#when will a hot girl commit boat crimes with me.....

[juniperhillpatient]

it's always funny to me when people think tropes or recurring themes in writing reveal deep seated wants & desires or trauma or whatever.

maybe i just think stealing a boat together is peak sapphic romance

[liquorisce]

his wicked heart [2]

by me and @heartvu

rating: E | 18+

summary: Many years ago, Mikasa Ackerman was saved by the demon, Eren Yeager. Since that night she's devoted herself to him, worshipping and praying to him as a god. So when a sacrifice was demanded, naturally she is the first to volunteer.

chap 1 | ao3

He’d put her to sleep after that. 

It was a simple trick for a demon of his rank, something humans whispered about, but in reality, rather than compelling the overly obstinate human species to behave appropriately, lulling them into a drowsy haze was much easier. 

The girl confounded him with all her talk of grandiose servitude and it threw a wrench into his plans of consummating the sacrifice ritual as quickly as possible. 

The “consummation” was just another fancy word; the founder— One of the “Gods” with too much time on his hands— was rather fond of them. According to Eren, this whole ritual of sacrifice was a tad bit tedious by now, and the only reason Eren abided by it was that it wasn’t worth the conflict within his hot-blooded group of demon siblings. 

While he didn’t care much for the sanctity of tradition, even he realises how uncommon it is for someone to volunteer as a sacrifice. He had never paid much attention to it, but all the sacrifices were generally the same: the ones with the darkest souls who committed the most wretched crimes, forced to bear the burden of humanity’s deal with the Nine Demons. It’s simply what was easiest.

By the time they were forcefully brought to the ritual chamber, their stench would be steeped in fear and misery, seasoned in the kind of self-pity that he doesn’t have the taste for. However, this year was his, and despite his surprise that she ended up here, for the past 11 months, he stood by in the shadows as he watched her beg the shrine keepers to volunteer, to be chosen. This young woman, with a whole life in front of her, that she seemed so desperate to throw away, pleaded with her old keepers to choose her.

Regardless, the Attack demon had always done what he wanted; it was literally part of the lore. Brash, impulsive and hot-headed— Eren enjoyed living up to the reputation. So he never waited patiently for his 9 years to consume a human. Humans as a species were rotting at their very core; murder, abuse, and acts of sheer villainy that he was equal parts fascinated and repulsed by seemed to be the day-to-day for humankind, so why not engage in some clean-up? 

Wasn’t that why the nine demons were created by the founder in the first place— to protect humankind by doing the founder’s dirty work? Snorting, he distracts himself from his ideological purism and looks at the girl he’d carried with him from the human realm. 

She’s a small thing even for a human, and her ridiculously opulent robes make her seem even smaller as she floats in them. She’s breathing deeply into his neck, as she sleeps peacefully in his arms. Aside from the mildly annoying fact that she sleeps with her mouth open and a little bit of her saliva dribbles onto his bare shoulder, he can’t deny that there is a certain charm to her. 

A wasted charm in the underworld, he muses grimly, because the human world could definitely use more of it. He holds her firmly around her thighs as they enter the Paths— a sort of middle dimension before he can descend into the underworld. It was a good thing he’d put her to sleep during the journey because the difference in the atmosphere often makes weaker spirits dizzy. His own lower demons couldn’t survive the journey without passing out. 

He arrives at the little dock on the riverfront, his eyes narrowing at the decidedly empty ferry boat. “That idiot has one job…,” he grumbles, scouring the riverbank in annoyance. 

Sure enough, his loyal demon servant had been snoozing on the floor of the boat, his little tail peaking out and giving it away. 

Eren proceeds to noisily step into the boat, his heavy form— while not enough to break it— shaking the boat unpleasantly. 

“Whaa,” the red-headed demon snaps up groggily. When he gathers his bearings, his cheeks burn to match the colour of his hair. “My lord,” he squeaks, in an utterly non-demonlike fashion. “I didn’t see you,”— 

“Clearly,” Eren snaps, his sharp irritation enough to silence the blithering demon. “Make haste, Floch. And don’t speak unnecessarily, the girl is sleeping.” 

Floch nods, embarrassed at displeasing his liege. As he rows to the opposite river bank, to the cave that leads to the underworld, his eyes dart furtively to the sleeping girl in the Attack demon’s arms. Eren never provided more information than what he needed to know— and quite often that was nothing— but he wonders if this girl was meant to be “the sacrifice.” 

He’s nothing more than a lower demon, a creature whose existence is defined to serve one of the nine celestial demons, but he’s never seen the ritual or encountered a sacrifice before. And never Eren’s. This was the first time he’d seen Eren bring a human— and she was definitely a human, her scent made him sure of it— to the underworld. And having heard many loud proclamations of his lord’s hatred of their species, he’s surprised to see the care with which he cradles her in his arms, his arm almost protective around her waist as he stares listlessly at the waters, lost in thought. Her arms clutch his neck tightly even in her sleep, her beautiful face almost at peace as she is unwittingly brought to her demise. 

She slips a little from his grasp as the waters roughen close to the opposite bank, and Floch sees Eren’s grip tighten, his eyes coming to rest on her face, a curious look on his features as he holds her closer to him. Surely he’s just eager to consume her, Floch rations. Surely that’s it. 

…

Mikasa sleeps like a baby. It perplexes him, to say the least, that despite all the jostling and overeager greetings from his minions, she’s still out cold in his arms. The difference in the atmosphere should’ve been enough to alarm most humans… not that Eren has any real understanding of it. 

He watches the rhythm of her chest rising and falling, the breath entering between her small, wet lips, the sweet ignorance of her sleeping expression. He’d meant to scare her, make her beg for her life, force her to run away in self-preservation. But here she was, asleep between the linens of his bedroom chamber. And here he was, above her, wondering what in blazing hell, he should do with her. 

Fuck it, he thinks, and then decides to stop overthinking this. He’s never deliberated much over human life— granted they were usually lowlifes— and he doesn’t see why this should be much different. Perhaps he could just end it right away, rip into her throat whilst she is still asleep, ending her life with little pain or fear. She wasn’t the kind of human who deserved a good scare before death, at the very least. 

He could carry her lifeless carcass to the stupid sacrificial pagan ritual that Zeke seemed hellbent on preserving for all eternity, and carry out the consummation there. He had no desire for the bloody theatricals that some of his peers— Porco, in particular— seemed to prefer, anyway.

But just as he sits next to her on the bed, trails a finger across her jaw, down her pretty neck and begins to hesitate about his decision, there’s an unwanted intrusion at the door. “My lord,” a small feminine voice squeaks at the door, utterly annoying and completely unnecessary at this moment. His irate green gaze snaps up at the quivering servant demon in front of him. “I ran you a bath,” she says, “Because you always hate the lingering stench of the human realm.” 

It was clear she was only doing it to please him, to earn his approval but Eren’s lips thin into a line, staring at her as if she needn’t exist altogether. So she adds meekly, “… if it would please you, my lord.”

“Hm,” he grunts. She isn’t wrong; Eren hated the stench of the humans he devours with a passion. He consumed them terrifyingly fast, and licked their blood clean from his fingers, only because he didn't care to bring that awful stench of humanity home with him. But it wasn’t like that with this girl. She didn’t smell like the thugs he cleaned off of the streets any more than her biology allowed her to; this little priestess smelled of divinity. 

He looks at the sleeping form of his human sacrifice once more. “Just as I was about to get it over with,” he huffs to himself, as he gets up. “I hope you’ve made it scalding hot the way I like it, Louise.” To which she whimpers in agreement and scampers off to check the water temperature. 

…

When Mikasa wakes up she’s hit with a feeling of disorientation. She distinctly remembers a rather charged encounter between her and the Attack demon, both fearsome and thrilling at the same time. If she recalls correctly, there was some bodice-ripping involved, even— exciting stuff! Now, as she opens her eyes she finds herself in a somewhat antiquated room, in the centre of a large, regal bed, the air around her thick and heavy with a distinct otherworldly pressure. 

The only thing that convinces her that she isn’t dreaming is the ripped robes that she clutches together to cover herself, frayed from where the Demon had clawed them open and bared her body to him. There wasn’t much to the room, a large gilded mirror on one side, and a little chest of drawers, a table on one side of the bed with a jug of… some liquid, she confirms, something with a blue tint and a heady aroma that was most definitely not water. 

Her throat is parched, largely because of the feeling of the air around her with this indescribable heaviness, so in a highly unintelligent move, she moves to take a sip from the jug. The part of her brain that still has some good sense finally begins to freak out— is this how she meets her end? Not by the hands of some mystical demon whom she had an unhealthy obsession with, but instead by drinking some poisoned liquid that was strategically placed by her abductor? She’d barely spent any time with him yet!

Where was she, even? Had she walked into some elaborate booby trap placed by stalker perverts who had uncovered her obsession with the Demon and used it to kidnap her? Wait, was she sold off by the shrine to a trafficking ring? 

While her brain works in overdrive, she hurriedly slips off the bed, uncaring that her dress— regardless of how tightly she clutches at it— is ripped open in the most indecent places, rushing out of the room, and into the corridors, hastily looking through every door for an exit. Until she stumbles across a marbled bathroom, with a large, luxurious black granite tub in the centre, two large horns poking out of it. 

“Running away so soon?” He drawls, lifting his face above the water, his piercing green eyes catching her skittish grey ones. 

“I,”— She’s not sure how to answer that, just staring at him dumbfounded, like she’d never seen a demon bathing before. (She hadn’t.) “Um,” she finds herself staring shamelessly at this being in front of her who was clearly bathing, an activity that normally demands privacy. “Yeah, kinda.” 

“What happened to,”— his tone turns mocking, girlish— “I want to serve you, for the rest of my life.”

She blushes, embarrassed, somehow feeling ridiculous but also conscious of the fact that he was naked and bathing right in front of her. 

“I didn’t realise it came with terms and conditions.” 

“I…” she stutters, tongue-tied. “It doesn’t,” — 

He smirks. “Come here, priestess.” 

Despite everything; the blatant embarrassment on her face, the hesitation, she comes to him, stands next to him near the bathtub. “You’re my sacrifice,” he emphasises— even though she knows this part already, it’s the only part she knows— realising a new fondness for a term that he’s rarely cared for before, his teeth baring. “There are no takebacks for this type of thing.” And before she can brace herself for it, he pulls her into the tub with him, ruined robes and all. 

She sputters, water spraying from her face, hair completely drenched and sticking to her cheeks and neck. Her robes were utterly ruined but she continues to clutch at them in a futile manner— dainty white silk clinging perfectly to her wet curves. “What was that for?!” She asks, her tone slipping, decidedly impolite as her cheeks puff up and turn red. 

“A whim,” he shrugs, looking at her coolly. “Satisfying my whims should be part of your servitude, should it not?”

He has a point. “Demon…,”— 

“Master,” he corrects, a gleeful urge bubbling up to watch her follow through on her devotion. “… You will call me master.” 

“Master,” she repeats, the word weighing heavily on her tongue, binding in a way. She liked it. But as much as she likes him, or calling him master, or being with him naked in a tub, the way he calls her his sacrifice makes her shiver. Probably far too late, she finally asks the question weighing on her mind. “What does a sacrifice have to… do?” 

He looks at her curiously, amazed at how someone so desperate to be a sacrifice would have no idea what it entails. For a moment Mikasa thinks he will rebuke her for the question. “Come closer, maiden,” he murmurs, deciding to have fun with her cluelessness, his voice rich and deep and incredibly enticing. 

“Legs on either side of my lap,” he orders when he sees her hesitating. “… If you want answers from me, then you will do as I say.” 

It’s easier when he tells her what to do, when he isn’t looking at her like she should know better or do better, so she does as he says. She waddles across the large bathtub that was clearly built for taking creatures of his size. 

It occurs to her then that this is the first time she is actually noticing him up close— the way his legs are so long and his thighs large and thick, the way she struggles to sit astride them. There are little details the sculptures of him never managed to capture, the little marks on his chest, the ridges on his horns. When her eyes travel down his submerged torso, she’s reminded that he’s wearing nothing, covered just by water and the bashfulness of her own eyes. 

Looking away hastily, she plops herself on his legs and looks at him with uncertainty. “Please tell me, Master,” she says sweetly, and Eren is struck by how easily the word slips out of her mouth, how naturally submissive she sounds. “Take your robes off,” he says, ignoring her plea, but this time his order is gentler. He’d seen everything he needed to see when he’d tried to scare her off earlier, and now even more with the way the robe clings to her body obediently. But the mild humiliation with which she looks at him, teeth worrying her lower lip and eyes downcast, make it worth a repeat. 

She’s delightfully obedient, pulling off the drenched fabric shyly, exposing creamy skin and bountiful curves. No one’s ever seen her this way, bare without a stitch of closing, parts of her body she’s been told to keep covered up as long as she can remember. “Only harlots show their skin,” the head priest had reproached her once, when she lifted her robes to cross a particularly large puddle and avoid getting the fabric wet. She wonders what he would think of her now, her shoulders, breasts, stomach, her most private parts so dreadfully bare in front of such a holy creature. And even worse– how her nipples hardened under the Demon’s gaze. 

Oblivious to her inconsequential internal dilemma, Eren runs a thumb across the self-imposed bite marks on her lip, and it shakes her out of her modest thoughts, parting her lips fetchingly. 

“You came all this way without knowing what you signed up for?” He murmurs, watching her shudder. 

“They only told me my life would belong to you.” 

His jaw hardens, caring more than he should about things that really didn’t concern him. He didn’t have to feel angry that the priests deliberately manipulated her unreasonable devotion to sucker her into giving up her life without her knowledge. “What’s your name, priestess?”

“Mikasa.” Blushing, she can’t believe that she’s actually here, feels giddy that the object of her devotion would actually notice her enough to ask for her name. 

“Not very smart are you, Mi-kasa,” liking the way her name rolls off his tongue. “What did you think I would do with your life?” I already saved it once.

She cringes at his beration, shoulders slumping, eyes downcast. “There’s only one thing Demons want humans for,” he says, his voice making her shiver. With a gentleness that didn’t match his stature, he brushes a wet strand of hair behind her ear. He bends to place a kiss on her jaw, before whispering, “... and that’s to consume them.” And his tongue slips out to lick at the sensitive spot where her earlobe meets her cheek. 

He can feel her sharp intake of breath, the conflicting shudder that runs through her body, the way her legs– already spread across his lap– tightened around him. She smells like vanilla and sandalwood and purity, although the slightest essence that wafts through his nostrils tells him she is capable of impure thought as well. 

“You want to eat me?” Her voice comes out dazed, more focussed on his proximity, his mouth, and the large hand on the back of her waist than the implication of his words. 

He frowns, her question slightly unsettling him. What he wants wasn’t exactly the issue here– but more that this is what it's meant to be. “Master,” she starts, nervously, “... then…” 

“Out with it, priestess.” 

“If you only want to eat me then… why haven’t you eaten me yet?” 

He glares at her, his mind totally boggled. Did this girl have no sense of self-preservation? He just informed her of her bleak fate and all she asks is why he hasn’t carried it out yet? Huffing, partly annoyed at her brazen questioning and partly mystified at how he does not in fact have a clearly thought out answer. “Is it…” she purses her lips cutely, “another whim of yours, Master?” 

Rolling his eyes and internally sighing, he tilts her chin up to look her straight in her glassy grey eyes. “You promised me many things, sweet girl,” and he lets his eyes roam her body shamelessly, the dip of her collarbones, the swell of her breasts that rest on the water. “Maybe I just want to sample what I’m owed.” 

His roving eyes make her flush, a heat from between her legs that flows up her skin and creeps onto her face. Her lashes are lowered, lips dry as she speaks, mouth barely inches from his. “... How can I serve you, master?”

She braces herself, a flutter of exhilaration in her tummy, prepared for something like what he’d insinuated earlier, when he pushed her to the ground roughly and hinted at claiming her virginity. It was decidedly immodest of her to fixate on those words, but she couldn’t deny that his threat (offer?) had taken root in her mind and made her think thoughts that she’d never thought before, imagined things she hadn’t known her imagination was capable of. 

She can feel him stir, his member between her legs brushing against her thighs and making her feel hot over, a molten sensation between her own legs. But to her utter surprise and mild disappointment, he simply says, “Bathe me.” 

“What?” 

His eyes sparkle, almost challenging her. “... For someone who’s meant to serve me, you sure do ask a lot of questions.” He hands her a bottle of a fragrant-smelling soap-like substance and a towel that had been placed by the side of the tub. “Is it too difficult for you? Should I call for someone else?” 

Pouting, slightly offended, she grabs the towel and soap hastily, clearly understanding that he was mocking her. “I’d be honoured to, Master.” 

It shouldn’t be hard, she tells herself. She’s spent enough days washing different Attack titan sculptures, cleaning them till she shone, surely now that she had the opportunity to get to work on the real thing, it wouldn’t be too different. 

But it is, it’s different in the way that she’s actually touching him this time, his broad shoulders, his hard chest, the little button of his nipple. It’s different in that she couldn’t zone out and hum her prayers to herself happily as she went about her job, but this time she feels his gaze acutely on her… testing her perhaps. 

It’s awkward and intimate; her hands travel up his chest and onto his neck, and he’s so… large that she needs to lean forward to reach it. And in doing so, she can feel her mound brushing against his growing hardness. She lets out a small gasp, her eyes fluttering up to meet his. “Is there a problem?” He looks at her with amusement, mirth shining in his eyes at her obvious embarrassment. 

She shakes her head rapidly, averting her gaze consciously. “... Well go on then.” Brushing his long hair to the side, she leans her upper body forward to brush more thoroughly against his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest. “Is this o-okay?” she mumbles, her body crushed against his, nipples pebbling against the solid walls of him. 

His nonchalant agreement rumbles through her, making the growing heat between her legs even worse. And after a moment he says, somewhat casually, elbow on the side of the tub, resting his head in his hand, “I think my neck feels clean enough…” 

“R-right…” She gulps, avoiding his smirk, having clearly understood that there was only one place left to go and that was in the direction of his legs. She clambers off of his lap to the other side of the tub and takes extra care to start with his feet, rubbing his toes– the attack demon has big feet she gleans, and large toes that she pays more attention to than required. She makes her way up his calves, fingers jittery as it reaches his thighs, anticipation crawling in her stomach and heating her skin. “So should I…” She trails off, a flustered mess as her hands stop just short of where she had felt his hardening member some minutes ago. 

“I do believe that was part of the assignment.” 

Nodding seriously– yet simultaneously falling apart on the inside– she reaches further towards his center, stopping to soap her hands generously before making contact. It’s utterly ridiculous and contrary to what she wants to achieve, but her eyes squeeze shut as her fingers brush against where he has hardened, so velvety smooth… and impossibly big. 

Innocent and virginal though she was, she could compare it with her lessons of human anatomy and medicine, recognising the length of his shaft that ended in a smooth tip, making out the ridges of his veins. Her heart thuds in her chest as she can feel himself somehow grow even larger in her hands, filling the space between her fingers, her grip firming around him. Perhaps she’s dreaming it but she thinks she can hear a soft groan escape his lips. “Master,” she asks, adjusting to the weight of him in his hands, feeling him twitch. “Is this okay? Am I doing it correctly?” 

Eren looks at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Did they not train you for this type of thing? Are you utterly inexperienced?” 

She can’t tell if it’s disapproval, but his words make her cringe inwardly. “I have never been with a demon, Mast—”

“I’m perfectly aware that no demon has ever touched you before,” he says with sudden, marked annoyance. “... what about human men? My body is not so different structurally from them.” 

“I was told only the worst, most immoral woman would lie with a man she could not call her husband.” A repeated chant from her superiors even though she’d always personally doubted it. Tons of giggling girls who visited the shrines twined their fingers with the hands of boys they were not married to. They didn’t look horrible or immoral… they just looked cute.

He regards her for a moment, silvery eyes stricken with doubt as her hands still massaged him, a movement she continued like it was most natural. Her inexperience was only a mild convenience at best. Truth be told, he enjoys the way she touches him, it was novel, small hands brushing him tentatively. She’s quite nice to look at too, all curves and milky skin and pink flushes when hesitation overcomes her. The more it sinks into him that no human had seen her this way, the more it fills him with a deep satisfaction. None of those rotting humans deserved it, she was too good for them. So drunk with anticipation, he tells her, “Then listen carefully, priestess. Because I will teach you how to please me only once.” 

She nods eagerly as his large hand settles over hers, rough palms enveloping her. Chest bending forward, lips at her ear, he whispers, “First, hold me tighter. I’m no man, I do not need to be treated delicately.” And he presses down, making her squeeze him tightly. 

There’s a small wetness at the tip of him, slipping against her palms and making it slick and it makes her startle. “Master, there’s something wet—” 

A hum rumbles in his throat. “It’s called precum. Means you’re doing something right.” The corners of his quirk up slightly, before he orders, “Don’t unwrap your fingers, move them up and down like this.” And he guides her hand along the massive length of him. Before he had fully eclipsed her hand in his, she had covered less than half of his length in her fist. Now with his massive palms, he looked so in control of his member, stroking it leisurely and watching her intently. 

She leans forward, concentrating on her task, trying to go faster because she can feel him grow even larger, twitching in her palm. It’s an adorable sight, brow furrowed, lips parted slightly, licking her lips as she works. It only makes him harder. “Slow down,” he growls. “Follow my pace, I’m too dry to go any faster.” 

“How do you mean… dry? Is that a bad thing? There’s already precum, you said—”

“If you want to go faster than this, then we have to get it really wet, Mikasa, just my precum isn't enough.” When she looks at him confused, he gestures her attention back to his cock. “Come here, spit on it.” 

“What?” She looks at him aghast. “I would never offend you that way, Demon—” 

“It’s ‘Master’,” he reminds her, roughly, fed up with her ridiculous human notions of propriety, “So just do what I say.” And because she hesitates, he threads his hands into her hair, and brings her mouth to him, hovering over his cock. Feeling her heavy breathing, he rubs her head softly and says, “Relax. Just dribble your spit over the head.” 

She does what he says, albeit with trepidation, lips quivering near his cock. Pursing her lips, she lets her saliva fall down her chin, making a mess of her, and after her frustration (and his smirking) she spits on his tip, the saliva making him glisten. 

A small shudder passes through him. “Good,” he murmurs, “... Now use your fingers and slide it down my cock.” 

He’s not sure if it’s something he imagined, but her eyes darken slightly when he expresses his approval, her confidence growing slightly as her delicate fingers spread her saliva down to his base, just above where he was underwater. And without him even prompting, she spits on him again, getting him even slicker. 

If anything, this pretty human girl was a quick learner. 

“Does this,” she wets her lips as she asks him, “... feel better?” She moves her hand up and down, using the exact same pressure and pace that he taught her. 

Hand resting at her neck, he looks at her with growing fondness, her eagerness to please growing on him. The way she looks intently at his cock, taking in every sound, every shudder, every drop of precum that she smears down his length, makes a foreign feeling settle inside of him— a feeling that makes him wonder why the hell he’s taking it so slow, and why he hasn’t gotten her on top of his dick yet. 

Maybe it’s because she’s so small, and there’s no way she could possibly take him— but that’s never stopped him from taking his little lower demons before. 

“Go on, take it in your mouth,” he murmurs, dick hard and throbbing with just how close her lips were to him. All he’d have to do is push her down the smallest notch and he would feel her pretty pink lips on him. 

Anxious grey eyes look up at him, inches above his cock. “You’re so big, Master. I don’t know how I could possibly…” And her eyes fall to the sheer length of him. 

“And you’re so small, Priestess. You’ll probably struggle with it.” His tone is mocking, challenging almost. “But look at you, you can’t stop looking at it, can you? I know you want to taste it.” 

An embarrassed flush creeps up across her face, guiltily looking away. “T-that’s not true.” 

“Lying to me, Mikasa?” He tilts his chin up so he can look her in the eyes, dark green pools boring into her. “Don’t bother with it. I can smell you, you know. Every time you rub against my thigh, I can feel how wet you are between your legs. It’s alright to admit that you want to suck my cock.” 

She shudders at his crude words, lowering her lashes in mortification. She was so embarrassed she was ready to prostate herself in front of him in apology. “Are you ashamed of me, Master? No good woman, much less a priestess, would embarrass herself this way with such lewd behaviour. I’m sorr—,”

“Look at me when you talk to me,” he murmurs, and her gaze flickers to him instantly, obediently. “Is this what they taught you in that pitiful place?” His thumb brushes against her lower lip as he regards her grimly. “Instead of teaching you how to please me, they taught you to be a prude?”

His words are so harsh, tears begin to form in her eyes. “It seems whatever I do, I am simply incapable of pleasing you, Master.” 

He leans towards her and presses his mouth against her cheek, tongue peeking out to lick her tears. “Your tears have such a unique flavour to them and I enjoy it. But that isn’t what I want from you right now.” Lips ghosting over hers, he says, “If you are to be my sacrifice, then I need you to unlearn everything you’ve learnt in that shitty human world. If you want to please me, then I want you to give in to these feelings you’re feeling.” 

Leisurely, he runs his hand along her back, sending a shiver down her spine, the eager, damp spot behind her leg only getting wetter. “You’re not a priestess anymore, Mikasa. You’re a slut. A natural, unholy, completely shameful slut.” The words ought to make her cringe but coming from Eren, it sounded like praise, like something he was enraptured by, like she was finally what she was supposed to be, and it made her feel lightheaded. “Your body craves my cock, and I’ll teach you to embrace it. But give into what you want and suck my cock like you’re meant to.” She can feel his smirk growing against her skin. “And maybe then you’ll please me, after all.” 

She nods, shakily, her body giddy with anticipation as she hovers above him, breath warm against his tip. Tentatively, she touches her tongue to him and takes in the flavour of him, a dark feeling pooling in her belly. It makes her want more. Swirling around him, her lips stretch to cover his girth. “Not too much teeth,” he instructs her, and she accommodates him appropriately, mouth forming an o-shape while her tongue laps at him. 

Eren’s hands cradle her head, pressing her softly downward, urging her to take more of him. “You’re struggling aren’t you, sweet girl? You’re just human after all, not built to take this cock, hm?” 

His words are a direct line to her centre, making her feel things she’d never thought she’d feel, a sensitiveness spreading through her body, tingling. She might be just human, but she’s his human now, and she wants to prove it to him, wants to show him just how devoted she really is, how she can take him if she really tries— but she ends up sputtering as she comes up for air, lips red and messy, a string of spit connecting between his tip and her mouth.

She looks to him apologetically, but she’s met with a dark fire in his eyes, gazing at her mouth in blatant arousal. “Try again,” he breathes roughly, pulling her towards him. 

Taking a gulp of air, she brings her mouth to him again, warmth surrounding him deliciously as she laves her tongue under his base while sucking hard, managing to reach at least a third of his length. He lets out a low grumble of pleasure, thumb caressing her cheek as she works him. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, “Trying your best to please me even when your tiny little mouth could never take me fully.” 

It wasn’t a conscious choice of words, but he was starting to believe his previous suspicion— His sweet little priestess had a praise kink. He could feel her shudder around him when he called her good girl, his thigh soaked under the juices of her cunt where she rubbed against him. “Use your hands,” he urges. “Use your hands like I taught you, Mikasa.”

Closing a fist around him, she jerks him into her mouth, sucking as far as she can go, his deep groans telling her she’s doing it right. “Just like that, sweet girl, keep going.”

When she comes up for air, spit running down her chin, he looks at her like a wild thing, eyes so dark with arousal they looked almost black. “Sit on your knees, Mikasa,” he tells her, pushing her onto her back on the other side of the tub. His form looms above her, taking his full height, gloriously naked skin dripping water as his cock rests near her cheek. “You still want to please me?” he asks, jerking his cock furiously into his fist. 

Mikasa looks up at him in awe, his hand setting a harsh rhythm and a much quicker pace than she was trying, so large around his even larger member, it makes her throb in the most secret parts of her, wondering if he’ll ever want access to that part of her, and how she’d ever make him fit. “Yes, Master,” she says, and almost subconsciously, she tilts her mouth towards his cock, lips parted and eager for him. 

He feeds her his cock briefly, letting her tongue play with his wet, sticky tip. He’s immortal, but looking at her in this state makes him feel like she will be the death of him instead of vice versa, her innocent enthusiasm fucking with his mind and making him come apart much faster than he normally does. And with far less effort on her part than any of the other female demons in his house have ever had to put in. The more he sees her tongue on him, the more he wants to see how she looks with his cum all over her, filling her mouth and leaking across her chin, wet and messy— 

“Now listen to me, Mikasa,” he breathes, voice rough and jerky just like his movements. “You made me feel so good, I’m really close.” And because he knows he needs to be explicit with her otherwise she won’t understand, he places a thumb between her lips and parts her mouth, murmuring, “I’m going to come inside your mouth. You’ll be a good girl and drink it all up for me, won’t you?”

And her eyes light up like stars, hunger burning inside of them, barely mumbling a ‘yes, master,’ before she’s eagerly wrapping her pretty mouth around him. He jerks into her with one fist while holding her head in another, and just as she looks up at him, innocent and pretty and so fucking obedient, he jerks into her mouth, spurting inside of her, a deep groan of pleasure escaping him. 

As eager as she was, she was utterly and adorably unprepared for it, the taste of him foreign and not entirely unpleasant, not knowing whether to swallow or not and hence choking and sputtering, cum spilling out of her mouth and onto her chin, dribbling down her neck and between her breasts. She was a complete and total mess, gasping for breath, hair plastered to her face as she sank to the floor of the tub. It’s mortifying and she can barely understand it, she followed his instructions and tried her best, yet here she was knocked onto her bottom and having made a fool of herself. She feels utterly, terribly, inconsolably, dejected.

When she looks up at him, however, she sees something different, a lazy look of pleasure dancing across his features, his mouth curving into a self-satisfied grin. “Not going to clean yourself up?” 

She colours, embarrassed at once at her ineptitude, her clumsiness, and she covers her face stuttering, “I-I’m… I’ll do it right away.” And she splashes the remaining bath water on her cheeks and her chin, trying to wipe away the white liquid, but only to feel it sticky and lasting on her skin. Regardless, she decides to take advantage of his seemingly cheery countenance, and asks, with curious pink cheeks,“... was it good, Master?” 

He cocks an eyebrow at her. He could tell her it was good, that it was fucking great actually, and he’d come faster than he had ever before, and that it was all because she was so innocent and earnest and unique that he couldn’t really resist himself. But by now he’s also learnt that his priestess is weak for words like that, eating up his praise, and the deviant side of him doesn’t want to spoil her with it. So he lifts her up in his arms in one fell swoop, body naked and quivering and sticky, and tells her, “... It will be when I’m done with you, Mikasa.” 

[fly-like-a-phoenix]

House of Lust (part 2)

Abbé de Coulmier x reader.

Summary: Five years has passed since the events of Quills. The Abbé de Coulmier is released of prision by a misterious event. And he will know again those feelings he never thought will meet again: love... and lust.

Warnings: mentions of violence.

The Abbé du Maupas was right. The judge freed him a few days later after he knew his parents will save him from the asylum.

The audience with the judge was short. He had to walk again to the trial's chamber, dressing only black pants, a pair of boats and a white shirt, both hands in chains.

He sitted next to his lawyer, a tall man with red hair. He didn't know him. In fact, he didn't even know his name. The man presented his case as a mistake. He was condemned five years ago for a crime he didn't commit.

A famous case a the moment, the judge remembered. The Marquis de Sade was a very well known name in the whole Europe. And being his killer wasn't something hidden.

The judge finally accepted he was innocent. He was just administrating the sacrament of the extreme unction to a dying Marquis when he swallowed the Holly Cross that François presented him to kiss as symbol.

He just wanted to save his soul before he died moments later, because he couldn't do it while the Marquis was alive. Who would know the Marquis would be committing suicide, killing himself with the cross?

The principal witness was Valcour. He testified against Roger-Collard. He was actually out the Marquis' cell when all that happened, and he finally said everything he heard at the time.

The other witness was the Abbé du Maupas himself, who used to talk with him while he was in the cell. The Abbé said he was a good man, and didn't deserve to be in there, caged as an animal. In fact, he added that François should get his title again.

In less than an hour, François was free. He was out the building, touching his own wrists, still feeling the metal of the handcuffs scratching his soft skin. The lawyer, Maupas and Valcour were with him.

Was he really cured? Did he really deserved to be an Abbé again? Did he really changed after five years? Maybe he never changed. Maybe he was a little dog to Roger-Collard.

His world started to fall down when the horrific alienist doctor came to Charenton. The Marquis was publishing with Madeline's help behind his back, yes. But the doctor was the one who started to torture the pacients and the one who collapsed all the inmates activities: the theatre, the watercolor exercises, the games.

He mock at him when he defended her while she was being punished for helping the Marquis. He was the one who let Madeline die, closing the door, not letting her the chance to escape from Bouchon, his murderer. And he was actually the one who asked him to punish the Marquis by cutting off his tongue.

Roger-Collard was the real Demon. He still wanted revenge. But he will never see his face again. At least, he wanted to give him a good punch in the middle of his eyes for what he did to Madeline. He missed her a lot.

When he decided he would dedicate hiw own life, flesh and soul to God, he never thought his heart would follow the beautiful chambermaid that worked in the asylum.

When she confessed her love to him, he closed his eyes. He remembered so damn well how he rejected her that night. He was taking her away from the Marquis. She asked him to stay in the asylum. She said she loved him.

Those certain feelings he didn't want to show to her... Those feelings he thought incited people to act in a bad way... Those feelings betrayed him at that moment. He kissed her.

The feeling of her mouth, her lips, her tongue. It was all a real paradise. And when she pressed her body to him, he stepped away a few inches, a "no" escaping from his lips.

She thought she was doing him wrong. Actually, he had a hard on just for kissing the girl. He said he loved her as a child of God. She misunderstood this. And left by his petition, crying. When he got out the room, decided to bring her back, she was gone.

He cried that night, his head spining for those kisses as if he just tasted the most powerful drug. He desired her. And that was his chance. A few more kisses, and Madeline surely would took his shirt off and push him to the bed.

She had a lot of control of her feelings. He didn't. And when he went to apologize, she said "don't came closer, God's watching" or something like that. She died being angry with him. And that was hurting him so much since then.

"Abbé de Coulmier" he heard while thinking in Madeline. It was her voice. "Abbé de Coulmier" the voice reprised.

"Abbé de Coulmier." Said the lawyer. It was him calling. And François came back to reality.

"I'm not an Abbé anymore, monsieur. I'm just François." He answered, with a low, shy voice that wasn't common in him.

"If you say that, Ab---François. But now you have the chance to be that man again, you know?"

"How?" The confusion ran through his all body. The Pope himself, or that was what he heard once, decided to retire his title from him. He was not longer a servant of the Lord.

The lawyer took a paper, a letter, from his jacket. François look around. People were walking in those beautiful streets. But Valcour and the Abbé du Maupas were not there.

"Take it." The lawyer said, giving him the letter. "It's very important. You have to read it, Abbé."

François exhaled hot breath. He was a little cold, only his shirt protecting him from the easy wind. "Where are the other men?" He asked. "Where are Valcour and Maupas?"

"Oh, they just left. They couldn't leave Charenton too much time."

"Oh, I see. I just wanted to thank them for saving me, that's all".

"Well, you can do it. Write them a letter, or go seeing them."

"But I don't have any money. I don't even have more decent clothes than these."

"That's why you gotta read the letter, Abbé." He said, handing him his own jacket.

The lawyer turn around. When he was just about to leave, François approach to him, and touched his shoulder. They shook hands for the first time.

"Good luck, François." He said, putting his hat on.

"I don't even know your name!" He said while seeing the man leaving.

"Donatien!" He answered, more and more invisible into the mist.

François was thinking. That Donatien guy was very different to another Donatien he knew once, the Marquis himself. The voices in his head had stopped after he left Charenton. But now, all his being was telling him to read the paper.

He put on his new jacket, feeling better against the cold. And he walk a few meters, sitting in the steps of a house. He opened the envelope. And started to read.

François.

You are most important to us that you think. But the real thing, my son, it's that we can't see you again. Not for now, at least. We're in Spain. We had to run, because some jacobins still wanted to kill us.

I don't know what you think, but your father and I love you, my boy. And we want you to be free, and happy, as you've always been. That's what we contacted some friends of us. They'll help you to get out from Charenton.

You have to go to the address that's at the end of this letter. They are the people who hired the lawyer. They'll give you assistance of all kind and a roof. I hope you trust them as we do, my boy. We miss you so much.

With love, Anaïs and Clément de Coulmier.

P.S: Go to Villa d'Évreux. They must receive you well there. In the envelope you will find money to pay the trip. Go find a carriage that can take you.

Those were the first words he had read from his parents in, at least, ten years. Just a few lines, and every memory from his childhood came to him, making him shed some tears over the ink lines. He really missed them, more than God at least.

He started to walk, asking to the owners of the carriages if they knew that Villa d'Évreux. One of them did. And he took him to the ride.

Some women looked at him in a devilish way. Not bad, just desire in their faces. He never thought he was hot or handsome at least. He never thought any girl could feel something for him. But damn, he was so wrong!

Every girl in the asylum felt like a melting mess while he walked the corridors. Madeline was the epitome of that. And he used to wear his sacred clothes at that time! What could he expect while walking in Paris with such a normal look?

François look behind the little window. Paris changed a lot since he walk those streets the last time. It just seemed so much more civilized, so much more clean and calm.

Maybe he wasn't now just the only person in the world that hasn't succumbed yet to every spasm of lust and evil, noteven when all that bad happened. That was, at least, what he thought. But he wasn't right at all. Not with the people he was going to meet.

Tagging: @darknessisafriend @five-miles-over @yukis-writing @thegirlwho @jokerflecker @missrockabilly99 @luperugorria99 @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @skaravir @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @beautifulyoungprospect @stellargirlie @sophiefleck @the-queen-of-things @joaqz-phoenix @ajokerfangirl

Let me know If you want to be tagged!

[longitudinalwaveme]

Len Snart’s Creepy/Pathetic Proposals, Part 3

For this post, we will be looking at Flash #140, “The Heat is On--For Captain Cold. It was published in November 1963, and was written by John Broome and drawn by the inimitable Carmine Infantino.

In addition to being another story where Captain Cold creeps on pretty women, this story also features the first appearance of his fellow Rogue Heat Wave, alias Mick Rory. 

The comic opens with Barry and Iris at the latter’s apartment, watching TV. Iris, being Silver Age Iris, suddenly turns off the television. “I didn’t like the way you were staring at that girl, Barry Allen!” (The program he was watching featured a celebrity named Dream Girl). 

Barry proceeds to lodge his foot firmly in his mouth. “I wasn’t staring! I was just waiting for Dream Girl to turn around!” He then has to quickly explain that the Flash “told” him that the Willens and Kohl Law Firm asked the Flash if he could find the heir of Mr. Varner, a wealthy mining magnate whose only child was believed lost in a shipwreck. 

The child in question had a diamond-shaped birthmark on the back of her neck. If she can be found, she gets a two million dollar trust fund (roughly $16 million in today’s money) and an additional $10,000,000 (roughly $80 million) will go to charity. If she can’t be found before the end of the next day, all the money will go to a couple of “ne’er-do-well” relatives of Mr. Varner’s. Why he didn’t just arrange for all the money to go to charity if she wasn’t found is anyone’s guess. But regardless, that’s why Barry wanted to see Dream Girl’s back. 

Iris, surprisingly, immediately accepts this explanation like a reasonable person and even turns on the TV again...but instead of Dream Girl’s program, they see an important news broadcast that reveals that Cold has broken out of prison (again). This time, he escaped by using “one of his fantastic cold guns, which he manufactured out of spare freezer parts in the prison workshop!” WHY WAS NO ONE SUPERVISING HIM TO MAKE SURE THIS DIDN’T HAPPEN? 

Barry leaves Iris and promptly changes into the Flash to go on the hunt for Captain Cold. 

We then cut to Captain Cold’s hideout in a cave. It’s decorated by a humongous picture of Dream Girl’s head and neck (seriously, it’s like as large as he is.) 

“There! It’s the largest picture of Dream Girl I could find! Of course, she’s everybody’s dream girl now, but soon things will be different...and she will be mine alone! I admit that at various times in the past I’ve--ah--thought myself attracted to other girls! But the feeling I had for them pales into insignificance compared to what I feel for Dream Girl!” 

Len Snart reads women’s magazines in prison. Make of this what you will. He also broke out of prison solely to woo her away from the Flash, who is currently her dream man. So, how is he going to do this? He’s going to commit crimes and fight the Flash, that’s how! 

“Why, I’ll make a sap out of the Flash! I’ll pull off crimes right under his nose! I’ll show him up for the stumblebum he is--compared to Captain Cold! And by doing that, I’ll prove to Dream Girl that I’m really the man she thought Flash was! I’ll become her dream man--and nobody else!” Len, that’s insane. 

Cold decides to get her attention by robbing the exiled government of Guanador (one of DC’s many fake countries), who are “arriving here in Central City with all the bank notes they could steal-I mean all they could carry away with them-from the Gauanadorian Treasury!” 

The next day at 8 AM, Cold strikes. “No criminal in his right mind would dare try anything here today--against all these forces of law and order. But as it so happens--I’m not in my right mind--I’m in love! Ha ha!” Unfortunately for him, the Flash pops up. “At last! My long night’s vigil has paid off! I’ve come across Captain Cold!” In other words, Barry ran across the city all night for almost no reason. Cold didn’t do anything until 8 AM the next day!

Before Flash can defeat his rival, however, he is shot in the back with a blast of intense heat. Heat Wave is on the scene!

“How about that hot reception, Flash? Allow me to introduce myself, the one enemy you will never conquer! Heat Wave--at your service!” Mick is perhaps a bit overconfident here. 

For some reason, instead of jumping into action, Flash stands around long enough for Heat Wave to blast him again, knocking him unconscious. (“That sizzling blast! Hitting me with the force of a pile-driver--uh!”) Cold and Heat Wave then team up and escape the scene of the crime. 

The two go to Captain Cold’s cave hideout, where Heat Wave explains that he used to be a fire-eater in the circus, but that he “lost his taste for the work”. 

“I created my own uniform--and my weapon--a heat gun!” Yes, this is all the explanation the comic is going to give you for this. Note that his gun isn’t technically a flamethrower at this point, either, so you can’t really handwave it away that way. 

And then the never-ending puns begin. “It sure is hot stuff, Heat Wave! You know, we should make a good team...and since you have no hideout of your own yet, you’re welcome to share mine!” The Flash Rogues have always been oddly chummy in this way; I’d believe that basically any of them would have made the same offer. 

Of course, things basically fall apart immediately thereafter when Heat Wave reveals that he’s also in love with Dream Girl. “She’s the reason I gave up fire-eating! I was determined to win her love! And I knew the only way to do it was to show up Flash--her dream man!” Heat Wave and Captain Cold are so similar they even share the same nonsensical logic...but man, at least Cold was already a crook. Heat Wave gave up an established career for this insanity!

The two shoot at each other (to basically no effect, since their blasts cancel each other out).

Cold: You!? You’re just a big nothin’! Dream Girl will be mine--and nobody else’s!” 

Heat Wave:  And you-you’re just a cold-hearted Romeo!

I think Cold won this round of insult-slinging, Heat Wave. Your insult didn’t even make sense.

However, instead of continuing to fight, the two instead decide that whoever commits the most spectacular crimes will win the girl. “As far as I’m concerned, Heat Wave, that bet is ice-cold!” The puns….the puns! Make them stop! 

Flash runs around looking for the pair of criminals, who have apparently been causing enormous damage to the city because of their confrontation. Note that the art completely fails to convey this. 

When the Flash shows up, the two crooks promptly call off their rivalry in the face of a bigger threat, planning to take it up again as soon as Flash is defeated. Each hits Flash from one side, creating the awesome-looking image from the cover. 

However, Flash isn’t down long, as he uses his control over all his molecules to conduct the cold to the side of his body being blasted by the heat gun and vice-versa. Sure, that makes sense. SCIENCE! 

Flash then creates a suction vacuum that knocks the two crooks together. Flash takes them back to prison, where both men explain their insane motivations for the crime spree that did a bunch of damage that we didn’t see. 

Flash then goes to meet with Dream Girl, who...shock! Surprise!...is actually Mr. Varner’s long-lost daughter. She has a picture of herself with the birthmark and had it removed only recently. Dream Girl also grew up in an orphanage and has a fear of water, which could be explained by the boat crash she survived. Dream Girl-real name Priscilla Varner-inherits the trust fund, charity gets a lot of money, and the day is saved. 

The issue ends with Barry and Iris on a moonlight drive, where Mean Silver Age Iris tears down her boyfriend. “Tell me, Barry, don’t you feel ashamed sometimes to be so slow-moving and lazy when the Flash--” Barry cuts her off here: “Gosh, Iris! We can’t all be the Flash!” WHY. ARE. THESE TWO. DATING?

Stay tuned for part 4! 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

It Starts With A Cup

An Azula/The Girl Whose Head She Put Her Drink On fic.

All she ever wanted was a peaceful day on the beach followed by a wonderful party. What she got was much different. 

Remza doesn’t know what to expect of Chan’s party, she has heard of them. They, in fact, are the talk of the beach. And for the first time, the invitation is in her hands. She stares at it with a feeling of elation. She will finally be with the in crowd. She will finally get to join the lively banter with a tale of her own. 

She isn’t sure what sort of tale it will be though; perhaps she will be showered with compliments about her new outfit or maybe she will find a charming boy to spend the night with. Maybe, just maybe, she will kiss Chan himself. 

“Come on, Remza!” Hara shouts, “Stop daydreaming about the party and start getting ready for it!”

Remza isn’t particularly thrilled to have her musings cut short, but Hara is right, how embarrassing it would be to miss the party or turn up late for it because she was too busy fantasizing about how the night would go. “I’m coming!” She calls. 

She hustles to get into her party attire. It is a rather simple ensemble; a wine red tube top and a soft pink, almost white skirt held in place by a deeper red cloth belt. The belt is probably the most lavish part of her outfit, it’s buckle is made of faux gold. She snatches up a few sticks of makeup and sprints down the hall to join her friend. 

“Oh, Remza, you look so pretty!” Hara gushes. “All we need to do is add a touch of makeup and fix your hair and you’ll be the center of attention!”

“Thanks!” She smiles. “That pearl necklace really adds something to your outfit.”

Hara nudges her. “This is about you Remza. This is your first party, not mine.” She pauses and inspects Remza. “Hmm...so do you want your hair tied up in a top knot or do you want a ponytail?”

“Why not both!?” Remza shrugs. 

“Because that would look kind of silly?” 

.oOo.

“You look so perfect and pretty and…” TyLee gushes. 

“Yes, thank you, I know.” Azula nods. She does look quite fantastic if she must say! She smooths her hands over her skirt as TyLee finishes gathering some of her hair into a wavy ponytail. She can’t say that she has ever let her hair fall in waves. But she thinks that it does her favors. 

“She looks so cute, doesn’t she Mai!?”

“Sure, if you the sort of person that thinks that piranha-eels are cute.” Mai mutters. 

Azula pretends not to hear the remark. 

“Why so glum, Mai?” Azula asks as if glum isn’t Mai’s default mood. 

“Because Zuko is taking too long in the bathroom and I’ve been holding it since we got off of the boat.” 

“You should have gone in the ocean like everyone else on the beach!” Zuko shouts from in the bathroom. 

“Gross.” Azula mutters as Mai says, “this is why our relationship is deteriorating!” 

“Turn around.” TyLee instructs. Azula does so and the girl begins adding gloss to her lips. She ruffles Azula’s hair, “precious.” 

Azula gives a deadpan frown. 

“Oops.” TyLee puts a hand over her mouth. “Guess we’ll have to redo your hair!” 

.oOo. 

Remza’s stomach flutters. As Hara urges her to, “just go on and talk to him.” 

“I don’t know…” Remza trails off. 

“Rem.” Hara speaks firmly, “you have been eyeing him all night like he is one of those juicy lobsters at the concession stand. And this is the first time in like three hours that he doesn’t have a wholeass harem surronding him.” 

She is not wrong, Remza has to admit. They have been at this party for several hours now. They have been at the house longer than most people, she does believe that she and Hara were the second people to arrive. 

Chan’s slightly less attractive friend had made a point of saying, “Agni, these people are ungodly early this time.” Followed by a, “I haven’t even finished combing my hair.” And then a mumbled, “this is what happens when you give dorks a chance.” 

Remza had tried not to let this deter her. But in reality it is probably why she had missed not one but two openings to talk to Chan. 

“Come on, Rem. You’ve been waiting all day and I didn’t fix you up all nice and beautiful for nothing!”

She swallows hard and gives Hara a nod. “I’ll do it.” 

Hara returns the nod. “I’ll be waiting for you over there.” She points to the concession stand. “I’ve had my eye on a snack too, and it’s a real one.” It is a rather tasty looking coconut and pineapple cookie. 

“Alright, uh, save me a...food item.” 

“Go!” Hara hisses and gives her a small nudge. 

Remza swallows again as she makes her way over to the boy. He is the charming sort with a muscular build and a handsome smile. The way he carries himself is almost higher than life. And she is just Remza. Plain, and boring Remza. She can put on as much make up as she pleases and style it however she wants. She will still be just plain Remza. 

Currently Chan leans back against a wooden pillar, sipping his drink. 

He is alone, probably for the very first time that night. 

Remza takes a deep breath and rolls her shoulders back. If she want to have a shot at him, she is going to have to at least look confident. She strides up to him with the demeanor of the prettiest girls he has spoken to that night.

Chan catches sight over her and offers a friendly wave. Her heart quickens; she has an opening!

“Hi, Chan!” She begins. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you tonight.” She puts on her best cheerful smile. 

“Well, I’m glad that you’ve found the chance.” 

“I’m glad that I found the CHANce, too…” is what she would have said if she were an overly eager and socially awkward fire princess. But she is not, so instead she asks, “how has your night been,” as any normal Fire Nation citizen would. 

“Oh, it has been...uh...unusual.” 

“Unusual?” She inquires. She thinks that it will do her well to express interest in whatever he has to say, even if she finds the topic rather dull. It just so happens that she actually is interested in what the boy has to say, so that makes the task much easier. 

“So I there I was on the beach, right?”

“Mmm hmm.” Hara says with a nod. 

“I was just minding my own business, ya know?

She nods again, “Yeah.”

“And I was watching this kuai ball match, ya get what I’m saying. 

“And I saw this group of people. There were these two really hot chicks--one of them had really pretty eyes and nice hair and the other had a nice...uh...personality--and I really just had to talk to them, you know what I mean?

“I sure do.”

“But to get to them I also had to talk to their weirdo friends. Ya know what I’m talking about?”

She does not because he has not told her what was weird about these friends. Regardless she says, “mmm humm, I get you.” 

“Well one of them got really mad at me and I thought that he was going to beat me up for inviting the hot chicks to my party but not him, ya get me still?”

“Yeah!”

“Well this third chick who is also hot but, like, really kinda scary--if ya know what I mean--holds her hand out and tells him to chill and then she was all,” he softens his voice to a pitch that rather uncannily resembles the third kinda hot chick’s, “‘what about me and my brother?” He returns to speaking like Chan. “And I was like, ‘I guess you can come, but try not to be weird.’ Ya dig?”

She is not sure if he means that he had asked the hot chick if she dug or if he is again inquiring if Remza understands. Just in case, Remza says, “I dig.” 

Chan opens his mouth to resume when an obnoxiously loud laugh echos around the room. Everyone seems to take pause. Chan mutters something that she can’t quite hear that might have been, “aw geez, it’s her, isn’t it?” But she can’t be certain. She doesn’t think too much about it because Chan speaks up again.

“Well, yeah, so the two hot chicks, the weird hot chick, and the dude, who is actually also kinda hot show up. But they’re like suuuuper early. And I was like, no one else is here yet.” He pauses, leaving Remza room to laugh. Truthfully, she does not find this funny, but she laughs anyhow. He laughs too. “I know right!? Anyways so I start to give her a tour of the house but she stops me and tells me that I have a sharp outfit and then graphically describes people drowning. She added choking noises and everything. And then she said, ‘because it’s so sharp’. But her compliment was so long that I forgot what she was complimenting me on so I just said, uh thanks.” 

“Sounds, terrifying.” 

“Ha ha, yeeeaaaah.” He rubs the back of his head and leans against the pillar once more. She watches him toss back a drink. Until then, she hadn’t realized that just drinking could be so unbelievably sexy.

“Oh! And ya know what the worst part is?” He exclaims.

“What?”

She hears footsteps behind her, but elects to ignore them in favor of Chan’s deep and creamy voice. 

“I promised her that I’d give her a tour of the house tonight.”

Remza goes tense, it would seem that she doesn’t have much time.  She decides that is best to just get right to it. Whoever it is that has just approached is now standing much too close. She ignores this too, because she must pose an important question. “Sooo, I was hoping that we could…” She starts. 

“Chan, I am ready for a tour of the house.” 

Chan inhales very deeply and rubs the back of his head. “I’ll catch ya later?” He finger guns Remza and hands her his drink. 

Remza blushes, she is honored to be given the privilege of holding his drink. But just as this stranger has stolen away her chance with Chan, she has also stolen this brief moment of joy. She does not miss a beat, with an innocent smile, as though it is the most normal thing in the world, the stranger commits and absolute monstrocity. The most appealing and heinous social crime.

Her hand comes up in an elegant arc. At first, Remza thinks that she is about to get slapped. Instead she feels a weight atop her head. The hand withdraws and the stranger gives a self-satisfied, and admittedly adorable smile.She says nothing at all as she follows Chan away. And for a moment, Remza doesn’t even know what has happened. But then it settles in; the stranger has placed her cup on her head. 

It ignites a fury in Remza. And burning fury to match that of the firelord’s hottest throne room flame. Her face reddens as her anger simmers. This bizzare girl has stolen her chance with Chan! Stolen her chance with Chan and humiliated her by using her has a cupholder--it was fine when Chan did it because Chan’s muscles are glorious beings. She watches the pair disappear into the crowd and her rage reaches such a burning intensity that she may boil the lemonade on her head. 

She is, in fact boiling the lemonade.

It is steaming with her rage. 

It is on fire. 

She knocks it from her head with a yelp. 

.oOo.

“Is this your first time on Ember Island?” Chan asks. She almost doesn’t hear him, she is staring at his delicious biceps. 

“No. I used to come here years ago.”

“It's a great place, if you like sand.” His muscles flex as he tightens his hold on the wooden rails of the balcony.  She very nearly forgets to give the fake laugh that TyLee has advised. She takes extra caution not to laugh too loudly. She counted about twenty-eight people staring at her. “Yeah, it's like, welcome to Sandy Land!” He gives a wides sweeping gesture and she forces another laugh. But it is easier this time because he is lauging too and he has a cute laugh so she is laughing at his cute laugh and in the Capitol prison Iroh is laughing because ‘them punk ass guards ain’t gonna see it comin’.’ 

Chan stops laughing but Azula does not because she is once again distracted by his biceps. They contract beautifully as he makes more sweeping gestures to indicate the vastness of the sand on the beach. 

 “Your arms look so strong.”

“Yeah, I know.” He says and she knows that they are made for each other because that is exactly how she responded to TyLee when she called her the smartest, most beautiful, perfect girl in the world.  Chan blesses her with a full flex of his muscles.” She leans in and kisses him. 

“You're pretty.” 

The logical choice would be to respond with, “I know.” Instead she says, “Togetheyou and I will be the strongest couple in the entire world!” She increases her volume as she speaks. And to really drive her point home musters twin blue flames and pulls out a megaphone and shouts into it, “we will dominate the Earth!”

She thinks that the megaphone might have been overdoing it because Chan is looking at her as though a bird has just shat on him. Which might have happened because one did just fly by. That small flicker of hope dies out when he rubs his head and flashes her an awkward smile, “uh...I gotta go…” 

Azula, deciding that she will not let Zuko one up her at anything, including melodrama, quite literally flops onto the ground in defeat. 

.oOo.

“Sniff him out gurl! Sniff him out and win him back!” Hara’s advice echos in the back of her head. But Remza is not a scent bender nor is she a dog. So she cannot track him by scent. She has to rely on her eyes and ears, which is not good because she is woefully near-sighted. 

So woefully near-sighted that he walked right in front of her and she mistook him for Firelord Ozai. She could swear that she also spotted the Avatar at this party, but that would be preposterous. What would the odds of the Avatar and a member of the royal family being at this party.

(The Avatar is in fact there. But he is wearing hipster glasses so nobody recognizes him--except Mai, but she doesn’t care enough to bring it to anyone’s attention. She also isn’t telling anyone about the really big, hairy spider-wasp in the corner.)

Remza, after deciding that Chan is as lost as an Avatar trapped in an iceberg, makes her way onto the balcony for some fresh air. 

She makes it to the balcony but she does not find fresh air, for the stench of defeat is all too strong in this area. 

Remza inhales very deeply as she finds the source. 

It is, undoubtedly, the very same weirdo that placed a cup upon her head. 

The weirdo looks up with teary eyes and Remza tries to cling to her anger. But the weirdo looks like a kicked baby rabaroo.

Remza groans, “what’s wrong?” 

“I-I was doing so good.” She mutters. “I thought that I had a chance with Chan. I thought that…”

“Yeah, I did too! And you know what happened!?”

“What happened?” The weirdo asks. Remza blinks, it is as if she truly doesn’t know…

“You. You happened.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah…” 

The weirdo pulls her legs up to her chest and hugs her knees. She glares in the direction of the door and Remza can’t tell if she is furious or emotionally wounded. She thinks that it is a mix of both with anger taking a slight lead. 

The girl’s glare intensifies. 

The house catches fire. 

This has nothing to do with Azula’s feeling of rejection; Mai has finally informed Zuko of the spider in the corner. 

Remza sighs again, really she should point and laugh. Instead she finds herself slumping to the floor next to the weirdo. “Look, I know that he’s ridiculously gorgeous, trust me. I. Know.” She lets her mind wander for a moment, to a world of endless elegant hills that rise against a sunset horizon. Those elegant hills are Chan’s arm muscles, tanned by many days of lounging on the beach. “But you know who else is gorgeous?”

“Me?” The weirdo answers softly.

Remza goes deadpan, she is making this whole comforting thing really hard. But she is not wrong, Remza was, in fact, going to say, “you.” 

The weirdo peers up at her, waiting for the answer. Reluctantly and somewhat spitefully Remza confirms, “yes, you.” 

The girl’s face seems to brighten some, and for a heartbeat, Remza forgets about the cup incident. She smiles back. “You’re very pretty. Really weird, it’s kind of off-putting, but very pretty.”

“Pretty enough to ignore the really weird stuff.” 

Remza  looks the girl over; she is wiping at her eyes, eyes that are a vivid gold. Her hair sweeps gracefully over her shoulders. She has a pretty sweet tan. But she looks so small and sad. Small, sad, and annoyingly adorable. Remza pauses and inhales through her nose. “I guess.” 

This time the restored brightness shows through in a smile. Just like she hadn’t expected the girl to put a glass of lemonade on her head, she doesn’t see it coming when the weirdo throws her arms around her. 

Remza finds herself patting the other girl’s hair. “It’s gonna be okay. We don’t need him anyways.” And the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes it is true that Chan is no big loss. 

He only talks about himself anyways. Himself and his biceps which he has named Cha and Chi. This girl at least talks about interesting things like how she is going to bring glory to her family and nation, this really cool rock she found, how she’d almost drowned because she’d forgotten that she can’t swim, that she is the princess of the Fire Nation, and that she put a snapping turtle-duck down her brother’s swim trunks.

This story is so ridiculous that it eclipses the very brief mention of her royal status.

The weirdo nestles herself into Remza’s arms and, without thinking about it, Remza wraps them around her. She is very warm and, now that the stink of defeat is gone, she smells nice. Like a campfire with a dash of firelily. 

Chan on the other hand reeks of testosterone and pure BRO! 

Yes, Remza decides once and for all that this poorly socialized, absolute disaster of a human being has saved her. 

She kisses the girl’s forehead. 

.oOo.

Azula’s face flushes. It isn’t the impression she wants to leave on this girl. She does not want to appear sheepish and timid, she is a mighty and powerful dragon. A blazing and uncontrollable fire (much like the one crackling in Chan’s living room). 

But she has already blemished that image by letting the girl walk in on her weeping. So she resigns herself to the blush creeping over her cheeks. 

The girl seems to find that endearing anyways, so she will accept it, but only under the guise that it had been a meticulously done tactical courting move.

She may have lost Chan, likely to that girl with the silly pigtails--a shameful defeat really--but she can still have victory. Unlike the girl with the silly pigtails, she will rise from the ashes of her shame and humiliation. Because unlike the girl with the silly pigtails, she isn’t just a dragon. She is also a phoenix. And, like a phoenix, with the girl’s kiss, she has risen again. 

Azula closes her eyes and squeezes the girl in a rather tight hug. “Will you dominate the earth with me?” She inquires. 

The girl cocks her head, “what?”

“Will you...be my girlfriend?” She asks quietly, almost shyly. 

“I guess that I can be.” The girl smiles as she rubs Azula’s back. 

“And together, we will be the strongest couple in the entire world?” This time she says it softly, almost as a question. 

“Uh..sure?’

“We will dominate the earth?” She suggests, a little louder, more hopefully. 

“I guess that we can do that too.” The girl shrugs as she continues to rub small circles on Azula’s back. The princess softly purrs at the gesture. If this bothers the girl, she doesn’t indicate it. 

“Good.” Azula says, nuzzling her head against the girl’s chest. 

The girl kisses the top of her head. It reminds her of when they had first met. She remembers it very vividly; their eyes meeting and Azula deciding that she was the perfect person to set her glass upon. And just as Azula had set the cup upon her head, the girl now rests her chin upon Azula’s. 

“Can you hold this for me?” Azula holds out another cup. 

“Sure.” The girl smiles, she holds out her hands. But Azula places it on her head. 

“You’re the best.” 

.oOo.

Remza sighs again, what is she getting herself into? Whatever it is, the girl is staring at her with such delight and warmth that it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t even have the heart to move the cup and inform the weirdo that putting a cup on someone’s head isn’t appropriate social conduct. 

“I love you.” The girl mumbles and kisses the crook of her neck. 

Remza is well aware that they have only just met, but she lets the girl cup her cheek and stroke it lovingly. And despite everything Remza replies, “I love you too.”

A portion of Chan’s house collapses and the fire gushes out. They don’t notice, they are too busy staring into each others eyes as rays of moonlight fall over them.

[dispatchesfrom2020]

2020

What stories was I sleeping on?

So, what stories did I definitely miss before this project? Well, Atlantic Hurricanes and the Belarussian protests, for sure. Here are some of the other news I skipped out on during the year - or my recaps.

Ben Curtis/AP

1. Locusts Swarm 

An unusually wet 2019 led to swampy conditions across the Horn of Africa and western Asia - giving rise to a nearly biblical swarm of locusts. There are photographs where they literally seem to black-out the sun. The culprit? Climate change. The warming waters of the Indian ocean led to stormier weather - essentially more and bigger cyclones. It’s the worst outbreak of the crop-devouring pests in a quarter-century and it threatens food security across the region. The pandemic grinds international trade to a stop - obstructing many countries efforts to buy pesticides, equipment or bring in expert help to curb the infestation. Throughout the year, these swarms ballooned in size, stretching deep into Asia and across the Pacific ocean to Argentina and Brazil. An estimated 20 million people could face hunger and starvation and the UN’s World Food Program estimates that recovery could cost upwards of $9b USD in Africa alone.

Tyler Hicks/The New York Times

2. The Tigray War

For three decades the Tigray people held the balance of political and economic power in the country, tightly controlled through the Tigray People Liberation Front (TPLF), a Tigray nationalist party. In 2018 the Ethiopian election People's Revolutionary Democratic Front, led by Oromo Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed Ali, won control of the country’s government.

Animosities boiled over when the Tigray province persisted with the 2020 election, despite government orders to postpone voting until 2021 due to the coronavirus. Prime Minister Abiy cut off funding to Tigray, incising local leadership. In November 2020, youth militias affiliated with the TPLF killed six hundred villagers in the border town of Mai Kadra - and allegedly attacked Ethiopian military bases. 

The government responded by shelling the Tigray capital of Mekelle. Ethiopia’s armed forces quickly took control of the city and surrounding towns, with the militias retreating into the mountains where skirmishes have continued. 

With Tigrayan people facing violent retaliation - they have faced furloughs from jobs, had bank accounts suspended, faced arbitrary raids on their homes, and been refused permission to board airplanes or travel overseas. Many have faced direct violence, especially from non-Tigray militias.

The conflict has seen incursions from Eritrean forces. Abiy was awarded a Nobel Peace Prize for his work mending the relationship with Ethiopia’s former colony-turned-neighbour. They share a common enemy now - Tigray. Eritrean forces slaughtered church-goers at a religious festival in early December, killing children and elders indiscriminately. These shadow forces of Fano militias and Eritrean soldiers have committed war crimes - including extrajudicial killings and rape. They even looted the church that allegedly houses the Ark of the Covenant.

The Tigrayan refugees have only one option: Sudan. One journalist writes: “Several [Tigrayan refugees] told me that they saw dozens of bodies along the route as they fled their shops, homes and farms and took to the long road to the border... in stifling heat.”

The New York Times series on Tigray was helpful in understanding more about the conflict and its historical and ethnic contexts. But I have to say - I feel unclear about what comes next. Will guerilla warfare between the Tigray militias and Eritrean-Ethiopian forces continue? Will the country face international consequences for their move towards genocide? I guess 2021 will decide.

A SolarWinds banner hangs outside the New York Stock Exchange on the company’s IPO day in 2018 - Brendan McDermid/Reuters

3. The SolarWinds hack

I chose to write about icebergs rather than this story for a reason. I wholly do NOT understand cyber security. Like, at all. My eyes glaze over when somebody tries to explain Wikileaks to me. I tried. I really did - I read like three articles trying to parse the details and make sense of anything and here’s what I got:

Hackers - almost certainly Russian - got into the US government secure networks. For a lot of departments. For months. It’s really, really bad. The government has a pretty blasé response to the disaster. Trump blames China. Agencies are turning directly to Microsoft for answers rather than their own cyber security people. It’s a blazing hot mess.

I’m going to continue to not understand this one, sorry.

Juan Carlos Ulate/Reuters

4. Civil Rights in 2020

The expansion of civil rights in Central/South America, with the legalization of abortion in Argentina in December and the introduction of gay marriage in Costa Rica in May, gave us something to celebrate in 2020. These new rights are the result of years - and decades - of organizing by activists in these two countries. 

Costa Rica is the sixth Latin-American country to legalize gay marriage. Argentina joins a short list of places in Latin America where abortion is fully legal - just Cuba, Guyana, Uruguay, and two Mexican states.

Some couples rushed to wed on the stroke of midnight - magistrates stayed up late into the night to marry couples. Marcos Castillo (L) and Rodrigo Campos (R) waited until the following morning - and celebrated with a masked kiss after their ceremony. 

Other notable moments in civil rights? New Zealand officially revoked their antiquated anti-abortion laws (which they’d been effectively ignoring for years anyway), Bhutan decriminalized homosexuality, Switzerland passed legislation that will allow people to change the gender on their government IDs, and Croatia struck down laws forbidding gay couples from fostering children. Albania banned gay conversion therapy - as did the Yukon, actually - and Barbados made discrimination on the basis of sexuality illegal.

Nicky Kuautonga/The Guardian

5. Oceania crushed the pandemic

Virtually all of the countries reported to be COVID-free during 2020 were Oceanic nations and island territories. Turkmenistan says they didn’t have any cases but they’re lyin’. -Tuvalu Kiribati, Nauru, Tonga, and Palau all ended the year with no cases, while Samoa and the Solomon Islands reported a few isolated cases in quarantine facilities as they re-opened the border to repatriate their citizens abroad. 

Some combination of strict travel restrictions, new hygiene rules, curfews, and early lockdowns kept most of these countries relatively untouched. While New Zealand and Australia experienced several flare-ups throughout the year, their targeted lockdowns helped eradicate community spread quickly each time, returning them to schools, workplaces and boozy brunches quickly.

Honourable mentions to Vietnam and Thailand - with 100 million and 70 million citizens apiece both have charted under 100 deaths to COVID - and Taiwan with only nine casualties.

Gulalay Amiri, a pomegranate farmer, surveys his slim haul. Fighting as worsened in many parts of Afghanistan after the United States announced they would withdraw from the country in 2021 - Jim Huylebroek for The New York Times

6. War in Afghanistan

In March the United States signed a peace-deal with the Taliban, promising to withdraw troops by May of 2021. The War in Afghanistan has lasted 19 years - the longest war in American history and the majority of my lifetime.

I don’t know how to feel about it.

During peace talks the Taliban refused to commit to recognizing the country’s elected government, disavowing Al-Qaeda or protecting women’s rights. They support limited education for girls - only up to the sixth grade.

I listened to a few podcasts by the Daily on the ground in Afghanistan with the current government’s security forces. Many of the young soldiers they interviewed were so young they’d never lived in a country governed by the Taliban - and they fiercely oppose the idea. It also appears that the Afghan government were often excluded from peace talks, finding out details of the American meetings with the Taliban through international news reports and Taliban statements on social media. 

Since the Taliban’s deal with the United States, Taliban bombings and attacks have continued, targeting both security forces and civilians. The Afghan government has pointed the finger at the Taliban for mass shooting at a maternity ward in Kabul that killed 24 women and infants. “They came for the mothers”, said horrified eyewitnesses.

For almost two decades, the western world has supported the ‘new’ Afghanistan - but it feels very fragile. Will a withdrawal lead those people that assisted coalition forces vulnerable to retaliation? It feels likely. The fighting between the Taliban and the Afghan government has been fierce - and come with high civilian casualties. The year is punctuated, nearly monthly, with news of new attacks in Afghanistan.

It reminds me of the end of the Vietnam war. America withdrew and two years later the south was retaken by the North. In the final days of the Vietnam war the United States evacuated around 150,000 civilians who had worked with American on the ground. Nearly a million others left the country by boat, seeking asylum at refugee camps in Indonesia, Malaysia and the Philippines. Hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese people who had collaborated with the US-backed South were sent to re-education camps where they were sometimes tortured or starved. Is this what Afghanistan will look like? 

There’s no 'good’ solution - and for now the future of the war in Afgahnistan feels very opaque. I think I under-reported stories in the region as a result - it feels too complex to boil down into daily recaps.

Bobi Wine, 38, was detained by police for allegedly breaking COVID-19 restrictions while campaigning in Uganda’s upcoming presidential election - Abubaker Lubowa/Reuters

8. Ugandan election protests

Western media doesn’t seem to place a lot of importance on reporting in Africa - but what little attention they had for the continent focused on the anti-SARS protests in Nigeria throughout the fall. The attention on police violence in America raised the profile of these demonstrations - and the brutality of the government’s response, shooting at dozens of peaceful marchers gathered at the Lekki toll bridge.

But they were far from the only protests in Africa.

As Uganda prepared for an election early in 2021, the government forcefully cracked down on youthful dissidents - like presidential hopefuls Bobi Wine and Patrick Amuriat who were detained by police during the final campaign pushes in November. 

Wine, a young musician, has been arrested numerous times since he announced his candidacy. One occasion police beat Wine so badly he temporarily lost his vision - they also killed his driver. They raided his offices, confiscating election materials, and arrested supporters. His bodyguard will later be killed after being struck by a military truck while helping an injured reporter escape tear-gas during December protests.

Police record 56 casualties as they violently put down the large-scale protests - though human rights group have suggested the real number could be dramatically higher. 

Ariana Quesada holds a photo of her father, Benito. He died after an outbreak at the Cargill meat-packing plant where he worked. She filed a complaint with the RCMP, asking them to investigate conditions at the plant - Justin Pennell/CBC

9. Meat packing plants become coronavirus hotspots

Meat processing plants become super-spreaders - these often rurally-located factories see massive outbreaks across the United States and Canada. Their floors are crowded with employees working elbow-to-elbow, forced to shout over the loud din of machinery. The refrigeration - necessary for keeping the meat unspoiled - may allow the virus to live longer in the air.

By September of 2020, nearly 500 meat-processing plants had reported at least one case of COVID in the United States. And 203 had died. 

At a Tyson Foods factory in Waterloo, Iowa, staff allege that management placed bets on how many workers would become sick - and die. Supervisors began avoiding the floor, relegating their responsibilities to untrained workers. 

The plant reluctantly closed - by the time they re-opened two weeks later over a third of their 2,800 workforce had tested positive. Five workers died - including Isidro Fernandez, whose family is leading a lawsuit against the company.

In Canada, Cargill faces a similar lawsuit after an enormous outbreak in their High River facility that resulted in three deaths - two employees and one staffer’s 71-year-old father. They were: Hiep Bui, Armando Sallegue, and Benito Quesada. The company offered a $500 “responsibility” bonus for workers who didn’t miss any shifts - and discouraged employees from reporting any flu-like symptoms. Many of the factory’s workers are temporary foreign workers or new Canadians. 

10. The Nazca Lines

I forgot about this and am shoehorning it in now, but Peruvian archaeologists discovered another ancient line drawing in the desert outside of Lima - this time in the shape of a kitty cat.

Of all the archaeology finds this year - remains at Pompeii, a mammoth graveyard in Mexico, and a wealth of sarcophagi in Egypt - this is my favourite.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 28

Pushing the Bounds

Character(s): dark!Bucky, dark!Steve, too

Masterlist

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

In this chapter: oral sex, rough sex, anal sex, sex with multiple partners.

Summary: The reader must pay for breaking the rules.

Notes: Okay, so I’ve included warnings above but let’s make sure everyone goes over them before proceeding. This is a long, intense chapter and I want us all to get out in one piece. Also know that I am always open to talk. You readers are as important as me. Thank you all for being so wonderful in following this series and so enthusiastic. I hope we can discuss this chapter because I’ve been so excited to post it. 

Please, reblog and or reply with your thoughts!! I’ll see you in the next one. :)

So without further ado, let’s begin.

How was it that time could go both too slow and too fast? You pondered this conundrum as you tried to disappear behind your desk. You had been so distracted by your dread that you had barely been bothered by Steve’s arrival. His usual innuendos and wandering eyes didn’t even make you squirm. Even the thought of his hands closing around your neck and choking the life from you was not enough to eat away the fear of what Bucky had planned for you. You should have been horrified by the super soldier who had almost killed you in his lust but instead you were thinking of the one who had orchestrated the entire situation. Was tonight to be the end? Maybe he would bring Steve too. It seemed that the former Captain America was rather skilled at taking care of ‘problems’ and that’s exactly what you were, wasn’t it?

You forgot to take a lunch that day. You could barely manage to process the blur of black on white before you as you went about your daily toil. You waited for Bucky to reappear but he didn’t. Not until the bell tolled and your own day had come to an end. Would you be here tomorrow? You were certain you had pushed the bounds far enough that even Bucky’s perversion could not subdue his wrath. You began to pack up, your hands shaking as you zipped up your purse and switched off the desktop.

You came around the desk and headed for the elevator, your heel slipping and you stumbled forward, a collision with the hard marble imminent. You found yourself twisted around in air, your arm in a death grip as you were saved from your descent only to find yourself facing an even grimmer fate. Bucky’s blue eyes looked down at you as he held you at an angle just above the floor, a smirk curving his lips. Slowly, he stood upright, placing you back on steady ground. He kept hold of your arm, forcing you to turn around and walk beside him to the elevator as he pressed the button sharply.

“You won’t need those,” He reached over and took your keys from your hand, you struggled with him a moment before relenting. He tucked the metal ring into his pocket as the doors slid open and he led you inside. Flames licked at your neck as you faced your inevitable fate. Your name was to be added just below Gill’s on what could be an endless list.

The silence was suffocating. Bucky kept hold of you as the elevator opened to the first floor and escorted you through the crowd which flowed through the main lobby. He opened the metal door to the parking garage and marched you down the stairs and across the tarmac. Your mind was a flurry of memories; the other parking lot where you had witnessed his crime rising before your eyes. It was a deja vu which sent a shiver through you. You were stopped before his silver sports car and he ripped your purse from your hand, tossing it in the backseat before opening the front passenger door for you. You stared at the leather seat and he pushed on your shoulder until you made yourself climb inside. The door closed with a deafening click.

He sat heavily behind the wheel and backed out of the spot, flashing his pass at the booth and continuing onto the street. You spread your fingers over your knees, trying to keep yourself from trembling. Your eyes were hot with tears but you held them at bay, tipping your head back until they receded. You let out a subtle breath, turning your attention to the city scape outside the window. Where was he going? You had never been this way before. Your heart was hammering in your ears.

“Will you tell my mother?” You squeaked out, staring at your fingers as your nails dug into the nylon along your knees.

“What?” He grunted as he pulled into to a large complex, “Tell her what?”

“That I’m dead,” You whispered, slowly looking to him, “Please. It would kill to never know.”

“Get out,” He ordered and killed the engine as if he hadn’t heard your final plea.

You closed your eyes and sighed before willing yourself forward. You stepped out of the car and he was at your side in a second, his car beeping as he locked it behind him. His hand was on your arm again as he directed you towards the automatic doors of the building, a simple key code at the second set and you were once more trapped in a metal cage with the beast. The elevator dinged to reveal a massive, one-floor loft. It was a mansion compared to your tiny bachelor.

“Let’s go,” He tugged you out of the elevator, swiftly releasing you as he slid his key into the elevator panel to send it away. Was this his apartment? It must have been. You gulped as you looked around. The walls were a deep blue, windows stretched floor to ceiling along one side revealing the New York skyline below the setting sun. It would have been a marvelous view if it wasn’t to be your last. Ivory furniture decorated the immense room, a bar along the left side opposite a doorway which peeked into the kitchen and another into a hallway which would lead to the rest of the condo’s amenities. It was the work of an expert designer and you were almost envious.

The clink of glass drew your attention from the decor and you looked over to Bucky as he placed two square glasses on the bartop. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey you could never afford and poured it without a word. He took both in his hands and nodded to the long leather sofa before the glass coffee table. You obeyed the gesture, confused as to why you were so willingly marching to your death. He sat, setting the glasses before him on a set of coasters and pointed to the cushion beside him. You lowered yourself, wringing your hands as your chest felt as if it would collapse.

“Go on, take a drink,” He said, “Calm yourself down.”

You looked at him a moment before doing as he said. You lifted the glass and sipped, the burn along your throat urging a deeper gulp. You replaced the half-drained snifter on the coaster. He nodded and took a deep breath. “Steve doesn’t know.” You lifted a brow at the ambiguity of the statement. Bucky tilted his head, cracking his neck and continued. “He doesn’t know you were there that night.” Your fingers twined together painfully as you stared at him, “If he did, you’d be in the same boat as Gill.”

Your breath suddenly picked up and you felt the storm rising around you. You were hyperventilating, shaking, you had lost control. You pulled your hands apart and started fanning yourself, your eyes threatened to roll back in your skull. You felt Bucky’s hand on your back as he shifted closer, rubbing between your shoulder blades as he took one of yours hands and held it steady. “Breathe.” He said softly, “In, out, in, out.” He continued until you managed to reign in your nerves. “Have some more whiskey.” He released your hand and brought the glass to your lips, pouring it past your lips as you diligently swallowed. “That’s a girl.”

He smirked and all sense of calm swiftly dissipated. He set aside the glass and the hand on your back snaked up your neck, bunching your hair and pulled your head back roughly. He held you to the couch as he pushed himself against your side, speaking in your ear as his other hand rested on your thigh. “He doesn’t know because of me, understand?” You nodded as best you could, your eyes wide as your entire body seized, “But if you go snooping around, I won’t be able to keep you from the same end as Gill. So fuck off with that.”

He released you suddenly and leaned forward to take a drink of his own whiskey. He shook his hair down his back and rested his elbows on his legs as he spoke. You carefully pushed yourself up as he continued. “If you wanted to know what happened to the secretary, you could’ve asked. What did I say about lying? About secrets?” You looked over at him guiltily and he snarled, “Answer me.”

“Don’t, sir,” You replied meekly. “I’m sorry.”

“She was pretty. One of the best-looking women I’ve seen. Steve, too. He wanted her the moment he met her. And she felt the same. She was like most girls, you know, they throw themselves at him, go all gooey. They flirted, fucked, and then she got attached.” He explained dully, “Steve’s not really into commitment, ya know? She tried to make him jealous with me but I wasn’t into that. When that didn’t work, she started nosing around in shit and got it in her head that she could blackmail Steve. Not really to win him back, more just to spite him. Well, I’m sure you can imagine his reaction and her ultimate end. Not much of a match for a super soldier.”

You nodded and he turned to you, “So, do you understand now? Why you can’t lie to me, hmm? I’m the only thing keeping him from doing the same to you…” His nostrils flared, “But if you keep pulling shit like this, I’ll just have to take care of you myself,” He grabbed your chin and made you look in his eyes, “Got it? Don’t think you’re that special, girl.” You would have recoiled had he not been holding onto you, his last word so harsh it stung.

“Yes, sir,” You wisped out and he let you go, finished the last of his whiskey before he pulled out his phone. “He’s on his way. Come on.” You looked up at him in confusion as he stood, “Now.”

You rose and he waved you after him as he headed for the hallway. You followed, your nerves in a flurry as he guided you. He opened the door at the end of the hall and ushered you inside. A large bed draped in silver silk and a black duvet stood against the far wall, a leather chaise before the windows which matched those in the living room, leaving little privacy. A black dresser, matching night tables, a set of armchairs in front of a faux fireplace atop an expensive fur rug, and a panoply of carefully chosen ornaments. You could hardly imagine this man designing this himself and wondered at the interior designer he had hired for the purpose. It was almost a ridiculous vision.

“While I have so loyally kept your secret, I expect you to convince me to continue doing so,” Bucky left the door open as he drew you inside by the hand. “You’re going to be a good girl tonight. Do as your told and do it eagerly.” He stepped close to you, slapping your ass so hard your knees buckled. “I don’t want those scared little eyes looking up at me.” His fingers kneaded the back of your skirt as he pressed himself flush to your side, his nose grazing your hair, “We both know you’ve come to want this as much as me. Don’t you?”

His question dangled before you but you were quick to grasp it. If you waited too long, he would be angry. Rather, angrier. “Yes, sir.” You breathed, running your tongue over your dry lips. He took that as encouragement and ran a finger across your bottom lip cloyingly. He inhaled and stepped away as if urging control over himself.

“Clothes off,” He ordered, “Everything.” You gulped, a sense of relief mingled with anxiety. He wasn’t going to kill you but it didn’t mean you were off that easily. You undressed and he collected your clothing, tossing it in one of the armchairs as you did. The last to go was your panties and he lifted them with a grin, bringing them to his nose and sniffing deeply. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and he unfolded the satin to reveal a slick spot left by your own desire. “Good girl,” He purred and dropped them with the rest.

He neared you but you were surprised as he continued past you. He crossed to the small closet hidden along the back wall and opened the folding door. He stirred around inside and you waited patiently, staring out the floor to ceiling windows pensively. You listened to him searching around behind you and turned when you heard the door slide closed. He approached with a leather circle in his hands; a collar, you realized as he brought it around your neck and buckled it snugly. Attached was a leash which he kept hold of, tugging slightly so that you flinched. He let out a hum of approval.

Your humiliation was pierced by the sound of the elevator doors opening and closing. Footsteps entered the apartment, barely heard as you stood in the bedroom. The key turned again and the elevator whisked away. “Buck,” Steve called as he came down the hallway, appearing in the doorway to find you stood before Bucky, naked, as he held the other end of the leash. “Oh,” He smirked and you looked down, squeezing your eyes shut.

Bucky stepped around you, his fingers pushing your chin up in warning and you opened your eyes again. You watched as he handed the leash to Steve, hushed words to him that you could not discern. Steve suddenly pulled on the collar and you almost fell forward. He snickered, rolling his tongue around as he looked to Bucky with menace.

“Undress him,” Steve commanded. You looked between them and the warning in Bucky’s eyes snapped your from your daze. No fear, he had said. Even if it shook you to your core, you had to fake it...though your pelvis was already buzzing with excitement. Why did your body betray you so?

“Yes, sir,” You answered and Steve couldn’t hide his amusement. At the end of your tether, you approached Bucky and pulled back his jacket, rolling it down his arms. He watched you closely as you went about your task, bending as your made to remove his shirt. He kicked his shoes off as you unzipped his fly and stooped to remove his own socks. You tugged the waist of his jeans down, his erection barely withheld by the thin fabric of his briefs. “Mmm,” He urged you onward and you angled the elastic past his cock, the pink head throbbing as your fingers brushed his shaft. You let his underwear fall to the floor and he stepped out of the pile of denim and cotton.

“On your knees,” Steve pulled on the leash to reinforce his order. You knelt down before Bucky but he was a little too tall. His eyes flicked to Steve and back again. He sat on the edge of the bed as the leash pulled you over between his knees. You felt a warmth along your back as Steve bent over you, “Go on and suck his cock, you slut.”

You held back your spite at the name and bent your neck, bringing your lips to the head of Bucky’s cock. He hummed as you spread your lips over him and let him into your mouth carefully, taking his length a little at a time. When you met his base, he was in your throat and you struggled to breath through your nose. You felt a hand in your hair but it wasn’t Bucky’s. Steve played with your locks as you began to bob your head, pressing your tongue to the bottom of his cock as your slobber mixed with his salty precum.

Steve grasped your hair and began to lead your motion, speeding it up as he forced you harder and harder along Bucky’s cock. You could see his hands on the bed as he leaned back and groaned. You choked as he hit the back of your throat sharply over and over, the sound of your gagging mixed with the slick noises of the messy act. “Yeah,” Steve praised, “You fucking slut.”

Bucky was groaning, his body twitching, and you could sense his impending release. So could Steve as he suddenly forced your head down as far as it could go and you felt the stream of cum explode down your throat. You were held there until he was done and Steve let go of you so that you fell back choking and spitting up cum and saliva across the floor, holding yourself up on shaky arms. You were pulled up by your neck, swiftly standing before you could suffocate further.

“My clothes,” Steve demanded and you shook away the stars as you neared him. As you undressed him, he slid his fingers between your folds and raised a single brow. “You ready for me?” He asked and you nodded, hoping it was enough to make him happy. You weren’t sure if you could speak through your ragged throat. When he stood naked before you, you backed away and waited for his next order.

Bucky had stood from the bed, his cock only half-erect as he turned away and neared the window, shamelessly displaying himself though not many would be able to see at this height. Steve got up on the bed and laid down with a sigh, his cock against his stomach. “On top,” He order, running his hand once along his length. You got up on the bed and stood over him, lowering yourself to your knees as you grabbed his shaft. You pressed his head to your opening and tried to ease yourself onto his wide girth. He was impatient and forced you down his length until he met his limit and your cried out. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

He slapped your ass with both hands and gripped your hips, guiding your motion until you moved on your own. You began to ride him, the sound of your wetness further embarrassing as you couldn’t deny you arousal. As much as this man scared the shit out of you and even inspired within you a deep hate, you couldn’t deny he was built. Your flesh clapped against his mercilessly and his hands snaked around to your thighs, nails teasing the flesh.

You felt the bed shift behind you as Bucky got up and his fingers tickled your spine. His hand rested on your ass and you felt a sudden coolness dripping along your crack and he spread it down to your asshole with his fingers. Your motion wavered and he leaned close and whispered in your ear, “Just relax. You’re doing good.”

Steve yanked on the leash to draw your attention back to him. You placed your hands on his chest as you carried your pace, Bucky’s hand settled on your hip to slow you. Steve was smirking up at you as you felt the head of Bucky’s cock slip between your cheeks and he pressed himself to your asshole. You tried to jolt forward but Steve held you in place with hands on your waist. “Please,” You begged, your voice raspy, “I can’t.” Your head snapped to the side as Steve suddenly struck you.

“Shut up,” He barked and you held your stinging cheek.

You closed your eyes as you felt Bucky push himself inside, a little at a time. As he stretched you, you whimpered, unthinkingly pressing your palms to Steve’s muscled torso as he did. With every inch your pathetic cries grew louder and Bucky cooed in your ear. He pulled out a little every now and then before pushing back in, pressing your limits. The tears wobbled along your eyes and finally spilled as you focused on breathing through the pain. When he reached his limit, he swore and you exclaimed sharply. He stayed inside you for a minute as if waiting for your body to adjust and slowly pulled out but not for long as he thrust into you again. You made no effort to hide your agony as you began to whine with each invasion.

Steve began to move you a top him in time with Bucky and you felt the shame searing you as the dual sensations began to meld together and feel good. In fact, it was starting to feel amazing. You were covered in sweat, almost sandwiched by two men, a fullness within you never felt before. The pressure was building, building, building, your breath laboured as you worked with them in rhythm. Your cries turned to moans as the waves began to wash over your flesh, gathering in a storm which suddenly turned to lighting, the bolts overwhelming your nerves as you orgasmed.

You shook as you sang out your climax but you were still being used. Your overworked body went into overdrive and a series of orgasms intermingled with a flood of fatigue. “Fuck, you slut, you’re going to make me cum.” Steve slapped your thigh and Bucky suddenly pulled out from behind, lifting you off the other super soldier as he spurted cum over your stomach and hot ribbons shot up your back, both men reaching their peak almost in tandem. Your body went limp and you curled up between the two men as they panted. You were so very tired but you didn’t rest long as you felt another tug on the collar. You opened your eyes and Steve dragged you off the bed and to the window, guiding your hands against the glass so that you were slightly bent. 

“Why don’t you let everyone see what a slut you are?” He dragged a finger through Bucky’s cum along your back, “Covered in all this cum.” You felt his head at your entranced and you swallowed back your embarrassment as he entered you, “Say it. Tell me your a slut.”

“I’m--I’m a slut,” You stammered between his thrusts and your legs shook. You were ready to orgasm again. You squeaked as it came upon you suddenly, feeling yourself cum around Steve’s cock as he continued to hammer into you.

“Such a slut,” He growled in your ear, pulling your arms back so that you were arched against him, “Aren’t you?”

“Yes…” You were breathing so heavily you could barely speak.

“Yes?” He prodded as he continued to fuck you.

“Yes, Captain,” You forced out, “I am.”

“Fuck,” He pulled out and spun you around, grabbing the collar as he forced you down on your knees. He stroked himself to his climax and his cum spilled onto your face, across your lips and down your neck. You reached up to wipe it away but he stopped your hand. 

“No,” He shoved your hand away. “Now on the bed again.” He kept hold of the leash as he watched you stand and you had to hide your shock that his cock hadn’t softened at all. He was insatiable and you braced yourself for a long night.

tags: @they-call-me-le @holylulusworld  @petit-funsize @ladyofmyst @kellyn1604 @thelostallycat @grayxswan @collette04 @butteryoptimisticpeanut @buckycaptspideypool @blackpantherimagines @lilithhellfire @captainfreecandyvan @spaghettirogers @phoenix21love @sathlens @iheartsebastianstan @bethanyzed @breezy1415 @alexakeyloveloki @beautiful-and-strange @momc95

[straykidsnerd255]

You’re my hero: Mirio x Reader

You’re my Hero: Mirio x Reader

Genre: Angst

Song: Any sad songs without lyrics;

Recommended Song: Ryandan- Tears of an angel

Warning: Character Death. People get shot. 

So you are warned. Be on the lookout for it. It's not a spoiler if that’s what everyone is worried about.

Summary:

Mirio and Y/n have been dating for nearly two and a half years. They are in the same class however, Y/n was always the outcast when it came to Mirio and their friends. They were considered the Big Three. She was…..nothing. That wasn’t going to let it stop her though. She trained day in and day out to strengthen her quirk, but, was kidnapped from her home. Now, she protect Eri in the underground chambers of the hassaki group.

Quirk: Memory wipe;

The user can erase any memory that comes to mind whether it be their memories or the memory of someone they love, or even both. At times this quirk may seem weak and unable to do what it needs too. However, if the user has a strong will to either live or protect someone special to them, the quirk can become a small virus that can be planted in the enemy. No matter how many times the user reminds them self not to randomly use their quirk, it sometimes gets the better of them and grow weak and become slaves to their own quirk. When the quirk is activated, much like Eraser Head, their eyes begin to glow. But it's a different color.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I’ll be your Hero. Everything’s ok now.”

“Nothing I’ve done up to now will never be useless!” I will always be Lemillion!”

“I won’t let you get hurt anymore.”

{Memory}

No matter how many times she tried, she could never shine as brightly as them. She just couldn’t. Not with a quirk like hers. She was always being called a lair and villain behind her back. She couldn’t get it out of her mind; the things that they said about when HE wasn’t there to tell them off about it. TO tell them that real heroes don’t always have a flashy quirk like All Might’s and that they don’t need a quirk like that to be a hero. To show them that even with a quirk like hers, anyone could be a hero. 

That her quirk was just as special as anyone else's was. She would cover her ears and run away every time he would stick up for her. Every time he turned and gave her that big, bright smile telling her everything is going to be fine. And that they would stop.. Nothing ever stops when someone tells you too. It just doesn’t. When they were not around, those same students would spread unsightly and rude rumors about her. Making her feel and grew uneasy.

“Isn’t that the girl with a villains quirk?”

“What is she even doing here?”

“U.A isn’t a school for villains. Get lost.”

“I can’t believe Mirio and the other two stick up for her.”

“One day. One day she will back stab everyone and kill them. That’s how it always ends.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. She dropped to her knees, allowing her assignments too fall across the floor. Her tears rolling down her cheeks making the students grow scared. As they continued to watch, they didn’t notice Mirio, Amajiki, or Nejire walking towards them. The mass of people and the sound of crying caught Mirio’s attention and he knew right off the sight in the hall what was going on. 

“How many times must I tell you all that her quirk is more hero then anyone’s here? Don’t you see the bigger picture?! She could erase all villain intent to hurt or kill. She could stop them from stealing and committing small crimes. Stop treating her like she is a villain in hiding when she isn’t.” Mirio said pushing his way through the students surrounding her and dropped to his knees and opened his arms. She immediately moved towards him and buried her face against his chest.

“Also, please stop hurting my girlfriend.”

{Memory End}

You said on the bed with your knees pressed against her chest. Tears stains streaked down your hollow cheeks. Your mind was blank and you stared at the wall that stood in you face. “Y/n? Will we ever get out of here?” A small voice sounded behind you. You turned around to face the small child. “I don’t know Eri. I don’t know.” You whispered. She climbed onto the bed and moved towards you. You moved from your position on the bed and leaned against the bed frame. Eri climbed into your lap and laid her head against your heart. You leaned your head back against the bars and closed your eyes. Flashes of HIS face filled your mind and the tears slowly began to build behind your closed eyes. “Mirio.” You mumble his name ever so slightly. His name rolling off your tongue as if it was the first thing that you had ever said.

“Y/n.”

“Ya Eri?”

“I want to go home. I’m scared.”

“I know Eri. I know.”

You began running your fingers through her hair in an attempt to calm her down and will her to sleep. You watched as her eyes slowly began to close, a smile gracing you lips as you watched. Begging that no one would come in and destroy this small chance for her to sleep properly. Karma had a funny way of being an absolute bitch. The door to your’s and Eri’s cell swung open with a loud bang making both you and her jolt on the bed and look up. Overhaul stared the both of you down before turning to Eri. “Let’s go brat. If you don’t, I’ll kill her.” he said raising his hand up and pointing it towards you.

All you could do was watch as Eri bent her head and jumped from the bed and towards him. She was completely controlled by him. When the door shut behind him, you gripped the hair around your ears and screamed loudly. You mind going into shock and fear rattling through your bones. “Mirio. Miriro. Please. Help me. Find me. SAVE ME!!!!” You screamed at the top of your lungs. Tears spilled down your face for the first time in months. You body shock from the random spasms as you hiccuped and sobbed freely. 

You brought your knees to your chest and cried. You cried for what seemed like hours before you passed out on the bed. When you woke again, Eri was back in the room with brand new bandages on her arms and legs. You tried standing;  key word: tried. You dropped to the hard concrete floor and yelped in pain. They had taken your use of your legs for the time being and you couldn’t bear it. You bent your back towards the ground  to lay your head against the floor and scream in frustration. 

“Someone please! Get me and Eri out of this hell hole!”

[Time skip: Sir NightEye agency-meeting]

“Alright everyone. We have discussed our plans to saving Eri. However, there is new information.” Sir NightEye said. Everyone looked towards him including Deku and Lemillion. Sir NightEye turned towards Lemillion and felt his heart wrench in his chest. “Mirio. They have Y/n too.” He said. Everyone turned towards the young hero and watched every ounce of color in his face drop. He became pale white as his mind when numb and blank. “T-They have Y-Y/n?” He whispered softly. His heart was breaking all over again.

“Yes. It seems that the day she went missing, no one knew exactly who had taken her. No villain that we have faced before would have a motive to take a teen girl. However, as we dove deeper into this Kai Chisaki, we found a witness that had seen the kidnapping of Y/n l/n and told the police everything. To which, they began telling up about the missing girl. We had managed to get a camera in the room where the two girls are in but, the state the two are in, well, they are worse for wear. It looks like, they are trying to starve Y/n. It looks like she has only really been drinking water. No food is visible in their for her” Bubble girl said looking towards the screen.

Mirio pressed a hand to his face and a soft broken chuckle left his lips. “All that matters to me is that she is still alive and well. I want to see her. I NEED to see her.” He said standing from his chair and leaving the room. One of the Pros tried to call out for him but Sir NightEye raised his hand. “Let him go. He needs to get some of this information processed better. His heart is still broken from not being able to save Eri and now that his girlfriend is in the same boat. This is a lot to take in. He will come back and he will know what he needs to do to get her back.” He said.

Mirio slammed his hand against the wall as hot tears slipped down his face. His heart breaking all over again. He slipped down to his knees with his fist still against the wall. His body shook with hurt, anger, and fear. His tears dripped to the ground like raindrops. “Y/n. Please. Please be alive. Please be ok. I promise. I am coming to get you and Eri. I won’t let you die.” He whispered to himself as he slowly stood from his knees. A wildfire lit up behind his eyes as he threw open the doors to the meeting. “I am ready. Let's get this mission on the ground and moving.” Mirio said moving back to his seat.

“Glad you are back and ready for action.”

{Back to Eri and Y/n- When Mirio is fighting to save Eri}

You were suddenly yanked from the bed and pulled up. You turned your head to see Chrono holding Eri and Chisaki picking you up as you legs still have no strength in them to stand let alone walk. You felt your heart ache in pain. ‘Why? Was I really meant to be a villain?’ Your thoughts started to eat you alive. That is, before you heard a familiar voice. You lifted your head and felt tears slowly fill up in your eyes. “Mirio!” You screamed doing your best to get out of Overhaul’s grip but his hold on you restricted much of your movement. Mirio grew angry with this and raced forward only to disappear.

He soon came up and slammed his leg into Chrono’s head knocking him backwards. Eri felt the arms around her loosen, she reached out for Lemillion. Once he had her, he moved fast and slammed his leg into Overhaul knocking him back and causing him to lose his grip on you. He easily wrapped his arm around you waist and pulled your to his side. “Mirio, you can’t escape with the both of us. Take the child and run. That’s your only option right now.” You said as you found the strength to stand on your own.

Mirio looked at you with wide eyes. “I am not leaving you or Eri in this damn place any second longer. Let's get out now while they are down.” He said taking your hand in his. He stopped every movement when he was able to take a good look at you. Skin and bones. Sunken back eyes. Unwashed hair. Bruises, cuts, scratches. You looked bad. “We can take you to recovery girl and have her heal the wounds on your body. Everything is going to be ok. You will be able to come home and come back to school.Oh you will be able to meet new students that are training just like us to become heros. Please.” He begged tugging on your arms. You looked down. 

“Take Eri and run. I’ll be right behind you. I promise.” You said. ‘I can’t do anything good in your life Mirio. You need to find someone who has a quirk worthy of being a hero.’ Your thoughts began eating away at your mind again. Tell you lies and feeding you unwanted fakes. Mirio looked towards you and closed his eyes as the pain of losing you was starting to become unbearable. Seeing his hesitancy, you walked towards him and pressed your hands to his cheeks. You stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his as a final goodbye. 

“Go. Take the girl and run. Please Togata.” You whispered. You could see his chest heave with pain and the threat of tears,but he grabbed Eri and raced out through the exit. You watched as he faded away before turning around. Tears trailing behind as you turned. You knew full well that you would never see him again. You were prepared for that. You honestly were prepared to save everyone. You turned and faced an angry Chisaki and member’s of the hissiaki. “You betrayed….”

You eyes slowly lit up to soft purple. Their minds went blank and they stood there. “You are all enemies of each other. You being friends, was a lie. It was fake. Chrono, kill everyone in this room and don’t stop till they are truly dead. When they are,” You bit your lips as you mulled over the thought in your mind. “I want you to kill me and then yourself.” You said. You watched as what you said came true. You couldn’t help the tremble that found its way to your lips. You allowed your tears to flow down your cheeks as you watched the shooting around you. You allowed your arms to fall to your sides as Chrono turned to you. The sound of the gun going off towards you was much louder than you remembered.

“I’m sorry Mirio. I lied. You won’t be seeing me again. I love you.” “NO!” You snapped your head to the side to see Mirio and the other heroes,minus Sir NightEye and Bubble Girl, racing in as the two bullets hit home in you heart. You grunted at the force of the bullet but within seconds, you fell to the ground as blood pooled across the white shirt you were wearing. Mirio wrapped his arms around you before you could hit the ground. Tears spilled crossed your face as they fell from his eyes. “Y-You told me you would follow me.” He whispered holding you closely. You looked towards Chrono and watched as he shot himself as well. The purple hues disappeared and you felt your body slump against Mirio’s. You slowly turned to look at Mirio. 

“I-I’m not strong like y-you Mirio. This was the best that I could do.” You whispered as tears began falling down your face. “I was going to die anyway.” you mumbled softly before you eyes slowly began to close. “Don’t you dare close those eyes. DAMMIT DON’T YOU DARE CLOSE YOUR EYES!!” Mirio screamed as he pulled you closer to his chest. Not caring that your blood stained his hero costume. You turned your head to look towards him. “Sing my favorite song for me please? Its going to be my last request from you Mirio.” You whispered. Mirio couldn’t take it but he obeyed and began singing the song you loved dearly.

Cover my eyes

Cover my ears

Tell me these words are a lie

It can't be true

That I'm losing you

The sun cannot fall from the sky

Can you hear heaven cry

The tears of an angel

The tears of angel

Stop every clock

Stars are in shock

The river will run to the sea

I won't let you fly

I won't say goodbye

I won't let you slip away from me

Can you hear heaven cry

The tears of an angel

The tears of an angel

The tears of an angel

The tears of an angel

So hold on

Be strong

Everyday on we'll go

I'm here, don't you fear

Little one don't let go

(Ooh)

Don't let go

(Ooh)

Cover my eyes

Cover my ears

Tell me these words are a lie

Mirio choked on a few words as he watched you hand fall to the ground. He bent his head down and cried. He cried for all he was worth before he gently lifted you from the ground. He pressed your head close to his chest and pressed a kiss to your head.  “I am proud of you. I love you so much and will continue to love you forever. Please...please don’t go. Not yet. Not now.”He whispered burying his face in your hair as he brought your body close to his. He turned and began heading out. He was completely broken. Eri and Sir NightEye came racing towards the hero’s but stopped when they saw Mirio come out last. In his arms, lay a dead Y/n. Her arms hung towards the ground and her head lulled back. Her legs hung off his arm lifeless and nothing moved.

“Sir, I couldn’t save her.”

[prairiesongserial]

11.7

Ice cream in hand, and Val’s wallet a little lighter, Friday and Val explored the steamboat. The outside walls of the middle deck’s cabin were papered with posters - the photography kind, which was rare and expensive. All pictured the same girl in the same pose, about a hundred of them in a row, some overlapping, even. The text was printed in a regional style that gave Friday a headache if she tried to read it, though that didn’t stop her slowing her pace to admire the figure of the pictured girl.

“You think I could clean up that nice?” she asked Val around her ice cream.

Val seemed to notice the posters for the first time. His eyes scanned over the girl’s slinky dress, each wrinkle in the silk intentional and suggestive with light and shadow. Three strands of pearls were fastened close to her neck, her dark hair tidily pinned away so the pearls drew in the eye and held it. The girl’s features were dainty - and clearly belonged to someone several years Friday’s junior.

“You already dress like that,” Val said.

Friday laughed. She didn’t own anything that rich. “What are you talking about?”

Val gestured down to Friday’s sundress, then kept walking. Friday wanted to make fun of him for the crime of conflating cotton and silk, but she couldn’t quite shake the compliment under the comparison. She trotted to catch up with Val.

A young mother was passing in the other direction, counting coins out of a change purse. She wore her Sunday best, a green dress that closed at the neck, with sleeves that billowed outwards. Her three children circled, nearly tripping her, their eyes on the purse.

“Hold on, now, all of you,” she snapped, counting pennies into their palms in turn. “Don’t spend it all on peanuts, do you hear? And Gawain, watch out for your brothers.”

Friday tugged Val’s shirt, steering him over to the woman. As the last of the three children hurtled off with his handful of pennies, Friday gave her a wave and a smile.

“Hello, do I know you?” the woman said. Her change purse still held loosely in her hand, the woman’s attention slid from Friday to her children, still barely in sight.

The pickpocket in Friday, long retired, wondered what on earth was wrong with this woman. She felt baited into robbing the poor creature, though of course she kept her twitching fingers to herself.

“No, Ma’am,” Friday said. She looped her arm in Val’s, sensing he wanted to escape. “We’re in town with the circus.”

“Oh, how lovely,” the woman said with a smile. “I’m Marian Pérez, pleased to meet you.”

“Friday Wilmot, and my associate Valerie Lecter.” Friday held out her hand to shake. “This is our first time in Everglades City, so we really don’t know our way around yet.”

Marian’s sons were out of sight among the distant circus tents. Marian didn’t seem to be concerned. She set her purse down on the boat’s railing to shake Friday’s hand. Friday frowned at it. People passed by on either side. In Vegas, that purse would have already been gone, but there it sat.

“Is Everglades City a very safe town?” Friday asked.

“Oh, certainly,” Marian said. Friday barely heard the response, watching the change purse bob with the gentle rhythm of the water under the boat. “There’s no safer place to live. I’ve only just moved here recently myself, when I was pregnant with my second, and that was exactly why. Even you can tell, and you’ve only been in town a handful of hours.”

Marian beamed at Friday proudly.

“It’s due to the Bellamys, of course,” she added. “I only found out well after I moved here, but I was curious too!” She tittered, touching Friday’s arm familiarly, and Friday laughed with her. This was getting very interesting.

“What do the Bellamys have to do with it?” Val asked. He no longer looked like he was waiting for an opening to slip away, his gaze focused intensely down on Marian.

“They got rid of the crime,” said Marian simply.

Friday’s eyes went wide before she got her face under control.

“The Bellamys operate Everglades City,” Marian said, finally taking up her purse. “There hasn’t been crime here for as long as they’ve been in charge, and that’s been a long time. If you’re interested in the town history, I’m sure there’s someone else who could tell it better. Oh, let’s see...”

Marian’s attention jerked back to one of her sons, who had reappeared with ice cream, and seemed to want nothing of his mother but to show her. Friday licked a drop up from the bottom of her own ice cream cone. She had to agree with the kid; this was noteworthy ice cream - and in her book, all ice cream was noteworthy.

Friday grabbed Val’s sleeve urgently, and he went rigid, startled.

“What?” he hissed.

“If we travel with the circus, we can eat this all the time,” Friday hissed back, voice tight with emotion. She waved her cone around. “We can eat ice cream every day, Val.”

The kid stopped mid-sentence, looking at Friday with the eyes of a hawk.

“Mama, I want to join the circus,” he said. “Mama - ”

Friday took a big bite of ice cream, looking innocently up at Marian as the kid’s idea began to increase in pitch and volume. Whoops. Val began to steer her away, which was probably for the best.

“Thank you for the pleasant conversation, Mrs. Pérez,” Val said quickly. “On behalf of the Madsen and Something circus, I hope you enjoy your afternoon.”

Marian’s expression was quickly turning sour, but Friday and Val happily made their escape before the kid really began to squall. Val had led her down the ramp, back onto the pier they had arrived by, before Friday cracked up.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” she laughed, ice cream running down her fingers.

“You’re awful with children,” Val said wonderingly. It only made Friday laugh harder.

“Christ, I need to sit down,” she gasped, stomach aching. The pier looked like it had been put together without much care to how long it would last, or the unlucky fate of the person who would finally find out how long that was, exactly. The planks creaked loudly as Friday hoisted herself up on a barrel. As she straightened, the wind whipped a lock of blond hair in front of her eyes, reminding her that she was still wearing the wig she’d found.

Val paced in front of her, the skin at the base of his neck pink and glowing with sweat. His hair was so long, now, he must have been hot. It was hard to say whether or not he was in better spirits now, but his forehead wasn’t knotted with worry anymore. Not that he looked anything near relaxed.

Friday smiled to herself. She had leveled the top of the ice cream, though half of it had dribbled down her fingers.

“Here, eat this,” she said, holding the cone out to Val.

Val paused his pacing and came over to her. He took the ice cream, then sighed.

“This is sticky,” he said.

Friday hopped off her barrel and pulled a pink handkerchief from the pocket of her sundress. She wiped at her fingers, but found them unpleasantly still sticky. The water lapping at the pier was fairly high, high enough that if she reached, she could probably dip her handkerchief.

Friday was showing off a bit, as she knelt by the edge, straining to reach the surface of the water, but she almost hoped she would fall in. She was already clowning - it didn’t matter that she was wearing a nice wig and not a yarn one. She wasn’t running around interrogating young mothers for the joy of it; she was trying to make Val forget they were kind-of-sort-of prisoners of a traveling circus and there was no knowing when Val would see the door of the convent again. Why not commit to the bit and fall in a few feet of water? Val was too nice to laugh at her, but he would make a big fuss over her and forget to be melancholy for a few more minutes.

Friday’s concentration was complete as she strained for the water, her ankles wobbling as the handkerchief danced a hairsbreadth above the water’s surface. Several locks of hair fell in her eyes, and her ankles wobbled again as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

“What are you doing?” Val asked. She couldn’t see him, but she heard him quietly crunch through a piece of ice cream cone.

An oar passed under the water, just under the spot where Friday’s handkerchief hovered. She looked up. An old man sat in a rowboat, kept company by a writhing net of the biggest fish Friday had ever seen. Each one was the size of one of Marian’s kids, four feet long at least. The fish took up more room in the boat than the old man did.

The old man paused his rowing. He glared at Friday - or more likely, into the sun behind her.

“You’ll lose your arm,” he said, and spat over his shoulder.

Friday straightened up. The man had the ordinary things one expected of fisherfolk in his rowboat with him, but he also had a shotgun wedged under the seat.

This was the person Friday should be asking questions. Friday shoved her handkerchief back in her pocket. The old man was moving on, bringing his rowboat to the shallow end of the pier. Friday followed, jogging along the pier to keep up. She could hear Val behind her, following at a sensible pace.

“Hey, I was wondering if you know someone named, uh…” Friday struggled to remember the previous courier’s name. “Adams! Someone named Adams?”

The man grunted.

“You don’t know him? Or you do?” Friday pressed.

The man was wrapping rope around a post as his net of fish flopped back and forth, rocking the little boat. A cloud moved overhead, its shadow passing over the water. Friday frowned. In that case, why was the old man still squinting like the sun was in his eyes?

Val caught up, finally.

“Something’s bothering me,” he said, pulling Friday aside. His hands were sticky too, she noticed, with satisfaction. “On the way in, Ezra told us not to wander off. But Mrs. Pérez says there’s no crime. And you saw…”

“How she just left her purse there?” Friday finished.

The old man tossed his fish up onto the pier; the writhing net landed an inch from Friday, and she screamed, jumping out of her skin. The old man climbed up after his catch.

“Don’t know an Adams,” the old man said. Friday wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to himself. “There’s more than two dozen people living here, pet. Haven’t you ever been to a city before?”

Friday barked a laugh, stepping toward the old man. Val caught her shoulder.

“How about any disappearances at all lately?” Val said.

The old man cracked up, howling with laughter. A shiver ran down Friday’s spine. Val was perfectly still beside her, his stiffness validating the wrongness that Friday felt under the old man’s laugh. The two of them stood and watched him, his net of fish all but forgotten as he cackled.

“...What’s funny?” asked Val.

“There’s more disappearances in Everglades City than there are people,” the old man said. “And as I was telling the lady, there’s no small number of people.”

The old man’s face twisted now, not in laughter, but in some unclear emotion. No feeling came through in his words, his laughter dead in the air.

“Been a peculiarity of this city as long as I’ve been alive,” he said. “People’ll pack up a boat and row out into the glades, never come back. Leave their whole family behind. Some weeks, it’ll be one a day. Then you’ll have a dry month or two...but it never stops.”

The old man rubbed the white stubble on his chin thoughtfully as his net of fish slapped the pier in a frenzy.

“Just keep your hands where they are, young lady,” he mumbled, finally turning away. “Just keep ‘em where they are.”

11.6 || 11.8

[edmunddantesisdead]

Boats Against the Current

AO3

Gatsby keeps dying, and Nick decides to save him. A natsby time loop au.

Trigger warnings: - canon character death (temporary) - canon suicide - period-typical internal homophobia and racism - vague descriptions of blood and a dead body

Two days.

The events of Nick Carraway’s life took an irrefutable and unavoidable turn within the mere course of forty-eight hours, drenched in the heat of August.

The swelter crashed over the city like a tsunami, soaking its inhabitants with sweat and foul temperatures.  The black pavement sizzled pitifully underneath the cruel, unrelenting sun. It was the very day in which Gatsby, temper running hotter than the boiling, broiling, burning world, demanded Daisy leave Tom and run into his arms.

She didn’t.

Of course she didn’t.

Daisy Buchanan had gold dust running through her veins, not blood.  There was a silken scarf where her backbone should’ve been.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nick realized it was his birthday.

Then Tom’s mistress was hit in the Valley of Ashes, then Nick found Gatsby, bathed in moonlight outside of the house of the woman he so believed loved him.

“I just have to see, old sport,” he murmured, eyes dark and distant.  “I just have to make sure he hasn't hurt her.”

Inside, Daisy and Tom Buchanan whispered like grand co-conspirators over plates of cold chicken.

Gatsby, that stupid, stubborn, wonderful man, refused to leave.  Nick left him alone in the moonlight.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

There is a restlessness in his stomach, a churning, miserable sort of thing.  He dresses before he can think better of it, goes into Gatsby’s home before he can stop himself.  It seems to him that something is about to change. Electricity crackles in the air; Nick can feel it, zipping over his skin, raising goosebumps.

“Nothing happened,” Gatsby says wanly, wilted over a table in the entryway. “I waited, and about four o’clock she came to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned out the light.”

He traces the wood grain in the table over and over, an endless loop.

He tells Nick everything that night.  They poke through dusty, old rooms and dusty, old memories.  He tells Nick of Dan Cody and a girl more mystery than woman and the lies he told, just to be able to touch her hand.

“I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, old sport,” he says, and Nick doesn't flinch.

He's used to it by now, used to the feelings he doesn't dare name.  He can't dare name.

Rosy fingered dawn creeps over the horizon, and a gardener says something about draining the pool.

Gatsby wants him to stay so badly it aches at something inside of Nick, but he can't.  He doesn't trust himself here any longer.

“Twelve minutes to my train,” he says instead of the ardent cries clawing at the inside of his throat.

He is crossing the lawn when a red-hot fury takes over him.  Perhaps at Daisy for throwing away hearts as easily as jewels.  Perhaps at Gatsby for not knowing what he's worth. Perhaps at fate for throwing him into this mess.  Perhaps at himself for these feelings, these wrong monstrosities brewing in his chest.

He turns around.

“They’re a rotten crowd,” Nick Carraway shouts across the lawn. “You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.”

Gatsby nods at first, slowly, but then, like the sun rising over the Sound, his face breaks into that blinding grin.  He's gorgeous like that - his pink suit shining against the white marble steps and his eyes glowing with happiness.

But it’s his smile that seizes ahold of Nick.  It's always that smile.

It should be the last time he sees Gatsby alive.

It isn't.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

There’s a miserable lump in his throat, suffocating him.  Gatsby.

Gatsby is dead.

Shot by Wilson for a crime he didn't commit.

He was Nick’s friend, his best friend, his only real friend.  There was something about him, something in those eyes like molten gold and smile like a the most wondrous secret, one just between the two of you.

Nick cuts those thoughts with a painful jerk of his head.

Gatsby is dead now.  Nick won't dishonor the deceased with thoughts like those.

He closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

Someone's banging on his door.

Nick blinks blearily awake, and there’s a blissful moment before the events of yesterday come back to him, a singular moment where he wonders if Gatsby will want to take tea with him today.

His memories come crashing down the next second, crushing his fantasies beneath them.

The knocking persists, and it is more of a knocking, really - light, apologetic raps, as if to make up for his lost slumber.

“I’m coming.”  His voice is rough with sleep and emotion, and he doesn’t bother to do more than wrap a ratty old robe around himself before shuffling to the door.

Someone is speaking before it's even open fully.

“Decided to sleep the day away, have you, old sport?”

Nick’s heart stops in his chest.

“Gatsby,” he stutters after a moment.  “You’re… you’re here.” His voice comes out breathy, wondrous, and the man before him gives him a queer sort of look.

“We’ve got a date!”  Gatsby says gilbly. “My gardener was telling me the pool should be drained before the fall, but I haven't made use of it all summer.”

He is almost manic, a strained smile plastered on his face and hands flitting around.  His dark hair is wound into tight curls for once, as if he had forgotten to relax it.

He keeps talking, rocking back and forth on his heels, gesturing with his hands, but his voice fades into a low rumble beyond the roaring in Nick’s ears.

“I don’t…”  Nick stammers.  “I don’t understand.”

“The pool?”  Gatsby looks at him inquisitively.  “It’s alright if you’re worn out, old sport.  I just could… use a listening ear right about now.”

Nick says nothing, mind still trying to comprehend the sheer possibility of Gatsby standing before him, and Gatsby continues, rambling on in that way of his.  A hand rubs at the back of his neck.

“I was actually hoping you’d come over earlier - not that I’m upset you didn’t! - because I have some… things I’d like to say.  Some stories to get off my chest.” He looks studiously at something over Nick’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit of a liar, old sport.  And I don’t know why, exactly, but I want you to… to know. Who I am.”

Nick takes one step forward, then a second.  He puts a hand on the center of Gatsby’s chest, where the bullet had gone through.  Gatsby stills entirely, looks at him with those golden hazel eyes.

“You were dead,” Nick says, helplessly.  “Wilson found out. He thought you were driving.  He shot you.”

It’s only when Gatsby’s eyes fill with alarm and his hands go around Nick’s arms that Nick realizes he is trembling.

“I’m right here, old sport,” he murmurs.  “I’m here, Nick.”

Nick collapses against his chest, and Gatsby only goes stiff for a moment before he is slowly, carefully putting his arms around the other man.

“It was just a dream,” he murmurs into Nick’s hair.  “A bad dream.”

Nick pulls back soon, embarrassed as he wipes his face.  “Don’t know what came over me,” he mutters, staring at the floor.

“Yesterday was a trial for all of us.” Gatsby squeezes his shoulders comfortingly.  “I’ll tell you what - I’ll go get the pool ready, and you can come join me just as soon as you change, alright?”

A brief glance at the clock tells Nick his train to work has long since left.

“Alright,” he says, almost smiling.

The last he sees of Gatsby is the flash of a pink suit as he strides across their conjoined lawn, back to his gilded manor.

Nick pads into his room and slowly, methodically, strips.  His hands are still shaking as he pulls on his swimming costume.  A dream, just as Gatsby said. A terrible dream.

He hears a gunshot.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

He crosses the lawn to Gatsby’s house, and finds him wilted over a table in the entryway.

He knows everything the bootlegger is going to say before he says it.

Part of him, some small part, still cries out that this is insane.  It ralls against the corruption of logic and physics and time, but a bigger part - the part that makes him a writer, the part that quietly watches the world without judgement, the part of him that’s a romantic, the part that drew him to the elusive Mr. Jay Gatsby and now draws him to Gatsby, his best friend - understands.  It understands that, for whatever reason, he is being given a second chance. Well, third. Maybe more.

When Gatsby beseeches him to stay and make use of the pool, he accepts.

The water runs down Gatsby’s sun-kissed skin, pooling in the curve of his collarbone, slicking his costume to his stomach, glistening against his arms.

A wave of something that should be nausea rises in Nick’s stomach.  He looks away. Digs his fingernails into his palms until they ache.

They are lounging at the side of the pool, drying off in the sunshine when Gatsby carefully wets his lips and looks away.  “There’s something else, old sport.”

Nick blinks.  This is new. “Something else?”

“There’s another reason I was so… desperate, I suppose, to shed James Gatz.  You see, I…” He breaks off, working his jaw. “Tom,” he says instead, and Nick starts.

“Pardon?”

“Tom is a moron.  We are in agreement on that, yes?”  He looks at Nick, so intently he shifts.

“Of course.”  Really, it goes without saying.  “Gatsby, what does this have to do with-”

“I’m getting to it.”  He jitters with restless energy, tugging on a curl of his hair.  “You see, James Gatz was… discriminated against. In the way Tom is so fond of.  My father was white, but his - my mother was…”

“Oh,” Nick says softly.  That desperation for the American dream, that optimism that, as long as the world believed he was white and rich, he could do anything - it’s as if something about the other man has shifted into focus, given context.

Nick responds the only way he feels he can at this point.  “Sé cómo se siente.”

Gatsby blinks.  “You speak Spanish?”

“My first language,” Nick says, and waits for it to sink in.

“Huh,” Gatsby says, then:  “And Daisy?”, which Nick really should have expected.

“Latino as well.”

He watches for a moment as something shifts behind Gatsby’s eyes.  In the end, everything he was chasing turned out to be a lie.

“But your-?”  Gatsby waves vaguely at his eyes.

Nick shrugs.  “Green eyes aren’t too uncommon in Mexico.”

“Oh.”  Gatsby is quiet for a long moment, then, unexpectedly, he laughs.  He laughs and laughs and laughs, clutching his stomach in mirth, and Nick can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed.

“What?”

“It’s just” - Gatsby slowly sobers, laughter fading to just a shine in his eyes  - “I thought I was alone all this time when, really, all I had to do was look.” He rests a hand over Nick’s.  “You were right there, in front of me.”

Innumerable emotions well up in Nick’s throat, silencing him.  He flounders, mouth working uselessly, but Gatsby just smiles.

“Thank you, old sport.”  He squeezes Nick’s hand. “For everything.”

Vaguely, Nick knows there is a soft thud behind him, but he doesn't register it.  Call he can focus on, all he can sense is the warmth of Gatsby's hand in his own. Golden hazel eyes shine at him, and Nick can't bring himself to look away.

Gatsby laughs, a little self-consciously, when Nick doesn't respond, and makes to stand, brushing imaginary lint off of himself.  “I'm a bit melodramatic, I know, I just-” He looks up and his eyes widen.

The loudest crack Nick has ever heard splits the air.

Gatsby falls, and his blood billows out in the pool water.

Nick is screaming.  He knows he's screaming.  Can feel it scrape at his throat.  He doesn't feel in control of his body, piloting it from afar as his eyes land on Wilson.  The man is pale, with strings of greasy hair plastered with sweat across his balding scalp.  There is something wild in his eyes.

“Myrtle,” he says, hoarsely.  “He… he killed my girl. My wife.”

“He didn't,” Nick wants to shout, but he is frozen, trembling.

“I'm sorry,” Wilson says, although it's not clear if he's addressing the dead or the living.

He puts the barrel of the gun in his mouth.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

This time, Gatsby sees Wilson.

Just in time to shove Nick out of the way.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

It’s Gatsby.  It has to be.

Gatsby is the only common thread connecting his days to each other.  Gatsby has died four times, and Nick has lived this day four times over.  Something, someone out there refuses to let the world go on without Jay Gatsby in it.

Nick doesn’t blame them.

If he can only stop Wilson, if he can only save Gatsby’s life, then this nightmare will be over.

He convinces Gatsby to take a walk with him this time, along the Sound.  He skips rocks and doesn’t look at Gatsby, shining in the golden light. Wilson finds them.

He plays it the same way the next loop, turning just as he remembers Wilson jumped out.  He tackles Gatsby to the ground as the bullet whizzes over their heads, and he shudders at their proximity.  Wilson just aims again and fires.

Nick wakes before dawn and goes down into the Valley of Ashes.  

He finds Wilson, talks to him gently and hides his gun.  He tries to explain that Gatsby isn’t to blame, but Wilson’s eyes widen.  

“Gatsby?”  He says. “Who said anything about Gatsby?”

Nick hastily excuses himself to make them some soothing tea.  When he comes back, Wilson is gone and so is the gun.

He jumps in front of Gatsby once, wondering desperately if blood must be shed for this curse to end.  The bullet is hot and thick inside him, trailing blood in its wake. His vision goes blurry as Gatsby screams, a raw, pained noise.  A hand presses against the wound, trying to staunch the crimson tide. He loses consciousness somewhere between the span of one labored breath and the next.  Gatsby, mouth agape in a scream Nick can no longer hear, eyes brimming with tears, and face scarlet with emotion.

He's beautiful.

The last thing Nick sees is Gatsby falling backwards as the second bullet hits him.

Nick awakes the next morning and runs his hands over his side again and again, just to make sure he's still whole.  He's never fully convinced.

He tries again, twenty-six more times.

Twenty-six more times, Gatsby dies.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn. He goes into town and buys a pistol.

He goes to Gatsby.

He refuses politely when Gatsby asks him to swim.

“I'll just sit on the side, if that's alright with you, Gatsby,” he says with a rueful smile.  “I'm afraid I'm not much of a swimmer.”

From where it's tucked into his waistband, the gun digs into his back.

He watches as Gatsby cuts sleekly through the cool blue waters, doesn’t watch as Gatsby flashes his cajoling golden eyes and pouts, asking once more for Nick to join him.  He wouldn’t be able to resist long.

He knows he’s wrong for these feelings he forces onto Gatsby.  He knows. He just can’t stop. If he were a stronger man, perhaps he could latch onto a less addictive vice - whisky, cigarettes, gambling.  But time and time again, Gatsby has waltzed straight through Nick’s defences, past barricaded walls and a careful disillusionment, with nothing more than that smile.

Maybe that’s why Nick doesn’t hesitate when he sees the door behind Gatsby - who is toweling off - swing open.  With steady hands, he grabs the gun from his waistband.

He aims it at Wilson and fires.

Wilson falls to the ground with a sick thud, and Gatsby turns around, eyes round.  He hadn’t even seen Wilson come in. The expression freezes on his face when he sees Nick, eyes dark and smoking gun in hand, and the body of Wilson, slowly, quietly losing heat into the cool marble of Gatsby’s pool room floor.

“Nick?”  He looks scared, aureate eyes wide and confused.  He's a golden child, alone and bewildered by the world, and Nick tucks the gun away.  Tries for a smile.

“You…”  Gatsby swallows hard, clamping a hand over his mouth as his golden skin turns as ashen as that damn valley.  “You killed him.”

“He was going to kill you,” Nick says, easily.  He kicks at the gun clutched in Wil- in the body’s hand.  He's in shock, Nick thinks vaguely. He had tried to ignore it, the reality of what he had set out to do, and he thinks he's done it far too well.  His voice comes to his ears through water, and the light is milky, far away. “I… I couldn't let that happen.”

Wilson’s body lies quietly between them, crimson puddling out sedately against the glistening white marble.   Nick’s legs tremble beneath him.

He doesn't realize he's swooned - swooned, like Daisy would when trying to avoid an argument - until Gatsby is beside him, cradling Nick to his chest.  He’s still damp from the pool, but Nick can’t bring himself to care about the chlorine seeping into his tartan jacket.

“Hey, hey,” Gatsby shushes him, although Nick hasn't said a word, and suddenly Nick is the child, shaking and afraid in Jay’s arms.  “It's alright, old sport. None of that now.”

“I didn't- I couldn't-”  Nick shakes his head desperately, head light and chest heaving.   There's a tempest rising in his stomach, waves of emotion and agony crashing over him, so deep he's sure he'll drown any moment.  “I couldn't lose you again.”

“Again?”  Gatsby is rocking him gently, murmuring onto his hair.  “I'm right here, Nick. I'm here. I haven’t left, not at all.”

“You have.”  Trembles against him, burying his face in Gatsby’s chest and breathing in his scent - sharp and clean, like the ocean.  Fear sweeps over him in waves, this day playing over and over and over. This moment, lasting for eternity. “You have, and you’re going to again.  Just as soon as I wake up tomorrow.”

“Nick, I’m not going to leave you.”  Gatsby clutches him tighter. “I swear I won’t.”

“You will,” Nick murmurs again.  “You always do.”

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

After killing Wilson, Nick fell asleep at Gatsby’s house while Gatsby got some of Wolfsheim’s men to deal with the mess.

“I suppose I should be grateful, old sport,” Gatsby murmured quietly, once Nick had calmed down enough to be embarrassed by the way the other man held him.

“No,” Nick said, nausea rising back up in his throat.  “I’d much prefer it if you weren’t.”

He fell asleep in Gatsby’s bedroom, tears drying on a silk pillowcase.  He wakes with cotton scratching at his cheek.

He’s home, but Nick Carraway has never felt more homesick.

Nick rolls onto his back, stares at the ceiling with wide, unseeing eyes.  Gatsby lived. Gatsby lived, and that wasn’t enough?  There had to be areason for all of this, this cursed heaped upon him.  If it wasn’t to save Gatsby, then why did Nick have to endure this torture same day after same day?  Sisyphus labores on, but with no knowledge of his crime.

Has he not lived his life as a kind man?  Has he not, as his father once said, reserved judgement on others?  Indeed, the only person he’s ever scrutinized so roughly so as to be critical is himself.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter.

There’s got to be a way out of this.  There has to be.

Otherwise, Nick doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

He tries again.  Gatsby lives.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

He tries again.  Gatsby dies.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

He tries again.  Gatsby lives.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

Nick fails.  He fails. He fails.  He fails.

And he tries again.

Nick Carraway beats on, a boat against the current, borne ceaselessly back into the past.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

He goes to see Daisy.

“Nicky?”  She's wrapped in pink silk, rubbing at sleep-mused eyes.   “Is something the matter? It's awful early, and I was up late last night.”

“I need to talk to you.”

She shoots a scandalized look at him.  “Dressed like this? Oh, dear, you are carrying a torch for me.”

He casts a side-long look down the hall, at the maid’s retreating figure, and leans closer.  “Necesito hablarte en privado.”

She is immediately all smiles and fake laughter.  “Oh, Nicky, you silly!” Her nails dig into his arm, and she drags him into the library neither she nor Tom has ever used.

“What was that, cousin?”  She perches on a white armchair, fluffing her stylishly short blonde hair.  Her words are innocuous enough; her eyes anything but.

“A wake up call.”  Nick remains standing, resting an arm on the mantelpiece.  “I know you're the one that hit Myrtle.”

She gasps, immediately going pale.  “Nicky, how could you accuse me of something like that?  Gatsby was driving, and, really, it was that woman's own fault for running into the road like that.”

“And what about Tom?” Nick asks.

Daisy crosses her arms, petulant.  “What about him?”

He looks at her long enough for her to start shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny, then smirks, watching her temper flare up.  “Él no sabe qué tú eres.”

“Nunca la hará.”  Daisy snaps before her hand flies to her mouth.  Her eyes, darker than a white woman’s should be, fill with tears.  Shoulders shaking, she turns away, looking through billowing white curtains, out over Tom’s perfectly groomed lawn.

“I need you to leave, Nicky.”  Her voice is soft, no hint of an accent.

“Tell everyone Gatsby didn't do it.”

“Salir!”  She snarls, turning on him with flashing eyes before she realizes what she said.  She wilts back into her armchair, looking up at him with tear-rimmed eyes. “Get out, please.”

“Careful, Daisy,” Nick says, clipped and terse.  “Your roots are showing.”

Daisy makes a small, pained voice, hand flying to her bleached hair.

Nick walks out, and the door trembles on its hinges long after he’s gone.

“I… I understand,” Gatsby stammers on the phone, “but please understand that none of this is Mrs. Buchanan's fault.  I-”

Nick carelessly presses down on the receiver, ending the call as he saunters past.

“Old sport!”  Gatsby cries, rounding on him.   “What was that about?”

“You know, you're the second person who's said that to me today.”  Nick sighs and drops onto Gatsby’s couch, flinging his feet over the side.  It's nice, like everything else in Gatsby's manor is.

“I was trying” - Gatsby stresses, lifting the receiver to his ear and redialing - “to fix this muck up.  Apparently, Daisy has been saying that she was the one who hit that poor woman.”

Nick lifts his head lazily.  “Wasn't she?”

Gatsby waves him off.  “Doesn't matter.”

Nick groans and lets his head flop back down.

“Don’t you get tired of it, Gatsby?”  Maybe it’s his somewhat elusive statement, maybe it’s the way he says them - resigned and almost bitter -, or maybe it’s the look he gives Gatsby - full of longing and empty of hope.

Whatever it is, Gatsby puts the phone down.  “Tired of what, old sport?”

Nick waves a hand vaguely.  “Trying so hard to be the person everyone else thinks you are.”

Gatsby is quiet for a long moment.  “Now that you mention it, Nick,” he says, softly.  “There are a few things I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

They find themselves walking along the Sound as the sun sets, rich amber light spilling across the waves.  There should be a green light, somewhere in the distance, but Nick can’t see it for the sky’s brilliance. The story of Jay Gatsby, once James Gatz, is laid out before them on the rocky shore, with Nick’s own heritage bared in turn.

“I just always thought Daisy and I were… destined for each other.”  Gatsby laughs bitterly. “I suppose I sound like a fool, going on about destiny, don’t I, old sport?”

Nick takes his time to answer, bending down to snatch up a smooth, round stone.  He and Gatsby have been here… oh, he can’t even begin to remember anymore. This route is new, but the shining sunset, the swooping birds and their echoing cries, and even the placement of the best skipping stones are the same.

Somewhere around a thousand, Nick decides.  He’s lived this day about a thousand times.

“No, you don’t,” Nick says pensively, flicking his wrist and sending a stone skipping along the still waters of the Sound.  “There is such a thing as destiny.  It may not be Daisy, but there’s one person out there, and…”  His voice falters, and the stone sinks beneath the waters, only the slightest rippling to ever indicate it was there.  He swallows hard. “You’re meant to be with them. Forever.”

And forever is such a long time.

Gatsby laughs, as soft as the summer rains.  “And here I thought I was the hopeless romantic, old sport.”

“You are romantic,” Nick says wryly.  “I'm just hopeless.”

He scoops another stone, warm and smooth in his palm and sends it off again, dancing lightly over the waters.  It bounces until it is out of view.

A long, low whistle escapes Gatsby’s lips as he peers over the edge of those ridiculous sunglasses.  “Pretty good at that, aren’t you, old sport?”

A wry, ironic grin flickers at the edges of Nick’s lips.  “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

A thousand days. Maybe more.

Gatsby plucks up a stone and hefts it in his hand.  It is a nugget of gold in his hand and in the late afternoon night; it splays over him as if its been filtered through a stained-glass window, and Nick thinks, in that idle author’s way of his, that he’s never seen a chapel as beautiful as the one before him.

Gatsby’s hand flies back, and the rock lands in the water with an unimpressed plop.  He looks at his hand as if it has personally betrayed him, and Nick bites back a snort of laughter.

“Need some help there?”  Nick asks, teasing.

“No,” Gatsby responds stalwartly, because of course; he never needs help.  “I’ve got it.”

“All yours then.”  Nick makes a grand, sweeping gesture towards the sound, the city, the gold-streaked sky, and the glowing-amber waters.  It would be, if Nick had his way. Everything, everything in the world would be Gatsby’s, if that could somehow make it okay - this feeling in his chest every time he sees Jay smile.

“How kind of you, my liege,” Jay drawls sarcastically, tamping down a grin as Nick snorts with laughter.  “I assure you, however, I will prove to be a master in no time.”

The stone soars, a graceful arc over the waters.  

It sinks with no preamble.

Nick can not help it.  He breaks into raucous laughter, almost bending over under the weight of his mirth.

It takes him a moment to notice Jay’s face is shuttered closed, his arms crossed over each other.  The sight sobers him immediately.

“Come now, Gatsby,” Nick says softly, straightening.  “Don’t be cross. I’ve had much more practice, you see?  Plus, you’re, ah” - he nods at Jay’s stance - “you’re doing it wrong.”

The edge of Gatsby’s sourness ebbs away with the lapping of the water against their bare feet.  “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got to-” Nick waves a hand helplessly, unsure how to describe it.  “It’s more horizontal than that.”

Gatsby looks at him, blankly.  “Just show me, old sport.”

“Oh, um.”  Nick swallows and convinces himself the spots of color in his cheeks are invisible in the golden-amber light.  “Let me just…”

He touches Gatsby’s back, gently, almost breathless as Jay moves easily beneath him, a stone already in hand.  Nick’s fingers draw down the line of Jay’s arm, nudging him into place. “You’re not throwing it at the water,” he says, voice barely trembling, “but across.”

Gatsby huffs out a frustrated breath.  “I don’t quite understand.”

Nick’s breath catches in his throat.  “Can I-” He gestures vaguely, but Gatsby nods, like he knows everything Nick is asking.

Gatsby’s shoulders are smooth under Nick’s hands.  Nick moves, slightly, and Gatsby shifts with him, gentle and oh-so yielding it makes Nick ache.  “Bend down,” Nick breaths, and Gatsby leans in, golden eyes bright. Nick nudges his chin up, the rasp of stubble against his fingers sending lightning crackling down his spine.

It’d be so easy, in times like this, to draw the other man closer, yet closer, until Nick can taste the honey in his smile.  But he won’t. He can’t. These feelings he has… he can’t hoist them so carelessly off on Gatsby, even if he won’t remember it.

Nick steps back.  If he didn't know better, he'd say he sees his own dissatisfaction mirrored in Gatsby's eyes.

“And… throw,” he says.

Gatsby tenses, drawing himself up, and he snaps, sudden as the firing of an arrow.   The stone bounces once, twice, three times, dancing out of sight until it's melded into that horizon and neither of them can see it sink.

Gatsby looks at him and smiles that wonderful smile.  “Perfect.”

“Yes,” Nick murmurs, an unidentifiable emotion swelling in his throat as he watches his golden man, alive and alight, “I suppose you’re right.”

Gatsby lives that time, and he is smiling as he bids Nick goodnight.

Nick tries to stay awake that night, but his eyes droop, and his limbs fill with sand, and he only blinks-

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.

Nick wakes before dawn.

He doesn’t roll out of bed immediately this time, doesn’t race to the Valley of Ashes to stop Wilson or storm the Buchanan household to demand things of Daisy.  He doesn’t even cross their shared lawn to see Gatsby, to hear his life story for the thousandth time over.

He lays in bed and puts a hand on his chest.  It feels like something’s trying to tear itself out.

He knows what it is.  Of course he knows what it is.

He’s always known, on some level, why he can’t help but stare at Gatsby’s smile.  Why he spends nearly every moment thinking of him. Why he finds him gorgeous beyond measure.  Why not even the sordid details of Gatsby’s past and present could prevent his heart from swelling every time he heart Gatsby laugh.

He’s in love.

Nick Carraway is in love with Jay Gatsby.

Nick pulls a pillow over his face and laughs until he cries.

He visits Daisy, threatens her, and then he goes to Gatsby’s.

“I… I understand,” Gatsby is stammering on the phone, “but please understand that none of this is Mrs. Buchanan's fault.  I-”

Nick presses a hand down on the Ameche.  The line clicks dead.

“Old sport!”  Gatsby exclaims, affronted.  “What on Earth do you mean by-”  He cuts himself up as he sees Nick, still leaning against the front table, looking at Gatsby with dark, serious eyes.

“Nick?”

“I just wanted to make sure,” Nick says, “that you’re doing alright.”

Gatsby stares at him for a long moment before the manic energy drains away.  He wilts against the wall, a bitter sort of irony playing on his lips. “I’m just swell,” he says hollowly.

“You’re exhausted,” Nick notes, brushing a limp curl out of Gatsby’s face.  “How long have you been dealing with this?”

“I haven’t slept, if that’s what you mean.”  Gatsby finally puts down the phone, static crackling away to nothing.  “Do you think it was for me?” He looks up, something like hope fogging his eyes.  

He's the single most hopeful person Nick has ever met, but this is beyond simply peering at the world through rose-tinted lenses; it's the most toxic sort of delusion.

Nick turns his head away, fixes his eyes on the waters of the Sound, gently lapping outside of Gatsby’s back windows.  “I told her to.”

He can’t bring himself to see the moment Gatsby’s eyes sharpen yet lose their shine.  To know he was the one who dulled Gatsby’s radiance.

“I see.”  He collapses onto the couch like his strings have been cut, cradling his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Nick says, sitting next to him.  He’s done any of this before - never told Gatsby the truth about his dearest love, never apologized for doing so, never offered a simple consolation for the twists of fate and societal pressure that fractured and pressed James Gatz into the harder, shinier, fiercer Jay Gatsby.

“It’s not your fault, Nick,” Gatsby idly plucks at a loose thread on the couch, watching it come unraveled.  “I suppose we weren’t meant to last.” He laughs, a low, bitter thing. “I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, old sport.”

Nick hears Gatsby’s life story again.  He can practically deliver the entire speech verbatim by now, but he doesn’t mind hearing it again.  Not enough people have truly listened to Gatsby in his lifetime. Nick would very much like to be more than a mere statistic in this man’s life.

“...my mother was,” Gatsby stammers, “and I, as well, am, you see, Black,” he manages.

Nick just reaches over and covers Gatsby’s hand with his own.  “Gracias por decírmelo.”

It takes Gatsby a long moment, but his eyes widen.  “Latino?”

Nick nods.  That one word isn’t as important to him as the ones Gatsby didn’t say.   What about Daisy?  Nick hardly dares to think about what that might mean.

Gatsby smiles - a small, teasing thing.  “Keeping secrets from me, old sport?”

“Takes one to know one,” Nick fires back.

He laughs then, pure, unabashed peals of joy and relief.  “I suppose you and I are simply a matching pair.” He flips his hand over, laces his fingers through Nick’s.

Their palms press together.  It’s simple, chaste. Yet, somehow, it overwhelms Nick, filling him with sunshine.  “Always,” he murmurs. He, of all people, means it. “Even through all this mess, I’m here for you, Gatsby.”

Gatsby huffs out an exasperated breath, letting his head loll against the couch back.  “Things haven’t quite been normal since yesterday, have they?”

Nick groans, shaking his head.  “You’re telling me.”

“I mean think,” Gatsby continues, “just yesterday, it was- Oh!”  He startles, turns to Nick. “I forgot, didn’t I?”

Nick blinks slowly.  “Forgot what?”

“Yesterday!”  Gatsby says impatiently, rising to his feet and digging through a drawer in the nearby armoire.

Nick flexes his empty hand.

“It was a rather momentous day, wasn’t it, old sport?”

Nick can barely remember yesterday.  He knows the broad strokes of it, of course - the city sizzling like an oven, Daisy mowing down Myrtle, Gatsby waiting outside the Buchanan house in the moonlight.

“I’m afraid I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Gatsby,” he confesses.

“Oh, come now, Nick, It’s bad enough one of us forgot it.”  Gatsby makes a triumphant noise and holds up a small black box, lacquered and shiny.  He turns to Nick and smiles that smile. “Happy thirtieth birthday, Mr. Nick Carraway.  I meant to give it to you after we got back from the city, but, well…”

Nick is stunned speechless for several moments.  When he finally regains his tongue, all he can manage is: “I never told you when my birthday is.”

“Yes, I- I know.”  Abashment colors Gatsby’s face and forces him to look down at his shoes.  “I asked Daisy. Sorry if you didn’t want me to know, old sport, but I just figured it’s the sort of thing a man should…”  He trails off, swallows hard. “Nick, you” - his golden eyes dart up to meet Nick’s, but just as quickly shoot away - “you always do so much for me.  I guess I just wanted to let you know that… I’m grateful. That I care.”

Nick could fall in love with him right now, if he hasn’t already been falling for so long, so easily and so imperceptibly he can’t pinpoint a day or a place.

“Thank you,” Nick says, as he rises to join his golden man.  “Thank you, Gatsby.”

Gatsby’s smile doesn’t fade, but it grows softer, fonder somehow.  “Come on, then.” He pushes the box into Nick’s hands, foot tapping.  “Don’t you want to see what it is?”

“I’m going to love it, regardless,” Nick laughs, turning the box over in his hands, admiring.  “You’re the only one who remembered.”

He flips open the lid.

Nick’s eyes widen.

It’s a watch.  It’s an achingly beautiful watch - all shining golden band and sleek, dark face and faintly ticking gears.  The light glimmers off of it when he holds it up. Wondrously, he turns it over to reveal an engraving.

To the dearest friend I ever had.  Yours always, J.

“‘J’?”  He questions, looking up at Gatsby.

“I always knew I was going to tell you,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.  “About my past, that is. About me. I’ve lied to just about everyone in my life, old sport, but, you… I just want you to know who I am.”

“J,” Nick repeats, smiling.  “Jay Gatsby and James Gatz all in one.”

Gatsby smiles back, anxiety melting away.  “Exactly.”

“I love you,” Nick says.  He didn’t mean to, but he doesn’t take it back.  Instead, he lets the words - three syllables, eight letters, infinite meaning - hang, shimmering in the air between them.  He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until the band of the watch starts rattling. He tries to unclasp it and slide it on his wrist, but his fingers are fumbling and his eyes are fogging over and he can’t work the damn clasp-

Gatsby touches his wrist, gently.  “Let me.”

He’s quiet, eerily quiet as he easily unlatches the watch.  He takes Nick’s hand and slides the gift onto his wrist, golden fingers brushing against soft, sensitive skin.  He turns Nick’s arm over and reclaps it. His fingers rest over Nick’s pulse long after the task is over.

Nick can’t bring himself to speak.

“Did you mean it?”  Gatsby asks, hesitantly.  Staring down at his fingers on Nick’s wrist, he looks like he’s more afraid of the answer than he has any right to be.

“Of course I did.”  Nick covers Gatsby’s hand with his free one.  “Gatsby, how could I not?” He waits until those golden eyes are trained on him to continue.  “I love you.”

Gatsby shudders, turns away again.  “You can't say such things like that.”

Nick, a horrid sinking feeling growing in his gut, makes to apologize, but Gatsby cuts him off.

“I’ll believe them, Nick.”  His voice is rough, thick.  “No one has ever… You can’t just…”  His voice cracks, breaks, and Nick realizes he is crying.

“Gatsby!”  He fights against his instinct to wrap the other man up in his arms and hold him until the tears abide.  “I’m so, so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have! I… just can’t help it.”

The sound of his voice seems to be helping, somehow, so Nick keeps blabbering on, as if he can solve this whole mess with pretty words alone.

“You’re… you’re the single most hopeful man I’ve ever met.  Do you know how incredible that is? You believe the best in everyone, even when you shouldn’t.  Of everyone I’ve ever met, you’re the only one who’s ever escaped even the slightest modicum of my scorn.”

Gatsby’s tears are slowly drying, and his head rises gradually, ponderously towards Nick.

Others may have taken it as an invitation to stop, but Nick finds that, now that his speech has begun, he simply cannot conclude until Gatsby knows exactly the depth and breadth of what Nick feels.

“And your smile!  Do you even know what you do to me with that smile?  You smile understandingly — much more than understandingly.  It’s a smile with a quality of eternal reassurance in it. I could live four or five lifetimes and never find another like it.  It faces the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrates on me with an irresistible prejudice in my favor, as I see it.  

“It’s like you understand me, just as far as I want to be understood, and believe in me as I could only pray to believe in myself.  Except for this moment, I’ve never questioned what you think of me. You’re my dearest friend in the world, Gatsby, and I can see nothing but kindness in your smile.”

“You really do love me, don’t you?”  Gatsby says, quietly. If not for the redness tinting his nose, Nick would never be able to tell he’d been crying.  Throughout Nick’s impromptu tyrade, he had wiped clean his face, and now he looked at Nick, eyes shining, although Nick can’t tell if the effect is from residual tears or emotions.

“Yes,” Nick admits, “and I know you’re in love with Daisy-”

“-not sure on that front,” Gatsby interrupts, quietly.  “The more I think about it, the more seeing her run down an innocent woman seemed to… mitigate some of my softer emotions.”

Nick huffed out an ironic laugh.  “That’ll do it.”

Gatsby quirked his lips in return.  “Quite.”

“But, I…”  Nick tugs at his sleeve.  “I know I’m not what you want.  I've made my peace with that. I know there are things about me that aren’t-”

“What about you?”  

Nick blinks.  “What?”

“What about you isn’t what I want?”

“I’m a male, for starters!”  Nick cries. “I’m not a doll like Daisy, I don’t fit in with your high-society associates, and you can never been seen in public with me!  Isn’t that enough?”

“I trust you, Nick,” he says, simply.   “That’s enough.  I’ve never done that with anyone before.  You’re… you’re the only one I know will always be there for me.”  His words come slowly, as if each one is a fresh revelation he savors the truth of.  “You’re the only one who’s ever cared for me, not just my money. I can rely on you and confide in you without any fear.  I care about you. I trust you. I…” He cuts off, worrying at his bottom lip.

There is a long, long pause.

“Do you love me?”  Nick can hardly bring himself to break the silence, can hardly dare to hope.

Gatsby’s golden eyes trace the lines of his face.  “Yes,” he says, voice far away. “God help me, I think I do.”

He cracks a smile, and Nick can’t help but lift one in return, and then Gatsby is chuckling, softly, and then they’re both practically howling with laughter, although nothing is particularly hilarity-inducing.  Instead, it’s relief that propels their outburst. Pure, simple relief. Relief that the other party returns their affections; relief that, for now, at least, the nightmare is over.

Relief that neither of them has to be alone any more.

Nick takes Gatsby’s hand and doesn’t let go.  “You’re fantastic, Gatsby. Truly.”

“You know,” Gatsby says, over-casually, “you could call me Jay if you wished, old sport.”

Nick tilts his head, considering his golden man for a moment.  “Would you like that, Jay?”

“I think,” he says with a wry quirk to his lips, “I’d be quite alright with anything you called me, as long as you said it like that.”

Nick can’t help but smile in return.  “Like what?”

Jay shrugs, almost bashfully  “Like I’m something precious.”

“You are,” Nick says with far more honestly than he intends.  “You’re gold and diamonds and jewels and everything else in the damn world to me, Gatsby.”

“There you go again,” Gatsby teases, squeezing his hand.  “Too shy to call me by my name, Nick?”

“Gatsby is what I know you as,” Nick says, eventually.  “It isn’t any more or less intimate than Jay or James or Gatz.  I fell in love with Gatsby, but I would and do love Jay and James and Gatz just as tenderly.”  He takes Gatsby’s hand and squeezes.

“What’s in a name?”  Gatsby murmurs to himself.  “That which we call a rose…”

“I love you, Gatsby.”  Nick presses a kiss to his forehead.  “And I love you, Jay.” His cheek. “And I love you, James.”  His nose. “And I love you, Gatz.”

“And I love you, Nick Carraway.”  It’s Gatsby who finally draws them together, their mouths slotting in place like pieces of a puzzle, but Nick can’t begrudge him that.  

It should feel dangerous.  Instead, it feels like coming home.

Nick knows it won’t last.  He knows, even as Gatsby draws him closer, closer, and slams the bedroom door behind them, that he’ll wake up to the sound of cicadas.  Alone.

But for now, with Gatsby’s mouth burning against his and golden eyes smiling down at him, Nick can ignore all that.

After all, he has some much more pressing issues to deal with.

Cicadas are hissing outside of his window.  Nick wakes before dawn.

Nick’s heart sinks.  He knew it would happen.  Knew that it never lasts, that he’ll always be trapped in this damn loop, but…

He had hoped.

In his eternal foolishness, he had hoped.

He sighs, just a little, and makes to pull himself out of bed and do it all over again.  Maybe he won’t make Gatsby cry this time. The sight was devastating.

His movement is stopped by an arm tightening around his chest.

“Hm?”  A groggy, sleepy noise comes from behind him.  “Nick, what’re you doing?”

Nick’s heart stops in his chest.

“Gatsby,” he says, and waits for the small huff of confirmation, “what day is today?”

“Wednesday,” Gatsby responds after a moment, “the sixteenth.  Two days after your birthday. Why’s that?”

“No reason,” Nick says, heart glowing so fervently in his chest he’s surprised light doesn’t fill the bedroom.  “Just wondering.”

It could be confessing his feelings to Gatsby that broke the loop.  It could be kissing someone that did it. It could even be falling asleep with someone else.

Yet, somehow, Nick thinks he knows how he did it.  The way he was living, the way he carried around disgust and hate for himself, for who he loved - he couldn’t go on like that.  So he didn't go on until he knew it was okay to love a great man like Gatsby.

“It’s not even dawn, Nick.”  Gatsby yawns, rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes.  “Go back to sleep.”

“Alright,” Nick says, voice miraculously not breaking.  He nestles back down on a silken pillowcase, and Gatsby’s forehead comes to rest on the nape of Nick’s neck.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Gatsby murmurs, already drifting back off.

“Okay,” Nick whispers, lacing his fingers through Gatsby’s.  “In the morning.”

Their life would be lived behind closed doors.  It would be a life of hastily stolen kisses and hands pressed almost close enough to hold and standing just far enough apart not to draw eyes.

But it would be theirs.

On the nightstand, his watch ticks on.

[chiseler]

SYLVIA SIDNEY: Jailhouse Blues

“She always looked like she was gonna cry!” my grandmother would exclaim whenever Sylvia Sidney came up. In her 1930s heyday, Sidney was constantly cast as the victim of circumstance, hovering at the very bottom of the economic ladder, mixed up in crime and usually winding up in or near jail. “I was paid by the tear,” Sidney joked later, and that knowing comment is a measure of just how different she was from her on-screen persona. “My mother and I adored her and her films,” said Tennessee Williams. “She was always so fragile and plaintive. She appeared to need protection. Let me tell you: Sylvia needs no protection. She may look frail, but look in that exquisite purse she carries with her: it contains the balls of thousands of men who annoyed her; the hearts of those who crossed her; and the locations of those who betrayed her.”

Sidney was born Sophia Kosow in 1910 in the Bronx to a Russian-Romanian Jewish family. She studied at the Theatre Guild School as a teenager and was acting on Broadway at age 17. Sidney was unhappy with her screen debut, Thru Different Eyes (1929), a film made at Fox where she played a murderess, and she returned to the stage. While acting in the play Bad Girl, she was spotted by Paramount head of production B.P. Schulberg, who promised that if she signed with his studio that she would play in an adaptation of Theodore Dreiser’s An American Tragedy. Tempted by that, and by Schulberg himself, she signed with Paramount and was soon rushed into the lead role in Rouben Mammalian’s City Streets (1931), replacing Clara Bow, who had had a breakdown.

Sidney gets quite an entrance in the arty City Streets, winking at a criminal accomplice before being seen in a screen-filling close-up where she is closing one eye to fire a gun in a shooting gallery. Her heart-shaped face looks vulnerable, but when she talks in this movie, the toughness of the Bronx comes through: “You oughten to be wastin’ yer dough in these joints,” she tells Gary Cooper, as they wander through a carnival and start to fall for each other. On a beach with Cooper, Sidney treats us to one of her secret weapons, a sunburst of a smile that transforms her face, puffing out her cheeks and nearly shutting her eyes with pure joy. Such joy never lasts long for Sidney on screen, however. She gets sent to jail here and then suffers some more and tears up most fetchingly when she realizes Cooper has joined her father’s criminal underworld. Sidney rarely played smart women in her youth. The girls she pretended to be were always a little dim so that fate could sock it to them as hard as possible. “I didn’t mind playing unhappy characters,” she said later. “Every young actress thinks she’s a tragedian—the more tragic the roles, the more you cry, the more you suffer, the better an actress you are.”

In Josef Von Sternberg’s version of An American Tragedy (1931), Sidney makes a far more appealing victim than Shelley Winters did in the remake, A Place in the Sun (1951). Her Roberta is an innocent girl, looking wide-eyed with shock when social climber Clyde (Phillips Holmes) first kisses her, but she falls deeply in love with him, pleading soulfully, “Please don’t go,” when he wants to sleep with her. Lovely as she is, Sidney’s Roberta is also a bit of a clinging vine and seems fated to turn slovenly and bitter through lack of money and opportunity. Sidney is alarmingly good at being pitiful here, and she’s particularly pathetic when Von Sternberg actually shows her drowning after a boat tips over, calling out for help several times before finally going under. In King Vidor’s adaptation of Elmer Rice’s play Street Scene (1931), Sidney is a bit of a flirt at first, but she soon suffers to the utmost. These three movies were all carefully made and designed to show off Sidney’s best assets, and together they made her a star.

She was framed for murder and sent to the hoosegow again in Ladies of the Big House (1931). Off screen, Sidney became Schulberg’s mistress, and you’d think that might have won her special privileges, but she started to get a reputation for being difficult when she complained about being stuck in bad movies like The Miracle Man (1932) and Madame Butterfly (1932). “They considered me a bitch,” she said, and the studio loved putting her in punishing positions in films. She wound up in jail once more in Pick-Up (1933), and in the sleazy Good Dame (1934) she is accosted by the infamous Pre-Code sex fiend Jack La Rue, who offers her a part in a girlie show. “I’m not a cooch dancer!” she protests to Fredric March. “I gotta take a job cuz I’m broke!” Thirty Day Princess (1934) was one of her few changes of pace, a bit of froth that might have made a meal for Claudette Colbert or Carole Lombard, but Sidney can’t function in screwball comedy. Her eyes look habitually anxious in Thirty Day Princess, as if she fears she might be thrown in the slammer at any moment.

Her relationship with Schulberg ended in 1934 when he returned to his wife. Sidney signed with independent producer Walter Wanger, who had produced her last credit on her old Paramount contract, an archetypal Sidney film, Mary Burns, Fugitive (1935), where her bad lot boyfriend helps to railroad her into prison for a crime she didn’t commit. At this point on screen, Sidney was starting to seem like a regular paranoid, constantly looking worried and speaking tentatively in her high, strained voice (all traces of the Bronx had been wiped out of it by this point).

While in New York, Sidney entered into a very brief marriage with publisher Bennett Cerf, who advised, “One should never legalize a hot romance.” She looked beautiful in three-strip Technicolor as a mountain girl in The Trail of the Lonesome Pine (1936) and then followed that film with two masterpieces in a row, Fritz Lang’s Fury (1936) and Alfred Hitchcock’s Sabotage (1936). As Spencer Tracy’s sweet fiancée in Fury, Sidney ably carried her usual load of suffering, believably fleshing out her love for Tracy in the first scenes and then looking memorably stunned in close up as she watches a lynch mob try to burn her man up in a jail.

As Mrs. Verloc in Sabotage, Sidney runs a cinema, and she makes it very clear that this woman, who is only known by her married name, has made a loveless marriage to Mr. Verloc (Oscar Homolka) solely so her charmingly mischievous little brother Stevie (Desmond Tester) can be taken care of. She’s nice but not very bright, and so she doesn’t discern that Mr. Verloc is a terrorist until after her brother has been blown up by one of his bombs. When she realizes what has happened, Sidney faints. After she’s revived, she says, “I want Mr. Verloc, I want to see Mr. Verloc,” in a trance-like voice. This is a truly tragic film that does not let either her or the audience off the hook, and Sidney goes the full distance with it. She has the sort of face that looks like it knows the worst before it happens, and so when the worst does happen, it just confirms the anxiety in her eyes.

Sidney’s Mrs. Verloc sinks down into sheer misery when Mr. Verloc talks to her about her brother’s death in a callous, sociopathic way. She stumbles out into her cinema and hears people laughing at a Disney cartoon. Grateful for any distraction, Mrs. Verloc sits down in the theater herself and laughs a little at the cartoon until a bird is shot and a bass voice sings out, “Who killed Cock Robin? Who killed Cock Robin?” The smile on Sidney’s face dies away instantly—she looks like she’s been stabbed in the back. It’s an unforgettable moment, as is the piercing little cry she lets out when she stabs Mr. Verloc with a carving knife, not vengefully but fearfully, as if she has no control over what she’s doing, and what she’s doing simply needs to be done. “Stevie, Stevie,” she cries, in her high, helpless voice, after executing Mr. Verloc. This is Sidney’s finest hour on the screen, her flair for suffering put at the center of one of Hitchcock’s most unsparing looks at evil and its consequences.

Sidney then entered wholeheartedly into the l’amour fou of Fritz Lang’s You Only Live Once (1937) as a faithful lover of a convict (Henry Fonda) on the run who becomes a criminal herself. In William Wyler’s Dead End (1937), she wears little make-up and is not afraid to appear totally downtrodden, alternating between toughness and tears. Her third outing with the tyrannical Lang was You and Me (1938), a strange movie where yet again she is an ex-convict involved in crime. In …One Third of a Nation (1939), where she plays opposite a very young Sidney Lumet, Sidney looks dead tired of this type of socially conscious leftist ‘30s film. Watching a bunch of Sidney’s 1930s movies in a row, I couldn’t count the number of times I said, “Poor thing, poor thing.”

Nearly ten years of cinematic suffering had taken their toll on Sidney, and she had made many enemies. “I used to fight,” Sidney said later. “Yes, it’s true. I even used to throw telephone books and anything else I could get to at the time. Everything that didn’t go smoothly annoyed me terribly. And I flew off the handle and got myself terribly disliked.” She married the actor Luther Adler and returned to the theater for a number of years, making a brief comeback with James Cagney in Blood on the Sun (1945), where she played a glamorous half-Chinese woman. She was still typecast for suffering as Fanzine in Les Miserables (1952), and this was the beginning of an awkward period where her looks had changed and slightly coarsened so that she couldn’t play leading lady roles anymore but was still too young for character parts.

Sidney survived on stage and on television before making a second and very successful film comeback with a brief but flashy role as Joanne Woodward’s acidic mother in Summer Wishes, Winter Dreams (1973), which won her her only Academy Award nomination. This was followed by a steady stream of parts, some thankless, some juicy, in a variety of films and TV projects. A long-time smoker, Sidney’s high voice had lowered to a gravelly baritone, which was particularly amusing in Tim Burton’s Beetlejuice (1988), where she played a caseworker for the dead who smokes through a long slash in her throat.

Burton used her again for her final film, Mars Attacks! (1996), in which she played a spacey, ill-tempered Grandmother in a wheelchair who foils the alien monsters with her favorite Slim Whitman records. “They blew up Congress!” she cackles at one point, seemingly glad that “the system” which landed her in jail so many times on screen was being destroyed. Off screen, Sidney enjoyed being thoroughly not nice, not the victim anymore but the gleeful victimizer. “She was a bitch on wheels!” says film distributor Gene Stavis, who knew her a bit. “A naturally nasty lady. She could never let an opportunity pass without laying a zinger on someone. I guess she didn’t want to be thought of as a sentimental old lady, so she went wildly in the other direction.”

by Dan Callahan

[nomanicsdak]

New Post has been published on https://manicdak.com/oh-balls/

Oh, Balls!

aN OILY ESCORT MISSION

So, we are back to escorting Testikles to the Olympics, and he is wherever the fuck he is on some Hades forsaken island in an uncovered part of the map. Like, yo, game—I don’t want to uncover another part of the map yet along with all its fetch quests and forts to defeat or whatever, because you know I will be compelled to do so. I guess I must though. I will try to power through without getting too distracted.

First I have to get some oil though.

Only the Oil maker’s slave lady is there though, and she is frightened that his wrath will come down on her if she dares help me by—giving me oil that I am going to pay for? Does this dude want business or not?? This guy already sucks, if I ever meet him… I convince her to just sell me the recipe and I make it myself—hopefully the right way. Which seems way worse for business than just selling me the oil. Oh, well. I succeed in remembering the recipe, and now I have to find Testikles on his island. I once again misread the map and also just guess at where he’s supposed to be instead of going directly to the clearly labeled point on the map. *shrug*

SNAKE SHIP!!

Ssssssssssssssssssssss!

This time it pays off though, because I find a sunken temple and it’s one of the locations of the treasure feathers! I’m sure stumbling ass backwards into them is how I’m going to solve this quest. It is the best way, I think. I also find some gold colours for my boat! The look I find is called the Hound of Hades. I like a Cerberus themed boat! Since I’m heading for the bay of Hades anyway, I think it’s fitting. 

I’ll miss my pink and white boat though!

Before I talk to Testikles, I take the time to explore the nearby shipwreck of the Nestor. I find a new figurehead for my ship. It’s a serpent one, and although I already have a blue one and this is just a normal, I switch them out, because snakes are my jam.

TESTIKLES

The Man, The Legend–

So, there is also some treasure chest that is either underwater or underground, but I don’t see a cave entrance? I try to find it, but I can’t, so I just go talk to Testikles, who is flexing and carrying on about being the best. He may or may not be super drunk or super dumb or both. Who can say?

I have to convince him to get on the boat by giving him the oil now, or bribing him with it. I still feel kind of bad for leaving those Spartan kids to spar with wolves on their own a while back, so maybe I’ll just give it to him and not become an extortionist. 

Great, he wants me to rub it on. What did I tell you about oil? We’re off on our escort mission now though, because I don’t get a choice in whether or not to oil down the big guy. Alexios is not gonna do it! 

SHARK BAIT

Ahoy, Ace, why are you here?

Back on the boat, Barny is fanboying over Testikles and Herodotus recites poetry at him. We arrive at our destination with the man of the hour whooping about Sparta, which is about the extent of this guy’s discourse, and for some reason I have to talk to Alkibiades who is here too. I’m going to guess he wants me to somehow throw the games in Athen’s favour in direct contradiction to what I should be doing to prove my Spartanness? 

Let’s find out! He’s enthusiastically jumping up and down and clapping at me.

If your wondering why he is here, it is to welcome us, actually compete in the Olympics, and flirt shamelessly, of course. Testikles burps in his direction. Herodotus and Barnabus share a confused look. 

There’s some good natured ribbing and more sex puns made even more inappropriate by the peanut gallery watching behind me. Huh. Nobody’s asking me to do anything I don’t want to do yet— I’m feeling good about this cut scene for a few seconds until I duck out of Testikles’s grasp as he wants me to oil him up again and he falls off the dock and gets eaten by a shark.

I just—I die laughing at this point, because that’s the most absurd thing that has happened in this game so far. Will I have to step in for Sparta now? Alikbiades  is definitely interested in seeing Alexios compete anyway. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more. He gives me the nickname “Lexie”, so how can I say no? I probably can’t. *shrug* 

QUEST TIME!

We get the day off to explore around Olympia though, so that’s cool, let’s do that. I very nearly knock Barnabus off the shark pier on my way out the door to the nearest location. Sorry, my man! 

I spend most of my time trying to defeat this huge ass fort and failing. I only get lucky because some bounty hunters show up and they start fighting the guys in the fort, so I can finally get it done. I’m a bit irritated that it took so long, so I just get back on my sudden quest for Olympic gold. I have to go find the organizer for this, I suppose to inform him that our contestant got eaten by a shark. *shrug* It happens?

I wander around Elis for a while, wreaking havoc on the Athenian forces. When I finally get to the actual Olympic Valley, I’m notified that I shouldn’t get caught doing anything illegal there. Great. We all know how good I am at sneaking and not doing illegal things. There are a bunch of new quests here that I can do before we get back to the story too, so let’s see who wants me to commit crimes so they don’t have to!

JUMPIN’ JAVELINS

First a sad bookie. 

He’s sad because some dude named Pithekos is not on his game and it’ll cost him a lot of money if this guy loses (I hope he’s not in my event?) In any case I can offer to maim his opponent or cheer his spirits. Obviously, I’m not going to maim a guy undeservedly. The bookie isn’t keen on my plan to recite poetry at the guy. Since Pithekos is not the kind of man for poems, I just go talk to him.

Okay, he’s broken his “lucky” javelin. I attempt to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he just straight up admits to cheating. Like, I know I’m not suited up to the nines in the gear of my homelands, but that’s probably not the info you should just be imparting to rando-could-be-your-opponent-Spartans. Of course, I guess I’ll get him his javelin. Hopefully I won’t end up in jail.

I can steal it, which is probably the wrong choice, so I just talk to the vendor lady and buy one. There is also an old one in a corner. I bring both and I don’t get a choice on which to give him, so I guess I chose right by bringing both. The bookie offers to let me place a bet, but I decline to bet on the cheater. 

SEEING THE SIGHTS

My next exclamation points leads me right to Barnabus who is being a total tourist. Lol, what is this quest, just sightseeing with Barny? I mean—Okay, I’ll take the easy XPs Why do you keep trying to make me learn stuff, game?

Zeus Beef in the wings

First: Altar of Zeus where we see them slaughtering a bunch of bulls for him. I buy Barnabus a slice of Zeus beef. He is delighted! Then we’re off to the next sight. The organizer for the event I’m supposed to be competing in must be around here because I keep being alerted to an untracked quest nearby, but I’m going to finish what I’m doing first.

Over in the temple Barnabus tells me the statue of Zeus was crafted by a sculptor I’m supposedly friends with, but I don’t know the name. Is he the dude I saved way back when I first came to Athens? Alexios says something sarcastic about the Gods that gets Barnabus’s dander up. I choose apologies. I don’t need to rain on his parade when he’s being such a fanboy and having a great day.

DISTRACTIONS

On the way to our next destination, I pick up another quest: Herodotus is trying to keep the peace, because I assume a Spartan and an Athenian are fixin to throw punches and break this Olympic truce. (One is wearing red, and one is wearing blue, so I can only assume. I remain, ever and always in neutral snake-tones) I agree to help them.

some dude

Back to Barny…or not. I stop again for a quest. A guy wants to tell my fortune, but it’s all a ruse to steal my money. He distracts me while a little girl steals my purse! She reminds Alexios of Phoibe and now everybody is sad. I’m even more sad when she tells me her story…some Captain made her thieve and is going to hurt her apparently. Obviously, I am going to help the girl that reminds me of Phoibe. The Captain is going dowwwn!

He goes down! I return to the kid to give her the necklace Captain stole and she’s happy that they can keep all they steal now. Heh. Go get ‘em, girl!

I finally catch up to Barnabus where he gives me the low-down on this special tree that the Olympic wreaths are made out of. We hug it out and I get my XPs! Thanks, Barny! 

On to the next mini-quest!

A TALE OF OILY DUDES

Out on the street a poor woman is being browbeat in public by a priestess. Her crime: Being married and wanting to watch the games. 

She is Kallipateria who wants to see her son compete. This is nonsense. Why is it a crime, I ask?

The priestess tells me its because all the oily men will be too tempting.

Uhh— Well, my only choice now is to say that’s not fair, which it’s not, so I’m not fussed about that pathway.

Turns out the punishment they want to dole out for attempting to watch the games is to throw her off Mount Olympus. The fuck???? That’s the punishment??? Priestess Lady, you’re going the way of Chrysis if you keep it up. She gives me the chance to prove Kallipateria’s heritage and save her, so I’m off to go look for her son in the green room as it were. 

There’s a old lady there projecting her own thoughts onto every other woman in Greece. She’s clutching her pearls over all the hot oiled dudes. Yes, of course, because there is no other reason for women to enjoy sport, but also, who cares if she wants to scope some dudes? The only useful clue is that Kalli met with a man here often. Like…is the man her son??  The next person I talk to is her son. He confirms her story.

However, I also find a love letter seemingly addressed to her. 

The plot thickens. 

Regardless, nobody needs to be thrown off a mountain. Unless it’s me, throwing myself. I’m immune to fall damage after all. 

Next a rando dude confirms her story and also—that her husband is dead???? What? Widowers got to stay married from beyond the grave here? I guess so. Kalli is still devoted and makes offers to the Gods for him. I find yet another letter confirming the story of Kalli’s son and their heritage. Time to stop this priestess and her hateboner for people who enjoy a nice oily dude. I guess what I find is enough for her to let Kalli go. Good. Damn her for making me schlep all the way the hell up this mountain though. I’m going to jump off it! 

LOVE GONE WRONG

Alright, time to help out those fighty dudes from earlier. This quest is called the Drachmae of Romance, so let us see what this is all about. I find a note. Looks like a couple of lovebirds stole money from the fighting dudes to escape—something. Slavery? Crushing debt? 

Next I find a really suspicious guard who is terrible at lying. He fell asleep on the job, but he does know the thieves headed east apparently.

Third clue—no forced entry to the treasure vault the guard was supposed to be guarding. Hmm.

Well, the game tells me exactly where to go, so at least I don’t have to wander Eastward with nothing but hope and a bird to go on. 

It turns out this a Romeo and Juliet situation and the couple that stole the money are the son and daughter of the dudes that hired me. Those two dads also got the info from the guard and find us here. There is no conflict resolution for them. In fact, they are ready to kill their children over this feud. I got news for ya, dudes. You picked the wrong mysthios. I can either kill the poor kids or these two toolbags. 

The good news is that the kids can forge a new peaceful future for their families now. A job well done as far as I’m concerned!

SCULPTING SUSPICIONS

My next and looks like last quest is to visit my sculptor friend. He is indeed the man who I saved from cultists. He does think cultists are still after him and for some reason did him the courtesy of leaving a coded message before they do away with him that I now have to traipse around all of Greece to figure out for him. I’m not going to do that right now because these statues with secret code are all over places that haven’t been uncovered yet. Sorry, Sculpto, you must wait!

Paranoid Sculptor Friend

 I think it is time for some wrasslin’ or whatever the hell I’m competing in (The Pankration) because I am fresh out of exclamation points! I arrive at the organizer and he’s surprised to see me instead of Testikles. He lets me go ahead and replace the poor guy rather than cancel the whole event. Since I have nothing left to do, we’ll get right to it. I beat up a couple of dudes and now we get a pause before the big match against the Athenian champ.  It is a break where we meet up with Barny and Alkibiades only to find Alkibiades has probably been poisoned. Damn! You can’t die yet, Ace! It’s not in the history books! (I know, I know, tell it to Perikles, right?) I am off to find the supposed poisoner!

PICK YOUR POISON

Somehow, Alkibiades of all the people, is super scandalized about how his upstanding good-time drinkin’ buddies could be shady double-dealing murderers. Sorry, my dude! Suddenly, my pause screen jumps out at me without prompting to give me some news. Kallias, Olympic hero, is now marked on my cult family tree. Does that have anything to do with this quest? Is HE the poisoner?

Let us investigate!

 Clue #1: I visit the site of the party and, Yep. Poison. Lots of the party-goers are dead now.

 Clue#2: More poison supplies in the kitchen. I find the name of the merchant who delivered them.

Clue#3: There is a bigger bad. Who is it? The merchant doesn’t know, but at least he gives me a place where I can find the antidote: That accursed fort from earlier? Nope, a new accursed fort. Probably at the only undiscovered location left in the Olympic Valley. Let’s Ride, Phobos! No time to lose! I am in and out without the guards catching me, and Alkibiades is up and at ’em as soon as the cure touches his lips.

A WIN FOR SPARTA

Now it’s time to finish wining the day for Sparta and defeating a cultist. Like—we know it’s him what ordered the poison, right? It has to be?

Back to the organizer, who laughs at me for not being oily enough. Heh. I’ve got some delightful cinnamon oil that I made myself, dude. I take this guys advice and use it. Why not? Testikles doesn’t need it. I have a tense moment with Kallias the cultist before things start, and I defeat the champion handily. Alexios looks extra shiny during the crowning, but whatevs. We won! 

Oily, Oily, Glory

Next on the list: Cult dude, who I find just wandering outside the hippodrome alone. I sneak up on him and that’s the easiest cultist defeat ever.

Olympia is complete! I guess. I don’t even get to say goodbye to Ace this time, or find out for sure who the poisoner is. Bah.

Oh, well. I’m heading of to Boeotia now, because A: I have a king quest there and B: I have some mysterious Sphynx quest that I don’t even remember picking up, and we all know how I feel about Sphynx quests! (I love them. Hit me with your riddles, cat woman!)

[gywair]

Hey! I got the honor of being on Historical Hotties. It’s a podcast about researching hot historical figures and ranking them. I was on the episode about crime fighters. Below are my notes and references about Mabel Walker Willebrandt.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mabel_Walker_Willebrandt

http://www.pbs.org/kenburns/prohibition/media_detail/2082505810-willebrandt/

https://themobmuseum.org/notable_names/mabel-willebrandt/

https://www.encyclopedia.com/women/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/willebrandt-mabel-walker-1889-1963

https://www.loc.gov/item/mm82059618/

https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-2000-jul-02-me-47028-story.html

http://www.anb.org/view/10.1093/anb/9780198606697.001.0001/anb-9780198606697-e-0600712

https://books.google.com/books?id=CfGHM9KU7aEC&pg=PA736&lpg=PA736&dq=dorothy+rae+willebrandt&source=bl&ots=Ot1Hr5r5jy&sig=ACfU3U1zTmlS6XVkw1QFXoWtYaMSk5dOWA&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwia_-fX5KLhAhUELa0KHdrfC3gQ6AEwDXoECAkQAQ#v=onepage&q=dorothy%20rae%20willebrandt&f=false

https://themobmuseum.org/blog/mabel-willebrandt-prolific-prosecutor-of-prohibition-laws/

http://articles.latimes.com/2000/jul/02/local/me-47028

https://sallyjling.org/2011/07/16/mabel-walker-willebrant-fascinating-women-of-prohibition/

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Mabel-Walker-Willebrandt

  https://books.google.com/books?id=55ctM_Uy6KgC&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false

    Mabel Walker Willebrandt

Born May 23rd, 1889

Died April 6th, 1963 at age 73

  She was born in Woodsdale, Kansas as Mabel Elizabeth Walker.

Her family were farmers

She spent her early years traveling between prairie towns from Oklahoma to Missouri

Her father David was a local newspaper editor

She used to help him set the type for print

She was expelled from Park College in Parksville (a Presbyterian college), Missouri for being outspoken

She questioned the validity of a “virgin birth”

Reportedly she won the debate

In 1906 she began teaching in Buckley, Michigan

During this time she

Was almost lost in a blizzard

Trapped by a forest fire

Was threatened by a student with a knife

In 1910 she married Arthur Willebrandt, the principal

Together they moved to Phoenix, Arizona while Arthur recovered from tuberculosis

Mabel graduated from Arizona State University in 1911

Around this time she became severely hearing impaired and wore a hearing aid in each ear

She supposedly fixed her hair to hide them.

In 1912, they moved to Los Angeles where Mabel taught school during the day and took law classes at night

In 1916, she graduated from the University of Southern California with a masters in law

While completing her degree, Mabel began pro bono work in local police courts for mostly prostitution cases

She argued 2,000 cases as the city’s first female public defender

Her efforts led to courts permitting testimony from both women and men in these cases

This meant the male clients had to appear in court (in front of the press) as well as the female defenders

She successfully campaigned for the enactment of a revised community property statue at the state level (which involves property rights in marriages)

She was instrumental in getting the police to stop nickelodeon owners from preying on young girls during the “Rosebud Baby Case”

Apparently, the men were taking advantage of young girls during the movies

After graduation, she opened her own practice in downtown Los Angeles with Fred Horowitz (he built the famous hotel Chateau Marmont)

During World War I, she served as head of the Legal Advisory Board for draft cases

John Shepherd, perhaps the only man she really loved, who was killed in World War I.

In 1920, she moved her folks out west to be closer to her

In 1921, at 32, she was recommended by Frank Doherty (her old law professor), Senator Hiram Johnson, and all the judges in Southern California for the position of Assistant Attorney General under President Harding

Making her the highest-ranking women in the US federal government at the time and the first woman to head the Tax Division.

However, part of the issue is that no one wanted the job

It had no political advantage

It was a position that had to enforce unpopular laws

Her duties included overseeing federal taxation, federal prisons, and matters relating to the Volstead Act (the Prohibition Act)

She established the first female federal prison, Alderson federal prison in West Virginia

At the time, female prisons were too full to hold all inmates

If there was not enough space they would be housed with male inmates or otherwise alternatively punished

Sexual exploitation of women in the prison system was very high at the time

The prison was modeled as a boarding school offering classes for work-oriented fields

It had no armed guards or fences

Weirdly, still segregated

Things weren’t all great, however

In her 1929 book, The Inside of Prohibition, she described her problems

The law was too weak to do the job

The man in charge was not up to the task

She was only given volunteers to help make arrests

Things were so bad, one of her early arrests was a group that actually fielded a baseball team called the BOOTLEGGERS

She helped convinced the state department to give her boats and crews to apprehend alcohol coming into the country by boat

Reportedly, she met with the Treasury’s Prohibition unit, the US Coast Guard, and the Customs Service once and weeks later Congress okayed $11 million dollars for speed boats and equipment

She might have been the only person working to enforce prohibition

She said, “At one time it was quite apparent that no real effort was being made to put an end to such open defiance of our laws. Liquor runners operated off Florida practically in the open, in broad daylight, with little or no interference. There for years the prosecuting office and the prohibition agents engaged equally in the game of evasion of responsibility.”

In 1923, she successfully brought down the ‘Big Four of Savannah’

Reportedly the largest bootlegging ring in the US

She brought in George Remus, nicknamed ‘King of the Bootleggers’ and supposedly the inspiration for Jay Gatsby

Mabel came under a lot of trouble at one point for arresting Helen Morgan, a popular singer who had been reportedly duped into running a speakeasy

She regularly made the society magazines as a bit of a villain

She also argued to reform prisons for young offenders

She is credited with starting the prison work programs for male prisons

She started the first record keeping system for federal inmate populations

In 1924, Mabel and her husband Arthur got divorced

They were separated in 1916

Her mother-in-law moved in with Mabel and Arthur but Mabel financially supported the whole family

Reportedly because after putting Arthur through law school, he was unwilling to pay his share of expenses

In 1925, she adopted a two-year-old daughter named Dorothy Rae

Whom she raised with her friends

Feminism, Sexuality, and Politics by Estella B. Freedman

The book mentions that this was a more common practice at the time for career women that wanted a family.

Her parents took over when she was in Washington

Back in Prohibition, however, Mabel prosecuted 48,734 cases between 1924 and 1925, of which resulted in 39,072 convictions

278 cases went to the Supreme Court

She argued 40 of those cases

In 1927, she devised the plan to catch gangsters with tax evasion and in 1931 successfully prosecuted Al Capone

She recommended J. Edgar Hoover to head the FBI

In 1928, she campaigned for Republican candidate Herbert Hoover

To do this, she would address Methodist ministers and slam Hoover’s Democrat opponent, Al Smith as a ‘wet’ candidate

She began timing speakeasy raids to coincide with the Democratic convention

She was recognized as a major force behind getting Hoover elected

She took political help anywhere she could get it including the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union and the Ku Klux Klan saying, “I have no objection to people dressing up in sheets if they enjoy that sort of thing.”

For her service, she expected to be appointed Attorney General but was snubbed

In 1928, she resigned her post and returned to private practice

Mabel’s first case outside of the government was for California Fruit Industries that made wine and went on to serve as a lobbyist for the industry

CFI’s first big product push with her was Vine-Glo

Which was a concentrate that if added to water and sugar and left alone for two months made wine at home

Her casework set the foundation for the basic interpretations of the 16th and 18th amendments

In 1930, Mabel successfully argued for Frederick Albert Cook’s release from prison

He had been falsely imprisoned when several of his business partners committed fraud

Because his lawyer, Joseph Weldon Bailey, had a personal problem with the judge, he lost the case

Mabel managed to get him off his 14-year sentence in 7

Cook claimed to be the first explorer to reach the North Pole

In 1950, she served as counsel to the Screen Directors Guild

She defended the studios during the “Red Scare” and Joe McCarthy

She represented Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and Aviation Corp. of America

Her famous clients include

Louis B. Mayer

Jean Harlow

Clark Gable

Jeanette MacDonald

She also began defending bootleggers she had helped put away

She went on to pioneer the fields of aviation and radio law

She was the first woman to chair a committee for the American Bar Association for aeronautical law

She got her pilot’s license and promoted air travel with Amelia Earhart and Jacqueline Cochoran (created the Women’s Auxillary Army Corps and Women Airforce Service Pilot organizations and was the first woman to break the sound barrier)

She received an Honorary Doctorate from the Aeronautical Chamber of Commerce

Due to intense criticism of her role in Al Smith losing the presidency, as her rhetoric was seen as anti-Catholic, she converted to Catholicism

Later in life, she worked to destroy many of her personal records (especially from when she was Attorney General)

She, in fact, was overlooked by several early women’s history studies as she purposely erased many of her personal histories

Which is why much of what we know comes from her legal work

Mabel Walker Willebrandt died of lung cancer in Riverside, California

She was survived by her adopted daughter, Dorothy Rae (Van Dyke)

Her lifelong friend, Judge John J. Sirica, was quoted as saying, “If Mabel had worn trousers, she could have been president.”

Nicknames

“First Legal Lady of the Land”

“Prohibition Portia” (which is a joke from Julius Caesar–it’s Brutus’s wife)

“Deborah of the Drys”

“Mrs. Firebrand.”

Fun facts

She owned a farm in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Once advised a prostitute she worked for on “going straight”

Mabel looked over her books and said to keep working six more months

Then ended up footing the rest of the bill herself to get the woman and her sons into a nice home

Quotes

“Give me the authority and let me have my pick of 300 men and I’ll make this country as dry as it is humanly possible. There’s one way it can be done – get at the source of supply. I know them and I know how they could be cut off. I have no patience with this policy of going after the hip-pocket and speakeasy cases. That’s like trying to dry up the Atlantic Ocean with a blotter.”

In reference to herself “an instrument of God”

  Physical Hawtness: 2/5

Described as Comely

Sort of an Elisabeth Moss

More of the way she carries herself than her looks (substance over style)

Mental Hawtness: 5/5

She started school at age 13

was teaching at age 17

a principal at 22

Assistant Attorney General at 32

Social Impact: 3/5

For her time, she made a huge splash

Lots of firsts

Set a tone for the whole decade of the ‘20s

Je Ne Sais Quoi: 2/5

Problematic

Reformed?

Sounds too unbelievable for a movie

Historical Hotties – Mabel Walker Willebrandt Hey! I got the honor of being on Historical Hotties. It's a podcast about researching hot historical figures and ranking them.

[loopy-atla-fanfic]

Samsara - Chapter 5

Rating: T

Characters: Mai, Zuko, Ty Lee, Azula

Story Warnings: Ableism, Suicidal Thoughts

Chapter Warnings: Extended description of Suicidal Thoughts

Written for Maiko Week 2017

EPOCH 5

"Come on, Mai. It's time to embrace the day! Hey, that rhymed."

Mai woke and immediately realized what she wanted to do. She was going to fly into the sun, or die trying, whichever happened first.

Really, she just wanted to do something ambitious, because ambition meant work, work meant something that required thought, and as the ancient Fire Sages had posited, 'I think, therefore I'm probably still here, and if not, I would prefer it if you didn't disabuse me of that notion.'

She went through the morning routine as she considered how to go about accomplishing her goal. She had a schedule for the Avatar's sky bison, but knowing where the thing would be throughout the day and actually finding a way to get on top of it without immediately getting thrown off at the speed of a Katara Icicle Special were two very different matters.

Also, the sky bison smelled funny. That would make for a rather inglorious ascent.

The Avatar's glider-staff probably only worked with Airbending, and taking it from him would involve fighting him again. Been there, done that, gotten the blood-stains in her clothes already. Asking the Avatar for a ride might work, since he had to be nicer than Katara, but boys that age were usually finicky about touching teenage girls who weren't Ty Lee.

Then, as part of the long morning briefing (which always happened when Mai failed to pay visible attention), Azula said, "Reinforcements will be deployed to sweep in and destroy the last of our enemies, once and for all!"

Ah, yes, the airships.

Hm.

Airships. Come to think of it, they flew, didn't they? Mai still wasn't used to that being a thing that people could use machines to do, now. Also, the invaders had boats that went underwater. What was the world coming to? What next, something that could sail into volcanos, just to complete the elemental theme?

Or an airship that could actually touch the sun?

She continued on through the daily pattern, following Ty Lee to the temple. As ever, their arrival was quickly noticed by the usual burly army guy, who proceeded to inflict his presence on them with extreme prejudice. "My Ladies, Colonel Lee reporting! I've successfully evacuated the Fire Sages, and my soldiers are stationed throughout the first floor of the main temple building. I have an elite force ready to spill out into the courtyard at a moment's notice, and my subordinates have been given a plan to rapidly deploy continuing waves as required. Naturally, we've saved some space for you two right with that first wave."

"Excellent job, Colonel," Mai snarked. "You've already exceeded by expectations in every way. I have no doubts that with your oversight, this mission will be a complete success, and then the Fire Lord will reward us with gold and cream puffs."

"Thank you, my lady! I do enjoy a good cream puff." Colonel Lee practically glowed at the missed sarcasm. He never picked up on insincere praise, Mai had found. It was almost sad, in a way, but was it really? The man was happy. Ty Lee, who had a similar personality defect, was usually happy. It was Mai who had tripped face-first into a curse that had her reliving the worst day of her life, and might have even driven her a bit mad by now (but not all the way, because she hadn't killed Zuko 'yesterday.' She could take heart in that, albeit a dark, tarnished heart of steel).

The problem with reliving the same day for an eternity was that it was impossible to miss all the patterns.

What was it about Lee and Ty Lee that made happiness so easy? Aside from stupidity and having L-E-E in their names, of course. Hm, maybe that was the key? Mai could take some cycles to track down every single person named Lee in the Capital and poll their general contentment with life. Maybe she could even compose a report and surprise Azula with it during the normal briefing. "Yes, yes," she could say, "the Day of Black Sun is good and all, but have you realized that changing your name might fix your urge to terrorize people? No? Well, I have some graphs here..."

Mai shook the thought away. She had other pointless goals, for now. "Colonel, I'm curious about something. Are you familiar with the new airships that will be deployed today?"

"A bit, my lady. It was decided that the Army, not the Navy, would be the branch administering the new Glorious Sky Domination Group, and so there were seminars on the basic capabilities of the vehicles and the principles behind their function."

"Then what is the minimal crew for operating one of the small war balloons?"

"At minimum, my lady, a single Firebender should be able to make do for a while, although he'd run into trouble if he had to steer and tend the burner at the same time. Officially, a crew of two Firebenders is recommended, but the pilot being a Firebender is a redundant failsafe, unless they're looking for a 'hot hand' on the stick. Ha, ha, just my little joke there."

"Yes. It was hilarious." Mai watched Lee beam, even though she wasn't smiling and the tone of her voice had more in common with the surface of a glacier than actual human amusement. It was like the man subsisted on complimentary words, whatever tone they had been basted with.

As they continued on into the temple, Ty Lee bumped Mai's shoulder. "So you were distracted during Azula's briefing, and now you're letting random people think you're being nice to them. Someone must have gotten a good night's sleep. The first in your life, now that I think about it. But you did get in pretty late last night. Were you with Zuko?"

Mai snorted. That was the first time the question had come up in this context. "I can honestly say that what happened yesterday between me and Zuko was disappointing on multiple levels. I suppose I'm just tired of the effort it takes to be difficult. For now."

"Huh. I guess it had to happen eventually."

"Ha, ha."

Ty Lee settled in the foyer to have her army-issued breakfast, while Mai took her box of rice'n'sausage and went exploring. Or, rather, scavenging. The sages, as befit people who had nominally devoted their lives to the spirituality of fire (along with the communication of that spirituality to the people of the homeland and the political power and riches that came from distributing that spirituality to order like a boxed lunch) kept plenty of materials on hand related to fire. Specifically, there were large torches, sticky liquids that would burn at a selection of temperatures and durations, and powders that could be thrown into a good blaze to make it flare up impressively. All the stuff required to bring awe to the masses and maybe also liven up a good drinking session.

All things that would maybe keep a war balloon aloft for a day, maybe.

Mai pilfered as many of the items as she could stuff into army sacking and snuck out of the temple.

The airship fleet was being prepared outside of Capital City, outside the whole volcano, on the opposite side from the harbor. Really, it was lucky that the Avatar hadn't snuck up from the rear while his invaders made their push, or Azula's whole surprise would have been caught with its metaphorical pants around each and every airship's metaphorical knees. But then, that was probably why Azula had the airships all fully armed and staffed before they were brought over. A hundred Firebenders and a fleet worth of bomb-throwing cannons was an excellent deterrent to security leaks, once it stopped being the probable source of the security leaks.

By the time Mai had found her way to the where the fleet was splayed out on the grass, the eclipse was about to happen. Anchoring lines were being untied and the gunners were doing their pre-immolating stretches. Mai just walked into the commotion like she belonged there, because if there was one thing a soldier working near the Capital was trained to tolerate, it was a noble making no attempt to hide what they were doing. Being sneaky, with a hooded cloak and perhaps a mask, was much more likely to bring down trouble on the cloaked and perhaps-masked head.

She found herself a small war balloon on the periphery, one of the escort units. The pilot was already at the steering stick while the other Firebender was untying the anchoring line. She adjusted her walk, as she approached them, to that faux-shy little trot, and schooled her expression into something like that of a flustered schoolgirl. "Yoo-hoo! Sirs! I'm a special agent of Princess Azula, and I have a question for you."

The Firebenders looked over at her, looked her over, and decided not to overlook her. The pilot said, "Yes, my lady?"

Mai closed the distance and shifted her hips. "Is it okay to disable you, or would a quick death be more merciful?"

The pilot's well-considered answer was, "What?"

So Mai decided to answer for both men.

A minute later, she had a good blaze going in the war balloon's burner, the anchoring line had been cut quite short, and the Firebenders were pinned to the ground and left to watch her commit the world's first documented case of grand-theft-hot-air-balloon. (Mental note: Take a few cycles of days and commit every grand-theft crime available in the capital, including grand-theft-komodo-rhino and grand-theft-one-of-those-sweet-tanks.)

Experimentation proved that the amount of heat controlled the ascent, the fin controlled the direction, and the propeller at the back made the Go happen. Mai pointed her craft away from the rest of the fleet, and let herself be carried away.

As per her original goal, she pointed herself towards the sun. This took her on a different course than the rest of the fleet- which, it seemed, had begun engaging the Avatar on his wing-stick and Katara on the stupid bison. They people in those airship were learning what Mai had, that ticked off teenage Waterbenders did not fool around and oh look another hot air balloon was plummeting to its crew's death.

Besides the battle and the death, the course of Mai's airship gave her an angled view of the Caldera.

It looked like the toy model every child in the city had, with which they recreated (to varying degrees of success, depending on whether one owned the limited edition set of Crimson Guard toy soldiers) the Fire Lord's crowning. And there was the invading army, scurrying back towards the harbor like a particularly disorderly swarm of ants. There were the clean-up crews, getting started on clearing all the giant boulders from the lawns.

There was a particular boulder next to the park, under which would be a runner with a metal leg.

Mai briefly wondered what it would be like to just flip herself over the rail and fall down to the ground at fatal speed. Would it hurt, or would death come too quickly to feel anything?

She had already died in a number of, retrospectively, interesting ways. (Katara had to be responsible for roughly half of them.) Perhaps she should start a new hobby, of mapping out the process of dying? Try doing it slowly, try doing it quickly, try seeing if she could get people to applaud? She would just wake up again to find Ty Lee rhyming. Maybe she could even see if she could arrange her own death to hurt other people, to see if someone like, say, Ty Lee would cry over her or just shrug and move on.

Yes, Mai could learn some interesting things, killing herself over and over.

She leaned further over the railing.

She could learn, just like she learned yesterday that she couldn't bring herself to kill Zuko.

She leaned back from the railing.

Giving up on Zuko had hurt. That had been a self-inflicted death, in a way. Did she really want to keep doing that? Did she really want to learn anything such lessons had to offer? Did she really doubt who cared for her, and who didn't?

No, perhaps not, after all.

Really, just because she had an eternity didn't mean she had no limits. Rather, it might be a point of pride to maintain some boundaries, despite the infinite possibilities. She'd be able to think to herself that, yes, she'd had infinite opportunities to do something especially nasty, but she had resisted that temptation an infinite number of times. That was quite a winning streak.

Really, the concept counted even for people who weren't trapped in the same day. Every moment was the choice to do something hurtful or something benign, or perhaps even something good. And if every moment was infinitely small, then everyone who had refused to do the hurtful thing, whether to one's self or others, had made that choice an infinite number of times.

Great, now Mai was willfully doing philosophy without the encouragement of someone like Ty Lee. Well, that was one reprehensible boundary crossed already.

She watched the Avatar and his friends fly away on their bison, thankfully in another direction, and watched another war balloon give slow chase.

Hm, that was strange. She had noticed it before, but from up here, it looked like that balloon only had a single person inside.

She shielded her eyes and stared.

Ah.

It was Zuko.

So, yes, there was a single person inside, but only until the Avatar accepted his hand in marriage or whatever.

Bah.

Mai adjusted her course and kept flying towards the sun.

She flew out over the ocean, leaving the capital behind. It was the first time since this entire cursed cycling had begun that she had left the city and its surrounding area. Her breathing became a little easier, which was odd, because she had not become aware of an increase in difficulty at any point. Was breathing like those carnival games, where the operator flipped a switch to make the game harder if you looked like you might actually win?

She flew on, watching the ocean and the dolphin-bunnies that played in the waves. She watched the Isle of the Black Cliffs approach on the horizon. She watched the shimmer of the sunlight on the water. She watched the clouds float lazily by.

Sacred ash! It turned out that when you had no fear of falling to your death, flying was actually kind of boring.

Still, it was a new kind of boring. After living through the Day of Black Sun as many times as Mai had, novelty even in boredom was more than welcome.

Locking the steering stick into place, and content that the fire had a good blaze going thanks to those consistently-burning jellies from the temple, Mai sat down against the ship's side and let herself relax.

A few minutes later, she was dozing.

An undetermined amount of time later, she was falling from the sky and on fire.

WHAT?!

Mai's eyes snapped open, and she found that her 'good blaze' had become good enough to reach up and get the balloon itself in on the whole 'consistently burning' fun. Ironically, the hot air was escaping through the holes left by the hot fire, and the whole ship was plummeting.

Well, this would be an interesting way to die. And she hadn't even done it on purpose!

But she always had that choice, to live or to die, even if she wasn't the one arranging the choice.

And, really, how many other times would she go to the effort of arranging to survive being aboard a crashing war balloon?

She grinned. Flying wasn't boring anymore.

Okay, focus. Hitting the ocean wouldn't do much good because, as Katara had ably demonstrated several times before she switched to ice, water could be quite hard even in its liquid state. The Isle of the Black Cliffs was right there, and a glance revealed that someone must have recently been here shearing the local koala-sheep, because a big pile of fluffy white (and very smelly, no doubt) fuzz was piled at a spot up at the top of the cliffs.

Mai crawled back to the controls and shoved the lever that would make the propeller spin at its maximum speed. Then she let go right before the lever caught on fire.

There was nothing else to do but wait at the front of the craft, try not to burn to death, and wait for the right opportunity-

-the war balloon cleared the bay-

-it passed over the tops of the cliffs-

-it was falling rather fast now-

-Mai's eye for angles revealed that she would crash far short of the piled up fluff-

-do some math; angles and acceleration due to gravity and consistent horizontal motion slowed by wind resistance-

-Mai jumped off the front of the airship.

It continued to fall.

She went up very briefly, and then fell again, as physical objects are wont to do.

And then she crashed into the fluff, but it wasn't as fluffy as she had hoped, and so there was an unexpectedly hard stop at the end, the sound of a snap, and then her ankles decided that they were going to knock off early for the day and they'd see her tomorrow.

Mai groaned.

Broken bones were nothing new in this adventure, but they were never fun.

Lying in a pile of koala-sheep fluff (and yes, it smelled awful), Mai looked up at the sky.

A familiar face dipped into view, squinting at her.

"I know you," General Iroh said.

Mai nodded. "I was dating your nephew and gooning for your niece."

Iroh continued to squint. "You're not the cheerful one who liked to do flips."

"No. I'm the other one."

General Iroh frowned. "Are you okay? I saw the crash and came to help."

Mai sighed. "My ankles are broken, but I'm fine here. You can get on with whatever you were doing." And then, through the pain and the shock, she realized something. "Wait, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be locked- oh, that's right, you escape. Wow, you made good time getting out here. Did you steal a war balloon, too?"

General Iroh didn't answer right away. "What are you doing out here? Were you trying to pursue me?"

Mai closed her eyes. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Her heard the distinct sound of wiry gray chin-hairs being stroked, a sound all too common in the Capital. "That sounds like an interesting challenge."

"Okay. Well, I've somehow been cursed so that I keep reliving the Day of Black Sun over and over. I tried to keep Zuko from running away to join the Avatar's crusade, and at best I failed and at worst I got Zuko killed. So I tried to just focus on myself and wound up becoming a super-warrior, and after killing the Avatar I went on to kill all his friends. I decided that Zuko counted as one of those friends, but I couldn't make myself hurt him purposefully. So, to avoid the temptation to just lie down and stop, I stole a war balloon to see how far I could get chasing the sun. The answer is exactly this far, because here I am with broken ankles. You can go ahead and leave me. I can't die. I'll just wake up back in the Capital at dawn."

Mai waited for the inevitable, skeptical questions. Or else the sound of a short man backing away from a crazy girl.

Except she could still hear General Iroh breathing, and there were no footsteps.

He wasn't leaving.

She opened her eyes again.

Iroh was standing above her, and she had never seen someone look at her with that kind of expression. No, wait, she actually had. It took her a moment to place, but that was the same look Ty Lee displayed whenever she and Mai had serious discussions about their families.

It was sympathy.

General Iroh said, "And do you think you're the first person to be trapped in the worst day of your life?"

What.

What?

What?!

It was some time before General Iroh provided any answers. He had to see to his nearby compatriots ("Just some old Pai Sho friends," was all he would say), help them settle their eelhounds ("Almost fast as a war balloon and twice as friendly," he laughed), and then set up a campfire over which he made some tea. ("Because everything is better with tea!")

The sun was well into its setting when Iroh finally handed her a cup of steaming jasmine and sat down with his own tea, right alongside her koala-sheep fuzz bed. "The day I- lost my son, I cursed every force that had allowed his death. Unfortunately, a few of them were listening, and made use of a rare punishment to teach me a lesson."

Mai held her tea. She knew about tea, or at least she thought she did, but she was having a problem remembering what she was supposed to do with it right now. It smelled good; maybe she was meant to dab it on her underarms? Well, she could ask about it after she cleared up another point: "You got out! You- it's possible to get out! How? How did you do it?"

Iroh sighed and sipped at his tea. Oh, so that's what it was for. "I wish I knew. You might have been joking when you said you went a little mad, but that was no joke for me, and it wasn't just a little."

Oh. That was simpler than she thought. "So I'll just go all the way mad. That can't take long."

"Perhaps not, my dear. But do you think I have no regrets about my escape?"

Mai didn't get it. "Why would you have regrets?

"I had an endless number of chances to save my son, and because I lost control of myself, I escaped the loop on one of the sequences where he- where I failed."

Oh. Mai got it. "But you still-" She was about to say that Iroh still escaped, and perhaps the loss of his son was worth it, but she made the mistake of looking him in the eyes, and the haunted expression immediately sucked the air out of her lungs. "N- never mind."

Iroh nodded slowly, and then sipped at his tea again. "In the end, the spirit who first cursed me, a Heron, came back and declared that I had suffered enough. It led me out of the loop, but I was hardly in a state to take control of myself again. I walked away from my army- from my life- and began a slow healing that did not complete until I went with the Heron into the Spirit World. Only when I returned did I feel fit to go home, and by then, my brother was secure in his rule as Fire Lord. At least I came back in time to see Zuko starting down the path I did when I was trapped in the loop."

Zuko- "I don't even know that the thing that cursed me is watching."

"Then going mad might not even be necessary, and I can assure you, my dear, that it would be quite unpleasant."

Mai sighed. "Call me 'my dear' again and I will gut you like a fish."

Iroh laughed. "As you wish. I meant no offense. I can see why Zuko likes you, even aside from your dangerous good looks."

Mai snorted. "If I thought you believed that, I'd bother being offended."

"You sell yourself short. So, tell me, what have you been doing with your time? If you're anything like me, you haven't chosen to tell anyone before now, but sharing our lives with others is how we relieve ourselves of the burden of the memories."

Mai put her tea down and leaned back on her smelly fluff. "Come on, you don't really care. You're in the middle of a great escape, right? Then get going."

"I do not see any reason to bother, and I really do care. My nephew must have seen worth in you, to have started a romance, and satisfying a doting old uncle's curiosity seems like an excellent way to spend an evening."

Mai blinked. "What do you mean, there's no reason to bother?"

"Well, this day is going to loop again, correct? Right now, you are the center of the universe, and until you are free, I will wake up every morning in a prison. I just won't be aware of it, as you are."

Huh. Mai had never really thought about it that way.

She had never considered anyone but herself as being involved in this whole mess.

Still, Mai was inclined to tell him to lick ash. She didn't need relief, and even if she did, forgoing it was a good way to go mad and maybe find freedom. But her broken ankles were swollen and painful, and she didn't really want to drink any tea. Talking would at least not be boring. "Well, the first time, I spent the day waiting around for a chance that never came to help fight off the invasion. When I came back to my house, I found a note on my bed..."

And so she went through everything. General Iroh listened, and drank tea, and kept the campfire going. The evening became the night, and the night became the early morning.

Mai was surprised how much she remembered. She had been convinced that she didn't care about most of it, but people didn't remember what they didn't care for. "...and so I chose not to die in a crash, and jumped down into this fluff. And then a short, smelly old man with strangely muscular arms came and bugged me and made tea at me."

Iroh chuckled. "And how fortunate for both of us that I did! Without tea, I think that tale would have dried you out long ago!"

Mai was just tired enough to laugh along with it. "I guess thanks are in order."

"You are quite welcome, my d- Mai." Iroh sobered. "And I think I owe it to you to say that you've done remarkably well at handling the situation."

Mai quirked an eyebrow. "Going on a murder spree was handling it well?" It was amazing, with this old man serving as a touchstone of sanity, how odd she now considered the notion of deciding to kill people for fun. "Handling it well was turning Zuko over to Azula?"

"I made my own share of mistakes. Some of them might chill your blood. And I did not resist the call of self-harm."

"Fair point." Mai sighed. "But I'm not out of this yet. If I ever am."

Iroh leaned forward. "Might I make a suggestion?"

"Well, it's not like I can stop you."

"Your friend Ty Lee spoke of focusing on yourself, rather than the world around you." Iroh looked up at the stars and smiled. "There is a certain wisdom to that, in some circumstances, but her view is limited by her youth. One's self can be a fragile thing, and it takes a lifetime to discover how to handle it with proper gentleness. If you seek a path to endurance, I think working to change or protect yourself can be counterproductive."

"So what's left?"

"The removal of the self, itself." Iroh chuckled. "I don't think that counts as a proper rhyme, but it has a nice ring to it, regardless. I failed to endure my own curse, but in doing so, I learned how to endure a life in which I am disrespected by most of my family. Even most of my nation! I have endured the- the absence of those who have passed beyond my reach. I have even endured Zuko's tantrums, and those are no small things!"

Mai couldn't help but smile. "Don't I know it. So what's your secret?"

Iroh leaned over and whispered, "The key to endurance is surrender."

"Surrender?" Mai groaned. "I already tried spending an eternity in bed. It got boring."

"No, not apathy. That is something else. I mean to surrender in that you let go of your Self. Let down your barriers against the world, so that the world and the self are the same thing. That is where true joy can be found. You don't get tired of yourself, do you? Then join with the world, and it will always bring you love."

Mai tried to understand that. She really did. She pushed the words into the metaphorical mechanics of her brain, and ended up with stripped gears. "I don't get it."

Iroh shifted, and peered over Mai's head. She turned, being careful of her throbbing ankles, and saw the stretch of the rest of the Isle of the Black Cliffs extending out towards the horizon.

And on that horizon was a line of orange sunlight.

Iroh said, "You will have time to think about it."

Mai closed her eyes one last time for the day. "I guess I will."

"Can I give you a hug? I think you could use one."

"Well, I guess I won't have to tolerate it for long."

TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW

"Come on, Mai. It's time to embrace the day! Hey, that rhymed."

Embrace the day, huh? That sounded like as good a start to General Iroh's surrender as any.

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Desire

Stay With Me - Chapter 1

Rated: T/M

Story Summary: First times are never easy…especially with someone as innocent and pure as Johnny. Yet, Ash is determined to make it work.

Fanfiction.net

A03

P.S. In this universe, Ash and Johnny are both 18 or over; I do not condone underage sex.

P.P.S. This will be at least four chapters long and there will be no sex in the first two so I’m not marking this nsfw...yet. ;-)

In all honesty, sex wasn't too high up on Ash's priority list.

Between singing, gigs, writing music, friends, and an all around hectic lifestyle, it was more or less forgotten about or pushed to the side in favor of more important things. It didn't mean she didn't think about it - especially when she and Johnny began dating within weeks after the Moon Theater began renovations, it just wasn't necessary.

…well, at first anyway…

That was almost a year ago and her feelings were quickly shifting and evolving faster than she could keep up with.

Initially, it was bearable since the two were so enthralled with their work, solo albums, shows, performances and the like that even going out to dinner or watching a movie seemed an impossible luxury most times. Their life consisted of working tireless hours in the studio or with Buster practicing for some musical, performance, etc. Being career musicians and singers now was their priority and they both were determined to make sure they made the most of it.

As time ticked by, and even considering as busy as they were, the allure of love and making it was becoming hard to ignore for Ash.

Johnny was so sweet; gentle, loving and as pure and innocent as anyone could possibly get. Considerate, kind-hearted and an all around great guy that any girl would kill to have…and he was hers.

Truthfully, she didn't know exactly what attracted them to one another.

Perhaps it was their own difficulties stemming from home; unstable personal lives that had them connecting at first. Her painful break-up from her cheating ex and his father and uncles' possibility of spending the rest of their lives behind bars were always hot topics that neither shied away from confiding in one another about. Johnny was a listening ear and sympathetic, non-judgmental shoulder to cry on and she was his. At least she hoped that's how it was for him.

Not gonna lie - there was also an immediate physical attraction that at first, she denied valiantly. Yet, setting her physical desires for the young gorilla aside, he had turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to her.

So much so that Lance was barely an annoying blip in her subconscious anymore.

Yet…sex was different subject altogether.

Johnny, in all senses of the word, was as pure as freshly fallen snow. He'd never even had a single date, held hands or kissed another girl before her. A virgin; a sweet, soulful loving boy who was so soft-spoken and gentle that it seemed almost unfeasible that he'd ever had an impure thought in his entire life.

It wouldn't have been a problem; they'd take it ultra slow until he was good and ready but there was a hurdle she was not yet ready to jump over - she was a teenager with all the raging hormones included.

Yeah, with Lance it was almost immediate; she'd lost her virginity many years ago and the sex they had wasn't anything spectacular. He was her first and only so what the hell did she know? All she knew was that it never lasted particularly long and felt pretty good during but it wasn't anything amazing; nothing like the euphoria her girlfriends described.

After the initial first months, it was a pretty rare occasion that she was never one to initiate. They'd be talking in bed than without much of a warning, Lance would roll on top of her. Kiss her and touch her between her legs for a moment; just enough for her to get a tiny bit aroused before he pushed inside of her. It would all be over immediately after he finished, which wasn't long; stamina was not Lance's strong suit. She wasn't fully satisfied by the time he rolled off of her, but she typically just took care of herself after he was already fast asleep beside her.

That was about the extent of it all.

No foreplay, basically non-existant oral, and they'd be done before she realized what happened most times. Long story short, most of their sexual trysts left her feeling greatly unsatisfied. So, yeah, sex wasn't all too big a deal when she was with Lance.

The instant she got with Johnny, however, something in her body completely shifted.

Perhaps it was because the young gorilla was unbelievably attractive. Tall, broad shouldered, muscular, had the greatest smile, voice that had her heart accelerating in her chest, and to top it all off - he was so humble!

Lips pursing and an unpleasant twinge in her gut when she thought of her opposite ex.

Lance was basically allergic to exercise and ate copious amount of junk food which really didn't help . Decent enough voice but smug attitude that was a huge turn-off. At the time, it was fine, but when she met Johnny, it capsized the boat of whatever standards she may have had prior.

Gorgeous face and body aside, Johnny's personality far outweighed even his incredible good looks. So sweet and loving with an attractive accent to boot. The tiniest things he did drove her crazy in the best ways! How he'd brush her quills back, cup her face with those gorgeous large hands and kiss her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Not gonna lie, she cried the first time she experienced it. It was just so wonderful and pure that she couldn't help the few tears that slipped down her cheeks…How afterward he panicked and she just laughed; a sensation of euphoria as she never experienced before enraptured her entire being…

…was this what she had been missing out on the whole time?…

As happy as they were, it bothered her for a long time for Ash had done nothing worthy enough to gain Johnny's love. He deserved to be cherished, wrapped up in a big fluffy blanket and shielded from the harsh, unforgiving world. This sweet, beautiful, soulful boy deserved everything that she never had… Including someone just as pure as he was; someone who didn't waste most of her life on a selfish prick...but that didn't seem to bother him at all.

Johnny held her so many times, told her just how much he cared about her regardless of her past. That it didn't matter and he still wanted to be together. It took her such a long time to see her own worth after all the lies Lance had fed her for so long. That she deserved Johnny; he chose her - and Ash embraced it. More than ready to give herself completely to him; heart, soul, body - everything.

…that was much easier said than done…

It'd been almost an entire year since they started dating. A time it took him months before she got sick of waiting to make the first move; grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and smushed her lips to his. The kiss was sloppy and awkward because he didn't know what the hell he was doing, but damn, his mouth felt amazing… She found herself needing to be the instigator for any sort of physical contact; it was a long wait until he initiated any sort of physical activity between them but that was typically only hugs, holding hands, or the very rare kiss that never failed to take her breath away.

Sure, they'd cuddle all the time and even fall asleep wrapped in each other's embrace but nothing more. The few times she was tempted to take it further, she'd kiss him firmly but he'd pull away and refused to go further. Even when her hands explored his chest and shoulder's as much as she could, Johnny's hands remained steadfast on her face, back, hips, or shoulders in absolute refusal to wander to more intimate parts -

…and damn, was it frustrating...

More sexually frustrating than anything, but frustrating nonetheless.

Unlike Lance, Johnny was almost painfully shy at times. His face growing all shades of red the few times she caught him without a shirt on or the few times he'd initiated a kiss that lead to a slight flick of tongue. Looked as if he committed an inexcusable crime the one time he accidentally grazed a hand across her ass. How it took her a full ten minutes to convince him that indeed, it was okay and she was perfectly fine with it (more than fine with it but he didn't need to know that at the time)!

Johnny was so embarrassed that he was adamant to not do it again; dared not go too far when they kissed and politely brushed her hands away when hers would wander to caress a little too far down south. He was so awkward and shy; sweet and respectful but a part of her didn't want that. She wanted him to take a little initiative; to kiss her neck or brush his large hand over something other than platonic areas; and not on accident!

…but of course, Ash didn't want to push him.

Dared not force him into anything he didn't want to do, but lately, it was hard not to notice him pulling away from a kiss faster. Instead of holding her at night, he'd turn his back toward her so she didn't notice how his body was reacting to her kiss and intimate touch.

Ash swore he wanted it just as badly as she did.

Yet, knowing him as well as she did, he likely was ashamed of his teenage body's normal hormonal activity; fearful that she'd be upset, crossing a boundary, or that he was disrespecting her somehow. It made her want to cry; to hold him, kiss him and tell him it was normal and that she desperately wanted him that way...sexually wanted to give herself to him because…

Oh God! She loved him so much…

It was so hard at first to admit. To come to terms with how much time and energy she'd wasted on Lance. Never truly knowing the meaning of love until she fell head over heels for Johnny. His love was so unconditional and encouraging; so perfect and pure that she could scarcely breathe at times. Gentleness and kindness nothing like she'd ever experienced before and she felt like such a fool defending her relationship with her asshole ex-boyfriend. Sometimes she treated it as if it was all a bad dream and if she could go back, she would have never agreed to go out with him in the first place.

Recalling as she told that to Johnny who just shrugged, smiled and said in that cute accented voice of his, "…but why? Perhaps if you didn't, things may have changed to the point that we may have never met…"

Ash nearly cried after hearing him say that.

Johnny always said the right things at the right time. Speaking encouragement and loving her for her and nothing else. He didn't care that she wasn't a virgin, had way too much baggage that no one should be forced to carry, and was far too melodramatic and angsty for her own damn good.

Yet, Johnny didn't care about that whatsoever.

Frankly, Ash didn't deserve it; deserve him or his unconditional love…but he freely gave it to her anyway.

This was why she was so confused as to why he pulled away from her touch. Rare make-out sessions ending with him drawing away with a nervous stutter and excuse and she'd end up sleeping alone way too aroused to sleep peacefully. Not wanting to push the physical aspect but it was difficult to when she could tell how much he wanted it just as much as she did! Maybe even more!

Johnny didn't think she'd notice, but oh yeah, she did.

Caught how his eyes flickered over her body when she wore her more revealing outfits or walked around in a tank top and short shorts during the intense summer months. Witnessed on more the one occasion, the tightening of his pants and the few times a slightly hard bulge rubbed over her calf when he was too enthralled with kissing her mouth. Hands shaking slightly as she could sense him wanting to push his boundaries but ultimately setting aside his own desires to be respectful.

Ash knew he could sense her own arousal and needs yet he continued to pull away and she just wasn't sure what to do! His touch set her body on fire; craving his contact and urgently demanding more of him. Found herself wondering what sex with him would be like; if he would be as sweet, gentle, or awkward as if he was with everything else he did or if there was a more animalistic side to the sweet, lovable Johnny…

One she was desperate to see first-hand.

Suddenly tense and ridiculously turned on, Ash was on the verge of unbelievable frustration. Horny and desperate; ready to confront him about it but she didn't want to frighten him either. A sigh escaped her lips as she realized there was little she could do but wait patiently for him to decide to push forward. To approach her or make it plain as day that he wanted to consummate their relationship. For him to finally make the move…

Yet, as patient as she was, Ash was uncertain if she could wait much longer…

A sudden knock on the door had her flinching; jumping up from her couch nervously. Cheeks flaring as she looked at the time on her wall; seen just how long she'd been staring at some fixed point and thinking about jumping in Johnny's pants!

Ugh! How embarrassing!

"Ash?" Another slight knock and Johnny's unsure voice came muffled from the other side of her door.

"Y-Yeah! Be right there!" she yelled; ignoring how her voice cracked as she adjusted her clothes for the umpteenth time before running to the door.

Opening it to reveal the object of her desires was jarring and amazing all at once.

There Johnny stood in all his tall glory; smiling, one hand casually in his pocket while the other giving her a gentle wave. The fresh scent and the barest hints of cologne on his fur and skin had her stomach churning uncomfortably in her gut. Palms slightly sweaty and mouth going dry at the sudden feelings that arose in her for taking him in; she was already aroused enough and him being so handsome wasn't making this any easier.

Just what the hell had gotten into her tonight?

"Hey. Are you alright?" Johnny asked, tilting his head slightly when Ash still had yet to let him into the apartment.

"Yeah. Never better.." she muttered, smiling up at him like some lovesick puppy. It took her a whole 30 seconds to realize what she had been doing. "Whoops. Uh, s-sorry, Johnny. Come on in." she continued with a slightly stutter; uncaring at this point how her cheeks burned. She flared her hand in welcome and he casually strolled in at her beckoning. Once the door was closed and locked behind her, she looked up at him and she swore her heart stopped dead in her chest.

"Thanks." he said. The grin he bestowed had her internally moaning in pleasure. Sharp canines revealed as he gifted her with that fabulous smile. Without a single word uttered to give himself away, he lowered to his knees; one hand holding him steady on the floor as the other brushed a hand over the quills hanging in front of her ear. Caressing them gently aside so he could fully cup her face. Before she realized what happened, his brown eyes slipped closed and his mouth was on hers.

Ash's icy blue eyes went to half-mast; staring at him for only a second before they slid shut and she instantly melted into it his kiss. Tilting her head slightly to get a better angle; deepening their lip-lock. Hand absentmindedly lifting up to grasp at his arm; leather soft and cool underneath her palm as her fingers coiled in the fabric. Toes curling in her boots as his mouth opened a bit further to deepen it further.

His kiss was gentle yet there was such a passion behind it; much like his endless reserves as he sang. Johnny gave every task 110% and the thought of taking this further had Ash subconsciously moaning into his mouth.

That must have startled Johnny, who repentantly pulled away from her mouth; their parting lips letting out a soft pop between them.

"Mmm…heh. What was that for?" she breathed over his lips; heart hammering against her rib-cage at the embarrassing moan she let slip. So distracting to experience the heat from his mouth so achingly close; desperate to close the distance and kiss him again.

"You're just so beautiful, love," he replied; removing his hand from her face to scratch at the short hair on his nape as he spoke, "I really just can't help myself, I guess." he continued rather nervously, accent thick and causing her fur to prickle pleasantly before he rose back up to his full height. Although he tried to hide it, Ash noticed the pink tint that flushed his cheeks and the tips of his round ears.

"You're not so bad yourself." she replied with a throaty chuckle; bottom lip anchored between her teeth. Heart palpitating painfully at his given nickname for her. It wasn't new or anything, but it still caused her heart to warm every time she heard it. All of his affection wasn't helping her out-of-control libido. "So um," she cleared her throat, "I was thinkin', you know, instead of spending all night in the kitchen like last time, why don't we get some takeout instead?"

"Yea. Sure. Sounds great." Johnny smiled with a heavy shrug as Ash prompted him to the few fliers from the restaurants around town that were scattered on her coffee table. Perhaps if she could distracted on something else, she could pull her mind out of the gutter before she said or did something really stupid.

"It's your choice tonight, Big Guy." Ash directed before plopping herself on the couch, patting the seat next to her while the gorilla happily accepted the invitation. Lowing himself to sit at her side, he began to look over the various menus and their unique selections. She watched mesmerized as his large hands moved over the papers; sometimes drumming against the grains of the wood as if he was at his piano. Oh, the things those hands could do...she froze and remembered that she was not going to be a creeper tonight. Forcefully pushing those thoughts away, her blue eyes flicking over to his face for a moment; languidly taking in his profile and how his lips pursed into an almost pout when he was trying to make a decision.

Why did he have to be so freakin' cute?

"How about this one?" Johnny's voice surprised her and her eyes gravitated to the menu he held out for her to see.

It was the restaurant they went to on their first date. Not sure exactly if he was just trying to be romantic or what because the food there was terrible. She was sorely tempted to laugh but stopped when she caught the glint in his eye. Ash swore time froze. His warm brown eyes were scanning slowly over her face, the most genuine smile pulling at his lips. No one had ever looked at her that way before and dammit, this was not helping her state…

"Johnny?" she breathed. "Y-Ya uh, really wanna order from there?" she asked, unsure, not exactly sure why he seemed different tonight or if it was her hormones acting up.

"Admittedly, it's not very tasty, but it brings back good memories, doesn't it?" he replied; his arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and he brushed his forehead over her temple.

"Heh… Y-Yea…" she sighed, cheeks on fire and heart was pounding so hard that he could probably hear it. Almost afraid to look up, she did; staring into his face and him smiling so assuredly; white teeth proudly displayed, and dammit, did he even care what he was doing to her?! Her body was already betraying her and there was only one she knew for sure - if he kept this up, it was gonna be a long night…

[romancevsreality-blog]

the bachelor, season twenty-one, episode seven: is there any reason left to watch this show??????

In case you’re wondering: yes, I did collapse into tears when it was announced my Queen, Rachel, is the First Black Bachelorette.

I am thrilled for her. I don’t think I’ve actually ever been genuinely happy for anyone on this show like I was Rachel. Representation is so important, y’all. Not that being Bachelorette is something I would have wanted Young Amanda to strive for, but it’s the regular reminder to black women everywhere: You are seen. You are important. You are desirable. For years, the only black women you would see on reality dating tv shows were the ones on Vh1, and mostly were used as comedic fodder, not as actual options for love and adoration. The idea of black women falling in love has regularly been played for laughs, and while I find this show hilarious, I am thrilled with the idea that a woman who looks like me will be the face and representative of a brand what’s needed some flavor for a while.

But also - god damn it, I WANTED TO BE THE FIRST BLACK BACHELORETTE. Mostly because every week, I would eliminate all the guys and ask for a new batch: “More Chris Pratts/Evanses, please.” “I would like a batch of Andrew Garfields and or Jamie Dornans this week.” “Do you have any Anthony Bourdains or Gordon Ramseys?” “Now send in the Jason Segels.” 1 I would be a producer’s nightmare, but I would have both the hottest batch of bachelors AND choose myself in the end, like on UnREAL.2

But seriously - kudos to ABC for both taking a gamble on the black woman and SPOILING THEIR OWN SHOW EARLY. Even if you had to use Jimmy Kimmel to do so. And even if you’ve rendered this season pointless because we all know who’s going to win.

Back at the house, the girls are… silent. Things are awkward. Everyone’s shocked that both Danielle went home, but also that Nick was a cry baby last week because he gets what a big deal it will be if he doesn’t find love again. For the FOURTH time on this show. Nick sits sadly on an overturned canoe and meets with My New Best Friend, Chris Harrison, and they have a chat. Nick’s basically concerned that he’s going to lose his connection on this show with these women they way he lost it with Danielle, who had the personality of the hyperventilated air in a paper bag. He’s been wrong before, and he’s afraid of being wrong again. He sees a million ways it won’t work out for him. Nick is depressed af. The girls are terrified that he’s not ready for this.

Vanessa says something I can’t believe someone deigned to say on this show - “He doesn’t have to end up with anyone at the end of this.” THIS IS SO TRUE. We got mad as hell at Brad Womack for not picking anyone, but that’s one of the most emotionally honest things we’ve ever gotten out of this franchise. If you’re not feeling it, there’s nothing keeping you there or keeping you from not choosing someone.

Nick goes back to the girls’ suite, where they’re all worried that he’s going to tell them he’s done, but never you fear, ladies! He says he’s losing hope buuuuuuuut he feels strong in the relationships he still has, so he’s still in! Don’t worry! The music swells, and it’s all great. He decides to go ahead and cancel both the rose ceremony and cocktail party, and they’re headed straight to Bimini!!!!!

WHERE THE FUCK IS BIMINI?????

I honestly feel like “Where Is Bimini” is going to be one of the top Googled phrases this week. Is there a way to measure that? That should be published weekly instead of 45’s dream of publishing a list of immigrants who committed crimes. I would much prefer a Google List. Then again, I also feel like that list would have “Hot Celebrity Feet” at #1 every week and it would get repetitive.

Anyway, according to Wikipedia, Bimini is “the westernmost district of the Bahamas and comprises a chain of islands located about 80 kilometres (50 mi) due east of Miami. Bimini is the closest point in the Bahamas to the mainland United States and approximately 210 km (130 mi) west-northwest of Nassau.”

I learned something today. The Bachelor has taught me something3.

All the girls freak out - even Corinne says it’s her “dream come true” - like they knew what the hell Bimini was before Nick said it. The Bimini Tourism Bureau gets their money’s worth - it’s gorgeous, the water is so blue, and they’re not staying at a Marriott like they did in Wisconsin. They’re actually staying in a bungalow-suite, if that’s a thing. Oh, any guess what?

THERE’S A DATE CARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It goes to Vanessa, which suxxxxxx for Corinne, who hasn’t has a one-on-one yet. I don’t have my handy-dandy notebook available, but Corinne must be one of the only contestants to make it this far without a one-on-one. She was hoping for the ultimate in romance: sushi, candles, champagne, roses. I really find raw fish and soy sauce to be the ultimate in sexiness. I am super turned on by California rolls, the Forever 21 of sushi. Corinne clearly has never been wined-and-dined properly, but then again, I can’t think of a 23 year old who has. She’s clearly kind of perturbed at Vanessa when this happens and gives her the death stare because Vanessa’s going on her second. Corinne’s upset because Nick wants to “get deeper” with Vanessa, while Corinne is literally just the Hot Young Thing Nick keeps around to validate himself. It’s the truth, I think - Nick is sexually attracted to Corinne, and that’s it. He’s dickmatized by her, but he doesn’t want anything from her other than that. If he was, he would want to spend time with her on a one-on-one date. She’s frustrated, and she’s bloated.

I’ve been there, girl. I get you. Champagne bloat is a real thing.

Vanessa meets with Nick for their date, on a boat. Vanessa, who is stunningly beautiful, claims she’s never been on a boat before. Girl, we know this is a lie. Girls who look like Vanessa spend their entire lives on boats. They talk about how hard the week was for her, and I literally don’t know what else they talked about. At a certain point I just zoned out because it wasn’t interesting, nor was it anything that hadn’t been previously discussed in this episode. They get clarification and Vanessa is letting her guard down again. Back at the house, Corinne and Rachel are talking about Vanessa, and Corinne basically thinks Vanessa lacks depth. Considering she was being called emotionally immature a few weeks ago, this is kind of rich coming from Corinne. Who is Corinne in this world to talk about anyone’s depth?

Vanessa and Nick go snorkeling and scuba diving and make out underwater, and I mostly just feel bad for the producer who has to go in the water with them and get in their face while they make out. I can hear my boyfriend yelling about wanting to go scuba diving and he’s not even in the same neighborhood as I am as I watch this.

Back at the house, Corinne really wants a one-on-one4 still, and then...

A DATE CARD ARRIVES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

IT’S FOR THE GROUP DATE.

Corinne’s name is first, followed by Kristina, and Raven. Corinne is pissed. The only safe rose this week is the one that comes from the group date, which means whoever gets the group date rose will automatically go to hometowns. This is never relayed to us, only inferred. As with everything else this season, I feel. The editing is so inconsistent in a way that drives me up a wall.

Back on the date, Vanessa and Nick are having dinner, and Vanessa’s feeling solid and confident, confident enough to open her heart to Nick about her feelings towards him. And those feelings are love feelings. Vanessa is falling in love with Nick, and the music swells while they kiss and it’s an ultra romantic moment until Nick’s like, “Hey boo, I’ve done this three times before, I know how this shit works, I’m not gonna tell you I love you until I know it’s for real real.” Basically, he’s going to do the opposite of what Ben did last season - saying “I love you” to both Lauren B and Joelle got him in trouble, and Nick should have a PhD in this show’s dynamics, because he’s seen it all. But what comes out is literally a word jumble, like what happens when your mouth is moving quicker than your brain is. Actual verbal diarrhea is spewed from Nick’s lips Vanessa just sits there, hair majestically blowing in the wind, and she is NOT. HAPPY. She didn’t hear what she wanted to hear, and he didn’t reciprocate her feelings, and Vanessa doesn’t want to end up like Nick did. Vanessa, you have more self-respect than Nick does. You wouldn’t do this show four times.

We see the girls getting ready for their group date, and everyone’s anxious. Everyone wants the rose. We get individual montages of Corinne, Raven, and Kristina all talking about how badly they want the rose and how they’ll do anything to get it5. Apparently, Bimini is full of yachts, and that’s what their date is! Yachting! Corinne, affirming what I said before, has definitely been on a yacht before. She’s very proud of this. Corinne leads with the body first and does a strip tease for Nick, but it doesn’t work, because he’s focused on Kristina. He rubs her down with SPF 70 sunscreen6 and then tells the girls they’re going snorkeling - AGAIN? - and they’re going to be swimming with sharks. Kristina is visibly terrified, and Raven says my favorite line of this entire franchise, ever:

“I will punch a shark in the face if I have to.”

GUYS RAVEN IS THE BEST.

I AM CRYING LAUGHING AT THIS, probably because it’s something I would say.

The scene of them swimming with sharks is scored by ominous music, and I’m like, just let sharks live. If they want to chomp your leg, let them. Sharks have needs too. Kristina gets really freaked out and goes back on the boat with Nick, leaving Corinne and Raven alone in the water. For a second there I was hoping a shark got him, but we can only dream, right? At the after-after-after-after-after-after-after party, Kristina and Nick talk about Nick not wanting to force or fake an emotion. Nick cries, again. Raven talks about how she’s excited to bring Nick home because her family’s had a rough go of it - her dad had lung cancer and that’s why she dropped out of law school, but she wants to bring something exciting home. Corinne wonders why she hasn’t had a one-on-one and Nick does his halfhearted best to make her feel better by reminding her that seven weeks ago she was all up in his grill and she hasn’t stopped being all up in it. She’s fine. Buuuut, Raven winds up getting the group date rose, and both girls are crying. Nick escorts Raven to some random performance by a WGWG7

Back at the suite...

A DATE CARD APPEARS!!!!!!!!!!!

It goes to Danielle M, someone I forgot was even there. Danielle M, you are the new Whitney. Everyone’s shine is dulled around Rachel, though. Back at the suite, Corinne is feeling unconfident for the first time. She refers to herself in the third person twice. She’s fallen for the same trap that Jasmine did last week or two weeks ago, and that’s the unsureness driving her slowly mad. She’s been waking up crying. Like The Tell-Tale Heart, but much less intellectual. She’s reaching desperation levels.

Danielle M’s date with Nick consists of eating food, exploring on bikes, and Nick shares Fun Facts Sponsored By The Bimini Tourism Bureau. They then happen upon a basketball game with some Bahamian children and join in. This always randomly happens on this show, and it always leaves a bad taste in my mouth. But the bad thing is that despite Danielle saying she’s falling for Nick “150 bajillion percent,” their conversations don’t vibe and they’re left sitting in silence in front of the ocean while drinking beers that have basket weaving around them.

Back at the suite, there’s another date card?

I can only have confused gifs because I didn’t know this was happening.

But it’s for RACHEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Danielle M and Nick head to dinner, where Nick asks her if he’s the first guy she’s brought home since her dead fiance, and she’s rightfully nervous. Danielle takes the leap to tell him that yes, she’s falling for him, and Nick responds wonderfully and graciously.

Nah, he dumps her.

Their date was like that sound that you hear when you rub styrofoam together and it squeaks, sure, but he basically admits he’s not feeling it despite wanting to. She heads back to her suite, where she tries to say goodbye to the girls but breaks down into full-on sobs. She wants nothing more but for him to turn around and say he made a mistake, but he doesn’t. No one expected her to leave, but at this point, what do they expect? That’s how this show works, unfortunately.

Corinne sees an opportunity and puts on her most tittastic top, Louboutins, and lip gloss to head over to Nick’s hotel room. She tells him she came to check in on him and make sure he was okay and pretty much just walks into his room. Nick opens a bottle of Champagne8, and Nick does that gross thing where he demurs “Oh, hi,” or “What’s going on here?” as if he’s shocked but not really.

I’ve just connected why Corinne’s approach bothers me, and why I don’t think the “platinum vagine” comment is as funny as some people. Trust me - I have no problem with sexual liberation and frankly, I actually think more people should talk about sex frankly and talk about their sexual prowess. Acknowledge your talents and your weaknesses in the bedroom and it’ll all be more fun for you. But what Corinne is doing here is thinking an emotional connection and sexual chemistry are the same thing. And that’s a dangerous line to walk. I get it, she’s a child, she even talks about herself sexually in a rather juvenile way - “My sex talents”, etc. She’s very specific in her instructions to “keep two hands [on her], never jiggle, just slight massage.” Corinne’s entire self-worth is based on whether or not someone wants to fuck her, and that’s why it’s so painful when Nick ends up rejecting her and telling her to leave. Because Nick knows how poorly it ended last time he had sex with someone on this franchise, he comes to his senses and doesn’t sleep with her. Her plan failed and she’s less assured than ever.

Nick and Rachel’s date is kind of pointless now that we know it ends9 but basically it’s them at a bar full of old men playing dominos. Nick admits that he’s probably going to ask Rachel’s father for her hand in marriage and that he’s nervous for hometowns. They do finally do something I never expected: acknowledge that yes, Rachel Is Black And Nick Is White. Nick would be the first white guy Rachel’s ever brought home to meet her parents, and Nick’s like “is your dad a scary black guy?” Yes. Likely, yes. They make out on a fence.

Corinne is basically having a panic attack back at the house about the idea of going home once Rachel comes back giddy and over the moon. There’s a rose ceremony that night, and everyone else’s connections seem stronger. Nick, on the other hand, sits down with Chris Harrison, Owner Of The Other Half Of My “Best Friend” Necklace, and admits that he knows who he’s going to send home and doesn’t feel the need for a rose ceremony.

No. This is entirely unfair. Everyone else got the privilege of a rose ceremony. Let the girl go through the misery, and the limo conversation, and the “Can I See You Out?”. No. You don’t get to have a rambling conversation because you think it would be easier. It won’t be. RULES IS RULES NICK.

Nick comes to the suite and asks for Kristina. I gasped aloud when this happens. From the start of the conversation, Kristina KNOWS shit is up and she is clearly taken aback. Nick rambles about loving her but not being in love with her. Kristina’s like “YOU DIDN’T GIVE US A CHANCE TO GET THERE” which is kind of true. He basically says “I love you, but I love the other girls more, and you’re far, far too good for me,” but articulated with the grace of a monkey ballet. Kristina stands the hell up for herself, and is like, “It could have been you, but that’s your loss.” She’s upset and betrayed and this is all bullshit, but she remains the bigger person. Kristina doesn’t cry until she gets back to the girls, and all the girls are shocked. They don’t know what’s going on. They don’t even know if there will be a rose ceremony.

The episode ends on an ominous note.

Next Week: Will there be a rose ceremony? Hometown dates! Someone from Nick’s past comes to visit! There’s a ton of footage of Nick looking cold and wearing coats in the snow.

Random Assessments From The Desk Of Amanda:

I am so jealous that Corinne can pull of that “dusty rose”, not-quite-lip-color-but-definitely-not-a-nude color. There is no version of this color for black people. Hell, I can’t even wear pink lipstick because it either looks clownish or it looks red. MY LIFE IS HARD.

I wonder how much the randos they pay to perform on this show make. I feel like Twenty-One Pilots got their start on The Bachelor. Is that a fact I made up but feels true?

Corinne only got the hometown date because the producers wanted to meet the nanny that created the monster.

Where was Vanessa for like, half of this episode? She’s not around for any of the other date card reveals.

I love that the automatic door opened but Corinne was DETERMINED to exit stage right though the physical door.

Rachel is so good with words, god damn. “This was as easy as the breeze flowing through the bar” is a gorgeous descriptor.

A lot of the girls this season were crazy young - but I’m glad that at least two of the oldest contestants (and girls that are an appropriate age for Nick) are still there.

Now you all know what I mean when I say “I don’t have a type”. I’m attracted to what I’m attracted to. I learned from a young, young age that I’m always going to go for someone who stimulates me intellectually, not necessarily looks. It mostly falls into four categories: 1) Vikings 2) Tall, dark, and pretty 3) Dad-Hot 4) Funny Jewish Guys. ↩︎

Aw, remember UnReal, guys? Remember back when I was recapping that before it turned into white liberal feminism televised? Remember that? ↩︎

I can’t be the only one who would regularly pronounce “Bimini” wrong. It’s pronounced “bim-in-ee”, but I can’t help but read it and say it as “Bi-min-ee”. I can’t have nice things. ↩︎

Why can’t they call it a ‘solo date” cause “one-on-one” is hard as hell to write. ↩︎

Opening up the plug bag: this is a reference to America’s Next Top Model, a show about which I have a podcast! ↩︎

Anything under SPF 30 is useless. Are you wearing sunscreen? You should be wearing sunscreen. Yes, even if it’s cloudy. I can give you recommendations. SUNSCREEN. This footnote has been sponsored by the Amanda Has Really Great Skin, You Should Listen To Her Foundation. ↩︎

White Guy With Guitar. I’m shocked they didn’t get James Taylor from last season. Or Luke, for that matter. ↩︎

Probably Proscecco, but I’ll let them have this one. ↩︎

WITH RACHEL AS THE FIRST BLACK BACHELORETTE ↩︎