#there are 1468 days left

[kedreeva]

There are good things in this world still

Today, when we went to pick up bird feed, Sark spotted a Calder's dairy store, and we picked up a half gallon of the richest, most decadent chocolate milk you've ever had, and a pint of eggnog so thick it may as well be drinkable yogurt (and it was DELICIOUS).

Today, when I checked on Aurora, who has been having treatment for a mouth problem, I finally can't see evidence of the problem anymore. She'll still have to be on meds for a little while longer, but I get to call the vet tomorrow and report that it looks like she's recovering despite her age.

Today, I picked up some extra bedding for the birds, for the cold snap coming in. I will pick up more tomorrow, but I got shavings for them since they like napping in a pile on them.

Today, Sark and I built a little aquarium together in minecraft, and went on an adventure to collect fish.

Right now, I am going to go put some words on my story before I go to sleep.

When I go to sleep tonight, I will get to sleep beside Sark, who is basically a furnace. It's the middle of winter and he's usually not even covered by a blanket when I go in. And instead of complaining, when I put my absolutely freezing feet on his leg, he covers them with his other leg to warm them up faster. That's love.

There are good things left in this world, however small. This is your opportunity to reblog this and share your good things with each other, or check the notes if you need a reminder.

[delicatebarness]

winters widow | chapter iii

Summary: During the month-long journey to your sister's wedding, you challenge Lord James' authority and gain a small glimpse of vulnerability. Settling under the full moon, you find quiet satisfaction.

Warning: Arranged Marriage. Emotional Distress. PTSD and War Trauma.

Word Count: 1468

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A/N: Oh Lady Romanoff. How we love you. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Winter’s Widow: @lanabuckybarnes | @sapphirebarnes | @sebastians-love | @mrsnikstan | @learisa | @railmesebstan | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @barnesxstan

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

The warmth and the chatter of the kitchen staff provided a stark contrast to the crisp morning and icy atmosphere of the Reach. You smiled as you worked alongside them, determined to make yourself useful and lend a hand where you could. The staff initially hesitated about your presence in the kitchen, but they gradually accepted your help.

The head cook, a stout woman was instructing a young scullery maid, her voice gentle but firm as she explained how to chop vegetables, as you knead dough properly. 

“You’re quite the natural in the kitchen, my lady,” the head cook remarked, offering a warm smile as her hands deftly worked.

“I’ve always found comfort in cooking,” you admitted, sparkling more flour into your dough. “It reminds me of my home.” 

Sharing fleeting smiles, the other servants nodded in agreement. A comfortable, almost familial atmosphere began to cherish the cold, unyielding walls as activity hummed around you. 

The kitchen door swung open with a loud creak, and the room instantly fell silent. Turning with your dough in hand, you saw Lord James standing in the doorway, a dark expression of displeasure. The blue in his eyes deepened as they locked onto you, and the room's tension almost suffocated. 

“What are you doing in here?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like the blade of his sword. 

Wiping your flour-cover hands on your apron, you straightened your posture. “I’m helping with the preparations for dinner, my lord.” 

A muscle ticked in his jaw, eye narrowing. “You are a lady, not a servant. This is not your place.” 

“I wanted to be useful,” you refused to be intimidated as you met his gaze. “Contribute in any way I can.” 

“You are the future Lady of Winter’s Reach,” he snapped. “This is not how you should be contributing. Your place is not among the servants.” 

Uneasy glances were exchanged around you, as the staff retreated into the background. The head cook, who had been friendly toward you moments ago, now avoided your eyes, a worried expression clouded her features. 

The lord stepped closer, his voice lowering yet it did not lose intensity. “You will leave the kitchen, immediately. We depart for the Prince’s wedding to your sister in three days and begin your preparation for our journey. It will be a month-long ride, and I expect you to be ready.” 

The reality of his words sunk in as you swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord,” you replied quietly, offering him a small nod. 

You felt the weight of the staff’s sympathetic gazes on your back as you turned on your heel and left the kitchen. The sense of belonging the kitchen brought had begun to slip away, replaced by the reminder of your status and the expectations that came with it. 

As you made your way to your quarters to prepare, your mind raced with the thoughts of traveling with Lord James. A month of enduring his harsh demeanor, you were determined to use the journey as another opportunity to break through his defenses. 

~

The courtyard was abuzz with activity, three mornings later. Preparations for the journey were finalizing as horses were being saddled and supplied were loaded. Dressed in travel attire, you approached Honeybreeze, a mixture of excitement and apprehension as you stroked her mane. 

Standing by the Reach’s entrance, Lord James oversaw the final preparations. He watched as you approached your horse, his expression unreadable as his eyes flickered with a hint of something softer. 

“You are to ride in the carriage,” he stated firmly, snapping your attention to him as his tone left little room for argument. 

“I prefer to ride Honeybreeze,” your voice was calm but resolute as you replied. 

His gaze hardened as his brow furrowed. “The journey will be long and treacherous. It would be safer for you in the carriage.” 

“I appreciate your concern, my lord, but I’m more comfortable on my horse,” you insisted, with practiced ease, you mounted Honeybreeze. 

Unaccustomed to having his orders challenged, his jaw tightened. “The terrain is unpredictable, there are other threats along the way. You do not understand the dangers.” 

You met his gaze steadily, looking down at him from your horse. “I’ve ridden through difficult terrain, we can handle it.” You smiled as memories of riding Honeybreeze around Belova flooded your mind. 

“This isn’t a leisurely ride, Lady Romanoff,” his frustration evident in his voice. “It’s a month-long journey, and I don’t need any additional complications.” 

“I’m capable,” your voice firm as you countered. “I won’t be a complication.” 

The tension between you both grew as he stared at you for a long moment. Finally, the rigidity in his posture softened and he sighed. “Very well,” he conceded reluctantly. “Stay close to the carriage and follow my lead.” 

“I will,” you said, a smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you, my lord.” 

~

As the procession moved along the roads, Lord James glanced at you with a mixture of irritation and resignation on his expression. You had positioned yourself alongside him, Honeybreeze keeping pace with Alpine, his snowy white horse. 

“I told you to stay by the carriage,” he snapped with a sharp tone. 

Undeterred, you met his gaze. “I believe it’s important for us to ride side by side, my lord. It will show a united front.” 

“This isn’t about appearances,” his eyes narrowed. “It’s about your safety.” 

“And, I feel safer riding Honeybreeze,” you calmly countered. “Besides, my lord, the people need to see us not together as just a lord and lady, but as partners.” 

“You’re too stubborn for your own good.” He sighed, clearly frustrated. 

“Maybe so,” you offered him a small, hopeful smile. “But, it’s because I believe in this union, despite it’s duty.” 

Rolling his eyes, Lord James had a hint of a reluctant smile at the corner of his lips. “Stay close, and don’t wonder off.” 

“Of course, my lord,” relief washed over you as you replied. 

The rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the dirt road created a steady and comforting beat as you rode south, the landscape of Winter’s Reach slowly giving way to rolling hills and forests surrounding the countryside. 

~

Silence marked the first few days of the journey, with only the sounds of nature and commands toward the Reach’s soldiers to break the quiet. You allowed yourself to bask in the beauty of the land, taking in the change of scenery. 

Your nights were spent in makeshift camps, Lord James and his men stood watch as you retired to a tent. 

The full moon cast as silver glow over the campsite, as the fire crackled one evening. Seated beside Lord James, you found yourself sharing a rare quiet moment with him. The moonlight bathed you in an ethereal light, a fitting ambiance. Your future husband was known throughout the realm as the White Wolf, and help anyone who dared to enrage him. 

Staring into the flames, he was lost in thought, and you wondered what haunted his mind. 

Breaking the silence, your voice asked softly. “Do you ever miss it?”

His gaze met yours, his eyes reflecting the firelight. “Miss what?” 

You lost your train of though as you marveled at the newfound warmth within his eyes before you managed to find your voice again. “The life you had before the war,” you clarified. “Before all of this.” 

Lord James’ expression hardened, a flicker of pain danced over the warmth. “There’s nothing to miss. The past is gone.” 

“But, it’s shaped who you are,” you persisted gently. “Just as my past has me,” 

He sighed, evident in the lines of his face, the weight of his past lay heavy. “The war took many things from me,” you noticed how his left, vibranium hand clenched as he spoke of loss. “It’s not something I like to dwell on.” 

“I understand,” you said softly, placing your hand gently over the top of his fist. “But, I believe there’s still more to you than the soldier.” 

He seemed to soften for a moment, the walls around his heart crumbling ever so slightly. “Maybe,” he conceded, his fist slackened under your touch. “If so, it’s buried deep.” 

You offered him a small smile as you met his gaze once again. 

His gaze lingered on you before he looked away, pulling his hand away from your touch, his mask of stoicism slipped back into place. “Get some rest,” he said quietly. “We have a long journey ahead in the morrow.” 

Nodding, you obeyed his wishes. You understood that you had received as much as the Lord could give you, and you were satisfied with his openness. As you made your way to your tent, you looked up at the moon one last time, praying to the old gods for a safe journey.

---

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[renren-006]

Hi could you do something with fezco where he has a big fight with reader(girlfriend) with a happy ending

You Did a Bad Thing Twice| Fezco x Reader

Word Count: 1468 Warnings: Angst, drugs, language, fluff A/N: hey!! so i decided to have a little fun and have a little twist with this one hope you like it!!

You were the most curious person ever, just like that cat that couldn't keep to herself, you couldn't either. "Curiosity killed the cat"

As it was you were a curious person and Fezco knew that, and he knew that it would also mean one day it would blow up in his face. So when there were situations where you were too curious for your good, Fezco finally blew.

You were the most curious person ever, just like that cat that couldn't keep to herself, you couldn't either. "Curiosity killed the cat"

As it was you were a curious person and Fezco knew that, and he knew that it would also mean one day it would blow up in his face. So when there were situations where you were too curious for your good, Fezco finally blew. 

Time Number One:

This one had not been all your fault, only partially. You and Rue had decided to tag along with the boys to a deal and chill out in the car. It was only the two of you that night and it was surprisingly terrifying being trapped in a car with Rue, high off her ass. Fez didn't know she had taken something and you didn't want to be the one to rat her out but that happened anyways when someone came and put guns to your heads in front of Fez. You stood there in the dim light of the shipping containers and boats with Fezco’s eyes burning holes in your head. The man behind you had your hair in his hands and a gun to your spine, you thought you were going to piss yourself because of how scared you were. Then there was Rue, talking shit as normal and wouldn't shut up, so the man behind her jostled her a few times before she hit the mute button.

"Hey man, you let er' go" Fez spoke calmly to the man behind you. "They dont know nothin"

"Yea? Then why the hell you bring them here?" he asked, pulling my hair back, yanking my neck, and the gun dug deeper into my skin.

"Please, please" you begged, "I don't even do drugs, sir"

"Sir? Is this your girl Fezco?" the man asked, and Fez stepped closer.

"Yea," he said sternly, "You let her and her friend go and I'll forget about this shit ever happening, or else you can go find someone else to deal for you"

"Oh, I see how it is," he said. The man then threw you off of him, making you stumble and tip into Fez’s arms while the other guy calmly let Rue go, who stumbled behind Ashtray and was mumbling something to herself to calm down.

"Aight'' the man said, "You deal our shit properly or next time we won't leave your curious girl as clean as we left her today" and that was the end of the meeting. You clung to Fez who in turn picked you up and brought you back to the car. He sat you down next to him, one of your legs over his as he drove home, Ashtray watched from the backseat with a freaked-out Rue. That night you got scolded and got fucked senselessly till you swore promises to him as you fell asleep calmly. 

Time Number 2:

The second time was all your fault. Fezco knew you well enough to know that having a drug dealer show up at your shared house unannounced was a bad idea. So he shoved you into your shared room, and told you to be quiet. What seemed like an hour ticked by and you had not heard a peep from outside. You cautiously stepped into the hallway, and down to the kitchen and living room, only to come across a room full of tatted up guys with the main one sitting across from Fez. When you tried to step back down the hallway and out of the eyes of the gang members one of them spotted you.

"Hey! Fez you didn't say there were others in the house" the man said, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the living room. You were only in your sleep shorts and one of Fez shirts, you nervously put your arms around yourself to hide. 

"You have a pretty one, Fezco. Why didn't you have this little....slut join us?" the man asked Fez.

"She ain't no slut. She's my girl" Fez said seriously, "And she aint got no business here, let her go back to our room" 

"No, you hid this little thing away when I said no other listeners, she'll stay until we're finished here" he said as you were thrown next to Fez on the couch whose hand found yours. You wanted to whisper to him but the grip he had told you that he was pissed and I shouldn't talk if I wanted this deal to continue going smoothly. You knew you should not have snuck out the room to see what was going on.

"Now where were we...right. Molly? Are you selling my shit or do I have to teach you a lesson by playing with your girl?"

"Don't you touch her," Fez Said. You knew Fez hated selling molly, after what happened with Rue. It wasn't a secret that you knew about Fez's worries and his do's and don'ts in this business. You had talked to Ashtrey enough about this line of work to know that you could have fucked up this deal majorly by having Fez take on the selling of Molly.

"Look man I had a bad run in with Molly okay. I don't want to mess with that no more"Fez insisted.

"Well then, I think we have some persuading to do, '' he said and before he could even reach over to touch you, Ash had his gun aimed right at the dude's head.

"Don't you touch my ma you hear" Ash spoke, gun ready to shoot if the man even thought twice. The other guys had their arms now ready to whip their guns out but one had one trained on me and Fez was about to lose it. 

"Ash, put it down" a command spoken by Fez had the boy putting his firearm down. "Fine, small number, I already have your other products to sell" 

"I like a negotiation, '' the man said, waving his arm to have the man drop the gun and hand Fez a small bag. "One ounce, since your so cautious, and I won't try to touch your girl again if the bag is all sold"

"Deal" Fez spoke so fast he hoped the men would leave soon, and he did. When they were gone and you were calming down, Fez exploded. 

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he asked Ash, straightened his back at Fez's loud words. 

"I...was curious. I was there for an hour…” you said, your voice quest as you spoke back to him. 

"What? you thought you would come walking in to see what was happening and leave not harmed" Fezco asked you angrily. 

"Yea.." 

"You cannot be serious! What the hell Y/N! The last time this happened you had a gun to your back and a man who looked like he wanted to take you, and this time.....I thought you were going to die" Fez said loudly. He was scared, this voice wasn't anger, ir was cautious. You threw that away when you went down the hallway and Fez almost lost his mind at the thought of you being hurt. 

"I think that about you, that you'll die one day when I'm not there or when Ash can't spring a gun..." You told him softly, you knew the worries because you had them. 

"Y/N," he said softly, his tone changing.

"I'm curious, because I want...No I need to know how much danger you're in"

"I'm safe hunny I swear" Fez spoke. He slowly sat back down next to you on the couch. 

"Are you? Because I know I fucked that up but what if I had not come out here and what if you still refused and he pulled a gun on you or Ash and all I could do is cry over one of your bodies...?" you screamed back. Now it was you that was scared "I can't live if you're not there, and I can not be kept in the shadows about this shit"

"I'm sorry, honey. I know now how much terror you must feel" Fez said, scooting closer to you on the couch. Ash slid down onto the chair in front of you two.

"I'll always protect him. And you" Ash spoke, "Your my ma, you care and you worry just like a mom would"

"I do, oh Ash hun I do, I worry about both my boys, and this line of work scares me because I don't know what shape you'll come home in"

"We know '' Fez spoke. "Why don't we watch that Disney movie you love?" He asked you. A smile rose to your face. 

"You'll watch that with me?" You asked.

"Anything to make you feel better," he told you. "Anything for you hunny"

[httpscomexe]

Avengers Crumbus

Summary: Everyone is excited for Christmas except Bucky.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Incredibly corny.

Word Count: 1468 (Find all chapters here)

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

It was Christmas Day in the Avenger tower.

Tony was getting drinks ready, with Pepper helping him ready enough food for everyone there. Everyone else was decorating cookies in the lounge room, a good majority of them with coloured icing to look like themselves. You can’t help but smile at it all. Everyone dressed in Christmas sweaters, smiling and all talking together like they were all a big family, and they were all there. Except Bucky. It was his first year in the tower, so you understood why he didn’t want to be part of the entire holiday. He would rather trap himself in his room and pretend he’s just a shadow against the walls.

“Y/N! Get your ass over here and help me!” Wanda giggles, standing up and grabbing your hands to drag you over to the couch, and she hands you an icing tube, she was decorating her gingerbread house. Was it sloppy and an absolute mess of icing and candy? Yes, but, it was adorable. It honestly suited her well.

“Okay, okay!” You giggled in response as she drags you over, and you help with putting the roof and walls apart, sliding the tip of the icing tube through the little cracks to keep it as sturdy as icing could keep gingerbread sturdy. You look over, and see Steve and Natasha knee to knee, painting a last minute Christmas ornament, and Tony carries in some drinks, setting everyone’s favourites on the table in front of where they were sitting.

“Alright, let’s get this party started. Who wants to go first?” Pepper follows after him, Peter walking behind her and helping her carry in plates to set on the tables as well, and you grab your plate.

“How shall we decide this year?” Bruce stretches.

“Youngest first!”

“We did that last year! How about oldest first?”

“We did that the year before last year.”

“Well, rock paper scissors?”

“That’ll take wayyy too long!”

“How about newest recruits?” Clint looks over at you. “We can have Y/N start, then we can play popcorn and she can decide who goes after her, and so forth.”

“Well, technically, isn’t Bucky the newest-?” You hesitate.

“Well, he doesn’t wanna be here. So unless you think you’d be able to get him out here.” Tony bends down next to the Christmas tree, grabbing your first gift, your name written in Steve’s handwriting. “Then guess what? You’re first.” You take it slowly from his hands, and look over at Steve, who smiles softly back at you before pulling Natasha closer, kissing her forehead.

“Alright. I’ll go first.” You lean back, and unwrap the gift, trying not to rip it because you know Vision likes to collect the papers, even though he doesn’t ever join, saying Christmas was useless.

Inside the wrapping paper is a box, which you have to open as well, and once you peer inside, you smile and chuckle a little.

“Oh my God Steve…” You roll your eyes.

“What? Maybe then you can definitely get Bucky out of his room.” You take out one of the pieces of cloth, and show it to him with a stupid blush and smile on your face.

“You got my daughter lingerie?” Tony glares at Steve, but you can tell he’s only joking.

“That’s okay, wait til he sees his.” You shrug. You got him condoms.

A while goes by, at least an hour. Normally unwrapping gifts wouldn’t take so long for a a normal family, but there was some sort of conversation about every item that was given. Soon, there was only one box left, it was a smaller box. It wasn’t very well wrapped, so it was either by Peter, who was improving with the help of Pepper, or Bruce, who’s arm is still messed up from the snap.

You take the little gift in your hands, but before you can unwrap it, you notice there’s no tag.

“Who’s this from?” You hold the gift up a little, and every glances at eachother. Bucky…? You don’t say it outloud. You didn’t want Steve or Tony to tease him endlessly for his horrible wrapping skills. Plus, it was possible that it wasn’t Bucky.

You start to unwrap the gift, taking off the little bow first before taking off the paper, a little blue box with a silver heart on it on the top cover. You take off the lid, and on a little cushion is a necklace, two rings wrapped around each other with the chain; and it looked like both with adorned with diamonds. It makes your lips go slightly agape, and you take it gently out of the box, smiling, and out of the corner of you eye, you see Steve smiling. He’s proud of Bucky. You assume he wasn’t sure about getting you something, and being the great friend that he is, Steve managed to push him along.

“I uh… Well whoever got it for me, I love it.” You mumble, and Wanda reaches out to help you put it around your neck, clasping it in place.

After everything is cleaned up, and everyone is ready to head to bed, Thor in his new My Little Pony bathrobe. You dry your hands from washing the dishes with Peoper, and tell everyone goodnight before going to your room, taking off your sweater, and switching from your jeans to your plain red and black pyjama pants. Then you look in the mirror, your hair a messy bun, loose strands falling out, looking a mess. And you touch the two rings that are hanging by your chest. Then, without another thought, your leave your room in your bra and pyjamas, heading straight to Buckys room. Your theory seriously needed to be confirmed.

“Buck?” You don’t even knock, you just walk in on him, reading a book in black joggers, comfortable already in bed and… shirtless… anyways.

“Do you have hands?”

“Uh- yea?” Weird question…

“Can you curl them into fists?”

“Yes..?”

“Do you know how to knock?” You roll your eyes and move to his bed, sitting in the edge by his feet, and you see his eyes go to your chest. Not your breasts, but the necklace.

“Did you get this for me…?” You get straight to the point, and you watch as he sets his book aside before leaning forward, and he crosses his legs before patting the spot in front of him, which you quickly scoot over until you’re both sitting with legs crossed directly in front of eachother.

“Yes. I did. I’m sorry I didn’t come out today, I-“

“Buck…” You hush him, and put a hand on his knee, which he stares at. “None of us are going to force you to come out of your room. If you want to be alone, then that’s fine.” You reach up, gently grabbing his chin so he’d look at you. “I love the gift, James.” He smiles, and honestly rare occurrence.

“Hah- I haven’t gotten a decent gift for anyone in a while… but Steve said you would love it…”

“Well, it’s amazing.” You want to ask so many questions. Like why rings? Why you? Why would he spend that much on you.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course Bucky, you can tell me anything.” You take your hand away from his face to lean back, but his hand basically shoots up, gently grabbing your wrist to keep your hand there.

“I uh… Fuck.” He shuffles a little. “I really like you.” You both stare at eachother for a minute, a tiny smile trying to force its way upon you. “Fuck that’s so corny, I’m sorry.”

“No, no that’s not corny. How did that word even get into your alphabet?”

“I’m not that old.”

“Yea you are.” You both stare again. “And I really like you too, James.” He smiles again, and his hand moves up your arm, until his palm is cupping your cheek.

“Tony would kill me.”

“My dad would kill the most perfect man that he chose for me, Buck. You’ll be fine. Equal treatment honestly.”

Then without warning while your babbling away, you feel his hand move to cup the back of your neck, and he pulls you in, pressing his lips to yours for a few seconds, and you melt into it, closing your eyes and reaching back to gently run your fingers through his hair.

“Fuck… I’ve wanted to do that forever…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift…” He tilts his head, both of your foreheads connected.

“But you did.” He chuckles. “I’ve got you, don’t I?”

“Of course you do…”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas, James…”

[razzmatash]

Sugary Sweet Day 5 - Cookies Love and Deepspace Sylus x f!OC 1468 Words Read on Ao3 banner by firefly-graphics

“Where did you get all of these?”

“Some of them are...unique.”

“Have either of you baked before? Besides, it doesn’t always matter what they look like. What matters is how they taste.”

Pausing at the voices coming from the kitchen, Sylus had a quick debate with himself if he actually wanted to step inside to see what was going on. But the chef had found him to let him know that the twins were back in the kitchen and after the last time, no one wanted them in there unsupervised again. However, Calliope was inside so it wasn’t like they were exactly alone and they listened to her. Usually.

He finally stepped into the kitchen when they all fell silent, knowing that was never a good sign with the twins. But he found all three of them focusing on whatever it was they were doing. “What’s going on in here?” he asked, staying in the doorway.

Three heads snapped up at his voice.

“Boss!”

“Sylus! What are you doing here?” Calliope asked, smiling at him. “I thought you were working.”

“I was,” he said mildly. “Until I was cornered by a concerned chef.”

She blinked at him but the twins shared a look over her head. “Huh?”

“We’re not touching anything, boss.”

“Nope. Only the stuff Boss Lady lets us.”

“Then that’s touching something,” Sylus said dryly, leaning against the wall. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“We’re making cookies.”

Three words. She’d only said three words but for some reason he couldn’t wrap his head around them. “Cookies?”

“Yes. There’s an exchange at work and they’re easy to give gifts. I usually make some to give out to the people on the floor and my neighbours.”

“And you’re doing them here why?”

“Your kitchen’s better.”

She said it as if that was completely obvious and yes, it was the truth, but she had come into the N109 Zone to bake? His eyes narrowed. “How did you get here?”

“We got her, boss!”

“She didn’t want to bother you ‘cause you were working.”

Admirable but he would have gotten her. He would have preferred to get her rather than listen to people drone on about meetings and reports of what had been happening in the city. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I wouldn’t have left without saying hi,” Calliope huffed at him. “I’m not that mean.”

He’d like it if she didn’t leave at all.

“Did you want to help us?”

He blinked at the request, not expecting it. The twins were looking at her now and he didn’t need to see their faces to know what their expressions were. “You want me to bake?”

“You don’t have to. You could help decorate them instead if you want.”

He hesitated for a moment. Calliope could keep them in line so he didn’t really need to supervise. What’s more, he still had work to finish and had only stepped away to make sure nothing was going to blow up. He hadn’t anticipated her being here and he didn’t know how long she was going to stay. Or when he was going to see her again since between both of their works and her flurry to get ready for the holidays, it was hit or miss.

The sweet, hopeful smile on her face decided for him and he walked further into the room. “I can stay for a bit,” he said.

The twins moved to cluster to one side of her as he claimed his spot on her other side, soaking in the wider smile she gave him. “Have you baked before?”

“No,” he said honestly. He’d made meals for himself but baking hadn’t seemed necessary at any point. His gaze moved over everything on the counter before he cocked a brow at her. “Do you really need all of this?”

“We’re making different types,” Calliope said, pointing at the different bowls. “Peanut blossoms, snicker doodles, gingerbread brownies, sugar cookies, crinkle cookies, and maybe shortbread if I feel up to it.”

Sylus eyed her for a moment and decided she wasn’t joking. Some of those names did not sound real but she was the expert in holidays, not him.“Do you usually make this much?”

“Yes. I like making them when I have time.”

He’d been in her home often enough that he had no idea how this wouldn’t take all day given the size of her kitchen.

“Which one do you want to make first?”

“Sugar cookies!” two voices chimed.

He flicked a look at the twins before shrugging. “Sugar cookies,” he echoed.

“Those are easy enough,” Calliope said, grabbing a bowl.

The recipe was basic enough but the twins were clearly excited about this and kept asking her questions while she explained what they needed to do.

“Do we need to use the cookie cutters?”

“Could we use a knife instead?”

“You need to actually mix the dough first before you can cut anything,” Calliope said dryly.

Sylus leaned a hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and levelling a look at the twins. “You’re using the cookie cutters. When was the last time you cleaned them properly?”

“Last time we used them!”

Calliope looked away, turning slightly to him so he didn’t miss the way she pressed her lips together in an effort not to laugh.

“Don’t encourage them,” he muttered.

Eyes bright with laughter met his and he sighed. It was easy to forget his little kitten could be just as chaotic as the twins because she kept it locked up usually. But the more time she spent with him, and them, the cracks in her control were getting wider.

Leaning down, he stole a kiss from her mirthful mouth before turning her back to the bowl. “Give them something to do, kitten.”

She did, passing a bowl to Luke and a rolling pin to Kieran. Her instructions definitely had laughter under them but she managed to not outright laugh at them. When she was done with them, she turned back to him. “Which ones do you want to make now?”

“You’re going to let them do it without watching?”

“If they mess up, I can just make them again.”

That seemed like a waste of time but if she really wanted to make this many cookies, she would have to multitask. “Which ones do you want to make?” he countered, having zero preference when he didn’t know what half of the cookies even were.

She thought about it for a moment. “Probably the peanut blossoms. They need more time to fully cool before they can be boxed up.”

Sylus watched as she grabbed a pair of bowls before plunking one in front of him. He eyed the brightly wrapped items in it. “Kitten?”

“Can you unwrap them for me?” she asked, already adding ingredients to the bowl she had kept. “They’re chocolates. Kisses.”

He picked one up, tugging on the paper sticking out of the top to reveal the chocolate beneath. “All of them?” How many had she bought? When had she bought all of this? Had she brought all of it or had they all gone shopping before getting back to the manor?

“Mmhmm. Any we don’t use we can just eat.”

Unwrapping another, he shifted to press it to her mouth. Big eyes blinked at him from behind her glasses before she let him pop it between her lips. She was going to need the sugar now if they gave any to the twins and he didn’t need her going sour if they got too out of hand.

Before either one of them could go back to their tasks, they heard a snicker from the twins and immediately turned.

“We didn’t do anything.”

He’d believe that when the sun shone in hell. His gaze dropped to the dough that had been rolled out and the haphazard shapes that had absolutely been carved out with knives and not cookie cutters. “What is that?”

“Mephisto!”

“A dove didn’t seem appropriate,” Kieran said, holding up one of the designs.

Calliope huffed out a laugh. “For who? I’m giving them to people I know remember?”

They both stared at her before looking at the cookies. “Aren’t we getting any?”

“I didn’t say you weren’t but if you cut out weird shapes we won’t have enough dough to do enough cookies for everyone.”

The patience in her voice told him she must have been working with children recently.

“What if we had custom designs made?”

“We could have a special batch for us then.”

Sylus tried not to sigh again and made a mental note to find someone to make custom cookie cutters before the twins tried to. If he left it to them, who knew what shapes they’d wind up with.

[weyrwolfen]

Caveat Emptor: Chapter 3 - Suppressio Veri

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Commanders Fox, Thorn, Thire, and Stone, Quinlan Vos, Coruscant Guard

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm and suicidal thoughts, injuries, loss of autonomy

Previous chapters can be found here on Tumblr or here on Ao3

Fingers bit into CC-1010’s face, pulling him forward painfully to look directly into cruel, yellow eyes.

“Nala Se’s reports never mentioned anything about the implant degrading over time,” said a man’s voice, cold and dangerous, terrifyingly familiar.

The grip on CC-1010’s face tightened, fingers squeezing skin and muscle painfully against underlying bone. He did not move, did not protest, even though inside some part of him was screaming to fight, to run. To do anything instead of just stand there.

“What a pity,” the voice said, and the hand abruptly released CC-1010, then returned in a mocking parody of a fond pat on his cheek. “You’ve been my favorite tool, but don’t worry. When you’re all used up, I have three more just like you.”

“One of those had better be for me,” Fox said when he walked out of the shared commanders’ quarters, bucket tucked neatly under one arm, to find Thire waiting in ambush in the hallway with two thermal canteens in hand.

Thire snorted loudly enough for his external mics to engage, but he also, demonstrating commendable survival instincts, immediately held out one of the canteens and said, “They both are, I’ve already been awake for six hours.”

Perhaps there’d been a reason why Fox had promoted Thire after all. Even if he was often a complete pain in the shebs.

The barrack’s caf had a burnt, metallic aftertaste, but it was strong enough to wake the dead, which was exactly what Fox needed at that moment. He hadn’t slept particularly well, not that he ever did these days, and his oddly vivid nightmares had left him feeling particularly unsettled and distracted. Once he was awake and alert enough to get picky about his morning stimulants, he could always steal some better osik from one of the Senate breakrooms.

Once they reached the lifts, Fox was feeling mostly human enough to ask, “Sitrep?”

“The CSF is in a snit,” Thire said, pressing the button to call one of the lifts. “Apparently the Jedi confiscated several cultural artifacts from the Chancellor’s private rooms under SB 1468-28.”

The kriff? SB 1468-28 had to do with regulating imports and exports in Republic space. It had thousands of sections and subsections, covering everything from negotiating tariff rates to pages and pages of non-sentient species deemed too endangered to be legally traded. Not that Fox imagined that the Jedi would be risking setting off major political waves by publicly seizing something like a smuggled kanthra skin rug from the Chancellor of the Republic.

Former Chancellor of the Republic?

Kriff, it was going to be another karking long-shebs day with an unending chain of more of the same on the horizon. The caffeine couldn’t hit Fox’s system fast enough.

The lift finally arrived, and when Fox and Thire stepped inside, Thire hit the button for the hanger floor instead of the one which would have taken them to their offices. Straight back into the belly of the beast then.

“The CSF has determined that at some point after you left the Chancellor’s office, the door to his emergency turbolift was opened twice,” Thire said once the lift rattled to life.

Well, that explained why nobody had tried to arrest Fox yet. “Any leads on who?”

“No,” Thire answered, a little too quickly. Fox kept his suspicions to himself, but something cold coiled in the pit of his stomach. “It’s not even clear which side the door was accessed both times. Someone wiped the system with one of the Chancellor’s personal codes.”

Okay. That was slightly more unexpected. Fox had his own security access codes. He didn’t know the Chancellor’s, so CC-1010 shouldn’t either. Right?

Stop. Suspicions weren’t facts. He could suspect all he wanted; he didn’t know anything.

“The CSF is working the angle that the Chancellor himself opened the door, even though nobody has a working theory as to why,” Thire continued. “The Guard has been tasked with excluding other points of ingress from consideration.”

Of course. Of course, the CSF would try to ice the Guard out of the real investigation. Shabuire.

Except Thire knew the risks of this investigation getting out of the Guard’s hands as well as Fox did, but he wasn’t acting particularly concerned about being dismissed from the primary crime scene. And that had some significant implications.

Stop it. Stop speculating. Stop working the karking case.

Fox was compromised. His officers would tell him whatever was safe for him to know. He had to trust them on this, because there weren’t any guarantees that CC-1010 wouldn’t report everything that was done and said here back to kriff even knew who.

So Fox kept his questions behind his teeth and tried, with very limited success, to put them out of his mind as well.

The lift doors opened out onto the Guard’s hanger bay. Fox managed to not wince, but only just. There was something about the lighting in the space that always exacerbated his headaches. The pain tabs he’d downed before kitting up for the day weren’t quite doing their jobs, but Scav was firmly against upping the dose or changing the type of medication until it became absolutely unavoidable. Something about not wanting the Marshall Commander of the Guard to be wandering around the Senate, armed to the teeth while also tripping balls.

As if all of them didn’t already occasionally do their rounds, so strung out on stims that every light had rainbow-edged trails in their vision. It came with the long hours and the strill osik requests Senators often kicked their way, on top of their usual duties.

Thire passed by the larger gunships and troop transports, instead aiming for the smaller, two-man speeders. Picking the nearest one, he took the driver’s seat and fired up its engines, leaving Fox as the ride along. Probably wise.

“Where are we headed?” Fox finally asked, when the awkward silence in the speeder became unbearable. That at least seemed like a safe question to ask, seeing as he was about to find out anyway.

Thire’s bucket was unreadable, visor forward as he weaved through traffic, but he tapped his index finger against the steering yoke in obvious thought before saying, “We’re meeting up with Hound’s team. He thinks they’ve found something in the Chancellor’s emergency evacuation hanger.”

Okay.

Fox really wanted to ask for further information.

He did not.

He did, however, finish his first canteen of caf and start in on his second while Thire went through the extra security protocols of requesting and receiving permission to pass through the energy-shields that kept the general public well away from the Senate Dome’s extensive substructure. What little sense of humor the Senate Guards had previously exhibited had seemingly shriveled up and died in the midst of the current crisis. Thire had to repeat both of their designation numbers three times and submit their clearance codes twice before being granted entry.

The access portals were wide, dimly lit, and eerily empty. There should have been at least a few maintenance droids and work crews down here, monitoring the building’s infrastructure and performing minor repairs. The only sentients Fox saw as Thire guided their speeder through the twisting series of tunnels were his own men, patrolling the area on speeder bikes in teams of three. The Senate Guard must have shut everyone else out, including the small army of maintenance and support staff that kept the lights on and the water running for the entire Dome, because Fox sure as kriff hadn’t made that call.

That was going to cause problems down the line, from compromised utilities to Senators who could and would take any inconvenience as a personal slight.

Thire rounded a final corner and slowed to a hovering stop where a full squad of Coruscant Guards had set up a watch along one stretch of walkway lining the massive panels that made up the tunnels’ heavily-armored walls. A security request popped up on the speeder’s main terminal, and Thire entered his own codes in response.

The Guardsmen shifted to either side of one of the heavy wall panels, making room for one huge plate to rotate up towards the ceiling on artfully concealed magnetic hinges, revealing a set of heavy blast doors.

Once the doors lensed open, one of the troopers, Facet from the trooper’s unusually ornate rerebraces, waved them forward.

Thire guided the speeder through a series of similar blast doors, waiting in each of the connected room for the previous set to close and the next to open. They were kill boxes with concealed defenses mounted in the walls around them, but their exact specifications had been above even Fox’s high clearance level. Being at the mercy of an unknown, deadly automated system made the hair down the back of his neck prickle in instinctive unease.

And yet, he still somehow knew that the fourth room would be the last in the series.

Bright lights glinted off ornamental metals and red-paneled walls. The architecture of the hanger broadly matched the public-facing portions of the Chancellor’s office, all curving walls and gently ramping, carpeted walkways. It was large too, excessively so, given it only held a trio of sleek, custom speeders.

Fox screwed the cap back onto his second, half-empty canteen of caf and set it in the speeder’s center console. Then he fished his helmet out of the floorboards and pulled it on while Thire maneuvered the speeder over to a corner of the space where two guard transports were already docked.

The magnetics inside Fox’s helmet hissed as they engaged, and his HUD flickered to life. His light settings were lower than standard, his one sop to the headache which was still lingering behind his eyes. Once his HUD finished scrolling through its own internal system checks, he sent out a ping using his command overrides and received back answering data from the armor of any trooper in the immediate area.

Fox’s system picked up Facet and his men on guard outside the hanger’s concealed entrance and a few other scattered troopers patrolling the tunnels above and below his current position. Most of the signals came from Hound and his team, as expected.

Hound had brought two full squads to perform this investigation. Fox pulled up a three-dimensional rendering of the space and nodded slightly to himself in approval. The room’s exits, including all air-intake and ventilation shafts, were adequately covered, and the remaining troopers were canvassing the space in orderly, meticulous detail. Hound’s systems reported the presence of three massifs as well, but Fox only spotted two of them. Perhaps the other was with the four troopers who were beyond the hanger’s ornate double doors, no doubt checking out the emergency turbolift from this end of the system.

Hound himself was waiting next to his team’s transports, Grizzer alert and watchful at his side.

Thire made for the ARF trooper’s position and settled the speeder down with practiced ease. The doors of the passenger compartment swung upwards like especially ungainly avian wings.

When Fox stepped out of the vehicle, Grizzer barked a rumbling, chuffing sort of sound the massifs were trained to make whenever they spotted a target. Hound shared a brief look with Thire, obvious and weighted even through their visors, and then palmed a treat out of one of the pouches on his belt. He handed it to the massif, whose entire hindquarters wagged excitedly at the reward.

Fox certainly had some thoughts on that, but again, he kept them to himself.

“Sirs,” Hound said, giving Grizzer the hand signal to sit, which she did with an open-mouthed, razor-toothed grin. The ARF then snapped off a sharp salute, which Fox immediately waved away.

“You wanted to show me something?” he asked, trying to get this farce moving along.

“This way,” Hound said without any further preamble.

While one of the speeders berthed in the hanger was emblazoned with the Republic cog and the other ornate signs and trappings of office, the other two were aggressively plain. They both looked expensive, and a particularly knowledgeable observer would notice the armored panels and shield generators artfully worked into their designs. But neither would be immediately pegged as belonging to any specific one of the millions of wealthy sentients who were on planet at any given time. A few troopers were clustered around the speeder with the badges of office emblazoned on its side panels, scanning the interiors and taking holoimages. Hound guided them towards the second speeder, a dark gray model whose doors and trunk were already open.

Fox’s footsteps faltered, a wave of dread and expectation washing over him. Expectation of what, he couldn’t have said. The open trunk turned out to be completely empty.

“This speeder has been washed down with enzymatic cleaners and then an aggressive sanitizing agent very recently,” Hound said, gesturing vaguely towards the entire vehicle. “The navigation record and access logs were wiped with the same code used on the Chancellor’s turbolift.”

“Have you alerted the CSF?” Fox asked, looking down into the empty trunk. He kept expecting to see… something. He wasn’t sure what.

“Not yet, sir,” Hound said, and Fox looked up at the awkward hesitation in the ARF’s voice. “We were waiting for you to sign off on it.”

They should have notified the senior CSF agent assigned to the case immediately upon finding something this suspicious. The explanation for that breach of protocol occurred to Fox abruptly, and it was both unwelcome and nauseating.

His men were covering for him.

If I’m here when the CSF agents arrive, my biomarkers will be recorded for exclusion from any subsequent evidence logging.

Fox took one deep, steadying breath, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm even as his stomach churned.

“Comm them,” he said, and his voice sounded far steadier than he felt.

Hound nodded, glanced at Thire again, and then stepped back, fingers tapping over the controls on his vambrace.

On any other investigation, Fox would have taken a walk around the hanger, checking in with the rest of his troopers and taking their reports. This time, though, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to know what they were finding, or worse, what they’d been working to actively destroy. He didn’t know anything. He couldn’t. He suspected, but that was different.

He knew. He’d been here before, many times.

Not trusting himself to look anywhere else, Fox turned his attention back down to the speeder’s empty trunk. The bare, overlarge space was strange, in comparison to all of the other civilian speeders he’d ever seen. Even their own transports had some kind of traction matting in the back, hard to clean, but good for keeping equipment from sliding around in transit.

…Really, it seemed designed for easy cleanup: smooth surfaces and curved edges, with no corners or textures where a drop of blood or a stray hair could hide.

That was why CC-1010 had been ordered to use this speeder, instead of the less customized model. The first time he’d been activated, his orders had been very specific. Which speeder he should use, which tunnels to avoid, where to dispose of the bodies, and how to clean up his tracks, both literal and digital. And then to forget until he was activated once again. The memories resurfaced for his second mission, and his third, and after a while the specifics just became part of his standard operating procedure, only noteworthy if some facet of them needed to be altered.

CC-1010 had always followed his orders to the letter. Even when those orders didn’t make any sense. Even when they stood in direct opposition to the public statements made by his Master. Even when they directly violated Republic laws governing the ethical treatment of enemy combatants and civilian noncombatants.

Even when CC-1010 was entirely certain that what his Master had said was not what he had intended.

Good soldiers followed orders, and CC-1010 was an excellent soldier.

All of his trainers had said so. He’d been the best, especially in his close quarters combat and stealth modules. And hadn’t his Master deserved the best?

He had. He had deserved someone like CC-1010, who would carry out his words to the letter, meticulously destroy any evidence, and then forget the details.

He had deserved CC-1010…

“Fox?”

…His mission was complete though. He had followed his SOP and reported back to his office. He had set the memory aside, until the next time.

Except now he was remembering, and no one had activated him.

He should remember that, shouldn’t he? He always had before…

“Fox?” Thire asked again, sounding concerned.

…That was CC-4477. His concern was noted, but not necessary. CC-1010 had completed his mission. This was just an aberration. All he needed to do now was forget…

“CC-1010?” Thire asked carefully. Except that was wrong too, wasn’t it? They never used their designation numbers amongst themselves. Only when…

…Forget…

“CC-1010, what do you require to complete your mission?” Thire asked, following the prescribed script. Only someone very close to him would have noticed the tension humming under his voice.

Fox heard it. Fox held onto it.

…Forg–

Fox sucked in a gasping lungful of air. Memories trickled through his grasp, falling away like grains of sand, but some of them stuck this time.

A few, and none he ever wanted.

He’d killed people. He was pretty certain he’d killed a lot of people, civilians, and he couldn’t even remember any names, or faces, or why.

Karking Sith-damned hells, his head hurt.

Fox bent double, struggling to remove his helmet. He needed to breathe. He couldn’t…

“Kriff, no,” Thire said, catching him before Fox could fully collapse onto the floor. “We can’t do this here,” he whispered desperately. “Just breathe slowly, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Can you do that with me?”

Fox wasn’t about to risk nodding, but he could follow orders. He was good at that, right?

The strangled noise he made could have been described as a laugh, but it had only the most passing familiarity with anything resembling humor.

“Fox, I’m serious. The CSF shabuire are going to be here any second. I need you to get your osik together and breathe with me.”

Fox shut his eyes and breathed.

“I need to get to Scav,” he finally said, when he was able to straighten back up without feeling like his entire head was going to crack open and leak his brains out all over the hanger bay floor.

His nose wasn’t bleeding. That was surprising.

“You need to stand your shebs right here until the CSF agents sign you out,” Thire said, getting one hand up under Fox’s elbow to take up at least some of his weight. Thire gestured to someone off to the left, Fox didn’t think it was wise to turn his head at that moment to see who.

Hound came into his direct line of sight. “They’re taking the lift down,” he said grimly. “There’s a general coming with them.”

“Who?” Thire asked, before Fox could swallow down the taste of bile enough to do the same.

“They didn’t say.”

“Fox, are you going to be able to do this?” Thire asked, quiet enough to not carry beyond the three of them.

“Not like I have much of a choice,” Fox said, pulling himself out of Thire’s grip. His vision blurred for a moment, but it was worth it to get his helmet back on. The tinted visor and plastoid plate made it so much easier to hide any number of sins.

Thire gave him a dubious look, which Fox did not dignify with a response.

There was a trick to marching that made it possible to walk in a straight line with minimal jostling. Kriffing convenient piece of intel to have, if you were overly tired, or drunk, or strung out on stims, or about to have to report to a kriffing Jedi while your brains felt like they were being rendered down into nutripaste. You just had to look straight ahead, keep your knees a little bent, and roll your weight from your heel, along the outer edge of your foot, to the ball. Easy. They’d done it enough on Kamino, exhausted, beat to osik by one trainer or another, and running on nothing but a heady blend of pride and fear.

Fox made it into formation just in time to see the doors swing open. He didn’t stumble once. He didn’t even puke into his shiny, new filters. Mags would be so pleased.

The CSF agents were dressed out in full protective gear this time, white coveralls with full facemasks and hoods, like they were expecting some kind of hazmat exposure. Fox couldn’t see their faces, but he’d spent essentially his entire life reading the body language of armored sentients. Every single one of them looked tense, and a few were angry.

The General wasn’t wearing a single piece of protective clothing, just a set of dark, sleeveless robes and knee-high boots. No foot coverings, no mask, no gloves, and if his expression and bearing were to be believed, no cares in the galaxy.

Kriff, it was the same Jedi from before, the one who’d brought the clearance flimsiwork to General Windu. Fox had asked Thorn to sic some of their slicers on the man, but all they’d been able to glean from the Temple’s public-facing servers was a name: Quinlan Vos.

Great. Just great. Because dealing with a General and a Jedi wasn’t enough, without adding ‘probable covert ops agent’ into the mix.

Fox breathed and did not allow his knees to buckle.

The General spotted them immediately, and made his way down the tastefully lit, carpeted stairs with a bounce in his step. “Commanders,” he said with a grin that struck Fox at utterly false.

Fox saluted. Given the creak of armor he heard behind him, Thire and Hound had done the same. “General Vos,” he said, and his voice didn’t falter in the slightest.

Vos waved one hand casually, dismissing the salute. “I’m not a general,” he said airily. “Never was assigned a battalion, something about not being able to keep my own life in order, much less the lives of several thousand troopers.” Aching, dizzy, and nauseous, and Fox still picked up on the fact that almost everything the man had just said was a flagrant lie. “You can call me Quinlan.”

Like hells.

“General Vos–” Fox tried again, but was immediately interrupted.

“How about just Vos?” the Jedi said, extending a bare hand in a common natborn greeting.

It would be rude to not take it – Fox had learned that within hours of arriving on Coruscant – but something still made him hesitate.

Kriff his head hurt.

“Master Vos,” Fox compromised, taking the man’s hand and not his wrist, like he might have with one of his brothers.

Something in the Jedi’s expression flickered, dimming the welcoming grin he’d been wearing like a mask.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, grip tightening momentarily around Fox’s gauntlet.

Because of course, a Jedi would sense something wrong with him. Of kriffing course.

Well, he couldn’t exactly say that he was perfectly fine. That would draw even more suspicion. “A training accident,” Fox said blandly, matching the Jedi lie for smoothly delivered lie. “Nothing a rest shift won’t cure.”

Vos’s eyes narrowed speculatively, and he said, “Uh huh,” in a very dubious tone of voice. “Well, I was told you fine gentlemen found something interesting. Care to fill me in?”

Fox gestured smoothly to his left, managing not to jostle himself too much, and said, “My sergeant and his men made the discovery, so please allow me to defer to him, for this briefing.”

“Defer away,” Vos said, dialing back up the charm. “What name would you prefer I call you, trooper?”

“Hound, sir,” the ARF trooper finally replied very stiffly.

“Hound, right.” The Jedi then hunkered down and extended a hand again, this time to Grizzer. “And who’s this sweet girl?”

Karking hells, like that wasn’t the fastest way to get Hound to warm up to him. This Vos kriffer was slick, and Fox was not happy about that kind of expert manipulation being directed towards his men.

“She bites,” Fox said in warning.

“No, she doesn’t,” Hound immediately corrected, sounding offended. “Not unless I ask her to.”

Kriffing Sith-damned hells, Hound. Fox wanted to grab the sergeant by the spaulders and shake him.

Instead, he let Thire steer him away from the conversation.

“Hound has this,” Thire said quietly, over a private comm line.

“He’d better,” Fox grumbled.

He was cleared rapidly, by the CSF agent who had been tasked with collecting prints and biological samples from all of the troopers present in the hanger. All of his data were already on file, from his previous visit to the Chancellor’s office. Thire managed to find an out of the way corner to sit and recover, while the rest of their men were cleared.

He was almost back down to baseline when General Vos managed to find him.

“Sit,” the Jedi said, when Fox started to rise to salute. “You look like shit.”

“I assure you, I am more than capable of performing my duty,” Fox said, every instinct screaming to conceal the extent of his debilitation.

“Sit anyway, this won’t take more than a second,” the Jedi said, dropping down casually on the padded bench next to Fox. “I’m just curious about something.”

“I will endeavor to assist you in any way I can,” Fox lied again, casually enough to sound earnest.

The General arched one eyebrow, but did not comment about whatever suspicions he had. Instead he leaned back and rested his hands on his thighs. They were gloved again, but not with the blue, sterile ones the CSF agents had been handing out. They were black leather, and Fox abruptly remembered the incident in the Chancellor’s office with the mystery item concealed in the desk.

Something about needing bare hands, to make his Force osik work correctly.

Fox went suddenly cold with fear.

“As I said, I haven’t ever been assigned a battalion,” Vos finally said as if nothing were amiss. “So I don’t have much experience working with clones. So, I don’t know if this question might be…,” he paused, obviously considering his next words carefully. “Culturally sensitive,” he finally said.

Fox’s heart was pounding in his chest, but the pain in his head had settled back down to a dull roar. Manageable enough that he could keep his full wits about him at least. “It is our duty and our honor to serve the Republic and the Jedi,” Fox said, reciting the correct response with an ease borne of long practice. “I would be happy to answer any question you have, even those of a personal nature.”

Something about his reply made the General pause, and Fox couldn’t help but curse to himself in the safety of his own head. This was exactly the kind of scrutiny he’d been trying to avoid with General Windu. Would he be able to feel it if the Jedi started digging around in his mind?

Would Fox know it was happening at all?

“Alright,” Vos finally said with a slow nod. “With the customizations, I would assume that your armor is important to all of you. Personally.”

“Yes, sir,” Fox replied, because it was hardly something that could be easily denied, but he also didn’t elaborate on the subject. That would be too dangerous. While the Guard personalized their gear less than some of the other battalions, they all still added flourishes here and there. Little reminders that they were still people, still individuals, beneath the strict protocols and the rigid formality the Senate demanded of its possessions.

But instead of hammering at this minimal departure from regulations as other natborns had done before him, General Vos just asked, “Would a clone trooper ever loan someone else his set of armor?”

That caught Fox a little flat footed. Yes, a clone might gift a single piece of plate, and no, Fox was not about to explain the cultural traditions regarding such an exchange. But an entire set of armor? That was easy enough to answer. “No,” he said firmly.

Whatever reply Vos had been expecting, that obviously hadn’t been it. “No?” he repeated, but it must not have been a serious question, because he didn’t wait for a response before saying, “Interesting.”

Thire, appeared around the landing gear of the Guard transport, slowing awkwardly when he spotted exactly who was speaking with Fox.

“Commander,” Vos said, turning to address Thire with another warm, fake smile. “What can we do for you?”

Thire stiffened, but his voice was smooth and professional when he answered, “The CSF has taken down everyone’s biometrics. They are asking us to clear out of the hanger.”

“Typical,” General Vos said with enough honest sarcasm that Fox had to choke back a sardonic snort of agreement. The Jedi rose to his feet and dusted his hands absently on his thighs. “Commanders, it’s been a pleasure,” he finally said, smiling at them both in turn. “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

Like hells.

The machine hummed loudly, and lights flashed on the other side of Fox’s closed eyelids. Pumped full of Scav’s latest cocktail of meds, neither the sound nor the lights were actively painful. But being inside of a medical scanner always made Fox feel uncomfortable. Trapped. It was easier to just close his eyes and try to not think about it.

Finally, the machine whirred to a stop, and the thinly padded gurney Fox was lying on slid out of the scanner.

He opened his eyes to find Scav scowling down at him.

“Something’s definitely wrong,” his CMO said, sounding personally offended by the whole situation.

“Anything more specific than that?” Fox asked dryly. It wasn’t like Scav to be this vague about medical diagnoses.

“No, our scanners are too osik’la to get an accurate reading on whatever’s going on in there,” Scav said, taking hold of Fox’s opposing arm and helping him sit up.

‘In your kriffed up, defective brain,’ Scav meant, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

Maybe they should have sent him back to Kamino, to let the longnecks pick him apart.

Maybe he should have eaten a blaster bolt and saved his brothers all of this trouble.

Except…

I have three more just like you.

It hadn’t been a dream, just like whatever had happened in the Chancellor’s hanger hadn’t been a hallucination.

And Scav hadn’t even batted an eye when Fox had laid out all of his suspicions in the medic’s small office.

“I’m working on it,” Scav finally said.

Fox eyed his armor, which was stacked against the far wall of the exam room. He had osik he needed to be doing. The Senate was in an uproar. Mas Amedda might hold to the exact same political beliefs as Chancellor Palpatine, but he had far less charm and far fewer allies who owed him personal favors. Apparently he’d said the wrong thing to the wrong mid-Rim Senator during the morning’s open floor debate on an upcoming resource allocation bill, and suddenly everyone was remembering that none of them had actually voted for him to fill the political position he currently held.

The fighting hadn’t even slowed down when the acting Chancellor attempted to call for a brief recess for midmeal. Last Fox heard, aides had started bringing catered meals right out to the Senate pods so their delegates could keep screaming at one another, which was putting a massive strain on the security checkpoints that were trying to scan every box for explosives and toxins.

Stone was keeping a lid on things, but he needed all of the support he could get. Assuming Fox could keep his osik together long enough to actually be of some use.

“Scav?” Fox said as he slid off of the gurney. When his CMO looked up from his ‘pad to glare at him, Fox went ahead and tempted the gods, little and great, by saying, “Work faster.”

AN: If anyone else wants me to tag them as this gets updated, please just let me know. @tazmbc1

[corvuscryptid]

A Love Forever (Ford Pines x Reader)

(Y/N) (L/N) had been friends with the Pines boys since they were children. From elementary school until high school, you were all in the same classes. From the day you met, you three have practically been attached at the hip. You were drawn to the boys in ways that you did not understand, just a small feeling that you would always be friends, forever. That all changed your senior year of high school with the science fair. When Stanley gets kicked out of his parents’, your family takes him in. Nothing glamorous, Stanley crashed on your couch for the rest of the school year, but it beat anything else. What hurt the most was the fights that he saw you have with his stubborn brother, Stanford. What ultimately leads you to have to say goodbye to Stanford, as you try to help Stanley pick up the pieces to his crumbling life. As the years go on, you hear from Stanley less and less, until one fateful night you wake up to a call in the middle of the night in a cold winter in the early 80s. From that day on, you have not left Stanley’s side. Three decades later and the two of you have to care for his niece and nephew for the summer.

[elliemarchetti]

Offer and Permission

I really wanted to take part in this year's @elriel-month and what better way to do it than kick starting it with this alternative version of Azriel's Bonus Chapter?

Prompt: Hold Tight and Don't Make a Sound

Warnings: explicit language (the same kind you can find in canon material), no beta/proof reading

Words: 1468

Sleep, his shadows whispered in his ear, and even though he wished he could, he kept surveying the empty family room, presents and ribbons littering the furniture. Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike, too many wants and need left his skin overheated and pulling taunt across his bones, so he focused on other people’s lives, like those of Cassian and Nesta, who hadn’t reappeared downstairs after they left earlier in the night, though that came to no surprise. He was elated for his brother, he deserved this victory, and yet he couldn’t stop the envy growing and snarling and scratching like a beast in his chest. That’s why he remained by the dying light of the fire even when the silence weighted too heavily, hoping his body gave out for at least a couple hours instead of going to his bedroom; he couldn’t afford to get swallowed whole by the unwelcome feeling just as much as he couldn’t give in to the tempting scent of the girl he unwillingly found himself in love with, and whose soft steps were approaching the foyer. When he saw her, faelights gilding her unbound hair and making her glow like the sun at dawn, his breath got caught in his throat.

“I…” she started, then swallowed soundly, clutching a small gift in her hands. “I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier.”

Azriel knew it was a lie even without the assistance of his shadows. The truth was in the slight tightening of her face, in the fact she waited for everyone to be asleep before venturing back down, where she knew he waited patiently, and in the quickening of her breath as she closed the distance separating them.

The Shadowsinger tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the wrapped box, and fought really hard against a vicious smile that threatened to spread on his lips at the though she hadn’t bought anything for her mate but had gotten something for him two years in a row.

The card merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and behind the lid hid two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs he recognized as sound blockers.

“No wonder you didn’t want me to open it in front of everyone,” he chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse.

“Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke,” she replied, her mouth twitching into a smile.

“I wasn’t sure either if I should give you your present,” he added, the rest of the sentence left unspoken but so heavy he was sure she could hear his voice full of poorly hidden rage utter it in her mind. Because your mate is here, sleeping a level up, and he had been in the family room where I should have been while I needed to stay by the door the whole time because I couldn’t stand the scent of your bond.

Elain’s large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that, just as he knew she was well aware of why he so rarely came to family dinners these days. But tonight, in the dark and quiet, with no one to see, he could pull the small velvet box from the shadows around him and open it for her, he could savour how she sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound, always prone to vanish when she was around.

The golden necklace seemed ordinary, its chain unremarkable, the amulet – a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colours would become visible – tiny enough it could be dismissed as an everyday charm, still a thing of secret, lovely beauty.

“It’s perfect,” she murmured, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she softly asked if he could put it on her.

His head went quiet as she kneeled between his legs, and he imagined her in the same position, with her plump lips wrapped around his length, her head bobbing up and down, one of his hands in her hair and the other busy gripping a cushion, or the back of the sofa he was still so stupidly sat on, in a vain attempt to delay his release. Then she turned, exposing her back as she swept her hair up in one hand, so he could slide the necklace around her. With the intent of eliciting a shiver, a physical reaction so he could stop feeling guilty for having one, he brushed the side of her throat and let his touch linger at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch until his palm lay flatly against her long, creamy neck. It looked like he was choking her, and by the glint in her eyes, it seemed she liked the idea of him tightening his grip.

A sudden wave of panic rushed through Azriel. It had never gone this far. They’d exchanged looks, the occasional brush of fingers, but never blatant, unrestricted touching. It was wrong in every way, but he didn’t care, so he pulled her closer, until she got up from the floor and sat in his lap, the voluminous skirt of her dress draped over them like petals of a bluebell. His cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think, as his hand slid down to the delicate puff sleeve connected to her bodice, pulling it down as much as the fabric allowed, unveiling parts of her skin he had only dreamed of. He traced the round shape of the top of her breast with his thumb, and he prayed she was still innocent, unable to recognize what was insistently pressing between her legs.

“We can’t do this here,” he sighed, as he smelled the shift in both their scents. If Lucien found out, he had every right to defend their bond as he saw fit, including invoking the Blood Duel, an Autumn Court tradition, a battle to death so brutal it was only enacted in rare occasions. Despite being an outsider, Azriel had wanted to request it when he’d found Mor all those years ago. He had been ready to challenge both Beron and Eris and kill them both, only Mor’s right to claim their heads in vengeance keeping him from doing so.

“Then take me somewhere else,” she replied, and before Azriel could reason on how doing so will rip apart any fragile peace and alliances the Night Court had not only with Autumn but also with Spring, Jurian and Vassa, he winnowed the both of them away, straight to the bedroom of his private apartment at the town outskirts.

As she took her surroundings in, Elain bit her lower lip, and finally Azriel didn’t had to use every ounce of his restraint to keep from putting his own teeth were hers had just been. He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night, when his hand fisted his cock and even his shadows had gone to sleep, so finally kissing her had his eyes nearly roll in his head at the sweet taste. She was like honey, melting like a ripe peach as he cupped her face and held her so close her breasts pressed against his muscular chest. She was on her tiptoes, so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars, such terrible things it was a sacrilege for them to taint her with their presence. His tongue, however… He could have this, her coming in his mouth, all over his face. He would beg on his knees for a chance to taste her sex in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.

“Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision in his movements. As if she had no weight, Azriel lifted her from the ground to place her on the large bed that dominated the room, her thick brown hair fanned out around her head and her dress lifted just enough to reveal the garter belt holding delicate white silk stockings in place. He felt like Death looming on a lovely fawn, but for once the sounds he wanted to elicit were of joy and to achieve that, to not have her face contort in pain as he entered her, he had to prepare her right.

[vintageviewmaster]

Brand: View-Master Company: Sawyer's Inc. Packet Title: Holland Packet Subtitle: N/A Packet Type: souvenir pak Packet Number: B 190 Packet Style: S5 Booklet: Included Reel Numbers: B 1901, B 1902, B 1903 Reel Edition: N/A Date: Undated Copyright: Sawyer's Inc.

souvenir pak Descriptions: Wien Neerlandsch Bloed - National Anthem of Holland

the story of Holland The 57½ million square miles of the earth would seem to most people a generous enough gift of nature and they would be content to leave it at that--but not the Dutch. With some ten million people crowded into an area no larger than tiny Massachusetts and Connecticut combined, they have boldly taken over where nature left off. With the aid of dikes and barriers of sand dunes they have added several million more acres of land to their country. More than half of the nation's population lives below sea level.

The earliest history of these people begins in about 55 B.C. when Julius Caesar, during his campaigns, found this area populated with Celtic and Germanic tribes such as the Belgai, Batavi, Frisians and Saxons. In 15 B.C. under Augustus, the territory was brought under Roman rule. During the third century a powerful Frankish tribe conquered many of the earlier tribes and the Frankish language (the official Dutch language now spoken in Holland) was generally adopted. The Franks accepted Christianity, but it remained for Charlemagne (742-814) to subdue the Frisians and Saxons and force them to accept this new religion.

Under feudal rule cities arose and petty disputes among the rulers enabled these cities to establish some measure of home rule. In the 15th century under Burgundian rule The Netherlands (which until 1830 included Belgium and Luxemburg) gained "The Great Privilege," a charter which greatly curtailed the sovereign's power in local matters. Then by marriage the country came under Spanish rule. The people rebelled and the long war which the Dutch waged against Spain (1468-1648) finally brought financial ruin to the Spaniards. Having freed themselves of Spanish restrictions, the Dutch grew rich with trade during the 17th century and acquired colonial holdings. But a century of decay followed and Holland lost much of its trade and some of its colonies.

In 1795 the country was conquered by the French. In 1815, following Napoleon's downfall, The Kingdom of the Netherlands was formed at the Congress of Vienna. The southern provinces, dissatisfied with this union, revolted, and to avoid a general conflict the great powers allowed them to form the separate Kingdom of Belgium. Luxemburg was lost when Queen Wilhelmina came to the throne in 1890 because its law did not then permit female rule.

During World War I the country remained neutral, but in World War II the Germans invaded Holland. Queen Wilhelmina fled to England to carry on the government-in-exile. Dutch resistance lasted only five days, but the German wholesale, systematic destruction of the country left Holland in ruin. The recovery of this country from the war has been remarkable. The government of Holland, now with Queen Juliana as its sovereign, is a constitutional monarchy. Amsterdam is the constitutional capital, but the actual seat of government is in The Hague. The kingdom includes the Netherlands Antilles, Surinam and the western half of New Guinea. Rotterdam, located at the mouths of the two great rivers, the Rhine and the Meuse, is the biggest port in the world next to New York. Amsterdam, the largest city in Holland, rivals Antwerp as diamond-cutting center of the world. A network of 50 canals carves the country into hundreds of tiny islands which are connected by 400 bridges. Bicycles are the major form of transportation and outnumber cars about six to one. This low, flat land has a maritime climate—cool and damp—and strong winds blow steadily from the North Sea. Holland's natural resources are limited and the country imports many raw materials which are processed into finished products for export. Because of its geographical position and excellent harbor, Holland has developed into a great trading, transporting, and brokerage nation.

To foreigners Holland is symbolized by tulips, windmills, picturesque costumes and the quaint story of a boy with his finger in the dike. Tulips they have (and hyacinths) in countless numbers and the sale of bulbs is a serious and thriving business. The windmills are gradually being replaced by steam or electrically driven pumps. There are towns where local costumes are worn, but for the most part the Dutch are as up to date in their dress and ideas as any country on earth. As for the fanciful, fictional tale of the boy who held his finger in the dike all one night and saved his people from the sea, the Dutch--out of politeness to tourists—have erected a statue in his honor. But, as one official puts it, "Polite we are but quaint we ain't."

Population: 11,389,000 Basic Language: Dutch Capital City: The Hague Form of Government: Kingdom Best Known Industry: Raising flower bulbs, manufacture of textiles, clothing, shipbuilding and shoes Comparative Size: Approximately the size of the State of Maryland (13,025 sq. mi.)

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

@centaurianthropology

Making this a reblog reply due to length.

So this is a most kind offer! Though, I'm not sure we'll get anywhere with the scarcity of what is provided. Everything we have on his health is obnoxiously vague. I can't tell if there's an ongoing thing or if he was just prone to illness. He mentions being bed ridden at different times in various letters across the entirety of his life, so it wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

The mention of chronic stomach issues comes from Corsi's 16th century biography of Ficino wherein he writes:

His bodily constitution contained excessive blood which was mixed with a thin subtle red bile. His health was not at all settled, for he suffered very much from a weakness of the stomach, and although he was always cheerful and festive in company, yet it was thought that he sat long in solitude and became as if numb with melancholy. [...] Though he was often sick, and gravely so, and there were fears for his life, his health was restored through prayers of many friends on his behalf and he reached his sixty-sixth year. [...] Throughout his life he was content with simple clothes and possessions. He was neat rather than elegant and was strongly adverse to all extravagance. He obtained the necessities of life readily enough; otherwise he was sparing in food, but he did select the most excellent wines. For he was rather disposed towards wine, yet he never went away from parties drunk or fuddled, though often more cheerful. [...] Whether death came to Marsilio from old age or, as some maintain, from his stomach ailment, I have not been able to discover.

Given the humour theory and the role wine plays in that, it is not surprising he viewed good wine as important to maintaining his health. If his humours ran sanguine/wet and hot, then dry red wine would be seen as a balancing effect.

But what is meant by stomach troubles is left unstated. In one of his letters in 1474 Marsilio mentions fever and inconstancy, which could have been his stomach ailment? Also could have been unrelated or a compounded issue:

I have not yet finished my book On the Christian Religion, Francesco, because during August, while I was still correcting it, I caught a fever a diarrhoea. [...] Listen to what has happened to me during this illness. There were times when I became so weak, Marescalchi, that I almost despaired of recovery. I then turned over in my mind those great works I have often read during the last thirty years, to see if anything occurred to me that could ease a sick heart. Except for the Platonic authors, the writings of men did not help at all, but the works of Christ brought much more comfort than the words of philosophers. What is more, I offered prayers to the divine Mary and begged for some sign of recovery. I felt some relief immediately, and in dreams received a clear indication of recovery. [...] A few days later, with a similar prayer, I was free from the heat of my urine. [...]

The heat from the urine I assume could be anything from dehydration (especially if he was feverish and had diarrhoea) to UTI to something else entirely.

The vague references are all the same and this undated letter to Giovanni (written pre-March 20, 1478 as Marsilio's father is alive) captures the broad sentiment:

The care of my own sick body and that of my father is one burden for me. Your absence is another. Both must be borne with equanimity, lest they become burdensome through impatience. But if you have any humanity, do not add to my double burden yet a third, too great a burden if you do not return my books. [...]

(Marsilio, spending his life asking for people to return his books to him.)

In October 1468 we know he fell ill for a few weeks as he writes to Giovani: "[...] In the evening I became sick and am not yet recovered." But no greater details are provided.

The 1474 illness, which is mentioned above, was so bad that he couldn't write for a time. As he notes to Lorenzo de' Medici in a letter:

As soon as my hand could lift a pen, I considered it wrong to write to anyone else before writing to my sole patron. [...]

In a reply to this letter, Lorenzo says:

I am very glad indeed that your former health has been restored. I should be even more glad if, through attending to your letter, I could recover my former health of mind. [...] Once more I rejoice both for your sake and mine that immortal God has restored you to us safe and sound. I have recieved as much of a reminder as you by this danger to your life. [...] I mean thus to profit more from both you and time; from time because it has no tomorrow, from you because you are a man for whom no moment is free from the dread of death. Farewell and take care of your health.

Tendency towards exaggeration aside, I do think whatever happened in 1474 was quite serious and seemed to have lasted for at least two to three months. Though Lorenzo's "you are a man for whom no moment is free from the dread of death" I read as an allusion to ongoing/long term illness of some form. Momento mori, of course, but if that were the case he'd have included himself.

Two years later, 1476, he writes to Giovanni:

Because I am now forced to spend long periods in bed, I have been considering a remedy against the tedium of continuing confinement. The first, indeed the only one who could relieve the tedium threatening me, came to mind; my Cavalcanti, my especial doctor. And so welcome again, my health giver, expeller of my evils, preserver of my goods. [...]

In 1480 Marsilio writes to Bernardo Bembo:

After a long stay in the country, I was compelled at last by important business to return to the fever-ridden city. Here, on the 1st of July, cruel Mars hurled twin flames upon me, bringing me suddenly to the point of death. [...] Since I knew, however, that the frail state of my body could not bear two fevers, especially in July, nor the necessary help of the doctors, "I lifted up mine eyes unto the hills, from whnce cometh my help. My help cometh even from the Lord, who hath made heaven and earth." On the instant, contrary to all physical explanation, through the flow of divine mercy, a breath from heaven blew into me and straightway extinguished both flames even as they grew. [...]

The footnotes to this letter speculate that he might have been suffering from malaria "in which, on every third day, two crises occur." Not sure if that is the case, but that's what is noted.

-----

I'm not sure if you're able to make anything out of any of that? It's frustrating and I wish to go back in time and ask Marsilio to detail to me every symptom he ever had, I'm fairly certain he would do so gleefully.

oh! oh! Marsilio gets to complain of his health! Marsilio has a new audience for medical talk! Marsilio is in heaven. Marsilio is in heaven for a thousand years.

What I want to know is what Marsilio suffered from in terms of his chronic illness. It was potential stomach related - but also maybe something more? It's always so vaguely discussed and I want to know more~~~

[nanaflwers]

The mistery of the lost wallet

❝ I was embarrassed to say that I was in love with you since the first day I saw you. But if I knew this bothered you this much, it would be the first thing I would have done. ❞

summary. Years after an accident involving a lost wallet got you and idol!Jaemin together, you think the only thing that binds you and him is luck. Little do you know that the love of your life fell completely in love with you the first time he saw you. You would be his first and last.

pairing. Na Jaemin x fem!reader

genres. fluff, idol au, romance, humor

word count. 1468 words

playlist. My First and Last by NCT Dream

Authors note. My first ever NCT work or whatever this is. I like to imagine stories based on songs, hope you like it :)

“What you never dropped your wallet?” You ask to Jaemin, while laying your head on his lap.

“What about it?” He murmurs, brushing your hair with his fingers. You get up, looking at him with an angry stare, which made him laugh a little.

“What do you mean with ‘what about it’? We would never meet that day, and all of this” You point to him and you “wouldn’t have happened”

“I still don’t get your point” He says, his expression showing his confusion and, maybe, concern. You give him a small smile, sighing and leaning on the couch.

“I just… can’t stop thinking about how we only met because of luck. Only luck, and nothing else.” You look at him, feeling somehow nostalgic. “What if I never looked at your wallet? Even looking at it, I could have just given to a manager or just kept to myself as an ‘estimated idol item’. And just like that, I would have never met you and you wouldn’t even know about my existence.” You look to the window on the other side of the room, pursing your lips. “I would be a fan and you would be the Idol who I can only dream about. And maybe… if other girl had found the wallet, maybe you would be dating her by now” the last part come almost as a whisper, but it was loud enough to get to Jaemin’s ears.

“All these things that you’re saying? They don’t make any sense.” He holds your hand and start to draw small in it circles with his fingers.  

“You can’t guarantee that” You insist, squeezing his hand. This is going through your mind for a long time, something stupid, but you couldn't shake off the feeling that you two were together by luck, not because of you, not because of him.

“Actually, I can.” He looks right through your eyes, with the serious look that you are rarely able to see. “You were the only person who saw the wallet”, he smiles at you, and you feel your heart melting for a moment, “Because it was left there for you and for you only”.

The soft feeling in your chest is replaced by a sarcastic laugh, that lasted enough only to make you realize he is still being serious. You don't say a thing, your brain was too busy trying to figure out how what Jaemin said could ever make sense.

“I know I always say that the first time I met you was in “Go” promotion but… It was long before it” he scratches the back of his head, embarrassed. You almost get distracted by how cute he looks when he is shy. “The first time I saw you was during one of “Chewing Gum” stages. Me and the boys were still in backstage, but we were able to see the public by the sides of it.” He smiles and nods his head. “Everyone was crazy to get as much close to the stage as possible, but not you.” He gets closer, brushing a tendril of hair away of your face. “You were trying to help a little girl who couldn’t see the stage. You held her in your shoulders and barely saw the show, but your smile did not leave your face for even one second. I thought about you for days, and in the next stage, there you were: on the back, cheering and helping everyone around you, at the same time.” He smirks. “You really got me, you know?”

You1re speechless. Not a single word was going through your head when you listened to Jaemin’s confession, the one you’ve never heard about — not even from the boys. You shake your head, feeling your chest tight for a moment that felt like eternity. He continues, leaving you out of breath in every sentence.

“And then… I had to retire for a while”. A weight falls over his shoulders, and his smile can’t cover the sadness that fulfill his eyes. He takes a deep breath and squeezes your hand. “You know I don’t like to talk about it” Jaemin says, slightly tapping your knees. “I asked the members about you. If you looked healthy, if you showed up during the promotions. They said you did but… somehow you did not look the same. You still cheered up for them, but not in the same way as before.” Jaemin looks at you, raising his eyebrows. You give him a kind of sad smile, remembering the time when you could not see your favorite member on stage.

“You know I love all the boys but… you weren’t there. It was not the same without you. It apparently affected me more than I thought it did” You play a little in the middle of that emotional situation. He smiles, knowing that you were joking to hide the fact that you could easily cry at any moment.

“Well, stories and more stories, time flew away, and I got better” He raises his eyebrows, leaning closer to you. “And now, the best part. “Go” comeback stage. I was so nervous; I did not know if you were showing up that day. But, when the staff was finishing the stage, there you were. And gosh, you were beautiful. It took my breath away for real”. He entangles his fingers on yours, and you’re afraid he can hear every beat of your heart, that was beating faster than an EDM song. “I couldn’t look at you during our performance because of the cameras, and that was my biggest regret of that day. I wanted to see your reaction so bad”.

“I know it’s not the same, but I will summarize it for you”. You acquire a serious pose and look at him, without smile. “You didn’t have the right to grow up and become so damn beautiful. Really, puberty hit you hard, babe”

It is enough for him to burst into laughs, clapping his hand. You smile, glad to be able to light up the mood a little.

“I was sexy with those glasses, weren’t I?”

“Definitely” You reply, winking to him. “But seriously. I wasn’t ready to see you again. When you went up on stage… part of me wants to apologize to the boys, I only had eyes for you on that day” you confess, closing your eyes and almost dying of embarrassment. You and Jaemin were dating for a while by then, but it was strange to share your thoughts on fan days. Even though you didn’t like to talk about it, Jaemin loved to hear it.

“Well, I knew I had to do something. So I asked Donghyuck and Jeno to help me with something Renjun wouldn’t approve. To lose my wallet”

And then, just like magic, everything makes sense. Feeling like Ben franklin with a key and a kite, you slowly come to realize what Jaemin is trying to tell you.

“We had to put it in a place only you would be able to see. After that, Jeno and Donghyuck distracted the managers long enough for me to recover my wallet…” He looks at you, holding both of your hands like they are his whole world. “and finally meet you”.

Before you were able to hold them, a couple of tears fall from your eyes. All this time, you convinced yourself that you didn’t deserve to be on his side, that you could have easily just walked away that day, and…

“You finally got it, huh?” He wipes your tears away, smiling. “If you if you hadn't seen my wallet on that day, I would try on the next stage. And on the next, and probably on the next too. I wouldn’t stop until I could reach you.”

“I can’t believe it”. You are barely murmuring, too emotional to say something else. He puts your hair behind your ear and gently holds your face, kissing your forehead. “Why… why did you keep this to yourself all this time?”

“I was embarrassed to say that I was in love with you since the first day I saw you. But if I knew this bothered you this much, it would be the first thing I would have done” He gets closer, holding your waist. “But there’s another thing I’m regretful for.”

“And what is it?” You ask, putting your arms around his neck.

“I wasn’t able to sing for you back then, but I’ll sing for you now.” He kisses both of your cheeks, and your nose, getting closer to the point you can feel his breath. “There won’t be another you, you’re my last”. And then the feeling of his lips on yours fulfills all fear that you could possibly fear on that moment, and forever.

“You’re my last first love”

[sfwregressionfanfictions]

Long Distance: Dean Winchester x Reader

WC: 1468

Summery: An online dating app leads to a long-distance relationship.

Part 1. Part 2

Warning: None, not proofread!

Honestly, it was a stupid idea. What hunter does online dating? What hunter goes on an app designed to help caregivers and age regressors meet? He must be the dumbest hunter to exist.

However, here he was setting up a profile. Username: Impala79. Likes: Pie, Cars, and Mythology. The questions continued on, luckily all were easy. The website didn’t require a profile picture, even showing distaste for the idea, as to “allow you to meet someone without the constraints of social beauty standards”.

When the profile was done being set up, he was allowed to swipe through content. The app expanded past being a matching app, it had a marketplace designed for age regression, some general group chats, some blogs, and one-on-one chats. Dean clicked onto a few blogs and liked a couple, before clicking onto a small blog that was just a bunch of drawings. After looking through the blog, he realized it was an age regressors coloring book for when they were big and little. There were many little coloring books, where the colours went through the lines, and big space portraits drawn of actors and mythical beasts, where everything was perfect.

Dean couldn’t help but follow and like, it was so cute to see how proud the little one was of all of their art. Halfway through his scrolling through the blog, Sam came slamming into his room with a case. A simple salt and burn, a quick in and out less than an hour away. 

With everyone packed, they rushed to the ghost haunting. Dean was completely unaware of the new message on his account, or the nervous fidgeting of the sender at the fact he hadn’t replied in the first few hours. Sam watched as Dean complained about wanting to go home the second they arrived at the house being haunted by an angry old lady. However, the whining did not last long as the case was solved with ease, and they left before sunset.

Dean was freshly showered and laying in his bed, opening his laptop to scroll through his newly found profile some more. Shock washed over him as he saw two notifications, both from the art blog’s owner, (Your Username). They followed him and sent a message. 

(Y/U): Hiya! Thank you so much for the follow and likes! I see you like pies and mythology, SO COOL! I love mythology, but I always want to learn more! :))

Dean: Hey Sweetheart, all your drawings are so pretty. Like seeing how you draw banshees, looks like you saw one in real life lol. Maybe one day I could get a drawing from you?

The message was sent, however, now it was late. They most likely would be asleep if they were a good little (girl/boy/one). So Dean closed the laptop again, nervous to see the response in the morning. Intrusive thoughts crept in ‘what if he crossed a line’ or ‘what if they don’t reply’. Dean decided to roll over and shove his face into the pillow, and pretended to disappear.

The alarm clock blares, it was 10:30 am. When did Dean set this alarm? Why would he set this alarm? Realization crept in, Sam must have set it when Dean was busy showering the day prior. Dean got up slowly, moaning and groaning due to his sleepy state. Wrapping himself in a robe, and trudged towards the kitchen, a scowl etched on his face.

“Good to see you up before noon!” Sam said, sitting at the kitchen table with his computer looking for cases. 

“Only cause of you, Jerk!” Dean grunted, flinging open the fridge doors in hopes of finding something delicious. All he found was what he considered to be ‘rabbit food’, luckily for him, there was a fresh pot of coffee right next to the fridge, which he quickly spotted. He poured himself a cup and sat down in front of Sam. Silently sipping his coffee glaring at the computer sam was using. 

Once the cup of coffee was gone and the liquid gold was circulating in Dean’s veins, his eyes shot wide open. He realized the age regressor he messaged with last night, most likely replied and was waiting for his reply. With no hesitation, Dean stood up, through his mug in the sink, and ran full force out of the kitchen towards his room. Nothing was going to get in the way of his responding to the tiny artist that messaged him the day before. His computer was flung open and the profile was opened. One notification.

(Y/U): Good morning!!! Sorry, I fell asleep really early last night… Thank you so much! I work really hard on my art, I usually use old mythology books to draw them! I would love to draw for you one day! Anyways what are you up to today? :))

Dean: Hey, no worries. Glad you got some needed sleep. I’m not planning much, might go to a local diner or drive a little unless I get called into work. What about you?

The message was barely sent before it was marked as read and a bubble with three dots popped up. Soon their message popped up.

(Y/U): I did all my work already, so now I get to watch tv and relax. I might ummm you know, then color and watch my little pony or something like that…

Dean: a little shy about your regression? 

(Y/U): Yeah… It’s different posting about it than talking about it one-on-one with someone. Ya know?

Dean: We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. But you should know I would love to get to know little you along with big you…

(Y/U): Really?

Dean: Really. 

After that, the two continued talking for hours over the next few days. The pair had grown comfortable to the point where they could share just about anything. However, hunting was kept secret. Soon with their close bond, they were messaging for a month.

Dean: Hey little one, do you have a PO box? I have something I really wanna send to you

(Y/U): No PO box, but here is my address (address)

Dean: Baby, don’t go sending your address to everyone okay?

(Y/O): Okay, only sending it to you!

Dean: Good, you are such a smart little one, aren’t you?

(Y/O): mhmm, are you good to call tonight?

Dean: I am unless I get called into work.

(Y/O): okay…

The two went about their days until the clock hit 8 pm. Dean's phone began ringing.

“Hello, this is Dean speaking,” Dean grumbled, not wanting to be called into a case. However, his demeanor suddenly shifted as a light giggle-filled his ears. 

“Your voice is deeper than I expected…” The voice was small and shaky. (Y/N) was obviously very nervous about being on call with him for the first time. 

“You sound just as sweet as I expected,” Dean chuckled, and the other end giggled again. “How was your day, sweetheart?” 

“It was good but long… I wanna be little but I should finish up this spreadsheet, then I’ll have all of tomorrow off…” They sighed, struggling to stay big with all the work left to do. “Sorry, how-”

“How much do you have left to do?” Dean asked as he lay back on his bed. 

“I think 15 minutes more, it's just hard cause I’m feeling so out of it…” They mumbled.

“Sweetheart, you work really hard for those 15 minutes,” Dean paused for a minute, “and, then, you can be as little as you need, until 9:30.”

“Okay, you’ll stay on the phone with me while I work, right?” The whisper was almost desperate.

“Yes, sugar.” 

This simple sentence sent (Y/N) into 15 minutes of hard work. Although, those 15 minutes were filled with mumbled complaints. The completed spreadsheet was marked with an excited squeal.

“I DID IT!” (Y/N) yelled all too loud.

“Indoor voice, little one.”

“Okay… sowwy,” Being tired, slowly slipping into a younger head space caused them to be much more sensitive. (Y/N) was well aware they weren’t in trouble, however, they couldn't help but get teary-eyed.

“Baby, you aren’t in trouble. Just don’t want you to upset your neighbors, or get a sore throat,” Dean gently said to her, “Now you only have an hour and 15 minutes to play before you need to go to sleep so why don’t you put on some of your cartoons and play with your toys?”

“Okie, can you read me a bed time story after?” They felt truly cared for and looked after, like Dean was really their daddy. For now, he was just a friend and babysitter, but (Y/N) decided to let themself imagine for tonight.

[hazelnut-u-out]

i’ve had the worst rick and beth brainrot for days, so i wrote a little blurby one-shot fic to vent. 

1468 words.

TW: blood.

Rick knew that, while he was many things, he wasn’t gentle.

He was horrible, violent, rude, crass, abrasive- but never soft; never nurturing.  

Not anymore.

His love was, in itself, rough. It hadn’t felt plush or downy in years. It was a stone- thick, hard, and bloody. He loved, but he did not love softly.  

Rick loved with a fever that threatened to burn anyone who got too close- to boil them alive and press their tender flesh into the flames. He loved in a way that chewed people up and ground them down- in a way that left his jowls bloody and his belly full.

He feasted on the people he loved. Not on purpose, but for their own good. His cruelty was his love. It kept people safe and blanketed in a casing of his own jagged apathy.

If they were stupid enough to lie down on the bed, then let them sink down onto the nails. He’d help them out in the morning.

That’s why it took him by surprise when he realized that he wanted to get to know her.

At first, he convinced himself that there wasn’t a lot of meaning behind his inability to be coarse with her- but, somewhere along the way, he had started to feel something when he was around Beth.  

Even when he wasn’t around her.

It was a feeling so distantly familiar that Rick didn’t even recognize it in himself right away. Initially, he wrote it off as some kind of irrational fondness- like how he found something worth his time in wafer cookies or cheap reality television- but this just… this just didn’t feel the same to him.

Where he would have once sat back and let his thoughts dance with the ebb and flow of the liquor coursing through him, he found himself leaning in- listening to her stories; her troubles; her interests. Instead, his thoughts flittered along the cadence of her words, leaving him transfixed and wanting to know more.

More about her.

Sometimes, when Beth would get swept away in her own feverish harangue about something like horses or her (admittedly disturbing) enjoyment of a particular surgery, he’d catch himself beaming or nodding along- rapt in her retelling.  

He reveled in it- the sound of her voice coming from another room, her singing along to the radio on the way to the grocery store, her presence next to him on the couch as he watched a movie.

It wasn’t until one night, as Beth washed the dishes, that he realized what was wrong with him.

He was so drunk. So drunk.

His position on the couch was slumped low, the back of his head tipped unnaturally far back as he stared at the ceiling, his arms draped along the back lining of the piece of furniture. He felt as if his skin was buzzing- his fingertips numb, his lips tingling.

He had let Beth’s humming fade into the background, his foot absentmindedly oscillating along to her loose rhythm. For a moment, he humored with the thought of her being his personal radio. She wasn’t particularly angelic in her tone, but he didn’t think he’d mind all that much if the only music that survived some earth-shattering event was Beth’s silly little melody.

What a quaint record.

Then he heard it. Glass shattering.

“Ow! Shit!” Beth exclaimed from the other side of the wall.

Rick was on his feet in an instant- suddenly feeling more sober than intoxicated. He swung his lithe body in the direction of the kitchen.  

Was he running? When did he start running?

His strides were long- long enough that he stood in the doorway of the kitchen in the time it took him to take half a breath.

His eyes frantically scuffled along the dim evening light of the room before they found her.

There she was.

Beth stood in front of the sink. She was turned to face the doorway, glass littering the floor and counter space that enveloped her and- Oh, god, she was bleeding.

She held a white rag to her hand, blood dripping down her fingers and splattering onto the floor as she curled her neck downward a bit to get a better look at the mess she’d made. Her tranquil eyes flicked up to meet Rick’s hysterical equivalent. 

“Oh, Dad! Sorry if I woke you. I just-” She raised her hand slightly in a gesture, obviously humored by her own foolishness. “Well, I dropped a glass and it caught my hand. I think it’s just a knick.”

When Rick didn’t move- didn’t so much as breathe- her smile faltered. He watched as she stood up straighter, her gaze surveying him. Searching for something.

“Dad?”

Rick couldn’t feel anything over the panic beating on the inside of his ribs. It’s fists were smoldering coals searing through his flesh.

She was bleeding.

He was caught in a tide that swept and ruptured beneath his feet. 

Then it was rising. 

He could feel it lapping at his chest, threatening to pull him under, as it flung him this way and that.  

Maybe it was that tide’s influence that carried him towards Beth until they were only inches apart. Maybe it was that tide that dragged him towards her with a sense of urgency he hadn’t felt in years. Decades.  

His steps were fervent, his hands shaking as he looked down and examined her own, his fingers unsteady and trembling as they pulled back the towel.

Beth stood absolutely still, stoic in a way that made it seem like she was shocked at Rick’s concern. She let him assess her injury for a few prolonged moments.  

Finally, Rick felt that cloud around him lift a little- enough for him to release a sigh of relief. He was perched low, close to her hand, but he finally let himself look up at Beth’s awed expression. Through his lashes, he saw her- maybe for the first time, he fucking saw her.

Her eyes. Her lips. Her hair.

He let a tentative, apologetic expression tug upwards at the corners of his lips.

After what felt like both a blink and a lifetime, he pulled a small device from the inner pocket of his lab coat. Holding it above her hand, he pressed a button on the side and let the minuscule ray of light trail up the laceration until her hand lay healed, albeit still bloody, atop his own. He pocketed it again.

He closed his eyes, his shoulders sinking in from their own weight, as his grip on her hand tightened. He was scared that, if he let her go, she’d dissipate into nothing, in a plane beyond his reach.

Again.

All he could feel were his callous hands wrapped around her soft fingers- the warm blood trailing along his own wrists.

“Uhhhh- Dad?”

The words pierced through the veil that enveloped his senses.

He straightened- still tottering as if he had just gotten off of a roller coaster.

He still didn’t let her go.

“My girl,” he said- not as if he were shocked, but as if it was a realization. He said it with such conviction, such certainty, that God himself wouldn’t have dared to challenge his declaration.

She giggled, wobbling a bit from her own position.

Then, they were both laughing- a deep, good laugh. The kind that left your ribs feeling bruised the next day. The kind of laugh that Rick couldn’t remember having since- well, since Beth.

When they finally managed to calm down, his daughter shot a concerned glance toward the stairway before whispering her quiet inquiry.

“Are you drunk?”

“Are you?” He whispered back coquettishly.

“Always,” they said in hushed unison.

As they erupted into laughter again, much more restrained than before, he couldn’t help but to think it really did take two to whisper quietly.

“Could you go for another?” Beth jerked her chin toward her wine glass on the counter. It sat next to a half-empty bottle of malbec.

“Always,” they both murmured again.

As he sat in the living room with his daughter, both drunk off their asses and crying over some stupid rerun of ‘The Bachelor,’ Rick knew what that feeling was.

He hadn’t just been getting to know her.

He’d been getting to know Beth.

His girl.

Rick was many things and, maybe- just maybe- there was still room for him to be gentle.

Perhaps, for just one person, he was capable of loving delicately- capable of washing the blood out of the linens and picking the nails out of the bed.

Beth was the only thing that Rick didn’t want to use up and throw away- the only thing he found intrinsic value in without directly benefiting himself. She wasn’t dinner. She wasn’t for him. She wasn’t for anyone.

Beth was the only thing that Rick loved softly. For the first time in a long time, he thought that maybe he could learn to be okay with that.

For her.

Even if he felt emptied out and hollow- like he had nothing left to give- Rick knew he would bleed himself dry, go to bed hungry for the rest of his days, to keep dishing out love for his baby girl.

Let her teeth shine red. Let blood drip from her jowls. Let her cleave him open and take what she needed.

She would be loved.

[its-me-im-coraline]

NSFW Alphabet // Damiano David

words // 1468

warnings // clearly smut

pairing // Damiano x Reader

author's note // if you want to be on the tag list let me know. sorry if this feels rushed but i want to escape the heat and the laptop brings too much of it

request // yes, through a reblog i cant find

summary // self explanatory

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I feel like Damiano is pretty good at taking care of you after but a lot of the time he is the one to require the aftercare. He gets kind of insecure after sex, like I don’t know… He will require some kind of confirmation that he did well, that he did not hurt you, that you loved him. Generally he needs reassurance sometimes.

His hands were now wrapped around you, after everything that went down, all the spanking and the harsh words, he needed to feel you close, to let you know that he didn’t mean all that.

“Are you ok, mi amore?” His voice was soft, tone ever so gentle, his fingers rubbing small circles on your arm.

“Exhausted, but yes, I am perfect.” The little smile you gave him was all the reassurance he needed.

Suddenly he became a little more confident, small ‘I love you’s escaping his lips as he tucked you under his arms.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I feel like Damiano’s favorite part of himself would most likely be his face. Honestly it might sound a little weird for me to say this but I feel like that's it, ok. Like, he can convey all his feelings through his face, he can lure you in so wonderfully with his facial expression and oh well he’d love it if you sat on his face or simply used his face to get off, regardless the position.

Now as for his favorite part of you i feel like it would probably be your thighs. No matter gender, he would find your thighs to be such a turn on, any time and anywhere.

(this will refer to pussy-bearing reader lol so yeah, sorry for that, I can’t think of a gn scenario with thighs)

He was being driven insane all night. He knew it was a bad idea to take you out after that stunt you pulled that morning with the ‘accidental’ not-wearing-underwear-under-his-shirt incident. He had not given you what you wanted then so you were planning on getting it now.

Your thighs were adorned with thigh high stockings, garters and all accompanying them. You knew his weakness and you’d play with it till the end.

For the whole night, Damiano tried to not react. He did not want to seem like he’s possessive or overbearing or whatever else, so he let it be for a while, but after one point it had gotten too much, he could not take it anymore.

“Amore, I think it’s time to leave,” he said, loudly enough for your friends to hear as well.

“Oh, but why Damiano, I want to stay a little longer,” you whined, receiving a little spank on the back of your thigh, thankfully the music could cover it up.

“If you want a chance to ride my face, you’ll come with me, or else you can wait to have an orgasm for another week.” this time his words were quite enough for your ears only, the idea of what he’d do later was not something he wanted your friends to have.

“Yeah, now that you said it, I’m getting a bit tired. Ooof my feet hurt from dancing. Goodnight.”

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s pretty big on seeing him cum on you. I think I said something similar for Ethan but Damiano is full on messy cum. He does not care where you are, what you’re wearing, whatever, he will cum on you. On your face, your shirt, your underwear. It does not matter. He’s like the type of guy that goes like “oh you want it, amore? You want my cum? Tell me where you want it,” and then will come where you direct him to.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He kind of wants to see you get fucked by somebody else while he watches… He is kind of scared to express that, not knowing how you’d feel

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I’d say a good medium. He’s experienced, he’s surely not new to this, but i don’t think he has had that many sexual partners. He feels like the guy that needs a connection before he can have sex, at least most of the times. So he is experienced enough.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I feel like he’d enjoy mostly well you riding his face, your legs up his shoulders as he fucks into you or kind of entangled, your right leg over his right hip and your left between both of his (its called ‘pretzel dip ffs)

he want to be able to feel your thighs all over him

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He some times is goofy when he is close to cumming and he starts the whole “where do you want it”. Some times he would crack jokes.

Generally i feel like he is goofy in bed

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He does not care to much but he could possibly trim it down if its too bothersome when you suck his dick.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be very romantic if you want him to but most times he’s kind of goofy as i mentioned. The very intimate moments are very specific. After a romantic date, on an anniversary, your or his birthday and so on and so forth

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He masturbates a lot, cause he thinks about you a lot. Some times he’ll see old photos of you two before he left on tour and he gets turned on by your thighs

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

well as i said he thinks of you being fucked by someone else and him seeing you, so id say a bit of voyeurism and cuckolding. He’s a switch so he’s only dominant when there is no one else to be dominant, so the idea of someone fucking you and shaming him while doing so is kind of a hot idea some times.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He will go anywhere you guys are if he can’t stop it. Seriously quickies at club bathrooms are too common for you two

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As I already mentioned: thighs. If you are wearing thigh high anything, short tight dresses, short shorts that are tight around your thighs, garters, tight jeans, tight dress pants… Anything with your thighs kills him

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers giving it. Like yeah, he loves it when you give him oral but he seems like the type of man that for example eats pussy for his own pleasure. I can seriously imagine him coming home from working at the studio and he’s stressed as fuck and (after getting your consent of course) he’d lay between your thighs and start giving you oral.

“But Dami I’m reading a book.”

“So? Continue. This is not about you. I’m stressed, it’s about me.” You’d simply just laugh, knowing very well you won't be able to concentrate on your book.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he is usually quite fast. he doesn’t exactly love the slower pace. the slower pace is for when you guys are extremely intimate, as i talked about before, or if he is teasing you

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He is down to experiment with most things. He is very comfortable with his sexuality so he does not mind most things, except some few ones that he finds a bit disgusting (no offence)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I feel like he would buy you a toy that he can control from far away and he’d get one for him that you’d control so you kind of mutually jack off each other while he’s on tour or either of you is away for days.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Enough to show you punishment but also enough to receive one at times

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s pretty big. Not too much (overwhelmingly much like Ethan) but big enough to be considered big. Above average

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He gets horny pretty easily ig. With all the adrenaline from shows the moment he sees you he’s ready to jump your bones.

tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina @the-killer-queenie @makapaka11 @teenyweenynightghost

[vash-the-trans-catboy]

The Beauty of Storms

Written for @lost-in-thought-20

Summary: Janus hates storms, Logan loves them. Logan shows Janus the beauty behind them when Janus is having a tough day.

Notes: Based on the prompt ‘late night storms with loceit’. So hear is some very self indulgent teenage fluff

Taglist: @sanderdarksides @moons-the-nightmare @heirm @lost-in-thought-20 @1stressedanddepressed @xoaningout @lily-janus @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @thebittybonesaddict @just-a-little-anxious @parksthefrog @randomacnhfan (Ask if you want to be added)

Ao3

Word count: 1468

TWs: implied/referenced homophobia

The pitch-black sky brightens as the lightning strikes. Storms are everything I hate; loud noises, bright lights, and the ominous feeling of drowning from the rain.

Of course, it’s just my luck to get stuck outside in the middle of a storm. I check my watch, 10 pm. Great, it’s too late for any store to be open to find shelter in. I wander around the town until I find somewhere familiar to escape the rain.

I’m surprised no one asked ‘Hey, Janus! Why are you out at night in the rain? Shouldn’t you go home?’ The answer to that question is my parents are dicks to gay people, which is me, so I left. Thinking back, it might have been a good idea to check the weather before storming out of my house. Oh, well. Too late for that now.

Maybe I’ll get struck by lightning or die from hypothermia. The lights of my small town blur together. Astigmatisms in the rain are not fun. That’s what I get for running out of the house without my contacts or even my spare glasses.

I list all the places I could go to tonight. Roman and Remus live all the way on the other side of town, at least another 30-minute walk. So that’s not ideal. Definitely not Patton’s house, his extreme kindness is unsettling. That leaves either Virgil or Logan. Both seem like a pleasant place to go, but what would their parents say to a random-ass teenager showing up to their door late at night soaking wet. Maybe I’ll just find a tree to wait out the storm under. Then I’ll fucking die great, trees always get struck by lightning.

I start walking again in a random direction. Honestly, at this point, I hope a kidnapper van pulls up then I will least be protected from the rain. Mindlessly I walk until I’m in front of a familiar house, Logan’s house. No cars in the driveway, that’s a good sign. Logan is most likely home even though his parents are nowhere to be seen. It’s not like he goes to parties on a Friday night.

I suck in my breath as the doorbell rings. How embarrassing is it to show up to your friend’s house while drenched to the bone and shivering?

A confused face greets me, “Oh? Janus. I was not expecting you at this hour.” He gasps finally realizing, “You are soaking wet! This simply will not do. We need to get up warmed up and into dry clothes immediately.” Before I can respond or try to stop him, Logan pulls me by my arm into his foyer. I kick off my dripping shoes and follow Logan upstairs.

“You are shaking.” His monotone but sweet voice cuts through my constant stream of thoughts. I didn’t even realize I started to shake, “How about I run you a hot bath so you warm up?”

“That does sound a bit pleasant,” My lips drop into a slight smile, it’s no wonder Logan is my favorite out of our small friend group. I twiddle my thumbs as Logan runs the water, occasionally sticking his hand underneath to check the temperature.

“I will get you fresh clothes to put after. Free feel to take your time, Janus.” Logan shuts the door behind him. I instantly feel better the second I get the disgusting wet clothes off. They stick to me in every uncomfortable way. The warm bath helps my bones feel less like icIcles. I close my eyes and drift off to a fantasy world I created in my head. It’s nice and peaceful. Quiet, no yelling, and a cute nerd next to me.

A gentle tap knocks on the door, “Hey, Janus. I know I said take your time but it’s has been more than a half-hour and I wanted to make sure you are alright in there.” It’s been that long already? Hmmm. I must have drifted deep into my fantasy world this time. Sometimes I like that world better than the real one, it’s easy to get lost in there.

I drain the water and wrap myself in the large soft towel Logan left for me. My head slowly peaks out as I creek open the door, “Sorry.”

“No worries. I was just making sure you were alright and didn’t fall asleep in there.” Logan’s smile makes me feel weird and almost fluttery, “There is a pile of clothes on my bed. They should fit, I believe we are a very similar size.” Logan steps out of his room to give me privacy while I change.

“I’m decent now.” Logan returns to his room. It feels weird that he gave up his room so I could change. I could have changed in the bathroom or somewhere else. It makes me wonder is Logan this hospital to everyone or…?

Logan hands me a pair of spare glasses with my prescription. He claims he keeps a spare of everyone’s prescription just in case but I have never seen an extra pair for Patton or Roman. It could just be my gay hopeless self but this seems like something you would do for a person you have feelings for, not that Logan would ever admit he has feelings.

“Would you like to explain why you are here?” Logan pauses for a moment, seeming to regret what he asked, “Not that I don’t want you here. You are always welcome, in fact, more than welcome. It just came as a bit of a surprise to find you here soaking wet.” Logan’s stammering is cute.

“The usual. I don’t like my parents and they don’t like me, so here I am.” I nervously laugh. I trust Logan, I really do, but I’m not in the mood to go into detail.

The thunder crashes in the distance and the lightning gives off a blaring bright flash. I jump backwards and fall into Logan’s strong arms, the blush creeps across my face. Logan looks like he is internally screaming but in a good way, “Wow, I love storms so fucking much.”

“I am actually quite fond of harsh weathers conditions like this.” I give Logan a confused glance.

“How? Just how? It is loud, bright, and it will kill us all.” That’s probably a bit of an exaggeration but I’m dramatic, sue me.

“Everything has beauty in it. Even the storms. Once you learn all the facts and science behind these weather conditions, they no longer seem as terrifying.” I love it when Logan talks about anything or everything he is interested in. I could listen to him for hours, “If you would like, I could teach you about thunderstorms and how they happen.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I wouldn’t mind hearing.” I say very calmly, trying to hide my excitement from the thought of getting to hear Logan go on about something he is passionate about. I am jumping up and down with joy, in my head of course. There is nothing better than getting to hear Logan talk. He gently pulls me onto his bed and covers us in a heavy blanket. It’s so comfy I could drift off to sleep in his safe and warm arms but not yet.

“For starters thunderstorms form when the warm air rises and turns into cold air. The water vapor condensates into water droplets. In a convection cell, the water droplets rise and fall. After a large number of water droplets gather together, thunderstorm clouds begin to form.” As Logan begins to teach me about storms, I lean closer into him. When he doesn’t react negatively, I rest my head on his shoulder, “Now for the interesting part!” Logan’s face lights up when he says that, “Lightning is a discharge of electricity that is nearly 30,000 degrees Celsius! When the air heats and expands it causes an explosion. The sound the lightning makes is called thunder. Not many people know that thunder is the sound lightning makes. That means if you ever hear thunder there is also lightning even if you can’t see it yet.”

My eyelids get heavy and I have trouble keeping them open. I try to reason with my brain to let me stay up for just a few more minutes but that bastard says no. Logan continues to talk but most of the words get jumbled together as I fall asleep.

“Do you have any questions?” Logan asks, “Oh! You fell asleep.” That’s not true! I’m like half asleep at best but too much so to answer, “Goodnight, Janus.” A soft pair of lips kiss my forehead. Did Logan just kiss me goodnight? I guess I’ll find out tomorrow. My wave of endless thoughts calm in Logan’s presence and I blissfully fall asleep in his arms.

[asmo-ds]

(1) okay so mc and dia are married, this is their first christmas as a married couple but dia is feeling very overwhelmed and stressed out (they have a pact since they're married and mc can feel to an extent how dia feels bc of it) bc he's basically the king of hell, so they suggest they go and spend christmas in the human realm at mc's house. and since mc is an average person they do normal person things, and they're just very domestic and cute.

Home For The Holidays

Diavolo x MC Fluff

Word Count: 1468

a/n: I really hope you like this I really enjoyed writing it! It was very relaxing and nice to imagine :)

Summary: Though he wants to celebrate the human holiday, Diavolo fears he would be offending his kingdom by celebrating a holy day; so his lovely spouse, MC, suggests they return to their home for the Holidays so he can truly feel the Christmas spirit that humans feel annually

Diavolo stared over his kingdom with sorrow as he drank a cup of hot cocoa. Little did he know his spouse stood in the doorway watching the mopey behavior he’d been showing for days.

MC knew how badly Diavolo had wanted to celebrate Christmas in the Devildom, but they also knew he couldn’t celebrate the birth of a religious figure in Hell. As they made their way towards the large demon he heard their footsteps he shook his head and put on a fake smile.

“Dia, you seem troubled,” MC wraps themselves around him, nuzzling his voluptuous chest with their cheek.

“Do not worry, my love, I was just lost in my thoughts I suppose,” he sighs heavily.

“You know, even demon princes need vacations sometimes, perhaps you could finally see my home in the human world and we could spend Christmas there! What better way to understand the human holiday than witnessing humans celebrating it!” Mc leans back to look at him, keeping their forearms resting on his broad shoulders. His eyes sparkle with excitement as he lifts up his spouse, spinning the, in the air with joy.

“You’re absolutely right! Then it is decided! Tomorrow morning we leave for the human world!” Diavolo loudly proclaims as he leaves kisses all over MC’s face. “BARBATOS,” he calls as he runs off.

“If anything happens to him in the human world,” MC spins on their heel to look at Lucifer who had been standing on the other side of the wall eavesdropping, “the punishment will be severe, MC.”

“... Lucifer I’m married to him you don’t have to threaten me like when we first started dating.” -

The couple emerged from a portal in front of a tiny home that resides in a quiet neighborhood, snow filling their vision which caused MC to groan.

“Shit I can’t even see the driveway - here, Dia, take the bags and this key and head inside I have to shovel before anything else,” Diavolo stares at them, astonished. He nods and opens the front door while MC grabs their shovel and begins to move snow away from their car and their access to the street.

“Demons aren’t built for the cold... so I’ve never thought of coming here during winter,” Diavolo walks back outside murmuring to himself as he watches his lover shovel from afar. He crouches down sticking his hand in the white that coats the doorstep, “Snow...” His eyes glimmer with joy as he brushes the snow around with his bare hand.

“Dia, dear! You’ll catch a cold like that!” MC falls to their knees taking Diavolo’s snowy hand in their own. They lift it up to their face and breathe hot air across the back of his fingers, rubbing the rest with their own cold hands to create heat. Diavolo admires their rosy nose and cheeks as they sniffle occasionally before he looks down at the spot he swept away. ‘Home Sweet Home’ the mat that had been previously hidden read and he smiled as he looked back at his spouse who was now shivering as they attempted to warm them up. He nuzzled his cold nose against their own lovingly before leaving a soft kiss on their lips.

“Come on, let’s head inside!” Dia drags MC to their feet and heads inside, abandoning MC’s mission to shovel their driveway.

When they get inside Diavolo finally takes a look at MC’s small home.

“Wow it’s so...small,” he says, making MC blush and wave their hand in an embarrassed matter.

“Sorry I know it’s not much we can totally head back to the castle if you’d like haha!” MC nervously laughs before Diavolo puts a hand on their cheek, both still cold from the outdoors.

“No no, my love, it is wonderful! It feels so homey and less like a workspace made to hold the responsibility of a whole realm,” he laughs, “I feel more at home here than I do at the castle to be completely honest.” He takes in the scent of MC as it now surrounds him.

“This was my childhood home- my mother and father passed away when I was a teen so I’ve lived on my own until you summoned me for the exchange program,” MC blushes as they look around at the home they’d left behind a few years before. 

“So your entire life was spent in this one home?” Diavolo looks at MC with a small smile. “Well, I’m honored you allowed me into such an important piece of you,” He gives a big goofy grin, and MC giggles.

“We’re married you, dork, of course, I’m going to give you all of me - no matter how small of a piece it may be I will share it with you.” 

After putting their things away MC realizes they have no food that hasn’t expired in the three years they’d been gone. “Oh, do you want to see a human world Grocery store, Dia?” His face brightens up as he nods enthusiastically.

They make their way to the grocery store, Diavolo constantly pointing at random human world winter things and expressing his joy to see them in person.

“Ah, MC, what is this?” He smiles pointing at a candy cane a man in a Santa costume was giving out for donations to some charity.

“A candy cane! Here try it- it’s sweet!” MC exclaims- knowing damn well that it was minty as all hell and their oblivious husband was about to get a very cold mouth instead of the sweetness he was expecting.

Their plan worked as Diavolo immediately spat out the minty treat in surprise, “What is this flavor?! We don’t have things that make our mouths cold where I’m from!” He shouts -  grabbing his water bottle and chugging it and spitting it out as the ice-cold water made contact with his minty mouth.

The whole time Diavolo was flipping out MC was crying with laughter as they watched their husband try and figure out how to get the cold sensation out of his mouth.

After they had finished grocery shopping (which took hours as Diavolo kept asking what every single food was) they headed back to MC’s home and MC offered to cook him a human world dinner that was typically served on Christmas.

Diavolo sat at the dining table as MC placed a plate in front of him with various human world foods he had yet to see.

“MC, what is this?! This mushy buttery stuff?!” He asks through a mouth full of mashed potatoes. “YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT THE BROWN MISHAPEN EGGS YOU GOT AT THE STORE TURNED INTO THIS?!”

“Yes Dia, they’re not eggs they’re potatoes and don’t talk with your mouth full,” MC giggles reaching over with a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth before placing a soft kiss on the freshly cleaned spot.

As they finished Diavolo offered to start a fire in MC’s fireplace as they set up blankets and pillows in front of the heat with a Christmas movie playing on the tv that hung above the fireplace. 

“Your cooking is very good, MC! Perhaps I should hire you to cook for me instead of Barbatos,” Diavolo pipes up with a hand on his tummy- rubbing the full organ softly.

“If you think my cooking is good wait until tomorrow. Tonight was Christmas eve so we stayed here but tomorrow you’ll get to meet my grandmother- she’s the one who taught me how to cook and I could never prepare.” Suddenly Diavolo sat straight up, staring down at the human.

“You really want me to meet your family?” He softly says looking as if he were about to cry. He was honestly so touched that MC trusted him enough to bring him home to their family.

“Yes of course! You’re my husband and I always talk about you, my grandfather seemed excited to meet you when I called yesterday to tell him I would be home this year-” MC is interrupted by slightly chapped lips on theirs.

They kiss the demon prince back and they lay there for a few minutes making out, relishing in each other’s passionate embrace.

Afterward, Diavolo lays back down, wrapping his arms around his spouse and holding them close. “MC, I am so completely and utterly in love with you, I couldn’t be happier to call you mine. Thank you for allowing me to come here with you. I haven’t felt so relaxed since my father left me as a young boy to carry the responsibility of all evil. I hope you will allow me to join you like this every year.”

“Of course, Diavolo. For the rest of my life and after I swear I will show you what its like to be relaxed and truly loved,” they respond with a big yawn at the end.

After a few moments he looks down to see his lover fast asleep with small snores falling from their slightly parted lips. He chuckles softly and brushes some hair out of their eyes before placing a kiss on their forehead and closing his own eyes, falling asleep to the sound of a dying fire and the credits of a Christmas movie.