#this art makes me a little feral I won’t lie

[rotworld]

28: Cold-Blooded

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you've known for years that your best friend nor comes from the most dangerous and prominent dragon crime family in town. you've never worried about it too much, but you probably should have.

->original work. explicit; contains non-con, graphic descriptions of violence, manipulation, murder, feral behavior, possessive behavior.

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Red flag number one: Nor shows up at your door two hours before the party. There’s a pair of plastic drycleaning bags slung over his shoulder and he’s dragging a suitcase behind him. You don’t want to let him in but he does that thing you knew he’d do with his big, pretty tourmaline eyes and the saddest, most pathetic pout like a kitten begging to be rescued from a storm drain, and you cave. He waltzes right in like he owns the place and makes a beeline for your bedroom.

“This should be everything,” he says, laying the drycleaning bags out on your bed before he kneels to get the suitcase open. “Yours is on the left. Go ahead and start putting it on, I’ll help you with the ties in a second.” 

“You’re kidding.” You very pointedly don’t get a response. “You said this was a normal party.”

“It is normal,” he insists. “For me.” 

The zipper shrieks apart and he spreads the suitcase open across the floor. There’s an antique wooden box inside that smells faintly of floral perfume, the surface carved with intricate looping symbols that wouldn’t look out of place along the borders of a medieval tapestry. The hinges creak when Nor opens it. Small decorative jars of colorful glass and gold filigree sit in red velvet. There are brushes clasped by leather straps to the inside of the lid, ranging from broad, puffball bristles to very fine points. 

“What does that mean?”

Nor looks up with a pleading expression. “I’ll handle everything, okay? That’s why I brought all this stuff. And I’ll be next to you the whole time, I swear, I don’t even want to go to this stupid thing but my dad won’t get off my ass about it. We’ll just hang out in the corner, eat some food, and slip out when nobody’s paying attention.”

“This is a family thing?” He nods pitifully. How can a dragon, in human skin or otherwise, look so much like a scolded puppy? “Don’t just spring this stuff on me. I would’ve gone if you told me from the start, you don’t have to lie.” It wouldn’t be the first formal event you’ve saved him from and it probably won’t be the last. So why is he being so cagey about it? You pick up the drycleaning bag set aside for you and frown. “Nor,” you say slowly. “What is this?”

He grins, showing off a mouthful of daggers. “It’s your outfit,” he says, knowing damn well that’s not what you meant.

Red flag number two:the “clothes” are a tangle of sashes and scarves that will show far more than they cover. You peel off the plastic and run the material over your fingers. It’s nice for sure, really nice. Each sash is made of sleek black fabric that’s velvety smooth but lightweight and flowing, decorated with embroidery in intricate geometric patterns. The stitching is luminescent and changes color when you look at it from different angles, shimmering in a prismatic cycle from red to blue as you slide it across your palm.

“What kind of party is this, exactly?” you ask. 

“Dinner party with lots of standing around pretending to be important. You know, the usual.”

This certainly doesn’t look usual to you but you lose your train of thought when Nor suddenly undresses without warning or shame. He exhales slowly, pushing stark white hair out of his face and flexing the muscles in his back. 

A line of jagged bone like a miniature mountain ridge juts from his spine, bloodlessly piercing a thin membrane of pseudo-skin. You can see his wings trying to form, an unsettling squirming in the flesh of his shoulders, but he keeps them tucked away for now. His tail snakes out at the very bottom, a lithe rope of solid muscle with stiff thorny protrusions along the top. What used to be a pair of little rounded nubs have grown into snaking upturned horns, brown and rough like tree bark. Skin hardens in glinting patches along his back and down his sides. Nor’s scales are gold and nacreous silver. Seeing him shifted, whether half or whole, always steals your breath.

“I don’t love this either,” he says, his tail flicking irritably. “But it is what it is.” You’re surprised that there’s an identical outfit in the other bag. He puts it on with practiced ease, knowing exactly how and where to loop and tuck and tie each sash. The result is an elegant, form-fitting garment criss-crosses his body that accentuates rather than conceals. His chest is framed with black stripes over and under it, the scales of his hips on display in the gaps left at his sides. Long panels dangle in front of and behind his legs. There’s a strategically spaced gap left for his tail.

Looking him over, you realize it’s not quite the same outfit. His is plain. The sashes are undecorated, lacking any pattern or embroidery. 

“Did you mix these up?” you ask him.

He looks at you, head tilted and pupils narrowed into long slits. “No?” he says, sounding confused. “This one’s for family and that one’s for a, uh…guest. We really need to get started on yours, by the way. We’ve got like a thousand pieces of jewelry to put on each and then I have to do the ceremonial markings.” He gestures at the bottles and brushes. You haven’t even done anything and you’re already feeling overwhelmed.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea. I don’t want to embarrass you. Shouldn’t you bring someone, uh…I dunno, prettier?” 

“Don’t ever say that again.” Your heart leaps into your throat when Nor lunges at you. You stumble back, pinned to the edge of your bed when he plants his hands down on either side of you. His eyes are wide and he’s baring his teeth, practically snarling at you. “What does that even mean, ‘embarrass me?’ You’re perfect. If I wanted someone else, I would’ve asked someone else. I want you—” You’re both startled by the sound of his claws ripping through your sheets and mattress. He backs off immediately, tail drooping and claws clutched against his chest like he doesn’t trust them. “I want you to come,” he says sheepishly. “There’s lots of people I could ask, but you’re…special. You always have been.” 

It makes you roll your eyes when he says stuff like that. It’s not that Nor is never sincere, but his reputation as a heartbreaker is legendary. He was a menace in high school and you’ve heard through the grapevine that he hasn’t changed much since, still a pretty face with a silver tongue and habit of never calling back. The two of you were a romcom waiting to happen—a rich boy who never heard the word “no” in his life and the only kid who wouldn’t kiss his ass, but things never went that way. You were the only constant in a rotating roster of fairweather friends who liked his family’s money and lovers he couldn’t be bothered to keep, the only one he’s ever asked to keep him company at these stiff family get-togethers.

You hold up the sash again, grimacing. “How do you know this’ll even fit me?” 

“Magic,” Nor says, waving his hand dismissively. “Now come on, hurry up and try it on.” His tail swats your leg when you don’t move fast enough.

It’s not like there’s nothing there. There always has been. Simmering just under the surface, there’s this tension you’re both afraid to acknowledge out loud. Nor insists that you get changed in front of him and watches just a bit too intently when you undress. He stands behind you when he ties the sashes in place, his chest pressed against your back and his breath blowing softly against your ear. He stretches the fabric from your waist to your shoulder and runs his hand over it, smoothing his palm over your skin. You offer to hand him the next one but instead he bends over you, forcing you to bend with him, and reaches for it himself.

You can feel him against your back. His pectorals, the firm, lithe muscle of his abdomen, his cock nestled between your thighs with only the fabric of the sash keeping it from twitching against your skin. He’s cool to the touch but he gets warmer the longer he’s pressed against you, absorbing your body heat. “Nor?” you say, your voice quivering with—nerves? Anticipation? Do you want him to stop or do you wish he’d keep going?

“Yeah?” he says, low and husky. He tilts you back upright and keeps working like nothing happened, stretching the next sash across your body. You shiver when he secures a tie at your neck, the tips of his claws softly grazing your throat. “What? Did you want to ask me something?” The tip of his tail coils loosely around your ankle. 

“Do I get a coat, at least? I’m freezing.” 

He snorts. “Don’t you remember what these are like? It’s a dragon party. You can bring one, but you won’t need it when we get there.”

Nor’s touch still lingers and sometimes grazes somewhere sensitive, but there’s some distance that wasn’t there before. He talks while he gets you ready, reminiscing on all the trouble you used to get up to together at these parties—more accurately, all the trouble he’d get into and you’d witness. Tearing holes in the tablecloths and knocking over very expensive floral arrangements with his tail, sneaking off to the kitchens and begging the chef to make you both an early dessert. She always did. You’re not the only one that sad, soggy cat look works on. 

The ceremonial markings take almost an hour all by themselves but Nor is surprisingly focused and patient when he wants to be. The symbols he draws are small and complicated. You can’t see what he puts on your forehead or neck but the small shapes he draws on your arms and legs are repeating, interlocking shapes, something like broad, flattened diamonds. Scales, you realize. They’re a scale pattern—Nor’s scale pattern. 

The brush tickles when it grazes your stomach. Nor teases you for squirming but he behaves for the most part. You try not to think about why that disappoints you so much. Tucked into a zipper compartment on the other side of the suitcase is a small fortune in gold chains, bangles, rings and necklaces. You don’t want any but Nor insists. “Going to be a little awkward to drive in all this,” you say.

“No worries,” he says. “Dad sent his driver.” 

You’re in the backseat of red flag number three for a drive that is both excruciatingly long and far too brief. The driver is wearing a suit and tie. He calls Nor “sir” and opens the door for you, then doesn’t say another word. It’s late and everything is shadow beyond the headlights and the faint glow of the moon on a winding country road. Nor wants to make conversation but you’re too unnerved to offer more than one-word answers and sounds of acknowledgement. “It’s like a business thing, but also just a fun thing,” he says, trying and failing to put your mind at ease. “A bunch of family friends come over and everyone catches up. We’re nosy. It’s a cultural thing. You’re supposed to announce anything new you’ve got going on, like if you’re going on a trip or getting mated.” 

“Do you have anything to announce?” you ask.

His hand rests on your thigh, thumb tracing the dried scale patterns he drew on your skin. He doesn’t answer. 

Nor’s father lives atop a hill at the edge of town. To call it a house or even a mansion is like calling the ocean “a bit of water.” The sprawling estate has a forest for a yard, complete with a tranquil lake where Nor used to swim as a boy, the water glittering on his scales like morning dew. The home itself is best described as a castle, a three-story complex of gray stone spires. The car pulls into a circle drive with a fountain in the center. Soft orange candle light flickers behind the curtains, not on the first or third floor but exclusively on the second. 

To your horror, Nor’s father is standing outside. He watches the car pull up with a scowl on his face, waiting beneath the arched entryway. He’s dressed like you and Nor but his sashes are far more numerous and extravagant, draped like a robe over his frighteningly tall figure. 

“Am I supposed to be here?” you whisper. “Why is he glaring at me?” You shrink back when the driver opens the door but Nor puts a hand on your shoulder and pushes gently. 

“Yes, you’re supposed to be here. And he’s not glaring at you, he’s glaring at me,” Nor says. He follows you out and grabs your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. “It’s fine,” he insists gently. “Don’t worry, okay? Just trust me. I’m going to take care of everything.” 

You want to ask him what the hell that’s supposed to mean but you never get the chance because his father walks over. Druezaghrath never makes himself more than half-human. He looms over both of you, amber eyes flicking back and forth in black sclera. His scales are gold and his horns are much larger than Nor’s, but they arch straight back instead of curling up like his son’s. 

“You’re nearly late, Norlathellios,” he rumbles.

Nor cranes his neck and looks his father in the eye without flinching. “Can’t be late to my own fucking announcement,” he says. “What’re you gonna do? Start without me?” 

Druezaghrath narrows his eyes and smoke trickles from his nostrils. His tail thrashes, striking the concrete behind him hard enough to shatter it. His gaze flicks to you when you flinch at the sound and you avert your eyes. “Save your defiance. You have a challenger.”

“Fine.” Nor squeezes your hand. You don’t want to follow him when he starts moving. You dig your heels in. Something is wrong here, about all of this. Nor looks back at you with that sad expression but it doesn’t work this time. “Come on,” he says, tugging your hand a little harder. “I told you, it’s fine.” 

“Go inside,” Druezaghrath says. “We’ll join you shortly.” 

Your stomach lurches in panic. This is so much worse. Nor doesn’t want to go but he glances up at the cold stone and flickering windows with a solemn expression. “They’re already scared,” he says. “Go easy.” 

“Nor?” you say, your voice pitched in terror. He lets go of your hand. You try to reach for him but Druezaghrath’s large, coarse claws close around your forearm and drag you to a stop. “Nor, wait!”

He does, but only for a second. He looks back and his smile is bittersweet. “Sorry about all this. You’ll get it, when it’s over. It’ll make sense. And maybe you’ll…” He doesn’t finish the thought. His gaze flicks up to his father looming over you and he takes a deep breath. Then he turns on his heel, sashes fluttering, and disappears through the front doors. You try to follow him and don’t make it even one step, Druezaghrath’s grip on your arm tightening to painful, bruising pressure. 

“I need you to understand something,” he says. He turns you around and you see his eyes glinting like a predator’s in the dark. “If you run, I’ll catch you. You won’t get anywhere close to the property line. You don’t want to waste my time like that, and you need to save your strength. Nor has been looking forward to this.” His grip shifts down and he holds up your wrist, examining the ceremonial markings. “I really should’ve seen this coming,” he muses. “He was always so particular about you.” Your trembling makes him exhale sharply in amusement. “He didn’t tell you a single thing about what’s happening tonight, did he? That boy…” 

A whimper slips out when he starts moving and pulls you with him, far stronger than Nor and completely unconcerned with how much you fight and struggle. He drags you through a foyer so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face, then up a carpeted flight of stairs. 

“My son has requested an audience to witness his mating announcement,” he explains, ignoring your pleas and protests and begging. “Some say he’s too young. I was well into my second century before I considered such a thing. There are concerns that a mate at this age might affect his decision making and negatively impact the family business. He must prove two things tonight: that he is capable, and that you are compatible. It sounds like the first test is already underway.” 

You don’t know what he means until you hear something in the distance, too muffled at first to make out. Something falling? Something hitting something? Candles flicker in wall sconces, lighting a long hall to a pair of wooden doors cracked ajar. You hear a low, rumbling growl like the grinding of stone and then a much shriller animal sound of distress that makes your blood run cold. Something crunches and splatters. Something hisses and wheezes, flailing against the hard stone floor. 

Druezaghrath approaches the doors first. He nudges them open, peering inside. You don’t want to look. Now everything you hear is wet—the slick sound of sharpness parting flesh, liquid spilling, soft things squeezed and crushed until they burst. “Is he…okay?” you whisper. Druezaghrath looks at you like you grew a second head. You don’t know why you’re asking, either. You don’t want to be here. You’re scared out of your mind. But the idea of him getting hurt, of those awful noises coming from him, makes the horror unbearable. “Nor, is he—he’s fighting someone, isn’t he? Is he hurt?” 

Nor’s father tilts his head, looking at you as though spotting something he finds interesting, maybe even appealing, for the first time. His grip on your arm loosens, his thumb rubbing gently at the bruises he left behind. “Your mate is strong,” he says with quiet pride. “I hope to see you match that strength.” He pushes both doors open and throws you forward. 

You might’ve caught yourself if the floor wasn’t wet. You land badly on your hip and shoulder and everything stings for a moment, the room out of focus. It’s red. You know that much. And it’s no mystery what all the red is because the acrid, metallic stench of it fills your nose. A circle of candles, mostly melted into puddles of wax, delineates what must have been the dueling grounds because the blood only rarely trespasses that boundary.There are people here—dragons, a crowd of them, gathered at a distance. They stand beyond the reach of the light so all you can make out are towering silhouettes and glinting eyes. 

No one speaks. Maybe this kind of announcement needs no words. Maybe Nor’s face says it all. You see him in the center of the carnage, skin and robes drenched in clinging gore and viscera. A body twitches on the ground at his feet, more than half-dragon and covered in scales. It’s disemboweled, an unraveled loop of entrails cooling beside a horrific gaping wound in its belly. It was clawed open. You can see everything inside from the curled bars of a ribcage to colorful organs. Nor holds a severed wing in his fist, clutching shattered, jagged bone and scrunched cartilage oozing blood between his fingers. The other wing lies on the floor, shredded and limp like a torn sail.

The sound of you slipping and falling attracts his attention. His pupils are blown wide and for a moment, you wonder if he even sees you. If he’s so lost in bloodlust that he’ll attack you next. You flinch when he drops the wing. It lands with a heavy, squelching thud, tattered membranes leaking fresh puddles of blood. He kneels, gathering you in his arms with his staggering inhuman strength, lifting you up and standing in the same fluid motion. 

“This is my mate,” he tells the others. The cold sharpness of his voice makes him sound like his father. He pauses a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd. Looking for dissent, maybe. For someone else to tell him he’s too young to have what he wants. No one does. He lets out a breath that rumbles like a growl, exhaling smoke. “Then it’s settled,” he says quietly. He starts moving. Not towards the crowd or the door, but to the center of the circle of candles. To the corpse of whoever he just killed. You call his name but he doesn’t hear you. Maybe he doesn’t care. He’s already come this far and nothing’s going to stop him now. Certainly not you. 

Nor sets you down gently. The gesture is ruined by the disgusting sounds of the organs puddled under you. You’re sitting in it. There’s blood and muscle and jutting bone and vein-streaked offal everywhere. It smears over your ceremonial markings and stains your sashes, turning the embroidery bright red. Nor kneels in the same mess. He reaches out and cups your face with his filthy, gore-covered hands. He kisses your forehead with bloodstained lips, then your cheeks, and then just briefly, chastely, on the mouth. 

“I love you,” he says. “I’m so sorry.” 

You struggle when he climbs on top of you. You don’t care how it looks or what it might mean to the people watching, if it ruins the whole announcement. You don’t want this. But Druezaghrath was right—his son is strong. You had no idea because he’s never used that strength against you before. He doesn’t care that you flail and kick at him. He flips you over and pins you down with one hand, forcing you flat against the sticky floor. His claws shred your sashes with such perfect precision that he never scratches your skin. 

You get loose when he tries to line himself up with your entrance. You don’t get far before he’s on you again, dragging you back into position with labored breaths. It suddenly hits you that he just killed someone—just fought someone to the death in the time it took his father to walk you up the stairs—and he’s still faster than you. Still able to force you back down and nudge your legs apart. You hear him moan quietly and the slick sounds of his fist working his cock before the tip starts prodding at you. You whimper and he shushes you.

“I know, baby. I’ll try to make it quick,” he murmurs. He lays himself over your back and you’re completely trapped. Was he always this much heavier than you? Or did he always hold back when you play-wrestled as kids? He moves his hips slowly at first, testing the waters. He pays attention to the noises you make. He doesn’t stop, no matter how much you sob, but he listens intently to how your breathing hitches as his thick tip spreads you open. He’s gentle. He’s going so, so slowly. It’s almost worse than if he were rough. There’s no pretending this is something else. It’s him, it’s Nor, as sweet as he’s always been to you. This unspoken thing lurking between you is suddenly dragged up into the light and it hurts to look at.

You’ve always wanted him but not like this.

Nor thrusts his hips and more of his length sinks into your body. He’s big. The stretch stings but he’s got a hand tucked under you and slipping between your thighs, fingers carefully working your sex. “You’re so tight,” he whispers against your ear, kissing and licking the lobe. “I know you’re scared, but it’s all gonna be okay. I’ve got you. Just feel this.” Every shock of pleasure makes your head spin. You don’t want to enjoy this, but Nor learns your body in a matter of minutes. He searches for the places that make whimper in a different way and then he teases them mercilessly. 

One hand stays between your legs, dexterous fingers stroking with just the right amount of pleasure to make your hips buck against him. The other wanders, lingering anywhere sensitive. He never stops fucking you. He’s pumping his hips now, sinking deeper and thrusting harder. Your hands slip on the floor in search of something to hold onto, something to anchor you. All you find is the dead dragon and everything that should be inside it piled outside, making a sound of mindless distress when you grab onto something that’s still pulsating. None of Nor’s sweet nothings soothe you but he doesn’t stop trying. His voice is a constant heated murmur, only interrupted when he pauses to kiss and suck at your neck. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. So, so good. I want you to cum for me. Can you do that?” 

You can’t. You don’t want to. Not here, not in front of all these people—is Druezaghrath here? Watching this? You feel sick. You can’t. But Nor doesn’t let up. He mouths at your pulse, strokes you harder, fucks you faster. You’re moving and you didn’t even realize it, didn’t mean for your body to move against his fingers and back into his thrusts. He pushes your legs even further apart and then he really starts rutting. The sound of flesh slapping flesh, your hips meeting, his balls slapping your ass as he hilts himself inside you over and over again, fills your ears.

“Cum for me,” he begs you. “Baby, please. Cum on my cock. Doesn’t it feel good? I’ve been practicing for this—for you. It’s okay to like this. Just let go.” 

Practicing, he said. Is that what all of that was before? All those furious ex-partners, all those sobbing confessions, all those angry late night calls and texts that made him turn his phone off and go back to pretending he was cuddled up against you in a totally platonic way? Just practice for the person he really wanted? 

“I love you,” he murmurs. You hate that it makes you tighten around him. “You like it when I say that? I’ll say it as many times as you want for the rest of our lives. I love you, baby. Fuck, I love you so much…” He keeps saying it, keeps whispering his devotion until the sounds mean nothing. Eventually, it happens. You don’t want it to but he nips at your neck and grinds his cock deep inside you, and you scream. It’s the worst and best orgasm of your life. Nor drags it out as long as he can, fucking you through your shuddering gasps and whimpers until you’re limp underneath him. He pulls out but your relief is short-lived. 

He turns you over onto your back. You barely recognize him. His eyes are different. Wilder. Glazed in pleasure. The blood has dried to his skin, dark red smears on his chin, his chest, his arms. His gaze rakes your body and then he’s reaching for you again, lining his cock up with your aching entrance again. 

“Almost done, baby,” he rasps. “Just a little more. Just gotta make me cum and it’s over. Don’t think, okay? Don’t think about anything. Just feel me. Feel this.” You can’t. You try to tell him that but your voice is hoarse and weak. You let out a strangled whine when he pushes into you again. He tells you he loves you again. He apologizes again. He kisses you with ferocious hunger and your legs wrap around his waist. He moans against your mouth, a hand stroking your thigh. 

You cum before he does, back arching, arms wrapped around him. Nor keeps saying just a little more, just a little more, praise and promises. Eventually, you take his advice without even meaning to and stop thinking about anything at all.

[ninacarstairss]

an incomplete list of things that will make me go feral if they’re included in the movie:

alex pulling henry in the red room and “impugning his virtue” against a painting of alexander hamilton and amy out the door pretending not to know what that horny little bitch of fsotus is up to

henry offering to get out of alex’s life to make it easier for him and alex brushing it off, only to realise later what henry was truly offering him and how stupid he was not to see it

oscar talking to alex at the lake house. oscar seeing him and accepting him. alex looking at henry, nora and june (yes i know she’s not in the movie just let me dream. he can be looking at henry, nora and pez too) and feeling like his world is complete. the night on the porch swing. sometimes you just jump and hope it’s not a cliff. the night in the lake. the little stone of certainty alex feels in his chest as he’s making breakfast.

yeah so just the lake house part

uma thurman delivering a power point presentation about dating the prince of england and alex running out when she brings up protections and pamphlets

jesus, could you stop being an obtuse fucking asshole for, like, twenty seconds?

so glad you flew here to insult me—

i fucking love you, okay?

the issue of le monde that henry keeps on his nightstand from the first time they woke up together

i want you. then fucking have me—

alex waking up in kensington in an empty bed, henry coming back, looking at alex and going “your hair in the morning is truly a wonder to behold” before making the world’s best declaration of love

“When he got older, he learned about love as a strange thing that could fall apart no matter how badly you wanted it, a choice you make anyway. He never imagined it'd turn out he was right both times.” there is like a 0,1% chance of this making it into the movie but i have this tattooed on my skin and it would be so perfect to see it on screen

alex saying in front of the fucking queen that he wants henry’s children

henry rambling about art and history in the v&a and alex pulling him into a kiss because he just loves him so much

i’m taking a picture of a national gay landmark. and also a statue

alex panicking about henry having to enlist

shaan having to dislodge philip from the chandelier when henry comes out to him

i’ve been gay as a maypole since i came out of mum, philip

henry’s obsession with jaffa cakes and mr wobbles

the memories email. I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn't fit in any rooms.

alex being a brat about the turkeys “put them in my room put them in my room put them in my room”

And then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it?

alex calling henry at christmas and telling him all about his family drama and henry simply telling him that he did his best, the only thing he really needed to hear

most things in this world are awful . but you are good

alex’s list of things he loves about henry (especially points 16 to 18)

henry writing down the list in the email and then calling henry anyway because he knows he likes to have these things written down but he needs to talk to him

alex kissing henry in front of a giambologna

Sería una mentira, porque no sería el.

the drunk bad metaphors about maps email

alex being summoned by the president after the email leaks and ellen just asking him “are you okay?”

alex’s whole family being there for him after the email leaks, hugging him through a panic attack and allowing him to be himself after a traumatic event that had to be dealt with in a strategic political way

or so help me God I will personally make your balls into fucking earrings. zahra you fucking queen

the call from the plane. “sweetheart” he hears henry’s exhale over the line. “hi love. are you okay?”

alex and henry running to hug each other as soon as alex gets to kensington

i won’t lie. not about you. alex and henry saying at the same moment that they want to do this, they want to tell the truth, because lying about this is not an option

the little touches between them. whether it’s holding hands beneath a buchkingham palace table or hugging in a closed room or pressing a knee agains the other in a public place, because that is a tether, a gravity that makes the world make sense

bea’s speech about grief and how it’s like a pie. i want to cry really hard

numbers on one of us getting involved in a sex scandal before the end of second term?

henry sticking out his chin in that defiant way

I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose.

"Plus we banged it our last night” shaan and zahra being a power couple

bea dumping the tea pot on philip and going “all that cocaine i did must have really done a job on my reflexes!”

the han and leia mural

dc dykes on bikes chasing protesters

To you, specifically, I say: I see you. I am one of you. As long as I have a place in this White House, so will you. I am the First Son of the United States, and I'm bisexual. History will remember us.

alex’s face being plastered on chocolate bars and thongs with henry’s after the royal suitor photos

henry telling alex he’s opening the queer shelters worlwide. henry telling alex he bought a brownstone in brooklyn

the flashbacks to election night 2016 when alex saw zahra crying and all those women taking in the moment their first madam president was elected

alex and henry biking through austin, alex opening the door to his childhood home with henry by his side

a little flash forward into their future and alex calling henry the love of his life, henry choosing the place for a credenza in his brownstone, going on vacations together and falling in love all over again, savouring their time together with no fear of getting caught, june and nora finally kissing and alex being shook at pez’s comment, henry realising he doesn’t want to ever go back, henry listening to alex talk to his mum about marriage when he has also bought a ring, henry and alex buying a house far from the public eye, having the quiet life they never had, june subletting the brownstone to be closer to pez and nora, “you and me”

[rallamajoop]

...and the unironic joys of better living through chemistry

How do I love Venom: The Hunger, let me count the ways…

It’s by far the shippiest Venom/Eddie story to come out of the character’s heyday. It’s the only story of the era to treat Venom’s violent wild-animal instincts not as an immutable fact, but as something that can be managed. It pulls off an aesthetic like nothing else that was being done at the time.

And then there’s the way it says, Does the world around you seem sinister and foreboding? Do you lie awake at night contemplating metaphorical oceans of despair? Well shit, son – have you considered you may be suffering from a mundane neurochemical imbalance, and a round of the right meds could clear that right up for you?

It does all this without breaking the atmosphere, without a whiff that our story has been interrupted for a Very Special Message about mental health.

In the near-decade since I was first prescribed anti-depressants, I don’t think I’ve read another story that lands the message “Sometimes, it’s not you, it’s just your brain chemistry,” so well.

Fair warning: if you have not read The Hunger, I am about to spoil every major plot point. If you have, well, maybe I can still give you a new appreciation for a few details you might have missed.

It’s a strange book, whatever else you take from it. It’s almost the only thing either author or artist contributed to the Venom canon, and it’s so different stylistically and tonally from the 90′s Venom norm that it feels like a tale from some noir-elseworlds setting instead of 616 canon. When you take risks that big with a property, you leave yourself precious little landing space between 'unmitigated triumph’ and ‘abject failure’: if this book hadn’t absolutely nailed it, I’d be dismissing it as edgy, OOC dreck. Fortunately, if The Hunger is nothing else, it is a story that $&#@ing commits – to basically everything it does.

Now, I'm not going to tell you Venom: The Hunger is a story about overcoming depression, because I don't know whether author Len Kaminski even thought about it that way while working on it. There's always space for other readings, and this one take is not gospel. That said: holy shit is this thing unsubtle with its metaphors. And with that in mind, let’s start by talking a little about Kaminski’s take on Eddie himself.

As I may have mentioned before, I like to divide 90′s Eddie into two broad personas: the Meathead, and the Hobo.

Kaminski’s Eddie nominally belongs in the angsty, long-haired Hobo incarnation, but that’s a bit of a simplification: this version certainly has plenty of angst and plenty of hair to his name – but nowhere, not even at his lowest ebb, does he doubt that he and his Other are meant for each other, which is usually Hobo!Eddie’s primary existential quandary.

He’s also taken up narrating his own life like a hardboiled PI.

So that’s... novel.

The only other time Eddie’s sounded like this is, er, in that one other Venom one-shot Kaminski penned (Seed of Darkness, a prequel that sadly isn’t in The Hunger’s league), so I think we can safely file it under authorial ticks.

Then again, Hobo!Eddie’s always been one melodramatic SOB, so maybe this is just how he’d sound after learning to channel his angst into his poetry. You can’t argue it fits the aesthetic, anyway.

We’d also be remiss not to mention Ed Halsted’s art, which I can only describe as gothic-meets-noir-meets-H.R.-Giger. Never before or since has the alien symbiote looked this alien: twisted with Xenompoph-like ridges and veins.

But Halsted doesn’t treat Venom to all that extra detail in every panel. Instead, the distortion tends to appear when the symbiote is separated from Eddie or out of control – and I doubt you need me to walk you through the symbolic importance of that creative decision. More importantly, Halsted’s art provides exactly the class of visuals that Kaminski’s story needs.

Did I mention this is a horror story? You might be surprised how few Venom stories really fit that genre, but if all those adjectives about Halsted’s style above didn’t clue you in, this is one of them.

Anyway, with that much context covered, let’s get into the main narrative of this thing.

As our first issue opens, Eddie’s world has become a dark and foreboding place. He’s not sleeping, though he mostly brushes this off. (Fun fact: trouble sleeping is one of those under-appreciated symptoms of depression. Additional fun fact: the first doctor ever to suggest I might be suffering from depression was actually a sleep specialist. You can guess how that appointment was going.)

Just to set our scene, here’s all of page 1.

Eddie’s narration has plenty of (ha) venom for his surroundings, but the visuals are here to back him up: panels from Eddie’s POV are edged in twisted, fleshy borders and drained of colour, the people rendered as creepy, goblin-like creatures. A couple of later scenes go even further to contrast Eddie-vision with what everyone else is seeing:

As depictions of depression go this is a little on the nose, but then, you don’t read a comic about a brain-eating alien parasite looking for subtlety, do you?

Eddie  doesn’t see himself as depressed, of course. As far as he’s concerned, he’s seeing the world’s true face: it’s everyone else who’s deluding themselves. He’s still got his symbiote, so he’s happy. He’s yet to hit that all-important breaking point where something he can’t brush off goes irrevocably wrong.

But he’s also starting to experience these weird... cravings.

He just can’t put a name to exactly what he’s craving until a routine bar fight with a couple of thugs takes a turn for the horrific.

(I include this panel partly to point out even in The Hunger, the goriest of all 90′s Venom titles, you’re still not going to see brains getting eaten in any graphic detail. We don’t need to to get the horror of the moment across. The 90′s were a more innocent time.)

Eddie himself is horrified when he comes back to himself and realises what he’s done.

Or rather, what his symbiote’s just made him do.

Kaminski doesn’t keep us in suspense about why, though. Eddie may have just done something horrific, but there’s a reason, and it’s as mundane as a vitamin deficiency. He’s bonded to an alien creature, after all, and his symbiote is craving a nutrient which just happens to be found in human brains. And if Eddie can’t or won’t help it meet that need, it’ll do so alone. 

Now, giving us that explanation so quickly is an interesting creative decision: this is a horror story, and horror lives in what we don’t know. Wouldn’t it be all the more horrifying had the symbiote been unable to explain what’s going on, leaving Eddie without the first real clue as to where this monstrous new hunger had come from?

The Hunger doesn’t take that route though, and I love it. Eddie isn’t a monster, this isn’t his fault: he has a fucking condition, and wallowing in his own moral failings is going to get him nowhere. You might as well try to cure scurvy or rickets with positive thinking. Just like depression can make you feel like an utter failure at the most basic parts of being human, and all the affirmations in the world won’t fix it when it’s fundamentally your brain chemistry that’s the problem. Or like addicts aren’t weak-willed for struggling not to relapse, they’re dealing with genuine chemical dependency – or even like how someone who’s trans isn’t at fault for being unable to reconcile themselves to the bodies and the hormones they were born with by pure force of trying. Free will is more than an illusion, but we’re all messy, biological organisms underneath, and your own brain and biochemistry can and will fuck you over in a hundred wildly different ways for as many wildly different reasons and it’s not your fault.

We aren’t monsters. But if we do, sometimes, find ourselves identifying with the monster, there might be a reason for that.

(Ahem)

I’m just saying, that’s fucking powerful, and we need more stories that say it.

Anyway, in case you missed it during that tangent, issue #1 closes with the symbiote having torn Eddie’s heart in two itself free to go hunting brains without him.

I’m trying not to get too sidetracked at this point talking about Kaminski’s take on the symbiote itself. Suffice to say there are broadly two schools of thought on how it ought to function while separated from its host: the traditional ambulatory-slime-puddle version, and the more recently popular alternative where anything-you-can-do-with-a-host-you-can-also-do-without-one. I’m not much of a fan of the latter, personally: if your symbiote doesn’t actually need a host, I feel you’ve sort of missed the point. (The movie takes the route of saying symbiotes can’t even process Earth’s atmosphere without a host, which is a great new idea that appears nowhere in the comics, and I love it. Hosts or GTFO, baby!)

Kaminski has his own take, and I can only wish it had caught on. Without Eddie, the symbiote becomes an ever-shifting insectoid-tentacle-snake-monstrosity, driven by an animalistic hunger. It’s many things, but it’s never humanoid.

If you absolutely must have your symbiote operating minus a host, I feel this is the way to do it: semi-feral, shapeless and completely alien (uncontrollable violence and cravings for brains to be added to taste).

Issue #2 comes to us primarily through the perspective of the mild-mannered Dr. Thaddeus Paine of the Innsmouth Hills Sanitarium (yes, really).

Yeah, he’s not fooling anyone. Meet our official villain! He joins our story after Eddie is picked up by the police and handed off to the nearest available institution, on account of how completely sane and rational he’s been acting.

Naturally, Dr. Paine soon has copious notes on Eddie’s ‘crazy’ story about his psychic link to a brain-eating alien monster. Fortunately for Eddie, Paine also runs some tests and makes an interesting discovery. 

Congratulations, Venom: the ‘vitamin’ you were missing officially has a name!

Finding the right meds isn’t always this easy. I got lucky – the first ones my psych put me on worked pretty well – but I have plenty of friends who weren't so lucky. In fact, the treatment for Eddie's problems is so straightforward it arguably has more in common with, say, endocrine disorders like thyroid conditions or Addison’s disease, which differ from clinical depression but present many similar symptoms (but can sadly be just as much of a bitch to get correctly diagnosed – please do read author Maggie Stiefvater’s account of the latter when you get the chance, because forget Venom, that is a horror story).

‘True’ depression remains much less well understood by medicine, either in its causes or how to effectively treat it. But simply having a name for what was wrong with me made so much difference, and that’s an experience I imagine anyone who’s dealt with any long undiagnosed medical condition could relate to. It put my life in context in a way nothing else had in years.

(I can’t speak to the accuracy of the way phenethylamine is portrayed in this comic – a quick google suggests there may be some real debate that phenethylamine deficiencies have been overlooked as a contributor to clinical depression, but having no medical background, that one’s well beyond me. Either way, scientific accuracy really doesn’t matter in this context – it’s how it works in-universe for story purposes that we should pay attention to.)

Since this issue is mostly from Paine’s POV, we don’t get Eddie’s reaction to having a healthy amount of phenethylamine sloshing around in his brain again, just the assurance that treatment appears to be ‘completely successful’.

He’s still a paranoid, hostile bastard though. Meds can turn your life around, but they won’t make you not you.

But even if Eddie’s feeling better, he’s still psychically linked to someone who isn’t. Symbiote-vision still comes through drained of colour and edged in viscera.

That’s the thing about meds: they won’t solve all your problems overnight. If you’ve been depressed for a while, there are good odds you have problems stacking up. But working meds can be a godsend when it comes to getting you into a space where you can deal with your problems again, whether said problems are doing-your-laundry or all the way into not-giving-up-completely-and-just-accepting-you’ll-die-alone-on-the-street.

For Eddie, ‘dealing with his problems’ begins with stealing a keycard and busting out of the asylum.

Of course, that’s the easy part. How do you solve a problem like a feral symbiote? Like any good 90′s comic book protagonist, Eddie tackles it by putting on his big-boy camouflage pants and kitting himself out with weapons and pouches while quoting “If you live something, set it free. If it doesn’t come back, hunt it down.”

We can add this to the list of things I love about this comic. Even if The Hunger is a weirdly-stylistic tract about depression at heart, it’s also still a goddamn 90′s Venom comic, and not ashamed to be.

We’re into issue #3 now, and back to hearing the story from Eddie’s POV.

Eddie is very much aware that his symbiote has murdered innocent people while they’ve been separated. Even if this is the result of extreme circumstances, there’s a good case to be made that the symbiote is too dangerous to be allowed to live. Plenty of heroes would treat it like a rabid dog at this point.

But Eddie isn’t a hero, he’s a mess of a character and an anti-hero at best, so we don’t have to hold him to the same standard. He’s well aware his symbiote may be too far gone to save, that he may have to put it down – but that’s only his backup plan. He wants to help it. He wants it back. He’s down in that sewer with screamers and a flamethrower because he knows all his symbiote’s weaknesses, but he’s also carrying a large jar of black-market synthesised phenethylamine, because if he can just get close enough...

Depression can’t make you a literal monster, but it can make you an asshole. Miserable to be around, lacking even the energy to care who else you’re hurting. The depression doesn’t excuse that, but it makes everything harder, and it’s that much easier to sink back into your spiral when everyone around you has given up. It can make you think everyone around has given up even if that isn’t true.

So to have Eddie here say, in effect, I don’t care how many people you’ve eaten, I know it wasn’t your fault. I still love you. You’re still worth fighting for – god, does that get me right in the id.

There’s still a whole issue left at this point – we’ve still got to deal with our real villain, Dr. Paine, who we’ve just learned is into eating brains himself and torturing his patients recreationally, and who wants to capture the symbiote for his own purposes. There’s the scene where Eddie and his symbiote finally bond again, and Venom beats up all Paine’s goons while singing David Bowie because like I said, this is still a 90′s superhero comic and this is what Venom does.

But for our purposes, I'm going to skip to the penultimate page of the story, because the way it mirrors our opening page is really lovely.

Remember that shot of Eddie dealing with a beggar back at the beginning of the story, thinking about how these people would 'get their despair all over you'? Here he is again, cheerfully forking over the last dollar in his pocket to the next man to ask him for change. For all the gothic atmosphere and gore, it’s moments like this that make The Hunger easily one of the most positive, uplifting Venom stories ever written. Funny, that. (I could probably write a whole other essay on sympathy for the homeless as a recurring motif in Venom stories, but that... well, whole other essay and all that.)

What’s Eddie learned from this experience? Don’t take your symbiote for granted. Is ‘symbiote’ a metaphor for mental health here, is paying attention to its needs an allegory for paying attention to your own? I still don’t know how literally Kaminski meant us to take this, but it’s a lovely note to end on no matter how you parse it.

At the end of the day, The Hunger isn’t flawless. The conflict with Paine ends on a thematic but slightly unsatisfying note. Eddie makes much of his symbiote's loneliness and desire for union, but when the two of them are finally reunited, the only reaction comes from Eddie's side. In fact, the symbiote seems to have no response to being able to return to Eddie at all, and that’s an omission that bugs me.

But Kaminski is more interested than any other writer of the era in the truly alien nature of the symbiote, in its relationship with Eddie from Eddie’s side, and though plenty of others talk about the symbiote's love/hate relationship with Spider-man, no-one else had the guts to portray their relationship this much like a romance.

And Venom: The Hunger is no less interesting in the context of Len Kaminski’s other work. You don't have to look far into his Marvel and DC credits to pick up that the guy has a real thing for monsters. (“All of my favourite characters are outlaws, misfits, anti-heroes,” he says, in one of the very few interviews I could find with him, “I wouldn't know what to do with Superman.”) He's written for vampires, werewolves, victims of mad science, and all of three at once, littering his work with biochemistry-themed technobabble, melodramatic monologues, gratuitous pop-culture references, and protagonists who must learn to embrace their inner demons. So The Hunger represents more than a few of his favourite running themes.

For our context, his more notable other work includes Children of the Beast, in which a werewolf must make peace between his human and animalistic sides, and The Creeper, in which a journalist must make peace with the crazy super-powered alter-ego sharing his body. In fact, The Creeper and The Hunger share so much DNA (including an evil doctor posing as a respected psychiatrist who uses hypnosis on our hero while he's trapped in a mental institution) that it’s quite the achievement that they still feel like such very distinct entities beyond that point.

The human alter-egos of both werewolf and Creeper even use prescription meds while wrestling with their respective dark sides. The difference, in both cases, is that these are stories where meds play their traditional fictional role – and that's a role that could be as easily filled by illegal drugs or alcohol without making any substantive difference. You see, if a protagonist is using them, it's a sign of unwillingness to tackle their 'real' problems. Even among work by the same author in the same genre, The Hunger represents an outlier. And that's just a little disappointing – at least to me.

In real life, of course, prescription meds are no magical cure-all elixir. Depression meds that work for one person may not work for another, or may not keep working in the longer term. Everyone has heard stories about quack doctors who prescribe them to the wrong patients for the wrong reasons, about lives ruined by addictions to prescription painkillers, or the supposedly-damning statistics about how poorly SSRI's perform in rigorous clinical trials. The proper way to treat depression is obviously with lifestyle and therapy. People will still airily dismiss medications that we all know previous generations got along just fine without, or suggest that figures like Van Gogh would never have created great art if they hadn't been mad enough to slice off an ear. I mean, the fact you think you need those bogus mediations is probably the best possible sign of just how broken you are, right? Who do you think you’re kidding?

Our popular fiction loves stories about manly men who bury their trauma under a gruff, anti-social exterior and come back swinging at the world that broke them, bravely refusing even painkillers that might dull their manly reflexes. Other genres make space for broken people confronting their demons in grand moments of catharsis, finally breaking down into tears when someone gets through to make them face their problems. "I could barely make it out of bed in the mornings until I found a doctor who started me on this new prescription" is not only wildly counter to the accepted social narrative, it's a hard thing to know how to dramatise.

 Even other Venom comics have been guilty of this.

Believe me, I recognise all of this, and just how much progress we've made in the last few decades. But I haven't the slightest doubt that for so many vulnerable people, the stigma against prescription medications does infinitely more harm than those same meds could ever do. And just having the right to externalise my problems into it's not you, it's your brain chemistry, may have helped me more than the meds themselves.

(And again, no, being prescribed SSRI's didn't fix me overnight, but I honestly don't know if all the talk therapy and tearful conversations with family members in the world could've got me as far as I've come without them.)

I love Venom: The Hunger. It's no-one's idea of high art, but it doesn’t need to be. There is a whole other post’s worth of things I love about it that I’ve already cut out this one as pointless tangents, and that may actually be it’s biggest drawback as a go-to example: I fully recognise that I would not be making this post if The Hunger hadn't also also grabbed me as a great bit of Venom canon, being the massive fan and shipper that I am. Other people who are just as desperate as me for more stories with the same core theme, but not into weird 90's comics about needy goo aliens, probably won't get nearly as much out of it as I have.

But if it sounds anything like your jam, maybe you'll enjoy it as much as I did.

If nothing else, it proves that you can make a viscerally satisfying story out of a message that shockingly unconventional. And you may even have people still discovering it and falling in love with it 25 years after the fact.

[cailjei]

For the gift exchange of @worstloki . My giftee is @palletprincess . I truly hope you enjoy this!

The sound of a door creaking woke Thor from his slumber. A thin ray of moonlight passed through the drapes, illuminating the room. His gaze immediately snapped to the door. Loki stood there, his face looking otherworldly pallid under the light of Asgard’s moons. He seemed unsure of what to do.

Thor sat up in his bed. “Brother?”

There was a pause, before Loki asked timidly “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Loki stepped through the door uncertainly. “What happened?”

Loki hesitated for a moment. He casted his gaze on the floor. “I had a nightmare.”

Thor scooted over to make room for his brother, pulling off the bedcovers and patting the now empty space beside him. Loki slid under the blankets. It was impossible to see it in the dark but now that they were near each other, shoulders and arms touching, Thor could feel his brother trembling. “What was the nightmare about?”

“I don’t remember.” Loki answered a bit too quickly. It was a pitiful attempt at a lie, which was weird coming from Loki, who usually was so artful at his deceits. Nonetheless, Thor was tired enough to let it go. “It’s alright. Let’s just go to sleep.”

Thor had almost fallen asleep, when he heard Loki whisper. “It was so cold. Their eyes were glowing like embers, burning in the dark. And they came for me. The Jotnar monsters.”

Thor knew that his brother was scared of the Jotnar. It was the only threat of their nursemaid, Hilde, that had actually taken root. And ever since Hilde had understood it, she had used it ruthlessly. Every time his brother was causing mischief, Hilde would say that the Jotnar would come and steal him in the night and eat him. Loki, despite putting on a brave front would pale every time he heard it.

“They won’t come. And even if they do, I won’t let them take you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

They were suspended above the void, Loki’s fingers wrapped around one of Gungnir’s ends as Thor tightly held the other. Loki looked more vulnerable than Thor had ever seen him, since they were both children and Loki slipped into his bedchambers, in the middle of the night, seeking help to ward off his nightmares. Thor could see Loki breaking a little more every moment that passed, but he could never have guessed that Odin’s words would send him over the edge, not until he saw his expression, shifting from desperation to resignation. Loki’s fingers loosened their grip and Thor screamed as his brother let go, because there was nothing else he could do, nothing that could keep his brother from falling into the abyss. And then he was being hauled up to the bridge by Odin.

“Loki!” Thor yelled, feeling paralysed, staring over the edge, at Loki who seemed to get smaller and smaller with each passing second, as if he was being consumed by the darkness surrounding him. For a wild moment, Thor had half a mind to follow him, but the urge passed before he could realise it. Then he heard Odin uttering some arcane words in an ancient tongue. Loki’s form was enveloped by white light, and suddenly he disappeared. Thor terrified turned to his father, who was gazing onto the bridge again. He followed Odin’s stare only to find his brother, laying in a heap, prone and unmoving. Thor looked questioningly at Odin.

“It’s a sleeping spell. It will keep him calm until we can get him to the infirmary.”

Thor ran to Loki and turned him over. Loki’s face was slack, youthful in his senselessness, all evidence of his previous madness erased. He didn’t know what else to do, other than yell at Loki what the Hel he was thinking, or crush him into a hug and never let go. Since he could hardly manage the first, he had to be satisfied with the latter. So he gathered Loki into his arms, pressing him tightly in his chest and got up, following Odin to the healing ward.

The days following his failed coronation were the most difficult thing Thor had ever had to endure. It felt as though the world had turned upside down and yet he still had to pretend that everything was as it used be. He had to attend a lot of council meetings regarding inter-realm relations, as well as the fate of his brother. Odin had declared Loki to not be of sound mind and -as much as Thor hated to think about his brother that way- it made their job of defending his actions against the council and the representatives of the other realms so much more easier.

And as terrible as it was for him, he could only guess how horrid it was for Loki.

Loki who had not spoken a word since being rescued at the broken rainbow bridge. When Thor visited the infirmary, he mostly stared into the distance, ignoring him. At the rare occasion when Thor said something particularly stupid, Loki would turn and look at him with dull eyes. To be honest, Thor himself did not know how to feel about Loki and about what Loki had done. He alternated between guilt and fury and worry and sorrow.

And then there was their family secret.

Three days after the incident at the Bifrost, Thor’s parents had bid him into Odin’s study. “We need to talk to you.” Frigga had said. “It’s about your brother.” And Thor had come. His parents had both seemed awkward at first, as he took the chair in front of them. Odin spoke first. “Your brother is not our son by blood. He is our son by heart.” The words felt like one of his many practiced speeches.

Thor did not know what to say, he did not even know what to feel about it. All these years and the thought had never crossed his mind. Looking back now he could see how different his brother had always been, both in appearance and personality. And yet, Thor could not think Loki as anything other than his brother. Odin went on, apparently unaware of Thor’s shock, his gaze turning distant.

“It was years ago, during our war with Jotunheim. After I fought Laufey, I found him, abandoned in a temple, left to die of exposure. Laufey’s son. I will confess, my first thought was that I could use him, I could unite our realms through him. So I brought him home. I may have had plans for him, but soon enough they all changed, as I came to love him as if he were my own. Perhaps I erred, in hiding from him what he was. But that was not my intent. I thought him to be happy. I truly thought him happy.”

“It can’t be. He cannot be one of them. The Jotnar are monsters! Loki is... clever and witty and wily and... and not a monster!” Even as he said that, he thought of his brother, hell-bent on destruction at the Bifrost, feral and wild, crying and cackling. And on this occasion alone, Thor could imagine him blue-skinned and red-eyed, monstrous. The next moment he felt sickened by his own train of thought.

“They are not monsters Thor. Don’t ever say that again.” Frigga hissed. “He is your brother, regardless of his race.”

Thor just gaped. “All these years, you let us believe -you let both of us believe- that the Jotnar were monsters! That they were nothing more than monsters! How could you, when the one you call son was one of them-”

“We never taught you as such. But we couldn’t control the people’s opinions... And after the war the Aesir’s hearts were hardened against the Jotnar.”

“But you could have taught us otherwise. You could have taught us the truth.”

His parents had nothing to say to that. At last Odin spoke. “I will admit that we could have handled it better. But, in all honesty, I had thought that he’ll never know. We only sought to protect him from the truth.”

“So that means that he knows?” Thor asked in the end, even though he had the sneaking suspicion that he already knew the answer to his query. For there was no other explanation for his brother’s sudden bout of insanity.

“He does.” Answered Frigga.

Thor had heard enough. He excused himself and left. He had a lot to think about.

The next day, after Thor completed his obligations, he headed towards the healing chambers. Loki was there to heal, but the healers had no idea how to aid him. His magic was bound, much to his dismay. Thor visited daily, but today he was there for a different purpose. After he reached the door, he stilled himself, readying for the battlefield that this conversation will be. Then he knocked, mostly to inform Loki of his presence, and entered without awaiting for his response.

Loki lay on the bed, curled on his side, his arms wrapped around his waist and his back on the door. For a moment, he wondered whether his brother still slept, but once Thor noticed his breathing pattern he could tell that Loki was awake. Thor sat on the chair beside the bed, as usual.

“Loki, turn to face me. Please. We need to talk. It is long overdue.”

Loki did not answer him. He did not turn around either. Thor struggled not to sigh audibly. “I know what you are.” Loki’s breath hitched. “But I also know who you are. My brother, my best friend, my closest confidant. My equal.”

For the first time in four days, Loki spoke. “You must have lost what little wits you had about you if you think to call a Jotun your brother, much less your equal. I would have thought that by now, we both have learnt that I am neither.” His voice was raspy from disuse and thick with disgust.

“That is not true. As children we’ve played together and as men we’ve fought together, side by side. I know you as I know no one else. You may not be my brother by blood, but that is not the only measure of brotherhood. The Jotnar are not monsters. And you are not one either.”

Loki finally turned to face him. “And they would have it that I am mad. Whence did that sudden love for the Frost Giants came? You had no qualms about slaying them all. You said so yourself. And yet, one of them is standing right before you, wrapped in false Aesir skin and instead of making good use of your prized hammer, you call it brother and dilly-dally your time making polite conversation with it!”

Thor was momentarily stunned. He hated the way Loki seemed to think about himself. He was also unable to discern what his brother was referring to. In the end, a distant memory clawed its way on the forefront of his thoughts. “I was but a child. I didn’t know any better. And I was wrong to hold such opinions.” Loki’s eyes widened in surprise. There was a brief pause. “You shouldn’t talk about yourself that way.” Added Thor at last.

Loki chuckled bitterly. “But a few days ago, you were ready to kill them all, to start a war with them over petty insults, to make them learn their place. And in the space of a three day vacation on Midgard you changed completely. All those years, I was the only one to see your flaws, your arrogance, your temper, your impulsiveness, your tendency to act before you think and I did my damnedest to try and change them, and when that proved impossible, I did what I could to keep you away from the throne, before your hot-headiness doomed Asgard. And as if you did not already set an impossible standard, suddenly you return from your banishment, all flaws wiped away, ready to consign me to your shadow, forever this time. For how can I escape it now?”

“I wouldn’t have ruined Asgard!” Thor felt genuinely hurt that his brother seemed to hold him in such low regard. His aforementioned temper began to rear its ugly head again.

Loki laughed, hysterically. “You wouldn’t have done it all at once. But given a few centuries, I am certain-”

And Thor exploded. “You didn’t just do it for Asgard! You always were jealous of me. I never did understand why, for what petty reasons-”

Loki’s face hardened. “Of course. This is what I am, isn’t it? Everything I do is either from envy or from spite, there is always some sort of malicious intent behind my actions. Everything that’s ever wrong, it is that way because of me, it could never be you, the golden son, the flawless, glorious prince, the mightiest warrior of Asgard. This is what everyone believes, isn’t it? I am a trickster, the Liesmith, a snake in the bosom of the royal family, finally revealed for what I truly am-”

“I do not believe that.”

“And I don’t believe you. All those centuries of being dismissed as the lesser prince, my talents belittled as yours were cherished, of being in your shadow until I became one.”

“I never thought myself as your better.” Even as he said that he remembered, not a week ago, saying to his brother to know his place. He flushed. “I didn’t mean- I was just angry-”

“Ha. You always are. Angry or upset or-” Loki cut himself off and breathed deeply through his nose. “I don’t want your sentimental nonsense. I am not interested in your worthless excuses either. Go.”

“Loki...”

“Leave me be.” Loki said, his voice flat and cold, turning away and curling into himself again, in a movement that reminded Thor of a snake coiling in preparation for brumation.

Stubbornly, Thor attempted to start again the conversation, but his efforts were all for naught. In the end he left, having achieved none of his goals.

That night, sleep would not come for Thor. Certainly, it was not for lack of effort. The conversation with his brother was replaying in his mind, over and over. Sometimes, Loki frustrated him to no end. Other times he got angry on himself, for his mishandling of the situation. He tossed and turned until giving up finally when only the smallest moon was still hanging in the night sky.

It was true that his brother’s seidr was scorned since it was considered a womanly art. His cunning and keen wit were appreciated by few when applied to strategy in battle, but Loki’s preferred method of manipulating social circumstances and lying, even by omission, were thought as cowardly. ‘A warrior’s way is as straight as the sword he wields.’ Were the words of their weapon-master, Tyr. Tyr had often berated Loki for not leaving up to that standard. And Thor- he didn’t recall berating exactly, but he most certainly teased. He didn’t have malicious intentions, he didn’t want his brother to feel bad, but in retrospect, he could see how his comments, or the ones by their friends could be taken as offence, even if at the time they were received with a wicked smirk and a retaliation in the form of a snide remark, usually about the intelligence of the offending party. And, on second thought, although he held Loki in high regard, he had underestimated his brother’s talents in the past. Loki had spoke true, he had been arrogant and thoughtless. He still was, from time to time. Perhaps he ought to admit to his faults. It wouldn’t solve everything, but just maybe it could be a start, the new beginning they both seem to need.

When the morning arrived, Thor mustered the courage to go to Loki’s room again. He rapped his knuckles on the healing room’s door, ready to burst in without permission, when Loki’s tired, thin voice came to him through the wood. “Have I not make it clear enough yet that I do not desire your mindless chatter?”

Thor could not help the smile that graced his lips. If you excluded the weariness in his tone, Loki almost sounded normal, like every time Thor interrupted something he deemed important. How Thor wished everything was that simple, as it was during their youthful squabbles. “Can I enter? Please, brother.”

A sigh was heard from the other side of the door. Thor could almost imagine the exasperated expression in Loki’s face. “My wishes do not really matter now, do they?”

“Of course they do and if you truly think there is no hope to mend what is between us, then I will go. But, if you hold even a sliver of hope in your heart, let me in.”

Another sigh, softer this time. “Come in.”

Thor opened the door, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Then he ventured forth, taking the chair beside his brother. “I have thought long and hard about this. And I wanted to apologise, for I have indeed wronged you.”

If anything, Loki seemed annoyed at this. “Is this your attempt to appease me for my imagined slights?”

Thor pressed on. “I have underestimated you in the past. I failed to recognise that while our skills may differ, they are of equal importance. In fact, when it comes to ruling, cunning, diplomacy and the ability to decide with your mind rather than your heart, are perhaps more important than prowess in the battlefield.”

Loki gaped at him. “You can’t mean that. You witless oaf! I... I almost killed you! And you apologise for merely-”

“I do not believe you intended it. Had I not been a mortal, the strike would not have killed me.”

“I- I was so angry, I did not think-”

“Sshh. It is alright.” Thor hesitantly put his hand on Loki’s nape. When Loki did not pull away, but instead leaned into the touch, Thor pulled him closer still, until their foreheads touched. For the first time in this bleak week he felt something like hope. Things were not well. But they could be mended.

[lokislytherin]

euphoria // vampire!jungkook

pairing: vampire!jeon jeongguk x human!reader

summary: you’re scared of vampires - until one saves your life one night.

word count: 1988 + 1808 + 2373 + 1798 + 1046 + 2113 + 1646 + 1569 + 896 = 15237

chapters: prologue / chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / epilogue

a/n: and we are done with this au, babey! i can’t believe i put ‘chapter 8’ when i specifically wrote 7 chapters only lmaoo (i mean prologue and epilogue don’t technically count? and 7 chapters bECAUSE THERE ARE 7 MEMBERS OF BTS STOP SLEEPING ON MEMBERS)

also here is a shameless cameo of myself i am the friend with terrible puns because i am the friend with terrible puns and y/n is based off @jungkooksbish​

no i won’t apologize for my terrible puns they are a key aspect of my personality

"Hey, Y/N, when are you ever gonna introduce us to your new boyfriend?" Your friend nudges you as you walk down the streets.  "He's quite the sucker for you, isn't he?"

Her comment is followed by her own loud laughter, and you huff, crossing your arms.  She's one of the few who know you're dating a vampire, and by the teasing expression on her face, she's more than fine with it.  Or at least she is now - when you'd first told her, she'd threatened to fight Jeongguk for putting you in so much danger.  You'd advised her against it - a fight with a vampire who dabbled in martial arts was not one that she, a tiny teenage girl armed with nothing but a mean uppercut, would win.

"I swear, if you continue making puns like that, I'm going to introduce you to Jin.  His dad jokes are as bad as yours.  You'd love him."

She brightens a little at the thought of your annoying roommate.  "Ooh, you told me about him.  He's the pretty one, right?" You nod, and she crinkles her nose.  "But he's so old."

You shake your head in mirth.  (Aigoo, you can hear Seokjin's voice complain in your head, just because I'm borderline thirty and you're barely seventeen doesn't make me old!) "Don't ever let him hear that.  You'd boost his ego and break it down in the same sentence." You don't mention that he's a witch who could legally turn people into frogs if he wanted to.

Both of you laugh.  Sobering, she looks towards the bus stop ahead of you, then back at her watch.  "Crap! I'm gonna miss the bus!"

"Oh, darling." For some reason, she's always on the verge of missing the bus, but always manages to snag the last seat.  This time is no different, as she waves goodbye before dashing off, skidding to a halt just before the vehicle.  You wave, watching as the night swallows her up.

She wasn't wrong to voice her concerns about Jeongguk - like most, she had believed that he was a soulless killer, an undead monster of flesh and bone.  When you'd first told her about your new vampire boyfriend, she was worried - isn't he going to suck your blood, drain you dry, and not feel a thing? He's a vampire, how could he possibly be good for you? But she was wrong about him, dead wrong.

(Heh, dead wrong.  Your friends must be rubbing off on you if you’re making puns now.)

You're eighteen, and sometimes nobody really takes you seriously, but you're the only one who truly sees him for who he really is.  They see a feral beast, fangs dripping red with blood, the stuff of nightmares and horror films.  You see bunny cheeks and a toothy grin, things that make you happy.

But sure, he's capable of being dangerous too.

He's a hazard to your concentration - everywhere you go, you can see his sultry blue eyes flashing at the forefront of your mind.  When you're with him, you can hear his seductive voice whisper sweet nothings into your ear, smooth like the purest of velvet.  It drives you insane, how he likes to pin you down, burning a trail down your bare skin with his icy touch, how it leaves you trembling and begging for more every time.

It's almost crazy, really, how he's so bad, but so good only for you.

He's got that boyish look that you've always been obsessed with, a baby face painted with a perfect mixture of charming and dorky.  He treats you so well, always putting your needs before his own.  He's so in love with you it's got your heartbeat skipping every time he whispers it into your skin.

When you're with him, it feels like a new era of your life has begun.  When you're with him, it feels like home.

He's like a drug, ever so addicting, taking you to a new high every time.  You love the way he says your name as your bodies lie tangled under the covers, your legs clamped around his back, his hot mouth on your skin.  He gazes at you like you are the stars in the sky.  Sometimes, he sinks his fangs into the skin of your neck, over the scars of the past, claiming you as his until the end of time.

A shadow melts away from the rest, revealing itself to be Jeon Jeongguk, the love of your life, the Edward to your Bella, the cause of your euphoria.

"Hey Y/N," he breathes, looking at you like he hasn't seen you in years when in reality, he saw you this morning.

A smile curves onto your lips.  Your boyfriend is a complete and utter dork, but you love him for it.  "Guk."

His lips meet yours halfway when he bends down and you stand on your tiptoes.  You can feel him smiling into the kiss - it's chaste, but loving.  When he pulls away, both of you are grinning like fools.  

The full moon shines high in the sky above you, and you can hear a dog howl faintly in the distance.  

Suddenly, the night doesn't seem quite so dark and lonely anymore.

[manicdragondreamgirl]

I haven’t had chemistry since like 2008, and I’m also an idiot who likes to make my friends upset, so I rated the periodic table in order to tilt my friends:

Hydrogen - this is like your childhood friend who has always been with you more or less and always will be down to get a drink and chill even tho you haven’t spoken in years. Solid bro imo 7.5/10

Helium - always down for a good time, even if probably created Alvin and the Chipmunks which in some places is considered a war crime. 4/10

Lithium - Gives me bitchy vibes and is flammable as fuck if I remember. Skinny bitch with an attitude 3/10

Beryllium - idk this sounds like a sailor moon villain lol for that it can have a 6/10

Boron - more like BORONG amirite ha ha wait no seriously I have no idea lol 5/10 clean neutral rating

Carbon - *screaming* 2/10 I will not be taking questions

Nitrogen - cool cool cool tight tight tight 9/10 Nitrogen just is the cool hot chick you wish you were

Oxygen - kid who takes up all the glory for the group project even tho you did all the work, 4/10 for natural charisma

Fluorine - lol what are you knockoff chlorine lmfao bitch 3/10 reminds me of the dentist

Neon - I can vibe with this boy for his contributions to signs which cause my eyes to scream 8/10 modernized Art Deco thanks you

Sodium - 10/10 this is me and I won’t be taking questions next element

Magnesium - magnesium is a close relative of magnificent and therefore I think the case is closed folks 9/10

Aluminum - 10/10 for providing a home to my Diet Coke addiction I’d be dead without you

Silicon - 6.9/10 :smirk:

Phosphorous - This has a very soundly name and it’s welcome to do that but idk, not a fan, seems like he’d be smelly, 2/10

Sulfur - 1/10 pretty sure that dog farts are purely comprised of this and as such if I was leaving negative ratings I would

Chlorine - 7.8/10 for being in pools so we could swim without brain eating amoeba in the south you a champ

Argon - he seems like a nerd jk this guy has a good color 9/10 for just being himself

Potassium - I hate bananas and this word gives me the physical sensation of biting into one but only by thinking of abstract letters and making them into something which we can nutrientise from bananas and to me that shit is bananas, b a n a n a s — 3/10 for making me sing hollaback girl thru adhd word association

Calcium - hm my brain went to mega milk so you get a 2/10 today bud I don’t make the rules

Scandium - pretty sure this is fake lol what’s next faxdium, e-Mailite and copinium? 5/10

Titanium - this song’s a banger and also is the only thing that lets me wear earrings 10/10

Vanadium - if your erection lasts for longer than like idk it’s supposed to then don’t take vanadium wait what do you mean it’s not an ED treatment 4/10

Chromium - decent bloke shame the browser eats all your memory 5/10

Manganese - if a weeb tries to tell me how to pronounce mayonnaise one more time... 1/10

Iron - excellent tool against the fey, in your blood, what a bro, 10/10 this bitch slaps

Cobalt - has a powerful energy; I respect him. 8/10

Nickel - if I had a nickel for every time someone made this joke lol 5/10 he’s doing his best

Copper - taste bad 3/10

Zinc - isn’t that the dude in the green tunic and white tights who saves premcess Lelda or something lol 7/10 those games are good

Gallium - seems like a prick 4/10

Germanium - sounds like a child pronouncing geraniums which are superior 3/10

Arsenic - bad vibes coach 1/10

Selenium - isn’t this just sailor moon lol 10/10 love this bitch

Bromine - farmine wherever you aremine - 9/10 I love a good bro

Krypton - he’s okay I guess 5/10

Rubidium - yet another Steven universe villain who will be redeemed I imagine 4/10 seems a bit dull

Strontium - I feel nothing when I see this lad’s name and that seems like a shame 1/10 I don’t like it

Yttrium - this is an atrium in Yharnam, or something 8/10 would love to sit in one and make contact with higher beings

Zirconium - oh wait THIS is the sailor moon villain from the dead moon circus! 9/10 I enjoyed that arc

Niobium - seems sassy, I like that in an element 7/10

Molybdenum - I hate this one, rancid. 1/10 for making me have flashbacks to difficult Ancient Greek vocabulary there is no fucking way that sound combination is anything but Beta and Delta borking and then Latin being like oh imma steal that

Technetium - 6/10 decent name but seems a bit forced

Ruthenium - 5/10 kindly old lady element I guess lol

Rhodium - 10/10 this ain’t my first rhodium babee this lad has good vibes what a name what a king

Palladium - 10/10 for making me think of paladins

Silver - 12/10 I’m breaking the rules for this silver is the best it is so cool and also it is the other best tool for dealing with supernatural creatures when iron has failed you highly suggest Even if I am extremely allergic to it going into my ears...wait hold on

Cadmium - 2/10 sounds like a total douche

Indium - 8/10, i just think it’s independent and neat

Tin - 10/10 good ear sounds when involving rain and roof shapes and automatically reminds me of Nora Jones’s come away with me album which is also 10/10

Antimony - 7/10 decent protagonist good name all around seems rad

Tellurium - tell ur mom what? That’s so early 2010s league of legends humor bro 2.5/10

Iodine - strikes fear in my soul from having it poured on my wounds but this is why I have more pain tolerance than god 5.3/10

Xenon - I think this is a declension of Xena warrior princess which is a win in my eyes, 8/10

Caesium - kind of has a cunty Latin name, 4.5/10

Barium - yeah boss, bury’im! 7.5/10 I love a good mobster gag

Lanthanum - A bit pretentious on the Tolkien spectrum sorry bud 3/10 sounds like you’d be the dickwad elf everyone hates

Cerium - 6.5/10 I like this one, gives me a clean vibe

Praseodymium - the fuck who sneezed all their alphabet soup onto the paperwork and called it an element Christ we can’t keep doing this 1.5/10

Neodymium - oh my god what did I just say 1/10

Promethium - thank Christ we’re back to greek 9/10 Prometheus was a Chad I could get behind

Samarium - 5/10 gives me boring wizard vibes

Europium - 4.5/10 don’t rename opium chrissake can’t take these nerds anywhere

Gadolinium - 5/10 it’s a starship knockoff but it’s trying to be bold with the G sound

Terbium - 2/10 I don’t vibe with this one

Dysprosium - sounds like an antidepressant that has a lot of shitty side effects 3/10

Holmium - sounds like someone anxious asking their beloved to hold them 8/10 I like hurt/comfort fics

Erbium - you can’t just describe something as herby you daft bastard 2/10

Thulium - sounds like a spell I like it 8.5/10

Ytterbium - macguffin in a shite sci-fi show that gets highly overrated because BBC produced it and superwholock stans emerge and go utterly feral 1/10

Lutetium - bards are an element I agree 10/10

Hafnium - sounds like a river (my dog) sound and has a cute vibe, I’d offer it head pats 7/10

Tantalum - noooo you can’t be sad yuor so sexe haha 6.9/10 tantalizing

Tungsten - 10/10 this is a lad with history

Rhenium - 5.5/10 it’s ok

Osmium - 4/10 I wasn’t a big wizard of oz fan

Iridium - 9/10 sounds like iridescent and that’s in my top 10 favorite words and concepts

Platinum - 10/10 best Pokémon game

Gold - 7.9/10 all that glitters and all but it’s still pretty on some people, silver is better tho

Mercury - yikes 8/10 so it doesn’t kill me

Thallium - sounds like the brother character in a ps4 exclusive western rpg that oddly falls under the radar in terms of reviews and gets shafted at awards for no reason 7/10 I’ll support you tho

Lead - 2/10 that’s gonna be a no from me dawg pretty sure I still have lead in my hands from stabbing myself with my mechanical pencils

Bismuth - 6/10 sounds good in mouth and reminds me of biscuits for some reason, I’ll take it

Polonium - to thine own self be true so stop trying to act like the arts don’t influence science jk pretty sure this is named for Poland but hey that’s where we get the Witcher so you get a pass 6/10

Astatine - 1/10 I don’t even know what you are

Radon - 7/10 this motherfucker knows his shit and how to party, rad is right

Francium - I bring you francium...and I bring you myrdurdium... 7/10 for a good vine

Radium - killed the video star probably 9/10 I can get behind her

Actinium - as opposed to passtinium I prefer actinium in the voice of writing 8/10

Thorium - overrated Norse god 5/10 because lightning is still cool

Protactinum - sounds like some pretentious condom brand 4/10 wouldn’t do it with a dude who bought these

Uranium - I always thought she was a hot sailor scout 10/10

Neptunium - same for her I knew they weren’t cousins you couldn’t lie to me 4kids 10/10

Plutonium - sounds like a macguffin unfortunately 5/10

Americium - I read this with a pivotal letter missing and nearly died, 7/10 for the laugh

Curium - 10/10 gives me Curie vibes and also reminds me of curiosity which reminds me of—[old yellered before the association could set in]

Berkelium - what I shout when I want Burke (fam dog) to slaughter innocents and raze territories 2/10 world was not meant to know his commands

Californium - 1/10 California is cool with geography but probs could stand to chill with the ego sorry to my friends in Cali

Einsteinium - 6/10 it’s alright but we’re really running out of ideas huh

Fermium - 3/10 this one is porny

Mendelevium - 1/10 my brain didn’t like parsing this and I stand by my earlier statement of running out of good names

Nobelium - 0/10 you didn’t name any noble gases this cowards this gas can’t be a noble oh wait it’s NOBEL I take it back 5/10 seems an alright chap

Lawrencium - fear the old blood my sorry dead hunter’s ass I’ll never get back my life from the hours I spent trying to beat this lava shitting bastard 2/10 for being a boss who eats Taco Bell specifically before being challenged to have fresh lava shit with which to punish you for having the audacity to exist in his space

Rutherfordium - my god what a snob 4.2/10 I respect him a little but only because he sounds like a right lad

Dubnium - DROP THE BASS 10/10

Seoborgium - not sure about this one but it can have a 7/10

Bohrium - as an American English speaker this sound combination makes my pathetic throat become a black hole as I try to properly create the sound of it 10/10 I love when my body becomes a massive void in the universe

Hassium - lazy 2/10

Elements 109-118 can go fuck themselves I hate them all, collective 6.66/10 for their general demonic vibe

[amoosewritesfanfic]

[Chrollo Lucilfer X Fem!reader]

[+18]

[I own none of the characters or art, all credit goes to the original creators. Edits are done by me though]

[Warnings: choking, spanking, throat fucking, creampie]

-

How the hell did you manage to get into this situation?

You were face to face with the big boss of the Phantom Troupe.

Chrollo Lucilfer...

A dangerous man from the rumors that you've heard.

"A poor little thing you are." His voice was calm, collected, this man knew how to carry himself and it didn't seem like much phased him.

"How did you manage to get here?" He asked as his hand gripped your chin forcing you to look up, making you whimper quietly.

Your eyes avoiding his.

He had dragged you off into a room separated from everyone else, you didn't know what he was gonna do to you.

"I... don't know..." you mumbled quietly.

"Don't lie, it won't be pretty if you lie, be honest now." He pushed, his free hand threading through your hair, still keeping that firm grip on your face.

"I wandered in... I didn't mean to..." you answered honestly.

His grey eyes were examining you, starting with your face and moving to the rest of your body, looking down at your luscious breasts with a small smile.

"You didn't mean to? What a shame, if you had done it on purpose we would have had to kill you." Those words

'Kill you.'

Had your body trembling slightly eyes wide as though you were a dear caught in the headlights.

"But... I don't think I can kill such a pretty little thing." He leaned down, he was so much bigger than you, it was terrifying but kinda hot...

He was an attractive man, that much you couldn't deny.

He leaned down kissing your lips, the kiss was a bit sloppy and a bit rough as well.

You didn't fight back as his tongue slid inside your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours in a somewhat sensual manner.

You wanted to push him away but you couldn't muster up the strength against this man.

He nibbled on your bottom lip the moment he pulled his tongue from your mouth, the sensation made you whimper quietly and tug slightly at his dress shirt.

"What a poor little thing you are wondering in, if I didn't stop them... they would have killed you, you are aware of that aren't you?" His voice was cold collected, but his breath against your ear made you almost whimper.

"How are you going to repay me?" He then asked as his slender fingers trailed along your curves, tracing the curve of your breasts, his finger hooking onto the low cut shirt, pulling it down with no hesitation allowing your breasts to bounce free.

His eyes filled with lust as he stared at the bra you wore, it was a simple colour black, but the way it hugged your breasts made him almost smile.

"I think your body is good enough payment..." he said.

"N-no... please not..." you protested but you shut your mouth.

The look he gave you was feral.

"I could let you get killed, I'm sure you don't want that little thing~" he said giving a small huff.

"F-fine..." you breathed out, your mind was spinning already, were you really going to go through with this?

You had no other choice if you were going to live.

"Get down on your knees little thing~" he hummed, that nickname sent shivers down your spine.

Was he going to keep calling you that...?

You blurred the thought out as you slowly got to your knees, your hands resting on his thighs to keep some form of balance, he took the liberty of unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock.

You gulped at the sheer size of him, out of habit your thighs had squeezed together.

"Don't be afraid little thing~" he hummed as he threaded his fingers through your hair, gathering the hair into his fist to insure none of it went into your face as you got to work on his cock.

His scent filling your senses made you almost groan, but you started working his cock, not wanting for the male to get pissed off.

Your tongue trailed over his tip, collecting the precum that had dribbled out before taking his tip into your mouth.

Slowly taking in every inch now.

Your eyes staring up at the male who's face was contorted into a mix of humor, lust and pleasure.

His fingers tugging lightly at your hair as you took his cock.

The moment it hit the back of your throat you couldn't help but gag quietly but he wasted no time in cupping his hand under your jaw while keeping the other in your hair, a means of keeping a grip on your face, giving you no way of pulling back now as he shoved himself down your throat.

"Sorry little thing~ I can't have you taking your sweet time~ don't worry though, you'll enjoy this~" he cooed, his hips started smacking against your face, his balls hitting your chin.

You were gagging and moaning, you could feel your saliva pooling in your mouth and the tears already threatening to spill out from your eyes.

He knew he was doing a good job thrusting relentlessly into your throat, especially with how everytime he pulled back, strings of saliva hung from his cock, hell it even started dripping down your chin and messing his balls and he had no complaints about it.

"Look at you..." he grunted.

"You silly little thing, you like my cock... so much that your drooling all over it~" he groaned as his hips picked up pace, the feeling of his cock continuously thrusting in and out of your throat had your entire body trembling.

He was getting closer to his orgasm now, especially with how erratic his thrusting had became, with one last snap of his hips, he buried his cock deep down your throat before painting those pretty walls with his white seed, basically forcing you to swallow it making you gag and choke, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He pulled back staring down at your sloppy face, his lips curled into a smile. His cock rested on your cheek.

"Fuck, I've never fucked someone's throat as tight as yours~" he hummed as he reached his hand down to stroke your cheek softly, you leaned into it kissing his palm softly making him smile.

"Stand up little thing~" he hummed as he held out his hand for you to take which you did, you stood up looking into those grey hues which stared back into yours.

He led you over to the table in the center of the room, keeping his hand in yours before he let you lay down on your back, your legs hanging on the edge of the table.

He got between your legs after he removed your panties, running his finger over your slick making you almost whimper.

"Look at you... so wet~ is this from when I fucked your throat?" He asked as his thumb started rubbing your clit making you moan quietly. Your hands gripping onto the shirt you had on.

"Y-yes..." you breathed out.

He just gave you a smile before he aligned himself with your cunt, pulled you by your hips so you could feel his tip kissing your wet folds.

Then you felt it, the feeling of his cock sliding into your cunt, his stretched you out the deeper he went, making your toes curl and your back arch slightly.

You let out a somewhat needy moan as his cock slowly filled your pussy up, his tip kissing your cervix making you mewl.

"So tight... one would think that you're still a virgin~" he teased for a moment.

"Hold your legs against your chest." He ordered and you did as he asked pulling your thighs against your chest, keeping your hands hooked under your thighs which allowed him to feel your walls tighten around his cock making him groan.

"Fuck..." he groaned as he started moving his hips, the pace started off slow and steady at first, but became more vicious, his hand finding it's way to your throat, with every moan he could feel the vibrations going to his hand, it had only spurred him on more.

His hand tightening around your throat a little making you whine.

Hips smacking against yours, you could feel his balls continuously hitting against your ass making you grip harder onto your legs, hell you had even felt the table shaking beneath you...

"Fuck... you're such a good girl... do you like the feeling of my cock inside this sweet little pussy?~" he asked with a quiet grunt.

"Y-yes... yes... gods it's so good~♡" you couldn't help but moan out, it really did feel good.

His thrusts were so rough and the way his hand gripped your throat only added onto the pleasure.

His free hand ended up spanking your ass making you gasp out with each spank, it caused your pussy to tighten around his cock.

"Fuck..." he grunted.

"I'm getting close... I'm gonna cum soon..." he groaned as his hips picked up the pace, you felt it too, you felt yourself getting closer to your own orgasm too.

Your back arched and your grip on your thighs tightened, but so did the grip on your throat.

With a few more thrusts from Chrollo you felt that familiar wave of pleasure wash over you along with his own orgasm filling you up, painting your walls white with his load.

"Pretty little thing... you did so well~" he cooed as his hand moved from your throat to your hair stroking it softly.

"I'm keeping you as my personal little pet~ I think it would be fun." His tone was low as pulled out of you, putting himself back in his pants. His dark hues watching his release spill from your sweet little pussy.

"Now, let's see just how long you'll last." He said running a thumb over your bottom lip sending shivers up your spine.

-

-

[Tag: @xocakah ]

[balancemelting]

Candlenights Exchange

Happy Candlenights to @alf-art​ and @thecandlenightszone 

Davenport/Lucretia was requested so I did some light fluff. I hope you like it!

     This cycle was peaceful, they managed to find the Light within days of it falling. With the survival of this world secure, they were able to freely explore and enjoy this world to its full extent. Lucretia had just ended a day in the city nearest to where the Starblaster was posted, she entered the ship and pulled out her journal. Not even at a table yet and already excited to write all that she experienced. Everyone else had gone out to explore the city and she was usually the first to head in so she was fully expecting to be alone on the ship. Since it was such a beautiful night, she decided it would be nice to do her writing on the deck. As she approached, she was shocked to find that someone else had gotten to the ship before her.      Davenport was standing at the helm, holding the wheel in his hand. Lucretia could tell right away that something was wrong. Over seventy years with someone makes you intimately familiar with all of their subtle cues and little quirks. Davenport was their captain, their pilot, and he looked at home holding the wheel of the Starblaster. Even when making evasive maneuvers during dangerous situations, there was still that spark of excitement. The only time she saw that comfort gone was when they were all running from the Hunger, wondering if this would be the last cycle. Here he was standing with his back too straight and his knuckles white with how tightly he was gripping the wheel.      He didn’t seem to notice Lucretia’s arrival, he was focused on muttering something under his breath. She approached him cautiously, glancing around to see any sign of a threat. As she got closer, she was able to make out some of his words. Lucretia had read every book on the Starblaster and had even memorized some of the ones that had been here for long enough, so she recognized that Davenport was repeating the steps listed in the instruction booklet on how to fly the Starblsater. He had been insisting that the rest of the IPRE should learn how to fly the ship, ever since the first time he died.      Lucretia wasn’t sure what to do, she had seen Barry do something similar before, but he usually needed someone to work through his thoughts with. Something told her that helping Davenport go over the flight instructions wouldn’t help whatever this was. Then he shifted, his shoulders slumped and gave one gentle shake and she realized that he was trying not to cry. After they had first realized that their short mission was going to be extended into the unforeseeable future, certain formalities were dropped. One of the first ones being that they started taking their meetings in the kitchen while the twins danced around each other to cook. Other formalities remained, such as they all still looked to Davenport as their captain, still followed his orders to a degree. She had seen each member of the crew cry at one point, with all that they have gone through it was understandable. She had even cried, messily in front of the entire crew after a particularly stressful cycle.      She realized that she had never seen Davenport cry, she had never even heard the other members mention seeing him cry, or yell, or anything. He was always their strong and calm captain. Lucretia felt as if she were intruding on an intimate moment and it was rude to not let her presence be known so she cleared her throat gently. As expected, he had clearly not known she was there and jumped before wiping his eyes quickly and spinning on his heel to face her, “Lucretia, you’re back early.” His voice was clear and strong and she would have thought that everything was fine if she had not seen him just moments before.      “Yes, I wanted to write down some of the things I saw today. I was actually going to go to the kitchen and make some hot chocolate while I worked. Would you like some?” They both knew that she had seen him earlier, it was clear that she was willing to not bring it up. She was also offering him comfort if he would like it.      Davenport’s shoulders relaxed and he even let out a little sigh as if he was releasing the stress from before, “You know, I think I would love that.” He released the wheel and moved to Lucretia’s side to head back towards the kitchen, “Do we even have the ingredients for hot chocolate?”      She turned to smile at him, “Taako found some in the city yesterday. He got enough to get us through the next three cycles.”      Her captain laughed, “Well then he won’t notice if two servings are missing.”      The kitchen was dark and Lucretia cast a quick spell to light the place before searching for the special hot chocolate. Taako tended to stash supplies when he thought they were good enough, but Lucretia had learned long ago where he hid them. She pulled out the powder and began prepping. Davenport sat in his usual spot at the table and watched her silently work.      “Do you remember Cycle 27?” The question was sudden and Lucretia jumped a little at her captain’s voice.      “The one with the feral grass?” She remembered that one, Magnus took it as a challenge and rushed into the tall grass every morning while Merle begged him to go easy on them.      Davenport laughed, “Alright, it wasn’t the nicest cycle, but do you remember the meteor showers?”      How could she forget? She had watched her fair share of meteor showers in the past, watched the white lights streak across the sky and sparkle in a way that was always breathtaking. In Cycle 27, there were lights of every color and instead of just shooting a straight line through the sky, they twisted and twirled around each other like they were dancing. It had been so beautiful she found tears rising to her eyes the first time she saw it. Her sketches never did it justice. “Yes, I remember them.” She practically whispered and moved to sit next to him while the hot chocolate heated.      He leaned in with a conspiratorial smile on his face, “Did you know they actually fell?” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a deep blue gem the size of his fist. It practically sparkled even in the dim light in the kitchen, almost as if it was giving off a little light of its own. “They aren’t rare or worth anything, just colored glass, but I loved how they looked and what it reminded me of so I collected as many as I could find. I’ve got every color you could imagine, but this is my favorite.” His voice softened, “Deep blue, reminds me of calmness, coolness, comfort.” Davenport moved to meet Lucretia’s eyes, “Reminds me of you.”      She felt her face heat up and couldn’t bring herself to look away from the intensity in his eyes. It only lasted a moment before he broke into a playful smile and bumped his shoulder with hers.      “Don’t tell the others, they would probably get sour. You all are my family, I would lie down my life any day to protect you all. It’s just nice to not be the captain sometimes and there’s something soothing about being in your presence.”      Her face didn’t cool, but she smiled back at him and stood to tend to the hot chocolate. “Well, feel free to come to me at any time. I would be honored to bring you comfort, whether that means giving you a hug, a cup of hot chocolate, or just to lend an ear.” She poured two cups and made up his just how he liked it, two marshmallows exactly.      He took a long sip and hummed in contentment, “You know, I think I might take you up on that.” Placing the cup down, he turned in his seat to face her, “Could I cash in on that hug right now?”      It seemed Lucretia’s face was going to be warm for the rest of the cycle. “Of course, yes, anytime.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged back and she could feel the strength in his arms as he clung to her. She buried her face in his shoulder and whispered, “We will all get through this. I can feel it, we are almost there.” She had a plan she had been working on for a few cycles now, something that could get them out of this rut once and for all. She wasn’t going to give up on stopping the Hunger, wasn’t going to give up on a life with her family.      His grip tightened just a hair, “Y’know? I think I believe you.”

[nightashes]

Painting with Ashes

A/N: Hi, guys! Thought it was about time I wrote a Remus centered fic. I hope you enjoy it! I appreciate you all!

Summary: Remus wants to help Roman create, but Roman doesn’t want his help. Is there a place for the “bad” creativty?

ao3 version - writing masterlist

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiip

“Hey, Roman.”

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiip

“Roman.”

Riiiiiiiiiiip

“Roooman.”

Riiiiiiiiiiiiip

“I swear, Remus, if you don’t stop-“

“I’m boooored.” Remus laments, sprawled across the bottom-bunk, his head hanging off the side, while his hands work on ripping out another page from his already half-destroyed magazine. The dilapidated shreds of paper lie scattered across his torso and on the ground beneath his head. 

 Remus stares across their room at his brother, who is currently engrossed in his work for Thomas. The prince scribbling away at a particularly vexing part of a script, his brow creased and his lips pursed. In Remus’s opinion this whole “script-writing nonsense” was driving Roman completely insane and so it was his job, as a good brother (the best brother, really), to pester Roman into finally finally taking a break. 

Remus rips out another page, the sound satisfying some primal urge of destruction as he petitions his brother once again for some attention. “Can’t we do something together? Come on, we could fight! A good spar has got to be more fun than drilling out another failed script idea.”

BANG

Roman’s hands slam against his desk. 

Bingo. A wicked grin affixes itself to the rancid side’s face. His voice becomes sickly-sweet. “Yes, it probably would be better if you just turned the whole project over to me.” He rises, slinking across the room to stand above his brother, a vulture peering over his shoulders, inspecting the remains of the crinkled script. “You are clearly burnt-out on ideas. I’m sure I could offer Thomas a truly fresh perspective.”  The duke reaches out to take a hold of the project. Roman, quick as lightning, slaps his hand away. 

“Oh, touchy.”

“Remus, please.”

Remus pauses. Thinking.

“You know, I am also creativity. Why can’t I help?”

“I don’t need help. I’m fine on my own.”

Remus crosses his arms, pouting. “I don’t think that’s fair. It’s boring, watching you do all the work while I’m just told to stay out of the way. But Thomas forbid, the bad creativity contributes!”

“Remus, you aren’t the bad creativity.”

“Well, then let me help!” Remus reaches again for the script.

“No!” Roman yanks the pages away, holding them close to his chest. His eyes wide and his breath quick. As if Remus’s help was the worst thing in the world. And Remus, well, Remus was not having fun anymore.

“....okay...okay.” He nods, backing away from the desk. “....okay...I’ll just leave.”

“Remus, wait. I-“

The door to the imagination closes shut on his words.

Remus sighs. A heavy sigh. Much too heavy for the rambunctious side. He drags his hand down his face, as if the simple gesture could wipe away that heaviness. Could ease the weight that is settling in his chest. He breathes. Breathing in the air of the imagination. Air that is full of creative potential and...cheeriness. It did not match his mood at all. 

Shrugging his shoulders, he marches forward. Trudging through the rolling hills and the flowering meadows that mark Roman’s side of the creativity. He feels his own dour mood grate in sharp contrast to the sunny rangelands. He longs for the comforts of his dark forest, for the shadows of his thick canopy, and the haunting echoes of his gloomy cave. 

He watches his feet, gliding through the long grass, crushing the thin blades beneath his boots, only for the wild grasses to rise again as he continues forward. Leaving almost no sign of his presence. That he has passed through. That Remus Sanders the “the bad creativity” has had any impact on Roman’s perfect little meadows. Something about this frustrates him, it grates against his already frayed nerves. And they break. 

He stomps on the stems, he jumps on the blades, he kicks at the grasses, he drags his feet through the dirt, spraying up clumps of soil. He falls to the ground and tears out fistfuls of plant and earth. Pulling up chunks of vegetation. Throwing them around. A wild desire is fulfilled as he claws at the land, the dirt pushing up beneath his nails beds, covering his hands, staining his pants. He smiles. A wild smile. A smile of presence. The smile of a child that has discovered the joy of making mud cakes and of knowing the feel of the earth between his hands. The smile of being here in this moment and in this place. He is alive.

He looks up, measuring the distance left between him and his forest. He feels the desire to run between his trees and to unleash a wild cry of pure existence. What he sees is something he most certainly did not expect. The fatherly side, waddling forwards, his arms straining to keep hold of a large and cumbersome box. The top is open revealing paper, wire, ceramics, and the ends of other projects sticking up and over the lid. Patton, who is so focused on keeping his grip, does not take notice of the feral presence settled within the grasses. 

His mustache tickles as he smiles wide and broad. He creeps forward, summoning his mace, and cracking his neck. With a breath, he lunges, smashing the box from Patton’s hands and scattering the contents across the pasture. Patton screams in shock, flinging his hands up in fear, confusion written across his face as his eyes swing wildly around to land on… Remus.

Remus, who is cackling wildly, “Well, hello! I th-“ He cuts himself off, completely forgetting whatever clever remark he had planned. His gaze is locked onto the spilled art projects that now litter the ground… his spilled art projects. 

“Wha-“ His mind is blank. He can’t even remember the last time he hadn’t had some thought running through his head but this…

Patton hands flutter around his person. He rushes to explain, “Oh, Kiddo, look I was going to ask you if I could take them. But I didn’t even know what was pulling me towards the imagination in the first place. I was just in my room and, well, you know I keep and preserve Thomas’s memories. Good, bad, sad, happy, anxious, creative, and these they just have so many memories attached to them. And they were just lying there, neglected! I had to take them. To take care of them! And I, oh, I’m  explaining this terribly! I, just… Remus?”

Remus is not listening. He is crouched on the ground, carefully shifting through the discarded pieces. He lifts one up, an old crayon drawing, just a bunch of scribbles, he can’t even tell what it was supposed to be. He laughs. He wants to cry. He smashes it between his hands, crushing it into a ball.

“Remus, STOP!” Patton yells, grabbing the crumpled drawing away from the feral side, holding it close to his chest.

Remus looks up at him, his smile stretched, his eyes rimmed red. “Don’t you see, Patton? I’m tired of being told to stop.”

And there it is, a look of pity. 

Remus grabs the box, he flattens it with his fists, he summons some heat and sets it aflame. He feeds the fire, throwing in all of his past endeavors, his attempts at creativity. His paper mache eldritch horrors, his paintings of mayhem, a phallic sculpture that shatters as he throws it into the bonfire of his past. Paintings from when he was six, drawings from when he was twelve, origami from when he was fourteen, poetry from when he was sixteen, songs from when he was twenty. All of it up in flames, burning bright, the sparks singeing their creator. The smoke rises high. It fills the air and wipes away what was. And for a moment Remus feels free. 

He feels himself rise with the smoke. He feels his heart cleansed with the flames, a release of everything that has been building. 

A hand settles on his shoulders. Patton is sitting beside him, his hand still clutching the crumbled drawing.

“Sometimes, you just gotta let go of the past, Patton. Live in the moment. Let everything just roll off your back and only focus on what is. On here and now.”

Patton looks down at the picture in his hand. “I protect Thomas’s memories.” He unfolds the paper, smooths out the wrinkles. He speaks softly. “Thomas was so happy when he drew this.”

Remus gives Patton a look of confusion. “I drew that, not Thomas.”

The fatherly side sniffles, “You drew this together. It’s supposed to be Thomas electrifying his brother.” Patton shakes his head affectionately. “It was your idea. Probably because Roman had annoyed you that day.” Patton holds the drawing out to Remus, he gently accepts it.

A soft “huh” escapes his lips. “I had forgotten.”

“I’m not surprised. It was a long time ago. But I… Well, I remember everything.”

“Doesn’t that hurt.”

“It can. Sometimes all I want to do is just push all those feelings away. But I’m told that isn’t exactly healthy.” He gives his fellow side a sad smile.

“You don’t have to feel that way. You can let go of these memories. That's what I do. When you’re feeling like everything is too much! Just let it all out! Scream, shout, tear through the world! And then you just let it all go. Forget the past. We are only here and now.” He waves the drawing through the air, gesturing madly.

Patton follows the drawing with his hands, in some attempt at protection. “Oh, careful, Remus.”

“No! Don’t be careful. Careful is holding in all those feelings until they come bursting out! We won’t hold anything in! We forget the past.” He throws the picture towards the flames. 

Patton’s hands are already there. He catches the painting. “Please, Remus. This memory. Why would you want to destroy this?” He looks down at the worn paper. Smudges of fingerprints, of ash, cover the edges.

“Why would I want to hold onto it?”

“You and Thomas created it together.”

“And now, all we do is hurt each other. He pushes me away and I lash out.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“Are you going to change that?” Remus raises an eyebrow.

“No. You are.” Patton speaks. And once more, he passes Remus the drawing. “Don’t destroy it, Remus. Create something new.”

“Create something new.” Remus hums to himself in thought. He waves away the flames, leaving behind only cinders. The rancid side leans forward, dipping his fingers in the ashes, and then he begins to paint. He brushes his fingers across the page, leaving behind blacks and greys. He dips his fingers into the fire’s remains again and again. Scooping up more ash to work with. A border begins to form. A collection of swirls and streaks. It accentuates the bright colors of the crayon scribbles. They pop against the smoky background. Old and new, merging and creating. Ash and crayon. Darkness and color. Remus is transfixed. He is no longer throwing away the past, he is rewriting it. And it is… it is something to be proud of.

“Wow.” Patton whispers beside him. “Two memories, blended together. It’s amazing.”

Remus cocks an eyebrow. “Eh, well it’s okay.” He smiles. “But I guess I will keep it. To remember this.”

Patton and Remus head back together. They talk. Wildly and passionately. About art. About memories. About jokes and puns. About anything that comes rushing through their heads. And it’s weird. And it’s silly and they love it. They laugh loud and merrily. And when they arrive at the mindpalace through Roman and Remus’s door, still laughing at some joke. They begin talking excitedly about the perfect place to hang the picture. Above the desk, beside the mirror, or on the wall by the bed.

Remus looking around slowly begins to take notice that the shreds of paper he had left behind seem to have multiplied. The pieces of magazine have been joined with the shreds of a script. The very same script that Roman had been working on. The one that had been irritating him for hours on end. And now it was destroyed and thrown away on the ground.

“Roman, you have to see what Remus created.” Patton speaks from behind him. 

Remus whips around to see Roman standing in the doorway, his arms full of an array of weapons.

“Oh, it looks great.” Roman speaks, still fumbling with an armload of swords, daggers, and arrows. “Remus, I… I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t help. I was just so mad at the script and myself and I wanted to be perfect. And I mean you were a jerk, but that’s nothing new.”

Remus scoffs. “Hey, you needed a break. I knew that, that’s why I pushed you. But that’s what brothers do. Being jerks is how we show we care.”

Roman shifts the weapons, raising them as much as he can without losing his grip. “You still want to spar?”

“Heck, yes I do.” Remus grins. He supposes that all in all there are some memories that really are worth holding onto, memories that remind him of who he is. Because he is creativity. One of two. And sure, sometimes it can be hard but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

awesome people to tag: @stop-it-anxiety @rainboots-are-for-snobs @hexatrash @ollyollyoxinfree @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun

[mercheswan]

WEREFOXES TO COME TO BEACON HILLS.

First page of the town’s newspaper announces.

Werefoxes are an extraordinary werecreature. There aren’t many of them left and even less young ones.

People say that foxes are protected by the ancients Gods, that’s why they can live more than any other creature. They are wise and powerful, some of them are said to be able to summon spirits to protect them.

They can also control the elements. They are feared in the supernatural world, and they have never mix with the other werecreatures, that’s why they are considered to be haughty and overweening.

Werewolves and werefoxes have hated each other since the beginning of times. There have been battles over territory and countless confrontations between them along History. Many foxes succumbed in their battles as the number of werewolves have always been bigger. But many werewolves have also been cursed and killed by the sometimes called kitsunes.

Now they lived in apparent peace, neither of them messed with the other, but some werewolves assure that the mere scent of a werefox can make them feral. The majority of them has never even seen a fox in their life.

That’s why foxes coming to Beacon Hills, werewolf territory, is such a big deal for the town.

The news claim that two teenagers will be moving with their families, they will be enrolling in Beacon Hills High School.

Talía Hale, the Mayor of Beacon Hills has granted them permission to come and stay and have asked the citizens of the town to welcome the foxes.

The citizens feelings about the werefoxes are contradicted. Old people and some adults are against them being in their territory, battles too recent for them. The majority of people, and specially the younger part of the population are excited by the foxes coming. This is the most exciting thing to ever happen in their little town.

Rumors spread about what could be the reason for the foxes to come, why are they not moving to cities controlled by werefoxes.

Panic erupts when the news about one of the foxes being a Nogitsune leaks to the press.

If foxes are dangerous, Nogitsunes are the worst kind. Foxes are trickers, the are vicious creatures, they lie and manipulate. Those qualities are increased on the Nogitsunes, who are also said to have a dark soul. Cross a Nogitsune and your life will end in the most painful and torturous way.

In the end the Mayor assures that the situation with the foxes is under control. She takes full responsibility for them.

———————————

First day of school, everyone in Beacon Hills High School is talking about the same thing. The foxes. The are coming. The students want to see them. And not only the students.

(Peter and Cora)

Cora: Why didn’t you ask mom about them anyway, hidding like this to see them as if they are some kind of celebrity is weird.

Peter: I was not going to give your mother the satisfaction of seeing me being excited. The boy is the Nogitsune, I’m so going to enjoy having him as my student. He is a little genius. I hope he challenges me, classes get so boring sometimes.

Cora: What did you expect? You are a literature and drama teacher.

Peter: Foxes are said to appreciate art more than wolves, maybe I will have students that are worth my time, at last.

Cora: God, you’re are talking about them like you wanna mate with them. You don’t do you? They are my age!

Peter: First of all, I am not that old, thank you very much. And second, don’t be stupid, wolves and foxes are not meant to be mates. It has never happened before.

A Jeep approaches the School.

Peter: It’s them.

Two teenagers come out of the Jeep, an asian girl with a ponytail, who looked as if she wouldn’t kill a fly, and a boy. Tall, with pale skin, wearing a red hoodie and who is watching at their surroundings, very much alert in case they don’t have a welcoming reception. He spotts Peter and Cora.

Both of the kneel to hide themselves.

Cora: Great, they are going to think we are creepers or worse that we are up to no good and we want to hurt them or something.

Peter: Relax.

Cora: Couldn’t you jut wait to see them in class?

Peter: They don’t have class with me today. I believe they have Derek later on.

Cora: Derek is probably already on class, he was not excited at all about them coming.

Peter: He’ll change his mind. Go to class, don’t be late. And thanks for being creepy with me.

Peter smirked, Cora rolled her eyes.

(Scott and Malia)

When Stiles and Kira came out of the jeep they are greeted by numerous students looking at them and sushing words between themselves. Probably comparing what they thought the foxes would look like.

Stiles wants to roll his eyes, he hates being the center of attention like this. Kira hates it even more.

Both of them walk towards the school’s entrance.

Malia: it’s that them?

Scott: Yeah, I think so... I mean I have never see them before.

Malia: They look pretty normal to me.

Scott: Of course the are normal! And I bet they are nice too. I don’t believe all the bad things they say about their kind.

Malia: Be careful, you know you are always too trusting.

(Allison and Lydia)

Stiles and Kira open the door and enter the hallway. They majority of the students stop to gaze at them.

They continue walking towards the principal’s office. Stiles and Kira feel like they are in a catwalk and they are the models.

Allison: If it wasn’t for the fact that everyone knows each other in this high school, they would have been able to pass as any other student. My father told me they don’t look different from us.

Lydia: I heard they were extraordinary beautiful creatures. I’m glad they are normal.

Allison: Of course you are.

Allison laughed at her best friend’s vanity.

Allison: They look pretty to me.

Lydia: They are not bad. Maybe I will let them be my friends.

Lydia smiled to herself eyes never leaving the pair of foxes as if they were her prey.

(The Puppy pack)

Liam and his friends looked at the werefoxes when they heard the commotion caused by the other students. They are really happy about the foxes being here.

Mason: They look good.

Corey: Not frightening at all.

Liam: I really hope we get the chance to meet them.

Hayden: Yeah right, because they are going to want to befriend you.

All of them laughed teasing Liam.

Liam: I really hope they don’t have any trouble, there are many students who don’t want them here.

Mason: Yeah, specially the Nogitsune. Who do you think it is by the way?

Hayden: it’s gotta be the boy, the girl looks too nice.

(Stiles and Kira)

Stiles: So far so good, no bombs or things flying at us. It’s an absolute success.

Kira: They won’t stop looking at us.

Stiles: You know that was going to happen. I’m sorry for putting you through this.

Kira: Don’t worry, there’s no place I’d rather be than next to you. I know you will always protect me.

They smiled at each other. During this past years they have become like siblings.

At that moment one of the students decided to explode a balloon. There were some laughs and little screams.

Kira got scared and involuntary she made the lights of the school flick.

All the students looked at them. They must have known that Werefoxes can control the elements. Now they know that one of them controls electricity.

Some of the students start to leave towards their classes. Stiles doesn’t like they face the are wearing.

They were exciting before, now they look afraid. And that’s exactly what Stiles was trying to prevent.

Stiles: Kira be careful, we can’t be seen as a threat.

Kira: Sorry, I was starlet, i didn’t mean to.

Stiles: Come on, let’s go to the principal’s office. The sooner we get to class the sooner the day ends.

(Derek)

Derek was trying not to think about the foxes coming to the school. He was against them being in their town, he didn’t manage to convince her mother to not let the come.

And now, he was going to be their history teacher. The chapters about the Wolves and Foxes battles were sure to be interesting this year.

Derek was preparing the class, talking to some students who have come to class early when they saw the lights flick.

The foxes.

Some of the students got nervous.

Derek: Relax it’s just a malfunction of the lights. Nothing happened.

The students calmed.

Derek doesn’t know if he is going to be able to be impartial with his new students. He doesn’t understand why Peter is so happy to have them.

This year could not end fast enough.

(Isaac and Erica)

Isaac and Erica were both in Derek’s class when the lights malfunction happened. But they know their alpha, he is lying. The foxes did it.

Isaac: I wanna see them.

Erica: Derek will probably get mad.

Isaac: I don’t care.

They both stood up from their chairs and headed towards the door.

Derek: Where are you going?

Erica: Just to the bathroom will be back in a sec.

Derek looked at them angrily.

When both wolves exited the class they could only see the foxes from behind.

Isaac: They don’t look that strong.

Erica: No they don’t.

Derek: Do not underestimate them. Go to the bathroom, the class is starting in five.

(Aiden and Ethan)

Aiden: so it’s true what they say about their scent making you violent.

Ethan: you feel it too.

Aiden: I hope that Deucalion let us take care of them.

Ethan: Maybe they will not cause trouble.

Aiden: it’s in their nature. They manipule and trick it’s what they do.

Ethan watches the foxes go. He hopes that this sense of trouble he has inside will eventually leave.

(Jackson and Danny)

Jackson: Who do they think they are?

Danny: You are just mad because they are getting more attention than you.

Jackson: I really hope that they don’t plan to join the Lacross team.

Danny: Why not? Foxes are suppose to be faster than wolves. It’ll be good for our team.

Jackson looked at his friend with a disgusted face. Of course the future Druid will be all on board of welcoming the foxes.

Jackson: Their not taking my place as captain.

Danny: Of course not.

Danny snorted, amused by his friend’s attitude.

(Theo)

Theo has been waiting for this moment all summer. The foxes are finally here. The Nogitsune is finally here.

He knows foxes are manipulatives, but he is too. He wants the Nogitsune, he is going to control him, that way his future pack will be invencible.

He spotted the werefoxes coming from the hallway.

The girl looked like a doll, sweet and nice. But the boy, the boy looked delicious.

My Nogitsune.

Theo’s was not expecting the fox to be this breathtakingly handsome. The wolf inside Theo howled at the sight.

Theo was bewitched by the werecreature. His eyes were beautiful, his skin pale and perfect to mark. And those lips. They were sinful.

His wolf wants him, he wants him bad.

Theo is surprised by the feelings inside him. Much to his knowledge, Wolves and Foxes don’t mate. But he would be lying if he said that he didn’t want to claim the boy right there.

He needs to focus. His plan. Whatever this is can’t jeopardise his plan.

He looks at the foxes and at that moment the boy looks at his direction. Theo smirks. The boy bites his lower lip.

Their eyes meet and Theo feels a spark traveling trough his body.

The boy walked towards him.

The students who were next to Theo started to leave.

The fox stopped a few inches apart from Theo. He looked serious and he was examinating Theo as if trying to read him.

Theo: Welcome to Beacon Hills High School.

Stiles: What’s your name wolf?

Theo smirked.

Theo: it’s only polite to introduce yourself if you are demanding someone else’s name.

Stiles bit his lip again, face coming closer to the wolf.

Stiles: You know who I am.

Theo: I may know what you are, but I don’t know your name. My mane is Theo.

Stiles: Well, Theo, I don’t know what you are planning but stop it. People should know better than to try to trick a fox.

Theo smiled. Oh he is smart. He really wants him.

Theo: What makes you think I’m planning something.

Stiles: Drop the act, you can’t fool me wolf.

Stiles put his arms on the locker, trapping Theo between it and his body. The fox whispered to the wolf’s ear.

Stiles: When you think you can win me, I’ll always be two septs foward.

Theo should not feel this aroused. But if the fox doesn’t separate from him soon he is going to kiss him hard on those perfect lips.

Their eyes met. Again electricity ran inside Theo’s body. He whispered back to Stiles’s lips.

Theo: Got it.

Stiles separated from Theo and returned to Kira, never leaving sight of the wolf.

Theo was leaning on the locker feeling his legs melting. This was only a bit of the power of the Nogitsune. He wanted it all. His mind kept screaming ‘mine, mine, mine’, but he is starting to think that he is the one who is going to be controlled by the fox and no the other way around. He is okay with that. As long as he is with him.

Stiles met Kira and opened the door of the principal’s office.

Theo: What’s your name?

Theo screamed so the other will listen. Their eyes met again.

Theo: I will find out anyway.

Stiles: Stiles. My name is Stiles.

Stiles entered the office and closed the door.

Stiles.

One way or another he will be mine. Theo is really excited about this new school year.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Seventeen

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

Roman walked outside, watching Damien and another man circle each other. Roman couldn’t see the man’s face, but he figured it was Virgil after their conversation this morning. Damien looked up and saw Roman, and Roman smiled. Damien paused and stared, and in a flash the other man had slammed Damien roughly into the ground. “You must focus, Your Highness, or else you’ll die in battle faster than you can say ‘oops,’” the man said.

“You’re right, Virgil,” Damien gasped, “But how can I stay focused when I see such a beautiful smile as the one I just saw?”

Roman laughed as he walked over, and Virgil’s eyes widened, before smirking. “Well, I think that concludes our lesson for this afternoon,” he snickered. “If you need me, Your Highness, I will be working with the guards. I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

Damien nodded and waved Virgil away as he stood, smiling softly at Roman. “How are you?” he asked softly. “Is your mother driving you up the wall?”

“Only a little,” Roman laughed. “It’s better knowing that you accept me, at least.”

Damien offered Roman a genuine grin, and Roman smiled back, a little shy but still happy. “I’m glad to hear that I can make everything a little more bearable,” Damien said.

“How are you?” Roman asked. “Patton said you weren’t leaving your room this morning.”

“Ah,” Damien said. “I spent most of the morning before I was rulely dragged out of my room by Logan considering what you said last night. And if you truly feel that your identity doesn’t suit you, I sincerely apologize for trying to force you into a mold the same as your mother was doing—”

“Damien, no!” Roman rushed to say. “No. Not only are you not my mother, I was lying last night. Just to placate my mother. I still think I’m a man. I know I’m a man. You were right. We’re still going to have to pretend you weren’t in front of my mother but—”

“—I can lie to your mother,” Damien finished for him. “My dear, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that. To be uncertain in your identity is not a pleasant feeling. I, for one, am relieved that you are still sure, even if it does cause you pain in the meantime.”

Roman was more than a little taken aback. “You were genuinely worried for me,” he said, sounding somewhat mystified.

“I...yes,” Damien said, brows furrowing. “Darling, I care greatly about you.”

“I mean...yeah, I know that,” Roman said, crossing his arms and cringing when he could feel his breasts. “That doesn’t mean that everyone who cares about me does what you do.”

“In my opinion, my dear, anyone who doesn’t care about your wellbeing or your identity simply does not care about you,” Damien said firmly. “Believe me when I say that you deserve better.”

Roman’s lips quirked upward. “Aw, you’re protective of me, how cute.”

“Shut up,” Damien said with a scowl, but with no heat behind his words. “Wanting you to be treated properly is something any decent human being would want from those around you.”

“Still, I don’t have a lot of decent human beings around me. Or I didn’t, until I moved here,” Roman said with a shrug. “Did your parents really have a talk with you last night?”

“I...yes, they did,” Damien said, glancing behind Roman. “Let’s move away from prying eyes and ears, however, before we get into that.”

Roman’s heart leapt into his throat but he nodded, and Damien led him further away from the castle, towards a small-sized garden at the edge of the top of the mountain that ran a considerable way down the steep hill, covered entirely in flowers. “I was never allowed to run around the garden when I was younger,” Damien said with a laugh. “With my track record for balance, my mother was worried I’d split my head open falling halfway down the hill. But it’s good for privacy nowadays.” Damien gestured to a bench by the edge of the flowers. “By all means, please, sit.”

Roman did so and Damien joined him. “My parents did have a talk with me,” he began. “It wasn’t as bad as what your mother was probably led to believe, however. They mostly spoke about endangering your safety, and that I needed to keep quiet about your being trans in order to maintain your status as a guest here. I argued a little, saying that if your mother could just understand where you were coming from, this whole ordeal might be a little more manageable. But my parents were adamant that the risk didn’t outweigh the reward.”

“Your mother might have reconsidered,” Roman said. “She tried to get my mother to listen to my side of the story today.”

“Did she?” Damien asked, perking up. “How did it go?”

Roman laughed awkwardly. “Believe me when I say you don’t want to know.”

Damien’s face fell, before his eyes moved from Roman’s eyes to a spot on his cheek. “You’re cut,” he said, reaching out a hand to gently run over Roman’s cheekbone. “How did that happen?”

“Ah...” Roman paused. He hadn’t even realized he might have gotten cut by his mother’s hand. “I imagine it was...uh...my mother’s ring.”

Damien’s face turned completely impassive in half a second. “She...slapped you?”

“Only once,” Roman said, cringing because he knew how pathetic that was. “But yes.”

“I’m going. To kill her. Consequences be damned, I will kill her!” Damien growled.

Roman grabbed Damien’s hands and pleaded, “Your Highness, I know this looks bad, and yeah, it is a little, but I can’t have you killing her yet. I need her in order to get out from under her and my father’s grasp. Please.”

“I never said it would be immediate,” Damien said, a feral fire alight in his eyes. “But I will kill them both. Ruthlessly. Efficiently. I would even go so far as to say I might enjoy it.”

Roman swallowed. “Damien, you’re scaring me.”

Damien closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “My apologies, my dear. That was not my intention. I merely want to make sure that you are safe. And your parents are not conducive to that.”

“I know,” Roman said, swallowing. “I wish it weren’t true, but unfortunately, I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. I’m in danger whenever I try to be myself around them.”

“Fortunately, you won’t be around them much longer,” Damien said. “But four days still feels like entirely too long a time.”

“I know,” Roman said. “It’s far too long to get to safety, and far too short to plan the wedding itself.”

“Indeed,” Damien hummed. “Now, I do believe we will probably need to return to the castle in the next few moments, unless we want a feral Logan chasing us around the grounds. He told me he was going to be monitoring our dance practice this afternoon.”

Roman sighed. “Yeah, I bet he will be. Will our mothers?”

“I don’t know,” Damien admitted. “That probably depends on whether or not your mother was incensed enough this morning to require a talk alone with my mother.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Roman admitted quietly. “And I hate to say that, but it’s true.”

Damien tutted and stood, and Roman stood with him. “Well, the one perk of her going toe-to-toe with my mother is that we won’t need to worry about her being in the room, so I don’t have to deadname you.”

“True,” Roman said with a tiny smile. “That is a plus.”

“So, aside from assaulting you, what did your mother do this morning?”

“She demanded I convince you I was wrong about being transgender,” Roman said. “And honestly, she might interrogate you to figure out whatever I said. And I have no idea how to plan for that.”

“I do,” Damien said. “I would simply tell her it was a personal, private matter that I’m not comfortable sharing with her without your explicit permission.”

“Ooh, that’s good,” Roman said. “It’s not demeaning anyone, it’s diplomatic, and it means I can give any details I want to at a later date without anyone calling bullshit.”

Damien looked rather pleased with himself. “I’m glad you think it’s effective,” he said. “It’s my go-to whenever I don’t have the time to corroborate lies with anyone else.”

Roman laughed. “My whole life at the moment is one huge lie. I don’t think we have time to corroborate that entire thing. Maybe just enough for vows, but everything would take quite a while.”

“Oh, God, the vows,” Damien laughed, opening the door to the side of the castle and letting Roman inside. “I really don’t want to think about the vows right now, my dear.”

“You have four days, you have to address it at some point,” Roman pointed out.

“True, but right now I’d rather address the fact that you consider your entire life a lie,” Damien said. “That, in my mind, is more concerning.”

Roman groaned. “Oh, do we have to do this?” he sighed. “I’m trans and in the closet. Of course my entire life will be a lie.”

“I...my dear, I know I am not trans myself, so I may be wrong, but I was under the impression that is not the case. You still enjoy art, and you have fun with me when we dance or get up to shenanigans. That is not a lie, is it?”

“Of course not!” Roman scoffed. “I do enjoy my time with you. And I like getting to create. But my name, my pronouns, a majority of my opinions? They’re all lies, just part of this performance I’ve concocted in order to feel a little better about myself and distance myself from the deadnaming and the misgendering. Really...I can only be so much of my authentic self even with you, because other people may overhear.”

“My dear...that is...” Damien struggled for words, if the furrowing of his brows was anything to go by as they walked through the halls. “That is incredibly depressing.”

Roman sighed. “I know. And this morning I did something incredibly stupid, and I tried to be myself around my mother. The actual confidence, the fed-up-ness about everything she’s been doing to me, and all. And it felt good to be myself, somewhat, but it was offset by the fact that I couldn’t very well be my full authentic self without being sent home. And the deadnaming didn’t help either.”

Damien hummed. “Roman, I have a question for you.”

“Yeah?” Roman asked, heart skipping a beat.

“Would you be your authentic self if your mother weren’t around? And by that I mean if she weren’t a threat? If she couldn’t take you away, would you feel free to be yourself? You wouldn’t lie about who you are?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess,” Roman said with a shrug. “It wouldn’t be easy, and there might be some false starts as I try and figure out who I really am, but I would want to be my authentic self if at all possible, you know?”

“Indeed,” Damien said. “And that’s what I thought in the first place. But I wanted to make sure that was actually the case before I started what I want to do to remedy this problem.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Roman said.

Damien glanced around the halls before murmuring, “I’m going to try and keep your mother away every spare moment we have so I can get to know the real you better.”

Roman laughed. “You severely doubt how pervasive my mother can be.”

Damien shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s simply that you doubt how much you can get away with if you know how to spin it right.”

“Well, you have the unfair advantage in that my mother can’t read your tells,” Roman said with an eye-roll. “She can tell I’m lying when it comes to everything except my happiness. And I think that’s more willful ignorance than anything else.”

Damien shook his head as the two of them walked into the ballroom. “My dear, I really hate your mother.”

“Everyone does,” Roman said with a bitter smile.

Damien looked around. “Did we beat Logan to the classroom for once?” he asked.

“No, you did not, Your Highness,” a voice said from behind them, and Roman turned to see Logan standing there with a small stereo. “I’ve been here, I was merely grabbing something to allow the both of you to hear the music.”

Damien tutted. “Shame. I was actually hoping that perhaps I had finally beaten you at your own game.”

Logan smirked. “Your Highness, you could never beat me.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Roman said with a grin.

“One which I would lose,” Damien sighed.

“Oh, who cares if you’d lose, half the fun is in trying, anyway,” Roman said. “Remus would absolutely love the chance to beat a professor at his own game.”

“Remus being...?” Logan asked.

“My brother,” Roman filled in. “You might get to talk to him during the wedding. I think the two of you would get on, in that sort of ‘instant rivals’ kind of way.”

“Oh, what a visual,” Damien laughed. “Logan? Rivals with anyone?”

“I do have some capacity for rivalry,” Logan said with a shrug. “While emotions are somewhat...annoying, I do appreciate a rivalry, as it pushes both parties to better themselves. It is only when that rivalry borders obsession that it becomes a problem.”

“True,” Roman said. “But I still think you two would get on.”

“Will he be at the wedding?” Logan asked.

Roman blinked. “Duh? He’s my brother!”

“Then you can find out at the wedding. For now, the two of you must practice dancing again,” Logan said.

“Oh, that’s no fun!” Roman complained, but he laughed as Damien pulled him close and started to dance all the same.

“So, what do you imagine Logan and Remus would do? Out of curiosity,” Damien asked.

“Well, I imagine the very first thing that would happen is a prolonged staring contest,” Roman said. “Remus scrutinizing Logan, while Logan just kinda...stands there and lets Remus look him over? One of them says something snarky, the other cracks a grin or rolls their eyes, and they start to talk. Probably. Seems in character for both of them, at the very least.”

“Based on what I’ve heard of Remus Ayer, I imagine he is quite the handful,” Damien said, mischief in his eyes.

“Wait. Remus Ayer?” Logan asked. “How did I not connect the dots? He asked for a tutor a year or so ago. I declined because I was moving here to work with Damien full-time, but he had a very promising application!”

“Oh, you could teach Remus a thing or two!” Roman said, eyes lighting up as he turned to look at Logan. “I’m sure he’d love to know any sort of gruesome fact about the human body. Sharing gritty knowledge is practically how he flirts.”

“Noted,” Logan said. “I will refrain from the macabre when he is around to prevent him thinking I am trying to woo him.”

Roman cackled and Damien was snickering. “I’d love to see the two of you go head-to-head,” Damien said. “If Remus is anything like Roman, that would be a sight to see.”

“It really would be,” Roman agreed, and they continued to dance, Damien twirling Roman for a brief second, causing Roman to squeak and laugh. “You are the worst!” he exclaimed, taking one of his hands to whack Damien in the chest.

“Oh, come on! You know you love me!” Damien said, a teasing smile at his lips.

“I will...I will kill you,” Roman said, his face deathly serious. “You, sir, do not get to say things like that when we’re about to be married!”

“When else am I supposed to say it?” Damien asked, biting back his grin.

“How about when we actually fall in love?” Roman shot back.

Damien paused in the dance and Roman’s face turned horrified as he realized what he said. “That seems a bit presumptuous, doesn’t it?” Damien asked, voice sounding somewhat strained.

Oh, god. Roman realized with a sinking feeling that Damien must not feel the same way. His voice said it all. He was uncomfortable with that implication. “Sorry,” Roman said. “That did not come out the way it was supposed to...”

“Clearly,” Damien said, looking like he had just swallowed a frog.

Tears were coming to Roman’s eyes as their hands dropped and Roman shrank in on himself. “I really didn’t mean for that to come out that way,” he choked out. “I...I meant like, if we were to ever fall in love. I didn’t mean it as a definite thing...”

“I would assume not,” Damien said. “One never wants to tell someone else where their attraction lies, especially without proof.”

Roman was scarlet and crying by this point, and Damien refused to look him in the eye. “I’m really, really sorry,” Roman whispered.

“I know,” Damien said. “And...my reaction was not exactly...stellar.”

“You’re well within your rights to be uncomfortable, I really didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”

“Uncomfortable?” Damien repeated dumbly. “My dear, I—”

Roman shook his head and Damien grew quiet. “No, it’s fine, Damien, you don’t have to try and make me feel better. That was uncalled for, and I know it. I won’t bring it up again, we can just forget about it.”

“If that’s what you wish,” Damien said, brows furrowed and a slight frown on his face.

“That would be preferable,” Roman agreed. “Let’s just dance, shall we?”

Damien nodded and they started dancing again. Roman stumbled several times, and he couldn’t shake Logan’s stare at the two of them for the rest of the circle around the ballroom. Roman’s face was on fire and a few tears were still falling intermittently. When they had stopped dancing, Damien used the pad of his thumb to swipe away Roman’s tears. “Roman, there’s no need for tears,” he said. “It was a simple slip of the tongue. I’m not offended.”

“I feel like an idiot,” Roman half-laughed, voice thick with his tears.

“You’re not,” Damien said. “You simply made a joke. That’s what it was supposed to be, yes? Just a little bit of banter?”

“Yeah,” Roman said, even as he felt a part of him die inside. He wanted it to be a love confession. He wanted Damien to like him back. But no. Damien clearly wasn’t interested in him like that.

And why would he be? Sure, Roman was a man, and Damien had said as much. But Roman’s body was undeniably “female.” What gay man would want him? His body would betray him for the rest of time. Even with hormones, even with surgery, there would be parts of him that simply weren’t...masculine. And he couldn’t understand how anyone could get past that.

And so his tears kept falling. Damien lightly hugged him and Roman hugged him back desperately, wishing for the contact to never end. Because then maybe he could fool himself into hoping. Hoping that Damien could one day see past his body. That Damien could love him. Or at least, tolerate him. But if Roman made jokes about them falling in love, how could Damien ever feel comfortable around him again, let alone fall in love with him?

They broke the hug as Logan cleared his throat. “You two need to practice your dancing more,” he said simply.

Roman sniffled and nodded. “All right,” he said, getting into position and letting Damien fall into line with him.

They resumed dancing, and Damien turned to Logan, asking, “Can you put the song on the stereo?”

Logan nodded and pressed a few buttons, and their first dance filled the space of the ballroom. Damien sang softly, but with just as much heart as he had the first time they danced. Roman laughed. Despite it all, Damien could charm him into forgetting about everything he had just done. Or, not forgetting...but not worrying. No matter what, love or not, Damien would be one of Roman’s friends. And if friends were the closest they ever got, well, Roman could live with that. He would settle for friends.

Tag List: @lunareclipse-13@sanders-sides-crofters@blushy-gigglee-mess@wannacrymetoo@kaytikitty@magicalspacepanunicorn@bootsinthesun@pricklyfish777@flowersanddinosaurs@leiasolo77@birdybabybird@enby-phoenix@luna–28@justagaygoose@the-prince-and-the-emo@fandomsandanythingelse@randommuffinyt@snekky-boi@thesoftestlittlepuffballwegot@twilight-trix@abby5577@escalatingtoofast@friendlyfacestabbing@remus-is-stinky@foggybanditdreampeanut@ghostskull300@sprinklestheditty@canvas-the-florist@askthesnake@samuel-the-gay@determination-saved@juicy-cashew@demidork84@why-should-i-tell-youu2@nerd-in-space@aphriteblack@loganpatton@lilbeanblr@kittyboof8@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch@sanders-trash-4ever@hamilspntrash@swords-and-kittens@phantomfander@narniasfinestavengingsociopath @rjmeta@ambersky0319@anni-cat-flower@idosanderssidespromptssometimes@nafsbluebery@redisawerewolf23@voidvirgil@msu82@angstyfanfiction

[keeroo92]

Hunger Ch6

Return

Warnings for blood and most definitely NSFW. Enjoy~

Word count - 3,354

_____________

 The last vestiges of daylight faded away; orange and pink dissipating into black as night fell. Songbirds flitted between trees with tiny buds, a hallmark of spring’s approach. The smell of wet dirt and freshly cut grass danced with the fruity sweetness of raspberries, and inside their homes the residents of the city performed their evening rituals.

 Some cleaned, many cooked. Others argued or reconciled, laughed or offered comfort. Children played and finished homework, and teenagers rebelled as they always had. A fair few fucked, but that’s not the point.

 The point was that not a soul would have imagined the two ageless figures stalking the night, searching for their latest prey.

 Their light feet made not a sound on the tiled roofs they traversed, jumping from one home to the next like well-practiced acrobats. They were shadows, flickering and dancing to a song only they heard. Despite the speed with which they moved, neither of them showed any sign of exhaustion. No heavy breathing broke the twilight stillness; no sweat stained their brows, and no doubt tainted their hearts.

 “What’s on the menu tonight?” asked the first figure. The second licked her lips, surveying the area.

 Months had passed since your rebirth, but the changes still amazed you. The power held in your fingertips and the strength coiling your muscles, the heightened senses and constant hunger were all reminders of your fresh life, and the debt you owed your Master.

 But tonight was not the night to repay it.

 “Him,” you murmured, tilting your head towards a youthful man taking out the garbage. Average height and build, but with eyes as blue as tropical seas and a pleasing face. He’d suit your needs well enough.

 V smirked and made a sound of agreement. “Very well, my pet. How do you plan on luring him?”

 You narrowed your gaze and watched the youthful man, noting which apartment he entered and planning the best route. It didn’t matter too much if someone saw you and your Master on the way in, but coming out was a different story. No doubt you’d both have blood staining your clothes and skin.

 Your attentive ears caught the rattle of chains as he latched the door with a measly mechanism. A feral grin split your lips as you turned to V, licking your fangs. “I have an idea.”

 ~~~~

 It took less than an hour for the curtain of black to envelop the world in a cocoon of night. Birdsong morphed into insect chirps, stars blinking feebly through the city lights as if desperate to remind those below they existed. Shadows lengthened as periodic street lights illuminated the cracked sidewalk, granting the perfect path to your target’s front door.

 The now-familiar giddiness of the hunt brought a wide grin to your face as you approached. Memories of your human life only served as a contrast to your newfound strength, and you revelled in the sparks of excitement ricocheting across your skin.

 Anticipation was a heady drug.

 You knocked on the door, licking your lips as heavy footsteps drew closer on the other side. The same face from before greeted you and your companion from the cracked opening, the flimsy chain still in place as if it offered any true protection.

 “Uh, hi. What can I do for you?” the fool asked.      Oh, so very much.  

 Seconds passed as you honed in on his heartbeat and pinpointed his hands, reaching through the thin gap to take hold and drag his flesh home to your fangs. The venom tasted of herbs as you pushed it into his skin, forcing him under your spell. The flavor of ambrosiac blood sent atomic energy flaring through your core and almost stole your senses, but a subdued cough from V helped anchor you against its pull. With crimson staining your lips, you drew back to speak.

 “What terrible manners. It’s impolite to leave guests on the doorstep.”

 A faint blush stained the man’s cheeks, his eyes already foggy and dilated with the effects of your influence.

 “R- right. Won’t you come in?”

 Poor little sheep, inviting the wolves to dinner.

 His apartment was nicer than you’d expected, a sturdy oak dining table littered with papers and granite countertops the centerpiece of the compact room. Scattered potted plants and stylish art decorated the area and soft music played from nearby. It would do.

 “What’s your name?” you asked your feast.

 He smiled and stared at you like you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Awe and desire echoed in his voice.

 “I’m Aaron.”

 Calloused fingertips grazed your shoulders, the venom granting your dinner far more courage than he deserved. Already, a thick bulge tented his clothing. You pushed him back with one hand, tossing a languid smile at V. After so many exhilarating hunts together, you didn’t even need to speak for him to know your intentions.

 The elder vampire stepped away, taking an ornate dining chair as his perch. Within moments, your clawed fingers held scraps of cloth; all that remained of Aaron’s attire. His length stood at attention, tip weeping and an angry shade of red. With a single motion, you forced him to lie on his table, brushing aside the mess of papers and books that blocked your way. You stared deep into his blue eyes as you peeled away your own clothing, putting on a show for your Master.

 The vampire’s gaze glittered with hunger, emerald and jade devouring each inch of newly revealed flesh.

 “Won’t you help me entertain my companion?”

 Aaron nodded, warm palms trailing flames across your bare rib cage. A knot of coiled need begged for release at your core, insistent and needy. It ignited into a firestorm as you climbed onto the table and sank down on the stranger’s length, groaning as he stretched your slick cavern open.

 Sex was the best part of being vampire; nothing compared with the way each ridge and vein felt inside you, more detailed and intense than anything you experienced as a human. Arching your spine, you rose and impaled yourself once more with a soft whimper. Fluid spilled from your core, hot and wet and coating your inner thighs in seconds.

 “M- master… are you jealous?”

 You rocked your hips, rising and falling and grinding with wild abandon. From where he sat, you know your vampire could see everything, every drop of creamy essence and quiver of flesh.

 “Not at all, my dear. One could say I’m enjoying the view. Though, he ought to fuck you harder. You only cum if you’re bleeding.”

 Catching on to the spirit of his words, you frowned down at your meal. “Don’t you want to feel me cum, Aaron?”

 A single flex of your inner muscles sent his eyes rolling, fingers gripping your body like a lifeline as he writhed beneath you. Spurts of his seed leaked from where your bodies were joined, his length twitching against your velveteen walls.

 “What a pitiful display,” V murmured, rising to cast an imperious eye at the young man still panting through his release. “You’ve no clue how to please her, do you? What a simpleton, too weak to even fuck a woman properly.”

 The vampire grasped Aaron’s hands and forced his nails deep into your skin, drawing forth rivulets of scarlet to drip down your spine and gather in the hollow of your hips. The trails of fresh blood were ice on your flushed body, the coppery tang a delicious aroma adding to your pleasure. You whimpered and ground against the cock buried inside you, coaxing it back to firmness.

 “It’s not as fun if I’m the only one bleeding,” you pouted. A heartbeat later and your fangs were piercing Aaron’s chest, his fiery blood spewing into your waiting mouth. Your fingers scrabbled at his ribs, leaving grooves behind to spill yet more nectar. You moaned and lifted your hips, slamming down again as you dosed him with more venom.

 “You look so perfect like this, feral and needy and covered in blood…”

 A slim finger swiped across your spine and towards your back entrance, gathering your own blood to use as it probed inside. V smirked as you gasped, curling his digit and pumping deep into your ass. His thumb circled the sensitive ring of muscles, easing them into relaxation so he could add a second finger. His other hand tangled in your hair and brought your lips to your dinner’s flesh, coaxing you to sample him again and again as V stretched you open.

 Aaron’s rough hands kneaded your chest, his hips arcing off the table to slam into yours. Curses and moans spilled from his lips and his blood coated his rib cage like paint on a canvas, splattering across the table with each impact. You added bite after bite to his abused body, each mark fanning the inferno of your need.

 You were so close, your peak taunting at the edge of your consciousness. Rocking into V’s hand and against Aaron’s cock, you whined and pouted as the former pulled away. You felt so empty once his fingers withdrew.

 “Don’t worry, my dear. We’re only getting started,” the vampire said, circling the table.

 He scraped his nails across your shoulders, pride glimmering in his eyes as he dropped his pants and passed by your field of view. Warmth bloomed in your heart at his glance; you’d do anything to make him proud of you.

 “Pay attention, Aaron. This is how she likes it,” he said as he reached your feet.

 Lithe fingers took a bruising hold of your thighs and tugged you closer to the edge of the table, Aaron sliding along with you. There was no warning as V plunged his cock deep into your ass, his hands holding you wide open for his ease.

 For a single heartbeat, you couldn't breathe. It was so tight, so filthy and delicious and there was nothing better than welcoming your Master inside you, no matter which hole he claimed. A moment more, and the pain eased into bliss as his head thrust against Aaron’s, nothing but a thin wall of your most sensitive tissue separating their scorching heat. What joy, to be so utterly filled…

 V set a blistering pace, his nails digging into your body as he slammed himself home over and over. His soft grunts and periodic moans mixed with your own and the fading cries of your meal, the slapping of flesh the perfect offset. Trickles of creamy delight drenched your thighs.

 “Feed, my pet. Let me watch you have your dinner,” he purred, teasing at your clit. You didn’t need any further encouragement and sank your fangs deep into Aaron’s throat, tasting cartilage and gristle as you searched for a vein. His scent flooded your nostrils, soft gasps the best he could manage as you stole his blood.

 “Yes, that’s it… every last drop.”

 Sparks burst into life as V rubbed circles around your swollen nub, his length still pounding into your ass as Aaron ravaged your cunt. A surge of scarlet saturated your mouth as Aaron crested, his heartbeat racing as he filled you with his hot seed. His pulsing cock hit every nerve, the ridges of his head caressing your walls with each wave of his pleasure.

 V hummed, a wicked chuckle splitting his lips as he watched you overflow with cum. His hand quickened, catapulting you over the edge with a wail of ecstasy. White light flooded your vision, wave after wave of bliss radiating from your core to the tips of your toes as you came apart. Guttural moans fell from your reddened lips, your entire body at the mercy of your Master, just as it should be.

 “I do so enjoy watching you drip with cum,” he commented. “You look so beautiful unraveling at my touch.”

 Indeed, his touch was fire and brimstone as he forced your orgasm to last an eternity, using tricks only he knew to keep you at the heights of ecstasy. Surrender came easily to you by now, your mind blank save the feel of his flesh on yours and the taste of blood on your lips. The thrill of losing control barreled past your sense of self, overwhelming in its raw power.

 “My dear, how far can we stretch you, I wonder?” the elder vampire hummed.

 You whimpered as he pulled away, your ass and thighs quivering after his sudden retreat, but he gave you no time to complain as he sheathed himself in your cunt, his cock rubbing against Aaron’s inside you. Inhuman sounds spilled from your throat as the two men moved as one to share your cavern.

 Your fingers dug into flesh and left gaping wounds behind. What little blood still remained inside your meal spilled forth across his chest, where you slurped and suckled every drop. The flood slowed with each moment, his life coming to an end. You sensed his impending demise and stared deep into his blue eyes, shuddering as the light left them and his face went slack.

 “What a sad excuse for a man,” V growled behind you. “If not for me, you’d never know how lacking such creatures are.”

 As if to emphasize his point, he slammed into you hard enough to shatter bone. The table screeched as the momentum forced it to dent the wall, cracking plaster and sinking into a support beam. You laughed and dug your nails into the exposed wood to pull away. Pretending to resist always spurred your Master to new heights.

 “Oh, pet… do I need to remind you of your place yet again?”

 “Maybe I should show you your place instead,” you replied.

 He chuckled and tore your body from the beam, flipping you face up and pressing your chest to his, slender fingers taking a brutal hold of your ass. You wrapped your blood-soaked arms around his neck and curled your legs over his snapping hips, your head falling back with a deep groan.

 “This is your place, little one. Just admit it, you know the truth.”

 Another snap, another groan. He hadn’t been this merciless in far too long, how you’d missed it. A dark hiss and the shifting shoulder muscles under your hands were the only warning as he bared his fangs and dug them into your breast, right over the mark left from his turning. You felt your blood surging to his lips, knew it was leaving your body to enter his, and came apart yet again.

 You screamed your obedience to his will, crying his name as galaxies whipped past your eyes. His cock flexed deep inside you as you clenched around him, a dark moan vibrating across your ribcage as he spewed his seed across your walls. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you, punctuated by the grunts of your Master.

 After an eternity of bliss, the ebbing ripples of pleasure faded away to leave euphoria behind. Your crimson lips stretched into a wide grin, laughter bubbling from your throat. V pulled back to catch your gaze, a quizzical eyebrow raised.

 “What’s so funny?”

 “This table… I’m amazed it’s not broken!”

 He smirked and lowered your legs to rest on the floor. “Indeed. If only we could take it with us.”

 Another peal of laughter forced its way past your mouth as you scanned the room for your clothing. V helped you dress, his tongue cleaning the last few streaks of blood from your flesh as he went. It seemed there might be a second round of fun once the two of you got home…

 ---V---

 You followed behind him, fangs working at the dried blood under your fingernails as the door clicked shut behind you. The elder vampire hummed happily, a pleasant warmth in his belly and a tingle of echoing pleasure still teasing at his fingertips. In the pitch black night, a soft smile graced his face.

 “Race you home!” you taunted a beat later, taking off in a dead sprint.

 He followed with a laugh, easily catching up. You had much to learn about your new abilities before you could hope to best him and his centuries of experience.  He moved so fast his figure blurred, streaking across the quiet suburban landscape with all his vampiric strength. Though the evening had been calm, wind rushed by his ears and through his midnight locks.

 Seconds away from the decadent home he shared with you, a scent he hadn’t tasted in many years stopped him in his tracks.

Impossible.  

 But there was no mistaking the aroma of the vampire who turned him.

 V’s fangs clicked down as he bared his teeth, holding out an arm to keep you from running past. This was not a foe to face unprepared.

 “Hey, what the- what’s that smell?”

 Emerald eyes panned the block, searching. He thought he’d made it clear the last time he spoke to his creator that he never wanted to see his face again, but apparently the bastard needed a reminder. That was fine, V didn’t mind tearing him apart. Not one bit.

 “That, my dear, is the scent of another like us. Learn it well,” he replied tersely.

 Your eyes widened and an excited grin twisted your lips. Putting off this conversation may have been foolish after all. But he had no choice; he’d be      damned if he let Vergil do as he wished.

 “Another vampire?! Awesome! Do you know them?”

 He growled and turned to face you. “This is not a social affair - this man is dangerous and you must not lower your guard for an instant. Never trust another vampire.”

 The click of Italian leather shoes on pavement signaled Vergil’s approach a fraction of a second before his blurred form solidified. Unsurprisingly, the man looked exactly the same as V remembered him. White, slicked back hair, piercing blue eyes and an aura of disapproval. The passing centuries had done nothing to soften his cruelty.

 “Such harsh words. I thought we parted quite amicably,” commented his creator.

 V stepped in front of you and snarled. “Your memory does you a disservice, then.”

 But Vergil’s attention had shifted, his analytical gaze locked on where you stood behind him. V cursed internally; he shouldn’t have been so obvious about his urge to protect you. Now Vergil knew you mattered to him, though he had yet to know why.

 “And who is this? Have you gone and added to the family?”

 You stepped forward with a smile that put your fangs on full display. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

 “Charmed, I’m sure,” said Vergil. “A recent turning, I see. Welcome. How are you adjusting?”

 At the very least, you knew better than to reveal the exact nature of your relationship with V. A more foolish creature may have tried to show off, but not you. One of the numerous reasons he didn’t regret his decision.

 “I’m getting used to it. Sorry, but I didn’t catch your name,” you replied without once looking at V. He’d have to reward you later.

 “I am Vergil. I must apologize my dear, but I need to speak with V privately.”

If he means to destroy me, he won’t find it an easy task.  

 “But-” you started.

 Vergil’s eyes flashed, his brow tightening. If V didn’t get you to leave, then his creator may decide you needed to be taught a lesson. The man had no patience for impertinent behavior, especially not in his bloodline. Forgiveness would not be forthcoming if you offended him.

 V turned back to you and glared. “Go. I’ll be along.”

 If not, I hope she has the sense to flee.  

 You bit your lip but nodded, darting away into the black curtain of night. Vergil huffed but did not comment. Small mercies.

 V stared after you a heartbeat more before turning to face his creator, pushing you from his mind to focus on the coming battle. If he survived, there would be consequences. If he died, you would be alone. No good options, but obviously he had a preference.

 “Shall we?” he asked.

[yezielmoore]

Prompt #23: Shuffle

Vesper Bay is a hive of activity, as per usual, one X’lial ignores.

She reaches the Walking Sands’ entrance and let’s herself in, resisting the urge to knock like some stranger, and waves half-heartedly to the lalafel receptionist, who returns the salute with at least ten times more enthusiasm. Right. As she reaches the branch in the hallways, her ears flicker in the direction of the Common Room slash Cafeteria, easily picking up the roar of many conversations going on at once, the sound barely dulled by the barrier of wood.

Thankfully the corridors aren’t overtly crowded or her fur would be standing on end even more than it already is. X’lial is self-aware enough to know that she’s gone more than a little feral in the two, almost three, years she roamed the countryside and little backwater towns of the mainland, from the Black Shroud to Thanalan. Finally venturing into Ul’dah had been excruciating. At least in Vesper Bay there’re many nooks and crannies one can use to hide in.

X’lial nods in the general direction of the guard stationed outside the Solar, receiving a nod and a smile in return, so either he recognizes her or Minfilia let him know she is expected. Probably the latter, to be honest.

She shuffles nervously in front of the door and compulsively checks and rechecks that her gloves have no holes in them (they don’t). She steels herself, takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and, finally, she pushes the door open.

The silence inside the Solar is most welcome and X’lial finds herself relaxing almost against her will. Her ears flicker back and forth, but she hears nothing save for her own steps and the sound of Minfilia’s writing and breathing. Tension she wasn’t aware she had accumulated bleeds off her frame and her tail resumes a lazier swaying.

Having heard the door, Minfilia puts the pen down and goes around the desk, where she waits, hands clasped in front of herself.

“X’lial! Full glad I am to see you!” Her smile is warm and so genuinely happy to see her that X’lial has to resist the urge to look behind herself for the true recipient of such sentiments.

She nods instead. “Antecedent.”

“It’s Minfilia,” she corrects, not for the first time and probably not for the last.

She’s a weird one, Minfilia, and the same can be said of their relationship, in X’lial’s humble and inexperienced opinion. Hard to be anything but weird when that inconvenient Echo thing decided it’d be nice and dandy to throw them into each other’s head at first contact. X’lial knows a great deal about Minfilia now, more than anyone barring her closest friends and dead mentor. The opposite is also true and even know, months later, X’lial is still grasping with her feelings over the violation of having her life on display, if only to one person.

Minfilia had been greatly understanding when X’lial bolted out of the door before the meeting concluded and didn’t reappear for a week, and when she made only sporadic reports to her elbow for the remainder of that first month. But there’s only so much awkwardness X’lial could tolerate, so it was almost inevitable she ended gravitating towards this woman she knows so much about and yet doesn’t know at all.

They are friends, she thinks as she follows her leader to one of the benches positioned against the stone walls, where they sit side by side. It’s hard to judge such things on nonexistent experience.

In some weird stroke of fate, all the girls in her tribe had either been much older or much younger, the only one her age had been her twin brother. He had been… is her best friend. Her only friend. And after Dalamud… well, it’s quite hard to make friends when half your words die in your mouth and the rest turn incomprehensible if you speak them out loud, made harder by never staying in one place for long.

It’s nice, if strange, to add another name to the list.

Minfilia fidgets with her hands for a moment, expression pensive, before apparently reaching some conclusion.

“I didn’t call you here to discuss business…” she pauses for a second, reconsiders. “Not Scion business at any rate.”

The silence stretches again and X’lial can practically see the frustration grow ever higher in the sky-blue eyes of her friend. Tentatively, she rests a hand on Minfilia’s closed fists, pats her once and tries to smile reassuringly. She isn’t sure how well it comes out, but at least some tension bleeds off Minfilia’s shoulders and the smile returns to her fair features.

“It’s… a delicate topic and I– I don’t know how to say it.” She exhales. “I’m afraid you’ll be mad at me.”

There’s only two topics that X’lial considers off limits and Minfilia had assured her, as soon as she came back from her Echo related freak out, that she has all the freedom she wants to keep up with her search for X’liam. That leaves off her other… difficulties.

She can’t help the way her hackles rise up and her ears fall flat against her skull. This is most definitely not a topic she’s fond of. Minfilia obviously sees this if her wry smile is any indication.

“I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but I like to think we’re friends… and I have a suggestion that may help, if… if help is something you wish for.”

X’lial gives the other woman an unamused look. “Fix.”

“No! It’s not a fix! You’re not a broken vase we can glue together again and call it good, I know that. But–” Minfilia looks away, unshed tears shine in her eyes. “I know how hard it can get,” she says, referencing that blasted echo vision. “Obviously nothing like what it really is like, but I think I got the gist of it and…” Minfilia locks eyes with her, determination and compassion burning in their depths. “I don’t want to fix you, because there’s nothing to fix, but I’d like to help, to make it easier to live with. If that’s something you want.”

X’lial holds her gaze for a moment before looking away. It’s not that she hadn’t thought about it, how could she not? When she spent almost an entire year bedridden, waiting for broken and shattered bones to mend, for wounds to close, burns to heal and nerves to stop firing up in pain with every breath every single second of the day. And then she waited longer, relearning how to use a body that was alike that of a newborn in strength as well as familiarity. In the end, with time and patience, her body got better and stronger, leaving behind the scars as testament to what had happened.

But not everything healed. Her speech didn’t return. Not whole. She’s lucky to have improved this much, that she knows from the accounts of those that took care of her catatonic self those first months. She had been like a broken Orchestrion Scroll, repeating back words listlessly, forgetting things as soon as they disappeared from sight, getting lost inside the wreck of her head for days on end. Or so she was told.

X’lial doesn’t really remember those days beyond a distant fog of exhaustion with the occasional flash of frustration and deep-seated terror she can only assume were moments when she was lucid but trapped in the cage her body had become.

She prefers to not dwell on that time.  

And she wants. Of course she wants to recover her voice but. There’s always a ‘but’.

The encampment that hosted her while she recovered didn’t have the means to keep her longer than they did, or the expertise to help her. She didn’t have anything, not money nor resources to pay for a direct trip to the Conjurer’s Guild, much less pay them for any kind of treatment, if such a thing existed. All she had were borrowed clothes, a pair of worn cesti and an abyss in place of her heart that she had filled with rage, hatred and unending determination to find her missing family.

With an objective in mind, she had buried that kernel of hope and left, just another ‘adventurer’ on the road to fame or whatever.

But hope was a weed more persistent than any other it seems.

“Possible?” X’lial asks, quietly, still not looking at Minfilia.

“I won’t lie, I don’t know if it’s possible, but the Conjurer’s Guild specialize in the healing arts, if anyone knows of a treatment, or a kind of therapy for the mind, it’d be them.”

X’lial nods absently and looks at Minfilia in the eye. “Money?” Because nobody did anything for free, that’s just the way the world worked. Money, goods or ability, you always had to pay with something for services rendered. She doesn’t think of those do-gooders that scrapped a ruin of a miqo’te from the aftermath of Dalamud for no other reason than they could, doesn’t think of how they helped, how they provided all she needed and more. Doesn’t think of kindness and support. Doesn’t think how she left without even a goodbye.

“X’lial,” Minfilia calls and her attention returns to the present, “you’re one of us now. I know it hasn’t been that long, so it may sound unbelievable, but you are part of the Scions and we take care of our own,” she says with conviction burning in her eyes. “What we lack in gold we have in connections. It’s no trouble to make contact with the Conjurer’s Guild, to investigate this matter and move forwards if that’s your desire.”

For the first time Minfilia breaks character and impulsively grabs one of X’lial’s hands, which makes the miqo’te stiffen, tail lashing about in the air with agitation. Noticing this, Minfilia lets go but doesn’t retreat.

“It’s not a requirement nor an order. You may seek their aid or not, but you can and I need you to know that,” she says, full of quiet stubbornness, before quietly adding, “just… keep it mind, yes?”

Almost mechanically, X’lial nods. Mind whirling with thoughts and chest tight with too many feelings. “T-t-thank…” she presses her lips together, cutting off any other words that may want to escape.

Minfili smile is like the first rays of dawn, gentle and bright.

[dimancheetoile]

summer is sweet (but blood is sweeter)

part 3 of the “The Haruno Clan is a samurai clan” AU

part 1 - part 2

ShikaSaku - rated T

read it on AO3

“So you won't take the citizenship?”

Sakura snorts. She takes her eyes off the blade she's sharpening and eyes the bandages around Shikamaru's hand. He looks away, so she goes back to her blade.

“I'm not sure what you'll be able to do in the village,” he says, something slightly haughty in his voice.

She gives him the side-eye. “Are you really so privileged? I know you're from a clan, but is it such a rich one that you can afford your obliviousness?”

“You don't need to speak to me like that.”

She laughs, sharp and quick like the katana she's sheathing back. “There is always need of a blade for hire in a hidden village, shinobi-kun. If only because you're all so expensive most of the citizens can't afford you. And trust me, that's enough for bloody business to develop in the underground. If you're too blind to see that, maybe you all need a crash course in politics.” She ties the katana to her hip. “I can't believe I'm more knowledgable on the issue than you are.”

Shikamaru crosses his arms. “That might be true in Kiri, or Suna, but I really don't think we have that going on in Konoha.”

Her wide eyes are mocking him. She doesn't answer, but her snort of laughter is enough. “We'll see how long it takes me to find a job, Shikamaru. In the meantime, go back to your diplomacy and flashy fights. It looks to me like you ninja don't know how to do anything else.”

She leaves him behind without another word. The more time she spends in Konoha, the more disappointed she is in everything and everyone. Especially Shikamaru. Bastard. I thought I could trust you. She should have known better than to place her hopes in a man willing to lie with a woman like her. That might just have been his plan all along, after all. Didn't he get his intel, without having to infiltrate anything more than her cousin's ass? And he got a free lay with Sakura. How foolish of her.

The inn she's staying at was picked by the Hokage, so it's full to the brim with shinobi who don't have a qualm talking about village business where she can hear it. All the more for her if she decides to leave. That kind of intel might just save her life once she's out.

They look at her funny when she gets inside, probably because the first thing she did after the Hokage paid her for her secrets was to buy a battle kimono.

In pure spite, she had chosen a bright orange one, with a muddy yellow haori. The armour she wears to protect her chest is dark red and it clashes horribly with both her hair and the colour of the kimono. She hates it. It's awesome. She's everything but discreet and it offers her the perfect kind of attention.

No one takes a fighter seriously dressed in those colours. All the better that she carries the protection seal of the Hokage, because in that case, it means she can afford to dress like that precisely because she's dangerous as fuck.

She likes the looks the shinobi send her. The youngest ones are chuckling, trying not to show too much how ridiculous they think she looks. The oldest, the toughest ones? They eye her like she's rogue Mist, and she revels in it. She gets a seat at the back of the room, beneath a window facing the busy street. It's early evening and families are still outside.

A waitress with a missing eye and a deep burn scar on the neck comes to take her order. A wave of nostalgia washes over her body, the feeling of uncertainty in her recent decisions making her sick. So she asks for a bottle of plum liquor from Iron, the alcohol she's enjoyed the most since her father made her drink herself sick when she was ten.

It doesn't surprise her when, a second after the waitress disappear, three shinobi sit in front of her. She eyes them warily. The first one is dressed all in green, and his dark hair reminds her of the nobles at the daimyō's court . She tenses at the danger he inspires in her. He might look goofy, but his aura is way too strong, and his broad shoulders speak of incredible strength.

The second man has red tattoos on his cheeks, and she's sure she's seen them somewhere before. His grin is feral, so she looks away quickly to find the only woman, just as broad-shouldered as the first man, her tan skin healthy in the setting sun.

“What can I do for you, shinobi?”

The tattooed man smirks. “We thought we'd get to know each other, rōnin-sama. Hinata had a lot to say about you.”

Why does she know that name? Oh, Kami. He's on first name basis with the Hokage. Just great. At least he wasn't being sarcastic when he used the honorific. And that's when she recognises the marks.

“You're an Inuzuka!”

“Yes, I am,” he grins, proud and loud like only clan children can be.

Sakura stares, like he's a piece of jewellery on display. What an odd sight, that confidence, that trust in the safety of his home. Then again, he knows the Hokage well enough to call her by her first name. No wonder he can smile like that.

“I've worked with yours before,” she says, careful not to say too much. She's unsure of how well-spread the news of her treason are. “You respect our work. I appreciate that.”

His nod is sincere. “Samurai are great trackers, even better hunters. We complement each others. The Inuzuka have a great deal of respect for your art, swordsman.”

She hums pensively, almost liking that young man who trusts too much and thinks swordsmanship is an art. “So what's your deal? Why come talk to me?”

“'cause you brought Shika back,” the woman says finally.

“And thanks to you, we can now take down the Haruno spies in our precious village, my lady rōnin,” the dark-haired man adds. And that answers what they know about her situation. She has to take a minute to swallow the fact that secrets are so easily shared in a supposedly hidden village.

“I'm Inuzuka Kiba. This is Rock Lee and Hyūga Tenten.”

Sakura does a double-take. That woman looks nothing like a Hyūga. She must have married inside the clan, which makes it all the more obvious that those people have a high position in Konoha politics.

“If it's alright with you, we'd like to introduce you to the rest of our friends,” Tenten says. “They're very excited to meet you.”

Sakura doesn't even try to hide the disbelief on her face. “Sure, I guess.”

“Right, follow us, then!”

Because, apparently, the rest of their friends is sitting a few metres away and has been listening to their entire exchange. Konoha fuckers. There's a lot of them, but they already made room for her and the three who came to get her, so she can't use that as an excuse to get the fuck out of that bar.

She's about to sit when a familiar ponytail catches her attention. She has to blink a few times, because that can't be happening, that's not possible, she was—

“I thought you were dead,” Sakura whispers, her voice cracking as she stares.

The chatter at the table quiets down, everyone having caught on what she just said. Something is stuck in her throat. She wants to cry.

“I thought you were dead,” she repeats, a sob echoing in the last word. “They told me you were executed. They told me it was my fault!”

She can't stop the tears from coming. For years, she had burnt incense at the little shrine she built in secret, deep in the Haruno Estate. She had prayed every day for forgiveness, for the rest of the spirit of her oldest, dearest friend. The only person she was every allowed to talk to. Until they tried to escape together, servant and master, hand in hand.

“They brought me back your hair and told me I would never be allowed to speak to another child until I completed my training,” she says, bitterness coating her tongue. “I was whipped once for every day we spent together,” she adds, her voice low, and that gets a gasp from the ghost in front of her. “We knew each other for five hundred and ninety-eight days.”

“Ojō-sama...”

“DON'T CALL ME THAT!”

A low whine escapes from her throat, her sobs unstoppable.

“Was Shira even your real name?” Her laugh is hysterical. “Of course not. After all, you were just a Leaf spy sent to steal our secrets.” She looks at all the blank faces around the table, some shocked, most of them grim. “Here I thought hidden villages were soft. But sending a ten-year-old to spy on an even younger child? That takes some guts. I'm impressed,” she spits.

“Sakura? Ino? Is everything okay?”

She turns around, finding Shikamaru looking at them with worry. She shakes her head, nausea making her take a stabilizing step back.

“Enjoy your evening, Ino-chan.”

She leaves the tavern without looking back.

[hellyeahrpmemes]

※ JENNA MARBLES SENTENCE STARTERS, PT. IX ※

here’s sentences from 10 more of jenna’s videos! feel free to change names/pronouns/zodiac signs/etc.! more jenna sentences

PANCAKE ART CHALLENGE

“I’m not very good at drawing things.”

“Yours won. Yours so won.”

“It looks like a feral cat.”

“You’re just pretending to be a chef.”

“I made your forehead in pancake form.”

“Don’t look at mine - don’t look at mine…!”

“She looks like a ghost of herself.”

“It looks like a tombstone walking a dog.”

“It looks like a can of silly string gone wrong.”

“That’s a bunny. You draw it every single time we’re at dinner and you find a crayon or a pen. That’s the one thing you know how to draw really, really well.”

“So it’s a flamethrower?”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“I’m gonna put this on your bed tonight. On your pillow.”

“It’s an Ankylosaurus, duh.”

“Can you autograph my pancake?”

“I wonder if it tastes good.”

“It looks like a weird calculator.”

“If he can do it, we can do it, too.”

“In the end, we both lost.”

“It was a lot harder than it looks.”

CHILDHOOD STORIES

“There are some moths in my house, and I don’t really want to kill them, but they are driving me crazy. I swear to god, if they start chewing my clothes, it’s gonna be game over. I’m gonna burn this house down.”

“I have lost my mind a little bit.”

“Worship me, Pinterest.”

“I feel like I am now the queen of DIY.”

“We would just sit there, and maybe look out the window, and maybe talk to each other.”

“You really needed a friend, but I really liked to play with it alone.”

“What did you do? That looks so cool!”

“I forgot I had a rope, and I forgot this thing called friction happens, and I sawed it in half.”

“I didn’t say anything to my dad, because I knew that that would be certain death.”

“I am a really bad liar and I have a terrible poker face.”

“My brother wasn’t going to tattle on me, because he is not a snitch, and I appreciate that.”

“It was like top ten most angry moments I’ve ever seen my dad.”

“Shut up, my gerbil is not fat.”

“Dude, your gerbil is so fat.”

“It was the most disgusting thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

“Sometimes, if your mom can’t take care of you, she’s just going to eat you.”

“I took a pair of scissors, and I decided to give my cat a haircut.”

“Damn it, now the cat’s gonna get his head stuck in everything.”

“I’m fired, I quit, I’m fired.”

MY DOG CHASING A DRONE

“I got Julien a drone for his birthday.”

“He really just loves to chase it.”

“Why fight it when you can just work with it?”

“It really is completely hysterical.”

“This is what I want to watch on the Internet.”

“We love each other forever.”

“I would never do anything to put him in any sort of danger.”

“We work together to make fun things happen.”

“It’s just really cool and really amazing and I just wanted to share it with you.”

“You don’t even care, do you?”

UNPOPULAR OPINIONS

“Do you need a snack or anything? You good?”

“I think avocados are propaganda in Southern California.”

“You hate something as meaningless as an avocado, Jenna? Really?”

“If I was a ghost, I wouldn’t just help people when they needed me, I’d be there all the time.”

“What’re you doing? Cutting your nails? I’m gonna stand here and watch.”

“Are you ever truly alone? I say no.”

“Why am I turning? I hate this chair…!”

“I don’t think ghosts and/or spirits just limit their visitation hours to when you need them. I think they’re there all the time. Creeping on you.”

“I think parasailing is boring as fuck.”

“That looks intense, count me out.”

“It’s very boring. It’s not worth it.”

“Why are you so famous? It really bothers me to the core of my being.”

“I think almond butter tastes like blood. I think it’s gross, and it tastes like blood.”

“I think tonic water tastes like earwax.”

“I think that making a salad is way too much work for the end result.”

“I’m not really talented at hard manual labor, which I’m sure my grandparents would find as a character flaw.”

“I think Jenna is the best name ever. Sorry, all other names.”

“I would buy her a drink like the gentleman I am.”

“I have a landlord that says no, but I say otherwise.”

“Go check out the otters. You won’t be disappointed.”

“They’re literally just there to have a great time.”

“I mean, it’s cool to see you, man, but you seem sad.”

“I think curtains are way too expensive for what they are, and a waste of money.”

“I’d see that, like, four times in the theater.”

“I’m legitimately terrified of prescription drugs.”

“I don’t really care what anybody says. I mean, I do a little bit.”

“Think for yourself, use your own brain, it’s a fun thing to do.”

REVIEWING BAD APPS

“Guess what? This is life.”

“I think it’s funnier now that the song is two years old.”

“If I paid money for it, I’m angry about it.”

“This is the weirdest fucking app.”

“I think it’s genius. I think it’s great.”

“Does this not know that google exists?”

“Did that horse fall?”

“Is this porn? Is this porn? This feels porny.”

“This one makes me feel like I’m really there.”

“That’s pretty annoying.”

“It’s not the worst, but it’s also not not the worst.”

“One small tattoo for man, one giant leap backwards for mankind.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, that’s nightmare fuel.”

“It’s so stupid that it’s amazing.”

“Just that name is the funniest thing ever.”

“Oh, I hate this so fucking much.”

“Think of all the times you just needed a candle, but you don’t have one.”

“Whenever I find something really cool, I just tell Julien, and he never appreciates it, so I hope you appreciate it.”

GIRLS DAY

“It’s time to go.”

“This is the cutest shovel I’ve ever seen.”

“I got this on sale!”

“I feel crazy.”

JENNA’S RACHET FASHION BOUTIQUE

“I like to sew, even though I’m not very good at it. I just refuse to fail.”

“We used to have to take home economics, where you learn how to sew and cook and stuff, and, apparently, people don’t take that anymore.”

“I still am mediocre at it.”

“If shit ever went down at a zombie apocalypse, everyone’s gonna be butt-ass naked, and I’m gonna be over here, sewing, with electricity.”

“I’m just gonna try and sew myself a sick outfit.”

“I also don’t want to spend a lot of time doing this.”

“Fuck patterns, fuck all that shit, let’s just do it live.”

Everything that I sew is gonna be with navy blue and/or black thread, which, if you have a problem with, just go away now.”

“I’m gonna make a long maxi skirt, ‘cause those are overpriced.”

“I would do this drunk, but it seems really dangerous to sew drunk.”

“Something smells like burning.”

“It looks crooked, but you just pass it off as fashion.”

“Get your scissors, and cut whatever the fuck is bothering you the fuck out.”

“Backwards and forwards and backwards, it’s just like life.”

“The best way to learn is to just look at a shirt, and make it.”

“Just don’t even bother finishing anything.”

“Yes. Yes, cape, yes.”

“Somebody could have made something really nice out of this. Not me!”

“I’m literally wearing a tube of pajamas, and I love it.”

“When I was at the fabric store, I saw this, and just really couldn’t resist.”

“What lady going to a ball couldn’t fit this into her wardrobe?”

“A fun, exciting fabric to make a hat out of is denim.”

“Don’t laugh, it’s fashion!”

“If you saw this, you’d be like, that is couture.”

“I really should’ve just made my entire outfit out of this, but that’s for next time.”

“Looks great. I’m scared of you, but it looks good.”

“I feel like the outside matches the inside.”

“Yes, bitch, you fuck that outfit up.”

“Honestly, I’d wear this shirt. And this skirt.”

THINGS I WISH I COULD LIE ABOUT

“I’m also sorry. But not that sorry.”

“Most of it just stems from being terrified of authority. I’m scared of getting in trouble.”

“Whenever someone asks me for my phone number, I always give out my real phone number. I can never lie and give them a fake number.”

“I’m terrified of having that confrontation.”

“Yeah, I got it really wet. It’s soaking wet. Just fully submerged in water. It’s wet.”

“I just wish that I could lie, but I feel too bad, I have to tell the truth.”

“I could’ve saved myself a lot of money with just a couple lies.”

“Their dogs are not therapy dogs, and you can tell.”

“I know for a fact that, by saying yes to that question, I’m just gonna get a lecture for the next ten minutes.”

“I don’t need to hear the lecture. I know the lecture.”

“Eggplant? Ew! The fuck is wrong with — my god, no…!”

“I don’t need to violently argue with someone when they say they don’t like something.”

“I can never, ever, ever lie to a police officer or a cop, ever.”

“I wasn’t speeding that much, but I was definitely speeding.”

“I was listening to R. Kelly’s World’s Greatest, and it was just getting me so hyped up that I just, I went so fast, I didn’t realize how fast I was going.”

“He gave me a $300 speeding ticket.”

“That started the ‘do not play’ list in the car.”

“You’re singing with your eyes closed, which is not good for driving, at all.”

“I think this is a good look. I think we should make this a thing.”

“Some of you guys are fuckin lying.”

HOW I TALK TO PEOPLE AT PARTIES

“Oh my god, how’s it going? So good to see you!”

“Hey, thanks, I’m a catch.”

“It’s a conversation, we should listen.”

“I don’t wanna listen…”

“I’m gonna use my eyes and pretend I’m listening.”

“She just asked us a question — did you hear what she asked us?”

“So how’s, uh… how’s what’s his face?”

“I just don’t want her to tell the tree story again.”

“One time, I was climbing this tree in my backyard…”

“She can smell your fear, you know.”

“I can smell time. It’s 11:30.”

“I can rap. Quadruple threat.”

“Did you watch the baseball game the other night?”

“Are we drunk?”

“This is bad, we shouldn’t have said that, why did we say that?”

“Hey, we should get this pierced.”

“Do you feel like breaking something?”

“I really love you so much.”

“She’s already drunk ‘I love you’-ing.”

“At least she didn’t make any drunk plans yet.”

“We are not going to remember that. Not at all.”

“What do you think happens when you put a ton of lettuce into a woodchipper?”

“I fucking hate you guys. You guys are idiots.”

“My brain is a terrifying prison.”

WHAT’S IN MY MOUTH CHALLENGE

“Why are you laughing already? Stop laughing.”

“You put the heel of my boot in my mouth? What are you, insane?”

“This touches the ground?”

“I was mad, sorry.”

“No, this is not going to turn into you solving a Rubik’s cube.”

“Who makes appointments a year in advance? I do.”

“This is my inhaler, you asshole!”

“Did you just say scoff?”

“You sinus-blasted me?!”

“Do you have any idea the mental preparation you need to have before you take one of those!?”

“As soon as it hit my tongue, I knew I was fucked.”

“Open up, we are playing a game.”

“Julien, my mouth tastes like Christmas tree!”

“Oh my god, what the fuck is that? It’s wet…”

“Open up all the way.”

“You put yeast in my mouth. That was fucked up.”

“Wow… I hate you.”

[lolainblue]

Thunderbirds -- Chapter 40

T/W: Impllied abuse

   @msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli @maliciousalishious@meghan12151977@mustlove6277 @fyeahproudglambert @little-poptart @lady-grinning-soul-k @snewsome756

  As I held Roger and waited for him to calm down, a thousand memories flooded through my head in bits and pieces, like flashes from a movie.

  In the first one, it's 1985, I'm ten and back at Sugarbush Elementary. I'm hiding in the girls bathroom, the one by the art room in the basement; the one with no windows and the fluorescent light that is about to burn out that keeps buzzing and flickering. I've been crying and I'm hiding in the last stall, my feet drawn up on the toilet seat so no one can see by my shoes that I'm there. I've listened while Abby Norris has said more mean things about me in two minutes than I have ever even thought about anyone else altogether in my entire life, listened while she called me horrible things and her friends laughed and I wished I could become invisible, or die, or at least move back to Greenwood where I didn't have a lot of friends but at least no one called me names or pushed me down on the pea gravel by the swings and tore a hole in my favorite pair of jeans, the Zena ones that didn't come from the Sears catalog or have stupid rainbows or teddy bears on the pockets.  I wait until after the bell has rung before I finally get up enough courage to come out, and as soon as I am back in the hallway, there he is, one of the popular boys, the one who eats lunch at Abby's table and is always staring out the window, probably the cutest boy in the entire school. I'm ten but I already learned long ago that the prettier they are the meaner they are. I freeze as he takes in my swollen eyes and blotchy red face and I wait for him to say something ugly, or sneer and run away and tell everyone the new girl was crying in the downstairs bathroom but he just smiles and tosses his sandy bangs back out of his eyes. Hey you're that new girl from Greenwood, right? Your name is Jane isn't it? he is saying, blue eyes crinkling up as he grins at me, and I don't understand why he is being nice, everyone here has been so awful, but he reaches into the pocket of his neatly pressed khakis and pulls out a pack of Juicy Fruit gum and offers me a piece. I take it like a feral deer accepting corn from someone's hand, and as I unwrap it – I can still smell it, that distinctive tutti-frutti scent that still makes me smile eighteen years later – he is talking to me like we have been best friends from birth I'm Roger Harrington, I'm in Miss Kovacs's class too, No one new ever moves here, this town is so boring, bet you didn't want to come here and I have no idea how much my life has just changed but it's the most important thing that has ever happened to me and I want to live in that moment just for a bit but too soon the memory has slipped away, and I am back to rocking Roger in his bedroom in our oh-so modern NYC apartment but I might as well be back in that green institutional bathroom as helpless his tears have made me feel.

   “What happened, Roger?” I asked him once he stopped crying enough that I thought he could form words again. “Before your mom, I mean. We both know that's not where this started.”

   “It started with Daphne,” Roger admitted. “She wanted us to move in together, wanted a ring. I told her I wasn't ready, that I didn't even know what the hell I was doing with the rest of my life. She started in on wanting kids again, I told her I didn't. I reminded her that I had been clear about that from the beginning. She said she didn't think I was serious, didn't everyone say they didn't want kids when they were younger. But she knew, Jane, I told her how I grew up, that I didn't want that...”

   It's still 1985 in the background movie in my memory but it's a few weeks later, and Roger is coming over to my house after school for the first time. My mother greets us in her apron, offering fruit punch and bologna sandwiches cut into little triangles, and I am waiting for Roger to comment on in it all. My mother was 44 when I was born and she is an anachronism, proud to be June Cleaver in a world of career minded Maggie Seavers and Claire Huxtables. People ask if she is my grandmother sometimes and I know it bothers her, but it makes me furious because I adore her, she is the best mom I can possibly imagine, but Roger, of course, makes no such gaffe, he is charming as always. He sits politely with me at the kitchen table while we are supposed to be doing homework, making small talk with my mother while she offers him cookies Harrington? Are you related to Alderman John Harrington? she asks him and of course he tells her he is, yes, John Harrington's son, the Alderman, the Deacon over at the Sacred Day church, those Harringtons, and I see how his voice clips a bit and his eyes change even though he keeps right on smiling. I don't know anything about Aldermen, or that church, we're Presbyterians, but Roger and my mom exchange a look and I realize an entire conversation has been had that I probably wouldn't understand if they explained it to me. They get on famously, Roger Harrington and Marybeth Sewell, and Roger comes home with me after school from that day forward almost every day until we finally walk through the door in our caps and gowns, to a fancier punch and finger sandwiches that all of my family and none of Roger's shows up for.

   “It doesn't have to be like that, you know,” I said, taking his hands in mine. “It's okay to want whatever you want but it doesn't have to be like it was in your family. You would never be like that, Roger.”

   He shook his head, jaws tight, and I could see another tear escape and roll down his cheek. It made me so angry even all these years later, the things he went through, the things we were powerless to stop because of who his father was, the things I tried to so hard to protect him from. He always seemed so strong then, like he was made of Teflon, like none of it ever stuck. I never even understood that he needed me at all, I thought it could have been any friend who would have taken him in. I was so naive. It took me years and a lot of life experience to really understand how much damage was done, and the more I sat here and looked at him the more the memories kept flooding in.

   It's 1990 and we're in high school finally, underclassmen but we don't care, we're happy to have left middle school behind. The spring dance is coming up but Roger won't be going, he isn't allowed to go to school dances, he isn't allowed to dance at all or listen to popular music even though we dance in my family's den to New Kids On The Block and he has a secret collection of mixtapes in a box underneath my bed. I know I won't get asked. I'm skinny and awkward and I've gone back to being invisible, which isn't great but at least Abby Norris doesn't bother me much anymore. We are our own private club anyway, we plan the parties we will have when we are grown andoff to film school and living in LA, with all the fabulous connections we will make, and that's what we're doing now, gigging over imaginary menus and star-studded guests lists as we help my mother make meatloaf in the warm kitchen on Calavera Street. My father comes home from work early, he will retire in a few years from the accounting position at the supply company he loves so much, but for now, he is still working, shuffling through the door at the end of his day with a Where's my Janey? and I am still enough of a daddy's girl to throw myself into his arms and take his hat from him. He starts telling jokes, those terrible ubiquitous dad jokes, while he looks over our shoulders, Roger peeling potatoes while I chop them What do you get when you cross a snowman and a vampire? Frostbite! and when he chortles out the punchline he claps Roger on the back. Roger is already taller than my dad but still thin from the growth spurt, and though I expect him to collapse a bit under the force of the blow I am not prepared when he bleats like a frightened lamb, dropping the potato peeler and falling forward onto the counter, covering his head. Everything stops and I swear I can hear the big Westminster clock on the dining room wall ticking away the seconds before my father moves carefully, oh so carefully to Roger, placing his hand reassuringly on his shoulder as they make weighty eye contact. Roger's hand is shaking as he moves my father's aside and turns around, shoulders hunched forward, gripping the counter as he gives my father permission to do something he cannot do himself. They are both facing me, and I can see Roger's eyes, wet and gray, staring straight into my own, unwavering, and behind him my father's eyes as he lifts Roger's neat plaid shirt, eyes that go round as his face pales. He never says a word, just takes his jacket and hat off the hook by the door and walks out, not returning again until eleven o'clock that night, after my mother has made us Rice Krispie treats and let us watch TV while she did all the washing up and made up the trundle bed before sending us upstairs for the night. It's not the first time that this has happened, but it is the worst. I don't know what is said when he comes back, we can hear my parents speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen while Roger and I lie awake in my room, staring at the glow in the dark plastic stars on my ceiling. I know that my father has made many phone calls about Roger by this point in our lives, but it never changes anything. After this night, however, Roger is with us more than ever, and even though he only stays over a few nights a week at first my mother converts Mitch's old room into one for Roger, and he decorates it with all the things he isn't allowed to like at home.

   “It's okay, Jane. She wasn't the one for me, she was never going to be. But the things she said... I know she was angry. But she said I was exhausting. That all I did was take from the people around me.”

   “That's not true at all!” I protested. Roger was one the kindest and most generous people I had ever known. If Daphne had said that to him it had to have been done purposely just to upset him. “You know she was just saying that, right?”

   Roger shook his head. “I am too dependent on other people for my happiness, Jane. She's right.”

   “Fuck that heinous cow, she was not right. We're not meant to be islands, Roger. It's okay to need people.”

   “I'm too dependent on you. In eighteen years I don't think I've made a move without you, certainly not any important one. It doesn't matter what is going on, in the back of my mind it's always “Wait and see what Jane thinks” or “You should ask Jane first” before I can do anything. And I am not sure anymore if that's the best thing for us but the biggest part of me doesn't care. I don't want to do anything if it's not with you.”

   “I understand, Roger. I have these thoughts too sometimes, but I'm with you. I don't care. You're my person.”

   “How are we ever going to find someone else then? If I'm devoted to you and you're devoted to me, where does that leave room in our lives for anyone else?”

   “The right person will fit in, Roger. You're like a sibling I'm close to. No one would demand I ditch you if you were my brother. Shannon doesn't expect me to ditch you. Someone will come along for you that understands our bond too.”

   Roger got a look on his face like I had tried to feed him broccoli sauteed in earwax. “Fuck you and Shannon. That is not the relationship you think it is Jane.”

   “What the hell, Roger? Again? Could you maybe give it a chance?”

   Roger let out a loud growl before picking up one of his pillows and hurling it to the floor. “That's not what the fuck I mean! Shannon isn't the problem, Janey. You are!”

   “What are you talking about?” I demanded.

   “You planned it all out. You were the one that gave us direction, you were the one with the goals that knew how to get there. I just wanted out. So I held on to you as tight as I could and off we went. And we did it, Jane. You've been published, I've made my career. So now what? We didn't plan past this. We're just 28. We can't be done.”

   “We aren't done, Rog.”

   “Then what? Because all you've done since you got that book contract is the same thing you've done in your love life. You just ricochet around like a pinball, bouncing off whatever you bump into, whatever guy you bump into. You're with Shannon because you bumped into him again. You keep typing on the laptop but you don't know what you're writing anymore. You don't have a plan. I don't have a plan. I don't even know what I want. I never expected to get this far.”

   “It's not like that. I've been going full speed since I was a kid. I'm just catching my breath.”

   “And what happens to me when your next plan doesn't include me?”

   “I would never not include you.”

   “It's funny. I never worried about us when you were with Angus. I knew he would never be there for you like I was. But with Shannon, I don't know Jane. You're all over the place with him but you get so obsessed. He's the only guy that's ever made me scared you'd leave me.”

   “Roger I could never leave you.”

   “Of course you could. You could throw me aside the same as anyone. My family did. You're not even related to me.”

   “Fuck them, every last fucking one of them. They are horrible excuses for human beings and I am so sorry you had to be born into that family but FUCK THEM. You're a Sewell, Roger. Ask my mom. Ask my dad. Hell, ask Mitch. I will never ever ever let you go. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. If it means I never find another boyfriend then so be it. I choose you.”

   We didn't say anything else. I had more questions, I wanted to know what he had done the previous night, but instead I held Roger until he cried himself out and finally fell asleep out of exhaustion. I got Shannon to come help me tuck him into bed and then afterward I poured us both a drink and sat up until three in the morning alternating between explaining to Shannon what was going on, what Roger's childhood had been like, and checking on Roger. Shannon seemed to understand, but I knew he'd had a rough childhood as well, with troubled relationships with the various father figures in his life, so I figured if anyone was going to get it was going to be Shannon.

   If he minded that his visit had been filled with dealing with Roger and his issues Shannon never said so. I apologized about not getting to go out but he just shushed me and took me to bed, holding me tightly as our bodies moved together, letting me grip him like an anchor in a rough sea. Maybe I didn't have a plan, maybe I had bounced into Shannon and lost what little focus I had left. That didn't mean I couldn't get a new one. Being without a plan for a while didn't sound like the worst thing in the world. I had always been wound a little too tightly anyway. Maybe it was time to take a step back, relax, go with the flow. As long as I could hold onto Shannon and Roger I thought everything would be fine.

   When I got up late the next morning Roger was already up,  hunched over a mug of coffee at the kitchen island. I poured myself a mug and sat down next to him, feeling as exhausted and hungover as if I had partied all night. We didn't talk, just periodically leaned into each other for a nuzzle, and when he got up for a refill he topped me off too. Shannon eventually joined us, pouring a mug and sitting down on the other side of me, sensing the mood enough to leave the silence unbroken. Eventually we began discussing food, and we were halfway through our late breakfast when the doorbell rang.

   Jared was supposed to be picking up Shannon on his way through the city to their next stop. He wasn't supposed to be showing up until that afternoon, however. We had planned to have Shannon packed and ready to go, to minimize any contact between Jared and Roger if necessary but when the person on the other side of the door turned out to be Jared hours ahead of schedule that plan went out the window. Hoping for the best I gave him a big hug and invited him in.

   “Nice place,” Jared said as he peeked around, avoiding looking directly at Roger. Roger scooped up his plate and mug and put them in the sink before heading back to his bedroom without a word.

   “Sorry man, I'm not ready to go. Wasn't expecting you til later,” Shannon apologized as he wolfed down the rest of his eggs. “Give me just a minute and I'll gather things up.”

   “No hurry,” Jared said, turning over a small pewter sculpture that sat on the long shelf by the door and glancing in the direction Roger had disappeared to. “Finished up early and thought I'd come by and see how everyone was.”

   Shannon nodded and walked back toward the bedroom and I led Jared over to the newly vacated kitchen island, offering him some tea. As I put the kettle on I kept catching him looking down the hallway, biting at his cuticles and generally paying no attention to the small talk I was trying to make. I sat his mug and the tea bags down in front of him with a sigh. “You came here early on purpose, didn't you,” I accused. Jared shrugged. “It's really not the best time,” I explained.

   “Look, I know he's pissed at me. I kind of made an ass of myself the last time I saw him. I just want to apologize, that's all.”

   “No offense, Jared, but he has bigger problems right now.”

   “Do you think he'll talk to me? Would you ask him? I swear I just want to make sure we're good.”

   I sighed again. I wanted to protect Roger, but honestly, I didn't know what was going on between the two of them, and if Shannon had a rough enough childhood to understand where Roger was coming from, well I figured Jared shared that childhood too. Maybe they could do each other some good. “I'll ask,” I agreed, but then Roger came back out of his room, fully dressed, and he grabbed Jared by the hand and led him back with him. With one more sigh, I poured the hot water down the sink and went to help Shannon pack.