#turn to speak and when it's appropriate to change the subject

[chillllii]

when the audhd is fun until you become "i really really really have to give my input/side/idea and i dont give a fuck who's talking or what everyone was initially talking about" and before this site's illiteracy kicks in i'm certain we're all guilty of this to some extent

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Precious Truths: Part 6

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

A/N: I will not be taking tags for this series!

Series Masterlist

Benedict follows you and Lord Montclair with a frown on his face. He seems to love to torture himself when he agreed to accompany Daphne as she chaperones your promenade with the marquess.

His eyes glance down to your arm hooked around the other man's and his brows furrow. Daphne looks up at her brother with a smirk, "Something the matter, brother?"

Benedict suddenly looks away clearing his throat, "No, no. Just, um, thinking about a piece I need to work on."

Daphne hums unconvinced, looking back at you and Lord Montclair, "They do make a handsome couple, do they not?"

"I suppose," Benedict replies as he casts his eyes down, paying more attention to the path rather than you and the marquess.

"Are you upset with me?" Daphne asks, pulling her arm away from her brother's and stopping to look at him.

Benedict looks at her with confusion, "Should I be?"

She purses her lips, "Well, I was the one who introduced the marquess to Y/N and considering your feelings-"

"Please, Daphne, I already endure this from Anthony and Kate. I do not wish to hear more of it from you," he takes a quick glance your way as the distance grows wider between you and he, "I may love her, but I cannot give her what she desires. He can," he nods to Lord Montclair.

Daphne sighs, hooking her arm around her brother's once more, "Regardless, I cannot imagine this being easy for you."

The second eldest Bridgerton sighs, "'Tis not. Hopefully, with time, it will be."

_____________________________

You hide your laughter behind your fan as you walk the path with Lord Montclair. He relays a memory he had of when he was a boy. How he tried to capture a frog and in his attempts, it jumped on his face, causing him to fall into a lake.

"That reminds me of when I was a child. I was probably two and ten years old. Be-I mean Mister Bridgerton and myself decided to sneak away onto a row boat. We had seen a fish into the lake and leaned over the edge too much. We both fell in. Our mamas were so upset with us, but we had a good laugh," you state with a giggle.

Lord Montclair chuckles, "So you have known the Bridgertons for a while?"

You nod, "Almost my entire life. They are like my second family."

"And you are the closest with the second eldest, Benedict?" the marquess asks with intrigue as he guides you to a bench for some rest.

You nod, following him to sit, "Yes. He is my dearest of friends."

Lord Montclair clears his throat, leaning closer to you, "I do not want to seem too forward, Miss L/N, but I think I have made my interest quite clear. Is it safe for me to assume that there are no romantic feelings between you and Mr. Bridgerton considering," he gestures between you and him.

You cast your eyes towards Benedict, who is now entertaining two women in conversation while Daphne speaks with their mama. You feel a twinge of jealousy as the women laugh with Benedict. No. You shouldn't feel this way. He is not yours. He never will be.

You turn back to Lord Montclair and give him a small smile, "I can assure you, my Lord, there is nothing between Mister Bridgerton and myself except for friendship."

Happy with your response, Lord Montclair changes the subject and shares another story of his youth. You nod, smile, and laugh at the appropriate times, occasionally glancing back at Benedict. Every once in a while, your eyes will meet and then look away. Your heart strings tug a little more with each wavering gaze.

It seems you like to torture yourself since you cannot help but keep your eyes away from Benedict entertaining women that wasn't you.

_______________

After your promenade and lunch with Lord Montclair and the Bridgertons, you arrive home to see your father waiting for you.

His eyes were glossy and his body slightly swaying, signifying that he was already drunk once more.

"I heard a marquess is courting you," he practically mumbles out.

"Yes, papa. I am certain he will propose before the end of the month," you respond plainly, no emotion and no love for the man who you are now unfortunate to call your father.

He hums, "And does he know of your...hobbies?"

"He only knows I enjoy reading poetry, not writing it."

"Good. A man does not want a woman who is too well-read."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to suffer from a potential strike to your face like previously, "Of course, papa." You dryly reply and head to your room.

You proceed to isolate yourself for the rest of the day. Although Lord Montclair is exactly the man many women would kill to have court them, you still cannot find yourself to fall for him completely. You don't think you ever could. You've lived a majority of your life loving Benedict Bridgerton, you aren't sure how else to live. Even if Benedict could never love you back, you will still continue to hold him dear in the depths of your heart for you and only you to know.

You didn't lie to your father that you are sure Lord Montclair will propose soon. He had spoke of marriage, children, just your potential future in general. Both of your desires and goals line up perfectly with one another and you are certain he sees it to.

Now only to mentally prepare yourself for the inevitable.

________________

Benedict's heart drops to his stomach when he hears the news from Daphne: Lord Montclair plans to propose to you soon.

Obviously, he knew it was bound to happen. Of course he would propose to you. You, perfect, beautiful, intelligent, cunning, funny, wonderful you.

It was inevitable and it was becoming even more real that Benedict would lose you forever.

It was then that Benedict decided to drown himself in his art. Go to parties, brothels, bars, whatever he can as much as possible to forget the pain in his heart.

If only he wasn't so stubborn and truly listen to his heart and his family. He could be with you and give you everything you want and deserve.

But alas, he was just too blind and hard headed to see it.

Lady Whistledown, however, made it well known to the Ton of how she as well as a majority of Mayfair, expected him and you to marry.

__________________

Two weeks. It took two weeks of courting until Lord Montclair asked your father's permission to marry you. It was an easy "yes" from him, obviously. With the status of being the marquess and willing to pay well over your dowery, well, how can your father refuse?

Even though you were expecting it, you still felt hesitant. Your aunt joined you in the sitting room, watching as Lord Montclair, James, as you learned his name was, knelt down and presented his mother's beautiful ring.

"Mon cher, you have made me so incredibly happy these past few weeks. I think we can have an amazing future together. Will you do the honor of marrying me?"

You know you should say yes. But your mind immediately goes to Benedict. Your best friend, your first love, the man you saw yourself marrying and growing old with. But he didn't feel the same. If he did, he would've courted and proposed to you by now.

It was officially time to let go of your silly fantasies and face reality.

"Yes, of course," you reply breathlessly and James slips the ring onto your finger.

Aunt Eliza lets out a breath of relief, "I am so incredibly happy for you two! I plan to hold a ball in your honor at the end of the week, so be prepared for the fan fair that will be headed your way."

James takes your hand and kisses it, "I shall go. I must begin contacting my family so they can be here for the wedding."

"Of course, my Lord."

James smiles at you sweetly, "You may call me James now, mon cher."

You return a sweet smile back, "Of course, James. Then you may call me Y/N."

"I will see you later, future Marchioness Montclair," he gives you a wink and heads out.

You look down at the ring, the diamond sparkling in the sun. Your aunt rushes to your side and kisses your temple, "You did it, dear. You did it. You will be free soon enough."

You gulp and nod at your aunt, "Yes. I will be free."

____________________

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It seems that wedding bells are to be heard soon with now the engagement of Miss Y/N L/N and the Most Honorable Marquess, Lord James Montclair. The marquess had turned many heads since his arrival with Duchess Bridgerton. Many ladies of the Ton had hoped for a courtship from him. However, it was quite the surprise that our very own Miss L/N, one who has previously rejected the idea of marriage, set her sights on the marquess and lured him with her charm.

As I am sure many of you are disappointed by the engagement, I am certain no one is as disappointed as the second eldest Bridgerton son, Benedict Bridgerton. For we all knew those two were always at each other's side. This author thinks that perhaps the second eldest never proposed to Miss L/N because he knew he could never provide for her as a second son.

Nevertheless, I do look forward to see how Miss L/N will take to the role of marchioness. Will she crack under pressure or will it be smooth sailing? This author waits in anticipation.

Benedict crumples up Lady Whistledown's newest edition, tossing it across the room. His family's eyes are all on him.

His heart rate quickens, he feels a sweat coming on. The walls are closing in and he can't breathe. He doesn't like how his family looks at him with pity. They all know now. They know how he feels for you. There is a chance know how he feels for you now. A part of him hopes that you don't believe what Whistledown has to say. Not everything she says is always factual. Nevertheless, it makes the Ton talk.

"Excuse me," he abruptly stands from his place and Anthony stands with him, "Brother-"

"Please, don't. I need a moment alone," Benedict quickly says as he rushes out of the room.

[tragedybunny]

Dance With Me Under the Diamonds, See Me Like Breath in the Cold - Astarion x F!Reader

I've been waiting to write this for some time. I'm absolutely thrilled with it and I hope you think it's beautiful.

Reader and Astarion have come a long way since that meeting on the beach. They've made it all the way to their wedding.

“Where in the hells is Gale?” Astarion fusses while fidgeting with the brocade crimson overcoat he’s wearing. “That man is always late.”

“He’ll be here Love,” you give him a small kiss on his cheek and take his hand, trying your best to keep things calm. "He's not even actually late yet."

“Still haven’t found patience to be a virtue I see,” Shadowheart strolls over to the two of you where you wait under an arbor of night-blooming jasmine, her arm hooked in Lae’zel’s.

“Would you expect any different,” Lae’zel adds a wide smile to her words, an attempt to make it clear she’s joking. The Githyanki has certainly seen her share of change since you met her, really hadn’t you all though?

“While I’m glad you two have finally developed a sense of humor, I’d rather not be the subject of it.” You can feel his agitation rising and it’s your turn to silently plead with the universe for Gale to hurry up.

“Perhaps he’s nervous,” Lae’zel turns to her partner, pretending Astarion isn’t right there fuming.

“I am not!” Before he gets any more worked up, they both pull the pair of you into a sudden embrace, leaving Astarion stuttering and you trying not to giggle at his expense.

“Congratulations you two, we’ll go mingle and pray for Gale’s safety if he’s any later,” The two of them join arms again and make their way back over to the crowd greeting an enthusiastic Mol and her gang of children that’s expanded beyond just the original tieflings. They’re becoming quite the criminal enterprise. There are so many people here, lives you’ve both touched. Originally you’d planned to just stay at your little house for the event, but when more requests to attend kept coming, you had to choose somewhere else. Duke Ravenguard had graciously offered you private use of Bloomridge Park.

“You are nervous, aren’t you,” you whisper mischievously and watch him try to hide it.

“Of course not, I managed to convince you to come this far, now it’s all formality,” your heart skips a beat when he smiles, the tips of fangs peeking out from under his lip. Smiles like that were all too rare when you first met him.

“I don’t recall needing much convincing.” Truthfully, you don’t remember what had brought the subject up, but Astarion had reminded you that it wasn’t a point, legally speaking, as neither of you technically existed.

“It doesn’t have to be in an official record anywhere, it’s just a promise we would make to one another. And we do know the perfect Cleric for a nighttime ceremony.” The way he’d just stood there for a moment you thought you'd said something wrong. Perhaps it was bringing up a Cleric and making it a sworn oath, he didn’t exactly have any love for religion. But then he was dropping to his knees, taking your hands in his, and begging you to be his wife. It was appropriately dramatic for him. And now, here you were, gathered with friends and found family, waiting on a late wizard.

“Brother!” Beside you, Astarion braces and a pale figure collides with him, embracing him tightly

“Hello Dal,” he gingerly returns her hug, as you notice Aurelia remaining a respectful distance behind them. “It’s good to see the both of you too,” he nods in Aurelia’s direction. His relationship with his “siblings” is complicated, but the horror they shared bonds them, and some of them have tried to make a family out of what is left to them. Dalyria seems to be the most persistent, she even had the two of you come visit their home in the Underdark.

“I’m so happy for you Astarion,” she finally releases him but leaves a hand on his arm fondly. “You’ll have to come visit again. I’ll even make Petras promise to behave.”

There’s turmoil in him only you can see, he would love to forget about anything that reminds him of Cazador, but the sisterly love Dal tries to give him is something he’s missed in his life. “At least it will be safer for him that way.”

“Stop,” she smiles and gives him a peck on the cheek. “We’ll talk more later.” As she walks away, Aurelia gives a stiff wave.

“His time is up, he's de-” A flash of light interrupts and when it fades two figures are standing amongst the crowd, a wizard you know well and one you briefly met.

“Sorry for the wait,” Gale begins awkwardly, trying to ignore Astarion’s considerable glare, “we were occupied in a bit of an undertaking…”

“But I am sure you will find the reasons most acceptable,” Elminster takes over, giving your floundering friend a reprieve.

Another flash of light as two more figures appear and you can't believe your eyes. Your heart leaps and you shout inadvertently. "Karlach! Wyll!" Without a second thought, you launch yourself at both of them, Astarion following along more reservedly.

"Steady on there, Soldier," Karlach pulls you into a smothering hug.

"How," you ask, smoothing the cream lace of your dress as she lets you go, still stunned she's outside Avernus without exploding.

"Wizards," Wyll smiles, glancing at Gale and Elminster. "We had to find a way back, there's no way we'd miss this."

"It won't hold forever, but we think we've got a way I can come back for visits. Until we get something permanent. Good news is Zariel's seemed distracted by something lately."

"I suppose overall this is an appropriate excuse for being late," Astarion finally relents.

"Aww, come on Fangs, don't be sour, it's your wedding." Karlach has a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Do not," but it's too late, the tiefling picks him up in a crushing hug. "I missed you too Karlach."

Tears suddenly start to form in your eyes, seeing them all together again, it was something you feared might never be. Wyll gives Asatrion a less brutal greeting and you turn to Elminster. "Thank you. You will stay right," it's the least you can do.

"Gale has assured me there are to be many culinary delights after, and of course, I've never seen a vampire spawn get married. So I believe I shall."

"Ah. I see Father made it," Wyll waves to Duke Ravengaurd who had been waiting a respectful distance away. "Best go see him, we'll catch up more after."

"You both better save a dance for me," Karlach calls over her shoulder, taking his arm, and kissing his temple.

"Tell me you have them," Astarion has fixed his attention back on Gale, and you rush to his side before he can begin another tirade.

"Worried I would eat them?" Gale has recovered himself from Astarion’s initial onslaught and is smiling brightly.

"Yes," your beloved is still in no mood for jokes.

"Honestly Astarion," you give him a look.

"Ugh, fine, I'll calm down. Once he hands them over." You're lost as to what Gale has that's so important considering the occasion.

"Never change my friend," he laughs and pulls a small box from a pocket on his robes and opens it gently. Inside there are two gold rings with small red stones set in them, you can feel the hum of magic in them.

“Sending Stones?” You glance at Astarion as he takes the box from Gale.

For a moment he seems almost shy about it. “I thought it would be nice if we were always able to speak to each other, no matter what. I know it’s not feasible to never be separated.” The two of you had spent almost every moment of the last couple of years in each other’s presence, but as Astarion continued to heal, he seemed more comfortable with time spent apart.

“You’re adorable, you know that,” your lips brush the tip of his nose, the gift is an incredibly sweet sentiment, and you’re so proud of how far he’s come.

Under the right circumstances, vampires actually can blush. “I..” he starts, sounding like he’s going to grouse about something, probably being called adorable in front of everyone, but stops. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why you think that my Love, after everything I’ve done.”

You reach up to brush his cheek and run a finger through his curls. “That wasn’t who you really are.”

“I take it, we're ready.” Isobel joins you under the arbor, eyes already fixed on the moon above, and you both nod in response. “Then let us begin,” her voice carries to the crowd and silence falls. “We come here, under Our Lady’s Light, to bless this couple and sanctify their bond.”

You honestly don’t remember many of Isobel’s words after that as Astarion takes your hand and you get lost in his soft, crimson eyes. Maybe it’s a bit terrible of you to ask Selune’s blessing and then not pay attention, but you think she can understand. “The rings,” Isobel prompts and Astarion retrieves them from his pocket, opening them so the Cleric can bless them. “May the Moonmaiden’s light ever guide your hearts toward each other.” A nearly imperceptible mote of silver light seems to land on them and lends the jewels in them an unearthly glow.

Astarion tenderly picks one up as you proffer your finger. Isobel had agreed to let you both speak your own vows, as long as they didn’t directly offend any of Selune’s teachings. You’d reassured Astarion every step of the way that you didn’t need it to be a sworn oath in front of clergy, but he’d oddly insisted, saying he wanted to swear himself to you to the fullest. “As long as it’s Isobel though, she’s the only trustworthy one.” Shadowheart was still figuring out how much religion she wanted in her life, though it seemed Selune was patient as she continued to have a Cleric's gifts.

The ring slips on your finger perfectly and your heart stutters, your vision getting watery again. You do the same for him in turn and you both entwine your hands, speaking in unison. “Unto thee, I vow, mine heart and home, mine life and love, for now, and all seasons. Let me never from thy side be parted, and unto thee, no evil do. Until, at last, my life shall leave me, this my beloved, is my pledge to you. So I do swear.”

“And so sworn before our Lady, I do pronounce thee wed.” The crowd behind you applauds, and you can barely see Astarion through the tears.

Lae’zel and Karlach are shouting raucously, “Kiss! Kiss!”

You start to lean forward and notice his eyes are just as wet as yours. “Hells, why did I agree to do this in public,” he laughs, dabbing his cheeks with the cuff of his sleeve.

“You couldn’t miss being the center of attention,” your laugh is lost in a happy sob. “Damn it, kiss me before I pass out or something.”

Softly, he pulls you in, lips finding yours. The chaste peck turns deeper, giving the crowd what they want judging by the noise. But then something unexpected happens, there’s the tinkle of mischievous laughter, as though a woman stands near to you. A voice that’s both honey-sweet but radiating power whispers in your ear, “congratulations my dear child,” and you feel a surge of fae-touched magic, reminding you of that day you took a different oath.

The kiss breaks and Astarion is staring at you, surprise clearing away his tears. “I know you.”

Everything goes numb in the rush of terror that follows, he’d learned some of who you were before the Nautiloid, but there was much still to tell. “Astarion I’m so-”

A slender finger is pressed to your lips. “Hush Love, tomorrow. And it changes nothing, I still love you with all my unbeating heart. Now let’s indulge everyone since they came all this way to celebrate us.”

The night is full of feasting, drinking, song, and dancing. The two of you mingle with old friends and those whom you met only briefly, the scents of a delectable feast wafting through the air. When the music starts, you share a waltz under the night sky, Astarion holding you close and whispering in your ear, “love you Sunlight.”

True to her word, Karlach insists on a dance with both of you, surprising you with her talent for it. “I’ve been teaching her,” Wyll looks over at her and Astarion lovingly from where he’s dancing with you. “Once you find a safe place to rest, Avernus can be a bit boring.”

You stumble across Lae’zel, angrily giving gold to Mol and her crew. “She lost a bet,” Mol says proudly.

“Oh really, and what sort of scam bet did you get her to agree to, my favorite tiny criminal” Astarion asks fondly. Mol comes to visit you sometimes and you’ve decided you’d rather not know what he’s been teaching her.

“She thought you might light on fire as soon as it got religious,” Mol laughs and scampers off.

Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve seen me in temples before.”

“Chk, but never swearing an oath.”

“She has a point,” you nudge him playfully.

“Oh you are going to pay for that later,” he leans in to nip at your neck, causing you to shiver.

Dawn nears much too soon and you can see some of his happiness evaporating. There still was no solution you’d found to let him live in the light. “We should go,” you whisper in his ear, “what’s a wedding without the wedding bed?” Ever so lightly, you let your tongue brush against his ear, a spot of divine torment for him you’ve found, and listen as he gasps softly.

“Indeed my Love,” his mood revives and the two of you make your good-byes, your friends having promised to clean up the aftermath of the night. A young woman you think you recognize passes you an open bottle of wine on the way out of the park, “a gift from summer’s best,” she says and it fills you with a strange sensation for a moment before Astarion’s mouth is on yours again.

Your house isn’t far from Bloomridge and the two of you stroll the streets in a blissful, dreamy state, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing drinks from the wine that tastes of sweet berries and summer rains. Lights dance in the morning mists and everything feels transcendtly perfect as you ascend the steps to your home. Astarion pins against your front door, kissing you hungrily and letting his hands wander your body. “My wife,” he breathes against your skin as his lips travel down your neck.

Heat sparks inside you, ravenous for him. “My husband,” you sigh, lost in your love for him.

[bonefall]

Clanmew 101

A Warrior Cats Conlang

[ID: Two Warrior Cats OCs speak to each other. On the left is a calico with green eyes named Troutfur. On the right is a leucistic tabby with pink eyes named Bonefall.]

Urrmeer, Clanmates! And welcome to Clanmew 101!

By the end of this lesson you should have a basic understanding of the most important aspects of Clanmew, the language of the five Clans of cats living around Sanctuary Lake.

You will learn to introduce yourself, choose the appropriate pronoun for a situation, construct simple sentences, describe attributes and understand opening particles, express possession, ask simple questions, and use the Clans’ counting system. This should cover all the basics needed in order to have a simple Clanmew conversation.

Lastly, we'll close out with a vocabulary list, and some translation excercises you can do on your own!

This guide is a massive collaboration, written largely by @troutfur with all vocabulary made by @bonefall. This guide is also available in Google Doc format, and there is a lexicon of over 300 words in this Google Sheet.

We've been working on this for several weeks, and we're beyond excited to bring it to you today!

About Clanmew

Clanmew is a language that emphasizes ranks and relationships first and foremost. The rigid nature of Clan culture is baked into the very structure of their sentences, immediately making it clear what your relationship to a thing is, and where you’ve received information about a subject. 

Unlike English, in Clanmew, every line is packed with information about a warrior’s relationships and feelings towards the cats around them, turning even quick exchanges into reaffirmations of where a warrior stands in Clan society.

- Introduce yourself; the lack of a personal pronoun

Two cleric apprentices are meeting each other at a half-moon meeting for the first time. Here’s how they would introduce themselves to each other:

Babenpwyr: Pyrrsmeer! Babenpwyr. Washa-ulnyams shompiagorrl. Pryyp pyrrs? [Noncombatant-you-hello! Bonepaw. Shadow-clan moon-learning-rank. Question noncombatant-you?]

Powshpwyr: Powshpwyr. Ssbass-ulnyams shompiagorrl. [Troutpaw. River-clan moon-learning-rank]

Translated to English we have:

Bonepaw: Hello! My name is Bonepaw! I’m a ShadowClan cleric apprentice. And you?

Troutpaw: My name’s Troutpaw. I’m a RiverClan cleric apprentice.

This is a very typical introduction in the Clans. Right away these two cats establish their relationship to each other, which Clan they’re from, and their rank within it.

If you examine the way Bonepaw and Troutpaw tell each other their names, it is immediately notable how they only say them. In Clanmew there is no "first person" pronoun, no word that means "I" or "me", and similarly there is no word for the verb "to be". It is understood that if you say a word by itself, those two parts are implied. Thus Babenpwyr is both Bonepaw’s name and a full sentence that means “I  am Bonepaw”.

Similarly when Bonepaw says "Pryyp pyrrs?" There is no word for "are" or "is". "Pryyp" establishes the sentence as a question, and "pyrrs" simply means "you".

There are other nuances to the grammar to explore but first, let's skip forward a few seasons, after Troutpaw and Bonepaw change paths and meet once again under the light of the full moon.

Powshfaf: Babenpwyr, pyrrsmeer! [Bonepaw, noncombatant-you-hello!]

Babenfew: Nyar, rarrwang gryyr! Babenfew! [No, outsiderness I-contain! Bonefall!]

Powshfaf: Pryyp kachgorrl rarrs? Ssoen wowa rarrs shai ssarshemi! [Question, claw-rank outsider-you? On/over outsider-you stars they-shine!]

Translated we have:

Troutfur: Hi, Bonepaw!

Bonefall: No, use the rarrs pronoun with me. It's Bonefall.

Troutfur: Oh, you're a warrior? Congrats!

This too is a common interaction among Clan cats. No warrior ever misses a chance to boast about a newly granted name, especially to a friend who already has their own. Here we see another important feature of Clanmew grammar, the choice of pronoun. Clanmew pronouns have nothing to do with gender, but rather, how dangerous the subject is to you.

This is called…

- Threat Level How To Choose the Appropriate Pronoun

Using the pyrrs pronoun may be appropriate with a cleric, or an apprentice, or a close friend in your same Clan. But for an enemy warrior it’s inappropriate, or even rude, regardless of if they’re a friend or not. It may indicate you are underestimating them, or worse, that you two are traitorously close to each other.

Each pronoun in Clanmew has a third person ("he", "she", "they") form and a second person (“you��) form. The full list of pronouns and when to use them is given below, from least to most threatening.

(Them/You)

Wi/Wees The softest, weakest possible way to refer to a person. It is used exclusively for babies, aesthetically pleasing but useless objects, and food. “Mousebrain” is either Wiwoo (them-mouse) or Weeswoo (you-mouse).

Nya/Nyams This one indicates familiarity and closeness, moreso than with a Clanmate or a trusted ally. It is used for mates, platonic life partners, siblings, and so on. It’s sometimes used on objects that significantly change a cat’s life, such as Briarlight’s mobility device.

Pyrr/Pyrrs Used for apprentices, medicine cats, elders, exhausted warriors, and other non-combatants, but also for friends. It’s a neutral-weak pronoun. Used incorrectly, it can be patronizing, or over-familiar. This is also used on useful objects, like nests, herbs, Jayfeather’s stick, etc.

Urr/Urrs Indicates a capable clanmate, carries an implication that they are able to hunt or fight at the described moment. The term carries endearment– the old RiverClan river was referred to with Urrs, for respect. Strong, worthy prey is in this category; RiverClan refers to medium-sized fish with urrs, WindClan uses it for hares, etc.

Rarr/Rarrs Now we’re in the 'outsider’ category. These are not used on clanmates without insult. Used for things that require extra caution. A lot of twoleg things like fences and bridges are 'rarr’. The cats who live in the barn and other loners are 'rarr’. Warriors in other clans are 'rarr.’

Mwrr/Mwrrs Something dishonorable, that lives without code. Rogues are tossed into this category before proven otherwise, as are snakes, foxes, badgers, and dogs. This is a serious insult when used for a Clan cat.

Ssar/Ssas Something powerful and dangerous. Storms, floods, cars. Overwhelming and unpredictable, in a way where its power cannot be contained– can be a high compliment to the respected warriors of other clans, implies the same sort of respect you would give to a natural disaster. Commonly used on leaders of other Clans.

- Objects, Subjects, and Verbs Constructing a Simple Sentence

In English most sentences have three parts, someone who does an action (a subject), an action that is done (a verb), and something the action is done to (an object). By default English sentences order these three elements in the order, Subject-Verb-Object. But Clanmew orders them differently; Object-Subject-Verb.

Compare these sentences;

“The warriors hunt mice.” [Simple English statement]

“Mice the warriors hunt.” [Grammatical equivalent in Clanmew]

Translating this into Clanmew looks like this,

Pi woo kachgorrl urrakach. [Saw/heard mouse claw-rank clanmate-they-hunt.] Saw mouse warrior they-hunt. [Direct translation]

Let’s ignore that first word for now and just focus on the subject, object, and verb.

“Woo” in this context means “mouse” or “mice”. Clanmew makes no grammatical distinction between singular and plural, whether there is only one of the noun or more than one. Likewise, “kachgorrl” means “warrior” without specifying how many or which warrior(s) specifically. Finally “urrakach” is composed of a prefix “urr-”, the pronoun for a clanmate, and “akach” the present form of the verb that means “to hunt”. 

A specific named subject can be omitted but a pronoun prefix can never be omitted in a Clanmew sentence. Even the absence of a prefix is considered a prefix itself, meaning “I” or “me”. Thus the speaker’s relationship towards the subject is always specified.

- Describing Attributes

When Bonefall corrected Troutfur's pronoun usage earlier he was using this Object/Subject/Verb (OSV) sentence structure; "Rarrwang gryyr" means "Use the rarrs pronoun with me," but is constructed as "Outsiderness (I)-contain". “Rarrwang” itself is constructed of the pronoun “rarr” and the suffix “wang” which indicates a noun embodying a certain quality.

This sentence construction with the verb “gryyr” and a noun with the “wang” suffix can also be used to describe someone or something with any other attribute. Let’s see the following examples:

Yaowang gryyr. [Female-quality I-contain.] "I’m a molly."

The word “yaow” is part of a set with “ssuf” (“male”), and “meewa” (“genderless”).

Pi morrwowang urrgryyr. [Seen/heard fast-quality they-clanmate-contain.] "She’s big."

"Morrwo" is part of a set with "Eeb" (small) and "Nyarra" (average).

Urr’rr boe gabpwang mwrrgryyr. [Whisker-felt strength-quality they-rogue-contain.] "She’s very strong."

Now, let’s see how you can describe someone with more than one attribute!

Bab boe gabpwang om boe morrwowang rarrgryrr. [Heard-say very strong-quality and very big-quality outsider-they-contain.] "She is very strong and very big."

Bab boe gabp-om-morrwowang rarrgryrr. [Heard-say very strong-and-big-quality outsider-they-contain.] "She is very strong and very big."

These two sentences may look completely equivalent, but the constructions used here actually convey two different shades of meaning.

In the first sentence, the qualities of strength and bigness are understood to not be related to each other. The size is unrelated to her strength. Perhaps she’s big as in fluffy rather than physically imposing! The second construction indicates very much the opposite, that the bigness and strength are related attributes.

Now you may notice by this point that there’s a little word at the beginning of most sentences. It is called an…

- Opening Particle

Opening particles are used to indicate many things such as where the information conveyed is coming from, that the sentence is a question or command, or even that the sentence is a hypothetical being posited.

In statements that denote facts, there are 5 such particles, indicating the way by which this knowledge was acquired. They are:

Bab Used for information the speaker does not have first-hand knowledge of. Anything that someone has heard from someone else such as news, gossip, or a report falls into this category. Information in this category is considered the least reliable of all categories.

Yass Used for information acquired through the smell, taste, or the use of Jacobson’s organ. Metaphorically, it has also been extended to things one believes or thinks, and logical deductions. In its metaphorical capacity it is considered second least reliable.

Urr’rr Used for information acquired through one’s whiskers. Metaphorically, it also extends to emotions, intuition, and other such feelings. Considered the second most reliable source of information when used as such.

Pi Used for information one has seen or heard directly. Considered the most reliable form of information in most situations. When it comes to information acquired through multiple sources, if visual or auditory sensations are included “pi” will almost always be preferred.

Ssoen Used by StarClan it indicates information they have access to by virtue of their alleged omniscience. Used by a regular Clan cat it is used to quote the words of a prophecy or to give one’s words the same weight as StarClan’s. In this second usage, it is most often used to give blessings, such as the phrase Troutfur used to congratulate Bonefall.

The lack of a particle can in a way be thought of as a particle in itself too! This indicates that some piece of information is self-evident to the speaker. Examples of when it is appropriate to omit sentence-starting particles have been explored before: introducing oneself, correcting pronoun usage, stating one’s gender, all concerning the self.

Let’s see some examples in practice!

Bab mwrrworrwang Raorgabrrl mwrrgryyr. [Heard-say murder-quality Lionblaze he-rogue-contains.] "I’ve heard that Lionblaze is a murderous rogue."

Yass woo nyyrwang mwrrgryyr. [Smelled/tasted mouse rotten-quality they-rogue-contain.] "I have smelled/tasted that the mouse is rotting."

Urr’rr rrarpabrpabrpabr. [Whisker-felt he-outsider-pummeled.] "He pummeled (me), I felt with my whiskers."

Pi powsh pabparra Ssbass-ulnyams rarrakachka. [Saw/heard trout patrol-amount RiverClan they-outsider-hunted.] "I saw a RiverClan patrol catching trout."

Ssoen ulnyams kafyar-ul ssarshefpa. [Prophetic clan wild-fire-only they-natural-force-will-rescue.] "Fire alone will save the Clans."

There are 3 other important particles to introduce; Karrl, Hassayyr, and Pryyp

“Karrl” indicates that a statement is a command.

Bonfaf, karrl piagorrl urrsshaiwo. [Stonefur, command learning-rank you-clanmate-star-will-kill.] "Stonefur, execute the apprentices."

“Hassayyr” indicates that a statement is a “what if”.

Hassayyr om pyrrs papp. [What-if with you-noncombatant (I-)will-walk.] "What if we went for a walk?"

“Pryyp” indicates that a statement is a question.

Pryyp mew wissuff? [Question kitten they-harmless-suckle?] "Are the kittens suckling?"

We will talk more about “pryyp” and asking questions a bit later, but first we’ve got to discuss…

- Possession

The simplest and easiest way to say that a person is in possession of something is to use their name as a pronoun like so;

Pi woomoerr'pbum Yywayashaiwrah [Seen/heard food-hole-bread Harestar-owns.] "I see the tunnelbun that Harestar owns."

This is only possible for simple statements, and is possible because 'wrah' is a rare, irregular single-stem verb. But more of that will come in another lesson!

There are more common ways to phrase possession. Compare the following two sentences:

Pi woomoerr’pbum Yywayashai urrwrah. [Seen/heard food-hole-bread Harestar he-owns.] "I see that my clanmate Harestar has a tunnelbun."

Pi Yywayashai urrwrah woomoerr’pbm Hrra’aborrl urrnomna. [Seen/heard Harestar he-owns food-hole-bread Breezepelt he-eats.] "I see that my clanmate Breezepelt is eating my Clanmate Harestar’s tunnelbun."

In the second sentence, the phrase “Harestar’s tunnelbun” is constructed with the same words of the sentence “Harestar has a tunnelbun”, however, the opening particle is dropped and not repeated. The difference is that the object (“woomoerr’pbum”) has been moved to the end.

Thus the phrase “Yywayashai urrwrah” (“Harestar he-owns”) can be understood in this situation to be an adjective that modifies “tunnelbun” in the second sentence. This construction is not limited only to statements about possession, but this is the most common case in which it is used. 

You can make possession even clearer with the connecting particle, "en." For example,

Pi Yywayashai-en-woomoerr’pbum Hrra’aborrl urrnomna. [Seen/heard Harestar-’s-tunnelbun Breezepelt he-eats.] "I see that my clanmate Breezepelt is eating the tunnelbun-of-Harestar."

All of these phrasings are perfectly grammatical. The use of a shorter, more explicit construction is a function of style and clarity. It is similar to how the idea could in English be expressed equally with the phrasings “Harestar’s tunnelbun”or “the tunnelbun of Harestar”.

Next, we will learn to ask simple questions.

- Simple Questions

“Pryyp” is a very useful particle! In front of a simple statement, it makes it into a yes-no question. For example:

Pryyp Yywayashai woomoerr’pbum urrwrah? [Question Harestar food-hole-bread he-has?] "Does Harestar have a Tunnelbun?"

To answer you have a couple options. You could restate the verb along with an opening particle to specify how you know:

Pi urrwrah. [Seen/heard he-has.] "He does, I’ve seen."

But what if he doesn't have one? You can negate the verb with the prefix “nyar”! Make sure to place in front of the verb but after the pronoun:

Pi urrnyarwrah. [Seen/heard he-not-have.] "He does not, I’ve seen."

Or you could respond with your opening particle, and a simple yes or no:

Pi mwyr/nyar. [Seen/heard yes/no.] "Yes/no, I saw."

But it isn’t the only type of question you can ask with Clanmew. In conjunction with a question word in the appropriate place, you can ask more open ended questions. Let’s see an example conversation from WindClan camp:

Hrra’aborrl: Pryyp woomoerr’pbum yar urrwrah? [Breezepelt: Question food-hole-rabbit who they-have?] Yywayashai: Pi Ipipfbafba pyrrswrah. [Harestar: Seen/heard Kestrelflight he-has.]

In English,

Breezepelt: "Who has the tunnelbun?" Harestar: "I saw Kestrelflight has it."

In this construction we see some interesting aspects of the grammar. The pronoun “yar” (“who”) replaces the subject in the first sentence, but the verb is still conjugated with “urr”.

This shows that Breezepelt assumes that the answer to his question is going to be a battle-capable clanmate. When Harestar answers though, he uses the “pyrrs” pronoun, as is appropriate when talking about a cleric such as Kestrelflight. Because of how the grammar works, Breezepelt is forced to make an assumption as to what his answer would be and Harestar automatically corrects it.

Harestar could have also answered:

Yywayashai: Pi pyrrswrah. [Harestar: Seen/heard he-has.]

Which is roughly translated to:

Harestar: "He has it."

With this answer Harestar is assuming Breezepelt will be able to figure out which noncombatant has it... but remember; clerics, apprentices, elders, and even close friends of the speaker are all encompassed by “pyrrs”. It may not be as clear as Harestar thinks it is!

To ask a multiple-choice question using “pryyp”, you could do it like this:

Wishwash: Pryyp woomoerr’pbum wragyr nyom Yywayashai nyom Ipipfbafba mwrrwrah? [Heathertail: Question food-hole-bread boar or Harestar or Kestrelflight they-rogue-have?] Hrra’aborrl: Pi (wragyr) mwrrwrah [Breezepelt: Seen/heard (boar) they-rogue-has.]

Which would translate to:

Heathertail: Who has the tunnelbun, a boar, Harestar, or Kestrelflight? Breezepelt: "I saw the boar has it."

Without “pryyp”, Heathertail’s question would be understood as a statement. “Either the boar, Harestar, or Kestrelflight has the tunnelbun.” But by starting the sentence with the appropriate particle she was able to convey it was a multiple choice question.

Breezepelt can also choose if he wants to specify "boar," or simply use the rogue pronoun in this situation. Harestar and Kestrelflight are not enemies, and so simply saying "Pi mwrrwrah" would make it clear that the boar has it.

This sentence also brings up the question of pronoun agreement when there’s more than one subject. Remember this; the pronoun of the most dangerous subject always has priority.

We've come a long way and learned a lot! Next, we'll cover the complicated way that Clan cats count and measure.

- Counting

We arrive in WindClan near the end of a harrowing scene. Cloudrunner's mate Larksplash has died in childbirth, and he has been told that because of complications, the litter has a sole survivor.

Hainyoopa: Ul-arra nyams wi? Ul-arra mew-ul wi? Ul-arra arkoor shai ssarakichkar om Ul-arramew ssaryorru! [Cloudrunner: Whole-amount kin baby-they? Whole-amount kitten only baby-they? Whole-amount existence stars natural-force-they-grab and whole-fraction-kitten natural-force-they-left!] Cloudrunner: "He’s my whole kin? He, who is only a single kitten? StarClan took everything and left me Onekit!"

With these dramatic words, Cloudrunner declared his son's name; Onekit.

The nuances of this expression of grief are hard to grasp unless one has an understanding of the counting system of the Clans. Clanmew does not count with straightforward numbers; instead, they have fractions associated with a given concept.

Arra = Between 1 and 4 = Amount of pieces of prey that can fit in a mouth. Used for small quantities of concrete things. This fraction is the closest Clanmew gets to simple counting.

Rarra = 5 = Amount of claws on one paw, amount of Clans. Used to count body parts or the amount of warriors in a usual patrol.

Pabparra = 9 = Amount of a full day's patrol assignments. Used to count groups of cats, enough to patrol a territory or run a Clan.

Husskarra = 12 = Amount of whiskers on one side of the face. Used to count a day’s work, things that are being sensed in large amounts.

Shomarra = Around 30 = Amount of days in a lunar cycle. Used to count amounts of time longer than a day.

These five “fraction words” are almost always preceded by an adverb specifying how much of that amount. The adverbs paired with the amount words are:

Prra = Beginning, usually one but can be any amount under a “warl”

Warl = Quarter

Yosh = Half

Ark = Three-quarters

Ul = Entire

When they are not preceded by a prefix, they aren’t meant to be taken as an exact number, but as an estimation. Clanmew does not value exactness.

Finally there are two useful phrases that can modify these numbers:

Om owar = And another

Nyo owar = Less another

The choice of number word is based on what is being counted, not what is mathematically most convenient. “Om owar” and “nyo owar” thus are very useful phrases to express quantities over what the usual number for the appropriate counting word is. More rarely they are used to express the concept of “+1” and “-1”. This usage is rare because Clan cats don’t really care that much about precision, especially for amounts over four.

Let’s see some examples:

Ul-pabparra om owar ul-pabparra arrlur. [Whole-patrol-amount and whole patrol I-compelled.] "I sent out two patrol’s worth of cats." Karrl arlkatch praa-shomarra om owar om owar om owar. [Command will-fight beginning-moon-amount and another and another and another.] "We will fight 3 days from now." Shomarra nyo owar ssar. [Moon-amount less another they-natural-force.] "The month is a day shorter."

And now let’s see an example of numbers in a brief conversation:

Bayabkach: Pi pishkaf pabparra Hwoo-ulnyams rarrkachka. [Brambleclaw: Seen/heard red-squirrel patrol-amount Wind-Clan they-outsider-hunted.] Fofnanfaf: Pryyp arra rarr? [Brackenfur: Question amount they-outsider?] Bayabkach: Pi rarra, yosh piagorrl om yosh kachgorrl, rarr.  [Brambleclaw: Seen/heard outsider-amount, half learning-rank and half claw-rank they-outsider.] Brambleclaw: "I saw a WindClan patrol hunting squirrels." Brackenfur: "How many?" Brambleclaw: "An outsider-amount, a quarter apprentices and a quarter warriors."

In this exchange when Brambleclaw says “an outsider-amount” he means a standard 5-member patrol. When he further specifies half warriors and half apprentices he specifies about 2 or 3 are warriors and another 2 or 3 are apprentices.

Here’s another conversation that happened in the middle of a ShadowClan patrol:

Rarrlurfaf: Pryyp woo urrpi? [Russetfur: Question food you-clanmate-perceive] Uboshai: Mwyr, pi ark-arra amam pipa. [Blackstar: Yes, perceive three-quarters-amount toad hear.] Russetfur: "Do you sense/see/perceive any prey?" Blackstar: "Yes, I hear three toads."

In this sentence “ark-arra” implies three toads but there may be more. If Blackstar wanted to specify there’s three and only three toads, he could have said “ark-arra ul” (three-quarter-amount only).

There are also numerous very useful idiomatic expressions using the number systems! Let’s look at a few of them.

Gryyr ul-arra arrl! [I-contain whole-amount I-must!] "I must do everything myself!" Gryyr huskarra om owar huskarra arrl! [I-contain whisker-amount and another whisker-amount I-must!] "This is all overwhelming!"

Finally, let’s examine briefly why Cloudrunner’s lament about his kit was so despairing. 

As you can see from above “ul-arra” would mean “whole amount”. That may not sound particularly emotional but for a Clan cat, for whom life is fundamentally communal, the implication of the whole amount of the smallest possible fraction brings to mind the idea of loneliness.

The names Onekit, Onewhisker, and Onestar (“Ul-arramew”, “Ul-arrahussk”, and “Ul-arrashai”) could very well have been translated as Lonekit, Lonewhisker, and Lonestar.

- Vocabulary:

Down below you will find a vocabulary list used in this lesson.

Particles, threat level pronouns, and number words have been omitted as they are explained at length in the text above.

Some verbs used in tenses other than the present are only given in the present tense. Correct use of the past, present, and future and of different verb forms will be explored in a future lesson.

[If you're craving even more vocabulary, check out the Lexicon]

Common Nouns:

Arrkoor: The universe, existence

Baben: Bone

Bayab: Bramble; blackberry plant (Rubus fruticosus)

Bon: Stone

Borrl: Pelt, skin and the fur on it

Faf: Fur

Fofnan: Bracken

Hrra'a: Breeze

Hussk: Whisker

Ipa: Ear

Ipip: Kestrel (Falco tinnunculus)

Ipo: Eye

Kach: Claw

Kafyar: Wildfire

Mew: Kitten

Nyams: Kin

Pabparra: Patrol

Pishkaf: Red squirrel (Sciurus vulgaris)

Powsh: Common brown trout (Salmo trutta)

Pwyr: Toebean; The -paw suffix, used to indicate the rank of apprentice

Raor: Lion

Shai: Star

Skurss: Tyrant; the name of the ThunderClan warrior Iceheart when he was leader of BloodClan

Swash: Tail

Wask: Holly

Wish: Bell heather (Erica cinerea)

Woo: Mouse; Food

Woomoerr'pbum: Tunnelbun

Wragyr: Boar (sus scrofa)

Yywaya: Brown hare (Lepus europaeus)

The Clans:

Ulnyams: Clan

Hwoo-ulnyams: WindClan

Krraka-ulnyams: ThunderClan

Sbass-ulnyams: RiverClan

Washa-ulnyams: ShadowClan

Yaawrl-ulnyams: SkyClan

Ranks:

Gorrl: Rank

Shaigorrl: Leader

Arrlgorrl: Deputy

Shomgorrl: Cleric

Kachgorrl: Warrior

Piagorrl: Apprentice

Shompiagorrl: Cleric apprentice

Pronouns:

Owar: Another

Yar: Who

Verbs: NOTE: All verbs given are present tense.

Akach: Hunts

Akichka: Grapples, grabs

Arrl: Compels, orders; Must

Arrlkatchya: Fights

Babun: Beats (of a heart); In names sometimes translated as the -heart suffix such as Kafyarbabun (Fireheart)

Few: Falls

Fbafba: Flies, is flying (of a bird or winged animal)

Gabrrl: Crackles (of fire)

Gryyr: Contains

Nomna: Eats

Nyoopab: Gallops, running fast

Pabrpabr: Pummels

Pappa: Walks

Pi: To see or hear, to perceive generally

Pipa: To hear

Pipo: To see

Shefpash: Rescues

Shemi: Shines

Sskif: Wants

Ssuff: Suckles

Worr: Kills

Mwrrworr: Kills dishonorably, commits murder

Shaiworr: Executes, kills in StarClan's name

Wrah: Owns

Yorr: To leave behind

Suffixes:

-ul: Only, by itself

-wang: -ness, the quality of being like a thing.

Adjectives:

Eeb: Small

Gabp: Strong

Meewa: De-sexed, genderless

Morrwo: Fast

Nyarra: Of average size

Nyyr: Rotting; Bad

Osk: White

Rarrlur: Russet

Shem: Shining; Good

Ssuf: Male

Ubo: Black

Yaow: Female

Adverbs:

Boe: Very

Mwyr: Yes

Nyar: No

Conjunctions:

Nyo: Less, minus

Nyom: Or

Om: And, plus

Expressions:

-meer: Hello! (Always used with a pronoun prefix)

Ssoen wowa [2nd person pronoun] shai ssarshemi!: Congratulations!

Gryyr ul-arra arrl!: I must do everything myself!

Gryyr huskarra om owar huskarra arrl!: This is all overwhelming!

Try it yourself!

Below are ten open-ended exercises so you can practice and test your knowledge. Feel free to reference the vocabulary list and the main text of the lesson as much as you need. For an extra challenge you can try responding without looking at them or making new sentences of your own!

You’ve just been accepted into a Clan, and even though your leader hasn’t granted you a warrior name yet, they trust you enough to take you to a gathering. How would you introduce yourself to the Cats of the other Clans?

During a patrol you encounter the treacherous and murderous exile Liontail. He tries to appeal to your friendship, but you’re a loyal cat of your Clan so of course you won’t hear this rogue out! Correct his pronoun usage so he knows you’re a threat to him.

You approach the fresh kill pile and smell a rotting squirrel carcass. How would you warn your clanmates?

You are an apprentice and your mentor tells you to check for scents. You can make out 3 unique smells; two strange cats, and a toad. How do you report this to your mentor?

Your clanmate has trouble telling Snowpelt and Whitefur apart. They’re both blue-eyed white cats but while Snowpelt is large and a molly, Whitefur is small and a tom. How would you tell your clanmate this?

Your friend is describing the feared BloodClan leader Scourge, and says they are both small and strong. You want to interject and point out that Scourge was strong because he was small, and often underestimated. How do you phrase this?

While hunting, a rogue attacks your patrol! After the scuffle is over, you notice that the mice you were carrying are gone! Ask your clanmates who has the mice; them, or the rogue.

A RiverClan cat offers you some of the food they brought for the gathering. You know they brought both mice and trouts and you want to make sure you don’t eat any of those smelly fish they are so fond of. Ask them whether they have a mouse or a trout.

You are a RiverClan warrior who just offered a cat from another Clan some of the food you brought to the gathering. The cat in question just asked whether you have a mouse or a trout. It seems kind of obvious to you but it’s only polite to reply. Tell them that you’ve got a trout.

You are the deputy, and you are assigning patrols. At the end, you have 3 cats left over (Kestrelclaw, Hollyheart, and Snowear), and you must ask your leader which of these cats they would like to patrol with.

Once you'd tried them out on your own, you can check your answers over here!

[krittikasurya]

Some thoughts on Krittka Nakshatra (originally posted on substack and twitter)

Krittika at its best really understands how to both simultaneously enjoy and appreciate things while also being able to give critical commentary and feedback, and I think a lot of people have a hard time wrapping their heads around this level of multifaceted behavior. In a world where black-and-white, all-or-nothing thinking is common and encouraged, people often forget that two things can be true at once. Krittika natives have the creativity and flexibility to understand and implement this “two truths at once” concept into their everyday lives. People think Krittika natives are being insolent or abrasive when the native is just simply speaking on what they’ve learned, gathered, observed and experienced and being straightforward about it…taking the data they’ve accumulated and turning it into something that’s easy to digest. Absolute truths rarely exist, and Krittika exposes the complexities we experience on both a collective and individual level.

Krittika’s goal isn’t to trash things necessarily. I think the goal Krittika natives have is to help themselves and others see things in a different, profound way. Offering refreshing perspectives on many different aspects of life is something the natives take pride in. The Martian influence of the Aries portion of the nakshatra makes one very analytical and strategic. Observing and learning through action and expeirnce, the Aries side of this nakshatra knows how to take things back to the drawing board. They understand that trial and error are some of the best teachers, and that there is always room for change. The Venusian influence of the Taurus portion gives the native discernment and good taste. The discriminatory nature of Venus leaves little to no room for indifference, especially when it comes to connections, arts, and culture. Venus appreciates excellence, and Krittika will accept nothing less. Krittika serves as the bridge between the sun’s (Identity) and the moon’s (Mind) exaltation points, giving both signs vast intelligence that manifests slightly different, but one thing remains the same: The sharp, quick witted nature of the nakshatra that seeks improvement within themsleves and the world around them. In today’s society, echo chambers are growing increasingly common, creating less nuance and mental flexibility, and more groupthink. From arts to politics, the effects of all-or-nothing thinking seems almost inescapable. Mediocrity is the acceptable normal, and Krittika is on a mission to change that.

When not channeled appropriately, Krittika natives can be high strung individuals, hypercritical of both themselves and others while forgetting to appreciate the beauty of life, and the beauty within themsleves. Some constantly feel the need to “shake the table” or say what they believe others are afraid to say, not fully realizing the implications of making ego driven “critiques.” Some “critiques” can be so ego driven, that they are dowright incorrect, mean or hateful in nature. They can be prone to tunnel vision and extreme anger, especially when they feel like their way is the only way. Krittikas can be demanding, exhibiting dictator-like control over their communities which can lead to a “walking on eggshells” feeling for the people around the native. It is imperative that Krittikas don’t lose sight on what’s important: not crossing the thin line between enlightening analysis, and downright negativity.

Krittika natives experience a lot of pleasure from giving critique as well, because they believe that there’s something really cool about being able to get others to think in ways they may not have before, and introduce various perspectives on any given subject. Krittika’s shakti (power) is to purify or burn away impurities, and sharing thier critical thoughts and assessments is one of the best ways to do it in today’s world. If we as a collective are going to consume things, Krittikas believe we can and should evaluate and question what we consume. Things should be questioned more. “Impurities” should be pointed out. The status quo should be challenged in all aspects of life.

Krittika isn’t scared to point out things that are flawed and it infuriates some individuals that Krittika natives don’t just sit and “go with the flow” all the time. Krittika has a burning lust for awareness of the world we live in. Krittika knows that sometimes there will be conflict, they’ll ruffle a few feathers and invoke certain emotions that make others feel uncomfortable, but when done tactfully that has the power to change the world (however big or small you consider your world to be).

[jarofstyles]

Reaper 6

Reaper is a dark story with dark and mature subject matter. 18+ NSFW

Hello welcome back to the world of Reaper and Bunny, this is another light hearted chapter... the next one will satisfy what this one doesn't ;)

Check out our Patreon for exclusive writing and early access!

wc: 9.1k

warnings: cute couple behavior, changing room shenanigans, daddy kink?, we are giving you guys blue balls in this

---------------------------------------

Harry hadn’t woken up happy like this in a long, long time.

A face full of hair and sweet smelling skin mixed with the scent of sex lingering in the room had always been something he avoided. Women weren’t allowed her and he never spent the night, not wanting any semblance of a connection past orgasms to be misconstrued.

This, though? This was a dream.

Sweet Bunny curled up with him, his arms firmly wrapped around her body and one hand, appropriate to his character, holding a breast. Her warm skin touched every inch of his. The best part had to be the fact he was still tucked up inside of her.

He had made sure to get them clean the night before, but she had woken him up with a soft little whine and whisper of ‘feels empty’ and that was all it took for him to guide himself back inside of the warm walls.

Waking up inside of her was fucking incredible. He felt warm and her cunt was snug and soft, making him exhale sharply as she moved in her sleep.

His hands pulled her in further, dislodging for a moment to brush the hair from her face, adjusting it so his lips could press against her neck. Stubble brushing the skin, his warm lips pressed a few kisses.

He could feel her breathing change slightly and smiled against her, his raspy morning voice breaking the morning silence.

“Mornin’ Bun.”

As Bunny slowly came to, she was overwhelmed by a feeling of warmth and fullness that she had only ever dreamed of. If it wasn’t for his grip on her, she wouldn’t have noticed. A smile spread across her sleepy and blissful face, squeezing herself around him out of instinct.

“Good morning…” She didn’t even attempt to hold back the moan before speaking, instead leaning into the sound. He felt so good completely wrapped around her. Y/N felt her heartbeat start to pick up as he breathed against her neck, already getting sucked right back into the feelings of last night.

She simply couldn’t get enough of him, but it seemed he was in the same boat.

“Oh bunny, what am I going to do about you?” He murmured, pressing kisses up to her ear. “Didn’t get enough? Is that it? You’re already ready to go?” He asked, surprisingly gently but she could tell he was just as eager but rather holding himself back.

“I don’t want you to stop.” Her weak morning voice whispered to him, clenching around him again and making him groan against her ear. He felt the chills on her skin, pressing herself back, not wanting to stop.

“Y’sure? You’re not sore?” He murmured, shallowly thrusting. He hadn’t had sex like that before, usually preferring to pin them down or have them ride him- but there was an intimacy to this. Cuddled up under the fresh blankets, her quiet breathing getting heavier.

“A little. But I like you inside me. Like when it hurts.” She grabbed his hand and held it to her stomach, arching slightly to let him get the picture.

“My god… what have I done to deserve a filthy, delicious little treat like you?” Harry asked, turning her head slightly so he could kiss her lips, sinking back all the way inside. Lazy morning sex had never been a priority, never even really a want. That required staying the night and he never liked anyone enough for that. Instead, this was probably one of his new favorite things.

He felt his hips push a little harder against her, each thrust pushing her body harder against his hand. He loved it. How easily he could move her around and how responsive she was to his touch.

“Have you really been thinking about me all these years?” He asked, recalling the one thing that had been on his mind since the words left her lips. It was a primal desire, he wanted to hear her say it again. “Did I meet your expectations?”

He was practically purring, hips moving at a slow yet passionate pace. He felt like he couldn’t be deep enough inside her, wanting to savor every second.

“More than.” She clutched his hand again, shivering when she felt his lips purring against her. It felt so good. Each movement of him against her had her body lighting up, addicted to the feeling of his personal brand of pleasure. It never felt like this with anyone else.

“All the years… I begged for you in my head. wanted you… to see me.” She spoke between his thrusts, admitting the truth freely to him.

It fueled him. Knowing he had been the main target all along. She had wanted him from day one and that did something for his soul. He knew he may not be able to keep her forever-

But he would treasure and cherish every single second he could now.

“Did you dream of this?” He slid his hand up her body, gently collaring her throat with his hand. “Dream of me waking you up like this? What did you dream of, my sweet girl?” He coaxed answers from her, cherishing every single drag of his cock inside of her. It was a privilege to get this again.

He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of her as long as she allowed him.

She took in a deep breath, body shaking with pleasure each time he smoothed over the most sensitive parts of her skin. It was as if he knew just where to touch her, his hands tending to every part of her silky skin.

“Mmm…” Bunny hummed, feeling the vibration travel to his hand through her throat. “Yeah— just like that,” A pleased sigh escaped her, “Thought about you eating me out on the counter.” It was always a fantasy of hers even at her mom’s house. When Sterling was upstairs and Harry came down to grab a snack.

“In the shower too.” The feeling of her hot body pressed against the cool tiles, nipples grazing over the glass. “But this.. mostly this…” Bunny had always pictured the two of them having lazy yet passionate sex. Harry was raw, in ways many guys weren’t. He didn’t care about superficial things as much, he didn’t live a life where such things matter.

When it came to sex, it was one of the only ways he was able to communicate his love. If he’d ever felt love, to begin with.

“Good.” He brushed his lips over her skin, his thrusts lazily drinking up every bit of the sensation. Feeling her against his body, being inside of her, all of it felt unreal. He was going to soak up as much as possible, as much as she would allow.

He wouldn’t have touched her then simply on the principle that it was his best mate’s sister- but it didn’t mean he didn’t think about it as she grew into herself. He had always been fond of her but he resented himself when his attraction had grown.

Little did he know, she had been pining back even harder.

“I’ll give it to you whenever you want, Angel. As long as you keep being my good fucking girl, I’ll give you every bit of cock you want. And my mouth.” And this affection. He didn’t want to admit that quite yet- but he knew he had been good at taking what he could get.

A girl like Y/N could do plenty better than Harry, and she probably would want to leave one day- but Harry would take every little bit of her he could while she was in his possession. Especially since she so freely gave it.

“Can feel you… you’re so close. Are you going to cum on my cock again?”

“Yeah—“ She was breathing deeply, a true test of how relaxed she was, the fact that he could bring her to her climax so quickly. It sent another wave of pleasure over her body. It felt electric, the waves crashing over her with each push of his hips and gentle kisses along her shoulders.

“you make me feel so good…” Her words were accented by the smile tugging at her lips, sighs of relief filling the room along with more giggles. His stubble was tickling her neck, but the feeling of being warm and full of him was distracting.

The kisses didn’t stop even when she turned her body slightly to face him. Bunny used a free hand to guide his lips to hers, sighing blissfully into his mouth at the relief.

Gently massaging his head, her lips took control of the kiss. It wasn’t that he was giving any resistance, more than happy to follow her lead. Her kiss was sweet as if she hadn’t seen him for ages, even more, eager than after classes. Those kisses became so familiar, he was starting to think this was just how she kissed him. His lover girl.

He was gentle with her.

She was aware that with most of humanity, that was the opposite. He was hard and mean and he wasn’t someone you’d call a good person- but it was hard to remember that with his calloused fingers stroking her hot cheek, leaning into a place that neither of them had been in before.

Gentleness wasn’t a descriptor nearly anyone else could use for their interactions with him but Bunny absolutely could. He was rough with her during sex, sure, but outside of that? He treated her in the most tender way she could have ever expected. He was mindful of his strength, making sure she was safe and he didn’t hurt her- because if he did? He’d probably drive off a cliff or something.

He watched her eyes lazily open as they pulled back, swollen mouth curling into a sleepy smile before she pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

“What’s got you smiling like that?”

“Shhhhh..” She was far too shy despite the position they were in. “You know what.” Her words came out in a small whisper. There were far too many things to list. She felt safe and relaxed, comfortable in his arms, she felt well rested and brand new thanks to a night and morning full of sex. Why wouldn’t she be smiling?

“You look really sexy when you’re relaxed you know…” She decided she could trust her voice again, gently nipping at the crease between his shoulder and neck. “Kinda look hot when you’re mad too… sometimes.” Y/N thought she had gotten away with saying it quietly but it seemed he heard it clear as day.

It piqued his interest, his grasp on her hips tightened. Of course, the little angel liked a bit of danger.

“Too curious for your own good, bunny…”

His personal goal was to try and avoid having her see him in the way that earned him his nickname. He didn’t want to risk her freaking out and leaving or changing her mind about him- or even worse, feeling unsafe. He would never hurt her in a million years, never in his life. He adored her- even if he couldn’t say it out loud yet.

“Just honest.” She smiled, pecking his lips. “I think you’ve created a monster out of me. With the sex.” Her body curled into him, raising a hand and pushing some slightly sweaty hair from his face, letting herself observe him.

As beautiful as he was, he still looked dangerous. The slight scar over his eyebrow, the slight glint in his eyes, the stubble, all of it called to a part of her that should probably tell her to stay away- but instead, it made her want to run to him.

“Yeah? That’s not a problem. I’ve been described as a monster to some so… I think I can handle a horny one.”

“Do you?” She asked mischievously. “We’ll see about that.” It was just teasing, but then again that was something she was very good at. Bunny remembered how easily he cracked before, now it would only be harder for him to deny her. “I’m very needy.”

Pecking his lips once more she slowly attempted to pull away from him so she could escape to the bathroom. She didn’t want to interrupt, but she swore she would burst if sh—

“Harry!” She squealed, feeling him yank her arm back into bed. His body caged over top of hers pretty quickly. “Did I say you could go anywhere?” He purred against her, nose brushing up the side of her cheek.

“Please Harry, I gotta go pee.”  Bunny pleaded and he could only chuckle. He’s had worse happen in this bed.

“You do?” He grinned, pulling back to look at her. “Shame. I don’t feel like letting you up yet.”

“Harry. Please?” She pouted, squirming underneath him. It had aroused her to be manhandled like that, to be trapped underneath him. It didn’t help that he began to mouth at her neck.

“Okay. Let me finish this.. and then I’ll let you up.” He had seen a lack of good marks on her neck. There were plenty on her breasts- but the one he had given her yesterday on her neck hadn’t developed the way he wanted. His lips attached to a piece of skin, kissing it slightly before increasing the pressure of his sucking.  Hickeys hurt, but he knew his Bunny liked a lick of pain. Especially if it pleases him.

She was squirming beneath him, a different heat rising to her cheeks as she tried her best not to tense up too much from the feeling. It was a good kind of pain, the type that felt like sparks in her stomach.

Small whines let him know it was time to let go, but he certainly wasn’t ready just yet. He wanted to hear a few more mewls, to hear her beg once more. His sweet bunny, all his.

“Harry.” She breathed out through her nose, his grip on her wrists loosened, his lips still lingering over her body as he allowed her to move up and out of bed. He didn’t let go till his fingertips touched hers, watching her shuffle into the ensuite.

What was going on? What had even happened? Harry felt like he’d been in a bubble for the past 24 hours. Distracted. What time was it?

Harry wasn’t sure why it had snapped when it had, but he knew it was going to be impossible to go back to the way it was before. He wouldn’t be able to resist her anymore. Of course, the man had done his best to hold out, to keep himself calm and remember that she was indeed his best mate's sister… but he was also a selfish being. He wanted her, he wanted to know her taste and her smell and wanted to indulge in the fantasy of having her truly be his. So… he couldn’t really deny it anymore.

He did feel a bit of guilt that he would worry about later. This lifestyle and even him, they weren’t good enough for her. She deserved a hell of a lot more, a lot less looking over one's shoulders. She should have a nice guy outside of this town with a picket fence and some Goldendoodles and kids. That wasn’t what she would get with him.

Sure, she would get fierce loyalty and hot sex and devotion. But how much could that feed her?

Surprisingly? A lot.

Y/N sat with her feet flat against the floor, playing with her hands with a small smile on her face. It’s like she couldn’t wipe it off. She’d never been so happy, so carefree. Bunny truly had forgotten the things she feared beyond these four walls.

Harry had a way of making her feel seen, even in the moments when he was emotionally stunted. He was able to read her fluently, enough to know what was wrong and enough to desire to solve it. It seemed the best solution for relaxing was his tongue.

Y/N made her way back to the bedroom, feeling refreshed. Seeing him back to business mode on his phone, she wished she could snatch it out of his hand sometimes.

Harry had picked up his phone to go through messages he had gotten the night before. He’d been too busy balls deep inside of Bunny and he wasn’t letting anyone interrupt that, but now that they’d gotten a few rounds in he was able to concentrate.

A little bit.

He sat on the edge of the bed and felt her body weight dip the bed. His expectation was for her to cuddle back under the covers, but instead was met with arms wrapping should his body and a chin on his shoulder, plushy lips pressing into his cheek as she sighed. The casual affection was unexpected, something he was very unused to… but not unwelcoming.

“Why are you working already.” Her tone was slightly whiny, which oddly did something to his cock. He’s never liked whining before but perhaps it was just… from her.

“I’ve got to catch up on things from last night.” He murmured, typing back a reply to one of the messages. “If we’re spending today at home… I need to at least reschedule some shit.”

“Okay,” She relaxed against his back, letting her head rest against him the way she wanted. Cheek against his shoulder blade, closing her eyes again only to focus in on the sound of his heart and his breathing.

Y/N took her sweet time, gently tracing shapes over his chest and stomach with her finger. She just wanted to touch him, let him know she was there and present and waiting for his attention.

It meant a lot to her that he was taking the time out for her, but she had a feeling that last night convinced him to go against his doubts. He should stay with her. To keep her safe. It was selfish, but he couldn’t leave her on her own. He was the only one she could trust now.

Has she not known him for years, it would have been far more worrying that she was clinging to him like this. He couldn’t say he hated it. He’d never had a girl feel comfortable enough to touch him so freely and gently. He didn’t realize touch could feel this way. His heart sped up, clearing his throat before using a free hand to hold her hand against his stomach instead.

He didn’t usually like casual or affectionate touches. It was too familiar. People tried to figure him out, his ‘story’ so to speak, thinking there was a mystery behind him. And- there was. But it wasn’t for anyone faint of heart or anyone who sought out the story anyways.

That being said, Bunny had always been an exception to his rule. Only girl he let ride his bike, the only girl to stay the night in his bed, the only girl he gave hickeys to, the only girl he actually gave a shit about.

He was on his phone for a good 20 minutes, feeling her start to get a bit antsy as he felt kisses travel over his shoulders and back. He shivered slightly without being able to stop himself when she had gotten to his neck, still on the phone when she placed the side opposite to the phone full of little pecks. It wasn’t even necessarily sexual- but a touch of appreciation that made him a little confused. Why did it affect him so much?

“Okay. That was the last one.” He told her, turning his head to try and get a glimpse of her.

She didn’t even try to hide the excitement in her eyes, not having any plans for the day meant more quality time with him. Bunny woke up this morning with a mission to make him feel something different.

When he first told her she was the first girl he’d done all this with, she wasn’t surprised. However, it did make her heart hurt. He’s never known softness, but even self-proclaimed monsters need a place where they can just be.

“Yeah? You still have things to do today though, right?” She wanted to make sure he knew she would give him space if it all became too much. “Don’t have to do it now though… if you don’t want to.” Bunny leaned forward again and pressed a kiss to his chin.

He looked confused for a moment as if he expected her to kiss his lips but he wasn’t disappointed. A kiss followed shortly after. She couldn’t help it. He just looked like he needed it.

“I was thinking we could go shopping. We need some more groceries… can go into the city for a bit, first. I need to get some new jeans. Sound like something you’d want to do?”

He wasn’t sure what to do. If he should even attempt being romantic with her or what the deal was. It was something of uncharted territory… but he also liked the idea of people seeing them together.

“M’sorry I’m not letting you go back to school yet. I just…” he licked his suddenly dry lip, looking at her wide eyes. “I don’t want you around that area yet. I got a text from Wiz- he’s going tonight and sneaking into the lot to install a discreet camera facing your parking spot.” Thank god they had designated spots. “So maybe we can catch him if he tries this shit again.” He didn’t want to remind her of the situation but he also wanted her to be aware he was taking extra precautions for her. Was trying to make sure she was aware he was going to do any and everything he could to make her safe.

“Shopping? Say no more.” Bunny scrunched her nose and gave him a cheeky smile. He did mention the jeans thing a while back, they were far too busy before but now that things are tense but settled? Why not. No one could harm her if he was with her. Knowing Reaper, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

“I wanna see you in one of those button ups… the sheer ones or the silky ones.” She hummed at the thought, “Think you’d look really good. Like… really really good.” Bunny could already see the fabric clinging to his body. It would hang off his shoulders just right. Show off his back…

“But cuddle first.” Y/N pulled him backwards into bed, giggling as his weight crushed her in just the right way. “Before we get up to eat, don’t wanna get up yet..” code for, I don’t want the moment to end.

She swore she’d stay in bed with him all day if he let her.

“Well… I don’t think I can say no to putting one in when you seem to get horny just thinking about them.” He laughed, letting her pull his body down onto the bed into her lap. Harry melted into her, letting out a sigh as she looked down at him spiderman style. He could see how long her eyelashes were and slightly up her nose, but he just shook his head. The comfort was something he would happily do as long as she would let her.

—-

“Bunny….” Harry gave her a look as she piled her arms with clothing for him to try on. She had brought him to a boutique she knew that sold men’s clothing, and was using him as her personal Barbie doll.

Harry stuck out like a sore thumb. A lot of this stuff was for hipsters, really, and Harry looked like a guard dog, a scowl on his face as he looked at anyone who passed them. He had let her walk around the store, following behind her quietly until he realized what exactly she was doing.

“Please?” She hit him with a pout. A pout that made him inhale deeply, looking at the stack of clothing in her hands. She had been through some shit and the giddiness on her face at the prospect of him trying some things on would be a little price to pay to try and make up for the lack of empathy he’s given her.

“Fine. But you need to come in the dressing room with me. You aren’t out of my sight.”

“I’d never say no to that.” She smirked, “but no funny business, okay Harry?” Bunny teased knowing damn well she was the one who needed the warning. It would be hard not to touch on him especially when he’d be trying on the most attractive pieces.

Harry wasn’t one to wear colors, so she chose mostly black shirts and jeans. Except for this one red shirt that was screaming for him to try on. It was a thin material, just showed enough to make her want to rip it off of him. That’s what she thought at least, she wanted to see it on him.

“Promise you can pick something for me later and I’ll try it on for you too.” Y/N had an idea of a few things he could like. For his eyes only of course.

After Bunny was finished scanning the shop, she led him to the dressing rooms deciding to pick the one at the very back. It was bigger than the others, more private.

Harry raised a brow at the promise. One that he was 100% going to make her fulfill. He was a man of his word, after all.

It was amusing seeing her think through which shirts or pants she wanted him to try on. It was also evident that she was very much aware there wasn’t much of a problem with money, choosing some pieces that had Harry’s eyes widening a bit. He never spent a lot on clothes, really, besides if he was going to go somewhere for the club that needed it. His jeans usually came from thrift stores or whatever shop was closest. This was a new thing for him. Shopping was in and out for him- but he had to remember the times he and Sterling had to accompany her and her friends to the malls outside their territory. Hours upon hours.

“Okay…” he cleared his throat, leaning against the closed door of the fitting room while she placed the items on the rack. “What am I doing here? What do I try first?”

“Let’s do the jeans first to get them out of the way. I think you’ll know if you like them or not.” Y/N handed him the few folded pairs of black jeans. They were pretty simple, but good quality. They wouldn’t tear as easily but would still hold up nicely even with biking.

“Can take your shirt off if you want, gonna have you truly the shirts on with one of the pairs of jeans on.” Bunny wanted him to see her vision fully. The new jeans would help determine which shirts would stay.

“Obviously if you don’t like anything or don’t feel good in them, then don’t just agree 'cause I picked them… want you to like them too.” She cooed and turned back around to take a good look at him.

“Well.. I do trust your taste considering I know fuck all about fashion.” He laughed under his breath. His jeans were stripped down and tossed off to the side where Bunny sat and his shirt followed.

While essentially naked, he moved, grabbing a pair of jeans and slipping them on. She had taken a few pairs of pants and somehow found differences between them all. Harry didn’t know what it was besides maybe the fit? But these already fit nicely. If he was alone he would simply grab these and go.

However… he could feel her eyes on him. His back was to her as he looked in the mirror and he was positive she could see the scratch marks she had left up the planes of his back. She was a wildcat and had definitely marked her territory, something he would wear with pride. She matched with her love bites, but he knew just from his shower earlier that she did a number on him.

“How’re these?”

“Huh?” Y/N pulled herself from her thoughts at the sound of his voice, “Turn around.” She spoke when she processed what he’d said. Taking a step forward, she gave him a look up and down. They fit really well.

“Bum looks good,” Bunny smirked, smacking it lightly just to get a rise out of him. She liked pushing his buttons but he was patient with her. “Do you like them?” It didn’t matter how many times he said he didn’t care she wanted to make sure he picked ones he liked.

Her hands moved to his belt loops, pulling herself closer for a moment to give him time to answer. And to steal a quick kiss of course.

He gave her an unamused look at the smack to the ass but it was quickly wiped away when she kissed him. It was the casual kisses that kind of knocked him off his feet in a way. It was flattering to think she was comfortable enough with him to do that.

“I do. But we’re never going to get out of this room if y’keep kissing on me.” His own hand strayed down to get a handful of his own, dipping under her skirt and squeezing the soft flesh covered by her panties. Shame.

“Sorry, Daddy.” She purred up at him, making his jaw clench. Like she said- pushing his buttons, making him tick, being a bit of a brat was fun for her.

She hadn’t expected his hand to grab jaw and move her back slightly with a warning look on his face- but it aroused her further. This mostly unexplored part of him made her melt, eyes widening up at his dark ones.

“I said to watch yourself, little girl.” He spoke quietly. “Don’t get me worked up one pair of pants in.” A tiny peck was placed on her lips paired with a tiny squeeze to her jaw before he released her, turning around to take them off.

“I’ll get these. Which should I try next?”

“Any.” She spoke, rather winded. Y/N had been hot since this morning, still not adjusted to the new stage in their relationship. Bunny wanted to be touching him all the time. He always had the ability to take her breath away. He knew just how much pressure to apply and when to apply it. Touchy. It made her skin buzz. She licked over her lip and handed him the next pair of jeans, smiling smugly to herself.

He had unlocked the one part she’d been holding back. He gave her the go-ahead, the freedom to do as she pleased. It was giving her enough satisfaction seeing him react so strongly to her. To see he’d been holding back as well.

They zoomed past the next pair, Harry agreed that they fit well. Even said he preferred those which shocked her. She had managed to sway him. He did care deep down. Y/N was getting impatient though, wanting to see all the button-ups.

“Okay… pick which one you want to try first. Do your thing.” She decided she would have a seat for this one, leaning back against the wall of the dressing room.

Harry let his eyes run over the tops she had chosen. They were definitely a bit out there, sure, but she knew his go to’s so it wasn’t like it was something completely unwearable.

Except one.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got t’be joking with this one.” He snorted, looking at the one with… chicks? Printed on it. It was ugly. Point blank period, no other way around it. It was probably a gag but he still didn’t know what she was thinking even bringing it in here.

“I’d burn that one. But…” his eyes took in a silky black one, humming as he observed the embossed pattern on it.

“This one is nice.” It had a snake print around it, only visible when the light caught it. “This is more like it. Not cartoon chicks.”

He tugged it on his body, straightening up as the fabric fell against his body. “Hm…” he liked it. He was partial to silk and satin when he went out, even just to the bar if he felt like looking good in order to pull- but this was different. It felt different because Bunny was the one who chose it.

Bunny scrunched her nose at him, nodding along with the idea of burning the shirt. It was a gag, but she wanted to see what he would say.

“Really? I think you’d make it look good.” She smacked the gum in her mouth, watching as he fell in love with the black shirt. Bunny knew he’d be drawn to it, it screamed his name. It was practically begging for her to pick it up the second she walked into the boutique. It was his already.

“Yeah?” Y/N raised her brow, “Sex on legs in that.” There was no other way to describe it. Anyone would see him in that shirt and immediately want to rip it off of him. “Definitely getting this one.”

“How about the red one?”

“Sex on legs?” He chuffed. “I’d say so. But I’m glad y’think so too.” He decided on that once, scoffing at the price tag but placing it back on the hanger. He never splurged but it was obviously making her happy to watch him try things on.

His hands reached for the red one. It was sheer and soft and had lining on the cuffs and collar with some velvet, the rest left on its own. Truthfully he felt like he wasn’t even wearing much, the soft material lightweight against his skin. Cool to the touch.

It was hot.

Y/N watched with her lip bitten between her teeth as he took his hair down from the bun it was in, shaking out his hair as he tried to get the vision. He was so attractive it was almost criminal. The only reason it wasn’t was because she was the one that got him.

“I like this one too. It’s hot.” He mumbled. “Can see all my tattoos though. Dunno if a jealous thing like you can handle that.”

“Mmm well it’s for my eyes, isn’t it? if I can dress slutty then so can you.” She said with a shrug, knowing damn well she would be eating her words next time they were out. The moment she’d see a girl looking at him for too long she’d make her wish she hadn’t. Not that they could really truly go out without being on edge.

“I like that you know you’re good looking.” Bunny hummed, “But I don’t like to share either. So I think it works out for the both of us, hmm?” The two of them really were a match. Undeniably so, they fit together like a puzzle, their flaws complimenting each other.

“Okay let’s finish up here, next one.” She was getting a bit fidgety, unable to touch him here despite her wants. Harry could see it in her eyes, a smug smile stuck on his face. He wanted to give her something to hold her over.

She handed him the next one while he watched her squirm slightly. She was antsy and he knew exactly why.

The newfound sexual energy that they had finally given into had been something that tempted the both of them. It was just more visible on Y/N. She bit at her lip and fiddled with the ends of her hair, legs pressed together as she exhaled shakily. He had taken off his shirt and stood in just jeans, a sight that was honestly hotter than she cared to admit.

There was the lazy smugness, the arrogance that she found so fucking hot it was ridiculous. He knew she was struggling a bit and didn’t offer her anything but temptation, pulling on a few more shirts which she approved all of.

Truly? He could even pull if the stupid chick shirt. It was infuriating.

“You’re being good.” He commented, hanging the last shirt up. “I’m proud of you.” His voice dropped as he approached her, standing tall in front of her sitting form. “Behaving even though I know you’re a mess between your legs. What a good little thing you are. I’m a little surprised given how greedy you were but… you’ve behaved.” His knuckled brushed over her hot cheek, that smirk making her breathing catch. “Good girl.”

She could feel her stomach flip, practically purring as her eyes glossed over in need. He seemed to know exactly what to say to get her here, but she had a feeling he wasn’t going to let her have it. She let her hands find the back of his thighs, holding him there and slowly making her way up.

How she’d love to have him in her mouth right no—

“Don’t even think about it.” Harry grabbed her jaw again, forcing her to look up at him. This was just a warning, but he was really serious about this. Normally he’d be all for a quick blowy in a dressing room but now when she was actively being stalked. Who knows what this guy was capable of.

“Come on… let’s go check out and then we can go home and do whatever you want.” He tried to persuade her but the girl had other plans.

“What about you picking something for me?”

Harry’s tune changed pretty quickly at that idea.

“Well…. I suppose.” He tried not to get excited. Yes, it delayed his plans, but he also was never going to say no to the idea of her buying something pretty to wear exclusively for him.

“Let’s go.”

He didn’t blink at the total at the register, far too in his own head thinking about the fact he was going to get to choose stuff for her- and keeping his eyes around the store to make sure there weren’t any suspicious characters lingering around.

Bunny was preening. Harry had held on to her hand extra tight as they walked along the shops, his hand strong and warm and she felt an extra spring in her step as the other held his shopping bag. Standing next to him gathered some attention but it was attention she liked. Leaning into his body, she knew she was going to rile him up. Get him into some trouble.

“Right there!” She chirped, pulling him suddenly when she saw the shop she wanted to go into.

Harry should have known better. The plan she had all along, created just to torture him. Of course, he would never decline going into a lingerie shop, he knew that this would end incredibly well for him.

“Ahh, right to the point darling.” Harry shook his head a bit at her excitement, taking a look around the shop to figure out where even to begin. “All right, is there anything you don’t feel comfortable wearing?”

He knew that girls were really sensitive when it came to their bodies. He had seen his fair share of meltdowns at the warehouse when the guys commented on girls' bodies without question. He knew better. There was no need to do that, especially when they didn’t plan on seeing them again.

Regardless, he didn’t want Bunny to feel uncomfortable just for the sake of pleasing him. He wanted to choose something she’d be comfortable in. So she could feel like her sexiest self for him.

It made her want to suck him off even more.

Harry, for all his flaws and a bit of emotional blindness, was considerate as hell when it came to her body like this. He was always making sure he had consent to touch her previously, he had always been respectful of her and for that, she appreciated him. Sure, it was the bare minimum.  But he stepped up.

“Nope.” She popped the p in the world, giving him a sly smile. “Anything you want. I’m not huge on wearing g strings for a daily thing… but for special occasions they’re fine.” She shrugged, excited for what he could pull.

“Hope you don’t regret giving me free rein.” He chuckled, looking around the store. There was an abundance of lace and silk and bodysuits and panties… a lot of things he knew would look incredible on her.

“I think you’d look incredible in any of this shit. I want to see you in everything.”

“I’m sure you would, Harry. But go on… pick your favorite.” Bunny felt herself get warm at the idea, genuinely interested to find out what Harry’s preferences were.

She was personally eyeing up a few baby doll dresses and silk slip dresses, but that was more her taste. She never really had a specific type she liked anyway, as long as it was comfortable to wear and a cute color. Half the time she didn’t even bother with fancy underwear, but other times she did care because she believed it gave her more confidence.

Harry however was really putting his thought into it. It seemed his eyes were drawn to lighter colors despite his personal taste, hell, most of the things he was touching looked so wrong in his hands. He thinks it’s probably why he likes it so much.

His fingers brushed the delicate lace on mesh, picking it up and thinking clearly about what it would look like on her. He liked the soft pink one with cherry blossoms embroidered on it, a set with a sheer bra and matching panties. He lightly placed it basket Y/N had given to him to put the finds into.

One of the appeals of Y/N was probably a bit of the fact he shouldn’t touch her. Her sunshine and sweetness was something he directly went against in his own personality. Her light to his dark. He was dirtying her, sullying that but if innocence- but she seemed to eat it up.

He chose more. A few sets of light colors, whites and baby pink and powder blue, soft spoken colors and delicate details. Lace and ribbon and softness that he could easily destroy, though he would be gentle with.

His eyes had caught hers lingering in her staple slip dresses and decided to choose some of those in similar fashions, but shorter than she usually wore. He wanted to see what she would do.

“I think the basket is full.” He lifted it up. “I’d make you try on the whole store if I could. But I don’t think I could last that long.”

“Let’s see how many you get through.” She giggled, flattered that he wanted to see her in that many to begin with. It was interesting to see what was in the bag, she expected him to pick something dark to match his own aesthetic.

She didn’t typically wear colors like that either, often choosing something darker or muted and earthy. It’s clear he saw her as such a delicate person, it made her feel so exposed. In a good way.

They made their way into the dressing room once again, but this time they really had to be good because there was a massive gap at the top and bottom of the rooms. Likely to prevent any suspicious behavior. Of course, it covered enough, but they walked all the way to the back just for good measure.

Harry placed the basket down, hanging up his choices on the rack and took a seat. He was strangely a bit nervous to see if she liked them- but not more than his excitement to see her in them.

“Are you…” she swallowed, looking at him sitting with his legs spread and his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re staying while I change into these?”

Harry could tell she was a little nervous, but not so much that he was going to upset her. Still, he wanted to make sure she was comfortable, but there was no way he was leaving her without his eyes on her physically.

“I can look at your feet instead if you’re uncomfortable. I can’t leave you by yourself. I’ve seen it all and like every bit of it, but if it makes you feel more comfortable I can look at the floor while you change.” And he wouldn’t peek.

Maybe.

“No, it’s okay.” If the man wanted to look, let him look. She wasn’t going to stop him. Even with any of the insecurities she had, she was positive he would be more concerned with holding himself together. He was right, he had seen it all. He’d seen far more gruesome things, to him she was the best view.

Stripping down was the easy part.

Y/N took her time picking out which one she wanted first, deciding to start with one that looked both revealing and comfortable. It was lilac, the front had a part that you could tie in the front with two panels of fabric that showed just the right amount of her stomach and the matching thong. She liked the way it was still a bit modest but definitely screamed fuck me.

Y/N turned around so she could show him the front, clasping her hands behind her back as she tried to read his face.

His eyes were dark, looking her up and down as he observed one of his picks. She was fucking stunning, that much as obvious, but he felt hot under his shirt just looking at her.

Her tummy peeked out from the piece, the sheer fabric floating down her sides and the lace covering her breasts. Breasts that still had a few marks from his teeth lingering there.

She looked like his own personal angel. One that had been sent down here to torture him into being a semi decent person.

A large exhale through his nose made him lean back further, rubbing his finger under his nose. “Fucking gorgeous.” He mumbled. “M’getting you that one. Take it off before I do something I regret.”

It was the first one and his cock was twitching, his pants getting a little tight. She was smug by the looks of it and he didn’t like how easily the tables had turned.

“Okay, tell me which one you like best so I can spare you.” She said, deciding that she’d keep that one to try on at home. Her hands hovered over them, but she had a feeling which one he would want her to save for last.

“Black one.” He nodded, watching as she stripped out of the current set and slipped into the new one. Harry wished he could look away, maybe it would be easier for him if he had. Seeing her so comfortable and so willing to show him these sets woke up something inside him that he wasn’t sure he was prepared to deal with. Especially in public.

The set was a light pink one, far sheerer. She felt confident in this one, it was comfy and it had great support.

“My tits look so good!” She groaned, cutting his view of her perky bum short as she turned around once again to let him see. They did look really good. A bit too good.

“Yes, they do.” He released his hands to rub over his thighs, eyeing her up as she turned to him. God fucking damn, they really did.

“Look even better with my marks on ‘em, though.” His eyes drank up the vision, though his hands stayed at his sides. The reason the black had been his favorite was because he felt like he could properly touch her in that. These? She looked like his own angel, untouchable. Something he should avoid, but wanted very badly.

“Give me a spin.” He made the motion with his hand, watching as she obeyed and gave him a look at what she had to offer. A slight bruise on her ass from his hand spanking it, a few on her thighs from when he had held them up. She was littered with reminders of him.

“You look sexy as all hell, Bunny.” He admitted, chewing at his gum. “I think you should get that too. You look really good in those sorts of colors and… I wouldn’t mind seeing your tits in that again.” He would welcome it happily.

Harry was trying very hard to behave, but it was hard. And so was he.

“Mmm thank you,” She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. She’d never felt so beautiful in her life. Maybe it was silly, but there was something special about this. She never felt comfortable enough to do this with anyone.

Even though his eyes were absolutely devouring her, he was still sitting in place, not moving. It was enough for him to observe, to see her just standing there for him. The rest he could imagine could remember the feeling of.

The next few were a similar style, but there were some she had been saving for the end for a reason. They showed more than they covered, both of them had garters with clips as well. She’d never had a set like this before and she was surprised Harry picked up three of the same in different colors. He really liked them. The pink one was her favorite so she thought it was the best to try on.

“Could you… help me with these bits? I don’t know how they’re supposed to look…”

God damn it.

Harry swallowed, knowing that touching her was going to be a temptation that he would have to fight- but he nodded. Keeping his legs spread, he motioned for her to come over.

Bunny was giddy, the straps swaying as she walked over to him and felt his hands against her skin as he reached for the clips. The garter had been pulled up her leg, but they were a bit complex to untangle.

She lifted her leg up to rest next to him, standing directly between his legs and probably a bit too close- but she wanted to. Tempting him was her job, and his face was so close to her cunt that she felt the heat stirring right in her stomach. His skilled fingers untangled the bits and stroked her leg a little as he clasped the front.

“Turn around.” His voice rasped, the temptation of pressing kisses to the band of her panties and peeling them down too much- but having her ass in his face didn’t do him much better.

Bunny liked this feeling. The slow build up of tension. Her heart was racing just having him stroke her leg, she’d been dying to touch him this whole day but she said she would be good.

“Harry…” Y/N breathed, hoping he’d give into her even just for a second. She wasn’t sure what she wanted but she wanted something more than this. It was getting so hard to resist.

“Go on.” He motioned her to take a step away from him the moment he finished with the clasps. It was really hard for him to ignore her like that, but he couldn’t give into her here. For her safety.

There was a tiny pout on her face as she stepped away, looking into the mirror at herself. Even she had to admit this was hot. Her body was curved in the places she liked, the outfit screamed sex. She ran her hand over her body, smoothing out invisible creases as she tossed her hair over her shoulders.

Harry didn’t like disappointing her but he knew if he stayed at that angle, he would do something bad. So he stood up, deciding to indulge in a bit of touch that wouldn’t go past anything other than a tease.

“You are a little minx.” He murmured, moving to stand behind her. His hand wrapped around her, flattening on her stomach as he looked at the both of them in the mirror.

It was bittersweet.

They looked hot as a couple. Leather and lace, quite literally. Light and dark. Her aura was soft pink and white clouds and his was the midnight sky and flames, and yet they seemed to melt together.

He looked dirty compared to her. He would never be good enough for a woman like her. A goddess. Oozing goodness and sweetness and things he wanted to devour and own for himself. But for the time being, she was his.

“Don’t be pouty.” His breath tickled her ear. “I’ll give you any and everything you want when we get home. I’ll make you cum so many times your throat is sore from begging and your knees are so weak you can’t stand. But m’not going to touch you out here. It’s too risky.” He kissed her cheek, settling on that.

“Can we go home then?”

She didn’t hesitate, knowing she could try the rest on for him later and have the exact ending she wanted. Part of her liked seeing him try to control his urges, it made her feel powerful and beautiful beyond belief. She could feel how hard he was, her barely covered bum was resting so comfortably against it.

Bunny didn’t want to think, she just wanted to be back home with him in the bubble they’d created. It was nice to have something to keep her mind off of things. Sure, she was upset she was missing class because she genuinely did love learning about cooking, but this was the perfect replacement.

Let’s be real, they both knew they’d be buying everything he put in that basket. It was nice to try it all on for him of course.

“Yeah. We can.” He sighed, knowing it was for the best. He couldn’t behave himself and he knew it now, plus Bunny was not too far off herself. He could tell she was desperate for it- and being honest, so was he.

He had gotten a taste of her and now he was starving. He had held back for a while but now it was time to indulge in his cravings before she decided she didn’t want to share herself with him anymore.

“God, M’gonna ruin you.” He murmured softly against her neck, placing a few kisses to the warm skin. “Just had you a few hours ago but I want to make you weak again. Looking at you like this is driving me mad.”

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 29 - Blinded

The rogue finds something good, for once.

On AO3.

“Left arm,” Astarion says.

“Left arm,” his intrepid leader says.

He repeats it slowly, emphasizing the syllables. She only has to say it another two times before she’s got it, still with a faint accent. He’s decided he does like that accent. It’s oddly flat in places, emphasizes all r’s in the back of her throat (when they don’t need to be rolled or sometimes even when they do), and it makes her sound rather exotic.

“Correct,” he says. She repeats that, too, even though he hasn’t instructed her to. She’s quite voracious when it comes to learning languages. Not that he can blame her. It’s difficult to speak with a broken jaw or missing teeth, so he knows how frustrating (terrifying) it can be to be unable to communicate.

A far distant rumble shivers at the edges of his hearing. He suspects it’s another (or the same) of her “birdsharks.” But it doesn’t come nearer, and as long as that beastie is content to keep a distance between them, he decides not to be bothered with it.

He’s gone over all the basics of anatomy in Chondathan, now. The children’s vocabulary, all head and arms, legs and torso. In a children’s lesson, they would get into details now: eyelash or nostril, knee or ankle.

But neither he nor his pupil are children. So, as blandly as possible, just another word to add to her arsenal, he says, “Cock.”

He nearly starts with cunt, as she has one and that would be more lesson-appropriate. But she’s heard this word before, translated through the wizard’s potion, and he’s curious to know how much she was paying attention.

She starts to say it back, gets midway through, and her jaw snaps shut so fast he hears the click of her teeth.

Oh, she was paying attention. He feels himself grinning, fangs on full display.

“Try again, darling,” he says. Just another lesson, drawing it out as if showing off the syllables at a stall in a night market. “Cock.”

And then he has to clear his throat and cover his mouth as her silence drags and turns particularly judgmental. Then he gets bored waiting (she’s stopped walking), and he nudges her through the tadpole.

Really? She’s thinking. The grim, unimpressed feel of her makes him snort.

She wanted vocabulary, and she’s had no problem with the subject before. Why would she start now?

And…she squirms. Oh. That’s very interesting. She hasn’t done that before. Usually goes all cool and analytical, or thrumming faintly with curiosity. But something’s changed. Recently. What could—

“Cock,” she says, as flat and monotonous as she can manage.

“Correct,” he all but purrs.

And then she taps at his thoughts. She’s sharp and focused once more, interest cutting through that odd shyness earlier (how boring). She wants to know if he’s teaching her the vulgar version of that word. Because both forms exist in her language (but not in Elvish, where a cock is simply a cock).

As if he would stoop so low (he would) (this simply isn’t the time).

It’s not the most vulgar term; that’s the casual, common version primarily used by dockworkers and the like. But neither is it the clinical version used in tomes or libraries (that aren’t filled with dirty novels). Which is one of the primary reasons he’s started her with Chondathan and not Common (take that, wizard). It’s important to have that kind of subtle distinction when one wishes to learn how to express themself.

No, this version is the upper-class version, which just so happens to be the oldest version, which makes it aristocratically vulgar. And that’s just good taste.

Now she wants to know the corresponding word.

“Cunt,” he says.

She repeats that one perfectly on the first try.

Fine, he’s glad she’s the one he found down here.

They’ve been walking all day. Still following the directions of her finned followers to this “mother water.” They’ve neither seen nor heard any pursuit, which could be good.

Or could be very, very bad.

He knows which one he suspects more.

She resumes their trek as he moves the lesson to other details: breasts and bollucks, palms and ears. Though she doesn’t understand the significance of the last two, he’d wager. It’s only a half an hour or so into that that he stops, this time. Goes quiet. Stares into the awful, heavy darkness to listen.

“What?” she says.

He motions her for silence. Which she does.

It’s not the distant rumble moving closer. He’s not sure…whispering? He thinks he’s catching a whispering.

He holds for another, very long moment. He’ll not risk a repeat incident with that damned dead drow. But there’s no heartbeat but hers, not even a sluggish one of something nearly dead. Just his companion and those odd, dissonant whispers.

Beside him, she shifts.

He taps the point of his ear and gestures ahead. Listens to the uptick in her pulse. Then she brushes past him. He starts to reach for her—it’s dangerous—but that’s the point of all this, isn’t it? To let her be his guide and his shield, should he need it?

And in that half-breath of a delay, she moves out in front. Leaving his insides decidedly unhappy with that prospect. And he doesn’t know why.

Gods. This woman.

They go slowly. Stop often. Astarion doesn’t breathe, lest the sound mask something else—except to scent the air, to no avail. He catches only the cool mustiness of the cave. And then wisps of something rather like…fallen leaves? It’s a plant smell. Different from the fungi that’s surrounded them.

And then…

He doesn’t even notice at first. So used to the darkness. Doesn’t even know if his eyes are open or not. But it’s not until his companion pauses to listen to the hissing whispers (they’re near enough to the source that her own, pitiful ears can catch it) that something registers.

He’d grown unused to it. Or used to ignoring it, rather (but not really). Practiced by now into shoving the cold dread coiling in his guts down with all the other lingering horrors.

Gray.

Not a solid color, not even a shifting hallucination of shadows his waking (and reveried) eyes like to fix on. But a single spot of gray. Dim at first, but bright as they creep on.

It’s…color. Or, not color? Light. Like the first, pale wash of predawn smearing up from the horizon.

He has to stop as every other sense falls away. The rope tugs at his waist, and he doesn’t move. Barely reacts.

He…is seeing. Pathetically. Not even shapes, just a single point of light. Until something shifts over it and his leader whispers, “Astarion?”

He lifts a hand. Waves it in front of his face.

Tracks the shadow.

“Oh,” he says, softer than a whisper.

The curse is wearing off. Perhaps it’s been long enough. Perhaps they’ve done something. It hardly matters. The bone-aching fear releases its claws from his still, dead heart. Just a fraction—it never lets go completely. But his eyes. They work. Some remnant of function. He was so, so afraid they would never…

He inhales something ragged and tight. The light changes and the heat and scent of his leader wash over his cheeks.

“Astarion’s eyes?” she says.

She must see something. A difference.

“I,” he says. Has to steady his voice. “Yes. Only a little, but yes.”

She’s quiet a moment. Seems to consider. Then, “We walk?”

He’d rather sit here and wait for his nerves to calm, for his vision to clear (or not because it is, actually, permanent, irreversible—)

He clears his throat. “Lead on, darling.”

Soon, the air is filled with the rush of an unfelt wind. The howl of an empty storm. As they go, shapes begin to appear. Fuzzy things, at first. But sharper as they continue. He notices several sources of light. Takes a moment to realize they’re large…flowers? Yes. Flowers from some magical giant of a tree underground, all of it glowing a silver-blue—

He can see blue. He can see the color blue again, and he has colors after so long in the dark, and his throat goes terribly dry.

They stop at the edge of a cliff. One he can see. Doesn’t need to tap with her staff or feel along with his toes. He can simply lean over (though not far, as the scale warps and sends his balance decidedly off) and look out at the ground sweeping away from them before it plunges into a deep, dark crack that the miracle of a tree rises from.

“Astarion?”

His leader. Who guided him through what feels like half the Underdark. Who kept him and fed him and said awful things to him but also (ugh) rescued him and murdered a mad redcap for him.

He hasn’t seen her face in days. Possibly a tenday. Has grown so used to her low, warm voice and the heat of her hands and the scent of her skin.

He turns.

He knew her face when he lost his eyes. Has envisioned it many times: the careful smile, the way she rolls her own eyes or gives him that flat, disapproving stare. He remembers her as somewhat plain. Personable, in her own way, when her brows furrow or the way her nose scrunches when she’s trying to hide a snort.

Soft, brown skin. Eyes so dark they’re almost black. Her hair grown so scruffy it’s honestly a bit of a disaster. Long nose, wide mouth, round cheeks. All features that, on their own (save for her eyes, always so enchantingly dark) they shouldn’t work. But combined, they’re so very much her.

She’s…glorious. Standing there, looking at him as his cheeks ache from grinning. Her own lips stretch as she smiles back, almost shyly, and that does something to his innards as well.

“Hello, darling,” he says.

“Hello, Astarion.”

How in the hells had he ever thought her plain?

And then something moves behind him. Her beautiful eyes fly wide and she lunges at him.

[gee-arid]

ok, sorry if question is a bit long and if you have answered, please put the link for me to see please. Well... what are the names of the heroes? What was each heroe's first choice? (I mean the ladybug and cat holder). I know that Marinette is with the Fox and Ivan with the turtle, but for some reason I think that if they swap it would combine more (I speak more in symbolism, ivan who cannot lie with the "miraculous of lie"). What is the weapon of each carrier? About the turtle and Ivan, I think a purplish blue would match more (that leatherback turtle). What are the camouflaged forms of each miraculous? Do you have the reason why every person has every miraculous?

A big ask, but thats okay! I'd love to answer! Note that some answers like names and weapons are subject to change, im not great with names and im less familliar with some characters than others so, opinions and other ideas are awesome :)

Names and weapons, left to right:

Aliase Rouges (red wings), Cartoony sledge hammer

Veilluese (night light), Grappling hook

Bison? Hyland?, Guitar- its electric but doesnt have to be plugged in..

Adora (play on Adore), Frisbee

Ouroboros, Mirror shield (play on the medusa myth)

Tack (to temporarily fasten something together), Big Needle

Captain Stinger (shortened to Sting), Cutlass

Jockey?, Reins? maybe a whip

Alectryon, rooster body (i guess?)

Jack Rabbit (shortened to Jack), Pickaxe

Ridley (a type of turtle), Detatched shields- Bonus purpley-blue version: honestly it works just as well.

Tora (Japanese for tiger, i think), Sythe

R.A.T (acronym for Rodent Assist Team? idk, funny bit based on pokemons F.E.A.R strat lol, also sounds like a dj name??. also based on his purpose being mostly assisting pedestrians), Glow sticks (almost like a pair of lightsabers, without the deadliness. Basically glowing battons)

Boar, Boomerang (shaped like boar tusks).

Cirrus (a type of cloud, Aroure and Mirelle share the name and the miraculous), Lightning rod/ wind sock

Caprix (Play on Caprine), Chunky roller blades

Gibbon? (a type of monkey), one of those silly stretchy sticky hands

Reasons for each holder are here!

First choices are also listed there, if there isnt an alternative listed, they either had the same idea or no strong preference for a different holder. Regarding swapping holders based on symbolism (i.e. Ivan with the fox, Mari with the turtle) that would be super cool and i may draw them at some point in the future, but wouldn't fit with my au. This is because my bug and cat holders choose them based on preexisting relationships, traits, and talents.

Camouflaged forms are these:

Struggled with Alyas rabbit miraculous tbh, it doesnt quite fit with my au for it to stay a pocket watch anyway (the Rabbits power being swapped from Burrow in a time sense, to Burrow in a dig way) so i guess its normal activated form would be some kind of keychain? Alyas disguise currently is a tamogachi :)

Nino wears the mouse necklace wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet.

Max's snake bracelet turns into a smart watch.

Markovs claw connects to his existing claws, and mimics what claws he already has.

Mirelle and Aroure have similar chokers with the charm changed. Aroure has the lightning bolt, Mirelle has the rain drop. They have the chokers replicated by comission with Marinette so they can swap the actual miraculous between them when needed.

Sabrinas sunglasses are prescription. They could also be just normal glasses, no black tint, when appropriate.

Marcs ring, where rainbow, is iridescent!

The butterfly and peacock are still unavailable to our heroes.

[pascaloverx]

Rewrite The Stars

Chapter Eight

Summary: One photo changes your whole life, when you accidentally bump into a celebrity and the world starts to believe that you are a couple.

chapter seven chapter nine

The relationship may be fake, but the kiss definitely isn't. You think about this as your arms are wrapped around Pedro Pascal's neck. You also think that you could die happy tonight knowing that Pascal's lips would have been the last thing you tasted before dying. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration on your part.

"Do I kiss that badly?" Pedro asks while you're still in his arms. You were so out of it that the kiss stopped, and you didn't even notice.

"You know, I didn't want to say anything but…" You say jokingly, and he laughs. You then compose yourself, standing face to face with your fake boyfriend. Then you remember that you're semi-naked in front of him.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asks, probably noticing that you're embarrassed. You turn and then run to your room while he waits near the bathroom.

"No, Mr. Pascal. It's just that my moment of courage made me do something totally unprofessional. And now I…" You speak loud enough for him to hear as you put on some clothes. When you finish getting ready, you notice that he is lying on the sofa, without a suit, without shoes and with sleepy face.

"What about you now?" He questions, almost closing his eyes. You lay down next to him on the couch as if there wasn't a bed in this apartment.

"Now I realize that kissing you out of schedule makes us seem less fake." You say getting too close to him. Your head slowly rests on his chest and he doesn't seem to mind.

"You can kiss me whenever you want. I don't think it's unprofessional. It's almost like practicing for the big show. Actors do it all the time." It's funny the way he talks like it's nothing. But you kind of like it. So you don't have to feel guilty about anything.

"Are you going to sleep here today?" You ask, adjusting yourself to fit your body to Pascal's on the couch.

"Are you kicking me out of your apartment, miss?" Pedro says as he wraps his arms around your waist. You smile as you gently stroke Pedro's hand.

"Actually, this apartment is more yours than mine. But I'm not kicking you out. Just wanted to check." You speak softly, feeling sleep starting to come over you as you feel the comfort of Pascal's arms around you.

"You have a sleepy face. It's quite cute." Pedro says, but you're not even sure how he's seeing your face at the moment, and it doesn't even matter. You're so comfortable that you can only mumble some nonsensical things before falling asleep shortly after.

In the morning, there's no longer the comfort of snuggling with Pedro Pascal. You already knew it would be like this. It's like Cinderella. Midnight strikes, and the enchantment ends. But you get up, organizing the house and turning on the television. Coincidentally or not, one of the topics being discussed on the channel you're watching is your relationship with Pascal. It seems that many people ship you two, but some are convinced that you're trying to pull a scam.

"You shouldn't listen to what those people say." Pedro says behind you, giving you a start. You thought he had left, but in fact, it seems he went to get breakfast for you both.

"Wow, you scared me. But they're not wrong, are they? In a way, I am seeking financial compensation while pretending to date you." You say, helping him to put the things he bought for breakfast on the kitchen table.

He looks at you like he's looking for the right answer to what you said but you quickly change the subject by asking random things. You have breakfast together, asking a few things about each other.

"While we're getting to know each other better, I think it's appropriate to say that my mother asked me about you." You say while drinking the coffee Pedro brought it to you.

"I think it's good to establish something here, if we're going to make this work, maybe it's best if we don't involve our families." Pascal talks while eating one of the pancakes I made. You're not very happy but you understand his reasoning.

"Okay, let's establish a good separation between personal and professional. While we're at it, I think it's pertinent to say that I'm going to spend this weekend with my mother. And I'd like to know where we stand on the loyalty issue." You speak, already arranging the breakfast table, ignoring any reaction from Pedro to what you just said.

"I think it's wise for the two of us not to be seen romantically with anyone. You could have told me before that you were going to visit your mother." He says putting the plate he used in the sink and washing the dishes.

"Now it doesn't make any difference. We've established our limits and I'm going to respect that. Now I think I'm going to get ready to go to my mother. Don't forget to close the door when you leave." You speak giving Pedro a kiss on the cheek and going to your room. You can't help but think that this fake relationship is going to end up screwing you in some way but now it's time to get ready to travel.

tag: @wanniiieeee , @hungrhay and @leilanixx

[simpingland]

Ok so what abt…

lucerys with a knight!reader and hes like whipped and things their the coolest person ever but gets all nervous when he sees them training or talks to them

idk I think it’s cute 🙏😽

Trust // Lucerys Velaryon x neutral!Knignt!Reader

Summary: Luke is enchanted by a new young Knight. He is so desperate to impress his crush that he put himself in embarrasing situations.

A/N: Loved this request, but I had a headache trying to decide the pronouns!!!!!! But I sorted it out, thanks for reaching, hope you like it!<3

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Being a knight had never been Prince Lucerys Velaryon's dream. He had enough work trying to come to terms with being lord of Driftmark. But seeing you made him question many things. Your uniform of armor was one of a thousand things that had caught his eye. It had been Rhaenyra who had placed you close to all her family, you were one of the finest knights, young and respectable, though not of noble birth. Your primary duty was to protect the princes, and this was something Luke appreciated. His interest in learning to fight grew, and he used to pester Jace to spend more time with the sword, which he himself didn't like. But no one understood, and Luke carried it very quietly, knowing that his chance with you was nil. That didn't stop him from getting up early to watch you train, with that thin layer of sweat making you shine. He couldn't even feel jealous when some other knight made you smile, for he loved to see you in the comfort of being out of work.

It took him a long time to summon up the courage to speak to you, and as he had feared it went terribly wrong. He approached you with the intention of demonstrating how good he was at archery, which he was certainly better at than the sword. He deliberately positioned himself close to where you were resting, with a feigned air of confidence, and pretended to watch the arrows with precision.

"They are all the same, my Prince," you told him.

He instantly turned red.

"That's what I was checking."

He tried not to pretend he saw your smile, but it wasn't malicious either, the Prince looked very tender with that focused face. The first arrow was just a little off the centre of the target, and the court nobles applauded Luke falsely. Not you, you just stood and watched as Luke sighed in dissatisfaction. The second arrow missed completely and caused something of a commotion. When the third missed again, the laughter of the crowd was impossible to hide. That was the moment when Luke disappeared, with the excuse that he had to go back to his Valyrian lessons.

You would have liked to follow him, to tell him to ignore the people, but it was not appropriate. So the next day you made an effort to talk to him. You were walking along the beach, on your way to visit Arrax. The young prince kept his head down, looking everywhere and avoiding your face.

"The good thing about arrows, my Prince, is that during battle it doesn't matter how well you aim them, the important thing is that they hit the enemy, and they always go in masses."

You saw him smile sheepishly.

"The worst of it is that I am better at it than the sword," he replied.

"It is more important that you have a sharp mind than a knife. We'll take care of the rest.

"I know, it's just…I just…" you could see him try to say it, but he couldn't and you decided to change the subject.

"When I was little, I didn't have anything in the house except sticks and knives. No dolls, no books… I spent all day fighting with my siblings. But honestly, I wish I had had a lot more at my fingertips. I like knowing that I protect you and your family, my Prince, I just don't like the idea of going into battle. And knowing how to handle a sword or bow is not so reassuring. So don't be in a hurry to learn."

Luke didn't know how to tell you that he wasn't in a hurry to battle, he was in a hurry to impress you, of course that made him even more nervous. When Arrax appeared before you, the dragon, who was getting bigger every day, roared with joy at the sight of his rider. Then Luke forgot his nervousness, happy also to see his dearest friend. He could sense your nervousness, as you tried to move away from the creature, which, though beautiful, was still fierce.

"Arrax is very calm, you shouldn't be afraid of him" Luke tried to convince you.

"Well, your majesty, luckily I'm not the one who has to ride him."

"Do you…do you want to pet him?" He twisted his cloak in his hands.

"I don't want to risk losing my hands, Prince."

Maybe it was your fear, or maybe it was because Arrax's presence always made him feel better, but Luke started to get a little too confident. He turned to Arrax and whispered words in Valyrian that you did not understand. Then he took your hand, which was a little tense, and looked you in the eye.

"You are the bravest knight at court. And that Arrax knows." He watched as you smirked.

"And how does a dragon know that?"

"Well, because I told him."

When you laughed, Luke felt a stupid pride, and noticed how you squeezed his hand, still resisting.

"Are you sure he's not going to devour me? This armour must look pretty crunchy to him…"

"That armour to him is like a diamond to us, small, nice and shiny. Come on, trust me."

You looked into his eyes for a few seconds, he seemed to be begging for it.

Then you finally let him guide your hand, and slowly, he raised it for Arrax to sniff. You could see how it took him a few seconds before he finally rested his entire muzzle on your palm, and you felt a purr that was much louder than a cat's, but quite tender. Soon you could move your hand to stroke his face, neck and wings, the dragon circled around, making it clear that he liked you. And Luke kept his distance, watching you and admiring you. This stupid infatuation…he was never going to get over it at this pace.

Over the next few days, you could feel Luke's confidence to talk to you and smile at you grow. On the other hand, his desire to train had waned, and it was probably because of the humiliation he had recently endured.You could only watch the brothers from afar as they continued their lessons. Besides, Jace was a lousy learning partner, quick to get impatient and unable to understand that what Luke needed was a little patience. It wasn't your job to comfort him, so you had to hold back the urge to hug him and tell him how great he was without the need for swords. And the smiles you gave him only made him blush, though he always returned them, full of gratitude.

One of the many nights Luke couldn't sleep, he wandered around the castle aimlessly. And when he found you standing guard on the beach, he felt it was fate, though anything reminded him of you, for there was nothing else on his mind but you. The gentle breeze put those curls of his in front of his face, making him feel awkward, yet the breeze moved your hair in a poetic, almost dreamy way.

"Are you on night watch?" he asked, unable to think of anything else.

"Yes, my Prince. One of the knights has taken ill and owed me a favour."

"I hope it won't take long."

"Don't worry, I find it hard to rest so I like to be doing something at night…like you, I suppose."

"I couldn't sleep," Luke regretted his words instantly, for something in common you'd found and he's going to correct you. "Aren't you bored?"

"I'd like to tell you that the views are so beautiful that this is a pleasure…but the truth is that after three hours it gets repetitive."

Luke laughed as you smiled, glad to see him so relaxed. He stayed a while longer keeping you company, talking to you about the things he had done with Jace that day. He also asked you about your life before the Kingsguard, listening intently, entranced by your every word.

"Your parents must be proud of you," Luke said, picking up and throwing sand in his hands.

"They would have been happier if I had given them grandchildren, but the armour impressed them quite a bit too. Yours must be proud too. Everyone knows how clever you are."

"But it's no use. My father was able to fight at the Battle of Stepstones. I can't even hold a sword properly." His sad tone touched you and made you impatient in equal measure.

"I think you should put an end to that attitude once and for all. Come, let's practice!" Your enthusiasm caught him by surprise.

"Right now?"

"Yes! We have the whole beach to ourselves, we can take the swords from the cupboard. I think it's time you gain some confidence."

He followed you, somewhat confused and nervous, but your smile managed to reassure him. In the quiet of the beach, you guided Luke through every move. Being patient, clear and concise. And even though Luke was hesitant, he followed your instructions well and gained confidence by the minute."You're doing great, my Prince. But I think it's time you try to surprise me. Attac."

"What if I hurt you?" he asked unsure, though Luke thought he sounded arrogant.

"That's the whole idea of this…"

"I mean if I'm so clumsy that I end up hurting you without meaning to." The boy knew what he meant, and it took you a moment to remember that one time he pull out his uncle's eye as a kid.

"You'd rather practice with the bow?"Luke preferred to practice other things, but even thinking that already made him nervous, so he agreed to switch weapons. With torches illuminating the target, you walked a considerable distance. Luke knew the theory inside out, but it still made him tense, and even more so knowing you were watching him."You need to relax a bit," you pointed out. His arm was dislocated. When you placed your hands on his sleeve, Luke swallowed, letting you lead him on. "A little higher… let go."

When he shooted he missed. He couldn't hold back the insults, directing them at no one in particular. He kicked as you picked up the only arrow available.

"I should stop wasting your time…" he apologised dejectedly, handing the bow back to you.

"No, please!" You stopped him before he even turned around. "I don't want you to leave…not like this."

He sighed, looking you in the eyes and flattered, you wanted him to stay with you…you didn't want to see him sad, you genuinely care about him and Luke now knew that. He let you reposition his whole posture again.

"It's just that I always do something wrong…and I don't know what it is," confessed the Prince.

"It's not something you do, it's something you don't do. And it's being patient, being calm. And to do that you have to believe in yourself." Your voice caressed his face, his pulse quickening.

"What if I never get to believe in myself because I never achieve anything? It would be a hellish cycle." The arrow was still tense, he couldn't look at you.

"Then think of me. I trusted you, and I got to touch a dragon. How many knights can say that?"

He could see your beautiful smile, as encouraging as ever, and Luke caught his breath. You were so close to him that you could feel him stand up straight and seem to grow taller by the second, as if he was becoming a true Lord in front of you. When he finally released the arrow, it hit the centre of the bullseye. A clean and beautiful sound, as well as his smile full of joy. You gave him a hug on impulse, unaware that you were on duty or that it was the Prince. He didn't seem bothered though, returning your embrace with some surprise but full of affection. When you pulled apart, you looked at that sweet face and were at a loss for words.Luke couldn't find any appropriate ones either, nor was he able to keep his hands off your shoulders. It was strangely pleasant, and it took you quite a while to come out of your trance.

"I told you you could," you said, giving him a loving punch that pushed him away. The celebration went on for a while longer, with arrows still hitting the target, jokes and more silly anecdotes. As the sun began to appear, your turn was about to end. You walked together to the castle.

"I have to say I'm going to 'roll' into my bed," you were already starting to unbutton some of your armour, but first you had to escort Luke to his room.

"You make me envious, I'm due for Valyrian lessons in a bit."

"By the gods, I'm so sorry. I should have made you go back to bed, my Prince," you felt terrible, though Luke blushed at your dismay for him.

"No, no, no…it's not your fault. I'd trade a hundred hours of sleep to be able to spend even one awake with you."

The confession came as a surprise, and Luke knew it had sounded just as he felt it, because your eyes shone differently. If he could he would have run, but the warmth you radiated made him hold out a little hope. And the confession was repaid when you took his hand, gave him a little bow and planted a kiss on his knuckles.

There was no need to answer him, Luke could see you for the rest of the days, in your shining armour, and he could hear your voice whenever he needed to confide in him. He never told you, but it became obvious, that the night he roamed the castle he couldn't sleep because you were in his thoughts, remembering the touch of your hand on his. And now, he achived not only a kiss, but your love and trust.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 10: The Orangery

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content Word count: 3.9k

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Author's Notes: Well folks, we're 1/3 of the way through this story. You have more than earned your smut 😉 Enjoy 💙

Sophie managed to reach her quarters without encountering anyone who would see the state she was in. She cried for what felt like hours, muffling her sobs with her fist until they eventually subsided into whimpers. She kept fearing that someone would knock on her door either because they heard her, or because Benedict had sent someone after her. But mercifully no one appeared.

Once she had lost the energy to cry she stared at the ceiling, lost in the turmoil of her thoughts. Benedict had kissed her, had said he’d dreamed about her, had made it clear he desired her. It was everything Sophie had ever wanted, but it was also the most painful reality she could imagine. She had known he desired her at the masquerade but that made sense. He had assumed she was a member of the ton and someone worthy of his attention. But as a housemaid he could only see her as a dalliance, a pretty plaything that he could easily discard.

Should she reveal her identity to him? What did she think would happen if she told him about the masquerade and her true feelings? He’d probably be incensed that she had not explained it earlier. Then what? Would he confess that he loved her too and run away to marry her, breaking all the standards of society and risking a lifetime of reproach? No. More likely he would turn her in to the authorities or laugh her out of the room. She was no better than a girl with a silly infatuation. He was a man from one of the most dignified families of the ton with wealth, power, and prestige. She suddenly felt incredibly small. Small and stupid. 

She needed to leave Aubrey Hall. Hell, she could sneak out tonight the same way she had from the Cavender’s. She had the same amount of money in her purse, not having been paid yet by Benedict. But she didn’t relish the idea of hiking through the dark alone, especially now that she was even deeper in the countryside. The money from Aubrey Hall would spare her so much misery, and poor Benedict would probably assume that she saw him as no better than Cavender if she took off in the middle of the night after being subjected to his advances, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

No, she would wait until morning and ask to collect her wages from Mr. Dewitt. Then she would formally take her leave and board at an inn until she found a new position. But should she speak to Benedict before she left? What would she say? Would he even want to see her?

Her thoughts continued to race until she noticed the grey light of morning brightening around her door. She felt wretched, tearstained and dazed. She splashed water on her face, changed her dress and donned her cloak. Fresh air would help her clear her mind and formulate a plan before the rest of the house woke up.

The morning air was chilled and misty. It soothed her lungs and brought her a degree of energy despite her sleepless night. Sophie had always enjoyed cooler weather. It reminded her of her childhood at Penwood Park, set on a windy heath. She moved from the back doors of the house across a lawn and into the statuary garden. She wandered among the hedges and benches observing the likenesses of cherubs, muses, mythic heroes. In the pre-dawn shadows they looked more ominous than inspirational, but Sophie found that appropriate, considering everything she was feeling.

She was inspecting a statue of Artemis with her bow drawn when she heard footfalls behind her. Nearly jumping out of her skin, she whipped around to find Benedict. 

“Sophie,” he greeted her softly. He looked about as good as she felt with his hair a tousled mess, dark circles under his eyes, and clothes disheveled as if he had thrown them on in a hurry and only bothered with half of the buttons.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, though there was no one outdoors but the two of them.

Benedict shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep.” That explained his appearance. Sophie wasn’t sure what to think. If he hadn’t slept either, what had he been thinking about? He had clearly followed her to the garden. Had he been watching for her all night?

They stared at each other in silence. Sophie couldn’t fathom what to say. Benedict looked her over. “You’re leaving?” It was more of a statement than a question and there was a hint of defeat in his tone.

Yes. Sophie should have said yes. But seeing him there, looking distraught and being as exhausted as she was, her true feelings came out. “I don’t know.” She felt as if she was being pulled down into the earth. She wanted to cry, she wanted to collapse, she wanted someone to tell her what to do.

Benedict’s eyes were impossibly sorrowful. He walked toward her, hands extended in a plea. “I’m so sorry if I did anything that upset you. I took liberties.”

Sophie shook her head. “No. You didn’t do anything I did not want.” Her voice was breaking. She couldn’t tell him why she had pulled away but the last thing she wanted was for him to feel like a villain.

Benedict stopped short, his brow beginning to furrow. “And yet you do not want to stay?”

She shook her head again and looked at the ground, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think it would be appropriate.” More meager lies. It was all she had. She hoped to appeal to his reason and class sensibility rather than tell the truth.

He scoffed and crossed his arms, arching a brow. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed how little regard I give to propriety.”

Sophie rooted herself to the spot. She couldn’t let this go on. She wouldn’t be charmed by him again and dragged down a path to heartbreak. Mustering all of her courage, she gritted her teeth. “We agreed this would only be a few days until you were well again and then I would move on.”

“Sod the agreement!” Benedict threw his arms in the air and stalked even closer. He wasn’t holding anything back now. “I know you don’t have anywhere to go yet.”

His words cut into her. He was right, but she wouldn’t be manipulated. She looked up at him, glowering. “Once Mr. Dewitt is awake, I will collect my wages and go.” She hoped that if she said it aloud she would actually follow through.

Benedict balked, blinking at her in surprise. “I see.” There was a snideness in his tone that she had never heard before. “So you will simply take the money and leave. You are that desperate to get away from me?” 

Sophie felt torn in half. Of course she wasn’t desperate to get away from him. Quite the opposite. She wanted to melt into his arms and never let him go. But he was being flippant, acting as if he were entitled to dictate what she could do. He had no idea what it was like to be in her position or to face any real challenge at all. He was starting to make her resent him. “This isn’t just about you,” she growled. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand!” He shouted, closing the distance between them. He grasped her by the arms, pale eyes alight with desperation. “If you don’t find me repulsive, why don’t you want to stay?” His grip tightened and he all but shook her. “Why?”

Sophie could barely breathe, seared through by his gaze. She wanted to scream the truth at him, to tell him who she was, to tell him she loved him, to tell him he deserved better than her. Just as equally she wanted to chastise him, to tell him he was a rich fool who couldn’t simply take whatever he wanted, particularly when it was a person. And she wanted to turn and run. It was all too much and she shouted back into his face, “I just can’t!” Hot tears started to roll down her cheeks.

Her reaction clearly rattled him and his eyes regained their characteristic softness. He released her arms and brought his hands to rest lightly on her back, holding her as if she were made of glass. He steadied himself, eyes searching her face. At last he spoke, his voice devastatingly tender, “I won’t see you cast adrift.”

Sophie could feel herself breaking. Entitled as he was, his heart was pure. She had known it at the masquerade and she knew it now. He was pompous as a circumstance of the lifestyle he had been born into but when it mattered, he cared for people. He cared for her, and it felt so good to be cared for. 

She had run out of defenses. She could only confess the truth through her tears. “I have been adrift all my life.”

Lifting a hand to her chin he tilted her face, questing deeper into her eyes. “Let me be your anchor.”

Then Sophie’s heart was lost. He was her anchor. He was all she had to hold on to for so long, this marvelous, wonderful, infuriating man who had haunted her dreams for years. Meeting him was the best thing that had happened in her toilsome and lonely life. Now he was with her again, wanting her, holding her, his touch painfully sweet. She was tired of hiding, tired of resisting, tired of denying the inevitable. She couldn’t fight it anymore.

She surged up and seized his lips with her own, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him tight against her. Benedict froze, caught off guard but only for a moment. Then his arms held her back just as tightly, his mouth caressing hers, his breath hot on her skin. Her hands moved hungrily, raking through his gloriously soft hair, tracing the breadth of his back, feeling the warmth of his neck and the angle of his jaw as they pivoted to explore each other’s kisses more deeply. He was strength; he was bliss; he was comfort; and in this moment, he was hers. He was so delicious and so beautiful, tears continued to run down her face from pure joy.

With a gentle nibble at her bottom lip, Benedict eventually pulled back. Grinning breathlessly, he took her hand. “Come with me.” 

He led her through the garden and Sophie realized they were headed toward the massive stone orangery. She cast a quick glance around to find the grounds empty and the sun just barely peeking over the horizon.

As soon as Benedict closed the door behind them Sophie was overwhelmed with the sweet scent of citrus and jasmine. She hadn’t yet visited this building and was instantly entranced. With marble floors and vaulted ceilings, it was a veritable jungle of potted tropical trees and vine covered trellis walls. She only had a moment to observe it before she was back in Benedict’s arms, his hands entangled in her hair as he kissed her with a soft moan. She felt giddy, heady with the perfumed air and the breathlessness of his attentions.

They clutched at each other as if fearful to let go, and all the while, they were pressed so tightly against one another she was certain she’d melt into his skin.

“Sophie, Sophie,” he murmured. His lips moving gently along her face until they found her mouth again. “I need you.” He pressed one of her hands against his chest. Even through all of his clothes, she could feel his heart begin to beat even more rapidly, hear his breath coming in hoarser gasps. “Do you feel how I need you?” 

“I need you too,” she whispered. And she did. She’d spent so long dreaming about him, trying desperately to remember the scent of his skin, the sound of his voice. There had been many nights when the fantasy of him had been all that had kept her company. She had been living on dreams, and she wasn’t a woman for whom many had come true. She didn’t want to lose this one just yet.

He pressed her back into a wall of cool stone and kissed her with a newfound fierceness. His tongue swirled around hers while his slender fingers held her face. She gasped as his kisses traveled down her neck and his touch moved across her body. Every sensation seemed to rob her of the ability to breathe. His hands were on her breasts, kneading, teasing, sending a rippling shiver across her skin.

“Benedict,” she murmured, touching the crisp silkiness of his hair. There was a fire burning within her that had been simmering quietly for years. The sight of him had ignited it anew, and his touch was like kerosene, sending her into a conflagration.

He groaned, crashing his lips against hers again, locking one hand on the back of her neck and another around her waist. Sophie was dimly aware that they were moving, that he was pushing her somewhere deeper into the artificial forest. Then somehow she was lying on a bench and he was on top of her while his hand reached to lift up her skirts. 

He seemed so dominant, so powerful, and in that moment, so perfectly hers. A very small part of Sophie’s mind was still functioning, and she knew that she should tell him to stop, to put an end to the madness, but god help her, she couldn’t. Not yet.

His hand stroked her knee then inched upward, squeezing the soft flesh of her thigh. She began to pant with anticipation. She knew where his fingers were headed but was surprised to find that it did not make her nervous. She trusted him implicitly. She wanted this, whatever it was he was about to do.

Benedict smirked as he deftly shifted fabric to expose her womanhood and the cool rush of air made Sophie realize how very wet she was. She would have been embarrassed but before she could even form the thought, Benedict’s fingers were on her and he inhaled deeply with a satisfied grin.

Sophie stared up at him, agape, unable to form words.

“I daresay no one has ever touched you here,” he rasped. Sophie shook her head. No one had touched her there, not even herself, not in the way he was doing it. It was a strange, intensely intimate, and entirely enjoyable feeling.

“Do you like it?” Benedict whispered, still smiling down at her. His nimble fingers switched from smooth stroking to rapid circling, spreading her slickness upward and focusing right on the center of her ache.

He may as well have set a match to her blood. She cried out uncontrollably and arched off the bench, gasping. “Yes! What are you doing?” Her every muscle tightened as he moved his fingers in a particularly wicked manner.  

“Everything,” he returned, capturing her lips with his. “Anything you want.” 

Sophie’s breath grew heavier, her heart started to pound. His fingers continued to dance, relentlessly circling. Something was building inside of her, deep in her gut, coiling, pulsing, making her rigid. She clung on to Benedict for dear life, not knowing where he was taking her but desperate to reach the destination. Anything to quell the ache, the burning that never seemed to stop growing.

“Do you want more?” His voice was husky in her ear.

She had just enough control over her body to nod and choke out a “Yes” as she gripped the back of his neck.

He smiled wolfishly. “Then lie back and let me pleasure you.”

Sophie didn’t know how he could possibly pleasure her more but she was willing to find out. She had to consciously remind herself to breathe because she felt as if she were drowning - drowning under the pressure of Benedict, the heat of his gaze, the thrill of his touch and everything it did to her. As she panted he began to move down her body, trailing hot kisses along her jaw, her throat, her chest. His fingers were still teasing her crest, pressing and circling as she squirmed.

He moved himself lower and lower until he settled between her legs, kneeling on the floor as she lay sprawled across the bench. Now he could see the marvelously slick evidence of her desire. Sophie could feel the heat of his breath against her entrance. It made her shudder and filled her with the most wanton craving. This was so terribly wrong, so terribly naughty. But she didn’t want it to stop. She trembled and gripped the edges of the bench as his fingers twirled faster. 

Benedict delighted in watching her writhe. Every signal from her body was pleading with him for more - her ragged breath, her hums of anticipation, and the way her hips had started to gyrate, ever so slightly, in a waltz with his hand. When he began to feel guilty about the torment he took hold of her quivering thighs and leaned in to taste her, running his tongue up and down her opening. 

Something like a sob escaped Sophie’s throat as she lifted off the bench again. She moaned his name and he moaned back into her flesh. His tongue moved methodically, exploring her folds slowly, repetitively, stopping on sensations that made her whole body tense as she groaned. She tasted like a plum crossed with an orange, or maybe that was just the scent in the air around them. She was sweet and he would polish her off like a dinner plate. He continued moving languorously, savoring her and letting her adjust to the sensation. It was only when her muscles relaxed and she started to push herself back against him that he moved his mouth over her sweetest spot, flicking his tongue across her aching bud.

A cry tore itself from Sophie’s chest, animal and needy. Never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined being kissed like this, tasted like this, teased like this. The indecency of it all shocked her, but her shock drowned out by the wave she felt spreading upward through her body. It was heat and tightness and hunger and she would do anything to fulfill it, to hell with decency. Benedict’s mouth was so warm, especially against the cool air of the orangery. All she could feel, all her mind could focus on were his movements, small but incendiary, on the most sensitive part of her. He began sucking at her, massaging her nerves with fluctuating pressure punctuated by quick darts of his tongue. She whimpered, too overwhelmed to exclaim any louder.

The steady cadence of suction and licking made Sophie’s mind start to cloud. As tormenting as her need felt, she wanted to stay there for hours. She fell into a trance which was only broken by a wholly new sensation. She gasped and looked down to find Benedict slowly pushing a long finger to enter her. Dear god, he was inside of her. It was an odd pressure but rather than feeling painful it simply felt…correct. She knew that a woman’s body was designed to take a man’s and while they weren’t engaged in the full act, this was her first small experience of how that might feel. And it felt wonderful.

Mouth still latched onto her, Benedict raised his eyes to meet hers and it was the most frightfully arousing image she had ever seen. Never breaking his gaze, eyes somehow darkened, he started to slide his finger slowly in and out. The pleasure she felt made Sophie choke and fall back against the bench. His teasing her on the outside and moving steadily inside was too much to handle. Heat pulsed through her core and she felt a sudden spasm deep within.

Benedict released her from his lips and rasped her name. The speed of his probing increased, gliding into her rhythmically. “You feel so bloody good.”

All she could do was moan in acknowledgment, eyes clamped shut. The tightening, coursing feeling was building steadily within her but with his mouth removed it had slowed. She ached for it. She wanted to ride it out before she went mad. 

“Please, Benedict, please,” she could hear herself whining but didn’t care. “I don’t…I don’t know what…this feeling…”

The grin was evident in his voice as he replied, “Don’t worry, you will see.” 

She lolled her head in the semblance of a nod.

“Tell me what you want,” he purred, hand beginning to press into her more forcefully. “What feels good to you?”

Sophie could barely comprehend speech at this point. How could she explain? “I…everything,” she sighed.

She thought she heard a small chuckle. “You like me inside of you, I can tell.”

The cheeky devil. Sophie just mewled with another half-nod.

“Do you like my mouth on you?”

“Yes,” she squeaked, beginning to writhe in desperation. “Benedict…I need it…”

He granted her wish immediately, hot mouth descending on her once again, sucking furiously while his hand began to pound at her entrance. The caresses of his finger and tongue worked together to magnify each other.

Sophie hissed and gripped his hair with both fists. The wave was surging within her, burning her, lifting her out of her own skin. Her toes curled. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to explode, but all she could do was hold her breath and hold on.

Then Benedict did something with his finger, bent it in just the right way that it added to the pressure, massaging undiscovered places within her depths, and it was more than she could bear. The wave broke, roaring to a crescendo and crashing over her every muscle, rippling outward with the most glorious feeling of release she had ever experienced. And it persisted. She had no choice but to submit to it, lying breathless as her body clenched over and over. Benedict groaned against her sensitive bud causing her to spasm harder, drawing out the aftershocks as the sensation slowly ebbed.

Sophie was limp, astonished, and utterly without her faculties. Her body was left trembling and her mind was left entirely blank. She felt as if she were floating, softly held in the weightless embrace of bliss. She had never known such an incredible feeling.

The only thing that drew her back to earth was the gentle attention of Benedict’s tongue. He had withdrawn his finger and was kissing her reverently between her legs. He kissed her crest with a parting lick then moved to her opening, eagerly lapping at her and cleaning her of her slickness. He was so thorough that he entered her with his tongue. It was warm and sweet and absolutely the most sinful thing Sophie could imagine. All she could do was lay back and let him feast upon her.

At last she felt him pulling down her skirt, then he was on top of her, pressing her down with his entire body as he nuzzled and kissed her neck. Sophie weakly wrapped her arms around him, still dazed and panting, filled with wonder and gratitude that the man she loved had just gifted her the most ecstatic experience of her life.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 12: A Carmy shade of blue

Words: 7.4k

Summary: It all comes down to this...

a/n: I made Fox’s set and it came out so good omg! Can we please talk about the dedication! Also I’m posting the Epilogue right after this one so enjoys both and remember comments are always appreciated!

Ps. reader is Latina in this so there will be some Spanish!

‘You can do this. You can totally do this. You don’t have to talk to him, just show up.’

You had been trying to psych yourself up for the better part of the last half hour. After clipping on your earring and fixing the curly pieces of hair that frame your face, you thought you’d feel brave enough to move. But your legs stayed locked in place, tightly knotted over the vanity stool that had started to dig into the sides of your bare thighs. 

The bubbling nerves had you doubting all your decisions. The dress didn’t seem appropriate so you changed, then your makeup felt cakey so you rinsed it off and started over. The necklace was too small, the hoops too big, the urge to call Carmy too grand and the noise from the living room too overstimulating. Between the volume on the stereo and your aunts’ joyous laugh, the thin walls didn’t stand a chance and neither did the vibrating pulse in your skull.

You finally push yourself off the stool and stalk past the hallway to the kitchen, slamming your door in the process. The circle of heads turn in your direction as you appear in the space, each sister cradling a glass of wine in their hands.

“Mamá -mamita- por favor, can you turn that shit down!” You say louder than intended and you know you fucked up just from the look on her face.

“Que te dije de azotar puertas en mi casa, eh?! Cuando vivas en tu casa entonces-”

“-puedes hacer lo que se te dé la gana-” You recite over her words, rolling your eyes and causing the nerves to pound harder in the back of them. “Yes, I know, mami but can you please just turn it down? My head is killing me…”

“Okay- okay. Ya, see? It’s down.” She says, making a show of pointing the control to the stereo and lowering the volume to the lowest. “What, are you hungover again?”

You drag yourself around the counter to greet your aunts with a kiss, then take the empty space beside your mother and rest your aching head over her shoulder. “No, I haven’t gone out… It’s probably just my period, I dunno. Y mi abuelo?” You ask and rub at the empty space between your brows.

“Playing cards with his friends.” Angie answers, picking at the platter they had set in the middle of their circle. “You sure you’re not pregnant?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that!?”

“Ay dios, pues maybe cause you’re all moody!” Tere adds.

“Maybe cause I’m nervous!”

“Then that’s why your head hurts…” Your mother says as she gently runs her fingers through the soft curls. Then she laughs out of nowhere. “Remember that time in the school choir, when you had the solo and you were so nervous you-” She’s laughing too hard to finish and the echo of all three only makes you groan.

You pull your head from her shoulder and rest it over your palm with your elbow on the cool surface of the counter. “One: I was like five, and two, you remember that but can’t stop calling me ‘mijo’ every time I walk into a room?”

Her laughter dies down as she waves her hand dismissively and takes a drink from her glass. “You two have the same stride, it's not my fault!”

“So what are you nervous about?” Tere changes the subject while she peels the skin off her grape.

“She’s nervous to see her ex..” Your mother answers, as if you weren’t in the room to speak for yourself.

“Ay, el de los ojitos?” Angie asks surprised. “I like him, he’s cute.”

“Y’know who I like? The other one- the tall one-, give me two more glasses and I’ll climb ‘em like a tree-”

“Ma ya!” You call out with a grossed out expression, trying to avoid the mental picture of your mother and Richie from even materializing in your head.

“Qué? How do you think you got here!?” She says between the chorus of chuckles.

‘Jesus, fuck’ You think and shudder, then take the wine glass from her hand and down the rest of the liquid that successfully drowns your nerves.

With the soft music floating in the air, Angie takes the bottle and pours a hefty amount of liquid into the glass in your hands.

“So, boy troubles?” She asks, only receiving a nod from your part, eyes fixed on the swirling maroon. 

“He’s catering tonight and we didn’t really… end things on a good note.”

“So what? This is your day too and you can’t let a little fight get in the way…”

You don’t have the time or energy to entertain them with the whole story of your failed situation with Carmy. They know about the car crash but not the bridge or of Mikey and the last thing you need is all three finding out over wine and a cheeseboard.

“I just won’t go, it’s easier like that…” You take another sip. “I’ll stay with you guys instead.”

“Ah-ah, no. Mira-” Your mother grabs a hold of your knees and turns your body to face her. “Mi amor, if you stay cause you’re nervous that’s fine, your painting’s will still be there. But you can’t stay just cause you’re scared you might see him.” Her hand feels warm and soft over your knees. 

“I feel like I fucked it up worse with what I said yesterday…” You confess to the women and even when you thought your eyes had gone dry, a few drops seem to accumulate on your bottom lid. “What if that was it, what if the last thing I told him was to get his shit together…”

“Then you were telling him what he needed to hear. You said it because you care, not because you wanted to hurt him and if he can’t tell the difference, then you did the right thing by stepping off that train early.” She wraps one arm around your shoulders and pulls you to her side. “But you won’t know if it works out unless you go…”

A hefty sigh rattles your lungs, the wisp of your mother’s familiar perfume filters through your nostrils and calms you down better than the wine ever could. She was right, you couldn’t go through life scared that you might run into him all the time. This was more important to you than having to hide from him, no matter how things had ended.

“Now I know I raised a bad bitch not a little one, asi que andale, finish getting ready or you’ll be late-” A soft laugh bubbles in your throat as she playfully shoves you off the stool and in the direction to your room, turning up the volume again once you’re gone.

“And show us the look before you go!” You hear your aunt Angie’s voice bounce through the hallway.

**********

The whole 24 hours leading up to the auction felt like a fever dream for Carmy. Since the moment you fled the grounds with bloodshot eyes, to the obscene amount of cash they kept pulling out of canned tomatoes, he had felt not at all there. In a daze, flashes of blurred out scenes from a third perspective take the space of memories every time he tries to recall. Like a long ago dream that he can’t quite make out if it’s real or not. Except it is, and they did find that money… and he also did break your heart. 

He still remembers the overwhelming impulse that itched under his skin with every empty can that was thrown into the garbage. To reach for his phone and call you, or better yet, to drive to your place and back because there was no way in hell you would believe him if you didn’t see it for yourself. Even at the end of the day- when he was home washing out the thick pulp from under every fingernail- he wondered if he could still try. Run to your house and confess how much of an asshole he was for not noticing the shit he put you through. Girls dig that shit, right? 

But even if he did run after you now, what would he say? He already proved himself incompetent word-wise, inside the walk-in. The surprise to see you again had rendered him speechless, as if an ice cube had been dropped down his shirt and he had no other choice but to pretend like the cold wasn’t piercing his skin. Pretend with tight fists and wavering stares like it wasn’t eating him alive to refrain from pulling you into his arms. The plain touch of your skin as he nursed your wound was enough to rile up weeks’ worth of shrouded emotions he was too afraid to confess, because every time he tried dialing your number, the words would constrict his throat and leave him heaving over the bathroom sink. 

“I still don’t understand why we gotta wear this…” 

“I think we look fine as hell!” Marcus says grinning and checking himself out in the dull reflection of the oven. “Like professionals…”

“Speak for yourself, mine’s all itchy.” Sweeps mutters under his tone while pulling around the neck of his new chef’s coat.

“Alright, take ‘em off before you stain ‘em with something.” Sydney calls from the entrance with an impatient motion in her hands. “They’re for the event tonight, so we actually look put together and not- well, whatever this is...”

“..Cute?”

“..Sexy?”

“Late. We’re gonna be late, if you don’t quit messing around and finish filling up the truck!” They both yell a hard ‘Yes, Chef!’ then continue hauling the plastic boxes with the preparations for the evening into the van Syd had borrowed from one of her cousins. 

Carmen watches half concentrated to make sure that nothing is thrown around, although he trusts them enough to know they’ll be careful. Instead, he’s focused his attention on finishing the last of the sauces, a sweet Demi Glacé that he insisted on making himself. Now that they would be closing for renovations and the tension of staying afloat wasn’t straining his back, he enjoyed every second of the process. Cooking didn’t feel like something he had to do anymore, but something he wanted to as well as enjoyed, and he wasn’t sure how long it had been since the last time he felt that way. He did know, but the images carried a bitter sensation that weighed thick on his mouth and he was trying excruciatingly hard to stay above his regular broody mood.

“Yo, chef, you not comin’ with?” Marcus asks once they’ve compacted everything inside the small van.

“No, I -uhm-” Fuck. He swallows hard and tries to rack his brain for any plausible excuse. “-I trust you can manage.”

A groan echoes through the small space. “If you’re a little bitch just say that!” Tina chimes in with a mocking tone, setting down the tall metal cylinder filled with spoons and tongs that they’d be using for that night.

“T, c’mon-”

“Yeah, man just say that, don’t bruise my ego like that!”

“I’m not a little-”

“You gotta fight for love, man!”

“Even if she rejects you again-”

“Alright, shut up for a sec-” He grips the edge of the table in irritation, head hanging low. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I broke it off, okay?”

The words feel wrong as they tumble from his mouth. Not because of what they might say, if anything they were the few people he trusted most in the place, but something inside him didn’t like the sensation the words unearthed. They made his chest wither and crack, like the clay you had used to cover his fissures was popping off with every reminder of your absence. 

“...Why?” Marcus asks, breaking the silence. 

Carmy doesn’t answer, and even if he wanted to he wouldn’t know what to say. He chooses to shrug instead, heavy and noticeable in hopes that this is a sufficient response that will get them off his back.

Tina takes a step closer and reaches out to softly pat his shoulder. “No offense Carm, but I don’t think you’ll be able to pull anyone better than her…”

Her words rip a soft snigger from his throat, from his side view he watches her pick up the cylinder again and walk to the back where he assumes the rest of the team awaits by the van.

Marcus stays beside him, contemplating the words around before letting them out. “Shit got rough, then?” 

“That's an understatement” He mutters through bared teeth as he fears another word will split the last piece of clay holding him together.

“My statement still stands… Shit gets rough for everybody but that doesn't mean you gotta go through it alone… just sayin’.”

Marcus pushes himself off the table to leave, taking the sauce with him and leaving Carmy with his tumultuous thoughts in the restaurant that hadn’t known this much peace since its opening day.

**********

The typically calm ambience of the gallery had been replaced by the buzzing sounds of chatter and movements as the last details were polished with only a few hours to the opening. You had been in a hectic frenzy since your arrival, only finally catching your breath when you were certain everything was where it needed to be. The decorations sat strategically by the entrance and away from the attention of the artwork, clipboards and pens had been placed for whoever wanted to bid and the bar stations had been successfully assembled around the perimeter of the room.

“Thanks again for the help, I owe you one.” You say as you help carry the last box of champagne bottles to one of the bars.

“No prob, to be honest I’m just here for the free booze-” Nico answers with a grunt, picking the box from your hands and taking the bottles out to chill in ice.

“As opposed to what? The other free booze at your regular gig?” You ask your cousin in a teasing tone.

“Hey, just cause I drink it, don’t make it free.” 

“Just try not to black out, okay? Angie ’ll kill me if I let you drive home like that!” 

You hear a mocking ‘Yeah, yeah’ as you leave him to go open the back door for Syd, after reading the text from Marcus that they had arrived. The floor feels slightly unstable as you walk past the back, to the door that leads onto the side alley, but you credit it to the irritating thought that it may be Carmen’s face that you’ll see once you open the door.

A sigh of relief- and partial disappointment- parts from you at the sight of Marcus and Sweeps dragging out a long white cooler from the back of a beated van, but no Carmy in sight. They both greet you quickly as you guide them into the area they’ll be occupying temporarily. It’s the same space your easels had been standing in for the last month, though the only evidence of it were the small stains and smudges of cyan and teal on the gray concrete.

“There are another two tables up front, by the expo, so you can serve up there. This one’s just for like, mise en place, if you need anything from scratch.” You say to Syd while the rest of the team finish unpacking.

“Yeah. no this is fine. We finished everything this morning. I only brought a portable burner for a few of the sauces, but other than that, we’re set.”

You nod in response as you watch them observe their surroundings in awe, the multiple rows of never ending art catching their attention.

“Sorry for bailing like that… yesterday.” You blurt out as the words seem to catapult straight from your guilt. “It was a dick move.”

Syd acknowledges it with her own nod. “It was a dick move- but, y’know… I get it.” She shrugs.

Your throat itches to ask about him, if he’s considered coming, even with the excuse to check up on them. But you know that regardless of the answer, the pressure over your chest won’t subside, so you resign to bite the soft flesh inside your mouth to keep the words at bay.

“Uhm. well let me know if you need anything. The whole thing starts in an hour so just make sure to have everything over by the tables by then.”

A chorus of ‘Heard’s resonates in the large space and Syd turns to you with a proud smile, wiggling her brows. You give her an enthusiastic thumbs up before stepping back and out into the busy room, striding directly into Nico’s bar.

“Pour me a glass, will ya?” You ask with a soft knock on the counter, applying pressure between your brows.

“Bro, I haven’t even opened anything yet…” You stare up at him through incredulous slits, earning a sigh from his part, then he pulls an open champagne bottle from the small fridge and a glass.

As soon as he sets it down, you take it and rapidly chug the amber liquid, bubbles burning the sides of your throat and filling in the void in your chest.

“Woah, woah- cousin! We’re not gonna run out, chill…”

You place the glass back down and wipe the corners of your mouth. “Sorry, I really needed that.” 

“You good?”

“Yeah… yeah.” You sigh, then turn to scan the room one last time.

Past the glass walls, you can see a small crowd already beginning to form at the entrance. The culmination of months of hard work stands behind the transparent barrier, and a part of you can’t help but to think of all the ways tonight could go wrong. ‘What if the lights go off in the middle of the event?’ or ‘What if the whole thing blows over and we don’t raise any funds?’ and the worst of all ‘What if no one likes my work and they’re the only ones that don’t sell?’. 

“You sure?” He asks with a creased brow. “You’re kinda hyperventilating…”

“Yeah…” You say for the third time, less convinced than the first two. “Y’know what, Nico can you pour-”

“-Way ahead of you.” The soft sizzling of the drink is muted by the instrumental music playing over the speakers, but you still hear the glass slide by your palm, where it rests over the cool surface.

You know it’s a bad idea to drink two glasses straight, especially when all you’ve had to eat is a granola bar you found at the bottom of your bag on the train ride there, but the thought is soon chased away by the cooling liquid trickling down to your empty stomach and drowning it completely. You only finish half of it before being whisked away by Syd to help with setting their station. 

With a pair of latex gloves and your hair thrown into a bun, you paint streaks of raspberry coulis along the bottom of the small dishes, then above that, you place the small tapas that Marcus is assembling beside you. The alcohol has calmed your fingers enough to draw steady lines over the canvas and the repetitive actions soothe the wavering anxiety.

“They turned out fire…” Marcus comments by your side.

“Hmm?”

“The Brioche bites. The chai filling was a good call.”

“Oh, right- yeah, I’m glad!”

“Can’t wait for you to try them, chef. These things are gonna fly!” His excitement is contagious and you can’t help but to smile up at him too.

“I’ll definitely try one before they do…”

“I saw your set by the way, on my way here…”

You swallow dryly, flicking your gaze to him from your hunched position then back to your task.

“Yeah? And, uh, w-what did you think?”

Marcus shrugs lightly and stands to his full height, even in your heels you barely reach his shoulder, let alone without them. Everytime you stand beside him, you’re reminded to straighten your posture, as if that’ll do any good in stretching you up.

“I don’t know shit about art, but I thought it was baller. I like what you did to The Beef. I’d bid, y’know… if I had any money.” 

You nod slowly with a slight smile flourishing on your face and turn back down to fill up a tray for one of the waiters. 

With most of your concentration on the kaleidoscope of served plates, you don’t notice the room starting to slowly fill up. Only when the music grows a little louder and the chatter reaches your ears, you lift your head to spot the swaying crowd already holding bubbling flutes in their hands and gravitating in your direction. 

“Think you can manage, chef? Or do I call for backup?” You challenge Marcus, pointing with your head to the oncoming group.

“Nah, I’m all good, you go ahead. Run ‘em dry” 

“Yes, chef” You respond with a salute and a click of our tongue, then throw your apron under the table and cautiously round it on your way to the open space.

It wasn’t as bad as you assumed it would be. Once you broke through the initial awkwardness of having to answer questions about some of the pieces, it all seemed to flow naturally. You had the most knowledge about them, after all. Months of planning and studying the best layout for each work had you inevitably remembering details that hadn’t seemed useful until now. You could gladly keep answering questions all night if it meant keeping your thoughts shut and your mouth busy.

You avoid your set like an active minefield, though. Now that you think about it, you’ve only seen it complete once -two weeks ago when you finished it- around three in the morning and slightly high. It was the only way you were able to do it without throwing up and turning into an angry sobbing mess. It was also the only set you didn’t hang up yourself, asking instead two of your coworkers for help while you stood outside with the cigarettes you had recently picked up again. In a way it was intentional. You had poured the most turbulent contents of your soul into each stroke, plastered it in the open for everyone to see and dissect. You didn’t want to see it in fear of hating how exposed you felt and pulling the plug. You do wonder. What it may look like under the dimmed lights, if the colors swirl with the shades you intended or if they fall flat against the canvas with no real sentiment.  

The memory of the five paintings laying side by side is a bit foggy in your head and you bite your lip as your feet guide you deeper inside the maze you’ve been avoiding. 

You stop by a wall that harbors your student’s final projects and the dread is momentarily overshadowed by pride. Each painting has its own bidding sheet, it’s not part of the actual auction of course, but it helps boost their morale. Before leaving, you take a closer look at the lists and smile as you read the name of the respective parent, along with the copious sum they wanted to ‘offer’ for their child’s work.

A faint wave of insecurity stirs inside as you spot a sparse crowd discussing technique and motivations of the artist and you gulp down a bit of the liquid in what has become your emotional support glass. 

“I think it’s too obvious…”

“Is it? Really? How so?”

“It’s obviously the crashing result capitalism has had on the smaller businesses of the city…”

“You definitely just made that up-”

A gentle snort blows over the rim of your glass while overhearing the stranger’s conversation. Your heels click softly as you settle by the back wall and eventually drag your eyes up to the five frames. Swirls of pearl, browns and aquamarine decorate the desolate icy blue eyes of a grizzly as it stares directly past the canvas. The sorrow has fallen heavy over droopy lids, patches of ash scatter over its matted fur. Under the large canvas, another three smaller ones depict angry oranges and blood reds swallowing up a pot, a stove top and ultimately engulfing the whole perimeters of The Beef.

The last painting spreads across the bottom of the smaller ones, same dimensions as The Bear. It sits cleaner, in faux composure, with defined lines around the borders of a stainless steel counter observed from the front. A mess of open bottles and jars rests beside a dish, meticulous yet chaotically plated. Splashes of a thick orange sauce invade the surface under a perfectly cooked salmon. It contrasts with the mess surrounding it as it seems like every tiny herb was tweezed on to every spot with perfection. It’s perfect. 

Too perfect. As if it were trying to disguise a deeply rooted impotence, impostor syndrome. An anxiety that is blatantly obvious in the cinder-patched arms that finish plating the dish, fingers gripping onto the steel utensils for dear, dear life.  The small letters ‘S.O.U’ are barely visible under the black soot and repeat a second time over a thick line of green tape along the counter line.

Your ribs rattle with a deep inhale as you knock back the remaining liquid. The crowd in front of you sways in thick groups that momentarily cloud your view of the pieces, giving you seconds to breathe before the piercing eyes you tried to replicate wash over you again. It’s until the bodies disperse, that you catch an unnervingly familiar back leaning down to scribble something on your sheet, then rising and walking in the opposite direction to you. The sensation you feel can only be compared to slowly climbing up the rails of a roller coaster, as if the pit of your stomach had been stuck on land while you crawled up the treacherous metal.

You place the empty glass on the tray of a waiter passing by and despite the alarms ringing in your head that your actions would only cause more harm, you force your stiff legs to move in the direction of your work. With shaky hands you pick up the sheet to inspect the name. An eerie chill claws at your arms and you grip on to the flimsy material with all your strength or you fear you might collapse in front of everyone. In a recognizable cursive- taunting you motionlessly- sits the name ‘Isaac H.’ bidding six thousand dollars. One for each month you spent together. For each fucking month he made you believe he loved you, the sick fuck.

The panic in your veins turns to anger, hot and scolding, traveling at light speed and triggering your neck to check around the space for the familiar face. You’re moved by hatred, stalking out of the maze with the crumbled page digging into your wounded fist, still searching around. A familiar head swims through the crowd then disappears past the door. Your heels click again in the direction of the entrance, throwing the ball of paper into one of the trash cans on your way out. The rage boils too heavily and you have every intention to smack your fist in his face until your rings leave a dent, once you spot him outside.

However, he’s not alone. There’s a girl with him, lovingly hanging on to his arm. It’s not his wife, but someone that closely resembles you from a distance. From the same hair length to stature and the complexion of her skin. It’s a strange mirage that has your steps faltering to a stop and wanting to rub your eyes in hopes that it may all be in your head. She steps up on her toes to leave a kiss on his cheek with a small giggle when his arm pulls her closer to him.

“Oh, you poor thing..” You expect the blatant display to stir your insides in memory, yet pity is the only emotion that seems present over your screwed brows. Pity and shame, that you could not notice how fucked up he truly was so long ago.

You have half a mind to call out to the girl and save her from a similar fate to yours, but before you can, they’re hailing a cab and leaving in the opposite direction to the gallery. A heavy sigh escapes you and you soon find yourself pulling the beaten package and lighter from your cleavage for the third time tonight. 

Goosebumps rise on your skin from the evening air as you walk further away from the door, blowing smoke into the light breeze. You rest your exposed back over the cold glass wall, eyes focused on the passing cars and only moving mechanically to take a drag every few seconds while your other hand unconsciously fidgets with the lighter.

You feel exhausted, the bulk that hovered over your shoulders all through the day finally falling over them like a weighted blanket, rendering you still and heavy against the glass. You thought that seeing Isaac might have made you want to cry, but your exhaustion is far beyond physical at this point and your eyes have grown tired above all else. You rub your finger in the center of your brows, careful to not crush the cig resting between them. 

The low hum of the music playing past the glass lulls you into a state of calmness while you finish your cigarette, hot skin enjoying the soft breeze that comes in through the river.

“Shit-ah-” You hiss and look down to your hand, where the embers have caught up with the filter and nibbled at the delicate layer of skin, the throb makes you drop the bud to the ground. You inspect the small burn, then turn your palm up to see the uncovered cut that Carmy had nursed the evening before and another hefty sigh mixes with the wind. It feels like all you ever do is sigh nowadays.

With the slight lightheadedness of the nicotine and the booze floating in your system, you push your body off the glass and slowly walk back into the gallery in hopes that the event will end soon. As you make your way past the doors, one of the other coordinators tells you that someone interested in purchasing your paintings is waiting by them and for a second your blood runs cold at the thought that Isaac might have come back. But the idea soon falls through, when your eyes try to adjust to the change in lighting and you’re greeted by the blurry image of Carmen.

He stands with all his undivided attention towards the pieces in front of him, with a bouquet of red flowers hanging from his hand and you think that- despite everything else in the day- this is definitely the moment that’ll give you a heart attack. He’s wearing his chef whites, like the one the team is currently sporting, but he looks completely different from that one picture you had seen of him, with his sullen eyes and glossy hair. You swallow hard and deep, eyes racking the flexing muscles that now seem too noticeable under the white material. His sleeves are rolled up, letting the few tattoos peek out from under and his hair holds the messy curls that make your fingers twitch with want.

You stop in your tracks once you’ve spotted him, but don’t take your eyes away from his form, afraid that his presence is only a fiction of your tired imagination. It’s only when his attention is ripped from the frames and directed towards you, that your legs seem to gravitate without option towards him. There’s a mixture of emotions blending with the champagne in your system that makes your breath ragged and your skin hot despite the cold air invading the large room.

Your steps are cautious and after what feels like eternal seconds of anguish, you’re standing by his side, the heat radiating from his body matching your own.

“Hey…” He breathes out.

“Uh… hi.”

“I-uh- I know you’re supposed to get, like, flowers for actors and stuff but… didn’t know what to get for artists…” He speaks while lifting up the bouquet of what you can now distinguish as red carnations, fresh and full ones that make your heart grow too big inside your chest.

You nod your head slowly to acknowledge them but don’t speak, afraid the little control you have left will evaporate into thin air with your words, the sight of his soft baby blues already have you like a fly to a Venus.

“This is…” His eyes fall back to the wall, scanning over the frames in awe as you fidget with your fingers by your sides. “..a-amazing.” Then he takes a closer look at the bottom painting, brows slightly creased. “You… painted me?” He asks surprised

You shrug and point to one of the smaller frames. “I also painted The Beef on fire…”

“I almost did set The Beef on fire-” 

“What?”

“-O-on accident.”

You sigh out the heavy breath trapped in your chest, shoulders slouched in defeat. “Carmy…” His name feels at home over your lips, sweet honey suckles coating each syllable.

“I know, I really suck at this, just… gimme a sec-” He scratches the ghost of an itch over his forehead, more out of habit as he scrunches his eyes shut and searches his brain for the words that have been circling inside since last night.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you- and it was a complete dick move to react like that when all you did was try to tell me something important. I’m sorry for… everything. For thinking that you were only with me cause Mickey- for never calling you back to try and fix things…”

You tear your eyes away from his wounded ones, only to direct them to the similar expression harbored by your creation.

“I thought that… if I stayed away long enough, then maybe you’d notice how fucked I was a-and not want anything to do with me anymore.” He plays with his hand to try and calm the nerves, cracking his knuckles multiple times until the little bubbles won’t budge anymore. “I wanted to, though… call you.”

His soft confession slowly turns the tap on your barely contained feelings and you find yourself staring his way with hopeful eyes.

“Every time I was home I- I had to hold in my breath cause just the smell reminded me of you, and when I saw you in the restaurant I thought I had finally lost my shit” Carmy laughs softly under his breath. “And when you left-”

He swallows the knotted sensation blocking his throat and you take his pause to sniff back and swallow your own batch of tears.

“I tried to let go of it, to forget and just let you go- I really did Fox- but all that’s been running through my head since then is how good it felt to hear you say you love me-” He takes a decisive step towards you, palms growing sweaty under the cellophane wrap. “-and how much I want to hear it over and over and over again- but… just from you.”

Your sight of him grows blurry again past the tears that you thought dry,  coating your eyes.

“I didn’t know how to tell you before but I’ve been going to therapy. It’s al-anon family, for-uh- a couple sessions now… around three months.” He notices your expression is more confused than before and mentally cringes at his lack of communication skills. “It’s helped out a lot. You had nothing to do with what Mickey did, it’s a really fuckin’ awful coincidence, I get it now. But I’m glad he was there to stop you- to save you- cause I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you weren’t here, Fox.”

And there it was, the second you felt your heart stop and any trace of oxygen leave your body, a feeling only he could ever give you. Your lips tremble slightly with the tears in your eyes and you pull your bottom lip under your teeth to stop its shaking. He takes another step, then another, until your chests are so close, you’re both only a deep breath away from sealing the space.

“I searched half the city cause I wanted to get you Carnations…” He mumbles, raising up the bouquet in your direction a second time. “I know they were your-”

“-Grandmother’s favorite” You speak in unison and chuckle. “...yeah” 

This time you don’t reject his approach, wrapping a hand around the base, fingers lingering over his for a few moments. Your gaze stays glued on the ruffled rouge petals, a soft smile curving ever so slowly at the ends of your lips.

“Whatever happens, I want to be by your side when it does. As a friend or-or more- if you’ll still have me…”

Beat. Exhale. Beat. Inhale.

It’s soft and tender and calm. The way your heart at last feels at rest. Like it had worked in overdrive all this time to keep you alive for this precise moment and can now take a step back in relief. A hue of sapphire invades your surroundings, drowning the walls and bystanders in what you’ve baptized as a ‘Carmy shade of blue’. Incomparable and unique to the man bathing you in his loving stare. 

Your body reacts before your mind, losing the last bit of self control under the gentle waves, with arms circling his shoulders like a raft. It’s as if you can breathe again, nose clear, lungs full and head above the water; and you know very well that damned is the person that deposits all their stability on to another but you don’t seem to care. Not when the arms pressing you tightly to his sturdy chest feel like coming home.

“I missed you.” You whisper against the dip of his neck, nose nuzzled into the wild strands.

“Me too.” He sniffs to pull back the joyous tears. “I meant it Fox, I really do fuckin’ love you-” Empty hands cup your cheeks and tilt your head up to press your lips to his.

You don’t try to hold back the grin the awaited kiss brings you, instead sliding your hand to his chest and gripping around his uniform to pull him impossibly closer. A pleased sigh escapes your chest when he pulls back and presses his forehead over yours.

“I love you too, Bear.” Is all you can say.

The bustle of your surroundings grows quiet in deaf ears, silenced by Carmen’s steady breath and the resting beat in your chest.

“Alright Van Gogh, let's see what you got- holy shit…”

You can hear Richie’s voice around the corner before you even see him and take a step away from Carmy, he still keeps his arm around your waist to hold you close once his cousin joins you in front of the frames. 

“This you?” He gawks pointing towards the wall. You nod. “Damn. Badass…”

It’s the most quiet you’ve seen him since you met the man, he’s just standing still while absorbing every detail in great concentration.

“So anyway, you two fuckin' again or what?” He turns to you after a few little seconds of silence. 

“Jesus, Cousin! Why you gotta go make everythin’ weird-”

“I had to ask just in case I fucked up again-” They start talking over each other as you just stand there and smile at the banter. “Sorry sweetheart, you and I wouldn’t have worked out anyway…” Richie directs towards you.

“I am truly shattered.” You respond, hand sarcastically over your heart. 

“Yeah, yeah…” He groans. “Listen cuz, some rich guy’s asking if we do weddings and shit. You go talk to ‘em, I didn’t know what to say since we're closin’ and all that, plus rich people give me hives-”

“Wait, you're closing the restaurant?” You ask up at Carmy in confusion.

“Renovating-” He blurts out.

“Didn’t he tell you ‘bout the money?-” The taller of the two throws your way.

“Money?- The fuck did I miss…”

“It’s kind of a long story…” His grip on your waist pulls you in closer. “Tell you at home… yeah?”

You can’t say no to the way his eyes glow under the fluorescents, though it seems something more shines behind them than just the brightness in the room. You bite down on your lip with a smile and only speak a soft ‘okay’ with a kiss to the corner of his lips. Richie groans again from a few steps away, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes, though deep down he knows he feels relief that his cousin won’t be so alone anymore.

You stay in each other's line of sight for the rest of the night. While he helps out plating the canapes, Carmy sneaks a couple peeks in your direction. Seeing you move freely through the space with a new found delight while speaking to some of the guests brings a peace to his chest that he had been afraid to never feel again. You catch his stares each time and share a complicit smile with every one of them. It’s subtle, just for him- a loving message delivered in a crowded room- ‘i love you’s scribbled in little notes and slipped across the desk in silence. 

The room started to die down around 11. You had bribed Nico with the promise of food if he gave you some drinks that the team gladly took once they were done carrying everything back into the van.

The gravel in the back alley of the gallery groans under everyone’s  tired feet, but in spite of that, there’s a jovial spark in the cold breeze around them. Crates and long empty coolers serve as makeshift seats for the family huddled together. You and Carmy sit on the edge of the van, doors open wide and with a drink in the hand that isn’t holding the others’ while everyone debriefs their day. 

“Dude I swear if one more person asked me for some gluten free, keto, low calorie bull crap I was gonna lose my shit.” Tina groans before taking a swig off her drink.

“Yeah, I heard you saying ‘No hablo ingles’ halfway through the night.” Sweeps jokes, earning a sincere laugh from the group.

“Hey too bad your work didn’t sell.” Syd says in your direction. 

“No one bid on ‘em?”

“Dunno-” You shrug, leaning into Carmy’s side with his arm around you, feet swinging peacefully and heels fully abandoned by the door. “Marge told me there was no way they could know who won cause they couldn’t find the bidding sheet.”

“Tough luck…” Richie mumbles from his own seat. “They were pretty sick, kid.”

“Thanks… It’s not that bad really, she let me take ‘em home. Maybe it can be an early opening gift for your new place…” You turn to Carmy, who holds a loving smile to you and nods warmly.

“What’re we gonna call it, anyway?” Marcus asks after a couple minutes when the conversation broke down into smaller ones.

“Oh, we already got a name.” The man by your side answers.

“We do?”

“Yeah… ” He turns to you for a microsecond while his other hand scratches a phantom itch under his nose in nervousness. “It’s-uh, it’s The Bear.”

“The Bear..” Marcus repeats, swirling the words around in his mouth and smiling approvingly to the taste. “I like it. To The Bear.” He raises his glass in the center of the circle you’ve created and everyone follows suit.

Tonight, the midnight sky is bright with millions of stars and the unspoken promise that whatever happens, you will be by each other’s side when it does. 

So you scoot closer to the edge, toes grazing the cold gravel and lips pressed to Carmy’s beaming face as you all toast ‘to The Bear’.

Epilogue.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat and that’s it lmao

[666writingcafe]

Sibling Bonding

Luke

I'm scared.

The look on Simeon's face...that's going to be in my nightmares, no doubt about it.

This room is only a temporary sanctuary--and not a very good one at that--but it's the best I have at the moment.

Someone knocks on the door.

"Go away!" I yell. I don't want to see Simeon right now.

"Luke, it's okay. It's just me." Oh. It's MC. The one person that can comfort me right now.

I get off the bed and sheepishly open the door, allowing them to enter. They sit down at the desk, leaving me to return to my position on the bed.

"Are you okay?" Three simple words, and yet they're enough to make me tear up. I was trying to keep my composure in the dining car, since I knew Mammon would tease me for crying.

Speaking of which, why was he picking on me? I mean, we're far from being best friends, but as we were preparing for the trip, we both were really excited about it. He even helped me pack some of my things. So, I don't understand the sudden switch.

Unless somehow merely mentioning Michael triggered something in him, and I just happened to be the closest thing he could lash out against. But that wouldn't make much sense, either; Michael's not a bad person.

"I-I'm sorry for behaving like that in the dining car." I choke up as the tears begin rolling down my face. "I k-know I embarrassed you b-back there." MC leans forward and grabs both of my hands.

"You were reacting to someone bullying you. Perhaps you could have handled that better than you did, but you're still growing. I don't expect you to have the emotional maturity of an adult, angel or otherwise." It's strange, hearing those words. Everyone else expects me to act older and tease me if I don't, and yet they talk to me like I'm a little kid.

Not MC. Not even once.

"If anything, I ought to be apologizing to you." Huh?

"Why? You didn't do anything wrong." MC smiles slightly, gently squeezing my hands.

"Not intentionally, but nevertheless I am partially to blame for Simeon's outburst." They clearly see the confused look on my face, for they add,

"When I saw Simeon start to become irritated, I grabbed his hand to try to soothe him."

"Like you are right now with me?" They nod.

"Part of my power comes from the pacts I have with the seven Avatars of Sin. The physical connection of our hands caused that power to meet up with Simeon's frustration and give it more energy. By the time we realized what was happening, the connection became too strong for us to break it ourselves. The energy had to release itself on its own."

"Kinda like a circuit."

"Exactly."

"I didn't know you could even do that!"

"Neither did I." I don't like seeing MC sad. I know that they can't be happy all the time, but I want them to experience more good than bad. They deserve it.

Besides, how can they know something they weren't taught?

MC lets go of my hands, gets up, and starts walking towards the door.

"Wait!" They stop and turn towards me.

"Yes, Luke?" I'm not even sure if I should bring this up. It's the type of thing most people would tell me I'm too young to understand before changing the subject to something more "appropriate". It's rather annoying, actually. I hate being underestimated simply because of my age. Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm stupid.

"There's something I've been wondering for a while now.

"Which is?" Well, here goes nothing.

"Why does Michael still care about Mammon and his brothers? I mean, they may have been angels once upon a time, but not anymore. They're demons now. They did something awful enough to warrant being cast out of the Celestial Realm."

MC's initial hesitation worries me. Are they finally going to dismiss me the way everyone else has?

"Relax, Luke. I'm not ignoring you. I'm just trying to figure out the best way to answer your question."

"Really?" MC nods.

"I may not be able to tell you everything, but that doesn't mean I can't give you some information. I mean, you're not a little kid anymore; you're old enough to know about certain things." An idea must have come to MC in that moment, for they walk back over to the desk and start rummaging through its drawers until they find a piece of paper and a pencil.

"Come on over, Luke," they instruct, sitting down. Once I'm standing next to them, they turn the paper horizontally and draw two dots on either side of it.

"Let's say that these dots represent the pinnacle of good and evil." MC writes the two words down underneath the dots. "Do you see all this empty space?"

"Yes."

"That represents all the different combinations of good and evil. Some things are easier to contribute to one or the other." MC draws some smaller dots around the two original dots. "But most things in life exist in this space in between. Am I making sense so far?" I nod my head, allowing them to continue.

"Now, there are many factors that make deciding if something is good or bad rather complicated. I think the one that's pertinent to your question is this one." MC writes down the word "love" on the paper. "As you've stated, the brothers were once angels. Would you say that the residents of the Celestial Realm act like one big family?"

"Yeah."

"Then it would make sense for Michael to feel that way about the brothers. It's hard to cut ties with people you hold near and dear to your heart, even if they've hurt you in some way."

"Then why cast them out of the Celestial Realm to begin with?" The question slips out of my mouth before I can stop myself. "I mean, if Michael loved them so much, then he should've just forgiven them." That prompts MC to write down the word "politics".

"Michael's kind of like the Vice President of the Celestial Realm, right?"

"I mean, I suppose so. I hadn't thought about it like that before."

"But you understand why I made that comparison, right?" MC looks at me expectantly, and I realize that they want me to actually explain why. They're quizzing me, in a way.

"Well, a Vice President has a lot of power, but they still have to answer to the President. The Vice President can't just do whatever they want." They smile at me.

"Very good. Now, obviously I wasn't there at the time, but I can guess that God issued the order to Michael to cast the brothers out to the Celestial Realm. If he failed to do so, then he would face punishment of some kind. Perhaps he'd be kicked out as well, or worse. Whatever it was, it was severe enough for him to decide it was better to follow orders than it was to push back against them."

"Even if he didn't want to see the brothers leave?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Love sometimes has to bow down to politics. It sucks, but life isn't always fair. It can be awfully cruel at times."

"Do you think the brothers hate angels? If so, then all of Michael's love is in vain. They'll never love him back." MC grabs my hands again.

"I think that deep down, they miss the Celestial Realm and the people in it. It's just that the love they may still have towards that place often gets clouded by other emotions."

Oh no. I'm going to be in so much trouble. I can't start second-guessing Michael's judgement. That's totally not okay.

"Luke, look at me." MC can sense that I'm freaking out. "Despite of what people tell you, you are allowed to question why things are the way they are. It's part of learning. Don't ever let anyone take your curiosity away from you."

"O-okay."

"If they have a problem with it, they'll have to go through me." They pause. "I will do everything in my power to protect you, Luke."

"Why?"

"Because you're part of my family." I let go of MC's hands, only to hug them seconds later.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"You're welcome." When we separate, I notice something on their hand that wasn't there before.

The Star of Generosity.

It suits them.

[sierracolorstheworldofwords]

Does Hoggle have B.O?

Your husband held a crystal within his long gloved fingers, musing at it. Twisting it towards you, he finally revealed what he was looking at– Hoggle, the infamous dwarf, greeting yet another human at the entrance of the labyrinth. 

From the corner of his eye, the equally, or rather, exuberantly more infamous Goblin King watched your expression. Your nose scrunched up, your eyebrows knitted, and your usually kind eyes narrowed. You thought in silence. 

Until, finally, you spoke. 

“Do you think Hoggle has B.O?” 

Jareth froze, "What?"

"Does Hoggle have B.O?" You asked again. 

He took a breath and opened his mouth to speak. He then closed it, and simply stared at you. 

You gestured towards the crystal, “I mean it! Look at him!” your voice started to rise, “He’s been peeing in that damn pond for years! And you know what? I’ve never seen him wash his hands once!”

Jareth ignored the twitch of his lips. He stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore the way laughter ached to climb up his throat. Curse you! Why on earth would you even ask him a question like that? If you had let him throw that fool into the bog after he helped that girl, you wouldn’t even have to ask that! But noooooo! You had to look up at him with those beautiful eyes that twinkled like crystals and stars and all the twinkling things he could think of and say, But Jareth! Don’t you think that’s a bit far? Really, he did no harm! 

He had tried so hard to resist that day, because, honestly, how were his well crafted threats supposed to work if you looked at him so softly, and held his arm like that? He still couldn’t live down the fact that you had him wrapped around your finger. 

Finally, he turned to you, his spoiled little beastie, and tried his best to not give the goblins more fodder for their teasing. He sculpted his face into a very appropriate and serious frown. One could not joke when there was a runner within the labyrinth! Especially when said runner was currently talking to a dwarf who had helped a human! 

Anyways, it wasn’t like you were doing anything funny. Just asking a question, really. 

“You have watched him too much,” Jareth said, ignoring the warmth in his chest as you kept smiling, “You oughtn't watch him so much.” 

You rolled your eyes, slumping in your throne as you crossed your arms, “Says the one watching him right now.” 

“Shush you.” 

“Look, Jareth, I’m being serious!” you hit the arms of your throne, an exact copy of his, to make your point, “Does he have B.O?! I’ve only talked to him once! But every time a runner comes he does the same thing!” 

Jareth sighed, looking up in exasperation, “You’re really making a big deal out of this–” 

“Of course I am!” you cried, throwing your arms in the air, “He pees! PEES, JARETH! In that pond! AND, he never washes his hands! NEVER! NEVER, JARETH! So you KNOW he stinks! Why do you think I told you to spare him?” 

Jareth placed a hand over his mouth. He took a shaky breath, ignoring the jolt of his shoulders as giggles threatened to pop out. 

“My love, we really ought to change the subject.” 

“Why do you think I told you to spare him from a bog dipping, huh?” 

“My dear,” his lips trembled, “Please–” 

“He’d stink up the whole place if we dipped him in the bog, Jareth!” 

A snicker escaped him and he coughed, pushing it down, “I suppose you have a point.” 

In response, your lovely, boisterous laughter echoed throughout the once lonely throne room. He couldn’t help it as a smile crossed his lips. Oh, he loved your laughter! It wasn’t like his at all! It was beautiful– sometimes, you just giggled, or chuckled, or wheezed while holding your sides. Sometimes, if he got lucky, a cute snort would escape you, and he couldn’t help but place the crystal aside, admiring you. 

“You see what I mean, then! Look at that little fool!” you pointed towards the crystal which was precariously balanced on the semi-circular sides of his throne, “He doesn’t even know what a sink is! I think, when we got married, his shirt used to be white, Jareth. White!” 

He wasn’t going to let you win this. You were going to be the one laughing, not him. Especially because you always brought out his unmanicured laughter. The laughter he couldn’t control– the type that would have him, The Goblin King, hitting his throne before rolling on the floor. 

“I mean it! Now it's khaki colored!"

He bit his lip, shoulders shaking, before he cleared his throat, "Well, I do believe his pants used to be a bright red, but no they've turned.. into a rather.. burgundy color."

In response, you snorted. He felt himself melt. It didn’t help that you were perfectly stationed next to him, always ready to cause mischief right alongside him. In fact, it made him practically purr, but he wasn’t going to admit that in front of his subjects. 

"Jareth!" You whispered, playfully hitting his shoulder, "you're so bad!"

"Unless my memory fails me, you weren't saying that this morning."

You rolled your eyes, until you collapsed into joyous giggles again, "He really does have B.O, doesn't he?"

"I don't quite remember the smells of my subjects, dear."

"Perhaps I should investigate?"

"If you do, you'll insult him! I know you too well, cheeky thing!" He shook his head, "You won't even mean to insult him! You'll just blurt something out! Then we'll be off trying to break yet another horrid curse!” 

"It's not my fault some of us don't have senses of humor!" 

"Yes, just like it's not my fault you're a horrid little gossip!"

You smirked, before shifting in your seat, completely facing him. Leaning your elbows on the arms of your throne, you hooked a hand underneath his chin, giving him a soft kiss– for a moment, he knew what the entire universe felt like, and the goblins watching the whole debacle were completely forgotten. It was just you and him, ruling side by side. 

“Well,” you pulled away, “Aren’t we lucky that you’re my true love then?”

He turned away, “That’s besides the point, really.” 

“Is it, my love?”

Now, he couldn’t help but grin. His gaze turned back to you, and he absolutely melted. You looked at him so adoringly, so sweetly, that all he wanted to do was let you take him into your arms and give him more affection. He’d laugh as much as you wanted, even more, if you kept looking at him like that. Then he heard a snicker. He glared at its source, before you rolled your eyes and cradled his cheek, kissing it softly. He saw the flash of pride flicker across your features as he melted again. You were a wicked, tempting thing. He knew this when he married you, yet he did it anyway. Afterall, he was the one who proposed. 

“Well, I suppose I quite like that.” he murmured softly, “So.. I suppose it is only fair that I go and find the answer to your absurd question.” 

“Of course,” you replied, kissing his cheek again, before adding another peck just for good measure. 

He stared at the ground for a moment, contemplating.

"I expect ten more." 

More of your delicious laughter, "Alright."

So, you gave him ten more kisses, before he went on his way. 

When he came back, his curled nose confirmed your suspicion.

"Well, you were right."

"Oh?" You grinned, tilting your head playfully, "Was I?"

"Yes! And I now realize that my threats of throwing the bugger into the bog were futile. No wonder why he helped that human.” 

At his comment, you began to giggle, and again, his lips tugged, and laughter crawled up his throat. Throwing your head back, you snorted, and he landed on the throne besides yours. What did you remind him of? Of bells in autumn, of spring’s first dawn? Of warmth, of life, of more? Sighing happily, he rested his chin on his hand. 

“I knew I was right!” you paused, “Do you think we should give him a crown and officially make him a prince?” 

“A prince?” Jareth asked, shifting in his throne. 

“Yes! The prince of the land of stench, of course! We could dip his head into the bog for his coronation.” 

With that, his own laughter finally slipped out, and he laughed the only way he could with you– imperfectly and happily, without a care in the world.

[dovesandmagpies]

More thoughts on literature (mostly history books) because it turns out I have a lot of thoughts on this subject. I feel like this got away from me slightly, but anyway.

When I was a child, I read many history books and historical novels (not much has changed really). Because most of these books were for children they tended to edit out things that were not considered appropriate, sometimes to the point of near incomprehense.

Once I started reading less violently child friendly history books, I quickly became adept at spotting where previous history books had failed to mention things. Maybe a book about the Wars of the Roses ended with the focus characters living "happily ever after" and not "being executed by the Tudors for being York-ists" maybe a book about Marie Antoniette ended with her being crowned Queen and not being guillotined (side note, why are there so many books about Marie Antoniette? She is boring, I have read 3 books about her and every one has failed to convince me that she is even a quarter as interesting as her mother, a person I have found 0 books about and am still very annoyed about it (really, all I currently want in literature is a really good book about the War of Austria succession and the 7 years War, surely there's one out there somewhere)).

However, not all vaguely worded things in children's history books are the author attempting to hide something inappropriate. One of my history books informed me that "France lost the Franco-Prussian war, Napoleon III was even captured! "

As Napoleon III was never mentioned again I drew the logical conclusion that he must have been killed in a truly horrific manner and my history book was trying to distract me from it by talking about other, admittedly interesting, things such as the em's telegram and why WWI happened.

But recently I remembered this incident in my history book and thought "I wonder what did happen to Napoleon III?" so I looked it up,

What was the fate so terrible that it could not be mentioned in a book that explained what being "hung, drawn and quartered" meant?

It was.... To go to England.

Napoleon III after his dethronement, retired in exile to England.

Oh the horror.

I do find this very funny, was one sentence explaining this just too much?

Anyway, as someone who can now read "grown-up" history books I find it really hard to find books on things I am interested in. I don't want to read about WWI, WWII, the roman empire, the renaissance or the Tudors. Currently I want to read about history between Elizabeth I and Napoleon because stuff must have happened in non-English speaking places, but good luck finding anything at the local libraries.

Certain time periods are just more popular and I understand that, but I also want to fill in the gaps in the giant puzzle that is my understanding of history, not read another book on Tudor England.

Sorry if this makes no sense it was very late when I wrote it

[566-hope-street]

Austin Osman Spare and His Theory of Sigils

by Frater U:.D:.

The end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th centuries was a time characterized by radical changes and great heretics. The secret lore and the occult in general were triumphant, and there were good reasons for this. The materialist positivism with its Manchester industrialism was beginning to show its malice, resulting in social and psychological uprooting. The destruction of nature had already begun to bear its first poisonous fruits. In brief, it was a time when it seemed appropriate to question the belief in technology and the omnipotence of the celebrated natural sciences. Particularly intellectuals, artists, and the so-called "Bohemians" became advocates of values critical of civilization in general as can be seen in the literature of Naturalism, in Expressionist Art and in the whole Decadent Movement, which was quite notorious at the time. 

Austin Osman Spare was a typical child of this era and, after Aleister Crowley, was definitely one of the most interesting occultists and practicing magicians of the English-speaking world. Despite his various publications after the turn of the century, he remained practically unnoticed until the late sixties. He was born in 1886, the son of a London police officer, and we know very little about his childhood. He claimed to have experienced while a child an initiation of sorts by an elderly witch, one Mrs. Paterson who, as far as we know, must have been quite a Wiccan-like character. Spare found his intellectual and creative vocation as an artist and illustrator, and he attended the Royal College of Art, where he soon was celebrated as a forthcoming young artist. But he rebelled against a bourgeois middle-class career in the arts. Disgusted by commercialism, he retreated from the artistic scene soon afterwards, though he still continued editing various magazines for quite a while. From 1927 until his death in 1956, he virtually lived as a weird hermit in a London slum, where he sometimes held exhibitions in a local pub. 

Spare in 1904

Around the beginning of the First World War, he released some privately published editions, and today one can acquire—at least in Great Britain—numerous, usually highly expensive, reprints of his works. However, we are primarily interested in his well-known Book of Pleasure (Self-Love): The Psychology of Ecstasy (London, 1913). Spare's actual philosophy will not be analyzed in depth here because this is not really necessary for the practice of sigil theory and it would lead away from the subject of this study. Before we begin with Spare's theory of sigils, it is perhaps useful to write a few words about the part sigils play in a magical working. Occidental magic is known to rest on two main pillars, which are will and imagination. Connected with these are analogous thinking and symbolic images. For example, Agrippa used a special sigil for each of the planetary intelligences. These are not, as has been assumed for quite some time, arbitrarily constructed, nor were they received by "revelation," but are based on Cabalistic consideration. The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn also employed sigils as "images of the souls" of magical entities, which enabled the magician to establish contact with them; nevertheless, the technique of their construction was not explained. The same may be said for the Ordo Templi Orientis (O.T.O.) under Crowley's leadership and for the Fraternitas Saturni under Gregorius. The name Agrippa already hints at the fact that magical sigils have a long historical tradition, which we will not discuss here because then we would have to cover the whole complex of occult iconology as well. 

In general, people think of "correct" and "incorrect" sigils. The grimoires of the late Middle Ages were often little else but magical recipe books, and practitioners believed in the following principle: to know the "true" name and the "true" sigil of a demon means to have power over it. Pragmatic magic, which developed in the Anglo-Saxon realms, completely tidied up this concept. Often Crowley's revolt in the Golden Dawn is seen as the actual beginning of modern magic. It would certainly not be wrong to say that Crowley was an important supporter of pragmatic thought in modern magic. But in the end, the Master Therion preferred to remain within the hierarchical dogmatic system due to his Aiwass revelation in Liber Al vel Legis. His key phrase "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. Love is the law, love under will," as well as his whole Thelemic concept, prove him a dogmatic magician. 

English magic of the turn of the century was also influenced by an important young science which would actually achieve its major triumphs only after the Second World War: the psychology of Sigmund Freud. Before that, Blavatsky's Isis Unveiled and The Secret Doctrine, as well as Frazer's The Golden Bough, had given important impulses to the occult in general. William James's comparative psychology of religion influenced deeply the intellectuality of this time, but Freud, Adler, and especially Carl G. Jung eventually effected major breakthroughs. From then on, people started to consider the unconscious in earnest. We will not analyze by whom Spare was influenced. Rather, we will discuss his greatest achievement: his psychological approach towards magic. This leads us to magical practice proper. 

In Spare's system there are no "correct" or "incorrect" sigils; neither is there a list of ready-made symbols. It is of no import whether a sigil is the "correct" one or not, but it is crucial that it has been created by the magician and is therefore meaningful to him/her. Because s/he has constructed it for personal use, the sigil easily becomes a catalyst of his/her magical desire. This pragmatic approach which dominates present-day Anglo-Saxon magic (Israel Regardie, Francis King, Stephen Skinner, W. B. Gray, David Conway, Lemuel Johnstone, to name but a few relevant authors) goes to show that Austin Osman Spare, rather than Aleister Crowley, should be considered the real Father of Modern Pragmatic Magic. In the German-speaking countries, the situation is quite different. Writers like Quintscher, Gregorius, Bardon, Klingsor and even Spiesberger allow but little room to maneuver when creating magical coordinates individually. Here the adept is expected to grow into a ready-made system instead of fashioning one. This is a completely different approach, the value or non-value of which we will not discuss here. The works by Mahamudra, which have of late been receiving some attention, are mainly of a descriptive nature and deal with traditions and new interpretations, thus remaining within the context of German magical heritage; however, they do take heed of recent results in scientific psychology and are, therefore, at least partially related to the pragmatic approach. Pragmatic magic will become more and more important because today's magicians have to face a psychologized and psychologizing environment whose philosophical relativism has been shaping all of us, and still does. Regardless of the significance or amount of truth one concedes to psychology, we all are infiltrated by its way of thinking and its vocabulary. So even we magicians will have to attain to a critical, sensible look at it. It will be left to another era to find different models of explanation, description and practice. 

How does Spare proceed in practice? Sigils are developed by fusion and stylization of letters. First of all, a sentence of desire has to be formulated. Let us take the example Spare himself gives in his Book of Pleasure, the declaration of intent: THIS MY WISH TO OBTAIN THE STRENGTH OF A TIGER. This sentence must be written down in capitals. Next, all the letters which appear more than once are deleted so that only one of each letter remains. Thus, the following letters remain: THISMYWOBANERGF. The sigil is created from these letters. It is permissible to consider one part (for example, M) as a reversed W or, seen from the side, as an E. Hence, these three letters do not have to appear in the sigil three separate times. Of course, there are numerous possibilities of representation and stylization. However, it is important that in the end the sigil is as simple as possible with the various letters recognizable (even with slight difficulty). The artistic quality of the sigil is irrelevant, but for simple psychological reasons it should be obvious that you should not just scribble or doodle in haste. You should strive to make it to the best of your abilities. The finished sigil, which in the beginning will probably take a few attempts to construe, will then be fixated. You may draw it on parchment, on paper, in the sand, or even on a wall. According to Spare's short instructions, it should be destroyed after its internalization. Thus, you will either burn the parchment, wipe it out in the sand, etc.

Example of a sigil

Spare's basic idea is that the sigil, together with its meaning, must be planted into the unconscious. Afterwards, the consciousness has to forget it so that the unconscious can obey its encoded direction without hindrance. When the sigil is ready, it is activated by implanting it into the psyche. This is the most difficult part in this process, and Spare offers only very few hints on practical procedures. However, it is crucial that the sigil is internalized in a trance of sorts. This may take place in a state of euphoria (for example, by means of drugs), in ecstasy (for example, by masturbation or sexual intercourse), or in a state of physical fatigue. For the latter example, eyes and arms may be tired by folding your arms behind the head while standing in front of a mirror and staring fixedly at your image. The important thing is that it should click, meaning that the sigil must be internalized spasmodically, which, of course, requires some exercise and control. This procedure may be supported by repeating the sentence of desire rhythmically and monotonously like a mantra, becoming faster and faster. In doing so, one must stare fixedly at the sigil. After spasmodical internalization, the symbol must be destroyed and deleted from the conscious mind. As mentioned before, from now on it will be the unconscious which has to do the work.

In my own practical work I have discovered that it may even be useful to keep the sigil on you, such as wearing a ring engraved with it, etc. But this will depend upon the magician's individual predilection, and everybody should find his/her own way. Occasionally, it may prove necessary to repeat the whole procedure, especially if the goal is a very problematical one, requiring an outstanding amount of energy. Nevertheless, experience shows that it is of prime importance not to bring back the meaning and aim of the sigil into consciousness at any time. We are, after all, dealing with a technique akin to autosuggestion; thus, the rules are the same as with autosuggestions themselves. Therefore, you may not use negative formulas such as "THIS MY WISH NOT TO ..." because very often the unconscious tends neither to recognize nor understand this "not," and you might end up getting the opposite result than that which you originally desired. If you see a sigil every day, perhaps on a wall or engraved on the outer side of a ring, this should only take place unconsciously, just as one might not consciously notice an object which is in use all the time. Of course, you should keep your operation secret, for discussing it with skeptics or even good friends may dissolve the sigil's power. The advantages of this method, of which only a short summary can be given here, are obvious. It is temptingly easy, and with only a little practice it may be performed at any time and at any place. It does not call for any costly paraphernalia. Protective circles and pentagram rituals are not required, though sometimes may prove useful, especially with operations of magical protection. People who tend to psychic instability should, however, be cautious. Although the threshold to schizophrenia is not as easily crossed with this method as with common evocations, it does involve cutting deeply into the ecology of the psyche, an act which should be considered carefully in any case. The psycho-magical consequences are sometimes quite incalculable. 

As is well known, the real problem with magic is not so much the question whether it works, but rather the fact that it does. Used with responsibility, this method offers the magician a tool which provides him/her with a limitless variety of possible magical applications.

Austin Osman Spare, Self-Portrait, 1935