#they would be drawn over the He asked for no pickles! like a million times

[thegreatestheaver]

if divine right had a fandom I think people would like jigolo and miasma

[sugar-petals]

Treats For You (M)

↳ PAIRING: yuzuru hanyu × reader

↳ PLOT: You tend to a nervous Yuzu the night before a skating competition.

↳ WORD COUNT: 9k | one shot | domestic au, smut

↳ WARNINGS ⚠️ pwp, dom/sub, feeding yuzu treats, pegging, some very wet oral (m giving), cum play, oh lord it gets graphic, fingering, crying, mommy kink, yuzu’s crazy back arch, rough sex, masochism, aftercare, some asthma talk

↳ CARO’S NOTE: inspired by this juicy gif. PS: since i usually post for other fandoms — if you’re unfamiliar with yuzu, visit this intro post. 

Just two minutes after you switch off the light, he starts fidgeting. 

Repeatedly, all while messing around with his pillow. Soon enough, the blanket you share becomes all disheveled. 

You turn your head towards the window to check. All as usual. The blinds are perfectly drawn to shut out the moonlight. Meanwhile, the humidifier infuses the air in gentle ten-minute intervals. Not even the heater is bumbling tonight. Yuzuru keeps on rustling beside you, still. Some of his plushies fall off the bed, one after the other.

Of course he can’t sleep. It’s daunting, no precaution ever helps. The blanket couldn’t be any more crumpled up at this point.

„I’m so nervous,“ he finally sits up another minute later, causing the duvet to lift. A little sigh follows.

Eventually, you turn in the sheets yourself, now facing him. Or rather, what you can vaguely make out as his crouching silhouette.

„Hey,“ you mumble from your left side of the bed. „You watched all of the performances from last month.“ You pat Yuzu’s pillow, hoping he would sink down on it again. „At least twice. Or more.“

God knows for how many hours he stretched in front of the TV on his spongy blue yoga mat, reviewing mountains of footage with a furrowed brow worthy of a restaurant critic.

Every jump and every turn, analyzed over and over. Down to the millimeter. Even the costume got its fair share of scorn. Too wide there, this detail on the collar could be different, that part gets in the way while doing spins.

„It’s all— I don’t know what I’m lacking these days.“

The silhouette doesn’t look like it’s headed to lie down again for the time being. You reach toward your bedstand’s squiggly designer lamp. After fumbling about in the dark, you find the bulky switch at its bottom. On goes the light again. Perhaps a bit too bright, both of you squint hard.

„It’s not like you’re dropping to second place anytime soon.“

Given how you thought you could call it a day before Yuzu started to fidget, maybe your voice is not fully resonant yet. It still carries a little unspoken ‚…right?‘ with it. 

As soon as you finish the sentence, you feel how he can pick up on it already. The humidifier dryly comments by puffing out a cloud of lavender steam.

„I don’t really know,“ Yuzu retorts twisting, going into a deep shrug. He is completely sunken now.

„Looks like a simple big hug won’t do, hm.“

Yuzuru ends up nodding. It’s more knowing than admitting. But you don’t like the sense of resignation that comes with it, at all. The problem goes a little deeper than just motivating him with the stats he ironically already knows, times better than you, even.

It’s been going on for the entire day. The last time he made such a grouchy face at his videos was around Christmas. Back then, he couldn’t quite get the jumps right at the start of his routine. But now? His scores are just fine. Not to mention the jumps.

„I didn’t think you were lacking,“ you say. „You just fell once during training.“

And that was because he was fooling around during a break, not in the serious exercises.

„Sorry for bothering you,“ he buries his face in the blanket, beginning to ruffle his hair all over the place. Frustrated Friday-evening-Yuzu always does that, but the energy doesn’t seem to go anywhere this time.

The murmur of his stomach isn’t hard to miss either. You lay your hand on Yuzu’s back.

„Is it because you didn’t eat?“

You wonder what he had for dinner.

Only more guilty stomach growling reaches you as a reply. Figures: He skipped it, and lunch, too. His breakfast was so frugal, you don’t even remember whether he had his milk or not. 

Yuzu was already pacing around in the living room at that point. Recalling the tricky parts of the upcoming choreography, treading his feet into the carpet, humming the steady rhythm of his skating program.

„Maybe I’m turning into a snickers diva,“ a muffled little comment emerges from where his chaotic hair sticks out from the duvet. At this point, his face is all buried there.

„I mean. If you allow me to baby you…“

Three minutes later. You rub your eyes, shift from leg to leg. The kitchen floor is as cold as ever so you regret not putting on socks. Meanwhile, there’s no problem raiding the fridge. 

You could go to the grocery store five times a day and buy everything Yuzu’s mouth waters over — it’d still be stacked to the top. Snacks, veggies, particular sports drinks in weird blue colors, Japanese pickled plums, gyoza left-overs, salad, various fizzy drinks, mostly lemonade.

It’s like that with any food. Out of sight, out of mind. He won’t bother getting up from the yoga mat if he’s fixated on the TV.

After making two distinct picks and checking whether the fridge door closes properly, then bustling at the sink with a towel, you trot back to the bedroom. Equipped. In the meantime, Yuzu has recollected his plushies from the floor, gently aligning them next to his pillow. 

They’re all in their strictly defined place again. You enter just the second after he’s arranged them in the usual half-circle order, centered around his favorite, all-time friendly-eyed Winnie Pooh bear.

„Will you look at that,“ you plant your little kitchen conquests onto the bed, rousing approval noises from Yuzuru who sparkles right at the box and plate you brought along. The grouchy face dissolves, curiosity takes its place. His food reactions will always be the cutest to you.

„Strawberries!“

„From the market. Wasn’t too expensive.“

Freshly doused in the sink, plump and very ripe.

„And rice cakes!“

Truth be told, there couldn’t be a bigger comfort food on his list and you shamelessly exploit the very fact.

„Every competition has a victory meal. Here, fruits first.“

After plopping down on the mattress yourself, you pick up one, then two strawberries. Immediately, Yuzu’s little upturned mouth opens wide as if a tiger baby was yawning. 

He chews more eagerly than you thought. If you pass him pretzel sticks while he reviews things on the TV, he barely eats one or two of them.

„I like these,“ he swallows, prying for the next fruit in your hand already. „Sweet!“

„Tastes best with cake,“ you rearrange your sitting position, making sure to park your cold feet next to Yuzuru’s very warm ones. His toes are readily brushing against yours, Yuzuru perhaps not even noticing they do. He’s too fixated on the little cakes. In all things he does— focus incarnate. He can’t help it.

„Yes, I wanna try!“

You rummage in the packaging you brought along, draw forth a first treat. A second one you set aside on the plate. Tiger baby opens his mouth even wider, in goes the first chunk of the rich delicacy. Lord have mercy on his stomach, it’s 11:15 PM. But what’s normal to him, anyways.

Ten more minutes pass. After the strawberry box is two thirds empty and three juicy rice cakes have embarked on their last journey, Yuzu looks a lot more content than before, even if his bedhead arguably makes him look like a mad scientist. Junior professor Yuzuru Hanyu, escapee from his genius lab that exploded in a blaze of smoke. 

You take it as your task to brush the outlaw strands back into their place with your fingers after pulling out a wet wipe — those with the way too astringent citrus flavor— from your bedstand, cleaning your hands off the rice. It’s not like your hands aren’t sticky on the regular.

To your satisfaction, Yuzu looks like a swaying cat, nestled into his blanket. With no more stomach growling audible, gladly. You put the plate on the bedside table, lean forward to kiss his belly, and shoot him a fracture of an ambiguous gaze.

„So… Fancy getting even more stuffed?“

„Sure! Is it a surprise?“ Yuzu looks around, presumably searching for more food you brought along.

The pure soul.

„Well, we already had dessert.“

„Oh, right! But, what’s the food, then?“

A little pause follows. Yuzuru couldn’t look any more thrilled. You decide to go with it.

„You’re too innocent,“ you lower down your pants by an inch, thumbs demonstratively hooked into the hem. You raise your eyebrows into a question that he cannot miss. „If you want. You might wanna grab your spray first, though.“

Only the last part fully registers in Yuzuru’s expression that finally goes from curious to… sheepish. He caught on.

Asthma spray at 11:30 PM is a cue he’s gotten familiar with over the last four months. Not in a million years did he think he’d ever have to use it late at night. Whatever decision process is rattling through Yuzu’s brain right now, it’s a fast one, though.

„Ha— okay!“

„Alright, Yuzu.“

„Just once second!“

Food round number two, it is. You kick off your pants and underwear but make sure they don’t land any place where plushies are. Yuzu is already busy at the other end of the room, visibly at work with shaky hands, browsing the cupboard with meds next to the window.

Now that he’s double nervous, you curse your idea, but remind yourself of the last late-evening time Yuzu had his head between your legs. ‚I dunno, I was just concentrated‘ are the words that stuck with you after asking him how on earth he kept his breath for what felt like 45 seconds. 

Whatever masochist devil has been driving him, it gave your boyfriend skills you never even knew were possible to have out of absolute nowhere. Not to mention how easily it distracted him from anything else in the world.

Maybe that focus is an effect easy to replicate, you think. Anything that can take his mind off the competition tomorrow is worth trying.

Carefully, you move over to the right side of the bed. Then, recline on Yuzu’s pillow — on his explicit wish two months ago, you meticulously keep that tradition — and feel surrounded by plushies already. 

Back then, Yuzu insisted that he shouldn’t be the only one watching out for you when you’re having sex. And that the pillow just smells really good of your hair afterwards. So there you lay, feeling all kinds of horny. Given that Yuzu is already returning to the bed, swiping his hair off his forehead. Looking very refreshed, letting his breath play. Sexy.

And there it goes already. The I dunno, I was just concentrated gaze. You arrange your legs wide enough for Yuzu to settle in the middle, him still sitting upright. His hands are still shaky when they reach around your outer thigh, but his eyes don’t lie to you in the very least.

„Your breath alright?“

A little nod, but he doesn’t heed the question for any longer. There’s gladly nothing that his lung doctor can’t figure out. You count on that, but asking doesn’t hurt.

Meanwhile, Yuzu’s eager eyes are already drawn downwards. Getting bigger and bigger. The surprise he had anticipated in fact now dances over his face, flighty and polite, but nonetheless apparent to you. He’s smiling, and it looks shy in the light of the bedstand lamp.

„I, ah…“

It’s as if he hasn’t seen you naked before, every time. For whatever reason, Yuzu always reverts to virgin mode with his first glance. You admit it’s flattering and amusing alike, but also — leaves you with Hitchcock level suspense. 

Yuzuru has proven himself to be an expert in summoning a beginner’s zeal, an almost childlikeness. That keeps you on your toes and promises an intensity that routine and pragmatic energy management could never give you.

After letting his eyes linger a little more, his lips become visibly impatient. He’s already licking them. You’d promised food, and he takes it seriously. That Yuzu’s fingers stroke rather weirdly at your thighs does not escape your attention either. They’re practicing.

„Help yourself, touch.“

The stroking ceases. Yuzu doesn’t hesitate to reach down with his left. How he touches you sends a row of tingles down your legs. His fingertips are amazingly dainty and soft. He explores. Then, soon keeps on caressing about, leans his head forward, all still from his seated position. It doesn’t take too long until he goes straight to getting you off with his right hand.

„This is, wow,“ he mumbles to himself, already immersed in rubbing your clit. Going in circles, taking his time. Alternating between index and thumb.

„Yeah. That’s the spot,“ you shift in the pillow, eventually finding a good position to relax. You exhale, focus on his hand.

„So smooth,“ Yuzu traces his joining left hand up and down your labia.

„Maybe someone wants a taste?“

You were right that he would forget practically anything else. The yoga mat worry brow is blown off his face. Substituted by— appetite.

„Not just maybe, actually.“

Spreading your legs a little more is invitation enough to have Yuzuru lower his head onto your pubic bone, tongue already searching for its favorite place. Your fingers gently interlace in his hair as soon as he starts sucking. Keeping his bangs out of his eyes.

How unafraid to bury his face he is you soon get to witness. You can feel the bridge of his nose glide from lip to lip, and the feathery light brush of his lashes at the base of your inner thighs. 

Yuzu’s tongue has always been cheeky, but today, it feels particularly adventurous and slippery. He can’t help but fumble about with his hands simultaneously. Beginner’s zeal, you knew it’d come.

The bucking of your hips comes too naturally to be controlled. Nor does Yuzuru know just how to hold his head back from thrusting. This little shit. Whatever is in those rice cakes, it made him a new level of keen. Soon enough, his tongue has riled you up plenty, and his focused eyes have become entirely monotone. Only preoccupied with one thing and one thing alone. 

Just how much he dedicates his attention has to be a thing for the books. You feel like blowing up and moaning like crazy at this point, but manage to at least puff out. He knows you’re way too close. There’s a little smile you feel in the way he eats you.

„So that mouth gets a cum filling,“ you twist your fingers out of Yuzu’s wild hair. It’s all tangled again. The return of the mad professor. He has all the space in the world to bop his head as much as he wants now. One, two, three plushies fall over and tumble around the mattress. He doesn’t notice.

The warmth between your legs has been growing ceaselessly. Now, ready to brim. With Yuzu’s agile tongue slipping back and forth over your clit in erratic intervals, you feel like losing your mind with every lick. The way his lips excite you gives off the lewdest sucking noises. All wet, and resolute like a chess player not to drop you off that high. 

He keeps his laps consistent, leans in more, and eventually— tips you off the edge with a fast sequence of letting his tongue dip under the hood of your clit. And letting it stay there, all until your legs start twitching. You groan out.

Yuzu gets a big. Fat. Cum filling indeed.

Your breath goes short, you grab his shoulders. Growling, cursing. Trying to ride the wave, but the contractions catch you harder than you thought. You can practically feel how much you ooze out and ruin his face. 

Bratty he is, Yuzuru forms his mouth all kissy and pecks your clit through every throb. Until the shockwaves subside, letting your shaking thighs off the hook eventually.

Too fucking intense. The surge of pleasure keeps on making your mind hazy long after your orgasm is over. To add fuel to the fire, Yuzuru rubs his belly, as if he just had two happy meals for the price of one.

Pulling off, his face is all bright and slobbery in its remaining smile. His lips are cum-glazed, and more than just plain sweat trickles down his nose. Nothing better than a facial right in front of twenty plushies. Who knew Winnie the Pooh himself would ever be eye witness to Yuzu’s sporty head game. 

Friendly bear he is, it doesn’t seem to bother him. From unsuspecting comfort teddy on Yuzu’s lap 23/7 to live-action porn audience. First row, no popcorn though, but HD sound quality and claims to free spit. The guy is living his absolute best life, isn’t he.

„You… growling. That was pretty hot,“ Yuzuru says. His jaw is hanging all loose and most of his speech is slurred. Yuzu looks all satiated. In your mind, you pat yourself on your own shoulder. Boyfriend corruption: almost complete.

„Like being spoiled? I want you to clean that up.“

Yuzu squeaks out giddy in reply. A moment later, he goes back to lean down again, swallowing and licking up cum from your drenched, swollen lips. His slurping noises are indulgent, wet, and desperately slutty. He succeeds in cleaning you up, but keeps on messing up himself even more. Yuzuru delights in rubbing his whole face into your dripping pussy until his eyebrows are sticky, his lids and cheeks are damp, and you feel capable to get up from the pillow.

Despite not being underneath the blanket, you notice that your feet aren’t that cold anymore.

He sits on the bed like a mermaid, huddled close to you. Normally, he would visibly sort his thoughts like that, but now, all he does is blink and nuzzle up against you with his forehead. 

Settling, Yuzuru doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands and you take it as a chance to pepper them with kisses. The back of the hand, the palms, the wrists. It calms you, and it calms him.

You feel entirely drenched, refreshed and relaxed at once. How Yuzuru cuddles against your legs makes your heart warm, and the moment is blissful.

One lavender steam cloud later, you feel like moving again. Maybe there are two restless people in this relationship. The thought of it is funny.

„We could go on a little more,“ eventually, you pat his head. „With something different if you want.“

„Do you still have energy?“ he asks. His breath is somewhat slowing already. It feels hot against your leg.

„More than before, actually.“

He sits up. Looks like you surprised him again. Little does Yuzu know how much he shakes you up.

„Really?“

You nod, twirling at his bangs now.

„I have an idea. So… you remember what’s been waiting in a box for a month.“

You can tell he knows exactly what you mean. No doubt he didn’t take very long to recall it, either. That tells you something.

„Can we use it?“

That answer was fast.

„It’s what I’ve been thinking.“

„We’ve been putting this off but I’m still curious.“

And your guess was correct. It’s definitely been on his mind.

„Yeah, you’re right.“

Promptly, you direct your eyes to the bedroom cupboard to your far left. The one containing various kinds of skating blades in slender packagings, tracksuits in dark colors, fan presents, and mail orders. Among them, a larger jet black box—

That neither Yuzu nor you dared to open given it was a product of a reckless button click at 2 PM.

Admittedly, after Yuzu passed you a way too expensive bottle of sake that he got for his birthday. Since he’s allergic to alcohol, somebody thought she could give it a sure try instead. Pouring $200 into the sink would have been the better option.

Said black box soon sits between the two of you, wide open to reveal the truth of what sake can do.

„Oh man. What have I done.“

That button click comes back to bite you big time.

„This looks, I think, realistic—?“

At least on the surface.

Of course, you drunk fool had to order the ‚sculpted, real-life imitation‘ version. You couldn’t be any more embarrassed. No more alcohol in this flat, that’s for sure. What else to do but take it in stride now that the box is already open, though.

„I uh, think so. At least with the veins.“

„It’s… it is really big.“

At least three times Yuzu’s flaccid size if you don’t hallucinate right now.

„I don’t know how I’m not gonna tear you apart. How many inches are these, 12? My drunk self is too ambitious.“

Maybe you shouldn’t have used that word and said ‚reckless‘ instead. Because ambition surely and habitually triggers a prancing and posing Shia LaBeouf shouting ‚do it!‘ in Yuzuru’s athlete brain. You can see it in his eyes and already regret thinking out loud.

„We can still try.“

„If that’s a good idea or not we will probably see,“ you begin to inspect the contents one by one up close. „I think I bought a weapon.“

„Now I know why they call guns a strap,“ Yuzuru equally peaks over the edge of the box, looking like his future just flashed before his eyes.

„Next time I pass the sake to your coaches or something,“ you end up pulling out the red harness kit that glaringly lays on top of the contents. All looking very adjustable indeed. „That’s what my midnight fantasy seems to look like.“

„Uh—huh!“

Yuzu snakes his hand into the box himself now. Pulling out a transparent, orange-pink 13 oz bottle with a bubbly-looking fluid inside. Gaudy stuff, but a generous amount.

„Mister Lube. My new best friend,“ he says, laying the bottle aside and then pulling off his black PJ shirt. Although he strips quite leisurely, you can tell that Yuzuru is a little tense in his torso. That you will attend to in a minute, you think. But beforehand, you let your eyes roam for something else.

„They probably have something to clean it with in there as well. Let me see.“

You find that even if you might have ordered all this pretty tipsy, the toy set does have its quality. Just before you want to ask Yuzuru to warm up, he visibly ponders, then cleans his pajamas off the bed to make space for a little area.

„If you don’t mind, I stretch my muscles,“ Yuzuru puts aside a couple of plushies, too, but keeps Pooh close, assuming his typical pre-training stances.

He knows himself. That’s good.

„Tell me if you need help for the thigh stretching.“

In the meantime, you ease into the red kit and arrange the box contents on the bed. There seem to be fifteen things going on at once. If this would be public in the slightest, you believe the two of you must look like a bunch of eccentrics to anybody who’d watch you.

Ten minutes later, Yuzuru might just be in Olympic shape, has downed almost half a liter of spring water in one go. You know that he could probably deliver a quintuple jump on the spot if he wanted. The strap-on is all assembled, clean, and you have stored away the practically empty box of sake sinnery.

„I’ll skate cross-eyed and cross-legged tomorrow,“ Yuzu stares right at your crotch, face buried in his palms. Only his eyes peek through the fingers. „Godspeed to my ass.“

You sure as hell won’t disagree. This strap is a threat.

„I don’t know why I had to order supersize out of all possible things. You need a prayer circle after this. Where’s Mister Lube?“

„Here, over here,“ Yuzuru passes over the bottle, shaking it.

„I’ll relax you as good as I can, okay. Before I get arrested for possession of weapons without a license.“

And annihilating Yuzu’s insides with that XXL dick that he sure as hell doesn’t just want halfway in. Lord have mercy. You can only shake your head at yourself for buying this.

„Honestly though. Does it really fit in?“

Yuzu leans his face toward your hip, now on all fours, taking the sight in. He still can’t believe his eyes.

„We’ll see. Let your body decide, not your pride okay,“ you poke the tip of the strap-on into his left cheek. Hoping that it takes away some of the tension, at least. „And you can still tap the mattress.“

„Okay. Tap the mattress.“

He nods quite avidly. Same protocol as always. No spoken safewords, only something that Yuzu can make use of with his reflexes. Speech? Nothing you can both count on as soon as horniness kicks in. 

You tried that for the first two weeks and quickly settled for tapping instead. Especially because Yuzu likes to have fingers in his mouth every so often.

„I mean. You just did like five splits, didn’t you. Warm-ups always help. If your ankle doesn’t fall off?“

That mini workout was more than just impressive, in fact. And still, you eye Yuzuru’s notoriously injured foot. The slim little fella has a long history of recovery behind him.

„The ankle is decent, the usual stuff.“

„I wish we had a smaller toy to start out with,“ you scratch your head. That might be the one thing that’s been missing from the box. „We still have Mister Lube, anyway. Watch this,“ you pick up the orange bottle, flipping the cap open. „It’s actually scented! Worth ruining the bed if you ask me.“

On goes the fluid, you rub it all across the length of the dildo. Must be cherry flavor or something. Yuzuru sure makes big eyes.

„I knew I could count on Mister Lube.“

„Yeah, we use lots. And I’ll be very gentle.“

The cherry scent is gladly much less tacky than the bottle itself, not too artificial-smelling either. You squeeze out a second load and distribute it over the strap-on just to be sure. Yuzuru’s breath goes faster.

„Can I ask something beforehand?“

„Go right ahead.“

„I wanna suck first if you…“

Who knew. The lube probably made his mouth water.

Being honest, you think that it might be a good idea to get this going. Better than blowing his pretty back out right away and making a mistake, even if he is much less tense now.

„I don’t mind, Yuzu. You already have some chapstick on, right? Here.“

You level your hips to line up with his mouth more easily. You can tell that Yuzuru, after some heavy blinking, eventually braces himself. There’s nothing more telling than his tunnel vision plastered all over his face. His eyes, lids heavy, are hypnotized and seem darker. Yuzu’s bedroom gaze is the best in the world.

„Okay, I’ll start.“

A first kittenish lick. A second. A third. Then, brave lips — enclosing the tip. He audibly nips and swallows.

A few more licks, and repeat. Mister Lube seems to taste pretty good. You bless the shady company that manufactures the black box of sin for once. 

You let Yuzu explore, pump his hand around the shaft, lick from all directions he fancies. Compared to his wrist, the dildo doesn’t really fall short in diameter, but with Yuzu’s face up close you are relieved it’s not a complete David versus Goliath match. 

Soon enough, he musters the courage to open his mouth a little wider, cramming a bit more in than just the tip. You can’t deny you’re getting turned on again with the way he slurps and hums around your dick. With the minutes, he becomes bolder, moving his head.

Even if the lube gathers at his chin and seeps down to the bed, he keeps on sucking, now with a first pearl of sweat lingering on his forehead already. You’d never think it’d make him break a sweat. To be fair, he just did fifty jumping jacks in the warm-up.

„Want me to move?“

Two nods. You glide in, let your hips do the work how they want to. You don’t trust your online shopping choices, but your tempo, at least. Yuzuru is making all choked up noises trying to gobble up all the girth he gets, his fingers entangled in your harness. It keeps him in a steady place.

You can work from that, angle a few superficial thrusts into his mouth to get the saliva flowing. The blotch on your bed is already pretty nasty. The slow pace is apt enough to fill Yuzu’s mouth with spit bubbles that begin to foam out bit by bit.

After two more minutes of light back and forth, Yuzuru pulls off to speak.

„Please do it stronger. I don’t mind being hoarse.“

Not a second later, all he does is slurp up a very dripping shaft again. With difficulty jamming it in past the first few inches, but determined, anyway. You didn’t expect anything else.

Yuzu’s lips and eyes are all glossy by now. The portion of lube-infused spit has accumulated at his jaw already, soon to travel down to his throat. 

Stronger, he says. Why not.

„Okay, get ready.“

„M—hm!“

An abrasive jab follows a shallow one. If it wasn’t for the lube, your dick would scrape right down his upper throat. But this way, the first dip goes in with sufficient slip and slide, not leaving Yuzu with too much dick in his neck for long. All your strap-on does is bounce right back.

What you do hear is Yuzu’s gag reflex… claiming its rights. Still understated, but nevertheless there. After three more thrusts, you decide to stay about halfway balls deep, watching Yuzuru squirm, even try to shove in about an inch more by pressing his head forward. His breath is clean and deep through his nose. You put a checkmark on the my-boyfriend-has-asthma list in your mind.

„You look good with a dick in your mouth.“

What is supposedly a ‚thanks‘ ends up as gargling and choking. Yuzuru starts getting wet eyes at this point. Even a little bow of his head is something that doesn’t slip past your attention. Mannered guy, isn’t he. 

That praise makes him do the horniest noises is also something that you make a memo of. Along with seeing how it’s rendering him all aroused. You’ve seen those neck veins and red chin spots come out plenty of times to know.

A couple more thrusts are not a bad option, you decide. Although it seems that Yuzuru had the idea to hollow out his cheeks that very moment. The vacuum first makes your cock plunge in a little too fast than intended, then naturally pulls Yuzu’s head forward once you move your hips back again. 

It’s why the second thrust catches him off guard, flattening his lips and making your dick slide into his throat with air going in. Yuzu ends up choking hopelessly. It doesn’t look like he’s retreating his head in the very least, however.

Instead, you feel his hands grab at your either hip to secure himself in place. A glance from above, slightly angled sideward, shows you just how hard and throbbing Yuzu’s own dick is, tipping against his stomach. 

Once again, you make an impressed-my-dear face that he doesn’t overlook. His cheeks go hollow again and he keeps up the indulgent speed. Increasingly getting rougher and more pain-craving. Messier. Desperate. 

Yuzu opens his mouth wider not to have his teeth get in the way. It’s serious business now. His throat makes the most disgusting, grunting noises. Oh. Shit. Yuzu’s greed and sloppy lips make your body burn up. Soreness is the very least he’s headed for.

„Wow, Yuzu. Wow.“

It’s not something you didn’t know already. This man is without a singular doubt a lunatic. You whisper more praises to him, your hands grabbing hold of his head to sustain the movement rhythmically. 

Yuzu’s gag reflex has proven to only rebel every other thrust so you can pound away, at that time already giving up even the mattress that must be sopping wet to its core with Yuzuru drooling all over it. Too late for a towel altogether but fuck it.

Yuzu takes the choking well. He’s leaking spit all over, surrenders to your hands. Even if he doesn’t manage to deepthroat the entire length of the dick, he manages an awful lot of inches. By now, he’s gotten the hang of not letting too much air in. All while relaxing his muscles. 

Beautiful hums, chokes, little whines. Too bad your phone isn’t close by. Recording this has to be your very next bucket list entry. You’re glad he asked about this.

You go on thrusting for a few more times until you feel your hips going tired. Once his nose starts getting all runny, you naturally slow down even more. Eventually, you help Yuzuru pull his head off. His lips are all puffy.

„B—woah,“ it’s all he can moan and splurt out, and you help him wipe the glob of saliva and snot from his chin with your sleeve. 

Your pajama shirt might be ruined, but not as much as Yuzu’s tonsils. Who knows just how many times you were deep and fast enough to make them throb from all that friction. Seven, eight times? His food for tomorrow can be a light soup at best. Not even you were as sore after riding and sucking every last drop out of his dick last Monday. 

You’re glad he has the rice cakes going through his system right now. Poor onlooker Winnie the Pooh is probably traumatized by now. There’s only so much crazy dicksucking a bear can handle watching. And still, he gazes at the two of you— in good spirits as ever, cheeks big and bright. In a way, he looks like Yuzu in this very moment.

„How you like it?,“ you softly caress his pinkish lips. „I need to know how many stars to leave on the website.“

It takes a few moments until he can form words again. His speech is fast. He’s still staring at the dildo.

„It was in so deep and, and on my tongue. The dick veins, I could feel them. They were like, like, it was massaging my lips. And I almost thought I could swallow it.“

You raise your brows. Lord knows how deep your cock was inside his brain, but he still picks these things up.

„Attention to detail. Nice.“

Maybe 4.5 stars are a fair deal. At least for throat fucking. The rest — remains to be seen.

„Did I do well?“

His eyes widen. The question is genuine. It’s not something you’d think he would ask. Whenever he trained, he would always rely on his own judgment.

„Ask yourself first, you were the one feeling it.“

That’s not the answer he expected, and he ends up getting red cheeks.

„I liked it,“ he stammers. „Was really hot.“

„It’s what I saw, too. Good job, babe.“

He’s blushing even more now.

„Ah— I think I tried my best.“

You smile and cup his slobbery face. So you’ve taken his throat virginity in the most spit-heavy way possible. He looks cuter than ever.

„Listen. You’re a champ. If I could, I would cum deep inside of you.“

„I think, that would be romantic,“ his wet lips break into an upbeat smile. Yuzu’s eyes get all crinkly.

„You bet.“

A big doting kiss for Yuzu’s forehead is the only thing your brain can conjure up at this point, so you briefly lean down to do it. Maybe Shia LaBeouf is not just exclusively at home in Yuzu’s imagination. 

What you have to admit is that Yuzu’s overflowing athlete’s spirit has easily taken over your hips. You didn’t think you could move properly for that long. Maybe you still have some energy reservoirs left.

„And, and now?“

„I can stuff you with more dick. Up to you. Mister Lube didn’t run out yet. And if Pooh still likes watching.“

By instinct, Yuzuru’s hands snake behind his back to grip his ass, stroking what he knows is your delightful next target. You can tell by his eyes that there are a thousand scenarios going through his head.

„Pooh likes this… very much. He’s never seen something like that before. I think he is curious.“

It doesn’t take a Sherlock’s mind for you to know that he means— himself.

„I mean. I was surprised. If that monster fits into your little throat,“ you add, „anything is possible.“

That’s the final straw.

„I’ll do it,“ he says, moments later on all fours, face lowered and then rested sidewards on the bed, spreading his ass cheeks. Decision making when it comes to strap stuff is Yuzu’s forte, you jot that down in your invisible sex life journal. Not one bit of hesitation. By the looks of it, a very twitching entrance is waiting for you.

Testing period is over.

„Alright. I got something to drive home.“

Now that you think of it. If his ass is already only half as naughty as his mouth, you’ll need the help of a higher power.

„Shit. I think, it relaxes.“

At the expense of your mattress and blanket getting even more greasy with lube, you ease in the tip after massaging it into his sphincter. Yuzu’s ass still has to deal with that new sensation given how his leg muscles are going all bonkers. But indeed he’s grown receptive.

„Comfy like that?“

„B—big…“

„Attention, just a little tweak before I go on. Here.“

You softly press down on his spine with your palm entirely flat, and his back obliges immediately. His arch is leaving you breathless. 

Yuzu’s head and chest are snug and soft against the bed while his ass is far, far up. He smiles seeing you venerate his back, he didn’t miss your reaction in the least. No surprise a third of your cock gets sucked into his ass just moments later. It caught you off guard.

Judging by Yuzu’s little yelp and his eyes rolling back, the way you went right into him has found pleasure. The bedposts creak a little because Yuzuru’s legs are shivering. As is his voice.

„I love it, I lo-, please, my, my ass!“

„Can I move?“

„Yes, please!“

The arch did the trick. You love your boyfriend. What follows is a slowly plunging series of rewards, ten, eleven times, pulling at his gripping asshole until it surrenders into going loose. Yuzuru has almost accommodated a third of the length you’re engraving into his ass. You’ll definitely keep using that brand of lube.

„Here, babe. I got a present for your prostate.“

Yuzu is making your favorite lawless face when you hit the spot, controlling the base of the dildo with two your fingers going around it like a cock ring. He looks as if someone just handed him a trophy too big to carry. From his perineum, a thread of lube comes dripping down with a squelching noise. The poor sheets. It’s another virginity taken.

In the meantime, Yuzu grabs hold of the duvet with unsteady hands. His entire torso is nothing but a shaky mess. So erratic. And sweaty. And docile. And beautiful. You want to award him plenty, your little present from above, the jittery boy underneath you.

Pounding away and making him grit his teeth is worth heading for a mean cramp, you don’t care. Watching how your cock is plowing in and out of him at jerky angles with the absolute lewdest, bubbling noises recompensates for anything. 

Yuzu’s rolling eyes have become spaced out and teary, making him look like a crying saint about to enter the golden gates of heaven. Who knew angels had black hair.

With every stroke, his ass becomes every bit accepting to the point of almost glaring open to let you thrust in. Thank God. You compliment yourself on not falling short of the arguably lofty promise to relax him. Moaning Yuzu’s little ass is swallowing it all. 

By the time, his rectum is going hollow and sticky, welcoming every move of yours by giving you ample right of passage. During some thrusts, you don’t even see his sphincter hold on to the dildo at all. His ass is almost as dilated as his loose mouth itself. Your thrusts are working on their own again at this point. What instinct is propelling you, who knows. 

You love the sight and the happy squeals. You tease him with more speed. Not without effect, your hips lunge and aim deep all the more. You penetrate him far enough to start an excavation for ancient relics next Monday. With the tempo increasing, so does the chesty volume in his voice.

„It’s,“ he cries out, „in my belly! Ah! Ah, shit! Shit...“

You see Yuzu let go of the duvet with his left hand. It promptly darts way down to his abdomen where his fingers grope around.

„I can feel it,“ he whines, „It’s rubbing there, it’s a big bump!“

You sure won’t deprive your own hand from that sensation and reach right down, too. Which means leaning forward— and stuffing your strap even harder into his guts. Yuzu gasps out loud. Both your hands meet fondling about, cupping the sensitive area in search for the imprint of the dildo.

What Yuzu says is not understated. His slender little belly is all bulged out in the bottom quarter. Since he’s so thin, it’s almost scary how much your cock just dents him out and twists around.

„Jesus, Yuzu,“ you let your hand roam next to his, even lightly squeezing the area. It’s what really riles him.

What you thought was the maximum for him to take turns out to be nothing but a mere start. Yuzu is so obsessed to feel the bulge more that he starts bucking his ass onto your cock with the most unbridled voice cracks.

You can’t lie. His moans make your jaw drop. His usually so controlled body on the ice is now wrecking and writhing itself to get more dick. 

A thin line of sweat goes on a pilgrimage down his spine already. He impales himself more, gyrates his hips more, whines out more. You wonder how he keeps it together and doesn’t spritz all his cum over the bed and the floor tiles.

It’s the sheer force of will. Always hungry for the next level. You can’t help but admire how enduring he is. And that’s just the first time.

Yuzu’s feet have become agitated on the sheets, responding to every thrust by dangling and swishing around. Yesterday, his right ankle was all stiff and even a bit swollen. Now, it’s moving all over the place. Looks like doggy style is putting all the tension off the ligaments. It’s something else you take deliberate note of.

After five more thrusts and hearing his whimpers getting all drawn-out, eventually, you retreat for a break, letting your cock rest on his left ass cheek. Yuzu inhales, gathering himself. He looks at you with big, glazed bambi eyes. Maybe even a bit incredulous.

„Am I, am I gaping?“

You don’t have to check twice to know.

„All lose. If you knew how far I can see inside of you. Hole new world.“

„Y/N!“

He can’t hold eye contact now.

„Naughty, huh. But I like what I see.“

Goddamn great ass. You firmly smack Yuzu squarely across his right butt cheek. He twitches, clenches, bites his lips more. They tremble.

„Ah! You tease!“

„Want me to put it in again?“

Wild nodding. Looks like Yuzu’s usual voracity on the ice does an easy, albeit not entirely seamless transfer to bed, too. He still ogles what is about to stretch him out again with due respect. He still can’t fathom something this massive was inside of him, you can tell.

Once you start moving again, you notice his feet and thigh muscles violently jerking. His prostate has gotten all sensitive. Probably all spongy and large by now.

You decide to angle yourself differently and take a deep breath. Impossible to draw this out any longer. From the vicinity of Yuzu’s pillow, you grasp the Winnie Pooh plush toy and maneuver it into his awaiting embrace. He holds it tight in an instant.

With impatient hands, you fumble around the bed for the lube bottle until you find it next to his right foot. Two, three, four generous squeezes onto his asshole, not very accurate at all. Several fine, oily traces end up trickling down his inner thighs. You don’t even bother closing the bottle properly anymore. Too much adrenaline.

„Grab those sheets and Pooh, Yuzu, grab hard.“

„I got it!“

„Time I fuck you up. If you’re ready?“

„Yes, make me cum, make me cum! Please break my ass,“ he’s whimpering. So badly. „I want it! I want it all inside.“

Mister Lube has a last job to handle.

Yuzu has crammed three fingers into his mouth once you get a hold of his hair and deliver the last hard movements. He takes the blows all babbling and sucking himself off. How his ass is not completely falling apart by now is a miracle of nature. Or maybe, just the blessing of his daily training.

The room is heavy with the scent of sweat and cherries. He’s loosened his core so much that sliding in is not a question of you avoiding a cramp anymore, but technique. You feel focused to zero in and not miss the sweet, tender spot. It makes him mewl the first time you push your dick tip right into it. 

The second time, his eyes get big and fluttering.

„Please. Please, hurt me,“ he salivates, then eventually, grabs his plush harder. „Hurt me bad. I’m really begging you.“

Fast to oblige, you claw your hands around his waist and pull his body backwards. The ten nails digging into him are only the last needed set-up. The last jab comes in crisp, landing a severe and punctuated shock. Yuzu’s ass smacks up hard at your loins. The pain quickly snakes right up his spine and leaves his face contorted.

„Oh fuck…!“

Small, shaking Yuzu cums like fifty fireworks going off at once. Not even releasing his screams into the duvet really helps to mute out the heaviness of the first waves. You keep your cock right in place and let it buffer into his prostate at will. 

Yuzu’s legs kick and tangle under you like pasta in boiling water. He cries and groans and curses, and cries out even more. You can see his entire back muscles at work now, going like clockwork. His moans each sound so ecstatic, it registers as a different language to you. He spirals far into his orgasm, sobbing, and it looks beautiful.

„Amazing, Yuzu.“

His semen lands all over his sternum and the sheets, shooting out in several bursts, one more pumping than the other. It’s almost as if all that strawberry juice converted nicely into a blotchy, white fluid. 

His dick is still tensing up completely sensitive. Releasing cum, up until his legs stop going all over the place. Yuzu doesn’t let the sperm cool for twenty seconds that he already reaches down to pick it up, jerking his cock a last dozen times, only to bring to his mouth what his fingers collected. He sucks up all of it.

„Delicious, baby?“

„M—hm!“

„So nicely milked.“

His relished expression. You imagine that this must have been how the gods first tasted nectar.

While he licks away, Yuzu goes limp head to toe with you carefully pulling out your dick. Inch by inch. Not pulling. Only gliding.

Once you’ve removed the tip, he collapses into a sniffing, giggly puddle of serotonin. Crying, even when you lend him both your hands to lay his face into.

He’s so gorgeous. 

Breathing hard, sweaty, drooling and messed up. His body is so steamy and loose, splayed out all the way before you. His entrance has turned all pink so beautifully. Hot. As. Fuck.

Most psychologists would envy you for being able to gaze this far into Yuzuru Hanyu’s innermost clenching being. How his ass is going to close until tomorrow’s competition, you don’t know. 

Time to pray he won’t digest these savory cakes too fast. Then again, he didn’t eat properly at all. His body is probably soaking up all the fruit and rice in their entirety. 

You pat his lower back gently, making sure to lay him down into a sleeping position already. Pooh is right by his side. Yuzu’s legs are still so dangly.

He’s really let go completely. You’ve not fucked his ass, but his soul.

You want to thank him for trusting you so much. Beside the shady black box manufacturer. 

The bed is a glorious mess.

Removing the strap-on harness makes you feel just how loosened your own limbs have become, too. Come to think of it, this might be your new heavy-duty workout. None of your friends know you do this kind of cardio involving the best ass in the whole city as your personal trainer.

Yuzu’s butt has turned you into a drenched, wobbly homo sapiens that will probably look in the mirror by tomorrow and proclaim herself a bodybuilder from those sheer muscle burn gains. 

When the two of you show up at the rink tomorrow, you both need hunky guys carrying you in by the armpits or something. 

And the whole world will wonder how Yuzu’s wonky ankle magically recovered overnight but he can’t sit.

Changing the duvet at quarter past twelve with an unmovable Yuzu on top of it seems like a thing of the impossible. It’s soiled, it’s sweaty, it would probably make it to the first page if a reporter ever got hold of it. 

But you take it pragmatically and opt for sleeping on Yuzu’s cleaner side of the bed intertwined. It’s surprisingly dry there. Big laundry day tomorrow, anyway.

The only thing you manage to do is reach for the window to open and to grab a glass of water from the bedstand to share. He’s chugging the remaining half down in one go. His hands? Oh wonder.

More than steady.

He calmed completely. After he puts down the glass, you scoot closer to him.

„Your foot — better?“

„Oh? I didn’t even think about it.“

He wriggles his left leg back and forth underneath the blanket, then concludes with a surprised face:

„It’s turning pretty well? I think you hit a nerve. Maybe you should split me in half more often.“

He shrugs. Yuzu’s serious face while saying that so dryly makes you laugh.

„Looks like it,“ you draw out the open lube bottle from beside you, finally closing the lid. „Do you… need a towel?“

„I just need you. I have to be disgusting for once.“

„I’ll scrape that all off tomorrow before we leave. Hot shower, five tons of shampoo. I’ll be breaking out the stuff you clean your skates with if I have to.“

That makes Yuzu chuckle. In fact, he beams a little.

„Sounds like something to look forward to.“

„I hope you can walk, anyway. Is it painful?“

Your biggest sorrow at this point. Taking his mind off was easy, but now he’s got boneless legs. Your conscience nags you for dicking him down out of all possible things.

„You have your weapon license now. I gotta admit… the last one…“

…was ass destruction 3.0, you complete his sentence in your mind. It’s nothing a normal human being could have stomached. „I’ll manage, though. I still feel my legs.“

„God, how does he do it.“

A smug „He’s Yuzuru Hanyu, that’s how, aw yeah!“  is what you imagine God’s answer to sound like. But instead, all you get is a little smile. Very well, from the little God in your bed.

„Pooh did this. When I squeezed him, I knew I could take it.“

He reaches to the middle of the bed. Five consecutive head pats for the bear plushie and Yuzu looks content already.

„Winning medals with just one working ankle is the same as doing it with a demolished ass to you, huh.“

„It’s not demolished, it’s improved and overhauled,“ he smiles. „Never felt any better. It was really good how you did this.“

It’s his strangest sport philosophy yet. But if you know one thing, it’s that Yuzu’s bizarre body hacks have gotten him the podium every time. You can already see him asking for another strap round before your mind’s eye. Before the next competition, at least.

„You honestly blow my mind.“

„And your dick, tomorrow night,“ goes Yuzu’s cheeky winner grin. There it is. Insatiable how you love it. You already feel the need to google ‚hip thrust strengthening exercises’. 

Maybe, if science advances to that point one day, you honestly clone yourself so double your capacity. And so that you can spitroast him. Maybe you order another dildo from the website and pin it to the wall, anyways.

„Must be Mister Lube who did all of this.“

„I want to buy more of it tomorrow. Any other groceries we need, anyway? I’ll be cleaning the floor, too. I hope I’m not too worn-out after skating.“

„We’ll do one thing after the other, alright. There are still rice cakes left for breakfast, those will get you through the day.“

You’ve seen how much of an energy burst the cakes gave him. 

„I really like those,“ he mumbles, then nuzzles into the pillow, sucking in your hair’s scent. Oh, it’s the moment you waited for. „Snickers diva… happy.“

A very cheery, puffy face slowly comes to rest beside you now, hair going in all directions. Infallible and ever-returning: Professor Yuzu’s explosive hairdo. Pooh is all clingy at his chest. A little worn from all the squeezing, but still with an amicable chuckle. You smile from ear to ear. It’s the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.

You kiss Yuzuru’s little nose and lips until he’s making sleepy sounds. Either this is a late-night mirage created by your very moan-tested ears, or he is actually purring. You make sure the Pooh plush resting at his chest faces him correctly, then clear away the remaining strawberries, shut the window, arrange the blanket, put on your pajamas properly.

The humidifier whirrs in the background while tiger baby does one last big yawn before drifting off. In a matter of two minutes, maybe even less than that. 

Just as you reach toward the bedstand to switch off the light, Yuzu’s hand curls into your shirt from behind. You turn, he is all dozed off. Not one leg fidgeting. However, talking in his sleep with his hand nestled into your PJs.

„Big hug please, Pooh mama.“

© 2017-2020 submissive-bangtan. all rights reserved. do not repost.  for entertainment purposes only. all portrayals fictive.

[krisdreaming]

MASTERLIST | PART 2

˗`ˏ THIS IS PART 1 - READER POV ˎˊ˗

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Fem!Reader

Summary:  After the accident, you’re willing to give up anything so that Hajime can live. All things considered, your memories of him in exchange for his life seems like more than a fair trade. When it’s done, neither of you understands what’s happened, and it leaves you both hurting. Still, even without your memories, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. He still loves you more than anything. Your love will find a way… right?

WC: 1.6k

Warnings: Angst, Hospitals, Mentions of Character Injury / Death

A/N: I’m so excited to start this journey! This part is the only one that has any kind of supernatural / magical realism elements. It kinda just made the most sense to me as the vehicle for the entire rest of the plot so just... bear with me 😅 After this chapter, it’s all just normal canon-verse. 

Without further ado!!

The golden late-afternoon sunlight pours through the lone window in the hospital room and pools on the floor, not quite reaching the bed where Hajime is lying. The contrasting stringent white hospital lighting does nothing to improve his wan complexion. His cracked lips are turned slightly downward, and you wonder, with a sharp twinge in your chest, if even in this state, he can feel pain.

“I’m here, Hajime,” You say for what must be the hundredth time, reaching out again for his limp hand. The doctors have said that talking to him may help to comfort him, but you wonder if he can even recognize your voice. Even to you, it sounds small and foreign, hoarse from who knows how many hours of tears. The only response is the steady beeps and hums of the machines keeping him alive. You give his hand a gentle squeeze.

It’s been a week of this, now. A week since you got the call and rushed to the hospital as fast as you could. A week since you saw him lying too-still in that bed, a swath of bandages and a tangle of wires making his body look so, so small and helpless. A week since you sank to your knees the moment the doctor had left the room, clutching Hajime’s hand to your face until his skin was slick with your tears, only realizing afterwards that the strange, gasping sounds you’d been hearing had been coming from you all along.

You’ve spent every day here since. You’ve hardly eaten. What little sleep you can get is plagued by nightmares that wake you up in a cold sweat, reaching out desperately for a warm body that isn’t there. All that you know is this room, this chair, this bed, and the shallow rise and fall of Hajime’s chest.

A breath shudders out of you when you’re reminded, again, of what the doctor had said when you’d arrived this morning. “Y/N-san, the improvements we’ve been hoping to see haven’t been coming at the rate we’d expect. As it is now, the reality is that he may never wake up. The severity of the damage is becoming clearer as we continue with our testing. As difficult as this is to say, it may be the time to start preparing to say goodbye.”

You squeeze your free hand into a tight fist, feeling your nails dig into your palm. You run the thumb of the hand holding his gently across the backs of his fingers. “You know,” You begin, haltingly, trying to keep your voice as clear and normal-sounding as possible, “When this is all over, I’m going to make us a big picnic. I’ll make those onigiri you like so much, the ones with the pickled plum inside. You can eat as many as you want. I promise I won’t yell at you,” You pause to swallow back the thick feeling in your throat, “And we can have whatever else you want. Just say the word, and I’ll buy it. It’ll be the meal you’d never let any of your athletes eat in a million years,” You laugh softly.

“And by the time we’re done eating, well, the sun will probably be almost set. We can just lay back on the blanket and watch the stars come out, like we did that night last summer.” You pause, looking at him almost as though you expect him to answer, or at least nod. His expression doesn’t change.

“We can plan some more for the wedding. It’s going to be here in no time at all, you know,” Your thumb goes to the ring on your finger, twisting it back and forth in what’s become a familiar motion. “I know you don’t like the planning much, but we have to get it done.” You fall silent for a few moments, not wanting him to hear the way your voice has started to waver.

“Or maybe you’d rather just plan for the honeymoon,” You finally pick back up again, “We need to decide soon where we want to go. Hotels and plane tickets sell out fast, you know. What would be really fun is if we could visit Tooru in Argentina. I know you think it’s too far, but honestly, when else would we ever have the chance?

“We don’t have to spend the whole time with him, of course,” Your voice drops lower, “We’d want some time to ourselves. I hear the beaches there are nice. Or we could find a really nice hotel with a Jacuzzi and fancy room service.”

It might be your imagination, but the expression on his face seems just a little bit softer. It’s not a smile, but his lips aren’t turned down quite as hard as they had been, so you take it as a sign that you should keep going. “Of course, you know that I don’t really care where we go. We could spend the whole week in a hotel on the other side of Tokyo and you wouldn’t hear me complain.” You can practically see his incredulous smirk at that, and you choke out an almost-convincing laugh. “Well, you know what I mean.” You fall silent again, still tracing your thumb against his fingers, lost in your thoughts now.

All the while you’d been talking, you hadn’t notice the slowing of the heart monitor. His breaths are coming slower too, the rising of his chest barely noticeable anymore. Outside, twilight has fallen, and there’s no longer any natural light coming in through the window. You notice all of this at once, but you suddenly feel so sluggish that you can’t bring yourself to move, much less press the call button for one of the nurses. Even as the beeps fade to a single, steady whine, you feel frozen in your seat, his hand still in yours. There’s an eerie sense of calm descending over you.

When the whine stops, it seems to shake you out of whatever stupor you’re in. Blinking, you look around and find that the two of you are no longer alone in the room. In the corner farthest from the door, a human-like figure stands shrouded in the faintest yellow glow, like the last remnants of the sunset outside. It has the face of an elderly man, but there is something decidedly un-human in the way it carries itself.

“Hello, Y/N,” The figure’s mouth moves, but it’s almost as though its words are projected directly into your mind rather than spoken into the room. There’s a tingling quality to them, almost like an electrical shock, but not something altogether unpleasant.

You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes, thinking that the lack of sleep must be affecting you more than you realize. When you finally lower your hands, the figure hasn’t moved. “Are you… Death?” You aren’t unaware of how preposterous the question sounds. You grip Hajime’s hand tighter, and the figure seems to smile.

“Hardly. The concept of death itself as an entity is little more than a construct of the human imagination.” There’s a pause and a sound you could almost consider a chuckle, then it continues. “More accurately, I suppose you could call me Life.” It looks at Hajime’s still body almost mournfully. You aren’t sure how much time passes, or if any has passed at all.

“This life is very precious to you. Yes?” Its attention is back on you now.

“More than anything,” You breathe out, “I – I love him. We’re getting married.” You hold out your hand so that the being can see the ring on your finger. As if it would care. For some reason, it does lean forward and inspect the ring carefully.

“Hm. These kinds of things… they aren’t so cut and dry, you know.” Assuming at this point that you must be dreaming, you nod dumbly, even though you don’t really know at all. “Still, all hope is not lost. With the right material, a repair could be made.”

“A repair?” You parrot back, feeling your heart catch in your chest. Is it even beating right now?

“It will require something made up of the same stuff as the existing soul. Something strong and plentiful. Do you understand?” Your brow furrows, and you shake your head. Dream or not, you can’t even pretend to know what this being is trying to say.

“Your memories,” It says gently, as though explaining something simple to a small child. “If I could use all of your memories of him, I can save his life.” It watches you intently for a few moments, but you feel frozen in place, trying to comprehend what it’s asking of you. “I would understand if you decline. Others have.”

“So he will live?” It nods. “But I won’t remember him. Not even a little.”

“Not one memory can be spared,” It confirms. “It’s the only way.”

“Will I fall in love with him again? Will he – will he stay with me?”

The being gives an almost imperceptible shrug. “It can’t be known. Your future – that’s something you will have to work out on your own. The only thing I can promise you is that his life will be spared.”

You’re already nodding. “Then I’ll do it. We’ll find a way to be together. He won’t give up on me.” The being’s lips twitch briefly, but it nods.

“If you’re certain,” It’s already reaching toward you, fingertips hovering near your forehead.

“I am.” You screw your eyes shut, clutching onto Hajime’s hand tightly with both hands. “Do it,” You prompt, when you don’t feel the being move. And just like that, you’re awash in a sea of light and warmth for a few blissful moments before being plunged into a deep nothingness.

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[braindeacl]

So a Zombie and a Mara Walk Into a Bar | Eilidh & Marley

SETTING: The Perfect Pint. TIMING: Before Marley went into the portal. PARTIES: @detectivedreameater & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Marley and Eilidh discuss the strangeness of the town over a stiff drink.  WARNINGS: N/A

The Perfect Pint, a wonderful instance of wandering turned discovery. Eilidh found herself drawn to the place at infrequent times, a feeling of longing compelling her forward. It wasn’t the same as she remembered. It never would be again. But, confusingly, the compulsion still remained, despite the sting. On this instance, the place was sprinkled with what looked like a few frequent patrons, and a dash of new, but overall, the crowd was sparse. She looked up to the screens decorating the walls from every angle. Each displayed a different game, and none seemed to be live. Slow night. Perfect. While a pub of drunk, passionate men was fun and brought a sense of nostalgia that both filled and ate at her chest, it was a dreadful setting for storytelling. And even better, the low occupancy made her easy to spot. The lone woman at the bar. The woman’s attention turned elsewhere, the first thing Eilidh noticed were long locks of black hair. It reminded her of the sea during a storm. Then, the dark waves receded as she turned closer, revealing a face. Revealing sunglasses.

“Feasgar math!” She called over to Shane, the owner, who returned with a cheerful, “Dia duit! The usual?” With her nod, he began his work. Black pudding was pulled from the fridge and dropped into hot oil. As they cooked, he prepared a glass of whiskey. The empty barstool next to Marley became quite familiar with Eilidh, then. Her eyes briefly glanced at the edges of scars that peaked beyond the surface of the glasses. A flash of curiosity struck her eyes, but then calmed. “Marley Stryder? Pick your poison.”

Marley wasn’t sure going out for drinks was really the best idea, but she was back at work and she’d been feeling much better lately. She still didn’t understand what exactly had happened after her accident, but one day she’d just woken up feeling refreshed and fine. Well, mostly fine. Her ner normal fine, at least. She’d settled the sunglasses on her face, and thrown on her favorite leather jacket, before heading out to the bar they’d agreed to meet up at. The Perfect Pint. It was neither perfect, nor pint, but they served up a good one, and, really, that was all that mattered to Marley. She didn’t even mind getting to the bar early, taking a seat by herself and glancing around the joint to see if there was anyone there she recognized. Even in this small town, in this small bar, there wasn’t. Most of the other cops hung out at Al’s or Shannahan’s, close by bars in case they got a call. She was just getting ready to flag down a bartender to order a drink when a voice interrupted her and she looked up to meet tender, brown eyes and a smiling face. Something about them seemed...off, but Marley wasn’t about to delve into that. Not when she didn’t really care.

“You must be Macleod, then, “she said, turning to face her. She could see eyes tracing over her scars. “Whiskey works for me.” She looked over at the bartender and nodded. “Double. Neat.” Facing the other woman again, she watched curiously herself as she settled. “So, you come here often? I know that sounds like a cheesy opener, but, well--” she motioned to the bartender, working away at their drinks, “you seem pretty familiar.”

At the mention of her name, Eilidh nodded to confirm. Smile curled higher at the observation. “Only sometimes.” And it was true. She probably would be a regular if she could experience all of alcohol’s benefits. “Ol’ Shane took a shine to me ‘cause he knows if he’s mean I’ll tell everyone what he’s actually muttering about.” Shane yelled something across the bar in Irish Gaelic, causing Eilidh to chuckle. Done with her food, he placed it on a plate and slid it to her. Two glasses of whiskey were placed in front of them. Upholding the deal, she set a bundle of cash on the bar, which contained a generous tip. Probably another reason why they liked her. Securing her glass, she motioned it to Marley, then to the few behind the bar. “Sláinte.” Slightly tipped back, she took a sip, letting it swirl around in her mouth. Simply enjoying the texture and smallest hint of taste. The only things she could enjoy. Placing it back on the bar with a clink, she beheld her food. Blood pudding, with extra spices added. A lot of extra spices. Before taking a bite, she turned her attention back to Marley. “What about you?”

Marley was intrigued. She raised a brow, though it was hidden behind aviators that fit perfectly to her face, hiding the red glow behind them. “You speak Gaelic?” there weren’t many people that still did, though she supposed the language was more common here, considering the fae population. Was Macleod fae, perhaps? Marley’s thoughts went temporarily to Lydia and she felt her stomach churn. She shoved the thought down by lifting her whiskey glass and taking a hearty sip. “Not really. Not here, at least,” she said, “I got my favorites, not that I mind this one.” She observed the other woman’s food, not unaware of what black pudding was, curiouser with each passing moment. She didn’t often indulge in human foods, though she had been more lately, since she’d been living with Erin. “You been in town long?”

Eilidh nodded. “Aye, I do. Not the same as he does. But I know enough.” It was one of the few languages she was able to hold onto after… the incident. Which she refused to consciously make that connection. Instead, she took a testing bite of her food. The level of spices allowed enough of a tingling on her tongue to register as something good. It reminded her of the food she would prepare in times of old–when they actually took the time instead of eating the flesh raw. A habit which has still stuck with her. She took another bite, and before it was fully consumed, she continued. “Not too long. Lots of things are still a mystery to me.” Which was true, but she wouldn’t reveal the full extent to what she knows. The food was briefly ignored as her full attention rested on Marley. “Maybe you’ll shed a light? Rumor has it you’ve been here long enough for some interesting stories.” That spark of curiosity filled her eyes again as she playfully referenced their previous correspondence.

“Still something, right?” Marley said, raising her glass to take another sip. The alcohol burned but it felt good. Being here and in her mind felt good. She watched curiously as the other woman bit into her food. She could smell it, the spices, but she didn’t know what it was or what they were. Human food was...such a mystery to her still. The most adventurous thing she’d tried was peanut butter and pickles on a dare as a teenager. She could still remember the horrid taste decades later. “A fan favorite?” she asked, nodding at the plate, as she swirled her drink. Let out a chuckle. “I’ve been here long enough for plenty of those, yeah,” she answered, crossing her legs as she leaned back in her chair, facing Macleod fully. “What do you wanna hear about first? The case of all the missing heads or the flayed bodies? Or maybe something less exciting to start, like how Dark Score lake turned to glass. You hear about that one, yet?” Whatever story she wanted to hear, Marley was willing to share. She had an inkling Macleod had more to herself than she was letting on, but everything would come in due time. Until then, Marley wanted to enjoy the challenge, and the company, and the whiskey. 

“Oh, yes. They know how I like it.” With the main components of blood and fat, it was one of the few plates Eilidh bothered ordering. Others had too much filler—carbs on carbs with maybe a touch of foliage. But being completely carnivorous, those foods were pointless, sometimes downright sickening to her. She took another bite, letting it sit on her tongue, the spices penetrating and offering a hint of flavor. She eyed the matching space on the bar in front of Marley, noting it was sparse. “Just a liquid diet for you, then?” Upon Marley’s next words, those eyes snapped back to her face, flashing with that same intrigue as before. Missing heads. Flayed bodies. Such words could surely be applied to multiple cases, based on what she knows of this place. But the lake. She remembered that. When first encountered, she thought it was just ice. It had been winter, after all. But the more she had looked, the more the details weren’t right. Ice had imperfections—a sign that indicated it was there. But none could be found. Just a solid, almost invisible barrier. With malicious intent seeping into the air. “I saw it, actually. You ever figured out what caused it?” Her line of work would surely increase the chances of that locked wisdom. The real question is if she would share even a crumb with Eilidh. 

“Not much for bar food,” Marley answered, shaking her glass and making sure the bartender saw how nearly empty her glass was. He nodded and pulled out a glass for another one. “Besides, my--” she paused, feeling the word already trying to slip out as she swallowed the first half of it, “--friend is obsessed with making home cooked meals so she’s always bringing me leftovers and shit.” And neither statement was a lie, not technically. Marley didn’t like bar food, and Erin was often bringing her food even if she didn’t really eat it. She smiled, clicked her fingers against her glass, eyeing the difference between the ice inside and the smooth crystal exterior it sat in. She remembered looking at the lake and seeing the smooth surface of it, only to come back a bit later and see that it had shattered into millions of tiny pieces. Clean up was a bitch. They had to bring in outside volunteers from the forest service and even recruit town members who were eager to volunteer. Now it sat as an empty crater, with chunks of glass still reminding those who visited what had happened. “Would you believe me if I said it was magic?” More specifically, magic that had encapsulated Bloody Mary and the Sandman. Best to test the waters first.

Eilidh slipped over another bill across the bar. But her charity wouldn’t last forever—watching someone get drunk was only amusing when other matters weren’t at hand—and she made a mental note not to pay for the next. Unless Marley began to offer something juicy. “Ah. That’s sweet.” She detected the awkward pause in the statement. A secret not wanting to be revealed. Which was understandable, she was a stranger after all. Still, a part of her wanted to know, as she did with all things. But something much more intriguing presented itself. Despite their online discussion hinting to Marley’s knowledge of those things left unsaid, she hadn’t expected magic to come out of her lips. She seemed so pragmatic. And those like that were usually so tough to crack. But this town would make a believer out of anyone. Unless Marley had been connected to magic all along. “Yes.” She leaned in closer, eyes searching. A crumb finally offered, and she intended to bite off more. “What kind?” She had suspected, practically knew, such a source when first discovered, though she lacked the knowledge to decipher more. Magic kissed the world in many ways, but how certain people utilized and manipulated such energies was mostly lost to her. 

“Sweet, yeah,” Marley mumbled, tapping her fingers on the side of her glass. She noted the slight look of annoyance and wondered why it might’ve been so easy to feel that way after only buying a stranger their second drink. Marley could remember all the multitude of drinks she’d bought other women she wanted to take home from the bar, but, then again, it seemed like Eilidh’s reasoning was different from those. Eilidh’s admission to magic came as a slight surprise. Usually people tried to bargain it away, to explain that it probably wasn’t real, or magic was just something else, they didn’t understand, yadda yadda. Eilidh just said yes. Marley shuffled. “Real powerful kind,” she said, “I wasn’t there when it happened, but there’s no way it wasn’t. There were, uh-- some bigger issues in the town at the time. The glass lake supposedly subdued them. But all magic comes with a price, right?” She sipped her new drink. “Or so I’ve been told.”

Made sense. Despite her lack of knowledge, except for the practices she learned in her youth, Eilidh had felt power sizzling in the air. And when the next she visited what remained, as if the lake had been scooped up by a giant spoon, and then whacked, she knew something must’ve happened. Other mysteries had stolen her attention, as it often did in such a town, but she lapped up anything she could learn now, interest grown anew. “Bigger issues?” Bigger issues. Bigger issues. She thought back to that time, many months ago. Was there anything of note? She was fairly certain that had been around the same time that entity in the mirror yelled at her. Something, something, repent for your sins, something, something. And that might’ve been the month she saw a kelpie again for the first time in years. Both intriguing, and the later additionally exciting, but neither screamed bigger issue to her. “A price. Like how it’s a crater now?” Eyes still focused on Marley, eagerly hoping for more answers. Her fingertip pressed against the rim of her drink, tracing that thin path, counter-clockwise. When the circle was complete, she secured the full glass in her hand, and took another sip. 

Marley scratched at her cup, a long nail tapping against the glass. She’d wondered what the glass lake had sounded like, when tapped on. Did it make crackling noises as the ground beneath it shifted to support the weight of the new matter? Whatever had shattered it had been loud. So loud, some of the alarms in town had gone off. Windows had shattered. She only knew of a few species that could make noise like that. “Something like that,” she answered. Eilidh was growing more curious, the less and the more Marley gave her. Her answers were short but informative. She knew how to hook someone in. “I more think the crater was...simply an after effect of whatever happened there. It’s still quite a mystery. I don’t know of anyone who has the full story, start to finish. But I’ve been piecing things together myself. Who knows if I'm right. But,” she lowered her voice, as if this next part were a secret, “I think the lake was used to imprison something or someone.”

An entire lake as a prison. Creative. Though not creative enough, as evident by the resulting crater. Eilidh’s mind wondered as to who or what could’ve caused such a massive display of power. And what they did to warrant the need to place them there—if it were justified or caused by fear or both. The two thoughts congealing into an impressive figure. “Makes sense. Nothing likes to be kept in a cage.” She would know; more than most. Small wrinkles adorned her forehead as eyebrows pressed close, close like those walls had been for all those centuries. The expression lasted a moment before flattening. Wonderous twinkle in her eyes returned. “Guess whoever it was is out and about then? Wonder what they’re up to.” That air seemed angry that fateful day. An anger that wouldn’t simply go away overnight. “Or if they’re back.” 

Marley wondered if Macleod might be talking about herself. But, then again, Marley hated being caged, as a child. Strapped to a bed while she screamed and cried and begged for food. They hadn’t known, it wasn’t their fault, not really. She still blamed them. She flicked at the bartop. “Suppose not,” she agreed, watching her closely. The crowd, though small, seemed to be getting rowdier. Men were shouting at each other just down the bar and Marley’s eyes drew to them like magnets. No fear yet, but chaos. And chaos inspired fear. She ran her tongue over her lips before her attention drew back to her companion. “Could be,” she answered, blinking, drawing herself back to the current conversation. “Not really sure. Maybe they died being trapped in there. Or shattered with it.” She didn’t honestly care. As long as it wasn’t fucking with the town or Erin, she just didn’t care. “But really, that’s not even the strangest--” She had started to pull up the memory of another strange occurrence in White Cres, when someone was shoved against her and her chest thumped against the bar, her drink spilling. It was the two men who had been yelling at each other earlier, and now their anger was in Marley, too. She shoved back on him. “Hey!” she growled, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt. “Watch it.” The man tried to yank away, grinding his teeth at her. “Or what?” he chided.

Eilidh had been so enthralled at the story slowly being weaved, she hadn’t noticed the steady increase of the crowd. It might as well have just been her, Marley, and their dwindling whiskeys. She had half a mind to preemptively order Marley another, more gifts for her continued answers. But then a man brushed against her extended elbow, jolting her back into her surroundings. Eyes snapped in his direction, a mixture of startle and anger. When their eyes met, his own widened and the patron simply took a step back, the brief touch merely accidental. It calmed her nerves. A second was taken to regain her attention. It shifted back to Marley, electrifying at the hintings of another tale. But then another man interrupted. And this one was less forgiving. As Marley’s body thwapped against the table, a growl rattled in her throat. It only got louder when she made eye contact with the aggressor. “Piss off.” She splashed the remainder of her drink onto the man’s face. As alcohol entered his eyes, he let out a shriek. His friend immediately went into action, tight grip securing her braid. He gave it a hard tug, trying to pull her off the chair. So she sent her nails, her claws, digging into his hand. Her legs kicked widely, most landing on his calves and thigh. And then one finally met the target: his groin. Jackpot!

All it took was one man grabbing one woman-- her companion for the night, none the less-- and Marley was set off. She could punch him, easily. She wanted to punch him. Her fist flew out and connected with his jaw, just as Macleod’s foot came up into another man’s crotch. Marley snorted, but the few seconds were enough for the man who she’d punched to wind his own fist back and swing for her. Sunglasses cracked and flew from her face and she grit her teeth, whipping her head to look back at him. Red eyes glared him down until he suddenly wilted, screaming under her gaze. And, for good measure, she swung her foot up into his crotch as well and pushed him over with the heel of her boot. Wiping her hands on her jacket, she leaned down to pick up her bent glasses. “Don’t touch the glasses,” she snarled at him before depositing them back on her face. Frowned, because they were crooked. Frowned even more because now the rest of the bar was rowdy, too.

Eilidh was not expecting the sound of a secondary impact. Almost as if it was planned, the man suffered a double tap in one go. A laugh blurted out of her. But when the man returned the favor, striking Marley across the face, that laughter died and she was growling again. Her body wanted to jump into action and was cocked to do so. Red eyes froze her onto the barstool—sent a chill down her spine, sent dread into her mind. Whoa. Was she a Mare? The reaction of the man—who suffered under the full weight of that crimson gaze, who crumbled into himself as if it would get him further away, who screamed because that’s all he could really do—confirmed suspicions. Despite the eruption of unease at the sight, wonder still tingled in her eyes. She tore her eyes away, blinking as the forced fear subsided into her true emotions, and was instantly greeted by the first man, having regained himself. Who eyes too were red: from the burn of alcohol and of rage. Her teeth snapped shut with a harsh click. “My turn.” Launching herself onto the man, she used the momentum to send him tumbling onto the ground. Before he could compose himself, she struck him across the cheek. As she revved up another attack, a random patron knocked her down, disrupting the motion. Before becoming engulfed by that sea of passion and fury, she hopped back up onto the barstool. Left the man to fend for himself. “This place got lively!”

Marley stood by as Macleod threw herself at the other man, who was soaked from the drink that had previously been thrown on him. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She was too preoccupied with watching that she didn’t notice the others approaching them, or the bartender, rushing around the side of the counter, grabbing his baseball bat, and waving it at some of the other men who were rushing over to the commotion. She almost forgot, too, that she was a police officer. She wasn’t supposed to incite violence like this, rather she was the one called to stop it. Someone else bumped into her from behind and she swerved to glare at them, too, watching them shrink away, as red eyes pierced them ever from behind the glasses. She didn’t much care anymore. The bartender grabbed at her and then Macleod next as Marley laughed at her statement. “Sure did!” she was being shoved towards the door, but she didn’t much care. “Can’t say I’m complainin’!” 

Eilidh’s eyes locked onto the baseball bat and an amused breath escaped her. “So dramatic! Like this’s anything new.” The bartender paid her comment no mind, only focusing on what needed to be done. When their hands seized her arm, Eilidh snapped her teeth threateningly. Those canines that had met flesh time and time again bared themselves to naïve and apathetic eyes.  Ensnared arm jerked, straining against the hold, on the edge of freeing herself. But her eyes locked onto Shane, who simply shook his head in disapproval. Fucking hell. Those blood puddings were on the line. Her arm relaxed, but a tension still riddled her body. She allowed the bartender to drag her away, back to the door where this all began. The sound of laughter brought up her mood, and she joined in her own. Mirth and hostility danced in her voice. “Too bad we can’t finish the job!” And with that they were shoved out the door. 

[stars-a-n-d-scars]

Mischief Managed.

Hey guys. So I know this story has been a bit of a mess with me posting it in parts, so I’ve decided to just put it all in one super-long post. Hope you like it!

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Part 1

“Are you ready?”

Sirius grinned at James’ question, his grey eyes sparkling.

It was the last day. The last day they would ever spend as Hogwarts students. Graduation was over and done with, and the after-party had lasted a week and a half (in true Gryffindor fashion). Everyone had been suspended in a constant state of elation and bliss. Drinking, dancing and singing ‘till their voices were sore. But when the alcohol dried up and the music faded, they were back where they’d always been. Sirius, Remus, Peter and James, each sitting on their four-poster bed in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory. Oh, the times they’d had in this room. The years and years of spin the bottle, raucous laughter and drunken dancing spent with friends. The mental breakdowns, whispered comforts and hushed confessions.

Sirius looked around at the people beside him.

James, with his crooked glasses and messy hair. His brother. His hilarious, insane, loving (if not slightly tactless) brother. Sirius still remembered the moment they met. The black haired boy had just stepped through the barrier to platform 9 and 3/4 on the 1st of September his first year, when he bumped straight into James and sent his belongings flying everywhere. They’d both apologized, bending down hastily to pick up the items that were now strewn in the thoroughfare. Unfortunately, an occurrence of the same idea in both the boys’ minds at the exact same time led to a bumping of heads, that in turn led to both of them lying flat on the ground having made more of a mess than there was before. James and Sirius avoided each other for a second, both extremely embarrassed, but then they locked eyes and an uncontrollable fit of laughter overtook the both of them. This ended up with the two first years rolling around on the platform in hysterics yet again, completely oblivious to the judgmental looks they were receiving from other station-goers (and a particularly green set of rolled eyes from a pretty little red-haired witch). And from that moment on, James Potter and Sirius Black were inseparable.

A crunch brought Sirius out of his reverie. The source of the noise was, of course, Peter. That tiny little fellow who’d always been the most reliable of all the friends. He would never break a promise, that was for sure. Wherever his loyalties lay was where they would stay. The hundreds of pickles he’d gotten them out of with an early warning fro his designated position as the map-watcher (as the most attentive and observant of the four, it always made sense for Peter to be on lookout as the others got up to their usual antics) or with a particularly convincing dizzy spell. The fact that he was constantly hungry made him even more endearing, Sirius thought. He couldn’t help but be filled with pride and joy for his friend, when he looked at the man that mousy little first year boy he met on the train had become.

Finally, Sirius’ gaze landed on Remus. 7 years. 7 years and that boy never failed to make his heart skip a beat. He raised his amber eyes to meet Sirius’, and a gentle smile spread across his face. To the untrained eye, it would seem like an innocent grin of bliss. But Sirius knew his boyfriend too well to be fooled. It was a smile of sadness. Hogwarts was the only place Remus had ever felt accepted, had ever felt at home. And now they were leaving. Leaving the astronomy tower, where they’d had their first kiss, leaving the charms corridor where they’d pulled their first prank, leaving the Great Hall where they’d come out together. But Sirius knew that no matter where they were, those moments would always be with them. Even if a million miles separated them, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black would always have that.

As his eyes were drawn to where Remus was fiddling with the edge of his enormous sweater (which, by the way, Sirius had totally never stolen to sleep with when he was feeling lonely), he just couldn’t stop himself from standing up and planting a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. Then, sliding his hand into the other boy - no, man’s, he stood to face James and his question.

“Ready as I’ll ever be”, he replied.

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Part 2

The four boys stood outside Filch’s office. They had spent weeks discussing whether or not to do what they were about to do, but they knew it was right. Filch was busy helping the house-elves move the trunks onto the Hogwarts Express, so they knew they had his office to themselves for at least another hour.

“Alohomora.”

Together, the Marauders took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The room was as it always had been. Shackles on the wall from Filch’s days as a torturer, filing cabinets against the wall. A single framed picture of Mrs Norris sat on his desk next to a vase of dried up flowers and a small vial of what looked suspiciously like veritaserum.

The four Gryffindors had probably spent more time in this office over the years than any of their classes combined (although Remus had always managed to get away with things that the others never could). Sirius’ mind was suddenly flooded with memories so vibrant that, for a second, he thought he might have time travelled.

It was 1st year. Remus, James, Peter and Sirius had just finished their first Charms class and were stowing their books in their bags and chatting about how they think they went when the distinct noise of a cleared throat interrupted their discussion. “Boys, I’m afraid I’m going to have to hurry to lunch before they run out of ham sandwiches. If you could please lock up the classroom when you leave, I would appreciate it.” That was Flitwick’s first mistake. His second was mistaking the identical grins on Sirius and James’ faces for ones of consent rather than mischief. The second he left the room, the boys began plotting.

“I say we put itching powder in his hat,” James suggested, but that idea was quickly shot down by several choruses of “I guess…”, “It’s a little unoriginal” and, of course, “BORING” (you can guess which one was Sirius). The next idea they generated involved a large number of items that were both unobtainable at that moment and probably highly illegal, so that one was dismissed too. However, as they say, this time’s a charm. Peter went and stood outside the door to signal in case anyone turned up, and James and Sirius got to work on the textbooks in the cupboard. Soon enough, each and every one had been transfigured into copies of “9 foolproof ways to a witch’s heart” (although they still looked like The Standard Book of Spells Grade 1 on the outside). Thank Merlin for McGonagall’s belief that they should start with the hard stuff and work backwards. Meanwhile, Remus had set to work on the chalk. After a solid 10 minutes of experimenting, he managed to make it so that it would only write out phrases like “Happy wife, happy life” and “Actions speak louder than words”. It would also produce a pink love heart-shaped bubble with every word written. Satisfied with their handiwork, the boys moved to leave just as Peter poked his head around the door to tell them that lunch was almost over. Another 5 minutes spent waiting outside the Charms classroom and they were starting to regret their decision to skip eating, because they were all starving. Peter even swore to always carry a snack with him from then on. But their regret was banished the second they heard the first signs of laughter emanating from inside the classroom. A few more minutes of chuckling passed and the boys congratulated each other on a prank well done, but perhaps a little too soon. Slowly but surely, the laughter died out and turned to yells as students started piling out of the door. Confused, Sirius turned to Remus for an explanation, and was met with a look of horror.

“There is a slight chance those bubbles won’t pop,” was all he needed to say. The rest was understood when the last student out of the door was followed by a tidal wave on bouncing pink hearts. The boys looked at each other in silence for a second, before they all burst out laughing. They laughed ‘till their sides split and they couldn’t breathe. And then, a sharp voice brought them out of their hilarity with a snap.

“I suppose this was your doing?” Minerva McGonagall asked, a sceptical look on her face. The boys tried to deny any involvement, but soon enough learned that it was really quite tricky too keep a poker face when you have Minerva McGonagall staring you down. After they admitted responsibility, she sighed and shook her head. “Detention. You’ll be at my office at 5 o’clock tonight or there will be consequences.” And then she did something unexpected. She smiled. “You boys really are quite the marauders, aren’t you?” She chuckled and then turned on her heel and walked off.

“Marauders. I like that,” said James. And the rest is history.

Sirius pulled himself back to the present, if unwillingly. Things were different now. They weren’t those kids anymore. There was a war on, and they were about to become a part of it. The realisation of just what they were leaving behind hit Sirius even harder when Remus reached into his pocket and put the Marauder’s Map on the table. Sirius knew they had all agreed it was the right thing to do, but that didn’t make it any easier.

He turned away as he heard Remus muttering over the map in Latin. After about 5 minutes, Remus stood up and announced he was done.

“What exactly did you do?” Peter asked, his mouth full as ever.

“Well, remember when I got you guys to cast spells on the map when we were making it so that it would insult anyone who tried to open it incorrectly in ways that we would? It was a spell like the one that the founders used on the Sorting Hat. They copied parts of their personalities into the object so that it would know what they would have wanted. I’ve just extended the spell a bit, so that the map will hide itself right here on Filch’s desk until it’s approached by someone who it thinks we would deem worthy to be the next Marauder”, Remus answered.

“You’re a fucking genius, you know, that right?” Sirius breathed, kissing his boyfriend.

“I know”, came the reply.

“Wait – but won’t Filch be able to feel it, even if he can’t see it?” asked James.

“No. Unless whoever is touching it is someone we think is fit to carry on our legacy, it won’t exist.”

The boys stood in silence for a minute. This was it. 7 years of education, pranks and friendship, all poured into that old piece of parchment. Finally, Sirius broke the silence.

“So what do we do to activate the spell?”

Remus smiled that sad smile again. “Its simple. We just need to tap the parchment and say ‘Mischief Managed’”.

A sudden exclamation came from James. “Oh, that’s fucking fine! I didn’t need my heart anyway. What’re you trying to do to me Lupin?”

They laughed. And then they stepped forwards and placed their wands on the parchment.

Together the Marauders opened their mouths and said, for the last time “Mischief Managed”.

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Epilogue

Remus, Sirius, Peter and James walked out to join the others at the Hogwarts Express. Everyone was waiting around to board, and the 7th year Gryffindors were standing near the back, surveying the scene. The marauders joined their friends and stood facing their future.

As the sun set, eight silhouettes were framed against the darkening sky.

James, with his arm around Lily, watching the reflection of the sky in her eyes.

Peter, deep in discussion with Mary about the war.

Marlene, crying silently into her girlfriend Dorcas’ shoulder.

And Remus, his arm around Sirius’ shoulder.

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The Marauders was always more than just the four Gryffindor boys of the 70s. They were all Marauders. And, in the end, so were we.

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Guys, I really hope you liked this! Personally I loved writing it, it started as an idea that Filch never took the map they planted it for the next generation to find and turned into this huge 2000 word story. I guess words fly when you’re writing (if that makes any sense). 

Anyway, have a wonderful day and I wish you all good things!

- Mia  💜

[atmilliways]

M, A for Stuck on the Outside Failing to Look In (Just Like in Real Life), K, E for that one fic your wrote on LJ where Toki and Skwis both wind up in the hospital after hooking up too much because *I* want it, C, H, A again for All is Calm, All is Dark, R, L, E for Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner, S, N, N again, A again for A Murder of Two, T, H, A again DEALER'S CHOICE, N a third time, K, I, and two S's.

“Make Charles n Nathan kiss.” 

Have done, can do, will do! And kudos for making me go back to LiveJournal for a fic I hadn’t even planed on moving over to Ao3 because I was worried it was too dramatic. 

(Fanfic Ask Meme) 

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

Hm, what have I not already blabbed about… Oh, you’ll like this. I’ve semi started working on a preklok fic where Nathan and Skwisgaar share an apartment and it’s an absolute sty, so Nathan gets some homeless kid to clean it in exchange for food and use of their shower. Enter Toki. Cue eventual threesome. 

Eventually once Magnus is kicked out of the band they’re going to conspire to “hold auditions” for the rhythm guitar part but have Toki show up late and blow everyone else out of the water while they pretend to be surprised.

A: How did you come up with the title to Stuck on the Outside Failing to Look In (Just Like in Real Life)?

A lot of the Skwistok I write tends to feature both of them being idiots who aren’t good at communication. Like in that fixed you wanted me to pull a slide your house where they both end up in the hospital for stupidity related. Stuck on the Outside is the most reflective of that, title-wise. 

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

In terms of drawn out angst? Take Me To Church. Nine chapters plus a prologue and epilogue of Charles scrambling to figure out what is even happening, and the learning curve is not kind to him. 

E: If you wrote a sequel to that one fic your wrote on LJ where Toki and Skwis both wind up in the hospital after hooking up too much because I want it, what would it be about? 

After they’re both released from the hospital, they continue to Not Talk About It until cornered by the rest of the band. When asked why they were gone for so long Skwisgaar has an aneurism-like idea and just blurts out “Guitars!!” So they haphazardly cobble together an excuse about how they’ve been doing a lot of “extra practice sessions” to get Toki up to speed on some of his trickier parts.

Basically, they hash out an agreement for their “extra practice session” relationship with Nathan, Pickles, and Murderface not only listening, but chiming in with helpful shit like “Yeah Skwisgaar you make sure he gets all the extra practice he needs!!” 

C: What character do you identify with the most?

Nathan. I guess because he’s kind of the most “omfg can we just get shit done” of the group while also being such a perfectionist to the point of “nope, not good enough, start all over again from scratch and get it right motherfucker.” I can relate to both of those things. And he strikes me as such a Taurus (stubborn as hell, bull in a china shop, etc), which I also am, so there’s that too. 

H: How would you describe your style?

I wouldn’t, because it’s hard. 

A: How did you come up with the title to All is Calm, All is Dark? 

Don’t quote me on this, I’m only the author or whatever, but I think I wrote it or titled it or something over the holidays one year as a fluff present for a friend. The title is based on a line from Silent Night, but I changed “bright” to “dark” because Charles needs a dim, quiet space to relax and recharge. 

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, Robin McKinley, and… a lot more. I’m basically a sponge. In high school, while we were reading Grapes of Wrath in lit class, I wrote a story in my creative writing class that was kind of fantasy, kind of magical realism, but depressingly paced like that one chapter where the fucking turtle crosses the fucking road, thank you John fucking Steinbeck. 

Also a million billion fanfic writers across five or six different fandoms. 

L: What’s the weirdest AU you’ve ever come up with?

Personally, I consider coming up with a headcanon for a Metalocalypse Fraiser AU pretty weird on the grounds that it’s obscure, and I’m still amazed that enough people both knew what I was talking about and felt moved to make “oh my god you did it” comments. 

E: If you wrote a sequel to Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner, what would it be about? 

Hm. Well, because I originally intended for it to be a Nathan/Charles story and it just sort of, uh, veered off on a different course there… So the sequel would probably be something like Nathan, Skwisgaar, and Toki still casually hooking up occasionally, but outside of those threesomes it’s basically just Skwistok. After a while of this, Skwisgaar starts teasing Nathan that Charles has a crush on him, and then Toki joins in, and then they start asking Charles “subtle” questions to try and suss out if it’s true, and it is. Meanwhile, Nathan’s still going through his “huh, I guess I’m bi then, okay… huh” thing and convinced that this crush rumor is bullshit. 

Eventually the conspiring Scandinavians get those two crazy kids together, and make Charles a badly spelled Welcome To Our Threesome banner that absolutely does not leave the room intact. 

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

I love doing missing scene/behind the scenes stuff. Like, you know, basically all of Take Me To Church. It’s such a challenge to on one hand know in my heart that Charles and Nathan are meant to be, but on the other not actually deviate from any established canon. 

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Yeah, somebody write that sequel I described for Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner. You have my blessing. Title it, I Carried A Watermelon Named Nathan. 

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Someone write B.A.N.D.M.A.T.E.S for me. I mean, I’m gonna, but I have stuff going on at the moment and I want to read it now. 

A: How did you come up with the title to A Murder of Two?

A murder is a group of crows. There’s a Counting Crows song called A Murder of One, which is also where I got the idea for my murderofonerose screen name. (Rose is my middle name and it was back when I was still being dramatic about being single.) 

So considering the rest of the band was killed by black birds, crows seemed fitting. And the whole “he’ll always have Charles” thing. They’ll stick together, their own little murder of two. 

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Rapefic. I’ll just casually refrain from reading that, nbd. 

H: How would you describe your style?

Okay, whatever, I’ll do it, fine. 

Very character driven. Always has been, even before I discovered fanfiction, because creating and/or developing characters is my favorite part. Buuuut it means I’m sometimes lacking in setting and plot… It’s a constant struggle. I’ve also always had kind of a thing for unreliable narrators — or not unreliable exactly, it’s not like they’re intentionally lying to do, but just you get most things filtered through their personal biases. That’s why I want Take Me To Church to have a companion story from Nathan’s point of view, so I can beat y’all with the dead horse that is everything that has flown over Charles’ head due to low emotional intelligence. 

A: How did you come up with the title to DEALER’S CHOICE?

I know this is payback, but is anyone else starting to think that Dealer’s Choice would make a great fic title? And then the answer to this question would be, “Well this one time I was being an absolute madwoman/maniac and spammed a couple people’s inbox with lettered ask memes that doubled as a secret message because I’m a smartass. Blame my family for being awful at actual conversations and emotional support but superb at puns and one-liners. Anyway, one thing lead to another and they got me back, but I continued to be a smartass and used this as a title so I could continue to tell this story about singlehandedly revolutionizing the ask meme industry.“ 

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Yeah, there is, a sequel to Stay Alive. *mic drop* 

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

In terms of “oh, that’s… not good…” feels? I think it’s He Came Back (Wrong). Nathan definitely has feelings for Charles, confused and complicated as they are, but if he’s not quite the same person anymore then how is anything ever going to get resolved? 

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

Mainlining ridiculously long fics from start to finish, but they have to be complete and they have to really grab me. I have done this a few times since college and it’s simultaneously always worth it and always a Bad Idea. 

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Confessions of Feelings while drunk and/or high. 

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Fuck or Die. I mean, constructing the situation alone is impressive, because how often does that sort of thing even crop up.

[thegreatwhiteferret]

Waiting For Tonight

Summary: Eddie always thought that he would wait until he was married to have sex, but after a year and a half of dating Richie with all of his teasing and innuendos, Eddie snaps. He can’t wait any longer and he challenges Richie to do his absolute worst on him and wreck his virgin body.

Pairing: Reddie

Rating: EXPLICIT

A/N: This was an unbelievably amazing PowerBottom!Eddie request from @theriodiaries , I am so sorry that this took me so long to finish, I wanted to make it the best that I could for you and definitely overthought some thing, but I really hope that you like it! (Especially since I have two more requests to write for you now!!! Super excited!) ❤️❤️❤️  Also, this is a shameless self promo but... @reddieforlove ...for your consideration for the next Reddie Fanfic Friday.

NSFW Under the Cut...

Eddie wasn’t sure what it was. It wasn’t out of some moral or religious obligation. It wasn’t his mother, and her horrific stories about all of the diseases that could be spread. It wasn’t because he was disgusted by the thought of it. Scared? Maybe a little, but not enough to keep him from doing it. It was none of that, he wasn’t sure what it was, but nonetheless he had made himself a promise a long time ago that he would wait until he was married to have sex.

The problem with this of course, was that Eddie had made this decision when he was seven years old. When he didn’t understand what it meant. When he hadn’t been able to come to terms with the fact that he found little girls icky, and didn’t think that his feelings would ever change about that. He had made the decision before he realized that he was hopelessly in love with Richie Tozier.

Being in love with Richie presented its own set of unique...challenges, but Eddie wouldn’t take him any other way. He loved him more than he ever imagined was possible.

One of Richie’s many strengths was how understanding he was. Eddie had told Richie way before they had even started dating, way back the summer they turned thirteen, that he wanted to wait to have sex. Richie had balked at first, shocked that anyone in the world wouldn’t be itching to tickle their pickle, but stopped immediately when he saw how serious Eddie was. If this was something that Eddie was adamant about, he would never pressure him.

That didn’t mean that he was going to stop with all of the innuendos and obnoxious jokes, that’s just who Richie was as a human being, but he did curb them a bit when it was just the two of them.

------

They started dating at the end of their sophomore year of high school. It was long overdue. Eddie had known deep down that he was in love with Richie for at least four years. It took him a while to process it, and even longer to actually admit to himself, and then to his friends, that he was gay. Richie had known that he was bisexual since he had snuck into the backroom of the video rental store when he was a kid and saw the glory that was Deep Throat. That film was his bisexual awakening, which he would tell anyone who would listen, and then they would yell at him for being too young and disgusting. He had also known even before that movie, that he loved Eddie more than anything and would stop at nothing to protect him. He was his Eddie Spaghetti, and anyone who even came close to hurting him was going to die.

Eddie had been the one to make the first move. Richie had been casually seeing this kid from a few towns over that was in a band. Richie had fallen hard for the guy, he wore all black and smudged eyeliner around his eyes, he had metal studs up and down his ears and had a tongue piercing. Eddie was repulsed. Mainly because he was the one that Richie would run to with all of the details from his dates. Would sneak into his window at night, with fresh hickeys sucked into his neck and tell Eddie about how amazing, Freddie was.

It lasted three months and then things changed. Freddie decided that Richie was too simple for him, he had called him one dimensional. He didn’t like the neon colors and crazy prints. Couldn’t stand how Richie ran his mouth, or the fact that he seemed to talk about one of his friends more than any of the others. He told Richie that he wasn’t experienced enough for him, and it broke Richie’s heart. They had had sex for the first time just a few days earlier, and Richie couldn’t help but feel the rejection ten times over because of it.

Richie tried to pass off his pain with humour, like he always did, but Eddie saw it. Saw the pain in his eyes. Richie stopped being so bright. Stopped being so loud, he withdrew inside his head, and it broke Eddie’s heart too. Richie stopped climbing through his window at night to have their talks as well, and that’s where Eddie drew the line.

One night, Eddie snuck out of his own window and rode his bike the few blocks over to Richie’s house and climbed the old tree outside of his bedroom window. Richie bolted from his bed when he heard a knock on the window, sliding his glasses onto his face before grabbing the baseball bat that he kept next to his bed and preparing to swing.

“Whoever the fuck you are I will fucking kill you!” He aimed towards the window as a small figure slid the glass open and all but fell inside. Richie raised the bat preparing to slam it down onto the person’s head, when he heard familiar wheezing. “...Eds? Eddie? What the fuck? You almost gave me a heart attack! I could have fucking killed you! Jesus Christ, you’re choking. Where is your inhaler?” RIchie slid on his knees so that he was next to Eddie, searching for his fanny pack and his inhaler. Eddie looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Hi.” He choked out, and Richie shook his head in belief at his friend, crashing through his window in the middle of the night, just to say that. He helped Eddie to stand and moved him over to sit on his bed.

“Well shit, hi, Eds.” Richie said, joining him on the bed. He tried to straighten out his sheets a bit so it didn’t look like a complete mess, he knew that he didn’t have to impress Eddie, he had seen his room like this a million times, but he still felt the urge. Eddie didn’t look like he was going to start talking anytime soon, so Richie did what he did best and filled the silent void. “So, not that it’s not a nice surprise and all, but what are you doing here, Eddie?”

“I uh...I had to come and tell you something.” Eddie forced out, and Richie looked at him confused, urging him to continue. “I uhm...wow. In my head this went better.” He looked pensive, like he was fighting a battle within himself, and it was unnerving for Richie.

“Look, Spaghetti Man. Why don’t we just...you can either sleep here or I can walk you home. We can talk about whatever you wanted to in the morning…” Richie was cut off by Eddie pressing his lips to his. It was quick, before Richie could even registered what had happened, Eddie was pulling away. “Wait, no come back.” Richie murmured and pulled him in for another kiss. This one more drawn out, but he was still careful to not spook Eddie too much. They pulled away breathless after a few moments, looking wide eyed at each other.

“Richie, will you be my boyfriend?” Eddie asked, and Richie could have sworn that it was the most adorable thing that he had heard in his entire life. His heart swelled in his chest and he just nodded. Eddie looked relieved.

“Took you long enough.” Richie sassed and Eddie just rolled his eyes and pulled him in for another kiss.

------

Eddie held true to his pledge of abstinence, even after Richie became his official boyfriend. Always careful to stop things before they went too far. They had been dating for a little over a year and a half now, and they had experimented with some heavy petting and a few handjobs, but nothing more. Richie respected Eddie’s boundaries.

Richie being Richie however continued to make crass jokes all of the time. The other Losers didn’t know about Eddie’s vow for purity, they never pried, but Richie supplied plenty of innuendos anyway, maintaining his position in the group as the Trashmouth.

“Ow, shit this soup is hot.” “Yeah, you know what else is hot? My boyfriend’s ass.” “Beep beep, Richie!”

“What does the sign on an out-of-business brothel say?” “J-jesus Christ, Richie. I’m t-trying to do my h-homework.” “BEAT IT, WE’RE CLOSED! Hahahaha.” “Get o-out of my h-house. Beep f-fucking beep.”

“What’s the difference between a tire and 365 used condoms?” “I will kill you.” “One’s a Goodyear, the other’s a great year. Stanley, let me tell you man, I’m having a great year.” “Let go of me, Bill! I just want to strangle him a little!”

“I’ll have a Dr. Pepper please.” “Oh, that reminds me of a joke. Hey, Mike?” “No.” “Why does Dr. Pepper come in a bottle?” “Richard, why can’t you just let me enjoy my soda in peace, I don’t…” “Because his wife died.” “I...I’m sorry guys, I have to go, I can’t…” “Are you fucking happy? You broke, Mike!”

“Bevvvvvvvvvvy Baby, I have a hot lesbian joke for you.” “You also apparently have a death wish.” “What do you call a lesbian dinosaur?” “Don’t…” “A lick-a-lot-of-puss!” “Eddie, I hope you don’t need your boyfriend’s dick for anything, I’m about to castrate him and shove it down his fucking throat.”

Eddie was a semi-patient person, he had taken to boxing as a way to control his anger, but Richie’s constant teasing and joking had brought him to a new level. He wanted nothing more than to shut his boyfriend up. Truth be told, he was tired of waiting. Tired of listening to Stan describe how Bill had made him fall apart on his tongue and fingers. Tired of how sweet and soft Ben was in his descriptions about Beverly. Mike kept pretty tight lipped about his trysts, but Eddie had seen many a girl swoon over just the sight of him walking down the street.

Eddie was tired of waiting. Tired of his boyfriend’s jokes about how tired he was of dating his left hand. He wanted some action, and he was going to get it.

------

It was the night of the Homecoming football game, their senior year. Eddie had decided that this was the perfect opportunity. They would all be cheering Mike on and then heading back to the farm for a bit of a party, win or lose, there would be an excuse to consume copious amounts of alcohol.

Mike’s farm also had the benefit of lots of places where people could sneak away. Eddie’s favorite had always been the loft in the old supply barn. He would always find himself sitting in the loft, legs hung over the side of the hatch, watching the sun come up. Richie joined him most of the time, cigarette poking out from his lips. They’d just talk and be themselves. Eddie couldn’t think of a more perfect place for them to be together for the first time.

“Hey Mike, would it be okay if I decorate the loft in the old barn a bit for the night of Homecoming?” Eddie asked as he and Mike were moving through the lunch line a week or so before.

“Why do you want to decorate it? The party is going to be in the big house, my grandparents are going to stay in the cottage that night so that we can have free reign.” Mike responded, smiling at the lunch lady to get an extra slice of pizza, damn that charming bastard.

“I uhh, well I uhh…” Eddie stuttered out, and Mike froze turning to look at Eddie with the most deadpan face Eddie had ever seen him make. He blushed under the gaze. Mike rolled his eyes.

“You want to use my barn to create a sex dungeon?” Mike deadpanned, and Eddie choked on his own spit, Mike patted his back a few times, helping Eddie regulate his breathing.

“Can you not use the words ‘sex dungeon’ ever again???” Eddie whisper yelled, trying to not draw any additional attention to them. “I just need a safe space where I can feel comfortable…” Mike stopped walking and turned to Eddie again, realization dawning on his face.

“Eddie, are you a virgin? Are you planning your first time with Richie?” Mike asked carefully, not wanting to embarrass the other boy. Eddie frowned slightly and nodded. “Well, okay. Are you sure you want the loft? We have the guest bedroom, it might be more comfortable?”

“No. The loft is perfect, it’s kind of our...place.” Eddie explained, they had reached their table now. The others would be arriving soon. “Look, Mike. I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell the others, or say anything to Richie. It’s kind of a surprise for him.”

“Sure thing, Eddie. My lips are sealed, and the barn is all yours.” Mike said, taking a bite of his pizza and nodding to Bill and Stan who had just walked into the cafeteria. Eddie nodded in thanks, and dropped the subject.

Mike had helped Eddie drag a spare mattress up to the loft, and then kept his mouth shut without judgement when Eddie sprayed the entire thing with disinfectant. Eddie had strung up so old christmas lights too, giving the space a nice romantic glow. He put new silky sheets on the mattress and even laid out some condoms and lube, which Mike had graciously provided for him. Everything was set up and perfect. Now Eddie just had to make it through the rest of the game and convince Richie to leave the afterparty to go to the barn with him.

The game was almost over, there was only five minutes left in the fourth quarter and most of the crowd were on their feet. Eddie and Stan sat huddled together under a blanket while the other Losers stood around them.

“Go team! Throw the ball, yay sports!” Richie called out from where he was standing next to Eddie, a goofy grin on his face. He turned around and plucked Bev’s cigarette out of her hand to take a drag. Bev slapped him across the head, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

“What’s happening, Bill?” She asked with a bored tone in her voice. It made sense to ask him. Bill was the only one besides Mike that could follow almost any sport. Eddie and Ben ran track, and Bill and Stan played baseball, but none of them were really all that focused on all sports. Bill sighed.

“It’s t-third down and t-twenty, we are o-only up by one t-touchdown, if they m-manage to keep p-possession of the b-ball and score, t-then we are t-tied...and we d-don’t want that.” Bill explained, squeezing Stan’s hand that was peeking out of the blanket for him to hold.

The ball snapped, and the opposing quarterback threw the ball, but as it soared through the air Mike sprinted, faster than any of them had ever seen before, he jumped, grabbing the ball out of the air and took off running in the opposite direction. He was so fast and everyone was so stunned that he had intercepted the pass, that it was like time had stood still. Eddie and Stan jumped up, joining everyone else in the stands who were jumping around and screaming. Mike ran straight into the endzone as the clock ticked down, scoring the winning touchdown.

The crowd went ecstatic. Everyone was screaming and hugging. Richie lifted Eddie up and spun him around. They sure as hell didn’t give a shit about sports, but their boy just won the game, and that they did give a shit about.

------

Mike’s house was packed with people, everyone talking and drinking. It seemed like most of the school was there. A game of beer pong was set up in the kitchen. Bill as the reigning champion of beer pong, had decided to challenge Richie to a duel. Eddie and Stan were their partners, but they were really just there to look pretty. At least that’s what Bev had said while she watched them and sipped on her own beer.

“We need to get you too some pom poms.” Bev said, and Ben nudged her in warning. “What, they are definitely the pretty little trophy wives. Ben, don’t even try to fight me on this.”

“Benjamin, control your lady.” Richie teased, as he sunk another ball in one of Bill’s cups. “Drink up Denbrough, don’t make Stan do it for you. Be a man!” He finished dramatically, and Eddie looked over at Stan with wide eyes.

“First the fuck, Richard. My man is plenty of man. Secondly, Beverly...I am a damn fine trophy wife, don’t be jealous.” Stan said waving his hands around and sticking his tongue out at Bev. He had enjoyed a few too many shots of Malibu, and was feeling himself.

“O-okay, Babe. Point m-made. Let’s go g-get some water and f-food.” Bill said, trying to diffuse the situation a little bit, Stan snapped his head towards Bill, and Eddie had to try and hold back his laughter. Richie did not have the same courtesy.

“William Denbrough. Did you just imply that I have had too much to drink? That you know my body and limitations more than I do?” Bill stayed very quiet while Stan was talking at him. No sudden movements or words. “Mhmmm. That’s what I thought. I will decide when I have had enough…” He spun around towards Bev, but he froze and grabbed onto Bill as his stomach lurched and the room began spinning. “Okay, I’ve had enough.” Bill nodded towards the others and helped Stan make his way to the bathroom.

“Hey.” Eddie said, pulling his boyfriend’s attention to him. “Come take a walk with me?” He asked, fluttering his eyelashes a little and biting his lip. Richie gulped at the sight, alcohol and general lust for Eddie.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He said and allowed Eddie to pull him through the crowd and out the back door. They started walking down the familiar path, but Richie figured he needed to break the silence anyway. “So, where exactly are you dragging me off to, Spaghetti Man?”

“You know where.” Eddie said with a playful roll of his eyes. They reached the barn a few minutes later, and Eddie pulled open the barn door. Richie threw himself on top of the stack of bales of hay while Eddie closed it behind him. He giggled when he saw Richie struggling to sprawl out on the rough material. “Hey, I’ve got a better idea.” He headed over to the small set of stairs that led to the loft and he climbed up them easily.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on…” Richie froze at the top of the stairs when he looked at what was in front of him. “Eddie....what is all of this?” He looked from all of the twinkling lights hanging from beams, to the hatch that allowed the moonlight to shine in, and finally to the bed. Covered with tons of blankets and soft looking sheets.

“Richie, I want you to make love to me.” Eddie said, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bed. Richie shook his head, and then stopped moving.

“Eddie. No. You want to wait until you’re married. You’ve been saying that since we were kids. I don’t want...I don’t want you to just change your mind because you think that I need sex to be fulfilled. I love you, just the way you are, we don’t have to…”

“Do you not want to have sex with me?” Eddie asked, face dropping as he looked at Richie. “Is that what this is? You don’t find me attractive and you don’t want to sleep with me?” Eddie said, tears filling his eyes. Richie’s heart dropped.

“No. Eddie, no, listen to me. That’s not it. You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I just don’t want…” Richie promised, trying to explain his feelings, but failing miserably. “I don’t want you to regret it.” Something changed in Eddie, like a switch was being flipped.

“There you fucking go again, thinking you know everything.” Eddie shook his head, he was pissed off now, no one got to decide for him. “You like challenges, huh, Rich? I know you do. You can’t resist them. I challenge you to do your very worst, Tozier. To wreck my virgin body. Think you can handle that, or should I go back to the party and find someone else to do it for me?” Richie’s jaw dropped open in shock, he had never heard Eddie talk like that before.

“Challenge accepted.” Richie murmered, moving to press a bruising kiss to Eddie’s lips, pulling him with him towards the bed. He pulled his own jacket off and toed out of his shoes, then let himself fall back on the bed, sliping his shirt and jeans off before leaning up on his elbows to watch Eddie. “Going to do a strip tease for me, Eds?” He asked half joking, but there was a sparkle in Eddie’s eye.

Eddie licked his lips as he looked down at Richie. He let his jacket slipp off of his shoulders and drop to the ground. His scarf was next, he shimmied with it a little, dropping down and pulling back up so that his jean clad ass was on display for Richie. He dropped the scarf to the ground and pulled his sweater over his head, tossing it in Richie’s direction. He took his time unbuttoning his shirt, not wanting to destroy it even in the heat of the moment. Richie watched him eagerly as more and more of his toned little body came into view. He turned around again, as he slid his jeans down over his hips and ass, kicking them off and leaving him only in his tiny grey briefs. He wiggled his hips for Richie putting on more of a show for him. He turned around and stepped on the mattress moving over Richie and then dropping down until he was straddling him.

“Holy fuck. That was the hottest thing ever, Baby Boy.” He let out as he ran his hand up and down Eddie’s torso. Eddie ground his ass down on Richie’s dick, moaning when he felt how hard he was already.

“Mmmmmm no. The hottest thing you will ever see is me riding this pretty cock of yours, but there’s some work you need to do first, don’t you think?” Eddie asked sweetly, and Richie almost came right then and there. He nodded and let Eddie move off of him a little to lean over the side of the mattress. He came back with a condom and a bottle of lube. “I think you’re going to need these, but first, there’s something I want to try for you.” Eddie smirked at him and moved down the mattress, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and pulling them down, letting his erection spring free.

Eddie smirked at Richie one more time before taking his leaking cock in his hand and leaning down to tease the head with his tongue. Richie’s hips thrust up without him even thinking. Eddie used his other arm to push down across Richie’s hips and keep him still. He took just the head of his ock back in his mouth, a little tentatively, and began sucking. Richie threw his head back from the feeling. Eddie decided to push himself a little bit further, he licked a strip up Richie’s entire length first, and then slid his mouth around his dick. He could only take a few inches in at first, but he worked his way down little by little. Richie was moaning and writhing on the bed beneath him, obviously unphased by Eddie’s inexperience.

“God, Baby Boy. That mouth. Ahhhh, Eds, I’m gonna cum.” Richie was moaning more and more, getting close to finding his release. Eddie pulled off, stroking Richie from root to tip a few times, until Richie’s body tightened up and he blew his load all over Eddie’s hand and his own chest. Eddie stroked him through the aftershocks, then looked down at his hand that was covered in Richie’s cum. He thought about it for a minute before looking Richie dead in the eye and lifting his hand to his mouth, and starting to lick it off. “Oh my fucking God, Eddie that’s fucking filthy…” Richie groaned out as he watched his boy.

“Mmmmmmmm. So good.” Eddie moaned, as he leaned down to lick a stripe up Richie’s chest, collecting the rest of his cum on his tongue. He caught Richie’s mouth in a kiss, letting him taste himself. Eddie pulled back, and kept his eyes trained on Richie. “Richie, are you going to open me up so I can take that pretty cock of yours, or do I need to do everything myself?”

“I’ve got you, Baby.” Richie said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. Eddie crawled down the bed a little bit, staying on his hands and knees and popping his ass out for Richie. “Oh, Baby Boy. Those briefs are doing nothing to hide that beautiful ass of yours.” Richie moved behind him, palming one of his cheeks in his hand. Eddie moaned at the feeling, and Richie gave him a little pat, before he pulled the fabric down over his ass, leaving them bunched up on his thighs. He used his thumbs to spread his cheeks apart. “My God, Baby Boy. You’re killing me. Soft and hairless. So pretty.” Eddie mewled at the compliment.

“Come on, Richie. I need more. Give me what I need.” Eddie begged, and Richie leaned in licking all the way from Eddie’s balls up his crack. “Oh fuck!” Eddie had never felt anything like it before. He’d never even played with his own hole, Richie’s tongue was the first stimulation he had ever had down there, and it was enough to make his cock drip precum into his briefs. Richie repeated the action, letting his tongue poke lazily at the ring of muscles. He suckled around his hole, finally breaching the muscles properly with his tongue. Fucking gently into the heat. Eddie moaned at the intrusion, it felt weird, not bad but weird. Richie kept playing with him, gently licking his hole open. He moved his hand around on the bed, trying to find the bottle of lube, he snatched it up quickly when he felt the hard plastic. He gave Eddie’s fluttering hole a light kiss before pulling back completely. “Are you going to fuck those long fingers in me? Come on, Richie. Do it.” Eddie instructed. Richie was taken aback by how vocal Eddie was.

Richie popped the cap of the bottle off and let some of the slick liquid drip down his fingers. He closed the bottle before dropping it back on the bed. Her rubbed the tips of his three lubed up fingers around Eddie’s hole, teasing circles around the muscle until Eddie was groaning and whining from being forced to wait. Richie took pity on him and began to push his first finger in slowly. Eddie choked out a sob at the feeling.

“It’s okay, Eddie. You’re doing so good for me. Taking my finger, just relax baby, so good.” Richie praised as he pushed his finger in the rest of the way. He could feel Eddie relaxing and took the opportunity to slowly begin thrusting his finger in and out, letting Eddie get used to the feeling. It was strange, feeling this full, but Eddie knew that there was so much more to come. Richie waited until Eddie was moving his hips back to meet his thrusts before he added a second finger, careful to keep them still so the stretch was bearable. When Eddie signaled that he was ready to continue Richie began twisting his fingers and scissoring them open, on one of his thrusts he hit something inside Eddie that ripped a scream out of his throat.

“Ugh. Fuck, Daddy, right there.” Eddie moaned, and Richie froze at what Eddie had just called him. It was unbelievably sexy, and Richie was pretty sure that he should be ashamed to admit that. Eddie seemed to realize his slip because Richie was no longer moving. “Your two fingers are in my ass and that’s what trips you up? Keep fucking moving, Daddy. Open my ass for your cock.” Richie choked on his own spit, but began moving again, thrusting in to hit that spot again, before adding another finger.

He made sure that Eddie was good and stretched, not wanting to hurt him when he thrusted in. He had Eddie flip over on his back and pulled his briefs the rest of the way off of his legs. Eddie pulled his legs to his chest, giving Richie space to move between them. Richie tore open the foil packet and slid the sheath down his shaft, he added more lube, making sure everything was nice and slick before moving into position over Eddie. He looked down at the love of his life, trying to make sure that this is what he wanted.

“We can stop right here, Eddie. We can wait. I love you so much, I’d wait forever.” Richie said looking into his eyes. Eddie looked up at him, with a smile on his face, and it touched Richie’s heart.

“I love you too. Now stick your fucking dick in me now. Did I stutter?” Eddie sassed, looking at Richie with determination in his eyes. Richie nodded, knowing that Eddie knew his body better than anyone else. He pressed the tip of his cock against Eddie’s hole, and then slowly pushed in. Eddie’s mouth flew open and he screwed his eyes shut at the feeling, so new. Richie went slow, inch by inch until his hips were resting against Eddie’s ass. Eddie gasped out a breath. “Holy fuck.”

“Are you okay? Is it too much?” Richie asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Eddie just nodded that he was okay, taking a few deep breaths. He relaxed. “Do you want me to move?” Richie asked and Eddie nodded again. Richie started thrusting in, slowly and gently, barely moving at first. Eddie quickly started to get inpatient, he knew that Richie was holding back.

“Fuck me like you mean it.” He let out, wrapping his legs around Richie’s waist to pull him in tighter. Richie sped up a little bit, pumping in and out in a rhythm, Eddie rocked his hips to meet his thrusts, legs still wrapped around his waist. The discomfort had turned to pleasure and now he wanted more. “Richie! Harder! Fuck me harder, Daddy. Please!” He cried out and Richie tried to move faster to satiate his boy, but Eddie was moaning like a porn star and Richie was a little lost. Eddie raked his nails down Richie’s back, trying to encourage him to go faster, and Richie cried out from the mixture of pain and pleasure. He wasn’t the most experienced, and his only other partner had definitely not been as enthusiastic and receptive as Eddie.

Eddie was done waiting, he rolled them over so that Richie was on his back. Eddie straddled him again and grasped his cock, he held it in place and let himself sink down on it, feeling Richie way deeper than he had before. He started to pound himself down on it hard and fast over and over, rocking his hips until Richie’s cock was brushing against his prostate with every thrust. Eddie braced himself with his hands on Richie’s chest. He kept fucking himself down, his own cock slapping up against his belly from his movements. Richie lay beneath him, trying to thrust up in time with Eddie’s thrusts, watching his boyfriend get himself off by using his cock like a toy.

Richie could feel his stomach getting tight, his body racing towards his climax. Eddie was doing so well for him, his tight hole milking his cock perfectly. Eddie slammed down one more and Richie was cumming in the condom, screaming Eddie’s name as his body started to tingle all over before going numb. Eddie kept bouncing, hitting his prostate, and then wrapped his hand around his own cock, flicking his wrist just how he liked it, and cumming in thick streaks across Richie’s chest. He let himself catch his breath then carefully moved off of Richie before falling onto the mattress next to him. He could already feel how tender his ass was, but it was worth it.

He grabbed a pack of baby wipes that he had left off to the side and wiped himself and Richie down a little bit. He wanted a hot shower, but he wanted to curl up with his love even more. Richie opened his arms and let Eddie snuggle into them, pulling the sheets and blankets up over them. It was quiet for a moment before a thought popped into Richie’s head that he had to voice.

“You were right. Watching you ride my cock, is the hottest thing that I’ve ever seen.” Richie admitted as they lay wrapped up in each other. Eddie giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. They fell asleep intertwined, the sounds of the party in the background and the moon shining through the hatch.

[morilore]

Hot take on Revolutionary Girl Utena: Utena does become the Prince at the end of the series, and this is, indeed, Bad.

So I remember feeling intensely bad about Utena’s ending to the show after watching it and for weeks afterward.  And Anthy’s departure was glorious and amazing to watch, but I still had the nagging feeling that the show hadn’t actually quite accomplished the thing that it seemed to be pretending it had.

What I remember thinking is that it made history look like a flat circle, from sacrifice to sacrifice.  Utena is the Rose Bride now.  Anthy’s free, but nothing about the world is any better.  Of course this is complicated once you realize that this pattern puts Dios in the position of first sacrifice, and Dios is a boy, and if this is supposed to be about misogyny then that presents a problem.  But I suppose the answer to that is that the child Dios’s suffering was real and genuinely pitiable, but not the same as the Rose Bride’s.  He got seriously hurt, but he was never stabbed with one million swords at the same time.

I also remember being really upset that Utena’s last words in the series made it sound like she believed that she was a complete, abject failure and that nothing she did had any value.  The sentence “I’m sorry I was just playing prince,” is sufficiently ambiguous that it still sounds like Utena could be measuring herself against the princely ideal, even in the very last sentence.

Smart people are radically critical of institutions; shitty Christian moralists are radically critical of people as such.  Utena had a beautiful and valuable love and sense of justice in her.  She was a messed-up teenager, but she was a messed-up teenager.  And she seemed to end the series bitterly lamenting some fundamental problem with herself, as the executioner’s axe swung down.  And not that she doesn’t have some stuff to regret regarding her behavior towards Anthy, but holy shit, kid, you were up against stuff that you should never have been expected to face at 14 years old.  When I was 14?  I was a complete and total asshole!

Slight digression.

I was watching the CS Lewis Doodle youtube channel recently, because sometimes I am a simple man who likes to watch pretty pictures being drawn to a lecture - likes it enough to forget sometimes that CS Lewis is an asshole and that Christianity is Actually Really Bad and that it Legit Traumatized Me and that it Hurts Real People Constantly Including Me When I Internalize Any Part Of It.

Here is part of what CS Lewis - that asshole - was saying in defense of violent patriarchal domination in the context of (heterosexual) marriage:

The husband is the head of the wife just in so far as he is to her what Christ is to the Church - read on - and give his life for her. This headship, then, is most fully embodied not in the husband we should all wish to be but in him whose marriage is most like a crucifixion... The sternest feminist needn’t grudge to my sex the crown offered it, either in the natural or the Christian mystery.  The one is of paper, the other is of thorns.

That’s the Prince, right?  He’s talking about the Prince.  Dios lying there in the barn, dying of his wounds with the people still demanding more of him.  That’s the Princely ideal.  That’s the way it should work.  Fuck’s sake; we men should all collapse in gratitude at the mercy feminism offers us, if we’re to take this guy at his word.  (Which we shouldn’t, this is self-serving bullshit.)

But that’s the crown of thorns Utena is wearing at the very end, isn’t it?

The point of a radical critique of something is that it’s not the corruption of a thing, but the thing itself even in its best and purest form, because the Bad and the Good are contained in each other and both represent the same problem.  Utena declares that she’s going to become a Prince, and then Anthy is all like “no” and stabs her.  But then Utena punches the ground and climbs to her feet and climbs over to the Rose Gate while bleeding out and still has enough strength to push Akio aside that punk and tries to open the Rose Gate with her bare hands and reaches out to Anthy with raw honesty and love and inspires Anthy to walk out of her abusive relationship!

It’s like Anthy knocks the Prince ideal to the ground, and then the Prince ideal comes back with a counterargument: “oh yeah, but what if the Prince is like, really really determined?  And what if the Prince is like, really really suffering but really puts the princess’s needs first, and really truly loves the princess and acknowledges the princess’s agency, and asks for her hand instead of taking it, and it’s because of the Princes’s honesty and goodness and self-sacrifice that the princess is motivated to save herself, and the Prince doesn’t even think she’s a Prince or that Princes are real?  What then?  Is it really so bad then?”  And then the story just ends on that point.

Or maybe I’m wrong.

The thing I keep doing in my thoughts and feelings about Utena is centering Utena’s subjectivity at the expense of Anthy’s.  Back when I was watching the final arc I kept wanting Utena to get the fuck out of there and I genuinely didn’t care if Anthy came too or not.  And I felt kinda guilty about that, but you know what?  No, I own that.  I still own it.  You should have gotten the fuck out of there, kid.  Put on your own oxygen mask first.  But I guess for Utena, it was only Anthy who could have possibly persuaded her to do that, so love between women is still the point here.

But the thing I end up missing if I don’t pay attention to Anthy is that if she hadn’t made the choice to walk out, I wouldn’t even be in this pickle.  The point would have been made but good: Princes are useless, always.  But then there wouldn’t have been any hint that anything better was possible.

And I suppose I can’t think of a better way to suggest, not only that Princes are useless, but that something better is possible.  The new is always birthed from the contradictions of the old and all that.  If RGU isn’t a story about an boneheaded girl trying to “save” another girl in an abusive relationship while remaining oblivious to the threat to herself, and is instead a story about a girl in an abusive relationship rediscovering that she has feelings and that she hates both what her abuser is doing to her and what she is helping him do to the other girls around her, then the climax of the story, and the final blow in the argument between Anthy and the Princely ideal, returns to where I should have recognized it all along: Anthy saying “sayonara.”

But that still leaves us with Utena, wearing that damnable crown.

She became a false synthesis: she became the Prince by becoming the Rose Bride.  And that doesn’t solve the problem.

Anthy solved the problem.  For herself, at least.  And she promised to find Utena.  And that’s very beautiful and moving, but it’s forever a promise - forever in the future, because the anime ended and the movie - well, I still have a hard time weaving the movie into this.

In the eternal now, we have Utena Tenjou, the girl who wanted to become a Prince.  And did, right about exactly at the time that she learned that it’s really really bad to be a Prince.

I hope she gets better.  She deserves it.

[6-weeks-in-nicaragua]

11 Febrero

It’s been a minute–a lot has happened since las iglesias! I’m alive and well. Knock on wood but so far no explosive diarrhea, no homesickness, no lost passport, no funky encounters... todo bien!

A quick update and then I’m going to just throw a bunch of random experiences, thoughts, and pictures I’ve accumulated over the past 4 or so days cause I have no way of keeping track of it all–so many things happen every day...

UPDATE: Estoy solo en Nicaragua y estoy manejando.

Both Noel and Lorena have gone stateside temporarily. Everybody is okay - no se preocupen. This leaves me alone, but not entirely. A friend of Lorena’s, Noelia, is going to help take care of Toto and may, in fact, even stay in the house part-time or full-time. So we’re all good! Noel left a few days ago and I took Lorena to the airport today. If I remember, I’ll tell you about my first driving adventure later! Anyhow, things were a bit crazy as these plans were all being made–hence the lack of posting. So here we go...

LAS HORMIGAS

These ants live at the Choco Museum and I like them. What I don’t like are the zancudos (mosquitos). They seem to be getting worse with the drier/hotter weather. I’m not sure why but they’re lovin’ my ankles and shoulders. 

IT’S THE 1ST OF THE MONTH

On the first Monday of the month, there was an incredible line outside of the bank–the longest line I’ve seen in Nicaragua by far. It turns out that it’s all the retired people collecting their pension. 

EL PEREZOSO TUVO EXITO

En fin, yo aprendí que significa la phrase–Tener exito–to succeed. That’s my ‘word’ of the week along with Perezoso–both the adjective lazy and the word for a sloth. 

I stumbled upon this beautiful block. On the left is La Fortaleza, an old fort that may have future plans but, for the time being, is closed to the public although apparently some private/government soirees are thrown there too. I was mostly, however, drawn to those 4 casitas. Que linda, verdad?!

MASA

I had my first Nacatamal of the trip. This is a Nicaraguan tamale, but truly a league beyond a tamale. They’re typically made and consumed on weekends only. There’s a panadería nearby called Doña Haydee (?), y hace nacatamals de pollo y de cerdo. They are only available Fri-Sun until they run out. 

Arleen told me that they use fake masa here in Granada for their tortillas. No usan maza reál en Granada. Solo puede comprar en Masaya. En general, por allá la gente son más trabajadores, más creativo, y más educado. I think somebody might have a grudge against Granada folks... But I have now heard from multiple people that Masaya is indeed a culinary mecca for Nicaragua. We’d gone once but only to see the market, which is well known for its plethora of quality goods. Pues, vamos a comer en Masaya! 

LA EDUCACION

Arleen and I continue to discuss various issues. As we sat in the Cathedral and interpreted the new paintings on the ceiling (Noah’s Ark, Abraham and Isaac(?), Exodus, etc.), we shifted back to education. As she was talking about public and private schools, it sounded like she was arguing that there was little to no value in public school education–textbooks that are 20+ years old, lack of textbooks and other materials, etc. So I asked her if she’d rather not send her boy to school than to a public school. She laughed but agreed that for her, it was no choice. She and her husband (an engineer) do, and would, sacrifice what they would need to, in order to send him through private school. And even a private school is limited. She described the amount of work that parents (moms) have to do to supplement the school education. Ultimately, we agreed that she had a nearly full-time job of being a teacher to her son. She studies with him, draws up her own exercises for him and even her own exams. 

4:30pm is a really cool time to be out and about. All of the students are getting out of school and, with their uniforms, seemingly take over the streets. I wish I had a picture to share. 

WILLIAM WALKER

We also talked about William Walker. This is the umpteenth time I’ve heard William Walker but was never quite sure why. His name came up one night the guys were arguing about the political crisis. Now I have a vague understanding of why. Essentially, with his own army he marched down Central America, pillaging, pirating, and claiming ownership over land. He would take natural resources (e.g. stones, minerals) and sell them in Europe. This was in or around the 1850′s. And thus began the American involvement in Nicaragua. 

XALTEVA

The name of one of the local tribes was Xalteva. As we watched a couple groups of musicians and dancers performing traditional songs and dances (who are contracted by the Tourism office to perform when buses of tourists are scheduled to arrive via Costa Rica or Panama for the day), I asked if this was rooted in Xalteva culture. No. She said the folkart comes from colonial times and is a result of the mix of Inios, Españoles, y Afro-Carribeans. I am excited to read El Gueguense because I think I’ll have a better understanding of all this after. But in a nut shell, much of the traditional arts are rooted in the dissent of Colonialism–’secret’ songs and dances of empowerment that snuck through the eyes and ears of the Spanish imperialists. I think that’s incredible!

COST COMPARISON

As I prepare to be alone, I stopped by the Maxx Pali (a grocery outlet, more or less) and picked up some bare essentials. The Protex is a bar of oatmeal soap. The cereal was the healthiest I could find. And the silver plastic bag is known as chile. It’s spicy pickled chopped onions - by far the best condiment in the world! $15 total. Somehow they only charged me 1 córdoba (1/32.6 of a dollar) for the floss, I’m guessing that means it’s not a very popular product... 

DRIVING IN MANAGUA

That was the name of the first book I read about Nicaragua ahead of my first trip in 2015. It’s amazing and I highly recommend it, although the caveat is that it’s about a white guy living/traveling in Nicaragua written by the white guy himself. But his observations are quite acute and I easily relate to some of them. 

So my sense of direction proved helpful. I was able to navigate around town, to Managua, to the airport, back to Tia Karla’s house, back to Granada. BUT I NEARLY GOT CRUSHED BY A BUS! So Nicaragua prefers roundabouts to traffic signals. I have no problem with that. But there aren’t really any lanes so it’s a bit of a free-for-all. And it’s legal for one on the inside line to leave the roundabout, thus cutting off anyone on the outside. I was nervous about these and during our drive to Managua today, asked Lorena a million hypothetical questions. We went through a few to practice, and all was good. But I still imaged these hypothetical situations and didn’t understand how to avoid them.

So after giving myself a pat on the back for navigating from the airport, to Karla’s, and back to Calleterra Masaya (the hwy) - I was going through the roundabout to enter the highway. I was in the circle, thus establishing the right of way from cars not yet in the circle. I passed the first turn. I passed the second turn. And as I was nearing the third, a bus was approaching the circle at a high speed. Now, so far, I’ve learned to the key to a safe ride is to drive defensively in an aggressive manner. So I dared not stop in the middle of the circle. I held my breath and continued past the 3rd street as the bus entered the circle. It was now my turn to bear right out of the circle and I needed to cut off the bus (but it’s not cutting off, I have the right of way). So I kept on holding my breath and zoomed by with the bus zooming lord knows many millimeters behind me. Had he hit me, I think he would have pushed me into the guardrail and I probably would have gone over the guardrail and down a couple stories onto the highway below...

Driving feels like a video game. A lot of veering one way and the next. Dodging people, bicycles, motorcycles, horses, buses, taxis, etc. It’s like Frogger but reversed. There are a million frogs crossing and you’re the car trying to make it from pt. a to pt. b without hitting or getting hit by one. It’s fun and exhilarating but it’s also real life. 

END ON A GOOD NOTE

This is part of Noelia’s patio. I absolutely love it! Nadessa arrives tomorrow for a week so I gotta get some rest. 

Estoy apreciado de tú y tú y todos. Buenas Noches!

[verse-aday-blog]

“Ten Remarkable Interpretations”

1 I’m not too old to dance meadowlarks: great punctuation locks in black and blocks, crepuscular and vain the sun in its descent. “You kicked up dust” of which the Ural mountains are but dim reminders through a wooded alley loud as if disturbed in the unbuttoned fog that grays a pedestrian’s silhouette while the passport picture reaching out to me is true or false to tetrahedral nation-states dead in winter water, enzyme ice. I cannot fear to be forgotten a child born another book the dust at dusk of skilled sculptors whose cities sink the swollen toad, her pride flamingoes, lilies, and boy flowers the center of a blue-black vault, history on it, an apron.

2 Language is a victim of its own success while into the carriage comes a louder lyric me of which the Cockscomb Mountains are like apples rotting in the dust that none of us would be content with and a caterpillar’s cud to chew poor tucks can kill, pour tanks, and call. People are forced to live, work, yearn with bourgeois linearity to change this nerdy life upon row upon row upon row of the river pulled further and further apart under the unswallowed elegy of a collared stork. Then productivity as reproductivity ends. Motion gets immobilized by perception into things perceptions get but perception gets it wrong is language. Let’s use it.

3 Doing is highly thought of and frequently abandoned as at a bus stop beside a stunted gingko, and time is tossed a laundry pile large as the crown of a tree or the gravid animal of Pythagoras, and every mathematician dies while runnels vacillate or do nothing astrophysically speaking. Let’s go for eggs and to the bakery. My kid wants to be a puppeteer. But someone must polish glass and since then the refugees weep wax and travel over agate pastures and gag. But we have to trust philosophy—and deny the property where depiction most perfectly depiction depicts. In a faux chateau of finance the proposition is a picture of corn cakes, last crumbs, weapons passing from hand to hand. Let’s rest. Life is fast. As the city rat, resuming, says: “Rudeness is rude.”

4 It can be argued from horseback—the horse a ruby roan as night falls on the shores before an infant knows of time— that there is something in mathematics shorn of ideology. I propose too that there are many things with their capacity to collide or combine with other things in the vicinity (that gravitational field of monsters)— and budding dust small flies: they totter. The public does not need to be convinced. An idiom like Kierkegaard on Halloween gathering twigs and fathering eggs while a stunted thorn frolics in the shade now dead inconsistently down the large white sea does what a poem does, making itself understood.

5 Every situation can be taken as subject to a proposition at stake at this stage of the state. Rejection of a context need not be of one’s own hoeing of the sun, one’s head a building site. Say I rode in on a vicious mule surrounded by leaves under the northern star, the eternal conflict. Say I beat my brow and only put on shows, withered webs, a rigmarole, an atrocity to which I’ll give no words. I refuse it representation. The janitor is innocent, autumn is ill, and cruelty is the rule. I swear you’ll be my father until I die from a flea bite or while beating a metal drum, eating honey and corn like a girl again with an umbrella under a redwood tree with all of which I am in a certain sense one. The roof on trust of hover can’t render love pathetic. I claim too much and yield to the Bighorn Mountains of which the truth of history is but an indifferent silence.

6 Because we refuse to personify the gaping east or deformed west or cranial north or sacrificial south we must accept this box and these panoramas to which we were led through sliding doors just as certain Alpine cliffs reproduce the “head” variants of Mayan “script” with an impersonal cluck to the jeweler. Wherever a human is to be found, there you will find occupation, a skyscraper, a 9-foot copper weathervane, imperial pickles a force plundering an unarmed ceramic bowl. Urban greenbelts lift a feisty allegorical vegetation in human voice above an opium fish, a dime in cinders under the wind and there are wealthy men, skin not yet charred. They are popular as hardware, music, poached eggs, modesty, multicolored snapdragons and the alphabet sacrificed in times of need. I live under the authority of a stucco beehive and a soldier says affectionately to me, You there!

7 We think, we approach, we exist sweep and speak, on ziplines or not. Sayings spread as amusements for children women and men by pony-poets, beetle-poets, crow-poets are voiced by the words themselves and not by anyone speaking them. I dab fingernail polish on six croquet balls. Which of the names of Hercules do you hear and in which of your ways of which the hill behind the soldier bathed in sweat is like a general’s nose or the yellow bowl upturned beside the kitchen sink after I wash it to dry. It’s now a wedding finch a reference to whistling rain a great honesty in the far sacerdotal south. Do they piss on the spider, the aged face of the great organizer on slender evidence, the rising sun that hangs a puppet from my hands?

8 The mountaineer rappels at midnight the wall a wall a wall a woman recalls: a contingent object—it might never have existed then you look at your fists and there are the letters o in admonition, odor, foot. A dog shakes premonitions from its coat lovers of time—time of all kinds— winged insects, mosquitoes mostly but also moths. Welcome, unwelcome, buffeted? Who can make durable wax? Who can knot? The baker is a man and brutalizes wheat and all attempts recall a textual residue of celebrating rats a game of backgammon with dancing kissing getting drunk hugging singing crying when we were leaving war a stumbling block reconstructed and constructed o xank history thistle e tspung hatchet corvid head over human heels, facing a direction wrong or right.

9 Pity combatants on the line who self-concretize, becoming paving stones but I say too loudly that of which I don’t know how to say enough borrowing transcription from a local pebble held in a palm from which a puppet tugs as if pulled by the revolutions of the planets Mercury Saturn or Mars over nearly twelve and a half million days marking time, which is the subject matter of history in which the sun itself bakes the bread then drawn from the oven and cooling under the proprietary nakedness of the caustic trees. So, asked a bee of experience, “How is it that umbrellas are raised against the future of the sun?” Remnants of the past don’t expect us, remnants of the past didn’t foretell us. Our songs are sonically shattered over shortwave by a scop singing the praises of his patron, the racist acquitted—he nods and flees the derelict pattern.

10 People work under the clouds and are direct inheritors of the things that happen every twenty days. What saddle do we use? A wolf has been caught and it sweats. My own sleeps do not unfold in easy procession which is called lustrous, erect, major, and will in some field cease altogether. Then tell me what you have to say. The chains obey, the dogs piss under glass, voracious fish leap from the beams, we do arbitrary things—appear and disappear as leonine as dogs. The first person is made for oneself, denizen of a cult or rubbish heap ready for the evening show in the cavern of centuries. The second is made for you, a respectable human of greenish hue. We had a drink and it cost a house into which we moved, music coming from stone. By Lyn Hejinian, from The Spectacle

[healingisdifficultbutillbeok]

In Honor of Mental Health (+ Illness) Awareness Week

Anshuman Singhal

12th May 2017

Austin, TX

Hello everybody! Monday, the 8th of May - began 2017’s Mental Health (+ Illness) Awareness Week. This is very exciting for me, as I am able to delve into a topic so dear to my own heart, and those of the loved ones I surround myself with.

*

I first heard the term “depression” when I was a child, as I was told that a very dear family friend of mine was “depressed.” I was unable to fathom what this could possibly mean, but my mind formed the general image of a man sitting alone in his bedroom, atop his bed, cooped up in silence as the windows were shut and the blinds drawn, staring blankly ahead at the darkness before him. I could not understand at the time why anyone would be drawn towards this lifestyle during the day, when the sun’s rays were begging to be let in through the shutters he had so violently closed, and the curtains which he had shut all too forcefully that they were nearly snatched from the railing they hung by. Perhaps he was jealous of the curtains, as they spent everyday hanging freely from a noose up above, never once questioned for doing so -- a feat he was unable to succeed in accomplishing.

I now think of him, learning and experiencing what I have in the past couple of years,  as such:

I think of him sitting in his bedroom  room, paralyzed by and in the darkness; his eyes perhaps playing tricks on him within this darkness, his eyes glued to the wall in front of him, mapping out the screaming within his head like a fit of doodles, like an Etch A Sketch’s rapid, seizure-like motions, like a composer madly orchestrating a symphony only he could hear and understand, for which no notes upon a musical staff could do any justice in bringing to life, let alone translating.

Despite the screaming in his head, he sat alone in his bedroom, boarded and boxed up like a mouse within a dark hole in the wall, sitting in complete silence in his self-imposed exile. His depression was perhaps like a sneaky Tom cat lurking just outside his bedroom - on his dining room table, where a thesis three weeks overdue lay scattered; in his refrigerator, where the milk was two days past expiry; and the preserved, ever-fermenting dill pickles he’d made himself on a whim  in March of 2004  well over one year past their hastily Googled “use by” date.

This was all inside of his home. Inside of a house and purchased and furnished according to his pleasing, his one sense of space within a world he so readily and inexplicably shut out, that he could rightfully call his own.

The world outside of his home was even more alarming still. Political, social, and economic turmoil. Injustice in the workplace. Gender inequality and lack of parity in the workplace. Racism, sexism, senseless violence. A looney in the White House, who makes the clown of today look severely, alarmingly mentally ill.  

And yet...we do nothing of this. We allow “psychiatrists” and “experts” who are perhaps not all there themselves to verify that no, no - the misogynistic, inexplicably misguided clown heading our nation is not, in fact mentally ill. We are expected to digest the contents of false medical reports, incomprehensibly illogical news reports by credible media outlets that search simply for a grain of truth in a sack of lies, spoonfed to us like mouthfuls of uncooked rice -- indigestible, and painful to swallow, to process, to excrecate.

We are so quick to blame, point fingers at names on bottles and anything we use to throttle our emotions, but what for? What's missing here? We blame and receive blame mindlessly, without ever setting aside the ego and asking "why?" "Why are you depressed?" "What can I do to help you?" We are so quick to shove booklets and programs and groups and addresses to clinics, but what's a common theme here? Someone hearing our voices. Someone making an effort to listen to and decipher the unspoken, yet widely known language of depression. It's not a myth, a folklore, a lost city of Roanoke. It's a reality. Until we stop dismissing it as a phase, as unnecessary worrying, moodiness or laziness and discuss it for what it is - a health condition plaguing millions around the nation, let alone the continent and Earth - it will never be understood. Simply because you never took the effort or the time to shove your ego and your help and your hurtful advice, and listen. There are some of us who are brave enough to embrace the idea of a healthy mental state by honing our mental illnesses and accepting them as a reality, and those of us fortunate enough to shell out hundreds of dollars to therapists and psychiatrists and hospitals, but what for? To have an ear to listen to us. They listen to us.

*

I had my first anxiety attack in October of 2015, immediately after a phone call with my dear cousin-in-law(?).

*

For those who are unaware, in late-January of 2016, I made the decision to cancel my plans of beginning the my second semester of my sophomore (second year) as a student at The University of Texas at Austin. I withdrew from the university, figuratively and literally, and returned to my family’s home in El Paso, Texas. It was a strange and unsettling time for us all, for my friends and family around me who had seen me acting normally, and completely abnormally just days and hours before.

*

Today, I am beyond ecstatic to say that I have wrapped up my sophomore (second year) at the University of Texas at Austin a year later than expected, but when does anything ever go as we plan it out to be?