#that the wrong is not with my resume or the length of my cover letter or my fancy school being too fancy

[loptrcoptr]

Day after the move, internet is (mostly) working, but the happy veneer of unpacking has worn off and I start my job waiting tables today, which I absolutely hate doing, while other folks with similar degrees are announcing new jobs as archivists or librarians or assistant curators this week

And I find myself thinking it’s fortunate I’m in the desert now because there’s no ocean for me to just go walk into

[redbeardace]

Pagination is Hard

If you've been following along lately, you'll have seen that I'm working on a Choose Your Own Adventure style book. Primary writing is happening in Twine, which is a tool specifically for Interactive Fiction/Game Books/etc. But a Twine file is meant for a digital world, and I want a physical book.

More specifically, I want a physical look that looks like a CYOA book, acts like one, smells like one. I want people to pick it up and be teleported back to 1986. And so, there's a few style rules to follow. Some are simple, like the font, but others are more difficult, like pagination.

Twine has absolutely no concept of a page. Pages are irrelevant. It cares about Passages and only Passages. Its primary storage format is HTML, which also doesn't care about pages. Okay, so all you have to do is copy and paste it into Word, and now you have pages, right? Word cares about pages, doesn't it?

Word does not care about pages.

More specifically, Word docx files don't care about pages. Under the covers, they're not much different from an HTML file. (They're actually a zip package of a bunch of XML files, but that particular detail doesn't matter much.) There are tools and SDKs that let you create Word docs, but what you're creating are sections, paragraphs, and runs of text, but not pages.

Now, okay, Word itself does care about pages... Sort of. You can see the pages, you can print the pages, but they're sort of a calculated illusion. Whenever you open a Word doc, the rendering engine figures out how to pretend that the file is organized into pages, even when it's not. But because the pages aren't real, you can do something as simple as shuffle the pages around. That's largely fine, because in most cases, you don't want to shuffle pages around. In a normal document, the page break could come in the middle of a sentence in the middle of a paragraph. Reordering that would result in chaos.

Choose Your Own Adventure books are not normal.

Their whole thing is that all the pages are reordered randomly. Everything is centered around pages. Go on to the next page. Turn to page 73. The pages form an interconnected tree of decisions that make up a story. Pages pages pages.

So, in order to make a CYOA book, you have to be page-based, not passage-based. So, you just take all your passages, turn them into pages, set up links between them, and you're done!

But... Just what the hell is a page, anyway?

A page is a fixed-size panel of text, right? Easy enough concept. But... How much text? One of my passages is 400 words long. Is that more than a page or less than a page?

Trick question! Words don't matter. Pages are measured in lines. With known margins, font, size, spacing, etc., a page can hold a certain number of lines. For the style I'm using, let's say that a page is 25 lines.

So how many words are in a line, then?

Another trick question! Words in a line don't matter.

A cat in a hat ate a pie.

Several loquacious antidisestabilishmentarianistic sasquatches contemplated pseudoscientific philosophies belligerently.

Both of those sentences are eight words long. (So was that one.) But they're vastly different lengths. The first sentence has room to spare on its line, while the second one likely ends up spanning more than one line (depending on how you're reading this post.). So, it's clearly not word count that matters, it's the number of characters that counts. So, how many characters in a line?

Also a trick question! Some lines are short because the last word is a long one and doesn't fit. And letters are different sizes in most fonts.

You pretty much need a full layout engine to figure out how much text fits on a page, and that is not something I have.

But... Why do I care?

I care, because CYOA books are so centered around pages that you have to care about pages. Go grab one and open it up. (You obviously have one just lying around like I do, right?) What's the first thing you notice? Every page ends in one of two ways: The phrase "The End" or with "Turn To X Page" directives. That's the defining feature of the series.

But what else do you notice?

Almost every page ends with a bunch of whitespace. Because every page ends with a complete paragraph. Nothing runs on to the next page.

That's weird in a book.

(Okay, it's not every page. There does seem to be an exception to that rule and the "Turn To Page X" rule, which involves facing pages and a large illustration. It appears that mid-paragraph breaks are permitted in those rare circumstances. But anyway...)

They end with a complete paragraph because they have to. You can't suddenly have a "Turn To Page 37" in the middle of a sentence. No, the book has to pause, give you an instruction, then resume. These books would be irritating if

If you want me to finish the sentence, keep reading the next paragraph.

you were interrupted in the middle of every passage like that. So, in order to avoid that, I need to split the passages up, so that the right number of paragraphs are on each page, and in order to do that, I need to know how many paragraphs I can fit on a page. In order to do that, I need to know how much text can fit on a page and we've already been down that road.

So. What can I do about it?

I can fake it!

Faking things is a foundational principle in computer science. Some problems are too hard to solve the right way, so instead, we solve them the wrong way and make it look good.

You see, I don't really care exactly how much text can fit on a page, I care more about roughly how much text can fit on a page. That, give or take, is 22 lines, and a line is, give or take, 40 characters. And I didn't perform a complex layout calculation involving kerning and justification and whatever'n'th'hell an "em" is. No, I pasted a paragraph into Word with all the settings I wanted, let it do all that work, then I just counted letters. 40-45ish letters and 22-25ish lines, so go low for safety, and presto.

For each paragraph, get ceil(paragraph.length / 40.0) to get the line count for it, and repeat until there would be too many lines. Then put a page break and keep going.

And presto, now you have complete paragraphs and whitespace on every page!

Except for page 153, because fuck page 153:

Page 153 is a page number in the heading, followed by two "Turn to page X" choices and nothing else. What this means is that somewhere in my book, there's a directive to tell you to "Turn to page 153.", only for Page 153 to tell you to immediately go somewhere else.

And so you think, "Oh, well maybe that page is full of other paragraphs and there isn't any room left and maybe you can tweak a setting or add a feature that prevents such orphans. So you track down the page in question. Behold page 94:

WHAT THE HELL, PAGE 94‽

It's like 60% full! There's plenty of room for the choices there. Why are you doing this to me?

Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. I felt I had to write this big long thing just to name and shame Page 94, rather than spending that fixing Page 94, because you all need to know what Page 94 did.

[koala-otter]

i love your atla writing?? your grasp of the characters shines through the dialogue, you really have their voices down!! here's a writing prompt (only if you're interested, of course!) if it helps: some kind of hurt/comfort zukka; maybe ambassador sokka is witness to an assassination attempt on zuko while sokka's staying in the palace, & even though zuko survives & insists he's fine, sokka's still really worried & frets over him? i just. want them to show they care about each other bcos i'm soft

hello beautiful beautiful anon! thank you so much for this 💛 you have no idea how much it means to me to hear you’re enjoying my writing! I’m sending you all my love and adoration

and here is some zukka for good measure! thank you, soft anon, for the prompt!

“nothing wrong with wanting to protect you” 2.5k words

“What is this?”

Zuko looks up from his full-length mirror to see Sokka striding briskly into his chambers, a rolled up sheet of paper clutched tightly in his balled fist. He unfurls the sheet and holds it out to Zuko once he’s standing next to him. 

“There’s nothing on there,” Zuko deadpans, turning back to the mirror to resume adjusting his sash. 

Sokka balks and looks at the paper, then shakes his head. “Had it the wrong way,” Zuko hears him mumble, and then Sokka turns it around to reveal an illustration of Zuko’s father and several characters written on the other side. “There!”

Zuko glances at it briefly. “Oh, that,” he says dismissively. 

Sokka stares at Zuko, then back at the paper, and then once more at Zuko. 

“Are we not reading the same thing?” he asks disbelievingly. He shakes the paper in Zuko’s face. “It’s a New Ozai Society poster! Looking for new recruits! To kill you!”

“I know, Sokka,” Zuko says sharply, pushing the other man’s arm away. 

“Why aren’t you freaking out?” Sokka demands. “We got rid of the society years ago. Now it’s suddenly springing back up and advertising an assassination attempt? We’ve got to launch another—”

“It’s not ‘suddenly springing back up,’” Zuko interrupts him. He takes a moment to check his hair in the mirror, pulled tightly into its top knot and hairpiece, before he finally faces Sokka. “There are posters like that all over the Fire Nation. There have been for years.”

“What?” Sokka asks. “Why am I just finding out about this now?”

Zuko shrugs. “I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “It’s not a big deal. We used to have people tracking them down, but the society never actually did anything, and eventually there wasn’t a point. It’s fine.”

“‘Fine?’” Sokka repeats. He points to a line on the poster. “Maybe you missed this part: they literally say they want a team specializing in stealth to kill you.” He throws his arms in the air. “‘Kill you,’ Zuko!”

“Yeah, I can read, too,” Zuko says pointedly. 

“We should double your guards,” Sokka says, starting to count on his fingers as he thinks to himself. “We’ll put them at the windows and in the hall, and we can get even more at night. Oh!” His eyes go wide with revelation. “We should ask Suki to send some Kyoshi Warriors again.”

Zuko sighs. “I knew this would happen if you found out.”

“What, that I would try to keep you alive?” 

“Sokka,” Zuko says impatiently, “this isn’t your job. You’re not a guard; you’re an ambassador.”

“Actually, Admiral Chen called me your ‘paramour’ the other day,” Sokka replies with a self-satisfied grin.

Zuko snorts an uncharacteristically graceless laugh. “That’s very her,” he says. He turns away and moves toward a chest of drawers to put away the extra robes laid out by an attendant that morning. “Either way, you shouldn’t have to worry about any of this.”

Sokka’s eyes are soft as he watches Zuko move around the room. “Can you please just understand that it would kill me if something happened to you?”

Zuko slams a drawer shut. “I don’t need you to protect me, Sokka,” he says impatiently. “It’s not like I’m another sixteen-year-old princess with a death wish.”

The cavernous room goes silent. Unease climbs up Zuko’s spine, crawling over his scalp, filling his body and keeping him rooted to the ground as he waits for Sokka to reprimand him, to tell him he’s gone too far. A stillness fills the air, up to the high ceiling, so that even the drapes at the windows and in each corner of the room hang heavy and motionless. Sokka still hasn’t said anything. Zuko finally turns around to look at him. The hurt is so clear in his face, in his wide eyes and the slackness of his jaw. Zuko hates himself, suddenly, acutely, for having caused it. 

“Sokka, I—” 

Zuko reaches toward Sokka, but stops himself when he sees Sokka’s face harden. The backs of Zuko’s eyes burn.

Suddenly Sokka’s at the door, pulling at the handle roughly despite the ease with which he normally opens it. He pauses in the space between Zuko’s room and the hallway. “I’m telling your guard to double up tonight,” he says, still not looking at Zuko. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be with the engineers if you need me.”

The door closes, and Zuko is alone.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t see Sokka for the rest of the day. And he isn’t the only one to notice. In a meeting with Earth Kingdom dignitaries over a land dispute, Admiral Chen leans over and asks the Fire Lord quietly, out of the side of her mouth, “Where’s Sokka? He’s the only one who can get on these guys’ good side.”

Zuko just shakes his head and puts on a smile for their guests, ignoring the rise of Admiral Chen’s eyebrows.

That night, Zuko leaves the lamp on and sits on one of the settees in his bedroom. He nurses cup after cup of chrysanthemum tea and pretends to read a letter from Aang, but when he realizes he’s read the same paragraph three times, he’s forced to confront the fact that Sokka isn’t coming. He snuffs out the light and climbs into bed, staying on the left side and trying to ignore the wide open space on his right. He stares at the canopy above him and focuses on the slow pace of his breathing.

Minutes, or maybe hours, later, Zuko sits up when he hears the window blow open.

“Sokka?” he calls into the darkness. 

There is no response. 

He lights a fire in his palm and surveys the room. The tea pot and his cup are still out along with Aang’s letter, and his robe is still flung over the chair in the corner. A chill breeze flows in through the open window and stirs the drapes. Zuko sighs and rises to close the window. He looks out on the garden beneath him and up at the waxing moon above him. The night is still and quiet. He shuts the window, making sure the clasp is secure. 

Zuko turns and freezes. A figure clothed entirely in red, blood red, wearing a white mask, stands only a few feet away from him, crouched in an attacking stance and holding a sword in one hand. As he falls into his own stance, the figure rushes forward, and all Zuko feels and hears is the heat and roar of fire rushing out of his hands. The fire dissipates, and Zuko finds the figure flat on the ground, looking up at him with a deep tilt of their head. He thinks he hears a snicker from them. 

A crash sounds from the door, and Zuko looks over to find Sokka rushing in, armed and ready with his sword and his boomerang. Two guards follow behind him, each holding another red figure in a headlock. 

“Sokka,” Zuko breathes, relief crashing over him.

But Sokka still looks panicked.

“Zuko, behind you!” he yells as he throws his boomerang.

Zuko turns just in time to see another figure directly at his back, and he swears he can almost make out a smile through their mask before a club swings straight down on his head.

The room Zuko wakes up in is dark. It’s the first thing he notices before the pain rolls in, suddenly and mercilessly, like a tidal wave, and he has to close his eyes and grit his teeth while he waits for it to pass. 

“You’re awake!” he hears, and Zuko cracks his good eye open to find two blue eyes and a warrior’s wolf tail at his side. He didn’t realize he’d made a sound.

Zuko tries to nod, but Sokka reaches out and touches his forehead with one of those big hands of his, brushing Zuko’s hair out of his face and stilling him. 

“Good to see you back with the living,” he says with a small smirk. “I’ll get the doctor.”

He rises to leave, but Zuko manages to grab his shoulder. Sokka stops and waits. The pain subsides to a dull throbbing, finally, and Zuko can sit up and open his eyes. He takes in the room as they adjust to the dark. The bed he’s in is covered in white sheets and thick furs. He can make out a wolf helmet mounted on the far wall. And the desk in the corner is littered with scrolls and scraps of paper Zuko can only assume are blueprints and various inventions in progress. 

This is Sokka’s room.

“Why—”

“It seemed safer,” Sokka explains with a smile, crouching at the side of the bed again. “While we made sure there weren’t others.”

Zuko nods and keeps taking in his surroundings. The last time they were in Sokka’s room together was maybe a few weeks before, when they had a chance to sneak off for a few minutes between meetings. Admiral Chen kindly averted her eyes when they returned for the naval council and Sokka realized he put his tunic back on inside out. Otherwise, they mostly sleep in Zuko’s room, and their trips here don’t usually leave Zuko with much time to examine Sokka’s choice of decor. He now finds he likes it.

“You were right about the windows.”

Zuko expects Sokka to laugh at that, but he only sighs. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I guess.”

Despite the groan in his head, Zuko leans over the side of the bed to frame Sokka’s face with his hands. He stares at the planes of his face, the stubble on his cheeks, and it strikes Zuko how beautiful Sokka is, yet again, despite the bags under his eyes and the tense look of his jaw. Zuko kisses his cheek gently, and then the space between his eyebrows. Sokka inhales sharply in surprise—between the two of them, Zuko is not usually the more affectionate one—but he closes his eyes as he leans into his exhaustion and Zuko’s touch. Zuko brushes his lips again between his eyes, and then down the bridge of his nose, almost as though drawing a dotted line down the middle of Sokka’s face. When Zuko finally reaches his mouth, Sokka relaxes enough to place his own hand on Zuko’s face and press back up against his lips, slowly and sweetly. 

“Thank you,” Zuko says quietly as he pulls back. He bites his lip. “And I’m sorry.”

Sokka’s eyes open, and he gives something of a laugh. “It’s not your fault you got attacked.”

Zuko shakes his head. “About what I said before,” he says haltingly. 

He doesn’t need to clarify any more. Sokka nods once. “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t,” Zuko presses. “It was cruel, and I was wrong.” He takes Sokka’s other hand. His voice sounds hoarse when he says, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Sokka rises and presses another kiss to Zuko’s mouth. “Don’t worry about it,” he says with his trademark good nature. He gives Zuko a crooked smile. “Really.”

Zuko nods and looks down at his lap. “I wondered if it was why you didn’t come to bed,” he says. He sounds ashamed still. 

Sokka looks at him quizzically. 

“Oh,” he suddenly says, understanding dawning on his face. He sits gingerly on the edge of the bed. “You know it wasn’t, right?”

Zuko smiles sheepishly. “I do now.”

Sokka sighs and shifts in his seat. “I was patrolling with your guards.” He smiles at the surprise on Zuko’s face. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d tell me I was overreacting again.”

“I would have,” Zuko admits. 

Sokka squeezes his hand. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to protect you,” he says in a low tone. “And it’s not because—” Sokka stops and clears his throat. “It’s not because of what happened at the North Pole.” His eyes meet Zuko’s. “I really don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

All they can do is look into each other’s eyes, the details of their faces obscured by the relative darkness of the room but for the daylight creeping its way from behind the curtains. Sokka waits for Zuko to admonish him, to maybe tease him for being so soft, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Zuko shifts forward and puts his arms around Sokka’s waist, pulling into him tightly. He tucks his head into the space between his shoulder and his neck, so Sokka can feel his breath on his collarbone, and waits.

Finally, Sokka laughs lightly and hugs Zuko back, adjusting slightly to hold him fully in his arms. 

“I’m glad you were there,” Zuko finally says into his skin. He smells like leather and salt and himself. “I love you.”

Sokka pulls back to brush the hair out of Zuko’s eyes, and then kisses him once more. “Yeah, me too,” he says in a low tone.

Zuko gives him a soft smile, and shifts away. He grimaces at the pain in his head as he begins pulling the furs back and moves his legs over the side of the bed. He looks up to ask Sokka to help him find his robe, only to see a stern look on the younger man’s face. Zuko smiles hopefully.

Sokka pushes him back onto the bed. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, bewildered. 

Zuko almost looks offended. “We have a meeting with the Earth Kingdom dignitaries today.”

“Are you kidding? You just got whacked in the head,” Sokka cries. “Hard!”

Zuko winces at the volume of his voice. “They’ll be expecting us.”

“Uh, no, they won’t,” Sokka says, noticeably lowering his voice. He crosses his arms and grins at Zuko in a challenge. “I had your schedule cleared for the next two days.”

“What?” Zuko exclaims. “Why would you do that?”

Sokka shakes his head at him. “Zuko, a team of deadly assassins broke in and tried to kill you last night. You don’t think you might need a couple of days off?”

Zuko smiles at him in an attempt at assurance. “I’m fine,” he insists.

Sokka groans and gently pushes Zuko back down onto the pillows. “Did we not just have the same conversation?” he asks.

“That was different,” Zuko argues as a fur is pulled up to his chin.

Sokka hangs above him, his hands leaning into the mattress on either side of Zuko’s head. “Please,” he says, “will you just let me take care of you?”

Zuko stares up at the bright blue of Sokka’s eyes. At once, he is transfixed. All he can do is nod mutely, and Sokka gives him a relieved grin before pecking him on the lips. 

“Good,” he says, hauling himself back up to a standing position. He gestures to the door with his thumb. “Now I’m really going to go get the doctor.” He sets off.

Zuko’s hand steals out from under the covers and reaches for Sokka’s once more. He misses. “Wait,” he calls out.

Sokka watches him expectantly, his whole body turning and stilling to listen to Zuko. 

“Will you—” Zuko glances away. “Will you stay with me a little longer?”

He looks back to find a grin plastered on Sokka’s face, and his eyes crinkling affectionately. Sokka comes closer and pulls open the covers. 

“Of course,” he says simply.

And he climbs right into bed.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A New Arrangement [Part 5/9]

<- Part 4 | Part 6 ->

Summary: There is nothing unprofessional about your entirely professional relationship with Frederick Chilton.

1,100 words

“Ooooh, got a hot date today?” Roxy wagged her eyebrows suggestively.

“What are you talking about?”

”You always look super cute on days you see,” she silently mouthed mask guy, and punctuated it with another brow pump for good measure.

“Oh my god,” you waved her away, “It is so not like that!”

She laughed impishly, slapping her desk. “You just turned so red! You’re totally into him!”

“I am not! Do not go telling everybody that!”

“What?” she stopped giggling and batted her lashes at you innocently. “So he’s a hermit. He’s super rich. Go for it babe, live the dream.”

Your eye twitched, and she started laughing hysterically again.

You were not attracted to Frederick Chilton. How could you be attracted to someone you’d never even seen? There was a headshot of the sleeve of his book, but it was impossible for your imagination to imbue that staged black-and-white photo with life, or apply it to the man in front of you. He was just a voice behind a mask.

That voice, though.

It was so soft, like the velvety chestnut fluff of a teddy bear. You felt caress over your skin rather than heard it. And it was so carefully spoken, his grammar as unnaturally formal as the cover letter of your first resume out of college—nerves jittery at the prospect of being rejected yet eager to show off your education.

Sometimes his vowels would stretch out like a cat, yawning and flexing its round toes, giving his words an air of drama. This happened especially when he was being smug or petty. You first noticed it while discussing his desire to have a hall named after him at the university his old rival worked at.

“He dumped me for a man he claimed was ‘going places.’ Now he teaches,” he said, stretching the word. “I would like him to give his little lectures in Chilton Hall. That should really piss him off.”

You joined him in wringing your fingers with spiteful glee as you did your best to make it happen—you couldn’t imagine what idiot would dump him. Actually, scratch that, you could. The way he flaunted his money, his massive ego, his penchant for the dramatic… it was all rather douchey. But douchey in a charming way that charmed you. Maybe because you saw that the puffed-up ego was just a defense mechanism. A small lizard displaying a large frill around its neck to startle predators. Behind the bluster was a sweet, scared man you would never tire of spending time with. 

Not that you were attracted to him. 

You weren’t, you groaned to yourself, head on your desk as the last hours of Friday ticked by. Getting someone’s name on a college building was not easy, or cheap, and did not exactly fall within the standard purview of end-of-life-planning. At all. You were exhausted.

“Karaoke tonight?” a message pinged on your screen from Roxy.

“Yessssss,” you eagerly typed back. “Get me out of here.”

Having plans only made the rest of the day crawl even slower. Your focus wandered. You imagined Dr. Chilton just-so-happening to be at the same bar and hearing you belt out a love ballad that would make him blush behind the mask.

But you knew you wouldn’t see him until your scheduled appointment next Tuesday.

How could you be attracted to someone who never left his house? If he walked into the bar dressed up like the phantom of the goddamn opera, everyone would stare. Then again, like he said, people would stare no matter what he was wearing.

How bad could his injuries possibly be? You googled “severe burn” and quickly closed the browser. Bad. The answer was: pretty bad. Not as bad as they could be, though. He had functioning eyelids that you could see behind the mask, which meant he was fortunate they were not fused together like melted candle wax.

You cleared your search history for the third time that day. Your manager did not need to think you were obsessed with a client. You were not obsessed. He was just… fascinating.

Karaoke was a distraction, but all the noise and crowds and drinks couldn’t get your mind off him. Four days felt like an eternity. He would be alone that whole time. Unless he has more physical therapy, you thought angrily. Why were you angry? You weren’t! It didn’t help that Roxy kept teasing you, prying about eccentric mannerisms you regretted ever telling her about. 

She wasn’t wrong. He was weird. You couldn’t like someone that weird. Mask aside, you would think he’d wear something more comfortable than a suit in his own home, but he obsessively needed to maintain his image. His status. He couldn’t be seen without his mask on: literal and figurative.

Frankly, he looked ridiculous.

Though, anyone would have to admit, it was also rather sexy. Crisp pressed slacks, a stylish shirt and tie, and an audacious mask. Stretched out on a leather couch. It was like some millionaire anonymous sex thing, and it sent the occasional shiver down your spine toward… regions you would not discuss.

You shoved the thought down.

It wasn’t as though he felt the same way toward you anyway. He’d made his disinterest abundantly clear, and trying to seduce him would be callous to his recovery. Being burned had left him physically weak, frequently exhausted, and devastatingly shy. Sex was the last thing on his mind. It was a miracle that was willing to touch you at all.

He could touch you now. He had touched you. You touched! It happened the session after he invited you to sit next to him so you could more easily share the laptop screen.

As you sat beside each other on the couch, your legs touched, as legs are wont to do in the natural course of sitting. He flinched away the first time, but the cushions were soft, tending to draw you in toward each other where your weight made a deep depression. The second time, he left it there, the warm steady pressure of your legs pressed together raising goosebumps that were thankfully hidden under long pants.

The next meeting, he leaned against you to see the screen. Your fingers brushed over the keyboard, and something awoke. A sleeping tiger.

He needed physical contact like he needed air to breathe. He attempted to be discreet about it, but you could tell he was always sitting as close to you as possible, touching you “accidentally” as you passed the laptop for him to sign a document.

He was so skittish. So careful with every touch, growing bolder little by little only as you reciprocated, sighing as his shoulder grazed yours, leaning into it. Then his hand, casually falling onto the couch cushion between you, next to where your hand rested. A pinkie extending. Yours extending back.

The couch was more comfortable than the office chairs, but sitting for any length of time was still challenging. One day, he seemed particularly weary and was starting to zone out.

“You can lay down if you need to. We can do it like this,” you indicated for him to put his legs over your lap, so you could both still see the computer. He did. Your hand rested on his knee, and he didn’t flinch or brush it away.

Next time, it was his head that was in your lap. 

The filling out of forms and projecting of expenses turned more and more into cuddle sessions. You learned with a thrill of pleasure how solid his chest was, how broad were the arms always hidden under stiff sleeves.

There was nothing unprofessional about it. He got tired easily. It was perfectly natural that you should be comfortable relaxing together. It was easier for both of you.

There was nothing unprofessional about it.

It wasn’t as though he liked you. He was just a little touch-starved, and some friendly cuddling was healthy. You didn’t like him either. Maybe your heart raced a little when he was near, but who wouldn’t be nervous around a weird mask-guy? And if you looked forward to your meetings all week, you were just attached to him as a client.

You were attached to him as a client.

The reason you could do your job, so steeped in death, and still sleep at night was because you didn’t bond with people easily. You weren’t cold—you were kind to clients, sympathized with them, and wanted to help them—but you didn’t think about them after clocking out. This was different.

As your last appointment rapidly approached, you were never in your life more certain of how much you were going to miss somebody.

[youarejesting]

Femme: 49

[Masterlist] Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader, GDragon x Bigbang, Erik Nam, Hyuna x Dawn, Black Pink x Female oc, TXT x robot oc, Got7 x Female oc, IU. Rating: Mature themes mentioned but not really explored. Length: 2.6k Announcement: Wow so much has been going on I cried three times today my eyes are swollen haha. My kitten went to be vaccinated microchipped and neutered so I am emotional. My Fur-baby I cried the moment I had to leave and when I got him back. Beta: @lpayne612​  Warnings: Struggle to get pregnant out lined by red dividers as I know this can hit home to some, Implied smut, a rough patch in the relationship, angst. 

You were almost thirty. You were getting comfortable in your busy life, and your husbands made sure to help with everything everyday. “Children come here!” you called, they all headed over at varying speeds. You handed each their bags, kissing their heads. Right at the back of the line was two and a half year old Yubi with her new leg braces with her favorite cartoons on them. 

Yubi finally was ready for kindy - she was slower than kids her age but she got things done properly, in her own time. It was all about knowing her limits and she loved the kids and everything about her daycare. 

You were approached one day at work by a young girl named Lee Ji-Eun, she was a sweet young lady with a wristband on, signifying she was a child of a femme. She looked around the shop and dropped in a resume, and you listened to what she had to say. Hiring her on the spot. 

Ji-Eun was a diligent hard, worker - she liked to hum and sing while working which was refreshing. You began teaching her all the powerful life lessons you had learned from your mentor, Moon In-shik, and from being Eric’s mentor. 

It was a really refreshing thing that helped you develop some perspective on life: what was important versus what we think is important. 

Stepping into the house, you helped Seokjin with dinner and set the table. The children had entered from the backyard where they had been watering the garden. 

“Mirae, did you feed your brother dirt?”

“No, daddy eoky,” Mirae smiled up at Seokjin hiding her dirt-covered hands behind her back. 

“Hoowayway,” Hobi smiled softly at his son, “are you hungry?”

“Daddy bi,” Huimang gave a dirt-covered cheeky grin, Taehyung and 

Jimin cackled. 

“My poor boy are they picking on you?” Hoseok carried his son to the bathroom in the hopes of washing the dirt out of his teeth.

“Mimi,” you knelt down with an impassive look trying to not laugh at the situation, “did you feed Huimang some dirt?”

“No, Ama.”

“Baby, tell mummy it’s okay, you aren’t in trouble.” You softly gave her a hug “Did he eat the dirt?”

“Yes, Ama,” she pouted and you gave her a big smile.

“Thank you baby for being honest and not lying to mummy. Mummy is so proud, but perhaps next time we don’t feed our brother dirt, it’s not good for people to eat dirt, it’s yucky.”

“Yes Ama, I am sowwy.”

“Come on it’s time for dinner, go race to the bathroom and Daddy Bi will help you wash your hands. Make sure you say sorry to Hui okay baby?” You smiled giving her two big kisses on her cheeks.

“Mum, I got an invitation to a birthday party this weekend, is that okay?” Kyungju said shuffling closer and handing over the birthday invitation.

“Let me see,” you smiled, taking the letter and reading the details. “Oh my boy, you can go, of course who do you want to take you?”

“I want dad to take me, but he might say no.”

“What am I saying no to?” Yoongi took the letter and smiled fondly at the old invitation style. “Have you got your friend a present yet?”

“Not yet,” he seemed to realize and Yoongi laughed at his son’s reaction.

“Tomorrow after school we can go and pick out a present, and I will take you to the party on Saturday.”

The two walked to the large dining room table and you sighed, a big family was exhausting but it filled your heart with undeniable happiness to watch all the children grow up. A small hand tugged on your sleeve, Yubi had come to check on you.

Sweeping her into your arms you walked her to her booster chair and sat down ready for all the drama of a big family dinner. “Jae Eun, don’t put peas on your brother’s plate.”

“So we have been talking as a family,” Namjoon smiled and you raised an eyebrow looking down the other end of the table with a curious expression.

“As a family without me?” you snickered. 

“Yes well, it was a topic we wanted to discuss before bringing it up to you.” 

“Okay, I am all ears,” you picked up some broccoli and hid it under a piece of meat - trying to convince Yubi to eat her vegetables. She cleverly saw and whined until it was taken away. She was pretty clever for a two and a half-year-old.

You looked around the table watching everyone eat and scooped up some rice while waiting for this news. “We would like to have one last child,” Hoseok smiled brightly. Gasping in shock had you inhaling grains of rice into your trachea. Yoongi lazily raised his hand and patted your back while Jungkook handed you a large glass of water.

The feeling of disbelief filled you for a brief moment - you had in fact told Jimin and Seokjin that you would allow them the joys of having a baby. Even then it seemed outrageous to add any more to the family. You looked around remembering how sad and lonely you had felt when you had first moved into the house and had all these empty rooms and big dreams. You looked at the table spotting the exact space another little one could slip into and the joy and confidence it would bring to your hesitant Jimin.

“Okay, I think another child would be perfect,” unable to prevent yourself from smiling, “but if we do this we should go to a fertility clinic.”

“Of course, wait why are we going to a fertility clinic?” Jimin looked at you confused, you could see the concern in his eyes.

“To make sure everything is working fine for one more baby.”

Some of the children were excited for another sister or brother, and others weren’t bothered. Kyungju was weirdly excited - saying he liked having a big family and being the big brother. Jeongsan was a little worried about having another crying baby in the house again but, you assured him he didn’t have to worry and the parents would deal with the baby.

The clinic was cold. You had to sit in a paper gown while you had ultrasounds, pap smears, and blood tests. All to check your fertility levels, hoping for some positive results that would indicate you would be able to fall pregnant reasonably quickly.

The doctor sat you down after the check-up. “Now everything looks good, but we will have to wait for the results to know for sure what we’re dealing with,” the doctor said with a smile. “Now judging just by average standards, when you turn thirty the success rate is eighty-six percent for couples who try for a whole year.”

You felt a sense of dread. What if this didn’t work out and Jimin never had the chance of conceiving a child of his own? You weren’t really listening to the doctor who was currently prattling on about complication rates and more, you just sat thinking over what you would do if this didn’t happen.

Jimin was driving the van back to the apartment and you told him to pull over. “Is something wrong?”

“What do we do if this doesn’t work?’

“Hey don’t stress, the doctor said the more you worry the harder it is to get pregnant.”

“Just tell me Jimin, what will you do?” you asked, biting your lip.

“If it was meant to be, it will happen,” Jimin touched your cheek, kissing you gently. “It’s not like I’m planning to just up and leave you if we don’t have a baby the first time.”

Jimin’s eyes widened at the way you visibly relaxed body slumping into the seat.

“That’s what you were worried about? That I would leave you, the love of my life, and my family because I couldn’t have my own child? That I would leave all my other children whom I love dearly because the same genetics don’t run through our veins?” He looked upset and sighed “I’m not going anywhere”

It was a fun few months where you and Jimin spent a few weeks together and made love and generally shared some romantic moments with one another. You were trying and enjoying yourselves - until the third negative result from the fertility clinic. Things then became stressful between you and being intimate was less about love and more like a chore for the two of you.

You pulled out the last ovulation tester from your handbag telling yourself that you would have to purchase some more. The two lines mocking you as if they were the two lines you wanted, but they weren’t. One day you would see them on the pregnancy stick and you would make Jimin happy.

“Jimin, it’s time,” you said looking at your phone.

“I don’t want to, can you do it?” he whined and you sighed the two of you finished everything quickly and you laid there and he left to shower. You didn’t want to but you felt like crying.

The days passed and it felt like you might have done it, your back and breasts were aching you just knew this had to be it. You were going to the clinic it was the day your period was supposed to arrive and when you got there, you felt like you needed to pee and as you wiped, you wept. Another failure, it was your period and you hadn’t fallen pregnant again. You walked out dragging Jimin not bothering with your appointment.

The two of you were silent on the way home/ “We can try again, it will happen.”

“And what if it doesn’t, Jimin?” you asked, “When do we decide to give up? When you leave because you are sick of me!”

“Why do you keep thinking I’m going to leave? Is this what you want, me to leave? I thought you had faith in me and trusted me and after everything, we have been through!” He hissed, “You think I’m some bad guy who will just leave?”

“You act like making a baby is a chore.” You frowned, “We don’t cuddle or kiss anymore, do you even love me?” 

The car pulled over and Jimin got out, handed you the keys, and looked you in the eye. “The fact that you have to question my feelings really shows me how you see me doesn’t it, love?” the endearment was full of spite. He turned and walked away. You were sobbing standing beside the car gripping the keys and crying. Climbing into the driver’s seat you sobbed with no regard to your surroundings. 

It was almost midnight when you returned home. Hearing Yoongi’s swears, grabbing his phone to call the others to say you had returned home. “The children are all in bed, what happened?”

“I want to be alone,” you said walking away from everyone. You sat on the floor of the shower crying to yourself.

Jimin didn’t call, he didn’t come home, no one knew where he was, so Namjoon made some calls and found he was in his family home. You laid in bed distraught, feeling absolutely disgusting. You stopped getting out of bed unless it was necessary; the boys started bringing you meals so you would get some food into your body.

You couldn’t sleep deciding instead to call Jimin repeatedly only to receive his answering machine. You grabbed your coat and began heading to the front door when Jungkook stopped you. “You’re leaving, aren't you Yeobo, what about all of us? You can’t leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave, I want everything back to the way it was,” he sniffed engulfing you in a hug.

“I’m just bringing him home, Kook, I can’t live without him.” The tone of your voice was cold and empty - a testament to how you felt without Jimin. “I need to know he is okay.”

“Let me drive you, I don’t want you to get into an accident.”

“Please, I know you’re worried, but I need to do this myself. I promise you if at any point I am unfit to drive, I will pull over and call you.” You pleaded with Jungkook, “I made this mess and, I have to fix it”

“You call me the moment something feels off.”

“Yes sir,” pushing up onto your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips, he wrapped you in his arms, squeezing tightly in hopes that nothing goes wrong. He always did have a tendency of worrying too much.

You took the van and began driving. It took six hours and you pulled into the yard watching the sunrise. You walked around the house to Jimin’s window. You knew his sleeping habits and even in winter, his window was open a crack for some fresh air. Lucky for you and the humid summer night, he had indeed slept with the window open fully, enough for you to slide into his room, removing your shoes and jacket, and tiptoeing to his bed. 

You placed the keys down on the table, sneaking into his bed, settling against him under the covers. He looked peaceful in the light of the early morning sun. You felt your heart sync with his, the only thing you could think about was him - it was like you were whole again.

“Jimin, I love you,” you whispered against his collarbone. The sense of relief so powerful you felt the tears rain, your fear and anxiety slowly expelling from your body. Jimin’s arms wrapped around you and you pressed your face deeper against his chest so as not to silence your cries.

“I love you too,” he breathed out, the sleep in his voice didn’t hide the clarity behind his words. “Jungkook called the home phone and told us you were coming. Don’t you dare drive alone at night for that long.”

“I had to, I can’t be away from you. I love you, and it hurts so much to not have you with me.” Your words shook with almost the same intensity as your body did against his.

Jimin told you to sleep and prepared you breakfast - waking you slightly later “My love, you must be hungry. The boys told me you haven’t been eating, is that right?”

“I haven’t been hungry,” you hummed and he nodded, his eyes traveling over your figure.

After breakfast he pulled you to lay back in the bed and got you to sleep, telling you he had messaged the boys and would be home after the weekend alone together. When his parents left he was all over you - his lips promising to love you until the end of time and his hands to always hold you safe from harm.

He drove you home, stopping at a few places to get some souvenirs for the children to tell them how much you love them. You stopped at the gas station to relax and refuel, and you got a strange thought. You don’t know what came over you, but you went through the gas station store and pulled out an ovulation stick from your purse. 

It had been two weeks since Jimin left, two weeks since you had your dreams crushed by your period. It wasn’t even worth calling it a period; it was so short and barely there. But otherwise your phone was saying you would be ovulating soon. You took the test and saw two strong lines. You thought about telling Jimin, but you didn’t want the disappointment again.

You couldn’t just hide it. “Okay, I will just tell him and he can decide.” You nodded grabbing for the packet when you froze seeing the words pregnancy test, and a realization struck you. You had run out of ovulation tests weeks ago.

You were pregnant.

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[minhyunluvr]

look | insouciance

You and Shouto observed the rest of the class as they conversed among themselves, everyone waiting for instruction. Of course, All Might didn't disappoint as his booming voice filled the room a few minutes later. "I see that we're all here now. What we're doing today is indoor anti-personnel battle training, as previously stated. While simple battles are typically occur outside, more heinous villains are known to strike indoors. So, we'll split into pairs for two-on-two battles!"

  "No basic training...?" A small girl resembling a frog spoke up in a croaky voice.

  "Physical experience teaches the basics, young Asui!" He replied in his unusually cheerful voice. Questions sounded throughout the space in curious voices, the oldest male's eyes beginning to bulge. "My power isn't super-hearing! I'll tell you the rules... So, the plan is to have a hero team and a villain team. The villain team will go up to a certain floor and guard a bomb, while the hero team slips into the building and either 'retrieves' said bomb or restrains the villains with a tape." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a tan length of adhesive strap, shaking it slightly before continuing. "The villains must either protect the weapon until time is up or capture the heroes. Now, it's time to draw lots!"

  A few complaints about the method resounded throughout the room before you spoke up, arms crossed sassily against your midriff. "Shh, children. The person who's left in the bottom will either sit out or join one of the groups at some point."

  As things turned out, you ended up being the odd one out. 'Well, I guess this is what happens when there are 21 students...'

  "Well, young Yunseo, it's time to make your decision."

  Sighing, you corrected the man. "I go by (Y/n), and I'll accompany who you wish."

  All Might blinked, leaning his head back slightly before nodding. "That's fine. I'll let you know when it's time to go." Before continuing, he reached into the box beside him and grabbed two lettered spheres. "Anyway, it seems that... Team A and Team D will be going first!"

  A horrified whimper, a loud sneer, and two grunts of determination sounded in the room. Chatter started up as the students searched for the aforementioned groups, noting the tightness in the atmosphere. Bakugou and Iida made up Team D, while A comprised of Uraraka and Midoriya. The boy in the latter team swallowed the stone in his throat before rushing out of the room and over to the battle building in an agitated manner. The other three children followed in a much less hurried fashion, preparing for the scrimmage.

  Anticipation was almost tangible in the air as All Might started the timer. You had resumed your place in the back of the room next to your bi-hair colored companion, sliding down to the floor in disinterest. It was clear that there had been some sort of tension between Bakugou and Midoriya. Shouto looked down at you, emotionless, before turning his head back to the front of the room.

  You stared at the screens as the battle began, Midoriya and Uraraka trudging into the building with clear disregard of their surroundings. Bakugou turned the corner, successfully carrying out his ambush that could have easily been fatal had the pair been any less observant. 'That blow would have been so easy to avoid, had it been me...' You sighed at their negligence, almost feeling pity for their lack of training.

  "There's no point in watching. Let's practice hand-to-hand." As you pushed off of the wall to stand, the building tremored harshly.

  Shouto turned over and quirked a brow as you tripped, shaking his head in amusement. "Karma, (Y/n). I think we should watch to get an idea of how people with less experience plan for future reference."

  Your head cocked to the side in confusion, waiting for his clarification. He flopped his head back to look at you, "It's likely that we'll have to work with some of these people in the future. We have to know what their battle plans are so that we can be prepared if they mess up."

  "Oh, he just got fucking bodied!" Kaminari yelled, eyes glittering. The two of you looked back to the front to see a pained Bakugou on the floor, back bent painfully.

  "Why do you talk like a white middle school boy...?" Kirishima blinked slowly in disgust. Kaminari only winked as a response, turning back to the screens with his fist clenched in front of him.

  "Fine, but I still want to practice." You crossed your arms, nodding over at the male.

  Shouto exhaled through his mouth, "You can practice your battle assessing skills by pointing out what they do wrong."

  "You sound like Jinho...." Nevertheless, you turned, once more, back to the CCTVs and watched the battle. The only thing you had approved of so far was the fact that Uraraka had slipped away in search of the weapon while Midoriya payed attention to Bakugou. It may have been better that Midoriya went for the bomb and Uraraka had stayed, but there would have been a higher chance that he would notice him leave and the girl's quirk wasn't strong enough to defend herself. It had been made apparent that he doesn't go easy on girls, either.

  "Why are they just talking." Shouto rolled his eyes as the blond sat on the floor as the other boy yelled at him from his feet. "What a waste of time..."

  Just as he said that, Bakugou stood and launched himself at Midoriya, the latter boy dodging and catching him by his feet with the capture tape. However, Bakugou swung with right fist before Midoriya could get any good leverage. He dodged the explosion, dashing around the corner and down the hall.

  "How did he do that?"

  "He's not even using his quirk against the guy who placed second in the entrance exam!"

  "The only reason he isn't in critical condition at this point in time is because he knows Bakugou's battle patterns." You leaned flush against the wall, hands resting on their respective adjacent elbows.

  "How do you pick this shit up, (Y/n)?" The only response given was a shrug as you concentrated your attention at the battle in front of you. At this point it was more of a personal fight than a simulated battle, but who were you to say anything about that?

  Meanwhile, Uraraka arrived at the weapon's room. Iida stood guard, albeit neglecting to actually pay attention. He stood, incessant, as the small female snuck behind a pillar. He moved in an erratic fashion, almost seeming to chant something.

  "Of course, she had to fucking ruin the ideal opening that literally anyone else in Japan could have nurtured into a victory. Dumb fuck...." You practically yelled the first part, effectively gaining the entire room's attention. Some of the girls glared slightly at the last part, much to your indifference.

  Kaminari snorted. "Chill your bean."

  "Things like this irk me." You breathed in deeply to regain your former composure.

  "There they go again, talking in the midst of a battle where she could tear another opening while he goes on and on about who knows what." Shouto sighed in the same tone that you had, shoulder brushing yours.

  Kirishima and Kaminari walked to the back wall, standing by the two of you. The former male chuckled lightly, "Uraraka looks like she's about to shit herself."

  Shouto nodded his head.

  "Wow, look who has a sense of humor!" Kaminari looked past you and Kirishima to the red and white hair-colored boy with a smile on his face. He leaned away from the wall, seemingly trying to get a better look at the screen, only to end up on the floor as the building shook almost three times as hard as it had previously. A gaping hole had been blown into the side of the training building, the cause likely being Bakugou.

  "So that's what his gauntlets do..." You noted, holding onto Kirishima's arm for support. All Might yelled orders into the microphone that seemed to have been ignored as the fight continued on, stronger than ever.

  You focused your attention on the screen that covered the battle in the middle of the fifth floor between Iida and Uraraka, wanting to see if she can redeem herself rather than watching Midoriya get beaten half to death by explosions.

  Iida buzzed into Bakugou's ear piece, loosing focus on the problem at hand. You flung your hands into the air in exasperation as she, once again, fucked it up by running straight into the male. He nearly grabbed her, but before he could secure his grip, she began to levitate into the air. The girl shakily floated toward the bomb, nearly touching it and securing the victory. But, of course, she failed at something as simple as that. Iida shot in and moved the bomb, ending with your hands yanking at your hair.

  "I will never be able to fathom why they talk through the battles..." Shouto sighed. Again.

  All Might yelled once more into the microphone, your aggravation for his negligence as a teacher beginning to surface. "Young Bakugou, I will have to end this battle with your team's loss if you use that move one more time."

  The boy looked as if he cursed up at the speaker, Midoriya still on the ground, speaking to Uraraka in her receiver. As you looked over to ever more eventful CCTV, your eyes picked up a crazed look in the blond male's eyes. His red hues shone like whirlpools of blood, as if there had been a shark fest inside of his mind just moments before. That type of look cannot go away, not unless it's sedated with closure. What that closure comes from depends on the circumstance, and this one was beating Midoriya no matter the cost.

  As soon as Bakugou took a step toward Midoriya, you shot off of the wall and re-placed yourself at the front of the room. It wasn't the best day to watch someone get murdered, and the teacher didn't seem to know what to do. Mustering up the most assertive voice you had ever used, you grabbed the teacher by the collar and pulled his face close to yours. "All Might, stop being an irresponsible bitch and do your job as a teacher unless you want your reputation as a hero on the line. Do you really want the life of a fifteen year old boy on your shoulders because you didn't end a simple training exercise? Are you oblivious enough to not realize that even after the timer finishes that this fight will not end? Not for years. They have a deep-rooted... something. And it won't go away unless it gets resolved."

  The man gulped slightly before turning away from you, looking conflicted. He sat for a moment as Bakugou continued to charge the smaller boy before coming to a resolution. "Time is up!"

  "What?!" The class chorused. There had been 43 seconds left in their fight, but he decided to cut it short.

  "All Might, if you thought that this win would satisfy him-" You started, only to be cut off.

  "I cut it because it has a better chance of giving him resolve than directly telling them to stop. By the way, no one tell them that the time wasn't actually over, for their own safety." All Might stood from the chair, walking to and out of the door to make sure nothing else happened with the four students.

  "What was that about...?" The three boys walked over, confusion drawn clearly on their faces.

  "He cut it short because it solves the most problems. Midoriya would have gotten hurt further if he let it run on, but if he told them that he was ending it because of the dangers, Bakugou wouldn't stop. There's also a chance that he won't stop even now, which is why he's going down. By telling him that the time is up, that means that the villains win, so he might gain some sort of temporary closure from that. However, by the look in his eyes... the only time he'll be satisfied is if he completely and utterly destroys Midoriya from the outside, in."

  "...That's dark."

[m.list]

[dariaslore]

Cherry

Hi, I'm Daria, nice to meet you! I'm new on Tumblr and this is not my first fic, but it's the first one that I post on Tumblr. It's about two characters from Winx Club that I've always shipped together, and yes, I'm talking about Griffin and Valtor. It's been a while since I wrote something and I was a bit insecure about my English, because it's not my first language, but reading some really good stuff from some really good writers did inspire me a lot, so here I am! The story takes place when Valtor and Griffin were working side by side for Three Ancient Witches and the narrator is Griffin herself. It's not that long, but I hope you enjoy it!

...

I have always loved cherries. You admire the blood-red peel, turn it over and over in your hands. You're longing, trembling, burning inside to take just one bite. You do it, you sink your teeth into the fine pulp, you lose contact with reality. Ecstasy, joy, enchantment, paradise are all condensed in a small sphere. You let the juice stain your lips. Swirling notes of joy start dancing in your mouth.

They kidnapped you, an enveloping passion. You bit the cherry and now it's ruined forever, corrupted by your greed. You no longer just want to taste it, you want to have it just for you, to continue to experience that feeling forever. A pleasure turns into sin, and you keep on sinning. Lust, evil, madness, pride. You drown in a vicious circle, you seek the pleasure of before, a dream that is taking the place of reality. Reality screams, wants to stop you before everything is lost. You run away, cry desperate, feeding on fantasies, yet another miserable bite of that red pulp.

You fall apart. Cherries will be the death of you.

Put your red dress on. Eyeliner. High heels. Mascara about to melt. You're ready: three, two, one, it's showtime.

You are no longer human, you are art, a model. You imitate life, you pose. A simple high-class woman who sips champagne, or at least they believe it. You greet, laugh without realizing it.

You are not really there, but occupy the scene, part of that hypocrisy, a symphony about to clash. You see every single crack, a piece of old silverware to polish. It's all foggy, you wonder how they do not understand their reality. They only see the right, they talk to each other without really knowing themselves, nobody tries to understand the other: they only see the beauty, that's what still keeps them there. It is called wealth, opulence, the illusion that this is heaven on earth. You know it, it's just the antechamber of hell.

They are all fighting each other, they want to emerge, be the richest, the most beautiful, the strongest ... Fools. They annihilate each others, alcohol becomes their medicine, the nectar of them, the gods of the world. Isn't that what they are? They are gods, monsters disguised as gods, mirrors of absolute perfection, so unreal. Without a soul. Fame, money, success their anthem and their death.

Who are you? Why are you there? What are you looking for in those diamonds? Are you by any chance one of them?

'' Thoughtful, dear little witch? ''

'' First, stop popping out of nowhere, you creep me, second get your hands off my waist , Val. You're annoying. ''

'' Annoying? That's not what you thought last night ... ''

You feel his lips running the length of your neck, they migle with your skin in a spiral of passion. They are languid silk.

'' Come on, please it's not the right time! Hahaha, stop it! '' You whisper with pleasure painted on the face. He keeps making his way on your body and suddenly his hands are wrapped around you.

'' Come on Griff, what's wrong with a little bit of love, let's not worry about the chatter of others. Let us love. ''

'' You 're getting on my nerves, you are stressful and I am not in the mood for lovey-dovey. Let's think about something more relevant like the raid on Solaria tomorrow morning ning, I still don't have the slightest idea of ​​how to deceive that damn king. Not because he's smart, but that councilor ... Uff, what a cold fish! No vices, weaknesses, nothing at all ... ''

'' Another serious thing to think about is why you wore this dress. You are splendid Griffin. ''

He gently caresses each letter of your name with a languid tone and a slight snap of the tongue on the letter 'n'. Your eardrums leap, you are in the palm of your nose. You can't let him win, you don't want to, but he knows it well and already smiles at you. You attack.

'' I don't understand how other witches find you so irresistible. "

"Maybe they are not afraid to show it and follow their heart."

"Ahahah, I'm pretty sure they're in love with the way you are, not just the way look!" you say with a grin full of sarcasm.

"Do you admit that I'm attractive then?"

He says with a bright smile. You bring your lips close to its lobe, you stroke each curve with your tongue. You feel the air become dense with electricity, your bodies will resume their connection very soon as your skin dance on each other's. Your tongue retracts when you already hear him moan.

"You are terribly stupid, Val."

You wrap the paper cylinder between your slender fingers, lean on the counter and pretend nothing happened. He squints, his pallor leaves room for a vague strawberry red. You wait quietly for a tender lament.

'' Must it always be this way ?! Can't you just ask me for one? ''

"It's not the same thing."

'' Isn't there the taste of stealing it from me on the most beautiful and tormenting me? ''

'' Oh well that's obvious, my life is to bother you. "

"And you're damned gorgeous when you do it."

You snort and roll your eyes, count to ten, resist another murderous urge and inhale three times. You look at yourself in the club mirror. You don't go unnoticed, the two of you seem to be right out of one of those glossy magazines in beauty salons. Your hair is blow-dry, it falls smooth and regular on a purple-red silk dress that outlines your figure in all the right centimeters. He is statuesque, chiseled in every detail, white shirt without a crease, well-combed low ponytail and shiny shoes. He wears gloves, the only inches of skin visible as always are those of his face. Only you know what is hidden under his silk gloves, a change ready to destroy or improve the world by the power of its flames.

And he knows what you are hiding in your golden irises, he says it is his daily nourishment, the source of his power. You don't believe it, he's always been good at words ... Like you.

"Valtor, can you see this cigarette? Exactly half- smoked, the last three drags before the final one. They are the best, aren't they? You try to enjoy them deeply, you know that it will soon be over. I love this feeling, the adrenaline of something incomplete I hate the beginnings, I hate the endings: they are static I want to jump off a moving train and stop at the same moment before landing, do you understand? I want the doubt of success, of not knowing. I know, when I smoke I tend to talk a lot and say meaningless things, try to ignore me. ''

He watches you drown in a suffocating cloud of nicotine. You notice his gaze darkening, saturated with sadness. There is no trace of the confident man as before, his darkness has been stripped naked by the silk robes and a high-fashion tuxedo is not enough to cover it. You still wonder how his eyes can be so full of emotion.

Slabs of ice, a wall erected to keep in check its inner fire that reels trying to rise to the surface. It is small, but full of warmth, it clings desperately to tiny cracks, like a castaway looking for a landing. It escapes, wiggles, tries to survive in an ocean of darkness that grows and slams it from side to side with its waves. So his irises come to life, the sparks overflow, rattle and cry for help, the ice warms up and paints two watery streams on the white skin.

'' You are not like them, Griffin. I envy you."

'' How did you manage to ... ''

'' I know the feeling. ''

He caresses your cheek and walks away.

Darkness has regained the upper hand by dragging the flames down into its depths. It all quiets down and the ice hardens.

Here he is again, the handsome and damned blond-haired, ready to bend the world to his will.

He is your cherry.

[gaysparkler]

Of Darkness and Light Within: Chapter 4

Rating: T

Summary: “If you’re looking to start a life, you could stay. I can help you.” Life had not been easy for Frederic Hawke since his family’s hasty departure from Lothering. Losing his town, his younger sister, everything he had ever known. With the help of newfound friends, including a mysterious white-haired elf, he keeps his enemies and his own darkness at bay. A retelling of canon events.

Pairing: Male Hawke x Fenris

AO3 Link: Here

Hawke met Varric in the Lowtown market by morning. With the extra money, he thought he would try to update his and Carver’s gear for the expedition. Maybe better armour, or new boots. After getting caught in that bear trap, Hawke really needed new boots. Hawke had not specifically asked Varric to come with him, it was rather a joyful coincidence that they both occurred to be in the market. Hawke used this to his advantage, as Varric was a much more skilled negotiator than he.

“Should you be spending that coin?” Varric asked as Hawke gave Gamlen’s house address for the plate armour to be delivered. “You have an expedition to finance.”

“Don’t worry, I set some aside. Besides, I’ve got more than I need,” Hawke replied. Varric stared at him.

“You got the fifty sovereigns.” It was more a statement than a question.

“I do,” Hawke laughed.

“How?” Varric was clearly in shock. “I mean, I know you’ve been working your ass off these past days, but fifty sovereigns? In that amount of time? You’re not human. Or you can make gold appear from nothing. That must be it.”

“Aren’t you a storyteller? I’m sure you’ll find the tale of how ‘Hawke got rich overnight’.”

Varric stepped on his toes for that one. Hawke only laughed more. “Since you’ve got some more coin you can use, maybe we should organize something, with all the others!”

“So, you tell me not to spend my money and now you’re encouraging that I risk losing it all in Wicked Grace? I’m not sure I follow, Varric.”

“Aw come on, you’re not that bad…” Varric pleaded.

“Did you forget that time you only left me a glove and I had to walk all the way back to Gamlen’s house completely naked?”

“I had to terrorize you at least once, I won’t let that happen again. You can trust me!”

“Fenris is awfully good at cards, maybe he’ll win my money,” Hawke argued.

“Bah, you’ll just have to make him sweet eyes and he’ll give it back.”

Hawke playfully pushed Varric aside and they walked to the Hanged Man together, the dwarf’s laughter echoing in the streets. In the tavern, Varric quickly wrote letters to inform the others of tonight’s plan: a great night partying before their departure in the Deep Roads. Hawke thought little that it would maybe be the last time he would see them all. Many who ventured the Deep Roads did not get out alive. He stayed with Varric until night came and their friends joined them. Isabela was already at the tavern, so she only walked to their table. Merrill was second to arrive, followed by Anders, Aveline and finally Fenris. Varric pushed Hawke so he could greet him. Hawke barely had enough time to calm his heartbeat and let his face cool.

“Hey Fenris,” Hawke said, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m happy to see you here.”

“I wasn’t sure about it, but seeing you’re leaving soon, I thought it would be nice to spend time with you—and the others,” Fenris replied. They both stood a bit too far from each other, not knowing what to do.

“Well,” Hawke coughed, “we have a table already, come on!”

When they sat, Varric was in a tale about how Hawke hoarded gold in his uncle’s house and slept on it like a dragon. Hawke listened, waiting until Varric finished. His story had attracted a few listeners around the table who were eager to meet the fabled man, but Varric chased them away when he was done. He winked at Hawke, who rolled his eyes and took the cards that were handed to him. He looked at Fenris just in time to see him chuckle at Varric’s nonsensical tale. Hawke glanced at his cards and sighed; it was not looking good for him.

~~~

“Come on, Hawke, Varric keeps telling us stories, but what about you? There must be something you can share,” Isabela suggested.

“Something that wasn’t exaggerated by Varric, too,” Anders insisted.

Hawke set his mug of ale down. He looked at Aveline, hoping to be able to avoid it, but she was no help. The grin on his face was definitely not a friendly, sympathetic one. Sighing, he kept his cards close to him and tried to quickly find an amusing tale they had not heard yet. Something Varric would not know.

“How about,” he started, “that time Carver broke my nose when we had just arrived in Lothering?” The cheers around him were a good indicator that the memory he had chosen would be appreciated. He continued, his brother was not there to stop him from sharing this embarrassing story. “Carver, Bethany and I were always outside, climbing trees, lifting rocks to find worms and salamanders. I was just fifteen, the twins around eight. We were out on the field while our parents were clearing the rocks and roots to see if we could grow crops. Since I was the oldest, I was always the one lifting rubble and the twins would look under.”

“That’s nice, Hawke,” Merrill said.

“I think it’s just being an older sibling,” Anders pointed out.

“Well Bartrand never did that for me,” Varric argued.

“I don’t think Bartrand is a shining example of an older brother, Varric,” Hawke said.

“Go back to the story!” Isabela shouted.

“Fine,” Hawke sighed. “While I was putting a rock back down, Carver and Bethany had run off further out in the field. After I was done, I walked over to them, but I probably didn’t make enough noise for them to notice me. Carver was trying to lift up a rock on his own, but it took him a lot of effort. I was right behind him when he managed. He got it out of the soil and he flung in it the air, hitting me square in the face.” His audience cringed. Hawke swore he heard Isabela whisper a discreet ‘nice’. “My nose cracked, I obviously screamed, Bethany started crying since I was covered in blood, and Carver was just frozen in place. I think he knew he would be in trouble. When the pain faded, I told him not to worry about it. We got back home, he got grounded, but Mother was not pleased with me, either. Anyway, Father set my nose so it would heal right.”

“He didn’t do a great job…” Anders teased.

“Excuse you! My nose is perfect the way it is,” Hawke laughed. He looked to the side and found Fenris staring at his nose, no doubt trying to find where it broke. He hid his blush in his cards. The game resumed.

~~~

Isabela ended up passed out underneath the table while Aveline stood upon it and sang traditional Ferelden songs. Most patrons of the Hanged Man were too drunk to scowl at her, rather listening, cheering and offering to get her more drinks. Varric had been forbidden to keep playing after they all noticed that he was cheating. Hawke did lose all the coin he put aside for the game to Fenris, as he had predicted. Fenris had the suit of Songs, four cards of the same set, when the Angel of Death was dealt in. Hawke, with his three Angels, thought he would do fine, but Fenris’ bluff was his downfall. Before too much attention was on him because of Aveline, Hawke walked out of the tavern, followed by Fenris. Varric caught them, exchanging a glare with Hawke and winking at him. Hawke quickly looked away.

Outside, the air cooled his warm skin. The Hanged Man was crowded, and it eventually became too much for Hawke—the people, the noise, the smells, everything. He noticed that Fenris was equally relieved to be away from that space. They stood closer this time, just at arm’s length. Fenris’ hair looked so soft, almost glowing in the moonlight. Hawke cleared his throat.

“I, uh, I hope you had fun!”

“Your friends are…interesting, to say the least,” Fenris replied. Hawke smiled at him. “I should probably give you your coin back, now that we are alone. I should not take your money, especially when you’re heading in the Deep Roads soon.”

“No, please, keep it. I let Varric bring me into this because I had money to spare. You don’t.”

“Then let me come along.”

“I was lucky I could even bring Carver and Anders with me… I’m sorry Fenris,” Hawke said. He avoided Fenris’ eyes.

“You’re bringing the abomination with you?” Fenris sounded almost angry. Outraged, probably.

“He used to be a Grey Warden, he can sense the darkspawn, he can help if something goes wrong,” Hawke argued. “I would bring you instead of Carver, but he’s so excited about this, I don’t think he’d forgive me if I left him in Kirkwall.”

Fenris stepped closer to Hawke. “Then just—” Fenris started. “Be careful.” He offered Hawke his hand. Hawke took it and shook it. He held it longer than he should have. He gave Fenris a nod, knowing better than to make a joke, then left the side alley they were in and quickly returned home.

“Glad to see you fully clothed this time,” Carver loudly said as Hawke walked in.

“Isn’t it late for you to still be awake, Carver? We leave to the Deep Roads tomorrow,” Hawke teased back.

[queen-scribbles]

Small Price to Pay

Started with wanting to fic when Heodan saved Adi outside the back door to  Clîaban Rilag, kinda spiraled into something a lot bigger. WHOOPS. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯   I REGRET NOTHING

---

The journey to Clîaban Rilag was uneventful, and would have been downright pleasant if not for the intermittent rain showers. Even those could have been worse, as it was still warm enough to keep them from being truly uncomfortable, and none lasted long. The true threat to their progress--and once or twice their safety--proved to be Adela’s curious nature. There was just so much flora and fauna in the Dyrwood she’d never seen in Ixamitl, she veered off the road for “just a quick look” more times than she could count. Most of those times resulted in no more than a few minutes lost each, but one disturbed a pair of wood beetles, young things and easily dealt with, and not far past the Dyrford Crossing, she started for a patch of tall-stemmed flowers only to have Kana yank her away by the back of her dress--just ahead of the lunge from a stelgaer she hadn’t seen. It was not happy to lose an easy lunch, and put up a decent fight before Aloth and Pallegina managed to kill it.

“Perhaps it is better we keep to the road, ac?” Pallegina asked with a pointedly raised brow as she wiped her sword blade clean on the stelgaer’s coat before re- sheathing it.

“Sorry,” Adela said with a sheepish smile. “There’s just so much that’s new here, and these are so pretty...” she gestured toward the flowers. “But I have been slowing us down and would hate for any of you to get hurt ‘cause of me.”

“We’re used to buildin’ in time for you to explore,” Edér consoled, shooting her a wink. “An’ no harm done, right? Now c’mon, we can make a couple hours’ progress ‘fore it starts gettin’ dark.”

Despite his reassurance, Adela cast a guilty look at the dead stelgaer. Sure, no one had gotten hurt thanks to her--this time--but what if there had been more than one? A full grown stelgaer was nothing to sneeze at, and even alone this one had come uncomfortably close to both Kana and Heodan. If it had help...

Adela shuddered and twisted the ring that encircled her index finger, nails dragging over the inset blue stones. But it had been alone, and none of her friends had so much as a scratch, and what had turned her into such a worrywart? She glanced over her shoulder at the kith following her lead and a blush climbed her cheeks. She knew what. Or, rather, who. But that was ridiculous, just a silly crush, and he was plenty capable of taking care of himself-

She tripped over a wheel rut in the road and was sharply reminded getting distracted was a bad idea. Better to pay attention now and let her thoughts run rampant after they made camp. When no one would get hurt as a result(unless, maybe, she was the one cooking).

Edér was right; they pulled a couple more hours of travel from the day before shadows reached telltale length and they made camp in a meadow. Edér volunteered to make dinner, which meant there was nothing required of her until her shift at watch. Adela pulled out a book, as usual, and tried to read, as usual. But tonight her thoughts kept drifting  to the crouching stelgaer, Kana’s hand twisting in the fabric of her dress to yank her out of the danger, Edér’s loud whoop as he’d charged forward to take the brunt of the threat.

I really need to be more careful, she chastised herself, tracing the lettering of a chapter title with her fingertip before she resumed the attempt at reading. Instead, she remained so lost in thought she didn’t even hear the approaching footsteps and started slightly when Heodan sat next to her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked without preamble.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” Adela asked innocently, letting the book lay against her lap as she looked up at him.

He nudged her book. “To start, you’ve been on the same page for five minutes, so clearly you’re distracted. Given that you’ve also been far quieter than usual for the past couple hours, it seems a safe bet something’s wrong.” He gave her a faint, crooked smile. “If you want to talk...”

He knew her entirely too well, and Wael’s eyes, it wasn’t fair(no matter how warm it made her inside). Adela tried to smile. “Well, you know me, I always wanna talk.”

“About what’s bothering you,” Heodan clarified, running one hand through his hair and leaving it an even more tousled mess than usual.

She hesitated a beat, but it wasn’t like this was some deep, dark secret or anything. “I just feel bad my curiosity put all of you at risk. I do love learning and experiencing new things, but I’d hate for someone else to get hurt in the process.”

“Considering you’re the one who was almost pinned by a hungry stelgaer, I’d say your curiosity came a lot closer to hurting you than any of us,” he pointed out wryly, playing with a frayed spot on his shirtsleeve. “We don’t want to see you get hurt, either.”

She snorted and flipped the book closed so she could brace an elbow against the cover and rest her chin in her palm. “Guess the only solution’s for me to be less curious, huh?” Somehow...

“No.” From the way Heodan’s cheeks colored, he maybe hadn’t meant to say it quite so vehemently. He dropped his gaze to his sleeve, picking harder at the frayed spot and biting his lip. “Even assuming you could be less curious, that would be...” He sighed, glanced sideways to meet her gaze. “The world needs kith who are curious, Adi. Who question and explore and learn everything they can about anything they can. They’re the ones who preserve history and bring progress. Kith like you are...” His gaze dropped back to the ever-growing hole he’d picked in his sleeve. “Well, rare. And for you to curb such a part of yourself, especially such an important part of yourself, out of fear would be a shame.”

Adela huffed her bangs out of her eyes and sighed, even as her heart fluttered.  “I just don’t want you, any of you, getting hurt for my sake.”

He shrugged. “The Dyrwood itself is dangerous, not to mention this... quest?... we’re on, you being excited about new flowers or ancient ruins is less likely to put us in harm’s way than most of the things we deliberately seek out. And I feel relatively safe in saying we don’t mind chasing off the occasional extra stelgaer, or steering you away from a bog.” He nudged her shoulder and smiled encouragingly. “It’s what friends do, isn’t it? And it’s a small price to pay for... for letting you be you.”

Hound’s teeth, her face was so warm the blush had to be showing through her fur. Adela straightened, her hand moving to pick at the carved lines in her necklace pendent, tracing the details of the elephant as she tried to think of a response that was both coherent and not too revealing.The sunset light glinting off the sliver band around his pinkie kept distracting her; its purpose likely to be called upon if she wasn’t more careful. After several long seconds of struggling silence, she decided simplicity was the order of the day and smiled at him.  “Thank you, Heodan. That... means a lot.” Especially from you. She knew any of her friends would likely say the same, but, well... he was the one she worried about most. What with her feelings and everything they’d been through together.

Heodan smiled. “You’re most welcome. Now...” He grimaced self-deprecatingly at the hole he’d made in his sleeve. “I should probably go see what I can do about this.”

“Alright,” she nodded, reluctant to lose his company but unable to think up an excuse for him to stay. “Good luck.”

He chuckled as he stood. “Thank you.”

Adela watched him walk away before returning to her book, soul now settled enough she could at least concentrate. Funny how easily he managed to do that.

---

The evening remained uneventful, and the few lingering clouds even cleared up, giving them a clear view of the stars as the sunset faded to the deep purple-black of night. Between the three of them sharing watch duty, Adela drew the last slot, which meant she got to catch some sleep before essentially just being a slightly earlier riser than usual. She was almost as pleased to have drawn that watch as Edér was to have avoided it--”Just ‘cause I can drag myself outta bed before the sun doesn’t mean I like doin’ it”--and came awake easily when it was her turn. Things stayed quiet, as they had all night, so by halfway through her watch, she had wandered out into the meadow and collected several handfuls of the deep pinkish-purple flowers growing nearby. It was an unfamiliar one to her, but the waxy blossoms were only slightly smaller than her palm, with slender but tough stems, making them perfect for weaving into a crown. Which she did, the movements such habit by now she didn’t even have to take her eyes off the surroundings as she worked. By the time her friends pulled themselves awake shortly after sunrise, Adela sported an expertly woven circlet of pink-purple blooms and was braiding the stems of the leftovers into a small bouquet.

“Kept yourself occupied, I see,” Kana said with a toothy smile and a nod toward the circlet.

“Gotta have something to do that didn’t take too much of my attention,” she said cheerfully. “I can make these in my sleep, so it seemed a good choice.”

“No arguments here,” Kana chuckled.

Adela giggled as she tucked the small cluster of extra blooms in the end of her braid. “So glad you approve.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Edér chipped in, still yawning. “Look right nice on you. Whadda we got for breakfast? Everything comin’ today, I wanna face it with a full stomach.”

She couldn’t blame him for that, but, “Nothing fancy. I figured the earlier we got moving the better, so traveler’s bread and jerked venison.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” he grinned and helped her divvy it up.

They packed camp as they ate, and were ready to start within an hour of everyone being awake. Part of her hated to rush them, but with the early start, they could reach Clîaban Rilag, do what they needed to for both Edér’s sake and following the Leaden Key, and be headed back toward Dyrford inside a day. Given how much they had to do, that was for the best. Though she did hope they had time to explore a little. Surely there was a lot to be gained just from looking around an Engwithan ruin. She could leave everything where it was and still learn so much.

As they set off on the last hour or so of travel to the ruins, she caught Heodan looking at her with a smile tugging at his lips and couldn’t help but smile back.  “What?”

He nodded toward the flower crown. “I see your mood’s improved.”

Adela chuckled as she instinctively brushed her fingers against the petals. “It has. Mostly thanks to you.”

He shook his head. “I think it far more likely that it’s just hard for you to stay gloomy for long.”

“Well, true as that may be,” she said by way of tacit concession, “what you said last night definitely helped.”

Heodan smiled again. “Happy to help. Your curiosity isn’t a weakness, or a danger, and I’d hate for you to view it as such.”

“I don’t,” she assured him, playing with the tail  of her braid. “But I am gonna try to be a little more careful. For all our sakes.”

“That’s fair,” he chuckled.

“And appreciated,” Aloth chipped in from nearby.

Adela wrinkled her nose and her ears twitched back. “I am really sorry for the thing with the oozes, but I didn’t know what kind of reach they had, and this is about my fifth time apologizing in two weeks-”

“Adela, I wasn’t referring to anything specific,” he interjected before she really got going. “Just general relief you’ll be more careful, even if just a little.”

“Oh.” Said something about how guilty she (still) felt that that’s the first place her thoughts went when Aloth commented on her being careful. She rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah. I know it won’t remove all our risks, but at least I won’t be adding to them.” She paused a beat, then played with a loose wisp of hair as she asked. “Oh, didja finish transcribing that spell you were working on last night?”

Aloth nodded, and the conversation almost seamlessly swung to the spells both of them were learning and still wanting to figure out. Somewhere in there, Adela noticed Heodan had wandered away and felt vaguely guilty she hadn’t really finished her conversation with him. But, really, they’d said everything important, she’d have plenty of time to talk to him later; it wasn’t as if either of them was going anywhere.

---

It wasn’t really a surprise when they caught a glimpse of the Glanfathan hunters clustered in front of the looming doors to Clîaban Rilag, just confirmed the importance Adela had already suspected it held. They gave the knot of kith and beasts a wide berth, and instead fanned out to look for detritus left from the battle fought here during the Saint’s War. She’d help Edér first--if she could--and then worry about how to handle venturing into the ruins themselves.

“Hope we don’t get mistaken for looters again,” Heodan commented with a mirthless smile as he helped Adela check through an overgrown tangle of weeds.

“Saw them, too, huh?” she side with a wry laugh.

“They’re hard to miss,” he deadpanned.

“Considering we do actually need to go in there,” she grunted, straining to reach something shiny trapped in the roots of the weeds, “they’re closer to correct than the ones who attacked the caravan, but I’m aiming to disturb as little as possible inside. Ah!” Her fingers closed around curved metal and she yanked free a Readceran heraldry talisman. Unfortunately with no traces of soul essence lingering, but at least it confirmed there were still things here to find. 

“Do you really think that will be enough for them? Assuming they even believe you?” Heodan asked quietly as they moved toward the stream that flowed through the clearing.

“Based off our previous experience?” Adela looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Why d’you think I’m putting off talking to them? Part of me’s hoping there’s another way in,” she admitted as the group forded the stream. “But one thing at a time. We’ll worry about that after we find something to help Edér.”

“If we can,” the farmer interjected in a disgruntled mutter, kicking a rock. “Don’t look like there’s much left, Adi.”

“Don’t give up so fast,” she admonished cheerfully. “There’s still plenty of ground left to cover.”

Edér grinned. “You’re such an optimist.”

“Yep,” Adela chirped, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “Also, I just have a feeling we’re gonna find something.”

“I’ve learned not to argue with your intuition,” Edér said with a grin and a shrug as he went back to looking.

“Do you really?” Heodan whispered.

“‘Course I do,” Adela whispered back. “I wouldn’t lie just to make him feel better. We’ll find something, you’ll see.”

And they did; a Readceran standard crown that sang with hints of a soul very similar to Edér. They’d had to fight some looters for it, but given the men proved to be anti-Eothasian zealots, and attacked first, Adela found it hard to be terribly broken up over their deaths. Especially not when she saw the hope in Edér’s eyes as he stared at the standard crown.

“Is that...?” he started, before letting the words trail off, as if it were too fantastic as a concept to even voice.

“I feel Woden’s soul on it, yes,” she confirmed with a smile, brushing dirt off the metal sun’s rays. “But there isn’t enough for me to Watch. We’ll take it with us, next time we visit Dunryd Row maybe one of the ciphers can help.”

“Sure. I think I got room...” Edér slung off his pack and opened it. It took a little rearranging, but the standard crown did fit inside. “Thanks, Adi. Now that you’ve managed one thing that should be impossible, guess that’s next?” He jerked a thumb toward the looming ruins, moss and vines covering the walls. 

“It is the other reason we’re here...” Adela sighed. She really wasn’t looking forward to talking her way past the Glanfathans guarding the doors.

“You know, Adi,” Kana began, as if sensing her reluctance, “there a door here as well.” He pointed and she a double take, staring at the section of wall that caught his attention.

Sure enough, hidden by plant growth, she could vaguely see the outline of a door. “Good eye, Kana. One problem...” It was Adela’s turn to point, drawing his attention to the collapsed bridge and the gap between them and the door. “How do we get across?”

“We could just jump,” he half-shrugged. “It doesn’t look to be more than four or five feet, shouldn’t be hard to clear.”

Adela bit her lip as she sized up the gap. He was right; it wasn’t that big. Kana could easily clear it, Edér, Heodan, and Pallegina would be fine as well, and even Aloth was likely tall enough it wouldn’t be a problem. She was the only one who might have trouble. She’d jumped over streams almost that wide before, though. Granted, with the deep ravine the bridge had spanned, the stakes were higher than simply getting her clothes wet. The alternative, however, was trying to navigate a conversation with the Glanfathans guarding the main door.

“Alright, worth a shot,” she said.

Heodan and Aloth frowned almost in unison. “Are you sure-”

“It’ll be fine,” Adela cut them off with a wry smile. “Easier than negotiating with the locals, anyway.” Neither seemed to have their worries assuaged, but they didn’t protest further. “Who’s going first?”

“I’ll do it,” Pallegina volunteered in the same moment Kana started to raise his hand. She smirked, and made an ‘after you’ gesture. “It is your idea, aimico.”

“Very well,” Kana chuckled. He took a couple steps back to gain some momentum, pushed off the edge, and easily cleared the gap. His feet skidded a little on the lichen-slicked stone, but he regained his balance quickly and gestured for them to join him before turning his attention to clearing off the door. 

One by one, her other companions followed without incident. Heodan did pause to shoot her a wordless look of concern, but Adela met it with a reassuring smile. It was sweet that he worried, but it would be fine. She could do this.

Even if the distance seemed to double when she looked at it with the knowledge she had to jump across that.

You can do this, she told herself firmly, and then backed up for a running start. Before she knew it, she’d covered the ground and was pushing off what remained of the bridge abutment. Just as her feet left the ground, her flower crown started to slip, and she instinctively grabbed for it with one hand.

She did make it across, if just barely. But before relief for that fact had time to register, the stone under her feet shifted and cracked and she pitched backward with a yelp. The depths of the ravine were rushing toward her, there was nothing to grab-

A hand closed around her wrist, and she jolted to a wrenching stop just below the lip of the bridge, heart pounding and tears stinging her eyes from the sudden stress on her arm.

And a sharp grunt of pain that wasn’t from her echoing in her ears. Her head snapped up to look, and her gaze locked with Heodan’s wide blue eyes. Pain and raw fear were competing for dominance in his expression, his face almost as white as his knuckles as he tightened his grip on her wrist.

“Don’t let go,” he managed between gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The attempted joke came out brittle and shaky, terror of what almost happened still sharp in her mind--sharper when she looked down and saw just how dizzyingly far she could have fallen.

“Adi, Adi don’t look.”Heodan’s fingers flexed and his voice caught her attention upwards once more. “Don’t look,” he repeated softly, and she nodded.

The few seconds before Edér and Kana reached down to help her scramble up seemed to take an eternity, but Adela did find herself on solid ground once more. Hoedan had released her arm soon as the others had a good grip, and when she was steady on her feet, he was the first place her gaze went.

He was sitting curled forward protectively, jaw clearly set tight as Pallegina felt at his shoulder. She paused in her examination and turned toward Adela.

“Are you alright?” she all but demanded.

Funny, that’s what I was about to ask him. Adela nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Really, really rattled, maybe a few bruises” --she rubbed her wrist--”but otherwise fine.”

“Sorry,” Heodan managed, gaze fixed on her hands.

Adela snorted. “That’s a new one; never had anyone apologize for saving my life before.”

“No-” He tried to sit straighter, uncurl the arm held close to his chest, and stopped with a sharp breath. “I-If I hurt you...”

“I’ll live,” Adela chuckled wryly. “Literally thanks to you. Bruises are nothing, small price to pay. I’m more worried about you.” She started to rest a hand on his arm, but yanked it back when the barest touch made him flinch. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll get out of the way.” She backed up a step, glancing toward where Kana and Aloth had resumed clearing off the door. Maybe I should help them...

Pallegina muttered a frustrated comment in her mother tongue, then, “I think it’s dislocated. Fortunately, that is not hard to fix. Edér?”

“Yeah?” He pushed away from the rocks he’d been leaning against.

“I will need your help.”

“Sure.”

Adela ears twitched and she started to move further away, feeling more like a hindrance than a help.

“Adi.” Heodan caught her arm with his good hand. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Wish I could say the same,” she replied softly, flicking a glance to his shoulder.

“It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine,” He flashed a crooked smile. “And it was worth it, anyway.”

“Aw, ain’t that sweet,” Edér drawled, shooting them both a knowing smile before she had a chance to reply.

“That’s not what he meant!” Adela said hastily, fur ruffling. How hot was she blushing? Obviously Heodan hadn’t meant it... the way Edér was implying. No matter how badly she might want it, that wasn’t the case. Was it? No, Adi, don’t get your hopes up, we’ve talked about this. “It’s just ‘cause we’re friends.”

(But if that was the case, why were Heodan’s ears red? And where’d that flush creeping up his neck come from? Probably just embarrassment, right? Like hers.)

Edér just grinned. “Sure, friendship’s sweet. Whadidja think I meant?”

Adela rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go help Kana.” She didn’t want to watch what was about to happen, anyway. It would just make her feel guilty for something that wasn’t truly her fault.

Between the three of them, she, Kana, and Aloth(mostly Kana) had a good portion of the door clear by the time Edér and Pallegina finished fixing Heodan’s shoulder(and even if she wasn’t watching, that hadn’t been fun to listen to, either). With the overgrowth cleared and any decorative carvings recorded, the... less physically gifted members of the group got to hand Edér a prybar and let him and Kana try to work the door open.

Adela perched on a rocky outcropping near where Heodan sat as they waited, watching him flex and test the previously injured arm. “Everything alright?”

He nodded, rocking his wrist back and forth. “Relatively. It’s still sore, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it? I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He caught her skeptical expression and chuckled. “Really, Adi, it will.” He gave a lopsided smile. “And look on the bright side; it wasn’t because of your curiosity.”

“You still got hurt,” she shot back. “How is that a bright side?”

Heodan shrugged. “It’s not that bad. And you didn’t.” He raised a brow and nodded in her direction. “You did lose your flowers, though.”

“Oh.” Adela raised a hand to her hair. She hadn’t even noticed. But the crown of pink-purple blooms was indeed gone, vanished into the depths of the ravine when she fell. “Small price to pay.” She pulled her braid over her shoulder, grinned when she saw the small bouquet still securely tied at the end. “And I still have these. Heodan...” She rested a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

He smiled shyly. “Small price to pay. You’re my friend, and I’d hate to lose you.”

Her heart fluttered. Stop that, Adela scolded herself. He literally just said friend. But hearts were funny things, and hers didn’t much feel like listening right now. “So...” she began, resting her chin on her palm and glancing toward the doors that were just beginning to edge open under Edér and Kana’s efforts. ”What do you think is in there? Aside from, probably, another one of those machines the Leaden Key’s using to make life difficult.”

Heodan laughed. “I couldn’t even begin to guess. But we’ll see soon enough, won’t we?”

Adela cocked her head. “I will. But don’t you think it’s better you... stay out here?” So you don’t get hurt again...

“Adi.” He shot her a curious look. “Isn’t the point of me... following along on these adventures to help you? Can’t do that very well if you’re in there and I’m out here, can I?”

“Heodan, much as my area of expertise is not medicine, even I know you’re supposed to rest as part of the healing process for dislocated limbs.” She pushed to her feet, making them roughly eye level, and crossed her arms as she tried to stare him down.

“It was only partially dislocated,” Heodan countered(he was nice enough to stay sitting). “It went right back in joint with a little nudge, and it’s just sore now.” As if to demonstrate, he reached out with that hand and playfully flicked at her bangs.

Adela felt a smile coming despite the worry that gnawed her mind, but bit it back. “Yes, and it might not stay ‘just sore’ if you make it worse by stabbing things.” 

“A compromise, then,” he offered, glancing toward the rest of their party as the doors opened. “I will keep the... ‘stabbing things’ to a minimum and focus more on disarming traps and such that we find. How’s that?  We’re not splitting the group, I’ll be there if you need me, but be doing lighter work and try my best to stay out of fights so I don’t overwork that arm.”

She bit her lip as he looked at her expectantly. She did want him along, she just didn’t want him getting hurt again. Of course, it wasn’t necessarily that much safer out here, with the Glanfathans guarding the main door just barely out of earshot. “I.... guess that would be alright. And I’ll try not to let my curiosity run away with me in there.”

“A tall order,” Heodan said with a smile, pushing to his feet and pulling his pack back on--with just the tiniest wince as the strap went over his injured shoulder.  “Sure you can manage?”

“Not at all,” she laughed, “hence the try.”

All jokes aside, she mused as Edér and Kana hauled the doors open wide enough for passage, We really will need to be careful in there. There’s probably a lot of nasty surprises to be found, if I know anything about the Engwithans. And I’d hate for any of them to get hurt because I just had to look at a fresco or invention or something. ....Especially him.

 Reining in her curiosity was a small price to pay for her friends’ safety. And as she accepted the lit torch Edér offered her and led the way into the ruin, Adela decided it was one she was happy to pay.

[morkmywords]

Not Really a Cinderella Story | Royalty au | Exo | Sehun | Part 12

Masterlist | Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 8.5 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12  Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 [FINAL]

Royalty!AU

Length: 3.2k

Note: uhhhhhh hi, so school ate my life and i have no time anymore but this is finally finished even if its a shorter part also its not edited but when is it ever

I also want to that @haveanotherkpopblog and @theonethatcompletesyou  you have supported me since i first started this fanfic and blog in  general and you guys are my main motivation most of the time and i’m so sorry i can’t update more regularly but I hope you like this

Warnings: nothing really

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Genre: Fluff/angst

Summary: When a strange string of not so great events somehow and you with a job at the palace punching the wrong people can be not so great.

The tapping of your slippers against the old marble floors was the only sound aside from your breathing as you once again stepped into the ballroom. The murals which decorated the domed ceiling of the cavernous room seemed to be covered with a grey filter, blurring the once bright colours which were now peeling away. You had been in Oclaria’s palace for almost two months now but the image of the forgotten ballroom haunted you as if the spirits of the people who once danced within it were buried in your heart. Ever since you had crossed the border between the two countries it felt as if a thin sheet had been thrown over your eyes, everything felt so familiar yet the sheer fabric only let you see shapes, hiding the details from your eyes.

Soon after entering the palace you quickly learned about the king who had passed, Sehun’s uncle. Long before you or Sehun were born the Queen, whom the King loves dearly, finally was pregnant with a child to the joy of the entire kingdom. Parties were held at every street corner, that is, until the baby was born still and took the Queen’s life with it. Heartbroken, the King locked himself away, sending every courtier back to their own territories and dismissing all the staff, keeping only those necessary to make sure the palace didn’t crumble around them. Nobody heard or saw from the King aside from those few servants, no parties or meeting were held and thus the palace was forgotten. Instead, being taken over by years upon years of dust and cobwebs.

The staff you arrived with easily outnumbered the current ones left by the King five to one, they were given the option to leave or stay when Sehun arrived and much to everyone’s surprise many chose to stay. With that, slowly the palace began to fill up again, more staff were hired, the stables and gardens were restored, and slowly the lords and ladies once again took up their places at court. The palace quickly transformed from the desolate and erie place you arrived to, when the grime was scrubbed away and a new coat of paint was slathered on the walls the palace was beautiful, more so than even the ice palace of Matus. But the ballroom was left untouched along with most of the east wing, which made it your favourite place to spend the long days. Though more often than not, you found yourself spending most of your time alone, the days were never predictable. For a man who was supposed to be preoccupied with learning how to govern a country Sehun sure managed to find a lot of free time. Almost every morning you would wake up to find a gift addressed to you waiting in front of your door from none other than the soon to be king. The gifts ranged from anything as simple as a bouquet of your favourite flowers which as the note explained, he grew in the gardens himself, or a new book for you to read. Sometimes he would to to such extremes as leaving a huge arm chair so plush and cushioned you had no idea how it would fit through your door, and gifting you an entirely new wardrobe full of hand crafted gowns, all with sleeves that would cover to your wrists. When there weren’t gifts there was always a letter left, your name scrawled on the envelope in familiar hand writing asking you to meet later in the day or apologizing and promising to make it up to you if he’s too tied up with work.

His favourite place to go with you was the palace gardens, a maze of paths twisting in between rows of flowers and plants that stretched almost as far as the palace itself. The first time you visited it with him he told you that the previous queen had loved to garden too, so much in fact, that as a wedding gift his uncle had ordered the expansion of the garden to add six different expansions, spring, summer, autumn, winter, day, and night. Over the course of her life the gardens were constructed one by one. Spring which bloomed every year with a myriad of colours in the warm rain, summer which was filled with ponds, a large oak tree with a swing hanging off one of the large branches in the center. Autumn was lined with orchards and other crops, providing endless produce that will last throughout the season and into the winter, speaking of which, winter was a forest of pine and spruce trees, pond in the middle freezing over and creating a skating rink. Day and night were the last two gardens going to be created but as soon as day’s glittering greenhouses and sparkling fountains were completed, the Queen died along with the baby girl they were going to name Luna after the moon which she admired. Overwhelmed by grief, the king had ordered the construction of the Night garden to be stopped and over the years it never resumed and thus fell into disrepair.

One of his other favourite things to do was to steal you away to the palace kitchen under the rouse of cooking a meal together when in reality you usually ended up doing all the work as Sehun played around with whatever weird vegetables he could find. Sometimes you two would wander around the city together, or you two would just sit in each other's company reading in the library. As much as spending time with Sehun made you bubble over with joy and your heart soar it didn’t.

And it all started when he first asked.

“Will you marry me?”

The chuckle in his voice and smile on his face would suggest there was a light heartedness around his question but with one look in his eyes you could see how it was weighing on him. With a seriousness you had never seen before. Jokingly you brushed it off, making some excuse about him snoring to loud but he kept asking. And with each time he asked the seriousness grew no matter how much you turned him down. There was always a nagging at the back of your mind, making your stomach churn with nerves so you kept turning him down.

The fact that most of the palace residents knew of your infatuation wasn't doing much good either. Many of the staff members fawned after your relationship, telling you their endless dreams of finding a significant other that was as sweet as Sehun was to you but as much as the mention of your relationship to the prince made you squirm they weren't the problem. The real problem was the court officials, it was no secret that they were pushing Sehun who had only just been crowned king to get married and for good reason too. He had to solidify his standing as king and the best way to do that was to find and marry a queen so there was always a seemingly endless stream of eligible women in the palace and yet through all their finery he turned them all down. And it was no secret to anyone that you were the reason why. The glares weighed heavy on you like a clock made out of led, and even if you were with Sehun, whether he noticed and chose to ignore it or was simply oblivious to the watching eyes their gazes still found their way deep inside of you. As the little worms of doubt and anxiety buried themselves in the lining of your stomach, arms, legs, and even through your spine and up the back of your neck you firmed your decision. As the seriousness in Sehun’s proposals grew so did the seriousness in your answers, there was no way you could marry him and become queen, he couldn't forgot marrying some rich young lady from a family of power and marry you, some lowborn commoner, it wouldn't be fair to him or the people of his country.

Fortunately the people of Oclaria are much kinder than those of the court. Lord Cha had grown to be much more of a father figure in your life over the past while. Whenever you weren't occupied, which was more often than it may seem, he took you to see the wonder of Oclaria. It was the second largest kingdom on the continent after the freezing plains of Lokya which were bathed in eternal winter that it said to have been cursed by a with centuries ago when the continent had no kingdoms, or kings, or queens. And after so many trips through the large cities with bustling markets and the quiet countryside with hills covered in flowers you had barely even seen a third of it.

----

Moonlight filtering through the stained glass windows which lined the walls and creating colourful patterns on the floor was the only thing illuminating the hallway aside from the quickly melting candle you clutched in your hand as you scurried through the hallway. You found yourself in quite similar situations for longer than you can remember at this point, nerves wriggling inside you and refusing you sleep until the early hours of the morning. Books had been the solution to quelling the pent up writhing of your emotions and you had taken refuge in Lord Cha’s private library as he too, was often a stranger to sleep due to reasons unknown. Earlier in the month you had borrowed a book titled ‘Greatest Composers of the Five Continents’ and as interesting as it was, it was incredibly long and you had finally finished it. Feeling ever so enlightened about the history of music in your great world you pushed open the door and stepped into the library. Without looking up from the diary on his lap Lord Cha offered you a wave a greeting which you quickly returned before diving into the shelves of books.

A few moments later after having successfully shelving your borrowed book and grabbing a new one you were settled in the generously stuffed armchair across from him.

“Y/n I wanted to ask you about something,” Lord Cha said as he put the cap back on his pen. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses before placing whatever he was writing about on the table side him. “In two days I'm heading back to the territory I'm from, Iyle. It's the largest territory in Oclaria, covering the border to Edesea and all of Oclaria’s southern coast and islands. It's been without a lord for many years since the line died out and I've been put in charge of governing it and I guess what I'm trying to say is that I hope you'll come with me.”

You stared at him blankly for a few moments before clearing your throat. You shifted in your seat as your mind raced, to what you didn't know, but it was flying so fast you couldn't even form a coherent sentence.

“Lord Cha, It sounds amazing- I'd really love to go- but the thing is-” you sputtered out.

“It's okay darling,” he cut you off with a chuckle as he reached over to pour you a cup of tea.

“I really would love to go-”

“I know, it's hard to decide in this moment. You have a lot to consider seeing as you've only just arrived in Oclaria and you'd be leaving the man who you loved enough to follow here for who knows how long as I don't know yet when we will return to the capital,” He smiled at you, “It's a hard decision to make and I don't expect you to make it now,” he straightened his tie and stood up, “We’re leaving at Sunset in two days time, meet us at the southern gate if you wish to come.”

With that he bid you goodnight and returned to his chambers and you returned to yours.

----

The darkness of your room didn’t seem dark. You stared at the ceiling, then rolled onto your side and looked out the window, before rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in the pillow. The soft glow of the sunrise was making your room brighter and brighter and with the light came the realization that you hadn’t slept at all the night before. You tossed and turned endlessly because of the nightmare that was your reality at this point in time. Lord Cha had invited you to go with him and you almost agreed on the spot but you hesitated. As much as you wished to escape the empty palace that seemed to be closing farther  in on you every day, trapping you within the confines of the gilded walls and luxury, you couldn’t make the call. A small nagging in your heart which you had been feverishly trying to burry over the past weeks had unearthed itself and halted you from making a decision because if you left, would you ever be able to come back?

The sun had risen when you finally pushed yourself from under the quilt and got dressed, it felt almost mechanical as you went about your daily routine.  You felt empty, why were there no tears? No frustration and indecision? Why were you nothing but a shell?

When the realization finally dawned on you it walls you had created came crashing down all at once and dread filled the pit of your stomach.

No letter came that day, nor did any gifts and you were thankful. A decision hadn’t been reached by the time you drifted into sleep in the late morning and slept the rest of the day away.

The nagging invaded your dreams and filled them with all your unanswered questions.

Should you leave Sehun alone?

Should you leave without telling him?

What if while you’re gone he gives in to the court and marries some noble lady?

Why do you care if he marries a noble woman? He’s a king after all…

Why do you care so much about him?

----

You had to make the decision today, your bag was packed and shoved under your bed but would you take it or not?

You were pacing back and forth in your room trying to decide what to do when a knock on your door interrupted you.

“You’re needed in the garden,” the guard said, “please follow me.”

Nodding you trailed behind him as he offered up no more information. The two of you snaked through the familiar halls to the garden, a path you had gotten very familiar with very quickly. Time seemed to slow as you stepped through the glass door and around the rose garden to be met with a beautiful sight. Sehun waiting for you, sun dancing on his face like rays of pure delight as a smile lit up his entire face when he spotted you. The guard who escorted you hung back as he rushed to meet you, grabbing your hand in his own and kissing your cheek lightly. Today something seemed different about him, maybe it was the changing seasons but he seemed lighter than before, like the world wasn’t resting on his shoulders anymore.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispered and instinctively you smiled brightly back at him.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” you said.

He chuckles and clutched your hand tighter, “You’re right on time, we have to go somewhere but first promise me you won’t ask any questions, okay?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Should I be worried?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered pretending to scratch his head which made you laugh, “just trust me.”

You eyed him up and down. Pretending was hard especially since his joy was so infectious, so you nodded and stuck out you pinky which he gratefully took before pulling you after him. You walked for what seemed like only seconds when his hand clutched yours like it was the only thing that mattered. Another twinge was felt in you heart as you spotted a small gazebo which is where he seemed to be headed.

He dropped your hand and stood across from you, you shivered from the loss of the warmth and comfort against your palm, “Sehun, wha-”

“You promised not to ask questions, right?” he said. There was a different tone in his voice now, something between excitement and nervousness, but why? “Just let me talk first.”

You nodded as the atmosphere suddenly changed into something more serious.

“You know I love you right?”

You nodded again.

He took a deep breath, “I know I’ve been asking you this over and over for the past few weeks, and I know you needed time to think but I think a month is enough time to make a decision. Y/n, will you marry me?”

You felt you heart shift, “Sehun…….. No.”

HIs demeanour changed. He was dripping with something you couldn’t place and towering over you even if he was only a few inches taller than you in reality.

“Y/n I’ll give you one more chance, this is the last time I’m going to ask, so what’s your answer!” he asked.

It was as if the whole world had stilled, “No.”

“WHY?!” he exclaimed, latching onto your wrists in desperation, “Tell me why you have to keep turning me down when I love you so much!?”

“No Sehun,” you cried out trying halfheartedly to wrench yourself free from his grasp, “I can’t-I can’t be a queen!”

“WHY?!”

“Because I don’t love you!”

You could see his heart shatter in that very moment as his arms fell to his sides and his eyes went blank, focusing on something in the distance.

“Sehun-”

“LEAVE!” he bellowed, “I don’t want you in my sight!”

No tears fell as he spun away from you and you could do nothing but back away in horror at what you had just done. As you sprinted back into the palace your tears fell freely even if his didn’t because in that moment when the words tumbled from your lips you knew they weren’t true. Even if you had never been sure enough before to say it out loud you always knew deep down. And as soon as you opened your mouth you knew that you did love him, possibly more than he loved you. But now you had broken him beyond repair so you pulled your bag from under your bed and raced out to where Lord Cha said he would be waiting, hoping desperately they hadn’t left yet as the sun was beginning to set.

He didn’t question the tears which were still streaming down your face bus helped you onto a horse before setting off.

When the palace walls disappeared into the darkness behind you, you also felt the last shreds of something inside you snap.

[weaverlings]

Personal Acoustics

Summary: Time isn't real. Perception is linear. Carlos cannot measure his experiences any more than he can stop them, but he knows where to call home. 

More post-It Devours! stuff, aaand this probably isn’t going to be the last. I have my doubts about the pacing of this one, because I wrote the second half first, and did so on my phone at like 4am. So the first half had to fit a particular detail.

Still, I think it's got some solid components. I've been working on this off and on for about a week, and I just desperately needed to finish it today, because, y’know, I listened to Old Oak Doors and got really emotional.

AO3 Link

Carlos slipped his lab coat back onto its hanger. He smoothed the crease at the edge, so that it hung straight, crisp and clean. Just right.

And then he could not stand the sight of it, even there among all the others.

He did not remember, as such. It did not feel like he was doing anything, and so it would not have been scientifically accurate to use a verb. But he had this memory. There was a memory, and it just kind of came up, whether he did anything or not.

Absent the framework provided by a distant, merciless density of gas and heat, he could not say if it had been a day. He took off his lab coat, anyway, and shook it out. It hung from his hands, crisp and clean. Just right.

He had torn the on a rock earlier. It had been covered with dust, stained; he had looked down at himself and worried about the sticky, faintly acidic barbecue sauce that had splashed on him when he got too close to Doug's freshly-caught lunch.

It was gone. So, too, was the rip. He ran the unbroken hem through his fingertips.

Standing in front of the closet, Carlos snatched up the unbroken hem of the coat, clenched his fingers in it. The fabric bunched, and, when he released his grip, it stayed wrinkled.

He stared at it, then berated himself, "Oh. Oh, darn it, of course, of course it's - That's how it works. It's science."

He tugged the coat, still on the hanger, out of the closet. Only enough to work the wrinkles over his palm, doing his best to smooth it out again.

"Bunny? What's wrong?"

Cecil was in bed already. His reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he looked over, which was, to use the correct scientific language, just adorable. And also, present. Cecil was present, in front of Carlos, where he could see this expression and reach out to touch his husband, if he wanted to. He did want to, actually.

But, one thing at a time. They had a routine. Carlos had to finish changing clothes. Then he could get into bed, snuggle his husband, and ultimately sleep touching each other all night. There would be so much physical contact, and he tried to use this knowledge to make himself relax.

"Um. Um, it's fine. I mean, I did think it might not be, for a minute there. But it is. Scientifically speaking - which in this case means, looking at the situation objectively - it's fine."

"Alright. Good…"

Carlos did not look at Cecil as he finished selecting his pajamas. He sorted through the drawer, through various patterns organized by subject. Cats, dogs, or pawprints. No, not tonight.

Okay, but. Carlos could feel Cecil watching him. Hold on. Task at hand. Flowers or cacti. Blocks from the periodic table or molecules.

Hmm, no. Nope.

He glanced over his shoulder, just once. Cecil was looking at his phone. Carlos was pretty sure Cecil hadn't been, a second ago, but he was now.

Carlos pulled out the bottoms that superimposed scientifically accurate images of the bone structure of flamingo legs over his own. Few humans had that many legs, so it wasn't exactly right, but the tank top had a completely accurate diagram of their whole skeletal structure. It balanced out. That would do.      

Carlos pulled the top over his head, and marched to the edge of the bed. He leaned across his side, bracing his hands on the mattress, and squinted at Cecil.

"Do not look at me like that, and pretend you're not doing it. I can tell. You're worried about something. What is it?"

"Uh. You?" Cecil pushed his glasses back up, and leaned back onto the headboard. He offered an apologetic smile, which Carlos returned.

"You're sweet. But what about me? I want to work this out now, rather than hear about it tomorrow."

"Well, you're obviously tense." Cecil stuck his fingers into his own curls, and tugged at them anxiously. "I mean, I'm glad it's fine. But. I was wondering. What did you think was wrong?"

"Hmm." Carlos climbed onto the bed, and settled back onto his heels. He folded his arms over his chest. This was mainly a gesture of consideration. It was also defensive, as in, he felt vulnerable and in need of defense, rather than like he was being attacked.

"Well, I just, um. Let's see. There's a certain scientific phenomenon. Have you ever looked at a word, and the word started with a certain letter, and ended with another one, and it was about the right length as another word that starts and ends with those same letters? So you read one word, but actually, the word that's there is a different one?"

"I know what you mean. I don't know anything about the science behind it, but it sounds very interesting."

"Mmm," Carlos said. A protest. Almost a whine, which he did not like the sound of, so he cleared his throat. "Not always. Sometimes, it is difficult. Anyway, that is not what happened, but it is something like that. I thought I experienced one thing, but I experienced another."

"Okay… You don't have to tell me. And I won't say anything about it tomorrow, I promise."

"I know. I know you won't. I'm sorry for suggesting that you would, I just… We all process these things differently."

"Right. And that's okay. I guess I just worry, when, you know. You process these things alone for so long, and it doesn't really seem to help."

For so long. Such unspecific language. But then, at least it was language. At least Cecil was trying. Carlos was not doing anything. He was not fixed to any particular point. He was not remembering.

Carlos gave Cecil a long, disturbingly fluid look. Deep. Distant. Again not really seeing what was in front of him, maybe, or seeing it through something that warped, shifted.

"You know? You said once that I was away from home for longer than I have known you. I understand how you were processing the available information to reach that conclusion."

He lined his hands up over one another in his lap, fingers slotted between each other perfectly, or, not quite. The spacing didn't really allow for that. The indices and pinkies were mismatched. He pressed them as flat as he could.

"But I have to tell you: you were wrong. You see, I have known you for over ten years. So, I have known you for much longer than you have known me, although we had a consistent number of interactions, and also, expressing this as 'years' may not be scientifically accurate. I've been thinking about it lately. And before lately. I've been thinking about it, um, a lot. If it isn't time, then it's experience. I have over ten years of experience with you."

Cecil drew back; not truly pulling away, just moving so that he could see more of his husband. He said, "I see. That… makes sense."

"No, not really. But you understand."

Cecil nodded.

Carlos nodded back, without answering. He shifted, and Cecil gave him time to adjust. The scientist twisted onto his side, and rested his head on his husband's lap, with an arm stretching around Cecil's back to place a hand on his hip.

Cecil touched Carlos' side, started stroking idly, but stopped when he registered that he was only one layer of clothing away from Carlos' skin.

"Is this alright?" Cecil asked.

"Yeah. Don't stop. Please."

So Cecil resumed the motion, and Carlos resumed talking.

"I've missed you for most of the time that I've known you. That's why I came back. One reason. I thought to myself, well, he's just one guy, I'll get over-"

Cecil huffed, and Carlos shushed him.

"But I never meant that thought. In those months - that time - that experience between calls, I never wanted that. I didn't want to miss you anymore, but I wanted that to be a process of our time and space matching."

Carlos rolled onto his back, and Cecil leaned over him, looking into his face. The hand that had been on Carlos' side rested now on his stomach. Carlos reached up to brush Cecil's hair back and when it would not stay behind his ear, Carlos caught a strand around his fingertip, instead.

His voice was low, a little hoarse, like he could only just scrape the words out. "I have missed you for longer than you have known me. That is true. That is what we call a fact, scientifically speaking. I missed you, Cecil. I missed light from the sun, and nighttime as a whole concept, and regular meals, if I'm being honest, which I am, possibly more than I should be. And you."

He let that curl unwind from his hand, and touched Cecil's cheek.

"Oh, Carlos." Cecil moved his husband's hand to his lips, and kissed his fingertips, one at a time. Index, and then: "Dear Carlos…"

Middle. Ring.

"Does it feel like…"

Pinky.

"You still miss these things, sometimes?"  

Tracing his lips back the way they came, shifting Carlos' hand up to kiss his thumb last. "A lot of the time, even?"

He was using his radio voice, filling the space, in the room, in between Carlos' vertebrae, even without much volume. Carlos shivered, and Cecil ran his thumb over his husband's knuckles.

"Yeah. I do.," Carlos answered. "Sorry."

Cecil squinted. "Why are you sorry?"

"They're right here. All of those things. You. So."

"I mean, yes. Just so you know. But you don't need to apologize for feeling otherwise."

"But it's so, so... unscientific." Which was not, in fact, the right word, scientifically speaking. But it was the one Carlos was most comfortable using. "I am here. I understand that our sensory experiences are fragile and often misguided, but even so, that is what we have. And all of my senses tell me, I'm here, and not there. I even know why I feel like I'm there sometimes. I know how the brain works. I'm a scientist, so I know all about thinking, and it is the brain that thinks."

"You are a scientist. A very handsome one. You use your senses all the time, and I am sure it is scary, to doubt them. All of us have been scientists at one point or another, scared, doubting our senses, but you… You are a scientist all the time. So it must be difficult for you, this doubt."

Cecil slipped a hand under Carlos' back. Carlos let Cecil help him sit up, and he was glad, then, that he had gotten distracted. Without his lab coat, there was the warmth of his husband's body, right against him. It was almost overwhelming, just a shade short of it. His skin prickled, but with a sweet, nameless thing so intense that he could not doubt his surroundings.

He would want a lab coat soon. But in that moment, when he wrapped his arms around Cecil, and they exchanged heat and skin cells and the sensation of each other's heartbeat, he did not.

He closed his eyes, and made a muffled noise into Cecil's neck. This time, Cecil shushed him, and Carlos complied.

"My dearest listener… If you cannot trust your senses, then trust my words. Trust that I can feel you in my arms, that I can see you, beautiful, imperfect, present. You are home, and I am so very grateful. I would enact significant changes to the physical form of anyone who tried to change this."

Carlos laughed, and Cecil twitched as his husband's breath tickled on his neck. The scientist murmured, "Really, now?"

"Oh, yes," Cecil answered gravely. "But I do not think anyone is going to try. So. You're here. You are safe now. That's all. All that matters."

Carlos lifted his head, and pressed a sequence of short, firm kisses to Cecil's jawline. "Ceec. You have such convincing acoustics, scientifically speaking."

Cecil's face flushed. "Well, I had better. You know."

Carlos placed both hands against Cecil's face, holding him without applying any force. "Oh, no. It's different. Hearing you like this. These are personal acoustics. But really, it's you, more than it is the acoustics. I trust you. You don't always know what to say, but it would be kind of bizarre if you did."

He kissed his husband again, once, slower. "And when you know, you really know."

"Well… I know you, don't I?" Cecil said, sounding maybe half a lungful away from breathless. "Why don't you finish getting ready for bed?"

"Mhmm. Just a minute."

"Turn the lights out while you're up?"

"Sure, babe."

It didn't take long. Carlos pulled on his sleep-lab coat, and flipped off the light. In that instant of absolute darkness, before his pupils dilated in the thin moonlight, he was disoriented. This was normal. This was human. And. And he then he could see enough to make out Cecil's expression, now anticipatory, with his glasses now left folded on the side table. Carlos could reach out to touch his husband, if he wanted to. He did want to.

They slept touching each other all night.  

[betterbinderproject]

Hi, when you say that you understand completely the reasons why people don't like the better binder project you're being very presumptuous. It's not the same as well-meaning but ignorant abled people attempting to solve highly complex and expensive problems of access for disabled people. And furthermore, the way you talk about this is really condescending and frankly just...you make assumptions that you understand the intimacies of how people think and feel that are just not true or analogous.

Like I mean this in the nicest possible way, but cisgender people’s relation to trans people is just not the same, and it would be a lot less patronizing and transphobic of you to *not* characterize every possible negative and/or critical reaction to this blog as being a reflexive anger and automatic rejection instead of being a justified and/or reasonable wariness. Like I absolutely hope this project succeeds, but there’s no reason to think that you’re qualified to make it succeed.

I’m going to use this also as a way to respond to your post, which didn’t show up on my Acitivity, so I’m glad someone pointed me to it.

1. My ability to listen to criticism

For the last couple weeks, I’ve been monitoring the activity of my posts, especially looking for people saying things like, “This will never work”, “this is a bad idea”, “won’t work for me” and so forth. Then a lot of the time I’ve messaged them to say, “Hi, I want to hear about your thoughts and experiences, do you have time to talk?”. I’m in a little bit of a backlog with this because some really smart and informed people have been commenting on it but I’ve been busy. For example, if I got the chance to listen to @the-scottish-costume-guy at greater length and in greater detail in the next couple days, I’d be really happy.

So while some criticisms have been reflexive rage or despair, others have been completely on point and I’ve already integrated them into my design (for example, recommendations to slope the boning diagonally down and to the outside). And others have been logical on the surface, but don’t apply to the specific thing I am trying to do (eg. “corsets are expensive”)

2. My credentials

I’ve been sewing seriously for the last 20 years. In some of that time, I’ve been paid for my work. For much of it, I’ve both been reading academic sources on the topic, and sewing in the workshops of vastly more experienced sewists. Over and above all my other sewing experience, I’ve made and worn numerous corsets. There is no set certification for a “professional tailor” but yes, if I wanted to do that as a job, I do have the resume and portfolio for it.

Tailoring isn’t actually the field you want here, though. Since beginning this project, I’ve located and contacted several researchers in the fields of human ecology, mechanical engineering, and biomedical engineering, who have relevant expertise. None have yet gotten back to me, probably partly because it’s summer. If someone more qualified than me wants to work on this project, I am 100% willing to collaborate with them, or hand the project off to them.

3. My profiting from this project

I’ve already made some very particular and pointed decisions about this. If I wanted to significantly profit from this project, I would:

Keep my R&D process secret

Patent and license the design

Sell patterns of the design I made for individuals wanting to make their own, individual, copy

Sell binders I myself made, or possibly outsource their production and then sell the result

Send cease&desist letters threatening to sue anyone selling copies of my binder, or any other binder on similar design principles, or any pattern for such a binder

Demand that anyone wanting to profit from the use of my design principles pay me a licensing fee.

Meanwhile, my plan right now includes:

Publicizing my concepts and progress in a way freely accessible to anyone with an Internet connection

Maintaining a record of my progress to keep anyone else from claiming to be its inventor and licensing it in exploitative ways

Encouraging feedback from as many people as possible and seeking out trans, nb, and genderqueer perspectives 

Coming soon: Creating a survey about wearer experiences and health outcomes, asking anyone involved in this project to report back so the data can be disseminated and analyzed. If this project and my design are a failure, I will say so.

Making design concepts, and in the future, patterns and tutorials, freely available to anyone with an internet connection, and agreeing to their republication to reach other audiences

Only receiving donations from people who understand that this is an experimental venture, posed as the question, “What if I tried this thing,” and only profiting from items that I have ensured people could get for themselves some other way. (eg “Here’s a free tutorial on making this binder using items from the dollar store. However, if you want to buy a $20 kit of high-quality items pre-cut for your convenience, here’s my Etsy”)

Providing prototypes to their intended wearers for free in return for feedback about the wearers’ experiences, instead of selling half-baked designs for a profit

Openly encouraging other sewists to suggest design improvements, make their own versions, or make binders for other people without paying me

In the future, I’m very open to stepping back in my own role in this project, and handing it off to trans people who have taken the idea and run with it.

From a legal perspective, I have probably already ruined my chances of making big bucks from this project, and I did that on purpose. From the beginning, I realized that it is very possible for me to be exploitative in how I handle this project. 

I honestly asked for money because I can’t pay for medications, groceries and utilities right now. I got about $300, which was enough to cover most of my monthly medical expenses. Most of the clients I see as a psychotherapist are disabled, living on extremely limited incomes, and cannot pay me much more than the cost I pay to rent the room we meet in. I’m trying to survive and find a better job. If I had a full-time job and made a decent income, I would be funding this project out of my own pocket. I know how to market and monetize a project like this, and have, from the first, deliberately chosen not to, in large part because I’m cis and this isn’t my issue.

4. Binders over top surgery

This project has largely been inspired by a trans person with whom I have worked, whose parents were involved in a custody dispute beginning when they were 14. At 14 they realized they were trans, but they required the consent of both parents for medical procedures until the age of 18. One parent was extremely transphobic and would not consent to top surgery, although they didn’t see their child on a regular basis and didn’t know how they dressed and presented. During those 4 years, they used a binder as a way of dealing with the dysphoria that made them suicidal. Despite its negative physical health effects (pain, trouble breathing, rashes, etc) the binder was an essential aid to their mental health.

Yes, binding is a “stopgap” method compared to top surgery. However, one of my major areas of work is as a mental health therapist with LGBTQ people, especially teenagers. Not everyone can get top surgery, and not always as quickly as it is needed. Sometimes there is a gap you need to stop.

5. Why do we need better binders at all?

I didn’t go into this because I, frankly, had considered the need for improvements in binder technology so well-documented as to be completely obvious. Just today someone tagged this blog talking about how much they want it to work because “binding gives me rashes, makes my already shitty lungs hurt, makes my back hurt, and doesn’t actually work for me“ Would you like me to curate the research and accounts of people who have problems with the current models of binder available? Is that proof you in fact need?

7. Corsets are unsuitable/super gendered

Yep! That’s why I’m not making corsets. I’m trying to use the engineering elements from corsetry that would make the binder better, and make everything else as un-corset-like as possible. 

How possible this is is an open question right now. For example, corsets need to be fitted so precisely because they go from the bust to the hips, and therefore need the correct bust, waist, and hip measurement, and the correct height, and the correct ratio of all things to each other, and to have the correct vertical profile. My current hypothesis is that by making a binder that covers only the bust, I can eliminate many of these complexities. However, many informed observers of the project have told me that they think I’m wrong, and that the binder will need to extend to the waist to more evenly distribute the load of compression, and a garment that only goes around the chest will cause too much back pain over the long term. This is a question I think can honestly only be answered when I ship my prototypes to my genderqueer friend in Georgia, who shares my measurements and is eager to try each model out for hours/days/weeks and report back.

At present, I am experimenting with adaptations to sports bras, which I also know can be too gendered and induce dysphoria. I’m using them because my current project is aimed at people who have very little experience sewing, and therefore would benefit from only having to add a few elements to an already-constructed garment. After this, I want to see if I can transition those adaptations to something less gendered, like a tank top. After that, I can begin work on drafting a binder entirely from scratch, which, one hopes, I can make as ungendered as possible.

My askbox is open!

[sassyhrgal]

top 10 (no bs 💩) job seeker tips

I’ve been in HR for a minute (going into my 19th year - gulp!) and I often get asked if I have any tips for job seekers, so here’s my honest, no bs, top ten tips:

1.    Only apply to jobs that you’re qualified for.  

Listen, I know it sounds like I’m giving out basic advice here, but you would be shocked and appalled at how many people apply for EVERY job advertised on Indeed on any given day. I was once tasked with recruiting for a Service Plumber role for a Mechanical Contracting company.  Despite my attempts to clearly articulate the REQUIRED qualifications (i.e. Journeyman Plumber with 3+ years of commercial plumbing experience) - and by required I mean essential, not nice to have - I received 1201 applications.  Of said 1201 applications, 36% (so, 432 candidates) did not have plumbing experience.  Not only were they NOT journeyman plumbers with 3+ years of commercial plumbing experience, but also, in some cases, they had probably never even unclogged a toilet with a plunger.  They were accountants, they were customer service representatives, they were truck drivers, but they weren’t plumbers.

2.    Be thoughtful, do your research, and customize your application.  

Know the role that you are applying for and how you, your skills and experience can add value to the organization.  Take the time to research the employer - know the space they’re in, know their mission/vision/values and research their culture, research who their competitors are, research what their contributions have been and research what their challenges are.  You can find out all sorts of information (the good, the bad and the hideous) about companies on the internet machine (company websites, blogs, Facebook, LinkedIn, news outlets, Glassdoor, etc.). Customize your application to show that you’ve taken the time to research the company, that you’ve been thoughtful, and that you want THIS job, not just A job.

3.    Don’t be sloppy.  

It may sound petty, but as someone who has done a lot of recruiting in her life, know this: Spelling counts.  Grammar counts.  Not having words cut off in your PDF counts.  All of it, it counts.  First impressions matter.  I can’t stress this enough.  From your first point of contact with an employer, you are shaping the impression that they have of you.  Take this seriously - as seriously as you would a first date with someone that you’ve had a crush on for weeks.  If you want to get to the second date, you’ve got to put in the effort.  And at a bare minimum, it means you need to take the time to check your spelling and grammar.

4.    Follow the application instructions.  

I was recruiting for a Leadership position for an innovative, tech start-up and within the job posting, I made it crystal clear that the company was EQUALLY focused on hiring someone for cultural fit as they were for technical qualifications and/or experience.  In the application instructions, I asked all interested candidates to apply with a resume AND cover letter that outlines why their skills, experience and personality would make them an excellent candidate for the role at said start-up.  And you know what I got?  300+ boxed Indeed resumes with NO cover letters.  And you know what they got?  Rejection notices.  

5.    Be on time.  

I can’t tell you how often this happens.  I set up a time (in ADVANCE) with a candidate to conduct a prescreening interview over the phone.  I send a meeting invite, they accept, and then I call them at the agreed upon time.  The phone rings. And it rings. And then I’m invited to leave a voicemail.  So I do, and an hour later,  the candidate calls me back and says something to the effect of “oh, I thought you mean 2ish - not 2:00 on the dot.” I meant 2:00 p.m. I meant 14:00.  I meant the time specified in my meeting invite.  Again, whether you mean to or not, it creates an impression that you’re unreliable, not that interested, or can’t tell time.  (Hint:  None of these bodes well…).  When you have an interview, plan ahead.  Assume things will go wrong. Expect the unexpected. Be on time. 

6.    Practice your stories and make sure that they’re true.  

Here’s the thing, you can anticipate at least 75% of the questions that you’ll be asked during an interview IF YOU READ THE JOB POSTING.  The qualifications section generally outlines the skills, experience and competencies that the hiring team is looking for, so anticipate what questions you’ll be asked and be practice your “stories”.  Be prepared to tell the interviewer why you’re interested in this job, this company, this role, be prepared to explain how your skills and experience make you a good fit for the position, be prepared to tell a story about how you handled a difficult interpersonal situation, be prepared to talk about how you prioritize tasks, stay sane and organized, be prepared to talk about your strengths and areas for development, be prepared to give examples of how you demonstrate the technical skills required for the role, be prepared to tell them about a time that you took initiative, be prepared to tell them about a time that you demonstrated creativity, innovation and the ability to work in the grey (because we all know that work isn’t black and white).  When you tell your stories, make sure that they are concise - a good formula is to explain the problem, what your role was, what action you took, what the outcome was, and what you would do differently if you faced the same situation again (in less than two minutes).  Oh, and make sure your stories are true, and that you’re not ripping off some other work superhero’s story. When I interview someone, and they tell me a great story, I often ask if I can speak to the person that managed them when they saved the day.  That’s when shit gets real, quickly. 

7.    Wear pants.  

In today’s technological world, I conduct my fair share of video interviews.  And I’ve seen a lot more than I signed up for.  I once interviewed a candidate on video and he looked very professional - neatly combed hair, hipster glasses, a neatly pressed shirt, a spiffy blazer and a VERY cool bowtie.  All was going well, until question 3 when I noticed that there was a full-length mirror behind him, which reflected the fact that he wasn’t wearing pants.  Don’t. Forget. The. Pants.

8.    Don’t be THAT candidate.  

You know which candidate I’m talking about?  The candidate that turns a weakness/area for development question into a positive (I’m a workaholic, I take on too much, blah blah blah).  Be honest. Be genuine. Tell me the truth.  If you tell me that you haven’t had a ton of experience in one area or that you need a refresher on a specific computer application, I’m going to respect you more and feel like you have integrity.  Because it’s all going to come out if you get the job; so just be REAL.

9.    Don’t be rude. 

When I’m conducting interviews, I often ask a question that is seemingly unrelated to the job.  A few months ago, I asked a candidate this question, and here’s how our conversation unfolded:         

Nice HR lady (me):  Outside of work, what is your greatest accomplishment?

Rude Candidate:  I think that’s an inappropriate question.  Frankly,   I’m not going to indulge your nosy question, and I’m going to speak to your HR department about it.  How would you like it if I asked you the same question?  

Nice HR lady:  (1) I’d be happy to share my answer to the question:  I’m not a particularly athletic (or quite frankly, coordinated)  person, but in 2007, I climbed Kilimanjaro.  It was the most grueling physical and mental challenge of my life.  I trained for months, I put my big girl panties on, and I conquered the crap out of that mountain.  (2) I ask that question not to be nosy, not to be intrusive, not to trap you, not to find out if you have two wives and six kids.  I ask this question because it gives me a lot of insight into WHO you are, what makes you tick, what  drives you, it gives me a sense of how determined you are, how resilient are you, what kinds of cool hobbies you have and it allows  me to connect with you on a human level.  And (3) I am the HR department - consider your complaint lodged.                

Rude Candidate:  (Silence...)

Lesson:  Don’t be rude to the nice HR lady.  

10. Don’t be cookie cutter.  Be authentic. Don’t try to be who you think they want you to be. When you do this, they can see it. They can smell it - and it doesn’t smell good.  It smells like lies and plastic, and plastic is toxic. Be yourself.  Show them who you are.  This doesn’t mean that you should include a picture in your application (please, please don’t do that).  I mean, show them that you have a personality, show them your passion and enthusiasm, show them your sense of humour, and show them your quirky, lovable self.  They will remember you.  They might even hire you.

be happy, be well,

saira - the sassyhrgal

[upshotre]

PMB's second term: Ain't no stopping us now, we're on the move

  By FEMI ADESINA Those who were young (men-about-town) in the 80s will remember the 1979 hit track by McFadden & Whitehead, titled Ain't no stopping us now. The lyrics goes thus: Ain't no stopping us now! We're on the move! Ain't no stopping us now! We've got the groove! And if you ponder and reflect on the political journey of President Muhammadu Buhari, right from 2003, when he threw his hat into the ring, till now, there have been spirited attempts to stop him. It got to a head in the build up to the 2019 elections, when a pernicious confederacy was put together, all to stop Nigeria's inexorable march to greatness. It failed, resoundingly. On Wednesday, May 29, 2019, President Buhari will take oath for second term in office. Millions of good Nigerians will be delirious with joy, but some other significant minority would be in 'sifia' (severe) pains. Why? Ain't no stopping Muhammadu Buhari, he's on the move! The man will get his groove, and evildoers will be in trouble. The combat between light and darkness, evil and good, has been an eternal one. Some people love darkness more than light, because it is under the cover of darkness that they thrive, luxuriating in their evil acts: grand larceny, plunder, killings, and others. So, they will never love the Mai Gaskiya (the honest man), and would do everything to stop him, or pull him down. The efforts to stop Buhari have been robust, pulsating. After a reputation of honesty and probity as military governor, petroleum minister, member of the Supreme Military Council, his colleagues found no one better to wear the diadem as military head of state than the ramrod straight man from Daura. And he began to reset the foundations of Nigeria, knocking sense into the heads of the corrupt and those prone to indiscipline. It was no longer business as usual. But the dream run lasted only 20 months, before they truncated it. The landlords of Nigeria struck, and stopped Buhari. Up in smoke went probity and accountability. Discipline flew out through the window. And we went back to a place worse than square one. The man came back as a reformed democrat. He sought to be president in 2003, 2007, and 2011. But those in mortal fear of righteousness in high places banded together, and stopped him. The Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) had perfected the art of elections manipulation, and they used it to the hilt. However, in 2015, there ain't no more stopping Buhari. A massive coalition for change was built around him, and good Nigerians stood up for the champion. Did he live happily ever after? Not on your lives! The adversaries went after him. Ran, pursued, and attempted to overtake. All sorts of things, physical and spiritual, were thrown at him, just to get rid of the man who would not steal, and not allow people to steal. A debilitating illness came. And for most of 2017, the President was receiving medical attention, both at home and abroad. Instead of goodwill and prayers, they were rejoicing. We've finally stopped him, they gloated. But did they? Could they? Not if God was still alive. Ain't no stopping Buhari, as in August 2017, he got back his groove. His health rebounded, and he resumed work fully. But would Pharaoh desist from pursuing Israel? No. He was destined to perish in a watery grave, so he pursued Israel into the sea. They formed what they called a coalition, vowing that they would stop Buhari from winning the 2019 elections. This was after letters had flown around from the master letter writer, virtually commanding the President to dismount from the horse. That letter writer thinks he's the landlord of Nigeria, as anybody he moved against never survived. He felt he could enthrone and dethrone leaders at will. But the Yoruba people say it's the day that the witch kills twins that she stops eating meat. The letter writer bit more than he could chew, and it stuck in his throat. He formed a political coalition, it collapsed right in his face. He first adopted a political party to use in his bid to unseat the incumbent, then in act of utter confusion, he abandoned that new party, and went for candidate of the PDP. The same man he had spent the past 10 years destroying, writing volumes and volumes of verbiage against, he now attempted to sell to Nigerians. Were we fools? See the grand conspiracy by those who called themselves 'Atikulators.' They included former presidents, some retired military top brass, disgruntled senior civil servants, business people, preachers, and the elite, generally. The sluice gates of free funds had been slammed shut, and they were unhappy. As dolorous as King Lear at his worst. The letter writer mobilized the international community, feeding them with misinformation and disinformation. Fulanization. Islamization, and other creepy concoctions. He was already addressing the PDP candidate as "my incoming President." Oh, how so very easy to build castles in the air! Marabouts, witches, wizards, and false prophets masquerading as pastors, bishops, and archbishops also joined the fray. They began to spew falsehood, which they attributed to God. He that sits in Heaven just laughed at them, and held them in utter derision. All those who were on the wrong side of the law joined the conspiracy. Ex-this, ex-that, who had abused their offices, and were being made to answer questions, crept under the umbrella. They knew if their man won, their cases would die natural deaths. So, for them, it was a matter of life and death. They came with spurious political permutations and calculations. Votes in North-west and North-east would be shared. They would sweep North-central, where they had spent the last two years trying to demonize and de-market Buhari and his political party. South-west would also be shared, and then, they would win South-east and South-south wholesale. It seemed foolproof on paper, particularly when you also throw in massive vote buying, hacking of all the hackables, and a complicit judiciary as Plan B. They were already planning how to sell Nigeria, and tell the poor to go to hell. But they didn't reckon with the staying power of the poor and the downtrodden. They are people who know where their bread would be buttered, and where their future happiness lay. In their millions, they trooped out to vote for the honest man. They chose light, instead of darkness. At the end of it all, about four million votes separated the men from the boys. The man left holding the short end of the stick went to court, claiming some servers from George Orwell's sugar candy mountain, gave him victory. It's within his democratic rights. Ain't no stopping Buhari now, he's on the move! In recent weeks, banditry, killings, murder and mayhem have suffused the length and breadth of the country. Everything appears orchestrated, choreographed, to achieve certain ends. The law enforcement agencies are pointing fingers in certain directions. But Nigerians want them to do more. Pull in the evildoers, and let them face the law. That is what President Buhari tells them at each security council meeting, too. And we will get there. Soon and very soon, because we've got the groove. When the ram runs, its testicles dangle furiously from side to side. But no matter what, the testicles can never fall off. Nigeria will remain united, despite all machinations of the evil ones. In that song by McFadden & Whitehead, you have these lines: There's been so many things that's held us down, But now it looks like things are finally comin' round. Yes. Things are coming round for Nigeria. We will get to where we are headed. Our fair havens, land flowing with milk and honey. The crooked and corrupt won't ever stop us, nor would they rule us again, and the wealth of Nigeria will be used for the good of Nigerians. Ain't no stopping us now, we're on the move! Adesina is Special Adviser to President Buhari on Media and Publicity Read the full article

[idonotknowhowtoo-blog]

How to Write a Resume

's easy to forget that it's

a recent invention.Of course, how recent of a creation it is depends on what you specify as a"resume". The word originates from the French résumé, meaning"summary". If we define a resume as a summary of job abilities and experience, then the very first resume dates from a letter that Leonardo da Vinci wrote to a prospective employer between 1481 and 1482. Resumes as we understand them today, nevertheless, didn't come into presence up until the mid-twentieth century. By the 1970s, they looked much the method they do today: professionally formatted summaries of skills and experience that were expected with any task application. Prior to this point, resumes did exist, however they were far more casual, typically doodled on scraps of paper. They likewise included information that would be, well, unsuitable on a contemporary resume such as height, weight, marital status, and religion.To read a complete, ahem, résumé of the resume's history, check out this timeline from Service Expert. So what function does a resume serve these days? Afterall, can't prospective employers simply look up your abilities and experience on your individual site or LinkedIn profile?They can, and in some cases job

applications will need you to apply with your LinkedIn profile. And it's constantly a great idea to include a link to your personal site as part of individual blog or website where you can showcase your work to any interested party.Above all, just take notice of the requirements for the specific task-- they'll indicate whether you require to send a resume, portfolio, or other materials.2. The length of time should my resume be? I understand, I understand

, you read College Info Geek. Which implies you probably have more badass accomplishments and experience than the typical individual. However that does not imply it's alright to create a 5-page resume

... and even a 2-page one.For a lot of people reading this

website, your resume should be one page, no longer. If you have more than five years expert experience, then it can be suitable to add an extra page, however I 'd avoid it in many cases.

Unless you're a senior-level executive, your resume ought to not go beyond one page.If that feels too short, then don't fret. We'll resolve how to make all the relevant experience fit in a bit.3. How"imaginative" should my resume formatting be? In an attempt to stand out from the crowd, some trainees will print their resume on fancy paper, add colors and graphics, or even provide their resume by means of provider pigeon (alright that last one may be a stretch, but you never ever know).

There's absolutely nothing wrong with any of these techniques per se,

however in basic I 'd suggest you avoid them. If you're a designer and know how to make a file that looks great and is simple to read, then by all ways get innovative with the design of your resume-- it can be a possibility to display your style skills.For most students, however, I suggest you stay with black Arial or Times New Roman on a white background. Particularly if you're submitting your resume digitally, this guarantees that the possible company will have no problem reading it.In some cases, obviously, the job application will ask you to consist of an unconventional resume such as a video or web page. If that holds true, then go all out!(even if it's" optional ").4. How need to I format my resume?I stated you ought to choose black Arial or Times New Roman on a white background, however that ignores all the other information of formatting the resume.

How should you structure it? What size font should you utilize? Do you put your contact info at the top or bottom?Instead of trying to provide one "best"response to these questions, I'll recommend that you utilize

among the thousands exceptional resume design templates that are already on the internet. Here are a few that will work for practically any task: One final formatting suggestion: unless the task application shows otherwise, submit your resume as a PDF. This will ensure that the recipient can view it with the format you planned no matter what os or

software application they utilize to open it.5. Can I recycle the same resume for different task applications?Well, yes and no. It's fine to utilize the exact same template and structure for various job applications in order to conserve time. You must always tailor your resume to

the specific job.In reality, not customizing your resume to the particular position is one of the most typical resume errors. Employing supervisors can identify a generic resume from a mile away, so put in the effort to consist of experience and skills appropriate to this job, not any task.6.

What should I consist of in my resume? I currently informed you your resume should be simply one page, so what do you include? Taking all of your experience and condensing it into one page can be overwhelming.

The key is to select the most relevant experience.For example, let's state you're obtaining an internship at a law company. Naturally, you won't have actually worked in a law practice in the past-- that's the whole factor you'regetting the internship.But you can consider your previous tasks and how experiences in them would connect to what you would do at a law company internship.A job working the front desk in your dorm, for example, has within all of it sort of potentially pertinent experiences. A job like that teaches you how to be expert, how to answer the phone, how to handle conflict, and how to keep a disciplined schedule. All of which could be pertinent to the law practice internship.7. What is a skill?Okay, so no one has ever straight up asked me this concern, but there's absolutely some confusion about what a"skill" is when it concerns resumes. So let's get something clear

: a" ability"is a particular technical capability you have.These are not abilities: Yes, they may be soft abilities, however your resume is not the place for soft abilities. Show off your soft abilities in the interview. These are abilities: If you're not sure if something is a skill, then leave it out.And please, please don't consist of an ability you do not have. Your employer will find out and it will be uncomfortable. Specifically if it's declaring you speak a specific foreign language at an "innovative"level when in reality you took one term of it as a freshman.8. What if I do not have any experience? When trainees state" I do not have any experience", that's hardly ever the case.

Unless you really did spend all of college sitting in your dormitory eating tacky puffs and playing Overwatch, you have something you can talk about. Sometimes you just need to think beyond the box.Here are experiences/positions that could all be relevant

to a resume:

Now, in many cases if you're finding that you simply do not have the right experience for a particular task's requirements, then it might be worth considering a various position.That being stated, I motivate you to apply to tasks you do not think you're received. The worst thing that will happen is the company will say no( or never return to you). If this occurs, you haven't lost your time-- far from it. You have actually gained important practice in obtaining jobs, and you've likewise acquired a concept of the skills/experience that would make you a better prospect in the future. As long as you learn from these experiences , they're beneficial. How to Develop an Exceptional Resume We've currently covered a lot about the art of developing a great resume, but I desire to conclude with a list of things that will make your resume stick out from the rest of the stack(in an excellent way).1. Proofread This ought to go without saying, however you need to proofread your resume. Spelling mistakes and typos make you look careless-- and no one wishes to hire somebody who's careless.Go through all of the following proofreading steps:2. Look For Specialist Help What if I told you that you could get a trained expert to read and critique your resume at no extra cost to you? Would not that appear too great to be true?Well, you remain in luck, because that's exactly the service you'll discover at your college's career center. Registration at your university entitles you to free, generally unlimited aid with making your resume the very best it can be. You're already spending for it, so you 'd be a fool not to benefit from these services.Not to mention that the profession center can likewise assist you discover jobs/internships, perform mock interviews, and typically offer you guidance on your post-college plans. Pro tip: Make certain that you get assist with your resume well before the application is due. That way the great career preparation folks will have a lot of time to help you.3.

Take advantage of Your

Network Naturally, the best individualto examine your resume would be somebody who currently operates in the company or market to which you're using. Discovering this sort of individual might seem impossible, however the secret is to look to the connections you already have.There are a few methods to discover market professionals to evaluate your resume:1. Asking household and pals You 'd be surprised at the people your loved ones members know. Just shoot a quick text to your parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, whoever would want to help.All you have to state is "Hello there, I'm getting a task at NAME OF BUSINESS in NAME OF MARKET. You wouldn't happen to know anybody who operates in a similar job?"If they do understand someone, then get them to introduce you and go from there.And do not think requesting help in this method is annoying.

As long as you're courteous and genuine, individuals constantly like to assist out college trainees and recent graduates.2. LinkedIn I only discovered this recently, however if I 'd understood about it when I was a trainee I totally would have

used it.First, log-in to LinkedIn. From there, click on"My Network". Click"See All "under"Your Links". Next, click on "Browse with filters". From there, you can filter your connections by all

kinds of criteria. I recommend starting with"Keywords"," Present Companies ", and "Industries" to discover people who would be able to give your resume an evaluation. As soon as you discover someone who appears like they could assist, you simply need to send them a message along the following lines: Hi NAME OF PERSON, I was simply checking out my connections and saw that you operate at NAME OF COMPANY/NAME OF MARKET. I'm currently obtaining

a job/internship/volunteer chance at NAME OF COMPANY/NAME OF INDUSTRY, and I was wondering if you 'd have the ability to review my resume. As a hopeful professional in NAME OF MARKET, I would be incredibly grateful to get feedback from somebody with your experience.And if your LinkedIn and network in basic seems a little scarce, here's how you can begin constructing your network today (even if you're an introvert).3.

Job Fairs Most institution of higher learnings have job or career fairs where representatives from business concern findprospective job candidates, perform interviews, and provide profession advice.You ought to absolutely go to these and bring

your resume along. If you're clever, you'll research study which business will be there in advance and create a resume customized to the particular companies that intrigue you. From there, you can get real industry experts (with hiring power )to provide you resume feedback.We have actually

covered a great deal of ground in this

article. I hope you now feel geared up to write a resume that will get you the task you dream of ... or at least that first entry-level task or internship that will put you on the career path of your choice.If you take absolutely nothing else away from this short article, bear in mind that you can and ought to ask for assist with your resume. You'll learn so much, and you may even make an important professional connection in the process.What are your biggest battles when composing a resume? Let us understand in the remarks below or begin a conversation in the College Info Geek Community.

[bidennisreynolds-archive]

Title: Consequences

Pairing: Victor Zsasz x Reader x Ed Nygma

Summary: Ed told you there would be consequences. He didn’t mention exactly what they were though. (Shout out to @ruffles-the-fluffalo for requesting this glorious idea)

Warnings: I have a thing with calling Ed ‘Sir’ and ‘Mr. Nygma’ so sue me. I also really love when he talks dirty apparently. And Zsasz calling Reader ‘kitten’. All kinks ahoy, matey. There’s biting, blood (mentioned), hair pulling, slapping, anal sex, blowjobs. Everything is consensual though. Mostly. There’s literally no fluff in this at all. Just really rough fucking.

     When you agreed to work for Oswald Cobblepot you had no idea that also meant you would be working for Ed Nygma. And with Victor Zsasz. You’d heard so many stories of those three men. So many terrifying, awful stories. If you’re being perfectly honest with yourself- and anyone really- that’s why you accepted the offer so quickly. That part of a person’s brain that tells them “danger, run” never really developed in you. Sure, you would run. But it would always be towards the danger rather than away. The three most powerful and horrible men in Gotham would be your bosses and coworker. How exciting is that?

     Apparently the appropriate answer is ‘not at all’ if the glares from your best friend are any indication. You wake up, she glares. Go to work, she glares. Retell a riddle Mr. Nygma made you figure out, she glares. Show her the way Zsasz brushed against you in the hallway, she glares. The only time she isn’t completely disgusted by your job is when you talk about the mayor. She quickly becomes attentive and responsive. It would be adorable if it wasn’t so annoying. Sometimes you wonder if you should hint to Oswald he’s garnered a lot of female attention. A lot of positive female attention. Even if he doesn’t want to pursue any of them romantically he can always find a way to work the predicament to his advantage.

     You think about it all day at work, tapping your pencil against your desk while your mind wanders to how exactly you would approach the subject. Mayor Cobblepot is a very… temperamental man. You don’t want to lose your job for suggesting something he takes the wrong way.

     A loud thud pulls you from your thoughts. Ed is standing in front of your desk, arms crossed, tired expression on his face. He gestures to the files he lovingly and gently threw down in front of you, saying, “Have all of this reviewed by the end of the day.”

     “What? There’s no way!” And there really isn’t. The stack of papers are thicker than your thighs.

     “This isn’t an option. Oswald needs it by tomorrow.” Ed starts to walk away, tossing one last comment over his shoulder with what seems like practiced ease. “If you’re unable to perform the task satisfactorily there will be consequences.”

     The way the word rolls off his tongue has you pressing your thighs together. As badly as you want to find out what those consequences could be you set to work, reviewing speeches and expense reports and job resumes. It takes six hours and three cups of coffee, but you get it done. Ed takes it, making a noise in the back of his throat. He flips through each sheet while you shift awkwardly in front of him. His office is dark save for one single lamp in the corner and the desk he sits behind is covered in various work related things. A pen here, some paper there, nothing personal except the name plate sitting on the very edge. You stare at it until the letters blur and you’ve memorized how to spell his name forwards and backwards.

     Ed sets the papers down finally. “This isn’t finished.” He folds up one single file about as thin as your pinky nail. No wonder you over looked it. It’s barely even there. “I’m sure you remember I said there would be consequences.”

     “Yes sir.” You can’t help but notice the way he shifts in his seat when you answer him. A faint blush colors his cheeks. “Please just… don’t fire me.” There’s no way in hell you could ever face your best friend’s inevitable I told you so if you got fired.

     “Fire you? Goodness, no. I would never do that.” Ed waves his hand at the door and you hear someone walk inside. The air shifts dangerously. “Would I Zsasz?”

     “Nope. Never.”

     Before you can completely process what’s happening Ed has a fist full of your hair, yanking sharply so that your head snaps back and your throat is bared. He smiles and traces your neck with his lips. At your pulse point he bites. Hard. You cry out and a hand covers your mouth.

     “Shhhh,” Zsasz whispers in your ear. “Pain can be pleasure if you let it.”

     “Will you let it?” Ed’s lips move against your skin softly as he presses you closer to the man behind you. Zsasz grabs you by the hips sharply, bruises the shape of his fingerprints almost certainly beginning to form. Meanwhile, Ed keeps working on the overly sensitive skin of your neck. He bites down over and over, lips coming away crimson when he finally looks at you.

     Zsasz moves his nose to your hair, taking a deep breath. “I’d answer quickly, kitten. Mr. Nygma doesn’t like to wait.” He grinds into your backside and you can feel his hardened length. “Me? Torture is my skillset after all.”

     You groan loudly, eyes closing while you try to even out your breath. Do you really want this? Two sets of hands begin divesting you of your clothes before you can even think of an answer. You’re starting to think they wouldn’t care if you said no… and that’s oddly arousing. It’s a bit startling to realize you want these two men to use you. To fuck you. You’ve always been attracted to them. You’ve often dreamed of having sex with them. But this? This is new and it screams danger.

     “Please,” You gasp out when you feel Ed’s lips wrap around one of your nipples.

     “You’ll have to be more specific with your request, kitten. Please what?” The fabric of Zsasz’s clothing feels particularly rough against your skin. Each button, each zipper, each line creates an indent on your skin. On the other hand, Ed’s clothes are soft and seem to slide against you with each move he makes. “Tell us what you want.”

     “I want to be punished.” The words slip out before you stop them, but the pleased moans you receive from both men is compensation enough.

     Ed pulls away from you quickly, shock clear in his lust blown gaze. He’d expected you to comply… eventually. Yet here you are actually asking for it with only minor prompting. Unbelievable. Ed always thought there was something special about you. If anyone could complete the threesome he and Zsasz so desperately craved it would be you. Now he doesn’t have to think anymore. You’re here and you’re willing and Ed can’t get out of his own clothes fast enough. He loves the way your eyes trail over each new bit of skin he exposes. He loves the soft noises you make as Zsasz dips two fingers inside you, moving in time with the rocking of your hips. Most of all he loves how compliant you look while you try to fuck yourself on the assassin’s fingers, desperate for friction. Desperate for more. Ed gives Zsasz a sharp look and he stops touching you immediately.

     “Lay on the desk.” When you do nothing but blink slowly in reply Ed grips your jaw harshly. “Didn’t you hear me?”

     You swallow thickly and nod. “Yes sir.”

     “Then do it.”

     You hurry to climb on the desk, almost slipping off a time or two because of the scattered papers. Ed didn’t really specify what position he wanted so you just do as he says and lay down. There’s a long moment of silence. It makes you nervous. You don’t like not knowing what’s about to happen especially when sex is involved. So when Ed holds a tie in front of your eyes you begin to wiggle around. Zsasz grabs you, forces you still as Ed puts the makeshift blindfold on you.

     “Open your mouth.” Zsasz demands. You hear the rustle of clothing being shed, feel something hard yet smooth prod at your still closed mouth. The slap shocks you. Ed’s low chuckle at your reaction doesn’t. Your jaw aches but you allow your mouth to fall open anyway. Zsasz doesn’t waste any time with gentleness. He shoves his cock down your throat until you’re gagging, tears wetting the fabric of Ed’s green silk tie. This isn’t a blowjob, you learn quickly. This is Zsasz just simply fucking your mouth.

     “You like this, don’t you?” Ed’s voice is slightly hoarse. Like the sight of you choking on Zsasz’s cock is enough to make him cum. It’s almost enough to make you cum. You can feel the wetness between your thighs and you ache for some sort of attention. “You like being our fuck toy.”

     Almost reluctantly, Zsasz pulls away from you. “Answer, kitten.” He tells you.

     You take a deep, calming breath before saying, “No, I don’t like it.” There’s more to your sentence but Ed doesn’t give you a chance to finish it. He rips off the blindfold and wraps a hand around your throat menacingly. There’s a wild look in his eyes that only increases your arousal.

     “You don’t?”

     You shake your head. “I… love it… sir.”

     Ed smirks and releases his vice grip on your throat. “Zsasz, check that drawer beside you.”

     Zsasz does so, letting out a thrilled laugh as he pulls out a bottle of lube. It’s been used before which makes jealousy rise in you like bile. How many other girls had they done this with? You don’t have time to ask. Ed grips you by the hips and flips you onto your front, taking the lube from the assassin. Zsasz grins down at you. There’s eagerness and a twisted type of joy in his smile. He wants you to hurt. Both of them want you to hurt. And you want to give it to them. You return Zsasz’s grin wholeheartedly.

     Ed leans down, pressing his chest to your back until you feel suffocated. “If I was a nicer man I would prepare you a little better to take my dick in your ass. But I’m not nice. And you don’t deserve that. Does she Zsasz?”

     “Nope.” Zsasz puts extra emphasis on the p, happily watching the scene before him.

     You start to protest when Ed moves away and grabs your wrists to hold them at the small of your back. That protest ends quickly. Zsasz is back in your mouth, his hands grabbing your hair. He tugs and pulls until your scalp burns. He isn’t moving though. He stays completely still and you wonder if you’re supposed to do something this time. When you begin to suck on his length Ed growls.

     “Don’t.”

     You stop immediately.

     There’s a moment where nothing happens and your mind starts wandering. Did you leave the stove on? Is your best friend home yet? Then everything happens at once. Ed’s shoved his cock in your ass with no warning causing you to lurch forward. Zsasz’s dick hits the back of your throat and it hurts. You feel completely raw and there’s pain everywhere. But Zsasz is moaning and Ed is actually whining. They work together, finding a punishing rhythm. Ed thrusts into you, snapping his hips quickly while Zsasz pulls you forward, pushing himself further and further down your throat. Ed drops forward slightly. His teeth sink into your arm hard enough to draw blood. The tears fall freely this time without a tie to stop them.

     “Don’t cry, kitten. You’re doing so well.” Zsasz allows one hand to leave your hair and wipe away the tears. “Your mouth feels so good.”

     “She’s so fucking tight,” Ed agrees. “She’s been the best one yet.” His hips stutter, throwing off the rhythm, but Zsasz quickly remedies it. “I think… I think she was made for us.”

     “Here that, kitten? Mr. Nygma thinks you were made for us.”

     You shudder at their words. The praise mixed with the pain is confusing but it pushes you over the edge anyway. You cum with a loud wail.

     “Oh, fuck.” Ed moans. “She just… we haven’t even touched… you’re perfect.”

     Zsasz is the first to finish. He holds your jaw while he spills down your throat with a low moan, forcing you to swallow all of it. You can’t actually see him, but you know without a doubt Ed is watching attentively. He grunts once before pulling out, coming all over your ass. Despite the bone deep ache of your body you feel satisfied. A little dirty. But satisfied. Ed and Zsasz help dress you, yanking you around like a ragdoll until you’re somewhat presentable. Watching each of them get dressed is a joy. They’re both sweaty and look just as well fucked as you.

     God, you’re gonna have to do this again.