#they need to have ripped pants and tattered leather jackets

[mamaledicent]

Anyone else hesitant to check out a band because they look/seem too cool? My childhood had set me up to prefer dudes that like D&D, Audrey Hepburn, Fangoria, Harry Houdini, and croquet, can’t swim, can’t dance, and don’t know karate.

[magnumversumplus]

Noira

A Fractured Fairy Tale Retelling Of: Snow White And The Seven Dwarves

Written By Joseph M.

Noira had curly, short, slicked back black hair, a black shirt and black jacket, black pants and black shoes. She looked at her opponent, a man named Weitfin, and drew her blade. For a moment, their sabers met in a furious series of blows, then swiped swiftly away from each other. Noira leapt over Weitfin and disarmed him, pointed her saber at Weitman’s neck, to the applause of the audience around them.

Weitman, believing that Noira cheated by leaping over her, muttered a series of complaints to himself. He threw his white fencing mask onto the floor–revealing more of his white hair and burning red eyes–and stomped off with a huff. Weitman, unlike Noira, was compulsive, temperamental, aggressive and selfish.

Weitman didn’t have the humility to accept defeat; he shouted loud, ugly remarks in the parking lot after the tournament, leaving Noira to almost pity his lack of self esteem as she plopped into the driver’s seat of her car and pulled into the driveway of her home. She certainly had something to say about Weitman’s insults as he marched to his white car and threw all of his fencing gear inside, but she didn’t feel like saying it to his face today.

She had better things to do, and she had no time for one man’s selfish babbling. She only halted her drive home to give money to a seemingly homeless man wandering the street. The man wore tattered, dirty orange clothes that resembled autumn leaves an ant had ripped apart.

When she gave him the money, his face perked up. He reached into his bag–a brown leather satchel with a surplus of miscellaneous little things and objects inside–and offered Noira an apple. She initially denied this gift, gesturing and shaking her head no.

An aura of mystery and untruth surrounded the needy man she was approaching, something becoming gradually apparent as she took a closer look into his bag, wherein he carried a few things that made her question whether or not he was really homeless. He had a wrinkly smirk; his lips were dry, eroding like stone by a river. His hair was like a broomstick, ragged, and off-color, like needles on a porcupine. He reached into his bag and gave her a lime green apple, a glossy and smooth Grannysmith that contrasted his rough personality and greasy face.

She was still hesitant to accept the offering from the homeless man; however, after carefully considering her options, she decided it would be in both of their best interests if she accepted the apple. The man was getting more aggressive and insistent on her accepting it, a frown appearing on his lips and his hairy fingers fidgeting, twisting and contorting.

She took the apple, stuffed it into her pocket, said her goodbyes to the man and drove home. Her house was a shiny carbon black, and her front porch had perfectly trimmed glass blades. On her windows were little potted sunflowers, yellow petals littering her porch. Waiting at her doorstep were seven little dalmations with white and black spotted fur, each wearing either a white or black hat.

These were “her little dwarves” as she liked to call them, her little pets that followed her around as she walked down the road. There was Sloppy, Sneezy, Barky, Happy, Mopey, Dopey and Grumpy. These dalmatians were a chaotic bunch, but they submitted calmly to her requests when she was around, and they didn’t need leashes when following her as she walked down the street.

They greeted her arrival with dog toys, bowls of dog chow, and rats they found scurrying through the constantly humming ventilation systems in her house. Their tails wagged excitedly, their paws kicking the ground over and over. After she softly brushed them away, she walked into the office and spread out some paperwork, quietly searching through the necessary files to do her work until she heard a knock on the door.

She answered the door, blacked out, and woke up again. It was night time and the moon was out, its glimmer shining down on the quiet streets of Wilson Palisade St. She blacked out again and woke up to Happy scratching her shoulder, yelping and barking, holding the same Grannysmith apple the kind man had given her and beckoning her to take a bite.

Annoyed by the usually sweet, quiet, and polite dalmatian’s sudden demands that she eat the apple, she bit into the tiny, plump, green fruit, ignoring Happy’s empty, evil eyes. She allowed herself to taste the sour flavors and aromas of the green, sour apple and allowed the saccharine and tart flavors to tickle her tongue with a temporary delight.

As she indulged in the Grannysmith’s sour taste, she felt a sudden, sharp pain pounding against her head. Her knees felt like weak twigs, and she fell flat onto the floor, giving a soft, retaliatory grunt as the homeless man she gave money to entered her house. His form shifted, his his eyes turning a devilish crimson red and his skin becoming a worn gray.

He wasn’t just a homeless man. He was The Evil King, Noira’s estranged father of noble fame, a man cast out of his own kingdom in a rebellion and forced to live in exile after he cast out his daughter. The Evil King, filled with rage conceived this poisonous Grannysmith in a gray, bubbling metal cauldron to murder his own daughter out of jealousy of her inheritance of the throne, and delivered it to her disguised as a homeless man, taking advantage of her trusting and caring nature,

He fled the scene of the home, concealing a dastardly smirk on his face under a gray wool cloak. Snow-white maple leaves crinkled under his soles, twigs snapped under his feet and his shoes kicked up dirt, mud and debris from ant mounds as he ran through the forest. As he was fleeing, he smirked knowing that the only way for her to be awoken from her slumber was to be in the presence of a human she truly loved and one that loved her back; as he darted through the woods, fastly leaving the scene of the crime, he believed this would never happen.

The Evil King believed that Prince Hartwick–whom Noira had a deep and longstanding connection with because of how many letters they sent back and forth–would never randomly travel all the way from the kingdom of Nafastaire to be in the presence of Noira. However, The Evil King did not understand the workings of fate; a few days before, the prince had learned that the former ruler, The Evil King, had abandoned his wife in America, and Prince Hartwick had arrived in America to bring Noira back to her kingdom on the day The Evil King had poisoned Noira.

There he stood, Prince Hartwick in front of her door; the man who tried to poison her, The Evil King, was captured whilst he tried to run and shackled to a tree nearby. He entered, greeted by Noira’s dalmatians. There was utter silence, and then Queen Noira sprung back to life.

[popatochisssp]

Aesthetics Ref - UF Bros

Nickname: Jasper (Underfell Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Candy-apple red (#FF0800)

Magic Specialty: Red, orange

Scars/distinguishing marks: Gold tooth (left canine), defensive scrapes and nicks on his forearms, two faint rings circling his cervical vertebrae

Preferred Style: Edgy (lazy) punk, his look is mostly crafted to make him look like more trouble to tangle with than he’s worth while also being comfortable. Tends to buy things a size or two bigger than he really needs and layer it to fit—it gives him extra bulk and if there were to be a fight, extra padding with the added benefit of maybe obscuring where exactly underneath those layers he is. Favors black and red, sometimes yellow and white; likes color-block, especially the angular kind, but only with two, at most three colors.

Outerwear: Fur-hooded bomber jacket; knit turtleneck sweaters (hand-knit, by…well that’s not important), they’re mostly just ribbed but there’s some cabled ones too

Top: T-shirts, solid colors and probably bought in a ten-pack; a few rare exceptions with color-block designs or angled lines

Bottom: Athletic shorts, a few joggers and track pants

Footwear: Basketball sneakers (please imagine the gaudiest black-red-yellow affairs you can and know that they are among his shoes somewhere, likely in the place of honor)

Trademark accessory/accessories: Almost a tie between his jacket and his gold tooth—the tooth wins by default because it never comes out, and it’s his personal favorite fashion statement by a mile anyhow

-

Nickname: Pyre (Underfell Papyrus)

Height: 1’4” taller than you (OR 6’3”)

Eye-lights: Crimson red (#990000)

Magic Specialty: Red, orange, yellow, blue

Scars/distinguishing marks: Three claw-marks over his left eye-socket, some defensive nicks on his forearms, heavy scarring on his ribs and sternum, one of his false ribs broken off halfway through

Preferred Style: Goth punk, so wholeheartedly, genuinely edgy that even if it shouldn’t, he just makes it work (…most of the time). He wants to look sleek and cool and badass at all times and fills his wardrobe with anything and everything he thinks will further that end. His closet is very full, and so is his wardrobe, and his dressers, but he culls the herd regularly and counts it as a win that he’s never at a loss for what to wear. Favors black and red, loves leather, spikes and studs, and of course, metallic foil.

Outerwear: Mostly biker jackets, some with spikes, some with studs, and a few plain just in case; does own a hoodie or two, but not the slovenly kind (look up ‘unique asymmetrical hoodie’ and the dealbola results are pretty much what he goes in for)

Top: Long-sleeved graphic shirts, the designs as Ed Hardy as you care to imagine (i.e., skulls, flames, snakes, roses, and so on); gold, silver, and red foil prints make up a large chunk, too, with a few nice button shirts (silk and satin) for special occasions

Bottom: Leather pants, of course, often with straps along the side of the leg or artfully placed buckles; some dark denim with strategic rips and tears, and a couple neatly pressed dress pants for when he might need to tone it down a little

Footwear: Almost entirely boots, ranging from shin to knee-height; buckles, studs, and skull motifs are common features, and while he has a few pairs with practical combat heels, he has a clear preference for stiletto-style

Trademark accessory/accessories: Tattered well-loved red scarf, it goes so well with most of his wardrobe that he rarely doesn’t have it on; he also has a lot of really cool belt buckles, mostly skull-themed, but he switches them out often and definitely does not have a favorite (…yes he does, and it’s the one shaped like a ram skull)

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

@sajdd

Ok since one singular person asked for this the Big Explanation for Everything In My C!Tommy Design.

General:

c!Tommy, in general, I always try and find a balance between my really soft style and c!Tommy's rougher personality. I draw him with soft features but very sharp eyes, both to make his facial features distinct from cc!Tommy and a contrast to c!Tubbo who I draw with less rounded features but much softer eyes. I try and keep his usual expressions slightly smug and self-assured, to get across c!Tommy's bravado.

I generally draw him with tanned skin, as I imagine he’d spend a lot of time outdoors. This does vary on the arc I’m drawing him in, though, for example he’s much less tan in Pogtopia because he has less access to natural light whereas he’s more tan in exile due to not having much shelter from the sun. This is also done to make the pale scar on his nose bridge more noticeable- it’s one of the two scars I draw Tommy as having from the beginning, as I feel it shows c!Tommy's scrappy, determined personality very well. The other scar is a long jagged vivisection scar which is there to show my labinnit headcanon lol.

While I draw c!Tommy with varying hairstyles and lengths, I always draw him with curly textured hair that’s a very pale blond. I also draw his hair as leaning to one side and partially covering his eye, similar to how I draw c!Wilbur's hair, to show their closeness. I also draw c!Tommy with similar wings to c!Wilbur and c!Philza- specifically, I draw them with the same starry night sky pattern I do with c!Philza, but a lot smaller and atrophied.

I really like putting lots of fun design elements in characters eyes because drawing eyes is fun and c!Tommy is no exception! I draw his eyes a very bright electric blue, and I use a small brush and very light varied colours to make them look like they’re filled with little stars. I also give him red pupils to match his main colour association in either the shape of a full or broken heart depending on the arc. I went with a heart design to show his hidden kindness and loyalty.

There’s also a lot of design elements that are admittedly there primarily because I enjoy drawing them, and less for any specific reason. The fangs do have the most reason, to help show c!Tommy's rougher personality, but I also just like drawing fangs lol. (I also draw him with braces in every arc, since I imagine he couldn’t get them removed in exile and he didn’t have the time to care afterwards). I also draw him with bioluminescent, starlike freckles and a strange blood colour which is also used to help texture the skin (well, slightly, it’s not super noticeable but it’s pink instead of red) which are both just things I like to draw.

Also, this is a small detail, but I always draw c!Tommy with a Church Prime necklace (unless I forget it which I do sometimes lol). It’s a good way of showing his faith through a quick look.

Fun fact, what’s probably most noticeable about my c!Tommy design is that as soon as Tommy made the joke about his character being made in a lab I picked it up and ran with it, specifically the idea of him potentially being a clone of c!Philza. I draw them with identical facial features and hair colour/texture, though a lot of the more supernatural features of c!Philza are toned down on him. That’s specifically because due to my hc that c!Philza is an angel and angels as ageless it’d be impossible to clone them exactly so c!Tommy has some random human/hybrid dna thrown in haphazardly (which also makes him a mess of instincts from pretty much every animal ever lol)

Disc War:

I really like the headcanon that c!Tommy was nine during the L'Manburg war entirely because its really funny to imagine c!Wilbur looking at this literal nine year old and being “yes, my right hand man, responsible enough to help manage a nation in my stead,” so c!Tommy is roughly 9ish around this time in my design.

During the early Disc War is probably the only time I actually draw c!Tommy as close to his actual Minecraft skin lmao. It helps show that, despite the fact I don’t hc him as human he is mostly just a normal kid. I don’t draw c!Tommy in the traditional red and white t-shirt entirely just because I want to make sure he’s not mistakable for Dave Strider though. I have him in a white button-up shirt, a red and white hoodie, cargo pants, and trainers.

During this arc, I draw c!Tommy's hair as fairly short and very similar to how I draw c!Wilbur, as this was back when he idolised his brother and I think drawing their hair so similar shows that well.

L'Manburg:

This covers the time from the beginning of the L'Manburg war up to c!Tommy's second exile to Pogtopia, so this design covers a period of years from when I hc c!Tommy was nine up until about thirteen.

During the war, c!Tommy wears his uniform without modification, except for of course wearing his Prime necklace, but afterwards he and the rest of the residents of L'Manburg (except c!Wilbur) slightly modified their uniforms to better fit their own tastes. Specifically, he wears his trainers instead of combat boots, loose trousers instead of shorts, and a slightly shorter and short-sleeved revolutionary jacket, for easier mobility.

During the war, his two canon deaths left him permanent injuries and scars. His death in the final control room, where he broke his leg during his desperate attempt to escape, left that leg permanently weakened (along with being badly scarred) and requiring a leg brace to help him stand and walk properly. The arrow through his skull during his duel with c!Dream left him with a large scar on his temple, covering his brows in crack-like scars which also leave him with frequent migraines.

During the L'Manburg arc, c!Tommy's hair in my design still looks like c!Wilburs as they were still close during this arc.

Pogtopia:

Since Pogtopia apparently lasted two years (which is probably from Cursed Timeline Lore but I love cursed lore it’s hilarious,) c!Tommy would be around 13 to 15 here.

In Pogtopia, I draw c!Tommy as wearing similar clothes to during the Disc War arc, however, I also add on a loose belt holding knives, to show c!Tommy's increased need for self defence along with his fondness for knives lol. I actually don’t do the bandanna design with c!Tommy and c!Tubbo a lot of people do mostly because I couldn’t figure out how to get it to work with c!Tommy's hoodie. They have an equivalent but it’s later on alas.

As c!Tommy and c!Wilbur get more distant, c!Tommy grows out his hair slightly, and wears it tied in the back in a short ponytail.

Exile:

Oh I have a lot of things to talk about here >:). As a quick note to my messed up timeline, c!Tommy would be 15 here.

During exile, c!Tommy wears the same clothes as he did in Pogtopia initially, though due to lack of care and supplies, they eventually of course fray and rip. He also wears c!Wilbur's old ragged longcoat, even though it barely keeps out the cold, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes weirdly comforting. Over time, he rips up his shirt for bandages to the point he’s not wearing anything under his hoodie. His leg brace breaks and he makes a new one out of branches and leaves. (He could ask c!Dream, but he doesn’t want to be fucking reliant on him, relying on pity handouts like a child, so he won’t.)

Eventually, since c!Dream doesn’t exactly want c!Tommy to get hypothermia and die anticlimactically, he gives c!Tommy one of his capes. This is one of my favourite character design decisions I’ve made lmao. I specifically draw it looking too-big, despite the fact that doesn’t make much sense because they’re the same height, so it looks almost like he’s getting enveloped in c!Dream's green shades, and it also hides c!Tommy's wings which helps reinforce the loss of freedom.

c!Tommy gains… a lot of scars over exile. I mean he was literally hit by an axe multiple times. Specifically they’re primarily around the shoulders or the torso. I also draw him with a Glasgow grin, specifically curved to resemble Dream's mask, along with smaller, self inflicted, scratch and bite marks covering his arms. In addition, due to him barely eating I draw c!Tommy from this point onwards looking very scrawny. This is also where c!Tommy's pupils change from hearts to broken hearts! They never turn back :)

During exile, Tommy's hair grows out a lot, down to just past his shoulders, in a matted mess. c!Dream used to braid it at the back, like how I draw c!Dream's own hair, but it very quickly grew too matted with saltwater, mud, and blood to style :) :) :)

Bedrock Bros:

c!Tommy turns sixteen here during my scuffed timeline.

c!Tommy patches up the rips and tears in his clothes. He can’t fully salvage his cargo trousers, so he turns them into shorts. He makes his own shoes out of leather to replace the ones he lost. There’s a gaping hole in his hoodie pocket that couldn’t be stitched up. He'll patch it up later. c!Techno gives him one of his capes to keep him warm, fur lined and arctic blue with silvery snowflakes embroidered on. c!Tommy has to be reminded, or he puts on the green cape, turned a dull viridian from the sun, that makes him feel both safe and so, so afraid.

Scars heal, but never fully fade. Still, his eyes brighten again, somewhat, even if the bags under his eyes less disappear and more just turn a strange gold. He finally has the time to clean out his hair, and c!Techno ties it into a short, loose braid at the back. With the cape, he almost looks like c!Techno like that. Obviously, the visual implication here is to show that even though it’s obviously not exile, c!Techno is still suppressing c!Tommy's identity, albeit unknowingly (and the gold is from his constant eating of golden apples).

Final Disc War:

By this point, c!Tommy's back to just wearing his old clothes, tattered and frail as they might be. He finds his old sneakers, and day by day he sees himself in the mirror a bit more than the gunpowder on a battered trenchcoat, blood on a smiley face mask, wither rot on the edges of an elaborate snowy cape. He patches the hole in his hoodie with a piece of the fabric from one of c!Tubbo's old shirts. He lends him one of his too-small hoodies so he can do the same.

He still braids his hair, but in his own way, in a tightly woven ratstail braid more for convenience than for aesthetics. Character design wise, it’s another way to show c!Tommy's openly rougher personality than say, c!Dream or c!Techno, and so’s the patchwork clothes and rough shorts and scars. Like I said, maintaining a mix of rough and soft is very important to me in how I draw c!Tommy, and I’m very satisfied with how I pull it off here and in the next entry.

Revival:

the story has handed me the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead. i will not pass up the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead.

After revival, c!Tommy stops aging, at least in appearance. His skin… less pale, more colourless and almost grey. One of his eyes glows a pure, empty white now, like ghosts do, and the white messy streak in his hair doesn’t glow but it’s white enough it might as well.

The injuries of his death bear apparent on his form. His limbs can bend at impossible angles, his entire body covered head to toe in bruises. Two black eyes cover his face like a raccoon mask, and the ugly mottled marks of strangulation on his throat stand out like a sore thumb. You cannot look at him anymore and not see that he hasn’t died. He avoids mirrors again.

There’s stranger things, too, like how he doesn’t bleed anymore, any cuts just revealing an impossibly dark void beneath his marble-cold skin. Sometimes he goes weeks without eating, the hunger only hitting once he realises. He feels so tired, so cold, in a way not even the touch of fire can stem at all. He doesn’t have a heartbeat, or breathe.

Initially, he was too tired, too out of it to even consider cutting off or dying the white streak. When he wasn’t, he’d soon learn any attempts were futile, dye fading in mere days, cut off hair half regrown in a week. It should bother him more, but he just feels numb.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: Night Ride

Dwayne x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,000

Warning: contains physical intimacy, blood drinking, and mature language.  

Summary: Dwayne and you are enjoying a night ride along the Santa Carla coast when you start to feel a little cheeky. Risqué behavior ensues. 

It was a quiet night at the boardwalk, typical for the time of year when school was back in session and it was off-season for tourists. There was no live music that night, instead a popular Tom Petty tune played over the loudspeakers. Human traffic was a third of what it was during the summer, people mainly flocked to the food and shop stalls in an attempt to keep warm amidst the evening chill.

Most of the time you were fine with making rounds at the boardwalk even when it was dead, but that particular night you felt restless. None of the shops had any new wares to look at and you rode the Giant Dipper coaster four times in a row which quickly took the thrill out.

Sensing your mood, Dwayne herded you to a bench in front of the carousel while the other three boys peeled off to continue following a group that was headed further into the park.

He sat next to you, his heavy, leather clad arm rested along the back of the bench, surrounding you with his presence without actually touching you. The metal seat would’ve likely felt cool to the touch, even through your pants, had you not been a member of the undead.

You instinctively scooted closer to Dwayne seeking affection despite knowing he wasn’t a big believer in PDA. Still, you cuddled into his side knowing that he would never turn you away and his arm came off of the bench to lovingly rub your arm.

The two of you sat silently in each other’s arms, observing people who walked by, the tinkling of the carousel’s jovial organ tune playing continuously in the background.

A few moments passed when you felt Dwayne’s fingers start to play with the hair near your ear. You looked up at him and found his chocolate colored eyes already trained on you. “Wanna go for a ride?”

Subdued only moments ago, you perked up and nodded eagerly. Dwayne got the okay from David that rang in both of your heads courtesy of the coven mind-link and you walked hand-in-hand back to the entrance where the bikes were parked.

Dwayne hopped on first, kicking the motorcycle upright, and you got on second, linking your fingers across his stomach to secure yourself when the bike jolted to life. He didn’t say what route he had planned but when he opted to forego racing along the beach, instead heading out to the road, you knew he was taking the scenic way back to the hotel.

The late night road was mostly vacant making it easy to cruise along the curvy road, the dark, vast ocean on the left-hand side. Dwayne ran the engine at near wide open speed and the wind beat strongly, mixing your hair with his in a whirl of tresses. In spite of riding in seemingly reckless abandon, you knew that he was keeping a close eye on the road; he didn’t want to risk wrecking with you onboard regardless of your immortal status.

Dwayne sighed in contentment up front, the speed was a way for him to have fun that he made sure to take advantage of.

You chose a different way to make some fun for yourself.

The bike was humming along, the engine humming rhythmically between your legs with a blanket of stars shining among the navy sky overhead. Squeezing your chest more fully into his back, your hands started to wander with the goal of giving him something to sigh about.

Your fingernails scratched gently over the solid ridges on his abdomen as they headed further south into dangerous territory. He went still, even by Dwayne standards, and you knew that you had his attention.

He turned his head around just enough for you to see the look in his eyes that said to cut it out. They also betrayed the interest that he tried to hide under his seriousness. You relented momentarily and your hands went returned to a respectable position with your hands linked around his stomach.

He nodded in approval and turned to face the road again. Normally, you took pride in being the mature one in the coven, along with Dwayne, but that ride had you in a playful mood. Game on, you thought to yourself.

The reprieve didn’t last long before your hands started wandering again, going upward to his pectorals that time. One benefit to him wearing an open jacket was that it made his body all the more accessible to you. You kneaded the muscle there to the best of your ability given the angle you had to work with while riding on the bike. His skin didn’t have the same heat that a human did but he still felt warm to your touch.

A low hiss was audible even over the wind when you tweaked his left nipple with a little more force. He let up on the gas a bit, enough for you to feel a lull as it shifted from a racing to a cruising speed. You raked down once more, making sure to fan out to his sides in order to caress his ribs until you reached his hips.

His knuckles tightened on the handlebars when you traced the deep v of his lower abdominals. Y/N… he warned through your link.

With bated breath from both parties, you dipped below the waistline of this worn jeans. The smooth brass button at the top snapped open, adding another splash of heat to the situation. The zipper teeth clicked as you pulled them apart until it went as far as they could go.

His head dropped back for just a second when your hand finally made direct contact with him and you proudly noticed that he was already decently hard. You briefly pulled back to lick a stripe along the length of your palm to make it easier to handle him.

The had was inserted back into his jeans and you drew him out, exposing his cock to the crisp air. The splash of heat from earlier reached a boiling point that was almost tangible. You wrapped your hand around him and gave a few measured pumps, twisting just a little when you got to the top of the shaft.

There was a constant stream of growls and shudders and you felt an incredible sense of power to be able to elicit a reaction like this from him, no matter that you had been intimate hundreds of time prior.

You vaguely registered him pulling a hard left that sent the bike across the oncoming lane and onto the wide, barren plain that lead right to the rickety wood steps outside of the cave entrance.

He let out a particularly drawn out “Shit,” with one of your tugs that had you giggling. You doubled down on your efforts, feeling more emboldened the closer the cliff and the stairs approached.

Dusty dirt and gravel kicked up as Dwayne brought the bike to an abrupt halt, so abrupt that the bike nearly threw the two of you off. A hint of salty ocean spray tickled your nose as his hands gripped your thighs with the intent to move you.

In one last act of playfulness, you brushed his thick hair aside and bit him, fangs piercing brown skin that allowed his blood to trickle into your mouth.

Tease, he moaned while you suckled at his neck.

You released your hold on him with a wet ‘pop’ and Dwayne had you off of the bike and in his arms in the blink of an eye. He fell back onto the hard ground with a loud bang and kept you on top so that you didn’t have to be the one rolling in the dirt.

His lips and tongue attacked yours hungrily, and he was so desperate to have you that he told you in a guttural voice, “Here. Now.”

You weren’t about to refuse him and your mouths met again with vigorous kissing.

He ripped your top apart easily, not in the frame of mind to be gentle with your clothes. He leaned up to capture a nipple and proceeded to nip and suck you, his hand giving attention to your other breast.

Your breathing sped up and you held his head to your chest, warmth leaving your limbs shaky. Lower down, you felt your panties start to dampen, and it was Dwayne’s turn to delve into your pants.

He dragged your pants down and moved the panties to the side so that he could cup you, his fingers teased your entrance while the base of his palm added pressure to the bundle of nerves on top. You whined when one of his fingers suddenly slipped inside you with no resistance. Unable to stop yourself you rocked in an attempt to try and create some much needed friction.

“Shit,” he groaned placing a sloppy kiss on your shoulder. “That slid right in, princess.”

He gave you a moment before adding another and you shut your eyes tight, the sound of his fingers inside of you too much to bear. But then his thumb grazed your clit and they shot open again, your nails digging into his shoulder blades.

Satisfied that you were ready for him, Dwayne tapped your hip with a gentle, “Up,” so that he could fully remove your pants.

You nodded frantically. You would do anything he wanted right then. You would do it happily.

By the time you were bare from the waist down and back on top of him, he had also kicked his pants down. The jacket stayed on, not that you complained—he looked damned good in that jacket.

Even in the midst of lust he had enough restraint to slowly push into you. His cock was wide inside you and it was disorienting as he continued to push inward. The sky spun as your head tipped from delicious pleasure. You moved in tandem from the start, a product of knowing each other bodies as thoroughly as you did.

To the untrained eye he seemed completely in control, his thrusts even and steady the entire coupling. But you recognized the truth. His hands were a vice grip on your hips and his brow protruded the moment his fangs dropped; his eyes were still brown but it wouldn’t take much to get them to turn.

The pace in no way slowed your climb to the precipice and it wasn’t long until your arms no longer had the strength to support you. “Please.”

Dwayne gladly accepted the added weight on his chest and did work for you, the tatters of your ruined top stimulating your nipples from it laid trapped between two bodies. Roughened fingertips rubbed you with precision and his pelvis bucked into you, the excitement building.

The thing that pushed you over the edge was when his tongue ran along the veins in your neck, tracing patterns and sucking at the base of your throat, whispering his love for you. His fangs broke skin and that was it. Euphoria bloomed from your core, spreading to encompass your whole body.

You chanted his name in breathy gasps, your muscles clamping down hard. He quickly followed you into rapture, kissing at your bottom lip while he rode his own wave.

When the fog lifted the two of you were still breathing heavy, every move ten times more sensitive than usual. He made an effort to cup the side of your face. You’re beautiful, princess. Always, he whispered.

Just enough blood rushed to your face to color your blush and you hid in his mused hair. He merely smiled and drew you in for another kiss—a languid one.

His eyes had finally taken on the marbled yellow-red color shared by all vampires and you were certain that your features mirrored his.

Beautiful, you parroted his earlier words, making sure that he heard.  

He may have been a monster, but he was your monster.

_______________

In the year of our lord 2021, I posted nsfw for the very first time 🙈. I’m in no way qualified to write this but was inspired by a confession made on @darling-disastrous​’s blog. Enormous thanks if you stuck with it all the way through! I hope it was alright. 

[pleasantanathema]

CONGRATULATIONS! You deserve every single one of those followers and more. I said it on Morning After, I shouted it during After Hours and again in Invasive Species: there are no words to describe your writing! You're one of the reasons I made this blog to begin with (was a-luna-tic). First request on this site, but it was always meant to be you: 31 with a character of your choice bc I'll be floored either way! xxx sending you all the love

A/N: Holy shit, thank you so much for your amazing compliments! I am so appreciative of your support for my work. I love writing and nothing makes me happier than knowing that people enjoy reading what I put out there. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to choose...I thought I’d step into unfamiliar territory and try writing for our boy Dabi. 

Dabi: “I promise, even cocaine won’t make you feel as good as I do.”

           You were on a high, bliss dripping down your body as you smiled, sinking into your dewy skin and enveloping you with elation. The neon lights of the city looked enchanting on your walk home; the flickering lights were endearing to see. Usually this stretch of the city had you on alert, the dimmed, broken lights ominous, but even the lingering sense of foreboding couldn’t tear down your stride tonight. You’d been promoted at your hero agency. Your friends took you out to celebrate, and after an evening of joyous laughter and reminisces of past times, your humble, fluffy bed was calling you home. But tonight, of all nights, you should’ve been more prepared, hero senses heightened, for there was a predator on the loose. And you had become an easy, much desired target.

           He barreled into you like a wolf rolling over its prey, so quick and vicious that your brain still felt like it was floating in the clouds when you were pressed into the dirt and grime of the alley. He was heavy, the weight of his hips pinning you, spreading you and making you more vulnerable. He was dark, his hair, clothing, and even portions of his skin blurring together like a bleeding, inky mess above you. A bright flash of blue caught your attention, eyes burning as vivid as Sirius up in the sky, the brightest star in the dog days of summer.

           “Dabi,” you breathed, liquid heat rolling over your skin.

           “Didn’t think to call me up to celebrate, princess?”

           His breath was hot and husky against your neck, hands becoming greedy as his fingers searched for delicious skin underneath your clothes.

           “Of course not,” you teased, the gears of your bodies shifting into place as you pulled him by his hair, bringing smoldering lips to yours. He was ravenous and wicked, smile biting into your lips as he hungrily drank from you. Your mouths shifted together in a knowing dance, dangerous and languid as hands found their familiar homes against the curve of your bodies. Your fingers splayed across his chest, feeling the disparity between soft and marred skin, slivers of metal brushing your knuckles. He was forbidden, but so were you.

           Your high was flooding over your skin again, mind swimming as you were blanketed by the heat of his body and the scent of smoke and leather. It had been months since you last felt him against you, molding into your curves like he fucking belonged there, and instantly you felt hooked again, felt the flames of addiction become reignited as his taste lingered on your tongue.

           “Not here,” you gasped as his fingers ripped at the barriers of your clothes, spreading the threads open as he vied to take your skin.

           “Yes, here, you dirty little hero. I’m going to fuck you here and have you screaming like a fucking alley cat.”

           The breath was knocked from your lungs as he found his way to your core, fingers prodding at silken, weeping flesh and grinning at your wetness. He knew how to push you, how to make the virtuous little hero fall apart for a conniving villain. He teased his thumb along your slit, gathering your slick before placing a steady pressure upon your clit. He didn’t move the digit, just kept it pressed to your bundle of nerves, a reminder of how he easily he could take control over one of the most private of places upon your body.

           You whimpered, ears perking as you heard people walking down the street, feet shuffling in the same filth that you now laid in. Your heart started to beat faster, blood pounding in your ears, pulse erratic in your neck. Any moment someone could veer down the alley, find you straddled by the blueflame villain, his hands between your legs and his tongue between your lips, pulling his cock from his pants as he prepared to fuck you into the ground. You could feel him then, thick and hot between your legs, cock pressing at your entrance just below the thumb hovering at your clit.

           “I promise, even cocaine won’t make you feel as good as I do.” It was a devilish promise spoke into your mouth, an incantation that had you spellbound.

           You gripped at the tattered jacket he wore, tucking your face into his neck to hide away from prying eyes, from the rest of the world, and allow him to press his fat cock into your body. He always did this, found you in some unassuming position, pinned you somewhere seedy and ravaged you because he could. He was right, no one could make you feel as good as he did, as desired and full as when he wrapped his hand around your throat while he strummed the other upon your clit.

         His thrusts were quick and sharp, hips snapping against your thighs as he buried himself deep inside of you. Each plunge of his body had yours sliding upon the ground, your exposed skin dragging along the earth and debris scratching and pressing into your flesh. He flexed his fingers along your throat, grin flashing in the neon lights like a hypnotic vision above you.

        “I know you fucking love this, being fucked like the dirty slut you are. You’re no fucking hero, just a whore who spreads her legs whenever I command.”

         You could only nod in response, your words being crushed under his hand as he squeezed the sides of your neck just to watch you faulter underneath him. It was shameful how good he made you feel, how his cock stretched you just right, how his scarred skin kissed against your own and reminded you of who was fucking you senseless. He kept at you, pounding into you until you couldn’t hold back your sounds any longer, shrill little shrieks echoing among the bricks as he sinfully brought you closer to the edge of euphoria with the twisting of his thumb, the shoving of his cock.

       “You know what else?” he chuckled as he nipped at your ear, “I bet I can make you cum on command too.”

         He didn’t need to, as his raspy words had you tumbling anyways, falling apart around his body as everything tightened and coiled inside of you. The throes of pleasure enraptured you so intensely that you failed to register that he had left you, until you heard a burst of laughter from above, the sound like the laughing flames of hell, of trickery and madness and pleasure from your humiliation.

           “Congrats on your promotion, hero, enjoy your present.”

           As quick as he appeared, he was gone, sauntering away into a mist of broken, flickering lights and the smell of his cum lingering between your legs.

[cuddles-with-bucky]

My Face, Your Boxers

Bucky X Reader

Authors Notes: Written for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​​ and thank you so much for allowing me to combine these two amazing prompts together!!! Hope I did it justice!

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, pranks, language, sexual tension, talks of sex, implied smut.

Words 2,372

Prompts:

Y/N and Bucky have never got along and are always bickering. One day, he decides to prank her by changing all of her lace underwear to briefs with his face all over them.

Bucky has a date tonight and reader changes all of his boxers to “Pardon My Hardon” boxers.

The boxers:

“You’re putting way too much milk on your cereal, doll.” Bucky elbowed you, almost knocking you off the stool and spilling the milk everywhere.

“Fuck off and mind your own business.” You gritted through your teeth, wanting to knock that smug grin off his stupid face. 

“Ah, young love.” Sam teased as he walked casually into the kitchen that was thick with sexual tension, no thanks to you and Barnes. You shot him a glare, pouring your milk carelessly over your cereal.

“Y/N seriously, fucking leave some milk for the rest of us!” Bucky warned, reaching over and snatching the bottle from your hand.

“Stop being up my ass all the damn time Barnes.” You said, scooping some cereal up on a spoon and shoveling it into your mouth. “If you want me to fuck you up the ass doll, all you gotta do is ask.” 

“I’m out!” Sam announced, grabbing an orange and leaving quickly, leaving just you and Bucky alone in the kitchen which was always a very bad idea since you didn’t get along with the man. 

You’re not really sure why, ever since he came to the compound, he acted cold and distant with you despite your warm welcoming and months later, he became the biggest dick. 

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth.” You argued, loved pushing his squishy buttons. Despite him being an enormous asshole, he was so easy to piss off and you loved it.

“Hypothetical question, why?” Bucky pressed, taking a seat next to you and watched in amusement as you kept on shoveling the cereal in your mouth. 

“Well first of all; you’re always sweaty and disgusting and I imagine you grunt a fucking lot. And secondly; I repeat my first point. Thirdly; I’m best friends with my vibrator that always lets me cum first. Something I don’t see you doing.” 

“Aww, you jealous doll ‘cause you don’t have a man to know, lick you and fuck you into the mattress?” Bucky smirked, leaning his forearms on the counter.

“Jealous? HA. I actually feel quite sorry for any poor woman underneath you as you drip your disgusting sweat on her face. I’m GRATEFUL for that. Besides, wouldn’t want your dentures to fall out as you sucked the life out of me, plus, I’m a really nice person, now please, fuck off and have a great day.” 

“Whatever you say, doll.” Bucky chuckled, drawing the pet name out since he knew how much it annoyed you. He was getting up to leave and missed the spoon being launched at his head by seconds. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” The AI beeped as Bucky walked into the common room. 

“What is it, FRIDAY?” Bucky asked, looking up in the air. 

“A parcel has arrived and Mr Stark has left it in your room, sir.” 

Bucky laughed knowing exactly what the parcel was, and it was all planned perfectly since you would be out of the compound most of today. 

Bucky hurried back to his room and unpacked the parcel that was sitting on his bed, he cut the tape and laughed maniacally as he pulled the new custom ordered underwear out of the box. He spent hundreds of dollars on this and it had to go right. 

He put a few hundred into a separate bag and hid the box in his closet in case someone decided to barge in like they normally did. Bucky exited his bedroom, walking down to the other end of the hall where your room was, just as he was about to go in, you came out.

“What?” You asked confused, putting your keys and phone in your pocket. 

“I was- I thought you were out?” Bucky stammered, subtly moving the bag of underwear behind his back so you couldn’t get a peek. 

“God, what are you, my husband? If you really must know, I’m just leaving so leave your testicles in your pants and stay out of my room. I remember what you did last time and I don’t want another cleaning bill.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky saluted. He was amused you didn’t even wonder why he was outside your door, or maybe you did and just didn’t care since Bucky always did go out of his way to annoy the fuck of you. Him being there was nothing to you.

While Bucky sneaked into your room, you had your own secret meeting with a friend in Brooklyn. You knew Bucky had a date tonight, because he’s talked about it non stop since last week and since he embarrassed you on your last date, you figured a little paycheck was overdue. Your friend had ordered you over 300 pairs of boxers. Boxers you were planning to plant in Bucky’s dresser so his date could freak the hell out. 

You were an observant person, and his sweatpants never hid anything that great. The man constantly walked around with a boner, it was so obvious so these boxers were true, but you know, they would excuse it for him when his date sees him. You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. 

Bucky pulled all your lace panties out and threw him carelessly onto your bed, including your bras. He unpacked the new briefs and folded them neatly into the top two drawers of your dresser, snickering as he saw the print on them. It was probably quite a childish prank, but he was sure you’d get a kick out of it.

Once Bucky was done, he put your laced panties in the bag he brought with him and left your room undisturbed and went back to his to hide the panties and meet Steve at the bar for a few beers. 

You actually passed Bucky in the lobby, just as he stepped out, you were about to step in. He noticed a box in your hands, around the same size as the one he had delivered and snickered. How ironic would it be if you pranked with him the same underwear. 

“Whatcha got there dollface?” Bucky purred, adjusting his leather jacket. You couldn’t deny he looked smoking hot in his black outfit. “More dildos?” He teased.

You snickered and stepped into the elevator. “Why? Jealous they might be bigger than you Barnes?” You cackled, pressing the button to your. 

“STAY OUT OF MY ROOM!” You heard him yell just as the doors closed. 

If anyone was to blame for this prank, it would be Bucky for leaving his damn door unlocked and making it too easy. You had no problem breaking into his room and removing his tattered and worn boxers, some with holes where the wiener would be, why he had a fucking hole there was anyone’s guess, you’d like to think it was because he probably rubbed one out every time he was alone in this room. 

You replaced his ragged old boxers with some lovely new ones. They were red with a black waistband. The imprint on the front where his bulge would be read “Pardon My Hardon.” To now, you cackled like crazy every time you read it. You could imagine the look on his face, and also his date’s face. 

Apparently, he was hoping to get lucky tonight. With these boxers, that’s not gonna happen. This was their first date after all. Once you hid his old boxers under the bed, you proceeded with the second part of your plan to make sure he would wear these and not notice them; remove all lightbulbs from his room. You paid Tony in good faith to cut the electricity for tonight when Bucky would be in his room changing anyway, but to be sure Tony didn’t follow through on his promise for some reason, you needed to remove the lights just in case. 

You clapped your hands when you got the last light bulb out, also throwing them under his bed and left his room undisturbed. 

Now you just had to wait.

***

Bucky returned back to the compound around 8 p.m and already it was dark outside. The heavy rain clouds that lingered over NYC ended daylight quicker than expected. To make matters worse, the storm had cut electricity out in the compound. Candles were lit everywhere, except for Bucky’s room since he just needed a quick wash and change of clothes. His eyes had never let him down before and he knew his room like the back of his hand. 

He closed the curtains in his room and walked into the bathroom, washing his face and hands and patting himself dry with a towel he felt around for. 

Bucky could hear the distinctive chatter from his teammates down the hall as they sat in the common room talking about the storm. Thunder and lightning came suddenly and the rain pelted against the floor-to-window panes. This storm came suspiciously quickly. Considering he was aware Thor was in town.

But these thoughts never really crossed his mind and he didn’t piece it together. He was thinking about Dot and his date tonight. He whipped his black jeans off along with his boxers, opening the drawer, he felt around for a pair and grabbed them.

His fingertips traced along the waistband until he felt the silk label and slipped into them. They felt a little tighter than usual, but Bucky had been working on beefing up again. 

Bucky reached into his closet and pulled a clean pair of jeans off the hanger and slipped them on. He next removed his shirt and picked a button up off the hanger on the other side of the closet. When he was dressed and happy, he sprayed some cologne around his throat and neck, picked up his leather jacket off the bed and left his room. 

He walked a little down the hall when your door suddenly ripped open, scaring the shit out of him. He stumbled and put his hand over his heart.

“Did you seriously fucking change my underwear to your stupid face?!” You gritted through your teeth. 

“I did.” He shrugged, smirking as he now leaned against the doorframe. “Now you will always have me between your legs, doll.” Bucky teased, licking his dry lips. 

You huffed out a laugh and shook your head. You’d never tell him, but you actually really liked the briefs. They were exceptionally comfortable and you find them funny. You couldn’t imagine the look on a man’s face though as he peeled them off you.

“You have a date tonight right?” You questioned, the candlelight behind you just about makes out his features. 

“I do, so no need to wait up. I’ll leave some earplugs in the common room so we don’t keep you awake.” 

You laughed, there was no way he was getting any tonight with those boxers he was most likely wearing. 

“Enjoy the *squeak, squeak, squeak*” You teased, imitating his squeaky mattress that you heard often.

“Enjoy your vibrators that you had delivered today.” He retorted. You snorted and retreated back into your room, slamming the door unintentionally in his face.

***

You didn’t know what time it was when you fell asleep. Once Bucky had left earlier, you found Tony and Thor and thanked them with a hug each for their part in your plan. Let’s face it, without them, this wouldn’t have worked. But it seemed you were right and Bucky really was that naive. 

You’re not sure what woke you up either, you thought you heard a knock on your door but it must have been in your dream. You rolled onto your back and stretched, putting your arm under your pillow, you just started to doze off again when the knock came louder this time. 

You glared towards the door, rolling over to flick a lamp on and dragged yourself from the comfort of your bed towards it. You opened the door and on the other side stood a rather tired and unamused Bucky Barnes. 

“Barnes? Are you lost, you’re room is down the hall on-”

“What the fuck did you do to my boxers?” He seethed, his jaw and fists clenched. You rubbed your eyes and chuckled, angering Bucky more. 

“Oh, you saw them.” Is all you said, his eyes flickering down to his custom briefs. He couldn’t help but become aroused when he saw a slight wet spot and your nipples tenting underneath your tank top. 

“No, Dot saw them and she was fucking horrified!” 

“Poor Dot. You know, they are really funny and I’m sorry but if she couldn’t take the joke then maybe she isn’t the one for you.” You stated, folding your arms across your chest and resting them under your breasts, the swells of your breasts now threatening to spill out. 

Bucky said nothing as he took a step towards you. You remained still in your place, his breath fanned over your face. 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe then I don’t want another man between your legs, on briefs or otherwise.” Bucky sighed. Your arms dropped down by your side and Bucky took the opportunity to reach out and take on, guiding it to his hard bulge. Your hand squeezed him and he moaned quietly. 

“If you want this, if you really want me, then I suggest you get in here and get your face between my legs for real.” 

“If I knew planting briefs with my face on them would make me fuck you, I’d have done it months ago.” Bucky chuckled, his hands on your waist as he walked you backwards. He kicked the door closed with his foot, guiding you two back towards the bed until your knees hit the side of the mattress. Bucky kneeled on the floor before you, his fingers hovering on the waistband of the briefs. 

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked, needing to hear you say it. “I know we hate each-”

“I don’t hate you. And I’m sure. Please…” 

“Good, me neither. Once I start, I’m not gonna be able to stop.”

“Then don’t stop.” That’s all Bucky needed to hear. Once those words left your lips, your briefs were ripped from your body and your legs thrown over his broad shoulders. His tongue diving in between your seeping folds.

[maybeimamuppet]

queen of hearts (part 1)

hi friends!! happy wednesday! did someone say royalty au?? no. but i wrote one anyone so here you are. this is my favorite thing i've written so far, but buckle up, it's a doozy.

trigger warnings for:

period-typical homophobia

mentioned child/domestic abuse

attempted r*pe/assault

graphic injury

and death!

if i missed any please let me know, that's entirely possible. also, if you're bothered by historical/medical inaccuracies, maybe skip this one. otherwise, please enjoy!

-

Once upon a time, there was a brave knight; who fought in many battles, vanquished terrible beasts, and could wield a sword like no other.

Her name was Janis.

Janis was an energetic child, bouncing off walls and ripping holes in dresses by the time she was two. By four, she had mastered the art of tree climbing, and by six she was a pro at arm wrestling.

Janis always knew she was different. She was never particularly interested in typically 'feminine' activities, and she felt a special distaste for boys. But girls, on the other hand. Girls were a different story.

When she was twelve, Janis worked for the George family, a rich family of noble blood, with rumored connections to the royal family. They had a daughter just a few months older than Janis herself, named Regina. Janis was a servant, but the two quickly became friends. And then, more than friends.

But it was too good to last. Regina's father caught the two girls holding hands one day, and gave Janis a lashing so severe she saw stars. He forbade Janis from ever seeing his daughter again, and marched her home by the ear.

Janis' parents were of a similar mindset. They gave her a single loaf of bread, and allowed her to keep the clothes on her back. With a final hug from her baby sister, Janis was disowned, never to see her family again.

She slept in a barn for a week, huddled up with a sheep for warmth. The farmer discovered her after a while and made her leave, but his wife took pity and gave her a hot dinner first.

For nearly a year, Janis slept outside the door to a tavern. She joined an underground fighting ring for money, and would occasionally make bets to earn more. As she continued, she realized she wasn't eating enough to maintain her strength.

So, Janis took up pickpocketing too. In less than a month, she had mastered the craft. She could steal the wallets of the strange men who passed her without a second glance on their way in to the tavern, take their money, and put the wallet back with the men none the wiser.

Until Ron Duvall came along. Janis could tell by his clothing that he had some sort of connection to the royal family. He must have a lot of money. She managed to steal the wallet and the money without him noticing, but she fumbled putting it back. He drew his sword and whirled around, threatening to slice her arms off at the elbow for daring to steal from him.

But upon turning, he came face to face with a young, severely malnourished girl, in tattered clothes several sizes too small and with wide, terrified eyes. He could tell by the way she was clutching the money that she was truly desperate for it. Something in his heart told him to help.

From that day, Janis had a new home. As it turned out, Ron Duvall was the captain of the royal guard. He had the highest position, and was the most trusted soldier in the ranks. Janis joined them, training alongside the other soldiers and living in the barracks.

She finally had clothes that fit, plenty of food, a warm bed. She met a boy named Damian after a month or so, a seamster around her age who worked in the castle. They became instant best friends, inseparable except to attend to their duties. Janis had a family, and didn't plan to let go.

—————

Janis is hacking at a straw man, poking holes in his torso and lopping little bits off. Out of her peripheral she spies Damian barreling towards her, which is slightly concerning.

"Janis! Janjan! Jan!" Damian calls as Janis slices the head off her dummy and sheathes her sword. She turns towards him as she wipes the sweat from her face.

"What's the matter? I never thought I'd see you run voluntarily," Janis comments.

"I take offense to that," Damian pants. "But the King and Queen have asked for you."

Janis whirls around from the trough of water she's scrubbing her face from. "Who wants me?"

"The King. And the Queen."

"That can't be good," Janis mumbles, color draining from her face. "What do they want with me?"

"They didn't say," Damian huffs, still trying to get his breath back. "But it can't be too bad or they would've sent a guard instead of someone like me."

Janis dunks her whole head in the tank quickly, pulling back out and walking briskly to her barrack. "Come on then."

Damian follows after her quickly, sitting on her bunk as she pulls her daily uniform from the trunk at her footboard.

"I will never understand why they put so many fucking buckles on this thing," Janis grumbles as she fastens on her blue and gold uniform jacket. She grabs a cloth from her trunk as well, scrubbing at her face harshly. "Can you plait my hair for me?"

Damian pulls her damp hair back, braiding it quickly down her back and tying it with a leather cord as she tugs on her boots and sheath again. "There."

"Thanks. I'll tell you what they say later, wish me luck. Love you," Janis says hastily, kissing his cheek and running towards the palace.

"Good luck, love you too," Damian calls after her.

-

The guards at the main gate snap to attention as Janis barrels up the high steps towards them, but relax slightly upon seeing that she's in the same uniform as them.

She stops just in front of them, panting slightly. "I have been requested by the King and Queen."

"What is your name, soldier?" One of them asks.

"Sarkisian, Janis."

"Come with me."

She follows after him, looking around in awe at the elaborate decor around her. She bumps into him outside the door to the throne room and earns herself a disapproving glare. He enters and announces her, so she puffs up her chest and follows him in.

The royals don't react, so she goes to the respectful distance and kneels before them. "Your Majesties."

"Stand, soldier," The Queen says. Janis does. "You are Sarkisian?"

"I am, Your Majesty," Janis replies politely, bowing her head respectfully.

"Duvall informs me you're his best fighter," The King says. "Is this true?"

"Um, I like to think so, Your Majesty. I have trained for years in both swordsmanship and archery," Janis responds. "But many of my fellow soldiers are likely as skilled as I."

"How old are you, soldier?" The Queen asks.

"Seventeen, Your Majesty," Janis says politely.

The King raises his eyebrows in surprise. "You are young to be so skilled."

"I am aware, Your Majesty. However, I have been training since I was thirteen. I fought in the war against Kingdom Sherwood when I was fifteen," Janis responds. "I am confident in my skills."

"And your family?" the Queen asks. Janis looks down.

"I was disowned at age twelve, Your Majesty," she murmurs, just loudly enough for them to hear. "I have not seen any of them since."

"Why?" the Queen asks suspiciously.

"Several reasons," Janis replies. She knows she can't reveal the true one.  "But mainly due to the fact that they were poor. They could not afford to house both me and my younger sister."

The King gives her a sympathetic glance, but Janis can't read the Queen.

"Please excuse us for a moment, soldier," the King says kindly. Janis bows, walking out of earshot and looking around in awe. There's several portraits decorating the walls, of the King and Queen, eventually with the Princess making an appearance. She grows older in every portrait, from a fiery haired infant to an impish looking child, to an elegant and refined looking young lady.

She can overhear bits and pieces of the conversation between the royals. "She's her age." "But she's a girl." "I'd feel better having a girl perform this task anyway."

Eventually, she's called back, bowing again.

"We have a position for you. Our daughter needs a personal guard, we think you would be best suited for the task," the King says.

Janis is stunned. "Me? I- Forgive me, Your Majesties, I'm-I'm honored, but... would you not rather have someone with more training guard the Princess?"

The Queen looks at the King meaningfully, as if agreeing with her, but the King shakes his head. "We trust Lord Duvall's judgement. If he recommends you, we trust him. It also helps you are close in age to Princess Cadence, and a female."

Janis thinks. "Thank you, Your Majesties, I'm honored, truly. I shall protect the Princess with my life."

The Queen looks slightly relieved at this. "You are dismissed, soldier. Guard, take this young lady to the Princess' quarters."

"Right away, Your Majesty."

Janis bows once more as she takes her leave, hustling after the large guard towards the Princess' wing of the palace. Eventually they reach one of the tallest doors Janis has ever seen, and the guard knocks politely on it.

A soft, melodic voice rings out from inside, sounding rather melancholy to Janis. "Come in."

The guard opens the door, gesturing for Janis to enter and following after her. A small figure is sat by the massive window, looking out over the gardens of the palace. She turns, and Janis has to withhold a gasp. Very few of the people outside the palace have ever actually seen the Princess, but she's absolutely beautiful.

Long auburn curls hang down her back to her waist, and she has gorgeous crystal blue doe eyes. Freckles are spattered all over her pale skin like stars in the night sky. She's in a long dress, pale blue in color with a skirt that brushes the floor.

"He-oh," the Princess stutters. "Hello. Forgive me, I... wasn't expecting a lady. Is this who they've chosen?"

"Yes, your Highness. Knight Sarkisian," the other guard says.

"Hm. Thank you, Mike, you may go now," the Princess says, looking Janis up and down. He bows politely and takes his leave. "What is your name?"

"Um, Janis Sarkisian, Your Highness. At your service," Janis replies, bowing awkwardly.

"Oh, god, please don't. It seems we'll be spending a fair bit of time together, there's no need for all the formalities," the Princess replies. "I detest them, anyway. Call me Cady."

"Yes, Your-uhm, Cady," Janis stutters as she rises back up. Cady chuckles.

"Have you been in the palace before, Janis?" Cady asks, opening the door and leading her down the hall.

"I have not, Y-Cady," Janis says. "It's magnificent."

"I'm glad you think so," Cady says with just a touch of sadness. "Tell me about yourself."

"I don't think there's really much to tell. I'm seventeen, was born in the slums. My family was poor, I started working as a house servant in the nicer part of town when I was six to support my family," Janis replies. Cady turns to look at her with wide eyes, as if she's hearing the most interesting, surprising thing she's ever heard.

"You began work when you were six years old?" She asks in shock.

Janis nods. "I didn't have a choice, it was either work or starve. I'm far from unique in that regard."

Cady looks at her sadly. "My apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt you. Please continue. If you wish to."

"Please don't apologize, Cady. Um, I continued work for several families until I was twelve. I was disowned, I slept in a barn until I was discovered and then started living outside a tavern. I competed in street fights for money for food, and sometimes pickpocketed if I didn't make enough in a day. I tried to steal from Ron, and nearly lost my hands for it," Janis chuckles. "But, he took pity on me and took me in. Taught me everything I know about the sword and bow. I rose quickly through the ranks, fought in the war. And now I'm here."

Cady freezes outside the door to their apparent destination, trying to take in everything she's just been told. "My goodness. The war was only finished two years ago, you couldn't have been more than-"

"Fifteen," Janis replies.

"Fifteen," Cady repeats hollowly. "You could've died, so young. And you lived on the streets for... how long?"

"A year or so, I didn't keep track exactly," Janis says. "Had other things on my mind."

Cady hums sadly. "Have you heard from your family at all?"

"Not since I was forced to leave, no," Janis replies. "But I've found people here that I consider closer family than they ever were."

"I'm glad for that," Cady says. "My apologies, if I'm prying. I just find the lives of others fascinating." She finally opens the doors they're in front of, revealing the massive gardens of the palace. "Walk with me, won't you?"

"Of course. Would you tell me about yourself, now? I feel I should know you, if I am to protect you," Janis replies. She's slightly on edge now that they're outside, but there are guards nearly everywhere and they're still walled in. She just needs a little extra caution.

"I'm not sure you'd find my life so interesting. It sounds so terribly dull in comparison to yours," Cady says, holding onto her arm with her right hand and holding her skirts with her left. "But very well. I am seventeen as well. I was born here, raised here. I am the only child, only heir to the throne. I've been stuck in classes on everything from medicine to diplomacy from the time I could speak."

Janis is slightly envious, but hides it and gestures for her to continue.

"I've almost never set foot outside the castle walls. Once a season we take the carriage through the villages, and every once in a while I sneak out to the stables. I've always loved animals," Cady says with a sigh. Janis gets the sense immediately that Cady is not as fortunate as she had thought. She seems... stuck, trapped. How sad.

"How do you sneak past all the guards?" Janis asks. "You must be like a spy."

Cady chuckles, coming to sit on the edge of a fountain. "The guards all let me go, and agree not to tell my parents so long as I have at least two of them to protect me on my way down. I'm not really sneaking around anyone but my parents."

"They don't let you go see the horses freely? How dangerous could that be?" Janis asks as she sits next to her.

"I've never done anything freely. I've always wished to see the town up close, or go through the woods, or walk down to speak to the soldiers training," Cady sighs. "But it's not safe. I'm the only heir, if something happens to me the whole kingdom of Evanston falls. I'll likely be kept in here the rest of my days."

"That sounds a rather miserable existence. I'm sorry," Janis says.

"Do not apologize, Janis, it's not as if you have any part in my entrapment here. And your life has been... much harder," Cady replies.

"That doesn't mean your life hasn't been hard too," Janis says. "They don't cancel out."

Cady looks at her thoughtfully. "I suppose not. You speak very eloquently for a guard, were you educated somewhere?"

Janis chuckles. "Not anywhere near what you're thinking. I had to learn to read and write for my job as a child, and I learned to add and subtract to make sure I had enough money. When I joined the guardhood I was trained in royal etiquette on the off chance I was ever required to serve inside the palace. That's about the extent of it."

"Oh. Well, lucky that you were trained then," Cady jokes weakly, but Janis still laughs. "Do you have any hobbies or interests? I don't know how much free time you have as a royal guard."

"Not much, I'll admit. I spend most of my time working on my fighting, keeping my strength up, things like that," Janis replies. "But I actually like art quite a bit. One of the ladies I worked for was kinder than the rest, an artist. She taught me a few things about painting and such, I always enjoyed that."

"That's lovely," Cady says, as if relieved Janis has something she can enjoy. "I never was much good at art. Do you have any works? I'd love to see them."

"I haven't been able to get much in the way of materials, but I have a tendency to doodle," Janis says. "I- wait, will I be moving into the palace?"

Cady giggles. "If you want this position, yes. You'll be living in the guards quarters outside my bedroom from now on."

"Oh. Then I suppose you'll see some little things I've done eventually," Janis replies. If Cady wanted into her own bedroom, she would have to pass through Janis' from now on. "What about you? Any interests I should know about?"

"Not really," Cady hums thoughtfully. "I always enjoyed my mathematics classes more than the others, and I love animals. I enjoy being outside more than anything, I do most of my work on the balconies and I walk outside at least once a day."

"I've never enjoyed being indoors either," Janis responds. "Mathematics, though, really? I never liked numbers."

"Yes, I never quite understood why. Numbers always just... made sense. Very little else does," Cady says, looking off into the distance. "Anyway. I suppose you want to know why I suddenly need a personal guard?"

Janis hadn't thought of that. The King and Queen obviously had personal guards, and there were many others stationed around the castle for their protection, but the Princess has never had one assigned just to her before. "Yes, I...yes."

Cady sighs heavily. "I come of age this winter, in February. I am to be married, but obviously have not had an opportunity to find a husband. My parents have decided to throw a festival and invite Princes from the neighboring kingdoms to come and compete for my hand in marriage."

"You don't sound pleased about this," Janis says. "Do you not wish to marry?"

"Not yet, and not like this," Cady replies. "But I must. Ten men are coming in January, just after the new year. I'll be married to one a week after my birthday."

"That's... awful," Janis says. "You're younger than I, you shouldn't be forced into a marriage yet if you don't wish to."

"It's how it must be done. To meet a husband on my own I would have to leave the palace, leave the kingdom, and talk with people outside. Since I can't do that, we must bring people from the outside, in. And hope for the best."

"So... my job is to keep you safe from a potential husband? What-why would they bring these men here if there's a chance they would do you harm?" Janis asks. None of this makes sense, so far.

Cady just sighs. "In theory, nothing should happen. These men are all royalty; trained in diplomacy and etiquette. They should all be perfect gentleman, and I'll take my pick. But there is always a chance one won't be. I've tried telling my parents we shouldn't do it this way. When I marry, I wish it to be for love. But they insist. The kingdom needs a royal family. I have to continue it, and soon."

"I'm sorry. I hope my position here won't be necessary, but I will protect you with my life if need be. And I hope you can find love with one of the suitors," Janis says. She suddenly feels lucky, not being born royal. She's had so much freedom that she took for granted.

"Thank you. I... I hope your position won't be needed either, but I'm glad to have met you," Cady says. "You've been through so much more in the same time as me. You have every right to hate me and yet you've been... kind. So far."

"I think I'll continue. You have been through things that commoners like me don't think about. You didn't ask to be born into your position, I don't hold your birth against you," Janis replies. "You have every right to treat me like a servant, but you have also been kind."

"Your job is to keep me alive, I think it's in my best interest to be kind," Cady jokes. "But thank you. I... I don't think I've ever had a friend before. I hope I can consider you to be one."

"Of course, Cady. I see no reason we shouldn't be," Janis says. "Being your friend sounds nice."

"I'm glad."

————-

Janis' birthday rolls around a few months later. Damian surprises her with a pastry he had snuck from the kitchens in the morning.

"Happy birthday, Janjan!" He whispers excitedly, since the Princess is still asleep.

"Thanks, D," she chuckles groggily, sitting up in her cot.

"You're welcome. I have to go, I can't be late for work or I'll be punished again, but I'll see you later," Damian says as he leaves. "I love you!"

"Love you too," Janis says as she nibbles at the pastry.

Cady enters a few minutes later, as Janis is getting dressed with her breakfast waiting on her pillow. Cady's braiding her hair over her shoulder as she heads down to breakfast with her family.

"Good morning, Janis," she says. "Did your friend bring you another pastry?" She points to her pillow as she finishes tying a ribbon around the end of her hair.

"Good morning, Cady. Yeah, um... today is my birthday," Janis explains. "He snuck me a special breakfast."

"It's your birthday? Why didn't you tell me?!" Cady asks as she comes to hug her tightly. Janis tenses slightly, they're not really supposed to be this intimate with the royals, but returns the affections after a second. "I have to get you a gift."

"No, Your-Cady. That's why I didn't tell anybody. It's just another day for me, I don't want a big deal made of it," Janis explains.

"Aww. Today should be special; you come of age today," Cady pouts. "And I've never had a friend's birthday to celebrate. Can I please get you a present?"

"I feel I came of age a long time ago, Princess. I suppose you can get me a gift, if you must," Janis begrudgingly allows. "Just nothing extravagant or expensive."

"Yay!" Cady squeals. "Oh, I'm late. I'll see you later, Janis! We'll do something special then. Happy birthday!"

"Okay, um. Thanks," Janis blinks. She had not expected Cady to be so excited.

She dons her uniform and heads down to her own breakfast with the rest of the guards. She sneaks a few extra apples, deciding to go see her horse, Pancakes.

On the way, she runs into Cady talking with a servant about something. The servant bows respectfully and heads for the main doors of the palace.

"Oh, Janis! Hi," Cady calls, making her way over to her. Janis is fascinated by the way Cady moves, every motion is somehow elegant. "Where are you going?"

"Um, the stables. Figured I'd take my horse around a little bit," Janis replies, trying to hide her sneaky fruit.

"I already saw them, Janis, you don't need to hide," Cady chuckles. "May I go with you?"

"Um... sure," Janis replies. "Follow me."

Cady does, running after Janis as she holds up her skirts. One of the guards at the main door gives the signal, and another pops around the corner to follow after them.

Janis holds the door for her when they reach the stables, heading to the stall in the far corner.

Cady smiles when she sees Janis' horse, taking one of the apples from Janis as a friendship offering. "This is yours? What's his name?"

"Pancakes," Janis mumbles sheepishly. "Don't laugh!"

"I'm sorry, that's just... really cute, I didn't expect it," Cady giggles, stroking his nose as he accepts the apple from her hand. "He's beautiful."

"Thanks. Trained him myself," Janis says. "Yeah, hi, stupid. Here's some breakfast."

"You trained him yourself? Wow," Cady says. "He's very docile."

"He's just lazy," Janis replies. "Do you-um... want to come? On the ride? I'm not leaving the grounds, if that other guard follows you'll be safe. And I have my sword and bow if anything should happen, god forbid."

Cady is nearly vibrating with excitement, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet before she throws herself at Janis. Maybe not every move is quite so elegant.

"Yes! Thank you! I've never-wait, I've never ridden a horse before. Is it scary?" Cady realizes suddenly.

"It might take a little getting used to. But if you get scared I'll just take you back," Janis replies, saddling Pancakes and kicking over a stool so Cady can clamber up. "After you, Princess."

"Thank you, my lady," Cady giggles, taking Janis' offered hand and wiggling her way onto the horse. "Wow, he really is calm. Sorry boy."

Her gown doesn't stretch enough to ride normally, so Cady rides side-saddle as Janis sits astride the horse behind her.

"Ready?" Janis asks before she starts him moving. Cady nods excitedly. Janis sets Pancakes off to a trot. Cady gives a frightened squeak and clings tightly to Janis, but once she gets used to the motion of it she starts laughing happily.

Janis holds Cady around the waist with one arm and the reins in her other hand, gradually picking up speed as they ride around the yard in a loop. Cady really seems to enjoy it, so Janis keeps going a little longer than she had planned before she rides them back to the enclosure.

She hops down and holds out a hand to help Cady off, removing everything from the horse and letting him wander to the trough for some water.

"Oh, Janis, that was wonderful. Thank you," Cady says happily, hugging her tightly. "I have a lesson now, but I'll meet you for tea once I finish. Hopefully Gretchen will be back with your gift by then." She shoots Janis a wink and turns back, running back to the castle.

"Fuck, this can't be happening again," Janis grumbles once Cady leaves, resting her forehead against the fence in exasperation. "I can't afford to fall in love with another girl."

-

Janis takes over for her substitute outside of Cady's study, where she's currently in a lesson on diplomacy and etiquette with foreign dignitaries.

Once the clock chimes the hour Cady comes rushing out, before she clocks Janis grinning at her and turns back around.

"Janis! Hi," She breathes. "I wasn't expecting you to be here. You could've taken the day off, you know."

"I have nothing else to be doing, Cady," Janis says.

"You could have spent the day with... oh, what is his name?" Cady huffs, pressing a hand to her forehead as she tries to remember.

"Damian, Princess?"

"Yes! You really must introduce me to him someday soon, I do much better with names when I have a face to match it to," Cady replies. "Couldn't you spend the day with him?"

"He has work to finish, but he promised to find me before dinner today. I may go with him then and get someone to cover my duties for a while, if I am excused," Janis says. "But I know he would love to make your acquaintance once he has the time to."

"I could have excused him from his duties for the day as well if you wished, Janis," Cady says gently. "I would like to dine with you alone, but I can give you a pass afterwards to spend the rest of the day with him, if you like?"

Janis thinks for a second. "That would be great, thank you, Cady."

"Of course. Come along now, I want to give you your gift," Cady says excitedly, grabbing Janis' hand and rushing through the corridors towards her bedroom.

"Are you not eating in the dining hall today, Princess?" Janis asks as she runs after her, still holding her hand.

"I want to give you your surprise first, Jay," Cady says. "But no. Let's eat in the gardens, today, it's lovely outside."

"Jay?" Janis asks. A nickname? She calls Cady 'Princess' as a cute joke, since Cady hates it. She hadn't expected Cady to return the favor.

"Oh, um... do you-do you not like it? I thought it was sweet," Cady says shyly. "I won't call you that if you don't like it."

"No! No, I like it, Princess. I just didn't expect it, is all," Janis says hastily.

"Oh! Okay then, Jay," Cady says with relief as she finally comes to a stop outside of the door. She peeks in first, squealing at whatever surprise she has prepared. "Close your eyes." She comes to cover Janis' eyes, guiding her into the guard's quarters. "Ready?"

Janis nods, so Cady removes her hands. Janis gasps happily at what she sees. Cady bought a very nice oil paint set, complete with several brushes of different sizes and shapes, canvases, and even an easel.

"You-you-this is for me?" Janis asks, trying not to cry.

"Of course. It's all yours," Cady says with a wide smile. "Go on, look closer."

"Thank you," Janis breathes as she runs a finger over the end of a brush. "This is... incredible, truly. I love it."

"I'm glad," Cady says. "But you have to paint me something with it. I don't mind what, but I want one of your paintings."

"Absolutely," Janis says, smiling as Cady wraps her in a hug. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Happy birthday. Now come on, join me for tea," Cady insists, grabbing her hand again.

"Yes, Princess."

————-

The holiday season comes and goes, followed by the New Year. Exactly a week later, Janis is standing beside Cady on a high balcony, watching ten ships make their way into the harbor.

The town below is bustling with activity, banners in the kingdom's colors decorate every lamp and wall as the villagers rush around in their cloaks to prepare. Cady looks at them with a sort of longing, leaning casually against the rail.

Eventually she gives a sigh, turning to go inside. "I have to be in the throne room to greet everyone, we should go."

Janis removes her own cloak and takes Cady's, hanging them to dry on a rack just inside the door before following her down. She's in her dress uniform for the special occasion, which somehow has even more buckles than her usual one. She had nearly missed breakfast trying to get it on.

Cady plops on her throne with a huff, sitting in a very unladylike slouch while they're alone. "Keep an eye on each one, and then you can tell me what you think of them once we're alone again tonight."

"Yes, Princess. Are you alright?" Janis asks, standing at attention next to her.

"Yes, everything's fine. I just am really not looking forward to this."

"I understand, Cady, but I'm here to protect you," Janis replies. "I'm sure they'll be perfectly kind gentlemen."

"Hmph. They'd better be," Cady huffs. She straightens and Janis kneels when her parents enter, both snapping to their proper positions.

Janis is bid to stand once the royals are all seated, looking very proper and with a hand on her sword sheath in case someone tries something on Cady.

She tries not to jump when some very loud horns blow, announcing the arrival of the first Prince. He's handsome, announcing his name as Jason. Janis doesn't like him but doesn't clock him as a threat.

As it turns out, Janis doesn't like any of the Princes. She can't tell if it's because her instincts are telling her they're dangerous or because she doesn't want anyone else to be with her Princess, but she's on her top form the whole time.

She feels a special distaste for the tenth Prince, Shane. He carries himself with a haughty air, coming to kiss Cady's hand with an arrogant smirk. Janis has to physically hold back a groan of disbelief.

Once introductions are held, the Princes are escorted to the courtyard and into carriages for a short tour of the local villages. Cady and her family eat dinner during the parade, and then Cady has the evening off as the King and Queen give a speech to the commonwealth in the plaza from the main balcony.

-

"So what did you think of them?" Cady asks as she brushes her hair out for the day. Janis technically isn't supposed to enter her room unless it's an emergency, but Cady usually asks for her company before they go to sleep.

"They were... fine, I suppose," Janis answers, trying to hide her true opinions. Speaking about royalty so freely is improper.

"You can be honest with me, Jay. Nobody else is here," Cady replies knowingly, looking at her in the mirror.

"Fine. They were all mediocre at best and I don't trust the last one." Janis says rapidly, making Cady laugh.

"Shane? What was the matter with him?" Cady asks. "I didn't like him, either, but he seemed fine."

"The way he carried himself, like he owned the whole place. He thinks he's elite," Janis replies. "He looked at you like a possession, not a person. That's not something that changes. He would own you, if you married him."

Cady looks slightly startled at that. "You gathered all that from, what, three minutes?"

"I learned how to read people very well, helps me perceive threats in a fight," Janis replies casually. "But really, if I'm allowed any input into your decision. Don't pick him. He's who I'm supposed to be protecting you from."

"Okay, I won't pick him, don't worry. Um... what did you think of me, when we met?" Cady asks gently, turning around in her seat.

Alarm bells go off in Janis' head, she can't reveal too much or risk being tossed away again. "Um... I thought you were very beautiful, and that you were almost too kind to be the Princess. And that there was a sort of sadness or longing to you beneath the surface."

Cady just blinks at her. "Wow. Well, thank you, for saying I'm beautiful and kind, I suppose."

"Cady, I meant no offense by-" Janis bursts out, worried she'd still managed to screw it up.

"I know, Jay, it's fine. I'm not offended. You're not wrong, I do have a sense of longing. But I'm sure you learned why, once we had a conversation," Cady replies. "Anyway. What about the rest of the Princes? I quite liked the third, Aaron?"

Janis tries to remember the rest of the men. "He was handsome, and I don't think he's a threat. But he didn't strike me as really wanting to be here, either."

Cady comes to sit on her bed, patting the spot next to her for Janis to join her. "I should keep you around more, if you're this good at assessing people. If he doesn't want to be here I suppose I shouldn't pick him."

"It's your choice, Princess. If you like him and can form a connection with him, then I'm sure he'll enjoy being here eventually. Who wouldn't? You're great company," Janis says.

"Thank you," Cady says softly. "You're good company too. Certainly much easier to talk to than these men will be."

"You'll do fine, Cady," Janis comforts. "I'm sure of it."

Cady looks at her strangely, as if realizing something, but doesn't say anything for a long moment. "Thank you, Jay. I'm glad I have you to speak with."

"Um, you're welcome, Cady," Janis says nervously. "Uh, goodnight!"

Cady looks confused, and almost sad that she has to go. "Goodnight, Janis. Sleep well."

—————-

There's only three rules that Cady has to follow for the festival. Number one, all ten Princes must stay for a minimum of a week. Number two, she must consider them all, no matter how much she wishes the festival wasn't happening in the first place. She has to spend a roughly equal amount of time with them throughout the event, and consider their interests and personalities. And finally, she must stay inside the grounds of the palace. The Princes are all allowed to leave so long as they have guards to accompany them, but Cady is still under lock and key.

Janis now spends practically every waking moment with Cady. She takes her breakfasts earlier so she can guard Cady during her morning lessons, and takes her lunch late so she can protect her while she spends the late mornings and early afternoons courting all the Princes. Unless one of them requests it, Cady still dines alone with her family for dinner, and Janis takes hers at the same time.

She's certainly not complaining about the extra time with Cady, but it feels like she's getting less. They're not really spending time together anymore, Janis is just... doing her job. Guarding Cady, keeping her safe as she chooses someone to marry. She liked it better before, when it felt more like they were just friends.

-

On the fourth day of the festival, Janis gets a slight panic. Cady really seems to like this Aaron fellow. Janis came to terms with the fact that she had fallen hard for Cady long ago. She hadn't quite yet come to terms with the fact that she was going to have to watch Cady fall in love with someone else.

At the very least, Aaron is kind. He's a shy individual, who treats Cady with respect and makes sure to indulge her interests. He'll make a fine husband, a fine king. And yet, Janis gets a burning sense that he doesn't want that. He seems to like Cady in return, but none of the romantic things they do together seem to get him interested any more than he was when he arrived. Janis is either going to have to watch her best friend and secret love marry this man, or console her when he inevitably leaves. Maybe both.

She's deep in thought as she follows them around the gardens, ignoring the pang in her chest when she remembers this is the first place she ever really got to know Cady. Janis walked with her first.

Janis did a lot of things first. But Cady does several with the Princes as well, leaving Janis to wonder how special those moments really were. Cady goes riding with Jason, strolling around with Aaron, and even talks about art, albeit very briefly, with Shane.

Janis notices that Aaron keeps looking to their left, and that the corners of his mouth tick up just a bit when he does. Cady doesn't notice, she's looking at the beautiful sky and listening to the birds as the two of them chat peacefully. Janis looks with Aaron on the fifth time his head turns and is shocked to find that he seems to be looking at none other than her best friend.

Damian is working in the sewing room, hemming garments and sketching new gowns for Cady. Wedding gowns, most probably. He also keeps glancing up at them through the window, grinning slightly when he sees Aaron. How odd.

Janis realizes she's been staring at him for a while when he smiles and waves, and she waves back quickly before rushing to catch up with Cady and Aaron, who have gotten quite a ways away from her.

-

Cady sighs contently as she gets herself ready for bed that night, dizzy and dreamy. Janis is tense as she stands by the door.

"God, Janis, Aaron is so sweet," Cady swoons. "He spent our whole walk today just asking about me. He really wants to know me as a person, it's so wonderful."

"It is, Princess, I'm glad you enjoy his company," Janis grits, trying to hide her seething jealousy. If this keeps up she'll be out of a job. Get it together. "He seems wonderful for you."

Cady picks up on her tension, looking at her oddly. "Are you alright, Jay?"

"Hm?" Janis hums. Shit. "Oh, I'm fine, Cady. Just... tired is all. Longer days now, and everything."

Cady, blessedly, realizes that it's not something Janis wants to talk about. She grins comfortingly at her. "Okay. You should go get some rest, then. You can have tomorrow off, if you need. Can't have you getting too tired on the job."

Janis chuckles. "That's true. Goodnight, Princess."

"Goodnight, Janis," Cady replies as she crawls into her bed.

—————-

Janis does end up taking the next day off, to try and clear her head of this swirling mess of emotions. She spends it harassing Damian instead, pestering him with questions about his crush on Aaron as he tries desperately to catch up on his tasks.

"You think he's cuuuuuuute," Janis teases when Damian flushes at the mention of Aaron. "Damie's in looooove."

"Would you shut up? I have several sharp needles here and your eyeballs are within my reach," Damian huffs. "And besides, you're not any better with the Princess."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Janis demands. "I'm-I'm just her guard. Maybe a friend, that's it!"

"But you want more," Damian teases as he sticks his needle in a pincushion. "I see the way you look at her. You love her."

"As a friend!"

"No, Jan," Damian sighs. "I can tell. You had to pick the Princess, huh?"

"I didn't mean to," Janis mumbles. "She's just so pretty! And she's so nice, like... unless she's in the throne room it doesn't even feel like she's royalty."

"I understand," Damian sighs sadly. "I wish things were different. For all of us."

"You have no idea," Janis sighs back. The clock chimes then, signaling Janis has to leave for dinner and get back to her duties. "I love you. Remember our pact."

Damian laughs. They'd both decided that if they hadn't found anyone they could marry by the time they were thirty, they'd marry each other for tax benefits. "I love you too. Come down here more, I never get to see you."

"I will, I promise. Once Cady is married I'll have more time," Janis says. "Goodnight."

"Night, Jan."

-

"So how was your day?" Cady asks as she chooses her nightgown for the evening. "Is Damian well?"

"Yeah, he's fine, thanks," Janis says distractedly. "It was nice, I suppose."

"Missed me too much?" Cady teases from behind her privacy screen. Janis tenses. "That was a joke, Jay, you can laugh."

Janis forces a chuckle. Cady has no idea. "Yes, you're right, I can't bear to be away."

"Good, I miss your company when you're away too," Cady responds. "You've known him since you came here, right?"

"Yeah, he and I met about a month after I joined the guard," Janis says with a fond smile. "He was sort of the first person to feel like family after I was disowned."

Cady sits next to her on her bed. "He sounds wonderful. Um... may I ask you something?"

"Um, yes," Janis says anxiously. If she's asking permission, it must be a deep sort of question. "Go ahead."

"Why were you disowned? You've told me it's because your parents couldn't afford you any longer," Cady asks gently. "But I refuse to believe a parent would send their own flesh and blood away with nothing more than one loaf of bread and the clothes on her back if that were the only reason."

Janis leaps up and presses her back against the wall defensively. "I can't tell you the true reason."

"Why not? You don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable, but I would never judge you," Cady says, looking at her sadly.

"It's not safe," Janis says hastily. "I would be... I would lose my position, maybe be exiled. Or worse."

"Is it that bad?" Cady asks, suddenly looking rather afraid of Janis. That's not what Janis wants, but she's desperately afraid to spill her secret. "Please, Jay, what happened to you?"

Janis supposes losing her position wouldn't be terrible. She doesn't want Cady to be scared of her, and maybe Cady can get someone better to guard her. It would help the crush go away, too. She takes a deep breath. "I... I fell in love."

"Oh. Why... why would they send you away for that?" Cady asks in confusion. "Come back, please."

Janis sits by her with a sigh. "I fell in love... with-with a girl. I've never felt anything for men."

"That's awful," Cady says. "Not that you fell in love," she amends hastily. "But you didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve any of that. You were a child."

"It would've happened at some point or another," Janis sighs in response. "They would have noticed I showed no interest in finding a husband. It probably would've been worse as I got older. I could adapt to life on the streets as a child."

Cady suddenly hugs her tightly. "I won't tell anyone else, you don't have to worry. You're staying here."

"But... why?" Janis stutters. "I'm, legally, a criminal, why would you allow me to stay? Aren't you worried I'd... corrupt you, or something?"

"Of course not," Cady chides. "I would never turn you away for something like this. I thought you had killed someone or something. Falling in love with a girl is fine, in my book. And I'm gonna be the Queen soon, my opinions are rather important." Cady decides not to tell Janis about the fact that she feels the same way sometimes. Not quite yet.

Janis chuckles. "Thanks, Cady. You're a good friend."

"You're even better," Cady says back, bumping their shoulders together. "The best first ever friend I could've asked for."

Janis grins at her. "I'm glad. You should rest, you have a long weekend ahead of you."

"Ugh, you're right," Cady groans at the reminder. She had to inform the Prince or Princes who would not be remaining by Sunday. "This is all so complicated."

"You'll figure it out," Janis says, squeezing her shoulders one last time before she stands to head into her own quarters. "Goodnight, Princess."

"Goodnight, Janis," Cady grins back. "Thank you."

Janis just salutes and heads into her room for bed.

—————-

Prince Shane continues to be a thorn in both of their sides. He gets his one on one time with Cady on Saturday, and spends no less than ten minutes complaining about how she had spent the week ignoring him. She hadn't, she had simply decided to give the Princes their allotted two hours with her in the same order they had arrived in. Shane just happened to be last.

Once their activity, a cooking lesson, is underway, Shane demands to know Janis' qualifications. It's clear that he thinks less of her abilities as a guard simply because she's a female. The absolute bastard. He rattles off questions for nearly the whole duration of his time with Cady, not even paying attention to the Princess or attempting to get to know her.

Janis chuckles as Cady adds entirely too much salt to their pie to get back at him, making Shane glare at her. She glares back, raising an eyebrow to dare him to try something.

Janis is tense as a brick wall by the time their pie is baked, waiting for him to taste it. He takes a large bite, while Cady barely gets a forkful. She grins coyly as he splutters at the salty taste.

"What did you do to it? Why is that so vile?" He demands. "You stupid woman, what did you do?"

"Back the fuck off," Janis growls when he grabs Cady's collar, reaching for her weapon. He glares at her, but does release Cady. She looks to Janis in thanks, her eyes wide in fear.

"Well, thank you for this, I had a lovely time," Cady says quietly and insincerely once she takes a deep breath. "If you would follow me to the main hall."

He does, with Janis between them in case he tries something again. He purposefully walks more quickly, bumping into Janis and stepping on her boots. Janis knows she can't stoop to his level, no matter how badly she wants to knock him to the ground and remove his tongue.

"Hello mother, hello father," Cady greets politely. "Mike, would you please gather the rest of the candidates here? I've made my first decisions."

"Right away, Your Highness," Mike says with a bow as he rushes out of the room. Cady goes to sit on her throne by her parents, leaving Shane to wait aimlessly in front of them.

In less than ten minutes, all nine of the other men are next to him, some looking more anxious than others at the prospect of going home. Cady takes a deep breath and stands.

"Hello, gentlemen," Cady greets, making them all finally shut up. "I'm sure you have been told, but I've gathered you here to inform you that I've made my first decision as to who will not be remaining in the competition for my hand."

The King nods approvingly behind her, proud of his daughter.

"The first and, as of yet, only Prince to be leaving us will be Prince Shane," Cady continues, prompting a dismayed gasp from him. "For truly deplorable and despicable behavior. The fact that you are handsome and from the kingdom of one of our best allies does not guarantee you a victory here. You have no right to speak to me, or any woman, for that matter, the way you have spoken to me. I pity your future spouse."

"Cadence!" The Queen chides.

"No, Betsy, let her speak," The King insists.

"As for the rest of you, please enjoy the weekend. You may feel free to explore the town or palace at your will. Our activities will resume on Monday," Cady concludes before she sits down and waves them all away. Shane glares at her and storms out of the room in a huff.

"Cadence, really, that was highly inappropriate," her mother scolds once the four of them are alone. "Whatever were you thinking?"

"He almost assaulted me," Cady says casually. "And called me a 'stupid woman', and was harassing Janis about her position, and demanded I spend more time with him than the other men, and told me to hold my tongue, and told me I should cover up more, and told me he would be under my skirts before too long. I think I was rather polite, actually."

The royals both look startled. "Cadence, why didn't you let us know earlier? We would have removed him right away!"

"It would have reflected poorly on us if I sent any of them away so soon," Cady replies. "The rule was a week. I stuck to it. May I please be excused now?"

"Yes, of course," The King says. The Queen still looks rather upset, but also nods. "Get some rest, dearest."

"I will, goodnight father," Cady says, hugging him gently. She begrudgingly hugs her mother as well after a moment's consideration. "Goodnight mother."

"Goodnight, Cadence."

————-

"God, why are men so dense?" Cady spits as soon as they're alone in her quarters again. Janis bursts out laughing.

"There's a reason I prefer the company of women, Princess," Janis giggles. "I suppose we'll never know."

Cady growls and starts pacing. "He was here to compete for my hand! In marriage! How does he think grabbing me that way and speaking to me so rudely was a good strategy? Of course I won't choose that!"

"I don't know, Princess," Janis says. "Are you alright? You looked frightened when he grabbed you."

"I... I was," Cady says quietly, stopping her movements. "I've never... nobody's ever touched me, that way. I was lucky you were there."

"I always will be," Janis replies gently. "Your father was right, you should get some rest. You have much to recover from."

"I suppose," Cady sighs. "Goodnight, Janis. Thank you."

"Goodnight, Cady. Anytime."

-

Janis stays up late to polish her things. She's about to turn in when she hears a scream come from Cady's quarters, the end muffled. She grabs her blade and hurries in, looking for her charge.

She finds her, pinned beneath Prince Shane, who has a hand held over her mouth and his pants down. Somehow he didn't hear Janis enter, allowing her to slam into him and knock him off of Cady.

He cries out in surprise as he's shoved to the floor, and again as Janis kicks him between the legs. "What the fuck were you doing to her?"

"That little slut doesn't even deserve me. Figured I'd at least get my chance before I'm done here, show her what she's missing," he snarls. Janis winds up and punches him between the eyes as hard as she can. He screams, "You fucking dyke!"

He punches back, nailing her left eye, and kicks her in the ribs. Janis thinks she hears a pop, and there's a sharp pain in her chest, but she ignores it. She lunges for him, pinning him on his stomach with his arms behind him. He squirms uselessly, she has him held.

The scuffle alerted the other guards, a few barreling into the room and observing their Princess, wide eyed and sobbing with fear on her bed, and Janis straddling a Prince with his pants around his ankles and his arms pinned behind him.

"Sarkisian, what is the meaning of this?" One of the other guards demands.

"This scum," Janis spits. "Tried to assault the Princess. Take him to the dungeons, let them deal with him until he's removed from the premises. And get someone to guard her window, from now on."

"Right away, soldier," he replies, grabbing Shane from the ground roughly and dragging him out the door.

"I was just trying to get what I deserve!" Shane calls as he's led down to the dungeon.

"You're getting it now, asstown. I hope you rot," Janis growls. Once they're alone she rushes over to the Princess. "Are you okay, Cady? Did he do anything?"

Cady shakes her head, but is still crying hysterically. Janis is familiar with the terror in her eyes, she's felt it herself. "H-he-he... wh-why?"

"Because he's a misogynistic piece of shit, Princess. No part of this is your fault," Janis insists. "Can I touch you?"

Cady nods desperately, reaching for her. Janis sits on the edge of her bed, grunting with pain slightly as Cady leaps into her embrace and sobs into her shoulder.

"Shh, he's gone. You're safe, I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you. I'm here, shh," Janis repeats, holding her close and letting her cry. Cady cries for a long time, weeping and whimpering into her shoulder. "Shh, you're okay now, I promise."

"He hit you," Cady sniffles once she's calmed down a bit. "Your eye."

"I'm fine, Princess, I'll deal with it in the morning," Janis says, but winces slightly as Cady brushes the area where he kicked her. Cady holds the hem of her shirt and looks at her, lifting it when Janis gives a begrudging nod.

"Oh, god, Janis," Cady sobs. "What did he do to you?"

"He kicked me, but please, Cady, don't worry. I've been hit harder, I'm fine," Janis replies.

"No, you're not," Cady sniffles. "Lie down, I'll be back in a moment."

"Cady, what-" Janis tries, but Cady pushes her down and runs from the room. She returns a few moments later with tears still pouring from her eyes, holding several bottles and cloths.

She wets one of the small cloths with cool water from the basin by her bed, wringing out the excess and pressing it gently to Janis' eye. Janis winces slightly but accepts it, holding it herself as Cady moves to her torso.

She presses around the already bruising area gently, pulling back abruptly when Janis gasps in pain.

"God, Janis, he broke a rib," She sobs again. "I'm so sorry."

"Princess, please, don't worry. I'll be okay," Janis comforts, stroking Cady's cheek.

Cady pours several of the bottles onto another much larger cloth, brushing it as gently as she can over the bruise before grabbing a dry one and helping Janis to sit upright. She wraps it tenderly around her torso to hold her ribs in place tightly, resting a hand on the uninjured side when she finishes.

"Thank you," Janis says quietly. "Are you okay?"

"No." Cady says bluntly. "I told my parents we shouldn't have done this. Look what happened. You could've been killed if he had a weapon. I was almost raped. I'm not going to be okay for a long time."

"I understand," Janis says, stroking a hand through her hair gently. "I've been there, too. But you're safe now. I've got another guard by your window now, there's no way for anyone to come in unless you want them to. And my injuries will heal, I don't want you worrying about me."

"How do you do it, Jay? How-how do you keep going, after everything?" Cady asks, lying down beside her and cuddling into her side. Janis tenses, if anyone were to walk in this would be difficult to explain.

"I don't know. I am affected by my past, more than I let on. But I just... remember the reasons I have to stick around, I guess," Janis responds as she pulls her closer.

"Like what?"

"Like... Damian. Who else would be his best friend, who else would steal extra pastries from the kitchen with him? Or like Pancakes, who else would take care of him, sneak him apples? Or... like you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Who else would keep you safe, who else would have tea with you when you're alone, who else would chase you around the gardens? You're so dear to me. I shouldn't say so, I know, but I fear I've gotten rather attached to you," Janis replies. "Sometimes it's just the littlest reason that coaxes me to stay. Like, if I left I would never see the way you fidget with your hair when you read again."

"I do that?" Cady sniffles.

"Yeah. It's cute," Janis replies as she tries to sit up. "You'll find your own reasons to keep going, I promise."

Cady doesn't let her go. "Stay, please. I don't want to be alone tonight. Please?"

Janis looks at her. She can't resist, Cady still looks terrified. "Okay, sure. If you want me to stay."

Cady nods. Janis lies on her good side next to her, and Cady nuzzles into her chest gently. Janis instinctively pulls her closer as Cady tugs her soft blankets up around them.

"I'm cancelling the rest of the event. I'm done," Cady says, muffled by Janis' chest. "We'll throw another one later. My parents will agree, after tonight."

"Sounds like a plan, Princess. We'll let everyone know tomorrow," Janis replies. "Get some sleep, I'll keep you safe."

"Okay. Thank you, Jay," Cady says as she somehow presses closer.

"You're welcome," Janis says back. She waits for Cady's breathing to even out before she kisses her hair gently and whispers, "I love you."

————-

The men are all sent home over the following week, and none of them are allowed to see Cady. She needs time to heal and recover, so she spends most days on her balcony with Janis. Sometimes they play games. Cady teaches Janis how to play chess and Janis teaches Cady how to play cards. Other times they just talk. Janis reveals a bit more about her past, and lends an ear to Cady when she needs to vent.

Almost exactly a month later, Cady's birthday finally arrives. She and Janis have spent most of the month trying to think of something to do that would appease the commonwealth, since most everyone was looking forward to a royal wedding and sorely disappointed that there wasn't going to be one. Cady decided on a trip through the villages. Just her, and almost every guard in the palace.

Her parents approved the idea after several weeks of coaxing, and only because she would be bringing so many guards with her and because they knew the people were unhappy with Cady. The commonwealth hadn't been told the reason all the Princes were sent home, to respect her privacy.

Cady is particularly excited about this trip because she's allowed to leave her carriage, for once. Council appointed soldiers to search and guard vulnerable points at certain stops along their route. Cady would be allowed to stop and greet her people at these points.

"Jay, forgive me if this sounds rude," Cady says the night before they go as she's getting ready for bed.

"Oh goodness," Janis sighs jokingly from her perch on Cady's bed. "What is it?"

"You lived in the villages before you came here. What would... what should I do, when I speak to the people? To show them that I care, and such?" Cady asks gently.

"Oh. That's not rude at all, Princess," Janis says. "I can't speak for every single villager, but I would say just to be yourself. Be kind, try not to judge them. People like when you interact with children, and the poorer the kid is the better, I would say. Just talk to them like people."

"Be kind, talk to children, and treat them like people," Cady repeats. "That was my plan anyway, so I'm glad you think that's what I should do."

"I figured it would be, it's not like you to be haughty or anything," Janis replies. "Just try not to seem too... royal. I wouldn't do anything to remind them that you control the money and things, tomorrow should be happy, they don't need a reminder of that stuff."

"Okay, I can... I think I can do that, anyway," Cady says anxiously.

"You can. Just treat people like you did me when we first met and you'll be fine. The people adore you, nothing will happen," Janis comforts. "When I was out there I heard stories all the time from other kids who had family connected here. All anyone would talk about was how beautiful and smart and kind the Princess is. That hasn't changed."

"They speak about me?" Cady asks shyly. "So kindly? I thought they would hate me."

"Some probably do, but they won't make an effort to come see you if that's the case. Everyone who will be there tomorrow  adores you," Janis says with finality. The clock chimes midnight then. "Happy birthday, Princess."

Cady giggles and turns around in her chair. "Thank you, Janis. Where are you going?"

Janis is rooting through her quarters for the gift she's made. With a loud crash, she finds it buried under the mound of things under her bed. She comes back sheepishly holding the piece of canvas to her chest. "Um. Here."

Cady takes it gently and turns it around. She grins widely when she sees it's a landscape painting of the woods on the outskirts of the kingdom, bathed in snow. Janis even included Pancakes in the background. "Oh, Jay, this is beautiful! Did you do this?"

"Yeah. I was hoping it would be done by Yule but I couldn't go out to the woods very often, so it took a while," Janis says shyly.

"I love it, thank you," Cady says happily. "I'll hang it just here, I'll be able to see it every day." She holds it up just above her mirror. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Princess," Janis says, blushing. She didn't think it was that good. "We should rest, you have an exciting day tomorrow."

Cady comes up to hug her tightly. "Goodnight, Janis."

Janis hugs back just as tight. "Goodnight, Cady."

-

The next morning, Janis is in her uniform and fed bright and early, sitting next to a very eager Cady in the royal carriage. Pancakes has also been given a special duty for the day. He's been trained to pull carts and plows over the last several months, so he gets to be part of the team pulling them along. He looks very dapper in his fancy bridle.

Cady squeals in shock when they set off, but recovers quickly and looks eagerly outside. Janis smiles at seeing how happy she is.

Her excitement only builds when they reach their first stop. The other guards have been walking along beside them to stop anyone rushing the carriage, but they sus out the crowd and eventually part to let Cady approach the people. Janis follows at a close distance, but lets Cady approach on her own.

They have a limited amount of time to spend at each stop, but Cady reaches to shake hands with as many people as she can and even holds short conversations with a few. Everyone is delighted to see her, as Janis predicted.

Each stop is similar, until the last. The guards do their usual check and part for Cady, but almost instantly they're yelling for her to get back. Cady looks around in shock briefly and Janis tenses, but it turns out to just be a stray child that broke past the barrier to see the Princess.

Cady gasps when the small form hits her leg, looking down to see a young girl in a patched dress and her face smudged with dirt. She waves her guards off and crouches down to her level.

"Hello, little one, what's your name?" Cady asks kindly, smiling when the girl stumbles to curtsy.

"My name is Evangeline!" the girl grins happily, showing off her missing teeth.

Cady smiles gently. "That's a lovely name. My name is Cadence. But my friends call me Cady."

"That's pretty too," Evangeline smiles. "Are you really the Princess?"

"I am," Cady chuckles. She points to the castle up at the top of the hill. "I live in the palace up there."

"Wow," Evangeline says in awe. "Your mommy and daddy are the King and Queen?"

"Yes, they are, you're very smart," Cady says. "Speaking of, where are your mommy and daddy? You seem to have broken away."

"They're over there, they wouldn't let me see you," Evangeline points as she pops up on her tippy toes to see. Cady looks and finds two terrified looking adults. "So I ran away."

"Well, I'm glad to speak to you, but you shouldn't run away, Evangeline," Cady says gently. "Come with me, introduce me to them."

She stands and takes the young girl's hand, who skips happily back to her parents. "Mommy, Daddy, this is the Princess! She's so pretty!"

"Your Highness, our deepest apologies, we never thought she would have run off like that," the mother apologizes as they both bow frantically.

"It's quite alright, we had a lovely chat," Cady says happily. "You have a beautiful child. Here you are, Evangeline. You should stay with your family from now on."

"Thank you, Your Highness," the father says. "Evan, give the Princess your gift, you mustn't forget."

"Oh!" Evangeline says suddenly, rooting through her pocket and pulling out a slightly crushed crocus. They're the national flower of Evanston, and Cady's personal favorite. "I picked this for you!"

Cady takes it gently with a quiet gasp. "Thank you, this is beautiful! I'll wear it here." She tucks the flower behind her ear so it pokes out from her hair. "Good?"

Evangeline nods with a grin. Cady crouches down again to hug her goodbye.

"Goodbye, little one, it was lovely to meet you," Cady says, squeezing her tightly.

"Goodbye, Princess," Evangeline says sadly. Cady stands and makes her way back to her guards as the family turns to leave. Cady and Evangeline wave goodbye one last time before the family is out of sight.

"That was precious," Janis chuckles when Cady comes back to her. "And she was lucky I saw she was a child in time, I nearly took her head off."

"Jay!" Cady chides in shock. "Don't you dare. She was lovely, so sweet."

"I'm kidding," Janis groans. "You should speak to more people if you wish, we're running out of time."

"This is the last stop, we can take a little while longer," Cady responds. "Come with me?"

Janis follows after her as she approaches the barrier again, greeting the people waiting there. Some offer small gifts, perfumes and flowers or baked goods. Cady takes them all with a thank you and makes light conversation with as many people as she can.

Gradually, the crowd starts to clear. Janis relaxes ever so slightly now that there's fewer people around them. Until she hears,

"Sic semper tyrannis!"

[dilfbane]

Koschei - Dhawan!Master x Reader - Part I

Summary: On the streets of London, you find a notebook. And you see the Master, there in the darkness. He teaches you how to be God. Doctor Who x Death Note crossover. 

Pairing: Dhawan!Master x Reader, minor/implied Dhawan!Master x Thirteen

Warnings: Death and descriptions of death, darker tone, and liberal reinvention of some of the main mechanics of how Time Lords and Death Notes work. 

Word Count: 1.4k

Prologue

A/N: Wanted to get the first chapter out today since yesterday’s prologue was super short, and also didn’t have much to do with Death Note. This chapter will serve as set up for the whole premise/jumping off point for this story, and I will be posting the second part later this week, where we’ll finally get to see the Master and the Death Note in action! Hope that you all enjoy. 

Part I - Midnight

You were almost twenty-one years old, the very first time that you saw him. It’s always better to start at the beginning, he’d told you, once - So, when you think your life over, and the lives of the ones who have died, you do your best to go back to that sweltering night with the Doctor, all of those long years ago, when you were only a child, and Kira only a ghost. You were twenty years old, threaded over with Cyberman nightmares and faded Silurian scars, your mind full to bursting with visions of Davros and creatures you could not remember, and the Doctor had worn a man’s face and tuxedo, black pockets lined with red velvet; sharp eyebrows, and, somehow, a much sharper tongue. 

You had never known him to be scared, before, but that night - hot with threat, and with foreboding - he had been, and as you had wound your way through grimy nightclub back alleys, he had cursed under his breath. 

“Don’t touch anything,” He had told you, in that way that he did; the one that reminded you what, exactly, he was, and how human you’d seemed to him. You’d followed him silently, knowing not how to argue, or what he was funning away from, and the world had seemed to exist behind you - some alternate plain of muddled dimension to which you’d no longer belonged, hurtling towards its doom. You had heard a drum beating, then, loud in the night air, and frantic, matching the thrum of your pulse. 

“It’s my last chance,” The Doctor had said, collapsing onto his knees in a labyrinth of busted cartons and dirty brickwork. “Rassilon,” He’d said, “I’ve failed you.” 

You hadn’t known what he’d meant when he’d said it, but the lights from seedy massage parlors had spilled out of open windows, yellow and filthy on him, and you had seen he was crying, suit pants smudging with dirt. 

“Go back to the TARDIS,” He’d told you, “Now,” He had said, “That’s an order,” When you’d opened your mouth to protest. The tears had gleamed on his cheeeks, and your bones had ached in raw terror, but he had been the Doctor, yet, and eep in your heart, you had known. 

The way back, it had been harder. You hadn’t remembered where the Doctor had parked, and the night’s shadows had lengthened, reaching out for you with sharp and steely fingernails, tearing at your calm like thorns. There was a time when such things would not have frightened you, but it had been long past by then - You had known the Doctor too long, and too well, to ever truly feel safe. Sometimes, when you’d closed your eyes, the intricate lines of the Pandorica’s coding would flash, neon, onto the screens of your eyelids, and the piercing pain of the handcuffs punched new marks into your wrists; for a moment, it was easy to see the universe, and when you had, it was on fire, the sound of harsh laughter afore you, the Doctor nowhere in sight. 

That night, caught in the web of your fear for yourself and your worry for him, the only thing that you’d really seen had been the notebook, black leather corners poking into the caustic flourescence of spill-over lights, sinister letters cutting into your mind as it had beckoned to you. You had stared at it for a moment, feeling some dark, foreign emotion suffuse you, and despite feeling eyes on your back, you had found, when you turned to look, that you’d been completely alone. Your feet, your gaze, had gone frozen. 

What would the Doctor do?, You had asked yourself, in that instant of nerved time, suspended, as if you could ever have known. You’d taken one step forwards, then another, and the front of the notebook had swung into bright and clear focus, written in a lattice-work of circular motions that you had been unable to decipher. A new fear’d come over you, then, as your traitorous hand had reached out for it against your will, and a voice in your head that shifted and changed had said, frowning, This isn’t right. You’d seen one last glimpse of the Doctor as you’d first known him, when you were stupid, and young - Spiky hair untameable, coat tails flapping as he ran; a man who sat in front of monitors all night long, never needing to sleep, and took thirteen sugars in his tea - before your fingers brushed the skin of the notebook, feeling the slick, supple leather. The world had unfolded around you, and the dead things had metastized into unloved, solid forms. Somewhere to your left, through the din of a million people squandering their fragile, soon-ending lives, you’d heard a stone angel weeping, pouring its vitriol into the churned, bloodied earth. 

You’d felt him, before you’d seen him, a shape in the darkness too near you. All of your bad dreams, and every pani; each jump at an unexplained noise, and you had imagined what he must look like - yellowed and crumbling bones, black eyes and long, tattered robes, ripped full of holes by the pleading, scythe a devastating harbinger fashioned from polished and rippling metal. You’d imagined how his voice would sound, and wondered, Why me, Doctor? Why now? 

“Oh,” Said the Time Lord whom you would know as the Master, “This is going to be fun.” 

                                                   *

The being whose name is written in this notebook shall die. 

If cause of death is specified within six minutes and forty seconds, such a death will occur. If time of death is unspecified, the chosen being will die of a heart attack, or nearest equivalent, after forty seconds have passed in the current causal nexus. 

A being who uses the Death Note can go neither to Gallifrey, nor to Skaro, upon the moment of their death. 

                                                  *

He’d told you that it was a Death Note, and you had not looked at him. 

“You can’t go back to the TARDIS now, love,” He had told you, with that too-human,m too-cold, too-amused tone in his voice. “If you want to see the Doctor again, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me.” 

“Who - who are you?” You’d asked, hand still clutched in a vice around the notebook, its front cover soft and warm. His cruel smirk and glinting gaze had been audible in the silence; you had not turned around. 

“If you must know,” He’d said, “I’m a Time Lord. You may call me the Master.” 

A wave of revulsion and shock had torn through you, and in it, you’d told him, “You can’t be,” From somewhere far outside your body. “You can’t be a Time Lord, the Doctor said they were all gone.” 

“You’d heard, and felt, his malicious grin widen, your ears picking up on the sound of the night breeze rustling fabric. 

“Rule number one,” The Master had told you, “The Doctor lies.” 

“No,” You had said, “Not to me.” 

“Mm,” He had told you, dripping with anger and spite, “Is that what you think about him? Do you think that he cares about you? The Doctor has lived for a very long time, love. He knows better than to care. Still, I have to applaud him for getting his hooks into you. It really is an impressive feat, considering you’ve found my Death Note.” 

“Who are you?” You’d asked him, voice cracking, limbs shaking, night cold. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“Me?” The Madter had asked, with a twinge of steely amusement, “Consider me to be… a friend. That’s not the right question, you know.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Who I am. That’s not the right question. You should be asking who you’ll be.” 

“Who will I be, then?” You’d asked him, and his voice had gone low and deceptive, silky as a stranger’s touch. 

“Look at me, love,” He had told you. “Look at me, and I’ll tell you.” 

You still remember how he had looked, when you think back on it all now. How he had been beautiful, all dark eyes and purple jacket, lapels embroidered with gold. All rough sideburns and inky, mussed hair, every joint and muscle deadly, elegantly poised. 

“Y/N,” He’d said, and nothing had been in his eyes but the sight of a planet aflame, a symphony of drums beating and shattering glass, “With my help, you’ll be a God.” 

[justthehiddleswrites]

The Reluctants | Chapter 10 | The Reluctant Detective

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary:  Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

Chapter:   Adam finds out the truth of Charlie’s whereabouts as well as Jason’s nature and is pissed.

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

-

Adam groaned and stretched in bed early that evening. Charlie’s side was cold, and the sheets tucked up. His brow furrowed until he spied the note on his nightstand.

“Ridiculous.” he clicked his tongue at Charlie, slipping out without waking him. He remained in bed, hoping she would soon return and slip under the sheets to curl next to him before heading to the living room.

But Charlie didn’t show when she usually did. Or two hours later. At first Adam figured she was caught up at the record store, but at three hours Adam worried enough to call Simmons’ personal cell phone. No easy feat as Adam needed to dig out his landline from under a table and crumpled pieces of paper and dust.

“Hello?” Simmons answered with his distinct, gravelly voice.

“It’s Mr. Streiff.”

“Oh, already calling with an offer to buy the Gibson? Charlie is a better salesperson than she lets on.”

Adam’s brows knitted. “What Gibson? I’m calling to check on Charlie, who is working late with you.” His tone firm, bordering on accusatory.

“She left hours ago. With a 1905 Gibson she insisted to take to show you.” Simmons responded worried, although Adam couldn’t tell if it was over the guitar or Charlie. His fist balled tightly at his side.

“What?! Where did she you go?” Adam paced the floor as silence hung in the air while Simmons contemplated his response.

“I didn’t see.” Simmons snapped his fingers. “Wait! I wondered if her cousin came and got her.”

“What cousin?”

Adam shoved on his boots while pulling on a shirt. Charlie said nothing about a cousin. And given what she said about her parents, he doubted the existence of any cousin.

“The one who came by the other day asking for her schedule.”

“And you gave it to him?!” Adam’s voice rising to a yell.

“He said the family came to surprise her. It sounded nice.”

Adam rolled his eyes and cursed. “Fuck! What did he say? Did he give a name?”

“He said his name was Jason. And—” Simmons’s next words met with a dial tone when Adam hung up.

He threw the phone against the wall, smashing it to bits.

“Fuck!” He kicked at the pieces of plastic on the floor before slumping onto the couch. He couldn’t decide whether to kill Simmons first or go out hunting for Charlie.

-

Charlie rolled her neck, popping the bones.

“Ah…” she sighed while taking a quick inventory of her body.

Her head still pounded and tender to the touch on the back, where she touched what seemed to be a goose egg. Her arms and hands were free, and she was wearing everything from when she left the record shop, save her overcoat. As Charlie sat up from the bed or couch or whatever she sat on, a chain clinked. Charlie glanced down to see her leg shackled to what Charlie now determined to be a couch. A shitty futon to exact.

Loud voices filtered from next door and Charlie moved to the edge of the couch, as far as the chain would let her.

“This was not part of the plan, Jason. Idiot!” A female yelled.

Something clattered to the floor on the other side of the door.

“Why are you the one calling the shots!?

Charlie recognized Jason’s sniveling tone.

“I’m the one taking all the risks! You wanted Adam, she will get us him!”

“That doesn’t mean kidnap her! Do you realize how pissed he will be?!”

“What do you suggest? Let her go? Absolutely not! She’s mine.”

“I don’t know what I wanted, but this is not it.” The floor shook as Ava stomped and pouted. “I’m hungry.”

“There’s some blood in the fridge.”

The door creaked open and Charlie scrambled away. Ava popped into the room.

“Oh, you.” her voice dripped with disdain. “You’re awake.”

“How in the hell did you and Jason…” Charlie’s voice wavered, still coming to grips with her situation.

Ava smiled, her fangs peeking out from behind her lips. “Your little stalker boyfriend?”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“No, but he is your stalker.” Ava smirked. “I met him outside when Adam threw me out. So rude.” Her bottom lip popped out into a pout.

“He will be so pissed when he gets here.”

“I realize that!” Ava stomped her foot and then stormed away as Jason came in.

He sat down right next to Charlie. His cast rough against her skin. Jason lifted his good hand to run the back of his finger along Charlie’s cheek. She jerked back at the intrusion.

“Get used to me, sweetheart.” Jason’s face twisted into a sick smile.

-

Adam spent the better part of an hour grilling Simmons on every nuance of his conversation with Jason and the events of that night. Frustrated and angry, he slammed his hand repeatedly against the steering wheel of his Jaguar. It hurt like hell.

As soon as he got back home, he went to Charlie’s apartment and ransacked her living room and bedroom. Clothes and paper flew in the air without regard until he located Charlie’s neglected planner. With a deft finger, he flipped the pages until he found what he wanted. He ripped the page out and then shoved clothes and debris from his fit to find the phone.

“Charlie?” Elise answered in a groggy voice.

“Who the fuck is Jason?”

“Who the hell is this?” Elise’s voice turned shrill.

“It’s Adam, I’m her…” He hesitated. How much did Charlie tell her friends? He quickly replaced the thought with panic and fear as to what may happen to Charlie. “… boyfriend.”

Elise sat up in bed. “Oh, pleasure. Did Jason show up? I told Charlie to be careful.”

Adam would have to wait until Charlie came home safe and sound to discuss hiding important information from each other.

“Tell me everything about him.”

-

Twenty minutes later, Adam hung with Elise with enough information about Jason to recognize breaking his arm last month was a gift. He should have broken his neck. Nothing that would pop up on a standard background check, but red flags nevertheless. He sounded like a serial killer in the making. Adam ripped the phone out of the wall and walked downstairs to fish out his own address book. He prayed the number still work as he punched in the number.

“Hello?” the male voice answered.

“Frank, I need a favor.”

“Adam. You know that’s not my name, right?”

“I’m not calling you Francois Eugène Vidocq.”

The man chuckled. “It is a mouthful. It’s been at half a century since we talked. How’s Eve?”

“Dead.” Adam winced.

“I’m sorr—”

Adam cut him off. “I don’t need your apologies. Do you still have access to the Registry of Motor Vehicles?”

“Massachusetts? Well, yeah, if you call hacking into their database access.”

“I need you to get my an address for a Jason Fuller and a Nicole McDonald?”

“Got anything else? Dates of birth?”

“No.”

Frank sighed on the other end of the line. “Give me a bit, I will call you back.” The line clicked dead.

Adam paced the floor. His hand ran through his wild hair. He hated this. He hated his mind racing to all the possibilities of the horrible things happening to Charlie. A thought entered his mind. He walked into the spare bedroom, digging through a box. And then another, and a third.

“She’s fucking right, Eve. I should let her clean and organize down here.” He rummaged through yet another box before pulling out a tattered shoebox. “Apologies, baby, for what I may have to do. But I love her.”

An hour later, the phone rang.

“Took you long enough.” Adam snapped back. He threw a black leather jacket on top of his usual rock n roll attire, combat boots and everything.

“You didn’t say anything about a rush.”

“The urgency was implied, Frank. Did you get the addresses or not?”

“I got what you want.” Frank rattled off two addresses, Jason’s in Cambridge and Nicole’s in Revere. “You never told me why you are looking for this guy.”

“He took something very dear to me.”

“A guitar?”

“A girl.”

-

Charlie soon discovered Jason and Ava didn’t have a fucking clue what they were doing. Two things became clear to Charlie: Jason wanted to keep Charlie for himself, and Ava was always hungry. She had no idea how long she had been here or if Adam realized she’d gone missing. If she wasn’t so terrified, Charlie would have been laughing at this Keystone Cops kidnapping of hers.

Ava and Jason bickered in the corner.

“Hmmm.” Charlie cleared her throat. Two heads snapped over to glare at her. “I’m wondering,” She crossed her legs at the ankles, chain clinking along the floor. “which of you is going to let Adam know you have me?”

Ava’s face pinched up. “I beg your pardon?”

Charlie’s lips twitched into a smile. “Well the whole point of this is to get Adam’s attention, am I correct? It’s hard to do that if he DOESN’T HAVE A FUCKING CLUE, I’M HERE!” she screamed.

Jason stomped over to Charlie and hit her with his open hand. The left side of her face exploded in pain.

“DON’T FUCKING TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” Jason screamed back. His nostrils flared and spittle flew out of his mouth. Charlie cried out of exhaustion and pain more than anything. Jason’s expression softened. He sat next to her.

“Sweetheart.” He cooed, reaching up to soothe the already bruising mark on Charlie’s cheek. “You know better than to get me upset. I lose control when I get upset. You might end up hurt.”

Charlie gulped. “Sorry.”

Jason stood up and kissed the top of her head. “Now let’s go get some ice from that bruise.” He walked off to the kitchen.

Ava’s gaze darted between the kitchen and Charlie. “Fine, I’ll make the phone call.”

Adam never got that message because he was long gone.

-

Jason’s Cambridge apartment was empty, but that didn’t stop Adam from ransacking the place. In particular, he shredded to bits a few photos of Charlie pinned onto a corkboard.

“Fuck!” he cursed as he caught the time after kicking in Jason’s TV. There wasn’t enough nighttime left to make it to Revere. “Hang on just one more day, my love.”

-

Charlie iced her cheek with the frozen bag of peas Jason tossed to her. Her stomach gurgled.

“Could I get something to eat?” Charlie’s voice soft and wavering.

“I’m hungry too.” Ava whined.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Women.” He grabbed his keys. “Feed on her if you’re hungry.”

“Do I look like I have a death wish? I want to talk to Adam, not be killed by him. Bring something to eat.”

“Fine!” Jason slammed the door.

He returned several hours later, a greasy bag of fast food tucked under his cast and a drunk girl holding his other hand.

Charlie’s nose scrunched at the aroma of burger and fries. Jason pushed the girl towards Ava.

“Eat up, both of you.” he sneered.

“I’m trying to watch my cholesterol.” Charlie piped up.

“Did you ask her if she is clean?” Ava complained.

“If you don’t like what I brought you, then you can STARVE!!” He slammed to the door to the other room.

Ava shrugged her shoulders and dragged the girl into the kitchen. Charlie snacked on the fries while ignoring the greasy cheeseburger. Tears rolled down her face.

“I miss you, Adam. Please find me.” she whispered as she pulled the thin afghan over her body and laid down on the sofa, which she just noticed smelled of beer.

[dabis-azure-songstress]

AU Where Shinju Is A Villain and Quirk Awakening

Warning: Extreme violence, anger, language

This writing stems from the thought of what if Shinju actually turned villain and was on the same side as her love interest Dabi? What if the one who killed her brother wasn’t actually a villain after all?

Tagging: @strawberryandspiceandchocolate

There was a sharp gasp followed by rough coughs for breath as Shigaraki forced the female’s cheek into the dirt. Shigaraki situated himself carefully and sat in the middle of her back. “Now, let’s have a little chat, Shinju Kurokawa. Right now, I see you as more of an asset and that’s the only reason this chat is even taking place. Just then I could have completely turned you to nothing but dust. Don’t you want to know what really happened to that darling little brother of yours that you absolutely treasured like your own child?”

Tears immediately forced themselves into Shinju’s eyes and she grit her teeth roughly. “True, but even so! How would you know anything about him!?”

“Oh, I’ve noticed you and all that delicious power. I had one of my men run a multitude of checks on you when I found out about poor dear little Hino. It wasn’t our intentions at first, but I think you’ll be interested in what we’ve discovered! I have the file if you want to look at it.” Shigaraki smirked as he watched the woman below him squirm softly.

She didn’t think she could trust him, but her damn curiosity was getting the better of her. “P-please...I-if you have anything that wasn’t already made available.”

“Oh, of course. One little eensy weensy deal first. I give you the file and you cease fighting me or I’ll disintegrate you.” Shigaraki laughed.

Shinju nodded and shook as the weight left her back. Shakily, she pulled herself up onto her elbows and glanced up at the silvery-blue haired man. “D-deal.” Shigaraki grinned at her as he pulled the plain looking folder from his overcoat. “You aren’t lying to me...?”

“Oh, now why would I do that little hero? The truth will bring you far greater pain than I ever could. Just see for yourself.”

Shinju reached for the folder and flipped it open, quivering and eyes immediately scanning the page. Only one sentence stood out. ‘During the villain attack, Hino, 13 and quirk-less, was presumed to be dead by cause of an extreme fire quirk with bright red flames before they even engulfed the entire building.’ The female blanched.

“Y-y’mean...?”

“Right. Who is the only person you know who has flames that bright? Isn’t he also an extremely crooked hero? I know you aren’t stupid from the intel Dabi has gathered on you.”

Shinju began to fall apart as the dread in her stomach caused her to get sick and break down. “You promised your brother to be a hero, but weren’t you also still planning on gaining revenge for him? You know you can’t actually kill anyone just being a hero.”

Shinju choked on her sobs as she pulled herself to her knees slowly. “Enough of that god-awful wailing. I’m extending you a most generous offer, Electro-Dancer. Join us and in doing so, kill that blasted hero who struck down your poor little brother in cold blood.”

Shinju pulled herself to her feet, wobbly, and gripped onto Shigaraki’s gloved hand. “Deal.”

——

Dabi stares at the sight of his girlfriend as she enters the hideout for the first time. Her eyes meet his and she already senses all the questions behind them without him even revealing. “Well, well. What happened here? Where’d you get this doll face, crusty?” Shigaraki’s fingers twitched dangerously. “I recruited her. I just brought some crucial information to her attention that she wasn’t even aware existed.”

“Shigaraki...isn’t it? Will you...let me keep that file?”

“Hah! Why not? I’ve already figured out all I need to and you’re no longer a threat.”

Dabi eyes them observantly as Shigaraki’s hand passes the folder over and Shigaraki begins heading towards his quarters. “Dabi, handle filling her in on our objectives.”

He moved closer to the female as she was glancing around cautiously. “He really recruited you? I’ve been somewhat trying to do that for a while now. How exactly did he do it? I want answers from you, doll. Especially when you told me that villains killing your brother was the biggest reason you decided to become a Pro.”

Shinju clenched her fists as she avoided the gaze of her fiery boyfriend. “...He did. And he revealed something about my little brother’s death that also ties into your past, as well, Dabs.” She passed the file over softly and Dabi flipped it open.

She knew when he found the part she had by the way his eyes widened slightly. “You mean to tell me...”

“Yes.”

“Bastard’s even more fucking crooked than I thought. Now, we should get you into some better fitting clothes, doll.” Dabi smirked and began to pull her to his room.

After the outfit change, Shinju was dressed in black distressed jeans, a ripped and torn low hanging white T-shirt, and a royal purple leather jacket with a black lightning bolt on the back. She paired it with a pair of platformed combat boots and Toga absolutely fangirled over the change. “Wow, Dabi! She looks so much better like that!”

Shigaraki soon paired Dabi and Shinju together, figuring it’d be easier to put Shinju with his pretty much second-in-command. They trained long and hard for weeks that turned to months. The two even did quite a few more minor missions together. It wasn’t long after that that the call on Dabi’s burner phone came through. “What is it?” Dabi answered.

Shinju stared at her boyfriend as the usually calm and slower moving Dabi turned to her at a rapid pace and was smiling so deviously the staples on his cheeks were nearly ripping apart and revealing the muscle and tendons of his cheeks below. “We’ve got trouble. And guess who’s with them? It’s our chance! Don’t let me down, Shinju.” She smirks brightly at him in response. “I promise, Dabi.”

When they arrived on the scene, Twice and Shigaraki were having a bit of trouble handling multiple heroes including Endeavor. Dabi was quick to cut him off with violent walls of blue flame. “Well, well, well, nice to meet you again...Enji Todoroki.” Dabi’s tone took on a much darker sound of teasing. Endeavor was getting ready to respond with a growl when he noticed the shorter woman next to one of the LoV.

“Hey! Weren’t you my son’s friend!?”

Shinju smirked as she let out a maniacal chortle. “Oh, pops. I was. See, I know about every single fucking thing you put your poor children through. How you treated your poor “wife” like some breeding sow for the “perfect” offspring. I also know something even more corrupt about you now, Endeavor. I was a pro hero that’s turned into a villain just so I can end your pathetic life! What you have done to me and your family is unforgivable and I’m going to make you PAY for every single bit of it, you fucking piece of shit!!!”

Dabi stared at her in slight shock as he watched her begin to unhinge. She’d never seemed so violent in front of him. “W-what are you talking about, you despicable bitch!?” It was Dabi’s turn for his temper to flare up.

“Hey! Don’t you call her that. She has a pretty good reason just like I do for wanting to completely rip you off your pedestal.”

“YOU KILLED MY LITTLE BROTHER! AND LET SOMEONE ELSE TAKE THE BLAME!!! YOU KILLED AN INNOCENT QUIRK-LESS THIRTEEN YEAR OLD!”

Dabi felt his hair stand on end before he even heard the telltale crackling of Shinju’s periwinkle lightning as she stalked toward the Pro Hero. She was crying and shaking violently as the largest bolt of lightning he’d ever seen shot from her hands and almost blinded him. “C’mon Endeavor! FIGHT US, DAMMIT!!!” she screamed. “I’ve made the trouble of making the first move so you can beg self defense.”

“Hey, dammit! Get a hold of yourself!” Dabi growled as he quickly blocked an incoming Jetburn barreling straight for them with a two-handed azure flame of his own. There was no use. His girlfriend had really lost it and it fell on deaf ears. Another quick shot of lightning and Endeavor caused an explosion when the fire met.

“FUCK!” Dabi cursed loudly as he tried to take cover. He was too far from Shinju to drag her with him. When he lifted his head again, he blanched slightly at the scene in front of him. There was so much rubble everywhere and dust still trying to settle. He coughed and dusted himself off as he turned back to the scene.

His girlfriend was swaying, clothes completely torn and tattered and soaking with blood. Endeavor fired a Prominence Burn and he quickly forced himself, in front of her. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it on his own and closed his eyes as he braced himself for the heat of the blow. He pushed his hands out and did his best to fire off the largest and hottest flame he could manage, to the point he felt his skin start to peel back from his staples and the pain caused him to hiss through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, he felt heat against his back and arms around his sides that held their hands a bit below his. Shinju panted roughly against his shoulder-blades as he heard the crackle of her lightning flare to life. Another extremely bright shot of lightning burst forth from her and sent explosions traveling down the length of his flames as the lightning danced unpredictably against them. Even the Prominence Burn was overwhelmed from the combined effort and soon dazzled out as the explosions continued hurtling through it.

Endeavor almost didn’t make it out of the way in time. Dark clouds slowly began to roll in as Shinju began to slowly slump against Blue Flame’s back. “Amazing...” he muttered as her arms dropped from around him. He watched her as she moved to stand beside him, right arm dangling limply and completely covered by an angry red Lichtenberg mark, jacket sleeve completely burnt off and hands bearing burns from his flames also.

He stared in shock as he noticed Endeavor moving toward them. Though, he was in super rough shape too. “My Endeavor, you’re working really fucking hard today!” Dabi growled as he continued to fire off flames despite his protesting body. His stamina was beginning to reach the limit with his flames, but he had to try to protect his exhausted partner.

“What happened, Blue Flame!? The bitch sure talked big, but she sure is quiet now!” Endeavor barked, successfully going flame to flame. “Don’t fucking underestimate me! I’m not done with you yet!” They both heard the woman scream.

There was a loud crack like thunder and Dabi paled as he felt the vibration in his boots. “The fuck are you doing, Shinju!?”

The girl smirked almost demonically as she stared forward, blood gushing from her mouth. “I’M GOING TO END HIM WITH YOU IF ITS THE LAST THING I DO! FOR US!!!”

“No! Don’t! Cut that out!”

“THIS IS FOR HINO AND TOUYA! ZEUS MODE ACTIVATE!” The ground beneath them cracked and shifted as lightning began to twist and wind itself around Shinju’s body from the dark clouds and power throughout the entire area began to blackout. “IT’S OVER, ENDEAVOR!” She called as she began to fire lightning bolts from each palm separately.

Dabi caught on to her quickly. She was trying to move forward and get close and using her lightning and the resulting explosions to cut through the flames Endeavor created even though it was backlash for both sides. Shinju was quick to tackle the hero as soon as she got in range and both of their bodies went into violent convulsions as the lightning around her circuited through them. Their bodies were flung like rag dolls from each other and it was the swiftest Dabi had ever moved as he caught Shinju and tumbled into the dirt with her. Her face pressed into his chest unconsciously and blood smeared everywhere her mouth touched.

He quickly placed his hand against her chest, careful of all the blistering Lichtenberg marks littering her body and felt the weak pulsing with relief washing over his features. Dabi glanced over rapidly to see Endeavor just as immobilized. “Holy shit...” He knew he probably wasn’t dead, but there was no way that he wasn’t as fucked up as the woman in his arms. He was torn. Kill Endeavor or...? He drew himself to his feet weakly, Shinju lifted into his hurting arms.

“I see I made the right decision recruiting someone such as her.” Shigaraki’s voice rang as he stepped forward. “Quite the asset indeed. Let’s get out of here Dabi. I’d like to keep our asset alive if we can.” He nodded curtly and sighed slightly in relief as Shigaraki took the weight of the woman out of his arms.

[hotoffthepressfics]

Choose Me Instead

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,570

Summary: Set in the time after CW, the reader’s enigmatic neighbor is hiding something. There’s more to the story of misunderstandings and hurt feelings, but will she be able to handle the truth?

Warnings: Injuries, nudity

Inspiration: “Instead” - Ryan Amador

A/N: This was one where the idea sounded better in my head I think. I never could get it quite the way I wanted to, but I still enjoy. Hope you all like it as well!

The rain falls steadily outside, making soft pattering sounds on the window panes as you grab your bag and begin to head out the door. You backtrack to the coat closet, almost forgetting an umbrella. Most people would find a day like this dreary and depressing, but it soothes you. The peace and calm are what was missing in your life lately.

You step out of your apartment, closing and locking it before looking up across the hall. You shriek, tripping over your feet and bumping against your now closed door. You clasp a hand to your chest feeling your heart race from fright. There, slumped against his door frame, stood one very haggard looking Steve.

“You scared the hell out of me –“ you walk over and bend down to peer into his face. You gasp.

“Oh my god, Steve! What happened?!” 

He looks like hell. Bruises mottle his face. A split cheek and lip match the gash across the bridge of his nose. His eyes flutter open and it takes him a moment to register your face. He sucks in a breath and raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh hey, Y/N. I dropped my keys and… I was just too lazy to pick them up.” He says tiredly, fingers wriggling towards the ground.

You scoop up the keys. “I wasn’t talking about that! What on earth happened to your face?”

He shrugs, and it seems that’s all the response you’re going to get from him. You bite your tongue to keep your ire in check. You open the door and help a wobbling Steve into his apartment. He’s nearly dead on his feet. Steve sways a little as you stop him so you can peel off his leather jacket. As soon as it’s passed his broad shoulders you gasp again. Blood soaked through the fabric of his T-shirt, clinging to his body.

“Jesus, Steve! You shouldn’t be here, you should be in a hospital!” You reach into your jacket pocket, pulling out your cell to call 9-1-1.

Steve closes his hand around yours to stop your dialing. You glance up, confused.

“There’s no need, it’s not that bad.” He turns and slowly limps into the kitchen, hauling a chair away from the dining table.

He throws a leg over it and sits, resting his head against his arms on the chair back. You continue to stare at him, bewildered.

“Not that bad? You’re bleeding through you shirt! We need to – “ You stop when he shakes his head.

“It’ll be fine, I promise.” He mumbles.

You bite the inside of your cheek. The heavy weight of disappointment and hurt settling in your chest. He’s hiding something; you could sense it. 

“At least let me get a look and clean it up.” You say quietly, making your way to stand behind him.

You carefully lift the soiled shirt, but the blood is caked and dried in areas. The fabric pulls at his skin and wounds, making Steve hiss through his teeth. You release the hem of the shirt. Walking into the kitchen you rummage through the drawers. After the third drawer you find a couple dish towels. Some more digging around and you come back with a bowlful of warm water.

You dip the towels into it, soaking them and gently placing them on Steve’s back.

“I need to let it soak so we can get your shirt off. How long were you just standing out in the hallway?” You ask him.

He shrugs once more. You want to scream but you turn and head out the door. Collecting your things, you drop them just inside Steve’s apartment and close the two of you in. Silently you come back and smooth a hand over the towels, removing one to wring out and soak again. Neither of you speaks, and the awkward tension grows.

“How’s Chad?” Steve finally breaks the silence while you strip off the towels.

You pause, unsure if now would be a good time for this conversation. You resume slowly peeling up his now wet shirt, carefully picking apart cotton cloth from open wounds.

“He’s gone.” You say curtly.

“When’s he getting back?”

“He’s not coming back. He’s gone.” You snap a little. That got Steve’s attention. He raises his head slightly and cants it toward you.

“I thought you were…”

“You thought wrong. You would have known that if you had stopped and let me explain. Instead you storm off to god knows where for three weeks and come back looking like you got in a fight with a wood chipper, and the wood chipper won!” You rush through the last part in one breath, yanking a little too hard on the soggy material to punctuate the end.

Steve winces and a stab of guilt pierces your heart. “Sorry..” you mumble. Steve sits up long enough for you to pull the shirt over his head. You rinse out a towel and dab at the wounds; he was right, they weren’t as bad as you first thought.

The truth was that you’d missed him. The deep, bone-aching, kind of longing. You didn’t realize how much you’d grown to care for Steve until he’d chosen to leave. All because of a misunderstanding. 

Chad had never been good to you, but the one good thing that relationship had brought you was Steve. Missed and cancelled dates turned into impromptu outings with Steve. You felt heard and valued when you spent time with him.

You closed your eyes, that horrible memory replaying unbidden behind your lids. Chad kneeling in front of you, ring box in hand, begging you to take him back. Steve walking in on the scene. The mistrust and hurt that filled his eyes still made you want to cry. He’d turned and walked out the door without a word. You prying yourself out of Chad’s grasp, chasing after Steve. You could still feel your throat closing as you held back tears, pleading with him to stop and listen to you. You’d chased him all the way out onto the street but you couldn’t keep up.

You’d waited days for him to return to his apartment across from yours. After a certain point, though, you thought he’d never come back. Anger replaced sorrow. You couldn’t believe he’d think so little of you to suppose you’d accept Chad’s half-assed proposal. Especially when he’d just confessed how he was feeling towards you.

The more you puzzled over it you’d thought that maybe it’d been an out Steve was looking for. He’d skirt around questions about his job and the phone calls he’d take, much like Chad did. You’d wanted to return those feelings but you didn’t want to jump into another secretive relationship. You’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Steve was keeping something from you and if he couldn’t be open about it, then maybe it was better he’d been trying to cut ties.

Steve reaches behind himself, searching blindly for your hand. Relenting, you aid him by wrapping your fingers around his. He gently tugs and you let him pull you onto his left knee. You glance up into his battered face, his eyes searching yours.

“So you aren’t… engaged to him?” He asks earnestly.

You shake your head, fighting bravely not to cry. “I never would have accepted him.”

Steve draws you closer into a clumsy tangle of limps. He presses his face into the nape of your neck.

“I’m sorry, I just assumed…” he trails off, his voice muffled against your skin.

“Yeah well, this coming from the guy who admitted to me what he assumed ‘fondue’ meant.” You tease.

Steve laughs weakly. You smile and reach up to touch his cheek, but let your hand fall to your lap. You pull back enough that Steve lifts his head and gazes into your eyes.

“I want to be with you, Steve… but I don’t want another relationship built on lies. What aren’t you telling me?” You ask softly.

His eyes roam over your face as if he’s trying to memorize your features. He drops his hand resting on top of your thigh.

“The closet in the bedroom. There’s a loose panel on the back wall.” He says quietly, leaning his head back down against the chair back.

You slowly get up off his leg, staring at the back of his head in befuddlement. Walking into the room you pause in front of the closet. Apprehension for what you’d find gnaws away at your stomach. The dramatic side of your brain briefly wonders if you’d find a dead body. Yeah, right. There was no way it was that bad… Although you had never thought you’d find Steve as battered and bloody as he was tonight… 

You pull open the door. The closet is mostly bare. A few shirts, a pair of pants, and a couple pairs of shoes on the floor are all that inhabit it. You kneel down and push aside a pair of tennis shoes. Crawling in you run your hand along the back wall, feeling for the loose panel. Your fingers brush along the seam and you push, popping it open. 

Setting the panel aside you carefully reach into the darkness. Your hand rests on something made of thick cloth, a little coarse to the touch. You lift it out, a small thud sounding when it’s shifted. In your hands is a worn and tattered uniform in the shades of blue, red, and white, though the colors are mostly covered in dirt and grime.

You reach back into the space and feel around for the object that dropped. A cool, hard, angular surface meets your touch. A light, metallic star comes up when you lift it out. Ripped fabric clings to each point of the star. You stare at the two pieces as realization dawns on you. 

Steve hadn’t moved from his spot as you walk back out with your findings. His back still looked raw and traces of blood still lingered. Now, however, all the wounds were scabbed over and healing. You stand just behind him too stunned to quite speak yet. Finally, you find your voice.

“You… you’re Captain America.” You had meant it as a question, but with the evidence in your hands it came out as a statement.

Steve scoffs, “I think you mean I was Captain America. I don’t carry that title anymore.” 

You say nothing. Steve lifts his head and shifts his body out towards you, a sad expression on his face.

“Now you know. So tell me, is this okay? Can you still be with a war criminal? Someone the world has told you to despise?” He grins at you morosely.

Without another thought you drop the items, the star clattering against the wood floor, and purposely march towards him. When you reach him you sling your leg over his thighs, straddling him. On instinct, Steve grips your hips and pulls you closer as you slant your mouth over his, kissing him fully.

Your hands graze over the skin of his neck, threading your fingers into his hair. You kiss each other greedily, teeth clashing. Tasting one another. Steve pulls back and the two of you catch your breath. He presses his forehead against yours. You lean into the chair back, bringing him with you. It’s quiet save only for the rhythm of the rain falling outside.

“I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t drag you into all this.” Steve murmurs, more to himself than to you.

“Why?” You whisper back. His clear blue eyes bear into yours.

“Because it’s nothing but chaos. You’re not equipped to handle it. I’ll just break you. I’ve already stayed in this place too long…” Panic enters his voice as he continues. 

You kiss him gently to silence him. When you pull back there is still a frightened look to him but he says nothing. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

“You asked me to choose you before you left. I did. Now I’m asking you to choose me. Choose this moment. Stay here and be with me. At least for now, until there’s no time left.”  You add the last part begrudgingly. You know when it comes down to it, it’ll be the hardest battle to fight.

He stares at you another minute then nods, pulling you in again and kissing you like it’s his last gasp for air. After another long minute you break away again, panting.

“So, are you going to tell me how you got these now?” You prod, sliding a finger along a wound that crossed his rib towards his back. He chuckles.

“Ah, I picked a fight with some bad guys. I needed to punch someone. Felt like the right way to go.” 

“They must have been pretty strong if you were left with these injuries.” You muse. He laughs again, shaking his head.

“I… may have let them get in a few swings or two.” He concedes.

That sobers the mood a bit. You lean in, carefully wrapping yourself around him. “If you had just let me explain you wouldn’t have had to fight anyone.”

“I know… I’m sorry.” He says. Steve returns the embrace, holding a little tighter than necessary. You don’t complain.

Steve plays with the hair draped down your back. His other hand trails along your stocking-clad thigh, to where your dress skirt is bunched. You halt his hand.

“Steve, as much as I want you, I don’t think we should be having sex with your injuries as they are.” You say into his shoulder, contradicting your words with a peck to his neck.

You pull back to look into his face. A sheepish grin is plastered over it. A slight pink tint spreads to his cheeks.

“I wasn’t really thinking of that, though I will want to have you later. I just need to touch you. I need to be close to you.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

You consider this a moment then slip your dress up and over your head. He slides you closer and you close your legs around his back as he lifts you up out of the chair. He slowly makes his way to the bedroom,  unclasping your bra. You slide it down your arms and press close to his bare skin. You both shudder, craving the tactile connection.

Steve nudges the door open with his foot, delicately placing you atop the bed. You shimmy out of your stockings while Steve scrambles out of his shoes and pants. He helps you pull the covers back and climbs underneath with you, naked with the exception of your underwear. He hauls you closer, entangling your arms and legs until there’s not a space between the two of you.

That’s how you spend the next hour. Feeling one another, kissing every inch you could reach, savoring the intimacy of just holding someone you love. Soon Steve falls asleep, exhausted from his injuries. He breathes softly against your chest, still clinging tightly to you. You stay awake, occasionally brushing your face into his hair. 

For now you’ll safeguard him, protected in this small corner of the universe. You wanted to hold onto this moment; embed it in your memory. For if the time came, when the time came, you just hoped you could still choose each other again.

EVERYTHING TAGLIST: 

@booktvmoviefangirl @lowkeybuckyb @mrsdaamneron @xxashy999xx @c-ly-g @coal000 @rroguebones @ghostlyrose2 @part-time-patronus @emelielwh @peaceinourtime82 @buckysforeverprincess @geeksareunique @amnahs9695 @v-2bucky @scarlet-skywalkers @lokilvrr @thisismysecrethappyplace @sacre-bluhm @tatertot1097 @until-theend-oftheline @amoonagedaydreamer @marvelouspottering @thatfanficstuff @chuuulip @averyrogers83 @ellaprime68 @shield-agent78 @jewels2876

STEVE ROGERS TAGLIST: 

 @patzammit @bloodiedskirtts

[matsuoclan]

to the nines

Pairing: Jax Matsuo x f!MC Rating: EXPLICIT (minors do not interact): suit kink, riding Summary: Jax tries to get ready for Dracula's party. Someone distracts him. Tag list: @desiree-0816​ @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @choices-de​ @ihaveathingforliterature​ @vaticanwaltz​ @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl​ @lilyofchoices��� @msjpuddleduck​ Notes: Jax in a suit kind of did things to me. So I had MC do things to him.

[masterlist] [read on ao3]

She wakes to the delicious warmth of lips on her forehead and a hand on her cheek. It’s a warmth she’s achingly familiar with, and she nestles further into his hand. “Time to wake up,” Jax murmurs into her ear. “We’ve got a party to get to.”

His hand withdraws and she whines at the loss, cracking one eye open. “No, come baaaack.”

“No, you have to get dressed.” His voice echoes from the bathroom in the suite they’re sharing. “We’re being picked up soon and while I wouldn’t complain if you went in that, I’m not sure that’s how you want to meet Dracula.”

She takes a moment to stretch her limbs and then grudgingly sits up, yawning. “How do you know?” she calls back, smile unfurling slowly as she teases. “Maybe I want to show up to his castle in a slip dress and nothing else.”

“Is that right?” Jax appears at the door of the bathroom, adjusting his jacket cuffs, a matching shit-eating grin on his face. “Might be a bit chilly, don’t you think?”

Her throat goes dry.

He’s in a suit.

Jax is in a suit.

“You’re in a suit,” she chokes out, barely able to comprehend what she’s seeing. Gone is his standard leather jacket and jeans. For the party, he’s dressed in a dark charcoal suit and black dress shirt with a red tie and a matching red pocket square and she is so, so fucked.

Jax’s cheeks color slightly. “Uh. Yeah. Kamilah said the dress code was fancy so I sprung for one.”

“It looks--” She swallows and tries again. “It looks good.”

He gives her a relieved smile, leaning against the doorway. “I don’t look super uncomfortable and out of my element?”

Her eyes track from his shiny dress shoes, up the pants crease, up his chest and finally come to a rest on his tie. The whole ensemble highlights everything: the width of his shoulders, his strong arms, his long legs. It’s a long moment before she realizes he asked her something. “What? Oh, no, you look great,” she croaks. “Tie’s crooked, though.”

His expression pinches slightly as he sighs. “I haven’t worn a tie in probably thirty years,” he grumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed closest to the mirror to start fixing it. “Just spent about 15 minutes now trying to get it right.”

“And you didn’t think to ask me?” she murmurs, almost unconsciously, eyes glued to his broad back and the way the jacket fits just right.

His movements pause, and then he looks up and meets her eyes in the mirror. 

“Let me,” she says, and comes to stand in front of him between his legs. He lowers his hands to rest on her waist, warming her skin through her slip dress, and she shivers as she adjusts his tie. Like this, she feels so exquisitely small; he’s already taller than her to the point that when he’s sitting and she’s standing, he’s barely looking up at her. But something about him in a suit makes him seem that much larger and she likes it that much more.

“Have a lot of experience doing men’s ties?” he asks innocently.

She smirks. “Maybe. But none that looked as good in a suit as you.”

This close, she can see everything. His Adam’s apple bobs above her fingers as he swallows and his pupils are blown wide, eyes trained on her face while she tucks and tugs. His breath hitches when her knuckles brush his neck.

“There,” she says, running a hand down the perfectly laid tie. A beat of silence falls over them, charged and heady, and then she’s yanking him in for a searing kiss like she’s wanted to do since she first saw the suit.

She devours him, licking deep into his mouth, and to his credit Jax responds almost instantly, sucking filthily on her tongue and drawing her roughly onto his lap, hands tight on her waist. “You really like me in a suit, huh,” he pants against her mouth.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she says, and then crushes her lips against his again. Her hands fly everywhere, running over his shoulders and down his back and along his thick arms and then over his front to grasp at his lapels, relishing in the smooth feel of the suit under her fingers. His hold on her has her pinned in place against his chest, right where she wants to be.

Whimpering, she grinds down on his cock through the fabric of his pants and then gasps when he bites down hard on her bottom lip with his fangs, spilling blood.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, drawing back slightly. His eyes are bright red, riveted on her swollen lip, and he leans in and licks it slowly clean. “Accident.”

“You know,” she says, smoothing out his lapels, “if you insist on giving me a permanently sore bottom lip, the least you can do is earn it.”

Jax’s eyes flash. “You saying I haven’t?”

“I’m saying you’ve been holding out on me,” she says against his mouth. “You’re hot in a suit.”

His breath stutters out of him and he surges forward to capture her lips in another desperate kiss. It only breaks when he grabs at the hem of her slip and slides it up and over her head and then she’s naked in his lap and it’s the glorious feel of the suit on her bare skin. Everywhere he touches her with his hands burns and everywhere his suits brushes against her cools pleasantly, a riot of sensation she can do nothing but drown in.

Jax grapples with his tie, grunting frustratedly into her mouth when it doesn’t immediately come off. He pulls harder until it tears, the ripping sound loud in her ears as he completely undoes her work, but she can’t quite bring herself to care. It’s not until he unbuttons his suit jacket and starts to take it off that her wits return and she blurts out, “NO!”

He pauses. “No?”

“No,” she says, swallowing hard. “Leave it on.”

“Ok,” he says, nosing at her jaw and pressing open mouthed kisses into the skin there. “Ok, I will.”

“Good,” she breathes, and then settles more comfortably on his lap, knees on the outside of his thighs. She reaches down for his belt, undoing the buckle with ease, and draws his hard cock out, stroking slowly. His hips snap up but she’s held in place by a calloused hand clamped tight on her ass.

“Fuck,” he groans. “If I knew how much you like me in a suit, I would’ve bought one sooner.”

“Buy more anyway,” she gasps, positioning her cunt over his cock and sliding down slowly. He fucks up into her once, hard enough that she sees stars. “I think we’re going to ruin this one.”

His fingers dig into her skin, forceful enough to leave little fingertip bruises as he drags his hot mouth down her neck, down her sternum, between her breasts and biting down gently at the swell as she rolls her hips, taking him in as deep as she can. It’s harder for her to get a good grip on him this way when he’s in a suit, but it’s an even trade-off the way the fabric rubs cool and sleek against her skin.

“Jax, god--” she says, whining as she fucks herself on his cock. “Saw you in this suit and lost my goddamn mind over it, I can’t believe--” She cries out when he thrusts up, hard, losing complete track of what she was trying to say as he sets a relentless pace and steals the reins away.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says hoarsely, disbelievingly, as if he can’t comprehend how much she wants him.

She manages to choke out a laugh at that, because in truth it’ll be the opposite if he keeps looking as incredible as he does, but stops abruptly when he shifts his hand down to rub at her clit. All her breath is punched out of her lungs as he keeps bouncing her on his cock, moving her like she weighs nothing. Hot, spiking pleasure coils in the pit of her stomach as it all becomes too much: the slide of his suit against her naked skin, the rough brush of his finger on her clit, the iron grip he has on her hip, and the way his cock splits her open, over and over and over.

“Please,” she whispers, and then he pinches her clit and she’s coming, wailing and shaking in his arms as he keeps on fucking into her.

She clenches tight around his cock, pressing her mouth to the side of his as she slumps against him, and breathes, “Jax…”

He comes with a grunt, hips stuttering and then stilling, breathing hard into the side of her neck where his fangs catch on her skin. “Jesus,” he rasps. His chest heaves as he pulls her closer for a sweet kiss, hands running soothingly up and down her back.

They kiss lazily until their breathing mostly evens out and their heart rates return to a normal range. “Should probably get cleaned and ready,” he eventually murmurs against her mouth. His eyes are brown once again. “We’re probably very late and you need to get dressed.”

Resting her hands on his forearms, she sighs and tilts her head back. It’s hard to remember she’s excited to meet Dracula when staying in this room and having Jax every which way sounds infinitely better at the moment. “Yeah. I guess I have to.”

He leans in for one last kiss and then shifts her off his softened cock and she tumbles onto the bed, legs giving out when she tries to stand. “No, it’s ok,” she says, giggling like mad when an alarmed Jax lunges to catch her. She waves him off. “Go clean up. My legs just need a moment, I swear I’ll be up and ready in a bit.”

He only shakes his head, smiling as he returns to the bathroom. A low whistle follows. “Damn. You really did a number on me.”

“And you loved every minute of it,” she mutters to herself, settling on top of the blankets. There’s something underneath her head and she reaches behind her, pulling his tattered tie free. She sits up to examine it and winces. It’s completely unsalvageable, a rip straight down the back.

“Have you seen my tie--oh,” he says, emerging from the bathroom again except exceptionally more rumpled this time. She’ll have to look for an iron but that thought quickly disappears to the back of her mind. Even disheveled, he looks incredible. “Well, I can’t wear that.”

“Probably for the best,” she murmurs, and he grins.

[bi-outta-cordonia]

Turnabout: Liam x MC (The Royal Romance)

First fic I ever do for this fandom, so we’ll see how this works out. There was a Wilkinson razor ad that came out a few years ago that inspired this mess, but I’m gonna put it up anyway. This is a purely fictional work so please don’t actually like, attempt any of the things you see in this. 

The Royal Romance. King Liam x MC (Riley Harrington). NS*W, 18+. Tags include; swordplay in ways that a trained professional would definitely not encourage, light hand job, a bossy wife, heavy petting, and maybe a bit of jealousy.

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Liam attempts to blow off some steam and fails to do exactly that.

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

A steady quiet grips the palace halls, such an old building occasionally cutting the silence with its creaky foundation and slight chills—little breaths to ease the weight of its ever-growing legacy. He carries each new burden from the pristine marble through the glittering golden halls, hundreds of eyes look to him for everything—guidance, assurances, admonition, and all that fall in between. To save the bounty of this year, will he risk the ire of demanding more in taxes? To ease the tensions between council members, will he declare favor for one or take a chance by presenting an olive branch? 

Beads of sweat slip down his brow and dangle precariously at the tip of his nose. The wooden dummy sits tall in front of him, fresh cuts and deep slashes criss-crossing all along the chipped surface. Liam takes a quick step to the right, sword whisking through the air as he slices a careful pattern into the dummy. 

Some thousands of generations of Rys monarchs had it much more difficult than he. Her Majesty, Queen Kenna Rys had the backing of five kingdoms and the reputation of the Light Taker but her ability to wage war did nothing to gain her allies. Her allies were people first, desperate and in need of one thing or the other—to save a kingdom already on fire, she bites her tongue and answers that call for help first. To bring it all together under one crown and to have the decision be a unanimous one at that? 

How many acres of Stormholt did she lose for every day she spent taking care of other people’s problems? It’s a responsibility he understands, but gods help him, he doesn’t envy the work his ancestors had to endure. 

Splinters of wood split and scatter upon the mat. He raises his sword with a grunt, cutting at what would be an arm if he faced a live opponent. 

All that weight Kenna Rys carried—all the weight he must carry as King. Not many places to work out the stress he faces these days. 

“I was wondering where you ran off to.”

A smile spreads across his face and he offers a brief bow to his inanimate partner. When Liam turns, he’s graced with the sight of Riley, her long dark hair pulled into a loose bun, a leather jacket hugging her shoulders, and a long black dress adorning her. She leans against the doorway of the training room, eyes appreciatively roaming the entire length of him. 

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he says, breathless and dabbing at his brow with the towel hanging on his shoulder. Liam approaches her slowly, sword still in hand and face settling into a gentle expression. “How was your meeting?”

She smiles. 

“I had to have a sincere conversation with Madeleine and Maxwell at the same time.” Riley brushes past Liam, sweeping into the room and his eyes follow her. He catches the sway of her hips as her dress flutters around her ankles. “They’re definitely on the same page with the relief efforts. It’s just that Madeleine knows more practical ways to handle our solutions and Maxwell just wants to do everything that he can at once.” She sighs. “But I’d be lesser without both of them. We get more done as a team, even if we have completely different ideas.”

“Ah. The perils of leadership,” he chuckles. 

He watches her approach the weapons rack, her impeccable manicure glimmering under the soft light as she trails a hand across the metal guards of each sword securely held in place. His breath hitches when she stops in front of one. 

“I was hoping we could take some time to ourselves for the rest of the day,” she says, hand curving around to stroke the hilt—he swallows hard. She draws the sword from its stand, metal glinting as she turns it in her hand and examines the fine craftsmanship. “It won’t be long before this place is flooded with nobles from every which part of the country. I’ve been looking forward to the Light Bringer Festival. Sounds lovely.”

“In the days of old, Queen Kenna faced in single combat the illustrious Empress Azura, She Who Shines Brightest, and, before the throne, in front of witnesses numbering in the hundreds, slew the Queen of the Bright and thus secured the Five Kingdoms, their borders, and their independence,” he recites, hand blindly reaching back and grasping at the door knob. “It marked the beginning of the Five Kingdoms—a fight to end all fights, or so the history books say.”

 Riley gives a few good swipes with her sword, eventually ending with a powerful thrust forward. Her eyes find his across the room, arm slowly lowering to her side and she gives the blade a careful twirl. She stalks forward and he pulls the door shut—again and he sets the lock. At the third step, his feet glide across the floor as he joins her and twirls the blade in his hand. 

“I’ve been doing some reading of my own,” she says, eyes flashing dangerously. “Diavolos Nevrakis—King of Abanthus. He was made Queen Kenna’s husband after the war against the Iron Empire ended?”

“Yes, he was,” Liam answers. “His father intended betrayal as soon as the dust settled and Diavolos chose to defend Kenna instead. They developed quite an alliance during the conflict.”

Riley laughs. “The stories are a bit more…suggestive in terms of what their relationship was like.”

It occurs to him that they’ve made a full circuit by now. He made a promise to her after their marriage—his burdens would be hers and hers would belong to him. It’s a union forged in understanding and bound by Cordonian tradition, the beloved King and his outsider Queen. So many candidates and so many ways this could’ve turned out. He would kiss the gods themselves if they ever came to him—once for their blessing and a second time for granting him the chance to marry the love of his life. 

“Diavolos Nevrakis was a man born and bred for war,” Liam says, voice dropping low. Riley’s head tilts and he nearly has her. “The first time he ever met Kenna was on the battlefield. Theirs was a love forged by blood, brimstone, and steel.”

“They were warriors,” she says, raising her blade and pointing it at him. 

He raises his arm to a ready position, smile tugging at his lips. “Lovers.”

“I wonder how hard they pushed each other,” Riley says, quirking a brow. 

All the preamble he gets before she lunges forward, blade swinging at him and forcing him back despite the steady block. She’s relentless in her pursuit, careful strikes swishing past him and her steel clanging against his. Nimble feet compared to his steady stance and he can tell she’s been getting in extra practice with Mara. Not as refined as a fencer but she’s unpredictable enough that it makes a difference. The loose strands of her hair whip around her face but he keeps his eyes trained on her body and her sword. 

He rushes to the side, both of them grunting with effort as their blades cross and she pushes him back with a grunt. His arm raises and her cut is true—one clean slice across the shirt loosely adorning him, buttons scattering across the ground and his pale skin peeking out between the neatly parted flaps. 

Liam briefly touches the ruined pieces of his shirt until his eyes dart up and lock with Riley’s. Oh, the smug glee in those brown eyes. She holds her blade out still pointing it towards him and he can’t stop the wicked smile that spreads across his face. 

He tears the pieces with his free hand and pulls the tatters out of his pants, shedding and tossing his ruined shirt to the ground. 

“My darling Queen,” he purrs, boldly gliding across the plane of their battle. Riley follows him, blade still precariously keeping him at length. “I’m afraid you may have started something here…”

“I certainly hope you plan to finish—”

Two quick strides, wrist flicking carefully as his blade crosses hers and she steps—

Back, favoring the right, and earns a clean split down her dress. 

One gleaming brown thigh greets him, the entire length of her leg now exposed by a cut stemming from the hip and parting all the way down. Riley brings her arms down and stares at the cut, cheek apples glowing as she laughs despite the fiery look in her eyes. The black dress flutters around her leg now as she moves, eyes lifting and finding his. Her tongue darts out as she wets her lips. 

They meet each other in the middle, her blade screaming and sliding along his as he lifts his arm overhead. Chest to chest, the powerful muscles in his body ripple as they give a half twirl around each other, swords shifting down at the ready and he jumps back when she slashes at him. 

The clash of steel,

Beads of sweat flying off flushed skin, 

Grunts that could easily be mistaken for sounds of something far more carnal,

The exertion no different and the aim relatively similar. He can see their dance—one step around the other, blades singing with each clash, his eyes trained on her and her determination trained on him. One more step towards the middle as they meet halfway and he jerks his hand down, tearing a rip across her chest. 

Liam licks his lips tasting the salt of his sweat and the budding temptation hanging heavy in the air. 

Beneath the split of the folds, he’s blessed with the sight of her breasts begging for the scrape of his teeth. What he could do to her—oh, the things he’s done to her with just a raspy sound and a few string of words. 

He would move mountains. 

Stop the world on its axis.

Wait on her, hand over foot. 

Riley tilts her head and watches him circle her—both their chests heaving. 

“Seems I’ve the advantage, Your Grace,” Liam says, voice hoarse from exertion. Her arms hang loose by her side, blade gleaming in the light, and the wild look in her eyes stirring primal feelings deep within him. His eyes roam over every inch—needs it like a man dying of thirst needs water. He could do so much if she’d let him. 

Liam twirls the blade in his hand and she strides towards him. A woman on a mission with her shoulders hunched forward and she clashes with him—both hands gripping the hilt as they meet and he fights the voice in his head telling him to toss the blades so he can take her to the ground. The hollow of her throat is where he fixes his eyes, dark brown spots peppered along the expanse and Liam groans. 

A gift of a few nights ago when the palace halls fell silent to the night, nothing but the footsteps of the nightwatch trailing past their bedroom and he refused to grant her respite. He refused to hold back, refused to let her sounds go unheard. He didn’t give a damn who heard, at least they’d know. 

His fingers squeeze the grip and it’s a torture of a kind feeling the warm metal beneath his fingertips rather than her skin. He presses forward and she begrudgingly jolts back so as to keep her balance. Again and his body ripples with a deep seated hunger that claws at him. Another and he pushes her back with all his might, pivoting on his foot and forcing her to spin. 

His wrist flicks out and he cuts at her skirt along the front. She gasps and falters back, spinning on her heel to force some distance and he strikes again, cutting the back of the skirt and exposing both her legs completely. Her head tilts back for a boisterous laugh and he suppresses a moan when he stares fully at the smooth black fabric clinging to her ass. 

“I’m not done yet!” she exclaims, slowly turning towards him. Dangerous—tempting the decency and years of etiquette he’s been trained to maintain. A king must always been in control but why? Why would he deny the feelings bubbling just beneath the surface making his throat dry and his skin tingle? “Now, now—what’s that look in your eye, my King?”

He can’t even bother hiding the way his eyes roam across her exposed thighs. His free hand flexes, a muscle memory coming to mind—of warm legs cradling his head, his fingertips dug into soft brown flesh, and the heady scent of her core invading his senses. 

“A deep-seeded yearning,” he answers honestly, eyes taking in her wild appearance. He takes a ready stance and watches her smirk. She tugs her bun completely loose, raven locks falling over her shoulders, and he can remember the last time he had a fistful of that, gently tilting her head back so he could leave those marks all over her neck. She circles him with her blade out. “Gods help me, if I wasn’t committed to finishing this…”

“Ah ah, patience, love,” she teases, eyes drinking him in. “Oh, but look at you, all breathless and pretty for me.”

He inhales sharply—it’s a familiar phrasing. 

A familiar tone of voice. 

Liam’s eyes dart to her gleaming thighs. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “All voracious and tempting…” He raises his blade in front of him in a defensive position, her steady paces putting him on edge. “The key to all the control I have left in me.”

“And I’m not giving it back,” she challenges, winking. 

He smirks. “Oh, beloved. I would hope not.”

It’s an onslaught that follows, sparks nearly flying between them. Her grunts and his grunts that put him in so many different places at once—the unabashed sounds of the opera behind them and her nails raking down his back— 

The cool air of the Applewood manor and her heels pressing into his back—

 Hot breath puffing into his ear and her body squeezing all around him as their boat rocks—

Everywhere and nowhere at once, too many times over. So many times over, so many memories and all he can think about is the heat in his belly and the contrast of his hands on her skin, holding her wrists down down as their slick bodies slide against each other. She’s everywhere—perfume on her neck, quivering thighs, slick heat spread all around him—and nowhere—home with him, home in their bed, screaming for him, begging for him.

Trails of sweat slither down his body, arms up and wrists nearly crossing (like the time she looped red ribbons around his). She spins, slashing with purpose and ferocity (like the time when she shoved him with both hands into a private room at an exclusive event, witnesses be damned), and he meets her at every turn (like when she rolls her hips just like he likes, her breathless voice caught between a haughty laugh and a throaty moan, her open lips hovering over his as his eyes roll to the back of his head). 

Liam thrusts his blade forward and her back slams against the wall, sharp edge digging into the reinforced wood and her jacket pinned against it. She lets out a loud sound that can’t be anything other than a sensual grunt. Gods, the amount of times he’s heard that sound, has imagined hearing that sound when they’re chauffeured in the limousine, his hands flexing uncontrollably as he grips the seats and she sits proudly beside him, a coy hand roaming freely in his lap. 

His eyes lock with hers—one moment, she’s impeccable with every strand of hair carefully slicked back as her crown sits heavy upon her head.

The next, she’s looking back at him with wild eyes promising him all the world and then some if only he’d fall even further into ruin for her.   

He blinks, head shaking and hands trembling—her voice is so clear, everything is so clear.

Another memory—

Spread across his desk, missives, folders, all the trinkets that should be there scattered across the floor and she’s got one hand gripping the edge, eyes lidded and mouth wide open as moans pour from her throat, dress open in the front where her breasts are covered in his bites, blackeyes of her nipples staring at him pebbled and glistening from his earlier attentions, her skirt pulled high up around her waist and panties lying somewhere in tatters. He grips her thighs with the strength of a man afraid to let go, desperate to have all of her at once. Their bodies slick, wet heat dripping from them every which way—his shirt hangs wide open and his pants hastily bunch around his thighs because it’s all he could manage before it became too much. 

Buried in her, buried until he can go no further. Her hand on his stomach so she can feel the muscles tremble and ripple with every thrust. 

Liam’s throat goes dry and his mouth opens. 

Riley slips out of the jacket and brings her blade up, clashing with his as she pushes him back and slashes at his pants. The belt and the pieces fall around him as her eyes gleefully land on the black boxers clinging to him. He glances down at the expert cut and slowly lifts his head. 

When their gazes meet, he knows he’s lost control already. 

“And now…” she purrs, twirling the blade in hand, her other hand reaching out and tracing a path from the elastic band of his boxers through the dark hairs trailing up his belly button, “for my other question.”

He swallows, curls his free hand into a tight fist so he won’t even consider palming the heavy erection straining in his boxers, and turns his head so he can follow her path around him. Fingertips glide across his skin—stomach arching up so she can rake her fingers along his chest, circle around his powerful arms, and dance along his shoulders. 

“Riley,” he whimpers, pleading.

“Did he ever bend for her?” 

Tantalizing touch and it scrapes along his skin, a blade of finer craftsmanship than he could’ve ever imagined. Cuts deeper and drives harder into his very soul. 

“Diavolos—” He shudders as her fingers dip down low in the curve of his back. “He was not a king that could be so easily tamed. Battle was his—his second nature and not much could, hah…” Black polished nails glide around to his belly, dips beneath the elastic band and just barely touches him at the base of his cock. His entire body seizes up, dark eyes now completely fixed on the smug expression on her face. He takes a breath, shifting on his feet and rising to his full height above her. “Not much could be withheld should he desire it.”

Riley tilts her head. “And if his Queen wanted him to bend a knee for her?”

“He’d do it,” he responds quickly, voice rumbling in his chest and surprising her. “Anything she wanted—the world, the universe, all the damn stars in the sky and the galaxies in between.” He’s moving forward, backing her up towards the wall and her eyes never stray from him. “He withheld nothing. Wore his passion for his people—for his Queen—on his sleeves and fought with the weight of both bearing down on him. It was everything he should’ve been, everything she deserved.”

“And me?” Riley whispers. “What do I deserve, my love?”

His nostrils flare and his hand shoots out, grasps her at the back of her neck and pulls her towards him. 

“You deserve…” She keens as he tips her back further, spies the way the light dances in her eyes and exposes her blown pupils to him despite the already dark depths of her eyes. “All the heat and the fervor built up in me…” He dips his head, lips hovering over hers and eyes darting over every part of her face—the face that greets him in the morning and puts him at ease when he goes to sleep. “Gods, Riley. I could do so much to you right now.” Just the barest brush of their lips and all the heat bubbles within him, burns him from the inside out. “Command me and I would move you however you want me to. Would have you whatever way you deemed worthy.”

“Oh, Liam…”

Her eyes squeeze shut and he closes the gap, seals his lips to hers with a guttural sound. Claims her, marks her, throws the last thread of his control right up in to the wind without a care. Backs her up against the wall with the tatters of his pants limply clinging to his ankles and his cock rubbing all over her dress. It’ll be an awful mess, precome leaking from the tip and spreading all over his boxers. All the things he could let her do—that he could do. 

He presses her hard up against the wall and she moves her mouth in tandem with his, swallows every moan and releases a few trembling ones of her own. One hand smooths over his heated skin, rakes down the pinkish flush spreading down his body and catches on a nipple, making him shudder. Air barely matters but he parts long enough to let her suck in a breath before he greedily consumes more. More kisses, more heat, everything and nothing, all of her and twice more of himself. 

Liam presses a knee up against her already soaking core, rolls it between her legs as he swallows more kisses and sucks down more of her pleading noises. Her free hand scrabbles until she settles it on his neck and pulls him to her. As close to her as their physical bodies will allow and it’s still not enough. He wants further in, deeper in, all the way down to her soul. 

More, more, more, it will never be enough—can’t ever be enough. 

Her hand comes back around and shoves at his chest. He can’t even register his own body anymore, just lets it do whatever it pleases as his blade arcs up and splits her dress completely down the middle. The tatters fall down her arms as soon as she lowers them. 

Black lingerie and her hair sticking up in places, chest heaving, and body slick with sweat. Riley whips around slowly and his blade meets hers above their heads, chest to chest and gods help him, he would absolutely end it now if she asked. 

He would do anything for her to just end it now.

Eyes locked, pupils blown wide. His growls and her gasps—they circle each other in a dance far more intimate than they’ve ever shared before. Eyes darting to lips, darting to skin, the temptation rising between them and she slips away, bare feet quickly padding towards the locker room and he dashes after her with a breathless laugh. 

She throws the curtains in his face, laughing and twirling around in circles. The sword slips from her fingertips, clattering unceremoniously to the ground and he tosses his down without a thought. No need to run from anything anymore as she lets him sweep her up in his arms, the muted light of the baths bleeding out onto the floor, and his lips find hers. Hot, hungry—begging and pleading for sweet release. 

Liam lifts her and she wraps her legs around him, bodies slick and sliding together as if they were made for one another. He sets her down after a few steps, just outside the baths proper and onto the plush white carpet just outside the entrance. 

Hands fumble and grope, tear off her panties, unhook her bra, and slide his boxers down the entire length of his body. Heated gazes lock, her tongue wetting her lips, and her brows rising. 

“Give me what I deserve, my love,” she demands, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. He groans as she shifts her hand up to grip his hair tight. “Mold yourself for me, give me all that I want and more.”

“I’ll give you—” he manages before her lips crash hard against his, devouring every sweet sound from his throat and the little puffs of air in between. They break with a gasp, the wind stolen from their lungs and burning something fierce with every intake of breath. “Riley, please.”

She tugs on his hair and he cries out. 

“Oh, Liam. I hear you, darling. I hear you loud and clear.” Their bodies shift and he finds his back against the warm carpet, chest heaving as nails rake down his skin, tweak his nipples and dip lower until her hand firmly grips his cock. “But I already told you: give me what I deserve.”

“Fuck!” he shouts, legs splaying wider and eyes glancing down to watch her pump him. 

Slow. 

Steady.

Hand twisting on every upstroke, squeezing just right to draw the breath from his body. Leave him at her mercy. Bend to her will and mold his body into the perfect pliant mess she craves. Precome beads at the tip, spilling down his cock and she pays it no mind. Slides her hand through the slick and spreads it all over him. Drives him further and plucks at the remaining threads of his sanity. Snips each with a feverish kiss—to his neck (snap), and further down along his collarbone (snap snap). Little kisses down his chest and over his fluttering stomach. 

He swallows hard when she lets go of him, grabs his shoulders to steady herself and swings a leg over his body. Her wet core presses hot against him, her heat nearly engulfing him but not quite yet. Liam reaches up and brings her down to him with both hands cradling her face. Their foreheads press together as their heavy breaths fill the room. 

“Riley, please. Gods, please. Anything you want.” He’s fully aware of the desperate crack of his voice, his body trembling in anticipation of everything—heated kisses, heated core, fiery passion and endless possibility nestled deep within him. “I’ll give you anything you want, just…just…please!”

Riley kisses him hard, lets him scrabble at her and stroke shaky fingers through her hair as her body sinks down on his cock, one hand holding him steady while the other loosely grasps his neck. Guttural sounds rumble in his chest, mouth still moving in tandem with Riley’s, capturing them even as her lips part and let out a desperate gasp. Her hips remain still until she shifts, body clenching around him and a few quick movements have him pinning her to the ground. 

His move—his play. He could have her any way but he’ll wait. 

He’ll let the heat consume him as he consumes her kisses, hands pinning her wrists and body shifting ever so slightly—reminding her that there’s a fight she’s yet to finish. 

He plants smaller kisses down her jaw, each as powerful and hungry as the last, leaving a trail of wet heat down her neck. Choked gasps flood the pristine room, her wrists give pull but he won’t let her move any further. Riley’s hips cant up and he growls, lavishing her throat with more bites, more marks that she’ll need to cover in front of the Court. 

Fuck them, he thinks. 

“Oh, Liam!”

Fuck them, he thinks, gently rocking his hips forward. 

“Riley—Riley—tell me what you want!” he hisses, face pressing into her neck. 

Her chest heaves and she struggles against his grip at her wrists, pushes forward like she wants to touch him. His teeth scrape along her neck once again, hips rocking in one thrust—

A second and she wrenches her hands free,

A third and he plants his hands next to her head, body rolling up and, finally—

Finally,

Gods help him, 

She opens her mouth—

“Fuck me. Fuck me, Liam, god, I want it all!”

He’s a merciful king. 

He could never cut his teeth on the ruthless power plays his father was capable of—compassion is the weapon of Liam’s choice. 

Oh, but there are those moments. These moments, when the savagery and the passion overflow within him. When the niceties and the control slip completely from his grasp in favor of something more carnal than hunger. 

He could never hide his love for Riley, never ever again. His hips rock steady into her at first, drag every moan from her throat as her legs wrap tight around his waist and her lips press to his ear letting him hear every little thing he does to her. She wraps her arms around his neck, sanity giving way to desperation and he pounds his hips against hers. 

“Yes! Yes, hah, Riley!” he grunts hot and rough in her ear, wet heat slamming into wet heat. His lips descend unto every bit of hot flesh he can find—her face, her neck, her shoulders, her soft lips. Whatever he can capture, he’ll take. Whatever she offers, he’ll cling to for now. 

“God, Liam!” 

Her heels press deep into his lower back and she squeezes around him, the wet sounds of their coupling setting a steady rhythm. To the drum of her pulse under his tongue laving along the flesh, and then to the thrum of his heart slamming against his ribcage. Deep inside her and deeper still, Liam carries them both as far as they can go, as loud as they can be as they claw their way to their destination. 

Her fingers scrape and pull at his hair, pleasure tingling down his spine like a strike of razor thin lightning, and her moans drive him harder. All that he could do for her and more, all that he’s ever wanted to do for her and more—all possible as his fingertips graze along her sides, circle her breasts, thumb the peaks of her hardened nipples, and gently close around her throat. 

Lips scrape against lips, leave wet trails from cheek to jaw to neck. Teeth sink into flesh and mouth closes around skin—dark brown marks left in his wake, reminders she won’t hide and he can hear the gossip now. 

“Oh, how bold!”

“My, how atrocious to leave such…such evidence!”

“Have they no shame? No tact?”

No ability to maintain all that—

Tight—

Awful control. 

That part of him that tries to hold it together in her presence when all he wants is a fistful of those black tresses, yanking and pulling, molding her the way she’ll let him and the way he wants. One hand slips from her neck to push at her thigh—up and to the side so there’s nothing left to hide from him. Liam leans over her, lips barely touching hers as hot puffs of air spill from her lips to the rhythm he sets with his hips. He takes in every detail, refuses to close his eyes because he wants to see everything—

The way her brows draw tight when he thrusts just right,

Teeth and jaw clenching as he shifts his hips and pins her down,

The hand trailing on her thigh now dancing between her legs, rubbing careful and sure circles around her pearl. 

Her head snaps back, mouth wide open as his hovers waiting to swallow her every noise. Nails rake painfully down his back and he knows there will be marks in the morning. The thought alone sends chills down his spine. 

“Look at me,” he breathes, voice nearly shot. She thrashes underneath, thighs opening wider. His hips snap mercilessly into hers, fingers still teasing the wet warmth between her legs as he pulls and pulls her closer to the edge. He’ll bring her there, teeter her just off the edge—

But first—

“Liam…oh god, Liam, please!” she begs. 

But first.

“Riley, look at me, right now.”

It’s a struggle for her to open her eyes, the depths of deep brown staring back at him with tears pricking at the corners, threatening to streak down her face. One hand still around her throat and he shifts his entire body, gets her hips near parallel to the floor as he rises on his knees and closes his hand tighter around her neck, pulls her forward so their foreheads touch. 

He’ll stay in the depths as long as she’ll let him. As long as it takes. His lips part, press against hers for a fleeting moment as her eyes dart all over his face. 

“I love you,” he breathes. A heady moan tears from her throat as he grinds his hips into hers. No thrusting, just heated flesh pressed up against heated flesh. Their bodies slotted perfectly, her breathless gasps stirring feelings already burning hot in his belly. Liam squeezes the hand around her neck and presses his body further, fingers still mercilessly teasing her pearl. “Every day it’s a battle when you’re near—a struggle not to throw you down and mark you up.”

Her hands shift and grip his shoulders tight, nails biting into his flesh and he can’t bring himself to care. His hips start a slow rhythm at first, dragging more of those sweet sounds from her. 

“I—fuck! I’m not…not apologizing,” she manages. Her eyes never stray from his, all the fervor and passion within driving him harder. Driving him deeper. Riley opens her mouth, words just on the cusp of her tongue but he gives her a moment—watches her head tilt back as far as his grip allows her and those beautiful brown eyes roll to the back of her head. “All of this…I want it all, baby…” Her hands smooth down his bare chest and his jaw clenches. “I demand it. I don’t want you to stop until…”

“I’ll give you what you deserve,” he says between clenched teeth. “All the things you, hah…all the things you…want and more.” More than this—more than flesh on flesh, chasing heat and highs beyond their wildest dreams. Liam drags her forward crushing his mouth against hers. One kiss, just the one break in all the fantasies fueling him. When they part, their eyes lock, breaths ragged and heavy as fire burns in their veins. He swallows around dry air. “Anything you want. Everything you want, my love, please. Oh god, Riley, I’ll give you everything just…please…”

Her hands weave through his hair pulling him close. She tilts forward kissing him sloppily. 

“Give me your love,” she demands and he groans, deep and low. Lets the sound settle in his chest as one of her hands smooths down his back to grip his ass and loosely guide him. Her lips press against his ear and he shudders at the breath puffing into the cartilage. “Give me your fears. Your worries. Give me what’s been eating at you, clawing at you, shaking you down to the core.”

The hand trapped between them shifts up so he can wrap her up in his arms. It’s all lost to him now—sanity, tact, control, and everything in between. His hips chase a feeling now, no rhythm or rhyme. Just the heat surrounding him on all sides, the fire threatening to burst from within him. He presses his face in the crook of her neck as the heat coils tight in his belly, mouth open and lungs burning. He groans deep, inhales sharply and takes in the scent of her perfume mingling with the sweat clinging to her neck. Her ankles lock behind his back and it’s only a matter of time. 

Five…

“Let it wash through you, baby,” comes her sultry voice in his ear. Encouraging him still. Coaxing him regardless of the subtle ache that must be quaking in her thighs by now. “Let it flow through me.”

Four…

Squeezing tight around him and he can barely take it anymore. Barely stand the fire choking him up in the chest and the desperate heave of his lungs swallowing dry air. Her hand on his ass keeps guiding him—pinching him when he grinds his hips into hers and squeezing when her name tumbles off the edge of his lips. He can’t take this anymore.

Three…

“Riley, please! Gods, please, I can’t! I can’t stand it—”

Two…

“Give me all of it. Give me, give me, give me! I demand it. I want it. I want it! I want you! I want you so fucking much, Liam! Oh!”

Oh…oh…

One. 

One love, one body, one soul—for a few minutes, maybe even less than that. Maybe more than he’d ever be able to understand. Just those few seconds in between the powerful jerk of his hips, the desperate pleas spilling rapidly from Riley’s lips. It’s a feeling that flows out of him with a snap—the very last thread of his control gone completely as he spills deep inside her. Thrusts hard until there’s nothing left of him to give. He holds her as tight as he can without hurting her, presses his mouth to her ear and lets the hoarse groans bubbling in his chest pour out of him. 

He keeps going until his knees scream with pain, until her choked sobs die down and morph into gentle praises that she plants upon him with even gentler kisses. On his face, across his cheeks, and down his jaw—each whisper of breath dancing along his skin carrying a promise of love and adoration. 

“So good. So so good, Liam, I love you so much,” she says like it’s an oath, sure and brimming with passion. Her shaky hands cradle his face, pull him from the warmth of the crook of her neck so she can look him in the eye properly. His heart swells large and fast in his chest at the pure joy in the depths of her brown eyes. Riley brushes the sweat from his brow and kisses every bit of skin her fingertips touch. “I love you, Liam. You did so well.”

“I love you, too,” he says quickly, stealing a few kisses from her lips. There’s a beat of laughter that comes from her in between them. A ray of warmth in all this cooling heat—the one sound he cherishes more than raspy pleas and hoarse begging. He presses his forehead to hers and shares a laugh with her. “Riley Harrington, I love you so damn much. I love you, I love you…”

And for a moment, there’s no titles and no need to think about the world outside the doors. There’s just them, their bodies bare with sweat clinging to their skin, and whispers of their devotion filling the silence. 

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

Of course they pick him. Why wouldn’t they pick him?

He’s the Professional Best Friend—the one person that knows Liam--inside and out--that could track him to the ends of the earth and back. 

Drake sighs—and shouldn’t be complaining either. It isn’t as if Madeleine’s concerns are unfounded. These days, whenever Liam disappears, it tends to cause a bit of panic amongst the King’s Guard. Anton may be gone but the threat is still fresh in people’s minds. That won’t change any time soon. 

So when Madeleine levels him with a pointed look and a raised brow, as if to say, “fetch, boy,” he has no choice but to go track Liam down, or else a national scandal break out on account of the King of Cordonia just wanting a few minutes to breathe. 

When he tosses the doors to the training room open, he freezes. 

Scraps of clothing lay in tatters all over the mats, clean cuts from what he can see, and not a trace of any person who could’ve worn them nearby. He steps further into the room and picks up some of the pieces so he can closely examine them. Little black scraps here, white fabric there—no blood on either, but the black scraps…

He brings a strip of black cloth to his nose and sniffs. 

“Harrington’s perfume…” he whispers and turns his head. 

A small leather jacket lays crumpled on the floor by the wall. Panic wells in him when he picks it up and notes the cut across the back of it. A sword or knife—he looks closer and—

“No blood?”

His head snaps towards the locker rooms, a noise drawing him closer to the doors. Through the threshold, he can hear two voices—one unmistakably Liam’s and the other…

He inches further into the room, noting the steam rolling out of the shower and the two swords lying haphazardly across the floor. There’s a grunt, deep and guttural—he swallows. 

“—hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“Clearly.”

Harrington. 

He creeps closer, footsteps silent as he inches closer. 

Liam sighs wistfully. “The one time I wish Bastien had actually kept close tabs on me…”

Someone’s wet footsteps pad across the tiles. “No phone either?”

“Left it with Drake.” A pause. “What? Wait, no. I—I didn’t plan—”

“Oh, I know. This was my plan but I just—wow, so that’s a tidbit I’m definitely gonna abuse later.”

“Riley!” There’s a lilt in Liam’s voice as his laughter cuts through the quiet. 

It eats at him in ways he doesn’t expect a lot of times, the jealousy and the silent heartbreak that gnaws at him. Drake sighs and presses flush against the lockers—he hasn’t thought about either of them like that in a while but it creeps up sometimes. He remembers the social season, hating Harrington and wishing she would figure out that court is the last place she needed to be. He remembers the contempt that spread through him when Liam spoke on and on about how right it felt to be near her whenever he could. 

The shower cuts off and the two of them giggle again. Drake straightens up when Liam’s head pokes out from behind the curtain.

“Oh, Drake! Thank goodness,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’m afraid I might need your help for a moment.”

“Are you two okay?” Drake asks, pushing off the lockers. He stops when Liam glances back and pulls the curtain tighter to him. He’s seen Harrington before—he never told Liam, not that he ever would. “Madeleine said she hadn’t seen either of you for a while and I found your clothes...” 

A deep blush tinges Liam’s cheeks and his eyes dart around the room. 

“Ah…well…” Liam jerks and looks back, a small smile creeping on his face and Drake can practically see Harrington’s glib expression as she pokes her husband in his sides. “Riley’s…Duchess Riley is with me. We may have…been a bit overzealous with our training. Which brings me to our current problem—”

“You need me to bring you spare clothes,” Drake finishes with a sigh. 

“And if possible, try not to get caught doing it,” Liam adds, unhelpfully. 

Drake rolls his eyes. “Alright just…hang on. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Thank you—”

“Thanks Drake!” Riley exclaims.

He turns on his heel and gives a half-hearted wave. 

“You both owe me!” he tosses back, marching off. 

His thoughts are quiet at the very least, no whispers of the jealousy from before poking and prodding at him.

[asofterfan]

Winter Winds

Chapter 2: Wake Me Up When September Ends

Previous ~ Next

Summary: A new client arrives...

Warnings: None that I can think of (shocking I know)

The next morning, to absolutely no one’s surprise, Remy burst through the door of the shop at 11am.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I’m late, but it wasn’t my fault this time!” Remy panted. He was in the ragged sweatpants and baggy crop top that everyone in the shop recognized as his pajamas, a flannel wrapped hastily around his waist. Gripping his coffee and a pastry bag like a lifeline, he looked around the shop frantically, “Where’s the client, I’ll share my muffin or something to appease them.”

“Oh, their appointment isn’t for another half hour,” Ali deadpanned.

“…Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” Ali drawled with a smirk, “I had a feeling this would happen so I told you the appointment time was an hour earlier than it actually is.”

Remy sputtered indignantly, “That’s…! How dare you, I….!”

“Remy, drink your coffee,” Rafael chimed in, snickering, “Your sleepy sass sounds do not make a particularly compelling argument.”

Huffing, Remy threw his bag onto a chair in his station, “You guys are the worst. I ran here. RAN. I haven’t moved that fast since gym class in high school.”

“You expect us to believe you ran in gym?” Cass challenged.

“Exactly! You guys are literally worse than high school gym!” Remy glared at each of them in turn, shoving his muffin into his mouth angrily.

Shaking their heads fondly, the rest of the staff returned to their various tasks as Remy finished his breakfast, sipping on his coffee. The caffeine didn’t hit fast enough and he found himself yawning. “Uuuuuuuugh,” Remy groaned, throwing himself into an empty chair at the front desk and laying his head on his arms.

“Sleepyhead, don’t-” Brett began before being cut off.

“Relax, gurl, I’m just resting my eyes.”

Brett shook his head, “Famous last words.”

~

“Remy.”

The artist groaned, burrowing his face deeper into his arms.

“Remyyyyy.”

Someone was shaking his shoulder, but he couldn’t be bothered to do anything more than grumble. Surely whoever it was would leave him alone soon.

“REMY!”

A loud ‘BANG’ inches from his face had Remy shooting upright, sunglasses clattering onto the desk and nearly falling out of his chair as he regained his bearings, blinking rapidly. Heart still beating rapidly, he turned to glare at Cass, who was staring down at him with a smirk, her hands still on the desk where she had hit it to wake him up.

“What kind of disrespect?!” Remy exclaimed.

Cass only snickered, “Hey, we warned you not to ‘rest your eyes’, Sleepyhead,” She crossed her arms as she chastised him, “Your client is here, so look alive!”

A light chuckle came from behind her, and for the first time Remy noticed the newcomer. The man was short, standing only slightly taller than Cass’ 5’5”, but he was muscular, and he fit in perfectly with the studio. Ripped jeans and a tattered black tee shirt under a leather jacket, with tattoos poking out from the neckline. He had an undercut, short black hairs contrasting sharply with the messy red/orange gradient that fell around his face, and dark circles under his eyes. When they made eye contact, he gave Remy a crooked smirk, raising his hand lazily in greeting.

“‘Sup.”

Raising an eyebrow, Remy sighed through his nose before grabbing his sunglasses and plastering on a smile as he pushed them onto the top of his head, “Hey gurl, sorry I’m late-”

“I mean, technically you were here on time-”

“Whatever, yeah,” Remy waved his hand dismissively as he gathered his notebooks and his now cold coffee, “Alright, let’s get this appointment going,” He sauntered past the two, entering the lounge in the back, dropping into one of the couches, “Come on, chop chop, waiting on you hon.”

Shaking his head in amusement, the client followed leisurely, as Cass rolled her eyes and returned to her own station.

The lounge was situated past the entry area, and was cleaner and more professional than the staff break room in the back. Photos of the staff and framed art covered the walls, along with a copy machine in the corner, a few couches, and a large coffee table with the artists’ portfolios spread out across it. Consultations were always held in the lounge so that both the client and the artists could be comfortable as they discussed their projects.

As the man sat down, Remy held a hand out, “As you’ve probably already gathered, I’m Remy.”

“Toby,” he replied, shaking the offered hand. Remy noticed his eyes dart down to his pronoun necklace, but he didn’t make any comment.

“So,” Remy crossed his legs, getting comfortable, “let’s talk tatts. I can see you have some tattoos already, you been to our shop before?”

Toby leaned his arms against the back of the couch casually, “Nah. I lived a few hours away during college and just moved back last year. This is the first tattoo I’ve gotten since then.”

Remy nodded, “Alright, so I’ll need to get your information before you leave for our files. But first, tell me about what you’re looking to get.”

Nodding, Toby pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, smoothing it out as he handed it to the artist with a grin, “I want to get this quote in the center of my back, with some kind of border around it.”

“Well that’s not vague at all,” Remy drawled, taking the page and looking down at the quote.

“Ha! I know, I know,” Toby rubbed at his neck, grinning sheepishly, “I guess I was kind of thinking maybe like, branches, or leaves or something. But honestly I’m open to anything if you’ve got any ideas.

Remy hummed noncommittally. Maybe it was because he was still a little drowsy, but he couldn’t think of anything other than the usual cliches. Virgil might be able to come up with something. “This is a pretty long quote. How big did you want this?”

“I don’t have any tattoos on my back, so I’m cool with it taking up as much space as you think it needs.”

“How do you feel about editing this quote down a little? Just to give some more room for the design.”

Tilting his head, Toby thought about it for a moment, “I think that’d be fine. Could I edit it down myself and email it to you once I’ve worked out what I want?”

“Yeah girl, ain’t no thing,” taking a long sip of his coffee, he leaned back against the couch, “Now, a tattoo this big isn’t going to be cheap, or quick. Obviously what you choose for the final design for the border will effect it, but if I had to guesstimate I’d say you’re looking at probably a four hour session. We could also break it into two session if you wanted.”

“Cool, that’s about what I expected,” he grinned, “Don’t worry, I’ve been saving for this.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worried,” Remy raised an eyebrow, “We get your card information before we start inking. I ain’t letting anyone tatt and dash.”

Toby barked out a laugh, “That’s a good system.”

“Mmhmm,” Remy nodded, making a few quick notes in his notebook, “Alright. I’mma need to photocopy your ID and have you fill out some paperwork while we work out a date for you.”

Nodding, Toby pulled out a beat up leather wallet, pulling out his driver’s license to give to the artist. Remy took it and stood to go to the copy machine when he suddenly froze, staring down at the plastic card.

“Toby, huh?” Smirking teasingly, Remy waved the card in front of him, “Cause this says your name is October.”

Raising an eyebrow, the man in question grinned, “Who doesn’t love October?”

“I’m not a fan,” Remy deadpanned. It was a total lie, of course, October was objectively the best month, “Besides, if that’s the case why go by Toby? Honestly if no one calls you Doc Oct then what’s the point?” Suddenly he gasped, “Wait. Hold up. Girrrrrrrl why do I suspect you have too many autumn tatts?”

“I have exactly the right amount of autumn tatts.”

Looking back down at the license, Remy burst into giggles, “And your birthday is October 1st?? This is too much, like, I am unprepared for this situation.”

“Falling for me already?” Toby leaned forward, eyes bright and wearing playful grin.

Shaking their head, Remy pulled out a form from one of the drawers in the coffee table, “Tsk, I’m surprised it took you that long to bust out a pun,” he handed the paper to him.

“I try to ease people into the fact that I’m both hot and witty,” he grabbed a pen from the coffee table and began filling in his information.

“And modest, too,” Remy leaned against the copy machine as he waited for it to finish printing.

“What can I say, I’ve got it all.”

“Except height.”

Toby gasped dramatically, putting a hand over his heart in mock offense, “Low blow!”

“Any higher and it’d go over your head,” Remy grinned, tossing his ID onto the coffee table and setting the photocopy aside.

Chuckling, the man returned to filling out the form, “Don’t think I didn’t notice the heels on those boots. You can’t be that much taller than me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Remy took out his phone, leaning against the wall as he flipped through his calendar, “Alright, so as far as setting you up with an appointment. I’ll need some time to get the design drawn up and approved by you. Plus I’m pretty booked, so next available time slot I could fit you in would be next month on the 18th at noon.”

“What day of the week is that?”

“Wednesday.”

“Hm, no go. Do you have anything on Thursday? The 19th?”

Remy scrolled down the page before nodding, “Yeah, that day is clear. You can pick the time.”

“Let’s do 1pm, I am not a morning person,” Toby looked up and smirked, holding out the completed form to Remy.

“Mood,” Remy grinned back, looking over the page to double check everything looked good before grabbing a stapler from next to the copy machine to attach the photocopy of Toby’s ID. “Alright then, I think you’re set.”

“Aw, getting rid of me already?” Toby leaned forward, chin in hand and he smiled up at the artist, “But we’re having so much fun.”

“So let’s quit while we’re ahead, mmkay?” Tossing his hair back, he picked up his notebook from the table, “I’ll email you once I have a sketch of the design to get your opinion or whatev.”

“I look forward to it,” he stood with a wink.

Remy deadpanned, “Well that makes one of us.”

“So cold,” Toby shook his head with a laugh, “Alright, thanks for everything. We’ll talk soon.”

“Uh huh, byeeee,” Remy waved his fingers as Toby finally left the shop. He barely made it to his station to put his things away and start preparing for his next appointment when Cass’ face peaked above the wall dividing their stations.

“Soooo,” She grinned teasingly, “You two seemed to get along.”

“Ali said I have to have some level of professional courtesy with the clients,” Remy raised an eyebrow.

Cass rolled her eyes, “Oh come on, you were both sassing easy as breathing! He’s the first person I’ve seen in a long time, if ever, that could keep up with you.”

“Oh my God, so what? Witty banter happens, it’s all around us, be more chill, girl.”

“You have his number~” she sing-songed, pointing to the form Remy was putting into his client drawer.

“Yeah, I needed his contact info. He’s my client.”

“Oh come on, we’re not doctors or anything, there’s no rule against artist/canvas relationships.”

“‘Relationships’? Ew.”

Cass laughed, “Alright, maybe not a relationship, but there’s nothing stopping you from tapping that!”

Remy felt his teeth clench together, and a lot of words flew through his mind, but he didn’t feel like he had the self-restraint to say any of them in less than a scream. So he settled for a cold, “Right, nothing at all,” as he pushed his sunglasses down over his eyes and returned to looking over the designs he needed to print for his next client.

“Hey, Sleep, I was just kidding,” Cass’ voice was a little softer, “We all know you’re not into that. It was a joke.”

It was a joke he’d heard too many times. It wasn’t really funny anymore. Still, he glanced over the top of his glasses and smiled, “I know, hon, it ain’t no thing.”

“You just seemed to get along more than you usually do with clients,” Cass continued, “If nothing else he just seems like a cool guy.”

“Ooooh, you sure you don’t want to tap that?” Remy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Cass threw a crumpled up piece of paper at him as he laughed, “This is what I get for trying to expand your social circle!”

“Give up, babe, I’m a lone wolf,” He grinned. Cass shook her head in fond exasperation as they both returned to their work. Tapping on his phone, Remy entered Toby’s information into his calendar to mark his appoint.

After putting his phone in his pocket, October didn’t even cross his mind.

[scifimagpie]

The Art of Destruction: Distressed Aesthetics

A belated happy new year, my dear followers!

So, I have a neat idea for a new series coming up. But after the holidays (which were pleasantly busy) and some interpersonal scuffling in January (which was not nearly as lovely, but came to an all-right enough resolution), my idea bank was absolutely flat broke.

A nice chat with friends has filled the bowl up, but while I work on those posts, here is something I stashed off to the side after a Facebook conversation last year.

I often reference fashion and clothing to help get in the right mindset for my writing projects. Whilst working on Poe's Outlaws (Book 4 of The Meaning Wars series; book 3, The Meaning Wars, is ready for beta-reading and edits now!) I indulged in my usual technique of sifting through Dolls Kill and Pinterest to look at various bits of outre, fun, futuristic fashion.  Of course, when working on Monsters and Fools and planning for After the Garden's sequels, I also like to look at post-apocalyptic and distressed clothing. I like distressed clothing anyway, but it tends to get a lot of flack. =

On an episode of a podcast called Minion Death Cult, the hosts discussed some common reactions of tradespeople and Boomers to distressed and some faux-muddy jeans. (Not unsurprisingly, there were a lot of tired jokes about just selling people old, worn-out jeans from "real" tradesmen.) But not a lot of people understand how distressed clothing works, or why it's somehow different from their dad's old, grimy jeans and tattered denim jacket, so I'm going to break it down. 

Note: all images in this article came from the Nordstrom website. Most or all are designed by PRPS.

  I'm gonna take the unusual stance here of defending distressed jeans, because I've been studying and making distressed knit clothing and other types of distressed clothing for a bit. Why? Because I like post-apocalyptic fashion, and I think wrecked things are often beautiful. 

You may be familiar with the term "wabi-sabi," which sometimes passes in and out of vogue for decorating trends. The term is comprised of two Japanese words - wabi, in a nutshell, refers to the beauty of simplicity; sabi, to the beauty of age and use. There's a bit more to it, but that's the quick explanation of these beautiful and imperfectly translatable terms. Wabi-sabi is usually used in reference to home decor, but it totally applies to clothing, too. 

Anyway, getting on with the point - the thing about dirty jeans is that they're gonna leave dirt on wherever you sit. Fake dirt still captures the same look, the rather beautiful way the brown stains and fades into the tightly woven blue threads, but it won't leave big ol' scuffmarks on your leather car seats.

As for the distressing, the interesting and beautiful way that denim falls apart tends to happen in less sexy areas - the knees, the thighs, the crotch. Distressing clothes on purpose lets you get the look without impairing the wearability and structural integrity of the clothes. Sometimes that doesn't work at all, like with the cheaper distressed jeans that are all holes and have a high spandex content, but that's still the idea.

As far as how this relates to designing and making clothing, with knitwear (such as the awesome punk sweaters we all may love, or at least have seen before), it's important to know how the particular fibres and yarns work structurally. There's a reason why clothing made to be or look distressed looks so awesome and a lot of actually busted up clothing or "home-made" distressed stuff looks crappy. Knowing where and how to cut fabric in pre-made knits, how to style the runs, or how to make patterns with the runs and holes, is all very calculated. As I've learned myself, if you try to distress a finely-knit sweater, it'll look like crap; distressing needs a chunkier, thicker yarn to be really noticeable. And wet-blocking a ravelled sweater (stretching while wet) is very important - otherwise, the threads maintain their curled appearance, and don't become those straight lines that create contrast with the curving knitted stitches. It's also really important to actually tie off runs in a distressed sweater, or the whole thing will, in fact, unravel. 

The advantage of knitting a sweater with a distressed look is that you can control this process. In effect, dropped stitches and yarn-overs create a sort of freeform lace look, and don't destroy the structural integrity of the sweater (which unravelling a pre-made sweater CAN do). 

So basically there IS a method to the madness in pre-distressed clothing, and knowing how to distress your clothing well and safely - whether it's for a stage production, Halloween, or fashion - takes more than sharp scissors and boredom!

Predictably, clothes like this inspire retorts like, "I could give you my old jeans covered in cow manure and farm dirt and motor oil for that price!" But that's the point - the "fake dirt" that so baffled the Washington Post and CNN, where reporters appeared unfamiliar with the concept of "p a i n t", will not rub off or dirty other surfaces. The pants don't contain the scent and sweat of another person's work, nor are they worn out and about to fall apart, as those pants probably are. (For example, the wear patterns and distressing and whiskering all appear on the thighs and calves of the jeans, rather than in the crotch, around the bottom cuffs, and etcetera.) 

It's not about pretending you work - it's about exploring the beauty of entropy and things that are lived-in. The way fabric dye fades, the soft whiskering of denim fabric, the delicate feathers of raw-edged cotton - all of these have their own beauty. Repairs can create a contrast from the original fabric or material as well, and it needn't be ugly. People familiar with "that weird gold thing," kintsuogi, may also know have seen it in cases where useful objects are repaired and the cracks are patched with gold leaf to highlight their beauty. 

Here's another example of finding beauty in marks and unexpected places. When I saw an advertisement for Canada Post that featured a very intriguing necklace, I tracked down the artist's work and had a look at her site.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BUkgqx4hXdu/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

View this post on Instagram

#fbf to my 30 seconds of fame 😛 I custom made this piece especially for the #canadapost commercial. It took every spare second I had for a month....... and it will be on-screen for a second at a time for three years 😪 💰#lianevazbespoke

A post shared by Toronto Goldsmith (@lianevazdesigns) on May 26, 2017 at 2:22pm PDT

However, to my surprise, most of her jewelry was either minimalist and geometric, or covered in dented and scratched textures, like this!

https://www.instagram.com/p/Bw10Dy7AWYp/

View this post on Instagram

HEX textured pendant in 18k gold on a vintage chain ✨

A post shared by Toronto Goldsmith (@lianevazdesigns) on Apr 29, 2019 at 6:17am PDT

Or, like this! 

There is real value in appreciating things as we wear them out. If we are to shift to a less consumption-driven culture, which is necessary in the fight against climate change, we're gonna have to get used to not having things that look new all the time. Supplies and availability of items may be restricted. Repairing clothing and items instead of just throwing them out has also become pretty popular amongst Generation Z, many of whom are embracing thrifting and minimal-waste lifestyles. 

But in addition to that, there's also a beauty in the broken or fraying, the imperfect, the less-than-new. Most of the time we spend with an item will be active. Jewelry gets scratches. Clothes rip. Colours fade. Paper tears. And all of those things expose new beauties and different aspects of the item, revealing its structure and design and suggesting or reminding us of experiences we've had.

After all, our possessions act as anchors for memories. There's a reason why in pre-industrial times, treasured items were passed down through generations or repaired over and over. Our things aren't just pretty diversions or useful parts of daily life - they're parts of our lives, woven or tangled with our memories.

***

Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer and editor. She lives in Lethbridge, AB with her partner-in-crime and Max the cat. Her days revolve around freelance editing, knitting, jewelry, and learning too much. She is currently working on other people’s manuscripts, the next books in her series, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible.

Find her all over the internet: * OG Blog * Mailing list * Magpie Editing * Amazon * Medium * Twitter * Instagram * Facebook * Tumblr * Paypal.me * Ko-fi