#the dressing up every year of my life streak continues!

[aestheticpebbles]

Servus Dei

Pairing: Priest!AU Aegon II Targaryen x reader

Warnings: NSFW/18+ ONLY! MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED, MDNI!, swearing, violence, murder, smut, religious/catholicism imagery/mentions/themes, priest+nun power dynamic abuse, dirty talking, light dubcon if you squint, fluff if you squint harder, use of alcohol, porn with plot, fingering, overstimulation, choking, oral (f receiving), p in v intercourse.

Summary: Father Aegon arrived at your convent, but things become alarming once you realize he isn’t the priest he appears to be.

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: fic below the cut! not religious at all so please correct me if I messed anything up! also, not proofread… but enjoy! inspo from his cunty hair serving from s1.ep.8.

1548. Somewhere outside of Florence, Italy.

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.“

The rosary beads clenched tightly laced around your slender fingers nearly gave way to a pinching sensation between your knuckles as you prayed under your breath, reciting ‘Our Father’ as you do every morning upon dressing into your white habits and joining the nuns and sisters at the first morning service of your convent.

However, you weren’t sent here upon your own bidding, rather than fulfilling the wish of your parents after they sought to nip your rebellious streak of your late teenage years in the bud after you expressed during a drunken fit that you instead wished to dance and drink until you dropped before marrying off to some Lord.

You knew your parents did this to reduce any scandalous likelihood of you, an unwed daughter of a newer-money noble family, boring a bastard, but you still did not forgive them for your new life of chastity and divine mercy worship. Yawn.

You were still considered to be relatively new to the convent as you were just beginning your second year of working towards your devotion to God and being tested on your postulancy, so you still wore white robes and veils rather than black. You felt as though you had done well in your studies of the faith thus far considering the circumstances in which you were brought here upon.

“Good morning sister,” Sister Hilda, another white-robed sister about a year older than you, smiled once the first service ended and you found a place next to her side while making your way to the dining hall for breakfast.

The sun’s morning rays that began to peek over the horizon illuminated the dining hall with a dim, blue hue as the world awakened. You both made yourselves plates of bread and cheeses before sitting down together. Talk was kept small and hushed between the two of you while discussing various scriptures and chores needed to be done.

“I heard the new priest is arriving this morning,” Sister Hilda suddenly whispered under her breath, my eyes flickering up to meet her gaze upon the sudden topic of a conversation that could be considered borderline gossip and would serve much to the dismay of any superiors if anyone would overhear the two white-robed and veiled young women conversing over such a topic.

Instead of scolding Sister Hilda once your gazes met, you proved your nature of still wearing the white fabrics rather than blacks by leaning in as well about an inch or so, quickly looking around to see if anyone was lingering nearby to eavesdrop before responding to her.

“Is that so?” Your eyebrow cocked up in surprise. There had been talks of a new priest that had recently left from an abbey outside of London, and was continuing his preach of faith now here with us at our nunnery as our current priest was, well, he was old, “have you…?”

“Within the hour, I heard,” Sister Hilda’s eyes lit up with excitement, proving her own nature as she still struggled with her own inner turmoil with such activities. You found the vow of celibacy at first to be something that you wouldn’t have to think twice about while you devoted yourself, but as time went on, you found yourself seeking repentance and trying to pray away the gnawing feeling you felt bubbling within sometimes that made you doubt your own worth in the eyes of the faith.

You nodded once, acknowledging her words carefully with a playful side smirk. Though gossip was highly discouraged, word still had many opportunities to be carried by the wind throughout the dormitories of your convent.

“Il suo nome?” Your voice dropped down low once more after a few moments, switching from English to Italian just to be safe when you asked Hilda ‘his name?’, but she only shrugged in response, unsure of the answer either.

After breakfast, like usual, you found yourself in the library as you were one of the few sisters who, thanks to your upbringing in a decently noble family, had been taught Latin. You often found means of completing your daily chores by aiding in the translation of Holy passages and texts.

Today, you had been handed a scripture to be translated by an older nun who always wore a signature grouch, so there wasn’t much to be said when you were given the dusty book made of animal skin and thick, waxy lacing that secured the spine.

A relic of the sort lost to at least 300 years, resurfaced once more only to become your problem to deal with when you immediately find yourself scowling under your veil at the faded ink on the ancient pages. You stood up and found yourself a dictionary in Latin just in case whoever wrote that damn pitiful book didn’t know what they were saying, much to the older nun’s dismay but you didn’t care as you sat back down with a murmured ‘God help me’ under your breath.

Dipping your feather quill into a small jar of black ink, you began your day’s work of translating the pages that were practically threatening to fall apart as you delicately turned over each one.

It possibly would have felt odd for another white-veiled sister like yourself to have been tasked with translating such an eerie text of those who wore multiple, yet all beautiful faces and how to ward them off, but like it was just another day, it was just another book of Latin words that you were tasked to translate into fresh ink of English literature between your obligatory meetings for daily prayers and masses with the others, and you’ve read worse.

Your legs were itching to stand after sitting down for an extended period of time, nearly a static-like burn radiating deep as you leaned back in your chair from your upright posture, slouching your shoulder forward for a grace moment with an exhale before standing upright once more properly in case the Abbess, Mother Esther, walked by.

Afternoon sunlight beams shone through a nearby window that you now stood in front of trying to warm yourself up from the cooler temperature of the library, your muscles easing against the windowsill as your wrists and fingers had ached for a little while as well.

Being on the 2nd floor of the building meant having a lovely view of the convent’s architectural layout and the courtyard within the open holdfast of about an acre or so. A few young black locust trees littered the acre, creating enjoyable spots for shaded rest you occasionally found yourself under, almost smiling to yourself when thinking about better times than translating 300+ year old scriptures from Latin to English about an ill-satiable apparition—it’s biblical name, Agneo, one who shapeshifts and requires to feeds from the sins of its prey. A book of complete lunacy that was a blessing in disguise as it gave you something to do.

However, the momentary bliss of recounting suddenly soured once you realized you were about to miss the 4th prayer service mass of the day when you looked down from the window and saw a huddle of those remaining outside waiting to file along inside in orderly fashion across the courtyard of your convent.

It was no use to try to rush out and attempt to make it, so you hesitantly let out a tense sigh and leaned against the window still, your eyes moving to ground below until you saw mainly atop skulls of Mother Esther dressed in her finest– and in tow, a man that nearly made your lips part upon the sight of his features after the involuntary oath of celibacy you took on.

Broad shouldered, his face even from above was sharp-featured, straight nosed, and platinum blond hair as could be neatly combed and parted down the middle. He is, undeniably, the most beautiful man you have ever laid your wretched eyes on, and the sight made your legs press together as you watched the two of them below you.

Once seeing him, you were desperate to see Sister Hilda to willingly break your vows of what your new lifestyle meant to share the gossip of sin, to gossip silly words that meant plenty well beneath the surface that meant for yourself at least to have plenty of reason to seek confession and repentance from His mercy in the foreseeable future.

During your brief moment of pure sin, or what sin at least means to you at the time, you let out a small gasp and moved away from the glass realizing the neat head of hair was slowly tilting upwards in an almost premeditated manner, and from the 2nd floor, his ice blue eyes burned scorching hot daggers like the gates of hell straight into your soul for the mere seconds that you held his sudden eye contact.

As if he knew you were standing there above him and Mother Esther, as if he knew you had been leaning against the edge of the windowsill with your legs crossed and your thighs pressed together at the perfect angle while you watched them when you were supposed to be in the 4th prayer service.

Your heart was pounding in a mixture of adrenaline, anticipation, and … excitement. A certain feeling you haven’t felt since before being sent here. Desire.

Despite shifting away from your original stance next to the window, your vision couldn’t move away any further out of sight from him as the two of you kept your eyes locked.

Within that brief moment that felt like eternity and despite the temptation that threatened to fester within your neglected core now reigniting, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as your instincts inside your mind began screaming ‘flight’ but your feet were cemented in place while looking down into his cold, dead eyes.

Behind the decrepit Mother Esther’s back, the new priest held his eye contact with you with a stone-like expression of almost disgust until the corners of his lips tugged and curled upright into a smirk. One side of his lips tugged higher than the other side and it made your blood run cold despite the heat pooling between your legs.

You exhaled once his head turned to meet Mother Esther’s as she turned back around to him to point out the library, and the two of them continued on and you were finally able to move from the frozen stance you held.

You had managed to avoid the new priest, his name quickly learned by you through Sister Hilda to be Father Aegon—until you found yourself kneeling before him at the altar rails while he wore the same disgustedly amused expression while placing the communion bread into your cupped palms sitting upright.

“Amen,” you murmured softly, placing the wafer into your mouth as he extended his other hand and brought the cup of wine in front of you as you swallowed thickly.

“The blood of Christ, shed for you,” Father Aegon nearly purred, the sound of his voice speaking directly to you for the first time was intimidating enough, let alone the manner in which it rolled off of his tongue was enough to catch you off guard and leave you stunned at such a vocal display during a Holy service.

Your lips had parted a few centimeters due to your shock and your bottom lip quivered as you barely choked out another ‘amen’ in response while he pressed the rim of the chalice against the pillowed flesh.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, or the way he wears devilish tight-lipped smiles like he knows he's fluffing up another chicken house with unpreened, unruffled hens who live among cobwebs, or maybe it’s the way you can feel him staring straight down into your soul as you took a sip of the wine while holding eye contact with him up through your eyelashes.

After drinking the same wine since the day you first arrived and you had returned to your seat, you realized on your tongue that the aftertaste of the once bitter representation of the Blood of Christ was now sweet. Too sweet.

The type of sweet that makes the feeling of temptation to yearn for more not sound half bad even though you still found shame while you prayed in your seat until the end of the communion, even more so in the hours that followed when nobody else seemed to comment on the wine. As if the taste was unchanged to the rest.

You actually managed well to avoid Father Aegon as he settled in and slowly took over hosting more and more masses and prayers over the next fortnight, though it was absolute agony that was slowly chipping away at your sanity.

No matter the distance between the two of you, an unnerving fear always found you when in his presence and even more so if it was without your knowledge on a passing occasion or he could see you but you couldn’t see him. Since the day he arrived, you felt like you were no longer alone at any moment, always holding your breath to turn a corner like an accidental dance of cat and mouse for no real reason.

You’d be shunned if you dared speak the reason of your maintained distance being temptation, even if you were going such lengths avoiding him to resist such.

Father Aegon’s piercing gaze alone sent chills down your spine, enough to rattle the assembled vertebrae within the confines of your habits just like the one that coursed through you while you browsed the shelves of the library looking for works regarding astronomy to keep you company in the late hours after the Midnight Mass.

You didn’t need to see him to know he was likely stalking nearby, whispering with that strangely enticing demeanor he holds himself up with, and the way his perfectly plump lips were always cocked in some purse of amusement to offset the dark purple, sunken look to his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days, weeks.

Your own eyes had begun to mirror Father Aegon’s sullen look as well during your descent into the madness occurring within your mind when you started to lose sleep because of him sinking his claws into you even in your dreams filled with imagery of sin beyond your comprehension. The more time you spent trying to avoid him, the more he encroached upon every aspect of your life and you hadn’t so much but exchange momentary glances and proper greetings spoken hushed on your part.

After all, anyone would find holding eye contact difficult with one whom they have carnal, perverse dreams about, waking up panting in the middle of the night covered in sweat and an agonizing pool between your legs. Even after waking up you could still feel his touch on your skin.

Though what terrified you the most was the eventual visible appearance that left residual memory fragments from the vivid dreams, as if they themselves were distant memories, real memories, from the past. Gripping bruises protected by layers were littered around your wrists, arms, thighs, breasts, small bite marks and scratches even as well. Some even would remain red, or pink as if they had just occurred moments or hours prior, but that couldn’t be possible.

You’ve been alone all these nights… right?

“What could possibly interest you at such an hour, sister?” The voice of the dreaded priest you desperately sought to avoid drew out from behind you, causing your shoulders to roll back into a stiffened posture to play off the chill that threatened to visibly shake you. You closed your eyes for a moment while goosebumps broke out across your skin hidden beneath the white fabrics before quickly reaching up to grasp the book you intended to grab and pulled it close to your chest before turning around to face him.

“Astronomy, Father,” you answered without nearly half a spine, mentally cursing yourself at your inability to hold yourself with dignity when subject to his commanding gaze.

Father Aegon never failed to not wear his smug grin that seemed to compliment the sullen orbs that were half-lidded in what could only be described by a blind person as being a seductive manner. When you finished answering him and his smirk grew, you didn’t miss his tongue swiping across his pillowy bottom lip— both stained red… and the smell that belonged to that of alcohol.

You swallowed thickly once putting the puzzle pieces in place and your fingers gripped the corners of the book tighter and the edges dug into the creases of your fingers creating a pleasant stinging sensation to help stay grounded. The priest, he who is supposed to live and serve to proclaim the word of God, stood here before you with sweet wine coating his wicked tongue with practiced precision.

Father Aegon had sin written all over his cruelly beautiful face. Certainly not to be trusted at any given second.

Father Aegon’s smug half-smirk was still etched on his mouth that sent another chill down your spine when his irises unmistakably fell from holding your gaze down to your own lips with those lazily-hooded blue eyes swirling with emotions beyond your somewhat innocent comprehension.

Father Aegon was absolutely terrifying to be around, but although your fear didn’t directly come from him, your own body produces enough cortisol and epinephrine for an entire herd of corralled sheep waiting to be slaughtered by just being around him. Afraid of the fact that if he touched you right now, you know you wouldn’t be able to stop. Afraid of the fact that you know he may know how you truly feel deep down by just looking at you with those eyes that appear to be hiding an inferno from within himself.

“Copernicus…” Father Aegon suddenly murmured with a cock of his eyebrow as if he had posed the single word as a question rather than the affirmative tone he used when referencing the Polish astronomer whose works had caught your interest when accessible, “you like him, Sister?”

“He’s an accomplished astronomer and a fine mathematician,” you responded carefully, unsure of the waters of the moment and feeling the bile threatening to rise and expel which prompted you to kindly dismiss yourself wishing to depart to rest for the evening until he suddenly reached out as you turned to walk. His taut grip around your dainty wrist in comparison to his large hand was daunting and was an unexpected rush of surprise-horror when you were practically yanked back where you stood before him.

“Hm,” Father Aegon hummed in amusement, a flash of something eerie glazing over his lazily hooded eyes while his strong grip on your wrist loosened slightly, but not without his calloused thumbpad grazing gently across the delicate skin of the underside of your wrist, “why don’t you come by my office tomorrow evening? I have a piece that would interest you… brought it with me from when I met him briefly at Oxford.”

Your own eyebrow cocked at his words, nearly-half bewildered that a man like him went from such a prestigious place like the Oxford society to… priesthood in Florence where he, in the middle of the night, now was intoxicated and having you cornered like a rat subject to his mercy while his thumb caressed your wrist like a coveted lover.

Your eyes flickered down to the tight grip he held on your arm and you dared to pull once more, and much to your surprise he let go. Looking back up at him, he was amused with a strange sense of triumph like he could already foresee the internal turmoil you would be rolling in all day tomorrow until you would eventually cave in within yourself to give in and seek him out for the sake of knowledge.

Wasn’t that the sin of Eve? Coaxed by the snake, the devil, to taste the forbidden apple of knowledge?

Father Aegon wouldn’t taste half as sweet as an apple, but a part of you knew deep down that with dealing with a man like him and his caliber comes with knowing the venom from his fanged canines would likely sting twice as bad in the days to come if you did not seek him out.

So like the loyal hound you were, there weren’t many inhibitions that stopped your fingers from clasping the golden ring hanging from a matching golden lion’s head mounted on the wooden door and knocking twice. You knew you had no business being here at this hour. You had stopped by this very office twice today, once before dinner, and again afterwards but left both times with only pursed lips and heightened anxiety. Evening. Evening. Evening.

“Sister…” Father Aegon grinned upon seeing the sweet lamb standing there outside of his door waiting so patiently for him like the good girl that he knew she is even if she couldn’t muster any words to properly greet him. He stepped out of your way with an outstretched palm directed towards an empty chair sitting on the other side of his desk, the open hand gesturing to you to sit, “please, come in.”

Shame and humility fueled the pace that drove your footsteps from the corridor and into his working office in a scurry, the fuel most delectable for sin to fester within and grow necrotic while Father Aegon shut the door behind you. You couldn’t miss the sound of the lock turning over as you focused on your breathing pattern and your fumbling fingertips toying with one another as you sat down and silently pulled your chair in under yourself.

It wasn’t the locking of the door that made your eyes widen, but watching him pick up a golden, jeweled chalice that sat on the edge of his desk with matching rings adorning his thick digits, taking a hearty swig while sauntering behind you and over to a large bookshelf on the left wall that likely carried prized works both owned by the convent and his finest pieces.

You kept your head straight for the most part, only tilting it slightly to be able to keep an eye on him in the corner of your peripheral and through the thin white veil head covering, watching his ringed finger reach up to one of the shelves while the other hand held the chalice. The way he moved so freely was almost sensual in a way, his fingertip grazing the spines of the prized collection of knowledge as he searched using the dim orange glow emanating from the roaring hearth that danced as the flames waved.

“Tell me, sweet girl, what is it about the stars that calls to you… draws your attention so?” Father Aegon suddenly broke the silence that only hosted the soft crackling of the embers causing your head to angle slightly more in his direction. You swallowed thickly again, inhaling through your nose while watching his index finger curl around a medium-sized book and gently tug it free from the confines of the neat shelf.

“One can’t help but wonder who they are,” you answered shakily, referring to the stars themselves, the subconscious anxious habit of your fingertips toying with one another going full blast in your lap that had sparked back to life hearing the previous words of endearment he must addressed you with as if he was toying with you too, “what are they… what are they made of?”

Father Aegon nodded slowly with another hum of acknowledgment as he turned on his heel with his chin cockily angled, walking back over to where you sat on the other side of his desk and stepped next to your chair. He held out the book for you to take and you did after a moment of hesitation, taking the book delicately from him as your eyes danced over the intricate stitching and adhesives carefully applied that held the valuable text together.

He stood over you for a moment with one hand on the back of your chair, the other bringing the rim to his lips for another swig before he let go, much to your approval as you let out an exhale you didn’t realize you were holding, and stepped away to sit down in his own chair on the other side of the desk while you admired and he purred out, “the book… Copernicus’ heliocentric theories. One of the first copies given to me from Nicolaus himself. I’ll let you borrow it for the evening...”

You couldn’t hide the spark of interest that illuminated behind your eyes at the topic that you had been wishing to learn more about as the theories were still considered recent developments. A small smile crept onto your face but you quickly pursed your lips together to swallow your pride and triumph– something that didn’t pass by Aegon, but the suggestive tone towards the end of his final words didn’t pass by you either.

“Thank you Father,” you murmured softly, your thumbs grazing over the pressed letters of the title embossed and sealed by gold leaflets, “you are very gracious.”

Father Aegon only chuckled darkly, something you hadn’t heard yet until now and it was scarier to experience first hand than his empty, soul-piercing glare.

He took another sip of his wine before setting the chalice down on the desktop and leaning forward on his forearms with intertwined fingers and an unmistakable gleam in his wicked eyes, “I’ll tell you what Sister. I have heard nothing but good remarks regarding your performance… I’ll let you have it if you promise to take good care of it.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and your forehead scrunched in confusion, lips parting in shock but quickly stammering out a response to his words while gently placing the book down on the desk with a forced smile. A part of joining sisterhood was an oath of poverty despite your aversion to the lifestyle but your conditioning was taking over your frazzled mindset, and a book of that value had no business being in your possession good marks or not.

“Father I-I apologize, I can’t accept such a gift, you honor me but-I,” your tongue and lips failed to coordinate without an exasperated stutter while your brain misfired, only making Father Aegon’s lips curl further upwards in a devious smile.

“Call it a favor then,” Father Aegon replied with a low purr, his half-lidded eyes missing any trace of the blue pigment against the orange hue of the fire and the darkness of the world as he stood up, slowly stalking back around to where he stood behind your chair again.

“A…favor?” Your eyebrows dropped from the cocked expression of shock into one of weary alert as you tried to read him as best as you could, holding eye contact with him until he eventually always won with the inferno that reflected in his black holes for dilated irises while he walked to your most vulnerable side.

“A favor,” Father Aegon sluggishly murmured in response, his teeth baring in his amused grin when you flinched feeling the topside of the joints of his fingers reach up from behind you and brush against your cheek.

Your eyelids fluttered under his delicate brushing touch against your cheek, unable to comprehend a single thought in regard to how to react to such inappropriate behavior and gestures being exchanged, but after involuntary celibacy and conditioned shame, it only drove you further mad yearning for the touch of a skilled lover after being denied such pleasures for so long.

It wasn’t until his index finger pressed against the underside of your chin to lift your head up and his thumb curling up to press against your bottom lip that you were violently dragged back to reality. Looking up at him while fidgeting with your fingers absentmindedly in your lap, he smiled deviously as if he was a child with free reign in a candy shop.

He stepped in front of you to enter the small space available between you sitting in the chair and his desk, leaning against the edge as he twisted and reached back to grab the chalice he’d left behind, turning back to you. Your heart pounded in your chest watching him extend his hand, guiding the rim to your lips and raising the cup for gravity to let the rich, deep red juice funnel into your mouth as if you were kneeling at the altar and had already received your tasteless communion wafer.

Eyes widening, you realized he wasn’t relenting until you finished off the remnants of the chalice when he kept tilting the cup’s stem and you having to swallow in faster lapses than expected to keep up with his antics causing you to choke softly.

You pursed your lips shut tightly with a bemused expression on your face between his actions and the sweet red wine, unable to save the small bead that gathered and trickled down from your lip to your chin, but Aegon was there to spare your white habits from any stains with a brush of his thumb collecting the alcoholic nectar and bringing it to his own lips to suck clean off.

“Tell me… why are you really here?” Father Aegon slurred out between tipsy snickers after releasing his thumb with a sickly sweet suckle like he knew exactly the effect he had on you and the reactions you were willing to give back with a little shove.

“My parents wished not for scandal,” you blurted out, almost like not caring how sloppy you spoke for the sake of your own honorable presentation.

“So, you liked to get around. You liked to have fun… you were a whore?” Father Aegon’s grin was wicked and curled up with a sense of malice as he gently caressed your cheek while you shared details about yourself to him. You knew he found some sort of satisfaction with your words by the way his teeth clenched like he was thinking hard through the intoxicated haze of his own mind.

“Um-,” your eyebrows furrowed again, a streak of anger shooting through you causing you to flinch again away from his hand, pulling out of his grasp on your chin as you stood up, not willing to explain to him that laying with two men that you had possibly seen as prospective husbands doesn’t make a young lady… a whore, “I apologize Father this is highly inappropriate. I should go.”

Your abrupt reaction to his words seemed to replace the playful gleam in his eyes with one that teetered on the edge of malice and danger, one that made your blood run cold. Panic flared through you when he dropped the golden chalice without care, and grabbing your wrist with one hand, yanking you back down to sit again.

“We are not done talking, Sister,” Father Aegon snarled out, a sinister gleam in his eyes while he stood up straight, letting go of your wrist only to take a hold of your chin once more, your lips slightly smushed between his fingers, “I haven’t given you permission to dismiss yourself.”

“I-I am sorry, Father,” you sputtered out, unsure of how to respond to him and his firm, calculated grip that always reminded you he was one step ahead at any given point. Aegon only hummed in amusement, his moist tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip as he turned your head in his grip from side to side, studying the details of your face against the orange glow from the inferno of the fireplace.

“Let me see you show it…Prove it,” Father Aegon’s eyes lit up in deranged excitement while yours glossed over in confused horror, sitting frozen in shock while he kept his grip on your chin with one hand, the other reaching up seemly to lovingly caress your cheek only to fist a palm full of your white veil, forcefully undressing your dreadful headdress and revealing one of your secrets you hid from your other Sisters. Instead of cutting your hair short like the rest, you kept yours braided and secured beneath your headdress, the same one Aegon pulled off without hesitation that made your jaw drop in disbelief.

“I don’t understa-,” you cried out in a sudden frustration, angered that he was abusing the power dynamic he knew he held, then still having enough fuel inside him when daring to lay a hand on you in such an inappropriate manner and revealing your hair.

If your Sisters found out you hid your hair, you could suffer greatly socially, and Aegon just paved his way straight over without any second thoughts. Your words though were cut off when his fingers clutched your braids and yanked you back to your feet.

“Understand this, doll. I see the way you look at me, how you scurry away from me like a mouse, there’s nowhere you can hide from me,” Father Aegon taunted, his dilated pupils laced with delirium and sin as he maniacally giggled, “I know everything.”

Any protests or shrill shrieks that could have escaped your mouth would be forced to be made straight into Father Aegon’s mouth that nearly swallowed your face whole when his lips came colliding down on yours in a pre-established sloppy, yet demanding kiss.

You wished to want the will to release a frightful scream against his lips, to cry out in disgust, to thrash around violently in his concrete hold on you while he forced his tongue into your mouth after letting go of your chin and dropping down to your hip.

His grip quickly moved from squeezing your hip around to your backside, grabbing a fistful of your buttock and his other hand still holding and tugging on your hair to elicit a gasp while your palms were outstretched when pressing back against his firm chest, but you did none of those things as your mind began buzzing softly, signaling the beginning the swirling descent into a tipsy haze from the amount of alcohol he had you consume in one sitting.

In fact, you did the opposite once the taste of him resonated with you when you found yourself sucking back on his tongue instead of screaming and crying about your dignity, your outstretched palms bundling up the fabric of his neat, black collar between your fingers like a deserted whore needy for more. Because that’s exactly what you felt like, and the realization made you sick when you suddenly were spun around in his groping embrace to be lifted onto the desktop.

Father Aegon wasted no time shoving his knee between your legs and parting them to situate himself between your legs without breaking the heated exchange between your lips that caused soft groans to escape from the both of you.

His hand that held your buttock again wasted no time reaching under your skirts, hiking the fabric up while he held your whimpering skull in place by your hair as he kissed down your jawline, panting heavily in your ear when he traced up your inner thigh.

He smiled wickedly against the shell of your ear while you managed to let out a stifled moan feeling his fingertips slither their way past your small clothes dampened by your arousal, massaging agonizingly slow circles against your clothed clit, sending ripples of electricity through your body. a soft, humiliating ‘there she is’ was murmured into the cartilage that echoed down to your eardrum once your lips parted with your surrender and giving into his touch, your cheeks shamefully burning red hot.

“For someone who took a vow of chastity, your cunt weeps like a virgin,” Father Aegon nibbled softly on your earlobe while your face contorted in pent-up pleasure and your mind swirled. In truth, you hadn’t truly consumed that much alcohol, but the effect he had on your mind caused the effect to feel 10-fold from the scent of his musk and the wine on his lips, his wretched tongue and damned touch assaulting all of your senses out of nowhere.

Your fingers clutching onto his black button up gripped on for dear life feeling his fingers begin to variate their course from rubbing circles to teasing your slit before dropping down, his middle finger breaching fully past your entrance coaxing a shrill gasp from your throat that his lips were licking and placing open-mouthed kissing down. One of your hands jumped from his shirt to his bicep, wincing from the sudden scissoring penetration as he got to work establishing a pace.

“Fuck, your pussy is so tight,” Aegon murmured quietly through a groan against your skin, your entrance clamping down almost painfully around the 2nd digit he teased your tight hole with for a moment before adding it in, his middle and ring finger moving in and out of you in overwhelming patterns that made you look at the back of your skull doubled with the feeling of his free hand suddenly groping your breast through your robes, pinching and rolling your clothed nipple between his fingertips, “this pussy ever been fucked?”

Your eyes rolled back straight and snapped wide open at the vulgarity of his words, your lips parted further in sheer shock that those words could at all even be used together in a sentence, but your body was still betraying you as you ground your hips against his hand that was fucking you mercilessly. How this man became a priest was beyond you at this point, barely choking out a ‘yes’, his gaze darkening as if that wasn’t what he wanted to hear and he let go of your breast, reaching up behind the nape of your neck again.

Aegon’s hand found a hold your braided hair and twisted once more, a pained cry leaving your lips and your eyes screwing shut in another wince while his own lips were curled upwards. His eyes bright with a sinister intent, his other hand still pumping his two fingers in and out and you panted with a heaving chest.

“My name, sweet girl, say it right,” Aegon purred with an underlying, dangerous tone of voice that hid the true intentions that he was only giving you one chance to say it right despite multiple answers being applicable to stroke his ego while his fingers repetitively curling a ‘come hither’ motion within you.

“Yes sir,” you finally cried out, his chest emanating a grunt of acceptance meanwhile your spine arching as the coil deep within you threatened to build up. As if Aegon could read you like the back of his hand, he let go of your hair and reached around you as he swiped everything, including the prized book, clear from off of his desk.

He withdrew his fingers from your weeping cunt much to your dismay, only to be rendered speechless when he used both of his hands to grab and move you by your hips to the side of the desk, using one to shove your back down to lay on the surface and the other to hastily hiked up the skirt of your habits as his head dipped down, his lips kissing and his teeth nipping up your inner thighs.

You prayed that nobody was walking by Father Aegon’s office as they’d receive earfuls of lewd cries that fumbled from your throat in wails after he practically dove headfirst, your legs on his shoulders and his hands holding you in place by your thighs as his lips and tongue got to work swirling and sucking on your clit.

His platinum silver curls that were neatly parted down the middle, combed and slicked back behind his ears was disheveled within seconds as you reached down and carded through his hair, crying out in pleasure and awe at his ability to seem like he already knew every inch of you by heart.

“O-Oh my,” you squeaked out, your jaw agape as you tried to grind your hips against his face as he groaned delicious vibrations against your core, his tongue in place of his fingers greedily drawing your essence from your walls in filthy slurps that had you sobbing praises in a pleading mantra as you writhed in place.

“That’s it, good girl,” Aegon praised between quiet growls, kitten-licking your tented and overstimulated bud leaving you whining and yearning for more. The coil had begun to wind up tightly in your lower belly creating a burning sensation that threatened to snap like a taut rubber band.

“I’m gonna’ come,” you cried out softly and he chuckled darkly, nipping your sensitive flesh before suckling harshly that elicited a sharp yelp from your throat that quickly morphed into a wail of surprise as you flew headfirst into your first orgasm in almost two years. Aegon feasted and slurped every drop that expelled from your contracting cunt like a starved man, groaning in delight when your evidence of ecstasy from his touch spilled from your aching core and into his greedy mouth that caused your toes to curl painfully.

Father Aegon quickly stood up, not bothering to wipe his fingers and chin that were still glistening with the residue of your orgasm causing a deep blush to form on your flushed cheeks as you slowly came back to reality from the sound of his belt unbuckling.

Aegon hastily reached into his pants and pulled his throbbing cock free from the confines of his black dress trousers, watching his beautifully plump lips parting when he slapped the angrily flushed head against your weeping cunt a few times. His vile actions were so bewildering you were rendered speechless once more, unable to formulate words when looking up at him with bleary eyes as he fondled your folds for a few seconds, gathering your slick and smearing it across his tip and down his thick shaft waiting impatiently to fuck you in half.

“This is wrong. I-We shouldn’t do this. I don’t want this. God for-,” you managed to blurt out in soft whimpers, lying to yourself to try to hold onto the last shred of dignity you had while shaking your head only earning a sadistic smile in response from Father Aegon as he cut you off.

“You don’t want this? You weren’t the same girl watching me, pressing her thighs together as she hid in the library? Stupid girl, you’re so desperate and touch-starved, I could smell your cunt from outside. Your False God isn’t here. He can’t save you,” Aegon cooed softly, shutting you up immediately as you were left staring at him like he sprouted three-heads. You wouldn’t be surprised at this lint though. A priest using the words ‘False God’— how ironic.

Despite his cruel words, his tone of voice was almost sickly sweet if his hand wasn’t guiding the head of his cock back to your entrance and you braced yourself with a shrill gasp while he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours while he giggled maniacally under his breath sending chills of fear down your spine.

Father Aegon whispered in a taunting sneer as he continued to threaten you in a gravelly voice under his breath, the stench of wine still lingering on his tongue mixed with your release, “oh, pretty girl, the only God here is me,” and with that, he pistoned his hips forward.

A sharp hissing cry fell from your lips feeling the tip of his cock parting your neglected walls, splitting you from the inside out as your jaw hung agape and his eyes were wide– almost deliriously so as his own jaw hung agape too as if he was breathing out the energy of the cries carried out by your exhales while it seemed as though your body was losing energy as the seconds passed on. Like his hand, his hips made work establishing a steady pace as he fucked you open for him, drawing raw shrieks from your diaphram that forced him to clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon snarled against the back of his hand as your eyes rolled back, his lips kissing the corner of your parted lips when he finally let go of your mouth after the initial burn within your core dissolved and your sobs died down. His plump lips continued to kiss down your jaw, suckling and nibbling up and down your neck as you moaned and cried out shamelessly.

His words were absolutely vile and defiling and he knew it only spurred your innocent heart further, his hand that was pressed against your mouth dropping back down to grope your breast as he fucked you deeply, “God your cunt was made for my cock. Fuck it’s so fuckin’ tight– you like it when I talk to you like that? You like being fucked like some needy slut? ‘Course you do. What would your Sisters think if they found out what their whore pupil was doing in here?”

“I can’t, I can’t,” you suddenly started blabbering out in response despite your own legs hiking up around his hips to draw him in closer, your hands reaching up and gripping onto whatever you could while you rocked back and forth to his merciless motions.

“Yes you can,” Aegon panted breathlessly against your skin, his tongue swiping across your collarbone as he grunted over and over in his own world of desire, the lewd sound of skin slapping and your cunt squelching was foul in harmony with the considerably romantic blazing of the fireplace while he kissed his way back up your neck and caught your lips in another fiery, sloppy kiss between grunts and moans and cries of pleasure.

He murmured against your lips and his free hand not holding you down against the desktop in place by your breast being kneaded between his fingers, reaching between the two of you with his other hand and rubbing furious circles on your overstimulated clit, “say my fuckin’ name. give it all to me.”

“Aeg- I’m,” you cried out against his lips trying to obey his command to use his name while feeling the coil quickly wind tight once more as he effortlessly fucked you apart. As you came, stars littered your blacked out vision as you trembled and writhed, your spine arching pathetically trying to gather as much friction as possible while you shook in pleasure. Aegon moaned lowly feeling your walls contract and squeeze his cock as he continued without stopping, fucking you straight through the waves of ecstasy that left you feeling as though you had to piss everywhere, but that wasn’t what it was.

You could not have cared any less about any repercussions of your undoing with this man tonight— until he pulled out, flipped you around and bent you over the desk, plunging back inside of your cunt from a new angle causing a mewl to rip through you, and even more so when your walls fluttered down and you practically squirted back, coating both his legs and yours from your newfound experience of being overstimulated.

But as Aegon was turning you around, you suddenly had the perfect view of Father Aegon in the reflection of a mirror that had been hanging on the wall behind you, now seeing him in a full display in a reflection for the first time and took in the image that could have fueled your nightmares for the rest of eternity.

His shadow was cast up against the ceiling from the flames of the hearth illuminated, except two massive wings stood above Aegon and joined his body’s shadow as you mewled out incomprehensible words of confusion through the haze of pleasure that wracked your mind.

“Aegon,” your voice cracked, your eyes flickering to the mirror hanging on the wall dead ahead of the two of you, finally seeing Father Aegon for who he was finally through another lense and the sight alone made a scream of fear tear through you, but once more his hand came clasping down on your mouth and another sharp cursed reprimand dripping in poison was hurled at you from behind. The reflection of the man that had you bent over like a plaything, pistoning his thick cock roughly in and out of your aching cunt in the reflection of the mirror was unlike any creature you’d ever laid eyes on before.

In the reflection, while your face was streaked with tears and flushed in terror, his face looked nothing like what you saw with your own eyes, his reflection having beady black eyes, almost paper white skin, teeth long and sharp like fanged razors and his hands with long, clawed digits. You couldn’t miss the tall, pointed and curly black horns and the almost impressive black feathered wings that slowly rose and outstretched in the air after you said his name.

You couldn’t pull your eyes from the mirror even after he said your name, his hand eventually let go of your mouth and roughly grabbed your jaw, holding your head steady. Tears flowed hot from your eyes as you tried to thrash in his hold but it was no use as he chuckled wickedly above you, his pupils blown wide but it was no comparison to the dark, gaping holes you saw in the reflection of the mirror.

Father Aegon was no Father, no priest at all, learning within seconds that life was in fact cruel like that. Was there truly a God now realizing you had the entire situation practically spelt out for you when you translated that ancient scripture in the library, but you were too naive to realize the foreshadowing. The name of the shapeshifting apparatus isnt Agneo. It’s fucking Aegon.

This revelation truly meant only one thing: Aegon was a demon, and you, by saying his name, sealed off the deal and selling him your soul, his hand angling your chin up and to the side to press his lips down on yours, his tongue working your mouth apart once more, grunting against your lips when his pace faltered.

You felt your womb grow heavy while he panted and mewled, his wretched seed spurting from the head of his cock as his hips twitched between stilled moments, painting your walls as he moaned into the crook of your neck. You thought it’d be the end of the night, your mind too frazzled to even comprehend what to do next as your blurry eyes cracked open from being scrunched shut.

But Aegon’s nightmarish reflection remained the same, his smile sinister and evil as his snakelike tongue sharp and black as could be trailed up the side of your cheek as his hand kept its tight grip on your chin to hold you steady while he collected your salty tears on his tastebuds.

“Aegon…Please don’t hurt me,” you whispered pathetically, trying to claw at his taloned grip on your face and it almost struck a chord within his despicable body as he chuckled darkly, placing a soft kiss on your trembling cheekbone.

“I think it’s too late for that, sweet girl, you taste too divine,” Aegon purred softly, your doe eyes wide with horror watching in the reflection of his other hand reaching up, his clawed talon delicately moving a stray lock of hair from your face. He actually admired you, pleading through tears and drool and all, but the moment had to end at some point as his clawed hand caressed your temple and he murmured softly against the apple of your cheek.

“Just know this though, so far, I think you were my favorite. I might actually miss you,” Aegon kissed your pillowed flesh for the last time after vocalizing his odd apology that almost felt genuinely sentimental before his talons dug into your chin and your temple to hold you steady as you cried out in protest, then silenced for eternity after his wrists rolled and snapped your neck.

His deflating cock was still buried to the hilt within you as you dropped lifelessly against the desk, and the demon removed himself from his latest victim with a triumphant smile. He hastily readjusted himself and your skirt to cover your modesty, not that you were alive anyway to care, as he sat back down in his seat.

Father Aegon kicked up and crossed his legs on the desk while pouring himself another chalice of wine, continuing to admire your lifeless expression of shock while your pupils slowly dilated, and the blood that slowly dribbled out of your nostrils and out from your lips onto the desk. The blood dripped down onto the floor while your lost soul descended to the pits of Hell with that same sinister smirk he wore the first time he laid his eyes on you.

[mxigo]

i remember everything (wish i didn't, but i do) | part 3

SERIES SYNOPSIS: logan saved the timeline, but the consequence is that he doesn't remember anything after 1973. now back in 2023, he has missed 50 years of history. including any history of your relationship with him.

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, swearing

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER (COMING SOON)

Finding sleep that night was impossible. You tossed and turned for hours feeling like the darkness was too much and not enough all at once. Every time you rolled onto Logan’s side, your nose was plagued with his lingering scent, sending you into a spiral over and over again.

The next morning wasn’t any easier. While you would have liked nothing more than to continue rotting away in your room and ceasing to exist, you had classes to teach. Getting out of bed took a herculean effort, and your eyes were still puffy from your trip to the lake. You felt essentially hollow while you got ready for the day. You didn’t listen to music, or hum to yourself, or even break the perpetual frown that had taken root on your face. There just was simply no point.

You dressed in your usual flared black slacks and white button up with black heels, rolling the sleeves up to just below your elbow. Then, before leaving, you grabbed the stack of papers you had graded before you left for your mission.

One of the things that you liked about teaching here was that because of the relatively small number of students compared to a usual boarding school, your classroom sizes were small, and you only had three of them to teach. You taught upper-level American Lit classes with a fusion in creative writing that gave your students a bit of freedom in their assignments. And you enjoyed reaching these kids. You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The hallways were bustling with kids rushing and meandering to their next classes. You didn’t really pay mind to any of them as you made your way to your classroom on the other side of the mansion. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a few of the children side eying you, trying to gauge you and what had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. It wasn’t until you reached the bottom floor did one of them, or rather, a former student, interrupt your solitary walk.

Rogue only joined in silence down the hallway, remaining quiet next to you. While you never did teach her as you had been brought into the fold just a couple years after she had graduated, Rogue became pseudo-sister to you in a sense. Despite the attempt for a cure, she came out stronger and more solidified in herself.

You sighed as you opened the door to your classroom, checking to see if she was still behind you. “Do you need something, Rogue?”

“I heard what happened.” Your heart ached.

“Who hasn’t?”

“If you wanna talk about it—”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Rogue. That’s the thing. Right now, I’d rather just forget about all that’s happening right now and try to find my sense of peace again.”

The girl gave a sad smile when you turned around. Her hair was pulled back, letting the white streak hang down on its own.

“Well, in that case, would you rather spend your time forgetting at White Raven tonight? I’ve got nothing better to do.”

At that, you raised an eyebrow. It had been a while since you and Rogue had the chance to really catch up and just relax at the local dive, and it actually sounded pretty damn good right about now.

“Who’s driving?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I’ve got it covered. Don’t worry about it,” is all she said with a ghost of a smirk before disappearing down the hallway into the sea of students.

You were gonna regret agreeing to that, you just knew it.

The rest of the day went by uneventful, thankfully. No other students tried to pry into your relationship status with Logan, and you were able to forget about life for just a moment while teaching about significant pieces of literature during the Civil War.

The sun was just setting behind the trees when there was a knock on your bedroom door while you were putting on a pair of earrings.

 “It’s open!” you shouted, expecting Rogue to be on the other side, here to pester you.

But the universe loved to play jokes on you.

The door opened slowly to reveal Logan holding a bag, and your heart sank while your eyes widened in shock. He peaked in like a timid cat, looking at you like he knew he was stepping over a boundary. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, glancing around the room.

“Do you need something, Logan?”

“Uh, yeah. I just wanted to grab some clothes actually. I only grabbed so many, and uh, kinda running low.”

“Oh. Yeah, go ahead,” you answered, turning back to the floor length mirror to finish getting ready.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he meandered into your once shared room. He looked over your pictures on the dresser briefly before pulling open his drawers, grabbing some random t-shirts and jeans, stuffing them into the bag. You all but forgot you were getting ready as he stopped and picked up the picture of the two of you at your sister’s wedding just a couple years ago.

It was probably the one picture where Logan was publicly showing affection. The photographer had managed to capture a moment when the both of you were in the center of the dance floor, slowly dancing with the rest of the guests, but it was the way that he looked at you that gave you butterflies just looking at it. He had this soft smile on his face as you rested your head on his chest, your arms wrapped around his neck while his rested on your hips.

It was that night that you were certain that you would be with him for the rest of your life.

Logan set the picture back down, breaking you out of your memory trance. You went back to fixing your hair, trying to push down the wave of tears that threatened to make an appearance at remembering what you lost.

He shut the drawers, his bag full. Before he walked out, though, you spoke up again.

“I can just pack up the rest of your clothes for you, if you want.”

Logan froze just in front of the door, his head turned slightly towards you. He took one step back, meeting your eyes, looked to the dresser, and then back to you.

“Only if you want to,” is all he said before walking out and disappearing down the hallway, closing the door behind him.

~

You were still confused an hour later when you and Rogue were sitting at the far corner of the bar in White Raven, staring through a vodka soda as your finger traced the glass. Rogue was talking about something, but you weren’t quite paying attention until a foot nudged yours. You finally looked up to find her leaning forward and staring at you.

“Earth to Halo, come in.”

You rolled your eyes, letting your hand drop and leaned back into the wooden chair.

“You were saying?”

“You don’t even know what I was talking about.”

“Sure I do. You were talking about one of your classes.”

She gave you a look. “Not even close, sugar.”

You sighed, wiping your hand down your face.

“Can you blame me? There’s a lot on my mind right now.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly the reason we’re here. To forget about that shit for the night and just be girls again.”

You let your head roll to the side as you raised an eyebrow, considering her words.

“Fine. A round of shots and drinks, and I’ll focus on forgetting.”

“Right away,” she grinned, throwing a wink before looking over towards the bartender to grab his attention.

You sighed, leaning back into the barstool. You couldn’t help but let Logan’s words run on repeat in your head, trying to understand what he meant. He still had feelings for Jean, so there was no reason to still have his clothes in your shared dresser, in your shared room, but he said it was up to you, which made no sense. A small ember of hope wanted to grow warmer, but you refused to let it get any hotter. Things would never be the same between the two of you, and you refused to give yourself hope when heartbreak was inevitable.

It was only a minute longer before two more shots and drinks were set down in front of you and Rogue. The Jameson and peach schnapps looked at you mockingly, and you grimaced at the offending cup as you picked it up. Rogue did the same, catching your reaction.

“What? Don’t like green tea anymore?”

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” you answered before knocking the mix back, taking it in one big gulp. Your faced screwed up as it burned going down, setting the plastic cup across the bar for the bartender to pick up.

Rogue took hers like a champ, as always, shaking her head at the feeling of the burn. “You’re not even that much older than me, Halo, stop acting like you’re my meemaw.”

“I’m old enough for this to bite me in the ass later tonight, and you know it.”

“I do, but that’s why I’ve got a ride arranged for us later.”

You raised your eyebrow at the younger woman, taking a sip from your drink. “You still haven’t told me who it is.”

“And I don’t need to because you’ll be too trashed to give a damn. Now drink!”

The rest of the night melted into a blur as Rogue continued to order shots and drinks for the two of you. She rambled about a mutant that she met on a mission down in Louisiana, and you basically acted like you were listening, but you let your mind drift to Logan once again. It wasn’t like you could just flip a switch in your mind and force yourself to forget about him. You were married, and he was easily the only man that loved you as passionately and deeply as he did, and having that man basically die and still walk around in the same body was going to fuck you up for God knows how long. Maybe forever.

“Haaaaalooooo, you’re nawt listenin’ again.” Rogue’s southern twang was slipping out like it normally did when she wasn’t thinking, or in this instance, drunk. Even though she was the one that enjoyed going out and getting hammered, she did it much faster than you.

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, Rogue. It’s hard to concentrate these days.”

Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward, drink still in hand.

“Oh, dear God, here I am, r-runnin’ my mouth about men, and I’m nawt even thinkin’ about you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad that you’re seeing someone after how things with Bobby ended.”

She became a bit closed off at that comment, letting her eyes drop to the clear liquid in her cup. Her breakup with Bobby was nothing pretty or simple, and both were hurt in the process, but especially Rogue was. Her fears of his feelings for Kitty turned out to be true, but that hadn’t manifested until much later after the breakup, but it still rubbed salt in the wound.

In a way, it was how you felt now about Logan and Jean.

“Yeah, I am too,” she whispered, taking another sip on the straw when her phone began to vibrate on the bar top.

A ridiculous picture of Logan flashed on the screen with his name on top for an incoming call, to which she answered and put him on speaker.

“Hi, Log! Halo and I are still at the bar.”

“I know, I’m outside. You said to pick the two of you up at midnight when it closed.”

Your heart dropped right into your stomach, and your head snapped over to your friend, eyes wide. Rogue, oblivious to your fury, still looked at the phone and continued to talk.

“Right, right. We’ll be out in a minute. Gotta close out. Byyyyye.” She hung up, then turned down the bar to grab the bartender’s attention, still unknowing.

Why the fuck would she ask Logan to pick you up? She couldn’t have asked any other mutant other than the man of the fucking hour?

The bartender placed your tabs down in front of the two of you, to which you threw down some twenties and called it a night. Rogue was still oblivious as she got up from her seat, but you grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

“You asked Logan to DD for us? Why not Scott, or Ororo, or fucking Piotr?”

Her face screwed up before she laughed at your panic.

“Because he offered.”

“What the hell do you mean he offered?”

“I meeeaaan, he overheard me ask Scott to drive us, but when Scott said he was busy, Logan offered to drive us instead. It’s just a fifteen-minute ride back to the mansion, Hay. It won’t kill you.”

Your mouth dropped as she all but sauntered up to the front door, leaving you behind. You couldn’t help but groan aggressively in frustration, following her out the door.

Lo and behold, driving one of the many cars of Xavier’s, was Logan leant up against the sleek black paint of still-running vehicle. Rogue stumbled out of the door happily, a drunk smile plastered on her face as she approached her father figure. Logan looked down at her warmly as she stopped in front of him, swaying a bit on her feet.

“Looks like you had a bit to drink.”

“Well I could have had more if someone,” she turned her head to throw a look at you over her shoulder, “had let us start off hard like we used to.”

“One of us has to be semi-responsible when we’re out together, and it was my turn.”

“You only say that for reasons I can’t talk about right now,” she mumbled as she opened the car door and climbed into the backseat.

An awkward silence stretched into the night as her words hung in the air. It wasn’t hard to figure out what she was referring to, and Logan spent more than just a second staring at the ground where Rogue’s feet were before looking at you. A guilty look passed over his face as he took in your less than trashed appearance.

“Sorry for uh…keeping you from enjoying yourself.”

“Don’t feel so flattered,” you retorted as you went to climb into the backseat as well, only to find the other woman sprawled out on the leather seats, completely passed out.

Fuck it.

You pushed past Logan and pulled the handle to the front passenger seat, dropping in and all but slamming the door closed. You wanted nothing more than for this night to be over and evaporate it from your recent memory.

Logan’s bootfalls crunched upon the gravel parking lot as he walked around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and settled in. He shut the door behind him, and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving White Raven behind you. You focused everything to not focus on him and the fact that you were now in a car, essentially by yourselves as Rogue was out cold in the backseat. You couldn’t help but wring your hands continuously as you fought to look at him, keeping yourself to staring out the window. It’s only been a couple days, but your body already missed being so close to him, and it ached not being able to touch him. Hence, you were wringing your hands to simulate the sensation.

You could feel Logan’s gaze weigh heavy on you. It caused your hair to stand on end on your neck. In a moment of weakness, you let your eyes glance over to him, just to find that he had looked to your own at the same moment. Those hazel irises stared into yours so softly, yet intently. It stole the breath out of you, and you couldn’t help but stare back. He looked at you like he was taking you in for the first time and understanding who was in front of him.

And of course, it was at this moment that Rogue decided to wake up.

“Are we home yet?” she groaned, leaning into the space between the driver and passenger seat, snapping the two of you out of whatever trance you had been in.

You jumped, snapping your gaze from his and forced yourself to go back to staring out the window.

“Yeah, Rogue, just a few more minutes,” Logan mumbled.

The rest of the drive back to the mansion, you still felt his eyes on your form.

a/n: tbh i have no idea what this is, just kinda threw it together before the motivation disappeared

~

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if i didn't tag you, please make sure you have an age in your bio. if you do and i still didn't, dm me and i'll make sure to add you to the next one.

[sunflowerreid]

My Angel - S.R

Spencer shows you how perfect you are

Warnings : Soft dom spencer, mirror sex, use of sex toys, Sub reader, insecure reader, negative self talk

Never in your life have you felt like you were particularly good enough, the insecurities from your teenage years followed you all the way through to adulthood. You had the most perfect boyfriend in the world, no idea how you managed to get him but you were grateful for every second you spent with him, the trust and commitment issues you had developed from your ex didn’t exactly help, the fear that he would walk out of your life forever if you ever disappointed him or did something you thought was wrong is always looming in the back of your mind.

You’d been waiting for Spencer to come home from work when you had decided to try on the dress you had ordered, a mini black dress with a laced back and low cut front, on the model it looked absolutely gorgeous. But stood in front of the mirror now you regret wasting your time. Staring yourself up and down you saw nothing but disappointment, your shoulder blades stuck out too much, your stretch marks were peeking out from under the dress that came down to the top half of your thighs, your hair didn’t fall right and the low cut design proved just how small your chest was. Tears began to form in your eyes. How could he ever love someone like you, he must be joking around, maybe he asked you out as a dare, that explanation seemed more reasonable than anything else. Despite trying your hardest you couldn’t stop it as a tear fell down your face.

You didn’t hear the door open or close, the sound of Spencer’s footsteps on the soft carpet in the hall or the bedroom door slowly opening. “Wow, god you look gorgeous sweetheart” Spencer said softly as he admired you from the back, too amazed to notice the tears streaking down your face in the mirror. You said nothing, shying away from him as he got closer, “sweetheart?” He questioned walking towards you slowly, you’d never turned away from him before, always greeting him when he got home before jumping into his arms with a huge smile on your face. “Darling what’s wrong?” he panicked, noticing your tear stained face and reaching out for you. That pushed you over the edge, your eyes watering once again. “Please talk to me honey” he whispered as he reached out for you, “why are you with me Spencer, you can do so much better, you deserve so much better” you sobbed as he held you, walking you towards the bed as he place down you onto his lap, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. He held onto you tightly, his hands around your waist as you calmed down listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Honey you’re the most beautiful, perfect person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, I love everything about you, everything, you’re the only one I want” Spencer whispered, reassuring you as you tucked your head into his neck, beginning to squirm in his lap. “Please can I show you how much I love you sweetheart, how much you should love yourself” he asked sweetly, waiting for a response as you nodded your head slightly, “Words darling”, “yes please” you replied shyly, your head still hidden in his neck. “There’s my good girl” he smiled as he lifted your head up to look at him, your glistening eyes meeting his.

Spencer took hold of your thighs as his lips met yours. The kiss continued, your insecurities being washed away as you shifted in his lap, your clit starting the throb from the lack of friction. He pulled away picking you up as if you weighed nothing as he walked over to the mirror, gently putting you down facing it. “You’re absolutely stunning honey” he smirked as he reached his hand down the front of your dress from behind, pulling it up slightly to rest on your thigh as he pulled your panties to the side, his fingers gently circling your clit in a teasing manner. You whimpered, your eyes closing as your head rolled back resting on Spencer’s chest. “No darling, I want you to look at yourself” he said in a serious tone as he kissed down your neck, his fingers pressing down slightly harder as you moaned quietly. “You have absolutely no idea how special you are sweetheart” Spencer mumbled into your neck, his fingers began wandering down slightly, pulling off your panties before slipping through your soaking wet folds. “Please” you gasped as he sank inside, curling his fingers up inside you as he slowly pulled them out before sliding them back in. “Look at yourself honey absolutely stunning”, “Fuck please Spencer please” you whimpered, begging him to go faster. “Such a good girl for me aren’t you honey, stop whining and you’ll get what you need” he said reaching into the dresser draw as he pulled out the small vibrator he bought for you.

“So pretty for me” he whispered in a calming manner, his fingers speeding up as you tightened around them. “God please Spencer please” you moaned, tears glistening in your eyes for the third time that night as you felt yourself getting closer, “Please can I cum please” you begged. Spencer reached round with his other hand reaching under the skirt of your dress as he placed the vibrator on your clit, “Cum for me sweetheart” he smirked as he turned on the vibrator. “Oh god I’m cumming Spence I’m gonna cum fuck please” you moaned loudly as you clenched around him “Come on honey, your doing so well for me” “FUCK” you screamed as you began to cum, clenching down hard onto his fingers before feeling another rush flow through you, squirting onto the mirror in front of you as Spencer moaned behind you. “Fuck you’re so pretty for me honey” he groaned, his erection confined in his slacks beginning to throb as you came down from your high.

“Please” you moaned gently, out of breath as he held you up from falling down. “You sure honey? We can just go to bed if you can’t carry on sweetheart I know you’re tired” he said sweetly managing to keep his composure as all his blood was rushing down to his raging erection. “Please Spence please” you begged, barely able to stand upright. “I’ve got you honey, I’ve got you” he said reassuringly as he picked you up and placed you back on the bed. Wasting no time Spencer pulled down his slacks and boxers all in one, stripping himself of his shirt while his erection bobbed up and down, swollen, red and leaking profusely at the tip. “So gorgeous for me honey” he moaned as he slipped his tip between your folds, both of you throbbing in unison as he slid up and down teasing both you and him. You whimpered as he kissed you, lips connecting in a passionate kiss as he dipped his tip inside of you. “Oh fuck” he moaned quietly as he pushed inside of you, “so tight for me honey god you feeling amazing”. You moaned loudly as he pulled out before thrusting back in, quickly creating a rhythm as he placed his head into your neck biting down gently as he marked you. “Fuck” he moaned loudly as you tightened around him, his thrusts sped up as he humped up erratically, “So perfect for me, I love you so much, you’re an angel honey, my angel all mine” he groaned he could feel you clamping down as your orgasm approached, him following very quickly. “Need you to cum for me angel c’mon so close”, “Spencer” you shouted as your head rolled back onto the pillow as he pushed you over the edge. “Fuck that’s it angel” he moaned loudly as he began to cum, his tip twitching as he gave you everything he could.

Spencer collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight as he rested his head gently on your chest, listening to your heartbeat slow down as you caught your breath again your eyes drooping slowly as you melted into the mattress. Noticing the mess you’d made Spencer gently untangled himself from you hearing you whine before kissing you on the forehead, “I’ll be right back angel” he whispered as he walked to the bathroom, returning with a wet flannel to clean both you and the mirror off, he’d clean it properly tomorrow morning. He climbed back in bed with you, your head resting on his chest. “I love you so much honey” he said softly as your eyes finally shut. In that moment you knew everything would be alright.

[matchibee]

United In Grief

based on this post by @ldhluvr that had me sprinting.

not proofread, a lot of emotion, my brain hurts

Days were long, evenings even longer. An empty bed to reflect the void spreading throughout your heart, threatening to consume the useless organ in a plume of despair.

Miguel was everything, your multiverse.

For so many years you were fruitful in curating the life of your dreams, everything you desired within the palm of your hand. A loving husband, a brilliant daughter. The pair of them were more than everything you could've conjured in the crevices of your mind, a duo of delight you wouldn't trade for the world — for everything that encompassed continuance.

"Ya me voy," Miguel spoke through a tired sigh, his chest slotting up against your back, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. "I won't be back until late, Amor. Don't wait up for me." He peppered kisses down the nape of your neck, relishing in your scent, in the warmth of your skin pressed up against his own.

But evenings that left you waiting for Miguel's return were detrimental to your work, finding you couldn't sleep without his warmth enveloping you, fueling the very battery you swore had long-since emptied.

You knew he was home, knew that when you slipped through the window of your apartment another person entirely, he would be safe and sound.

But tonight was nothing like the evenings previous, a lump in your throat as you walked towards the pot of coffee that had long gone cold, pouring the liquid into a mug Gabriella had made you during school — infinitely talented, forever yours.

The hairs of the back of your neck stood on end, the pot slipping from your fingertips, shattering onto the floor.

Gabriella called out to you, concerned by the sudden sound of shattered glass — a sound that reflected the very feeling present in your heart, breath heaving as you frantically travelled the inner-workings of your mind for an answer. "S-Stay in your room! I'm alright!" You called out to Gabriella from the kitchen, the young girl still have yet to see you dressed in your suit, nothing within your immediate vicinity available to cover your body.

You practically flung yourself towards the windowsill, January rain flooding the evening in puddles of despair, the reflections in the bodies of water displaying a mask ridden with apprehension.

'He's fine,' You'd mumbled to yourself as texts went unanswered, as the clock continued to turn. Time didn't rest, an entity that obeyed the will of its whim. 'He just got held up, had too much work.' But as minutes transitioned into hours, you knew something was wrong, you knew there was more to Miguel's absence than meets they eye.

The activation of your Spider-Senses only confirmed your worst suspicions, droplets of water shielding your mask as your frantically flung across the city, entirely dismissing the sound of civilians chanting your name — their savior, the one to deliver them from evil.

But who would be there to save you?

It happened in a blur, a figure in the night illuminated by streaks of lightning, your web snapping as you lost concentration. You tumbled a great deal, skin scuffed beneath your suit.

"Shit!" Voices piqued your interest, standing to your feet, you were met with a pair of thugs who seemed to struggle with an array of items, your webs doing well to restrain one of the assailants.

"What are you up to at this time of night?" You called out to the pair, doing your best to look for the other obscured in darkness, your foot catching on a lump before you. Your brows furrowed, dropping to your knees as you recognized the shape to be one of a person, every fiber of your being erupting with Spider-Sense.

"Miguel?" His name left your lips as you flipped his body over, your husband lifeless before you, a trickle of blood flowing from his lips, your eyes trailing to find a splotch of blood at his stomach — a gunshot wound, one that was seeping with blood.

And it was then you realized you were standing in a puddle of his blood, Miguel's essence coating your shoes, staining the fabric of your suit as you dropped to your knees. "Miguel." You whispered his name, the sound of struggle from behind you shielded by the beat of your heart - one that now beat alone, without the accompanying acoustics that seems to always persist by your side. "Miguel, we need to go home. Let's go home, Miguel."

But he didn't hear the call of his name, the plead of your voice.

Your webs were torn from behind you, the sound piquing your senses, but you couldn't keep your eyes away from Miguel — from the groceries strewn around him, his cellphone cracked just inches from his fingertips.

The twin bouquets of flowers bathed in his blood.

Your suit-clad fingers caressed the expanse of angular features, a man who personified the very definition of ethereal, everything you loved slipping from your fingertips in a singular fluidity. Where he once sat jovially in the palm of your hand he now proved nothing more than a fleeting memory, one you'd forever keep within your heart, whispering his name, your prayers falling upon deaf ears.

It happened too fast, so abrupt. One second he was there, your shimmering beacon, even when life made you feel as though there was nothing more to this life than an arachnid persona. But the next, Miguel lie in a heap of what once was. A memory on the stain of your vowed eternity.

You called out his name once more, whispered it like a mantra, praying something, anything would bring him back. Desperation creeped up your spine, interlacing your fingertips with a demon of this universe's own creation, one who hadn't an ounce of empathy in the face of your suffering.

But you knew better than to believe this line of work would have mercy, that anyone could find it in their hearts to grieve for someone they perceived as a beacon of perfection .

You knew better than to think your grief would be spared.

"C'mon, let's get going." One of the men whispered to his counterpart, their eyes trained on your vulnerability as they scrambled to retreat. Still, they worked to gather everything they'd taken, fragments of your memories of Miguel.

But you wouldn't let them get away, couldn't possibly fathom them getting away with what little remained, with what they'd done.

And when you finally snapped out of it, finally found it within yourself to stand, they were gone.

So you returned to his side, returned to stroking along his angular features, allowed yourself to fall against his chest despite the blood that stained your entirety.

Miguel's phone dinged with a message, your eyes lingering on the screen as you viewed the words of his co-worker.

When you unlocked his phone, you found the screen lingered on your messages together, Miguel in the midst of typing one, the text still unsent in the box.

'Picking up something for the three of us to make together. It's our favorite! I love you, see you soon, amor.'

You hit send, your own phone chiming in the pocket of your suit, and you fell apart all over again.

Days blurred into existences of grief, months having spanned the time since you'd lost Miguel, and yet every day felt as though you were reliving a nightmare. The bed remained empty, his toothbrush untouched, body wash forever in a state of stagnancy.

Everything seemed to stand still, yet time ticked on, you were still expected to live with this grief hanging over your head for eternity.

The men had gotten away in the midst of your surprise, taking advantage of your vulnerability.

But you never forgot a face, vowed that evening as you slipped back through your window, tears shimmering in your eyes, that you'd bring the men to justice.

That was your job, your purpose in this life, and you would rather die than deprive yourself of this right, this closure.

"I'll be back late tonight," You mumbled into Gabriella's hair, tucking the little girl in for the evening. Your suit was concealed by a coat, fingertips webbed in fabric unknown to Gabriella.

"Can't you stay here for tonight?"

Of course you'd come to realize that Gabriella was missing you, the loss of Miguel hitting harder than everything she'd experienced in her short years of living.

But you were doing this for her, doing this for your family.

For Miguel.

"I'll be back before you wake up, I promise."

Your words seemed to soothe her, calm her nerves as she snuggled into her sheets, into the various stuffed animals Miguel brought with him every time he walked through that door.

You missed the jingle of his keys, the sound of his footsteps as he did his best not to wake you up.

You missed Miguel.

When Gabriella had finally dosed off, confining herself to the safety of sleep, you hopped out through the window, your mind set on your first target, the initial hit on your self-written list.

Two names, two assailants, both linked to a single moment.

You'd tracked them to an abandoned apartment complex they seemed to frequent in the evening hours, meeting at a different location every night but ending it in the same place.

So that's where you waited, impatient as you clung to the crumbling roof, the sound of voices the only thing ringing through mind, headache inducing. The pain becoming increasingly profound the closer they arrived, proximity practically nonexistent.

One of the men lit a lighter, illuminating your suit, gasps falling from their lips as the three of you were once more shrouded in darkness. Your webs thwipped in every direction, binding the men against the wall, their struggled groaned filling the space. Dropping to your knee, you brought the lighter between your fingers, igniting the flame before your masked face.

"S-Spider—!"

"Don't." Your voice was foreign to your own ears, malice dripping from your lips like venom.

"I don't know what we did but—!"

You thwipped your webs to cover the mouth of the man who seemed incapable of keeping his mouth shut, approaching the other before you, your full attention on him. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"Fuck if I know." He spat, eyeing you with a bored expression.

You hummed. "You'll find out soon enough."

Glimmers of spark erupted from behind you, illuminating the once dim space, figures slipping through the occurrence, standing before you.

Your senses stood on edge, looking to the trio with an expression of confusion.

"How ya doing?" A woman you realized to be pregnant spoke in a soothing voice.

"You're like me..." The words slipped without your permission, a hand flying to your lips, concealing your words.

A much smaller figure shrouded in multicolored shades, white dominating the mass of the fabric, was the next to speak. "We're here to help you," Her voice was like honeysuckle, dripping like ripples of heaven. "You just have to come with us."

"I'm kinda in the middle of something." Despite the invitation you weren't intent on slipping away after everything you'd worked towards, after dedicating your life to this very moment.

"We aren't asking." This voice was much more gruff than the two previous, tone entirely bored, as though fed up with being here.

And yet it sounded so familiar.

You stepped up to the man, arms crossed over your chest. "I'm not going anywhere."

So, you ended up being forced to leave. The trio had worked against you, confining you to a glorified bubble that hindered your escape, producing you in the sanctuary of a man clad in red and blue.

"Let me out or so help me—!"

He chuckled, looking down at you through his mask. "Or else what?"

"Miguel," The woman from earlier, Jessica, slipped into the conversation. "Maybe be a little more compassionate?"

Miguel?

"Leave us." He spat, the pair of Jessica and Gwen leaving with remorseful expressions, obviously not keen on defying his will.

No, it couldn't be, it was unfathomable. You shook the thought from your head, removing your mask to look into their eyes without the obstruction. "Send me home."

A mask of blue and red dematerialized before your very eyes, a face you hadn’t seen in the flesh for forever — condemned to what remained on your phone, on the plaque that garnered his picture in the cemetery you and Gabriella frequented, unable to deliver him from your memories.

Eyes of vermillion stared into the crevices of your soul, a man who was yours yet far different than how you remembered him. Where smile lines traveled along your Miguel’s face, this man seemed to have an expression pressed into a permanent frown, incapable of any emotions apart from anger. He wasn't yours, yet eternity whispered otherwise.

"I can't do that." Miguel spoke, but you weren't focused on his words, only capable of registering his face, his entirety. Here before you stood everything you'd ever lost.

Your past, present and future.

"Miguel," You pressed your hand to the bubble that kept you confined, entirely entrapped within a state of disbelief. "I thought you were—"

"Dead?"

You nodded wordlessly, slipping to your knees as Miguel turned away from you, your crimson confinement slipping away as you were met with the crisp air of the near-empty room.

"I'm not from your universe. In your universe, I'm dead."

You furrowed your brows. "That doesn't make any sense! I know what I see, and right now I see my husband!"

The words left Miguel in a state of shock, his body rigid as he fought every urge to bound towards you with open arms, hold you and never have to release you again.

"There are an infinite number of universes, an infinite number of Spiders just like us."

Miguel pressed on with a tangent that had your thoughts spinning, mind fighting to make an understanding of the information he was spewing, everything seeming more akin to a fever dream than anything else.

"We all go through canon events, moments that connect us, that make us who we are."

Your eyes drifted to various screen baring different scenes, instances where those cursed with this ability had lost everything. A man with his uncle, another with their best friend.

You with Miguel.

"No," You swiped the images away, the room returning to its previous luminance. "That's bullshit. It doesn't make any sense."

Miguel sighed, his back still turned to you as he held up his left hand, the multicolored suit dematerializing with a technology you'd never witnessed before. "I wish it was," A silver banned shimmered in the artificial light, glimmering with love, a reminder of vows that were bound to eternity and stripped by oblivion. "In my universe, you're dead."

You felt at the ring beneath your suit, shifting the jewelry uncomfortably, the piece having never felt so unbearable until this very moment. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"That's why I couldn't let you go through with it."

"What?"

"Killing those men — the ones that took me... Your husband. All it does is make everything worse, it doesn't solve anything."

As though you hadn't learned anything you scoffed, "How do you know?"

"Because I went down that same road when you—shit... When my version of you died." His voice was shrill, seeming to lose his composure with every passing second. In your eyes he saw everything he'd ever lost, standing before him as though you'd never faltered to begin with. "I went looking for the people that took you away from me, from our family that wasn't a family yet."

"Then what?"

You could see the remorse in his eyes, a gaze of regret, the memories too painful for him to share, yet he pressed forward — for you, for himself, for an unspoken closure the both of you desperately required. "I missed you more than anything in this world. I went looking for you, disrupted universes until I couldn't handle it anymore, until I convinced myself I was better off alone — not meant to be a father, a husband."

You gasped. "You were gonna be a dad?"

The though brought a smile to Miguel's face. "You had our little girl with you when they took you away — took both of you from me." Miguel's eyes were glazed with tears, vulnerability on his sleeve as his mind fought for him to remain logical, remember why he's the person he was in that very moment. "I wish I'd gotten to know my darling Gabriella."

A lump in your throat, the sensation scratching you with claws like fire. "She's wonderful, Miguel."

He chuckled, a smile forming on his lips, one he forced himself to push away. "What's she like?"

"Just like you." The response was instant, absentminded, thinking to a universe where he no longer existed. "Everyday I'm scared I won't be able to face her because she looks more and more like you, acts like you."

Miguel could picture it, the life he deserved, the one he was destined to live. In his heart there was a love that would forever remain his to keep, bound to his soul. And while the thought left him in a state of elation — the fact that his daughter was happy in another reality — it wasn't his joy to experience.

It was yours. Yours and a Miguel that wasn't him.

"I can't send you back to your universe unless you swear you won't go after those men."

"I can't just-"

"Swear you won't go after those men or else you'll never see Gabriella again!" Miguel's voice thundered through the room, shaking you to your core, a chill rushing down your spine in wisps of terror. He couldn’t stand to see another variation bound to the universe’s clutches, lost because of selfish, something he could easily prevent. Miguel didn’t want to see to see you suffer all over again. lose everything just as he had. And if this was how he had to get his point across, it was what he would do for the sake of the canon.

For the sake of his love that transcended the multiverse itself.

"I..." Your voice was weak, tears brimming in your eyes. Miguel had never yelled at you, never dared raise his voice. And the fact that this variant of him had done it so simply, without an ounce of effort, had brought you back to the cruelty that was reality.

This wasn't your Miguel.

"I promise."

No matter how you begged and pleaded, no matter what you did to change the canon, he would never be yours.

"Good."

The Miguel O'Hara from your universe was gone, and all you had to remember him was memories bound to blood, crimson staining a suit you hid away, unable to bring yourself to wash the stains of grief, ridding your fingertips of what once was, all that remained.

But just as the vows of your eternal love were broken upon the death of Miguel...

This promise would soon be broken, too.

[ladylooch]

Second Chances - [Timo X Emma]

A/N: I was supposed to write Mackdavid smut tonight. But this request came in and it was just 🥹 everything I needed. Thank you, nonnie!

The request: Since Timo didn’t have the chance to propose to Emma, does he propose for a special anniversary to make up for it?

Word Count: 1.1k

On an early summer evening, Emma’s glittering gold heel hits the pavement outside the Burgenstock Resort on Lake Lucerne. She smiles at the familiar memories of this place. It’s been through several remodels since she first stayed here with her husband as nothing more than friends, but the luxury still wafts through the high-rise ceilings as she walks in. 

“Mrs. Meier!” The manager, Gregory, greets her. “Your husband awaits for you on the patio.”

“Thank you! Wonderful to be back.” She gives him a brief air kiss, then continues forward on her own. She knows the way well. 

Emma walks with confidence, pretending that she knows the reason a limo picked her up and whisked her away to the mountains after a cryptic text from her husband. Her emerald dress sways around her calves with each stride. The doors are automatic and open once they sense her presence. Emma glances around, thin eyebrows drawing together in confusion when she doesn’t see anyone else on the first level of the patio. Usually, this place has every table seated. She steps forward, resting her black, YSL clutch on the marble railing, glancing out at the sun disappearing behind the mountains. Only a few orange bursts streak across the water towards her. 

“Mama!” Emma hears her daughter. She looks down towards the voice, then gasps in surprise at Timo and their babies. A huge grin stretches her face when she sees each of them dressed to the nines.

“Mama, come here!” Lio exclaims, giggles taking over him as he attempts to stay quiet. 

In true fashion for the twins, they don’t bother waiting for her. They both toddle over to the ramp connecting the levels, clamoring awkwardly up it like they are three champagne glasses deep. 

“Hi.” Timo murmurs to his wife from below. She bites her lip, tilting her head to the side as she looks at him. She sighs happily, blowing him a smooch with the tips of her fingers. 

My goodness, Emma Meier is in love with her life. If she had to pick it again, she would. Without hesitation, which is clearly her husband’s intention with the evening. 

She struts confidently over to the right, catching the twins at the top of the ramp.

“Let’s go back!” She encourages them, putting each of her hands in their little palms.

They march right next to her, exaggerating picking up their feet with their adorable movements. They babble to each other and the rest of their family as they move. Emma’s eyes meet Timo’s as she comes down. He looks almost… nervous? Emma can’t help but chuckle as she takes in the “Will you” papers being held be their two oldest children. Clearly Marry and Daddy? had different priorities in this moment. 

Timo watches her approach with soft, blue eyes. His hands are shoved into his pockets. Liv leans into his thigh, giggling as Lio exclaims that mama looks so beautiful. 

“Aren’t you just the sweetest! I’m so glad we made you!” Emma smiles, touching Lio’s shoulder as she greets her husband properly with a kiss. “It’s still a yes.” She tells him confidently. 

“For fuc..fudge sake, Em. Will you let me ask?” 

“Oh. So sorry.” She laughs around the hand she slaps over her mouth. “Yes, I’m listening. Go ahead.” She takes a slight step back, but laces their fingers together. Her huge wedding ring bumps against the inside of his palm as he takes a deep breath. 

“I’ve had 15 years since we met in Slovakia to come up with words for how I feel about you. But the truth is, I still don’t have ‘em. Because you, Emma, are truly indescribable. Have been since the moment I laid eyes on you in that cafe. The only thing I knew from that moment on was that I had to have you. Once was supposed to be enough.” He winks at her. “But I knew I was toast the second your lips hit mine.”

“Aw!” Liv howls out. “That’s so romantic!” 

“Life is so full with you, baby.” Timo continues at his wife while putting a hand on Liv’s head to keep her still and quiet as she hugs his leg tight. “You have given me everything in this world that matters to me. It’s been a life filled with many unexpected twists and turns, but there is no one else I would ever want to do this with. Even though its a complete risk because you know fully what it means to be married to me now.” He pauses to give her a grin. “I’m gonna ask again, to mark the start of the 15th year of us knowing and loving on each other.” He says it pointedly. Emma doesn’t disagree this time, making Timo grin brighter. 

Timo gets down on one knee. Emma loved the first proposal, knew it had to be the way that it was for their journey to move forward as a family of three, but this one is pretty damn great too. Emma glances over at their oldest, seeing unshed tears in his eyes. She pouts at him, then looks at her husband as he pops open a red box with a brand new, sparking set of diamond rings.

“I’ve gotta know, baby. Will you marry me? Again?”

“What do you think Lee? You were there last time too. Should I?” She asks, cupping his face as he rubs his tears off his cheeks. He nods whole heartily at her. Emma kisses his head, then moves over to Timo. She holds her husband’s cheeks in both of her hands, stroking his smooth skin with her thumbs. “Yes. A million yeses, babe.” She assures him, then kisses him as their children cheer. Timo smiles under her lips, then rises up, lifting her in the process. He is careful of their babies as he sways them back and forth together.

“Yay!!!!” Liv and Lio cheer excitedly. The twins yelp and cry, demanding to be let in on whatever magic their parents are currently experiencing. The older kids grab each of them, hugging together and spinning around in a circle until Liam stumbles over and begins to cry. Timo puts Emma down, then collects their crying baby in his arms. 

“That.” Emma murmurs, cupping the other babies into her body, giving them hugs.

“Hm?”

“That is what made me propose to you in the hospital. Watching you hold our baby.” Timo smiles, reaching to lace their fingers together. 

“I love you, Em. Eternally.”

“Forever.” Emma agrees, kissing his cheek, then his lips. “But for now, let’s get these babies some dinner.”

More Timo and Emma here.

[honey-floret]

(CW// talks about abuse, transphobia, hurt/comfort)

Log X11042555c Journal of Dr. Beatrice "Honey" Lewis

Honey glared into the mirror. But the image didn't change. The person looking back at her, was still a floret in all but collar. But it couldn't be her right? This woman looked content to be dressed in such cutesy, colourful clothes. This woman had a bit of that same blissed out look as all the other florets. She looked happy. But that couldn't be her right? It had to be some trick of the light or it wasn't a mirror and Alma was standing on the other side of a pane of glass, or... or...A vine pressed against her chin and she was forced to look up at the Affini behind her.

"No matter how hard you look Honey, you can't deny what you see in that mirror. The truth is right in front of you." Said Cybil

"But I can deny dammit! It can't possibly be me! I'm just... not that kind of person."

"Then what kind of person are you petal?"

"I'm serious.. I'm focused on my work. I....I... don't actually know okay? I don't actually know who I am! Is that what you want to hear?!" The human was practically on the verge of tears. Her hands squeezed the hem of her pyjama shirt tightly.

"Everything is okay Honey. Do you wish to talk about why you believe you're all serious, all work, all the time?"

"I guess..."

"Then why don't you and Alma climb up on my lap and you can talk about it?"

Cybil sat down cross legged on top of the bed and tapped on her legs. While Alma quickly jumped up, Honey took a second and slowly crawled over to Cybil and was lifted up and placed on affini's lap, vines wrapping around her body in a comforting way. Alma nuzzled in on Honey's side.

"Now then Honey, tell me why you said that you were just your work. There will be no judgement from either me or Alma. So please, speak your mind."

Honey sighed uncomfortably, "I feel like.. I'm just my work because that's all I've had to pull me through these.. well my whole life. I was always academically gifted, and my parents to put it lightly, 'encouraged' me to succeed. They didn't want me to stay in academia. They....," at this point little tears started streaking down Honey's face, "they told me that... they hated the fact I was trans and that they had to help pay for my transition, and that the least I could do was make something of myself. To pay them back for everything they had given me. That... that... everything I did wasn't good enough, and just even when I did succeed everything was taken away by others more ambitious, more cunning than I am. Every time I even thought about reaching out for help I was just beat down. I just couldn't trust anyone with anything I did. It had to be me. It was that old saying, a catch-22. There was nothing I could do to succeed, and just the absolute pressure from my family to succeed. So... I guess I compromised? I succeeded but not to the degrees requested of me. Because any time I made myself large there was always some larger scavenger ready to pounce and take it away..."

Alma squeezed the other human, "I'm so sorry Honey, I know you said something about this earlier..." the vines tightened slightly around Honey's chest. "The Accord really did just hurt us all."

"You are safe now petal, you don't need to continue hurting yourself because you're afraid of how other people will treat you. You don't need to continue being strong to just survive. Sometimes you need to be weak."

"Being weak scares me. I don't want to just get taken advantage of. Just in my experience nothing is free."

"And that's why you so cutely resisted against Ashli's help a year ago was it not? Why you still resist admitting to yourself that you need help? Because you don't believe that anyone would help you without a cost."

"I... fuck.." Honey felt Alma shiver at the word beside her, "I... umm... but.."

"But? It's so clear to everyone around you, that despite being slightly more functional, that you're not okay. That you need help. I know it's hard to feel weak, to feel out of control, but trust me when I say that I love you and if you surrender that control to me, you'll feel better. You already had a taste of what it's like to surrender your control and finally be free to be the happy little floret you were always meant to be. While maybe the thinking rational part of your brain hasn't been aware, there's a part of you that's just had the most wonderful time. My little Alma can attest to how much pure joy you experienced just letting go. Isn't that right my sweet little flower?"

A vine scritched under Alma's chin, and the floret made a small moan. "Yes Miss Cybil! Honey has just been having the best time with me! It was so much fun to be puppies with her!"

"Not half an hour ago Honey, you were so certain that all these things, all these parts of yourself you claim to take so much stock in, didn't belong to you. You didn't even recognize your previous self."

The Affini's words made a compelling argument, but why couldn't Honey just let go? What was the missing element... and then she thought of it, "I... you're right Cybil. You're right about all of it... it hurts me to just admit that. But, I think my aversion to becoming a floret is losing my mind, my ability to work on complex problems. My ability to just hyperfixate on my passions. I don't want to give up my position at the university. I don't to stop working with you. I..."

One of the vines holding Honey pressed against her lips in a hushing gesture. Honey fell silent.

"Why would I permanently take away what makes you happy petal? Why would I stop you from doing what you love?"

"Because you're an affini, and you want a controllable, docile pet.. my apologies Alma." Alma didn't say anything, instead she lightly bit Honey's arm.

"Whatever gave you that idea? You certainly weren't listening when I said that Affini want to make our florets the best version of themselves that they can be. The happiest version. So why would I take away something that makes you happy?"

"I... because the Accord would."

"You must know by now the Compact isn't the Accord."

"Yea," the human sighed deeply, "you're not. You defeated the Accord, brought it into your submission. But I just lived so long under that old system that I just couldn't see a way out. Even now, even when it's being offered to me."

Cybil picked up Honey off of her lap and placed the human in front of her. She held out one of her large hands.

"Well, my sweet, adorable, little researcher, I'm offering you right now a way out of all of your misery. All of your old bad thoughts, and behaviours. A chance to embrace your future; to be happy. I would love to be your Affini, and have you as my Floret."

Honey hesitated for a moment, what if this honestly was all just an elaborate trap? What if she was being manipulated? No, even if it was she couldn't just keep living the way she has for any longer. She couldn't just keep herself shut out from the rest of the world. She reached out her hand and placed it into the Affini's. "I... I... want that too."

Alma positively squeaked with joy.

-End Recording-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[regulus-books]

wc: 600+

warnings: none

notes: kinda hurt/comfort but not rly super angsty. also so so sorry for not continuing with jegulus microfics, i was super super busy, but ill probably start them up again soon:))

Regulus wakes up early in the morning, usually he sees James sleeping right beside him, but not today. In fact, James' whole side of the bed has gone completely cold.

Regulus furrows his eyebrows, and stands up. Maybe James has just gone on a run or something, that's normal.

Regulus makes breakfast and lunch for James, pushing it into the fridge with a little note that reads, “gone to work, i love you so much. also we're visiting your mum on sunday. hope you have a good day:) -reg”.

Regulus gets dressed as usual, kissing their dogs head on the way out the door. James had insisted on getting a puppy on their one year, he called her a symbolism of their love. She's a good sized golden retriever, named Sunny. Her fur is completely blonde with tiny little platinum streaks, she's always perfectly groomed, as Regulus cant stand the hair.

Regulus drives to work as normal, his black convertible making a purr sound.

Work is long and boring, and Regulus can't wait to go home. When he finally does get home, James' car is back in the lot, parked pristinely.

Regulus unbuckles and walks into the house, Sunny greeting him at the door. She jumps up, asking for head pats. "Hello, silly girl, how was your day?" He scratches behind her ears, "C'mon, hop on down, sweetheart, I don't want your fur all over my black suit. Where's daddy, hm?" Sunny runs alongside Regulus as he tracks into the house, the television is turned on quietly, but James isn't watching it.

Regulus ignores it, sometimes Sunny steps on the remote and accidentally turns it on. Regulus walks up the stairs, undoing his tie. "Jamie? I'm home, love." He runs his fingers through his hair, opening the door to their bedroom. And then there's James. Curled up in a ball on Regulus' side of the bed. "Love?" Regulus sits beside him, placing a hand on James' side.

James sniffles, then lets out a short sob, and now, Regulus is really concerned.

"Jamie, love, sit up. Talk to me, babe." Sunny jumps up on the bed and lays down next to Regulus. James turns to face Regulus, his nose is pink and tears streak his brown skin. "What's wrong?" Regulus rubs the outside of James' thigh, trying to provide some comfort.

"I'm sorry, Reg, you shouldn't have to come home to this," James covers his face with his hands, wiping away at his tears.

"Baby, it's not just my home, it's yours just as equally, cry all you need. Now, what's wrong."

"No, this is bullshit, Reg. You do everything around here. You work from 5 - 17, every single day, you cook, you clean and I do nothing. And here I am, laying in bed, crying and you just barely got home. I should be making dinner right now or something." James moves to get up, but Regulus places a firm hand on his leg, telling him not to.

"James, tell me what's wrong." He says, a little more strictly this time.

"I got rejected." He says, simply. "No one wants me," James laughs through his tears, "I've practiced only my whole life, I have the build, I have everything. They won't accept me." James has been signing up for quidditch teams for the past year, each one, he makes it to the final moments, but each time he's rejected. Regulus frowns and engulfs James in a tight hug.

"Baby, it's okay. They're fools for not wanting you." Regulus kisses the side of James' head softly.

Two months later him and Sunny are sitting on the family benches, watching James sore through the sky, they can barely see him passing the quaffle.

[addawithbalmiki]

me wasting my time at my office produced this

(...)

sasuke was never the golden child.

ten year old sasuke would have thrown pens at itachi at that realization. eighteen year old sasuke would have run away and gotten another tattoo in a haze of drunkenness.

twenty-eight year old sasuke makes a face at his cup of cold tea and continues checking his papers. dressed in a proper button-up with no tattoos peeking out, itachi is struck each time by the reality that his little brother is no longer the screaming child, annoyed by the lack of attention.

now, he has graduated to not giving itachi attention.

"otou-san was grim throughout the entire meeting, but my understanding is that he was positively bored. i expected more outrage." itachi sips his third cup of tea. "okaa-san, on the other hand... "

sasuke scowls. he circles one line with his red pen. itachi tries not to take offense at his little brother's distraction.

"i'm beginning to think you're bored of my visit."

"i am." sasuke doesn't even look up as he writes Check the book for once beside his angry red circle. "you are wasting my time here."

"i suppose you'd want to spend more time correcting people's poor attempts at getting dates right." itachi peers at the horrible handwriting. "i don't recall the heian period starting from my childhood."

sasuke pulls back the answer sheet. "kitsune is an idiot." itachi doesn't correct the obviously wrong name. "but he did better this time. and otou-san is indifferent because your decisions in life are always questionable. kisame is atrocious, but it's better than running away from home and joining a gang."

"a society." itachi takes the bait like every single time. it's a comforting pattern. "not unlike your sojourn with your wild friends."

sasuke keeps the marked paper beside him. his scowl becomes more prominent. be it ten, eighteen, twenty-eight - sasuke will never not look like the world has personally wronged him for the decisions he made.

brat, itachi thinks fondly. his appreciation for his brother's rebelling streak never manages to dwindle. itachi might have been the one who left everything and became a lawyer, but he still stayed. he still chose to align himself with the uchiha enterprises. sasuke left and between years of doing odd jobs and trudging through his history degree, he never looked back. as ambitious as sasuke is, he settled to become a high school history teacher with a laughably small salary.

itachi doesn't envy, but it's hard not to. dating kisame might be the most rebelling he has ever done. unlike sasuke, he's not half as brave. or reckless, as he likes to say.

"kisame's face reconstruction surgery is horrible. " sasuke says, blunt in the way he always is. "who the fuck wants to be a shark? "

"you don't understand an artist's soul."

"i don't need to. your choice is horrible." and then: "i'm giving kisame a mask that'll last him 10 years."

translation: i support your choice even though you can do better.

sasuke's kindness is sudden and tinged with so much roughness, it's hard to spot. softness doesn't become him despite his younger years. what would it take for the scowl to go away?

itachi smiles. "i'll give him your warm regards. he'll be happy to know you keep him in your thoughts. "

sasuke opens his mouth - undoubtedly to tear into itachi for his attempt at civility - when there's a knock.

"oh! i didn't know you had a guest. i'll come back later. " a feminine voice interrupts.

sasuke drops his papers on the table. he doesn't smile, but he doesn't need to. he does the closest approximation to beaming - his scowl disappears and his eyes glint like a well-fed cat's.

itachi turns his chair. by the doorway. a pretty pink-haired woman stands, her face sheepish. she has a white coat on.

"hello," itachi greets.

"hello! nice to meet you, " she greets back. a normal person. maybe sasuke isn't as rebellious as itachi thought him to be.

sasuke stands up from his chair. itachi peeks at his expression. if he didn't know his brother well, he wouldn't be able to pin down the slight redness in sasuke's ears.

"sakura," ignoring itachi's widening eyes at the informality, sasuke shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to look cool, "i didn't know you were available. "

the woman in question beams, the softness in her eyes giving away nothing and everything. "i dealt with the students. i wanted something other than mountains of snot. i detest flu season."

"you look tired. sit. " sasuke gestures to itachi's seat.

sakura eyes itachi worriedly. "um, i wouldn't want to impose-"

"-he's going now," sasuke interrupts.

"i am?"

"his boyfriend must be less upset with him now."

itachi stands up and leans forward.

"rude, otouto," he mutters. he shoots a smile at the worried woman and whispers. "a nurse? "

sasuke sniffs with disdain and pride. "a doctor. "

itachi shakes his head and exchanging a genuine smile with the pretty doctor, he heads out. picking out his phone, he calls his boyfriend.

"hello? " kisame asks, confused over itachi calling so early.

"i need the akatsuki to go through the records of a sakura at tokyo metropolitan asuka high school."

[myovergrowngarden]

Recurring Nightmare (a narrative prose poem by Stephanie Rose Hold, originally published by Fifth Wheel Press for their Dreamland Anthology)

I’ve been having the same nightmare every week since I realized I was transgender. I’m somewhere familiar, somewhere I’ve felt joy and safety in the past. A mall, the mountains, or more likely Disneyland. I’m wandering, looking for something. A new set of clothing, my friends, a quiet place to stop and rest. It doesn’t matter what I’m searching for, it’s always something arbitrary. What is significant is that I never find it. I don’t think I was meant to. Instead, I was only meant to want, to wander, to have a motive to be alone and vulnerable. Now that my mind has set the stage, the nightmare can begin. The final players make their way onto the proscenium. A mob of my old friends starts pouring onto the scene. They don’t approach like a band of marauders pillaging and crashing their way through crowds, nor like a dragon streaking through the sky and promising oblivion. I start to notice them slowly out of the corner of my eye. Old friends from my childhood who I fell out with over politics, old acquaintances from church who I began to bond with before I fell from grace. People who would only recognize me by a name I no longer speak.

The only thing worse than seeing them again is seeing the spark of something in their eyes. A flash of recognition, the familiarity of a feature or a habit through which they notice me. I quickly move away, averting my gaze and trying to fix my hair in case it looks too much like it used to. Of course I am followed. It would be naive to expect that I could get away so easily. They continue to pursue me no matter how many crowds I weave between, how many narrow pathways I duck through. They’re relentless in their pursuit, unafraid of any consequence so long as they can lock eyes with me and confirm their theories. I hear their voices calling a name. A name that should be mine in their understanding. I don’t respond, that isn’t me, that never was me. I keep moving, hoping that eventually they’ll stop searching for someone who only existed in their eyes. They don’t. I never reach freedom, it’s just hours of the chase until I run out of places to hide. Eventually, moments before I jolt awake, they catch me. Either they dart in front of me, force me to make eye contact, or I am pulled back as I feel their hands tighten on my shoulder. One way or another, night after night, I am forced to look them in the eyes and let them make their judgements.

They’re the same. No matter how much I’ve changed, no matter how differently I dress or carry myself, they’re unchanged. Maybe they’re taller, stronger, louder, but they’re the same. Their souls are perpetually immature even as their bodies grow to intimidating proportions. For as much as I want to criticize them for that, or sneer up at them with superiority knowing that I found a way to grow and see the world without the tinted glasses they’ve welded to their faces, I can’t. I can’t feel any confidence, or pride, or safety, because for as much as I think I’ve changed they recognized me. It doesn’t matter that I’ve become my own woman. It doesn’t matter that I’ve found my sense of style, my voice, my community. It doesn’t matter that I’m kinder, smarter, better than I was before. How could any of that matter, how could any of that be real if they recognized me so easily? In an instant I’m no longer a confident, grown woman who loves her life. I’m a fifteen year old boy who hates himself, the world, and everyone he knows, and he doesn’t know why. I’m a pathetic, immature shell built up to protect a girl who wasn’t ready to see the world, except this time there’s no one inside. It was all a lie, I’m a lie, I’m… asleep.

I wake up. I always do. It doesn’t take me long to adjust, to remember that I live in a new city in a new room decorated just how I like it. How I really like it. I curse myself knowing I’ve failed to conquer the fear of running into them again, as if they’d be able to drag me back to an ancient way of thinking with so much as a look of disapproval. Even if I am back in the real world, that nightmare walks with me every day. I avoid the places we used to hang out, I’m cautious where I make my identity known, and who I’m with when I do it. I look over my shoulder and stick close to the ones I trust every time I dare to leave the house in my favorite dress. The day that I see them again, the day that these fears are validated hasn’t come. If I’ve crossed paths with them, they didn’t recognize me and I didn’t recognize them. I hear stories about them, I know they haven’t changed much. With enough time and distance from my dreams I allow myself to believe that I have. I am a better and happier person than I was growing up, I’m a woman fully realized with room to grow and shift. For a few days, I’m myself. Until I have the nightmare again, and like so many things in my life, the performance starts again from the first line.

[imagineanime2022]

She's A Gamble

Ciel Phantomhive X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 882

Requested: Anon

Request: If it’s okay, can I request Ciel with a fem!s/o who’s like Celestia Ludenburg from Danganronpa? If you don’t know who that is I’ll give a brief description. S/o is really good at gambling, like she has never lost a match, really intelligent, dresses in a gothic Lolita like style, lies a lot to get her way and she get really scary when she’s angry.

AN: Ciel is aged up for this, I know canonically he went to a lot of seedy places but we’re just going to age him up for the themes and romance.

Ciel met you when he was investigating something for the Queen, you had caught his eye as the only woman in the place and seemingly the most sort out gambling opponent and in some cases ally. You were dressed in a gothic lolitia style dress, it was black with the pastel purples accented lace and accessories, honestly from Sebastian’s point of view you matched the young master perfectly and that was only proven more right with you sharp tongue and you ability to turn any situation into a winning one.

You glanced at the queen's guard dog as he walked into the small underground gambling ring. “Don’t get distracted sweetheart.” One of the men on your right spoke and you looked at him and rolled your eyes. “I’m not distracted.” You answered, putting your cards on the table and effectively ending the game, you gathered the winning that you had acquired but before you could move away from the table the man grabbed your arm, you glanced down at the harsh grip around your wrist. “Sebastian.” You vaguely heard across the room before a shadow loomed over you but you looked up at the tall butler and smiled. “Please sir, go back to guarding your master. I can handle this thug.” The smile on your face was sweet, almost sickeningly so, you were almost unnerving to the others around, the man in front of you that you later learned was Sebastian bowed in response and stepped back, though he still remained close in case you needed help. You easily twisted your arm out of his grip and slammed the man's face into the table. “I’ve been attending these underground meetings for as long as I can remember so I suggest you think before you attack me next time, your status does not protect you down here.” “You’ve been here before?” Ciel asked as you walked past him. “Ciel Phantomhive.” You smiled, you were trying to be friendly it would seem but Ciel had been lied to before. “You know my name?” He asked. “Everyone knows the name of the best bachelor in town, you know after you and Elizebeth parted ways, every eligible bride had your name in their mouth and all of their father’s ended up here.” You explained. “I told you young master you are somewhat sought after.” Sebastain said from his place behind him. “You’ll do.” Ciel finally said and you looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “For what?” You asked, leaning towards him. “I intend to destroy this place by order of the queen, you are going to help me do it.” He said and you looked at him and smirked. “As you wish.” You nodded. “Your name?” Ciel asked. “I’m sure you already know that.” You said as you disappeared into the crowd to continue your winning streak.

Years later and the ring was shut down but you hadn’t left Ciel’s life in fact he offered you shelter in his home after realising that you didn’t have anywhere else to go. He noticed that if you were good at talking, should you find yourself in a situation that could ruin his reputation or that of someone close to the family, you could talk your way out of the problem and even sometimes flip the blame. People just assumed that you were a couple considering he would usually take you to events, dance with you or use you to redirect attention.

Before you knew it you were acting like a couple without having made it official so one day after Sebatian had brought Ciel his tea you decided to go and see him. “Ciel.” You called as you opened the door, the other servants had nearly had a heart attack when they realised how informally you addressed the young master. “(Y/N) what are you doing up here?” He asked. “I wanted to ask you something.” You said closing the door as you walked towards the desk, he had the tea Sebastian had brought him in his hand. “Yes?” He urged you to continue. “Well I wanted to ask you about how long you planned to string me along.” You said, you had decided on the way up that you needed to be more direct otherwise he just wouldn’t understand what you were saying but by the way that his cheeks heated up you might have been too direct. “Excuse me?” He asked. “”Well you treat me like someone you are courting and yet you haven’t asked me for permission.” You smiled as you walked around the back of the table to stand in front of his chair which had been side facing the whole time. “Any reason for that?” “I was unaware that was how you felt.” He said after a moment of thinking “do you want an official courting?” “Do you remember what I called you when you first met me?” You asked as you leaned forward, hands on either arm rest effectively caging him in as your face got closer to him “who wouldn’t want that, my love?” You leaned forward pressing a quick kiss to his lips before standing up and leaving “I’ll be waiting for your official proposal.” Ciel didn’t say anything he just watched as you left through his office door.

Request Here!!

[hanahaki-disease]

Haven’t I Given Enough?

A Hermit! Tommy HC x DSMP xover

Chapter 14 | “How do you owe the World? How do you own Disorder?”

Summary: Tommy doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, to have someone fight for him, but at what cost? Lines had begun to be drawn in the sand by people he barely even knew.

Word count: 2718

Fic notes: Title is from “Toxicity” by System of a Down’s

*****************************************

“What now?” Tommy asked as they stepped outside the residential tower of Pearl’s base. Beneath his foot, the gravel crunched with every step and the smell of fresh flowers dotted the place eased his nerves. It was a lot of information to learn in a short period, not including learning that his mother was alive or that his uncle and mother were watchers. Tommy felt like he needed time to process everything. To fully grasp the severity of his mother’s past and to try and predict any possible bad endings this world could come to. “Where do we go from here?”

“We go one day at a time,” Pearl answered from beside him, in her hands, she had a small bag of wildflower seeds. Now and then, she would take a bit out of the bag and scatter them along the mossy grass surrounding them, carefully picking the spots she thought could use a bit more detail. “I don’t expect you to act a certain way around me, nor do I expect any form of affection just yet. We’re going at your pace Tommy, don’t think you need to rush things if they make you uncomfortable.” Tommy felt his mother tousled his hair a bit. “I am perfectly fine just talking to you if that’s what you wish.”

Tommy gave a silent nod as they continued the tour of the base. It was incredible, he thought. Everything here was a strange and beautiful kind of foreign that he didn’t understand. Plants that never existed outside the Hermitcraft server sprang to life whenever they got near, some opened their petals from above them, letting their spores float around them and taking root in the ground. If someone had told him that this place was an alien settlement from Jupiter, Tommy would believe it, because it’s pretty hard to believe that his mother was the one to make all of this.

Across the cavern, a shimmering castle of sorts stood high atop the hill. The spires reached into the sky, leaving streaks in the clouds, and the foundations dug into the earth below it. Polished quartz glinted and the prismarine twinkled multicolored in the sun, giving the castle an ethereal kind of vibe. It was beautiful. Right below the castle was a kind of intimidating stronghold of deepslate and Blackstone, the copper brought his attention to the gate at the front.

“That is my friend Impulse’s base,” Pearl said and led him down the winding paths to the matching copper and Blackstone bridge that connected the two sides of the gorge. “He’s doing a whole dwarf thing this season and he’s taking on an ambitious project of excavating the mountain on the inside.”

“It’s not as ambitious as rebuilding a whole new biome from scratch,” Tommy nearly jumped at the sudden voice. Behind him was an average-sized man, a bit on the heavier side but he made it work, dressed in shades of black, dark brown, and yellow. His smile was easy to see in the carefully tended beard that jingled from all his little gold accessories braided in. “Hi, I’m Impulse, you must be Tommy, right? I met up with Scar earlier and he told me about you.”

Tommy shook the dwarf’s hand and gazed in wonder at the tour of the base. “I’m still working on the ceiling, the stone and dirt and stuff are coming down soon, but before that, I need to finish the hole.” Below the center platform, an almost empty hole stretched far into the earth. How long had this taken him? It couldn’t have been years, Tommy thinks, they move every other year or so. “This vine right here takes you up to Gem’s base, I’m also working on a better way to her pace that isn’t crimson vines.”

“Pearl! Pearl!” Flying in from the open gate, a woman–petite and thin with large branching antlers atop her head–stumbled onto the platform out of breath and worried. “I think there are some hermits who think Tommy is a glitched player! We need to talk to Xisuma or something.”

“What?” Tommy looked at the mystery lady.

“I overheard Jevin talk about a meeting to discuss what to do about Tommy,” She looked between the Impulse and Pearl. “We need to do something, gather everyone who knows about you and see if there’s a way to explain the truth to them.”

“We need to tell Doc then,” Tommy spoke up. “I don’t think going to the admin would help, something tells me he’s pretty upset about the lies Uncle G kept from him.” The three adults looked at the teen, each one agreeing with him. “I don’t have a communicator, so one of you is gonna have to tell him.”

Tommy knew that peace wasn’t going to last forever, he of all people should know that, but he didn’t know that trouble had already caught up with him. It wasn’t even an hour ago that he and his mother reunited, and here he was, standing once again in the middle of a potential war. He hopes that no one dies because of him.

–

From the bottom of the perimeter, the rest of the world faded from sight, only the large, imposing walls of the giant square-shaped hole could be seen. The bedrock beneath his feet was cold, even with his shoes on. Tommy could feel the never-ending cold from the void, rippling through the immovable blocks, as if it was trying to break it and swallow him whole. Around him, the walls faded into the familiar white blur that happens when things get too far to see, letting him know how big the giant hole was.

They had chosen the bottom of the perimeter to meet up for a few reasons. One, if they built a secret meeting room in one of the walls, it’d be impossible to see unless you were intentionally looking for it. Two, if they were to stand in the middle, those who were flying above or standing on the edges couldn’t hear them. And three, the Perimeter would be the last place people would look if there was a meeting of some kind.

Tommy looked around at the small group that gathered, each of them was there to protect him, to keep him safe from those they considered friends and family. On a small stage were Doc, Xisuma, Grian, and his mother. The admin wore a different helmet than the other one he’s seen, it was more like a face mask than a helmet. The sides stretched to only the edge of his face where two thick bands wrapped around the back of his head, securing it in place. He seemed tense, Tommy thought, a stark difference from the easy-going, and calm admin he’d come to know. (He’s still wary of him, no matter how comfortable he allows himself to be with him.)

Among the small crowd were the other two “Soup Group” members, as his mother called the trio, Impulse and the ginger woman–whom Tommy now knows her name as Gem. Iskall, Scar, and Stress stood to the left of him. Iskall’s arms were crossed as he listened intently to what the admin and Doc were talking about, Scar held a pen and notebook in his hands, taking down notes he deemed important. And though Tommy wasn’t the best when it came to literature, some words were misspelled and dotted in the paragraphs now and then. Stress kept her hand on his back, rubbing circles in the hopes that it would calm Tommy down. And it was working, but the looming anxiety returned when she stopped and paid attention to Xisuma.

There were even people there that Tommy hadn’t met, but were willing to protect him. One guy was tall, not as tall as Xisuma or Doc, but he still had some height to him. His hair was a pristine shade of white with some bits of light gray dotted in, a navy-colored mask covered the lower half of his face as he listened intently to what Grian was saying. Sometimes he would lower his head and whisper something to the guy next to him. The other man was shorter than the first, but so were a lot of people compared to Stretch, Tommy thought. He wore a green fuzzy cloak that bunched at the floor as if it was too long for him, it wrapped around him and just barely covered the white shirt and dark jeans underneath.

A total of ten people showed up to the meeting. Twelve people were willing to hurt their family if things went bad for a kid they barely knew.

“Unfortunately, we don’t know how many people are a part of them,” Doc said. “We know for sure that Cub and Wels are the ones who started it, how they found out about Tommy, we still don’t know, but we know that they think Tommy is a glitched player. We must assume that they’ll do anything to get him off the server.”

“By ‘do anything’ what are you implying Doc?” The white-haired guy spoke up. “Are you saying that Wels would kill the kid to keep us safe? Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh for both the kid and Wels?”

“Wels would because of how he lost his home world,” Grian answered. “I was there when it happened. A glitched player caused the downfall of his world and he almost died with it. Wels wouldn’t want Hermitcraft to end the same way, and so he’d do whatever he thinks is best to protect us.”

Tommy looked around at the group, how could they all be ready to fight for him? What did the admin promise them upon their victory? Wars had been started for less than what he was worth, Tommy knows that for sure, but what was the gain they would have? It confused the poor kid.

Most of his life had been filled with fighting against an enemy whose values and morals were vastly different than his, and usually, that was enough to justify the fight. Their ideas and promises had fallen through and Tommy was caught on the short end of the stick, forced to pick a side and lead troops against the other side. But here, where the whole server was a family, and corruption between them hadn’t torn them apart, Tommy was placed on one side and forced to fight. To fight for himself. (Which he doesn’t think is a good reason to fight.)

“So what’s the plan?” Iskall asked. It seemed like that was the only question left unanswered in the impromptu meeting of Tommy-Protection-Squad. “Do we wait for them to figure out where Tommy is and fight or?”

Xisuma shook his head, “We need to find out how many people believe in Wels and Cub’s agenda, from there we try to make peace with them by introducing Tommy to them. Hopefully, like that, they’ll see that Tommy isn’t a threat.”

“Hey! I can be a threat if I want to!” Tommy pointed at the admin. “And what if that doesn’t work and they try to kill me, eh? What then?”

“Then we fight,” He answered. “You’re a hermit now Tommy, and hermits protect each other. But as of right now, Tommy cannot be left unattended in case they try to hurt him. I have given you all schedules for when it’s your turn to be with Tommy.” Beside the teen, Stress pulled out her paper, names and times were written in order from breakfast to bedtime. His short time of freedom had come to an end. “I’m sorry that you can’t continue to work on your bases for extended periods now, but just think of this as a way to meet our newest hermit!”

The others around him chuckled and sent amusing glances toward him before they took off in different directions; which left Tommy feeling as if he was nothing but a toy being passed around in school. He understood that it was the best way to keep him safe, to make sure the hermits who wanted to hurt him didn’t get a chance, yet he couldn’t help feeling hurt that Xisuma didn’t ask him if it was alright.

He hadn’t known the admin for long, still wary of him especially now that tensions were high between him and Grian, as well as whatever happened with his helmet to make him use a mask instead. But Tommy believed that Xisuma was a better admin than Dream had been. So far the man had yet to ask him for favors, hadn’t yet asked him to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, but there was still something about him that made Tommy shift in place when he glanced at Grian before he took off.

“Come on, Toms,” Grian hopped off the miniature stage and walked up to him, Pearl beside him. “It seems I have the first watch, you pick where we go.”

“We’re going to church prime.” Nodding his head, Grian grabbed Tommy’s hands and flew him up to the closest nether portal, hoping no one was on the other side when they went through.

–

The sun had begun to set behind them when they left the portal at Stress’s base. Nothing had changed much from when Tommy took up residence in her base, the chest monster was the same as it had been. Shulkers scattered the stone and andesite floors, items left hanging out of the chest and in piles around the wall of storage. Grass had begun to creep its way into the castle, small darts of green cracking through the gray like spiderwebs.

“Stress said you came here through her pond,” Grian asked. The two hadn’t spoken since they left Doc’s perimeter, finding silence better for their awkwardness.

“Yeah,” Tommy led him to it, the two-block deep water feature was as unassuming as ever. Small rocks lined the edges and kept most of the water in the pond and mobs from falling in, at the other end was a little waterfall that trickled softly into the larger body. Little fish took their time to bob and weave through the decorational–and mostly functional–plants that dotted the small area. “Apparently, I had spawned inside the dirt blocks at the bottom of the pond and was drowning when she and Iskall came to help. When they tried to pull me out, they said that there were like magic claws that were trying to pull me back.”

“Magic claws?” Grian stepped closer to the pond. The shorter blond man could feel the lingering magic that had transported Tommy from his other server, it was a cold magic, one he knew all too well. “Whoever did this was a watcher and they did this for a reason.”

“How can you tell?” Tommy asked.

“The magic used here was used by watchers of Lady Death, their magic has like a special signature to them,” Grian explained. “It’s different than Lady Irene’s just slightly, but enough to differentiate the two. But the bigger questions are who and why?”

“Which reminds me!” Tommy pointed to his uncle. “You have some explaining to do! Mum already told me her story, and now I want to know yours, bitch! I have a right to know.”

Sighing, Grian dusted off his pants before looking at his nephew. “Alright. Let’s go inside somewhere before the mobs start spawning.”

*****************************************

Ok listen…in my defense, I just kept writing and I forgot to actually publish what I was writing. Buuuut on the bright side I have a few chapters already lined up and ready to go, I might upload those soon but who knows!

Thank you so much for reading! Critique and comments are welcome!

Masterlist | Prev | Next

[ill-caterpillar-7616]

My life is falling apart and I’m so close to a relapse

My marriage is crumbling due to my own mental health and lack of affection. I feel as though I’m failing my kid at every turn, even when everyone keeps saying I’m doing well or telling me how smart and well-behaved he is. I’ve had to move 2 hours away from my husband and toddler to my mom’s house as my grandmother is now needing 24/7 care probably until she passes (expected within a year but who fucking knows) since no one else in the family can or will be bothered by their own mother dying. An ACTUAL live in caregiver wouldn’t be covered by insurance and would be too expensive. My kid is going to have to live like we have split custody. I feel as though I have barely any true emotional support as my husband is struggling with his own battles that I’m trying so hard to fix/ help with since they’re mostly my fault. My friends are all long-distant or online, and I’m not REALLY that close to any of them at this point in my life. My mother is juggling her job, finances, her mother’s health, her mother’s impending death, another mouth to feed as I can’t bring much monetary assistance to the house, and so much more so it fucking seems like I can’t seem to even ask her to take my kid for 5 minutes after a LONG day, not only doing my duties to my kid and grandmother, but helping my own mother outside even though I have chronic joint pain and a fatigue condition that left me feeling like I was going to collapse from exhaustion, pain, and lack of oxygen by the time I finally pushed my body back inside. SHE WOULDNT EVEN LET ME GET THE QUESTION OUT OF MY MOUTH!! I had been struggling to get him to go to bed for over 30 minutes and I just needed a moment (we do NOT do the cry it out in this household). All I said was”Moma,-“ and it’s all “no, it’s not happening, I have to be up early,” as if I’m not having to ALSO wake up early to get my grandmother dressed, fed, taken to the bathroom, and received her toe fungal meds alongside the other laundry list of medications before she needs to be out the door at 8:30 in the morning

Now, I am aware of my responsibilities as a parent and that as I have MY child, he is MY responsibility, and I don’t want to push him off to other people who have enough on their plate, but to ask for 2 seconds of help from my own mother and to be shot down so quickly and (IMO) cruelly, fucking hurt. I’m taking care of her mother and so far, for just the price of a vape (I’m trying to quit. Also I don’t expect monetary return on help I’m just adding it in I guess. Idk at this point). I have a whole life and family that is falling apart but I know I’m the only option here. My siblings either work or are out of state. My aunts and uncles either have work (which some have the ability to still help even then), their own elderly to care for, or my favorite, care more about their weird church’s “volunteer work” or mowingg their lawn more than coming to help or even fucking visit. Like. Who fuxkin does that?!??!?

So with all of that info… I battled with an addiction to self harm for over 7 years. I’m riddled with scars on my body but I have been 4 years clean as of so far. However, with everything going on, it’s becoming harder and harder to push the thoughts away and think on the things that usually help me get away from those urges/temptations. I hate it because my husband and our baby have been the pillars to my continued clean streak/sobriety(?) and with everything falling apart as it is right now… I don’t know how much longer I can hold on to my sanity if I’m being honest. I have to cancel and put a rain check on both my therapy that I JUST FUCKING STARTED and my psychiatrist appointment (I hope I can just call him and let him know the dosage is fine). It’s all just a big fucking mess.

Im sorry. I know there are many details missing to all of this but it’s not for advice… I just needed to get it off my chest. I can’t tell anyone else. Can’t worry those who are my closest circle bc EVERYONE is dealing with something right now and my BS just …no.

[martianbugsbunny]

My North Star (A CaptainCroc Fic)

Hello, friendly friends, I’ve written a one-shot CaptainCroc vow renewal. The only context you need is that they were first married those hundreds of years ago. Actually, that’s kinda mentioned in the fic, so just read it and have fun! 🫰😊👍

Hook couldn’t help staring at the man before him. The early evening light fell on him just so, lighting the streaks of both gold and silver in his mousy brown hair, giving peculiar clarity to the darker brown of his eyes.

Of course, it was more than just a regular day, so he was probably looking through rose-colored lenses. Which was not to say that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t always handsome, to Hook; it was just that they were renewing their vows, and seeing the love on Rumple’s face without any obscurant, for once, was rare. It lit him up in a special way.

Their wedding had been centuries ago, in a small, dirty building with straw on the floor and grimy windows. Since being reunited, after the Dark Curse was broken, Hook had wanted to have a ceremony in a beautiful place, as he thought they both deserved after all the pain their marriage had been through. So here they were, outside, in a stunning forest clearing, the air crisp and the trees bright green. It was everything they hadn’t had before. It was everything Hook had wanted it to be.

His eyes wandered about Rumple’s figure as he spoke his vows. He was wearing a coat with a wide skirt, made of a soft, deep blue velvet and embroidered with silver stars. The moon was stitched in right over his heart. He was rather dashing.

Finally it was Hook’s turn to say his vows. He took Rumple’s left hand in his right, pressing his fingers against the old band of gold on his ring finger. “For most of my life, you’ve been my guiding light,” he said. “Wherever you led, I followed. Whatever I did, I did with you in mind. Even if you went astray, I chased after you, and I’ve loved every moment of it.”

He could see the tears forming in Rumple’s eyes. He was such a romantic. And he rarely felt loved, which Hook would make certain changed now that he was back in Rumple’s life. “I am a seafaring man,” he continued. “The stars are what lead me to my next port. I’ve spent more hours than I can count staring at the night sky. But you, Rumplestiltskin...you are the North Star for my heart. I have spent more days than I can count watching you, and I will spend many more in the coming years. Where your heart leads, mine will follow, and you will want for nothing.”

Their lives had been twisted and turned so many times, by fate, by themselves—by each other. But everything that took him away from Rumple had been temporary, and everything that gave him back was worth it. “I love you, and I treasure you above all else,” Hook said. “And so long as there is breath in my body, we will not be parted again.”

It was moments later the ceremony was finished, with a rather enthusiastic kiss. Hook was already starting to think maybe they ought to do it again after the next three centuries, should they live so long. Maybe three decades would do.

Rumple did look splendid in his finery, but if Hook was to be honest, he preferred the scene of Rumple in his pajamas later that night. He had adored that sight since Rumple was dressed in simple woolen fabric, curled up in the captain’s cabin with a content smile on his face. He would adore Rumple in his silk pajamas, stretched out the four-poster in his own bedroom, until the day he died.

“My true North,” Hook whispered, climbing into bed beside him. He leaned over and kissed Rumple’s forehead.

“Was this day everything you’d hoped?” Rumple asked, settling against Hook’s chest.

Hook didn’t even need a moment to think. He’d finally gotten the chance to tell his husband how deeply in love he still was, how much he cared, and he’d gotten to provide for Rumple the fine day he’d believed Rumple deserved since their first wedding. He didn’t hope for or long for anything else. “That and more,” he replied, closing his eyes. “Today...like you...was everything I desired.”

[cookingwithroxy]

"Honestly, I'm rather surprised you were able to track me down." The regal woman said from her throne-like chair, brushing back red hair that shifted to gold, that shifted to brown, that slid into pure black. "I mean, you had the one slight advantage over everyone else in this city, to know that You and I are very seperate people. I do say 'slight' advantage," She continued so casually, her own frame easing down from the exaggerated curves of her guest, to something slight and only vaguely feminine, making 'her' seem gaunt in the moment. "After all, they do call me 'Copycat' for a reason. People should have suspected that if they 'knew' who I really was, then they were dead wrong. And yet..."

The androgynous figure let it trail off, considering the woman on the other side of the desk. Poised and calm, even now, the faintest touch of a smile on crimson lips. There was something about her that had seemed so... perfect. A lovely disguise, because she seemed built to be a supervillain. It was a shame she was only some club owner, looks like that were potential squandered in the capes and cowls set.

Copycat would have killed to look like that naturally. And all things considered, they would kill to get that look every day. Oh, it might mess up the present scheme, but to be able to fill in that life...

"I should ask HOW you found me, Miss Dream, because it is important that I cut off loose ends. But I suspect you'd rather not share. Because we both know that this night will not end well for you..."

The woman laughed, a cold and humorless laugh, brushing that red hair out of her eyes to gaze at her 'captor'. She wasn't bound, but the pair of men standing beside her chair, the guns in their hands? Told everyone that she wasn't free to do as she saw fit.

"Yesss... I do suppose you're right. This whole year hasn't gone that well for me. Someone walking around, wearing my face as they commit crimes, always there when I'm busy with something else? It's been quite bad for me, every day. Once is an accident, twice can be chance... but it wasn't just twice, was it?"

The men flanking Sylvia Dream chuckled, which only made the gothically dressed club owner frown all the more, letting her eyes glance from one to the other.

"But if you want to know how I found you, that's easy enough. I have people keeping an eye on what warehouses are being rented, that's all. Someone new coming in, moving stolen goods through back channels, those things one keeps an eye on-"

"What, you're telling me that bar owners keep an eye on the black market?" Copycat said with a laugh, their goons chuckling along with the dark humor of the moment. "I'm sure you want to sound big and important, but let's be serious here dear. A civilian like you won't have a hand in something like ME."

Despite it all, the leveled threats and the amusement of her captors, all that drew out of the redhead was a deep sigh, one hand coming up again to cover her eyes. "You know, I wish I could say 'in my day, we didn't do things like this.' But that would really be a lie. So many were just like this, smug and self-important, waving death like it was a casual thing. This is why I got out, you see. Every time I had to deal with someone like you, I just had the building need to…"

The trio were growing less and less amused by the word, glaring at this woman, failing to give them the reaction they expected. The tension rose further as she again brushed her hair back out of her eyes, and more that the crimson was now touched with wide streaks of black.

Copycat froze at the sudden sound of grunts out of the guards, their men stuck still as the guns clattered out of their hands. Whatever had hit them, it wasn't apparent from the angle. All Copycat could see was the sudden jerking of their frames, the spray of crimson escaping...

No, not a spray. Oh, the blood dripped from those wounds, but it wasn't gushing from a pumping heart, it was flowing out over the sudden, twisted, jagged 'limbs' that suddenly had pushed their way out of the two men's bodies. Like crazed withered trees, coated in gore, holding those two up like limp puppets on tangled strings.

And the woman, Sylvia, she didn't look quite right anymore. There was that darkness around her eyes now, almost like a mask and...

"To just kill the young idiots who keep BOTHERING me with their theatrics. I'm rather sorry, darling, but you REALLY should have picked someone else to drag into your problems." 'Sylvia' stated as she rose from the seat, tapping one barren 'barb' that came out from a loyal man's eye, and Copycat watched with deepening shock as it twisted itself into a rose of blood for this stranger to pluck.

"Because in my day, people understood. You don't want the Gentleman Mage giving you her full attention. And you, little Copycat. You have every last bit of attention I have to give. Now then. Let's begin."

Due to a series of “unfortunate” accidents, everyone in the city believes you are the secret identity of an up and coming supervillain. In truth you are a retired supervillain who faked their death years ago and now this upstart is going to get a taste of what true supervillainy looks like.

[sweetcreme]

In highschool I had a reoccurring dream every night for over a month, in the dream I woke in a small sun soaked house in a city I had never heard of and shared with a woman I simply called "Mine".

After going about a day consisting of some chores and gardening between periods of writing about insect reintroduction, Mine and I went to bed, and I woke up tired and alone.

Over the nights the dreams stretched in length, each dream lasted days, or weeks in that city, New Seaport(?) I learned that I worked for an Environmental restoration charity and that technology had advanced and then regressed in this place in a desperate attempt to stave off the climate collapse that was being lived through. In my waking life I was an egg, not even questioning yet, but In the dreams I was clearly some form of gender non conforming. As the dreams continued in their deeply intricate and realistic world, and as I spent weeks of full, lived days in each dream before waking for one tired day to pass in a half forgotten blur I started to question reality.

The last dream I had of that place lasted almost 3 months and ended not when I went to sleep like all the previous dreams, but when I died, a car crash caused the bus I was taking home after a tiring summer day reviewing groundwater filtration systems to flip onto it's side, and I spent almost an hour with my face pressed against hot asphalt and broken safety glass feeling sensation slip from my legs and smelling blood, piss and diesel. I woke up to the cold of an early spring morning, my face streaked with tears and throat raw from crying and I had to get dressed and go to school despite not remembering a thing from yesterday's lessons.

The memory of those dreams took years to fade and I never dreamed of that place and those people again, but my tastes in food and clothes still reflect the me of those dreams more so than the me from before them.

TLDR, dreams are weird, and things like not being able to read or sleep in them is more of a general guideline than a strict rule.

[msimmons-writing]

Women's Bodily Autonomy < Men’s Comfort

Us women are done being exploited by dress codes. All women have experienced the unfair treatment of being told what they’re wearing is not appropriate. That it’s too distracting to other people, or that they’re not wearing proper attire for their body shape. Dress codes are sexist, they promote body shaming, and they sexualize women. I encourage you to fight with me to make dress codes fair to all genders.

I have been dress-coded more times than I can count. My body developed at a very early age, and I’ve been chastised for it ever since. I was berated for distracting the male students and teachers. Apparently, I didn’t dress properly for my body type. Some of my teachers went as far as telling me that I looked like a slut. Shirts made for girls my age didn’t typically accommodate breasts of my size. Shorts, skirts, and dresses weren’t made for a girl like me with six inches of extra leg. Despite the eating disorder that my teacher’s criticism caused, I couldn’t change my body type to their liking. I also couldn’t fix the fact that clothing didn’t fit me like it did the other girls. Regardless, I was still punished for looking the way I did. I can say with certainty that my story isn’t just my own, and many other women share it.

                Women are constantly getting into trouble for dress code violations that men would never have to face. Growing up in sunny California I frequently saw my male classmates wearing bro tanks which sometimes showed off their nipples. Us women gravitated towards spaghetti straps and other thin-strapped tank tops. I can’t remember a single instance in which a male student was dress-coded for this, but you bet us women were dress-coded every time. If our straps weren’t two fingers wide, we were forced to wear an ugly and stinky P.E. shirt. To reiterate: all to keep the men distraction-free! Women are being told that their bodies are a distraction for men. Essentially, we’re being told that men’s comfort is more important than our own. Dress codes enforce that a woman’s education and career are less important than those of a man. We are being taught that we need to change our comfort because some men can’t control their impulses. If that isn’t sexism, then I don’t know what is.

                In middle school, I was dubbed the dress code queen, which is a fancy way of saying I had the most dress code violations. There were days I would wear the exact same thing as another student, but I was the only one dress-coded. I had a teacher tell me, “This is my first dress code in my 20 years of teaching.” Wow, glad to know my body is so outrageously offensive to you that you would break such an impressive streak. I still wonder what she was trying to accomplish with that statement because if it was to make me feel ashamed of myself, you go girl, you did it! The dress code violations have followed me into adult life as well. A year ago, I wore a pair of shorts to work that went well past my butt, and I was told I was too inappropriate for work. My ex-employers dress code said that shorts have to cover three-fourths of the thigh; on the average woman that’s where those shorts sit. I was not allowed to wear the same shorts as the average woman, because my legs are longer. I was being told my legs were different, and therefore too inappropriate to show.

                In my school days, I was often told I looked too sexual to continue to wear my own clothes. Teachers were saying this to me, adult teachers saying this to a 12-year-old! The repulsive act of a teacher trying to determine if a child looks too sexual for school turns that learner into a sexual object. Let’s not forget the obligatory, “you’re distracting the male students, and male teachers” which teaches girls it’s their fault they’re being sexualized. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve been told that I was asking for something because of the way I dress; even by other women. A female friend of mine told me that my choice in clothing reflected how little self-respect I had and if I didn’t respect myself, then no man ever would. I was taught to believe that it was my fault that men made unwanted advances. It was my fault that adult men would be attracted to me, as a teenager, and I was to blame for them disobeying their moral code of not hooking up with minors.

                School districts and human resource departments can help us make a lasting change in dress codes. Schools and workplaces need to institute a dress code that will prevent sexism, the promotion of body shaming, and the sexualization of women. I believe the right dress code to adopt is the one that the Oregon National Organization for Women (NOW) created. Oregon NOW Model Student Dress Code (2016) holds the basic principle that “Clothes must be worn in a way such that genitals, buttocks, nipples are covered with opaque material. Cleavage should not have coverage.”

                Some people won’t want to change the dress code rules, because they don’t like to see a certain body type. A year ago, I was talking to a faculty member of my old high school about this issue, and they corroborated that many teachers in our district felt this way. Through their daily supervision of the student body, they observed that only girls who were overweight or deemed unattractive were given dress code violations.

                Together we can fight to change what dress codes say about us. The first step to change is understanding that sexist dress codes body shame and sexualize women. I urge you to lobby your school and work to adopt Oregon NOW’s dress code model. Protesting is a great tool for us, as it shows that we’re serious and won’t back down until we get what we want. The most important thing we can do is stand up for the women who are unjustly dress coded. The only way we win is if we fight together. With the ratification of a new dress code standard, we will be empowering women for years to come.

Oregon National Organization for Women. Model Student Dress Code. Oregon, Feb. 2016 http://noworegon.org/issues/model-student-dress-code/ PDF of dress code is at the bottom of the page and is the first link under “Additional Readings”