#the desire for eyebrows is genetic

[west-brooke]

Wait Donnie’s dad has a body count?! Who has this turtle killed?

I love this au and I am overly invested in this turtle in particular.

He has killed ten billion people. Or he would, if he could.

[holybibly]

Personally, I think we don't talk about Professor Choi San enough, don't you?

I don't like Mondays, but I like San, and this is just what I need to start the week sinfully.

"You've been behaving very badly lately, Y/N." The voice of your literature professor sounds light-hearted, as if he's talking to you about a fun game rather than an exam that you already failed three times. Besides, you have committed a number of other offences that could have earned you a reprimand, and Professor Choi seems to take every opportunity to remind you. "Skipping classes, constantly getting bad grades, and a generally destructive attitude..." He lists, turning to the blackboard to erase today's topic: "Sins and desires in Dante's Inferno." It was almost impossible not to look at his firm, toned ass, wrapped tightly in the fabric of his trousers. He reached for a particularly large inscription on the board. "For lack of a better term." He says this, turning to meet you, and the expression on his face tells you he notices where you're looking.

You lower your head in embarrassment, avoid making eye contact with him, and pull your skirt down a little.

"You and I both know that we've tried just about everything we could to correct your inappropriate behaviour." Professor Choi says this as you continue to look down in guilt as he walks over to you and slightly loosens the tight knot of his tie around his long, freckled neck. There was something about the way he was able to make such simple things seem so incredibly sexy, with no subtext at all, that made your stomach tingle. You'd be lying if you said you couldn't picture him tightening the tie around you and putting you on a leash as you rode his cock. "You were detained, suspended, counseled..." He stops in front of you, and you can smell his scent—something heavy and dark, like amber and whisky—or sex. God, you thought you couldn't be more despairing, but apparently Choi San was designed to destroy your sanity. "There is only one way that I can think of to solve this problem." He says. Professor Choi brings his hand to your chin, his fingers surprisingly cold, but the metal of his ring is hot on your skin as he gently raises your head to meet his feline eyes.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you stare into the handsome face of the man. If you didn't know better, you'd say Professor Choi's face was hand-carved by the finest Renaissance sculptors, because it's hard to believe that those sharp, perfect lines were created by something as trivial as genetics. He raises a questioning eyebrow and watches your reaction like a predator waiting for you to fall into his trap. Without realising it, you give him what he wants, nodding obediently to his words, your lips parting slightly.

"You have behaved very badly, and to correct this you must obediently follow what I tell you. Do you understand me, or not?" This could be your only chance to back out, but instead you look up at him through the lace of fluffy eyelashes with wide, innocent eyes.

"I do, Professor Choi."

His eyes grow darker and more predatory than they were before.

"I'd like you to bend down over my desk. Now." Professor Choi commands, and you obey immediately, throwing your bag on the floor and resting your forearms on his desk, facing the perfectly clean board. You can feel the fabric of your pleated skirt lift a little and slide higher up your thighs, exposing the delicate ruffled panties made of silk.

You hear Professor Choi move in behind you and feel his sinewy hands sliding down your sides in a teasing way to your hips before he pushes one hand down your lower back until your chest is pressed up against his desk. You support yourself with your arms, your plump tits falling out of the cups of your bra, and your hard, swollen nipples rubbing against the lace of the bra. You hear the rustle of fabric, and when you lift your head to look, San slaps your thigh so hard that you jerk at the impact, and your skin is instantly red.

"You better not move." He says it with a growl and puts his hand in front of your face. "Open your mouth for me." The tie that he has rolled up ends up in your mouth as soon as you open your lips—an effective gag. It's elegant, just like Professor Choi himself.

"Right now there are many other students here, obedient students who listen and respect their professors, unlike you, little whore." San whispers in your ear as he presses his chest against your back, his voice dropping several octaves. "We don't want anyone else to know what a whore you really are to me, do we?" His voice is becoming hoarse and sultry, and goosebumps creep across your skin.

A few moments pass in silence as you become more and more lost in the forbidden sensations of Professor Choi's hands as they slowly explore your body. Your eyes open as you feel San's warm breath on your thighs, his hands pulling down your panties, and the silk moving teasingly slowly against your overheated skin. A small stream of sticky liquid drips from your pussy as soon as your underwear is removed, and you hear San hiss at the sight of it.

"Look, you're dripping for me. Do you always feel like this during my classes?" San moans as he blows lightly on your wet folds, and the sensation makes your knees weaken. "Shhh, honey, I'll take care of that little cunt." Suddenly, the tip of his tongue plunges in and slides between your folds, drawing a strip from your little hole to your throbbing clitor. You gasp for air, but the sound is muffled by the gag. Your legs tremble, and Professor Choi slaps your thigh once more, this time stinging you even more on the skin.

"You will learn that lesson next time, but for now, you are going to take everything that I am giving you." You hear more of the rustling, and then, without warning, his cock is thrust into your tight, humid cunt. Your high-pitched moans are muffled by the gag, but San gives a contented, low purr as he pushes deeper and deeper into you until he's completely inside you. You can feel the fabric of his perfectly pressed shirt brushing against your naked skin as his balls slap against your buttocks.

He doesn't hesitate for a second before he pulls his cock out of you completely and immediately plunges back in. He puts his strong hands on your hips to pull you closer to him, your hands desperately gripping the edge of the table to steady yourself. The drawers of his desk rattle every time his dick slams into your pussy and you realise that, despite the gag in your mouth, anyone passing by at that moment would have no doubt as to what was going on inside the room. 

The sensation you are feeling now is so strong, almost overwhelming—the gag restricting your breathing and making your consciousness seem distant and hazy.

Blackened bruises were left on the tender flesh from Professor Choi's firm grip on your soft thighs. The almost painful friction of your breasts against the table and the lace of your bra made you whimper quietly from the rough stimulation, and of course San's cock—thick, warm, and veined—buried itself right into you, striking all the right places with each thrust. 

It was enough to make your toes curl up and your pussy squirt out of control. Your juices were sticky and glistening, sloshing around San's cock with every thrust he gave you. A wet, squelching sound filled the entire space of his office. It mixed with his hoarse moans and your pitiful whimpering, muffled by the thick fabric of his tie stuffed into your mouth.

"You won't come until I say so, you little bitch." San hisses, slapping both your buttocks, but not stopping his thrusting, continuing his cock deep and hard into your plump cunt. You whimper, but of course, not a sound comes out of you. Professor Choi leans over you and pulls his tie out of your mouth. "Say my name, pretty." You gasp for breath, the air burning your lungs, but you obediently follow his command.

"Professor Choi!" You squeal as his hand lands on the reddened skin of your ass once more.

"Say my name, Y/N." He growls, and the meaning of his command finally dawns on your mind, clouded as it is by lust.

"San!" As San pulls your shirt off your shoulders, along with your bra straps, and kisses your skin fiercely, the painful sound of pleasure turns into a prolonged moan.

"That's right, beautiful. Be obedient to me." He begins to fuck you more intensely, the thick head of his cock pressing against your cervix with each hard thrust, and before you can make another high-pitched squeal, San pushes two long fingers into your mouth.

You can feel the drool running down your chin, and you can imagine how dirty you must look right now.

"Fuck, look at you, darling." San moans softly, as if she can read your mind. "You're such a good girl, a perfect student." My little obedient slut." You moan around his fingers, and he reminds you that you can't come without his permission, but you can hardly stand it any longer. There's already so much tension in your stomach, and you know you'll be coming on his thick, long cock any minute.

He lifts his other hand from your hip and presses down on your throat, further interrupting your breathing as he drives you mercilessly into the table and fucks you with all his might. You have no chance to hold on.

"Fuck!" You moan, your juices squirting out with every thrust of his cock, and you squirt around him, coming in profusion with his name on your lips. "San, oh my God!"

He pulls out of you, and you feel your cum dripping down your thighs as you struggle to breathe. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence pass before Professor Choi chuckles darkly. He caresses the sore skin on your bottom.

"I thought I told you not to cum, my little one. I'm afraid it's time for your punishment now." When he speaks, his voice is dangerously calm, full of sugary menace, and yet your hole tightens at what he says. "On your knees, my love. I'm going to fuck your pretty little slutty mouth." You moan and almost fall to your trembling knees as you hurry to do what he asks you to do.

You look at Professor Choi for the first time since he asked you to bend over his desk. Apart from the trousers and boxers that have been pulled down around his hips to expose his thick, throbbing cock that is now right in front of your face, he still looks good—almost damn perfect.

"Fuck, are you going to smear that pretty pink lip gloss all over my dick, darling?" San strokes your hair like you are a kitten. He looks amazing—hair slightly damp with sweat, eyes dark and lustful, biting his plump lower lip as he shoves his thick cock into your mouth until the head hits the back of your throat. You gag on him, instinctive tears leaking from your eyes as he tangles his fingers in your hair, forcing you to swallow more and more of his cock as he goes deeper and deeper with each thrust, sloppily fucking your mouth. Your sticky lip gloss leaves a pink glow on his dick and is probably smeared all over your face, and you can see why this is such a turn-on for San.

Your eyes close as you concentrate on the relaxation of your throat and the rubbing of your tongue along the underside of his heavy cock.

"That's right, such an obedient girl." He moans, and you can feel San's cock pulsing in your mouth; he's about to come. He tightens his grip on your hair, pulling at it as you hear his sharp breathing through his nose. You whimper around his cock, the extra stimulation making him growl with pleasure.

"You're going to swallow every drop of my sperm. Every damn bit of it. Just like the pretty little bitch that you are." San gasps to breathe. You suck in your cheeks, suck hard on the head of his cock, and he curses fiercely. He comes out all the way and cums into your open, waiting mouth, spraying thick cum all over your tongue and some on your cheeks until his orgasm subsides. You swallow obediently, and the warm, bittersweet cum rolls down the back of your bruised throat.

You look up at him through your lashes and stick out your tongue to show him what a good girl you have been for him, swallowing every last bit of it.

San leans over, grabs you by the chin, and pulls you into a dirty, wet kiss. You can't even imagine leaving his office looking like that; you look like a total mess. As soon as Professor Choi lets you go, he brushes the sweaty hair from his forehead, runs his hand through it, and hides his dick in the trousers.

"I hope you've learned how to behave yourself, right?"

"Yes, Professor Choi."

"All right, you can go now." You nod in what you hope is a convincing manner and turn to pick up your knickers from the floor.

He quickly picks them up for you and puts them in one of the drawers on his desk.

"You'll have to come back for another lesson, love, if you want them back.".

"I understand, Professor Choi." You mutter, pulling your skirt down over your hips to cover everything.

You walk out of his office, not missing the way San is smiling at you, admiring the sight of your swaying hips, and you close the door to his office behind you.

You don't have any idea how you will come into his class next Monday.

[cowplant-snacks]

Sim Request | Friends, Families and Neighbors Needed!

This is a call for vanilla-ish sims based on any of the provided prompts. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to use all the submissions, sorry! And I may feel the need to alter the sim to fit my gameplay style, but if you’re comfortable with these caveats, please submit! 

Soft deadline: January 24th, 2025

Prompts and more info below the cut

General Notes:

I adore when you can tell which world a sim is from based on aspects of their style/dress.

I welcome background notes/details or any other information you want to share about the sim(s) you make.

I am open to sims that come with pets and/or family members.

Please no sims that have been used with Crystal Creations gameplay or have cheated college degrees. If you want the sim to have a degree let me know and I'll add it. These make my game very, very cranky.

I have all the packs.

And lastly, please only one submission per person. Tag me and use the #gregneedsfriends

Prompts: 

A werewolf sim of color that enjoys weight lifting, but still has a “dad” bod, smokes cigarettes, and “works” as a mechanic. Gameplay Goal: to be friends with Greg. Desired Age: adult. Desired Gender: up to you. Desired Sexuality: up to you. Other Details: up to you. I was originally envisioning a male sim, but I’m open. Origin: Strangerville

A werewolf, vampire, spellcaster, or mermaid sim that could be friends with Greg. Things to know about Greg; he’s out and proud, participates in drag shows, chain smokes, and works out (a lot). His aspiration is Inner Peace (it’s a real struggle for sure). Also, he just opened a yoga/meditation studio in Forgotten Hollow. 

Greg’s mom. (!!!) For similar genetics here is the gallery version of him by @simadillo. (If you need trayfiles, please message me.) I imagine that's she’s sweet and smaller in stature. She's the kind of lady that wears rollers to bed and has vintage pyrex dishes. She lovingly attends his meditation classes, but also finds it a little odd to sit very still, on a very small cushion, with her eyes closed surrounded by strangers. Age: elder, Location: Moodwoodmill, Origin: Del Sol Valley. Other details: Up to you!

An Asian sim from Mt Komorebi who works here and is a conservationist. I imagine they enjoy eating lactose-free string cheese the proper way, by peeling it (!!), AND they consider maps works of art. Usually you can find them telling stories around a campfire or climbing a rock wall. Goal: to be coworkers with Skylar. Ages: adult - elder, Gender: up to you. Sexuality: up to you. 

Other coworkers for Skylar and August who are either living abroad in Mt Komorebi or are from there. Age: YA - elder, other details up to you. Things to know about Skylar, he love sports, is clumsy and spends as much time outside as possible. He loves his career as a conservationist and works here. Things to know about August, he loves reading, is socially awkward and is studying the art of bonsai from a world renowned master in Mt. Komorebi. That's why the family moved there.

A figure skating coach with Asian heritage who is from Mt Komorebi. In my headcanon, he wears glasses, often keeps his arms folded across his chest, rarely smiles, has a discerning eye for art/beauty, and lastly he only coaches potential champions. Also, he is balding. Age: Male adult. Other details are up to you!

A pair of World-class figure skaters. One of them must be from Mt Komorebi. They both now reside in Mt. Komorebi. Other details are up to you. Are they married? Same sex? You decide!

My Defaults & CC: this is what I have in my game and you're welcome to use or include.

teeth - WightSpider's set (Unfortunately, she only uses CF)

skinblend - Aloe Vera + soft tummies 1 + 2 + masculine nipples

eyes - Pondskater

feet - Jius - paywalled but here

BOD-E II + TIT-E - Luumiasims

eyebrows - purplebex's Toddler Brows For All Ages

skintones - lamatisse BARE [genetic]

vampires - teeth vampiric by: cerberusus

occult skintones - FrenchieSim

werewolves - skin, tails & feet

fingernails - WightSpider's Natural Nails or UrbanNails or feel free to use what's in the game.

teen preset - Mmauto's shorter teen (MTS link)

Please no other : CC skin details, overlays, make up, presets, sliders, or other CAS items etc...

Other CC that's also okay to include:

2D eyelashes (such as 1 2 3 or 4) 

Disability related CC

Hairlines (such as 1 2 3 or 4) 

[justwinginglife]

what abt a soshiro and a babyshiro req ❓babyshiro is almost the carbon copy of soshiro but the kid always has that serious/brooding resting face that he always contrasts soshiro's own smiley face with,,,, n then sometimes babyshiro would wander off and watch the officers train but the officers always like shiver when they sense babyshiro's ominous aura observing them (the kid just has a permanent intimidating pout)

The Unstoppable Trio

When you first saw a picture of Soshiro as a kid, you were overwhelmed by just how adorable he was and you vowed to him that when you had his baby, they would look exactly like him. He just laughed and shook his head at you, saying you couldn't control what they looked like, and what if he wanted them to look more like you instead? But you stood firm in your statement- you wanted, no, you needed a little baby Soshiro running around your house, his little bowlcut flopping around as he played, his purple eyes peeking out from underneath his tired lids. 

And when you finally did have your first kid and he was the exact carbon copy of your husband, Soshiro then assumed you had some sort of otherworldly power to manifest your desires with such accuracy. You let him continue to think you were a god, it made things easier. It helped that your predictions were almost always correct as well. Soshiro had started taking your side on almost everything, after seeing firsthand how the universe just seemed to bend to your will, and when people disagreed with you, he’d quickly shut them down, whispering that you’d curse their family for generations if they didn’t shut up. He made you laugh. 

And your kid was just like him, always seeking out ways to make you laugh, to make you smile. If he said something silly and you giggled, he’d repeat it over and over to elicit the same reaction. If he did something cute and you fawned over him, he’d continue doing it, continue soaking up your adoration. 

Soshiro was both pouty and proud about it. He wanted your attention too, but he was impressed that someone so young had already figured out the secret to keeping you happy. He felt like if he ever passed too soon, his son would take good care of his mom. So he let him have your attention, he let him learn how best to love you.

In fact, you and your husband were the only people your son actively showered with love. He was worse at showing it to anyone else. He had such a severe case of resting bitch face around everybody else that rumors started going around that you, with your supernatural powers, had birthed a demon of some sort. Because if anyone were to have given him these genetics, it wouldn’t have been smiley Soshiro, it would’ve been you. You were downright intimidating sometimes, and it seemed your child had already perfected that same art of intimidation at such a young age. 

Now, every time you looked at your baby boy, he was the picture perfect angel, grinning just like his daddy did. But everyday your husband would bring you a new story about what your “perfect baby boy” did to scare the shit out of someone today, and it cracked Soshiro up to no end, he’d say “Our kiddo is a real comedian.”

Apparently Iharu had gotten called to the Captain’s office while he was mid bathroom break and he had zipped up his pants as quickly as he could, almost tripping over his own feet trying to exit the bathroom and your baby had blocked the door. Iharu scratched his head, perspiring a little at the sight of what looked like a scowl, before finally trying to appease the kid.

“Um. Hey buddy. Hey little man. Mind moving out of the way for me?”

He didn’t budge. He simply pointed to the sink. “Wash.” He demanded.

Iharu lifted an eyebrow and turned to peer at the sink. Wash? He looked back at the kid, a puzzled look on his face. Did your kid expect him to help him wash his hands? He didn’t have time for this, the Captain needed him. 

“Uh, sorry friend, maybe your dad can help you. Is he around?”

And then came the infamous eye roll that he had seen you do a million times whenever Soshiro teased you. Iharu thought your kid did the eye roll better than you, he was infinitely more terrified now.

 “You. No. Wash. You. Wash. Now.”

Iharu almost peed his pants again as he realized what the kid was saying. He forgot to wash his hands. The kid was blockading the door all because he forgot to clean up after himself. Iharu shivered as he washed his hands, imagining the consequences if he’d done something worse than forgetting to wash his hands. Your kid was pretty damn frightening.

And it turned out that Soshiro was just around the corner, clutching his sides, chuckling to himself. When he saw Iharu stumble out of the restroom looking like he’d seen a ghost, Soshiro simply said, “Bet you won’t forget to do that again,” before wiping tears from his eyes and then patting his kid on the head to reward him for good behavior. 

Even Kaguragi, big and strong as he was, fell victim to the mini-you. Your son had wandered into the training room where Kaguragi was lifting weights and for a minute, he just watched him. It was enough to get Kaguragi sweating, but if anyone asked, he could blame it on the workout. Then your kid strolled over to him and pointed to the weights, saying “More.”

So Kaguragi added another weight to his set, though unsure why he was listening to a child. He did a couple reps before your kid, again, repeated “More.” He wanted to tell your kid that he was being ridiculous, that he was already lifting way more than he usually did, but one look at his face froze him in place. He nodded his head compliantly. “More it is, little guy.” And he kept adding more and more, at your kid’s instruction, until he was about to collapse. Soshiro laughed so hard he had to run to the bathroom, where he ran into Iharu again, gave him shit about washing his hands again, and then relieved himself. 

The women were not immune to your son’s cold stare either, as proven by Shinomiya’s standoff with him. She had heard the rumors and she had scoffed at them, saying it was ridiculous for anyone to be afraid of a child and that they should be sorry to call themselves Defense Force officers. She had even marched around the base, looking for the child, so she could prove her grit. She found Soshiro holding his hand as they went for a walk and she knelt down to take a look at the little guy. 

“Aww, hi cutie! Are you taking a walk with your daddy? Everyone says you’re so scary, but you’re just a little sweetie pie, aren’t you?” 

His icy gaze pierced her soul as he spoke, “Where’s your daddy? No daddy?”

Shinomiya ran away crying. 

You did apologize to Shinomiya for the incident, setting down a large bouquet of her favorite flowers on her nightstand before leaving her to sulk in bed the rest of the day. And you were actually sorry for her, but unfortunately, you and Soshiro were also slightly amused. It was an entertaining notion that your son could take down even the great Shinomiya, and especially after she talked such a big game.

“What a tough guy you are, baby boy.” You kissed him on the head and he smiled the most darling smile. You returned home with him on your hip and Soshiro at your side. 

So now you were the unstoppable trio. And everyone knew it.

[goddessofroyalty]

Fandom: Arcane

Pairing: Jayce/Viktor

Tags: omegaverse, future-mpreg

Still not a prompt fill (I will start on them I swear!) but I’ve been meaning to write Viktor deciding he wants to have a baby with Jayce because of scientific curiosity for a while now. So I am glad this is written.

And yes I did have an image of them both open while I was writing this to compare which features I think Viktor would prefer from which one of them.

----------------

Viktor doesn’t often get to watch Jayce work.

There is nearly always something else that can be done while Jayce creates a new casing or frame-part. Either wiring to be soldiered or a formula to continue working through. So much work to be done and never enough hours in the day.

Not this time. They had hit a point where nothing further could be done until Jayce finished forging the guard that would separate the Hextech core from the external mechanisms. So Viktor had joined him at the Talis’ Forge despite having complete faith in Jayce’s ability to do it right.

Supervising just feels more productive than merely waiting. And Viktor does enjoy watching his partner work on the rare opportunities he can allow himself to.

He will not deny that Jayce is impressive to watch when he is at work.

His shirt has been abandoned from the heat giving Viktor full view of the muscles of his partner’s broad shoulders shining from sweat and golden from the light of the furnace. The alpha’s strength on full display with each hammer fall. The profile of his face defined by the shadows cast by his features.

From the moment he met him Viktor knew Jayce was impressive, both in body and mind.

The physical part was impossible for anyone to miss. Jayce was stunning to look at, the very definition of an ideal alpha. Strong and fit but not hulking. Broad shoulders that taper into a defined waist and warm arms that it is so very easy to imagine being carried in. He is fit and healthy and seems to naturally draw the eyes of all around him.

But it was Jayce’s mind that had actually made Viktor interested in him. The ideas in his notes were genius even if Viktor had seen where they could be improved. Jayce hadn’t disappointed after they started working together. His intelligence may not be the same as Viktor’s, but the ease he could conceive and create the exact tool to fix the problem before them was inspired. Working with him was working with Viktor’s true intellectual equal.

Viktor can hardly blame the fans that fawn over his partner when Jayce makes public appearances. Anyone would want Jayce as a mate. His genetics alone ample reason before adding in his gentle kindness and sweet awkwardness.

All of it traits his hypothetical children could inherit.

Although if Viktor seriously considers the possibility of Jayce and children, then, while Jayce has many traits that would be desirable to see passed down, he is not perfect.

While Jayce’s hands are very skilled at what they do they lack the fineness and dexterity of Viktor’s own. So a child would do well to inherit from Viktor instead in that regard.

Even with his strong square jaw Jayce’s brow and eyebrows always seem to overpower his face. It would be good for a child to have one more like Viktor’s – less prominent and with a lower hairline to soften it.

While Viktor appreciates Jayce’s intelligence far more than the average person he will admit his bias in preferring that his own would be passed onto any child of theirs.

Then there are the things that matter less which way they go. Jayce’s skin may seem to glow under the golden light of his forge or the sun but Viktor’s hardly blemishes apart from a mole here or there. They both have good eyesight and neither possess a particularly outstanding eye colour. The texture of both their hairs is equal in strengths even if different.

Together they could make a glorious child.

Viktor would be remiss not to consider how difficult a pregnancy would be for him before letting his mind follow the thought any further. His body is deteriorating, he knows, and the weight of a baby on his spine would do it no favors.

Hextech hadn’t been easy either though. And it had been worth all the effort and pain and risk it took to create.

He would need only do it once to test his hypothesis.

“What are you thinking about Vik?” Jayce asks, taking off the wielding goggles as he turns around. The rest of his gear already put aside.

“I think I want a baby.”

Jayce stumbles, knocking into the table next to him. Catching himself to lean against it. The muscles in his arm bulging from the force he’s pushing down on it with.

“What?” he asks, free hand gesturing emptily. “Like generally or-“

“No, with you.” Viktor cannot say he ever thought about having a child before. His work always far too important. The idea of having one with someone else is not at all appealing. But with Jayce-

They created Hextech together as partners. The kind of child they could make together actually feels exciting in the way the early days of their partnership did. An unexplored potential that Vitktor wants to see reached.

“Right,” Jayce says, glancing at Viktor then up at the ceiling and then the floor in rapid succession. His hand comes to scratch behind his ear as he pushing himself off the table to stand fully upright. “Like now?”

“Well conception rarely is successful on the first try,” Viktor says, reaching for his cane as he stands up and walks over to Jayce. More to pace as he explains the process than anything. “And a pregnancy takes 40 weeks if it goes to full-term. So in about a year. If we start trying now.”

It is better they do it sooner than later if they are going to. How long before the deterioration of Viktor’s body makes him unable to carry a pregnancy an unknown.

“You’re serious,” Jayce says with a weak laugh.

“Of course. I would not joke about something like that.” It would be cruel to. “So do you want to or not?”

“Yes! I mean, if you want. Are you sure? It’s- You’ll- Us- A baby-“ Jayce stutters adorably. Viktor hopes their child inherits Jayce’s earnestness. “Do you want to start trying now?”

Viktor gives a hum of contemplation.

“We can install that first,” he decides, pointing to the guard that should be nearly done cooling. “But tonight, yes. If that works for you.”

“I don’t have any other plans,” Jayce jokes awkwardly and Viktor notes Jayce’s smile as another thing he hopes they inherit.

[magics-neptunes-things]

A Baby for Christmas

Hi guys ♥

This is a new style I'm trying so I hope you will like it. Please let me know what you think about it! It was very long to write so I'm really sorry if you still find mistakes in it.

Summary : How your baby comes in your life. (Worst summary ever)

Part 2 is here!

TW : Mention of miscarriage, pregnancy.

______________________________________________________________

December

When Leah looked you in the eye while you innocently drank your coke and said "I want a baby" the shock was such that you spit out your drink. I mean, of course you know perfectly well that the blonde has a desire to create a family, you both talked about it pretty early in your relationship. But you didn’t expect her to throw you this information while you are lying on your couch, dressed only in one of her t-shirts too big for you after activities not necessarily adapted to any public.

By the time you managed not to choke, the blonde had added "With you" which made you bow both eyebrows at the same time.

"Thank God" you answered, dropping your soda can on your coffee table.

Leah laughed and grabbed a tissue to wipe your chin, while taking again.

"I think we have everything we need to welcome a baby properly, don’t you think? We have a house, we both make a good living, and I know you’re the love of my life."

After confirming that she were yours (your two-year marriage could have been proof of that alone), you contacted clinics and took the first steps to the path of motherhood.

You had hoped that the test carried out a few days before Christmas would be positive, but that wasn't the case. Even if Leah hugged you tightly, saying you that's it's ok and you will try again, you can't drive away your melancholy.

The following days, you were eternally grateful for Leah’s efforts to change your mind, going out to different Christmas markets or offering different Christmas activities. She knows how much you love this holiday. And you have to admit that it worked and you probably fell in love with her again.

January

"This is bullshit" you complain suddenly, driving Leah's attention on you.

"Ok. But which one are you talking about?"

Leah's answer made you smile and rolling your eyes. You were walking in Hyde Park hand in hand, taking advantage of illuminations that have not yet been removed. In the early afternoon, many families still enjoy the ice rink and the various activities offered by Winter Wonderland. It's the last day of opening and many people seem to still want to enjoy it.

"Genetics"

All you have to do is take a look at Leah to see that she’s completely lost by what you’re saying. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t fully realize that Leah’s were thousands years away from yours.

"Care to explain?" asks the blonde, frowning.

You sighed and stop walking, without letting Leah's hand go.

"I want our baby to look like you. Not me."

Leah’s smile is tinged with a hint of sadness. It's obvious that your child will not be able to have your both features and you find this completely unfair. Aside from the fact that he would just be perfect, when you imagined having kids with Leah, you always imagined them looking like her.

"It’s sad and cute at the same time" Leah comments, releasing your hand to put her arm around your waist.

You pout and sigh softly, letting yourself go against her. You’re not a professional sportsman and Leah is going to make her big comeback on the football fields in two weeks. It made sense that you were carrying your child for both of us.

"There is a way to make it possible. To make him look like you" you add, once again crossing her questioning gaze.

"Babygirl I love you but I swear if you prepare to mention my brother in any way…"

"Ew no, what the hell?"

You frown with cringe while looking at her. She shrug and bite her lip before answering to you.

"Well one of the gynecologists we visited mentioned me the idea, but I’m glad to hear you don’t like it"

"I mean Jacob is cute because he looks like you, but not in this way"

Leah has a satisfied and superior smile that makes you laugh softly and you note in a corner of your head to ask her the name of the gynecologist to go and stick an one star in her Google reviews. But you’d rather go back to the present.

"So, what I was saying before you try Lannister-ed us (Leah rolls her eyes) is that I saw on the Internet that there is another possibility. I can take one of your eggs and take care of the pregnancy. But in the end it will look like you."

"Just to be sure" Leah says with her special accent "You want to take one egg from me (she put her index on her) to put it here (she put her index on your belly) and make the baby grow so he looks like me (she put herself again)?"

"Yes?"

"I like this idea a little to much" Leah smirks.

February

You’ve always hated needles since you were little. Vaccines have always been your hell on earth and despite all the persuasion of your mother, you have never been able to donate your blood. Fortunately, you have never had an operation, otherwise you sincerely don't know how you would have done. When you told Leah about this little detail, she thought you were exaggerating and laughed. But that was before you had to have an injection every night for the goods of your treatment and that possibly you could have a baby in a few months.

"Baby, it’s time!"

You look up from the television to see your wife leaning against a piece of furniture in your living room, a mischievous smile on her face and a syringe in her hands.

"Oh no" you whine

"Oh yes."

Without giving Leah time to react, you jump off the couch and run into the bedroom. That doesn’t stop you from hearing your wife’s voice sigh.

"Seriously?"

You’ve only been on this treatment for a few days, but every day is worse than the last. Leah is doing her best and she is particularly sweet and delicate, but your belly is covered with bruises and it has clearly become your most hated moment of the day.

"Y/N I swear to god!" makes Leah when she realise that you hide yourself in the cupboard. Again.

"Leave me alone you creep"

But Leah doesn’t listen to you and opens the closet door on the fly. You try to escape, but it was not counting Leah’s sporting reflexes that tackle you on your bed. Sitting on your legs, she knows you have no chance to escape.

"Baby please, can we talk about this?"

"Stop acting" Leah laughs softly as she lifts your shirt.

Knowing that you cannot escape it any longer, you close your eyes and take a great aspiration.

"Finished"

You open your eyes to see the satisfied face of Leah, who in the meantime put the needle on her bedside table.

"I have to admit you’re getting better and better at it" you whisper reluctantly.

In truth, you didn’t even feel anything. But you quickly spot the glow that shines in Leah’s eyes when she looks at you.

"I must admit that I particularly like this position" she whispers as she leans over you, putting her lips on yours.

March

"I think I’ll throw up" you nervously say.

"Actually, I think you were supposed to pee on it" your wife objects with sarcasm.

Despite yourself you let go of a nervous little laugh, rising from the edge of the bathtub on which you had settled. Today is the famous day of the pregnancy test and you are so stressed that you wonder if you will fall out, vomit or simply end up rolled into a ball on the floor of your bathroom.

"5 minutes" Leah grumbles after a few seconds, looking at the timer on her phone. "Who makes these tests?"

"Certainly people who love neither women nor children"

It’s Leah’s turn to giggle a little, but the tension is still there. To pass the time, you sing from memory Good Caroline in your head several times, until the timer rings in the room. Leah jumps so much that she drops her phone on the ground.

You exchange a look and you talk first.

"You’re watching. I don’t have the courage."

Leah sighs softly but gets up from the toilet bowl, nervously approaching the two tests you've done. You preferred to be sure of the result so as not to have false hopes, just in case. With trembling hands, Leah takes a deep breath before taking both tests in her hands. Her nervous face becomes unreadable and you will certainly die of stress in a few seconds.

"So what? Lee?"

After a few seconds, Leah puts her attention back on you, her gaze still unfathomable.

"My Love, I swear…" you begin, ready to threaten her if she remains silent one more second.

"Positive."

"What?"

She seems so incredulous that you think you misunderstood. But a big smile appears on her face and she jumps into your arms.

"Positive! We will be Parents!"

April

Lying in your bed, Leah is scrolling on her phone while you have opted for a more traditional way of doing things, using a book. You’ve been thinking about a name for a few weeks without really finding your happiness. Despite the fact that you still go the time, you fear that you arrive at the birth before making a choice. Not wanting to know if the baby is a girl or a boy complicates your task, but it's time to assume this choice until the end.

"What do you think of Alistair?" you ask while raising the nose of your book.

"Of course, if you want him to be able to join the royal family later, it will be perfect" mocks Leah and you roll your eyes.

"I know!" exclaims your blonde seconds later with a victorious smile. "William!"

"William Williamson? Really?"

"Well, yes!"

Your sarcastic tone and arched eyebrow seem to amuse Leah more than reason since she laughs, proud of her discovery. And seeing her happy face, you can’t help but smile softly.

"Harry?" you suggest, a few minutes later.

"No."

Leah’s clear and almost cold answer surprises you and you raise your nose from your book to look at her. Her eyebrows are raised and you don’t understand why. Does she have a hatred you didn’t know about Harry Potter?

"Why?"

"Because Harry Kane and there's no fucking way that my son is named after a Tottenham player."

Leah threatens you with her finger and you hold back with a smile, realizing that the subject is burning for your wife.

"Oh man…" you whisper softly as you resume your reading.

Some time passes and the silence settles, interrupted only by the rain that strikes against the windows of your house. You take advantage of this silence to snuggle up against Leah and you smile as you feel her cheek pressed against the top of your skull.

"Magnus?" you suggest after a few minutes.

Leah raises her head and thinks a few seconds before nodding.

"I like it. You can add it to the list."

With a satisfied smile, you add Magnus to Cameron’s suite after taking the time to trace William. The innocent look that Leah takes when you look at her while doing it amuses you and you rest your pen.

"We’re only looking for a boy’s name, but what if it’s a girl?"

Looking up at you, Leah puts her phone on her thigh and you see her hesitant to speak again. The way she sways slightly on the mattress makes you think about what she does when she stands up and has to tell you something. Fortunately, this was never a serious confession.

"Well… there’s a name I like, since I was a teenager"

"Okay?"

"I’m afraid you don’t like her"

You smile softly, passing your legs over hers. Your curiosity is driven by the fact that Leah doesn’t seem to want to tell you. Taking her hand in yours, you intertwine your fingers and look into her eyes.

"Come on Leah, just tell me" you whines.

"Charlie?"

"Charlie Williamson" you try the first and last name several times on your tong, under the inquisitive eye of Leah, before giving her a big smile. "I really like it."

May

"I'm scared" you mumble against Leah's neck, where you're hiding your face.

You both were in the gynaecologist’s office that follows you during your pregnancy. This is the first ultrasound you will have for your baby. After taking a blood test after a month of pregnancy and confirming that you were pregnant, you considered it unnecessary to specify that you did a test almost every other day. This all sounds almost too good to be true. You feel like something terrible is going to happen to you.

"I’m sure it’s going to be all right" Leah replies with her deep, calm voice, kissing the top of your head.

In truth, she is at least as stressed as you and doesn't pay any attention to the magazine she's reading. She is also the first to get up when you are called, even if she gently reaches out to you to help you do the same.

The gynecologist asks you about your state of health, but you rather want to shake her so that she hurries to put you on the observation table. You want, need, to know that everything is fine.

After a few minutes it is finally the case and you find yourself nervously attached to Leah’s hand.

"We may not hear the heartbeat well, since the fetus is still small" it informs you, which does not help your stress to decrease.

You answer nothing, focused on the images that scroll on the screen in front of you. You look at Leah when she explains to both of you where the baby is, which you would have been unable to see on your own. These white spots are inexplicable to you. But your wife’s wet eyes are enough to make you smile.

"Come on, let’s try to listen to his heart now."

You swallow and close your eyes, expecting to hear a very slight sound after the doctor’s explanations. But it’s actually a fast and loud drumming that sounds in the room, making you quickly open your eyes. The sensations you feel when hearing this melody are indescribable and you only realize that you are crying when Leah gently wipes your tears with her thumb.

"It looks like this baby is in great shape. Congratulations. I’ll let you get dressed and we’ll make an appointment for the next check."

You nod and can’t get your eyes off the frozen screen where the proof is that this baby really exists.

"We’re gonna be parents."

Leah’s sentence, the same one she uttered when discovering the positive tests, seems more like an achievement this time. But you understand her feeling. It seems to be much more real.

"You’re not gonna knock out, are you?"

The look lost in Leah’s gaze becomes clear again when it lands on you and you address her a mocking smile.

"Of course not. Kiss me rather than tell nonsense."

Smiling again, you stand up and put your arms around her neck to kiss her tenderly. You let go of her when she kisses your cheek and neck, enjoying the moment. You’re going to be parents. And most importantly, your baby is healthy.

June

The good weather being back, it's with a little more motivation that you go to Leah's football matches. Even if you haven’t missed one in or around London, not having to cover yourself with layers of clothing is nice. Summer is coming and the end of the season too. Arsenal is pretty well placed in the standings, but it's a FA Cup's match that is being played today. And not just any since it’s the final and Arsenal is playing against Chelsea.

You find yourself in the ranks of families and friends, surrounded by the Williamsons and other family members of different players. The friends are also present since Ella Toone is also part of the ranks, just like Mary Earps and other international players that you have already met several times thanks to Leah.

You're wearing a jersey with Williamson print on your back, Leah's Arsenal cap and you bought yourself a scarf at the booth, which you put on your shoulders. The proud look your wife gave you when she saw you was worth it.

The match is tight and it's with a blank score that the half is whistled. Leah looks for you and addresses you a smirk before entering the tunnel to return to the changing rooms, which you answer obviously.

"Would you like something to drink, darling?" asks your mother-in-law affectionately and you think for a few moments.

Quench your thirst and know that you will run to the toilet a few minutes later and definitely miss part of the game? Or wait for a few more minutes? You end up opting for the second option and given the following of events, you are quite right. If you’d missed that moment, you’d probably have found yourself with a divorce paper under your nose.

60th minute, a corner for Arsenal is played right in the box. The ball is taken from the head by Alessia but ends on the crossbar. However, it’s not over since Lia managed to intercept it and pass it back to Leah who sends a cannon ball to the bottom of the nets.

You expected Leah to rush to her teammates to celebrate, but instead you see her positioning her arms as if she was carrying an imaginary baby and she started rocking it. There’s a big smile on your face when you realize what she’s doing. You haven’t made your pregnancy public yet, fearing you’ll have to announce bad news if things go wrong. It must also be said that the fact that you are not famous and that your belly grew during the winter allowed you not to have too much effort to put in place for this.

Playful smiles on their faces, Leah’s teammates finally reach her height to congratulate her for this goal. These hugs finished, Leah looks for you again among the crowd and you send her a kiss with your hand.

Thirty minutes later, the referee’s whistle rang through the stadium, sealing Arsenal’s victory. You find yourself jumping on the spot with excitement too, cuddling all the people you can reach. You know how important this game was for Leah, who wants to get back to her old level as soon as possible.

It’s only after the cup has been lifted by the whole team that Leah makes her way to you, but you’re happy to see her enjoying these moments with her friends. You smile when you see her running towards you and get as close as possible to the edge of the field. The height of the bleachers doesn't seem to bother Leah who climbs it simply to get to your height.

"I’m so proud of you, Leah" you smile as you stretch out your arms at her.

A big smile on her face, Leah hugs you with pleasure, putting a tender kiss on your lips.

"Did you see my goal?"

"Was it you? I could have sworn it was Cloé who scored that fantastic goal"

Leah snorts and you smirk at her, taking her face in your both hands.

"Have you seen my celebration too?"

"I did Baby. You're such a dork" you smile when Leah laughs and kiss her once again, forgetting the world around you, making you believing that you are all alone.

But you weren't.

"Hum. Mind if I hug my sister, too?"

September

Leah’s flirtatious nature is known in the football world and it never changed when you guys got together. You know perfectly well that there is nothing behind, you saw the way she flirted "for real" when she became interested in you. However, as you often tell her, it's not necessarily as easy to understand for the person in front of her. Because of her sexual orientation, they are very often girls.

But then again, you never gave her a fit of jealousy because she never exceeded the limits you set and because she always proved to you that you could have a blind and total trust in her. Apart from her sharp, chaotic, unpredictable and sometimes stubborn character, Leah knows how to be affectionate, attentive, romantic and tender. You think some people won’t believe you, but you don’t care. That part of Leah is only for you and that’s perfect.

But tonight, you feel your hormones bubbling. Leah asked you to join her in the karaoke bar she used to go to with her teammates. Tonight there’s Alessia, Lia, Alex, Katie and Caitlin. After breaking everyone’s ears on an Adele song, Katie was forced to sit down for the end of the evening and sulks in her corner. Alessia and Leah went back for drinks while Alex started a song with Caitlin.

Lia is installed at your side, but you must admit that you're paying any attention to your discussion. Your interest is entirely focused on the waitress who flirts without the slightest embarrassment with your wife.

"You’re not listening to me at all" Lia laughs softly, making you finally turn your head in her direction.

"No, I’m sorry."

You make a grimace but she addresses you a smile, apparently not in the least vindictive. You like the Swiss girl, you know she had a little fling with Leah before you met, but her behavior towards you has always been impeccable. You can’t tell if feelings are completely erased from her side, but she’s a loyal friend to Leah and who would you blame for someone having stifled feelings for the perfect woman that is Leah?

Speaking of the blonde, you shift your attention to her to see that she is still in full discussion with the waitress. Even Alessia seems to find time long, her gaze navigates between Leah and the table. Noticing that you observe the scene with coldness, she taps on Leah’s shoulder with a discreet nod in your direction.

Your eyes cross the baby blue of Leah who seems to realize the situation immediately. So she easily emerges from the grip of the waitress who had literally grabbed her arm to come back to you.

"A little song Less?" quickly offers Lia when she feels the tension emanating from your body.

Alessia vaguely answers a "Yes please" letting her desire to flee the possible dispute that point the tip of her nose, which would surely have amused you another day.

"You okay Babe?" asks Leah, putting a hand on your leg.

"Don’t Babe me, Leah." You said coldly with an eyebrow arched.

"Come on, Baby, it was nothing. We were just talking."

"Normal people don’t talk to others by sticking their breasts under their noses."

Leah rolls her eyes and you push her hand back from your leg, but the blonde does not let go and passes the same hand around your shoulders to squeeze you against her. You try to escape, but your big belly is holding you back. Now the baby’s on Leah’s side.

"Leah" you try to push her away despite the gust of kisses she puts all over your face.

"Leah" you repeat once again, feeling your anger wither.

"I love it when you say my name" your wife whispers mischievously in your ear.

"Stop it. It’s not funny"

Despite this, Leah has a smile on her face when she resumes speaking, your chin delicately trapped between her thumb and index finger.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it bothered you that much. You know I only see you. It doesn’t bother you so much usually, what changes this time?"

You shrug your shoulders in perfect bad faith. You know why, but you’re not sure you want to talk about it. When it goes like this before, you have a nice time sticking to Leah and making out with her to make your rivals understand that she's yours.

"Dunno" you mumble before you finish your soda.

"You’re lying" Leah whispers in your ear, laying a kiss on the corner of your jaw.

"What do you want me to say?" you sigh softly "she is younger, prettier and she can certainly offer free drinks to whoever she wants."

The end of your sentence was mostly meant to distract Leah from the rest, but it obviously didn’t work. The blonde straightens a little, frowning.

"No one is prettier than you"

"Oh please, Leah, I appreciate your support but I have already gained more than ten kilos. Be realistic. I am. And I don’t like it when women prettier than me flirt with my wife."

But Leah doesn't seem to hear it from this ear since your face always between her fingers is putting closer to hers. Her eyebrows are frowned, much more than usual.

"Nobody’s prettier than you. I’m serious."

You have trouble supporting the intensity of her gaze and you find yourself blushing like you did when she complimented you at the beginning of your relationship. The blonde finally releases your face, but only to tighten you against her, with two arms this time.

"You are my wife. No one is prettier than you."

October

In half a sleep, Leah turns around in your bed to get on her stomach, expecting to be able to curl up against you. Except that it's only the void that receives her, making her frown. Still without opening her eyes, she taps the mattress in search of your body, without success. It's only then that she opens her eyes and rises slightly on the mattress to note your absence at her side.

"Y/N?"

When the silence answers her, Leah ends up getting up and looking for you. She walks through the different rooms of the house starting with the bathroom and ending with your garden, without success. Gradually, the blonde feels panic invading her, especially when she realizes that your pajamas are wisely folded on a chair in your room and that you left with her purse but without your phone or your car.

It's with trembling hands and fingers that your wife grabs her phone to call the first number that comes to her mind in an emergency.

"What’s up Baba?" makes the sleepy voice of Amanda Williamson, awakened at 3am by her daughter.

"Y/N is missing."

********

When you return home, you are surprised to see that an additional car is in your driveway, apparently parked in a hurry. You don’t understand why your mother-in-law’s car is here, or why all the lights in the house are on.

So it’s puzzling that you go to the door, your food bag in your hand. People had warned you that you would have strange cravings, but you didn’t expect to want cinnamon rolls and Beef Jerky in the middle of the night. Unable to go back to sleep and not having it at home, you simply decided to go to the supermarket open 24/24 in your neighborhood to do some shopping.

If you were perplexed when you arrived at home, you have the impression that question marks grow on your head when you pass the front door. Leah is sitting on the couch with her head in her hands and your stepmother in a bathrobe over her nightgown on the phone with someone. Hearing the front door, Leah abruptly raises her head and before you realize it you find yourself pressed against her with blond hair obstructing your vision.

"Okay, she’s here. Yes … thank you very much" you hear Amanda saying before she hangs up.

"Where the hell were you? Are you okay? What happened?"

Leah releases you a little and holds you at arm’s length, letting her gaze slide over every inch of your body to check that you have no wound anywhere.

"I’m fine! I - I was hungry so I went to buy food"

"At 3 in the morning?!" Leah half-scream

"Yes?"

"Without taking your phone?"

"I forgot it."

"For God’s sake, have you lost your mind?! If anything had happened to you, what would you have done? We were calling the cops and -"

"Leah."

Amanda’s voice sounds and you realize at this moment that she has taken a few steps to get closer to you both. Laying a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, she draws her attention with her calm, smoothing voice. It seems to work since Leah turns directly in her direction.

"She’s fine. You were afraid, but everything’s fine now"

The inspiration that Leah takes to calm down is audible throughout the room and you take advantage of this moment of calm to say in a small voice

"I'm so sorry"

The blue eyes of the footballer refer to you and the embrace that you exchange this time is more made to comfort her for once. Over her shoulder, you give your mother-in-law an apology smile.

"Sorry for pulling you out of bed in the middle of the night"

"No worries. But I’m going back now."

She winks at you and kisses you both before leaving the house. Leah is still in your arms and you gently stroke her back with your fingertips, following her spine. Her face is hidden in your neck and you kiss her hair before you speak again.

"Shall we go back to bed too?"

Leah answers you with a grunt and grabs your hand to train you in your bedroom, taking care to turn off the lights of the house in passing.

"Don’t ever do that to me again" Leah mutters and clings to you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear again.

"I’m sorry" you say again. "I know how tired you are with the games and the training. I just wanted to let you rest."

"I don’t care if I’m tired. If you need anything and I sleep, you wake me up. If anything happens to you and I’m gone, you call me. I won’t accept any excuses."

"At your command, Captain" you smile tenderly before kissing her.

"I’m not kidding, Williamson."

"I know, Williamson."

November

"Y/N Y/S/N Williamson, will you please come down that ladder, right now?"

Hearing the voice both panicked and commanding of your wife, you smile and roll your eyes. Leah’s over-protective behavior is growing day by day and you will surely not be allowed to lift any pencil soon.

"Leah, I’m not risking anything" you say, turning in her direction.

"No! Don't move! You will fall!"

Letting the panic prevail, Leah rushes towards you, throwing her football bag and her boots to makes you come down the ladder by carrying you in her arms like a bride. Smiling, you put your arms around her neck and put your lips on hers.

"You’re so strong" you coo tenderly before deposing other kisses along her jaw and into her neck.

You feel her shiver, so you continue your kisses. Leah was away all the morning and the beginning of the afternoon for training and you were getting bored. So you decided to install the Christmas decoration, going up the boxes from the cellar and setting up your Christmas tree. Without decorating it, knowing that Leah would do it with you. You also had time to decorate the windows with stickers and fake snow and you were finishing installing the lights above your windows.

"Oh no, I know exactly what you’re doing" laughs Leah as you, gently resting you on the floor.

"What?" you ask maliciously.

"You’re trying to distract me from your foolishness"

"I will only speak in the presence of my lawyer"

Leah laughs and you can’t help but smile when you hear your favorite sound. Putting yourself on tiptoe, you deposit a new kiss on her lips to which the blonde responds without hesitation.

"How is my baby?"

Her hand gently settles on your belly and you smile again feeling her do.

"He’s in great shape, he’s been kicking me all day"

"Believe me, there is a future talented footballer in there"

"A striker most certainly" you smirk

"No way. He's going to be a defender"

"Or a keeper"

"Who in the world would want to be a goalkeeper, except Mary’s children?"

You know that Leah is joking and that she will be happy no matter what path your child chooses. But if he could enjoy football and become an Arsenal fan, it would probably be a big plus for her. As if to confirm this words, you feel the baby give a new kick, exactly where Leah’s hand is.

"Well hello to you too Buba" Leah says tenderly before bending over to lay a kiss on your belly.

"How was training baby?" You ask, picking up the stuff Leah threw on the floor a few minutes ago.

"Leave it, I’ll take care of it" intervenes the blonde, grabbing you by the hand. "It was ok, but training in the cold begins to become painful"

You smile at her and decide to take her with you in the kitchen.

"How about a nice hot chocolate?"

"I think it’s the best idea of your day. Way above climbing a ladder and being eight months pregnant."

December

Leah is in the training room, surrounded by her teammates when her phone starts ringing. By habit, in case you have an emergency, she leaves it under general so you can contact her anytime. She gave you a special ring, allowing her to recognize your calls compared to others.

"Lee, phone" shouts Alessia across the room.

"Can you look who’s calling me please?"

The blonde does it willingly, rummaging through spare clothes and cereal boxes.

"It's your mother."

Leah sighs and walks across the room to grab her phone and hang up. However, Leah barely has time to rest it that it starts ringing again, making Leah frown.

"She knows I’m training, why is she insisting like that?"

The question is said aloud, but it could just as well be pronounced in his head. However, this would not have allowed Katie to respond.

"Maybe an emergency?"

"Didn’t you tell me Y/N was with her this morning?" intervenes Lia.

The captain’s face breaks down a little and she quickly picks up at this welcome reminder of her friend.

"Mom?"

"Baba don’t freak out, but we’re at the hospital. Y/N’s water just broke."

"I’m… I’m coming"

Just after hanging up, panic seizes Leah who gathers her belongings by embarking half of those belonging to Viv in passing. Miraculously her teammates manage to understand what she explains to them and Lia intervenes quickly, with all the calm and sweetness that characterizes her.

"I’m driving you, there's no way you’re driving in this state."

After refusing that the entire team accompanies them ("It’s a birth, not a summer camp"), it's finally with Alessia and Katie that Lia accompanies Leah to the right hospital. It's finally a good thing that the Swiss woman decided to accompany Leah, she would surely have managed to go to the wrong maternity.

"Leah breathe" Katie says from the back seat.

"Easy to say! If things go wrong? In addition, the baby is early! What if he doesn't survive this?"

"Wasn't the expected delivery date the December 12?" asks Lia, bowing her eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Leah, we’re the 7" Alessia gently intervened.

"So what?"

"I swear to God that if this child inherits your drama rate, I’ll get him enrolled in drama classes" says Katie, sighing at length.

In the room you’re in, time seems long without Leah. Amanda keeps you company until your wife gets here, but between the pain and the stress, you don’t look too good.

"You’re doing very well darling" your mother-in-law gently makes you, to whom you address a smile-grimace.

Fortunately, a few minutes later Leah finally makes her appearance, dressed in a sky blue outfit that you saw a thousand times in Grey’s Anatomy. The relief is so great when you see her come that tears rise to your eyes. Focused on Leah, you don’t even realize that Amanda is taking the powder.

"My Love" whispers Leah as she lays a kiss on your forehead.

Leah tenderly caresses your face while listening to the nurse’s information and you relax as much as possible. You didn’t hesitate for a second when you were asked if you wanted peridulral. You willingly let other women be brave, but you, no thanks.

The hours pass, both slow and fast. Leah does her best to relieve, relax or change your mind. She’s perfect, once again.

It's only around 2am that your baby’s cry finally sounds in the delivery room, after long hours of labor. You can’t tell which of the three of you cried the most when your little miracle is lying on your chest, Leah sitting next to you in bed.

A little blonde hair down, quickly covered with a hat, and baby blue piercing eyes as light as Leah's are the first features you discover in your perfect baby. Just like you hopped.

"So, what will you call this little angel?" the nurse ask you.

"Charlie. Her name is Charlie" Leah mumble, a big smile on her face. "Charlie Amanda Williamson."

[vthunder42]

Royal Replacement: (Caption Text Under the Cut)

It was nearly time, the Duke’s son would be here soon and I’d be expected to greet him while our fathers discussed their business dealings. It was hardly the first time I was made to play nice with visiting royalty, but the first time dressed like this. Usually, this was reserved for my twin sister, Penelope, but when her lady-in-waiting went to wake her up this morning, she was gone! She’d been complaining recently about not wanting to marry any of the suitors she had, and had confided in me once that the suitor she desired was actually a Countess, but I never expected her to actually run away from home. This particular Duke’s son was the one my parents favored her to marry, so she needed to meet him. Fortunately for them, even as we get older, our genetics still favor each other enough that I could pass for her if I had to.

And boy, I had to. Even my father was in favor, so my mother and the handmaiden spent the entire morning making me over and stuffing me into one of Penelope’s dresses. My body was smooth and free of hair below my plucked eyebrows, my makeup immaculate and my body accentuated thanks to padding and creatively sewn garments. They even had me attending her harp lesson for authenticity’s sake, it was strange watching my delicately manicured fingers plucking at the strings.

“It’s only temporary!”

“Your sister will return home soon enough, you won’t actually have to marry him!”

But I knew my sister, strong-willed and wickedly intelligent, she’d never be found, but Penelope would become the Duchess anyway, and her brother the prince would vanish into obscurity, never to be heard from again.

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

n. interlude: benedict

it was not love at first sight, of course. when he first met her, she was just a child—an extremely annoying one at that.

lady bridgerton invited the silvas for dinner, bringing their youngest for the first time since they arrived in the square a year ago. they all settled on the dining room, the girl sitting far away with francesca on her right. the youngest sat with each other. everyone engaged in a lively conversation while they were eating. the girl and francesca were sharing their interests when the second eldest son arrived—quite late for dinner.

he sat on the left of the youngest silva as it is the only free chair. a servant placed his utensils as he took his own share of food. benedict's spoon was halfway to his mouth when he noticed the five-year-old beside him staring intently.

"what?" he asked with cross eyebrows, eating the spoonful at once.

she monotonously said, "i do not like vegetables."

the bridgerton son chuckled, failing to see the connection, "and?"

"take it from my plate." she pushed her plate to his way discreetly.

"what do you mean?"

"fast before mother sees." her voice hurried as she saw her mother turning her way. she gave a wide smile before lady silva turned back to her conversation with lady bridgerton.

"now, hold on—"

benedict was not able to continue whatever he was going to say when the girl already placed the vegetables from her plate to his swiftly. as she took a look at his plate, she turned to him again.

"do you like chicken?" he only nodded at that, still processing the doubled number of vegetables on his plate.

"do you eat its meat?" she continued to push.

he turned to her with a blank look, "yes, why?"

"let us trade then. i only eat the crisp of the skin." she pushed her plate to his once again, offering the fried drumstick with no skin.

his pitch went high as he grimaced by the already eaten food of the girl, "no, i also like the skin."

"please?" she tried to pout as she always did with her parents and find it working all the time.

"no."

seeing as it did not work, her voice went monotone again, "let us exchange chicken."

he chuckled at her unrelenting desire to swap food, placing his spoon down to free his palms. he placed his hand between them in a greeting gesture, "i am benedict."

"okay, benedict. let us exchange please."

benedict could do nothing but laugh wholeheartedly, both completely oblivious on the looks that were sent their way as he gave her his dish.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the bridgertons are visiting the silvas this time, the families growing closer immediately in two years.

the young silva neared benedict after seeing him at a distant place from the rest, trying to sketch the landscape as well as the family. she sat beside him, peeking on the pad curiously.

"you draw?" he nodded simply, eyes raising to see the picture and down to his pad again.

"artsy," she commented with a pout, clicking her tongue in envy, "i cannot."

he turned to her in jest, snickering as he teased, "you do not have even a bone of artistry in you."

"bones do not dictate your traits and talents. it is the genetics." she looked at him like he is an idiot, which was only right considering his jest.

"how do you even know that?"

"i read books."

"shocking." he mocked, exaggerating his reaction.

she narrowed her eyes at him in irritation, "i am six. everyone can read by then."

"you are not three?" he placed his pad and pen down, mouth quite ajar in genuine shock this time. alright, three is perhaps an overstatement, but he really thought she was younger—the height did not help.

the young silva gritted her teeth at his surprised look which she mistook as mockery once again, "damn you."

as the words fell from her mouth, he instantly turned to her mother, "lady silva!"

she scrambled to him, putting her hands on top of his mouth in panic as her mother turned to them, "nothing, mama!"

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

another fine day in the bridgerton's household when the youngest silva ran, once again, in panic to the first person she saw—which in this case is the second eldest daughter.

"eloise, you are ben's favorite sibling, right?" she asked, breathing heavily from all the running.

"i mean," the girl smiled at the question as she rolled her eyes to shrug it off, "they are all fond of me."

"great!" the eight-year-old exclaimed with a clap, going behind the girl and taking her blanket from the picnic set up she had, "hide me."

"what? why—" her question was muted when a louder voice bellowed close to them.

"loraine! you little—have you seen her, eloise?" he inquired with irritation, taking notice of the way his sister smiled awkwardly before answering.

"...no?"

"okay." he nodded with strange calmness, inhaling deeply. it did not help at all that the girl's foot was poking out of the blanket, "if you see her, tell her to be a lady enough and face me."

"what did she do?" eloise asked curiously as to what would warrant her brother's anger.

"she broke my pens!"

"it was an accident!"

raine took off the blanket from herself and stood as she clarified her side of the story. benedict's irritation resurfaced at the sight of the silva.

"four pens?!"

"i thought they were anthony's!

he scoffed at the thought of anthony touching a pen other than for his official papers, "my brother does not lift a pen. he only has one!"

she got off of eloise's picnic set up and neared the man, "how am i supposed to know that?! he is not the one i like!"

"oh, do not use what your father said." he rolled his eyes, remembering armand snitching his own daughter to him.

"it was true!" raine pouted in annoyance at him not taking it seriously, "i like you, okay? i apologise i broke your pens. i will buy some for you."

she ammended with crossed arms and brows. benedict looked at her for a moment, replying before turning to go back inside the house, "good."

she turned away herself, settling to stay with whatever eloise was doing and chatted with her, not noticing the time passed as the moon rised.

just a day later, loraine arrived at their home once again, poking the man who was sketching with anthony's only pen, "go change, let us buy your pens."

"ask your servants to buy it." he replied with indifference, focusing on his pad.

"let us just go," the girl insisted, lightly grabbing a pinch of his clothing, "you know what to pick."

benedict turned to her with narrowed eyes, "you are really taking what your father said seriously?"

"it is serious." she stressed. his eyes glistening turned from suspicion to curiosity of her agenda, placing the pen down again.

"are you asking me to promenade with you?"

her brows raised at the mention of the unknown word, "what does that mean?"

the bridgerton's lips morphed into a smile, laughing at nothing in particular but her cluelessness apparently. he put down his legs from the chair's armrest, standing up as he ruffled her hair with excitement.

"wait for me."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the now fourteen-year-old lady has been spending an awful lot of time with the viscount bridgerton. the death of her older brother changed their dynamics. it was probably because she no longer has the freedom of being a second born. and although she was a girl, the weight of the family now rests on her shoulders after her father.

benedict did not like this change one bit.

while she was still annoying and exciting him at the same time to no end, she was maturing in an insane rate. although he would not say it out loud, he knew he was craving for her presence.

and so, he neared the two who were sitting peacefully and talking about random things in the garden. they turned to his sudden arrival as he wasted no time to offer.

"there is a pleasure garden opening. let us go."

raine's lips formed a smile at the invitation, the man beside her snickering, "just call it a fair. she is getting ideas in her head."

"i am not!" she strongly disagreed, slapping anthony's arm at his implications.

at her reply, benedict turned to her curiously as she got what his brother meant, "how do you even know such things?"

she rolled her eyes as if the answer was evident, "i am spending my days with three rakes. what did you expect for me to learn?"

he shook his head dismissively at that, returning his proposition, "are you coming or not?"

"yes!" she replied with all excitement, standing up in an instant as she linked her arms with his.

the eldest raised his head to them with jest, "does the invitation extend to me?"

the pair turned to him at once, yelling in chorus, "no!"

anthony laughed at the two before they bid their farewells, reminding the young silva of her assignments to review for the role of a viscountess. that was when benedict realised something about the two of them and he felt like an idiot.

his brother and loraine were not in love with each other, of course, but there was love—and benedict could not be more thankful that they have each other for certain things in life that only the two of them can understand.

arriving at the fair, they did not waste a single second in exploring all the plays—more like raine dragging him forcefully everywhere but who cares. the man himself certainly did not care.

they played with a lot of things—her winning almost every time she touches a game. as the night went deeper, the moon higher, the young silva hopped her way to the carousel, inviting the man to join her.

he should have known really, that although there was a proper seat similar to those in carriages, she would choose to mount the horses. and so, they did, side by side with each other. and he thinks, it must have been that moment.

it was not love at first sight, of course. he has known her already and they simply happened to want to spend the night in great fun. yet, somehow, in the moment he was watching her smile serenely, genuinely... he suddenly realised he was incredibly taken by her.

yes, it was not love at first sight.

it was something more magical.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

her first season came, and that meant her first-ever ball. benedict did not want to leave her side. for the lady in front of him, the place was crawling with old crocodiles. there were men worse than him present.

but, he needed to leave. everyone's eyes have been on them even before they began dancing. if he stayed with her more tonight, they would be named as the match by the queen. she was one of the most sought-after debutante of the season, for god's sake. what was he doing? and so, he left her and strayed far away from her presence.

fate, however, had other plans. because when he entered the gentlemen's club to fetch his brother, there sat the young silva with the biggest grin ever. he did not know how it happened, actually, but he just found himself already playing cards with the girl and now on the verge of losing in the presence of other lords who have witnessed their bet. then, benedict saw it clearly. raine shifted her cards and placed a losing pair.

she purposely lost against him.

he was not insulted. he appreciated the girl's gesture, and so he followed her when she was fleeing from her father.

in the next following days, the girl invited herself to his trip to the art exhibit. he found her company fun even though she has always been a critic of his works. when he caught wind of the news that there was going to be a medical convention on that day, he quickly excused himself from the promenade with his family.

benedict went to the convention and was looking for her. he found it strange that she did not invite him, considering how pushy she was to join him last time. his thoughts were interrupted when he finally caught sight of the girl in a close conversation with a man he did not recognise. the whole time, he walked around the convention, keeping his distance from them. that was how he spent his day and immediately bolting out as soon as he saw the girl finally exiting the place. he did not plan for her to see him across the street though and invite her for a late lunch.

benedict did not go to a brothel that day.

then, hawkins balloon day came. he entered the scientific dome in hopes of catching sight of the girl. however, he saw another woman. he met lady arnold. he listened to her, and she was utterly similar to loraine. she was fun, exciting, challenging, and smart like her. the only distinction was that lady arnold was older, this time. it was the bridgerton boy's first crisis. he could not look at the young silva's eyes all throughout the rest of the day.

rightly so because the following day, completely unaware of everything that has happened to the young one, he went to lady arnold's home as a caller. he was enticed and he could not control himself. if you ask him now, benedict would answer. it was not him that day. it was the monster. one thing led to another and he found himself bare, body to body with the said lady—only to feel disgusted the second after her pure name slipped from his lips, his manhood in the mouth of another.

and so, the only thing that entered his mind was to go to her and convince her to stop the proposals—to let go of his loraine. he could not hold it for longer. he wanted to cling on his sanity. the silva's presence and passion have reached him so desperately. he resolutely took a step away from her, believing it to be the most logical thing to do in the situation.

yet again, fate pulled him to her. his sanity completely lost when the news of her being called to the parliament and queen for interrogation and not a formal trial reached his ears. it was a bliss—one that he would remember each movement. he touched her, void of innocent intentions for the first time, only to find out that there was no disgust at all. the revulsion came from the idea that it was not her he's been laying with this whole time.

she tasted like art, painting and poetry all together. she smelled like the color paints he often used, mixing black and white to find the neutral. she sounded like his favorite classical piece. she looked like his favorite scenery. she felt like his favorite brush, one that you would recognise by a single touch.

so, no. he did not love her. love was such a vague, weakened word. she was everything that he loved.

he loved through her, by her, and for her.

and if you think this has a happy ending, then you have not been paying attention.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @myo11 @idek-what-to-put @aysamuka

[y-rhywbeth2]

Elven 'Physiology' and Quirks

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index[tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. There's a lot of lore; I don't know everything. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Physiology and quirks | Names & Clans and Houses || Pan-Cultural things: Social life | Time and Age Categories | Homes | Language | Art | Entertainment | Technology || Elven 'Subraces' still a wip || Philosophy and Religion & Pantheons || Half-elves | [WIP]

In my continued desire to procrastinate on reading two novels and cross-referencing about three sourcebooks for drow culture, I met myself in the middle and did this instead.

Also I really need to rehaul some of the lore compilations...

Unlike elves of other worlds, the Tel'Quessir – except drow – are as tall as humans, but finer boned and typically narrower in build – except for aquatic elves. An elf weighs less than a human of the same build and height, which appears to be something to do with their bone density, as elven bones (especially winged elves’) are light (though ‘surprisingly sturdy’). Their fingertips taper, and their hands and fingers are longer than a humans… although I still think saying they’re 50% longer (palm and fingers) is a bit much.

Elves are noted for their androgyny, which goes both ways; there's not much difference in the skeletal structure and elven women are noted by humans for their narrow hips, which led to a comment that it must make childbirth agonising in comparison.

Elves are also noted for their distinctive 'dance-like' motions while walking due to walking on their toes and the balls of their feet: 'Most seemed to have a lilt and swing, like dancers. Ah, that was it—none strode flat-footed; even the tallest and most hurried of the citizenry danced forward on their toes.' - Elminster in Myth Drannor

They don't grow much in the way of body hair - they appear hairless, with the only visible hair on their eyebrows and scalp. Elves unused to mixed company find non-elves disturbingly hirsute.

The shape of their facial features, regardless of ‘subrace,’ are as varied as humans. The only rules of thumb are about their eyes and ears:

Elven ears are always pointy – but can vary greatly in shape and length otherwise. They’re somewhat prehensile; elven children can move their ears, but generally this ability is lost with maturation. Maintaining it seems to be a genetic quirk. Whether the shape or whatever, elves have sharp hearing.

Elven eyes are larger in proportion to their face and spaced a little further apart than human eyes, slightly slanted in a manner that gives them a wider field of vision and more acute vision in general.

If you're using recent editions then elves can see in very low light conditions (able to see perfectly clearly by starlight alone). Drow can see in perfect darkness.

If you want to go by older editions you're looking at infravision: elves, like other beings that can 'see' in the darkness, were able to change their sight to the infrared spectrum, perceiving heat signatures. Drow vision was further ranged and more acute than surface elves'.

Elves aren't diurnal, and have no particular circadian rhythm, they just get four hours in whenever and communities are have a consistent level of full activity all day and night.

The elven olfactory senses are much sharper, as is their sense of taste. Drow raised in the Underdark have a sense of smell on par with humans, due to overexposure to incense and other strong fragrances used in ritual and covering up the fact that living crowded together in caves doesn't always spell great. Elves are picky eaters, both due to taste and texture, deriding non-elven cuisine as ‘over-spiced animal flesh and other abominable foods.’

Elves are biologically wired for music somehow, able to recall melodies flawlessly and engage in music theory , 'the elven faculty for music is uncanny in comparison to most other races,' which they credit to the divine influence of the Seldarine.

While this doesn't always come up in the rules, elves are immune to the paralytic effects of ghouls, due to an incident involving either Corellon Larethian or Lolth, and the ghoul deity Doresain, who in the version of his backstory given for the Realms was a green elf back in -11,200 DR whose recent ancestors were of the nation of Eiellûr and betrayed their people to the dark elven empire of Ilythiir. A rather brutal bastard and slaver who eventually killed and ate the raw flesh of the ruling family of the last surviving green elven nation of Southern Faerûn as part of a pact with the demon lord of the undead, Orcus for eternal life. When Doresain later fell in combat during one of the many skirmishes of the Crown Wars, Orcus brought him back as a unique undead horror and King of the Ghouls and Orcus’ proxy on Toril (so that Orcus could focus on important matters in the Abyss). Doresain eventually became trapped in the Abyss, trapped in service to Yeenoghu when Orcus ignored his pleas to save him (despite his ‘domain’ Orcus despises the undead). Most Torilian sages claim that Lolth intervened and freed him, bringing Doresain back to Toril in exchange for imbuing the drow with immunity to his children and swearing that ghouls would never attack them, which indirectly affected all elves (except for the ‘not attacking’). Others claim he prayed to the gods of his living years, the Seldarine, and they took pity on him in exchange for the same service.

The Seldarine are always depicted as genderfluid or agender – if depicted in art in humanoid form they are shown with two bodies as afab and amab, or possessing both characteristics in a single form. Occasionally a mortal elf is also born who takes after the gods; marked by their androgyny (by elven standards) and the ability to alter their sex characteristics at will, these elves are considered blessed by Corellon and closer to the gods by many elven cultures. They haven’t been given an official word, but the elven word for ‘Blessings of Corellon’ on Toril is ‘Cormiira.’ According to the most popular take on the elven creation myth, the People are born of Corellon’s blood (and possibly Sehanine’s tears as she wept at seeing him gravely wounded), which many elves attribute this as evidence for. The Tel’Quessir do have several other creation myths however.

Elves have an innate connection to the Weave, which is why they're 'the wizard race' and something to do with their connection to the world. Elves are more likely to have the innate ability required to become arcane spellcasters, and some say the Weave is what gives them their lifespans.

Going into purely non-published realmslore from word of god:

The elven gestation period takes two years (this I’m pretty sure is in published DnD somewhere?) Elves tend to avoid being pregnant unless they actively want to and have generally mastered the art of not being pregnant, the threat of being side-lined by shorter lived peoples who have more children and faster be buggered.

The elven diet primarily consists of raw plant matter and fish. The elven digestive system can handle vegetation that others’ cant. They can eat meat, and many do – especially those who grow up around humans, who have developed a tolerance that makes it easier for them to digest – but it’s not a ‘natural’ part of their diet nor does it play a large role. Apparently drinking small quantities animal blood is a reasonably common enough way to consume land animals (I’m not clear on whether this is in the form of soups or beverages).

Elves are severely allergic to cannabis and can't use it, though they have found unspecified alternatives.

While getting it is unpleasant, they are only inconvenienced by bubonic plague and its not considered a dangerous disease.

Elves also draw energy from the sunlight, which bolsters their metabolism, allowing them to eat less and possibly playing a part in their ability to digest previously mentioned plant matter. Access to fresh water (not just drinking it) also plays a part in their overall health. Somehow. Dark elves in the Underdark have adapted over the centuries (or maybe from the High Magic ritual that binds them to it) to draw from the faerzress radiation.

Elven vocal chords can reach pitches higher than humans can reach, and there's a gene that can allow the elf to produce two notes at the same time, which with training allows them to sort-of say two things at once (a 'ghost' vocalisation beneath the spoken words). This is described as 'genetic but not racial' so I assume it can pass to half-elves and any non-elven descendants through them.

---

Reverie/'Eedqa':

Elves do not sleep, unless something has gone wrong (injury, illness, exhaustion). They also can’t be forced to sleep, and are immune to magic that would do so (but not to being whacked over the back of the head and knocked out with something heavy).

- Elves enter a state called the Reverie (or just reverie) in Common, and ‘eedqa’ in Elven. The elf finds a quiet place to relax, gradually tuning out the world and slipping into a trance-like state where they re-experience their lived memories, occasionally interspersed with memories from past lives and visions from the gods – which will be vague and puzzling and probably require a priest to decode, the Lady of Mysteries did not earn that nickname for nothing. - They are somewhat aware of their surroundings in reverie, but pulling themselves back out of their mind is disorienting and waking early is extremely disorienting, much like waking any sleeping individual. Physically, they are immobile, not necessarily lying in a normal sleeping position (sitting or reclining is the norm), their breathing slows into a torpor and their eyes remain open and unfocused, which has occasionally caused panic in acquaintances who’ve never witnessed reverie before and think the elf has died (elves in turn are known to find the 'heaviness' of sleep disturbing to behold).

The only elves who deliberately sleep are priests of Sehanine Moonbow, who occasionally enter the deeper state of unconsciousness to communicate with their goddess, and the majority of drow (whose struggles to achieve reverie have been credited to the Underdark 'fragmenting' their natural instincts, and their inability to relax enough to enter the state).

Elves experience their first reverie in the womb, as pregnancy forges a temporary Rapport between parent and developing foetus where the offspring experiences the parent’s life and learns of their family and culture through them (how much the child can learn varies by parent; quality of education not guaranteed). Young children, lacking experiences of their own, are more likely to experience memories of previous lives unless they share in the reveries of other elves. The occurrence of the first ‘current life’ reverie is a life milestone and typically marks the end of childhood.

It’s very taboo amongst elves to interrupt another elf’s reverie.

-

Communion and Aleirin:

'Elves who lived even in reasonably close contact were so connected to each other through the Reverie and the Weave that they shared at least some shadow of each other’s emotional experiences.'

Elves have something of telepathic abilities, such as the ability to sense their own kind, a ‘sense of welcome,’ ‘warmth’ and ‘safety,’ although this can be obscured. This extends to the ability to enter each others minds and share thoughts, emotions and memory. Although that’s not to say that elves are living in each others heads, nor that they can (or are willing to) do it simply or constantly.

The state of ‘mind melding’ is communion, which is accomplished by sharing reverie while in physical contact (holding hands or pressing palms together, usually). The elven term for communion is apparently quor, however I can’t say for certain that applies to this mystical variety. Communing is credited with the sense of community elves experience, is an important part of elven religion, and they’re noted to anticipate sharing themselves with loved ones and struggle to understand non-elves due to their lack of ability to do so. However, it’s not a state entered into casually, as it requires deep trust and a willingness to be vulnerable with your entire being – you are exposing your every emotion and memory to another. Preparation may take weeks of mundane communication as the elves do away with any prejudices and air concerns to be resolved beforehand. It’s also physically and emotionally draining, and while in communal reverie the elves are entirely unaware of anything but each other and are vulnerable to surrounding hazards. Up to four elves may participate at once.

This awareness of each other lends elves an understanding that allows them to predict each others moods and actions acutely, and aids them to work in sync or borrow one anothers skills for a time (for example an elf who doesn’t know how to speak a certain language may temporarily ‘know’ after borrowing the knowledge from another elf.) Extended use of communion may cause loss of individuality however, as the elves begin to blend into each other.

Elves who isolate themselves from their people - whether this is by their own bitterness, malice, scheming, etc, or if the source is due to external magical affects like the Shadow Weave digging out these emotions (which; Shar, that’s what she does) - lose the ability to reverie and the ability to commune with it. Other elves cannot sense them, describing them as feeling ‘asleep.’

Drow may or may not be capable. They are capable of reverie, which would indicate that they can, they just don't know they can, or plain don't (Lolth would firmly discourage it with torture and death regardless).

Some elves, when they trust each other implicitly, may chose to make the link more permanent – a communion that never ends, in a form called Rapport or aleirin, or aleiryid if the nature of their relationship is romantic. The bonding is permanent, and can usually only be made a single time. Those born of multiple births like twins have rapport with their siblings, but outside of this it’s still uncommon for an elf to make this level of commitment and most are happier with normal, less co-dependent relationships (especially because, if you want to bring in the Complete Book of Elves, the shock of one partner dying can kill the other). A rapport can be made with non-elves, a ranger could even choose to establish one with their animal companion, but such bonds are so rare as to be practically unheard of.

The ability to commune has been attributed to a gland in the elven brain, which produces a magic that veils their minds. At rest it forms a shield that isolates them (and some scholars believe this is where the elven resistance to enchantment magic comes from), but they can lift it or expand it to bring other elven minds in.

The elven resistance to enchantment spells has also been credited to elven culture itself, since magic saturates their world so heavily elves grow up exposed to a constant background radiation of enchantment magic, for lack of a better word, and build up a tolerance. Others have said it’s the elves fey ancestry.

--

Souls/'Ues':

Like most sapient beings who are not humans – or mostly/half-human (excluding half-orcs) dwarves, gnomes or halflings – elven souls, ‘ues’ in elven, are somewhat different to the norm. sometimes differentiated in lore by calling them ‘spirits,’ and do not stay permanently in the afterlife, instead residing in the outer planes for a time (varying from days to millennia) before reincarnating back on the Prime Material Plane. While 5e claims drow are locked out of the cycle, the original lore included drow, and suggested that elves who decide to be evil little bastards in life and bar themselves from Arvandor will find themselves reincarnated as drow (vice versa: a drow who rejects Lolth is unlikely to find themselves reborn in her clutches).

(Elves do not have access to DnD sourcebooks and do not have any concrete idea of this kind of thing, so elven religion and philosophy varies heavily and may or may not reflect these things. Some elves don’t even believe in reincarnation.)

Another traditional side effect was that raise dead didn’t work on elves, only resurrection. Space was made for DMs to hand-waive this if it was getting in the way (because it makes elves expensive to have in the party), and the rule seems to have been officially side-lined for convenience by this point.

--

Ageing:

How elves age has varied by edition and writer. Sometimes they're human aging, sometimes a bit slower, sometimes much, much slower.

In most sources, including 5e core, an elf matures at the same rate, physically and psychologically, as a human, later developing into elven psychological stages as the centuries pass and they outlive the human experience.

It's also been said that Torilian elves are physically mature at 25.

In older editions, including realms sources, elves could age slower, taking between 30-60 years to hit puberty (which lasts another 50-85 years). Psychologically, non-elves are known to find elven youths to be rather mature for their age (due to longer lives and communing with the adults in their lives), though they’re still inexperienced by elven standards and hormonal. Elven children are left to pursue their ever shifting curiosity, instincts and impulses which means they generally don’t master any skills and end up about level with any other race by early adulthood. Drow have the fastest rates of maturation, Gold elves the slowest. Wheras in humans afab are known to hit puberty first on average, elves mature at the same average speed regardless.

Elves also have a mystical land-connection thing and are noted to be shaped by their environments, and it has been said of the latter version of ageing that elves may mature faster outside of the slow pace of elven cultures, particularly in dangerous and stressful situations where they need to grow fast.

Bizarrely, and I’m assuming this is a typo, it seems that the process of elven puberty is a bit like getting steroids because they get strength and dexterity bonuses. Or maybe elven teens are just stronger and more agile than their human counterparts, which is probably more likely if it isn't a typo.

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 4 - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

John

he’s a priest. he can punch your lights out. he would never hurt a fly. he has connections in the black market. he gives everything he can to the local orphans. he will not hesitate to play pranks on you. he wants everyone to be happy. he has daddy issues probably. he wants a promotion sososososoooooo bad.

I accidentally submitted the last 5actors name but it’s the same guy

Hey everyone please vote for this man I love him he truely is what we need more of in this world the kindest most relatable character has flaws etc etc. Deserves the world

Enrico propaganda

He grew up in the church and became a priest. so devoted to his faith he ended the UNIVERSE to achieve the perfect world aka heaven

Hes Catholic but also so gay for this one vampire that he ended the world for him

He is LITERALLY one big metaphor for the catholic church as a villain. He’s a guy who believes himself to be a martyr on a fundamentally altruistic quest that will better humanity and the world, but in truth hes a destructive force blind to his faults and hypocritical of the atrocities he commits. Even his altruisim is just a lie (that he does believe himself though) because it all just stems from a deep rooted desire he has to alliviate the guilt he feels. Also hes obsessed with ”the world to come” to the point that hes downright nihilistic towards the current world he actually lives in, as well as the other people in it. which i mean. lol. Ultimately hes an insane delusional queen and he should win this because he is just That catholic. also he is a catholic priest :)

his names pussy bc he served cunt (in a catholic god honoring way)

I want my bestie’s guy in bere

No one could feel guilt to this level if not catholic

Religious Allegory mostly woth how his power(white snake) is contradictory it has white to make you think of good things but it contrast with snake a creature that tempted adam and eve. Although he is a Man of faith his stand’s design is far from it being incredibly intimidating and lined with the genetic of dna whihc is scientific compared to faith.

Bro tries to kill a child

serial killer priest bro

HE IS INSANE He spent his whole life believing in fate and when his world turned around Shakespeare tragedy style he made it his mission to bring 「HEAVEN TO EARTH」, which means TEARING AWAY THE FABRIC OF REALITY SO THAT EVERYONE IS AWARE OF THEIR OWN FATE. How does he get there? Simple! By using a half-baked horse to SPEED UP TIME UNTIL THE UNIVERSE RESETS AND LAUNCHES EVERYONE INTO A NEW WORLD. How did he GET this horse??? Oh, as one does - his (dead) best friend’s toe bone grew into a baby made of leaves that vored him, but he survived and grew even more eyebrows than he already had. And that’s without getting into the STUFF that makes him a phenomenal, S-tier, fine wine that EXPLODES and causes you to see VISIONS type of character. That’s just the surface. But, ah, that’s Catholics for ya. Vote Enrico Pucci for king of the Catholic tournament. 👍🏻

[naeverse]

Extra Credit PT: 2

🏫staring. Professor O’Hara x Sassy fem!reader

🎒 preview: “Do you agree, Y/N? Will you help me help you?"

🖋️Summary: Miguel O'Hara, a renowned, attractive genetics professor,  known for his strict stance against extra credit. As a senior, you struggle to keep up with coursework and Mr. O'Hara's opposition to extra credit makes it difficult for you to pass. However, a chance encounter with you changes everything, as Mr. O'Hara becomes more open to helping you - but you must help him in return.

📕tw/cw. unprotected sex, harsh language, hate sex, rough, hand job, blow job, dirty talk, oral sex, spanking, accidental simulation, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Miguel, mutual orgasm, etc… 

📘pet names: (hers) little puta or puta (Little bitch, bitch), Chica (Girl), Muñeca (Doll), 

✏️ rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I

📖Word count: 4k words

🍎 Credit to Artist in header: Narutoss.ramen

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

After the last student left his classroom, it appeared as though Mr. O'Hara had been triggered…

His gaze swiftly landed on you, seated with your legs crossed in a chair, engrossed in your phone. He tried his utmost to maintain his focus on the current task at hand.

"Y/N?" Mr. O'Hara called out once more. You met his gaze as he signaled you over with a subtle beckon of two fingers. Scanning the empty classroom, you gracefully slipped out of your desk. Your black boots echoed with every step as you approached the strong, tanned instructor.

Mr. O'Hara gulped, almost releasing in his pants at the very sight of you approaching him. He shifted his attention to his monitor, moving his mouse aimlessly and clicking on random links, trying to mask his inner turmoil. His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he battled with a mixture of emotions—frustration, desire, and longing.

It pained him to be consumed by such feelings, especially when directed at someone like you. Someone he found so irritating, difficult, and an absolute nuisance.

He despised how aroused he was by you. He literally felt like he could cum on the spot without you even touching him.

Mr. O'Hara's black leather oxford that adorned his foot tapped nervously against the floor. He kept his attention fixed on his monitor, avoiding eye contact with you.

Like before, you hopped up onto Mr. O'Hara's desk, your skirt riding up your thighs. You swung your legs whilst looking at Mr. O'Hara from over your shoulder.

"So, what did you want to discuss about my grades, Mr. O?" you inquired, looking at the well-built man whose white polo shirt clung to his form.

Mr. O'Hara let out a trembling breath as he observed you perched on his desk, your legs on full display. He adjusted his black glasses on his nose, his demeanor nervous as he tried to concentrate on your eager expression.

He moistened his lips with a hint of uncertainty. This was his last chance to back out. To be professional and ignore his throbbing arousal that was slowly growing in his pants. But Mr. O'Hara couldn't help but notice your eager eyes, the way they looked at him in curiosity and interest of what your discussion will uphold. The look on you was doing something to him, and he loved and hated the feeling.

Once again, the question presented itself to him.

To continue…

Or back out.

He clenched his jaw, his amber eyes flickering red with arousal as they trailed over your every being.

Your captivating eyes, flawless lips, graceful neck, alluring breasts, immaculate stomach, luscious thighs, and those seductive boots that were pushing him to the brink of insanity.

And in that very moment, he made a firm decision –

He wasn’t backing out…

"I was reflecting on our previous discussion…” Mr. O'Hara began, clicking the trigger of his ballpoint pen once, twice, thrice before finally meeting your gaze. "I've been contemplating offering you some…"

"Extra credit."

Your legs, which had been swinging in the air, came to an abrupt halt, and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Had you misheard him?

Mr. O'Hara had always been staunchly against extra credit, refusing it for anyone. He believed that if students hadn't put in the effort the first time, they didn't deserve a second chance. It was what he was known for on campus and what earned him the reputation of being a strict and demanding professor, so you were taken aback by his words.

"I…I thought you didn't allow extra credit," you stammered, your gaze locked intently on Mr. O'Hara. You half-expected someone to leap out and reveal this was a prank, as you struggled to believe what you had just heard.

Mr. O'Hara knew that he was venturing into morally questionable territory, but his desperation and need for a release compelled him to proceed. He looked up at you, attempting to maintain a serious expression, even though he was close to the most critical part of his plan and becoming increasingly nervous.

Clearing his throat, he began, "Well, I don't usually… but this is your last year on campus, correct?"

You nodded in response, and he couldn’t help the small smirk that formed on his lips. "Your senior year is crucial, Y/N. It's the year where you're giving your all to earn as many credits as possible to graduate and move on to the next stage of your adult life," he said, busying himself with organizing a few test packets he had been grading, his gaze seemingly more focused on the stack of papers than on you.

You hummed in agreement, hanging onto his every word. Mr. O'Hara then set the stack aside to meet your eyes directly. "We both know you've been facing some…challenges in my class," he added, his voice taking on a husky tone. "I understand and sympathize with your situation, which is why I'd like to offer you some extra credit to boost your grade."

With each word, Mr. O'Hara's heart pounded loudly in his chest. He couldn't believe what he was doing, what he was saying…

But he felt compelled to continue.

You averted your gaze from Mr. O'Hara to in front of you, taking a moment to let his words sink in. Afterward, you slowly nodded and turned back to look at him over your shoulder.

"Okay, so what's the extra credit?" you asked with a hint of amusement. "If it's a packet of genetics questions, I'm sorry, but it won't be much of a help." You chuckled and waited patiently for Mr. O'Hara's response.

He licked his lips, a wave of heat creeping up his tanned neck. Shaking his head at your guess, his eyes briefly wandered down to your smooth and silky thighs before locking onto your gaze once more.

"It's not a packet…

But something else…"

Mr. O'Hara paused after his words. He hesitated, feeling a sense of unease, especially as you crossed your arms over your chest, accentuating your bust. This sight caused his arousal to intensify significantly, and he had to bite his lip harshly to regain control.

"It's something that involves just you and me."

Your reaction was a mix of shock and confusion.

If the extra credit didn't entail an assignment, project, or a packet and required both you and Mr. O'Hara's presence, you were left entirely bewildered as to what it could involve.

You stared at Mr. O'Hara in confusion, your eyebrows furrowing.

"So, it's something that involves just you and me?" you inquired. "You want me to bring you coffee and lunch every day? If it comes to that, I'm more than willing to do it if it helps my grade." You chuckled lightly.

Mr. O'Hara couldn't help but laugh at your comment before clearing his throat. He was trying to find a way to explain without sounding peculiar or scaring you off.

"No, not quite like that," he clarified. "It's something a bit more… personal."

Your puzzled expression deepened, and you remained oblivious to his true intentions. Mr. O'Hara found your naivety somewhat endearing.

"It involves me giving you some extra attention," he said in a playful tone, hoping you'd catch on, but it seemed you were still in the dark.

You turned to Mr. O'Hara fully, your eyebrows knitted together, and your eyes scanning his facial features with a sense of urgency.

'He can't be thinking that… right?'

Your gaze roamed over his tanned face, his amber, almost crimson narrowed eyes behind his black spectacles. You couldn't help but notice the sharp curve of his jawline and his lips, which curled into a taunting smile.

His muscular, well-built body with broad shoulders and a frame so large it strained against his white polo shirt wasn't overlooked in your intense gaze.

While you couldn't deny Mr. O'Hara's physical appeal, you also couldn't overlook his status as an obnoxious individual. There was no way you'd willingly give in to him…

Unless…

No, it couldn't be what he was suggesting. You and Mr. O'Hara shared a mutual hate for each other. You were convinced he couldn't possibly be alluding to anything sexual…

Right…?

"Extra attention?" you repeated, your voice tinged with perplexity. "Professor, I'm not following. What are you talking about?"

Your gaze was locked on Mr. O’Hara, eager for him to provide further clarification, as at that moment, extra credit seemed to suggest either something of a sexual nature involving Mr. O'Hara or an entirely different proposal. Regardless…

You found yourself in a state of confusion.

Your arms were folded over your chest, your legs crossed, and your flannel skirt had unintentionally ridden up your thighs once more.

Mr. O'Hara couldn't help but chuckle once more, amused by your apparent confusion. He found it rather entertaining to witness someone who was typically so sharp-tongued and rude struggle to grasp the situation.

He had a feeling that you understood his meaning quite well but needed a little nudge in the right direction. Mr. O'Hara cleared his throat once again and looked up at you with narrowed eyes.

"You know exactly what I mean, Y/N…"

His gaze, however, began to drift down your body once more before returning to your eyes. A newfound boldness washed over him, and he decided not to hold back any longer.

He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs to reveal the prominent bulge in his black dress pants. With a toothy grin, he beckoned you over with a nod of his head.

"Why don't you come over here, and I'll show you exactly what I mean?"

He grinned at you, never breaking eye contact. Slowly, a smirk began to spread across your lips, and you realized that you were indeed correct about Mr. O'Hara's intentions.

"You horny bastard," you playfully remarked, accompanied by a chuckle. "You want me to provide you with some sexual attention, is that it?"

Mr. O'Hara's heart raced as he grappled with mixed emotions, unsure of how you were interpreting the situation. He couldn't predict your thoughts—

Did you find his proposition disgusting or perhaps believe it was all a joke?

Regret was beginning to seep in as he ventured into unfamiliar territory. The uncertainty gnawed at him, making his stomach churn with suspense and anticipation.

His anxiety transformed him into a stoic figure. His face grew rigid, his voice cold and stern. "Yes," he replied, meeting your playful gaze with serious, unwavering eyes.

"And would you assist me with my problem, Y/N? In exchange for help with your grades?"

His tone was firm and unyielding, but his nervousness remained palpable. You sat on his desk, grinning back at him, still somewhat in disbelief at his audacious request. However, the fact that you had this older, muscular man practically begging for your attention was, oddly, an ego boost.

Your eyes roamed his body, and a smirk graced your lips. You let your gaze linger on his thick, muscular thighs and the prominent bulge in his black slacks before locking onto his stern amber-red eyes behind his black spectacles.

While you didn't mind helping Mr. O'Hara if it meant improving your grades, what genuinely intrigued you was how long he had been harboring this desire. Your curiosity got the best of you.

"So, how long have you been dealing with this issue, Mr. O'Hara?" you asked, sitting back on your hands, your smirk taunting. His jaw clenched at your teasing. He disliked your games and just wanted a straightforward answer regarding your willingness to assist.

He growled, his scowl deepening. "That's none of your business," he retorted. "Do you agree to my terms or not?" You chuckled, savoring the satisfaction of getting under Mr. O'Hara's skin.

It was a peculiar delight to see how easy it was to provoke his reactions.

With your eyes trailing along his body once more, you asked, "How much is this extra credit worth? I need specifics before I get my hands dirty." Your expression was completely serious despite the playful banter.

A smirk gradually spread across Mr. O'Hara's lips; it appeared you were on board with his plan, and he intended to sweeten the deal even further.

"If you complete this “task” for me, I'll raise your 58, which you scored on my test last week, to an 80…

How does that sound, Y/N?"

Your smile broadened, and you were becoming more intrigued by this deal.

"And how much would that raise my grade to? I want to pass your course with a C, Mr. O."

Mr. O'Hara hummed in thought, considering your request. The semester was already halfway through, and with your previous performance, you were likely to receive more low grades.

He glanced up at you, his gaze fixating on your enticing thighs. His pants grew even tighter as he bit his lip.

"How about we extend our little agreement?" he proposed, causing you to smirk.

You couldn't help but wonder just how much Mr. O'Hara had been lusting after you. He seemed rather eager to proceed with his sexual intentions, even extending the time. But regardless of your curiosity, you were more interested in the new terms he proposed, so you nodded, allowing him to continue.

"I know how much you despise my work and my class, Y/N. So how about I guarantee you a passing grade for my class if you meet me here after classes for 15 minutes every other day until the semester is over?"

"So, for the next eight weeks?" you clarified, tapping your nail against his desk.

Mr. O'Hara's breath hitched, and he nodded, responding, "That'll cover the rest of this semester, Y/N."

You swung your legs, mulling over the agreement.

'This offer is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Genetics class is kicking my ass, and this could be the only way to improve my grade… for the rest of the semester too!'

You thought, your eyes meeting Mr. O'Hara's, his stern gaze solely fixed on you. He inquired, "Do you agree, Y/N?

Will you help me help you?"

A smirk gradually spread across your lips, and you nodded. How could you possibly deny him?

The deal was just too good.

"Of course, Mr. O. Who could say no to a great deal like that," you chuckled, hopping off his desk.

Mr. O'Hara was rather surprised by how readily you embraced his bold proposal. His excitement knew no bounds, and he felt no need to conceal his desires any longer. He chuckled, pushing his black spectacles up his nose, and said, “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Y/N. Shall we begin?'"

You giggled, biting your lip. "Let's…" Mr. O'Hara's smirk broadened as he gestured for you to come closer. "I want you on your knees." He slid back in his computer chair, making room for you before him.

You smirked at his eagerness, confidently walking over to stand in front of him. Mr. O'Hara's eyes roamed over your entire being, taking you in.

He bit his lip, his pants tightening even more, causing a muffled groan to escape his mouth as he became increasingly turned on. You kneeled before him, looking up to meet his gaze with a teasing smile.

"You are rather naughty, Mr. O'Hara," you teased once more. "Be honest with me, it's just you and me here in this room." You giggled, biting your lip while continuing to gaze up at the large instructor. "How long have you been wanting me, hmm?" You snickered, bringing a scowl to Mr. O'Hara's lips.

He despised your teasing. He had never felt this way about anyone, especially not a student like you, and the way you kept bringing it up was pissing him off.

He roughly started to unbuckle his leather belt, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants. The flaps of his black slacks opened, revealing his dark gray boxers underneath. “Stop talking,” he spat, pulling his pants down until they formed a black puddle around his feet. You snickered, tilting your head. “Why? Sensitive topic?"

Mr. O’Hara growled, leaning in closer to your face, his anger radiating from his body due to his close proximity. His amber, almost crimson eyes, covered by his black spectacles, scanned your facial features as his lips turned up into a scowl.

“I didn't give you this extra credit to hear you and your fucking mouth.”

He said with a harsh tone, his voice filled with anger and spite, despite his hidden desires for you.

You looked back at him, completely unfazed, a small laugh escaping your lips. "I know…You want me to please you. To help you…

Release…"

Your tone was seductive, and your eyes roamed over Mr. O'Hara's body. “Isn’t that right, Mr. O?” you purred.

Your seductive tone and suggestive words had a profound effect on Mr. O'Hara. His length under his boxers twitched, and he let out a groan of frustration at how restrictive his briefs were. His gaze remained cold, and his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed locked in place.

He snarled, his eyes reddening behind his frames as he studied your features. "Stop pissing me off and get to work."

He growled, leaning back in his computer chair. "Use that mouth of yours and make it useful for once."

His words caused your nose to scrunch up, and you let out a growl. You shot a piercing glare at Mr. O'Hara, whose gaze remained locked onto you. His fingernail tapped impatiently on the armrest of his chair, his usual scowl etched on his lips.

It infuriated you the way he carried himself with such arrogance, as if he were high and mighty. Yet, here he was, practically begging you for assistance with his sexual desires.

You were determined to shatter that arrogant facade.

To show him who truly held the control in this situation, because it certainly wasn't him.

You smirked up at him, a wicked glint in your eye. "Fine…" You rose up on your knees, moving closer to the center of Mr. O'Hara's thick, muscular thighs.

Even though Mr. O'Hara was staring down at you with his usual unreadable and grim expression, it was evident that your presence had a profound effect on him.

His clothed desire was painfully palpable under his dark gray boxers, straining horribly against the fabric of his pants and showcasing his unmistakable longing for you.

Mr. O'Hara bit his lip, struggling to hold back the low groan that was brewing in his chest as he watched you loop your fingers into the band of his boxers. Assisting you in undressing him, he lifted his hips slightly off the chair, allowing you to pull his briefs down.

You lowered his bottoms just enough to set his hardened and aching member free. His tanned length hastily springing out from its confines.

Mr. O'Hara licked his lips, the mere sight of you on your knees before him only made him want to shove his cock down your throat even more.

You despised Mr. O'Hara, that was a fact, but you couldn't help but regard his cock with a hint of surprise and amazement.

His member was positioned so close to your face that you didn't need to make any effort to get a taste of it. It was fully erect, substantial, and impressively large. You estimated it to be well above average, possibly reaching around 10 inches in length. A prominent vein ran along the underside of his tanned member, leading to a tinted reddish-brown tip that glistened with pre-cum.

You had to give Mr. O'Hara props…

He surprised you…

You had heard numerous times from the secret Mr. O'Hara fandoms at your college that the professor was rumored to be well-endowed. However, you dismissed these claims as mere rumors, assuming they were just fantasies for the infatuated admirers of the strict genetics professor to indulge in at night.

But it turned out that the squealing fans might have been onto something after all, because Mr. O'Hara, was indeed,

Packing…

…

..

.

"Are you going to suck it or just gawk at it the whole time?"

You jumped, your eyes snapping up to meet Mr. O'Hara, who held a smug grin on his face.

Mr. O'Hara had been observing you for a while, noticing your eyes as they traveled up and down his length repeatedly. Your mouth was slightly agape, and your eyes were wide with surprise. He couldn't help but feel his ego grow at the sight.

To witness a girl like you, known for your bitchiness, unimpressed demeanor and incessant chatter, not only rendered speechless but genuinely captivated by the sight of his cock, filled him with an overwhelming sense of pride that was beyond comprehension.

You scowled, rolling your eyes at Mr. O'Hara's comment. You gazed up at him from between his legs, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Gawk? I bet you'll like that, huh?" You chuckled, causing Mr. O'Hara to grin.

"Y/N, no need to lie. You like what you see, don't you, chica?" he remarked, his cocky demeanor shining through his words.

Mr. O'Hara was just pissing you the fuck off. He truly believed that he had you salivating over his dick.

"You wish," you snarled, glaring daggers at him from your position on the floor. Mr. O'Hara shook his head, laughing. "Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night, Y/N," Mr. O'Hara mocked, leaning in close, his prideful face meeting your infuriated one. He smiled, his annoyingly perfect white, sharp canines peeking out from under his lips.

"You can drop the little bitchy, stubborn act."

He smirked, looking at your kneeled form up and down before meeting your narrowed eyes.

"We both know you are just eager to get a taste…

Just dying for my cock to fill your little mouth up, hmm, chica?"

Your gaze traveled down to his impressively large member and then back up to his taunting eyes. Your fists clenched at your sides, and your teeth ground together harshly.

You'd had enough!

You couldn't believe he'd say something so crude and arrogant.

Your face flushed in anger, your jaw clenching.

"I'm not the one who's so damn aroused they had to bait their student into pleasing them,"

You spat, full of rage, your chest heaving up and down.

"What? Your hand isn't doing the job anymore? Getting tired of using the same hand you use to grade papers to jerk off?"

You laughed, looking him up and down as you shook your head.

"And you sit here, all high and mighty, but how long have you been eyeing me, Professor? Wanting to have your way with me? Wanting to fuck me until your heart's content, hmm?"

You asked with a snicker, your eyes finally taking in Mr. O'Hara's reaction to your outburst, and what you saw made your smirk only broaden. The way Mr. O'Hara's smug grin slowly began to change and distort, turning into red fury, made you feel so satisfied.

His gaze was icy, staring intently down at you; his sharp canines completely revealed, grinding down onto his bottom teeth. He was practically seething.

"What the fuck did you just say to me!?"

Mr. O'Hara stared down at you, his blood boiling.

The nerve of you…

The audacity to say something like that to him.

He was already on the verge of snapping…

His self-control wavering when he came up with the idea to get you to stay after class for you to please him.

His self-control cracking when he actually went through with his plan.

Every cocky, snarky, and sassy remark that you uttered afterward was chipping away at the last bit of self-control he had…

And now…

After those fucking comments you just made…

Self-control was out the damn window…

His breathing was heavy, his nostrils flared, and his grip on the armrests of his chair lethal.

He glared down at the young woman in her early 20s who knelt before him. He didn't see her as a student anymore.

Someone he taught,

Someone he had to be cautious with,

gentle with,

fragile with…

Hell no…

He was blinded by rage and lust. Two horrific combinations…

And he only had one thought in his head…

That he was going to dominate and destroy this mouthy bitch and put her in her place…

A/N: Looks like you might be in for it in Part 3... 😬

Thanks for all the love that you guys have showed for my first post. It really surprised me, so thanks so much everyone!! 💙😊❤️

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[brownald]

I am new to Warhammer but I’m having a lot of fun playing dolls with the Primarchs so here’s a fic I wrote with one of my favorites and one I think is ok!

Roboute Guilliman of the Ultramarines stomped through the balls of the XIIIth legion’s flagship. Entering the bridge, the light of distant stars reflected in his cerulean eyes. He looked to his bodyguards, two Astartes warriors born from his gene-seed. One stood to his left, another to his right. Their dark blue armor and unmoving stature likened them to brass statues, guarding a man who needed no protection.

“Leave me.” Guilliman said, his voice rumbling with a deep baritone. “I must speak with the Great Khan in peace.” He spoke to neither man before him, but they both heeded his words.

“Yes, Lord Guilliman.” The one to his right nodded. He and his comrade departed the room, boltguns at the ready.

Guilliman sighed, and snapped an unarmored finger. A shimmering blue image of Jagathai Khan appeared before him. The Primarch of the White Scars offered a short bow to his genetic equal; Guilliman returned the gesture. They stared at each other for a moment, neither willing to speak the first word.

Eventually, the Khan coughed. “Care to tell me the meaning of this?” His rough, gravelly voice was muffled from the communicator’s static, but he remained audible so long as the Warp Currents allowed it.

“Of course,” Guilliman blinked. “I’m sure you’re aware of my Legion’s campaign against the Ork Waaagh on Traitis IV?”

Jagathai offered a short nod in response.

“Then I’m sure you’ve heard of the siege forced upon my men in the planet’s capital city.” Guilliman continued, his face unreadable. “Three months we have fought against the greenskin tide, and there is no hope of a reprieve from the Ork horde.”

“I know this,” The Khan interrupted. “This is an issue beyond the concern of my sons, as well as that of mine. You ask for aid?”

“Yes.” Guilliman spoke without a trace of fear in his voice, merely duty.

The Khan furrowed his brow, anger creeping into his voice. “Why? The Imperial fists lie only star systems away, and the consultation of a siege is something Dorn drools at the mouth for. He would drop everything to join your men. Why request our aid, brother?”

“Because, Jagathai, I am not asking for a consultation of the Ultramarines’ siege warfare tactics. I come to you asking for aid in alleviating the stress upon my warriors.”

The Khan raised an eyebrow, perplexed.

“You are the closest Legion to Traitis IV that has the expertise I require. We need Astartes that specialize in hit and run tactics. The Raven Guard are licking their wounds on Terra, and the Warmaster’s duties lie elsewhere. Thus, my request comes to you.”

“You almost make it sound like you have a plan.” Jagathai muttered sarcastically.

“I do.” Guilliman let himself smile. “Would you care to hear it?”

The Khan paused for a moment in pensive silence, considering the offer. “Very well.” He said at last.

Guilliman nodded. “By my calculations, a detachment of your fleet would reach Traitis IV in two day’s time. That gives me the time I need to tell my men of the news. You arrive on Traitis IV, and provoke the Orks into following you into a confrontation. Once they begin to follow you, the White Scars disengage. Then, as they attempt to regroup, continue biting at their heels. My men will join you, fully rested and prepared to exterminate. Then, a combined force of Ultramarines and White Scars purge the threat these Xenos pose once and for all.”

The Great Khan seemed to let a smile creep across his lips. “I’m not appalled by the idea.”

Guilliman blinked. “That is all I ask, brother.”

“A question.”

“Yes?”

The Khan drew a breath. “How much time would your men require in rest? White Scars pride themselves on speed, not stalling.”

“The entire campaign would take 4 days.” Guilliman explained. “The first day is when the White Scars make planetfall and engage the Ork Waaagh. They fight as long as they desire, so long as the Ork attention is properly drawn away from my Ultramarine forces. You disengage at will, and the Orks will follow. That is the first day.”

“Continue.” Jagathai’s voice was dripping with interest.

“The second day is one for my men to rest. Reload their weapons, bury the dead, repair our vehicles. Your men’s only duty will be to strike at the heels of the Orks, keep them fighting, busy, and away from the city. I care not how you do it, only that it is done. I trust you can do that?”

The Khan nodded, eyes widened in childlike excitement.

“Good. The next day is one of planning and logistics.” The Khan cocked his head as Guilliman drew a breath. “Fret not, that job goes to me. Your job is to listen and go where I feel it most important. My men set out, and you drive the Orks towards a position we deem strategically viable. My men arrive at the same time, and come the stroke of midnight we attack. We leave nothing left. That is the result of our final day.”

Jagathai Khan chuckled, a deep throaty laugh that reverberated across the room as if he was in the room with Guilliman.

“You like it?” Roboute asked, already knowing the answer.

“I love it!” Jagathai smiled. “Just one final question.”

Guilliman nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Promise me I reserve the right to bring home the Ork Warboss’s head on a pike.”

“I would not dare take that away from you.”

“Wonderful. I will be there with my fleet in two day’s time.”

“Two days? You are certain you will arrive that quickly?”

The Khan shook his head. “If we are not giving your men their reprieve in two day’s time, you’d might as well have called Mortarion and his sentient walls for aid.” He laughed loudly to himself; Guilliman forced himself to laugh along with him.

Jagathai waved. “See you soon, brother.” With that, the flickering image that had depicted him disappeared with a light gasp, leaving Roboute Guilliman alone in the room once again.

He exhaled, and the weight of the galaxy became apparent on his shoulders once again.

[mai-komagata]

vulcan control meta

Ok, so some theories on vulcans based on last episode (i mean i always had these theories, just nice to see them more explicitly shown). It isn't an issue just of emotional/mental control. Humans can develop emotional and mental control. And i think characters like Amanda and Michael prove humans can do that too. The thing is, Vulcans have much better physiological control over their bodies. I expect much less of their nervous system is autonomic or functions sympathetically. For example: if vulcan spock wants to appear skeptical, he can raise one eyebrow and one eyebrow only. They don't even realize they do it this way. It's just how their muscles work. If human spock wants to display an emotion, his whole face twitches uncontrollably. A lot of that humans can learn to do, they can train themselves to move muscles separately. But I'm guessing that level physiological response comes automatic for vulcans. Likewise, their tone of their voice is likely normally monotone, unless they force it not to be. But muscles, although they might move in groups without thinking, they are still largely voluntary nervous system actions. If a vulcan doesn't want to feel pain, they can just ignore it. Its like they have the pain sensor, they understand it is painful, but if they know it isn't hurting them, they can ignore it. They don't have the same reflex reaction to pain. If they find something arousing, they don't react to it without voluntary control. It is something they turn on voluntarily if it is the right situation. It seems like they can control how their kidneys function, for example as well. If they need food, they don't necessarily experience that as a constellation of disparate symptoms that affect their whole body, either. They know when they are low on fuel and they eat. They can enjoy food just as much (like T'pring's dad clearly does), but they don't have to -- it is another physical stimuli they can detach from. So what is my point here. That vulcans aren't less emotional, or more emotional, or more logical *genetically.* But they control their reactions to stimuli (whether mental or external) voluntarily, in a way human physiology cannot -- I cannot will my vasopressin levels to be different. And their philosophy is a stoic philosophy that views their bodily reactions with detachment. A human can follow a stoic philosophy and practice and learn that detachment. But their physiological reactions are different, and some of these things come as second nature to vulcans. Human spock is a bit like he was drunk (well he also was drunk in one scene). For the first time, he isn't voluntarily in control of all his bodily processes, and used it as an excuse to indulge in that feeling. He doesn't need to learn how humans react to humor and do all those movements to pretend to fit in. they just happen. But he can rally and keep it together if need be, and he could longterm learn that control. But it isn't a better or worse way of living and they aren't better people for it (sometimes it makes them worse). It is just something that societally comes easy to Vulcans b/c of their physiology. That said, ultimately, Vulcans are telepaths. They engage in emotional closeness via telepathic communication, not physical displays, so they can create personal connections in spite of their lack of physical displays. Spock feels disconnected from his mother without his telepathy b/c that is how he has been close to her all his life. That isn't something that can be learnt, but it is a reason michael (and even spock, to a smaller degree) would adapt to live differently when not around vulcans all the time, b/c it would get lonely. Vulcan control isn't *desirable* in a non-telepathic society.

[rinwritesfics]

How (Not) to Heal - Chapter 9

Plot: After being rescued from Mount Tantiss, Crosshair has to figure out how to work with the Batch again - and their new medic. It would be fine if he didn’t start to fall in love with her.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1842

Author’s Note: We're starting to reach the endgame, folks!

Previously - Start Here!

Chapter 9

Crosshair approached Hunter and asked to speak in private with him. They walked out of earshot of the others and Crosshair turned around.

“Don’t send me with Ka’li.”

“Care to explain why?”

Crosshair scowled.

“If you don’t have a legitimate reason, then you need to go.”

“Why?”

“Why not? It’s not a dangerous mission. Why do you not want to go?”

Crosshair grumbled, but it was gibberish.

“Then I take it you will be fine to go with her?”

Crosshair’s cheeks flushed and the scowl deepened.

“Look, I know how you feel. You’ll be fine.”

Crosshair’s heartrate increased. Hunter couldn’t know how he felt when even he couldn’t figure it out… right?

“Know how I feel? And what exactly is it that you think I feel?”

“You feel like you’re being given guard duty. But I think you two just need some bonding time.”

Bonding time was the absolute last thing Crosshair wanted with her right now. If he bonded any more, he was bound to blurt out his feelings for her.

Upon landing, Crosshair still hadn’t gotten out of being voluntold he was accompanying her. An entire mission that he has to be with her? It was his favorite dream and worst nightmare packed together. His teeth gnashed on the toothpick, rolling it around.

Hunter was up to something more than just creating “bonding time,” he just knew it. The barely contained glee in his brother’s eyes was noticeable. “Crosshair will go with you.”

Ka’li smiled uneasily at Crosshair, causing anxiety to gnaw away at his stomach. She didn’t want him to go. “Are you sure?” she asked Hunter.

“It’s a mission that only requires two, and he’s the best fit to go with you. Just try to get back before the storm hits.”

She raised an eyebrow in thought, then nodded. Crosshair rolled his eyes and stuck a toothpick in his mouth.

“Crosshair, would you prefer someone else to come with me?” she asked quietly. He almost dropped his toothpick, scrambling to find the answer most like himself.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Hunter’s eyebrows narrowed at him, but Crosshair didn’t care. Crosshair turned away to gather his gear, letting that cover his thoughts.

Ever since meeting her, he’d only let their relationship be tumultuous at best. Her smile was obnoxious for all of about five seconds before he lost it. How she could handle the things he said to her and throw it back at him, but still be kind was a mystery to him. Sometimes, he’d almost describe her as meek until she’d tell him not to be a di’kut. They might get into an argument, but more and more, he’d been letting her win. There was that one day she genuinely smiled at him and while he tried to fight the tide, he finally gave in and admitted to himself that he was really beginning to like her.

But he didn’t want to do anything about it. It was easier for him to continue as he had been. How was he, a pawn for the military, a genetically ‘desirable’ and enhanced clone, supposed to do anything about it, anyway? He was aging twice as fast, or more, as she was, and she deserved better than an asshole, anyway. No matter how much it hurt to tell himself that.

When he was younger, still going through blinding growing pains, he swore to himself after each fight with the regs that he and his batch would come out on top and that the regs would be in awe. In that dream, he had occasionally included all the ladies flocking to him and a few to his brothers.

It wasn’t the same, now. Most of his reg brothers were gone, strategically and insidiously being picked off from the Imperial Army. Being treated like droids, like property, rather than living, breathing beings. No, it was nowhere near the same now.

And now that she had stepped into his life, there was only one smile he desired every day. Not the flocks he had imagined, but a specific smile. Sometimes, he could coax it out. A genuine, gentle smile. It was the only one he needed.

He hefted his pack onto his back and picked up his bucket, turning to see her out of the corner of his eye. She was just finishing up.

Good. The sooner this mission was over with, the sooner he could release the tension in his shoulders.

When he had focused on her again, she was gone and a tap on his other side got his attention.

“Pack some rations, too?” she asked, holding out a couple ration bars. His favorite flavor, too. He slowly took them from her and stashed them away.

“Thanks….”

“No need to be suspicious. I just didn’t see you walk to the food case.”

Had she been watching him, too? Maybe it was too much to dream for.

Before he could respond, she had turned to Omega, who had popped up behind her.

“Are you sure you don’t need my bow?”

She ruffled the girl’s hair, getting a giggle out of her. “Yeah, Megs, I think I’ll be okay. I have a blaster, but I already have the best sniper in the galaxy to back me up. He won’t let me die. Will you, Crosshair?”

“I’ll keep you safe,” he grumbled.

“See? Your brother will keep me safe and we’ll help the villagers, too. Win-win mission.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll be back soon. In the meantime, don’t get into too much trouble without me.”

“I make no promises.”

“But I do,” Hunter walked in. “The storm is ahead of schedule, according to Tech. You need to hurry.”

“Got it. Onward and forward, Crosshair.”

He shoved his bucket on and grumbled a few things, but took the lead.

She made little to no attempts to start a conversation, much to both his relief and his disappointment.

Maybe she didn’t want to talk to him after all. Maybe she hated him. Maybe, despite returning to his squad, she held him in high contempt for choosing the Empire.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said after about a half hour, startling her, which he immediately regretted.

“I know you don’t like conversation, so I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

So she was considering his preferences. That made him smile, able to hide it behind his bucket.

“But you do.”

“I just want to make this mission as smooth as possible.”

Maybe she did hate him. He eyed a cave to his left, but determined it was too shallow to have something dangerous hiding in it.

“Is something on your mind that’s bugging you?” she asked.

“No,” he bit out harsher than he had intended on.

“Okay.”

A couple more minutes of silence passed, then he sighed, which caught her attention.

“Actually, there is one thing.”

“I’m listening.”

He paused, uncertain how to ask what was on his mind.

She didn’t push him, but she did look at him periodically.

“You must hate me for staying with the Empire.”

She stopped. “What? I don’t hate you. I can’t say I understand your decision, but you left them all the same.”

“Then why do you go out of your way to treat me differently than them when you get the chance?”

“I’m still getting to know you, Crosshair. I only really know what your brothers have told me. Well, what Tech has told me mostly. I had asked him what I needed to know about you and he emphasized you like your space. So, I was making sure you get your space aside from my duties. I wasn’t aware it was going to cause this.” She gestured between the two.

He fell silent a moment, looking at her.

“So, that’s why. I didn’t intend on making you feel excluded.”

“I see.” He thought back to the little touches she gave his brothers and entertained the idea of telling her those would be fine, too, but he didn’t want to seem overeager for her attention. Instead, he turned and kept walking.

“Are you mad?”

He turned back a little. “I just have some things to think about.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then promptly shut it and followed after him.

They got to the village with a couple minutes to spare according to Tech’s last metrological report and she settled right in to treating wounds. Crosshair watched her work and his usual scowl softened. She was so good with people and made them feel important and listened to. Each smile she gave lifted his spirits. He took off his bucket to watch her better than through his narrow visor. The way she cared… he felt a warmth in his heart as she worked.

A local walked up to him and Crosshair pulled his attention from Ka’li. He faced the man, a scowl quickly pulled on his face.

“Your wife is a wonderful healer. We are indebted to you both.” The man bowed his head to Crosshair, catching him off-guard.

“She’s not my wife,” Crosshair snapped, a little louder than he had intended.

“Oh, my apologies. The way you look at her had me mistaken.”

“What way?”

“Like there’s no one else in the galaxy who you admire more. I had that with my beloved, and I hope when we meet again, they will be waiting for me.” The man walked away.

Crosshair blinked, slightly shocked. Was he that transparent about her?

Did she know?

Would she even want to know?

“Crosshair, come in,” Hunter’s voice over the comms broke through his thoughts.

Crosshair left the makeshift room, stepping outside. “Here.”

“The storm is nearly bearing down upon you. You need to try to get out of there in the next couple of minutes.”

“Copy.”

She was nearly done with triage and Crosshair fought himself over pulling her now. Surely, the last couple would be okay if he did. But he knew she would be upset when she was so close. What would the harm be in making her happy and helping them?

Turned out, a lot. The temperature dropped and storm had picked up. What started as light rain turned into howling winds and heavy snow flakes, falling fast enough that between two relatively okay patients, the ground outside was coated and the grass on the path was almost buried.

When she looked up from her last patient, her mouth dropped open.

“Cross, shouldn’t we have left a while ago?”

Happiness bubbled in his chest at the nickname from her. He said quietly, “You would have been upset if we left anyone.”

She blushed. “Maybe. But now we could be in trouble. Snow wasn’t in the original report.”

He relished in the blush she gave him. “We’ll make it.”

“Okay.”

“Go,” said the same man from before. “If you want to get back to your ship, you need to hurry. It will get very bad very quickly.”

Without so much as trying to find the village leader, they ducked out and started back the way they came.

Chapter 10

Tags: @crosshairsbabygurl, @starrylothcat, @thecoffeelorian, @idoubleswearimawriter, @heylosers06, @totesnothere04, @dangraccoon, @the-hexfiles, @jediknightjana, @xxeiraxx

[atimelesslullaby]

There are no Sheikah named Sheik in the Hyrule I know Who are you really, @guideoftime? Is this some kind of trick?

It was wrong.

She knew it was wrong. Zelda, ever since sending Link back in time, could sense that she had created an alternate timeline. Perhaps it was her power to control time itself, but she could sense other planes within the same stream. It gave her the power to traverse said stream, at the cost of magical stamina that was quite high.

Oh, what she'd have given to see Link again. She very much knew, that she had no power over memories. She may have sent him to an alternate timeline, but he'd most surely remember everything that happened. Other than that, Zelda knew nothing of this timeline she'd inadvertently created. She had the power to sense them, that was it.

She was not an omnipotent presence.

Summoning her power over time, Zelda gave into selfishness. A purple aura formed around her entire body, and in a flash, she was gone. Descending from the sky of not just any timeline, but the timeline she created for the Link she knew, things seemed relatively peaceful... though, these were merely the fields.

The wind pulled at her hair, and dress, as she stepped. This Hyrule didn't seem any different than that of her own. Maybe Castle Town was different. The real question was, where could she find Link in this Hyrule? She had to see him again, just one last time.

It was so selfish. Zelda knew that. Maybe she was wrong for giving into selfish desires. Everything she'd done to him had been selfish.

Continuing to step, the woman is halted by a new presence. A familiar presence. A presence that shouldn't have existed. Eyebrows furrowed, Zelda stood her ground when this figure appeared, seemingly out of absolute nowhere.

"...Who are you?"

It made no sense. She didn't sense any piece of the Triforce in him. All the while, the Triforce of Wisdom was still softly glowing from her own right hand. He shouldn't have existed. Sheik was her alter ego. Recessive genetics she could tap into through the power of the Triforce. This was a Hyrule where Ganondorf was gone, how could Sheik exist?

"You are of the Sheikah bloodline, are you not?"

A shake of the head.

"Please, I request that you lead me towards the Sage of Shadow."

[octopationaltherapy]

A Vinter boy

Original Omegaverse fiction. Alpha/Alpha. Alpha/Omega. Omega/Omega. M/M. M/M/M. Background F/F, M/F, M/M relationships.

TW: Eating disorders, past sexual abuse, past child sexual abuse

Darius Vinter had run the finest finishing school in the country, and he had closed it years ago. Decades ago, genetic researchers developed technology to build your perfect mate. Through a process called "splicing" you can select an omega's eye color, hair color, height, or even add a tail! Of course, this technology is only available to the fabulously wealthy, and still requires the pup to be carried and raised by a surrogate until they're of mating age, so these spliced humans are considerably rare- especially the hybrids. Asher is a human/dog hybrid rescued from sex trafficking, who has run out of places to go. His behavior has lost him a place at every respite home, group home, and psychiatric hospital in the state of Maryland. When a colleague brings his file to Dr. Vinter, however, the boy finds another place in the nick of time.

Read on AO3

OR

Chapter One

Darius Vinter had run the most respected finishing school in the country, and he had closed it years ago.

If he was honest, he would always miss it. Though the alpha had never taken a mate for himself, he thoroughly enjoyed the process of finishing an omega. Wealthy parents from all over the country sought a place for their children at his school, and any omega with Vinter’s name attached was guaranteed to fetch a handsome dowry. He enjoyed these aristocratic pupils, gentle and demure, but his real love would always remain with the delinquents.

Dr. Vinter loved a challenge.

In its heyday, the school had operated in the typical hours: Monday through Friday, morning into afternoon. Most students came for lessons and enjoyed their time off to do whatever they liked. A select few, however, were chosen to board at the manor.

“Punks,” “troublemakers,” there were many names for them, but Dr. Vinter would always refer to them as “brats,” with unabashed affection. Rarely, these would be the spoiled children of the upper crust, but more often they were selected from foster homes, hospitals, the legal system or the office of an acquainted psychiatrist. Dr. Vinter, after all, had kept one foot in psychiatry for his entire career.

He was a doctor, a real one, with a degree and a license to practice. In his youth, he had been thoroughly confused about what he wanted beyond a vague desire to help those in need. This had seen him through medical school to a residency in surgery, until he surprised everyone and took a sharp turn into psychiatry instead. From there, he had gradually side stepped into training omegas, making everyone’s eyebrows raise only higher.

When questioned, Dr. Vinter liked to say that he was fascinated by the way things work. It made enough sense; the inner workings of a human body can rarely be observed more closely than atop an operating table, and psychiatry lent a porthole into lconsciousness itself. More accurately, however, Dr. Vinter was only interested in the inner workings of the other.

So, he was drawn to omegan behavior like a moth to a flame.

The gentle dynamic was upheld as a mystery in Dr. Vinter’s youth, and though society slowly (haggardly, with weights tied to its ankles) marched toward equality and inclusion, they largely remained so. Dr. Vinter took pride in knowing exactly what made them tick.

He had begun modestly, counseling omegas, and quickly built a specialty in behavior and conduct disorders. Word spread quickly of his practice. For much of history, omegan behavior was hardly acknowledged at all. Their alpha would get them to fall in line, or they would be disposed of in an institution with little thought. Dr. Vinter was one of the first to take these difficult cases, and one of even fewer to see actual success.

Though, there is only so much one can do without getting their hands dirty.

An omega’s training was only worth as much as their alpha was willing to put into it, and Dr. Vinter struggled more against stubborn alphas than any omega that entered his office. Eventually, there was nothing to do but take matters into his own hands, and thus he found himself straddling psychology and training.

He chose, of course, to lean further into the latter.

This isn’t to say that Vinter had abandoned psychiatry, because of course that isn’t the case. His degree laid a wonderful foundation atop which he could mold any omega into a desirable mate. It also lent credence to his practice, giving him an edge over surrounding competition.

Dr. Vinter was not a trainer, like that who conditioned beasts with handfuls of treats. He was not a matchmaker, a role associated with foreign and primitive societies. He was a doctor, a man of science, and he was damn good at what did.

Though, of course, he did not do it any more.

He had retired back to psychiatry, returning to the nest that had so comfortably housed him in his youth. He worked with mated pairs, alphan/omegan couples, and his training methods withdrew from practice back to instruction.

And he was fine with this.

The man was nearing fwas only getting older, and the time had to come sooner or later. It wasn’t as though psychiatry was not a respected field, and it certainly funded a luxurious lifestyle. The excitement of his youth had come to an end, but in its place was a perfectly adequate life. Dr. Vinter had no intention of returning, and that was that. 

This could not stop Allison Flowers from asking, however.

It is a Friday afternoon, and a perfectly uneventful one. Darius sits in his office to work on filing records, which is what he has always reserved Friday afternoons for. The paperwork simply does not get done otherwise. His last appointment had left hours ago, and at this point even the desk staff had gone home. So, he is not pleased to hear the door open, ringing the small bell perched above it. He remains seated, and hopes that someone has left a jacket at their desk.

Of course, there is a knock at his door.

With a sigh, he rises. When he answers, however, he cannot stop the fond smile that crosses his lips. He has not seen the beta in ages.

Dr. Allison Flowers is a cheery beta with dirty blonde hair that coils like springs. Vinter had mentored her early in her career, and she has gone on to be one of the most well-respected adolescent psychologists in the state. She is a point of pride for Vinter, and he treats her as such.

“Dr. Flowers.” He greets her, warmth and fondness in his voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Allison laughs breathily in response, head ducked as the alpha leads her back to his desk. He gestures for her to sit.

“A favor, if I may ask it.” She says, and takes her seat.

“You may always ask.” Darius responds easily.

His ease is shaken when the beta places a manilla folder on his desk with a thud. The file is an inch thick. Darius’s eyes widen.

“What is this?” He asks.

“This,” Allison says in a tone that can only be described as exhausted. “Is my patient, Asher.”

Darius flips the file open without waiting for instruction. A young omega’s picture is paperclipped to the first page. His hair is shaggy and jet black, though flecks of white shine through it. From it, two upright canine ears sit alert on the top of his head. His eyes are striking. One eye is a deep, dark brown, and the other is split vertically, almost perfectly down the middle: the outer half a dark brown matching the other eye, and the inner half a light, watery blue. The line that divides the two is ever so slightly imperfect, tapering back and forth like the plucked string of a harp.

The boy snarls at the camera.

“A hybrid?” Darius asks. It is certainly a surprise.

The technology has existed for, what, sixty years now? And it has remained tenuous the entire time. Hybrids were highly desirable, not only as mates, but as pups. Wealthy couples would shell out millions to have a hybrid embryo spliced into existence, to either be carried by one parent or a surrogate. Alphas, wealthier still, would pay obscene amounts to not only splice an embryo, but pay a surrogate to carry and raise the child until they were old enough to mate. Dozens of hybrid species had been spliced, and many more attempted. The most popular were cats, followed closely by dogs, but birds and even reptiles were not unheard of. Any hybrid you could dream of had a market somewhere, it was only a matter of finding someone with both the specific fantasy and enough money to fund it.

An unclaimed hybrid was nigh unheard of.

“He’s an inu.” Allison responds softly. “He was spliced with a husky, I think. He’s been my patient for the last six years, and he’s, um, run out of places to go.”

Darius snorts.

“You don’t mean to tell me that you’ve got a hybrid that nobody wants, Allison.”

The beta shakes her head.

“I’m sure someone would want him.” She says. “I’m sure if we sent him to auction, the entire hall would be fighting tooth and nail over taking him home. It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Allison falters, stammering. Nearly half a minute passes before she finds the words.

“He’s a brat.” She says finally, and Darius doesn’t fight the grin that rises to his face.

“And I do love a brat, don't I?” He says fondly. “Unfortunately, I quit that game years ago.”

Allison shakes her head.

“No, Darius, please listen.” She says all at once, and begins flipping through the file in front of her. 

“He came to  St. Guinefort’s six years ago- almost seven now.” She says. “They kicked him out on his eighteenth birthday. That was last May. I’ve been trying to find him a placement since then. The next stop is auction, and he’s not ready.”

Darius taps his fingers on his desk.

“St. Guinefort’s could have kept him until twenty-one.” He points out, and Allison snorts.

“St. Guinefort’s was tired of his shit.” She says flatly. “His entire stay, no one heard him say a word, only growl. I still haven’t heard him say a word! At the same time, we know he’s not stupid. It’s like he’s playing with us.”

Darius leans back in his chair, examining the beta. He can’t deny that his interest is piqued.

“Playing with you how?”

“Any way he can.” Allison responds. “He finds a new way every day. At Guinefort’s, he eloped fifteen different times. Fifteen. Every time they would increase his restrictions, tighten security on the ward, and he’d find some way no one thought of and run again. He does whatever he wants.”

Darius is smiling, tight-lipped. 

“Continue.” is all he says.

“We’ve tried every way we can think of to get him to communicate.” Allison continues. “Pen and paper, PECs, sign. He will use them only as far as they serve him, then exploit them to confuse and misdirect staff. After that, you press him and he growls. Press him further, he’ll bite. Pretty much everyone staffing his ward has gotten at least one bite, and they’re bad. His teeth are spliced, they’re sharp. He doesn’t want to talk, at least not to us.”

Darius's eyes flit upward to meet the beta’s.

“But there’s others he will speak to, isn’t there?”

Allison bites her lip.

“All the other patients are scared of him.” She says. “Several of them have said he’s threatened them. Violent threats, specific. They won’t go near him, and that’s exactly what he wants.”

A laugh escapes Darius’s mouth, a noise of pure delight.

“A bully, as well?” He muses. “I wonder how he’d like to be picked on by someone bigger for a change.”

Allison exhales.

“Which is why I came for you.” She says. “We can’t use punishments-”

“But I can.” Darius finishes softly. Then he clears his throat. “Yet, I unfortunately remain retired.”

Allison groans.

“Please Darius.” She says. “There’s nowhere else.”

“Try Perkins.” He responds.

“We did. He was out by the end of the week.”

“Eastern Shore?”

“Already tried.”

“Sheppard Pratt?”

“He’s been.”

“Mary Margaret’s?” 

“They kept him for four hours.” 

Darius’s eyes widen. He looks down at the file in front of him.

“Mary Margaret’s kicked him out after four hours?” He asks softly, smile tugging on his lips.

“I dropped him off at eight and he was out by lunch.” Allison says. “You are the only one left.”

Darius hums, a noise reflecting something between admiration and disbelief.

“It’s certainly tempting.” He says after a moment. “But I am still retired.”

“Darius, please.” Allison begs, desperate now. “Without you he has nowhere to go!”

Darius sighs, offering a noncommittal shrug.

“Let him go to auction, then.” He responds dryly. “He would make the city a pretty penny. Maybe they’ll build a new library.”

Allison groans, head turned away and eyes squeezed shut in a wince. Then, she sighs, regaining her composure. 

“I didn’t want to play this card,” She says softly. “But, if you won’t do it for me, would you consider doing it as a favor to Will Summers?”

Darius stiffens, any humor he had leaves his body at once

“What does Will Summers have to do with this?” He asks, his tone cold and harsh.

“Asher was found six years ago, naked in a dog cage, in an abandoned storage unit.” She says. “Sex trafficking.”

Allison flips through the folder, still laid open on Darius’s desk. She lays it open on a close up of the omega’s inner ear. Tattooed on the pink skin is the boy’s name, Asher, and presumably his date of birth, 05110XX Next to these is a symbol Darius doesn’t recognize: two crescents back to back, slightly off center. They make something between the shape of a cross and that of an X. His eyes flit upward to meet the beta’s, waiting for an explanation.

“That symbol,” She says, pointing to the photo. “Has been found on seventeen bodies of dead hybrids. Asher is the only living person who carries it, as far as we know. Summers has been working on this case for the last seven years, and if Asher goes to auction, he’s going to lose access to the only person capable of giving the FBI any information on it.”

She meets the alpha’s eyes.

“All I’m asking is for you to buy us some time.”

Darius deflates, running a hand over his face with a sigh.

“I understand you and Summers are very close.” Allison presses.

“We were at one point.” Vinter corrects sharply. “I have not seen the man in years.”

Allison exhales a sigh.

“Please, Darius.” She says softly.

“You want me to finish him, Allison?” He asks, a sudden urgency to his tone. “You understand what that entails, yes? He will be trained sexually as well.”

Allison fidgets in her seat. When she responds, her eyes are cast down.

“He’ll be used sexually if he goes to auction.” She says softly. “Under your watch, it will be controlled, it will be informed. We’re at a point where we have to decide what the lesser evil is.”

Darius sighs. 

“If the boy is sick, he belongs in a hospital.”

“As far as the hospitals are concerned, he’s not sick.” Allison responds. “He’s noncompliant. I’m not even sure I disagree.”

Darius says nothing. His eyes flit back down to the file. He leafs through its pages, back to the snarling picture of the boy at the front, and scans the page beneath it:

DATE OF ADMISSION: 05/12/20XX

The boy had been found, naked in a dog cage, the day after his twelfth birthday.

“A week.” Allison presses. “One week, Darius. Let me call around, see if anyone out of state can take him.”

“I will see the boy for an hour in my office.” Darius counters. Allison shakes her head.

“He wouldn’t say a word.” She says. “If he walks into your office, he knows he’ll walk out again if he waits long enough. He needs to stay overnight, he needs to think I’m not coming. Just one day, Darius.”

The alpha is silent for a moment. He rests his chin on his hands and casts his gaze to the boy’s file.

“Twelve hours.” He says finally. “He comes in the evening, we have dinner and he stays the night. You pick him up in the morning.”

Allison’s face twists into a grimace.

“Could you make it twenty-four?”

Darius snorts.

“Dr. Flowers,” He says. “Allow me to remind you that your luck has already been pushed quite close to its limits.”

The beta sighs.

“Okay.” She says. “Thank you, Dr. Vinter. I’ll make it work. I can have him there in time for dinner.”

Dr. Vinter did not finish his paperwork. Instead, he abandoned it in his office and made his leave for home. There was much to do before he welcomed a new charge- even for just one night.

He’d run the obedience school out of his own home, and it is still outfitted for such a purpose  all these years later. There are locks set into everything that opens: every drawer, every window, every door. He only needs to lock them once again. 

From what Dr. Flowers had told him, the boy was a flight risk, so Darius is careful to make sure every window and exterior door is locked tight. Then there’s his aggression, the violent and specific threats; the alpha must make sure he has no access to anything sharp. Last of all, is the boy’s room.

Previously, Dr. Vinter would board five to nine omegas at one time, two to a room, with a fifth, private room, designated at the doctor’s discretion. At this point, however, most of the rooms had been repurposed; guest rooms, a second home office, and a private study. It was the private room that has remained mostly untouched.

It was essentially a guest room already, or at least, that was how Dr. Vinter justified himself. There was a single idiosyncrasy: a nesting bed instead of the standard queen that stood in all of his other guest rooms. It was low to the ground, circular, with a headboard that followed its frame halfway around to facilitate nesting. If he ever had a guest with an omega, he reasoned, especially one in or nearing heat, it would come in handy.

The bed had not seen a warm body since his school had closed, of course.

He examines the room from top to bottom, checking each nook and cranny for contraband that might have been left behind by one of its previous tenants. He finds little: swear words etched into many of the drawers, written in marker or carved into the wood with ballpoint pen, and a half-empty pack of cigarettes tucked between the mattress and box spring. He cannot help the warm, fond grin that tugs at his lips when he pulls it out. He is certain he knows which omega had left it behind.

He brings the cardboard to his nose and inhales. Sure enough, faint behind the overpowering stench of tobacco, is the scent he had expected: chamomile and vanilla, with the bitter, orange zest scent of the omega’s stress that had seemed to always be on him. They were left by the room’s most recent occupant: Alexander.

Alexander had been the exact kind of omega that made Dr. Vinter love his job. He had been raised amongst a British firm, an organized crime group in the United Kingdom, and showed it in every gesture and turn of phrase. He had been dragged across the pond, and then, later, across the US, by his criminal, alphan parents in an effort to evade arrest. The arrest finally came when the boy was eleven, and he was surrendered to foster care where he quickly found his way at the top of its hierarchy through intimidation. Then, he went into heat at age sixteen, causing everyone involved in his case to drop their face into their hands in despair. Dr. Vinter accepted him gladly.

 He spoke foully, and grinned widely when he did. He had spat in the doctor’s face before the end of his first week, and Darius had ensured that he paid dearly for it. He still remembers the boy’s green eyes, the way they darted around the room, always on the lookout for an escape. 

He was a perfect gentleman by his graduation, polite and well behaved, but no less intelligent or spirited. He had tamed exactly as the doctor had hoped, and like most of his brats, the pair were very close by the end of his stay.

The doctor feels a stab in his chest as he remembers the boy. He tucks the cigarettes into his pocket and makes his leave.

When he is done securing the home, there is only enough time to prepare dinner. Annoyed, he flips through his recipes, looking for something that could easily accommodate the sensitivities of the boy’s species. Hybrids’ diets tend to be restrictive compared to humans, not to the extent of their spliced species, but reflective thereof. An inu could not have chocolate, of course, but more importantly, onions were off limits as well. This limited Dr. Vinter’s options drastically. 

Beyond onions, inus were sensitive to most spices and could only have them sparingly. This included garlic, to the doctor’s chagrin. Their diets were to be primarily protein and fat, with limited carbs compared to their unspliced counterparts, which removed all the potato-based sides from the doctor’s already sparse list of options. 

Finally he settles on pan-seared venison steaks, knowing the boy’s body will appreciate the lean, red meat. The sauce, originally containing both garlic and onions, he swaps for a blueberry based substitution he finds online. He knows dogs can have blueberries, he has seen Dr. Flowers use them as treats for her own mutt while visiting her home. The side, garlic mashed potatoes, is traded for grilled brussel sprouts, which are deemed acceptable after a quick google search. The meal is ready almost exactly as the doorbell rings.

As promised, Dr. Flowers drops the boy off right in time for dinner. Darius places both of their portions in the oven to keep warm, and makes his way to the foyer. He opens the door to the beta’s bright smile, and sees the boy peering over her shoulder, eyes scanning the room behind the alpha. The doctor notes that the boy's eyes never rest on him, but it doesn’t seem like they are avoiding it, shy and intimidated as an omega might be in a strange alpha’s home. Rather, the boy’s gaze is haughty, withdrawn, and suspicious. The doctor has not earned his attention, not yet.

“Hello, Dr. Vinter.” Allison chirps. 

She takes a step backward, bringing the boy around to her front by his shoulders. His top lip curls upward on one side, revealing a large, sharp canine tooth, and second, smaller one tucked behind it, where his first premolar should be. He shrugs her hands off his shoulders, and glares forward, expressionless, bored. 

“This is Asher.” Allison continues. She glances at the boy, who is only barely shorter than she is. “Asher, can you say hello to Dr. Vinter, please?”

Asher says nothing. His gaze is cast behind himself now, at the iron gate that spans the drive. One ear points backward, keeping a tab on the ongoing conversation for anything interesting. The other sits alert, pointed toward the gate. Already, he is calculating an escape, and flagrantly. Darius can feel fondness building in his chest.

“Asher.” He says sharply. “In my care, you will be expected to look at people when they speak to you.”

At the mention of his name, the other ear turns backward, and Darius understands what Allison had meant when she said the boy had ‘played’ with her. He says nothing, his human body language would indicate that the boy wasn’t listening, perhaps couldn’t understand. The ears give him away, but the doctor doesn’t suppose this is a mistake. His actions are too deliberate. Instead, the doctor believes that these hints are intentional, choosing the canine features of his body to sow curiosity in his actions. He wants the alpha to notice. He wants the alpha to wonder.

“Asher.” Allison hisses through clenched teeth. “Dr. Vinter is doing you a favor, the least you can do is look at him.”

The boy’s ears flatten at the beta’s harsh tone, pinned back against his head. He tilts his head from side to side, considering, with one ear raised. Finally, he rolls his head to look at the doctor, meeting his gaze directly. His brow is raised, expectant, as if to say ‘impress me.’ It is certainly bold.

The boy’s eyes are even more striking in person, odd and intriguing- and undeniably intelligent. His shoulders are square, back straight, giving no impression of the apprehension most omegas would feel to be left at the home of a strange alpha; and Darius notes that, for an omega, he is a bit tall. He is easily dwarfed by an alpha, and would fall short to most male betas, but his height rivals the average for female betas. He falls only an inch or so shorter than Dr. Flowers, the top of his head rising to the level of her brow. His ears, when upright, could add two or three inches more. 

Darius imagines him at St. Guinefort’s, surrounded by adolescent omegas as young as twelve. He is sure the boy used it to his advantage.

“Hello, Asher.” Darius says, greeting the boy politely. One had to model such skills. “My name is Dr. Vinter, I’m going to be taking care of you for the time being.”

The boy’s eyes flit down to the alphas shoes, then back up to his face. He meets his eyes again with the same, bored gaze, and tilts his head to the side, lips pursed just barely. Darius knows exactly what the expression is meant to convey: Asher is unimpressed. The boy had given the doctor a chance to catch his interest, and the doctor had failed. It is spectacular, the way the boy manages to set such a stage, himself positioned on top, without a word. Darius is sure he had run St. Guinefort’s.

Allison clears her throat.

“May we come in?”

Darius steps backward, and beta and omega file through the door. Asher seats himself in the foyer’s loveseat without waiting for instruction, sitting slumped with his arms over his chest. Darius exhales, peeling his eyes up to Allison, who offers only a small shrug of her shoulders.

“So, here’s his file.” She says, pressing the thick, manilla folder from earlier into the doctor’s arm. “That contains everything you need to know; medical conditions, allergies, history.”

She glances down at the inu as she emphasizes the last word, and Darius knows she is speaking for Asher’s sake and not his own.

“And here are his things.” She continues, holding out a plastic trash bag, about 3 quarters full. “It’s not much. From what I understand, none of it is very precious.”

Darius takes it with a sympathetic hum. Trash bags were often used to transport the personal items of these kinds of patients, as well as those in foster care. With no family, there was no one to provide proper luggage, and the state insisted they could not justify the expense. At times, charity groups or quilters’ circles would donate proper bags to such unfortunate cases, but the aid could not possibly cover the demand. Asher was one among hundreds subjected to such an indignity, and he was by no means the first of Darius’s students to be so.

“Then, I guess that’s all,” Allison says. “Unless you have any questions for me.”

“I think we covered everything in my office this afternoon, Dr. Flowers.” Darius smiles, and Allison returns the gesture.

“I’m heading out now, then.” Allison says, turning to address the inu. “Would you like a hug goodbye, Asher?”

Asher shakes his head, not even looking at the beta, with the same, haughty expression etched into his face; and Darius wonders how he should address such disrespect. It has been ages since he’d had a mute student, selective as he’d been told Asher’s mutism was, and never one as brazen as the boy in front of him. He isn’t sure how to address such obvious, but easily deniable, disdain. A new challenge, perhaps?

“Alright, then.” Allison says, exhaling a laugh. “I’m off. Goodbye, Asher. Goodbye, Dr. Vinter.”

“Goodbye, Dr. Flowers.” Darius smiles. “Do be sure to drive safely.”

“Of course.”

With that, the beta leaves, closing the front door behind her. Darius addresses the boy.

“Alright, Asher, Let’s talk.” He says, taking a seat next to the inu on the sofa. 

The boy, of course, does not respond. His head is turned to stare out of the skinny, stained glass window on the left side of the front door. Now, he does not even spare an ear to listen to the doctor, both pointed straight ahead, upright and alert. Darius presses forward.

“In my care, things will likely be structured very differently than the environments you’re used to.” He says. “I don’t expect you to get used to things all at once, but you will likely be held to higher standards than you previously were. I’d like to take this moment to discuss my expectations for you.”

The boy makes no move at all. In fact, Darius isn’t sure  he had even heard him. That is, until he lets out an aggravated sigh, and hears a quiet thumping against the loveseat. His eyes flit downward, and the boy’s tail is wagging, making quiet, little thuds against his seat. Darius exhales a laugh.

“I know you can hear me, Asher.” He says, his fondness growing every moment. “Your poker face does not quite reach your backend, I’m afraid.”

The thumping stops, but the boy still makes no move to face the doctor. Darius growls, soft and low: a warning.

“Look at me when I speak to you, Asher.” He snaps, and grips the boy’s chin, turning it to face him.

Asher snaps viciously at the doctor’s fingers, his teeth clicking harshly. Darius pulls his hand away, only narrowly escaping the boy’s bite. When he meets the boy’s eyes, they gaze back at his own, haughty and self-satisfied. A grin spreads across the inu’s lips, showing his four, sharp canines. He raises his eyebrows at the doctor.

Your turn. He’s telling him.

Darius exhales, a grin tugging at his own lips.

“Now that I have your attention.” He begins, enjoying the way the words make the smile fall right off the boy’s lips. “We operate on a warning system here, with three warnings earning you a punishment. You’ve just earned your first warning, Asher.”

The boy makes deliberate eye contact with the doctor, then rolls his eyes so dramatically that his irises entirely disappear, leaving only the whites of his eyes visible. The doctor has to stifle a snort.

“Are we ready for two?” He asks. “Awfully soon, Asher. You could be over my knee before dinner.”

The boy does not respond, gaze cast down to the floor. The doctor notes, however, that his ears are both pointed directly at him, alert and listening. He smiles, having made progress already.

“There are certain infractions that will earn you a consequence immediately.” Darius continues. “These are the fairly obvious ones, such as property damage, theft, violence- If that bite had landed you would already be over my knee, Asher, so be very careful in the future.”

At this, the boy makes his first utterance of the night: a snort. The doctor smiles warmly.

“Is something funny, Asher?” He asks, a faux-sweetness to his voice.

The boy shakes his head, gaze still cast to the floor.

“Very good.” The doctor responds, rising. “Then follow me to the kitchen, and we will eat dinner.”

The boy follows the doctor without further complaint, and Darius pulls his chair out as they pass the table.

“Have a seat, Asher.” He says. “I have to get dinner from the oven.”

He returns to the table and places the boy’s plate at his seat. Asher sits slumped in the chair, glaring, with his arms crossed over his chest; and Darius has to stifle a laugh when he sees it. It is a posture he has seen many times, in an armchair across from his desk.

“Asher, please sit up and eat.” Darius instructs, taking his own seat. 

The boy sits up, and begins sawing at his meal with venom in his movements. Darius pretends not to notice the disdain.

“Is there anything you would like to talk about?” He asks.

Asher shakes his head, gaze cast down to his plate. Darius continues.

“I didn’t think so.” He says. “Allison told me you don’t like to talk. At least, not to us, right?”

Asher makes eye contact again to initiate another vicious roll of the eyes. Darius snorts.

“Careful, Asher.” He warns, not bothering to disguise the giddiness in his voice. “We inch closer to two every moment.”

Asher leans forward, over his plate, and waves his hand to catch the doctor’s attention, smiling with faux-innocence. When he has it, he drops the smile off his lips and points to his eyes. He rolls them again, doing the most exaggerated display of the gesture yet. Then, he slumps back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, and looks down at the floor. Darius laughs.

“Two then,” He shrugs. “Since you want it so badly.”

Asher offers a low growl in response. Darius sighs.

“Sit up and eat, Asher.” He says. “Or you will find yourself at three much sooner than you’d like.”

The boy huffs, but sits up and begins cutting his steak once again. Darius turns his attention to his own plate.

The rest of the meal passes in silence, as Darius had expected. He sets his attention primarily to his own plate, which is mostly empty when he looks back up at the boy across from him. He furrows his brow as he examines the boy’s plate; the steak is cut into miniscule pieces, but, as far as Darius can tell, not a single bite has actually been eaten. The brussel sprouts have not been touched at all.

He sits back in his own seat, arms folded, and watches as the boy cuts the steak smaller and smaller. He taps his forefinger on the crook of his elbow, thinking. Now that he looks at him, the boy does seem very thin. He may very well be underweight, though only barely if he is. The way he cuts the steak, as well, is a classic behavior of anorexia nervosa. He wonders, briefly, why Allison hadn’t mentioned this, but easily answers the question for himself. This was likely the very least of her concerns regarding the boy. He wishes he’d had more time to review the boy’s file.

“Asher.” He says sharply

The boy looks up at the doctor, eyes wide and ears pinned back against his head.

“Eat, please.” Darius says. “It is perfectly safe, if that’s what you’re worried about. I took your food sensitivities into account when I prepared it.”

Asher drops his gaze, and resumes cutting his steak, more quickly now.

“Eat, Asher.” Darius says again. “Don’t just cut your food. Put it in your mouth.”

Asher ducks his head and continues the motions.

“Now, Asher.” Darius warns. “Unless you would like to reach three. I will spank you right here at the kitchen table, if I must.”

Asher huffs. He scoops some of the eviscerated steak onto his fork and places it in his mouth. Then, he pushes his plate away and sits back in his seat. He looks at Darius with eyebrows raised, but it is not the arrogant expression he had carried before. Now, his shoulders are hunched around his neck, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Can I be done now? The boy is asking. It is a request.

Darius slides the plate back in front of Asher.

“At least half, Asher.” He says gently. “You need to eat.”

Asher growls under his breath, but returns his attention to his plate. He scoops two more forkfuls of venison into his mouth, then slides the plate back to the doctor. He raises his eyebrows, chin pointed at the floor, and tilts his head inquisitively. He is peering up at the doctor sideways.

Darius exhales a laugh, warm and gentle.

“That is not half, Asher.” He says, sliding the plate back to the boy. “Try again.”

The boy fidgets, nervous, then retakes his fork. He starts to eat again, taking forkful after forkful into his mouth. He watches Darius for a reaction.

“Do you not like it?” Darius asks. “Is it the taste? Or the texture, perhaps?”

Asher growls again. He takes a few more bites in quick succession, then pushes the plate back to the doctor. He looks at him expectantly

Darius assesses the plate. About half of the steak is gone, as far as he can tell, but the sprouts are still untouched. He slides it back to the boy.

“Two more bites.” He says. “Can you do that for me, Asher?”

Asher throws his head back and groans.

“You can do it, Asher.” Darius tuts. “Two bites and it’s over.”

Asher glares down at the plate, tapping the fingers of his right hand against the table. Darius notices that his nails are different colors; his forefinger, ring finger, and pinkie are perfectly normal, pink, and transparent, but his middle finger and thumb are jet black as his hair. It doesn’t appear to be nail polish, rather, another hybrid trait. Darius tilts his head thoughtfully.

“Would you like to talk about it, Asher?” He asks. “What is it that makes this difficult for you? Perhaps we can find a way to make it easier.”

At that, Asher snarls. The growl that falls from his mouth is savage and canine enough to make the hairs on Darius’s neck stand up. He stabs his fork into his plate twice, picking up two bites of the mess of steak, and puts it in his mouth. Then he pushes his plate away again, glaring up at the doctor.

Darius takes a deep breath, focusing on maintaining his own composure. He keeps his tone even when he speaks.

“Thank you for obeying, Asher.” He says gently. “I understand that that was difficult for you.”

Asher wrinkles his nose, top lip curling upwards in disdain, as Darius collects their plates.

“Alright, Asher.” Darius says, returning to the table from the sink. “After dinner is free time. Is there anything you’d like to do?”

The boy doesn’t respond, arms folded over his chest, gaze cast to the floor. The doctor persists.

“We could watch a movie.” He suggests. “Or, you could select a novel off of my shelves to read.”

Asher twists in his seat to look over his shoulder at the doctor. He holds out two fingers, pads facing upward, then drapes the palm of his other hand over them, oriented towards the floor. He tilts his head, raising his eyebrows at the doctor. Darius blinks.

“That’s right.” He says. “Dr. Flowers had said you used sign. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty. I don’t-”

Asher growls, rolling his eyes. He puts his hands together as if in prayer, then brings them to the side of his face, resting his cheek on them. He raises his eyebrows at the doctor again.

“Bed.” Darius says, understanding. “You’d like to go to bed. Let’s see.”

The doctor checks his watch, then tilts his head to the side, wincing. It is not yet eight o’ clock.

“It’s still quite early.” He says. “I usually wouldn’t allow it.”

A groan breaks from Asher’s throat.

“Bed.” He signs again, bringing his hands back up to rest his cheek upon them. Darius sighs.

“Alright.” He concedes. “You are the only one here, after all. We’ll call it a reward, for behaving yourself at dinner.”

Darius leads the boy upstairs, and shows him to his room. 

“I’m afraid your things won’t be ready until the morning.” he tells him. “Unless you’d like to wait for me to go through them now.”

The boy doesn’t respond. Instead, he climbs into bed and curls up atop the comforter, tucking his head beneath a pillow. Darius exhales a laugh.

“Goodnight, then.” He says, turning off the light. He closes the door behind him.

The doctor makes a quick detour downstairs to sort through the boy’s items, not wanting him stuck in dirty clothes for the entirety of his stay. It is mostly clothes, which are all unwashed as far as the doctor can tell. The only other contents are a plush blanket, which looks brand new and untouched, and a toy dog. The dog gives the doctor pause.

It is unique, perhaps even handmade, and bears no tag. It is patchwork, stitched together in pink and blue, quilting cotton. Its eyes are plastic buttons, round and pastel, the color of lilacs. Yellow thread criss-crosses through their four holes in the shape on an X on either side. It is old, certainly, and loved, but well taken care of. The boy’s scent is all over it. Darius feels a pang of guilt knowing he has gone to bed without it.

He loads the boy’s clothes into the washing machine. Typically, students were responsible for their own laundry, but typically, there were more than one of them at a time. The doctor doesn’t mind to do the boy a favor if it means the twelve hours he spends here are comfortable, all things considered. He recalls, after all, the way the boy had been discovered years ago. With the machine running, he returns upstairs, clutching the plush dog.

He opens the door to the boy’s bedroom slowly, holding the knob so that the latch doesn’t click. Asher is curled into the shape of a crescent, pillow pinned over his head by his loosely balled fists, which rest on either side. Softly, he is snoring. Darius smiles warmly, and places the dog on the boy’s dresser, which stands to the left of the doorway. Then, he shuts the door again, taking the same care to keep quiet that he did when he opened it. He exhales, and starts down the hallway.

Darius spends the next several hours in his office, reviewing the boy’s file. He flips through the pages that detail the boy’s time at St. Guinefort’s first, stapled together into a packet that accounts for much of the file’s bulk. He mostly skims it, only stopping to examine the most intriguing points of interest. He notes that hygiene is listed among areas of concern for the boy, and thinks of the bag full of dirty clothes. It is another thing someone else will have to fix for him.

He pauses at the list of elopements. There had been none for the first year of his stay, and then there had been one every few months, and more attempts in between. The last had been six months before his discharge; he’d pulled the lanyard off the neck of a nurse, and with it, her keyfob. This had allowed him to open any door in the building. The boy had made it all the way to the courtyard before he had been caught, and he had only been caught narrowly. They had alerted security of his escape and had officers posted at every exit to apprehend him, and he had still managed to lead a fifteen minute chase through the yard. 

The record makes note of his legs, here, which are semi-digitigrade. They allow him to outrun any full-blooded human with ease, though they aren’t as fast as fully-digitigrade legs, which some hybrids possess. Darius furrows his brow.

Plantigrade, or humanoid legs are considered most desirable when it comes to hybrids. Splicing was never an exact science, and the traits a hybrid ended up with could be narrowed down, but never selected exactly. The boy’s other traits; canine ears, a tail, and heterochromia; are all highly desirable, suggesting that he was spliced with the fidelity and precision only accessible by the fabulously wealthy. He wonders, then, if he had been tossed out due to the legs; if whoever had commissioned him could afford to simply start fresh and try again. It would certainly explain how such an appealing hybrid had wound up naked, locked in a dog cage, in an abandoned storage unit.

  He sets aside the Guineforte packet in search of the incident that led to his discharge from Mary Margaret’s Home For Lost Souls. The facility, known affectionately as “Mary Margaret’s Home for Lost Causes,” was known for taking in the most hopeless cases in the state. Most of the patients had some sort of disability, usually cognitive, in combination with behavioral issues, and the facility boasted ‘aggressively forgiving’ disciplinary methods. In Darius’s opinion, it was a glorified daycare, but he had to admit that he had never heard of a patient being discharged from it so soon. Most spent the rest of their lives there.

He finds the incident in the boy’s discharge paperwork, the last in a stack of more than a dozen from different facilities. From what he can tell, staff had given the boy an electronic PECs board upon arrival so that he could communicate, against the advice of Dr. Flowers. They had been excited by how quickly he’d seemed to take to it, spending the entire morning tapping away at its screen. Then, two hours later, they had turned to the boy as he reached his turn to share in group therapy, and the device’s robotic voice had emitted a flurry of profanity.

Asher had navigated to the system’s advanced settings and created a custom button for every swear word he knew. Then he set them off exactly when he knew all eyes would be on him. Reading the story, Darius laughs outright.

“Not stupid, indeed.” He mutters. 

This, however, was not the end of the story. The boy had then led a chase around the room when staff attempted to apprehend him, profanities spilling from the tablet the entire time. When he was finally caught, he bit an orderly and smashed the thousand dollar equipment against the wall, shattering its glass screen. He was, of course, sedated, and Allison was called to retrieve him. “Willful destruction of property” was cited as the reason for his discharge.

The file was stuffed to the brim with these kinds of stories.

 At Carl Perkins’ Rehabilitory Facility, he had sculpted an enormous, knotted phallus when instructed to sculpt something that made him happy during art therapy. He was sent back to ward, but had smuggled an exacto knife from the art room and used it to carve the same image into the door of his bedroom in the fifteen minutes between checks, at “an estimated 16 by 12 inches.” Darius wishes there was a picture attached; it strikes him as a frankly impressive feat.

At Eastern Shore Psychiatric Hospital, the boy had stolen a bag of syrup from the cafeteria, and no one was sure how. At first opportunity, he’d ripped it open with his teeth, soaking the tile floor. It is noted that his tail wagged at the squelching of everyone’s shoes during every visit to the cafeteria that followed. He was discharged from the facility when a cafeteria worker found him in the kitchen a week later, dragging a five gallon bag full of milk behind him.

At Sheppard Pratt Omega Rescue, he had been fitted with a shock collar to put an end to his behavioral issues. On the first day, Asher had been delivered over two hundred shocks in the span of an hour, leaving burns on the back of his neck. By the end of that hour, several staff members had been bitten, an orderly had nearly lost an eye. The boy was once again sedated, but staff noted that his behavior had improved from there. Allison had removed him at her own discretion three days later, after his weekly check-in, noting that the boy was nearly catatonic, with self-inflicted scratches lining his throat. Darius feels a pang in his chest, and silently thanks the beta.

Darius has to pull himself away from the discharge paperwork, detailing story after story of the boy’s antics. He finds what he was looking for in Asher's medical history.

The boy has a long list of allergies, which turn out to be sensitivities typical of his species upon closer inspection; with the addition of pollen and penicillin, which both cause the boy to break out in a rash. His primary diagnoses are listed as possible ODD, PTSD, and autism spectrum disorder, but it is noted that the boy has been noncompliant or intentionally malicious throughout every psychological evaluation they’ve given him. It is the one listed below those that Darius was looking for:

“OTHER SPECIFIED FEEDING OR EATING DISORDER (anorexia nervosa/ARFID)”

Darius taps his pen on the desk, holding it upright. Those were certainly different, and so was the treatment thereof. ARFID made sense if the boy was on the spectrum, but anorexia was often comorbid with PTSD in omegas. For anorexia, the doctor would focus primarily on the boy’s emotional fears surrounding food. For ARFID, the focus would be on the boy’s developmental deficits and sensory aversions in regards to diet, with nutritional counseling, medical care, and feeding therapy. He would also need to see a speech-language pathologist to assess whether there was something wrong with his physical movements when eating. 

Darius sighs, there is nowhere near enough information to make a decision. It’s impossible to know without speaking to the boy. Finally, he concedes, and opens his laptop to begin drafting the boy’s treatment plan; something tangible for Allison to follow when Asher leaves his care tomorrow.

He begins with the boy’s behavioral issues, crafting a list of possible consequences, and notes that he had responded well to a warning system. At the top of the list sits Darius’s favorite consequence, corporal punishment, though he knows it will be ignored. 

Next, he addresses the eating disorder. He suggests meal therapy, though he’s sure it’s already been tried, and states that the boy would likely respond better to being supervised one-on-one for meals instead of eating in a group. He wonders how many meals he’d skipped with staff unaware when he’d eaten in the cafeteria at Eastern Shore.

Then there is the mutism, and the doctor is honestly stumped. He had not succeeded in getting the boy to say a single word, and neither had anyone else during his six-nearly-seven years of treatment. The boy was clearly versed enough in American Sign Language to make simple requests, but he seemed mostly uninterested in communicating at all. There was nothing he could think to suggest that had not already been tried, with disastrous results at times. 

He adds to the document’s “notes” section, suggesting that the boy be reassessed for ASD and an eating disorder, but knows it will likely result in the same outcome as before: inconclusive due to noncompliance. Finally, he concludes with a list of resources in Maryland and neighboring states. At the top is his esteemed colleague, Delilah Indongo, an alpha who specializes in trauma across the dynamics. With that, he prints the form, tucks it into the boy’s file, and makes his leave for bed.

Darius is exhausted enough that he feels he should fall asleep as soon as his head hits his pillow, but his body seems to disagree. He is unable to quiet his mind, which drags memory after memory of his past charges into his consciousness, as if projecting them onto the back of his eyelids. He tosses and turns, using every trick to settle himself that he’s learned in his decades of practicing psychiatry, but sleep does not find him. Finally he sits up, and looks at his alarm clock:

1:57 AM

Darius had retired to bed by eleven o’ clock. 

He groans, and falls backward against his pillows, staring up at the ceiling. He knows exactly what it is that keeps him awake, but he does not want to acknowledge it. It has been ages since the man had felt quite so rewarded by the way he’d spent an evening. He had missed the feeling; missed having an omega walk into his home and making more progress with them in a matter of hours than anyone else had in a matter of years. Most of all, he’d missed the glares, the slumped posture, and the unapologetic disdain displayed when sitting across from an untamed brat.

Darius Vinters is excited.

He is excited to wake the boy the next day, to be met with groans and pouts and resistance. He is excited to drag the boy down to breakfast and gently probe him to eat while he snarls in response. He is excited to tally his warnings, to scold and argue with the boy. First and foremost, however, he is excited to finally bring the boy over his knee.

Warnings alone had earned the boy’s compliance, so Darius knew he was, at the very least, weary of the prospect. That kind of fear, however, could only take a brat so far. Eventually, they all had to push back, to assess boundaries and see exactly where the line was for themselves. Darius, ever amenable, was always happy to show them exactly where it lay. He only hopes that Allison does not arrive too soon.

He takes in a breath, and tries to quiet his mind once again. He must sleep in order to enjoy the day properly. He is four counts into a round of square breathing when the light on his bedside table turns on, untouched. He sits up, momentarily confused. A grin spreads across his face when he realizes.

It was an unsophisticated system, but it had worked perfectly for over a decade. A pressure sensor was placed within a single step of the staircase- neither the top nor bottom, as those would be guessed too easily. It and the light were connected wirelessly, and when it was triggered, the light turned on. A makeshift silent alarm, Darius didn’t believe a single student had ever caught on to its existence, and he had caught every attempted runaway before they’d been able to leave the grounds of the school. He’d forgotten about it entirely, until it had activated just now- and he is giddy that it has.

Darius rises slowly, leisurely, from the bed and retrieves his bathrobe, figuring he might as well give the boy some time to get in proper trouble before he apprehends him. He ties it around himself, then makes his way as quietly as he can to the top of the stairs, and looks.

Asher is in the foyer. He tilts one ear backward as the doctor approaches, but quickly refocuses it on the task at hand: unlocking the front doorknob. There is something in his hand, thin and metal, and it glints in the porch light streaming through the front window. The boy tries repeatedly to open the door, growing more and more frustrated with each attempt. Finally, he throws his head back, growling quietly under his breath, and turns his attention to the large window to the door’s right.

He shimmies his makeshift shiv into the lock again and again, trying the handle in between attempts. His movements are practiced, and may have opened an inferior lock, but everything in the doctor’s house has been crafted to stand against crafty minds. Finally, Darius clears his throat, and the boy spins around, eyes wide and ears pinned back against his head.

“You’ll find that nothing here opens without a key.” Darius says dryly, casting a haughty gaze of his own down the stairs. “And I believe this makes three, doesn’t it, Asher?”

The boy snarls savagely in response.

Darius pays no mind, quickly descending the stairs. Asher snaps viciously as the doctor nears, backing into the corner next to the window he’d tried to unlock. A plush, armless chair occupies the space, a perfect opportunity. 

“Are you going to be a good boy and comply, Asher?” Darius asks, homing in on the boy. “Or am I going to have to put you over my knee myself, and punish you even harder?”

Asher only snarls in response, canine and feral. His ears are pinned back against his head, and in the dim light of the foyer, his eyes occasionally reflect green like that of an animal. He backs away from the doctor, closer to the front door, and an opening presents itself.

Darius squares himself in front of the chair, and sweeps his leg backwards through the omega’s ankles, knocking him to his knees. The boy yelps in surprise, and the doctor hums contentedly, pinning his arms behind his back as the boy lands, hunched over, onto the floor. Asher snaps wildly, whipping his head back and forth as he attempts to find an angle from which he can land a bite. He cannot.

With the boy secured, Darius seats himself in the corner seat, and brings the boy across his lap. He is still dressed in his day clothes, a plain, white T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts that hang from his frame, clinging to his hip bones by the grace of the drawstring around his waist. They fall from the boy’s hips with one, harsh tug, and land in a pile at his feet. The boy escalates his struggle against the doctor’s hold.

He attempts to twist in the doctor’s lap and snaps viciously. His teeth clack together, loud enough for Darius to hear over his growls, and white, foamy drops of saliva spray from his mouth. Darius is reminded of footage he’d seen of police dogs, ferocious and wild in pursuit of their prey. He smirks, and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“The more you struggle, the worse it’s going to be.” He tuts, sliding the boy’s boxers down his thighs. They are tight and blue, like the underwear of a child. “You’ve earned twenty for attempting to escape, and five for each infraction from earlier. That’s only thirty, Asher, it could be much worse”

Asher only growls, thrashing against the doctor’s hold. Darius sighs, and positions the boy over one knee, closing the other behind him to keep him still. With his left hand, he tucks the boy’s arm against his own abdomen. Then, he pulls his right hand back, and delivers the first blow, hard and fast.

Asher stills, a choked noise breaking from his throat, but it only lasts a moment. He begins thrashing, harder, before the second blow. Darius snorts and delivers three blows in quick succession, and the boy makes a noise that sounds almost like a sob. He lunges forward, twisting left and right by his shoulders to escape the doctor’s grasp, and Darius easily pulls him right back into position.

“You could put up a better fight if you ate a little more, Asher.” He says dryly, and delivers five more strikes against the boy’s bare ass. 

Asher stills again, trembling, and a whine breaks from his throat. He draws in a breath, haggard and desperate, then resumes his struggle; it’s different now, though, mere squirming instead of the thrashing he’d displayed before. The boy, Darius realizes, is getting tired.

“Are we ready to be good?” The doctor asks, and begins to deliver blows at a steady, even pace, easier for the boy to endure. Asher snarls in response.

He twists his head, and snaps towards the doctor’s stomach. Then he drops it, and tries for his thigh. There is no angle that can find the doctor’s flesh between his teeth, and the boy huffs, frustrated and childish- a perfect brat.

“I suppose not, then.” Darius shrugs, and quickens his pace. The boy lets out a stuttering sob.

Darius is going to run out of swats soon, but the boy has stopped struggling, draped, exhausted, over the doctor’s lap. Darius hums approvingly. 

“We’ve made it to twenty-five, Asher.” He says. “Can you be good for these last five? I’ll go easy on you.”

Asher growls, but it is half-hearted, with no venom behind it. Darius tuts.

“I know you can do it, Asher.” He coos. “The same way I knew you could eat your dinner. All I need is for you to keep still.”

Darius delivers the last five blows to the boy’s ass, and Asher stays still the entire time. To be honest, Darius believes that it was easier to be still than to fight by the time they were done. With the boy unclothed, it is obvious that he is undernourished. The fight he’d put up tonight could have him sleeping late into the afternoon tomorrow- if the doctor would allow it. With the blows finished, he rubs smooth circles into the boy’s back, humming approvingly.

“There we go. We’re done.” Darius says softly. “Good boy, Asher. You took the last five perfectly, just like I asked.”

Asher wrestles himself up from the doctor’s lap, and Darius allows him. He stands on shaky legs, and glares the doctor down.

“I’d like you to apologize for me, Asher.” Darius says slowly. “You can use sign if you need to. Do you know the sign for ‘sorry,’ Asher?”

Asher only growls.

“If you’re not ready to apologize, you can go back over my knee and take another thirty, then try again.” Darius says. “It’s your choice, Asher.”

At this, Asher snarls. He snaps twice at the doctor, nose wrinkled into a menacing growl. Darius laughs outright.

“Sorry, Asher.” He taunts. “I simply can’t find it within myself to be intimidated by an omega with their trousers around their ankles.”

Asher’s eyes widen, and color rushes to his cheeks. He bends at the hips and grabs the waistband of his shorts, but Darius stops him.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He tuts. “I haven’t told you to pick them up yet, have I?”

Asher freezes, looking up at the doctor. His eyes flit between the alpha and his shorts twice. Then he shakes his head with a growl and begins to straighten.

“If those shorts come up before you apologize, Asher, I’m going to take them back down and deliver another thirty.” Darius warns. “Do you understand?”

Asher makes eye contact as he rises, and snaps at the doctor again. He straightens, and secures the shorts around his waist. Darius sighs.

“As you wish, then.” He says, and rises from his seat.

The boy is much easier to subdue a second time, no energy to spare after his previous struggle. He cries out, exasperated as Darius pins him easily over his knee, and squirms with all of his feeble might, snarls falling from his lips.

Then, he speaks.

Darius hadn’t expected it, wasn’t even certain that the boy could. He could snort, and snarl, and growl, so his vocal cords were working, but there was much more to speech than that. After dinner with him, Darius had begun to consider that the boy would never be able to speak, or speak properly at least; that he had perhaps missed the window to acquire the skill altogether. His voice resonates, though, through his chest, vibrating against the doctor’s knee. It is quiet, and raspy from lack of use, but Darius can make out his words perfectly.

“Eat shit and die.”

The doctor makes a noise of pure delight.

“He speaks!” Darius exclaims, mouth dropped open in a shocked grin. “Dr. Flowers will be so glad to know.”

“Fuck off.” The boy growls, louder this time, and starts to squirm against the doctor’s hold. Darius hums.

“Let’s see.” He muses, and begins raining smacks against the boy’s bare ass. “Two profanities and a threat. Five a piece has us at forty-five. Shall we push for more?”

“Die in a fire, faggot.” Asher spits.

“Another threat, and a slur.” Darius tuts. The blows come harder and faster. “That has us at sixty.”

“Kill yourself.” Asher sneered.

“And mentioning suicide outside of a therapeutic context is an automatic twenty.” Darius chirps. “We’re at eighty now, Asher. Do you think we can make a hundred?”

Asher makes a noise between a whine and a growl. He grits his teeth, and curses spill from his mouth.

“You’re a prick!” He spits. “You’re a cunt! You chug dog dick! Your mother should have swallowed  you!” 

“Five, ten, fifteen, twenty!” Darius sings. “We’ve reached a hundred, Asher!”

Asher growls, thrashing against the doctor’s hold with the last bit of strength he has. Then, he collapses over his knee again, drawing in a stuttering breath.

“Fucking stop.” He whispers, voice thick with tears. Darius hums, pleased at the progress he’s made.

The boy doesn’t say another word, sitting rigid over Darius’s lap. Darius increases his pace again, hoping to push the boy over the brink; leave him a crying mess. The tears finally come around seventy, gentle and quiet, as though the boy doesn’t want him to hear. Darius mercifully slows his pace for the next twenty-five swats. At ninety-five, he pauses.

“You have ten left, Asher.” He says. “Can you count for me?”

Asher says nothing.

“Count, Asher.” Darius orders, and begins the swats again.

Asher still doesn’t speak, head bowed to glare at the floor in front of him. Darius tuts.

“None of these spankings count until you do, Asher.” He warns. “We can stay here all night, if that’s what you need.”

Asher growls, and takes in a breath. Then, the boy begins to count.

“One.”

Smack.

“Two.”

Smack.

“Three.” 

Smack.

It carries on this way. On six, the boy lets out a whine. On seven, his shoulders shake with sobs. By nine, his entire body shakes; and then it is time for ten.

“Last one, Asher.” Darius says. “Get ready, it’s going to be hard.”

The boy’s body goes rigid. He says nothing. Darius draws his hand back and delivers the blow at full force, and the boy lets out a stuttering sob, counting the last swat. Then, it is over, and Darius resumes his circles against the boy’s back.

“Deep breaths, Asher.” He soothes. “It’s over. You’re safe. You may stand when you’re ready.”

Asher remains over the doctor’s knee for a short while, drawing in stuttering breaths. Then, he pushes himself upright against the doctor’s thigh and stands shakily. He looks at Darius with red-ringed eyes, cheeks stained with tears. His ears are pinned backward, and his brow is pinched. Darius exhales warmly, satisfied.

“Are we ready to apologize?” He asks.

Asher nods, and brings a shaky fist to his chest. He moves it in a clockwise circle, the sign for “sorry.” Darius sighs.

“Not standing.” He instructs. “On your knees.”

Asher drops to his knees, and signs it again.

“Say it.” Darius orders. “Out loud, Asher, the same way you threatened the patients at St. Guinefort’s. I know you can.”

Asher startles. His ears straighten, then drop back to their pinned position. His eyes, wide, dart around the room. He shakes his head. Darius presses his lips together.

“Try, Asher.” He says, tone gentler now. “Just try. I will be happy with you if you try.”

The boy's gaze drops to the floor, eyebrows knitted together.

“Try, Asher.” Asher whispers. “Just try. Try, Asher. Happy with you if… just try.”

Darius studies the boy, head tilted to the side.

Echolalic. He thinks.

“Do you think you could repeat it if I said it first?” Darius offers.

“Repeat it.” Asher mutters. “Repeat it if I said it first? Try, Asher”

Darius takes in a breath and leans forward, addressing the boy.

“‘I’m sorry, Alpha, for trying to run away and using profanity.’” He offers, gentle. “Try, Asher.”

“Try, Asher.” The boy whispers again. “For trying- trying- trying run away and use profanity.”

Darius presses his lips together, considering. He tries again.

“‘I’m sorry, Alpha.’” He begins, slowly.

“‘M sorry, Alpha.” Asher repeats, and Darius allows the slurred speech.

“‘For trying to run away.’” 

“For- for trying to- trying to- to running away.” He says, and Darius hums warmly at the mistake.

“‘And using profanity.’” The alpha finishes.

“And using profani-fani-fanity.” The boy stammers. “Try, Asher. Use-use-using profanity.”

“Good boy, Asher.” The doctor praises, rising from his seat. “Very good. Come here.”

The doctor kneels, drooping to the boy’s level, and embraces him around the shoulders. Asher's tail sweeps back and forth across the hardwood beneath him, and Darius laughs softly, releasing him.

“I’m very proud of you, Asher.” He says gently. “Is it hard to speak when you’re nervous?”

“Proud of you, Asher.” The boy repeats. “Hard to speak when you’re nervous?”

The doctor sighs.

“You can’t answer me now, I suppose.”

“Now, I suppose.” The boy says softly, eyes fixed on the doctor’s shoes.

“Alright.” Darius says, exhaling the tightness in his chest. He rises, and extends a hand to the boy. “Back to bed, now. Let’s go, Asher.”