#the important thing is that the thing they reach for isn't smoke and mirrors but it is akin to catching ghosts

[pasdetrois]

i love collecting dreamer characters, especially when they take sentiments like "the law of gravity is tragically incompatible with dream-catching" as an idea to be defied. just one of the archetypes of all time to me

[hippiegoth97]

Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story Pt. 38

Collage by me :)

Master List

Part 37

Tag List: @keikoraven @ar-jupiter @alcielo1438 @cairro-xx @stolen-in-moonlight

@micheledawn1975 @janiejenn @rafeyscurtainbangs @melodymunson @spacedoutdaydreamer

@veemoon @sariahs-stuff @feral-pumpkin-energy @comeonatmebruh @munsoneightysixx

@morgthemagpie @josephquinnsfreckles @jenniquinn @userchai @cometzombie

@spookybabey @daggerdaggerkitten @nina6708 @sanctumdemunson @yourdailymemedelivery

@person-005 @slowandsteddie @gri959 @elegantkoalapaper @letitgoandletlive

@loserboysandlithium @costellation-hunter @leelei1980 @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever

@ohmeg @stalactitekilla @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne @oneforthemunny

@prettyboyeddiemunson @eddievanmunson @msgexymunson @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust

@bimbobaggins69 @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @bimbogorewhore

@mediocredreams @bloodibambiidoll @taintedcigs @ali-r3n @emxxblog @losingmygrasponreality

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smoking, smut, alcohol use, fluff, light crying (happy tears only), oral sex, sexual activities in a church, grinding, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, praise/degradation, dirty talk, squirting

Word Count: 6.6k

divider by @strangergraphics

Part 38: Crazy for You

November 11th, 1989

"Quit messing with your tie, Eddie!" You scold as you realign Eddie's bow tie for the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. The wedding starts in ten, and he's been squirming and readjusting uncomfortably in his suit all morning.

"Sorry, it's just fuckin' choking me." Eddie complains, resisting the urge to reach up and rip it off once you've fixed it again.

"Oh, it is not." You tut, smoothing out the lapels of his tux jacket.

"Whatever, it's still uncomfortable as hell. And it's pink." He whines, looking himself over in the mirror. He's looking rather sharp, black always looks good on him. But the baby pink tie and cummerbund to match the bridesmaid dresses are definitely not to his liking.

"I think your manhood can survive a little bit of pink for an hour or two Eds. Don't be such a baby." You give him a warning look, knowing he's tempted to tear off the offending items altogether. This particular attire isn't exactly to his taste, but it's important he doesn't look a total mess today. "Besides, you look very handsome, baby." You soften up a little, offering a smile.

"I dunno about that. I think I look like a penguin." He scrunches his nose, undeterred by your compliments.

"You do not! You're very sexy in a tux, Eddie. I know you don't like it, but it's for Jonathan and Nancy." You wrap your arms around his shoulders for a moment, pulling his gaze away from his own reflection and down to you. His hands find your waist, and he grins.

"Sexy, you say?" He asks cheekily, focusing on all the wrong things today.

"Yes, that is what I said." You roll your eyes at him, and he scoffs.

"Alright, alright! I'll quit complaining. For them. But once this thing is over, I'm rippin' this all off." He sighs, finally deciding to be mature about this.

"That's fine, baby. But maybe don't actually rip it? It's a rental." You politely warn, you'd hate to have to pay for something he's only wearing once.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." He grumbles, giving you a little once-over. "But you are absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart." He coos, his lips turning up into a smile. You're dressed in a beautiful pink silk strapless gown that reaches your calves, with lace detailing and simple pumps and gloves to match. A bouquet of roses sits on the table next to you at the small chapel, and the other boys have been getting ready behind you in the room. Eddie was begging for your help with his tie, and who are you to deny him? Although, you suspect he just wanted to get a peek at you in your dress.

"Thank you, love. It is rather pretty." You chirp, leaving his grasp and doing a cute little twirl to make your skirt spin. "I'd better get back to the girls, make sure Nance is ready to go. I'll see you in a bit, Eds." You give Eddie a quick peck on the lips, light enough to not smudge your makeup. "Boys." You wave to the others before leaving the room. You return to the makeshift bridal suite, carefully opening and closing the door so no one gets a glimpse of Nancy just yet. "How's our beautiful bride doing?" You ask excitedly, finding Karen and Joyce fussing around with Nancy's veil.

"What's it look like?" Nancy chuckles dryly, gesturing her hands at the two older women surrounding her. She looks like a dream, in a gorgeous white gown with off the shoulder sleeves, immaculate lace and beading, with a humble train and matching veil. Her hair is perfectly styled, and flawless makeup has her skin absolutely glowing. It's like she stepped right out of a bridal magazine.

"Sorry, sweetie. We just want you to look perfect on your big day." Karen replies with a sigh, finally stopping her fiddling once the sheer material on her daughter's head appears even enough. She inspects her and Joyce's work in the mirror, and immediately starts to tear up. "Oh, you look beautiful, Nancy. I'm so happy for you." She sobs softly, trying to keep her mascara from running.

"Mom, you can't do that. You're gonna make me cry too." Nancy whines in reply, her lip trembling as her own tears threaten to spill out.

"Alright, that's enough now. Karen, why don't you and I go take our seats in the chapel? Let the girls take care of Nancy from here, okay?" Joyce says, putting her hands on Karen's shoulders to kindly lead her out of the room. She gives you girls a warm smile as she takes the other woman away, earning a grateful nod from all of you.

"You really look amazing, Nance. Jonathan is a lucky guy." You say sweetly, going over to hold her hand.

"Damn right he is! He's gonna lose it when he sees you, babe." Robin adds, taking Nancy's other hand in hers.

"You look like a princess, Nancy. I can't wait for you to officially be my sister." Jane says, joining you and placing a hand on Nancy's shoulder.

"You guys are too sweet." Nancy beams, accepting your kind praises. All four of you stay here for a moment, gazing and smiling at one another in the reflection. Four beautiful young women, on an even more beautiful day.

"Almost time, girls. Places!" Joyce pipes up, giving gentle knocks on the outside of the door.

"Be right there!" You call back, helping Robin assist Nancy with her train. You hand her the bridal bouquet, which makes you realize you forgot your own flowers in the boys' room. You don't mention it, not wanting to stress Nancy out. You'll just sneak back there really quick to get them. No big deal. "Alright, let's get you married, girl." You say giddily as the three of you lead your soon-to-be-wedded friend out of the room. Nancy takes her spot at the end of the line with Ted, who's gotten rather glassy-eyed himself.

You're about to rush back to get your flowers, when a ringed hand gently closes on your arm. "Lookin' for these, sweetheart?" Eddie asks quietly, standing in his place in line to make an entrance while holding your missing bouquet. He gives you a cheeky grin, knowing you were almost off to the races in search of them.

"Ugh, yes! Thank you, baby." You sigh in relief, taking the flowers in your hand. He locks your arm with his, the both of you clearing your throats and standing up straight. You look ahead to the other pairs who'll walk down the aisle before you. Will and Jane, Steve and Robin, to be followed by you and Eddie. You take a deep breath, rather nervous to walk and then stand in front of the extended Byers/Wheeler family. The music begins to play, and the doors to the chapel open. You see Jonathan standing at the altar with the priest, and rows upon rows of people you don't know sitting in the pews.

"You ready, angel?" Eddie leans over to whisper in your ear. He's noticed your breathing coming out a bit heavier than usual, an established tell of your nervous nature.

"Yep. Let's do this." You nod reassuringly, swallowing the immense anxiety that courses through you. All you have to do is walk without falling over, and stand still until the couple is pronounced 'husband and wife'. It'll be over in no time. And then there'll be food, drinks, dancing, and cake.

You watch on as Will and Jane head down the aisle first, following the steps that Joyce no doubt showed them. Robin and Steve follow suit, while the previous pair separate at the end of the aisle and take their places. Once the couple in front of you is about halfway, it's your turn now. Eddie carefully leads you down the small path, and you do your best to keep smiling and not have nervous, wandering eyes. Once you reach the end, you regretfully have to let Eddie go. He gives you a small look of assurance as you leave one another, his eyes telling you 'Relax, baby. It's only for a few minutes. Just stand still and look pretty, shouldn't be too hard for you.' He gives you a subtle wink as you stand beside Robin, and you feel yourself relax and smile genuinely in response.

As the ceremony begins, you're meant to be paying attention to the lovely couple in the center of the pristinely set risers, bouquets and candles. But as the priest speaks, reciting words of love and companionship, you can't help your gaze drifting to Eddie again. It appears the words everyone knows so well are affecting him too, because his own eyes soon find yours. When your stare locks for that brief moment, adoring smiles easily and willfully creep up your lips.

While Nancy and Jonathan recite their vows, you and Eddie imagine that you're saying them to each other. And you can't fight the tears welling in your eyes, overwhelmed by your devotion to your relationship, even in someone else's matrimonial moment. Because this is what you want together, more than anything in the whole wide world. To have and hold each other, in sickness and health, through all your ups and downs, until death forces you to part ways. You sniffle quietly, using a tissue you'd slipped inside your glove to dab at your eyes.

Eddie looks away, forcing himself to listen to the cue for your impending exit from the chapel to take photos in the courtyard. It comes quicker than you expect, cheers and applause erupting as Jonathan and Nancy kiss for the first time as a married couple. They're first back down the aisle to leave, followed by the six of you in the same order as your entrance. You let out a small sigh of relief as Eddie takes your arm again, very eager to get the hell out of here and enjoy the reception.

The couple hundred guests file out of the church after you, the immediate family staying behind for pictures. The photographer gets what he needs from you and the other members of the wedding party first, dismissing you after a good thirty minutes of posing and clicking of the camera in the rather nippy air. You're about to head down the street to the rec center where the reception is being held, when Eddie grabs your arm again.

"What's up, love?" You ask curiously, wondering why he wants to hang around.

"We've got a little bit before the reception starts, sweetheart. Wanna sneak off for a minute?" He suggests, biting his lip playfully. He's been thinking about doing very bad things to you all morning, wanting to bunch your pretty little dress around your waist and fuck you until all your makeup runs down your cheeks.

"Here? That's a little risky, baby." You reply, unable to help the sly grin forming on your lips. Eddie does look really good in his tux, so much so that you've been thinking about getting on your knees and sucking his cock while he's dressed so handsomely. But in a church? Isn't that a little disrespectful? A well of guilt builds up in you for a moment, thinking such dirty things around such a holy place. But, surely you wouldn't be the first people to do anything...sinful here, right?

"Don't overthink it, angel. We don't have to if you're not comfortable." He replies calmly, reading the self-imposed shame on your face. His fingers lightly stroke your arm, though. A subtle touch that can drive you to do all kinds of unspeakable things. A touch that promises to give you everything you want, if you just ask.

"No, let's do it. C'mon." You answer before you can talk yourself out of it. You pull him along by the hand, hearing a light chuckle escape him as you go back up the steps to the church. It'll be some time before they lock up, and you can always give the excuse of 'forgetting your purse' if anybody questions you. You take him to the restroom, the one place you know has a lock on the door. You pull him inside, shoving him against the door once it's closed.

"Jesus, Y/N. Need me that bad, huh?" Eddie teases, watching your hands immediately go for his slacks. You flick open the button, sliding down the zip and quickly pulling his half-hard cock out.

"Maybe a little. You just look so good, Eds. You've never looked better." You say lustfully, giving him a passionate kiss. Your tongue slips out to tangle with his, your gloved hand pumping his length to get him ready for your mouth. He groans against you, breath shuddering at your warm palm working him up. His own hands wander around your waist to grab your ass, drawing a quiet moan from your lungs. He's trying to get you going, too. But all you can think about is giving him head so good, he'll be replaying it in his mind until you get home.

"Wish I could say the same, princess. But you look gorgeous every day." He says sweetly, breathing heavily once you pull away. His eyes are blown wide with lust, but they read as overwhelmingly adoring. He reaches up to cup your cheek, stroking your flesh with his thumb.

"Always gotta one-up me, don't you?" You joke, though your heart swells at his words all the same. He's always been intensely sincere, there's never been a moment where he isn't. Not when it comes to telling you how he feels about you.

"'Course. You're my girl. My sexy, sweet, beautiful, perfect girl." He coos, leaning forward to place a far gentler kiss to your lips. You immediately melt into him, still swept off your feet by him after all this time.

"I love you, Eds." You say softly, gazing deeply into his big brown eyes.

"I love you too, angel." Eddie replies just as quietly.

You almost forget for a minute that his dick is still in your grasp, you get a bit distracted by his romantic affirmations. But it doesn't take you long to remember, and resume your careful strokes. He moans lightly at the contact, watching to see what your next move is. He wonders what you'll ask for, he's up for anything at this point. You lower yourself to your knees, carefully splaying out the skirt of your dress so it won't get dirty. You get a good look at his cock as it sits in front of your face, the head already red and swollen with need. A small bead of precum has formed in his slit, so you lean in to lick it off.

"Fuck, baby." Eddie moans, as quietly as he can manage. As much as he wants to enjoy this, he definitely doesn't want to get caught. He watches on wordlessly while you plant wet kisses to his tip, a small string of spit forming every time you pull away.

You look up at him with hooded eyes, unable to stop the wide smile that forms on your face. He's so beautifully fucked for you already. His mouth has fallen open to let out breathy moans, his pupils so wide there's almost none of that gorgeous chocolate brown visible to you. His chest rises and falls with purpose, his hands sitting restlessly at his sides. "I wish I had a camera, baby. You look so fucking hot right now." You say softly, admiring his form as you drag your tongue along his shaft.

"You're one to talk. Sittin' on your knees for me, so eager to take my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours...now that's a picture worth capturing." Eddie replies, speaking nice and low while cupping your cheek. Neither of you can manage to focus on what you’re doing. Not in the way you usually do, anyway. Every touch, every word is so full of devotion and fondness. Each second manages to be more sweet and heartfelt than the last, making your minds go fuzzy.

"Stop distracting me. We don't have much time for this, and I wanna feel you cum in my mouth." You say, almost a little frustrated that you can't maintain your concentration. You just can't help yourselves. This wonderful day of love and happiness has turned you into total saps, left wanting to completely melt into each other in a saccharine puddle on the floor.

"Sorry. By all means, continue." He gestures kindly, waiting for you to take what you want. You move things along a little, growing paranoid that someone will come banging on the door any second. You take Eddie's dick all the way into your mouth, feeling him hit deep in your throat. "Shit..." He trails off, holding back the obscene groan that begs to escape him. His hand finds its way into your hair, tangling within it just enough to guide your movements.

"Mmm." You hum at the contact, bobbing your head back and forth at a steady pace. You hollow your cheeks to suck hard on him, wriggling your tongue around wherever you can reach.

"Feels so good, sweetheart. You take me so well, such a good girl for me." Eddie praises quietly, eyes glued to his cock disappearing past your plush lips again and again. You hum around him, getting a little wet inside your panties from his words. "I love how filthy you are, babydoll. Blowin' me so good, in a church, where anyone could find us...get us in big trouble..." He pauses, swallowing hard as his breathing picks up even more. "But you like that, don't you? That we could get caught? What do you think they'd say if they found us like this? You, givin' me the best head ever, while tryin' so hard not to get that pristine dress all dirty? And me, balls deep down your throat, holding your pretty little head to take every last inch?"

Eddie spouts off these obviously rhetorical questions, each one sending a flare of pleasure between your legs. You love the thrill of possibly being found, doing something so naughty in such a 'pure' place. It's turning you on to the point of almost being unbearable. If it wouldn't make a complete mess of your nice clothes, you'd lower a hand inside your panties to finger yourself right now.

"Mm." A lustful whimper around his cock is all you can offer him, earning a dark chuckle in response.

"Can I fuck your face, angel? You feel so fuckin' good, it's insane." He asks so politely, sounding a bit whiny as his end draws near. The taboo nature of the place you're doing this in, as well as his own nasty words have pushed him much further than he expected. He wants so badly to pound his hips into you, make you choke and gag and drool all over his dick while tears roll down your cheeks.

"Mhm." You nod as best you can, wanting him to use you how he pleases. You grab hold of his thighs to keep yourself upright, bracing yourself for him to start thrusting. His hand grips your head tightly, and he slams himself all the way in with one quick motion. You breathe hard through your nose to keep from gagging, moaning a little as you feel his mound of hair brush against your face. He keeps it up, relentlessly shoving his cock as deep inside you as he can manage. Thick drips of drool fall around the seams of your lips. You scoot your lower half back a little to keep the saliva from soiling your dress. Stinging tears fall down your face, and you can tell that your panties are going to be stuck to your pussy all day after this.

"That's it baby, take it all. So hot and wet, a slutty little mess just for me..." Eddie says with panting grunts, trying so very hard to keep the noise down. The sloppy, gurgling sounds of his length pistoning in and out of your mouth are driving you both crazy. It's so filthy, but also exactly what you want to hear at this moment. "Gonna fill your throat up with my cum...you gonna be a good girl and swallow it all?" He asks, finding your cock-drunk eyes gazing up at him. You rapidly nod your head, though it's quite a struggle. "Thought so. I can see how needy and pathetic you are for it. Dyin' for a taste." He smirks, though it quickly falls away as his stomach tenses to signal his end. His balls clench, thick ropes of sweet and salty goodness flooding down your esophagus. "Fuuuuuuck." He says in a drawn-out groan as his orgasm runs its course, eyes screwing shut at the pleasure. Eddie holds you down on him until there's not a drop left, slowly pulling out of you and leaning against the door in exhaustion.

"Mmm, I love it when you do that, Eds." You sigh blissfully, getting up off your wobbly knees to stand before him. You give his chin a gentle stroke with the back of your hand, admiring the light sheen of sweat on his face, and the flush of his cheeks. His eyes flutter open at your touch, and he smiles cheerfully.

"And I love it when you let me, angel." Eddie coos, giving your swollen lips a brief peck. "We'd better get going. I sense a search party forming in our absence." He jokes, reaching down to put his spent cock away.

"Yeah, just let me fix my makeup first." You leave him to go have a look in the mirror to observe the damage. You've got big mascara tracks going past your chin, and your lipstick has come off altogether. Nothing you can't reapply in a couple of minutes.

"I'll meet you out there. I don't think it'd look so good if we walked out together." He suggests, though he hates to leave you all alone.

"Good thinking, baby. I'll be out soon, I promise." You give him a light smile in the reflection, which he returns as he unlocks the door to leave. It closes behind him a moment later, leaving you to right this mess.

Once your face is dried of oral-induced tears and refreshed with some new mascara and lipstick, you find your way out of the church. "Where'd you two get off to?" Robin asks as you descend the stairs. She'd noticed you and Eddie sneaking back inside a little while ago.

"Um, I, uh, forgot my purse." You answer unconvincingly, looking around to find the man in question. He's talking to Steve and Dustin a few feet away, a lit cigarette in his hand.

"Uh-huh, sure you did." Robin teases. "Is he keeping his shit together now? No more secrets?" She asks, checking in with you to make sure Eddie's treating you right. She's gotten rather protective of you now, which you find very sweet.

"Yeah, we're doing great. Better than ever, actually." You answer happily, opening your purse to grab a smoke for yourself.

"Good. I'd hate to have to sic Steve on him." She chuckles, though she's only half-joking. She's going to watch Munson very closely, still feeling a bit pissed with him for hurting you. Any sign of trouble, and he is done for.

"You won't need to, Rob. But I'm lucky to have a friend like you looking out for me." You giggle at her ferocity, pulling her in for a small hug.

"Any time, Y/N." Robin replies as she reciprocates the hug, giving you a gentle squeeze. "I'm gonna find Vickie, I'll see ya in a bit."

"Later." You say as she departs, leaving you on your own again. You light your cig, taking a deep drag as your mother approaches.

"Hey, sugarpuff! You look so pretty!" Mom says excitedly, getting a closer look at you than she had from her seat in the chapel.

"Thanks, Mom. So do you." You reply sweetly, gesturing at the blue floral dress and matching jacket she's wearing. It's simple, and elegant. Perfect for a day like today.

"Oh, this old thing? It was just sitting in the back of the closet." She laughs, waving you off. "Have you and Eddie been doing okay?" She asks, prompting you to roll your eyes in annoyance. "Oh, you stop that! I have a right to be concerned about you, Y/N." Mom chides.

"No, I know." You sigh, before brightening up again. "But we're fine, really."

"Just 'fine'?" She presses.

"More than fine, Mom. We're great. I won't be moving back home any time soon." You chuckle, drawing one from her as well.

"Well, good. I'm just glad you're happy, sweetie. That's all I care about." Mom says, giving your arm a loving rub before moving on to talk to someone else.

"Alright, that's all I need until we cut the cake." The photographer says, loud enough for those of you who have stayed behind to hear. Nancy and Jonathan lead the charge to the rec center, eager to sit down and eat now that the stressful part is over. Eddie's hand quickly finds yours as you follow the bride and groom. You give each other an affectionate glance, finishing your smokes as you mosey along to the next step of this little shindig.

The reception goes on without a hitch. Nancy and Jonathan give a toast, cut the massive wedding cake, and share their first dance. After that, all bets are off. Everyone heads to the open bar, chugging down a couple drinks before letting loose to the dance floor. You and Eddie in particular end up a little more than smashed, unable to pull yourselves away from each other until it's time to go home. Your hands wander over each other, bodies practically glued together with sweat and lust. You keep things PG enough, you may be drunk, but you know how to avoid making fools of yourselves.

You stumble back into your apartment, having been given a ride by your mother as neither you or Eddie are in any shape to be driving. You give her a clumsy good-bye, closing the door a little too hard. "Oops." You laugh drunkenly, turning to find Eddie lying lazily on the couch. You go over to join him, crawling over his body to lay yourself directly on top of him.

"Hey there, sweetheart." Eddie chuckles, his hands cradling your thighs as you straddle him. Your dress has ridden up to your ass, and his shirt and tie hang open.

"Hello, handsome." You giggle back, reaching for his chest to undo the rest of his shirt buttons. "I've been wanting to get you home all day, Eds."

"Oh yeah?" He teases, smiling wide as you lower your head to give him a kiss.

"Mhm." You hum against him, gliding your tongue inside his mouth. He tastes like cola and whiskey, with a subtle hint of buttercream frosting. Sticky sweet with a little sting, just the way you like him. "Fuck, you taste good." You murmur between kisses.

"So do you." He replies, grabbing your ass in his hands. You moan into him, rolling your hips to gain some welcome friction. "Careful, baby. Don't wanna stain my rented pants." He warns, his tone completely unserious.

"I'd better take them off, then." You giggle with glee, clumsily reaching between your bodies to open his pants for the second time today. He sits up to remove his jacket and shirt, tossing his tie to the floor. He kicks his shoes from his feet, and you stand up to let him take off his slacks. He's left in his boxers, a prominent tent forming in the fabric. His glazed-over eyes meet yours as you stand over him, a playful grin resting on his face.

"You gonna lose the dress, angel?" He asks, dying to see the gorgeous body that's hidden away underneath it. You just nod, biting your lip in excitement while your hands go around your back. You find the zipper, slowly pulling it down until it reaches just above your ass. The dress falls to your feet, leaving you standing before Eddie in your heels and panties, nipples hardened in arousal. You step out of your shoes, climbing back onto his lap. "You're so beautiful, sweetheart." He says softly, raising his hands up to grab hold of your breasts. He massages your flesh, gently rolling your hardened buds between his fingers.

"Eddie." You sigh lustfully at his touch, grinding yourself into him again. There's barely any barriers between you now, letting you feel every last inch of his stiff cock rubbing against your pussy. Your hands rest on his chest for balance as you continue to rile yourself up. Slowly swiveling your hips, pressing your needy cunt into him as if your second set of lips can read every curve and vein. Eddie groans beneath you as you do this, watching on helplessly as you soak your underwear as well as his own. It's such little contact, but it feels so damn good.

"C'mere, baby." Eddie beckons you back down to him, needing to feel your lips on his. You give him what he wants, allowing him to take a little bit of a lead. You snake your arms around his shoulders as he kisses you, still moving your lower half over his. His hands go for your ass, guiding you in his grip to grind harder, stronger. Thoughtless moans leave you both, getting more turned on by the second as you work in sync. Usually, he'd be trying to move things along by now. But the events of today leave you wanting to take all the time in the world, to enjoy every second of passion like it's your last.

You continue on like this for quite some time, the concept of minutes passing becoming foreign to you. Eddie's hands squish and squeeze the meat of your ass, your tongues tangling in an undemanding manner. You've been ignoring Arwen's cries for attention, not even registering her majestic leap onto the couch to perch across the back of it. She fully intends to wait for the exact moment you two are finished, as she's owed lots of love due to you being gone so long today. She averts her kitty-cat eyes once she's settled, completely uninterested in your intimate activities.

"I love you, Eds." You sigh blissfully between kisses.

"I love you more." Eddie replies, grinning against your lips.

"No way, I love you more." You retort with a giggle.

"It's not a competition, sweetheart." He chuckles, squeezing you a little harder. "But I definitely love you the most." He adds, making you both laugh. You're really fucking happy right now, content in each other's arms. This moment simultaneously feels so significant, and also perfectly ordinary. "I want you, Y/N." Eddie quietly whines, the teasing becoming too much now. His cock is unbearably hard, aching to be inside you.

"I want you too, baby." You coo to him, ceasing your grinding to take off your panties. He does the same with his boxers, finding a large spot made damp with your juices. You kneel over him, gazing into his eyes as you take hold of his dick. His breath catches at your touch. You swipe his length between your folds a few times, spreading the wetness around. "Fuck." You moan at the sensation, your free hand falling to Eddie's chest to keep from toppling over.

"Angel, please...I gotta be inside you." He begs, his fists gripping the couch as he doesn't know what to do with himself. Your sticky arousal mixing with his precum to coat his tip is driving him crazy. He's been thinking about this all damn day, reminded of the fantastic head you gave him at the church every time your bodies touched during the reception.

"I love it when you beg for me. Such a good boy." You chuckle darkly, finally giving the both of you what you want. You hold Eddie's cock firmly at your entrance, guiding his inches into you nice and slow. "Shit." A breathy moan leaves your lips at the stretch, your head falling forward as he fills you up. You keep going until you're fully seated, drawing low groans from both of you.

"Fuck, this is my favorite place to be, sweetheart." Eddie says sweetly, forcing his eyes open to look up at you. The way you feel so damn snug and warm around his cock, and the booze swirling around his mind makes it hard to focus. His hands go for your hips, fingers brushing up and down across your skin to ground himself.

"Me too, love. There's nowhere I'd rather be." You give him a warm smile, laying your body atop his to exchange a tender kiss.

Eddie allows you to take charge this time, your tongue rolling roughly into his. It's taking everything in him not to thrust his hips up, despite the desire to take things slow. He can't help it. Every time he's got himself sheathed inside you, it's like a switch flips. It makes him desperate to fuck you into whatever surface you're on, to make you scream his name until you both lose control. His hands continue to stroke your sides, though his patient motions gradually become more fidgety. Picking up on his neediness, you slowly lift yourself up along his length while still laying your chest on his. You almost let him slip out altogether, before falling back down again. More pretty noises escape your mouths through the cracks in your kiss. His tip reaches every perfect spot inside you at this angle.

"More, baby. C'mon." Eddie encourages, giving your hips a squeeze.

"Relax." You chide, still attempting to devour his already bruised lips. You set a gentle pace, rocking and swaying your hips in varying patterns. Up and down, side to side, a circular motion here and there.

"That's it, angel. Just like that..." He praises, keeping a firm hold on you.

"Yeah? Am I riding your cock real good, Eds?" You ask, pulling your lips away from his to look deep into his eyes.

"So good, baby. Keep goin'." He nods frantically. His love-drunk eyes stay on yours, his pupils piercing deep in your soul as you ride him. Hot, heavy breaths and vulgar moans fill the room, neither of you hold anything back. The closeness you feel in this moment is electric, intangible. Your insides are on fire, roaring flames stoking over hot coals in your bellies. Eddie's grip tightens, leading you in your now-predictable sequence of movements.

"I fuckin' love your cock, Eds. Feels so good when you fill me up, I can't get enough." You whine as your high slowly approaches. Your thighs are starting to burn from the positioning, but you try to focus on the slapping of skin and your growing orgasm to keep yourself going.

"Need some help?" He asks, noticing your motions becoming a little strained. You're working so hard for him, and it's definitely paying off. He's nearing the end himself, and he's more than happy to lend a helping hand.

"Uh-huh...thighs are getting tired." You huff out your explanation, hoping he'll give you some assistance. You don't want to stop, or change positions. You want to cum with him now.

"I know, princess. It's okay." He chuckles breathlessly, stilling your hips in his hands so he can thrust his own upwards.

"Fuck!" You cry out as his dick slams into your cunt, hitting your g-spot harder and better than you could ever hope to. That's the thing about Eddie, he's the only one who can truly get you there in the most efficient and powerful ways possible. You do okay on your own, but it's nothing compared to what he can give you. "More." You whimper, he's only given the one thrust as a little taste.

"You got it, babydoll." He pants, pitching his hips up into you again and again. You nuzzle your head into his neck, arms wrapped tightly around him to hold on as he rails you towards bliss.

"Eddie一 fuck! So good..." You moan and curse and squeal his name thoughtlessly, clinging to him for dear life. You're completely soaked with sweat, struggling to keep him close. You can feel yourself about to lose it, your insides giving you away.

"Gonna cum for me, angel?" He asks, almost near the finish line himself. Your walls have begun to constrict, and the most subtle little tremors work their way through your thighs.

"Uh-huh. Gonna cum. Make me cum, Eds. Please, I need it, need you to fill me up." You beg, simpering words muffled against his neck. Your nails dig into his slicked-over flesh, tears rolling down your cheeks as you impatiently anticipate the inevitable bliss.

"That's it. You're such a good girl, baby. Let go for me, it's okay." Eddie coos, stroking your hair while his words send you over the edge.

"Eddie!" You cry into his skin, your legs clamping around his middle as you lose control. Your whole body shakes from the intense pleasure, an almost pained moan tearing itself from your lungs as you cum hard around his cock. Your pussy pulsates frantically, milking him for all he's worth.

"Fuck, baby. Shit一" He groans, pelvis stuttering as he gives his final thrusts. His load spills inside you messily, quickly expelled back out with your own release. It all splashes down around your thighs, some of it running towards his stomach and chest. He stops moving, allowing you both to lay here as you float back down to earth. Your breath comes out hot and labored, and he gingerly caresses your spine to calm you down.

"Mew." Arwen meows, deeming now to be the appropriate time to ask for pets. She hops down onto your back, making you grunt at her weight landing on you. But you're far too tired to do anything about it.

"Oh, Arwen. Your mother is not a bed." Eddie scolds her with a laugh, watching as she makes a couple rotations before laying down on your sweaty skin. He contemplates moving her to the floor, but she'll no doubt bury her claws in your flesh if he tries.

"Just leave her, babe. She missed us." You mumble, awkwardly reaching your hand up to locate her fuzzy little head. You manage to find it, giving her a couple strokes. She purrs at the affection, nuzzling her cheek into your fingers.

"You spoil her, sweetheart. She'll never learn if you keep letting her literally walk all over you." He replies, petting Arwen's fluffy belly anyway.

"Don't care, she's our baby." You shrug as well as you can with a twelve-pound cat resting on your torso.

"Mew." Arwen chirps with attitude, as if to say 'see, dad? Mom said it's fine.' Her low pur rumbles through your back all the way to your chest, the sound and vibrations soothing you further into your post-orgasm sedation. Today has been amazing, to say the least. You got to spend it with all your friends, and come home to the little family you've made for yourself afterward.

"Whatever you say, angel." Eddie says with a content sigh, allowing his two best girls to have their way. It never takes a lot of convincing, he can't possibly protest after the ridiculously awesome day he's had with you. He lets his eyes slip closed, his hands still lazily working against your hair and Arwen's fur.

One word plays around inside all three of your heads, rolling you over in gentle waves. One word that makes your hearts full to the point of bursting. Bliss.

To be continued...

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 2 - After Hours

Summary: Valerie meets Elvis again, again by chance. And this time, it's in a far more intimate setting.

Author's notes: Edit alert. I am constantly tooling and retooling my fics. To me, they never seem finished when I reread them. I've been taking the time to hone my craft and take online writing classes (yes, I am that loser who wants to become a better writer so I can regale you all with smutty Elvis fic), so I hope you will indulge. I am actively working on it and I believe I have it right this time. Enjoy!

You know that moment when everything's gone so spectacularly wrong that all you can do is laugh? Well, I wasn't laughing. I was slumped over the International Hotel's bar like a marionette with cut strings, wondering if it was possible to actually die of embarrassment. The doctors would probably call it something fancy, but the death certificate would tell the real story: Here lies Valerie, who bombed her Sinatra audition so bad they stopped her halfway through.

The bartender looked like he'd stepped straight out of a movie about Vegas in its golden age - crisp white jacket, perfectly groomed silver hair, the kind of face that had seen it all and wasn't impressed by any of it anymore. He glided over like smoke.

"What'll it be, miss?"

I'd never ordered a real drink in my life. Back home, the wildest I got was box wine and even that made me giggle. But tonight? Tonight felt like a good time to start.

"Gin and tonic. Make it a double."

The words felt foreign in my mouth, like trying on someone else's clothes. But isn't that what you're supposed to do after you crash and burn? Drown your sorrows in bottom-shelf liquor while the bartender pretends to care about your troubles?

My mind kept rewinding to that awful audition, like a broken record stuck on the worst song ever made. My voice had shook worse than Elvis's hips (and there was a comparison I didn't need in my head right then). The piano player had actually winced. And those other girls, the ones with their perfect hair and professional headshots, they'd smirked like they knew all along I didn't belong there.

The drink appeared in front of me like magic. I took a sip and immediately regretted it. Tasted like Christmas trees. But I kept drinking anyway, because that's what people do in situations like this, right? They sit in dark bars and drink gin and pretend they're in a film noir about beautiful losers.

That's when I saw him.

You ever have one of those moments that feels like fate just reached down and flicked you right between the eyes? There in the mirror behind the bar, I caught a flash of red hair that made my stomach drop like an express elevator. Red, Elvis's mountain of a bodyguard, was heading straight for me with the kind of determined look that meant trouble.

"Well I'll be damned," he boomed, voice carrying across the bar like thunder. "If it ain't that pretty little songbird from the elevator."

My drink tried to go down the wrong pipe. He remembered that? More importantly, he remembered that ridiculous nickname Elvis had given me? 

"Uh, hi there," I managed to squeak out. Real smooth, Valerie. Real smooth.

Red's grin could have lit up the Strip. "You clean up real nice. Mr. Burrows know you're here drowning those sorrows all by your lonesome?"

Mr. Burrows. That's what they called Elvis when they were trying to be discreet, though why they bothered was beyond me. As if anyone could mistake him for just another guy named Jon. The memory of our elevator encounter hit me like a shot of whiskey - all heat and dizzy promise. The way his voice had wrapped around my name like silk, how his presence had made the air feel electric...

"Oh, I'm sure he has more important things to worry about than little old me," I said, aiming for breezy and probably landing somewhere around desperate. "I was just about to call it a night."

"That so?" Red's grin turned sly as a cat in a creamery. "Well, it just so happens the boss is having a little private soirée up in his suite right about now. What do you say we head up there and turn that frown upside down?"

My mama always said I had more curiosity than common sense. Standing there in that bar with Red's invitation hanging in the air like cigarette smoke, I knew she was right. The smart play was to finish my drink, go up to my room, and catch the first flight back to Chicago tomorrow morning.

But when did I ever make the smart play?

"Lead the way, Red."

The trip up to Elvis's suite was like ascending to Mount Olympus, if Olympus had shag carpeting and gold-flecked wallpaper. Red kept up a steady stream of chatter, but I barely heard him over the thundering of my own heart. What was I doing? Walking straight into the lion's den like some lamb dressed for dinner.

When we reached the mahogany door - the kind of door that whispered "money" in twelve different languages - a man I'd later learn was Jerry Schilling answered our knock. The wall of sound that hit us was like walking into a beehive: dozens of conversations buzzing, ice cubes clinking against crystal, and somewhere, someone was playing "Great Balls of Fire" on what had to be the most expensive piano I'd ever seen.

The suite itself was pure Elvis - all crushed velvet and religious iconography, like a bordello had a baby with the Vatican. A small crowd milled about: men in sharp suits, women who looked like they'd stepped off magazine covers, all of them moving in invisible orbits around...

And then I saw him.

You know how sometimes a room just seems to shift, like reality hiccups and everything reorganizes itself around a single point? That's what happened when my eyes found Elvis. He was holding court in the center of the room, sprawled in what could only be described as a throne, his long legs stretched out in front of him like he owned not just the chair but the very concept of sitting. A tumbler of amber liquid dangled from those ring-laden fingers, and sweet Jesus, that shirt... black silk unbuttoned just enough to make a good girl think bad thoughts.

Two women flanked him like matching bookends - a blonde who looked like she'd been poured into her dress, and a brunette whose legs went on for days. The brunette was trailing her fingers down his chest, purring something about taking a ride in his Cadillac. The kind of thing that should have been ridiculous but somehow wasn't, not with the way Elvis's lips curled up at the corners, lazy and amused like a cat with a bowlful of cream.

I should have felt invisible. Should have felt like a sparrow in a room full of peacocks. Instead, somehow, impossibly, his gaze found mine across the crowd. Those eyes, blue as a Memphis summer sky, locked onto me like heat-seeking missiles.

And just like that, the air changed.

A man who introduced himself as Sonny West materialized at my elbow, drink in hand. His face was all dimples and good humor, the kind of guy who probably never met a stranger. "You look like you could use this more than me," he said, offering me something that smelled strong enough to strip paint.

I took it because, hell, what else was I going to do? Standing there watching Elvis with those two glamazons draped over him like living accessories was enough to drive anyone to drink. The brunette - who I'd mentally dubbed Colette because she looked like a Colette - was doing her best to crawl into his lap without actually moving.

But here's the thing about Elvis Presley that nobody tells you: even when he's looking at someone else, you can feel when he's watching you. It's like standing in the sun with your eyes closed - you just know. And brother, was he watching me.

The Memphis Mafia - that's what they called Elvis's entourage - adopted me like a stray kitten. Before I knew what was happening, I was deep in a heated debate with Lamar about breakfast foods, of all things. These guys were like a bunch of overgrown boys playing in a very expensive sandbox, and somehow they'd decided I belonged there.

"Biscuits," I insisted, probably louder than necessary. The drink Sonny had given me was doing its job. "Fluffy, buttery perfection. Pancakes are just... flat disappointment circles."

Lamar clutched his considerable belly like I'd personally insulted his mama. "Blasphemy! Pancakes are God's own breakfast food!"

"Y'all are both wrong," Jerry chimed in, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "Waffles. Those little squares? Perfect syrup holders. That's just science."

I was laughing, actually laughing, when I heard it. That voice, smooth as aged whiskey, cutting through the noise like a hot knife through butter.

"Valerie."

Just my name. That's all it was. But the way Elvis said it made it sound like a song he'd been practicing his whole life. I turned, and there he was, standing close enough that I could smell his cologne - something expensive and spicy that probably cost more than my rent.

"Come here, pretty girl," he said, soft enough that only I could hear. "Let's you and me get better acquainted."

Colette the Brunette huffed like someone had punctured her, shooting me a look that could have curdled milk. But Elvis didn't even notice. His eyes were fixed on me like I was the only person in the room, and Lord help me, but I was moving before I realized my feet had gotten the message.

You ever touch an electric fence? That little shock that starts in your fingers and races up your arm? That's what it felt like when Elvis's hand brushed mine, guiding me toward the piano. Every nerve ending suddenly woke up and started singing hallelujah.

"You play?" he asked, those blue eyes twinkling with something that wasn't quite innocence.

I ran my fingers over the keys, smooth as silk under my touch. "A little. My daddy taught me before he passed."

Something shifted in Elvis's expression then - understanding, maybe, or recognition. "Music's in your blood," he said softly. "Like me."

He slid onto the piano bench like liquid grace, patting the space beside him. Now, there's a moment in every girl's life when she knows she's about to make either the best or worst decision of her existence. Sitting down next to Elvis Presley, close enough that our thighs touched through silk and cotton, that was mine.

"You know 'Heart and Soul'?"

I had to laugh. It was like asking if I knew how to breathe. "Who doesn't?"

His fingers found the keys first, and mine followed like they'd been doing it all their lives. The melody rose soft and sweet, barely audible under the party chatter. Then Elvis started to sing, and I swear to God, the air in the room changed. Became thicker, heavier, like honey dripping from a spoon.

"Heart and soul, I fell in love with you..."

He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised in challenge, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth that would have made a saint think sinful thoughts. Well, mama didn't raise no coward. I opened my mouth and let my voice join his.

"Heart and soul, the way a fool would do..."

You know how sometimes two voices just... fit? Like pieces of a puzzle you didn't even know was incomplete? That's what happened when Elvis and I sang together. Our voices twined around each other like lovers' hands, his deep velvet wrapping around my higher notes until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

The room had gone quiet - that special kind of quiet that feels like holding your breath. But I barely noticed. I was lost in the music, in the warmth of Elvis's thigh pressed against mine, in the way his eyes kept finding mine as we sang.

"Madly... Because you held me tight..."

His voice dropped lower, intimate, like he was telling me a secret.

"And stole a kiss in the night..."

Our fingers stilled on the keys. The last note hung in the air between us like a question nobody dared to ask. Elvis turned to face me, and sweet Jesus, the look in his eyes... It was like being caught in a spotlight and wrapped in velvet all at once.

"Valerie," he murmured, my name a prayer on those lips that had made him famous. His hand came up to brush my cheek, and I swear I felt that touch all the way down to my toes.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The world had narrowed down to just this: Elvis's eyes, dark with something that made my stomach flip, and the whisper of his fingers against my skin.

That's when Colette materialized like a bad penny, slamming her drink down on the piano hard enough to make the strings vibrate. "Elvis, baby," she purred, but there was steel under that sugar. "I'm simply parched. Won't you fix me a drink?"

Now, I expected Elvis to jump at the chance. After all, what was I compared to this goddess in a dress that probably cost more than my car? But Elvis just smiled - not the megawatt grin he was famous for, but something smaller, more polite, more dismissive.

"Not right now, darlin'," he said, never taking his eyes off me. "I'm a bit busy at the moment."

If looks could kill, Colette's glare would have reduced me to a small pile of ash on that piano bench. But Elvis's attention had already shifted back to me, like she was just another piece of furniture in his very expensive suite.

"I gotta say," he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear, "you sure know how to captivate a man's attention. Ain't too many gals out there who can tear me away from a pretty face batting her lashes my way."

The thing about Elvis - and this is something all those magazines and fan clubs don't tell you - is that when he really looks at you, it's like being the only star in the sky. Like every light in Vegas has suddenly focused on you alone.

We fell back into playing, our hands dancing over the keys like they'd been doing this dance for years instead of minutes. Every now and then, our fingers would brush, and I swear it felt like touching a live wire. The kind of electricity that should come with a warning label.

That's when I spotted them - Red and Sonny, going at it in the corner like two roosters in a barnyard. I nudged Elvis with my elbow, nodding toward the brewing storm. "Looks like trouble in paradise. What's eating them?"

Elvis followed my gaze, and his grin was pure mischief. The kind of grin that probably got him in trouble in grade school. "Those two? Hell, could be anything. Whose turn it is to make the midnight burger run, who's got the better car, whether Kong could take Godzilla in a fair fight..."

"Godzilla," I said without hesitation. "Fire breath beats opposable thumbs any day."

"Now see, that's where you're wrong, darlin'," Elvis countered, eyes sparkling like sunlight on water. "Kong's got the reach advantage."

We watched the argument escalate, Elvis leaning close enough that I could feel his breath on my ear. "Five bucks says Sonny throws his drink in the next minute."

Maybe it was the gin, maybe it was the way his proximity made my skin hum like a tuning fork, but I heard myself say, "You're on. My money's on Red putting him in a headlock first."

The next few seconds played out like a scene from a Three Stooges routine. Sonny's wild gesticulation sent his drink flying straight into Red's face. There was a moment of perfect stillness, like the whole room was holding its breath. Then Red lunged, catching Sonny in a headlock that would have made a wrestling coach proud.

Elvis and I lost it. Complete, total hysteria. The kind of laughter that comes from your toes and takes your whole body with it. I ended up half-collapsed against him, his arm around my shoulders, both of us wheezing like we'd run a marathon.

"Guess... we both... win that bet," Elvis managed between gasps, and I could feel his laughter rumbling through his chest where I was pressed against him.

That's when someone cleared their throat behind us - the kind of throat-clearing that sounds like a period at the end of a sentence. We sprang apart like teenagers caught necking at a drive-in.

Lamar stood there looking like the cat who'd caught both the canary and the cream, fixing us with a knowing smirk that made my cheeks burn. "Hate to interrupt you two, but the natives are getting restless." He jerked his head toward the crowd. "Big Man's here, E."

Even I knew who "Big Man" meant - Kirk Kerkorian, owner of the International Hotel and the man who'd shelled out big money to bring Elvis back to live performing. The kind of man who could make or break careers with a nod.

Elvis dragged a hand down his face, and for just a second, I saw something flicker there - frustration, maybe, or resignation. The mask of the entertainer sliding back into place. But when his fingers found mine under the piano's cover, giving them a quick squeeze, that felt real. That felt like just us.

"Duty calls, I suppose." His eyes met mine, dark with promise. "Don't go anywhere, alright? I'm not done with you yet."

The way he said it made heat pool in my belly, like I'd swallowed a shot of pure sunshine. I could only nod, my voice lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth, as he stood and moved into the crowd.

I watched him work the room like he was born to it - which, let's face it, he was. Elvis Presley in his element was something to see. He had that rare gift of making everyone feel like the most important person in the world, if only for a moment. A group of older women were let in, clutching programs and photos, and he signed every single one with the same megawatt smile.

But every so often, his eyes would find mine across the room, hot enough to melt steel. A reminder that I was still on his mind, even as he played the gracious host.

That's when it hit me - what I was doing, where I was, who I was playing with. This wasn't some local boy at a church social. This was Elvis Presley, and he was married, and I was so far out of my depth I couldn't even see the shore anymore.

I slipped away like smoke, keeping to the edges of the room. Sometimes the smart choice and the right choice are the same thing, even if it feels like ripping off your own skin to do it.

I'd barely made it to my door when I heard footsteps behind me. Fast ones.

"Valerie, wait!"

It was Joe Esposito, Elvis's right-hand man, slightly out of breath like he'd been chasing me down the hallway. He pressed something into my palm - a ticket, but not just any ticket. Front row, VIP access to tomorrow night's show.

"Boss wants you in his private booth," Joe said, grinning like he knew exactly what kind of bomb he was dropping. "Wear something pretty. Elvis likes his girls dolled up nice."

He was gone before I could process what had happened, leaving me standing there with a piece of cardstock that felt heavy as gold in my hand.

I looked down at the ticket, running my thumb over the embossed lettering. Tomorrow night. Elvis wanted me there tomorrow night, in his private booth no less. The kind of invitation that would make those women in the lobby sell their souls.

Standing there in that quiet hallway, I knew I was in trouble. The kind of trouble that starts with a capital T and rhymes with double. But as I got ready for bed, I couldn't stop grinning like a fool.

Only one problem: I didn't have a damn thing pretty enough to wear to an Elvis Presley show.

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[calicohyde]

The sky purples like a bruise as dusk falls in the city. The air is wet and sour, and the pavement smothering the ground is steaming with a sticky, sick heat, as if the city itself is sweating. The dark gray street is scorching, stinging Ferris's paws as he trots along a painted crosswalk. Even the lighter sidewalks offer no relief and there's not one plant around for him to escape into, not even a measly grass median, not here. It's lucky Ferris's destination looms, or else he might be forced to pant like a dog.

The apartment building in question stretches upward like an endless spire, ruining the smooth lines of the distant horizon. It's not the tallest building around, one of hundreds of its kind. Ferris is lucky to have his feline instincts, or he'd be forced to relearn how to read numbers to find it reliably and that kind of brain work is something he's glad to have left behind more than one life ago.

Ferris scampers up the fire escape, back and forth up along the side of the ugly building. The higher he climbs, the darker the sky gets, until finally the sun is all the way down. The change doesn't offer much relief from the heat, not surrounded so completely by brick and concrete and steaming metal, all clustered in close together. Nothing gets out of a city like this, not the heat and nothing else either. Every now and then something special will come along that can change, but even those never leave.

Ferris finally reaches the right floor, glad to be able to stop clanging around on the caged platforms of the fire escape that would be uncomfortable on his paws even if they were cool. There's an air conditioning unit in the window, rattling and dripping. It will prevent Ferris from being able to hear anything inside, but he leaps on top of it to settle in to watch what he can see instead. He doesn't quite read lips (more brain work), but there are a million other ways for a cat to tell what's going on in a room.

The lights aren't on, but of course that's no hindrance to Ferris. There are two people inside. One of them slouches in a battered blue armchair. She's the one who lives in this apartment, and the one Ferris is here for. She's willowy, long-limbed, and the arm dangling overside of the chair could probably reach the floor if she tried. Best if she doesn't try, because the fingers of that hand are holding a smoking cigarette (one of the very few things Ferris misses, from before). The other person lies on their back, their head between her feet, their dark skin and clothes melting the hard lines of their shape into something softer against the black carpet.

(The carpet was not black when she moved in, obviously, what apartment would come with black carpet? But the landlord has never asked or complained, and will not be withholding her deposit. Ferris wouldn't either, if he was him.)

Most of the rest of the decor is black too: black sheets on her bed, a black curtain over the closet door, a black bedside table with a black candle holder holding a black candle. The walls are still the off-white they were when she arrived (to the landlord's immense, shaky relief), and the only other thing that isn't black is the huge mirror over the head of the bed. It's broken, its countless shards held perilously inside their ornate frame by nothing but chance.

Ferris watches at the window for anything interesting to happen, effortlessly ignoring the fractured reflections in the mirror that seem to copy the movements in the room on a slight delay. His orders are to "keep an eye on her". Usually Ferris is a fan of such vague directions, because it means he can interpret them however he likes. But in this case, it's annoying. And tedious. And the other neighborhood cats won't accept delegation from him anymore after Nine tattled that he was delegating more than the average percentage of his duties. He wasn't just slacking, no matter what she says, he's just very important and he gets very important jobs that take up more of his very important energy than others. Like this one.

The two people in the room trade their cigarettes back and forth, hers wrapped in the white paper of commercial tobacco and theirs in the light brown of something homemade. They run their hand up the back of her leg periodically, and she rubs the heel of her foot down their side once or twice. They speak, but not often. The streetlight comes on after flickering a few false starts, casting a halved orange spotlight into the room and making the smoky air dance.

Absolutely nothing interesting happens whatsoever. But at least it doesn't rain.

When his haunches start to tingle, Ferris leaps down from the window unit. He winces at the metal grid under his paws, still tender from the hot pavement on the way here. Maybe it's cooled down a little bit by now, but Ferris isn't holding his breath. He'll head back home now, to his Mistress, and report his lovely findings of a whole lot of nothing. A whole lot more nothing. She's never disappointed about his blank reports, though. That's humans for you. Ferris remembers being like that sometimes, when he was one. He'd bet even the perfect Nine didn't make a lick of sense back in her human days.

Ferris yawns as he trots back along the painted crosswalk the way he came. When he gets home, it's right to sleep with him. His Mistress can wait for him to nap first before getting her report.

Especially since there's someone else to keep his eye on tomorrow.

© Calico Print 2016. Do not copy, repost, or redistribute. @girlfriendsofthegalaxy @haectemporasunt @jezifster @blackhannetandco @fearofahumanplanet @godsleftarmpit @littlehastyhoneydew @rainbowabomination @antihell @isherwoodj @marrowwife @ashen-crest @wildswrites @ceph-the-ghost-writer @garthcelyn @muddshadow @cohldhands @unrealistic-android @glam-pir @outpost51 Sign up to be tagged when I post about this project.

[mariamariquinha]

Bossa Nova (Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x f!reader) - Nine

Eight | Ten

Summary: The LASD couldn't sustain its reputation as an honest police officer if it tried hard. In that case, no one tried.

Word count: 9.695.

Warnings: Bad words, talks about corruption, talks about sexism and racism, mentions of oral sex, mention of drug crimes, violence and other things related, strip clubs, sex workers, use of weed and... did I say sexism?

Author’s Note: I think this got a lot more personal than I thought, so I'm sorry if anyone has family members within the LASD who aren't corrupt - this isn't about them. This chapter doesn't have much romance, I'll warn you right away, but it's an important progression in the main characters' relationship. Give it a try!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

You didn't like your mother very much, but you definitely loved her. She was your mother, after all, and even though you knew you wouldn't be friends with her if you had that choice, you would love her like you love something because that's how it should be. You didn't think it was an obligation, and she didn't treat you badly, but there was always that feeling that because you were the first kid, she tested the options so much that she left you an arm's length away, and if it were different it would be weird. 

Again, you understood. She was your mother.

When you had the whole context of the divorce, she always came with comments. She noticed your house, your clothes, your silence; she insisted that Theodore say something, that he apologize, and you had to be definitive for it to stop.

But she was your mother. 

Emma didn't say things because she didn't like to commit, but you knew when she betrayed that direct opinion that your mother had about everything. It was like something mirrored, that instead of loud voices and cigarette smoke, you received a calculating coldness in sudden, discreet and passive comments. So you didn't confront her because, well, she wasn't your mother.

You knew you were on the edge since the situation with Ballard – so did she. And before all of that, there was the snickering, the ‘are you sure you are okay?’ with condescendent tone, the ‘maybe you should take some days off’ with a hint of a joke. You knew her and you knew each one of those mannerisms. 

Isla's situation wouldn't have grow so much in you if it weren't for the daily stress of things, yes, but it was the comment that Emma made when she went to ask you about Gina that made you stop, look and make sure you had actually heard that.

“I mean, look what getting close to Nick did to you. You weren't like this when you were still married.”

You weren't even talking about that – you had taken days to redo the work on the report, you were barely sleeping and honestly nothing she was saying had reached your ear until that moment. For her, it was another comment that you would ignore, another small micro-aggression that would pass, so she continued typing on the computer and the weight of the air in her office seemed to fall solely on you.

“... I beg your pardon?” 

She glanced at you and went back to the computer screen. 

“Yeah, you know. Women tend to rely on male powerful figures when in lack of it. Freud said something about it, didn’t he?”

“Emma, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

That did catch her attention. She backed away, then saw your offended expression and actually turned to you, alert.

“I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” And even that sounded wrong. 

“It's not just that, you're acting like an idiot to everyone here! Walsh treated me like an idiot and harassed me, which you glossed over and blamed on me. Gina was concise and conscientious about finding out about Isla and Nick because it would sink the Department, and you did nothing. What is that?” 

Emma hesitated. With a lick of her lips, she probably calculated that being all about ‘I’m wrong, right?’ wouldn’t work, so she took her time. 

“... I’m thinking of what’s best for you. Protecting your integrity for what it’s to come.”

“And what the fuck is to come? Tell me, Emma, what is it? I-” You took a deep breath. “Do you want to know? I don't want to know. I really don't want to. Whatever shit you or Magalon are warning me about in fucking code, I don't want to know.” 

“What did Magalon tell you?”

“I feel like I'm talking to my ex… Have you heard what I said before?” You pressed, getting on your feet with a huff of frustration. “Make a fucking decision Emma, ​​just… Make a fucking decision. And don't ever disrespect me like that again.” 

****

“My husband was a member of the group.”

Isla had a calm voice despite the context in which she was inserted. There were no handcuffs on her wrists or a guard inside the room; everything was done very smoothly. Her lawyer was there, tho, and he was sending Zapata some glares while they talked. There was a palpable tension in the air, as if a black cloud of violence or distortion hung within that interrogation room.

Really, you shouldn't even be there, watching. Henderson was sitting to one side as he watched through the glass the conversation Zapata and Emma were having with the woman, and that should be enough for them. Even so, it was Emma who suggested that you participate indirectly, as if using a petty way to see if you were really immersed in the work like you said. 

According to the file, Isla was of Albanian origin. The parents were immigrants and ran a small textile business in Coney Island, but they weren’t anything but a fast topic of conversation. The features of her face, such as the more rounded nose and the full face, were soft, even if her lips were dry. She was in a wheelchair, her arm had a bandage. 

Looking at it that way, she didn't look so much like Debbie. Maybe their comparison was in the attitude: the two seemed equally taken by a feeling that hovered only in Nick. One that you didn't know what it was and that maybe nobody could put their finger on.

She spoke of everything. Kosovo, her relationship with a man named Oliver Clark, her marriage and children – Selim, with 5, and Dafina, with 9. 

You just noticed that Nick entered the room when you smelled his cologne. Bad smell, as always, enough to break any serious moment with that fragrance. You couldn’t help but make a face, pinching your nostrils once and clearing your throat. He ignored you, of course. Benny appeared right behind him with two cups of coffee – you two shared a brief look.

“We have the search warrant,” He said to everyone in the room, eyeing the scene in front of you with a stern face. “I also got WPP.”  

A little late for that.

“Anything important?” Took you time to understand that the question was directed to you. When the silence became too much, you turned to him and saw everyone staring. 

“... Nothing I didn't already imagine. I'll have better luck when I have the equipment,” You leaned over the table, just a touch, and read the notes you’d taken. “Leica M6 35mm, Pentax K1000 and… Nikon 35 Ti. Analog. This Leica is a rarity, I think it was the one she used for the Long Beach homicides.”

“Couldn't it have been someone else?” Henderson asked. 

“Is that just a stupid question or do you want to make sure we've tested all options?”

“Both. So?” Nick pressed, arms crossed and nothing but harshness on his tone. 

You observed him for a beat, considered your chances there. 

“... The Leica is from the beginning of the last century, like, the 30's to the 50's. At least this model she said she has. In addition to being rare, not everyone nowadays can handle it because the resources are basically mechanical. It would be an absurd coincidence, which is not quite the case.”

“We've dealt with coincidences before.”

“Well, you would know the truth better than anyone.”

O’Brien didn’t answer. You rolled your eyes, going back to the notes before giving Isla another look. 

“How long has she been doing this?” The question was kind of thrown up in the air, as no one dared to answer. You glared at them, specifically at Nick, who huffed in annoyance before saying something.

“Two years.”

“And the case landed in your lap…” You said. “It seems that you really work with coincidences.”  

Again, no answer. Feeling like you couldn't get from point A to B with anyone there, you jotted down some more information on paper and stretched your back, rolling your shoulders.

“It will be manual stuff then. They’ll have to look at each negative.”

“If it can be done then I don't see a problem.”

“It's a good opportunity to tell me anything else I don't already know,” You conceded, voice contained to prevent any progression there. It was like swallowing a fucking lamp. 

Everyone was quiet when they heard Isla speak again, attentive as they watched every detail of the story that should no longer be news to Nick's ears. You were so concentrated that the noises of chairs dragging on the floor didn't even call your attention. Someone said something, the door opened and closed, and suddenly there was a cup of coffee right next to you.

Benny tapped the lid twice.

“Decaf,” He mouthed discreetly before retrieving his proximity and leaving the room. 

You and Henderson shared a glance, but he didn’t say a thing. You two were busy anyway. 

****

Benny didn't have a very organized routine, but he could count how many times he thought about you after that shitty lunch: two.

1. That coffee wasn't for you, but he thought of you when he noticed that the Starbucks server had made the wrong order. It was kind of spontaneous. Suddenly you were there, at the front of his mind, like you were hovering around and ready to just emerge. He put it there, left the cup as if saying ‘you can have it if you want, but if you don’t it’s fine’. No one brought the subject up.

2. Nick had gone to the store to meet an informant and someone, probably Connors, saw a familiar figure at the register when they entered. Benny knew it was Murph who commented, but he saw Zapata turn his head to look at the guy.

“Do you know who he is?”

“Who?” Benny frowned, unaware of the commotion. He turned his head, saw the dude standing there staring at his phone – like a normal person. 

“This is Theodore Park, our trouble girl's ex.”  

There was only one person Connors called ‘trouble girl' and it wasn't usually the kind of comment that came from beyond the grave. However he recognized the guy, whether it was a run-in at office parties that Benny barely attended or some private investigation that bordered on a stalker personality from Murph’s part, it seemed to be true. When Magalon looked back again, Theodore Park was gone.

The second time, then, he discovered who your ex-husband was while listening to what seemed like irrelevant information to the investigation. In the midst of Nick's reticence and failures, Theodore Park was the object of his interest. 

He was tall compared to the 5'7 that Benny was. Maybe 6'2, compared to O'Brien. There were some university articles about him (three paragraphs at Berkeley, two large PDFs at CSULB that he didn't read, and good references at Caltech) and he seemed successful with an information systems company or something. Benny could never speak properly about these things because he was never interested; as long as he had a phone that worked, he knew how to use the most intuitive social media and that was it. But not Theodore, no. The guy was a successful man in that aspect, indeed. A rich guy on the way. Without much effort, Benny would see this dude doing TED Talks and making Forbes in a few years. Which had nothing to do with him, or what seemed like your type of guy. If Theodore was on one side of the spectrum, Benny was on the other in every way.

Still, Magalon didn't do much with this information. There wasn't much he could do with it anyway.

It was only later – days later – when they had agreed to go to a 'club' to 'decompress', that he found himself thinking about you for the third time. 

Earlier that day, he saw you talking to Lennon over what seemed like conventional pleasantries between friends. You were wearing jeans, both hands in your back pockets as you paid attention to something that was being said. Your usual lab coat was gone, probably because Benny could clearly see that your shirt was tighter, had a wider bust and the position of your arms gave a subtle view of your breasts. Nothing indiscreet, because you weren't indiscreet. That outfit, however, made Benny have a sudden indiscreet thought, and it stayed in his head all day. 

He hadn't looked for you anymore – he hadn't had the chance to do that. Things escalated and suddenly there he was talking about how similar he was to Nick, pushing you away with a passive behavior that clearly pissed you off. You didn't even react, which he understood as full acceptance of the fact that he was an asshole, as if that was the one thing that Benny and a technology nerd like Theodore had in common: being a scoundrel. You treated him as always, even though what had already happened between you should have been enough for that 'always' to change.

It was sad. He really was starting to like what you two started to have. 

The girl standing next to him was called Lindsay. She sat down, started a conversation; they talked very little. Lindsay was wasted, not even bothering to clean the traces of cocaine from her top lip and nose or the way her eyes were dark. Benny asked if she wanted to go home and another friend, named Tracy (or Tara), who was visibly lucid, said it was a good idea. He paid for the taxi, made sure they got into the car safely, and discreetly showed the driver his badge. Like any other night.

He watched the taxi disappear down the street, then, on the other side, the movement of cars on that side of the city. It was late summer and the breeze of the change of season was a sure sign of the arrival of autumn, so he felt the wind hit his face. 

Benny didn't go back up to the hotel room with the guys. He handed the parking pass to the usual guy, got in the car and headed home.

No, not like any other night. That time, Benny felt another wave of what someone once said was a ‘midlife crisis’.

****

You weren't a fan of bathtubs. Well, you had one, but it was that kind of thing that was borrowed into your life, shoved down your throat because it wasn't so bad after all. Just like the coffee table you had before. And the kitchen window you always hated. And the kind of lamp that lasted so little but, look, it was chic. So like all things, which seemed to be the biggest provocation that accompanied a 'gift' from a big son of a bitch, or a reminder of how there was a sense of ease in making your life miserable, you enjoyed it.

Something like that. 

You had plans to get rid of each of these things soon, because all in all, the financial part of your life was also complicated. A visit to the bank, a mortgage proposal, expenses for the large yard and the last remnants of your student fund. You looked through apartment websites for sale and just that idea left you incredibly depressed because, on top of everything else, you were a crybaby who lost the comfort of a husband who paid most of the household bills. And not to mention the job, because… damn, the fucking job. It had been days since you closed your eyes and saw Nick, Isla, Emma, ​​Ballard, Mathias; what kind of fucking burnout was that?

So that night, when your heels were swollen and your back was sore, you allowed yourself a few minutes of privilege. Bath salts, then the heat of refreshing water and, among other things you haven't done in a long time, you felt a little sorry for yourself, felt like Emma did you so fucking wrong and you needed to be put in a victim’s place for a while. 

Connors had posted a photo with the guys on Instagram – you saw it by chance, one hand resting your head on the edge of the bathtub and the other scrolling through your phone. ‘bday party w/ the fella 🔥🔥🔥’, with Benny below his arm in what looked like a half drunk pose, in what also looked like a strip club in the background. You stared at it for a moment. Then another. Then another. There were easy smiles, joyfulness, even happiness; like it was just a standard day, as if the world was okay as soon as the first beer landed on their tables. 

There was never a question with them, a doubt. It was as if, arbitrarily, the main characteristic of a cop wasn’t useful for them to become the ideal professionals that everyone thought they were. There is no need for moral duty, responsibility and care, as proof that the world, in itself, was also not moral, responsible and careful. 

That was it. It was this pain, this itch, that disturbed you, because you knew that no questions were directed at Theodore when things ended. He, above the law, with money in his pocket and a successful career ahead of him, didn’t receive any dirty looks for having cheated on his own wife, who in turn would, in fact, receive condescending comments, pats on the shoulder of comfort and an unfair response from a boss, who attributed your problems to the great evil of having lost an idiot husband. That was what you always hated the most. 

Before you could put down the device, the screen changed theme: Benny was calling. It wasn't a text, it was a call. 

You hesitated before answering.

“... Yes?”

“Hey,” The other end of the line was clear, even if you presumed he was still in the club with the guys. “You busy?”

“Mm-hm,” You frowned. “Something happened?” 

“No.”

“... Ah.”

“Just wanted to check on you. You probably think that I’m a jerk right now.”

You lifted your torso and sat in the bathtub, more confused than you expected. For a beat you didn’t say anything. 

“You do.”

“No! No, I… I don’t think… anything. Why do you think that?” But he didn’t need to answer because you knew. “If that’s because we’re not doing anything, there’s no hard feelings. We’re just having fun, right?”

Benny sighed. 

“Yeah, we were.”

“So you don’t need to explain yourself.”

And before you could stop yourself, you added something else that made your eyes close in regret. 

“Things are kinda crazy right now.” 

You didn't want to go back to the atmosphere of that lunch. It wasn't your fault or his, but it was as if there was an external interference, a weight of your different ideals, even if they weren't in question at that moment. That's why you had convinced yourself to give it a chance, to go out with him in the first place: because it wasn't work. And suddenly you were stupid and brought it up as soon as he got in touch after so long.

“How’s Gina?” He decided to ask, which made you squirm in discomfort. 

“She’s fine,” You conceded. “Nick?”

“He’s good.”

Another pause. 

“... Well, I’m certain that you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t, you’re right.”

“Yeah,” You let out a low embarrassed giggle, biting your bottom lip. “Neither do I.”

Another pause. You couldn’t hear a thing for the other side and, for a long stretched moment, it felt like you two were measuring each other’s breaths. 

“I didn't know it was Connors' birthday,” Which worked. Benny sighed in defeat, but it was better to talk about Murph’s ideas of parties than anything else. 

That was how fucked up the whole situation was. 

“We kinda did something. He always makes a big deal of that stuff.”

“You don’t?” 

“Nah, I’m old. Pushing closer to my 50s already. Whoever said middle age life for men it’s their peak, but that’s bullshit.” 

“If you were Telly Savalas, perhaps,” The teasing didn’t go unnoticed by him, who scoffed a laugh. It made you smile too. “So your party ended early.” 

“Couldn’t stay long there. My sister made up dinner because one of my nieces is going to college. Right now I’m sleeping in my old bathroom at my mom’s house.” 

“What, Benny Magalon still fits in his childhood bed?” 

“You know me enough to know how well I fit.”

Deep down, you realized that he didn't say that in a charming way to induce you into some kind of phone sex or something like that. He sounded a little indifferent, actually, and even lazy, as if that was what he should tell you because of the circumstances. You felt a certain relief when you noticed the tone in his voice, because you didn't feel up to it that day.

He moved on the other side, just like you.

“Are you gonna ask what I am wearing?” You teased with a small smile. 

“You’re naked. I heard the sound of water, so you’re in a bathtub.” 

“Aren’t you a smart detective.”

“Now who’s the one being a charmer,” He said.

“If I was, I would ask what you’re wearing.”

“I’m wearing sleep shorts.”

“Mm.”

“With no underwear.”

“Ooh, how sexy.” 

“Right.”

You two shared a quiet, peaceful laugh. You leaned back in the bathtub and rested your head on the edge of it, staring at the ceiling as you heard him moving again on the other side.

There was a hint of subtext, as if you wanted to say something and so did he, but no one knew how because it wasn't something as casual as a sexual joke or small talk. He called, after all, and if this was a failed attempt to 'relax', he had already made it clear that he wasn't very interested either. What was it, anyway? Should you bring up the subject of Isla? Should you two keep talking about this?

“Enjoy that bathtub for me,” Like a goodbye, voice and mind probably in another place. 

“I hate this fucking thing.”

“Enjoy it anyway. God knows it can give us a break. We all need it.”

“Yeah… Tell Connors I said happy birthday.” 

“Will not.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. 

“Good night, Benny.”

“Good night, gatita.” 

You abandoned the phone at the closed toilet seat as soon as the line was off, but you kept looking at the device for a while, as if waiting for something to happen or just expecting that sensation of unsaid things to go away. It shouldn’t hit you this hard – shouldn’t make you feel like things were simply falling apart. 

You just wanted to be sure for once that things wouldn’t be so difficult all the time. 

****

The first sip of coffee was distracted. When the taste hit your tongue, you immediately grimaced and threw the drink back into the cup, staring at the totally undrinkable dark thing.

Great. No good coffee as well. 

You wiped the corners of your mouth with your fingers and left the cup on the table, a little unsure whether you should throw it away or not. After little consideration, you just threw it in the trash can, massaging your eyes with the heels of your hands before taking a long breath. 

The break room was naturally busy in the morning, with people on double shifts and those who were arriving, like you, in and out of the tiredness of the end of the day with the beginning of another. Everyone was chatting amongst themselves, exchanging details about cases they were working on or the new bar that had opened nearby, so it was a bit strange that as soon as you rolled your shoulders to ease the tension, everyone turned their attention to a Lennon out of breath who entered the room with an urgent voice.

“Did you know?” That's all he said, then turning on the TV and stopping in the middle of the tables to watch it. You, who were further in front and close to the coffee machine, had to lift your head a little more to understand what was happening.

“Recognized for the successful work carried out on the Merrimen case, Los Angeles County Major Crimes, coincidentally on the day of the closure of one of the most intense operations carried out in the city and credited in its name, hands over the most recent drug trafficking case to the Drug Enforcement Administration, the DEA…” 

You could hear some gasps from your colleagues, murmurs and then shushings, so that they remained quiet and could listen carefully to what was there as if it wasn't obvious. After that, you just stared at the screen in disbelief, your brow furrowed and your hands outstretched at your sides. When they cut to the scene of the press conference in the building's press room, which appeared to have taken place not long before you arrived, you could only see Nick standing next to the sheriff, Walsh's team, and Mathias himself at the lectern making the announcement. 

Mathias's voice was a background sound, almost like an irritating noise in the silence of that room that seemed palpable. No commotion, no direct press releases, just a 'peaceful transition' (Walsh's words) to 'a more prepared and complete team' (also Walsh’s words), which indirectly could mean more than cutting spending by the County government but rather a nudge coward of someone who didn't have the balls to chest someone basically… male.

You felt a little bad about that. 

But, heavens, everyone thought that. And when Gina, of all those present, said mid Walsh's phony speech right after he highlighted the inefficiency of the forensic team (a part you only realized when he used the terms 'difficulty communicating with experts' and 'inadequacy expert with the magnitude of the case'), you blinked and saw her standing for herself, arms crossed and ready to fight.

“Nick does that fucking shit and we get the blame,” She said to the TV. 

Then you got hit by a huge wave of realization. Of Emma, of Benny, of the ‘codes’ they were using to talk with you, the alerts. You didn't imagine this had been shared with Gina, or with anyone else, but it sounded so premeditated that you felt a shiver of distrust.

No one there got caught up in it because they didn't have time, but everyone recognized the mechanisms and adapted to them. Neither you nor Gina whined much when the sheriff organized annual running competitions and didn't stay to reward the winning women; from what little you knew of Henderson, you didn't see him complaining, for example, about the fact that Nick always put him in for questioning black suspects, tapping him twice on the shoulder and saying 'you know what to do', but heavy in a condescending tone. Hell, you always saw the same ridiculous type of episode happening with Lennon as well. 

Taken back to reality by the commotion bubbling between your colleagues, you noticed Emma standing in the doorway as if she had sneakily appeared to observe the reactions and the two of you exchanged very tense silent looks. She didn’t look defeated, but averted your gaze as soon as it became just a staring contest. 

You turned to the TV – to the takes of Nick and the guys during the Merrimen case, then at their faces during the press conference. 

Huh. 

****

The atmosphere was burial-like, to say the least. You had spent the day in the lab, like a forced routine return, and it was as if no one had the balls to open their mouth and speak verbally about the subject. There were official emails from the DEA requesting evidence that had already been collected, reminders from Emma about other cases you were working on in parallel, one thing or another from Ballard (who didn't know how to create an email conversation and ended up answering each of your responses with a new email). There was a sepulchral silence from Major Crimes, but not the kind that left them untainted in the precinct's dome of recognition and social hierarchy – it was a shameful silence.

If you could bet on a collective concern, perhaps everyone was tense at the idea of ​​having been publicly exposed as incompetent, and if even the best team of detectives in the county had failed, there was no certainty of the stability of the Department's resources. This would not only make the LASD incompetent (or corrupt), but also incomplete.

You have a new text! You looked at the phone screen lazily, already expecting anything else, but when you saw who it really was, you couldn’t help but feel reticent and, at best, surprised.

****

“Is this your bat cave or something?” 

The door to the building's terrace always got stuck, but that was just one of the old or poorly working things in that place. Your comment was more to break the ice, to kill that sour mood after you stumbled to close the thing. You took a few steps closer to O'Brien and the others, the five of them sitting around in concrete boxes. 

“Was that supposed to be funny?” Zapata asked with a scowl, to which made you raise your eyebrows at the animosity.  

“I think so, but if you're offended I think I'm on the right track.” 

“You really are a bitch.”

“Tony-” Benny intervened. 

“Yo, there’s no need to-” Connors said.

“Yeah, Zapata, watch your fucking mouth,” Biting back wasn’t exactly the best idea, because you knew the spirits were agitated, but it was obvious that the context didn’t allow for that type of behavior against you. Everyone there knew that that reaction was the remnant of misdirected anger. 

You two shared a silent glare. Tony considered your face for a moment and you did the same; when Magalon pushed him to avert the attention, Zapata waved him off and walked away – you and Benny shared a small glance, one he soon ended to look at Nick, who watched the scene while lighting a cigarette. 

“We done?” He asked. 

“Don’t know, Nick, are we?” You sighed in defeat, sitting on a concrete support and looking anywhere but him. “You said it was important.”

“It is.”

“Is it about the case?”

“He used Isla. We think it had some internal interference.”

And so, being a somewhat literate person in the context of dealing with cops, you could see the pattern and tone of the conversation that had just begun: it was almost an interrogation. Everyone there, kind of around him, looking for the person who would go to the guillotine. It took a while, between the silence that followed, the way everyone (except Benny) was staring at you and Zapata's reaction so spontaneously explosive, but when you lifted your head and looked at that scene, connecting the dots, you frowned and felt truly offended. 

“Wow.”

“We need to be sure.”

“And it would be me for… what, exactly?” He didn’t answer, which made you scoff and giggle in disbelief. “Look, I know my friend wouldn't do that, but as any normal person you could ask Gina that, right?” 

“We did,” Henderson said. “We investigated and there was nothing.” 

“That means you investigated me as well?” 

You felt a pang of frustration greater than the outrage you were feeling. And despite the secret behind you and Benny, who shook his head, it was on him that you closed your eyes for a moment before looking back at Nick, who had his eyes downcast, scratching at the ground while blowing smoke from his mouth.

“You are all a bunch of fuckers.”

“You reacted to Isla,” O’Brien argued with a monotonous tone. “And you said I would be fucked if I messed with you again.”

“Because I’m a human being, Nick, the fuck.” 

No one said a word. There was this soft breeze flowing around, given the time of the year and the area where you were, one that you noticed that made their hairs flow and you shiver a little. If you paid close attention, you would see frustration and rage and that regular disappointment of a kid when they have lost a toy they like or are denied a candy. The loss, whatever it was, hurt for them but not for professional reasons but for honor. A very uncompensated and arbitrary honor, but an honor nonetheless. And it was always easier to blame someone else. You knew it was easy to make a calculation that would work for you because there would always be the feeling that you were impulsive, stubborn, even cruel – because men hurt you, because you still resent things in your personal life.

“I think it's common sense that almost no one here likes you very much,” You said in a low tone. “And we can agree that ethics and professionalism aren’t exactly the main pillars of what you do.”

Nobody said anything, because you were right. It was actually impressive that you managed to maintain a calm, almost soothing tone right after being basically accused of something so serious. Deep down, you felt that, at least, Nick didn't put much faith in this hypothesis, that this was a demonstration of power in front of others because his hands were tied and this was truly new to him. 

And you didn't ask what the plan was, what they were going to do next. You didn't care about that. No one needed to cry because they lost the case, it was obvious that it wasn't the first time this had happened – it certainly wasn't the last either.

Nick puffed some smoke out of his chest, eyeing you for a moment. Then, with a ‘tsk’, he huffed and crouched down, elbows resting on his eyes, making eye contact. 

“Someone reported the investigation to the Embassy. Walsh had us up against the wall as soon as you mentioned the fucking case in Long Beach because the bastard found out about her and me. I was exposed. I'm testing my options here and one of them includes the fact that you curiously knew that they were the same specifications in both cases,” He said. “Gina just found that out and spit to the whole fucking world to know. She’s not that dumb to risk herself to do so.”

“Yeah, but I am, because apparently it didn't occur to you that I was just good at my damn job. The fact that I knew about the pics was just a question of someone giving me a fucking clue?” You raised your eyebrows. “I got my degree and my master's at the same time, you son of a bitch. I don't need to suck anyone's balls to know how to do my job.” 

You two looked at each other. Nick was clenching his jaw, holding words in his mouth and turning them around enough so they could come back in a dry swallow. When he looked away first, blinking a few times, it was the first time you really saw genuine frustration, a moment of weakness that maybe, one day, Debbie had seen, or that the co-workers who were around him at the moment also witnessed in a rare way. 

Your brow was furrowed and you were truly confused and mad by this gap. Looking around, above O'Brien's head, you saw Zapata looking at the city below him with an annoyed look, his back to the two of you; Murph kept his hands in his hoodie pockets, Henderson had his arms crossed. Benny watched you, then looked at the ground, shaking his head. 

No, this wasn't about you, nor was it your fault – of course it wasn’t. In that context, you were just a part of the realization of something you hadn't touched until you saw every defeated feature on that rooftop. 

“... Are you sure?” You asked, blinking a few times with a shaky voice. 

Nick shook his head. 

“And you expect me to do something about it?”

“No,” He said with a firm tone, getting up on his feet. “No one here is sure. I figured you knew something since-”

“Since you thought I had something to do with it, yeah, I noticed,” It was directed to Tony, who just tsked and averted his gaze again. 

When everyone kept quiet, not daring to admit their mistake or even apologize, you were the one getting up, still not sure how to react and uncertain of how to end that conversation. 

“Never do that to me again, don’t-” You collected your voice, clearing your throat. “I never considered myself such a good person, but next to you I'm a fucking saint. I put up with a lot of shit from Walsh and Emma because of you, so shut the hell up before you dare think I'd change sides. If there is any side to this shit.” 

“I needed to be sure.”

“I hope you had all the answers you needed,” There was harshness in your tone, almost a fury. And surprisingly, he didn’t answer that equally. “And yeah, I’ll be honest, okay? You were a coward. I don’t like you. Go eat shit.” 

“It’s easy to say that after you put Benny in the middle of whatever it is you have with Walsh.”

“Listen now-”

“Excuse me?” You frowned, not even letting Magalon finish the interruption he was doing while getting closer. “I didn't ask anyone here to defend me! If this fucking case went wrong, try to consider your incompetence or the fact that no one asked you to fuck a suspect.”

When he kept quiet again, you scoffed, shaking your head. 

“It’s so easy, isn’t it? Walk around like you rule every place, do whatever the fuck you want, put the blame on everyone to feel better… Gina was right. You’re just like Walsh. Just like him.”

You nodded. 

“You always had all the tricks in hand and let a widowed single mother almost get killed by a gang. Curious of you to think anyone is responsible but you.” 

Turning your back, you walked away from him, already opening the door to leave the rooftop. Before you could, though, you eyed him one more time. 

“Whatever your plan is, when and if they ask me, I'll be sincere. About you and about her. Because I can do that.” 

“You would never say anything against Emma.”

The mention of her name, like an answer to your question, made you flex your fingers in anger. 

“... And I don't blame you for not believing that. It’s clear that it's been a while since you've been able to understand honesty.”

****

“You called her a bitch.”

Hearing Benny's voice break the silence was strange, so everyone was confused before understanding what he was saying. When they did, he saw Zapata shift uncomfortably on the couch, looking at the coffee table.

“I didn't think straight at the moment.”

“It seems like no one here has done that.”

“You want to say something?” Nick pressed with a rough tone, as if ready to snap at the detective right away. Benny measured him, shrugged. 

“I told you it was a bad idea. With Isla and with her.”

“We needed to get around it all, test possibilities. This shit is going to get ugly soon.”

“And you pushed away one of the few people who could keep us from getting screwed over too.” 

When they exchanged glances after Benny's response, there was a silent consensus that the disagreements were slowly getting bigger, something that had been surrounding the group long before you showed up or the case.

Everyone continued smoking in silence and the tense atmosphere didn’t dissipate. Things weren't going well.

****

You knew what you were getting into when you started your career there – you always did. Your parents looked at you the wrong way at first, Theodore always treated it as a temporary thing, and your friends always told you that a lab somewhere was great, or a university could be perfect for anyone who wanted to invest in the academic field, or a friend's company in private sector needed a professional who had the same qualifications as you. 

Still, you resisted the comments in the same way that someone resists some kind of temptation: you laughed, you chatted away and no one brought it up again. You didn't consider those things because you liked the stability that a government job gave you, and people just couldn't understand that.

It was the first time you really considered it. You have recapitulated occasions, measured the possibilities; maybe LASD was no longer the most stable place in the world to be, nor the safest.

The marijuana stash (that's what your brother called it) was in the drawer next to the bed. When you were with Theodore, he also used it, although he didn't really like it because he had headaches, so it was a common thing in the house. You were on your third or fourth drink, eyeing the files and releasing smoke into the air. There was no music, just the low light in the room and the brightness of Kojak's aquarium, so sometimes you needed to squint to see small letters of your own handwriting.

You revisited the case, reviewed your notes and copies of the evidence. Whether it was the effect of the marijuana drink, or your paranoid conscience, you wanted to know if at any point you missed something that indicated a failure in your judgment, if Nick was right or if you ended up taking the whole case down with Isla. 

Someone had been trying to call for half an hour, but you didn't answer –it must have been someone from work, because if it had been a family member they would already be knocking on the door. You didn't even look in the direction of the phone; the vibrations started to bother you but not distract you.

Before you could put the cigarette back in your mouth, someone knocked on the door. The doorbell had stopped working a while ago and that was one of the things that had to be fixed before you could sell that fucking house. 

“Who’s it?” You asked in a high voice, not moving from your spot. 

No one answered. That made you frown, then finally snap your eyes in the door’s direction. You waited. Seconds later, your phone had gone off. 

“... Hello?” 

“It’s me. Lemme in?”

Everything was screaming for you to say no, to hang up and leave him waiting outside until he gave up and disappeared. It would be very convenient for him to be there, ready to convince you of something, to be more malleable; it made sense. He could still be trying to take something out of you, as far as you knew. Still, you were a little out of orbit from the weed, slightly sluggish and relaxed, so you calmly got up, abandoned the files where they were spread on the coffee table and walked over, opening it but not waiting too long to see him enter before turning around again. 

You took slow steps into the room. There was the sound of the door closing, then being locked, and then his footsteps coming behind, but keeping his distance. 

“Weed?” He asked. 

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“I could,” That answer made you snort. “But it’s Cali. And you’re literally my teenage wet dream right now, so I can let it pass.”

Teasing or not, you looked at yourself and noticed your clothes (or lack thereof): panties, a long t-shirt. When you turned to him, standing in the middle of the room, Benny was staring at your legs, but he wasn't smiling.

“You're like a broken record, you know that?” You raised your eyebrows, hands on your hips. “All you say is that I'm in your dreams. This is cheesy as fuck.” 

“You didn't complain about that when you were riding me.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“Well, you’re being quite hypocritical.”

“Fuck off.”

“Stop it.”

“What do you want?”

“You didn't answer my calls.”

“That doesn't answer my question, so I guess we're even.”

He was tense, stressed. You could tell. Benny wouldn't talk to you like that if he wasn't angry about something, maybe even frustrated because you weren't 'clear-headed' to talk at all. 

For a few seconds, he considered you while licking his lips, as if the gears were turning in his head. Yours was also moving, but more gradually, slowly, which left you a little unresponsive when you saw him take off his jacket.

“This must be good, you didn't even hear me.”

“Mm?” You blinked, taking in the sight of his forearms while he lifted his shirt sleeves. That made him crack a giggle. 

“Can I have some?” 

Oh. Oh. The weed. He was already walking closer to the coffee table to grab the joint between two fingers, eyes swiping over the papers, so you watched in awe as he put the cig on his lips and took a long drag, eyeing the burning tip with curiosity. Benny hummed and nodded while puffing the smoke.

“Shit’s really good. How did you get it?” 

“... My brother,” And before he could take another drag, you picked the joint from his hands. “Smoke, hold and pass. That's the rule.” 

“Are we in college or somethin’?”

“Shut up and sit down.”

That's what you two did – him on the couch, you on the carpet in front of him. You took another drag, handed over the cigarette and he brushed his hands on your shoulders before grunting, probably leaning back on the cushions. 

****

It was a very silent few minutes, almost making you forget that Benny was there. When the effect of marijuana hit him, he was already lying on the sofa, without his shoes or his top shirt, limiting himself to showing his arms in a white tank top. This gave you a period of lucidity, very brief, and soon there was no more marijuana to smoke, despite the joint not being finished.

All your caution was being thrown out the window, you knew, but it wasn't like it was going to make any difference. 

“Hey,” You called him in a low tone. 

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Benny stayed quiet for a moment or two, as if gathering his thoughts, then you listened to him squirming on the couch, getting on his side to look at you even if you still had your back at him. Sensing that he was waiting for you to give him the same attention, you adjusted yourself and stared at him. 

“Shoot it.”

“What happened with Walsh wasn’t on purpose.”

Silence. For a beat, you even thought that he didn’t hear you, given the fact he was already zoning out a little. You started to feel embarrassed, weird. Well, you were high, which could lead to a version of you who would babble about a lot of nonsense and shit, but that was something that came from your lucid mind, probably a thing you wouldn’t say so softly without the weed. 

“It wasn’t a question,” He teased in a calm voice, smiling at you. 

“... I know,” You smiled back, but it turned into a bunch of stupid giggling. 

It cooled down soon. 

“I didn’t see it this way, you know. Walsh is a stupid motherfucker,” He said after a while.

“Jackass.”

“Dickhead.”

“Yeah… His head looks like a dick. An ugly one.”

“And there’s any pretty dicks somewhere?”

“Just as there’s pretty pussies.” 

“Have you ever seen others?”

You looked at each other, a small smile playing on your lips. When realization started to slowly creep on him, he opened his mouth in shock. 

“It was in college-”

“Always in college,” He rolled his eyes, grinning like an idiot. 

“I had this friend, Kennedy. We were roommates, I was single at the time, you know… It happened. But now we’re just good friends.”

“Mm.”

“I’m serious!” You laughed. 

“So you’re telling me that if this Kennedy comes up here tonight, ask to go down on you or whatever, you would say no?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Fuck, I would. I’m not cold blooded, gatita.”

A series of laughs filled the living room again. 

“We’re going out of the question here, yeah? Having a serious conversation.”

“You were the one talking about dicks here!”

“Because you called Walsh a dickhead!”

“Okay,” He sighed, adjusting his body to lean over his arm and have a better look at you. Little by little, Benny started to frown, as if thinking hard on something. You would be lying if you said it wasn’t a beautiful sight. 

“So?” 

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” His voice was soft, calm, even if a little concerned. “Plus, you had just signed a divorce and Walsh was there talking about it, humiliating you. That wasn't right.” 

You considered his words calmly, blinking heavily but still paying attention. 

“Nick wasn’t in his right mind when he said that.”

“You think?”

“Mm-hm. You shouldn’t worry about it,” And you knew he was talking about the files spread behind you, so you felt a wave of embarrassment. 

“...You’re not just saying that, are you?” The question was serious, probably the first serious thing you said since he came to your house out of nowhere. 

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re with them. Like… you know. With them.”

Benny nodded, taking in your words carefully. 

“Fair enough.” 

But he didn’t push the topic, nor tried to apologize or something. He let you have your doubts, probably because he himself couldn’t help but agree that maybe, if it was the other way around, there would be uncertainty on his part as well. You sighed, then, turning your eyes to the carpet and poking it every now and then, as if looking for something on it with false concentration.

“Hey.”

“Mm?”

“Come here.”

“What?”

“‘Wanna feel you,” He almost whined, sitting up and pulling you by the fabric of your shirt. 

“That’s why you came? To feel me?”

“Are you fucking mocking me, woman?”

“I am,” You got on your knees carefully, smirking at him lazily. “Looked like you just waited for the best opportunity to come back here and fuck me.” 

“But I don’t wanna fuck you, I wanna feel you.”

“What’s the difference?” 

The position you stayed couldn’t be more convenient: him, starting to sit as well, legs spread while you rose on your knees, ready to get up. It gave him some time to stare at you with a lazy grin. 

“Saying I wanna fuck would imply that I just came here for it,” He explained. “Feeling you could lead to sex, but with some warm up.”

“All the times we had sex had some warm up,” You argued, hands gripping his thighs lightly. 

“And it was so good, wasn’t it?” Benny asked when you rose just a little to get closer to his face. 

You observed his face for a moment before raising up to peck his lips lightly. When he just sighed, melting into it, you smiled and gave him another kiss, this time a little longer, wetter – enough to, when you part ways, it made a muah. The fabric of your shirt was worn out, old enough to make it more thin and give you a better feel when you gently brushed your chest on his. It made you sigh against his lips, doing it again when he groaned a little, unable to move a muscle but reacting in slow breaths. 

Both of you, silly high adults, brushing your noses, kissing soundly and ready to fuck each other’s brains out as if the world wasn’t basically on fire. 

“I didn’t come here for this, tho.”

This made you move your face, just a little, and the look on your eyes scrunched up in confusion. It felt like a spontaneous burst of lucidity, almost like a punch, and when he turned his face to the side, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, you felt brutally rejected. You moved your hands away from his legs. Suddenly, the carpet was hurting your knees and you stood up, muttering a 'sorry' as you sat on the edge of the sofa, a little away from him. 

“Did you come to defend Nick or something?” 

“This has nothing to do with Nick.”

“So why are you here? To tease about us fuck and not doing a thing about it?”

He considered your face for a moment, still taking in the effects of the weed – even if you both started to feel more buzzed then properly high. 

“You don't want to go to war with him.”

“Oh,” You raised your eyebrows, scoffing a sarcastic giggle. “So you came to be a gentleman and defend me from the evils of disagreeing with Nicholas O'Brien? I thought you made it clear that you didn't have much chivalry in your personality.”  

“I don’t.”

“Mm.”

“But that has nothing to do with chivalry. You’re not being rational.”

“About…?” 

Benny sighed.

“We both know it was Emma.” 

“That shit again…” You groaned, getting up brusquely from your seat and wobbling a little before starting to walk away to the kitchen. 

“What happened was-”

“A mistake. A fucking mistake.” 

When you turned, Benny was up too, standing a few feet closer to the kitchen entrance with his arms hanging loosely on his sides. The lack of answer made you shake your head, grabbing a glass bottle of water from the fridge and drinking a good amount. 

That made everything silent. With both hands on the kitchen’s sink, you closed your eyes and collected your thoughts. 

“I'm not naive to think she couldn't have been involved in this, but I'm not naive or stupid to absolve Nick of the shit he should be responsible for,” You glared at him, noticing his dry lips, the way he just blinked at you with a stern expression. With a tsk, you caught hold of a cup in the sink for him and poured some water in it, not daring to give, but letting it rest closer. 

He came, grabbed the cup. 

You could feel the effects of the marijuana, which were already weaker before, start to leave your system. You were sick, you made a face, but you swallowed your discomfort with more water. 

“I'm not Isla.”

It slipped out of your mouth like a slim and unstable thought, one that made him just nod, sipping on the water calmly while leaning on the sink beside you, eyeing the other side of the room. 

“Didn’t think you were.” 

“No?”

“Nn-nn.”

“So you didn’t investigate me?” 

You knew you had him cornered the moment you said it, but Benny didn't show any anger. He stayed quiet, sipped the rest of the water and stood in front of you, face to face, in such a firm way that you almost backed away if you weren't so irritated.

“If I were as much of a son of a bitch as you think I am, I would have let you finish what you started on that couch,” That made you avert your gaze, but he gently pushed your chin, bringing you to eye his face again. “I'm not Nick. Despite my inclinations, I didn’t ask you out in the first place to investigate you.”

“Right, so it was another thing you said was a bad idea to Nick?” 

“Yes, it was.” 

“Bullshit,” You scoffed, taking a step back. “So you’re that good of a person to get along with Nick’s shit and still be his moral compass? Gimme a break, Benny, I’m not that naive.”

Before he could answer, you kept going. 

“She's just a bargaining chip. She always was. And despite our visibly very different lives, I know what it's like to be used and then discarded as if you’re nothing, as if every promise was nothing more than a lie to achieve something very personal, something that never had to do with you,” You said. “I don't want you to come here and expect me to point fingers or accuse people. If it was Emma, ​​if it was Walsh, it doesn't make any difference if the person primarily responsible for this doesn't take the real blame.” 

“You know the world isn’t a fairytale, don't you?”

“I do! And Isla knows it too, better than anyone! This has nothing to do with an imaginary, but with commitment! When was the last time Nick used his badge for anything other than taking it out of his pocket while a whore gave him a blowjob?”

Nothing. Just silence. For a long, perceptive, heavy moment: silence. 

Benny shook his head in disbelief. 

“Emma received a letter of recommendation from the DEA forensic department,” He said in a low tone, catching you completely by surprise. That felt like a test, the way he observed your reaction with care, looking for an answer. When he found it, Benny nodded. “That's why I came here.”

“... What? I don’t understand.”

“I can't remember the last time I had five minutes of conversation with someone who had nothing to do with this shit. It takes me time to believe just as much as it does to you to know I tried to give him some sense, so if I’m here it's because I know you’re not involved and you need to know there’s people around you doing shit.” 

You could barely process the information, what that implied, because you had every right to disbelieve and have your doubts. There was a suspicious look on your face, he knew that because you didn't hide it, but he didn't take offense this time.

“Just stay away. Things are going to get fucked up,” He was definitive. “God knows I’ll have to be away as well.” 

****

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers  

@thesandbeneathmytoes ​

@nerdyreaderpapi

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@mysoulisasunflower

@seaweeden

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@servenas-inner-fangirl

[specialinterestshows]

Taking a break from the reader’s perspective as my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic temporarily becomes a Damian Priest x Finn Balor smut (just for this chapter).

Warnings for this section: Cannabis (weed) mention, dirty talk

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 51 of ?): A Prince And His Archer

Holding hands in the back seat with Damian, Finn kept looking at the man he couldn't believe he had let himself get this close to - occasionally catching Rhea grinning at the two of them in the rearview mirror. Somehow, her knowing looks seemed to bother him less, he realized, giving Damian's hand a small squeeze and smiling. He couldn't stop thinking of what had happened just prior to their small road trip...

"Tell me why we need to be this far from everyone else?" Finn had groaned, following Damian through the parking lot to the rental car. At the time, Finn had written off Damian's giddiness and secretive behavior as a result of him having just smoked - Damian’s eyes were certainly red enough.

“What I have to say isn't for anyone else to hear," Damian said, moving to slide onto the hood of the car before Finn grabbed him by the arm.

"Watch the rental!" he snapped, pulling Damian away from the vehicle, "If you’re gonna sit somewhere, how about the seats in the damn car?"

Instead of responding, Damian looked down and smiled when he confirmed that Finn had yet to let go of his wrist. Eyes following Damian's, Finn blushed before dropping his grip on Damian’s arm. Still grinning, Damian unlocked the car and opened a door to the back seat, sliding in and waiting for Finn to join him. Hesitating, Finn briefly wondered why they weren't sitting in the front seats, but the curiosity as to what Damian wanted to talk about made him join the man anyway.

Finn ducked into the car and closed the door behind him before asking, "Now what's so damn important?"

"Mira, I know I haven't been easy to work with lately," Damian began, pausing when Finn scoffed at the understatement before continuing, "And I've been acting like it's your fault, but it's not - this is all me."

Finn looked surprised at Damian owning up to his actions, crossed arms relaxing and expression softening as he kept listening after Damian let out a sigh.

"I've been... in denial about some things- some... feelings," Damian cleared his throat, heart pounding - it was clear that this was more difficult to admit than he realized, but still he took a deep breath and said, "Te quiero. Te amo."

I want you. I love you. No, surely Finn had mistranslated... but then he recalled the way Dominik looked at Rhea when he said those same things, his eyes full of love. Looking up, Finn blushed as the realization hit him that Damian was now gazing upon him with the same passion in his eyes. Somehow, instead of panic or disgust or even indifference, Finn felt a bit stunned but somehow also... hopeful?

"Can you, um, run that by me again?" Finn asked, trying to suppress a grin, face growing warmer by the second.

"I said," Damian whispers as he leans in closer, "I love you. And I want you."

Chills ran up Finn's spine and, before he knew it, he had bridged the gap between himself and Damian. The feeling of Damian's lips pressed against his, smiling into the kiss, sent a small rush of desire through him. Once Finn bit the other man's lower lip, Damian let out a pleased growl and the sound was enough for Finn to stop holding himself back. Hands moving up Damian's shirt, Finn reached the collar before ripping it down the front.

"Could've asked," Damian muttered between lip bites and rough kisses.

"Didn't wanna stop," Finn grunted, referring to the making out as his hands run along the taller man's muscular chest.

Gripping Finn by the hair and pulling away, Damian looks deep into Finn's eyes before smirking, "Not even if I want to put my mouth somewhere else?"

Finn's raised eyebrows and dropped jaw in response to the offer made Damian chuckle, "You need to tell me if that's a yes."

"Definitely a yes," Finn says, causing Damian to pull him in for one more rough kiss before letting go of his hair. Finn eagerly unbuttoned his own pants before sliding them down, along with his underwear.

"Que bueno," Damian growled once Finn's dick sprung up out of his briefs, "Hard for me already."

With one smooth motion, Damian lowered his head down onto Finn, taking the entire length of his dick into his mouth at once.

"Fuck," Finn moaned, hands moving to grip Damian's long, dark hair as he began bobbing his head up and down slowly. Lost in the pleasure of how Damian's mouth felt, Finn didn't notice him wipe off a bit of drool that dripped down from his mouth before bringing one wet finger up to Finn's asshole. The sudden, toe-curling sensation of Damian teasing his entrance makes Finn cry out and start thrusting into Damian's mouth, grip tightening on his hair.

Damian couldn't help but moan around Finn when he heard the man make noises he'd never heard from him before. The vibration made Finn's eyes roll in the back of his head, pleasure building rapidly.

"Getting close," Finn whimpered, realizing he wouldn't be able to stop himself from coming, though he was trying to delay it.

Damian flicked his tongue around Finn as he came hard, the world around him vanishing. For a few glorious seconds, Finn existed in a universe of pure ecstacy.

Once Damian had swallowed and Finn had loosened his grip, riding small aftershocks, Damian moved his hand to grab Finn's ass instead, slowly pulling his head away.

"Tan lindo," Damian sighs, looking down at Finn, "I love the noises you make, pretty boy."

"Oh hush," Finn says, looking away and blushing, embarrassed by how quickly he came.

"Not a chance," Damian grins, leaning in and kissing Finn's warm cheek.

"Sorry 'bout your shirt," Finn mumbles, looking down at Damian's bare chest.

"Don't be," Damian says, pulling it off, "But I'm borrowing yours to go back and get the others."

"Go for it," Finn says, starting to remove his shirt, "I need a minute. Or ten."

"Hey guys," Dominik giggled from the passenger's seat, breaking Finn out of his reverie, "Does- does this mean we're the Judgment Gays?"

"Boooo," Damian says as Rhea gives a short laugh.

"Oh come on, that was a good one!" Dom protested.

Finn looked over at Damian again, smiling when he saw Damian was already looking at him.

"I love you," Finn whispered, squeezing Damian's hand.

"Gaaaaay," Dominik said, then "Ow!" when Rhea smacked the back of his head, making Finn and Damian laugh.

[end part fifty-one of ?]

Part 52: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/730308673200635904/absolute-smokeshow-part-52-of-vibe-together

-

Tag List (thank you!)

@cherryberryshine , @littlemiss-fanficlover , @elisewithak , @babybatlover , @girlofpink , @kagome2909 , @domlynch

[gayisslayyyy]

Dsmp court jester AU: Crowning

trigger warning: heavy angst, character death, dehumanization, villains win, humiliation, corporal punishment, historical timeframe, alcohol and smoking

(Notes at the end)

Festivities filled the whole main land smp. The celebration was taken place in what once was called Snowchester but was known now as Ophis valley. Snowchester was chosen for its large town and huge castle. The old king loved of throwing party and festivals so it had everything that was needed for a big event.

Dream woke up full of more joy then he had ever had. Finally everything that was his was in his hands. His body still in pain from the long grueling fighting that got him this but was worth it. He was missing a few things but he'd get them soon enough. Dream walk up to the big mirror in the room. "You are so handsome?" Dream stoked his fingers though his hair. For the first time in a long time Dream actually like the way he looked. If only his mother was here to she him. Of course many said he had a face and soul "not even a mother could love" but Dream didn't think so. She was probably off on some pirates mission but she'd come back soon and she'd get to see that become of her son and his power.

Just put side the old Snowchester was a huge tower and home. It was big and looked like it housed a giant. George stayed in his bed looking at the wall. He was so tired even though he was healed. "Good morning George!" George jumped. XD had entered himself in the room though the floor. He hates when XD did that! XD has a habit of just surprising George especially since he could fase though walls and teleport. "Please don't do that." George pulled the soft sheets close to him and inches back. "What's wrong" XD reached and grabbed Georges face, examining it. "Did thou have a nightmare?" George grabbed XDs hand and pushed it off. A bold move for anyone but him. "No- I. I didn't but I do feel a bit light headed" "Oh well that's nothing your medicine won't fix!" XD grabbed a few bottles and herbs out of the bed drawer". Todays a big day so we can have you feeling sick can we." XD stroked Georges cheek as he put the bottle of herds and medicine to George's lips. George snatched the bottle out of his hand and drank it. "About that... Do have to go?". "Of course! Is a big deal! I know you don't like Dream or Punz to much so you can just say near me". "Please I don't want to go!" George hated the idea of being out with XD. He had betrayed his county and everybody he loved and now he had to live as a pet for XD. "George this isn't up for debate." XD slowly stroked Georges face. His hands where cold and felt more like huge demon tongues then hands. "I'll make sure you get to come back to your lovely new home and I'll do anything you want this evening.". George would what him to leave him alone for the whole evening but he knew XD wouldn't. He also knew if he didn't go willingly with XD to this festival than he would go on a leash. "F-fine just let me get ready." "Ok just please hurry dear.". XD smiled and closed the door. The seconded he did George broke down. The poor Kinkok put his hand in his face and cried. After a minute or two he wiped the tears away. XD would get all nosey and upset if he saw tear stains on this important day. George got up and picked out what to wear.

"Hello XD" Dream bowed down infount of XD. Behind him Punz fallowed and payed respect to him. "Thank you. I'm sure you are quite excited for this day.". Dream rose to his feet and walk over to the doors of the castle. "Excited is a least it say." Dream had a sick smile across his face. George stuttered behind XD. "I was going to make sure everything was ready for the safety of this event." Punz got up. "I'll be with the guards. There are still plenty of people who could revolution and many more that we haven't captured." Dream scoffed at Punz "losses up today. I've waited to long for some prick to come in and ruin my day. If anyone pulls ANY funny business we can just kill them on the spot. Make a example out of them." George felt a pit in his stomach at this. He was worried sick that Sap was going to try and crash this festival. Although Sap was strong he was no match for Dream, Punz and XD. Not to mention the guards. Dream would make a awful display out of Sapnap if he could especially today. And George knew no matter how much he begged DX to stop it he wouldn't. No why would he? He saw him more as a exotic pet then anything else. Georges mind racing was cut off by XD picking him up in one of his hands. XD was a shape shifter and could change his size, makeing him self smaller to fit in rooms and bigger to appear more frightening. "Come on George let's go get ready." XD smiled and walked down the huge hall disappearing into the castle. "Dream just be careful. Don't be stupid." Dream eyed Punz. "Dream your going to need a stable military. You and I know there is a revolution around the corner.". "Can't you worry about this any other day! I've dealt will revolution before so if this hypothetical revolution does happen I'll be ready. Now please try and enjoy today. I have something fun to go do know, something I've been waiting to do for a long time." Punz sighed and left Dream to his business. Dream might be the most powerful man on this server right now but he's still playing god...

The streets where filled up. There where vendors selling all sorts of foods and drinks. When Dream took over many from the underground market came to live in the main land, criminals now free form the fear of the old casino owner and their debts or the king of Snow Chester and others who they might have been in trouble with. Because of this the streets where filled many different types of hybrids and people from the neather and end all hardened criminals. They enjoyed there new king. A sadistic snake and a devilish god. The party was loud filled with drinking and laughing but about midday Dream made his way down the street. All turned there head to the masked man some even bowing there heads at him. They where curious. Next to him was a small blonde who was cuffed and tied up with a blind fold. Dream walked up the stairs of a scaffolding that was in the town square with the man. Dream took off the blind fold to reveal a scared and twitchy dem god. "Dream what the fuck!" Tommy yelled out and then saw the crowd infount of him and grew sick with embarrassed. "Well Tommy such a loud mouth still after all this time. I guess you still getting used to the fact that you are no longer a dem god or the son of Mumza." The crowd busted into whispering. "Is that really Mumza son?". "Dream has Mumzas son?" "I thought he died with his father?". Tommy tried to scramble back at all this but Dream grabbed him harshly walked him over to the pillory that was on the wooden scaffolding. "No-no-no-no Dream no please." Tommy began to hyperventilate and fought Dream. Dream let out a sick laughed and push him into the wooden prison. Tommy yelped and tried to lift himself up but it was to late. Dream had already put the lock on the pillory and he was traped out infount of everyone. Dream laughed and grabbed Tommy's hair forcing him to look up at him. "You don't know how much I've wanted to do this!" Tommy wanted to speak but he couldn't. His face was deep red with shame and his voice seemed to just stop. Dream pulled out two disc from this hip bag and waved them infount of Tommy. "Remember these Tommy?" Tommy pulled his head away and looked down. He could bear to look anyone in the eyes especially Dream. He didn't want to think of his discs. Dream laughed and kicked Tommy in the shin causing him to yelp out in pain. "Well everyone. This is Mumzas old son and now my new court jester! He's not in uniform today but he will be. Enjoy him but please don't break my toy or do anything stupid." Dream walked down from the wooden platform and admired his display. For a minute no one did anything but whisper untill a group of enderman let out a hissing laugh and threw a bottle of stale booze at Tommy, missing fortunately. Unfortunately after that other joined in a began to throw filth at Tommy. Dream let out a satisfied grunt. He loved seeing Tommy like this. He was a fuckin brat! He was spoiled and even after so much the war exile, prison be still had the audacity to think he could tred him into the ground like a vile worm. Tommy hated being embarrassed so this was the perfect punishment for him. Dream linger around for a bit watching Tommy get covered in rotten filth and stale booze till be walked of to go and get more ready for his day.

A tall man in a stuffed up coat sat at a table for one right outside a restaurant. He was enjoying a drink and smoke and watching the ridicule the man in the pillory. Wilbur took a long drag from his cigarette and sat back on his chair. He just watched people walk by and go to humiliation and insult Tommy. Hovering above Wilbur was a sickly looking ghost. The phantom was pale and looked depressed. The ghost was cut up and bruised for the abuse it suffered from the hands of its fleshy owner. "Shame on you Wilbur! You sit back and do nothing as your own brother Tommy is forced to such a cruel punishment." Wilbur rolled his eyes "oh boo who. The brat could use it and besides it's not my business." Wilbur said flicking his cigarette. "NOT YOUR BUSINESS? That's your own brother don't you care? Oh am sorry I forgot you don't!" Ghostbur circled around Wilbur furious at his owner. He owner was a cruel man. Wilbur fear of death and his life of pain turned him cold and heartless. Wilbur had choose to follow and worship Dream in fear he might go back to the grave. Ghost was left to try and put all the broken pieces back together with no hope of every making Wilbur whole again. Wilbur let out a chuckle. "If only Phil and mum could see there favorite child now." Ghostbur gasped and tear rolled down his stained face. Wilbur had a habit of saying awful things just to make ghostbur sad or jump. "Your awful Mr Soot! Your sadist and unlovable." Ghostbur grabbed behind Wilbur to which Wilbur shoved him on the street. "Ugh your such a sick person! Mumza would never love you if see saw what a monster you were.". Wilbur scoffed and tried ignoring ghostbur. Ghostbur pasted back and forth till he got a idea. He hovering over Wilbur and slowly put his hand around his neck while he was distracted by the dinner the waiter had brought him. His eyes glew up a bit and Wilbur was given a nice flashback of being hung in when he was in the afterlife. He couldn't die so he just dangled there in ungodly pain for hours. This was just one of the many devious tortures and humiliations that happened in Wilbur's afterlife. Wilbur froze up for a minute. His head feeling light and mouth filled with the taste of iron. In his head rang the nosies of loud train whistling. Wilbur shook for a while then felt ghostbur's cold hand on his back and neck. "You little fuckin pest!" Wilbur got up and harshly grabbed Ghostbur by his collar. Ghostbur curled and yelped. Wilbur took any anger he had out on him and made sure to severely punish him when he does things like this. "y-you deserve it.. not please sir..." Ghostbur cried in pain as Wilbur choked him under the table. Only Wilbur and a few others could see Ghostbur so if anyone saw his talking or choking the air they would think he was completely crazy. Wilbur looked around and got a idea. He picked up ghostbur and draged him besides him. Everyone was to distract with Tommy to notice him. "Sir! S-sir! W-what are you doing?" The small goule fought and tried to losses Wilbur's grip but I was no use. Wilbur open a big barrel of ale that was on the back street and grabbed Ghostbur up. "Here you can wait here. Have a drink and enjoy yourself!" Wilbur threw ghostbur in the barrel and put the lip on. As ghostbur tried to put it up Wilbur put a heavy crate onto of it. Wilbur hear some scratching, knocking and muffed begs and gaps but for the most part it was quite. "I'll deal with you later" Wilbur said kicking the barrel. But the time he got out he would be drunk and loopy and wouldn't bother him for a while. Wilbur walked back to his spot but was caught off guard to see Dream right there.

"Hello Wilbur". "Good evening your highness" Wilbur got down on one knee and payed his respects. "Ohh I love to see a well mannered follower. Tell me how are you?" Wilbur pulled up a set and sat down next to Dream. "I'm fine. Tired but that's nothing new." Dream noded and picked up Wilburs flask that fell of the table when he was dealing with ghostbur. Dream took a drink from it and gave it back to him. "You know Wilbur I have a thought." Both where looking out at Tommy who's head was down in shame as cried. "I'm going to need a general. I know your a smart man that knows war. We've had problems in the part but you've proven yourself to me Soot." Wilbur paused. "Me your general?". "Well yes I need a army and I know you are familiar with the position. Probably a bit rusty but I know you'll get it." Dream stood up "Just something to think about." Wilbur looked at him. Dream read his face. He was skeptical and needed something out of it. "Trust me you will be payed handsomely.". "I will think about it Sir. Thank you." Dream turned his head "Thank you for what?." "For the entertainment. It's very amusing." Dream chuckle and looked at Tommy traped and on display. "Yep. We all need scape goat. You could have a jester to pillory if you become my general." Wilbur looked up curiosity. "I'm sure having a old royal traitor as a fool would be fun" Dream said with a smile as he put his mask back on and walked off.

Everyone gathered at the church. XD had used his magic and maked all the glass windows of him and Dream the new gods. Mumza was no more. In the hall there was a throne room where Punz, Dream and XD sat. Dream sat in the old kings throne on his right was Punz and his left was a huge throne with a small comfortable futon for his "pet". George was trying his best not to let tears roll down and to hide his face. XD saw this and covered George up slightly with one of his wings. He still cared about George and didn't want him to be too ungodly uncomfortable. After while of people get in and taking there sets two guards walked in with a very weak and filthy Tommy. He could barely walk himself. His legs where numb from standing for so long on the same grueling position for hours. He smiled behind his mask seeing Tommy. Tommy was forced down and tied to a kneer in a praying position. Tommy was a sobbing mess. Everything was awful. His brother a traitor, his dad dead and Mom gone and now he was Dreams toy. Tommy kneeled and looked down. He refused to see Dream be crowded "Thank you everyone." XD stood up. His wings reached up everyone bowed in fear and respect. "Today we crown the new ruler and dem god of this land and his right hand man." XD pulled out a book. He let the book float with his powers and he walked behind Dream and Punz. He put his long hand on them and began to whisper from the book. Both of them looked down and took the blessing. "Please rise Dream and Punz" the two did and they bowed infount of XD. XD took the sword that Mumza once help and blessed the both with it before dropping it at Dreams feet. Dream picked it up and placed it next to his throne before siting down. "Long live the king" XD say siting down and the crowd bowed before Dream.

(notes: thank you for reading this. If you liked it please let me know and please feel free to ask questions about this AU. I love constructive criticism and questions and head cannons.

More character will be in this au just not in this chapter. Idk if c! techno will be in this au as I am still grieving the loss of him. He was amazing. Thank you king.)

[elderemorune]

What the Fuck is Up with... Well, you know.

Good timezone, friends, followers, and others who find their way here. Originally this idea was supposed to be for fun things like conspiracy theories about Avril Lavigne, but today I think we need to talk about what happened last night.

We were betrayed by a system that claimed to speak for us and to protect us.

It would be easy to say that it was the people who voted third party, or the people who didn't vote who caused this, but it's not the truth. The fact of the matter is that we the people haven't had any level of real representation in gods know how long.

Since at least the 90's the so-called left-leaning Democrat party abandoned the working class in favor of their uber rich megadonors, and we all know that the RNC's been deep in shady money since its inception. Functionally, this means that we are not represented at all in the 'hallowed' halls of Justice. Not at a Federal level.

Didn't you wonder why the Harris campaign didn't talk about minimum wage? Or healthcare? Sure, there were some policies about helping working class people get houses, and some pledge to decriminalize marijuana, and there was a huge focus on abortion rights, which of course they weren't going to enshrine anyway, even if Harris did win. None of that was for you. The things that we were promised were smoke and mirrors meant to shade her support of Israel, her immigration stance, the fact that she worked with a complicit racist, the fact that she dropped out in the 2020 race.

She was a fucking stooge, a face to make goddamn sure Trump won. This is what people mean when they say both parties are as bad as each other. Not that this election was some carefully crafted scam. No, that would be narratively interesting, and we live in the darkest fucking universe, so the only force at play here is good old fashioned greed. Greedy Democrats suckling at the teats of Bill Gates and maybe pushing forward candidates he and his ilk think would be better for them. Greedy Republicans openly fellating Elon Musk while he absolutely pours from his practically infinite resources directly into their pockets, just to make sure that his guy has a real chance, you know? It's definitely not some form of bribery or corruption, no not at all!

And it's bullshit.

All of it's just. Bullshit.

We cannot wait for this establishment to speak for us. It never will, not voluntarily. This raises the question; what the fuck is up with... Well, everything?

How can we combat this seemingly impossible issue?

If there are no alternatives, we must become the alternative. It starts today. Right now. It starts with rest. With grace, and with care. We are all feeling something massive and painful right now. We are all unsafe, uncertain, and it's fucking oppressive. Right now you need to rest and recover. A good warrior never goes into battle tired.

Once we've recovered, we can come together. If we form community now, with our neighbors, with our friends, with everyone we love, we can start to organize and plan. This isn't easy, especially not now when reaching out is painful, but there is absolutely no way we can resist alone. The establishment is well entrenched, well armed, well funded, and corrupt beyond what you'd dare consider. When they come for us, the only people we'll have with us are those we form community with.

I want you to know that this is not a small task. I recognize this. While I personally feel the need to fight, there is absolutely no shame in running. This is a fight that was chosen for you, and if your survival response is to flee, listen to it. You know your own limits better than anyone else. Make sure your passport is up to date, and start researching now. Draw up an exit strategy. Fuck, do this even if you intend to stay. Your life, the lives of your loved ones are important, and if you can't help everyone, help who you can.

This is how it starts, friends. Family. We need each other so goddamn badly right now that it isn't funny. The world is suddenly much smaller, much scarier, and much more dangerous. I have many friends who are so scared that they're having incredibly dark thoughts. I'm having these thoughts too. It's okay to have them! For me, it's that they have taken everything else. I will not let them dictate how I die. You're having these feelings for a reason, so if you're struggling, please reach out to a trusted person. You don't deserve this hell, but it's where we are.

I'm not going back. I won't go back into the closet to appease some delicate sensibilities. I won't shut up just because the Regime doesn't like what I have to say.

My name is August Jones. This was What the Fuck is Up. Rest well, friends, and goodnight.

[exchangeyourexperience]

going to be insane about outer wilds on the dash once again ⬇️

the eye as a sentient being. the eye as something sentient enough to want.

the eye puts out this signal that rings out across the cosmos and calls to anyone who will answer. the owlk destroy their home planet and doom their species for the eye. eskall's clan does practically the same, all for an entity older than the universe itself -- older than conscious observers.

why? why does it need a conscious observer to enter its core? or, perhaps more important to ask: does it need a conscious observer? or does it simply want one?

the museum at the eye. all the little exhibits for the hearthian to peruse. the constant use of the third-person "we-" "ours-" "us-" . the reflection of the hearthian, staring back at themself. a campfire in the middle of the woods in the pitch dark of the vacuum of space. music, echoing out for nobody but the hearthian to hear, one last time.

why? why? why did the eye craft such an intricate show of smoke and mirrors for a creature so infinitesimally insignificant in the scope of the rest of the universe? and why did the eye call out for them in the first place?

maybe there's some logical explanation for it. maybe the eye always needs to have a conscious observer present for the birth of the next universe; maybe there was a version of "the last hearthian" in the universe before that somehow travelled to the eye after receiving its mysterious call to action. maybe every universe is born to a symphony played by the last survivors of a dying existence.

or maybe the eye doesnt have a logical reason for any of this. maybe the eye calls out at the end of its universe for the same reason as the swan. maybe this entity has spent however many trillions of years watching this flower sprout and bloom and decay, and now is watching its last, rotting atoms slip away to dust. and maybe, this entity, consigned to a life of observation, of gazing out over the universe and every beautiful, terrific, horrifying thing that has ever happened within it, realizes that it does not want to sit and watch its creation peter out in this slow, cold, miserable death.

maybe, it decides, it loves this universe. maybe it wants more from this universe than just the memories of the sight of it.

maybe the eye's signal is more than just a call to action. maybe it's a whale's song, echoing out into the empty ocean depths. maybe it's the tug of instinct that pulls the birds south for the summer. maybe its the mother standing out on the porch, eyes on the treeline. maybe it's a request: it's time. come here. come home.

maybe the museum and the campfire and the music arent there just for the hearthian's benefit. maybe this is the eye reaching into itself and moulding itself into a reflection of this universe it's decided it loves. maybe, when music rings out through the empty vastness of the eye's achingly hollow heart, the hearthian isn't the only one there to hear it.

[starvingtillhelovesme]

Request from onyxleaf

As always I'm sorry for any spelling errors, English isn't my native language

It's a little short but I hope you'll like it 🌸

- beep beep beep -

Groggily you reach for your phone, patting down the nightstand before you're finally able to turn off the alarm. You unplug the phone and roll back onto your back, hovering the display above your face to check your social media. It's 05:00am, you've made it a huge thing during your weight loss journey to get up early to enjoy the crisp autumn mornings from the very beginning. Checking your Tumblr you smile, over night your latest post got pretty popular. You answer some messages before sighing and sitting up. It has never been easy to get up this early but you know it was worth it every single time. You slip out of bed, only wearing a thin white t-shirt which loosely drapes around your now tiny figure. Even though the air feels cold against your skin and gives you goosebumps, the wooden floors still feel nice and warm against your feet. You go to the kitchen and start the coffee maker before heading to the bathroom. To keep yourself on track you weigh yourself every day and as you admire your dainty collarbones in the mirror you know that it works. You slide your fingers over them, going on to your sternum poking out and finally settling on your protruding hipbones. Smiling you look at all of your hard work. Then you go back to your room to pick an outfit for the day. Sometimes you'd go for a morning run but lately you've come to really enjoy just a stroll through the fields, a cup of coffee in the right and a cigarette in your left hand. Back in your room you decide to wear a sweater dress with black tights and boots. After your walk you'll add some jewelry and makeup but until then you still have some time. In the kitchen you pick your favorite to-go cup and fill it up with coffee, breathing in the strong aroma and humming to yourself in approval. You grab your little bag in whick you keep your phone, cigarettes, earphones, keys and a small weapon of choice (it's important to stay protected when you go outside alone in the dark) and throw it over your shoulder. Outside you're immediately hit by the crisp autumn air. You step into the fog, keeping your path close to the soft orange hue of the lanterns. You can feel the cold air rushing between your thighs, a thigh gap now replacing the fat that used to be there, giving you chub rub. You see the first carved pumpkins on doorsteps and marvel at the beautiful color scheme in the trees. The leaves are all in the shades between yellow, orange, red and brown, giving the outside world a warm look despite the temperature. As you enter the rocky road to the fields you spot a stray cat. You've met him before so as usually you get down, holding one of your hands out to him. The feline rubs against you for a while, enjoying the kind gesture before heading back into the fields to chase some mice. You get back up, light a cigarette and continue walking. As you sip your coffee and take drags of smoke you feel light. Light and happy. You've finally made it and became the girl you've always wanted to be.

[ferrarhirhi]

Crosshair X Fem Reader

Chapter One - Intrigue

Waking up to a headache isn't the worst you've experienced but it’s still not the best.

Aching pain sears from your temples to the crown of your head, you assumed it was just that your bun was up too tight, until you remembered.

“fuck” you mutter as you realise you smoked way too much spice last night and have this so called group inspection in an hour and a half.

You wouldn't say you had formed a proper squad after training with the empire for a year and a half, people came and went very often.

It made sense, for some reason the empire wasn't in dire need for specialists like snipers, especially not trainee ones such as yourself.

Pushing yourself up twisting your hips and placing yourself at the edge of your bed you felt your head go woozy. Luckily it passed almost instantly and you relaxed knowing that a few painkillers would help ease the pain emanating from your temples.

Releasing the straps of your nightgown from your shoulders and letting it drop to the floor you stepped into the already steaming shower, hot water making your stiff muscles and bruised body melt.

That's what you get for overtime combat training with those droids, you thought to yourself.

Ever since the death of your parents, two years ago, spice and combat training were the only two things to numb the pain.

Stepping out of the shower and reaching for the towel you spot yourself in the mirror, “hm not bad’ feeling pride for the effects of keeping to a soldiers exercise routine. There were some lazy troopers out there and you were happy to show off that you weren't.

After tying your hair up into your usual ponytail and slipping into your empire blacks, you placed your armour over the top.

you were proud of they way it looked, empire black with a few gunmetal grey scratches and red details, you had taste.

After triple checking your sniper rifle knowing that it would probably be inspected by one of Rampart’s usual men you lugged it in its case onto your back and made your way to base.

It really wasn't far from your barracks and luckily you had your own transport only for troopers, you could imagine the strange looks from Coruscanti residents on public transport, soldiers were intimidating for a reason

Making your way into the large testing centre you spotted Rampart standing on the balcony, thirty meters above the grey tiled floor. The air just as cold as his patronising glare, it didn't hurt to be welcoming, you thought to yourself.

Before you could continue your thoughts Rampart spoke. “elite troopers” his voice echoed around the large room occupying only yourself, two other troopers who you hadn't met before, Rampart and his death trooper bodyguard.

“You have been called here today for your bi annual inspection and rating of your current skill level, if you do well, you may have the chance of promotion”

Promotion, your skin tingled, the thought of being out in the field and no longer a trainee had been on your mind for at least the last three months

“We will be joined later by some of your seniors who specialise in your areas and have far more experience than you” there goes that condescending tone again “They will be your mentors for the next three weeks”

Time had passed and the two other troopers had completed their tests and met their mentors

“Eyesight and reaction test will commence in 3, 2, 1” said the monotone voice coming from the droid below. Lazer focused, you were full of adrenaline and ready for this test.

Lying from a high vantage point, you aimed your Firepuncher down to the area, shooting at targets popping up occasionally, when out of the corner of your eye you spotted the automatic doors behind Rampart open and a figure appear, you assumed it was your mentor.

Ignoring distraction was normally very easy for you, except for now. This mentor looked very different from the others. He looked important. Rather than wearing the white model, his sleek grey amour was enticing and the green visor in his helmet magnetic to the eye. Who was he behind that helmet, you felt yourself being drawn to him.

Too distracted to realise you'd missed the signal for the reaction part of your test, you felt a zap in your shoulder, one of the droids below had shot a blank at you, right in front of your new, very distracting mentor, the test reset.

Rampart hadn't noticed luckily, he was looking at your mentor as they took off their helmet.

It was a clone, but he looked different than the usual, confusion was probably visible across your face as he looked your way and gave you a blank nod, nodding back you could see he had grey short hair, a defined jawline and high cheekbones.

Just before you could start the test again, and prove yourself to your new mentor, Rampart interrupted “We've seen enough thank you” Why did he always have to speak in that tone, had you just bottled your chance, the clone hadn't even watched you.

“Please come to the balcony”

Walking through the imposing grey sliding doorway you were once again met with Rampart and who you guessed was your new mentor.

A tingle shot up your spine, like a sign from the force, which had sadly now been banned from being spoken about all across the empire. This man was tall, very tall. You felt your neck crane slightly upwards to meet his face, which you now realised was very intriguing. He was attractive in the sense that is aura was dark and you felt even more drawn to him. His eyes a brown like the caf you drank this morning and the left one surrounded by the design of a crosshair, the same one you saw through your viewfinder every day

“Trooper this is CT-9904, he is a sniper, like yourself. He will be advising you on what you can improve on over the next three weeks, if all goes well, you may have the chance of promotion” Rampart said in an unbothered tone, he had clearly been repeating the same statement throughout the day, boredom emanating from him.

Whilst taking in what Rampart was saying, you could feel the gaze of CT-9904 on you, looking at him directly now, you could see he had a slight smirk, and his eyes trailed up and down your body. He’s checking me out you thought. “I am looking forward to working with you”

You had to stay calm, or he would notice your breath hitch up, this man’s voice was as sensual as the look he was giving you. It was adenoidal yet smooth, the first thing you could envision it to be like, was a snake, tentatively stalking it’s way towards its prey. You the prey, he the snake.

Snap out of it, realising you had taken a suspiciously long time to mutter out the words “Yes sir, me too”

Had that just come across like you were flirting with him, panic flushed your face, you were always so composed, what was happening.

He could tell you were flustered, slightly chuckling to himself then saying “773 Firepuncher?” Whilst looking at the rifle in your hand.

“772, Sir”

“Ah, let me see”

You handed him the rifle, this man clearly didn’t know the word please, but maybe that wasn’t a surprise, or to be expected from your senior. He couldn’t be to much older than yourself, even if his hair was grey, his face was supple, smooth excluding the slight stubble, he had minimal wrinkles. Such an attractive face you thought to yourself, you could feel your knees slightly weakening, so shifted your stance.

His slender fingers gently glided across your rifle, he was respecting your weapon. An eyebrow raised “not bad, but could be better” he leaned over you pointing to a few scuff marks on the underside of your rifle “These shouldn’t be there”

“If I may sir, these were from using it just now”

“Yet you were expecting me today, you could have cleaned her up whilst making your way up here”

He had a point.

“She deserves special attention, at all times” he said whilst towering over you looking deep into your eyes, it felt like he was talking about you and not your rifle.

“I understand sir” Saying whilst looking down.

Rampart had walked away by now, talking to his bodyguard, that gave the clone a chance to tap you on the bottom of your chin and say “Look at me and say that”

“I understand sir” It was highly inappropriate but your heart was racing and you were finding it exceptionally invigorating.

No man had ever spoken to you like this, they were always so intimidated by your stature and confidence yet this clone had reduced you to a thoughtless mess.

“Look at mine” he handed you back your rifle and as you swung yours onto your back, he reached for his and you got a good look at his build. He was was slim yet muscular, his shoulders wide and waist slender

Reaching out for his rifle you took a look, it was immaculate but unlike your red detailing, he had none, time to have a little fun you thought.

“Very good sir, pristine. But if I may”

“Go on”

“Well I just feel it’s quite boring”

His brows furrowed slightly and his eyes darkened, had you just crossed a line.

“I feel mine has more character”

“Character” he said through a chuckle “You want to see character sweetheart, I’ll show you character“

Sweetheart, you mused to yourself this man really was flirting with you, this could be a fun few weeks.

He reached for a pocket on his waistband and pulled out a collection of disks which he flung to different places across the hall below.

After taking the rifle from your hands he leaned his slender frame up against the balcony, as he was looking away you let your eyes trail his body focusing on his waist thinking what your hands would feel like gliding across his lower frame, pressing him down in combat training, that would be fun.

Quickly snapping out of your thoughts you watched as he shot at a disk which reflected the plasma bolt onto the next disk and so on until it smashed right into the head of one of the droids. Electricity coursed through your veins as he turned to look over to you.

“Impressive” you said

“Indeed, you will come back here tomorrow afternoon and I will inspect your visual accuracy”

“Okay Sir, thank you for the show” you smirked at him and made your way outside the doors.

Read the rest Here

[rebelcap]

We are not just friends —Part 14

Chris Evans x bi!latina!character (Sofia is a people of color, she's brown.)

Chris and Sofia meet when their best friends started dating, it all started at friends with loads of bumps on the road.  

Warnings: drinking, smoking, drug use (weed), assault, Chris being Steve Rogers, commitment issues, my girl Sofia kinda messy, lots of fucking (eventually) 

This is slow burn at its best, at least emotionally. 

Series masterlist

"We haven't spoken on a while, I hurtled him, he was in love with me and I told him all that awful shit," Sofia answered Mandy when she asked if she's been talking to Chris. "Never apologized properly and basically broke up over a text. It's okay though, it's the best for him."

Mandy stayed quiet for a bit, looking at the road ahead while she drove to a doctor's appointment, there were going to get the baby's gender and she was going to keep the secret and go the whole baby reveal the gender. 

"I think he's seeing someone," Mandy told her and Sofia blinked. 

"Oh," 

"He's coming over this weekend, to the party." 

"Oh," 

"Say something more than oh?"

"I don't know what to say, alright. I can deal with it, I'm a big girl." Sofia said as her hands just started sweating out of nervousness. 

"Sure, looks like it. Big girl fucking sweating," Amanda pointed out and Sofia gives her a look. 

"Thanks for letting me know though," She said and sigh. "I'm getting so fucking drunk, I love you but I'm gonna be hammered enough for people to avoid me." 

"You can deal with whatever you want to, baby. I'm giving you a free pass," Amanda told her. "Dad still pretty stingy about me pregnant, so he's probably gonna be there drinking with you."

"He's excited, but he still sees you as your little girl, I mean, he probably it's picturing Luke cumming inside you." She laughed as Amanda hit her. 

"You're fucking disguising, ugh!" She punches her in her arm and her leg and then laughed. "It's probably true," 

They laughed together and after they leave the appointment Sofia couldn't stop crying when she saw the little peanut moving inside of her best friend. 

"Oh my fucking God, I'm so fucking emotional," She was sobbing as they climbed the car once again. 

"Don't you dare to fucking say it," Amanda threaten her as she started the car. "Don't, don't. Or yes, oh my fucking God tell me—" She turned to look at her. 

"You made me promise, I can't—you tell me this was gonna happen." Sofia laughed as she wipes her tears. "It's only two days, you'll be fine," She waves her off. 

"Two days, I can do that. Yes, sure. I can." 

~~~

She hasn't really had time to sat down and process what Mandy had told her in the car, Chris coming and he's seeing someone, that she thinks he's seeing someone. 

She was sitting cross-legged on the fluffy carpet as she eyed her cellphone, old messages between them still there and she types a 

—Hey Chris, heard you're back 

She didn't press send, it was just sitting there. Staring back at her, bold black letters getting bigger. 

"I shouldn't, God I shouldn't." She said to herself and grabbed her phone and deleted the text, reading the last text he sent. 

—I'm doing good, Sof, thanks for asking. 

God, that was cold and made her cry, I deserve it. She never went around to answer him, he never texted something else, that was two months ago. 

"What I'm doing?" She asked herself she read and still re-read the text. "He's seeing someone," 

With a sigh she let her cellphone on the carpet and get on dressing herself for the party, it was the engagement party slash gender reveal, so it was a huge thing. Everyone was coming, friends, family. 

She started drinking while getting ready, she was officially living alone for the past month because Mandy was living with her soon to be husband as she should be and she was pregnant, closer to her parents and Luke's family. Everything was going so great for everyone else and she felt like shit for the past four-month, depressed was an understatement.

Still, she made the party just in time. Carrying the cake she made with the stupid pink or blue gender reveal. Heels clicking on the floor as she made way between the people, stopping every two seconds saying hello to someone. 

It was draining, she wasn't in the mood to speak with everyone. Her hands were sweating as she played with the hem of her pretty pink bodycon dress and locked herself in the mirror, stressed, depressed, and about to see the guy you broke his heart and know she's probably in love with him. 

"Fuck my life," She mutter at herself in the mirror and grabbed the beer she was nursing, officially she was tipsy. 

More people were coming in and the place was slowly but steady was getting crowded, music was playing on the background. Sofia spotted Amanda and Luke, speaking with people kissing and hugging each other. She couldn't help but smile, they so deserve each other. 

"Holy shit," She heard a voice, and a pair of hands slide on her waist and pulled her back. "You look fucking gorgeous, never knew that pink was your color." It was Scott, placing a kiss on her cheek as she laughed. 

"Never used it, guess is a special occasion," She smiles posing at the same time. "I'm so glad you could make it," 

"I told you I'll be here," 

"Yeah, he's here isn't he?" Sofia asked and Scott changed his face for a second. 

"He is but he didn't come alone," Scott said as Sofia looked at him. "I was very vocal that he shouldn't come with her because it wasn't fair to you and it's very recent but she was supposed to go back to LA this afternoon but her flight got delayed for tomorrow morning—" 

Sofía ears were ringing as Scott keep explaining how Chris came with another woman, this is it—whatever little figment of hope that maybe Chris felt something for her still was light on fire, destroy. It was gone. 

"Okay," Sofia said looking at him. "It's fine I don't care." She shrugged, she did care, she obviously did care. "You want a drink?, I need a drink and there are these little things," Sofia made a gesture. "They're tiny but delicious."

Scott was amazed at the state of denial she had quickly reach, of course, he was going to play along. This wasn't the time to get her to talk. 

~~~

It was hard for not seeing her in the crowd, little pink dress running around always with a drink in her hand. Chris felt his stomach turn around all the time he catches sight of her. 

"Hey maaaan," He heard Luke's voice calling him and Chris smile, giving each other a hug. "Mandy is mad as hell, you prepare yourself." Luke laughed and Chris sigh. 

Oh he knew, he knew. 

"Yeah, I gather she'll be…" Chris said and looked at the girl beside him that was mingling like a pro, chatting with people.

"Chris!," Mandy said with a smile appearing from nowhere, the smile was there but the murderous look couldn't be hidden. 

"Hey Mand, looking good as ever," He embraces her and she whispered on his ear. "I'm going to fucking kill you," She laughed and grabbed his arms. 

Chris grabbed her hand and walked her to a little more private part, they needed to talk this out. 

"I didn't want to bring her, she wasn't even supposed to be here. I'm sorry," Chris said and Mandy looked at him. 

"I understand that I do. And it's okay, you don't wanna be an asshole she probably doesn't deserve that but," She took a breath." but not long ago you were crying in my fucking couch of how much you love that girl over there that's barely holding it together since all of this exploded, crying at every stupid thing and dealing with her guilt,"

"She broke out with me over text, Amanda. Basically told me that I wasn't important enough, didn't want to talk things out. She ended it," 

"She's in love with you. Sofia is in love with you and she doesn't know how to approach you to talk things out. She's awkward because she wants to do things right by you, dude." Amanda explained and Chris put both hands on his head,  "And them me being pregnant, getting married and I moved out. I know she's happy for me and it's rooting for me but there's a lot of change," Amanda said wiping her tears. "I know she feels left out and now you showed up to my engagement party with someone else while my best friend is literally trying to get it together." 

"Baby, we gotta keep going," Luke appeared, and Amanda sigh, walking away with her fiancé. 

~~~

Both are idiots, you guys agree?

Tag list:

@smediumsmeatbae

@lunaticbarnes

@firstangeldragonranch

@lovepeacefood

@thegirlwithpaperheart

[verobatto]

Samleen and how CAS became the 40 years old ex wife that looks hotter now.

Samleen meta. Destiel Meta. Castiel meta. 15x07 meta. Last Call. This is not a joke. Well... Kind of...

Hi my dears! Second meta for all of you, if you want to check my first one is here.

Okay, let's talk a little about Sam and Eileen. They were too lovey dovey I'm screaming...

Samleen, the Destiel guide

Listen up everyone... Sam and Eileen cooking together gives me life. I love watch Sam and Eileen flirting with each other. Smiling at each other... Staring at each other with hearteyes... I'm so so here for this... I want a kiss already damnit!!

And I want to point two things for you...

1) Sam is receiving his own medicine, he was suffered an interruption from Cas (they were about to... You know... And holding hands!! 😱😱💕💕) But interruptus Moose has to suffer first interruptions...

And 2) they're a guide to follow steps for Dean and Cas. Why am I saying this?

I had predicted in my METAS from Season 14 Dean and Cas would be holding hands and kissing too. (Stop dancing, is just a spec... Okay let's dance together)

And just remembering episode Lebanon 14x13, when those two girls were all lovey dovey, and the Sam mirror was so done... And now Sam and Eileen... And @mrsaquaman187 and me talking about how we think Dean and Cas could be reach that corny state... I have to say right now... Yes... They could be... So... If Sam and Eileen are our Destiel guide... Then... Cas and Dean will be holding hands and will be interrupted, and they will be smiling at each other, and looking at each other ... Wait... They already do that, wherever, you get the point.

So... If Sam and Eileen kiss... Maybe... Just maybe... (I won't dance again... Okay, just a little...)

How Castiel is now the 40 years old ex wife, and he looks hotter now that he's divorced.

That was my sensation when I watched him, so sexy and focused, so soldier mode... Like... Look at him, @agusvedder , you did a great job with these ones here...

Oh Lord... Mmmm isn't hot here? 🔥🔥 Even Sergei is in awe because CAS is so focused and determined! He's sure about himself! He improved!!!!!! Castiel improved!

Because he has to take care of Sammy and he has to use this chamán, and he doesn't trust him!

That's why he thinks in a plan, he uses Bobby to track that blonde, a very important blonde woman for Sergei, and he... Just... Wow. He became in the best angel/soldier/hunter on Earth, and in the hottest too!

He's divorce and smoking!

The connection with Chuck is... Ewww

Eileen killed me there saying ewwww, beacuse yeah, ewww.

Sam's soul is inside Chuck, and Chuck is weak, and now he knows... Sam knows about Chuck, but Chuck knows about Sam too? He also knows now the end of the story!!!

And he saw Amara!

There's a lot of clues that if Sam makes the connection, they will defeat Chuck.

And remember Amara wearing yellow colors? And then Lilith wearing yellow too? I said in my meta that because those are Sammy's colors maybe, he will be the one who will lead a very and awkward team against Chuck: Amara, Lilith, (dressed in yellow) and maybe Michael!Adam. Look, I just made another spec.

And Sammy has a plan!! How I love Sam people!!! He's the insightful here!!!

But for all the pistachio in this world! Just let the boy to ñaka ñaka with Eileen for once!

Okay, I stop here.

To Conclude:

I didn't talk much about Dean here, and how gay he is for Castiel.

Samleen is beautiful, and I love see them together. They're a Destiel guide, and I hope everything that happens with them, like holding hands and maybe a kiss, will happen with Destiel too. (Sue me for being such a dreamer). Here comes the cold water, we need more text, but I think... Those little Destiel scenes are showing the GA they're not just two bros fighting.

Cas is hotter now that he's divorced from Dean. He's more focused and skilled.

I hope you like this rambles. See you tomorrow on my visual Narrative Meta.

Kisses!

And never stop dancing over Destiel...

Tagging @metafest @gneisscastiel @emblue-sparks @magnificent-winged-beast @agusvedder @weirddorkylittlediana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @angelneedshunter @trickster-archangel @dea-stiel @mybonsai1976 @anarchiana @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @destielshipper221b @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @feathered-castiel @bre95611 @zoerayne2426 @justmeand-myinsight @that-one-fandom-chick @proccastinate @studio-hatter @pepevons @liwopanyaasss @poorreputation @mrsaquaman187

Buenos Aires December 6th 2019 1:42 AM

[fantasylandbitch]

Hello Everyone!

Recap:

The character above is Elliot Wolfstone or Wolf Stone...(I'm not sure which one works but hey..) Is an Androgynous, Genderfluid girl who loves to play off of her fluidity, however, like Muriel she is also kind of introverted but loves to interact with people who she is comfortable talking to, knows, and/or finds really interesting. Now because she has RBF which is usually her default face she is sometimes misunderstood as being mean or being stuck up by certain people, however, the only people who know she isn't being either of those things are people she knows and who are close to her.

———

[Note : Elliot is half White/Prakran so depending on the lighting she may look slightly different.]

Elliot's mother Etra is from Prakra and her dad Vestal is from Shining Steppe.

Vestal's upbringing was kind of strict like not being able to have fun if he didn't do his chores kind of strict but he did have some time to have a lot of fun like exploring the land that he can reach , however, because of his childhood had this hierarchy where sons are just as important as their daughters if not more important he is kind of expressive but jaded. Vestal's family had wolves as pets and companions so due to this Vestal often had a therapy animal with him and because of his wolf Elliot was able to have a mixed wolfdog hybrid.

Etra's upbringing was kind of strict and more fun because her parents were explorers who couldn't always stay one place for too long so Etra and her sister Elio would stay at their grandparents house during those times. But when they grew up to a suitable age their parents would take them out and tell them stories through magic that Elliot eventually learns in her childhood.

———

Because of Elliot's parents, her upbringing was fun and strict and just slightly old fashioned. Now before I go further I want to say that Elliot has two older brothers and their names are Oran and Vestas and her relationship with them is a little rocky. Now because of her father's upbringing, Elliot always felt like she wasn't as important to her father as she would like to be nor did she feel like her efforts meant anything so she was mostly hanging out with her mom where eventually she learns some serious magic that her brothers can barely perform and through this bond and magic she was able to connect with abilities faster. While in training, her father gives her this Wolf dog named Manu from his dog's litter, and with her companion, Elliot's powers grew more. Elliot was able to tell stories in the form of smoke from her hand, talk to her dog, make enchantments, heal wounds, and on rare occasions become part wolf herself when a situation calls for it. Her brothers, on the other hand, can make basic or first level magic and some high-level magic, of course, they had different kinds of magic, Oran was a Necromancer and Vestas was a Pyromancer and Oran would feel cheated that Elliot can do so much more than him but Vestas didn't see it that way in fact he felt that even though he was the older brother that his siblings including himself were on the same respective playing field of magic.

Elliot also saw them as equals the same way as her brother Vestas until one night Oran tried to kill her hybrid Manu. Oran tried to walk quietly into his sisters bedroom while Elliot was out trying further learn more about herself to find Manu sleeping and in front of the dog there was a mirror. At some point in Elliot's self-discovery during her walk, she unlocks another ability where she sees from the eyes of her Manu a mirror and behind her dog her brother. This causes Elliot to run back home and Manu's sleeping form to disappear into thin air which confuses Oran only to find himself in the moonlight that peers through the window and a smoky shadow wolf form behind him. During this scene, Elliot runs into the house to attack her brother which causes them to fight outside and which soon wakes everyone up, and let's just say that no one died but some blood was shed. That was the night that Elliot was given scars on her brow, chin, neck, and on her upper back as for her brother Oran she nearly ripped his throat out so he as light but deep gashes on the left side of his neck that stretches to his left peck. Because of the incident Vestal actually heals Oran while Etra and Vestas try to heal Elliot but was stopped by with barrier magic from her father who wanted her to have scars as a reminder of what she did. However, Etra disagreed and had argued until he gave up so that Etra can heal can heal her daughter.

Then some months later Etra gets a letter from her little sister asking for someone to take over the shop in Vesuvia and this is where the start of Elliots adventure starts.

[I will be doing a romantic theme between Elliot and Nadia so be on the look out for that and eventually I will show you her family.]

[uncle-fruity]

It's been about a week and this post is still going strong, and I just wanted to make a couple more points now that I've read through a bunch of the tags and the reblogs and such.

First off, I'm so happy that so many folks found comfort from this post. I remember what the fear of "losing" my singing voice felt like when I was pre-T, and I know that seeing more trans men be openly positive about their experiences with their vocal changes would have been a great comfort to me at the time as well. So, cheers to y'all. I see you, and I'm here to prove that being trans can, in fact, be abundantly joyful. Please feel free to reach out if you ever need some positivity <3

I also wanted to address a couple things I've seen popping up in the tags & reblogs. As many folks have pointed out, when afab folks go through puberty, their voices *also* change, just a bit more subtly. I'm 30, so I'm well past my first puberty, and I definitely experienced my voice cracking and changing in my 20s. I didn't mention this in my original post because I can be EXTREMELY rambling (thanks ADHD), and I'm trying to retrain myself to stick to the Point -- to the Thesis, if you will -- and in this case, my main take away was that amab folks often have a puberty that someone going on T will be mirroring, and their voices aren't "ruined" so neither will be yours.

(I am... probably going to ramble a bit more in this addition, so bear with me...)

Additionally, shout out to the transfemme folks who mentioned that they also went through testosterone puberty, and feel uncomfortable when transmasc people act like it "ruined" their voice because that also affects how they feel about their own voices. And a big reminder that our self-hatred can rub off on unintended targets. So, again, if you're feeling strong feelings of disappointment about your voice, that's VALID, but also something that should be examined with a therapist or a supportive peer group. Side note that women and femmes with deeper voices are sexy as hell. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

On that note, I saw a few people saying that they were still worried that they wouldn't be good after transition because they weren't professional vocalists and/or couldn't afford to hire a teacher (extremely valid, I also can't afford a voice teacher). A decent amount of, "Yeah, this is good information and I agree for others, but what if I'm the outlier." First off, with all due respect, that's probably your anxiety talking & is based more in fear than probability. But like... I mean, there's always a chance that transition won't fix all your personal hang ups about your own body & ability. The expectations we place on our bodies to fully change into our ideal version of a man (<- not a universal goal or sentiment for all folks on T, btw) is a whole 'nother post which I'll try to get around to. But at the end of the day, these things are true:

-- Your body will change no matter what throughout your entire life. Whether by aging, by gaining a disability, by body-altering behaviors (long term smoking may change your voice, for example), by exercise or lack thereof, by eating habits & how your body reacts to these things... Your body will always be changing. And none of those things are inherently BAD things, they are just Different Than Before. Some changes come with obstacles or unique challenges, but your body remains Important and Worthy, as it is the flesh vessel that allows you to experience all the things in the world. Please be kind to your body, and try not to resent it for changing in unexpected ways.

-- Even if you're bad at singing, you're completely worthy of singing. This is some of my anticapitalist art theory that I am extremely passionate about, but honestly the worth of your art isn't how marketable it is. Some folks will never be professional-grade singers, and that's okay. Not everyone has to learn the best vocal techniques or try to become the best there ever was. Aside from the concept of "best" being a flawed one anyway because it's extremely subjective, even if your skills are mediocre, that shouldn't take away the joy of the art. If you love to sing, I highly doubt anything is gonna stop you from singing short of not being able to produce sound. The only people who theoretically need to stress about their voice being professional grade are, well, professionals or people who want to be professionals one day. Those are people who are going to have to put in a huge amount of work whether they go on T or not. So while HRT should always be carefully considered, with every potential downside acknowledged & accepted before going forward, remember that your voice is still going to...like...function after the effects of T have settled. T isn't gonna rip out your vocal chords or anything, ya know?

So, sorta piggybacking off those points... You might not be a soprano anymore, if you were a soprano pre-T. That's just one of the changes that comes with T. Going off the reblogs and tags, some folks can get back their full range and more, some folks will get a new range. That's gotta be something you're prepared for and something you accept. I don't deny that part of life is changing and mourning the figurative death of your old self. That happens whether you're cis, trans, on hormones or not for a multitude of reasons. But at some point in your life, you will have to be prepared to say goodbye to your old self and welcome in your new self no matter what those changes look like. If that's not something you think you can intentionally do without causing yourself a boatload of distress, then I recommend waiting and working through any deep seeded emotional problems you may be harboring, especially those surrounding your body image, identity, and self-esteem. If you think the changes T will have aren't for you, then that's definitely something to consider for yourself & take seriously. I know there's a lot of pressure from all sides -- both a bunch of people saying you're not trans enough unless you want to transition, and a bunch of people trying to convince trans folks that we don't need to transition & to scare us out of that -- but the truth is that if you're trans, you're trans. No one gets to decide your transition goals except YOU, and it IS a big decision that should be taken seriously. You should be intimately familiar with what you're hoping to get out of this, what you're prepared to deal with if you start hormones, and what your personal boundaries are before you start the process.

For me, I wanted to be a guy. A nonbinary guy, but still a guy of sorts, and I wanted my body to relatively match my feelings. I'd thought about my options and fears for a couple of years, processed my emotions so I could identify the parts of the HRT process that made my anxiety flare and address those. What it came down to, for me, was: "I want it all. I want a deeper voice, even if my singing gets worse (I'd like to see someone try to stop me from singing anyway). I want body hair, and I don't see why folks get so up in arms about it anyway. I don't care if I get male pattern baldness -- even more opportunity to pass, tbh, and bald dudes can fucking rock it if they try." And like, these were all anxieties I had at first that I had to come to terms with and reevaluate. By the time I was ready to start T, I was already emotionally prepared for whatever came my way, so this whole process has been a joy for me.

At the end of the day, the ruined body sentiment is, at worst, anti-masculine TERF bullshit that hurts trans folks from both sides of the binary and beyond. At best, it reflects a deeper human fear of change and The Unknown. Those fears are valid and understandable, but idk, you can try to take comfort in knowing that you won't know until change happens, if you decide to let it happen. Every human has to struggle with disappointment, change, and adaption at some point... Thankfully, there are ways to cope and be kind to yourself to make it easier. All I can say is in my experience, if you feel like you can trust yourself to make decisions for yourself, then that's a really good foundation to cope with change.

Anyway, if you read through this rambling second take, thank you! I know I'm throwing a lot out there, but y'all are gonna be fine, okay? Life is wild and hard to prepare for. The main thing is that you trust yourself to make the right decisions for yourself, and do enough self-reflection to respect your wants and needs without giving fuel to the part of you that wants to deny truths about yourself. Idk if that made a whole lot of sense to anyone else, but my brain is convinced it's fine. And, now, with that, it is totally fried and screaming at me to wrap it up. So, uh. Glad to have a post resonate with folks <3 Appreciate everyone's input here~

Taking T didn't ruin my singing voice, and frankly I'm sick of folks panicking and ignoring the fact that cis boys go through two or three years where their voices are fluctuating and cracking and changing before they settle.

Your voice isn't ruined, it's changing.

If you want to make that transition easier, you gotta keep using it. Sing! Even if your voice cracks in goofy ways. Even if you have trouble placing your voice comfortably. It gets easier, I promise. Get a voice teacher (if you can) who has experience with vocal changes for pubescent cis boys if it's really making you anxious or if you're having a hard time controlling it.

To be clear, I'm not trying to be dismissive of people's emotions, nor am I trying to tell you about your own experience. If you feel something intensely, that's fair and valid. Respectfully, you should unpack that with a therapist or supportive peers.

However, when one of the main TERF tactics against transmascs is convincing trans guys that T makes you Worse in a Variety of Ways, and that you'll be ruining your body if you take it, I am EXTREMELY dubious of how many people online report any part of their body being ruined by T. Sounds suspiciously like TERF shit. And, yes, even Actual Trans People can play into TERF talking points. I'm begging y'all to stop the rampant fearmongering surrounding T.

So, after nearly a year being on T, I'm here to say that YES my voice cracks and YES my voice fluctuates and YES sometimes it feels like I have to relearn everything I knew about being a vocalist, but goddamn if I won't have fun figuring it all out, because I know this is just one stage of the transition I'm going through, and it's worth it.

[ouuuuki]

Stormbringer ((Page 15-40))

15

Chuya Nakahara never dreams His awakening is like bubbles rising from the mud. Chuya woke up in his room. There are walls, floors, and ceilings that are murky rooms. The blue darkness that covers them. The furnishings are "Kishingaku". A bed with sheets and a small bookshelf embedded in the wall of a small bookshelf A jewel-related booklet is randomly opened on the desk in the center of the safe. That's all. Asahi, who looks like a film inserted through the gaps in the curtain crevice shading cloth, cuts the murky room into two halves, and Chuya Nakahara got up. I'm sweating a little around his chest. The slag was swirling around it, but I can't remember what it was like. This is always the case these days. I gave up and got out of the sleeper and took a shower. Chuya Nakahara thinks about himself while bathing in boiling water from his head. He is 16 years old. Since joining Port Mafia a year ago, it has achieved results at an unprecedented speed, and it is a program of at most 2383 lines that researchers who are recognized by the organization C () DE: 0 have devote themselves to it.

16

The boy was given this room because he was warmed up, but he brought no money, no position, and no joy to Chuya. In the past, Nakaya doesn't know who he is. The memory of Setsu is that he was kidnapped from a military research facility eight years ago. There is no life before that, the darkness of one side What kind of darkness of the night It's deeper and darker than the darkness of the shooting ball. He wiped his body and headed for the dressing. When he pushed on a side of the wall, the wall opened silently, revealing a clothing rack. All his clothes were high-class, and I chose one of them that had no wrinkles and put it through my sleeves. Hold the emerald jasper cuffs on his sleeves and look in the mirror. After a small tongue, Chuya left the room. When he left the 0 Sugu family, a shuttle car appeared as if he had timed. The black luxury car was driven by Port Mafia's black clothes with light-shielding glasses. When I stopped at Chuya's sideways sentence, the more important thing that silently opened the back seat door remained missing.

17

"To the usual shop," Chuya said to the driver, he got into the car and closed his eyes. A black luxury car ran smoothly on the main road in the center of the city. Commuter cars were jam-packed on every road and every intersection. However, the Wakimichi car carrying Chuya passed through the convoy, a side road, and a traffic jam. It's as if you used magic that wouldn't interfere with other cars. "What was yesterday's transaction record?" This is it. "',," Chuya read the documents given by the driver. It is a document printed with a special dye that cannot be duplicated. All the content was encrypted so that it would not be evidence even if it was held down by the police. 0 "Hmm, is the transaction going well this week?" Chuya said in a throwing voice. Chuya's job at the "boring" Kanshi Sport Mafia was to monitor the distribution of smuggled gems. Gemstone-One of the highest substances in the world, Iguiyamond Shimizu, has the highest value per unit weight. Jonathan. Jade. And the mere element under pressure from Kongoishi will become a magic stone with terrifying magical power as it touches people's eyes, fins, and hands.

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And the condensed thing of that demon is the smuggled jewel. As long as there is a jewel that was like a shadow created by the brilliance of the jewel, there will always be a smuggled jewel that is a shadow. There are countless places in the world where the shadow of the world and smuggled jewels are born. A poor miner sneaks in and steals in a gem block. Alternatively, a robber smashes a jewelery store, Shokes, with a stock and takes it away, or a pirate sinks a merchant ship carrying jewels. Or hold a quick-up robbery from the neck of Serep. The "dark" gems thus created in the mining areas owned by the rebels, paid for weapons and drugs, cannot enter the world of light as they are, where illegal organizations such as Port Mafia have trouble. A carrier who sheds light on the dark-colored jewels that have flowed to the port of Yokohama brings them to Yokohama, the late shop buys them, and a skilled processor does not know the source. Cut it back to. Turn the necklace into a 0 presslet, the presslet into an earring, and the earring into a ring to bring a second life to the jewel. The new gems created in this way are given a formal appraisal by the Mafia's breathtaking gem, a smoky appraiser, put on the market by wholesalers, and lined up at the front of the prestigious jewelry store Ire. The smuggling jewelry industry is one of the most important sources of income for the Australian Mafia. Giyo, Kaya

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This is because smuggled gems, which can eliminate intermediate exploitation by customs and distribution control companies, always generate enormous profits. However, items with magical power like jewels inevitably attract blood and violence. So far, Chuya, who should be prepared for further violence, such as chewing any violence in one bite, has done its job perfectly in order to suppress it and establish stable distribution. Too perfect. Many of the members of the old stock were surprised. I didn't expect the 16-year-old kid to manage the dark jewel market so perfectly. However, there were a few who were not surprised. Those who fought against "Sheep", an organization that was once headed by Chuya. The king of the organization that continued to afflict the Mafia. I wondered what wondered when one or two of the jewelry markets were completely controlled, but surprises, praise, or jealousy didn't matter to Chuya. What they want is something they can never give. Chuya Nakahara threw the document into his seat with the annoyance of throwing a pebble. And he said in a small, thorny voice, "I don't know how many years it will take at this rate." The driver pretended not to hear. Surprising Exploitation is', Re "

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The luxury car carrying Chuya headed for a quiet residential area as originally planned. It was quiet except for the crowing of the greenfinch in the low sky. The sound of the train and the hustle and bustle of commuting, the car that couldn't reach this point ran quietly and stopped in front of a store. Brick Old World Brick old billboards have the store name Ku Old World,-in pale letters. Chuya got out of the car because the neon tube was not lit because it was before the store opened in the morning. The car ran away quietly so as not to break the tranquility of the residential area. Chuya opened the store door. Five guns greeted Chuya. "The store is in preparation," said two men, holding their guns. The muzzle of the pistol is pressed against Chuya's head. "Isn't it okay if it's a corpse?" Said another man, Su-san. A shotgun with a barrel cut down is placed on Chuya's chest. "Isn't it careless without an escort, Mr. Jewel King?" Wow, a different man said. A pistol is pointed at Chuya's flank. Is it enough?

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"Even you can't prevent the first strike from this position :::" another man screamed. A small pistol that fits in the palm of the hand is attached to Chuya's neck. "What should I do? Invincible Gravity Master. If you cry right now and apologize, I'll kill you easily." I said in front of Ya. A long-barreled pistol is aimed straight at Chuya's eyebrows. If you attack one person, you will be shot from the rest. If you try to retreat, you will be shot from the front. Before you are shot from the front, you will be shot from the back. Chuya did not react. I didn't even change my facial expression. The air in the room was hardened. Everyone put a lot of effort into the fingers on the gun. The dry sound of "Han!" Echoed in the surrounding streets. 0 From the head of Chuya who stood up, the colorful decorative strings that hung down like bloody ("Chuya! Port Mafia Joining One" Congratulations on the anniversary! "And the joyful voices of the men echoed throughout the store. Chuya looked around with a disgusted head. Dead rock fluttering.

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"I'm a fool." That's "It's not a huge monster ..." White smoke was rising from each barrel, and a colorful paper company was on Chuya's head. In the air he flutters with confetti. The men were looking at Chuya, who was covered with a string, with a grin. Gathered there were members of the Mutual Aid Society within the Port Mafia. He is not just a mutual aid society. All of them are the leaders of the future of the organization, and their positions are equal to or better than Chuya. And all are composed only of young people under the age of 25. Port His Mafia's young wolves, who are only called "Young People's Association" by the organization. Chuya sighs and walks to the back of the store with a cold look without greeting anyone. "Why isn't Chuya happy?" Said a tall man on Nakahara's back. "Everyone got together for you." "Don't celebrate the first anniversary." Chuya told me to reject. "I'm glad I don't know what to do." "Don't say that. You must love it." A tall man chased Chuya. "I'll have time to give a souvenir later. Isn't it fun like a student?" Chuya stopped and turned around and stared at the other person. "In other words, you are the mastermind or the piano man. Your sense of joke is rotten at all.":

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Egao "Well, I'm still breathing today to annoy everyone with this rotten joke." Chuya's sarcasm returned a cool smile to the mafia standing in a black cloak and white long skirt. .. Known in the organization as "Piano Man. His clothes are always in black and white. He is tall, has thin fingers and always has a happy smile. He is the founder of this youth association and It plays a role like a leader. It is this man who invited Chuya to this young group. He is more like a craftsman than a mafia. He is almost the only fake bill with the same accuracy as the real one in Yokohama, a complete fake bill But with a whimsical personality, if you're not happy with the fake bills, you'll run out of time for months, even if it's an instruction from the chief. By the way, The nickname "Piano Man." Does not come from black and white clothing. He uses an electric winder with a carbon steel piano wire to kill his enemies. When this copper wire is entwined around his neck, any mysterious power It can't be removed, and in a few seconds the neck will fall off. What's left behind is the perfect flat between the shoulders. And the voluminous blood and the reverberation of the screams of the victims. A man with cruelty. He is now said to be the youngest man closest to a boat mafia executive. As Chuya walked into the store, another man called out. Haha! Chuya's face was awesome! At least I'm in great agreement with this show! Saseiya Zankyo

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Hitsujio A young star and former mafia enemy, Chuya Nakahara, the King of Sheep! It's worth joining this young group just to see your troubled face! " As he swirled his gun, he laughed in a voice that a young blonde man often passed through. Chuya glared at the blonde young man. "Hmm, tell me. If I didn't realize that it was a show, you were dead at the beginning of Albato 0 Suze, Mia Tori Ku" Jimankobushi Nagu "Wow. I'm sorry, but I was killed by Chuya. It's not as good as it gets, but before being hit by Chuya's proud fist, this hatchet cuts off his fist. ”Babiro Kukri Knife When you say that, a wide hatchet appears silently from the back of your jacket. It was. The young man let go of his hand after flashing his blade and slashing the air several times in a non-heavy motion. The impact of the fall of the floor pierced the hatchet, and the young man laughed as the hatchet ran radially on the floor with a heavy sound. 0 Yukai Albatross Laughs a lot with a funny face, the street name of the young man is Ku Abotori 4 He is a tuned person and speaks better than anyone else. His men lose sight of him, even in the middle of a struggle of bullets, blood and flesh. " If he goes to talk or laugh, he's there. Albatross, tsu ... Toku Abotori Tsu is said to be in control of "everything faster than walking" in the Port Mafia, that is, a vehicle. That's his territory. , Coast Guard Leh crack

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He will prepare all the transport boats that will not get caught in the higuchi and the dar. In some cases, we will also procure criminal vehicle supplements with forged registration number marks. Originally an organization's "escape shop," you can control anything with a control stick. Faster and more precise than anyone else. Rumor has it that he took a shabby fishing boat and escaped from the Coast Guard's high-mobility combat helicopter, but no one in the organization doubts that rumor. The person who offended him cannot live in an organization for three days. The car, the stream of stuff and money, is at his knees. If he hates him, all economic activity will be cut off and he will quickly become ill-mannered. "Chuya Nakahara, let's make a toast." However, Chuya ignores it at a glance and walks to the back of the store. "Oh, I'm in a bad mood today, Chuya." The stupid bird left while supporting the glass with an exaggerated movement to prevent champagne from spilling. "About once a month, he suddenly becomes moody, but what happened? Did he have a pulsed dream?" A pulsed dream. The moment he heard the word, Chuya looked back and looked like a flame. "It's not like that!" 25 Bungo Stray Dogs STORM BRINGER

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The angry quivering the glass of the store "Scary ::: What?" Chuya hesitated a little, wandered his eyes, and said that his voice was a little less tuned than before. "Maybe it's because you make noise upstairs every day until the morning, but it's a stupid bird. I'll forget it many times, so I'll say it again, because your floor is my ceiling." "No. You can't forget it? You know, you're a neighbor. ”The stupid bird laughed with a benign face. The stupid bird lived on the same high-class residential land as Chuya, one floor above. According to Chuya, the placement of Abatos was one of the biggest mistakes the Port Mafia made. The stupid bird sometimes gets into Chuya's room on a whim and pulls out Chuya by saying,'・ Help with work ,. And Chuya got better at swimming thanks to taking him to a ridiculously distant battle zone on a car, a ship, or a helicopter. This is because the stupid bird does not always prepare a return flight. Albatross Chuya ignored the stupid bird and walked to the back of the store. And when I tried to put a cloak on the hanger hook of the store, a man with a champagne glass appeared next to me. From the back of his bangs, he was screaming at Chuya with a dark gaze. "I didn't expect you to stay this long: Albato 0 Susaki, Albatross

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Fufu and the man were strangely thin. A thin wrist is swimming in the sleeve of his shirt. What's more, the hand that doesn't have a glass of champagne is holding a drip stick that hangs the drug solution, and the tube that extends from the drip bag disappears into the clothes. He was an unhealthy man. "Surgeon" Chuya received the champagne glass presented. Then he looked inside. "I don't think it's poisoned." "No poison." The man called the surgeon smiled darkly. "I wonder if you can't kill with poison." "What do you know?" "It's an experience." "Because I've killed a lot with poison" with dark eyes. Mafia medical director, only a surgeon. In the black society, there are many unlicensed doctors, but he is different. He is a real doctor with a PhD in medicine in North America. Sugujuyo, the dark doctor is a profession that is in great demand in a black society. If you go to a regular hospital, you have to rely on a dark doctor to treat the wounds that are reported to you-gunshot wounds and torture wounds-the same in Port Mafia. It is. Fishing,

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But there are also differences. In the Port Mafia, doctors are especially important and favored chiefs, Ogai Mori, who is also a former dark doctor. Ryo, Tsujin and the thick port mafia medical team, Ku surgeon is the best doctor. At this young age, he has already saved the lives of nearly 800 humans. And he deliberately took the same human life as that. His purpose is to get closer to God. His belief was that "every time you save a person, you can approach God." His goal is to save two million lives, the same number of humans that God killed in the Bible. I entered the Mafia, and I was waiting for a large-scale conflict where people would die like bugs. "It's not like they're all gathering together, no way to gather surgeons: I looked around. "In the first place, it's about the first anniversary, do you hold such a gathering?" "I'll explain that." A young man with a gentle voice came out with a slow movement. 0 "The first year after joining was the most difficult time for the Mafia." Su "What?" The scared young man smiled. The smile is seductively sweet. And his facial features are strangely well-organized. The magical beauty is that if you dress up as a man and smile, a woman will be dressed up, and if you dress up as a woman and smile, a man will be watered down.

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Deadman's Carp "The first year is the steepest curve of the dead for mafia subscribers. In the meantime, most humans either run away, are crushed, or are confused and erased by the organization.・ It's a celebration of survival. ”Maybe,“ Sledding and fun. Did you think I was crushed by a blunder?''A public relations officer? ”Chuya glared. No, I don't think. "I am."'・ The young man, who was called a public relations officer, smiled mysteriously. And', Shu spokesman-丨 His work is extremely special among these people. A window for negotiations with the world of light. That is the job of a public relations officer, that is, the job that appears in public. He also negotiates with front companies, meets and negotiates with government officials, and in some cases responds to the press. If Port Mafia has a front face, it's him. 0 It was extremely difficult to kill him. In a sense, it's harder than killing the chief, because he's an active movie actor and a fashionable child who even has enthusiastic supporters abroad. If he was killed or missing, media outlets around the world would write and report it as the most important article, so it's natural to be in a turmoil, who killed it, 1 how?

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In other words, the search for suspects attracts attention from all over the world. It is a situation that the back organization absolutely wants to avoid. In addition, since the public relations officer himself is a powerful talent, and his ability is a counterattack type talent that responds to the attacker's murderous intention, evidence is given. It is absolutely impossible to erase it quietly, and once the criminal is named, media outlets around the world will enthusiastically reveal the murderer's identity, purpose, and mastermind. The privacy of the people involved in the organization who took the lead in the murder was launched high in the sky and never returned. The organization is over. Destrap Bakutan Oso, he's the first bomb to fire when he dies, a deadly poison that no one can touch. And his weapon isn't just famous. He is a born actor. The speech and bargaining ability that comes from his acting capsetsukan, and his beauty, which is said to have a perfect curve on his face, especially the problem with the legal world, were when he reached the bargaining table. You almost settle "But if you get kicked out of the organization, I don't care at all," the spokeswoman smiled like a feather. "At that time, I'll invite you to my main business. Let's aim for the world as a silver screen haiku together." Su "I'm absolutely sorry." Chuya made a bitter face as if he had poisoned. "I'm absolutely sorry to say it again." "I objected to the anniversary," I suddenly heard that quiet voice echoing from the back of the store. I didn't scream. There was no intimidating voice. However, everyone was silent and the voice was scary.

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I looked at you. A man in plain clothes stood there Iceman: Shiriki Shin "Mi Cold Blood ,," Chuya said in a cautious voice. "That's right. The celebration seat doesn't look good on you." The man had no feelings. His presence was different even in the gorgeous and intense youth association. He had the tranquility of a dark night, radiating any ambition or impression, rather inhaling all the signs and sounds of his surroundings. Icemank cold blood. The second oldest man after the piano man, he is an expressionless and expressionless man. He prefers simple clothes. And his work is also quite simple and mundane. Hitman, especially in the Mafia. All the time he carries a knife that doesn't even use a gun that doesn't use his abilities to kill, but he never uses it for work. He works with what's indispensable. Fountain pen, liquor botokiyoto, kazahimo shunkandan cancer 2 ru, electric lamp decoration string. The moment everything is in his hands, he's a more dangerous weapon than a bullet, so he can kill people anywhere, whether in the desert, in the palace, or in the vault of the bank. Although it may be inside, there is another special skill in the desert man and cold blood. When he activates a different ability nearby, he feels it as simple as his skin.

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It is his constitution, not his ability or skill, that he can feel. Therefore, his success rate in killing is higher than that of the hundreds of fighting talents, because he can instantly sniff out the right place and time for killing. However, because he does not have different abilities, he cannot pay attention to the special affairs section and the military police's special crime countermeasures section. Take measures, just a shadow man with no connection. If Chuya could be killed, the most likely thing would be cold-blooded ostriches, the organization said. Iceman "I didn't expect you to come to my celebration, Mi cold-blooded ostrich. Do you hate me? "Chuya laughed provocatively. "You and I killed each other once in the" sheep "era, so it seems that you failed to assassinate me and lost your reputation?" "I opposed the feast, but that was you. It's not because I don't like it. It's because I have a grudge and I don't have an iceman. It makes you more angry. " "It's not like it's crushed." "What?" Ötzi Iceman "I thought it would cause a rebellion." The cold-blooded voice was as sharp as the sound of a lump of ice cracking. The leader of the Sheep. I thought you would betray the chief and kill him and wage war on Mafia. To prevent that, Pianoman had you join this youth group. "

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Chuya glanced at the piano man. The piano man is expressionless and watching the conversation. Neither denial nor affirmation. In other words, it is affirmation. "::: Yeah. That's right." Chuya glared at everyone. "Everyone was kindly watching over me like a newborn red toy boy. I'm thrilled. So that I don't get sharp, I'm wearing a toy and even rattling. Thanks. So I was alive and turned one year old, so I need a big toy event. "He said, squeezing a glass of champagne in his hand. Iceman eyebrows where liquid splatters Even if you see it, cold blood does not move your eyebrows Iceman "There is evidence to warn you" Cold blood continues. "June 18th, 3:18 pm. A jewelry wholesaler who offended the rooftop was injured for three months after he was completely healed. The reason is that you did a good job. It's a lonely question, but when you hear it, you blow the wholesaler to the roof of a three-story building. "2" Was that so? I forgot. "Contrary to the content of the reply, Chuya's eyes are sharp. .. "If you have the courage to try it now, try it now," Su'Iceman cold-blooded. After five seconds of expressionlessness that sucked in all the emotions, he said, "Where were you born? Sui Suiman Eritsuka Gochuya reacted quickly. Grabbing the cold-blooded collar and pulling it roughly.

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The sewing of the shirt broke somewhere and there was a sharp noise. Ötzi "What's this hand?" Cold Blood looked down at the hand he grabbed and said emotionally. "It's up to you," Chuya screamed from the side, as if the stupid bird was in trouble. "Hey, take it to that side," and grabbed Chuya's arm. "Don't get angry at such a question, Chuya. You're not like me?" "You can't decide what's like me. I'll kill you." Chuya swiftly flipped the arm that grabbed herself. The stupid bird, who was dressed to be pushed away, stepped on the tatara behind him and stepped forward, and Chuya's leg suddenly stopped. I, Tsukinha :, "Chuya's temple has a billard stick attached to it. Horizontally, with the edge of the sword, you can stick it. : What is this stick? "Chuya said silently, still. "Hey 0 Iceman" It's up to you, "said the cold blood holding the stick. Chuya pulled his upper body away from the stick, and then shook his head and head-butted the stick. (The stick flew away. A myriad of pieces of wood from Icemans splattered throughout the room. Most of them fell on the cold blood that had the sticks, and only Iceman. A sharp piece of wood cut through the right temple and blood was eye-catching It runs down the edge of the room, but the cold blood even blinks.

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No "That's it" I heard the most ruthless voice I've ever had. Behind Chuya: Before I knew it, a transparent piano wire extended from the sleeve of the raised arm on which the piano man was standing, like a high-class necklace that circled Chuya's neck. .. The first rule of this young society, "Chuya", the piano man said coldly. "Don't use different abilities for your friends." Did you forget it? ”The name is piano wire, but it is different from the one used for musical instruments. It's not that easy, it's a completely industrial steel wire that hangs and ties up rebar and concrete lumps, and a take-up device is installed behind the sleeves of the piano man. When it starts, the piano wire transforms into the lightest decapitation stand in the world, and the neck is cut off. Even if Chuya tries to reduce the mass of the piano wire by gravity operation, it is not possible to increase the winding speed, so it is the neck. "I know you're in a bad mood, Riyama," said Piano Man. "If nothing is done, you will lose to Dazai. You have to become an executive before Dazai. Because, in the first place, you were in Remafia because you had a secret document that only executives could see. Because it's for reading. The document tells you what you are. "Wakato Umei

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Chuya's expression has changed. "Why that :::" "But it takes another five years to become an executive in this condition." Chuya's eyebrows are engraved with deep wrinkles and the meshed teeth creak. No, I say, "Pianoman smiled ruthlessly. "I'm being told by the chief," "What?" Chuya flirts with "I was ordered. Immediately after you joined the youth association, what should I watch for Chuya?" Do you want to get new information? Do you want to investigate the contents of secret materials on your own? "" I'm a ::: watcher. If you don't need to see it, you're a human being of an enemy organization, of course. You've been told why, of course, and you're a piano man who could strip your fangs. It's a totally amazing truth. " "::: Stop" Chuya moaned in a murderous voice. B. "" Araha vomit ". Also known as the military's artificial genius research body," Prototype Ko 258th ". That is you. You are not a human being, you are just an artificial I suspect it's a personality. The basis is

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Because you don't dream. "Chuya groaned unvoiced. It was a momentary event. Chuya's right hand flashed like a snake, grabbed the pianoman's arm, and crushed and destroyed the electric winder for the piano wire there. Then, Chuya's left hand picked up the falling sticks and debris from the throat, and attached the pointed tip to the piano man's throat. Apatrosk Kukri Knife Machine Vist spokesman, who moved quickly except for Chuya, took out the submachine gun from the inside of the suit and attached it to Chuya. The hatchet sword of the stupid bird was hit on the neck of Chuya. The surgeon took out the syringe and put the tip on Chuya's temple. He picked up a glass of champagne with broken cold blood and brought its pointed tip close to Chuya's eyes. And everyone at rest was moving, even holding their breath. It's like a still photo. The only thing that moves is the power and the ball that receives the rising sun- "Only the dust that shines and shines 0 All of them could kill someone's life with just one action, but no one moved. Su "Do it," said Chuya. The voice was the trembling of a squeezed bow. "Anyone can do it, but let me finish planning the event before that." Piano Month said in a plain voice.

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"What?" "Is there a souvenir for the first anniversary?" I took it out of my pocket. "This is it," Chuya moved his gaze with a watchful expression. And, as if it was frozen, the breathing that stopped everything seemed to stop even beating. The mosquito came out of Kawa Chuya's hand, and the fragments of the stick that he was holding fell off. Chuya picked it up as if he had forgotten the surroundings. It was a photo. "Isn't it worth it? I had a hard time." Chuya approached the photo as if he was fascinated. The voice of the piano man has not arrived. Chuya, who withdrew his weapon with a bitter smile, didn't even notice it. 0 "If you ask an unprecedented question, show it from the next time." It was Chuya, who was five years old. Somewhere on the beach. With the sea in the background, Chuya and a young man wearing hemp kimono are shown. The two are holding hands, and the young man heading toward the photographer is squinting and smiling, perhaps because of the dazzling diagonal sunlight. Young Chuya is foolish and uncertain if he doesn't know what's going on.

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"The picture was taken in an old rural village in the western region," said Piano Man, looking at the photographer. "Now it's an abandoned village, and no one lives in the area, but the surgeon got a hit from the medical records kept in the nearby village. 丨 丨 Surgeon" "Fufu ::: Human Even if he lied, the dental record does not lie. "The surgeon brought another document with an unhealthy smile. "Medical records have to be kept for several years ::: That duty has become a light ::: Fufu: ・: ・"-Kouwa', Chuya looks embarrassed and the surgeon and him Comparing the documents presented by him, "Don't worry if you take credit for yourself, a surgeon!" "Without my power, I couldn't even reach the medical record. The medical record of the crushed clinic is from the company that has as much sand as the sand on the beach that the medical corporation keeps together. , I followed the memoirs to find the desired storage location-because I threatened all the material storage companies and finally arrived at it! "Apatros in Switzerland

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"Of course, no good explorer can reach his destination without the first step. A spokeswoman laughed softly and offered another document." Of my personal acquaintance. To women