eat her little pussy out furiously, ravaging her drenched folds as she cries out, screams filling the room as you pick up the pace. Your tongue dances around her clit, your fingers sinking deeply into the soft flesh of her cute little ass.

"Oh god... I can't stop myself," her desperate cries fill the room.

You cannot deny this girl, even if you wanted to, so you devour her sweet cunt, and watch as her eyes close, the pleasure becoming too much as her body explodes with euphoric release. She screams, desperately riding your face, her entire body quivering and twitching as she cums. The juices drip down your chin as she rides the wave of intense bliss, rolling her hips, indulging in it, prolonging it for as long as she can.

Finally, the surge of her overwhelming orgasm ends, but she slumps, nearly lifeless in your grasp. You struggle to keep her up, and she keeps trying to grind her sensitive folds against you, but her exhaustion finally hits her. So you take her, back in your arms, and toward your kitchen table.

There she lays, shaking and sweating, struggling to catch her breath, and you want nothing more than to pry her delicate figure from that dress. You strip her, your mouth kissing every newly exposed surface of her perfect body.

"This is how things should have been, how life should have been," Moka mumbles, her dark hair swirling beneath her as she lays across your table. Her sweet skin comes into sight and you can't help running your hands along the feminine curve of her stomach. Her perfect breasts fit in the palms of your hands and you trace circles around her taut nipples as she sighs happily.

You undress, and she watches, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. Her expression is suddenly guilty, as though admiring a man naked isn't something a girl should do. But you caress her face, she's your beautiful enchantress, and that moment of hesitation seems to pass as she leans into the palm of your hand. Her eyes shimmer with acceptance, and she's accepting of all the dirty things she's thinking, all the things she's about to say. "I...I want you inside me," she whispers.

Your cock is erect and eager, so hard, aching, throbbing with the desire to know her warmth, and you line yourself with the wetness between her legs.

Gently, you lean forward, pressing the tip against her tightness. "Are you ready?"

"For however long I've waited," she breathes.

She's quivering under you, full of tension, gripping the edge of the table tightly. The expression on her face is so vulnerable, open and raw, so beautiful. Her chest rises and falls with her need, and there's a hunger burning in her, a fire begging to be ignited.

"Please," Moka begs.

"Gentle..." you tell her, though who it's meant for, you're not entirely sure. But you take a deep breath and ease into her slickness.

She gasps, her grip around the side of the table tightening. It takes a moment, but she grows accustomed, her tension dissipates and her trembling is overcome. She laughs, and the sound is nothing short of stunning. Chime-like, the light, airy melody fills the room as she touches herself. Cupping her supple breasts, and tugging her pink nipples, she indulges in her lust and rocks gently against your hard shaft.

"Fuck away my lusts. Fill the void, be the man I've needed so badly," her sweet voice begins to sing with pleasure, her pitch rising.

Her cunt is so warm and inviting, so wet, stretching tightly around you as you pump back and forth. Wet noises sound with every pass. Moka's eyes glaze over and her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you even deeper.

Your thrusting finds a comfortable, easy rhythm, and soon your hips are slapping eagerly against her every time you push in. Wet noises fill the air each time you drive into her deepest parts.

"God, yes..." her desperation only heightens, "Use me, please. Don't stop, fuck me."

"How could I ever?" you pant, both leaning in, sucking the taste of her chocolate mouth, twirling her tongue, drinking her intoxicating exhales.

She's a dream, this girl is made for indulgence. Her arms hook under yours, hands grasping your shoulders, digging into your back, desperate for some way to anchor herself. You want to touch every part of her, soak up her delicious little whimpers and commit them to memory. As your breath runs ragged and your heart pounds in your chest, nothing other than her is present in your mind. Nothing else matters. She is the pure embodiment of desire.

As the feverish motion speeds up, her soft breasts bounce and her entire body shimmers. Sweat glistens along her slender form and you push her to limits she's never known. Her cries run longer and louder until she's screaming, moaning your name, muttering incoherent praise.

"Moka..." you whisper her name, lacing her with what little you can say with a mind lost in the overwhelming bliss of her body.

It isn't long before your rhythm begins to break down. A rising and falling beat, speeding and slowing, stuttering with your every breath. She's drowning with you, and yet floating all at once. Latching onto you, refusing to let go. Desperate, clamping tightly onto you as you enter her deeper with each sharp thrust.

Panting, drenched, bodies so close. Your hard, feverish heat, her spiking lust, colliding with explosive fervour as you surge forward, burying yourself inside her and grunting as you shudder.

Unbridled and relentless, the swelling heat pulses through you and down your length. Rippling through her, filling her cunt, pouring into her. Her cries peak alongside yours. She shudders and shakes as your pulsing cock pumps a shockwave of ecstasy through her.

Delirious laughter escapes her when her rolling euphoria subsides, and her satisfied smile when she strokes her hand down your hot chest... everything about her... the delight of satisfaction washes through her.

Just what was that? That woman made you feel desires you could never imagine possible. Never could you have imagined something would make you feel as if you were flying.

Never could you imagine her.

And yet here she is.

"Can we..." she seems uncertain now, nervous, unsure.

You take her hands and kiss them. A delicate display of adoration that causes her nervous smile to transform into something happier, more certain. "What is it, Moka?"

She presses her finger to her lower lip, searching for the right words. "We can do this again, can't we?"

You can't resist chuckling at the blush that reaches her chest and the shy way she turns her head.

"Of course," you say.

-

Now you understand, even if vaguely, what happened and how things came to be; your actions and hers.

But, as always, the question remains... can a fantasy ever stay?

Moka is sitting outside on the small porch of your humble home. Fond memories occupy your thoughts; nights filled with bliss; mornings spent listening to her joyous voice.

"Are you having doubts?" she asks, unable to meet your gaze.

You sigh and rest against the rail. Her feelings are difficult to understand sometimes, but you have this odd connection, as if an invisible bridge exists between you, allowing you to feel her as she can you. She wants your happiness, you know that, she craves it, and yet...

"Will you stay?" you ask her quietly, a little afraid of the answer.

The setting sun casts pink across the sky. From the lush valley, there's a stream that cuts across the landscape, shaded by the greenery, broken only by the towering tree that stands tall in the distance. Its wide leaves filter the sunlight, casting gentle patterns in the trickling water. It really is such a peaceful place to live.

You stand and enjoy the moment. Fresh air, the calming simplicity of nature.

"I'm sorry," Moka's voice is only a whisper, "I don't know the limits of the magic that brought me here. If I stay, would I be stuck as a human? If I leave your side, would I ever be able to return? It's as much of a mystery to me as it is to you."

"Should I ask Murgo?"

"That fool? He didn't even know the chocolate was really magic. No," her voice grows firmer, "Don't trust the words of that merchant." Her hands clutch tightly at her knees, "I do have this feeling. I can't quite explain it, but, I've been feeling it since you first tasted me."

"Feeling?"

"A pulling—a tug—toward you, away from you too," she says. "Magic, desires, loneliness... maybe they've been woven together. I can't be sure."

"Not sure I understand."

"I feel it now. There's this need to be satisfied. And when I'm not, it feels like the magic will just tear me away."

You push away from the railing and step towards her. She's sitting, knees pulled against her chest, wearing nothing more than a white linen gown. Seeing her so small...

"So, if I just satisfy you..." You reach out and gently brush your knuckles along her soft cheek. Moka leans into your touch, her deep brown eyes gazing up. Your fingertips push through her silky dark hair and cup her delicate chin. As she stares at you, you can feel the deep, yearning emotion within her. "Then you will stay with me."

"I think—"

You interrupt her with a kiss. Softly locking your lips, bringing her comfort. Just a moment, simple tenderness. Then passion, as you open your mouth and taste the pure sugar of her tongue. Slipping around yours, her hot exhale, her warmth, both erotic and meaningful.

You can only pull away by taking her with you, pulling her up from the chair. Eagerly, Moka smiles and steps into your arms. Squeezing her tight, holding her around the waist, breathing her scent, feeling the tension inside yourself. She kisses you back with the same intensity, lips tight on yours, warm and dripping as they open, teasing you with her sweet taste.

You stumble back towards the railing, bodies entwined. Tilting your head, her chocolate flavour can make anyone addicted. Kissing her, nipping, sucking, biting her lip. Sinking into her warmth, her body. Lifting the hem of her short gown, running your fingers along the silky skin of her thighs. She arches back into the wooden railing, and you break apart the kiss as she sinks into the support behind her.

You take hold of her shoulders and turn her. She braces against the railing and leans forward, showing off that inviting, delicate shape. Between the arch of her back and the curve of her cute ass, she begs to be taken. And that thin linen may as well not even be there; it's so taut, so transparent.

You move behind her. In the fading light of the evening, the shadows reveal more than they hide. Lifting the cloth and leaving her bare. Running your hands down the lines of her hips and sides, your fingers lightly trace back up her ribs and finally, you cup one of her light breasts. Her nipple presses into the palm of your hand, and she's so sensitive, arching at even the slightest touch.

She looks back at you, her eyes longing, knowing what comes next. Spreading your fingers down between her legs, you run them along the slick, wet flesh waiting for you. She's already ready, dripping, and your fingertips only tease her. Bending, lining up your rigid cock against her wetness. You place your other hand on her hip and ready yourself, preparing to push forward.

"I'll never grow tired of this," you say.

Moka looks back at you, blushing, hair over her face as she tries to look through the veil. Before she can respond, you push, and she lets out a sharp cry at being filled. With her firmly held, you slide in and out of her dripping cunt. It's not a frantic, hurried pace, but deep, intense thrusts that give Moka what she needs—give her relief.

"Ah! That's so deep... so deep."

Her moans spill out without restraint. Such a vibrant voice, full of the lusts she's harbouring. Holding her firmly, plunging deeper and faster, her tiny pussy wrapping tightly around you. Wet, slippery squishing echoes through the empty air. Slaps sounding with every time your crotch strikes hers. It's all so lewd and brings you ever closer, keeps driving you.

The deeper her chest falls, the more she arches, and a deep moan escapes as her body shakes. Her orgasm comes strong, fast, and powerful, making her legs quake and her voice stutter. But you hold her and keep fucking. Slipping against her back, clinging to her waist, burying your face in her hair. Her trembling sex tenses and flexes and still she moans, incoherently telling you just how good it feels.

You've lost track of the number of times you've filled her tight cunt in the past few days, so this is just another one of many. She loves it, though; loves feeling you pour so deeply inside her. She'll do anything to feel it. So you fill her. Firm thrusts as you pump her full of your cum, right there on the porch.

-

During the moments she spends staring out the window, you run your hand down Moka's back. She hums a little sound, appreciating the act, and snuggles into the blanket further.

"Cold? I could go get the fire going again if you like."

Moka stares blankly, fixated on a flower just outside the window. She blinks and laughs suddenly.

"Hm? Sorry, what did you say?"

You repeat what you said and she quickly responds.

"It's alright, but there's something I need you to do."

"What is it?"

"Lie on the bed, let me ride you. I want to feel you fill me. I need it." She reaches a hand up and cradles her own breast, grasping at it and squeezing the supple mound.

It's getting worse—her constant need. Like an itch, she says. Something has to constantly be done to keep it from being painful. It's barely been two hours since you were last inside her, and it seems to be the only thing she can think about.

"Please. I just need a little more..."

You can't bring yourself to deny her. Not when she looks at you like that. So you stumble backwards, pulling her naked form along with you, and ungracefully land on your back. Already you're growing hard, just from looking up at her dainty body and recalling all the wonderful acts you have performed and thinking of what is yet to come.

Moka runs her hand through her hair and gazes downward, a serene look washing over her delicate features.

"Smiling suits you," you tell her.

Again, you watch her eyes light up at that little kind of praise. "Thank you," she says, blushing as she clambers across the bed to kneel above you. She fixes her knees on either side of your hips and runs her palms over your chest, teasing your body as her breasts sway before you.

"Oh..." she purrs as she rocks back and forth, rubbing her bare sex up and down your length. "Oh, yes..."

You hum with delight, but remain still for a moment, listening to the happy sounds she's making, letting her indulge in the simple foreplay.

Eventually, she can take it no longer. "Here..." She lifts herself with her thighs and wraps a single hand around your hardened cock, steadying it and gripping tight. With a single gasp, she guides you inside her. Her moisture envelops you and she's so tight, the way her pussy seems to suck you in all the way to the base. But once you reach that far point, you both let out a loud moan of satisfaction. She's got all of you, every last inch of your shaft has found its home inside her.

Moka rests there for a moment, staring down with these innocent, almost vulnerable brown eyes. From the soft feeling of her velvety interior and the cute, lewd look of her blissful face, you can't help yourself, and buck up into her, plunging even further in. She lets out a gasp and stumbles forward, catching herself on your chest.

"I'm sorry! Are you alright?" you ask.

The dark-haired girl giggles—something that pleases you more than you can describe—and returns to that dainty smile. She pulls her hips and then drives them against you, before groaning, "More than alright."

Moka finds her rhythm. Rolling and grinding her hips, each motion punctuated by her spiking arousal. Her small cunt welcomes the friction, drips with desire. You grip her waist, helping her balance as she bounces in your lap, pushing herself harder and faster each time. She pushes harder, taking more of you, and soon she's crying out your name, begging you to fill her with everything you have.

Her gorgeous form rocks above you. Thrusting vigorously, her little breasts barely bouncing in a way that you can't take your eyes away from. Moka digs her nails into your chest. Her moans and cries grow increasingly desperate.

"You're amazing," Moka moans through her pleasure, voice quivering and trembling with it.

You can feel her clenching tighter and tighter, her insides quaking as she begs, and pleads for release. It brings your climax close, and despite the urgency of her pleasure, she maintains a controlled rhythm. Not so fast as to short-circuit things, keeping you on the very edge of euphoria.

"God, I love the way you..." she exclaims as a bright flush blossoms across her face. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, muting her sound.

"What?" you struggle to speak as her slick folds wrap so tightly around you.

You don't know what it is, but something catches her attention. Her movements slow and she's searching, somehow peering through the dark outside. The noise has stopped too, usually at night there's a cacophony of singing insects and rustling, fluttering wings, but now nothing. No wind or creak or creasing leaf. Quiet. Dead quiet.

Moka slips off of your cock and crawls backwards to the end of the bed.

"What is it?" you ask.

Moka's lips twitch. Anxiety sets in over her features and she steps away from the bed, toward the window. Moonlight kisses her skin, the pale rays dancing on her shadowy form. Your heart falters and you realise... you really do want her here. Like this. Always.

"Moka?"

A strong gust blows and the window swings open. Her silky hair whips against her face, catching on her lips. She raises her hand, fingers hovering lightly in the moonlight. You remain motionless in fear of breaking whatever is occurring. Nothing feels right, not a single thing. As if the fabric of reality has been slashed in two.

The wind howls. The lights flicker and the fireplace across the room somehow brings itself to light. She turns to face it and the flames illuminate Moka's eyes. They glow a pale violet, the hue all wrong, ghostly. A tremble comes over her, and she says just five words. The last five words you'll ever hear from her.

"I'm sorry. I'll miss you."

Her hand turns to dust. The grains reflect the moon as they blow out of the window. You watch as the rest of her body follows, leaving only the imprint of where she once stood.

Time moves slowly—too slowly—like your heart, which can't beat. Something has broken, something in you, though not a sound passes through your lips. Tears stream from your eyes. The pain, the sorrow, the emptiness—it all feels irreparable. You can't bear it, and without a single word, without a single sound, the world goes black.

[youcancallmeelle]

Are we on the same side?

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI!!!)

Word count: 8K

Pairing: Separated husband!Joel Miller x wife!reader

Summary: Joel and you are trialling temporary separation due to repeated arguments with one another after nearly twenty years of marriage.

He returns to the marital home to do you a favour, flirting ensues and the sexual tension gets out of hand because of course it does.

You may need some clarification on what you are…

AO3

You put up the hearts, and I'll put up both my aces Not very far apart Still on different pages

Before having kids, you used to take every moment of your life for granted. 

You were just a kid yourself back then, when you had two babies with a boy who shared your class and you were so in love you couldn’t fathom a life without him. For years you were Mama, the person who fed them and changed them, bathed them and rocked them to sleep. You worked night shifts while the love of your life worked in the day, all so food could be put on the table and an apartment could be kept to keep you all warm and safe. It wasn’t until a few years ago when your kids gained their own independence that you slowly started to regain your own life back, now you were nearly forty and working a job that gave you more freedom even if the stress levels have gotten to you more than once and your marriage… well that’s a separate issue on its own. 

You’d spent the morning doing things you wanted to, thanking whoever that your kids were teenagers who could do their own breakfast and helped with chores without coaxing. You��ve been to pilates and the salon and had your infills done, your nails a glossy shade of pillar box red in an almond shape and your toes the same colour. You’d even managed to grab a Starbucks and sipped it languidly as you people watched from the safety of your car, enjoying your chosen playlist on Spotify without the bluetooth getting hijacked. The icing on the cake though? The fact you got to shower at home without someone barging in to ask for foundation or to borrow your strapless bra or your new Adidas Superstars. 

It’s mid way through Saturday afternoon that your relaxation comes skidding to a halt in the form of your jaded lover knocking heavily against the pane of glass on your front door, the irritating noise makes you scowl and you drag your feet to answer it. 

You crack it open, familiar brown eyes stare at you and yours narrow back. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask flatly, the male on the other side picks up on your terse mood and his shoulders rise defensively. If it wasn’t for the little disagreement you’d had a few days prior on the phone over something as mundane as renewing car insurance, you’d have probably been more excited to see him but the way he can sometimes undermine you really grates on your nerves, you hate that he gets so swept up in work that he comes home and talks to you like he’s your foreman. 

The minute he’d started questioning your choice like a fucking know it all, you’d merely hung up in irritation, refusing to answer when he’d called you back twice to apparently try and patch it over. You’d read the I’m sorry and I love you more than you’ll ever know text he sent after over and over, trying to figure out how things had come to this. 

Nearly two decades together, married, with children and a house. You and Joel Miller have been torn apart by too many petty arguments that end with you sobbing and him walking away, you’d had to call it and come up with a possible solution with the marriage counsellor before it was too late. 

He huffs and lifts his hand, showing you the toolbox you’ve seen many times with its contents strewn about somewhere in your house. 

“A little birdie told me that you’re in need of a repair.” Joel’s lip twists at the side when your mood seems to perk just a fraction, there’s multiple things that need a little TLC right now but he can certainly worm his way back into your good books with a good old fashioned repair. You can only assume the little birdie was Sarah or Ellie. 

You open the door fully and step backwards so all six foot something of him can meander through your front door, he wipes his feet on the welcome mat and toes his sneakers off, nudging them into the neat space where a tattered pair of Vans have been kicked off hard enough to scuff the wall and a pair of spotless ankle boots have been nicely placed beside your shoes. 

“Where’s the babies?” He frowns, looking around and noticing the lack of noise. 

You smile as you shut the door behind him as he refers to the girls as his babies, despite Sarah being eighteen and Ellie just turned fourteen. 

With them both being girls, he’s soft anyway but Sarah is his first born who made him a father and Ellie’s still his tiny baby who he’s soaked up every second of when she was a newborn because you both knew you weren’t having any more children.

“At the movies together watching Twisters, Garret backed out on Sarah so Ellie went instead.” You inform him, sneaking an appreciative glance from the corner of your eye. 

Joel makes a noise at the mention of Sarah’s boyfriend, never having liked him for whatever reason, you think it’s because they’re eerily alike so therefore clash. 

“Little prick will be back hangin’ around here next week.” He grumbles, placing his toolbox on the bottom step.  

“She’s just going through the universal thing of falling for a country boy.” You tease. 

“Well as long as he don’t get her pregnant before graduation then we won’t have a problem.”

“She’s smarter than us.” You say. 

“I know.” Joel agrees, you sneak one more glance at the country boy who got you pregnant before graduation. 

He’s wearing slim fitting black sweatpants with a worn grey t-shirt with a faded motif on, the chain of his St Christopher barely noticeable beneath it and his thick rimmed glasses are perched on his nose. 

You miss the hungry look he shoots you when you turn away, chestnut coloured eyes drifting low to the denim shorts you wear that he’s sure you’ve had since you were in your twenties. They fit snug and are contoured perfectly to the shape of your ass, your cheeks barely peeking out. What really makes his dick hard is the fact you’re wearing one of his sweatshirts, an old Dallas Cowboys one that you’ve always been particularly fond of. 

“Nice flowers. Who got ya those?” He nods with a smirk towards the vase on the side table that’s filled with blooming peonies and baby’s breath. 

The beautiful arrangement of flowers had arrived the morning after your petty argument with Joel, a gift from the universe if you will when you needed something bright and blooming to drag you out of the despair you were frantically becoming encased in. 

“Oh.” You hum and feign ignorance, reaching out to gently touch the edge of a baby pink peony. “Just a friend.” You smile vaguely, Joel rolls his eyes. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“A guy sent them?” He presses, shifting his weight, your grin turns devious. 

“Mmm.” You coo, feeling thrilled when that lick of annoyance flickers across your husband’s face at your flippant tone. 

“Who?” He grins back.

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Come on, I just wanna talk to him, I wanna know why he thinks it’s okay to send my wife flowers.” 

“Ex wife.” You snort, Joel glares at you. 

“We’re separated, not divorced. Y’know what, we’re barely even separated.” He disagrees, you bite the inside of your cheek in amusement. 

“Apparently you’re here to fix my shelves and you’re doing a whole lot of yapping, very unprofessional of you.” You goad, stepping backwards when he begins to saunter towards you with a certain look in his eyes. 

“I’ll fix your shelves, I’ll fix anythin’ you want.” Joel mumbles, stalking you. 

“Big promises.” You taunt, lifting your chin defiantly. His hands grasp your waist, pulling you to him and you let him, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck. 

You love this, the playful behaviour and flirting since you decided to live apart for a while. It feels new and exciting, a rush that you felt when you first got together as youngsters just before your world flipped and you were pregnant before your frontal lobe had developed. 

He smells delectable, you can’t stop yourself from nosing at his bearded jaw where his cologne is the strongest. Joel’s throat bobs, his fingers drift upwards under your borrowed sweatshirt to feel the bare skin between your shorts and bra. 

As his structured jaw slides across yours and his nose just barely brushes your own, you feel his breath hit your lips and you know he really wants to kiss you but is waiting for you to make the first move. 

You want to, you really do but you’re scared of falling into a false sense of security when you haven’t even scratched the surface of your underlying problems that the marriage counsellor suggested needed to be covered before you could get back on track. 

Joel enjoys the way your head fits against his collarbone, loves the sweet smell of your hair and skin. 

“Fix my shelf.” You huff into his skin as you retreat, he sighs deeply but picks up his toolbox and begins to follow you up the stairs with his eyes glued to your backside. 

It almost feels strange for Joel to be back in your shared bedroom after three weeks away, he hasn’t been back for any extra clothes or personal items. If he’s come over to see the kids, then he’s stayed downstairs or in the garden with them. 

Everything looks the same which is a strange observation given that really you’ve barely been apart for any time at all but it’s comforting to be back. 

The bed is made in its usual dress up of plain white sheets with useless throw pillows stacked neatly, there’s a pile of clean laundry resting on your vanity chair but also clothes tossed on the floor where you’ve been indecisive. 

Joel whistles when he sees the closet door open and the fallen shelf leaning against the door, there’s a scrape on the inside wall where it’s collided and taken the paint off. It looks like a fairly simple job, the wall plugs have probably come loose over time and needed replacing, it’s not as if IKEA is known for making indestructible furniture. 

“You want the step ladder?” You question as he surveys the situation, rubbing the wall with his fingertips to see if the scrape will alleviate some. 

“I think so.” He replies. “They in the garage?” 

“No, Ellie’s room, she was trying to hang some fairy lights earlier but only got halfway before she threw a fit about the command hooks.” You chuckle, wandering off to go retrieve them for him, already certain he’s made a note to finish the job for her before he leaves. 

When you get back, he’s got some tools ready, his drill in hand already. He steps onto the bottom rung of the step ladder, groaning as he stretches. 

You observe for a moment, knowing it irks him, he hates being watched on a job.

“Jesus, it’s fuckin’ dusty up here. You’re a terrible housewife, neglectin’ your duties.” Joel pokes, knowing you won’t take a blind bit of notice. 

“You wanna know why we really separated? Because you neglected your duties as a husband to satisfy your wife.” You reply easily, Joel chuckles and looks down at you. 

“Oh spare me the dramatics, you’ve never been unsatisfied by me in your whole entire life.” He sings, infuriatingly he isn’t wrong. 

“I’m telling the kids you were being sexist to me.” You threaten, chewing on a sinister smile. “Ellie will beat you up.” 

“She won’t.” Joel grins, you mumble out a complaint. “She’s a daddy’s girl, maybe try your luck with Sarah, I’m sure she’d give me a lecture.” Not that you think he needs one, he’s the biggest supporter of you and his girls. 

“They’re both Daddy’s girls, the little traitors. Nine whole months carrying them and giving birth after what felt like days and days with no fucking pain relief and this is the thanks I get? Not to mention my nipples being sucked raw.” You grumble to yourself, kicking some laundry into a pile at the side of the wall, Joel makes you jump when he groans suddenly.

“Just sayin’ but your tits were amazin’ when you were breastfeedin’ - shit, they’re still fucking phenomenal.” He sighs dreamily, closing his eyes. “Fuck, you were so hot carryin’ my babies, I’d have kept you pregnant if I had my way.” 

You bite your cheeks to hide the satisfaction that your husband still wants you. 

“You can’t say stuff like that to me anymore.” 

“Why? We separated or somethin’?” Your husband frowns comically. “Show me your tits.” 

“No.” 

“Come on, just one.” He grins boyishly. “The right one is my favourite.” You stick your middle finger up at him.

“Asshole.” You sniff, walking back to lay on the end of your bed. 

You pick up your phone, mindlessly scrolling through Facebook posts made by the PTA at the girls school while Joel complains about wall fixings or something equally as dull. 

In the end, you get bored and toss it away, instead opting to enjoy the eye candy in the form of a senior (essentially) gentleman on a stepladder cussing about how IKEA can suck his balls. 

“Piece of fuckin’ shit!” He complains when the shelf slips again in your closet, he takes a calming breath and contains his frustration, you snicker at him. “How did this even break, sweetheart?” Joel huffs, changing out for a larger wall plug. 

“Dunno, it just did.” You answer vaguely, looking at your ceiling.

“Bullshit.” He quips. “Did you put too much shit on it?” 

“No.” You hum, shaking your head. 

“You’re a liar.” He states plainly, equally unamused. “What did you put on here that was so heavy it collapsed?” 

“Nothing, maybe it was just your shoddy workmanship to begin with.” You quip, not looking at him though you desperately want to because you can imagine the outrage on his face but you won’t be able to not laugh. 

“It wasn’t me that put it up.” He glares. 

“Sure, whatever you say.” You smile sweetly at him. It’s quiet for a minute, then Joel speaks again. 

“You put filled shoeboxes up here, didn’t you? After I told you nothin’ heavier than a few sweaters? ” He asks knowingly. 

Silence and then… 

“Yeah.” You nod, he sighs loudly and turns back to drill in a screw now that he seems happy with the stability. 

You watch him as he works, angling himself to see better and be able to use his drill at the correct angle. 

The muscles in his back move and his shoulders look unbelievably broad beneath his t-shirt, it hugs his biceps and rides up when he shifts to show a slither of his boxers and bare back. 

Your mouth almost waters and you press your thighs together but it obscures your view so you part them again to peek at him through the gap in your knees. 

It’s well known that your husband is an attractive man, he always has been. You’ve watched him grow from the gangly teenager with a backwards baseball cap practically glued to his head you were first besotted with to the almost middle aged and greying man that now works before you. 

Most nights when it’s dark, quiet and the house is still, you pleasure yourself beneath the duvet thinking of him, hips moving frantically against the whir of your vibrator. It can be any scenario of the long time you’ve been together, two decades holds enough memories to fill books upon books with pictures and anecdotes, some that you keep stored away just for you. 

Sometimes you dream about the three day honeymoon in Nashville you had when your parents forced you to get married before Sarah was born, back when you first lived in Arlington in a shitty apartment you could barely afford with you both working instead of attending college. Then there was that night just under four years later with sex so explosive that you’d had the fleeting thought you’d immediately gotten pregnant again, only to actually find out you’d been right two weeks later when you’d presented Joel with yet another positive pregnancy test before twenty five. 

You chew your lip, lashes fluttering and you’re sure he notices you ogling him in the mirror that puts your reflection in his eye line by the smirk you see. 

God, he pisses you off so much sometimes. He makes your cunt wet and your teeth grind all at once, you never knew that was possible. 

Rolling off the bed and onto your feet, you casually turn so that your back is to him on the ladder but you’re in the perfect position in the reflection of the mirror in front of him. He doesn’t notice at first over the sound of the drilling but when it stops and he goes to test the stability of the shelf, he freezes and the arm holding his drill drops limply to his side. 

He sees you begin to strip down in the mirror, shimmying your shorts down and then yanking off your oversized sweater. Joel freezes, gulping when you turn away to unclip your bra, the expanse of your back is smooth and if he thought your backside looked good in those shorts, the high cut panties you’re wearing hit on a whole other level. 

“What are you doin’?” He asks when your fingers hook into the sides of your panties, they flex within the material and you peer over your shoulder at him, big doe eyes the opposite of fucking innocence. 

“Just taking a shower, I’m filthy.” You titter, holding his piercing gaze through the mirror. 

“Funny, you’ve done nothin’ but sit on your pretty little ass and watch me inhale dust that’s been here for the last fifteen years.” 

“Well, you could always join me.” You shrug, finally slipping your underwear down your thighs, Joel’s mouth goes dry. “Only if you want to, of course.” You beam at him and then sashay away into the en suite, Joel’s resolve breaks very quickly (immediately actually) and he’s yanking off his glasses and tossing them onto the dresser and plucking his t-shirt over his head in an instant. 

Maybe the solution is to fuck it out and he’ll gladly go as many times as needed, you always did need to be fucked hard when your attitude started to test him. 

The shower has been switched on and you’re naked under the stream as he finishes yanking both his socks, sweatpants and boxers off. He admires you through the glass, kicking his clothes into a messy pile before climbing in there with you, the air tight and hot. 

His big hands enrobe you from behind, long dexterous fingers gripping at your waist and pawing at all the exposed skin it’s been weeks since he’s seen. 

You tilt your head back from the water, resting it against his shoulder and pushing back into him, holding onto his forearms and digging your nails into his flesh. 

“Look who couldn’t resist, you bad boy. Whatever will the therapist say?” You mock, pouting those pretty lips. 

“You’re a goddamn tease, you know that?” He growls, nipping at your jaw and earlobe, holding the weight of your breasts in his hands. 

“If you say so.” You breathe sexily, dragging him by the back of his neck to meet your lips in a hungry kiss. 

His cock is trapped between his soft stomach and your lower back, smearing a pearlescent gleam as he anchors himself to you.

You moan into his mouth when he teases your nipples into tight peaks, plucking them and roughly cupping your tits. 

“I want to lick your pretty little pussy until you cum on my face.” He admits into your mouth, barely letting you breathe past the fierce kisses. Your clit throbs at his confession and you grab hold of his hand, guiding it down your body to between your legs where he teases your lips.

Your back arches prettily into him, the free hand holding your breast now grips your throat, forcing you to tilt your head back. 

“Ah.” You whine when the roughened pads of his fingers stroke your clit. “Mmm, there.” You hum, pushing into his fingers. He entertains you, dipping his fingertips to your honey slick hole and back up again, dragging the gooey wetness to smother on your clit until it’s hardened and desperate to be sucked on like candy. 

“Bet you could cum like this.” He says gruffly, beard scratching at your shoulders and neck, wherever he greedily kisses your dewy wet skin. 

“Wanna cum on you, Joel.” You whine, reaching behind you to grasp his thickness. He ruts into your hand, smearing more stickiness that you want to lick away from his tip. 

You absorb him similarly to a plant and the sun, the bulk of his form plastered against your back so big and strong, skin sun kissed and warm. He’s safety to you, every single thing about him, everything familiar that you know. 

“Needy little slut.” He whispers, your core becomes aflame at the debauchery, you nod in confirmation. “Oh, you agree? You just need a cock to sit on and your shitty attitude will be right as rain?” 

“Only your cock.” You whine, flicking your thumb against the underside of him, tracing out a vein you’re very familiar with. 

“Yeah, baby. Only mine, I know, I know.” His sweet breath is hot against your cheek as he pants, fingers strumming your clit faster. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Show me how good you can be?” You hum and nod, knees almost buckling, this is the fastest you’ve approached orgasm since being separated. 

“Gonna cum, Joel.” You say huskily, hips bucking into his hand until it’s only been two seconds since your revelation and you’re cumming - wet and sticky - into the palm of his hand. His mouth is on yours, you’re moaning and moving erratically, Joel’s cock is dribbling a steady stream of pre cum into your hand where you’re gripping his shaft. 

“Sexy little thing.” Joel husks into your ear, biting the lob as you heave for air, slowly undulating your hips as you ride the last wave of your peak against his hand. “Good girl.” He praises, taking his hand away when you weakly push at his wrist. He lifts it in front of you, fingers webbed with your cum, runny and clear. You catch his hand, slipping his index and middle finger into your mouth, sucking them clean as he groans and ruts into the hand still around him, the cool palladium of his wedding ring bumps against your cupids bow as you suckle. 

You slip his fingers out of your mouth, letting them drag down your chin and back to your tits. “Fuck me.” You demand haughtily, eyeing him. 

“I’ll fuck you, baby.” He confirms, softer than you were expecting, he meets you for a kiss and you suck on the plumpness of his bottom lip before turning away. Joel slicks his hair back under the spray and then begins to trace out the curve of your waist and the fullness of your ass, you feel his hand bump you knuckle first where he fists himself to complete mast and then he runs the length of himself through your pussy, hissing at the wet heat that awaits him but he pauses, retracting back unsure. 

“You want me to wear a condom?” And you freeze, looking over your shoulder in distress. 

“Have you been with other people?” You frown, your heart suddenly sinking into your stomach, making your guts twist with nausea. Joel frowns down at you, blinking away the water clinging to his lashes. 

“Course not.” He answers, you relax. “…Have you?” Joel presses.

“Absolutely not.” You state firmly. “So get inside me.” You demand, turning away to place your hands on the tiles. You feel him press kisses to your shoulders as the tip of his cock brushes your ass again, you sigh and push back into him. “Please, baby.” You beg, feeling him smile into your skin. 

“I think you’re tryin’ to baby trap me.” Joel says playfully, pulling your hips against him so that your back arches just so. 

“You had a vasectomy after Ellie, idiot.” Your hips press insistently against him and you reach back to tug at his length, your fingers barely wrapping around the girth. “Now get your dick inside me, Joel.” You demand. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He leans down a fraction and slicks himself up, the entire length of him slipping against your pussy lips once more and nudging your clit. “Fuuuuck.” Joel groans when he does it again and the head of him catches on your hole, slipping inside just a fraction. 

“Oh my god.” You pant, your forehead dropping to rest against the cool tiled as he fills you completely. It’s a tight fit, after over three weeks of no sex with him your body is near to combustion.

You wonder if the lack of sex has attributed to the arguments, both working long hours at your respective jobs and not having the time for the normal intimacy you usually share. 

This is exactly what you’ve been wanting in the weeks you’ve been apart; a carnal desire to have your husband close. 

His grunt in your ear sets something off in you, the relief he feels directly felt by you. 

You whimper at the first thrust after he’s settled within your velvet lined canal, body pressed between him and the wall. 

It won’t ever be like this with anyone else, you think to yourself - the way Joel fits within you, around you and alongside you. 

“Like that.” You pant, pressing back. He grunts into your ear in such a manly way that you reach back to yank on his hair, he growls into your neck and fucks into you harder. 

He’s so strong it makes your head spin, this gorgeous man with a heart of gold that loved you when you were young, married you and gave you two babies, helped you create a comfortable life for your family. 

It’s overwhelming; that sensation of being full and enveloped within the heat of his radius. 

You’ve missed everything about him; his smell, his voice, the way he tastes. You’ve ached for the things you’ve harmlessly bickered about before, such as underwear outside of the hamper, smudges of toothpaste on the bathroom mirror after a deep clean, crumbs on the island. 

You don’t mean to let your emotions get the best of you but your eyes well and your throat tightens, your chest constricts something fierce. 

The sob that erupts out of your chest can’t be disguised by the noise of the water hitting the floor at your feet or the soft groans of Joel, not the breathless whines from yourself either. 

It’s a raw noise, jagged at the edges so much that it hurts leaving your throat. 

“Honey?” Immediately Joel has stopped moving and withdrawn, spinning you around to cup your cheeks. “Why are you cryin’?” He presses insistently, thumbs trying to swipe away your tears. Your cheeks are aflame, embarrassed to have spoilt such an intimate moment after so long. 

“I just - I just missed you.” You whimper, tucking your nose into his bicep. He cradles you to him softly beneath the spray, hushing you gently. This makes you cry more, thinking about how he’s held your babies like this; tenderly like they’re the most fragile  beings made entirely of glass. “Everything feels wrong! And… and…” You sniffle wetly. “And I can’t sleep properly without you and your dumb old man snoring!” 

“Oh, baby.” He chuckles into your hair. 

“I don’t like the whole limited contact stuff either.” You mumble. 

“Neither do I but it’s what was suggested and I think we need to try it, if we don’t like it then that’s a good sign.” He tries to pick your mood up, you pout and nod, leaning into his touch. 

“I’m scared we won’t fix this and I’ll have to watch you start dating someone else.” 

“I’m not gonna date anyone else, lady. I only want you, I’ve only ever wanted you.” He tells you. 

“That’s not true.” You hiccup. “Brandi Neil wanted you and you were going to go to Homecoming with her.” 

“Fuckin’ - that was literally over twenty somethin’ years ago and I went with you in the end!” He huffs indignantly. “Come on, let’s get dry and we can talk some more.” Joel guides you out of the shower with a gentle hand, turning off the water and handing you a towel. He leans over on more than one occasion to peck your lips, he smooths his thumbs beneath your eyes to wipe away the mascara that’s ran in the shower from the steam. 

Once you’re both relatively dry, there’s an awkward shift in the air as you’re both naked still and Joel looks very much aroused, half hard cock swaying as he moves. 

You saunter back to the bed, peering over your shoulder to see that you’ve captured his attention intently and he gulps as you climb onto the mattress, briefly resting on all fours for a split second, wet pussy drooling and exposed before turning onto your back. 

You stretch out against the sheets not dissimilar to a renaissance painting, skin dewy with a look on your face that Joel wants to savour. 

He climbs atop the mattress with you, pushing your thighs apart to settle between them. His warm mouth finds your nipples, sucking them and biting gently, you stretch and arch into him like a puppet on strings, the weight of your breasts fitting in each of his roughened palms. You feel the brush of his cock sway against your inner thigh and you buck against it, trying to encourage him closer, you huff when he ignores you in favour of worshiping your breasts. 

“Calm down.” He murmurs. “We’ll get there.” He promises in that deep baritone which makes your purr. Joel shimmies down your body, palm dragging along your sternum and settling on your stomach where your fingers find his in a desperate squeeze. 

The broadness of him fits between your thighs, one tossed over his shoulder to open you up. It’s erotic how he looks with his mouth on you, silver streaked hair visible and it’s not long before you’re clutching at it, writhing and moaning something pretty. 

He parts your labia and licks slowly, using only the tip of his tongue, flicking over your clit and coaxing it from beneath the hood, sucking it between his lips and running his tongue repeatedly over it as you gasp and pull his hair, he suckles and there’s a lewd slurp thrown in there. 

You purr like a kitten when his fingers enter you, moving steadily and brushing your G spot with such expertise that your eyes water. He knows what you like, having learnt your body and its responses for the better part of twenty years. A gush of slick aids the smooth movement of his ring and middle finger, stroking you from the inside until it proves too much to feel so far from him. 

“Up, Joel.” You whine, tugging his tresses with more force than necessary which causes him to bite your inner thigh in retaliation but he allows himself to be malleable at the hands of you, kneeling between your legs and wiping the slick of you from his moustache and beard. 

Rocking back onto his haunches, he fists his cock at the sight of you looking wrecked, that deep possessive part of him that’s smug because it’s him that makes you look like that; flushed and desperate. 

“I won’t last long, honey.” He warns as he gets into position, wrapping both legs around his waist. 

“Don’t care.” You state, reaching down to grab hold of him and guiding the blunt head of him through your lips, teasing yourself before you notch him just right. He eases himself in gentler than before in the shower, savouring that slow stretch as he feeds you himself until the wiry coarse hairs at the base are dampened by your wetness. 

He drops onto his forearms beside your head, caging you in as he begins to move, the pendant from his St Christopher bumps your chin. You make pretty noises, clawing at his back in a way that leaves diagonal lines in various shades of pink and red. Chests pressed together, heart to heart, a rhythmic beat perfectly in sync. 

“Tell me you love me.” You gasp.

Sitting up, Joel guides your leg over his shoulder, kissing your ankle bone, toying with the dainty gold anklet there that was an anniversary present some years ago. Your back arches against the sheets and you whimper sweetly at the new sensation of his hips fitting snuggly between your thighs and the weeping head of him nudging against the sponged wall of your cervix. 

“I love you.” He groans, hands grappling your hip bones, forcing you closer like he can’t get enough, he looms over you. “I love you so fuckin’ much.” 

“I love you.” You pant back. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” His nose nudges yours, lips hungrily searching to slot against yours, puffy and wet. “You remember night one of our honeymoon?” You press, exhaling hot and tone wanting. 

“Fuck yeah I do, fuck - “ His hips snap harder and you keen. “Pretty as a fuckin picture, still in your weddin’ dress on the floor.” 

“Fuck.” You sigh, fisting at his biceps with slippery fingers. “Barely made it through the motel door.” 

“You looked so fuckin good, honey. Havin’ my baby and ridin’ me on the floor.” His mouth slackens and his eyes slip closed, clearly deep in thought. 

“I wanna do it again, Joel.” You gasp, fingers shakily circling your clit, hard and slippery. 

“Yeah, baby. We’ll have another honeymoon, renew our vows first and everythin’.” He grunts. 

“Baby.” You whimper in his ear. “I’m cumming, fuck me harder.” You say it breathlessly and all his carnal instincts take over, he fucks you that hard the headboard slams into the wall and takes a layer of sage green paint off. You’re loud through your climax, hips jumping and blood rushing through every vein like accelerant and fire. 

“Jesus, I’m gonna cum. Fuck!” He groans, fingers moulding into the mattress, orgasm hitting so hard it makes the edges of his vision blacken. “Fuckin’ Christ.” You kiss his throat from your place beneath him, licking his jugular like the fucking minx you are, biting a tendon. 

The white of his teeth is blinding as his lip curls into a near snarl, the pulse of warmth as he orgasms spreads within you and you pant, flushed from head to toe. 

You kiss him as he grunts to completion, teeth clashing. 

“You’re so good - so good.” You murmur into his mouth, frantically pushing his hair from his damp forehead. “You’re perfect.” You hum, enraptured. 

“That’s you.” He smiles, lip curving against yours. “My pretty little wife.” 

He strokes your hair and traces your features, eyes searching yours for something; hope maybe and you smile gently at him, pulling him down beside you once he’s withdrawn from the warmth of your body. 

You rest against him, cheek to his chest to listen to the thrum below. You count his freckles and you trace his knuckles, you kiss his exposed skin over and over, you absorb as much of him as you can, feeling fulfilled for the first time in weeks. 

Joel quietly observes you, you lean up on your elbow, dragging your manicured nails down the centre of his chest, he watches you with his arm behind his head. You pause and lean down to rest your chin on his sternum, blinking with those fluttery lashes that cast a shadow high on your cheekbones. 

“Thank you for my flowers.” You say, he smiles softly and reaches down to stroke your cheek with his thumb. 

“You’re welcome.” He whispers. “Wanted to do somethin’ nice for you, Ellie messaged me and said you’d had a tough week at work before that dumb fucking argument we had.” His long fingers comb through your hair, you rest easily on his stomach now, letting your eyes slip shut. “Wanna talk about it, baby?” 

“Not really.” You huff. “I don’t want to unload my problems on you.” Joel sighs in exasperation at your vague answer. 

“You can tell me anythin’, you know that.” 

“We’re supposed to be taking time apart to stop the fighting, me unloading everything onto you isn’t going to help that.” You tell him. 

“I think communication is exactly what we need.” He disagrees. 

“You’re starting an argument now.” You chuckle with an eye roll, resting your cheek against his warm skin. He rolls his eyes back but doesn’t reply, continuing to stroke your hair, twirling some around his finger. “Joel?” You ask quietly. 

“Hmm?” 

“What if we can’t fix this?” 

“We can.” He replies determinedly. “Nearly twenty years together and two kids later, I’m still so in love with you, whether we’re fighting or not.” 

“I love you.” You murmur. 

“I love you more.” He replies. “And I love our girls.” Joel adds. 

“Me too.” You shift and snuggle into him, resting your head beneath his chin. 

He holds you quietly, his touch a major comfort. You think back over the almost month it’s been since the marriage counsellor had suggested Joel move out of the martial house for awhile and stay with his brother, just so you could see if distance would be beneficial after the amalgamation of late working nights, the stress of parenting two teenage girls and life itself along with naturally getting older, you already dancing that line of perimenopause. 

The space had made you realise you didn’t want to be without him and you’d both seemed to realise that you didn’t want to split up, you just needed to figure out a way to make things work. 

“I think we should trial the time apart for another week and keep seeing the counsellor for a few more months.” You begin. “I’m gonna figure something out at work and reduce my hours, no more bringing it home with me.” 

“That sounds good.” Joel murmurs, twisting a piece of your hair. “I’m goin’ to cut my days down to four, I think the finances will be fine and I want to be around here more for you and the girls.” He tells you, you nod slowly and blink away the tears that have suddenly come at the softness of his voice. 

“I don’t care if we have to give up any extra luxuries, I just need you and our kids here happy.” You emphasise. 

“That’s what I want too, baby. No more arguments over stupid shit, I’m sorry for bein’ so fuckin’ horrible lately.” 

“I was horrible too, Joel.” You say. “We just need to keep working on things and if we feel an argument brewing then we should take a step back and reassess what’s caused it and find a solution just like the therapist says.” You advise. “Also we should make time for a date night every week.” 

“Sounds good to me, baby.” Joel agrees, tugging you forward. “Kiss me, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He murmurs sweetly and you go easily, moulding yourself over him to meet him for a deep kiss that speaks a thousand words and apologies. 

“Hey.” You say suddenly, eyes flitting over to the vanity where multiple photo frames sit. “You remember that trip we took to Seattle when the kids were little?” Joel follows your line of sight where they’re focused on one of the smaller frames holding two polaroids, one of Sarah and Ellie when they were eight and four, then another you’d taken of Joel on the pier with the wheel behind him you’d taken. 

“Yeah.” He says fondly. “That was a great trip, the kids loved it.” 

“What was that girl called that Ellie made friends with at the aquarium?” You smile as you think of a rambunctious Ellie, stomping around holding her Daddy’s hand in her tiny overalls, pointing at every fish she saw swimming ahead in the glass tunnels. 

“Oh er… fuck. What was it? Little blonde girl with a braid.” He recites, thinking back almost a decade. “Abby!” He suddenly exclaims and you hum, nodding. 

“That was it, they were so cute together watching the sea lion show, remember how jealous Sarah was that she thought all Ellie’s love was being stolen away.” You giggle, nuzzling his shoulder. “We should go again now they’re grown up.” 

There’s a comfortable silence as you bask in the evening sun coming through the window behind the bed, coating you in warmth while you lazily make out with your husband like you used to as teenagers in his beat up truck. 

You moan into his mouth when a hand sneakily skims your back and moulds to the fleshiest part of your backside. Sitting back to take a breath, you begin to kiss at his stubbled jaw, focusing intently on the grey patches and working yourself down his throat, to his clavicle and down his chest where he has yours, Sarah’s and Ellie’s name tattooed over his heart. 

He props himself up in interest on his elbows when you make it to his sternum, nipping near his navel and dragging your nails through the smattering of hair below it until you reach his groin. 

“You think you can go again?” You smirk at him, nipping his hip, sucking a small bruise into the skin above his pubic area.

“Keep doin’ that and I’ll be rarin’ to go.” He huffs, cradling the back of your head when you lick above his pubic area.

You move lower and his cock begins to swell against his thigh, his thighs tense when your hot breath drifts over his length. 

Just as you’re about to drag your tongue over the flushed head of him, you hear a car skim across the gravel driveway and you both freeze. 

“Shit, that’s the kids.” You panic, sitting up and swinging your legs off the bed to gather up something to wear. “Quick!” You urge Joel who looks equally as panicked as he yanks up his boxers. You find a long floral dress to throw on from the corner and manage to yank up the panties you were wearing earlier, the crotch becomes sodden with the semen but you ignore the uncomfortable wet feeling and try to fan away the flush on your cheeks as you watch your husband get dressed. 

You’re both barrelling down the stairs just as the front door opens and you bump into Joel as you skid on foyer tiles, he steadies you as your kids stare back. 

You and Joel try to act casual despite the feral things you’ve just done.

“You’re back early.” You squeak, very aware of your damp hair and smudged makeup. 

It’s a mere second before your daughter’s come barrelling full force towards the apple of their eyes, pregnancy and labour be damned. 

“Dad!” The girls squeal in unison, rushing to hug him. He wraps an arm around each of them, eyes slipping shut with contentment. 

“Hi, my girls.” He sighs happily, nosing Ellie’s hairline and then Sarah’s. 

“Missed you.” You hear Ellie tell him. 

“Hi, mom.” You mock unseriously, crossing your arms. 

“Hey, mom.” Ellie mocks devilishly, tilting her head back with the same teasing look her father possesses more often than not. She’s her father’s daughter, a carbon copy of him whereas Sarah is more like you. 

“You have a good afternoon?” You ask when Sarah meanders her way into your orbit, wrapping her arms around your waist. She nods against you and you tuck some hair out of her face, she nuzzles into you. 

“The movie was packed so we got frozen yoghurt and walked around Target instead, we got you some candy.” She says sweetly, rubbing her cheek into your collar whilst Ellie is resting her chin against Joel’s chest with her arms wound around his waist, whispering something that makes him chuckle and sway her from side to side tenderly. 

She stares up at him like he’s hung the stars and the moon just for you, you’re certain she’d crawl into his rib cage and stay there if she could and you don’t blame her.

“Thank you, sweet girls.” You beam. “Hey, are you both in for dinner tonight?” You suddenly wonder. 

“Yes, sir.” Ellie replies. 

“I’ve got no plans.” Sarah shrugs. 

“How about we Doordash something? Could eat it on the patio?” You suggest and Ellie cheers, Joel chuckles into her hair. 

“Even Dad?” Sarah hesitates as she asks, looking at you hopefully. Your heart breaks, Joel staying away had some serious effects in the first week even though they knew you weren’t going through a divorce and trying to fix things. Ellie acted out at school and Sarah shut herself away, both missing their father’s presence at home even though they saw him most days after school and on weekends if they weren’t out with friends. 

You’d never stopped them seeing him and wouldn’t dare to even if things were irreparable between you. 

“Of course.” You answer Sarah, Ellie looks between you and Joel curiously, her eyes narrow when she sees him smiling softly at you and clocks you blushing. 

“Whatcha both been doing?” Ellie asks slyly. 

“Hanging out, your Dad fixed the shelf for me.” You tell her nonchalantly over Sarah’s head. “So uh.. which one of you ratted on me for breaking it?” 

“Dunno what you’re talking about, man.” Ellie sniffs, you tug the end of her ponytail.

“Mmm.” You murmur, unconvinced. “Go get changed into something comfy and have a think about what you fancy for dinner.” You order, nodding towards the stairs. 

“Race ya!” Ellie bellows suddenly, pushing Sarah into you to get a head start. 

“Hey!” Her older sister shouts, barrelling after her while you sigh and head towards the kitchen, the peace and quiet officially gone. 

Joel gives you a flirtatious look and your heart jumps, your chest warms as do your cheeks. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You demand, pushing his face away in the opposite direction. He chuckles and grabs your wrist, using it as leverage to pull you to him.  

“What? Like I want to eat you?” He murmurs lowly, you hum affirmatively. “Maybe I do.” 

“That could be arranged.” You whisper, he takes you back into his arms, walking with you until you hit the edge of the kitchen island. You pull him into a kiss, dragging your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

He growls lowly and hoists you up onto the surface, stepping between your legs, running his hands up and down your parted thighs. 

“The kids are listenin’ to us.” Joel whispers into your ear when he pulls away, nodding outside of the kitchen entryway where you realise you didn’t hear them run all the way to the top of the stairs. 

“No, we’re not!” Sarah has the audacity to yell with offence, you giggle into Joel’s t-shirt.

“Get changed before I make your Dad cook his famous spaghetti surprise dinner tonight instead of getting take out!” You holler back. 

“That was one time.” Joel complains under his breath. 

“Make us a sister.” Ellie shouts from halfway upstairs. 

“No chance! Dad got snipped after you anyway, he said you were more than enough trouble and you were barely out the womb!” You shout back, cackling when you hear both her and Sarah gag fiercely. 

“It’s true!” Joel adds. “I had frozen peas on my crotch for days!”

“Gross!” They both exclaim. 

That night, you sit on the patio furniture, with your husband and children, your feet cradled in his lap with glasses of wine and takeout with quiet music playing from Alexa, giggling and telling them stories of your teenage years and some of a time they’re too young to remember, planning a trip to Seattle they’re ecstatic over. 

You’re certain that everything will be okay. 

[allpiesforourown]

was gonna post this on ao3 but it's only 1.3k words and pure sillyness so here it is instead: bingqiu, post canon, time travel, misunderstandings.

shen qingqiu time travels, but no one tells him

Upon waking up to see his husband, the first words out of Shen Qingqiu’s mouth were, “Ugh, again?” 

Because the one at his bedside was not the tall handsome demon lord he saw every morning. A cute little bun in white robes blinked back at him. “Shizun?” 

Seriously? How many times was this going to happen!? At least this time he didn't look young enough to be mistaken for his child, but still… if Shen Qingqiu had a soul stone for every time Luo Binghe qi deviated into a younger version of himself, he’d have two soul stones by now…

Instead of waking his husband to tell him about his condition, the man (boy?) had run off to prepare breakfast. Going by the steaming congee on the table, he only woke Shen Qingqiu up to get him to eat.

Shen Qingqiu sighed as he sat up and ran a hand over his face. “Do you know how old you are right now?” 

“This disciple is sixteen, shizun. Is something wrong?” 

Shen Qingqiu gave Luo Binghe a glare. Something wrong? The audacity! He grabbed the fan off his nightstand and smacked the boy’s head softly. “Hasn’t this master told Binghe to tell me right away when something is wrong?” Binghe opened his mouth with a stricken expression, but Shen qingqiu cut him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine. You're still too young to dual cultivate. We’ll have to wait things out.” 

Papapa would have solved this matter instantly if it was viable. But when Binghe first brought up the idea of role-playing as their younger selves, Shen Qingqiu made it clear he would not partake in anything with the man if he made his appearance younger than 18! Even that was too low, but he had to draw the line somewhere! 

Luo Binghe’s face flushed red. “D-d-dual cu-cultivate!?” 

Shen Qingqiu narrowed his eyes. “What did I just say? Don't get any ideas, you'll have to wait before we can do anything.” 

“We?” Binghe’s voice went high. “Shizun… dual cultivate… with me!?” 

“Not until you’re older,” he repeated firmly. 

At this age, Binghe really did look too innocent… even with such a perverted interior, he really looked like this simple talk was flustering him. “How-how much older?” 

Well, while recovering from de-aging qi deviations, Binghe did grow back rapidly. It wouldn’t take that long before Binghe was old enough for shen qingqiu to feel comfortable touching. “Hmm, at the rate you usually grow… maybe we can do it a week from now?” 

Luo Binghe passed out. 

*

“Mu-shidi, how can you say this isn’t a qi deviation?” Shen Qingqiu insisted. “Just look at him! What other explanation could there be?” 

His martial brother must have gone insane. He grasped Luo Binghe’s wrist once more, looking over the unconscious boy. “Shixiong, this one… still doesn’t understand what you mean.” He released the arm and adjusted his glasses. “Though he seems to have suffered some sort of shock, it is minor and there is zero harm to his meridians. He will wake up shortly.”

No harm to his meridians? Then what else could explain why his husband was suddenly a head shorter than him? Luo Binghe did have some shape-shifting skills… perhaps they went beyond just hiding his demonic huadian and eyes? Could he also change his appearance to such a degree he looked like a teenager again? 

“Then I suppose this master will take his husband back to the bamboo house and follow up once he wakes.” Shen Qingqiu stood, scooping Luo Binghe into his arms. “Thanking shidi for his time.” 

He was nearly at the door when he heard a strangled “WAIT!” call out behind him. Shen qingqiu glanced over his shoulder impatiently. He didn’t want to be holding Binghe like a bride when he came to… Binghe would insist on it constantly and further tarnish his status as a stallion protagonist! 

Mu Qingfang’s eyes were bugged out, ink dripping from his pen onto his hand. “What did you just say!?” 

Shen qingqiu raised a brow, shuffling binghe into a more comfortable hold closer to his chest. “This shixiong thanked shidi…” Shen qingqiu said slowly. 

Mu Qingfang’s tense shoulders lowered slightly. “Right… that’s all shixiong said.”

“Yes? Thank you for checking on this master’s husband.” 

Mu Qingfang threw up blood as Shen Qingqiu exited the infirmary. 

*

Shen Qingqiu had just finished tucking Binghe into their bed when the door to the bamboo house was kicked open. He readied his ‘disappointed teacher’ voice to reprimand Liu Qingge, but was stunned into silence when he found Yue Qingyuan sprinting into his bedroom instead. 

“Zhangmen shixiong,” Shen Qingqiu said with a raised brow. “May this shidi help you?” 

Yue Qingyuan’s voice was choked as he called, “Xiao-Jiu!” 

Shen Qingqiu's lip instinctively twisted down. “If shixiong has something to say to this Qingqiu, he may do so.” He said pettily. “Otherwise, I’m busy taking care of my husband.”

“Husband,” Yue Qingyuan repeated. He squirmed nervously under Shen Qingqiu’s gaze. “Mu-shidi informed me you said something similar, I… xia- um, Qingqiu-shidi, are you alright? You… you’re not married… right?” 

…Sect leader Yue. You were at the wedding! 

“Is this a joke?” Shen Qingqiu answered coolly. “Luo Binghe would not take kindly to this kind of statement.” 

Yue Qingyuan staggered backwards, falling onto a chair with an anguished expression. His eyes fell upon Shen Qingqiu’s bed, where Luo Binghe lay sleeping and his eyes widened. “How…? Shidi, this is- he’s your disciple!” 

“This master does not understand,” Shen Qingqiu said irritably. “Luo Binghe and I have been wed for over a year, so why now are you making such a fuss?” 

“A year…?” 

More footsteps invaded the bamboo house, until half his martial siblings had invited themselves in. Qi Qingqi, Liu Qingge, even great master Airplane had arrived! Yue Qingyuan looked to Mu Qingfang with dread. “Mu-shidi…” 

The tragedy clear on the sect leader’s face said it all. Mu Qingfang grimaced. “Something must be done. Shen-shidi is having delusions of marriage!” 

…okay, that was it. Shen Qingqiu had allowed his martial siblings to subtly disapprove of his relationship with Binghe for all this time, but this was too far. 

“Enough!” He cried. “Luo Binghe is my husband, and that will not change! Everyone will treat him with the respect that is deserved of Qing Jing’s shimu!” 

The sound of something crashing to the ground pulled their attention back to the peak lord’s bed. It seemed Luo Binghe had woken up, gotten out of bed, and then immediately passed out again after taking two steps. 

“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu cried. Seriously, what was going on? Did Airplane write a narcolepsy arc he never mentioned? 

As Shen qingqiu lifted Binghe back onto the bed, a younger voice joined them. “Shizun, why was everyone running into the bamboo house? Is everything okay?” 

At the threshold of his bedroom Ning Yingying had arrived, followed by the head disciple. 

Shen Qingqiu gawked at her small stature. What the-!? Did Ning Yingying also qi deviate? And Ming Fan, too? Why did all his disciples look about ten years younger- 

Oh.

Oh no.

Ha… hahaha… that was the trouble with immortals. Year after year, their faces looked exactly the same. 

System, Shen Qingqiu asked with dawning horror, what's going on? 

[Sounds like host has already figured it out! Limited event: Returning to the Peaceful Past is in progress!]

You bastard, you couldn't have said that earlier!? 

So Shen Qingqiu had temporarily returned to the past. He’d told his sixteen year old disciple they would dual cultivate and informed all his martial siblings he had married the boy at 15. For a thin faced man like Shen Qingqiu, something of this level… he couldn’t bear his fellow peak lord’s shocked and judging faces. 

“S-so…” Shen Qingqiu laughed nervously. “Um… that was all a joke, okay?” 

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

a new life is born | s.r. x fem!reader

“congratulations mom and dad, it’s a healthy baby girl.” the doctor confirmed for both of you while the nurses worked to clean your new born. your skin was sweaty, baby hairs stuck to your forehead, legs were shaky from being bent for the past hour. you’ve been in the hospital since last night once your contractions started.

but you were a mom now. you birthed a babygirl and you couldn’t be happier with your life. turning your head to the left with a dazed smile, stood spencer with the widest smile you’ve seen on his face to date. “a girl. we have a little girl,” chuckling from glee.

“we have a girl,” he repeated as he leaned forward to kiss your forehead and tuck some of your hair away. “i want her to be just like you,” very confident in the chances of that happening.

spencer shook his head, “for your sake i hope not and for my heart i hope she looks like you.” a gentle finger tracing over your nose, the shape of your lips. “well i only hope she doesn’t get your puppy eyes, it’ll be her one power over both of us.” staring directly into said eyes right now.

“alright, she’s ready for you.” a nurse walked to your right side with your baby, now wearing a pink bow. “would you like to do skin to skin? helps her recognize you through touch. also good for the dad as well.” waiting for either to reply first.

“i’ll go first.” shimming your hospital gown away from your shoulder and chest so there was enough surface area, “i have a feeling i’m gonna fall asleep soon, but i’m gonna hold her until i can keep my eyes open.” holding your hands out to take her then second guessing and getting them in the cradle position but still not sure, “uh, which is better?” asking the nurse who hovered.

“i’d say hands so you can lay her to your chest. cradling is better for later.” nodded and slowly took your baby from the nurse and maneuvered her tiny self so her head was resting on your shoulder. “oh wow,” whispering to yourself. it completely sunk in now, she’s yours.

“i’m a freaking mom,” whispering over her back towards spencer. a slow palm rubbed along her back and quickly her breathing synced with yours, her tiny fists were too cute.

there was a little space on your bed and you called for spencer to join you. he sank down slowly and threw a long arms over your shoulder, his free hand caressing your forearm. “what should we name her? we can’t call her fruits anymore.” whispering beside your ear.

your mouth twisted, “i kinda want to name her after something from literature. like juliet or charlotte. do you have any ideas?” turning his way.

his eyes were focused on the sleeping babe, a little smile quirking a corner of his lips. “maybe annabeth. the combination of anna and elizabeth forms the meaning of god has favored me. and i think that works for us as well, we’ve been favored by having her. also anna can mean beautiful and it’s all because of you.” kissing your temple, his kisses have been never ending the past nine months.

“annabeth… annabeth diana reid. our beautiful gift.” pressing her first kiss of many to her head. “i think it’s your turn now. my eyes are getting heavy.”

spencer nervously started to unbutton his shirt and then slowly you traded off. you watched as spencer stood back up and kept a gently motion to his body wanting her to continue napping. he kept his voice low as he recited facts about anything, knowing she’s gonna love the sound of his voice growing up.

“can you tell us a story?” something you’ll ask spencer from time to time when you needed just a little push into dreamland. “of course, sweetheart. i’ll do my favorite book from childhood, alice in wonderland. once upon a time there was a girl named alice…”

[meanbossart]

I LOVE DU drow and I love your art style! I also really like how you draw Astarion's hair, it looks flowy but still with his trademark curls.

Can you give any advice on drawing Astarion's hair? I find it a nightmare to draw. Whenever I free hand it, it just doesn't have the amount of curliness I want, and when I try to use a reference it ends up looking rather stiff.

Take care and thanks for the art 😊

THANK YOU though to be honest I'm shocked to find this ask in my inbox because every time I draw Astarion a war is waged between me and his hairdo. But sure, lets give this a shot!

First of all I feel like its a good idea not to be too attached to his in-game model hair when drawing unless your style is very realistic. The only reason why that dry-noodle helmet looks so regal and bouncy is because of the high-detailed graphics. Like you mentioned yourself and many of us have experienced, if you try and stick to it too closely in most art-styles it just ends up looking terribly stiff.

Instead, I suggest just keeping growth-direction and shape in mind and applying as much movement as you want to it when you draw it. Here's some things to remember that might help you with that:

-I employ the liquify tool a lot when sketching his hair because I never get it big enough on the first try, lol. This can also aid you with "distorting" more curliness into your lines if you aren't used to doing that right off the bat, just try not to become too reliant on it!

-I usually leave the areas around the ears and back alone but imply a lot of movement with the top and front of the hair, taking as many liberties as I want even if it's not entirely faithful to the model. I feel like the impression of curliness comes entirely from the silhouette of the hair and little fly-ways that I add, and everything else I just try to do without overthinking it too much for a more natural look.

In truth, I feel like a lot of times we get stuck on things like parting-placement, right amount of curl, which brush we're using yada-yada when in reality we are neglecting what actually makes a character's hair recognizable: Hairline, growth pattern, and shape. If you get these three things right I feel like everything else is entirely just stylistic choice. It's worth pulling away for a moment and checking on these things if you feel like you're continually unhappy with your outcome!

-Astarion has a hairline capable making most men over 30 cry. It's very low on the forehead and tight on the temples with the slightest hint of a widow's peak. As someone who drew a lot of big-foreheaded characters with receding hairlines prior, this was a STRUGGLE for me to get used to and a big reason why I felt like I couldn't get his hair to look "right" for the longest time.

-His hair swoops to the right side of his face in a fanning kind of shape and is the longest at the front and top. You can imply a strong part if you want, you can split it into sections, you can have it falling over his forehead or not at all - as long as it's going in the right direction you will probably be fine.

-A mistake I would catch myself making often was getting the shape totally wrong - making it too slick at the top and putting all the volume in the back when that's pretty much the exact opposite of what his hair does. IT'S ALL AT THE FRONT AND TOP, REPEAT IT TO YOURSELF LIKE IT'S A MANTRA: IT'S ALL AT THE FRONT AND TOP.

And lastly, if you absolutely hate how his hair looks or hate to draw it, you can forego all of this and just do whatever you want. These tips are only worth something if you like how I draw his hair specifically.

Hopefully this was helpful at all!

[vagabond-umlaut]

'til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours

then her eyes look at me, love breaks my bones and I laugh

gojo satoru x wife!reader; 18+ content so mdni; mostly tooth-rotting domestic fluff w mild smut; baby-making stuff [it's breeding, y'all- but not written in a very spicy way... i'm too shy; wht's my fault in tht]; satoru & you're a bit too much in love w each other; not toxic tho... js a teeny-tiny amt too much– haha; satoru calls you cookie and minx; too many kisses written to count [and 1 mention of the words 'cum' and 'cunt' each– i said right, i'm too shy :))]; loserboy loverboy 'toru; tw: talks on conceiving; 2.6k wc

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit satoru's character here to a tee ^_^

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

fic title from everywhere, everything by noah kahan // fic summary from a poem by charles bukowski // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

Gojo Satoru is in love with you. Entirely, utterly, whole-heartedly—

Simply put, the man adores you.

Reveres you even; your existence in both this world and his: one that has morphed to fit the shape and size of your form, your smiles, your frowns– Your husband believes he cannot be any more enchanted by you, any more ensnared by you than he already is...

Only to be proven wrong when you ask something of him.

The sweet croon of the music seems to dissipate away, as well as the quiet murmurs of the crowds, when Gojo sees you lift your head from where it lay on his chest. Eyes briefly flicking to where you both are in a gentle sway on the dance floor, amongst other couples; before they return to the shades on his face.

Growing an endearing quality of coyness as you gaze at him, features becoming suffused with warmth and hues before you repeat your ask to him; voice softening, trembling. Even more this time.

"'Toru," you say, fingers flexing from where they are looped around his neck, around his existence. Your smile is shaky, right at the corners of your mouth, before you take a deep breath to force them to stabilise– somehow, your husband realises.

He watches you draw in yet another deep breath, and ask, "You'll give me anything I want from you... won't you?"

He will.

Of course, he will.

Ask him to pluck the waxing gibbous from the night sky, to make you a pretty little pendant out of it— he will.

Ask him to burn this city to the ground, just so you've enough ash for your innumerable pots of cacti— he will.

Ask him to do anything and everything: whatever your heart desires– be it for a moment or for years— Gojo will do it for you, no matter the consequences he must face for it— for what bears any consequence to the sorcerer's life, if not your happiness and well-being??

He drags a hand from where it rested on your lower back, up the side, to your cheek, gently cupping the soft flesh there. Letting loose a tiny smile, fond, unguarded, true, when you lean into his touch.

"Ask away, cookie. Tell your 'Toru what you want."

"I..." you start. Voice soft and timid. Gaze darting away a second time, this time to the slowing pace of your and your husband's dance steps on the floor...

Before you raise your eyes, a mesmerising flurry of many feelings, to his concealed ones.

And Gojo swears, there's surely something different in you, making something different in him as well, when you look at him that way–

"I want to have your babies, 'Toru."

The first response you words elicit in him is a static— Noisy. Buzzing. Something that renders him dumb. Deaf and blind to everything and everyone except his wife, for a moment perhaps a tad too long...

The second response is him, very obviously, nearly dragging you off the dance floor, and having offered a bullshit explanation for leaving early to the party host, pulling you out into the toasty summer night.

Gojo teleports before the doors to the hall have been closed behind you both, not even for three whole seconds.

And bends down to smash his lips onto yours, the instant the familiar comforting feel of your home settles on his shoulders... seeps into his body, immediately setting him at ease... yet not at all at ease...

Especially because of these stupid fucking cockblocking trousers—

A loud pop! sounds through the living room, bouncing off its walls.

Soon followed by a mishmash of an aggrieved whine and an annoyed grunt from your husband, at the loss of contact with one of your best physical features to him—

it all melts away though when Gojo opens his eyes to find you looking at him with a slight sheen in your big round eyes and the tremor from before in your lips.

You push him away gently by the pads of your fingers— but the effort lasts only for a beat. Teeth biting down onto your lower lip, your small fingers let only a brief moment pass before twisting into the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer. Almost as if they're scared he might turn into smoke, if their hold is loosened even a pinch.

Gojo thinks you sound terribly puny when you finally break the thick silence layering over the entire flat–

Much too puny than he would like to hear his precious little wife be.

"Do you really want kids with me, 'Toru? You're not doing this just for me– just 'cause I want a family with you— you aren't, are you?"

"Do you..." Gojo starts then pauses for a bit to curb the chuckle nearly spilling forth his mouth, before resuming. The amusement in his tone can be reduced only so much, though— despite, or maybe due to the worry marking your pretty features.

Very unnecessary worry marking your very, very pretty features.

"Do you really think I'm that selfless– that good-hearted– cookie?"

Your brows furrow for a beat— before flattening in a look of complete sincere honesty. "You always think of me before yourself, 'Toru– don't want to pressurise you into doing anything you don't want to, is all."

"Oh, is it so?" he hums, mouth curving into a leisurely grin as he trails his fingertips from where they're entangled in your hair, dancing over the side of your neck until they reach the base of your throat– A faint pressure on the flesh there.

The ensuing hitch in your breath makes his grin sharpen, his trousers tighten. He lets his voice fall to an unhurried husk of a whisper.

"So you think I don't wanna have a family with you, hm?"

"Ah, it's not that," Gojo notes you waste not one moment to breathe back. He pulls you flush to himself by the other hand clutching your lower back, fingers digging in when you stutter, "I-I was j-just–"

"What will you do if I say I don't want kids, cookie?" He interrupts, still maintaining the low cadence of his tone.

Your fingers let go of his coat, soon followed by the re-emergence of that damn shaky smile of yours. Your husband doesn't like it one bit, but says nothing to hear your answer instead...

Albeit he knows what it will be, knowing just how much of a fool you never fail to turn into when it comes to matters involving him– a fact he usually loves about you, his pride and ego adore about you; but in this specific moment... Not so much.

Your soft mumble disrupts his internal groan, "I will never bring this topic up ever again in that case, Satoru. I promise you, I won't."

"And what if I say I wanna knock you up nice and good?"

You'll short circuit, is what Gojo predicts before the last word is even out of his mouth— and he's proven right, amazingly so, in less than a beat, when you do:

Eyes enlarging. Cheeks warming. Mouth opening and closing: once, twice then thrice... As if you're an adorable fish gasping for air in the onslaught of his simple [yet cruel– he knows you deem him so right now– how can you be so cute...] inquiry.

Deciding to grant his poor wife some much-needed mercy, the man bends down to whisper into your ear, lightly grazing the earlobe with his teeth, "If saying it out loud is too much, why don't you show your 'Toru instead what you will do, hm? I'm sure that will be easier."

"I..." you hesitate, the word still a wisp of your breath, until your hands return to the front of his coat. And you lean back a smidgen, features lighting up as you ask. Slowly. Carefully. Hopefully.

A knot, your husband never knew existed, loosens in the middle of his chest at the sight of your strengthening smile.

"Can I take this as your 'yes' then?"

"You can."

And that's the only reply Gojo finds he has to give to have your lips on his... Not too soft yet so very tender in the way they move against his own... Almost as if you're scared of hurting him... Terrified of causing even a pinch of pain to him.

Something between a moan and a squeak rips itself from your throat when the sorcerer bullies his tongue into the warm welcoming space of your mouth, simultaneously hooking his arms under your thighs to lift you. Mouths never leaving each other, not even for one second, as he kicks his shoes off, hearing you do the same, heels hitting the floor with a sharp clack!— And he finally, fucking finally, takes a step into–

"Bedroom, 'Toru!" Pulling away, you exclaim hastily, breathlessly, "Not the sofa or the kitchen counter this time, please."

"Too demanding, aren't we?" Gojo coos, licking his lips then stealing a small taste of the angry swollen redness of your pretty lips– Choosing to concede when you pout up at him, "Alright, fine— Can't really deny my amazing wife anything, can I?"

"No!" You giggle back cheekily—

And you're correct.

Extremely correct, your husband reckons, smiling softly as he moves out of you; out of the embrace of your wet, warm, maddening walls— A sharp hiss escapes through between his teeth, brows scrunching in momentary discomfort whilst he faintly registers your weak whimper.

Wasting no time to scoop back the load of creamy white cum leaking out your sore cunt, Gojo lifts your hips to keep a pillow beneath them. And stuffs his fingers into his mouth— exaggeratedly moaning with a smirk when he catches your cute little face of mortification.

"You're horrible," you mutter visibly exasperated, what with that huge roll of eyes you do when the sorcerer groans out yet again around his fingers in appreciation, shifting to lie beside you.

He removes his fingers with a loud pop!. Grinning like a Cheshire Cat when your eyes stay on them a bit too long for someone who sees it as horrible... Before they skitter away to reach his face.

He wraps an arm round you, dragging you closer until your boobs are squished against his pecs. A shiver of thrill runs down his spine at the wonderful– no, absolutely heavenly feeling.

"I'm in love, cookie," he offers besides a noisy lovestruck sigh in reply.

You, as usual, as expected, take only one or two moments before the not-too-annoyed scowl on your face gives way to a tender smile.

Wrapping an arm around him in return, you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck. He feels your lips on his skin more than hears your words they shape. Whispered into the comfortable darkness of your shared bedroom.

"Love is a force to be reckoned with, huh?"

Just love? Maybe... Maybe not... Truth be told, Gojo has no idea. And he has never been too keen on forming an idea either.

But your love?

It surely is, your husband muses to himself with no small amounts of delight or adoration, It did change the trajectory of his life, did it not?

He is supposed to be by himself— The Strongest, yes, but one with a solitary existence. He is supposed to be in this bed, awake and quiet, staring up at the ceiling whilst his senses easily fall prey to the heavy weights of his past, his mistakes, his unpardonable sins— vanishing long after the first rays of the sun have broken through the curtains...

Yet... with the love you've so obstinately kept safe for him throughout the years... here he is now.

Still awake– a bit restless, in fact– but the farthest from being alone.

The love of his life, safe, sated and smiling in his careful hold. Whilst his senses tingle in smug joy and content as his eyes, all six of them, rove over the innumerable proofs of his insatiable hunger, boundless ardour for you.

Starting from your kiss-bitten lips; to the multiple splotches of purple dotting the expanse of your neck, your chest, your stomach, down to the delectable inner aspect of your thighs; to the angry red nip marks left nearly all over your body, wherever he could get access, wherever you wouldn't gently push his mouth away from with a whine—

To, of course, your belly: Flat now but won't remain so for a long time. Becoming swollen and round with your babies– his babies– A perfect mixture of you and him. A perfect result of your mutual feelings...

An impossibly anxious gasp disturbs his smooth stream of thoughts, as well as the steady downwards flow of his blood...

He looks down to find you wrenching yourself away from his arms to get hold of the long-forgotten pillow— Ah. It's the pillow.

"It's too easy to get you worried over the smallest of things, y'know?" Gojo tuts, still moves to help you stuff the pillow to elevate your hips on noticing your wince on shifting.

You throw him a cross glare, which soon changes into an upset pout.

"Shut up, Satoru. This is not a small thing, this is a huge thing! What will happen if my chances of conceiving fall because of this mistake, 'Toru?" you suddenly erupt into an anguished screech.

Gojo feels his heart threatening to burst at the seams, just from how utterly cute you look. He knocks his forehead lightly against yours.

"Wanna go for another round, cookie?"

"Huh!?!?" you exclaim, eyes growing round and cheeks flaring up yet once more— Your husband intervenes however, before you return to your struggling-to-breathe-fish form, "Don't be so embarrassed, you little minx; you were spouting all sorts of debauched stuff some time back–"

He pauses for a beat, thinking if he should quote everything you said. Then deciding against it, so as to not have you short circuit yet again, repeats, amusement lacing his tone, "Tell me, do you wanna?"

"I'm not a minx," you mumble back.

And the sorcerer almost believes you, mind being swayed by the light glimmer in your gorgeous eyes, the plush flesh of your lower lip jutted out just the right amount, the enticing manner your eyelashes appear to be batting themselves at him in the faint moonlight streaming into the room via the light curtains...

Only for the slowly, steadily enveloping bubble to be popped.

By the feel of something soft and warm– your foot– travelling up the skin of his calf; the same moment he watches your fingers trail over his chest and the planes of his stomach. Tongue peeking out for less than an instant when your gaze drops to his fingers– the very fingers he was sucking on not even five minutes back—

Pushing the pillow away, Gojo climbs back atop you. A knee wedged to part your thighs while he bends down, face angled to swallow that endearing surprised squeak of yours with his insistent, impatient lips.

You were right.

Love is, for real, a force to be reckoned with.

But Gojo Satoru— No, his cookie's 'Toru in love with her– And now, in love with the idea of having a huge happy family with her as well...

That's a force only you know how to put a leash on.

[Not that you will ever—

You're as hopeless a goner for him as he is for you!]

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[dollfacefantasy]

EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE ♡

pairing: yandere!chris redfield x fem!reader

summary: after jill goes missing, chris changes. a lot. you call it controlling, but he maintains it's necessary. the only thing you both agree on is that his devotion knows no bounds.

cw: nsfw (18+), dark fic, smut, dubcon, fingering, predator/prey (chase), kidnapping/captivity, yandere, toxic relationship

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this. it was pretty fun to write and new for me <3

kinktober slot: day 6 - yandere

You're breathing too loud, and you know it. The puffs of air blowing from your lips are too sharp. You need to quiet down. He wasn't that far behind, and there had been no one else in this parking garage. Even someone who couldn't track as well as him wouldn't struggle to find you. If you didn't soften your gasps, he was going to catch you, and then you would be his again.

You clamp your fingers over your lips to silence a cry begging to come out. You're shaking like the dead leaves you can hear his feet crunching over. They'd blown into the cement structure from the crisp fall wind whooshing around. You could tell by the sounds that he was getting closer. 

If you tried to run now, you'd be banking on the hope that you could be faster than him - a hope you weren't so confident in. Getting away from him the first time had been a fluke, you didn't think it would happen again so easily.

Chills erupt over your skin as you stay where you are, crouching behind a black corvette. You try so hard to think of what to do, but it was difficult when your thoughts were screaming about so many different things at once.

One of the main things playing in your psyche on repeat was If I hadn't broken up with him, none of this would've happened.

Of course, that wasn't true, but to your mind that craved freedom above all else in this moment, it seemed plausible.

You and Chris had been together for over a year. He started off normal as could be, and you thought you'd hit the jackpot. He was sweet and kind, hard-working and dedicated. He loved his friends and his job. Spent a lot of his time working out. Everything about him just seemed so ordinary, and that didn't change with the addition of you into his life.

He made room for you as if there'd been a hole in his existence shaped like your soul. 

The two of you went out on dates regularly, he was always there to support you when you needed a shoulder to cry on or a pair of strong arms to lift you up. Truly, he seemed too good to be true. Looking back, you want to say that wasn't the case. He had been good. His kind heart was genuine. It wasn't a mask to hide the darkness underneath. He'd just changed.

It was after his friend Jill had gone missing. Something flipped in Chris. In a way, it was reasonable. Losing a close friend would put a damper on anyone's demeanor. But the way Chris shifted ran deeper than that.

The differences in his personality didn't manifest only in regards to himself. They came out largely in how he treated you. After losing Jill, it seemed that he believed your life was his to control, your choices his to make. He knew what was best for you - he told you as much multiple times. He knew how to dress you so that guys wouldn't try anything. He knew when and where it was acceptable for you to leave the house without him. He knew it was no longer safe for you to drink or even to talk with friends who would suggest such a dangerous activity. Not his girl. You weren't going to be put in harm's way like that.

So you broke up with him. You couldn't take the sting of the Redfield branding iron you felt slowly being pressed to your skin. You wanted out. Unfortunately, breaking up with him was on the list of activities that were strictly prohibited.

You could remember that day like it was yesterday even though it had been multiple months ago.

He didn't let you leave the morning that you'd told him the news of your decision -  didn't even let you make it through the door. Instead he scooped you up like a rowdy puppy that tried to run out the front entryway when it was left ajar. He threw the bag you'd packed back in the closet and tied you to your shared bed.

That bedroom was where you spent most of your time after that. The binding to the corner was long enough that you could get out of bed and reach other parts of that room, but he wouldn't let you roam the house when you were still so insistent that you had to leave him. You only were allowed into the other rooms when he was there to supervise you and ensure your safety.

You tried your hardest to break free, but no amount of screaming and crying, begging and pleading, or kicking and hitting worked. With his size advantage, wrangling you back into submission came easy. That combined with the fact that he knew you. He knew the words to soothe you, the touches that lulled your mind back into a state of complacency.

Tonight was the first time you'd been out of that house in months. 

You'd been so sick for the past week. You weren't even sure how that was possible considering you never go anywhere, but something had managed to infect you. Over the last several days, your temperature shot up and stayed in the triple digits. Everything felt distant and fuzzy.

Chris had been diligently taking care of you, tending to your every need. He made sure you had a steady supply of water and tissues, spoon-fed you broth when you felt like you could eat. As much as he reassured you that this was what he was here for, you could tell the constant attention your condition required took a lot out of him.

Today had been the best day out of the last seven. It seemed like you finally were descending the mountain on the side of recovery. When he fell asleep a few hours ago, he was knocked out. If you needed to get up to use the bathroom or grab a drink, he'd lazily undo your bindings and trudge out to wherever you needed to go, but it was obvious the thought of returning to bed clouded his mind.

The benefit that came with this was that he wasn't so attentive to making sure the restraints were all that secure when he refastened them.

You managed to slip one wrist out and then the other. Your ankles came loose next. You sat there next to his unconscious form, trembling with the terror of the possibility in front of you. Your feet swung off the mattress and hit the ground. Every move was executed with precise caution, the most effort you'd put into anything in your life.

The journey out of the bedroom was easy. You stayed quiet through the rest of the house as well. The hard part came when you managed to get outside. 

You couldn't decide if you should take the car or not.

Walking on foot would be harder. Only clad in a tiny set of pajamas, it wouldn't be comfortable. The car would bring speed and warmth, but you also didn't put it past him to have some sort of tracking mechanism wired into it.

In the end, you had decided to forgo the vehicle. You pulled your coat that you grabbed before leaving tighter around your body and headed down the desolate suburban street.

Your heart pounded in your ears like a countdown to his appearance the whole time. At any second, you expected to hear the sound of his voice or feel his intense gaze upon you. But your surroundings remained quiet, nothing but the wind and occasional scuffle of small creatures lurking in the dark.

As you walked further away from his house and down through the neighborhood, you tried to figure out where to go. You didn't know how much time you'd have before he woke up, and when he did wake up, you had no clue what his exact reaction would be.

You attempted to not overthink that stuff and decided on going to your friend's apartment complex. It'd been months since you'd seen her. You only hoped she'd understand that you didn't have too much time for explaining.

Upon arriving there though, you realized your hopes were meaningless. You knocked on the door, and she answered in seconds, much too quick for someone who should've been asleep at this hour. Her phone was cradled between her shoulder and her ear, and just as the words of explanation were about to leave your mouth, you heard her say "Oh, here she is now... no problem, Chris. See you soon."

Your entire being exploded and came back together in a matter of seconds. Every impulse screamed at you to run, but she was gripping your arm and trying to pull you in her home. Your head was spinning, your fever had returned with a vengeance against you for getting out of bed and walking multiple miles.

It was all so much, especially since you hadn't talked to another human besides Chris in months. You resisted her leading you through the entryway, ignoring her words of concern. Apparently your boyfriend - if you could even call him that still - had explained away your presence over the past few months with stories of a break down. And now, for those who believed him, this was just another episode. Your recovery had been going so well, but everyone hits bumps in the road!

You tried to explain the truth, but it seemed futile. So you ran instead.

All of this still took too long though. By the time you made it down there, his car was screeching to a halt near the entryway.

You push away your memories in favor of paying attention to right now.

This wasn't over yet. You still had a chance. All you needed to do was make it out of here. If you did that, you could make it to a convenience store and call for help. His lies wouldn't work on strangers... would they?

You reassure yourself they wouldn't because it's the only choice you have. There's no other option besides hitching a ride, but you're not banking on that at this time of night in a suburban subdistrict.

Your back presses against the sleek metal of the cold, black corvette. Maybe you could hop the stone barrier edge of the garage and run through the bushes. Trying to sneak around other cars and slip away was another possibility. You try to go through the benefits and detractions of both in your mind, but your illness has your eyes growing heavy and your bones aching to stretch out and just rot.

The footsteps still continue to pound at a steady pace against the asphalt. Lowering yourself to the rough pavement, you peer beneath the car to gauge his location. It's hard to tell with how dark it is. The lighting in this garage wasn't good either. You scan the opposite side for his feet, but you don't find them.

It's only when you turn your head a little to look between the two front wheels that you catch him dashing at your position.

You startle at the sight and whip upright. Now that there's no time left to decide, you bolt for the nearest exit you can see. It feels like you're going fast, but his footsteps sound faster. A sob openly tumbles from your lips now. Everything feels hot. Your vision seems to be going dark at the edges.

Before you can stumble or make it to the opening though, a pair of strong arms wraps around your waist. They pull your body back against a broad chest. Your sob morphs into a scream, and your legs kick fruitlessly at the air in front of you.

"Shh shh shh. You're alright," his deep voice rumbles, "You need to calm down. You're already overworking yourself as is."

"I am not!" you shout in immediate defiance, "Let go of me!"

Your head falls back against his shoulder as hot tears stream down your cheeks. More cries and whimpers echo through the open space of the garage while you try to pry his arm from around your abdomen. Your fists pound on it and your fingers pry, but none of it amounts to anything.

"None of that," he tuts, "No crying or carrying on, or I won't wait until we get home to give you your punishment."

"Just let me go, Chris!" you beg. Your breaths grow ragged as more cries fill the space between them. "You can't do this to me!"

"I'm not doing anything, baby. What am I doing? Taking care of you while you're ill?" he asks. You're not sure if the innocence in his tone intends to mock you or if it's a genuine performance.

"I don't want to go back to the house!" you cry.

"Well, that's too bad, sweetheart. That's exactly where you're going. You need to rest," he says.

"I just need to be away from you!" you scream, loud enough for the shrill sound to bounce between the walls for seconds after.

Your protests dissolve into a harmony of wailing and yelling, every word tinged with anger and betrayal. You still try to peel him off, but your efforts become weaker as you realize how pointless they are.

As if to rub his strength in your face, Chris shifts you around in his grasp. He turns your body and scoops you up, cradling you against his chest. When he reaches his own car, he only uses one arm to hold you in place. You sob against his shoulder, letting your tears soak his collar rather than your cheeks.

His palm smooths up and down your back. "There you go, babydoll," he coos, "Poor thing. You got yourself all worked up. I can feel how high your fever is again."

He opens the driver's door and slides in with you. He starts to scoot your body into the passenger seat, but a sudden burst of energy overtakes your weakened self. You slap at his shoulders and try to shove him to the side to lunge back out the door.

Chris has always had sharp reflexes though. Most of your attacks don't even land, and the ones that do don't seem to affect him. He tightens his arms around your smaller frame and pins you against him. You hear the click of the doors locking, sealing your fate.

"Enough. You're gonna hurt yourself," he commands.

He keeps you nice and secure against him until you seem to have settled for the moment. Then, he tilts your head back so he can study your face.

His eyes sweep over your features while his hand swivels you by your chin.

"I'm really disappointed in you, you know?" he says, his voice much softer than it had been before.

You scowl at him. Like you would care about his fucking approval anymore. You try to shove him away again to crawl into your own seat, but he jerks your head and gets you to go still.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," he says. The firm voice was back.

"I didn't," you dispute, sounding much meeker.

"Don't back talk either," he says. He takes a pause before a frustrated sigh leaves him. "So ungrateful. My little brat. One day you'll learn."

Anger boils inside you again. You can't rein in your arguments.

"No I won't," you say and glare at him, your glossy eyes gleaming with fury, "The only thing I want to learn is how to actually get away from you!"

Rage simmers in his gaze now; though, it's much more muted than your own. His fingers dig into the plush of your cheeks. Not enough pressure to injure but the right amount to ache.

"You think you'd be so much better off on your own? Look at you. Stumbling around in the middle of the night, nothing on but this slutty little thing," he says. His fingers tug at the thin fabric of your shorts and top while his voice grows as cold as the wind outside.

You open your mouth to respond, but he continues speaking.

"I got you no problem tonight! Imagine if it hadn't been me! If it hadn't been someone who loves you! Someone who wants to keep you safe," he presses. It sounds like he's speaking to a soldier in the field rather than someone he claims to feel so tenderly about.

His hands have locked around your biceps during his speech. The pressure of his fingers against your weak skin feels strong enough to create phantom bruises. You squirm in his hold to try and alleviate the feeling.

"I don't care! None of this would've happened if you weren't so crazy in the first place," you whimper.

"I'm crazy? That's how you say thank you for the hours I take out of my life to provide for you. To care for you," he growls.

"I didn't ask you to do any of that!" you cry.

"You didn't need to," he says. 

He takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes and calming himself down for a moment. His fingers release their iron grip on your arms and soothe the skin with a few gentle rubs.

"I know you're not thinking straight because of your fever," he says. It sounds like he's speaking to both you and himself. "You've been so good for me lately... maybe punishment isn't what you need."

You stay silent and watch him, attempting to discern what would come next. Right now, escape wasn't the priority. You'd missed tonight's chance for that. Avoiding further reprimand took current precedent.

His hands massage the muscles he had been squeezing before they rise up to cup your face. You meet his gaze with trepidation in your own.

"I should've been paying more attention," he says, "It's not your fault you're acting out. My sweet little baby. Your head is probably hurting you so much, and I know you're feeling extra tired."

He brings the back of his hand to your forehead, tutting when he feels the heat emanating from there. You grit your teeth and fight the urge to actually roll your eyes. Part of you hated when he spoke like that. But an even bigger part of you hated the part that didn't.

"I should have known you'd be extra fussy. Especially since you're all pent up," he continues.

Your teary eyes flicker with curiosity but then narrow in response to that last statement.

The expression brings a smile to his face, as if something is cute. But to him, you suppose that's all you are. Most days you don't know what you want to believe - that Chris has truly lost it and considers all this a genuine kindness to you or if he's just as mentally in-tact as before, only without a care for your feelings. It's hard to tell which is more likely, and you can't say you have a strong preference for either.

One of his thumbs strokes back and forth across your wet cheek. "Don't give me that look, princess," he chides lovingly.

"I'm not being fussy," you say, the word rolling off your tongue with disgust, "And I'm not pent-up."

He chuckles and gives you a light bounce on his lap, your back bumping the bottom ridge of the steering wheel. "Now, what did I say about back talk?"

You make a sound close to a growl and glare at him. Your brain tries to formulate any words that wouldn't result in this kind of patronizing response, but none come to mind.

Originally, you had anticipated that if he caught you again, you'd be in for the punishment of a lifetime. But now, sitting here in his lap and staring into those brown eyes, you realize this is much more in tune with the Chris you've come to know over the last few months.

"You can act like you're not frustrated, baby, but I know you. I know how much you need some regular release," he teases.

"That's not why I'm upset!" you say, trying not to explode into a sobbing mess again. 

This was the point in your arguments where you usually broke down. He acted so confident in his assertions that you felt like the ground on which you stood to defend your own crumbled beneath you. It was easier to just give in sometimes, but that fact just agitated you even more.

More tears well in your eyes while the words rising in your throat start to tangle into an angry, ugly mess. But before you get the chance to burst, he jumps in, hushing and cooing.

"I know, honey. I know it's not the only reason. I'm sure you have some other things bothering you," he reassures, "But I'm just saying, it doesn't help that my poor, sick baby hasn't been able to cum in a week, hm?"

You want to scream in his face and claw his throat out, but instead, your forehead drops against his shoulder. You're so fucking tired in every possible way. You're tired from this illness beating down on every one of your cells. You're tired of the way he reduces all your feelings down to silly little complaints. And you're tired because you actually haven't been able to cum in a week, but that doesn't make him right or everything else invalid.

His question receives no answer, but that's good enough for him. With your head down, you can't see the smile spreading on his face. The only hint of his satisfaction you get is the hand rubbing up and down your back.

"It's ok. I'm here. There's no need to be upset. We all make mistakes, sweet baby,"  he whispers.

You want to tell him that this wasn't a mistake. That the first time you left wasn't a mistake either. The greatest mistake you'd ever made in your life was giving him your number in the first place. But what's the point? All of that will be watered down to feverish words that you don't really mean. 

Cynical numbness settles in your chest like a weight. For right now, you decide it would be in your best interest to just play along.

You nod and snake your arms around his body, pulling yourself closer.

"That's my good girl," he coos, "How bout I make you feel all better and then get you home and tucked in bed, warm and safe?"

You nod weakly, every word siphoning more of your energy away.

He pecks your heated forehead and slides his left hand down your body. His palm rubs over your side and hip, taking his time to reach the point of attraction. As much as you despise him, it still feels good in the moment. You take what you can get, in your constant stream of disappointments, you let him tending to you like this feel like a win.

His fingers tuck below the elastic band of your shorts. They slide down to your center, rubbing through the folds. He shifts you closer so you can rest against his chest.

"My poor baby," he croons for what feels like the billionth time, "You're so hot. We'll have to get you all cooled down at home."

You just nod again. For now, you'd just let your mind shut off while the pleasure coursed through your veins.

The tip of his middle finger twirls around your clit, circling the little bud to tease some arousal out of you. He knows just how to flick it, the perfect amount of pressure to get your toes curling.

Your legs tighten up a bit as the muted tingle blossoms into a deeper burn of desire. A little moan sounds from your mouth throughout the car. He smirks and slips his digits down through the collecting wetness.

With his fingers all slippery, he rubs them over your throbbing bundle of nerves. He works even more pretty noises out of you and amps up the feeling in your belly.

"This is just what you needed, I should've known," he whispers, "Your silly little head doesn't know what to do when it gets all frustrated. So many thoughts and no relief."

You whimper and bite your lip. Even though you're letting it happen, humiliation still has its barbs in your lungs. You turn your face against his shoulder, hiding the way it scrunches against the fabric of his shirt.

Oftentimes, he'd make you look at him again, but tonight, he allows the difference. His fingers keep toying with your clit, rubbing it in tight tiny circles.

"'m not gonna stick my fingers in you right now. Think that's too much for my sick baby," he informs you, as if you had asked for anymore.

This was fine. You can't remember the last time you actually craved more from Chris. He was so attentive nowadays, his presence and care often felt smothering.

You don't rock your hips or move at all beyond a few involuntary squirms. There wasn't really any room for it. Moaning was embarrassing enough, you didn't want your ass to accidentally honk the horn or something. That and he's doing more than enough to get you there by himself. You can already feel the start of your finish beginning to take root.

Your noises grow higher pitched, more muffled too because you press your face into his shoulder hard. The thick fabric of his sweater works well as a self-imposed gag.

"You're so cute," he coos, "My needy little baby. You're gonna sleep good tonight."

You whine in response. Your body tenses up in his lap as you suck in a few harsh breaths. The edge was right around the corner.

"Come on, sweetheart. Cum for me. You can do it," he whispers.

Your fingers clutch the fabric at his back so hard it's in danger of tearing. Now your hips buck a little as you reach the finish line. They jerk back and forth but press more into his stomach rather than the wheel behind you.

Tremors rack through you, making you quiver violently in his grasp. You cling to him for a sense of stability, and that brings him pleasure almost as great as any you're experiencing.

As you start to come down, you feel like your body is melting on top of his. He holds you there in his lap for a few minutes after, rubbing your back and kissing your head.

When he deems you calm enough, he boosts you up and situates you in the passenger's seat. He strokes your head before buckling you up.

"We'll get you a change of clothes before you go to bed. I know those pretty panties are soaked through," he says and pinches your cheek.

[saphronethaleph]

Filing a P-90

“Young man, a few moments of your time?”

CT-0102 looked up, confused.

“...how so?” the trooper asked. “You’re, uh, if you want to talk, you can just talk. If you have orders, go ahead and give them. Ma’am.”

“I’d rather not force you to discuss something,” the elderly woman said, by way of explanation. “I was wondering if you had a perspective on… weapons.”

“Weapons,” 102 repeated. “I guess… I’ve been trained with them? Using weapons is my job, I mean? Does that count as an opinion?”

“It might,” the old woman said. “But I meant more the philosophy of why a weapon exists.”

She shrugged, one hand resting for a moment on a long box by her side. “And, in particular, whether a weapon’s design tells us something about what it’s meant for.”

“This is getting dangerously philosophical, ma’am,” 102 admitted. “It’s above my pay grade.”

“It’s not above mine, I think,” the woman told him. “If you don’t want to talk, say so. I give you that permission, if you need it. But what I mean is that, for example… a lightsaber is a Jedi’s weapon, and that means that it’s a weapon of defence and of decisive attack. A lightsaber in trained hands is able to both protect others and to bring a quick end to any fight, and the respect it earns from those who see it can prevent a fight in the first place… a blaster, meanwhile, well, it depends on the blaster, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose that’s true, ma’am,” 102 admitted, glancing up for a moment as the turbulence around the ship increased – for a moment, at least.

There wasn’t anything he could do about it, so he just shrugged.

“A small pistol is intended to be concealed,” the woman went on. “It’s a weapon of self defence, but it’s also a weapon for committing an unexpected crime. While a larger, more powerful pistol, that’s a weapon of intimidation. It’s bulky enough to be difficult to conceal, and it’s less accurate than a long weapon, so it’s for both scare tactics and bringing a battle to a quick end. So does that mean it’s like a lightsaber?”

102 considered that.

“Our training covered how to handle most weapons, but it didn’t really address the cultural side of things,” he admitted. “We mostly focused on weapons for once a fight is inevitable.”

“Quite,” the woman agreed – 102 hadn’t actually got her name at any point. “The long rifle, which is designed for military efficiency on a battlefield. Harder to conceal in civilian life, almost impossible in fact, but it’s more effective than most weapons on a battlefield… at least, until you start dealing with either larger targets that they simply can’t damage, or more confined spaces where you want a shorter weapon. They share the attribute of being practical.”

She looked at his eyes, through the helmet. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“I guess,” 102 said, not really sure how to react. “Why do you say that?”

The woman was silent for several seconds, and as she was CT-0102 heard over the battalion push that they were getting close to their deployment point.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer this gunship to take up an overwatch position,” the woman said. “I do apologize, I should have mentioned it sooner.”

She pulled the box over to her, and undid the latches, then paused before opening it.

“What about this description of a weapon?” she asked. “A weapon that is designed for killing?”

102 blinked.

“Aren’t… most weapons designed for killing?” he asked. “That’s why they’re weapons.”

“Not at all,” the woman replied. “As we’ve just discussed. Your rifle is designed for practical battlefield use. Weight, length, shot count, rate of fire, all these considerations went into making it. Many other weapons are shaped by different design constraints entirely – a hold-out pistol, or a large heavy blaster. A lightsaber. I’m talking about a weapon that isn’t designed for a fight at all. That isn’t designed to be seen. That’s meant to be used as sparingly as possible, because you’re only meant to use it in the very direst need.”

She pushed open the box, and revealed a kind of long weapon, perhaps a blaster and perhaps not. It looked archaic, with some of the furniture made of actual wood and the rest out of something 102 couldn’t even identify, and there were odd protuberances and glowing blue segments on it.

“For such a weapon, all other considerations would be secondary to lethality,” the woman said. “If they were involved at all. It’s not intended to be involved in a battle, where you try to defeat the enemy; it’s not intended for a warning shot. The only purpose is to kill, and it is only to be used when there is no better choice.”

She knelt down on the floor of their gunship, and a few seconds later the Commander called out the launch order. Their assault ship was passing over the target zone, and all the gunships deployed.

Below, 102 could see the desert, and the darting red shapes of Aethersprite starfighters giving them cover against Geonosian fighter craft. More gunships were deploying, blasts going left and right, and 102 grabbed onto the handles overhead with a free hand for stability.

The woman didn’t seem to notice.

Instead, she took something from her belt, and slotted it into the weapon. It lit up, and she tapped a few controls before snugging the stock of the weapon into her shoulder.

“It’s a shame, you know,” she said, almost conversationally. “He was a great friend of mine, once. I thought he still was, until recently.”

“Who was?” 102 asked.

“Dooku,” the woman answered, her voice slightly distracted. “Emotion, yet peace… my old friend, I do not do this for revenge, but to prevent a greater wrong.”

The strange weapon spat out a bolt of brilliant sky-blue light, one that was like a solid bar connecting their gunship to the ground, and the woman hesitated for a moment… then let out a sigh.

“May you find the peace in death that so failed you in life,” she said, in tones of quiet prayer.

“Sorry, but – did you just…” 102 asked.

“What the kriff was that?” the gunship pilot asked, over the comm connection.

“Well, you can view it in two ways,” the Jedi Master said, ejecting her lightsaber from the rifle and examining it. “No, three, I think. Firstly, that my lightsaber and I were united in the need for that to be done. Secondly, that Count Dooku was too great a threat to peace in the galaxy to live. And third…”

Jocasta Nu placed the rifle back in its box.

“Nobody messes with the Jedi Archives,” she concluded.

[lovystar]

❝ A PRINCESS’ WILL ❞ ; BADA LEE

synopsis──after an assassination attempt, the queen invites the very best fighters from across the land to compete for the great honor of protecting you, the princess.

content──bada lee x unnamed fem!oc (reader). princess!reader, soldier under disguise!bada. currently unedited, pls be nice lol. fictional combination of medieval european and korea’s joseon dynasty aspects bc im not too concerned about making it realistic. incorrect pronouns (when not in bada’s pov). this world is matrilineal bc I said so. bada's a flirt. eventual smut w/ switch!bada.

word count ── approx. 5.4k

───

YOUR MOTHER’S STRONG HOLD—on the country, on the castle, on her children, and on you in particular as the oldest—was suffocating. You were destined to rule over millions, and your mother would not let you forget it. You had to be strong, caring for your people but unforgiving to others. That’s how she ruled. She’d shape you to be the same queen she was, and she’ll drill it into your head herself if she needs to.

Your pride would never allow you to say this to her face, but you supposed that she did a good enough job. The people loved her: she kept them safe and fed, gave them more than enough to start caring beyond their necessities and seek self-actualization, to flourish in the arts. She wasn’t very popular among foreign lands, and you might even go on to say that they feared her. She was often fair when wronged, but very rarely did she ever pardon those wrongs. She has never, in the time you've been alive.

Once, when you were very little and you were still taking lessons with some children of noble descent, you heard them repeat a saying they’d learn from their parents:

“Loving are her eyes, beauty bestowed, but fear the night the Hawk catches you lurking near her nest, lest you desire your entrails be fed to the eyas nights on end.” 

They spoke of their Queen with reverence and adoration.

Her way of ruling worked well for many years; you got to live a life of peace and prosperity the entirety of your childhood. Not many other kingdoms can say the same.

On top of your queenly history lessons and politics and mathematics and the sciences, she wanted you to be good at protecting yourself. While she has acquired the most apt Royal Guard, a future queen must still be able to hold her own. She ordered only the best archers and swords to teach you, and you were…decent, at it. The years of practice successfully stuck some things into you: how to hold a sword and a bow and arrow, which body parts to target, how to be light in your feet (this one was specifically useful whenever you wanted to leave the royal palace).

In your defense, your natural sensibilities were drawn to something else entirely. You’d always say reading was a more sensible passage of time. You would spend hours upon hours lounging in one of the library nooks or on a blanket in the palace gardens, surrounded by the pastel of the flowers.

You were in that garden when the assassin took a knife to your throat.

You lived, but it scared your mother terribly. Surprising—since you’d never known her to be a person who had any fears. In your mind, it could only mean two things. One, she loved you to some extent—she might just have a weird way of expressing it. Two, someone was threatening her bloodline and consequently, perhaps more importantly, someone was threatening her throne.

And she will not let that happen in her lifetime.

───

It has been two weeks since your throat was sliced open. Two weeks since the doctor instructed you to minimize strenuous activity and if you could, stay in bed as to not open the stitches.

‘You don’t know how lucky you are,’ the doctor has told you every day after your daily checkup. You know this, of course. Had the knife gone any deeper and had your court ladies not been around the corner, you’d be dead. It was, however, a hilarious thought that someone would bring a blunt knife to an assassination.

Your mother didn’t think it was funny. But in your delicate state, the anger in her eyes had never been funnier, and it pained your throat whenever you’d attempt to laugh.

“Will you stop it? The doctor spent hours on those. What will we do if they scar?” You rolled your eyes in response and she scoffed. “Glad to see you’re as genteel as ever, it’d be a shame if you had lost that lively nature of yours.” It sounded sarcastic, but she meant it. She did not want you to be passive. In her mind, that would only led to you becoming spineless and spineless Queen can't rule. You ignored her words, instead gesturing for one of the maids to bring you a cup of water.

“I’ve arranged for the competition to take place tomorrow, do you think you’ll be up for it?”

You furrowed your brows, “Competition?” Your voice came out roughly. The stitches began to itch.

Your mother groaned, “Please refrain from speaking, but yes, competition, have you not been listening to me? The best soldiers and eligible men have been traveling from across the nation for some time now. The men will fight and we shall see who is best equipped to protect the Crown Princess.”

“Must—” you coughed, “must we make them fight? Can’t we just pick one?”

“Just pick one?” She looked into your eyes incredulously, “You must have hit your head and injured your intelligences if you think I’d let just any one person be in charge of you. You must have the best.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Very well.” She nodded once, “The doctor has cleared you to attend so rest, you will be awakened bright and early tomorrow!”

She walked out of the room and left you to your devices. You sighed. You allowed your court ladies to help you out of your daily garments, clean your wound, place the ointment and replace the bandage.

You repeated the process in the morning, placing a necklace over the bandage, ensuring it is not too tight but stays in place. You prepared for the days’ events, and after a couple of restrained breaths, you walked out of the room with your court ladies in toe.

───

Bada Lee spent her childhood just outside the place. Her family had raised generations of soldiers, many of which served in the Royal Guard. That was, until her father was dismissed and demoted to being a simple guard in the rural countryside. He had dedicated his entire life to the Queen and it was a shock to everyone when he’d been told of his dismissal. Up to his last breath, he’d grow angry whenever she’d asked him why. Why did we leave? How could a loving Queen throw us away as if we were nothing? She’d been upheaved from the City, and littered some place where she’d have to fight if she wanted anything to come from her life. Well, fight harder than she’d have to in the City.

Still, she knew that it didn’t matter where she was. Whether in the Capital City or the countryside, external expectations would have her be a wife and a mother soon after. She watched her mother suffer under these conditions, watched her neighbors, and the change in her friends’ nature as they came of age and were married off. They were all unhappy.

She’d be damned if she was destined to a miserable marriage. But above all, she’d be damned if she dies a nobody. Just another woman, forgotten by history.

Nope. That’s not her.

Growing up, she loved watching her father and brother train. She’d try to join, but her father would quickly push her away. She would try day after day, but it couldn’t be helped. So she turned to making her own sword out of a fallen tree branch. She’d copy their movements, the placement of their feet and how the air would rest in their lungs and rush out with the lunge of the sword—well, the lunge of the stick for her. Her brother agreed to train with her, but in his teenage years, he grew resentful of her talent. He decided to begin training a different skill, archery, but soon enough, he realized that this too came naturally for her. Over the years he turned to different combat skills, only for Bada to overpower him again and again. One day, he stopped helping her at all.

It was a cold winter when the sickness spread across the countryside. It was the sickness that took her father and it was the sickness that took her brother. The town had to develop a new burial site due to the amount of people that died at the beginning of the season. Death didn't relent there; people continued dying and dying until that site was full with bodies.

By the time her family succumbed to their sickness, there was nowhere to put them. For days on end, her only company was their cold bodies. She had placed them in a separate room, putting as much distance as she could. As the winter grew colder and she stared at the makeshift tomb’s door, she realized she depended entirely on them. As it stood, she was nothing, less than nothing, by herself. It was a matter of time before someone hunted her down, a young woman without any male relatives left and tried to turn her into a sellable thing.

She’d be damned.

In a feat of fear and anger, she grabbed her brother’s clothes and changed into them and styled her hair as he would. She looked into the small mirror, surprised to see that her crazy plan might just work.

But she needed to make people think it was her that died.

The day the town hall proposed a mass burial, she changed her brother’s clothes into her own and loosened his hair from the top knot it was in. She shaved his beard, feeling disgusted at the act and with herself for feeling the need to do this. She pushed through: this was about her survival. She reported the bodies, and snuck into the site later that night. Sure, she would be shamelessly taking her brother’s identity from this day forward, but that did not mean she would bury her brother in anything other than his clothes. She did not want that karma. Plus she could afford to lose one of the five hanboks.

The next day, she watched anxiously as they buried the mass of bodies.

She should’ve felt terrible about her relief once they were under the soil, and she did, she would miss them. At some point during the week she lived with their corpses, she forgave them for any bad they did to her. She could only think of the good things now, her father’s jjigae and her brother’s light banter.

She did feel bad, but at the same time, a weight had been lifted. She wouldn’t need to get married now, she could pursue something, she could walk around at night without a chaperone and she could talk to people without worrying about being seen as vulgar.

Yes, under her disguise, she was finally free.

───

Lee Bada had been Lee Hae for a year by the time the Queen requested all eligible soldiers to report to the Capital City. Her commanding officer recommended her to go as one of the top soldiers under his command. She has managed to climb her way through the ranks, demonstrating her strength wherever she went.

Nobody knew the Mother of the Nation had called them to the palace, but if only the strongest were allowed to go, then Bada was going to make sure she was at top.

It was strange being back in the Capital City and even weirder to see the inside of the palace when all she’d known before was its gates.

Bada stood in line with the rest of the soldiers in the palace’s courtyard, towering over some of them. Her back maintained straight, her head held high, as the Crown Princess approached the Queen. She bowed to the queen and sat down next to her. Bada controlled her facial expressions, but her feelings couldn’t be helped. The Crown Princess had made the soldiers wait under the sun, and now she had the audacity to look bored. Despite being so far away, she could see the way you whispered into one of your court ladies’ ears and how they covered their mouth. The laughter showed in their eyes though. In contrast, your attempt to cover your giggle was lazy, your hand falling from the front of your mouth before you could control your expression once more. Bada wanted to scoff. Had you no decency? Before Bada’s bitterness could grow further, the Queen began speaking.

“Welcome, loyal soldiers and citizens. I have invited you here today to compete for the highest honor of joining the Royal Guard and protecting your Crown Princess.” Her open palm gestured to her side, where the Princess sat gracefully. “It is a title that comes with great responsibility, and requires skill, power and loyalty. It would please me for each of you to partake and serve your country in the process. If you wish to stay, please take a step forward.”

Each of the four hundred soldiers took a step, the sound booming through the courtyard. Bada did not look to see if any citizens had stepped forward.

“I am so glad! The competition consists of a six stages with different ‘games.’ You must accumulate enough points in each stage to successfully move up to the next one. Today, we shall begin the first stage. You must ride out into the woods and bring back a rabbit that has been trapped and hidden. There are only two hundred rabbits.” the Queen paused and with a clap of her hands, “Go!”

───

“I don’t get the point of this game,” You stated without looking up from your book. “They’ve been out there for hours and no one is back yet.”

“Patience, daughter,” the Queen responded, “There must be a basis to being a good protector, is there not? Wouldn’t you say that enduring long distance and persevering in the woods is a good baseline?”

“You are so creative, Mother,” you sighed into your book, “You can come up with such fantastical scenarios.”

“So you would rather have someone who doesn’t know how to endure long distances riding and persevere in the woods?”

You didn’t respond.

The first to arrive was a seasoned soldier. He had been part of the Royal Guard for more than a decade, and was known for his hunting skills. The second person caught your mother’s attention. One tall and broad-shouldered man rushed through the Palace gates with 4 rabbits hanging from his horse with a robe. He dismounted, grabbing the robe, throwing it on the ground and bowing before the Queen.

“Seowol from the Southern coast, your Royal Highness.”

“Seowol?” Your mother questioned, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I do believe you were only supposed to take one rabbit.”

“I wanted to secure a strong position, your Highness.” He remained in a bowed position, looking down, his arms stiff along his body.

“Certainly! Please follow eunuch Jinho to the bathroom and a change of clothes. You’ll be called when everyone has arrived.” He looked up and nodded, and quickly did as instructed.

The court ladies swooned over the man once he’d walked away, but you hardly moved.

“Did you see the way he looked at you? Oh!” the young lady fanned her hand. You chuckled, amused by the younger girl’s reaction.

“The way he got off his horse and showed the rabbits, he was so cool!”

“And handsome! Don’t forget handsome!”

You rolled your eyes at that one, “He wasn’t even that handsome.”

“So you do think he was handsome!” They all laughed, having caught something in your words.

“Listen to me, I said he was not all that handsome.” You repeated, “I’ve seen better.”

They gushed, trying to get you to elaborate, but your mother was beginning to look at you sideways. You thought it was better to stop then. With the light hearted fun you were having with your ladies, you forgot all about the dull ache of your throat. The reason you were having this ridiculous competition in the first place. The truth was there was something about Seowol that disgusted you. You couldn’t quite place it, it could be the abruptness in his movements and the way he threw the rabbits on the ground, or perhaps the coldness behind his eyes. A mindless cruelty to innocent beings.

Returner after returner, it was the same and they started blending into each other. They’d rush through the gates, and present the robed rabbit in front of the Queen before they bowed. They announced their name loudly, as if shouting would make the Queen remember them better. The cook would take the rabbit and disappear to the kitchens.

That was, until number 73th entered the yard. The sun was beginning to set, leaving the sky in a canvas of lovely purples and pinks. You didn’t notice him at first, but soon your ladies began to whisper. This particular soldier entered calmly, and only one hand on the horse’s bridle. A small ball of white highlighted by the black of his uniform. As he got closer, you saw that the white speck of fluff was the rabbit. He cradled it on his left arm, making sure it didn’t jump or fall. Once he’d reach the stage, he dismounted carefully. You noticed his height, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out how his shoulders managed to look both broad and slender at the same time. He came closer, bowing deeply before your mother and to your surprise, he began to approach you.

He was quickly stopped by your mother’s guards blocking his path.

“Please, your Royal Highness, let him approach,” You surprised yourself. For the past two weeks, you were scared you were growing paranoid of strangers and people in general. The fear was earned to some extent, you had just been attacked, but you were even more afraid that you’d grow to be scared of everyone, everything, and never come out of your bedroom ever again. Though, now, as you look over at your mother to let the stranger approach you, it seemed this fear wasn’t going to be an issue after all. You were going to be okay. In a lower voice this time, “Please, Mother.”

She rolled her eyes discreetly, waving her hand. “Let him through.”

The guards retracted. The man moved closer to you, and he bowed. You noticed the smoothness of his jaw, the curve of his lips and the pretty way his lashes decorated his pretty brown eyes. He was pretty. So much so you held your breath when his eyes finally met yours.

“My Princess.” He smiled, “For you.”

Oh.

Someone behind you gasped, and you were glad for the noise because that way he might not be able to hear the beating of your heart.

“May I?”

You nodded, despite not knowing what you had agreed to. The man walked even closer to you, and you unconsciously leaned forward. He placed the bunny in your hands, and you searched for his lingering fingers through the white fluff. He retrieved far too soon. You wanted to touch him for some reason. You wanted him to get close again and you wanted him to call you, once again, his prin—

“And what might your name be?” Your mother was not amused.

“Soldier Lee Hae, your Royal Highness.” He addressed his queen but his eyes never left yours.

“Lee, huh? You do know that was your dinner, correct? You won’t have dinner?” Your head snapped to your mother. She could not possibly!

“As long as my Princess is content, my stomach shall never be empty.”

Your head snapped back at him, a slightly ajar mouth. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly, but a sharp pain in your neck scared any adoring feelings away. The stitches tugged on your skin, and you brought your hand to your neck.

“Very well, no dinner. You may sit down, Soldier Lee Hae.”

───

Well, that was fucking stupid. Bada groaned, grabbing her stomach. She just had to give that damned rabbit to the Crown Princess, didn’t she? Even now, hours after dinner and well into their resting time, Bada could not decipher why she chose to spare the rabbit.

You had just looked so beautiful, and before she knew it, she was right in front of you. And as she remembers the look on your face when she gave you the bunny, your parted lips and your widening eyes as you looked up at her, Bada realized she only regretted her choice slightly.

There was no denying your beauty. Everyone knew that while you might be the Crown, you were also the prettiest bird in the eyes of the people.

But Bada couldn’t get distracted. She came here with a purpose. She was going to join the Royal Guard and bring back honor to her family. You might have been eye candy, but it didn’t change the fact that you represented what Bada lost, what she never realistically had a chance at.

It killed her. It killed her that they had a woman King and yet every other woman was still viewed as inferior. Did the only women that mattered lived in the palace? You got to be trained, you got to study the books—why couldn’t they? Why was it that she will need to pretend to be a boy for the rest of her life to feel free?

Could it be helped? Would you be different from your mother?

Her mind turned to her selfish thoughts. Perhaps she could use today’s events to her advantage. She could grow closer to you, on purpose this time, and perhaps that’d help her on the long run. She’d earn her position, of course; that was nonnegotiable.

The hunger grew furiously as she got lost in her thoughts. She couldn’t take it any longer. She got up, quickly wrapping the tight cloth over her chest. She hid a small knife on the inside of her left wrist, a security measure, though she was unlikely to need it. She grabbed something to cover herself with and left the small room she’d been provided with.

She was lucky to finish stage 1 where she did. When the last of the 197 soldiers that would pass on to the next stage arrived, they were well into dinner. The Queen had stated that for the remaining stages of the competition, only the top half scorers would receive a sole bedroom. Everyone else will sleep in the Great Hall. She reasoned it was to keep up the morale and ramp up ambition. It certainly did motivate Bada though. She did not wish to sleep uncomfortably among the stinky men. It was so weird, Bada knew they showered and mere hours later, a musk would develop around them.

She walked towards the kitchens as quietly as she could. Once there, she rummaged through the shelves, searching for something that was not a raw vegetable.

“Please, please, please…” She murmured to herself, and in her desperation, she did not hear the footsteps coming from the side entrance.

“Who is there?” A voice resounded. Bada froze, quickly kneeling down and hidden under the shelf. Fuck! “As Crown Princess, I command you to reveal yourself!”

The Princess? What was she doing up this late?

Bada had hoped that it was a younger staff member also searching for food (someone she could try her charm on), a simple guard (someone she could try to relate to and proclaim guard-to-guard solidarity), hell, she’d even hoped for a thief (someone who was even guiltier than she was). But the Princess? The Princess was someone she could not face. Perhaps for more than one reason.

As discreetly as she could, she crawled towards the end of the shelf. Across from here, there was a long table she could hide under and right across the table was the entrance.

She could make it.

If only she hadn’t run directly into the Princess’ feet.

She landed on her knees, and dread filled her head. She hung it in shame, some hair coming loose and framing her face. So this is how she would die, huh? With nothing to her name, a mere soldier title that she didn’t even earn herself. She would die without a legacy, without—

“Is that you, Lee Hae?” Your voice sounded extra sweet under the moonlight. “How come you’re out here at this time?”

She wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole. But there was no getting out of this.

“Princess Royal, please forgive my shamelessness.” She did not look up, still on her knees. “In my hunger, I forgot my place. I beg for your forgiveness.”

There was a long silence after Bada finished talking. Should she have said more? She was already on her knees, what else could she do to humiliate herself in front of the Princess?

“You’re telling me my contentment was not enough for you?”

Bada lifted her head quickly, only to realize too late you were mere inches away. You were so close she could count each beauty mark, each freckle on your face. She’d kiss them if you’d let her. She shook her head. Stupid Bada, concentrate on not dying!

“That isn’t it at all, my Princess.” She shook her head violently, to which you chuckled in response, lifting your hand to cover your mouth.

“So you’re a liar, then.”

“No, no! I am not, my Princess,” Bada opened her palms, “I will admit that as earnestly as my heart believes a smile from you is all I ever need to survive in this world, my earthly body persists in imprisoning me with cravings. I sincerely did not mean to succumb to my hunger.”

You watched the young soldier as they hung their head once more. You thought Lee was…funny. Funny in a very lovely and forward way that you couldn’t help but want more of. You brought a hand closer to her face, fingers lifting her chin.

Bada allowed the princess to lift her face, flushing at the contact. She could feel the heat rushing to her face, and it embarrassed her that you could have this effect on her. How you made her lose composure.

“Look at me,” you stated. Your head followed the brown eyes as they moved, trying to get them to look at you. “Soldier Lee, look at me.” You said it firmly this time around. Finally, the person in question did as asked. Big eyes looked up at you, begging for something you weren’t sure you could give.

“You know, Soldier Lee, you are the prettiest man I’ve ever met.”

Oh.

Widened eyes and dropped jaw, “I—”

‘I am not a man,’ she wanted to say. She almost did, and the fact that she nearly gave herself away scared her. She had never come this close to telling someone the truth. Not on impulse nor consciously. To the Princess no less! She was a mess. She’d better get a hold of herself if she intends on making it through.

Bada had proven that she was good with words, and here you were, leaving her stunned. You enjoyed it, maybe a bit too much. Abruptly, you stood up, leaving the soldier down on her knees. You offered a hand, and it was like a spell being broken. She took it. She gathered herself and she was back into the charming and highly trained voice. Your curiosity for the soldier grew as you watched; there was just something that screamed constraint in the way Lee spoke, but for now, you chucked it up to the respectability rules of the Queendom.

“I am sorry for interrupting your night, your Highness. I will take my leave.” Bada turned, but was quickly stopped when you grabbed her wrist.

It surprised both of you. As a noble princess, you had been taught from a young age that nobody but appointed servants get to come in contact with your skin. Yet here you were—two for two.

“Well, actually,” you began, “I’m here because I did not want you to go to sleep hungry.” You let go of Bada’s wrist, and she already missed the warmth of your skin on hers. It had been such a long time since anyone had touched her outside of training.

You signaled for her to follow you. She did, and you guided her to a small table on a corner. A small, white towel covered something and when you lifted it, Bada’s eyes widened. A golden serving tray filled with dishes.

“I ordered something be cooked for you,” you said, hands fidgeting, “I’m afraid it’s probably cold by now. I would’ve tried to get you sooner but my Mother kept me by her side much longer than I expected.”

“I—Thank you, your Royal Highness.” Bada bowed, stomach rumbling and mouth watering. “Thank you.”

“Please, you don’t have to do that.” You said quickly, “You were kind to me, and I couldn’t let my mother punish you for it.” You moved to pick up the tray, glaring at Bada when she tried to hold it for you instead. “I can do it! Plus, I know a spot.”

You walked gracefully, quickly, without spilling a single thing on the tray. Bada was amazed. The both of you stuck to the sides of buildings, remaining in the shadows. Bada anxiously looked around; what would people think if they saw her with the Princess? What rumors will they spread, and how much will they cost her? Her life?

“Through there.” The door was covered with greenery, and Bada could not see the door.

She moved closer to you, whispering into your ear, “where?”

She genuinely couldn’t see it.

You shivered. You could faintly feel her chest against your back, and the warmth it radiated.

You shook your head.

“Here, hold this.” You passed the tray to Bada, making quick work of the hidden door. You opened it and walked through. You moved the vines for Bada, she bent down and met you on the other side.

“Wow…” She gasped. It was a beautiful space, filled with colorful flowers and a pond, four trees on each corner. There was a small house, and Bada doubted it was more than just a bedroom and a bathroom.

“It is the old gardener’s place, but he died and it became abandoned.” You said, placing the tray on the wooden ledge in front of the small house. “The new gardener had a family, so he understandably needed a bigger space.”

You giggled nervously, and Bada found herself loving the sound. She got so lost in your voice and the pretty flowers that she nearly forgot how hungry she was. Nearly.

Bada sat down next to you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I know!” She said excitedly, your eyes sparkling with joy, “Mother thought of destroying it and building something else but I just loved it so much, I wouldn’t let her. I begged her to let me have it for days, she agreed eventually and now it’s my little place! Very few people know about it; my Mother, the new gardener, my lady-in-waiting, you…”

You finished shyly, smiling at Bada before quickly looking away. Would it be too forward of her to grab your face and make you look at her?

Yes, she decided, yes, it would be.

Her stomach growled.

“Oh,” You gasped, “Please eat! I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“Please, eat with me.”

“No, no, I ate quite well earlier,” you said, “and you didn’t!”

“I don’t want to eat by myself,” Bada said, “Princess, eat with me, please.”

“I’m telling you I won’t,” refusing her once more, “I'll force feed you this meal myself if you don’t start eating soon.”

“Is that a proposition?” Bada smirked. Your cheeks grew warm against your will.

“I only mean… I want you to eat, you have gone hungry because of me. I don’t want you to be hungry any longer.”

“Would you feed me then?” Bada’s eyes looked down at yours, “If I asked you to?”

You cleared your throat, eyes meeting. “Forgive me, soldier, if I’ve come across in a certain light. But I will never feed a man with two capable hands of his own.”

Bada saw the intensity in your eyes, and how they refused to look away from her hers. She leaned closed, eyes growing dangerous the longer she stayed fixated on you.

“You say ‘a man with two capable hands’ but what if I wasn’t a man? How can you be sure that I am?” Bada brought a hand closer to you, “How do you know these work?” She had gone crazy. In your gaze, she had forgotten herself.

Still, in the back of her mind: if she wasn’t in disguise now, would you feed her then?

You finally broke eye contact, looking down at Bada’s hand. It surprised you how much you wanted to hold it, it surprised you even more when your body started reacting to it. A simple hand with long fingers. A calloused hand from days spent training, yet unlike the hands of the men you’ve encountered. Their hands didn’t bring this strange feeling to your stomach. You mind showed you images of these very hands moving along your body; from the nape of your neck, down your side and in between your—

You scoffed, and then chuckled, “Please don’t be ridiculous, soldier Lee. Now, eat, the food is getting colder by the second.”

Bada covered her feelings with a laugh. She was relieved you ignored her impulsive questions, and at the same time, your response left a bitter taste in her mouth. You were just being nice this entire time? Was there really nothing else in your lingering touches and loving eyes? They were childish questions, but it stung nonetheless. She sighed internally; she couldn’t possibly be getting this close now. It was normal to a certain extent, she had the tendency to develop crushes all the time. Sure, developing one in the Princess would complicate the 'get close to you and advance her career' plot, but she was already here.

All her crushes have faded with time, and this one will too.

Bada finally began eating and she was grateful to you once again. She said so, with cheeks full of food and complete disregard for rules. Rules, you had both broken some many of them already, why start caring about them now?

[podcastenthusiast]

Dead Boy Detectives Fic Rec List

Mostly payneland <3 I will update as I find more fics.

“I don’t like this, mate,” Charles muttered.

The Things We Can, and Cannot, Do by MDJensen

Paul Rowland is dead. It's not just that, though.

Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten? by DontOffendTheBees

“No,” Edwin agreed, gravely. “Nor do I.”

Frankly, taking this case was probably an unwise decision. The meagre payment offered by the sickly-looking ghost of the old groundskeeper would fall far, far short of the emotional cost of the expedition. And yet when Edwin had looked over to Charles and met his eyes, there had been no doubt, no hesitation. Perhaps it was the notion of unfinished business; that mysterious force that compelled ghosts to sites of personal trauma as sirens compelled sailors to the unforgiving rocks. Perhaps they were both mere gluttons for punishment.

Either way, they were here now. It was with heavy hearts and wary eyes that on the evening of June twenty-sixth, Edwin and Charles – along with Crystal – set foot once more on the grounds of St. Hilarion's School for Boys.   In which a very, very old case is re-opened.

Mom Says It's My Turn to Jump on the Grenade by RoseGanymede95

Charles tried to pay attention, because Edwin was really upset, and Charles still didn’t understand why, and it seemed like this might be important. It was just, they’d been at this for a while, and Edwin kept asking him the same questions and not leaving him time to answer, so. His mind may have wandered a bit to how he would reinforce the next cricket bat. His attention snapped back to the present when Edwin said, “This can’t happen. You can’t risk this, I can’t be the reason you risk it. You have to move on.” “Move on?” Charles repeated blankly. “Move on from what?” “From here, Charles!” Edwin shouted, suddenly furious again, suddenly shouting even though his eyes were filled with tears. “You have to go with Death! You have to leave!” “I don’t want to go with Her,” Charles said, nonplussed. “Fine, that’s your business, but you can’t keep hanging around me!” Edwin snapped. Charles’ world suddenly tilted on its axis, sending everything askew. “I can’t?” he asked, his voice small, his heart wide open and exposed.

Let me bleed instead of you by mellxncollie

The question rang like a cracked bell in what had only just become someplace Edwin had started to contemplate calling home. “What was Hell like?” - Charles and Edwin keep secrets from one another. The list isn't long, but it's not empty. Eventually, they start tumbling out in soft whispers, in tear-reddened eyes, in shocked expressions, in choked up phrases.

Or, 40 years and 8 secrets.

Indelible by Arisprite

Charles is feeling a lot and also not much at all in the immediate aftermath of returning from Hell. He also can tell Edwin is wearing thin from holding himself together. Who wouldn't be, after that? It's okay, though. Charles can take care of him, and he always always will.

Done Running by Asidian

Charles has gone a peculiar off color, all the blood blanched from his cheeks. He glances to the arm, and then back up to Edwin's face. "Any break's a bad break, innit?"

"Some have more drawbacks than others," says Edwin, detached and scholarly. "For instance, unless the nerves are compromised, it is possible to make use of the injured arm in cases of extreme –"

"Bloody hell," breathes Charles.

Joi de Vivre by olympus_mons

Edwin Payne crawls out of Hell twice. Somehow, his problems begin in the aftermath.

so many ways to give in by piilu

“I think there’s something really wrong with me, mate,” Charles sobs, the remains of the bat falling from his hand. ---- Charles struggles with his anger issues. Again.

A Room of One's Own by DarkStars (Worlds_Okayest_Goalie)

Crystal is so tired of watching Charles and Edwin stare longingly at each other. OR 5 times Crystal tells Charles and Edwin to get a room and 1 time they do.

Shape Me by dearheartdont

At least twice a year Charles and his mum packed their cases and caught a train to Birmingham, leaving his dad behind with a freezer full of carefully labelled Tupperware.

Charles Rowland and his relationship with his extended family and heritage.

(Part of a series of snapshots of Charles’ life in the 1980s.)

half of my soul, as the poets say by thegirlofthorns

Edwin existed, just as Charles had. Charles, who occupied a space in loving memory. A much-deserved space – Edwin would have wanted it no other way – but the core of him wanted to scream that he had been here, too. He never would be again, but he had lived, and he had breathed and laughed and moved with too much frippery and frill to continue on breathing, and he had been a whole person, once. And it had not mattered. So looked at CHARLES ROWLAND through tears, allowed himself to. Even Charles's hammer on metal on stone was not enough to dull the pain, but it was enough to remind him that he was still here, even if he was no longer living. It was an awful sound, a jarring sound, and tears shone in Charles’s eyes as he focused intently on carving out the A in his surname, but it was something. They were there, together, and they were feeling.

- Or, Charles finds Edwin's unmarked grave and will, in the lightest of terms, not be having it.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, and Very Bad by hibye

It was about the torture. The torture he was experiencing presently, and also every minute of every hour of every day, standing alongside Edwin Payne and saying nothing out of the ordinary at all.

O Spirit From The Great Beyond! by InTwainFiction

Edwin is ignoring Charles.

They haven't spoken in almost twelve hours, and all because of a little incident involving some puppies. Yes, said incident may have been Charles' fault, but he has apologised a million times.

Charles is getting desperate to find a way to get Edwin to talk to him again, and a little walk away from the office provides just the thing Charles needs.

He hopes it will get Edwin to talk to him, but at the very least it will be a laugh.

a beautiful day to say goodbye by ofstitches

“The house is… sad,” the client responds.

“Again, we can’t help with selling the house. Maybe try some decorations. That’ll brighten the old place up,” Charles suggests.

“No, you misunderstand. The house doesn’t look sad. The house is sad. It is depressed.”

“How do you figure?” Edwin says, sitting up in his chair now that the client has said something potentially interesting.

or A new case brings up old feelings, and maybe something more.

A Heaven Like They Talk About by LikeMmCookies

After managing to piss off yet another witch, Edwin and Charles are cursed as punishment. Bewildered, powerless, and lacking answers, they face their greatest challenge yet: being human again.

With Edwin doing novel things like picking out shampoo and wearing different pants, Charles finds his body reacting in strange ways to his best friend. He questions if these are new feelings, or if they'd been there all along.

But the biggest question remains - do they stay alive or do they find a way to go back?

being unknown by The_IPRE

Edwin does know Charles, or at least he likes to think that he does. He knows that Charles is far better with the clients than he is, quick to offer a smile or extend sympathy while Edwin is far more interested in delving deeper into the details of the case. He knows that Charles has a wicked swing with his cricket bat, but prefers to leave that as a second resort when he believes there's a way for them to come to a compromise. He knows that Charles chooses to hope for the best from people, even after having seen the worst they have to offer–and in fact, having been killed by it.

As Charles sits in front of him, the strain in his shoulders at odds with the easy grin on his face, Edwin wonders how much of his friend he is failing to see. -- 5 times Edwin didn't press the issue, and one time he did.

The Kind of Light That Means Just Love (When My Baby Smiles at Me) by DontOffendTheBees

“Charles,” Edwin admonished, gently closing his book with a finger tucked between the pages to hold his place. “I have asked you to stop fooling around with that contraption and get some work done.”

“I have been!” Charles defended, gesturing broadly at the higgledy-piggledy array of items around him. Evidently, taking stock of the contents of his bag of tricks was an expansive task. “Taking a break.” He snatched the small square of paper from the Polaroid camera and began to shake it with abandon.   In which Charles partakes in some amateur ghost photography, and Edwin (fondly) bemoans the futility of the exercise.

The Good Left Undone by plutosheaven

Help comes from unlikely places when Edwin is once again faced with a threat worse than death.

the phantoms here will never have their fill by ahyperactivehero (ahyperactiverhero)

Poltergeists are created when a ghost experiences extreme emotional distress. Poltergeists are notoriously hard to reign in, and they almost never gently move on. Neither Edwin nor Charles ever imagined it would happen to them.

Basically, five times where the Dead Boy Detective Agency dealt with the threat of a poltergeist.

XXX

“Once you choose to go down the poltergeist route there is no coming back,” Edwin said. “And I will have no choice but to follow you.”

“You can’t do that mate,” Charles said. His voice had cleared up some, his form less wavy.

“Then do not go where I cannot follow,” Edwin said.

Form 239, Schedule L by sanctuary_for_all

At the top of a small pile of papers was a copy of Form 239, Schedule L, filled out with achingly familiar handwriting. At the top, the word "Approved" was stamped in large red letters.

This Darkness, Enduring by kickingtheladder

“Your son is gone,” they tell her. “It was… an Act of God.”

She cannot think of a single thing to say for a very long moment. And then she has many things to say, most of which are not at all appropriate for polite company. --- Edwin Payne's mother, before and after.

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by kickingtheladder

“Your son is gone," they tell her. "He ran away." She doesn't say anything. --- Charles Rowland's mother, afterwards.

dreaming of the things you said / hoping that it's meant by ohmyfuckinggod420

Edwin turns away with a deep breath, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach. His non-existent, ghostly stomach. It seems so ridiculously cruel and on theme for his current situation. Not only is he in love with his best friend, and not only does his best friend not love him back, but he’s feeling things that he shouldn’t be feeling on top of things that he physically should not be able to feel. or

The gang is back in London. Niko is gone, Crystal is on the cusp of a breakdown, Charles is still a flirt, and Edwin is... trying his best.

Oh, and he keeps feeling his pulse. As a ghost. A very dead ghost.

The trouble really never ends.

the ghost of the past that you live in by ObsessedWithFandom

It didn’t start as much. As anything, really. Charles noticed him in the hallways only because he was new, which was rare in Year 11, and because he smiled shyly whenever Charles said hi. Aysar, he’d introduced himself, and Charles liked the way the syllables formed in his mouth. He wanted to be Aysar’s friend.

Or: five boys Charles didn't date, and one he did.

Aftermath by sophisticatedyet

“What are you humming?”

Charles’ polo muffled his question, and the pause before Charles answered was so long that Edwin wondered if he hadn’t heard him at all. But then he said, "A lullaby.”

The answer made Edwin smile bemusedly. “Why? I can't fall asleep.”

“Yeah, duh, I know. It's just meant to soothing.”

“Oh.” Edwin rested his head back against Charles’ chest. “I suppose I do feel quite soothed.”

Dance the Night by Gruoch

“What is that?” Crystal asks, looking Edwin up and down with an expression of abject befuddlement that borders on disgust.

“It is my disguise,” Edwin replies a little stiffly in response to her tone. “You told me to wear a disguise.”

“You look like Margaret Thatcher,” Crystal says flatly. “You’re going undercover at a nightclub, not a library. This—“ she plucks at Edwin’s long tweed skirt, her lip curling— “is not appropriate nightclub attire. You’re gonna attract too much attention.”

“I thought attracting attention was the point of this ludicrous exercise,” Edwin snaps back.

“Yes, the right kind of attention,” Crystal stresses. “This—” she waves a hand broadly at him—“will get the wrong kind of attention.”

~~

In which the gang returns home to discover something sinister stalking London’s party scene after dark, Edwin lets his hair down, Charles’ confidence is shaken, and Crystal pursues a new lease on life (and hopefully doesn’t die in the process).

Everywhere, Everything (wanna love you) by WildCookieKeef

Freedom, as it seems, is suffocating. Decades spent running away from death herself and yet now more than ever does Edwin feel restless. Hell is behind him for the second time. He might’ve escaped his fate of eternal torture, but rabidly approaching are revelations he would’ve kept buried for far longer.

He’d never be so flustered and disorganized if it hadn’t been for Crystal or the Cat King or Monty or the Night Nurse or that horrible witch Esther or Simon, god not Simon, or practically reenacting old Greek tales with his best mate or. . .

No. It’s no one’s fault but his own. If he could sleep he’s sure he’d have nightmares.

Of what? There’s lots to choose from, but he can just feel it. Maybe some spirit malady has taken root in his body. He can sense the tension under his skin. Aches of pain that he knows aren’t physical.

He never should’ve told Charles. What was he thinking?

or After the end of S1, Edwin reasons that Charles rejected his confession and fears the worst while trying to suffer silently. Charles is very bad at letting Edwin suffer in peace.

the eight layers of hell, reversed by Zairielon

There's a lot that Edwin and Charles don't talk about. Frankly, after 30 years together, you don't have to say much for the other person to get the point. But Port Townsend and Crystal and Niko knocked their dynamic off-kilter, and by the time they return to London and finally get back to "normal," "normal" has changed. "Normal" is now Crystal's bright laughter, Niko's earnest affection, and Edwin's faint smiles. "Normal" is an unnameable ball of emotions tangled up in Charles' chest. "Normal" is Edwin looking at him, and Charles hearing those words all over again.

Charles, I'm in love with you.

OR, Charles figures out what it means that Edwin is the only person in the world he'd run into Hell for.

When We Walk Together We Tend To Walk Alone by UneducatedAuthor

She’s never unexpected, but she’s always a surprise. And when Charles meets her, it's nothing like the nightmare he's built up in his own head, being split away from Edwin and cursed to an afterlife without him. She's kind and gentle and familiar, and she gives him a chance to say goodbye to his mother.

Or, the one where Charles meets Death. They have a lot to talk about. But it's okay. They have time.

it's you that i hold on to by lrvzender

A pair of lips press shakily on his temple. Charles Rowland’s blood definitely runs hot, Edwin decides, definitely.

“You’re not asking anything, mate. But you have to understand that you are worth saving, a thousand times over. You are worth knowing, Edwin.”

Something bigger than the whole, wide sky. Something bigger than death, perhaps.

(where Edwin does not ask to be known, but Charles knows anyway)

and your song, it haunts me like hunger does the crow by kay_cricketed

After they return to London, Charles notices an escalation in people approaching Edwin with their attentions. Which is fine! It's not that Charles is jealous. He wants Edwin to be happy and to have a chance at a fulfilling relationship, yeah? The problem is, Charles is aware that Edwin is unpracticed with these kinds of emotions and other people, and it would be very easy for someone to take advantage. And that’s not going to happen, not on Charles’ watch.

To make matters worse, the admirers are getting a little too intense. And Charles is starting to suspect there's more at work than everyone realizing his best mate is brills.

(Or: In which the damage to Edwin's soul across years of torture has had an unusual effect, and Charles needs to fix it before he's compelled to violence. Again.)

trína chéile, le chéile, claochlaithe / entangled, together, transformed by theroyalsavage

Edwin Payne and Charles Roland are not Orpheus and Eurydice. They are not tragic figures of myth, children of gods and spirits, immortalized in verse by the poets of old. They’re nothing special at all – just two boys too stubborn to move on. With that said, however… Edwin must admit that there are certain similarities.

Came up from that lake of fire by ghostinthelibrary

"Are you a zombie?” Niko peers into Edwin’s eyes. “Because the Night Nurse told me zombies exist. Do you hunger for brains, Edwin?”

“Hardly.” Remembering being splattered with gray matter in the not-so-distant past, Edwin shudders. He cannot imagine consuming it. “I’m not a zombie.”

“What about a vampire?” She almost looks excited by the prospect. “We’re only a couple of hours from Forks. It would be perfect!””   When they’re caught during their escape from Hell, Charles and Edwin have no choice but to make a deal: they have one hundred days to find and entrap a powerful, malevolent spirit, or both of their souls are forfeit. But when they’re both temporarily restored to living bodies to aid in their search, being alive brings with it a host of new feelings, which neither of them know how to cope with, especially as their deadline looms closer and their quarry proves increasingly dangerous.

Unbreakable by Asexual_Enjolras

Edwin feels as though he owes Charles an apology because he cannot offer support to his best friend in the same way that Crystal can. And Charles tells him exactly where to stick that apology the moment he does.

Or, Edwin feels like he is broken and Charles does not agree.

after the insects have laid their claim by lolotr

“Where are you buried, do you’ve any idea?”

“My body was never found,” he replies softly. “There is a memorial marker next to my parents’ graves, but my remains are not there.”

The idea is so horrifying that it stuns Charles into silence for a couple seconds. “I didn’t know that. Why didn’t I know that?”

Edwin’s shoulders tense. “The whole thing is bloody tragic enough as it is.”

Grabbing his wrist, Charles begins marching them back in the direction of the pond they used to get here. Edwin doesn’t resist, but he does argue, because of course he does. “Charles, where are we going?”

“St. Hilarion’s. We’ve got a new case, don’t we?”

Hold This by RoseGanymede95

“Alright, listen,” Charles said, after trying not to think at all for at least five minutes. “Hear me out.”

“Any ideas?” Edwin asked, not looking up from his page.

“It’s just. What would actually happen if you cut my hand off?”

Edwin jerked his head up so fast, Charles wondered that he didn’t brain himself against the stone wall. He looked more offended than he had when he found out about the live snake in Charles’ bag.

“What the hell kind of a question is that?” He hissed.

“I’m not saying we should do it!” Charles backpedaled. “I’m just curious! These cuffs make us proper solid, don’t they? We could probably lop it off and get me out.”

“No,” said Edwin emphatically. “We are not discussing this. I don’t want you getting any ideas and chewing your own arm off like a trapped weasel.”

“Not my whole arm, just my hand.”

the start of something beautiful (the spoiler-free remix) by KiaraSayre

Four cases from the Dead Boy Detectives casebook, featuring amnesia, corporeality, a time loop, and a chill hang sesh.

If I'm Batman, You're Robin by ahyperactivehero

Charles misses a lot of things from life. One of those is the movies. Edwin volunteers to go with him.

XXX

“Batman Returns?” Edwin asked, reading the title. “What sort of creature is a Batman?”

Charles couldn’t help the bark of a laugh he let out. “No, he’s not a creature, mate. He’s a superhero.” At the totally blank look on Edwin’s face he tried again. “He’s like a detective. But he fights crime with his fists, too.”

“Ah,” Edwin said with a knowing look. “One of your heroes, I see.”

offer me that deathless death by websters_lieb

It takes the better part of two days for Charles’s body to even be found, and in the end, Edwin is forced to turn on all the lights in the gymnasium attic where Charles had died in order to get a janitor to come upstairs. No one had even been looking for him, yet. - or Edwin and Charles attend a funeral, look for a gravestone, and decide to become detectives.

Edwin's Payne tolerance by RabidWatermelon

Charles knew Edwin had a high pain tolerance. How could he not, having endured the tortures of hell? He just didn’t expect it to be so… useful.

AKA I want to write drabbles about Edwin's pain tolerance because I think it's something that would come up over thirty years together and be mildly concerning to someone who went through abuse in life. No fixed plot or posting schedule. Will update tags as chapter come out w new content.

The Case of Edwin's Missing Notebook by thewalkingstone

Edwin forgot his notebook at the office.

Not a problem. He prided himself on having an excellent memory. He certainly liked to jot down notes as he worked, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t work without it. He would just have to remember things until they returned to the office.

It was fine. He was a professional, and professionals did not delay an investigation because they forgot their notebook. OR Just months after escaping Hell, Edwin accidentally forgets his notebook on a case. He does not handle it well. Luckily, his new best mate is there to help him out.

The Scenic Route by DontOffendTheBees

"Cheer up, Edwin," said Charles, brightly. "Might never happen."

Edwin gave Charles a look so haughty it had its own title. "It very much has happened, Charles." He sniffed and straightened out his newspaper with attitude, the rustle of it loud and sharp as a whip crack. "I don't see why we couldn't have simply hopped through the mirror and met Crystal there."

"At this point, Edwin, I'm in total fucking agreement," said Crystal, not opening her eyes. She was burrowed under her coat like a blanket, doing her best to make the uncomfortable upright seat look like a cosy bed. Fortunately this train car was basically empty, so she had space to stretch across two seats – and no one close by to comment on the floating newspaper across the table and the fact she was having a barney with it. "You're like, the worst person to travel with."   In which the agency takes the scenic route to their next case; and Edwin finally receives some answers he's been waiting for.

what some circumstance stole by Chrome

For a magic-user intent on siphoning pain for power, both Hob Gadling and Edwin Payne represent unique opportunities. United in dire circumstances, a man incapable of dying and a boy long dead forge an unusual friendship--and try to survive the experience. --- “When you died,” Hob said. “How old were you?” “Sixteen.” “That,” Hob said, “Is awful.” Edwin shrugged. “Life is, I’m afraid,” he said. “Can be wonderful, too,” Hob said. “I promise.”

[dustysalmon]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 2

Pairing: Silco x Reader Rating: Explicit Warnings/Tags: graphic depiction of violence; slow burn; enemies to lovers, enforcer!reader Word count: 3.6k

Summary: After a chain of unexpected events, Jinx is arrested, and you find yourself in possession of the gemstone. On top of it all, you are forced into a reluctant alliance with Silco. What else could possibly go wrong?

Takes up at the end of episode 7.

Read on ao3 ⎜ Previous chapter ⎜Next chapter

The last time you had been in the city council building was for your graduation at the enforcer academy, years ago. As you are now led to the hearing room, the place strikes you as immense and comically shallow—just like it did the first time.

Beautiful, no doubt, but empty and cold, devoid of personality and humanity. The archives are the exception. You’d barely gotten a glimpse of them back then, but you had wanted to go back ever since. The immense room was brimming with books, artefacts, and knowledge dating back centuries. Piltover had its share of problems, but it had always been a remarkable city. Hextech had only confirmed that. It transformed the lives of Piltovians for the better, improving transportation, the use of technologies, healthcare. One day, you think to yourself with a smile, you’ll find a way to sneak into that room again. But alas, for now, your current position doesn't allow for such privileges. Your smile fades a little as a large, heavy door opens before you, and you are reminded of why you’re here. 

The councillors are in the middle of a heated debate, apparently trying to determine just how tight to close their fist around the undercity’s throat. It has not escaped your notice that the citizens of Piltover were deeply shaken by yesterday’s events. The streets are empty, shipments are being delayed or even cancelled at an alarming rate, and some people have even started leaving the city. Not that you can blame them. The repeated clashes between Silco’s goons and the Firelights have gotten more frequent, just like the assassinations of enforcers. It may have been years, but no one up here or below has forgotten the riots. 

You balance yourself on your feet as you wait for the councillors to finish. They don’t seem to be in a hurry. At some point you even wonder if they have noticed your arrival. You gaze absently at the dome-shaped ceiling, calculating how many yous it would take to reach it. So high and out of reach, disconnected. After a long minute, and with swift apologies, Councillor Kiramman gracefully puts you out of your misery. Among the people present, you can safely admit that she is one of the more grounded—well, as grounded as Piltovians can be, but she’s not afraid to swim against the tide when the need arises. Show of proof, you wouldn’t be there otherwise. 

She introduces you to the other six members, states your rank, and your part in arresting Jinx. With minute details, you go over the events of the day before, the showdown between the Firelight leader and Jinx, the bombs, and the aftermath. The council has already heard from Caitlyn Kiramman this morning and you confirm Marcus’ betrayal. When councillor Salo inquires about the alleged deal between the late Sheriff and Silco brought forward by Caitlyn, you fail to suppress a light scoff, to the great displeasure of your interlocutor.

"Is there something amusing? Please, indulge us, officer, I do love a good joke in the midst of tragedy."

You clear your throat, arms crossed behind your back. "Respectfully, councillor, a blind man would have seen the connection." Salo fixes you with contempt, but leaves it at that.

"What about the gemstone?" He continues, "Officer Kiramman stated that it was the very reason she was meeting with Marcus, but there’s been no trace of it since then." You display your most convincing expression of surprise. 

"I was not privy to the details of that meeting. It was only after my medical check-up this morning that I was made aware of the stone." The councillors exchange disappointed looks across the circular table. It’s been days since Progress Day, when the Hextech technology was stolen. Until last night at least Piltover knew where to look. Now, the Gemstone is in the wind, just about anybody could put their hands on it. True, the chances of this person actually being able to use the Hextech technology are thin but that uncertainty is far from satisfactory to the Council. On top of it all, it represents a tremendous economic hit for Piltover due to the colossal amount of third party investments revolving around Hextech. The city would recover eventually, but its reputation would be tarnished for decades to come.

Council members Medarda and Shoola follow up with more general inquiries about the riots, the protesters, and the arrests. Meanwhile, Bolbok and Hoskel seem more interested in moving on to more economic and trade matters. Jayce Talis, the man of progress himself, has not uttered a single word since you walked in, but his brain is buzzing, and you can see the restlessness in his posture, and the way his jaw tightens each time the others drone on about policies and regulations. Clearly he’d rather be anywhere else, crafting the next jewel of Hextech, running numbers, and solving equations alongside that curious partner of his. He’s not a bureaucrat, and at that particular moment, he’d much rather do the work than simply talk about it. 

Councillor Kiramman asks you about the morale of the enforcers deployed. You can’t tell if the concern is genuine, or if this is all just political decorum. Either way, you gladly put in a word for more ample rations, surely that can’t be too much of a dent in the city’s budget. 

At last, the interrogatory comes to an end, and a discreet exhale of relief escapes you as each councillor thank you for your service and presence. You are in the middle of excusing yourself when Salo cuts you off. 

"One last question, if I may. Multiple witnesses confirm that Silco, the industrialist, was at the scene last night. Why not arrest him too?"

You frown, "On what grounds? The council itself concluded that he runs his…business by the book."

"True," he presses, tone unyielding. "However, after Marcus revealed himself as a traitor, one would think you would have reconsidered Silco’s true role in all this."

Normally, you don’t take kindly to being called dense, especially in front of an audience. But now isn’t the time to let pride get in the way. This testimony is far from routine; you need to tread carefully here. As far as Piltover is concerned, this entire operation is a no show. The city is on edge, its Sheriff exposed as a corrupt traitor, and the gemstone…well, that’s strictly need-to-know. The truth is, Piltover is not looking too sharp at the moment, and neither is the council. They are looking for a scapegoat. All things considered, you’d much rather appear naïve for a few seconds than be caught with the Gemstone in your back pocket.

"I’m an enforcer, not an investigator." You say with a slight shrug. "But I believe that Silco is more valuable to us down there than rotting in Stillwater."

Salo leans forward, curious to hear your input. "And why is that?"

"So far, save for a few dissidents, the people of the undercity have mostly kept to themselves. Enforcer presence at the border is only effective because the other side is not interested in making trouble. Yet. We’re not the ones keeping the undercity in check. And neither are you or your policies. Silco is." 

Salo sneers. "And what a marvellous job he’s doing!"

You hold your ground, trying to ignore the mocking laughs rising around the table. "Surely I don’t need to remind you what happens when the underground is really out of control. This is nothing."

"Watch your tone, officer. Don’t forget your place."

You muster every ounce of self-control, taking a deep breath as Councillor Kiramman calls for a bit of decorum. You give her a quick, appreciative nod before continuing, "I made a judgement call, if you wish to punish me for it, that’s entirely up to you. Our orders were to stand watch on the bridges, and make arrests. Nothing more, nothing less."

Salo looks ready to press further, but Councillor Medarda’s patience is running thin as well. "I’m sure there will be no punishments necessary." She offers a composed smile, folding her hands together. "Once again, thank you for your time." She pauses, then seems to remember something important, and her smile sharpens. "Oh, I nearly forgot. Some good news at least. It seems you’ve been promoted." You stare at her, mouth agape and completely thrown off. "My congratulations, Major. You’ll be sure to extend my sympathies to Warren as well."

Of all the things that you expected from this meeting, this wasn’t even part of the honourable mentions. "Warren, ma’am?"

"He will be the city’s new Sheriff, of course."

"Of course." You echo, the words slipping out reflexively as your mind is still reeling.  You nod absently, thank the council, and with a final glance around the room, you turn and make your way toward the large doors that the guards are pushing open for you. The corridor outside somehow feels even emptier than before, each step echoing as you replay her words in your mind. Major. You’d walked in here prepared to defend yourself—prepared for the occasional lecturing and patronising, maybe—but a promotion? That hadn’t even crossed your mind.

You decide to go all the way home on foot today—some fresh air might do you some good. So many events in so little time. You sigh. It’s not that you miss your old life—no, you wouldn’t go back for anything. But there was a rhythm to it, a familiarity. You did your part and did it well. Until the sickness made it unbearable. Here, everything feels out of reach, beyond your control. It’s not quite what you imagined. Not that you came to topside with the intent of sparking fundamental change or flipping the narrative. You would gladly call yourself an idealist, but you’re not delusional—something your mother would argue against. Maybe, somewhere deep down, you once thought you could make a difference, but that ship sailed long ago. 

Unsurprisingly, the locals have deserted the food market today, much to the traders’ dismay. They linger behind their stalls, looking miserable, surrounded by products that will likely go unsold. Another week of nearly nonexistent pay, and most of this food will end up wasted. Maybe you can profit from that.

You treat yourself to a cheese sandwich and pick up some fruits and fish for the next few days. You approach the bread stall with a tinkle in your eye. A bit of small talk here, a few shared laments about the dire economy there, and you walk away with five huge pieces of brown bread—free of charge. The uniform surely helped a little too.

Taking an enthusiastic bite of your sandwich, you start making your way out of midtown, when you hear someone calling your name in the distance. The smile that spreads across your face as your eyes lock on the massive Vastaya jogging towards you is one of pure joy and excitement.

"Dren! I thought that was you!" You barely have time to set your grocery bags on the floor before strong strong arms lift you off your feet and spin you around. When he finally puts you down, Dren towers over you by at least a foot. 

Like most Vastayas of his species, he boasts stunning purplish skin covered by a very thin layer of fur, thick jet-black hair, and vivid fluorescent green eyes—eyes you are convinced are twice as sharp as human ones, though he always denies it. Truth be told, you’re still a little salty about constantly losing shooting contests and training sessions to him. The two of you find the nearest bench and start catching up on everything that’s happened over the past four months or so, while Dren was in training. Eventually, the conversation shifts to the events of the bridge. You keep it brief, doubtful he wants to hear the gruesome details. 

"What about you?" You ask, steering the conversation away. After the testimony just minutes ago, you’ve had enough of this topic for the day.

"Well…it’s official." Dren discreetly pulls a shiny paramedic insignia from his satchel. "I was just on my way to headquarters to pick up all my gear." You watch him as he gazes at the small object resting in the palm of his large, clawed hand, his expression transfixed. 

"I’m so proud of you. I hope we’ll get to work together again, now that I—" You stop yourself mid-sentence, and Dren is too lost in his own thoughts to notice. This is his moment after all. Besides, the ceremony isn’t even planned yet—plenty of time to share the news.

"How’s Olenna these days?" The question jolts you out of your happy little trance. Dren is part of a very small circle of people who are aware that your relationship with your mother is complicated, to put it gracefully. He knows how painful it is for you to talk about her, but he always asks. He’s unapologetically direct and straightforward like that, which is one of the reasons you like being around him. He challenges you constantly, body and mind. 

"Not improving," you admit with a sigh. "Not getting worse, either. At least, I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell." Dren nods silently, his green eyes fixed on you with a disarming attentiveness that always makes you feel both seen and vulnerable. When you don’t elaborate, he pats his hands on his thighs, and rises from the bench.

"Well then, I’m sure a nice dinner will do her some good. Her and you." You chuckle at the remark. It has been an intense few days for sure, and you can physically feel the bags pulling at your eyes and your entire body screaming with fatigue. You part ways after a long hug, him striding towards the university district, you towards the undercity.

They’re still scraping up blood and body parts off the main bridge; you’ll have to make a small detour. The protests have died down significantly, and from experience, you wager it will remain that way for a couple more days. Hopefully, you’ll be able to rest properly for once. You cross the southeast bridge without a hitch, a group of demonstrators throw nasty looks in your direction, but they don’t make any trouble. 

As soon as you reach the other side, you smell it. The pungent, heavy atmosphere of the underground. A stench that gives every visitor, foreign or local, a clear picture of what to expect once they enter the undercity. The familiar tang of rust and oil invades your nostrils, and you automatically reach down into your collar to adjust the sensibility on your chemsurge. Here, the smells cling to everything—your clothes, your skin, your very breath. It takes a few showers to get rid of it; you’ve learnt that the hard when you started working in Piltover. All things considered, the promenade level is not so bad. At least the sun is still visible there, faint but persistent, piercing through the cloud of fog hovering menacingly above. But as you descend deeper into the city through endless flights of worn stairs, it gets darker and darker, until your surroundings turn a murky haze of green and brown. The only light comes from the old street lamps lining the path. Their glass casings are grimy and cracked, some sputter and pop as though they might burn out at any moment. 

The alleys of entresol are mostly empty at this hour, but they’ll come alive with chatter, the clinking of drinks, and the inevitable clash of street brawls as the evening sets in. The sounds here are already louder, more chaotic. Voices echo through the narrow alleys, overlapping to create an overwhelming cacophony. Your gaze drifts towards the walls that are covered in graffiti. Beautiful murals, meticulously painted to retrace the history and pay tribute to the notable figures of each neighbourhood. 

As you make your way through the industrial district, the faint hum of machinery fills the place, a blend of churning and groaning punctuated by the sporadic hiss of steam vents and the distant clatter of pipes. Workers pass by, their clothes stained in grease, sweat and coal. Their faces are weary, marked with exhaustion, yet there is an undeniable air of camaraderie among them. Cables and pipes crisscross above, dripping occasional beads of liquid onto your shoulders or the ground with a soft plink. The pavement beneath your feet is uneven, a patchwork of scavenged stone and scrap metal, slick with oily puddles that reflect the faint glow of the lights.

At last, the distinct reddish roof of your mother’s house comes into view. You step inside, slide your muddy boots off, and leave them on the small doormat right behind the door.

"Ma, I’m home." You announce yourself loudly as you set the groceries down in the kitchen. You put everything away, sliding the items in their proper drawers and cupboard. Your mom is very particular about that. You set two breads aside for yourself before grabbing a large container of water from under the sink. Pouring some into a clean glass, you set it on the wooden table.

Olenna emerges from the dimly lit corridor, her warm sleeping clothes hanging loosely on her frame and a book resting in her hand. "It’s barely noon," she says dryly, pulling herself a seat. 

"It was just a routine council meeting," you reply matter-of-factly, your hands reaching for the little compartment that holds her medicines. 

"Must be nice for those Pilties," she scoffs, before a heavy coughing fit overtakes her. "They sure don’t push themselves too hard, do they?…You would know."

You ignore her remark and ask, "Is fish porridge okay for today?"

"Oh, it’s okay," she replies, her voice dripping with passive aggression. "Just like it was okay yesterday, and the day before that." You know better than to engage, so you simply place two painkiller tablets in front of her. 

"Those things are killing me, you know."

"I’m sure they’re the least of your problems." Her face tightens, clearly offended, and she is about to argue, but you put your hand up.

"Just—" You are used to this ridiculous back and forth, it’s the same charade everyday. "Take the meds." You slide the glass of water across the table and wait. It takes the usual five or six seconds for your mom to give in. Finally, she grabs the pills, shoves them into her mouth, and  downs the glass like it’s a shot of fine whiskey. After a few very exaggerated heavy breaths, she stands up. "Okay, I’m ready."

The process is always the same. Olenna sits backwards on the chair, her arms crossed over the backrest while you transfer a small dose of tampered Shimmer in a syringe. The light purple liquid spreads slowly, almost hypnotically. You lift your mother’s shirt up and quickly find the spot along her spine where the needle needs to go. Her body becomes rigid as you empty the content of the syringe all the way through, but it’s very brief. Once you’re all done, you clean everything up and get to cooking. 

As usual, most of the dinner is spent in comfortable silence. Occasionally, you’ll try to make small talk. You get a word or two in return, a full sentence if you’re lucky. You smile quietly to yourself as Olenna puts her fork down. She can criticise your cooking all she wants, but she always finishes before you, leaving nothing but a clean plate behind. 

You drape your uniform jacket over your shoulders and grab the grocery bag with the bread, calling out from the hallway.

"Goodnight, Ma. I’ll see you tomorrow."

"If I haven’t kicked the bucket by then," she shouts back.

"Whatever you say, Ma." You throw one last glance behind you—Olenna is already lost in her book—and head out the door.

Your apartment is just across the street, close enough if anything happens. If your relationship was different, you’d be living with her, of course. But the way things are now, she probably would’ve strangled you to death already—or vice versa. It’s better this way. 

Once you’re alone in the quiet of your room, you pull out a small shoe box from under the bed. You open it to reveal the gemstone, nestled in a makeshift padding. Carefully, you take it between your thumb and index finger, rolling it slowly. It’s beautiful by all accounts, and you can’t help but wonder how such a tiny object could cause so much trouble. You’ve turned the problem over in your mind all day, and yet you still don’t know what the hell to do with it. Honestly, you don’t even fully grasp the kind of power you’re holding. You imagine that if Hextech can power up portals, then surely this thing could be used for much more dangerous purposes. But technology was never your strong suit. All you know is that there’s only two people in topside who know how to use Hextech safely—and that is not exactly reassuring.

You glance out the window, barely able to make out anything through the thick green fog in the distance. There are plenty of things about this whole mess that are bothering you, and you intend to get some answers. A little visit to the Last Drop is in order.

Thanks for reading !

Chapter 1 ⎜ Chapter 2 ⎜ Chapter 3 ⎜ Chapter 4 ⎜ Chapter 5

[pochiperpe90]

[ENG] Marinelli: “Playing Mussolini? It was painful”

The actor, on stage without pauses in the eight episodes, talks about his experience in the role of the dictator: "I didn't know how things went, I hope that M can be useful to the public".

Luca Marinelli didn't just give Benito Mussolini his face, he gave him his entire soul. Present in practically every scene of the eight episodes of the series "M - The son of the century", coming soon to Sky and streaming on NOW, he climbed through dialogues without time limits and monologues that he gave shape to by looking straight into the camera, an unbelievable work and not just of interpretation: The feeling I had reading Antonio Scurati's book was of having been confronted with my gigantic ignorance. It’s healthy to confront this, never take it for granted that you always have all the answers and simplify life, because this attitude is called populism, and it was invented by Mussolini himself. It’s healthy to know the limits of our knowledge, I honestly didn’t think that things had gone this way and I hope that they push the audience towards the desire to be present to themselves, to make their own interpretations, knowing that they are not alone. “During the shooting he confesses - I would have liked to be launched on some other planet. We talked about our history, which is perhaps the most painful thing and I am very happy with what we did. It happened that in some scenes I got excited with the Duce, which generated a deep sadness in me, but I had to crush something in myself to continue to pump this dark side of evil, a process that for me was very painful. Some scenes struck me particularly, like the ones we shot in Parliament, even there Mussolini did not hide any of his aims, we filmed the speeches he made and for me repeating those words was something really scary”.

To prepare for this difficult job, the actor watched many films from the Istituto Luce “and even in their triumphant aspects I perceived the great violence of fascism, it’s wrong to treat dictators like devils or madmen, because they are people like us and we need to know them”. But it’s precisely the knowledge that is lacking in our country, starting with the education of our school system, about which Marinelli has several doubts. “I’m curious - he says - to see what the public's reaction will be to the arrival of the series. I believe it’s important to start counting on an education ‘alive’ again, but in Italy unfortunately we don’t invest in the school system and we see obvious results. I have not been a great student in my path, but honestly I don’t remember having addressed these issues, perhaps we didn’t even get there with the program and I think it’s dangerous”. After so many months spent wearing the uncomfortable shoes of Mussolini, it was not easy for the actor to get out of a role that was totally immersive. “This series - concludes - left me with the fact of wanting to be present in my present and my past. Only like this can we understand what we are experiencing today as well as going in the direction that is most useful to everyone”.

Cr: CIAK

[asarigg]

Inside the Character's Mind: Part 5

CHILDHOOD. SLY AND KOUJAKU. THE AVOIDANT BEHAVIOR: part 2

When we get to the bad ending, the first thing that catches our attention is that it’s not Aoba’s point of view, but Koujaku’s. This is also a thing with most characters as well, but I feel like it takes a very special meaning here because it resonates with previously mentioned themes.

It’s a way of emphasizing that duality between the two of them, that deep down they are the same, and that they are always being a reflection of one another. If the whole game has been under Aoba’s perspective, why change now? Maybe it’s because he loses the ability to speak and it’s a way of telling us what he thinks and what goes through his head during the process of losing sanity, which the others, with the exception of Ren, can do. That’s another thing, when we get the bad ending in the base game we jump straight to Sly telling us how Aoba weakened and disappeared, letting him take control, and that Koujaku also lost all rationality. We assume that Koujaku completely transformed into a beast immediately after the failed Scrap, after all in all the endings when Aoba fails Scrap is when the other goes crazy, but here we learn that that is not the case.

Koujaku is able to wake up, physically drained, but still himself. He’s the first to wake up and sees his group members and Aoba by his side, still worried that he might be dead, that he might have killed him. Platinum Jail guards then come and start taking everyone away.

When he sees that they are taking Aoba away, he tries to call his name, but his throat is torn and his body is too weak to move. Seeing that he can do absolutely nothing to wake Aoba up, he begins to despair, knowing that nothing good can happen if they take him away. With his internal dialogues we can see how far the obsession and desperation goes, repeating his name non stop in his head almost maniacally, repeating his desires to protect him and stop them from taking him no matter what, even if that means his own death or something worse, as long as Aoba is safe.

It’s not Scrap, but these thoughts that really drive him insane. His obsession with Aoba, his love for him, and his willingness to sacrifice himself to keep him safe. The person he swore to protect, his mother, died at his hands, despite all the love she had given him, betraying her in a way. This trauma is extremely shocking to him, and I think you can understand how deep is the shock and terror he feels at the thought of harming Aoba in any shape or form, only for this cycle to repeat itself again and end up doing something unforgivable to Aoba at Glitter. All he could think was that he intended to kill himself when he betrayed his mother, and he would do the same (and kill Ryuuhou in the way since he hurt Aoba too) now that he betrayed Aoba, because a monster like him can’t stay, thinking about what could happen if he lost control again terrifies him.

It almost seems like he’s letting the tattoo consume him just to use its power and free Aoba, that’s all that matters now.

Despite this, he won’t turn into a beast yet, as he later wakes up inside a cell. When Aoba arrives we see him completely changed, his personality and his appearance. We know he’s Sly/Desire, but Koujaku doesn’t even know he exists yet.

Sly begins his torture, one he’s been doing ever since he took control, as this isn’t the first time Koujaku wakes up in this cell. He’s been losing and regaining consciousness constantly for who knows how long, and each time Sly tortures him to break his consciousness, his spirit, his will. He could do it with his power easily (or maybe he knows it won’t work), but he doesn’t bother, he prefers to do it with the most painful words Koujaku could ever hear. That Aoba is gone.

I feel like the reason why Scrap doesn’t affect him as much and why it takes so many tries to fully transform him into a demon is because he’s been dealing with this kind of influence and power for years, working on being able to control it, which resulted in him developing a really, really strong will and mind. Also the reason why his usual anger doesn’t make him lose control, but only his deep, rooted hatred towards Ryuuhou and his devotion, equally intense, for Aoba. Only these intense, personal feelings work against him.

Which by the way, the reason why Aoba can’t keep control is because of the tremendous anxiety and depression that comes over him knowing that he didn’t do Scrap well, constantly blaming himself for having failed him, he becomes so weak that he “becomes someone else”. I find it interesting that the main reason why they both lose their minds is for the well-being of the other. It’s more of that mirroring and parallelism we were talking about. Get a bitch as devoted as this. In a way, they are both captives of themselves, in their own bodies. How poetic.

Sly even tells him that he isn’t completely gone, that he’s still there, but that he’ll beat him up until he’s practically dead, out of revenge, while grinning and laughing out loud, just to take advantage of that little hope left that Aoba will return back to normal to crush him and let it drive him crazy again, because he knows that Koujaku will try to talk to him, that he’ll try to do anything to save him, he knows that his desperation and his love for him will do the rest. He even lets Aoba out for a few seconds, to which Koujaku can only respond by screaming his name while chains pull his body back. Notice how they refer to the beast as an entity, it’s not just the tattoo transforming him, it’s someone else.

There is one thing I want to comment on and it’s that many people over the years have taken this interaction as pure hatred and many times it’s considered that they would basically hate each other even in a good ending, mostly by having Koujaku hating Sly for not being the cute kid he knew (lol). But Sly doesn’t scare him, he’s not intimidated, even if he doesn’t know he exists, of course, always being aware of the limits his violent actions should reach. I feel like Koujaku would sympathize a lot with him in case of meeting him normally, he doesn’t judge his violence, he uses it too, and in his head Sly wouldn’t be worse of a monster than him, as he continuously blames himself for what "he did", no matter what.

One of the key points of his route is acceptance, Aoba accepts Koujaku as he is, and Koujaku accepts him as he is, and that includes Sly. If Aoba accepts that inner “demon” inside Koujaku, he’d do the same with Aoba’s. Beast Koujaku and Sly are equivalent. Also, we can’t forget that the context of the good ending and the bad ending are completely different, with Koujaku chained in a cell while Sly is torturing him. There is no possible reality in which Koujaku could not despise him or go mad with rage after that. I could hardly call it hatred at all, anyway, or at least not in the purest sense.

There’s a line Ryuuhou says in one of Koujaku’s memories that appears when he’s losing control of his body that I think sums it up pretty well, although it varies depending on the translation, because one takes the liberty of using an expression I doubt it’s translated the same in Japanese. The important thing is to keep in mind the comparison of hate and love. It resonates a lot with what one feels in some kind of abusive relationship when someone is extremely dependent on the other person or have been together for so long, or both. If you add knowing that the other person isn’t really bad, but external conditions are the ones that shaped that relationship it’s even harder to make a logical decision. You know it’s wrong, that you would be better off without it, but somehow, you can’t let it go. I feel like this is something specially relatable with familiar relationships, with parents/mentors/whoever raises you.

Koujaku keeps within him an intense love and hate alike, to the point of obsession for both. His love for Aoba is what condemns him. So does his hatred.

He seems to hate Sly, but it’s impossible to separate it from his love. If Koujaku really hated him for that, in the purest form of the word, he would have already tried to kill him, it’s something that Sly himself wonders when he bites him. He could perfectly sink his teeth in a little more and it would be over. Death would be merciful for both of them. His lips can no longer kiss him, so he bites him instead. To a certain degree Koujaku still has something in him capable of thinking, rationalizing even if just a little. In this state, Koujaku still loves him, he prefers to stay by his side as a slave, as much as it hurts him, because losing him is an even worse option. Deep down, no matter how much harm Sly does to him, he is incapable of hating him. As long as Aoba breathes, Koujaku will be there.

[shiningmystic]

Hello and welcome to your spirit guide messages. Let the messages from your guides put you at ease or guide you in your moment of aimlessness, loss or even boredom. Take what feels right inside your heart and leave whatever doesn’t. This is timeless so whenever you find this reading it will be for you or maybe later, time is trippy business. I have only edited this once so let me know if I need to reword things in the reading!

Warning ⚠️: this PAC contains triggering topics such as breakups, depression, anxiety and family trauma. It is also a long read so be prepared!

Thank you for your support! [Ko-fi]

First Feather: The wheel of fortune (rx), The sun (rx), four of cups, eight of swords, Ace of coins,

Clarification cards: (seven of swords and five of swords), justice (rx), The world

I see from just the first 3 cards you are going through many things: depression, apathy or just a constant feeling of being trapped in a cycle of pain. Your guides are pointing me to say this is an illusion, a trap of the mind that has repeated because we are used to this path and going down it. Sometimes it is our fault and sometimes we are triggered back into our old ways but your guides are saying your path isn’t as hopeless as it feels right now but to let yourself grieve to not repeat what has happened. I talk a lot about mindfulness on my blog and how it’s helped me change and see through my rigid thinking and depression. Being in a low mood or just in a rough spot even if your not clinically depressed is not fun and I know it far to well.

messages for very specific situations/people: If this is about a legal situation I see it concluding in your favor. If this is about a break up or about you thinking you are never going to find love because you’re a mess, this is false! You are worth loving even if you were a worm. 🪱 yes I’m referencing the trend shhhh. ‘Your anxiety isn’t you, it’s the part of you that just wants to protect you so much it goes crazy and makes you act and do strange things. One day that part won’t feel the need to protect you anymore’

To move onto the main messages: I think from what I’m seeing it feels like this pattern in your life has happened so many times that you’re tired of it. You’re tired of feeling this way and don’t see a way out except through jurassic actions or no action at all. Of course actions will lead to different conclusions but your guides are saying that even if we do repeat an old pattern it doesn’t make us stupid, careless or not strong enough. ‘Change is a direction, not a destination.’ You can’t judge yourself for the journey because that’s where the mess lies, just know you’re always willing to get back on the path when you’re ready, that is the most noblest of deeds for yourself friend, that’s awesome!

It feels slow but I see something beautiful coming to fruition. A time of peace and completion so they are letting me know as you keep working through these feelings, the effort you have put into your situation and yourself will be profitable. This completion will take more time sorry but that’s what I see, no need to rush or you will miss what is important! if you do? It’ll repeat again but not to torture you! (it can feel like that lmao) but to shape you the way you desire, your guides are always trying to send you energy to get to your desires and purpose so we repeat cycles to find the best way of NOT repeating them. I recommend to notice what you have in front of you once in awhile; not everything around you is as bad as it may feel and this is coming from someone who never EVER thought they would see the good things in the bad. Nothing is as black and white as our minds try to make us see especially with you anxious and depressed people out there, we just feel a lot.

So to the people who are just in a rut, know your path is a hard one but one that comes with many profitable and beautiful gifts that will make your life shine. You may not see it now but be upset, let out what is hurting you, bothering you and nagging you. Just because we get distracted doesn’t mean you deserve to be verbally attacked to get back on track (it might work for some but for me it’s a big no!) and you don’t need to be harsh on yourself if it repeats again, just notice what happened and how you ended up in that position again. Then take time to take action and redirect yourself towards the path you know you want instead of the path others may trigger you or force you down.

For the people who are depressed, your path is much harder because of the addition to all the symptoms of depression being a constant fight. But you don’t need to fight all the time, it’s ok to cry and feel bad for yourself, to be sad (I cry so much and hate being sad but it will pass I promise). It’s not shameful to be angry at the circumstances, you are a human. If you have hurt someone you loved because of these feelings your guilt shows you care; you are worthy to be heard out and understood.

To conclude: right now the path is dark, better things are ahead of you so refocus on the good when things seem bad. It’s easy to find the bad but it’s magical when you find the good then remind yourself of that good occasionally. Find the reason you may be distressed in the moment and things will make sense and open up to you, maybe even ease your sadness. Good things are coming as we slowly keep refocusing on our path. Keep growing lovely human ❤️

Second Feather: The ten of cups (rx), strength (rx), seven of wands, The sun (rx)

Clarification cards: [king of coins (rx), six of swords (rx)], [the world (rx), three of swords], the magician (rx), five of wands (rx)

I’m getting an instant message for everyone in this pile that they have been so incredible and just so strong for getting through something that felt like it would never end. The feeling I get from this spread is a sense of hopelessness when it comes to family, love and relationships. There is a yang energy in your life that has shaped your view of love and it has hurt you very much. I see this person being conditional and reserved, someone stuck in traditional ways and not able to see past their narrow view. This person could have also been a support in your life or someone who should have supported you and was not there. For example this could have been a parent who was either to strict or just not there at all, too busy with there addictions or their ego. This person could be to involved in your life or themselves. I also get narcissistic vibes if that resonates (it does for me I picked this pile).

I’m here to say I’m sorry you saw such horror and that your guides are sending you love even if you cannot feel there touch, they are hugging you tightly. I doubted my guides a lot as I grew into my practice but now I know that just because you can’t see it, it does not mean it isn’t real. There is a lot of mention of inner strength and how strong you have been to have grown up with a imbalanced yang energy where you may have been taught to prove that you deserve certain things through ONLY major effort when really life isn’t about only hard work but also play and fun. Look listen up, if some fool on the street can suddenly win the lottery then why can’t good things happen to you? Did that person earn that lottery money? Maybe but if you see it from the narrow view of what you were taught then no, they did not deserve a penny of that million. They are as much deserving as the next person to receive a large sum. With you it is the same, you will always deserve the best treatment with no prior requirements to be met especially from the people you let into your circle but there is a balance that may need to be set.

Yes there is a lot of ego and pride here, many in this reading have not considered the fact that maybe we don’t need to fight for every little thing maybe changing your perspective is all you need. Hard work is amazing and already deserving of the finest things but life is not meant for just work or to prove yourself. I’m not saying we all get lucky all the time and shit like that but I’m pointing out that the world doesn’t turn because we work, the world turns because it just does through certain factors.

Side messages for specific people: if you are thinking about switching a major against peoples opinions there is a recommendation to gain your power back and do it. If your situation is about being betrayed by a lover and cannot see yourself ever loving again, know that you don’t have to be with someone to be worthy of other love. When you are ready the world will always be outside your window to discover new things, it seems bleak now but with time things change, maybe too slow for our minds but naturally we see time does it to all things. ’everything stays’ is playing in my head from adventure time. The same situation may come up again, but we all change subtly; your perspective changes as we approach the same situation. Maybe there is something you used to do and it will reconnect you to your core beyond what the ego desires. Everything stays speaks about repeating scenarios or situations but when we go back to them it may feel the same but it is not. You’re different now.

There is a need to defend yourself all the time, maybe hyper vigilance for some, if you do not know what that is I highly recommend to look it up. You may not have a stable sense of ego or self, know you always have time to discover and shift your life in new directions, infinite beings have infinite aspects to personality, let life show you what it has!

In conclusion: your past relationship with a parent or friend has affected you and how you show up in the world. You may be doing things unaligned and it’s good to reconnect with self or old hobbies to find what make your feel good. The world may have fallen apart before you before but moving forward and learning to take back your power will help. make mindful choices when the time comes to have a clear view of who you are and what you want. Realize what you can’t control and what you can’t and respond the way your main character would!

Third Feather: King of Swords, Ten of swords, queen of cups (rx), knight of swords (rx)

Clarification cards: three of coins, the star (rx), [The chariot (rx), The empress], [Queen of wands (rx), two of cups, seven of cups (rx), the world]

Immediately your guides are bringing me to a relationship that may be struggling at this moment. This is not family related like feather two but can be a friendship or a romantic relationship. This speaks about a discourse of disconnection between you and this other. The approach to this situation was very mature from one side and the other not able to handle the communication or direction that the relationship was headed in.

I see one side putting in effort and the other struggling to for there personal reasons but I see a change coming towards you. Maybe you have not spoken to this person and it was the logical thing to do. I see that they will send you a message and for some of you I see you care a a lot for this person so you may reach out to them, but the advice I am seeing is to give space for both of you.

If you are against someone coming back I see it is because it ended in a fight or argument over the certain choices and other options life it taking them down. And you cutting them off was important for them but it’s your choice and situation to either mend or break this. Very interesting seeing a conversation in the cards, someone who is over emotional and taking things to heart while the other is more logical/practical on this approach. It’s interesting how I can see a struggle on one side either it be you struggling with your emotions or them. This was your time of isolation and time to see your truth behind this situation. Keep reflecting if you haven’t, huge message you probs

If you have trouble with balancing emotions your guides call for you to really take time and introspect and know you are just a different type of person that has different need that need to be met, don’t be ashamed work with what you have :). I see both sides needed this introspection and fight to happen so both can grow and find new paths that align with the other. It’s interesting that I feel like this relationship just went on too long in fear of hurting the other or for another reason entirely. Whatever it is I see the tremendous courage and pain it took to finally talk about the issues and come to your conclusion.

Ok for some of you I see a txt or call coming from the other. It could go multiple ways but I don’t need to cover every individual way because I’m gonna lay it out to you cleanly: if there message or call holds a desperate charge on either end (vibe wise) it’s best to leave it alone. If you need more time go ahead, if you think you’re ready that could be it too but for most it’s good to move. Maybe you can check in there socials occasionally because feelings don’t just go but we need to learn to let go when friends or lovers paths uncross to different directions. I see the positive of this helps you both find where your needs must be met, and to be able to have a conversation before things get out of hand, communication is key and one side didn’t have the tools to be able to and that’s ok (I mean it’s not but you can’t expect everyone you meet to have a dandy and good upbringing). It’s good to stand up and say it’s enough, to try and talk is always key.

Specific messages: if you were in a relationship that ended because you couldn’t connect to them emotionally and weren’t emotionally heard you did the best for yourself and your guides are holding you and sending you love as we speak. If your relationship ended and the other person was manipulative and to much in there own minds to see what your needs were then again your guides are here to advise to maybe find what is imbalances in yourself as well as the other person, when you are ready of course. If you cut off the other party already it is time to soothe the wounds with loved one who can help you through the hardest of times (hey I’m here to if this is really messed you up.) if this was a mutual break I’m sorry to see this happen but you did the right thing by you and them is what your guides are mentioning. Long distance relationship break ups too, I’m here for you guys, this is some tough feelings I’m getting.

I do not see an outcome to any of these relationships I only see the break you both have taken. I see many of these situations are up to how you approach them when the time comes to face it the letter email call or txt. I do see them reaching out again or you reaching out to them after a long break so for now do not care about that, what matters is the now and how you feel is what I hear your guides saying. What is it that hurt this relationship? What can we do now to better our hearts and minds? I send you love and support from my own energy friend, stay strong.

Deck used: Tarot of the Divine, Illustrated and created by, Yoshi Yoshitani- inspired by dieties, folklore and Fairytales from around the world