#which is to say it had climbed onto the lid and slowly meandered up to them

[galacticnova3]

@onenicebugperday Bit of an unfortunate update, but not without hope.

A week ago as of posting this, Green Bean Casserole had a pretty severe mismolt. I think they fell and got stuck behind their favorite stick in an awkward position after leaving the exuviae. I only found and assisted them the next morning, but by then their exoskeleton had already hardened up. Thankfully all of their limbs are intact and functional, but, well... The situation is far from ideal, as you’ll see.

At first I was pretty worried they wouldn’t make it; they seemed to be struggling to move around due to the deformity, falling when climbing and generally looking wobbly. I moved them to a different terrarium set up for my flat headed snake Absinthe, both because of the softer substrate and the lack of skinks that might be bold and attempt to take advantage of a weakened mantis. I wasn’t even sure if food would be able to pass through their system, and they had no interest in prey at all, which wasn’t a good sign. However, with some adjustments to the layout of the temporary terrarium I moved them to, they did climb and manage to hang from the lid with some effort. GBC seemed like they were a fighter, and the day after the bad molt they accepted and ate a grasshopper, so I decided to see if I could get them to their next molt and hopefully allow them to recover.

They’ve since adapted to their new shape, and I’ve moved them back to their usual terrarium for easier monitoring and better sun access. They’re climbing and hanging without falling, eating well, and drinking water droplets from the screen lid when I water the terrarium. I’d say they’re about as close to thriving as they could be in this situation! Here’s how they’re looking today. Ignore the escapee grasshopper in the background, its jailbreak was short lived…

I do feel a bit mean for making this comparison, but…

There’s a bit of a resemblance, isn’t there?

[winterisakillerwrites]

Brave Face - Part Two

Title: Brave Face

One Shot: 2/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: A wedding is one of the happiest days of one’s life. It is the beginning of the future and for Amelia Evans this was no different. Tom HIddleston stood watching her as she walked down the aisle while considering every choice that had brought him here. For better or worse, his life was fundamentally changed.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So full disclosure this story came about completely by accident. I had this vague idea in my head and it probably would have stayed that way had I not been talking to @redfoxwritesstuff and said “So I have this idea…”. This literally grew from a ‘huh, this should be straight forward’ to ‘holy fuck what have I gotten myself into?!’. All in all this is a 13,000 word one shot that has been split into three parts to make for easier posting/reading. Hope you all enjoy.

Previous

Tom couldn’t say for sure how long he sat on the bed, hands cradling his head, his breathing coming in soft, swallow pants; it felt like hours and like no time at all. The abrupt rap of knuckles on the door slowly brought him back around to himself. Mechanically, he pulled himself to his feet and shuffled towards the door. He unlocked and pulled it open, eyes blinking at the bright light flooding in from the hall. He found Luke standing there, exasperation painting his features.

“I’ve been calling for the last…” His voice trailed off as he looked past Tom and into the room, his eyes widening. “Tom…What the fuck happened?”

“She’s really gone.” The words fell from Tom’s lips in a broken whisper. “She isn’t coming back.”

Luke blinked at him in confusion for several moments before a pitied understanding spread across his face and shook his head. “No, Tom. I really don’t think that she is.” He brought a comforting hand down onto Tom’s shoulder. They stood silently for several moments before Luke spoke once more.  “You have a meeting in half an hour…��� Luke trailed off as he caught the look of bleary confusion on Tom’s worn face. He sighed and elaborated, “With the producers regarding your latest auction…would you like to postpone it? I can make a few phone calls…”

Tom’s head shot up and he vehemently shook his head. “No. No, I can’t. Absolutely not…This is important. If I put it off now I’ve as good as lost the role…No…” He took a deep breath, gathering himself. “No. Give me five minutes and we can go.” He didn’t wait for Luke’s response before turning back into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him.

Five minutes later, cleanly shaven and as respectable as he could make himself, Tom followed Luke down into the hotel’s lobby and into a waiting cab. He was a bundle of nerves, his leg bouncing involuntarily as the cab meandered its way through the early afternoon traffic.

It had taken nearly the entire journey for Tom to gain hold of himself. To calm his frayed nerves and slip back into the confident and controlled professional he needed to be. But by the time he had entered the conference room, Luke and his US agent, David, at his side, and shook each of the producers’ hands, it was as though nothing whatsoever had happened. He was charming and engaging, a consummate professional by all standards. They chatted amicably and while nothing had been set in stone, the producers seemed keen to have him on board and for that he was exceedingly grateful. With a bright smile and a firm handshake, Tom thanked them for their time and the opportunity to discuss the roll before following Luke and David from of the room.

The ride back to the hotel was spent in silence; Tom staring out of the window at passing traffic, Luke sorting through emails while never quite taking his eyes off of his friend’s tense form. As soon as they’d pulled in front of the lobby, Tom had excused himself and headed straight for the hotel bar. He didn’t care that it was only just late afternoon and by all means far too early. He was in desperate need of a drink.

Three whiskeys later, Tom was feeling little pain. The smiles that he’d been forcing all day had slowly started to come easier and he’d found he’d been able to simply shut the quiet, defeated voice that plagued his mind throughout the day off. It was wonderful. He chatted openly with the people surrounding him; laughing and joking, sharing stories. Forgetting.

At one point he found himself distracted by a flirty, feminine laugh tickled his ear, pulling at his attention as she pulled lightly at his arm. He turned to find a petite blonde watching him through lidded eyes. She was absolutely gorgeous; thin frame wrapped in a well-fitting navy dress, hair flowing over her tanned shoulder, eyes bright and attentive. He wasted no time in returning her smile and refilling her drink. She whispered her name into his ear and he’d managed to forget it as soon as she’d spoken the last syllable. It didn’t matter anyway, he didn’t need to know her name to know just what it was she was offering or to allow himself to take it.  

They finished their drinks quickly, exchanging knowing touches and heated looks. The tension burned between them. There was no question where this was headed. She leaned over and whispered a number into his ear. It took several moments for its meaning to become clear in his clouded mind. Her room number. He nodded and placed his glass neatly onto the bar.

Her hand fully ensconced in his, Tom pulled her from the bar and quietly towards the elevators. His eyes darted around automatically, making sure the path was clear. No one seemed to be paying him any mind and he felt a part of him relax. The last thing he wanted, or honestly needed, was for another set of photographs of him to be taken and released. Luke would flay him alive.

As the elevator doors slipped silently shut, he pulled her fully against him, his lips trailing the heated path from her earlobe across her neck and finally to her mouth. She moaned at his touch and he reveled in the sense of power it called forth in him. She wanted him and by god it felt amazing. They stumbled from the elevator as the doors opened and quickly down the empty hall into her room. A trail of clothing followed them from the door towards the large bed.

Their hands wandered, grabbing and caressing as they went. He had forced himself to pause enough to ensure they had protection; he had far too much at stake to risk everything for the sake of pleasure. She’d smiled and pulled a foil packet from the table near the bed handing it to him with a wink. It didn’t take long for him to lose himself in sensation; to shudder at the feel of her hands on his length, to lose himself in the warmth of her body. He chased pleasure through her and felt her do the same. It was simple and messy and overwhelming and he gave himself willingly to it.

He collapsed onto his back, panting as his lungs fought to obtain the oxygen they so desperately needed. He could feel her warm body pressed against his, her hair tickling his shoulder and for just a moment if he squinted just right, he could pretend she was someone else. His heart lurched at the thought and he quickly shoved it away. No. He steadfast refused to even entertain that idea. Not here, not like this. Not now.

When he was certain that she was asleep, Tom untangled himself from the bed clothes and quickly dressed. He didn’t bother leaving a note or his number. This wasn’t that kind of arrangement. He made his way silently back to the elevator and finally into his own room. It had been straightened sometime in the several hours since he’d left it, owing to Luke no doubt. On his pillow he found a new mobile with a note attached. ‘Try not to break this one.’

He shook his head with a sigh, moving to place the phone onto the dresser, and tossed the note aside. Stripping himself once more he padded into the bathroom and into the shower. Turning the water as hot as he could stand, he washed himself without active thought. He lingered briefly in the soothing heat, enjoying the feel of the beating water on his back, the way he helped to ease the tightness in his shoulders and the tension in his neck. He’d stay there forever if he could. Reaching out he turned off the taps and slowly climbed out into the chilled air of the bathroom. He grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it loosely around his hips, heading back into the main room and letting himself collapse on the bed in hopes of catching whatever feeble amount of sleep he was able.  

The next several months sped by in much the same way. During the days and evenings, Tom played his role well; he attended events, smiled and chatted with everyone he’d met, was charming and polite without fail. He prepared for his latest roles and made sure to keep in touch with his family as often as he could. Things, however, remained frosty between Emma and himself but he had hope as time passed the chilliness between them would thaw.

At night, however, he was scarcely, if ever, alone. The flings rarely lasted longer than a fortnight and they were always discrete. Never at his hotel or his home and never where an inopportune photograph could be captured and sold or, at least, not easily so. He never made any of the women he bedded promises and he never asked for more than the simple sharing of their bodies. It was infinitely easier that way; no expectations, no demands, no promises. Especially with the whirlwind his life had become, and, in all likelihood, looked to remain. There simply wasn’t time for anything more…And honestly he hadn’t wanted anything beyond a few passionate nights. Far, far easier to keep things this way.

If Luke had any objections to Tom’s behavior, he played those cards close to his chest. He was well aware of what was going on, Tom was certain of it, but said nothing. There were times, though, when Tom was sure he could see a hint of disappointment and disapproval in his publicist’s eyes. But still Luke never said a word. Which, as far as Tom was concerned, was all for the best. As long as his indiscretions remained out of the papers Luke had little grounds in which to give him grief. He was an adult, and an unattached one at that, his choice in bed partners was his own. He was discreet and he was careful. Never without protection and never where he could be caught. He’d learned that lesson far too well.

And he was happy, for the most part. He was able to live a life that most people never could; he traveled the world, had the chance to meet and interact with people he’d admired and respected, got to do what he loved and not have to worry where his next meal would come from. He was lucky and he knew it. Things weren’t perfect but they were working, it was all he could ask for.

By late the following September, Tom found himself back home without out the looming threat of months of living out of suitcases and hotel rooms. Rehearsals for Coriolanus were due to begin in the coming month and he was overjoyed to be able to sink his teeth into such a role, to explore this character and walk around in his skin, especially if meant being able to sleep in his own bed.

It was to be a small production in the West End and the actors he was set to work with were among some of the best in the field. He was honored and nervous and overjoyed all at once. It had been far too long since he’d been on stage, he’d missed it. He’d loved the adventure of constantly moving but months and months on end of it had left him longing for a small bit of stability. For a moment to catch his breath, metaphorically, before diving headlong into the chaos once more. And when this role had fallen into his lap, he’d grasped it with both hands and hadn’t looked back. There wouldn’t be another opportunity to do this.

He’d spent the last free evening before rehearsals were set to start out in SoHo with friends. He’d not had the chance to do something like this with these people in far too long. Laughter had filled most of the night as he sat trading stories and trying to catch up with all he’d missed while he’d been away. He’d stumbled over his shoe lace as they’d started their migration towards the next pub and called out for them to carry on while he stopped to tie it.

Tying one’s shoe became infinitely more difficult when one was well on their way to being completely and thoroughly pissed. Tom found himself muttering curses as the laces stubbornly refused to comply with his wishes. It had taken far longer than it should have to tie the blasted things than he’d bargained for and he’d started after his friends, still cursing, when something caught his eye. He turned, without thinking, towards the window of the small Italian restaurant he’d stopped beside and froze.

It had been well over a year since he’d seen her and now suddenly there she was. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a single plait that rested on her shoulder, her dress was dark green and wrapped around her figure in the most alluring way, a warm smile lit her features as she walked hand in hand beside a tall dark haired man that Tom didn’t recognize. She looked happier than he’d seen in her in ages and it felt as though his heart had shattered in his chest. She’d moved on. Of course she had; he’d known that someday it would happen. How could it not? But he hadn’t expected it to sting quite this much.

He turned on his heel and stumbled off in the direction he hoped was towards the next pub he and his friends had collectively agreed on. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. Why here, why now? He was fine. He’d been fine…And now…Tom shook his head, trying desperately to clear his thoughts. It took what felt like forever for him to find what he was certain was the correct pub. And upon doing so, he pushed through the crowded door, and scanned the room for a familiar face. No one. He searched again to make certain. Not a single one. Just fucking great.

Tom made his way towards the bar and dropped onto the nearest open stool. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Amy’s face flashed before him; her eyes bright and smile wide. The way she used to always look at him…The way he saw her look at the man tonight. Bile rose in his throat and he fought the urge to scream in frustration. Dammit, why now? He’d been fine!

He hadn’t been seated long before he felt the warmth of a hand resting on his shoulder.

“Hello handsome,” a voice rich as honey whispered in his ear, sending a spasm of shivers down his spine. Tom turned, his eyes settling on the tall form of a curvy red-head. It was a touch too dark for him to make out the color of her eyes with any degree of certainty but he could clearly see the desire in them.

“Well hello,” he practically purred in response. He flashed his best smile, the one he knew would seal almost any deal. The one he’d used on every woman that’s managed to catch his eye.

“Anna,” she stated, her eyes locked on his in anticipation, a manicured eyebrow lifted in questioning response.

“Tom,” he answered, his own brow raising. “Now, Anna, may I buy you a drink?”

She laughed and nodded enthusiastically before leaning over to whisper her drink of choice in his ear, her lips brushing against his skin. He smiled at her once more, knowing it wouldn’t take much to move this flirtation along. She was clearly eager and more than willing. He turned back to the bar, waving to catch the attention of the barkeep.

Several drinks later found them ensconced in a darkened corner, his hands resting dangerously low on her hips. He pulled her towards him, pressing his lips fully against hers. She took no time deepening the kiss, grinding herself into his pelvis. He groaned against her lips as he felt his body respond. This was what he’d needed. And desperately.

Tom let her lead him out of the pub, both of them shivering slightly in the suddenly chilled air. He wasn’t sure which of them hailed the cab but he doesn’t hesitate to climb inside. He half listened as she rattled off her address, not much caring exactly where she took him as long as the night ended with her beneath him, and him inside of her.

Her flat was situated on the end of a relatively quiet street. The stairs that lead into the building were half hidden in shadow and she fumbled with the key several times before finally getting the lock open. They stumbled inside, his hands immediately landing on her hips to pull her body against his. His fingers danced beneath the hem of her short blue dress and made quick work of divesting her of it. Her hands, in turn, moved with just as much speed shedding him of his shirt and trousers. They stumbled between heated kiss towards the back of the flat and into her cramped bedroom.

Kicking off their remaining bits of clothing, Tom pulled her onto the bed situating himself above her heated form. She looked up at him through lowered lashes, raising her hips to press into his. His lips crashed against hers, pulling her tightly to him as he settled between her spread thighs. A quick jerk of his hips and he’s seated deeply inside of her. He felt the rush of air from her lungs hot against his cheek. Their rhythm is erratic and he knew it wouldn’t take long to push himself over the edge. His let his hand snake between them to work her towards her release as quickly as possible. Their moans filled the small room mingled with the frantic sound of skin against skin. A mumbled curse was his only warning before his rhythm faltered. He felt her clamp tightly around him as he pumped once. Twice. Three times before stilling.

Wordlessly, he rolled off of her and onto his back. An all too familiar unease plagued him, one that should have burned away in the wake of release, and he couldn’t understand why. Why hadn’t this worked? This had always, always, worked. Beside him, Tom felt the mattress shift. He turned his head to see her roll up to sit on the edge of the bed. His eyebrow rose in silent question. She nodded down the hall. “Bathroom. This was nice but I’d rather not completely ruin my sheets.” With that she stood and padded out of the room.

Shit, he thought, realizing that he had his own matters to attend to. Tom rolled himself over until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Mindlessly, he reached down, preparing to pull of the used…Panic lanced through him. No. No. No. No. Please God, no. He looked down again, praying he’d been mistaken, but there was still nothing there but his own skin. God, he was going to be sick.

It took moments to scramble around the room, grabbing his pants and shirt. He tugged them on and stumbled into the hallway in search of his jeans. He fought the urge to vomit, his mind screaming that he had been stupid. So very, very stupid. He heard her voice call down the hallway, “Where are you going?”  

He spun in his heel to face her. “We didn’t use…Why did you let us…Why didn’t you stop me?” The question fell from his lips without thought. He watched her face flitted through a mired of emotions.

She shrugged, “it’s not that big of a deal. I’m on the shot if that’s what you’re afraid of.”  

Tom sputtered in disbelief. “Are you serious? Is that what I’m…?” His voice trailed off, incomprehension spread across his features. He took a deep breath and snapped, “that right now is the very least of my worries.” Without another word, he pulled on his jeans and shoved his feet into his boots and left.

He lost his battle with his nerves halfway down the stairs of her building and bent over the railing, vomiting onto the darkened sidewalk. Coughing and dry heaving, Tom fought to gain control of himself. It took several minutes for the world to cease tilting violently from side to side and once it had, he righted himself and continued on his path. He walked for what felt like hours before finding and waving down a passing black cab.

“Where to?”

Tom rattled off the address without thought and it wasn’t until the cab had rolled to a stop that he realized just where he was. He paid his fare and stepped out into the night. With a quick look upwards at the light shining through the upper story window, Tom forced himself to take a deep breath, before climbing the stairs and leaning on the doorbell.

With a shuddering force the front door swung inwards revealing a red faced and angry Luke clad in checked pajama bottoms and a dark t-shirt. “Just what the fucking hell do you think you’re playing at? Do you have any idea what fucking  time it…?” his voice trailed off mid-tirade as his eyes settled on Tom’s disheveled and shaking form.  “Tom?” He breathed in confusion. “What’s…?”

Tom swallowed thickly, running his hands through his hair and blinking back tears. “I fucked up, Luke. I think I fucked up really, really badly this time.”

Next

[eerythingisshaka]

#Fictober Day 9

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

(Okoye x W’Kabi)

Word Count: 1.5k

Okoye was up early one morning, not able to sleep.  It has been harder and harder to come by since the infamous civil war in Wakanda now a few weeks ago.  The bombardment of weapons on either side, the senseless killings that ravaged their nation among themselves was unforeseen prior to that day.  

The rebuilding process was just about done but the emotional and mental wounds were far more difficult to mend.  There was to be the funeral for Okoye’s Dora Milaje counterpart Xoliswa, who was killed by Erik.  Being the first Dora killed in combat, the rules of funeral arrangements were off the cuff, setting a precedence that they all hoped would not be a common occurrence.  

The destruction of various fields throughout Wakanda needed to be tended to before choosing where to bury Xoliswa.  Eventually, one had been chosen by a cliff that oversaw the River Province.  The grass smelled sweet, and the sunset beautifully over it.

Okoye instructed the other Dora to wear their full gear to the ceremony, making her way to the burial grounds to make sure all was accounted for.  Ayo was there already, overseeing the sunrise.

“Good morning, General.  I hope you were able to rest some last night?”  Ayo asked, saluting Okoye.

Okoye pauses before replying.  “As best as one can.  Are the others on the way?”

“Yes.  They should be arriving any moment.”  Ayo says, looking down at the casket in front of them.  

The Jabari tribe offered their services to create a beautiful, strong structure for their comrade to be laid to rest in, trimmed with gold and red adornments and rank indicated on top.  

“They did a wonderful job with the...craftsmanship.”  Okoye replied, clearing her throat.

Ayo nods.  “Indeed.  They had been a great help to us since the war on Wakanda.  If one can say anything good came from it, that might be.”

“I will stick with ‘if’, if you don’t mind, Ayo….”  Okoye says, lightly running her fingers across the wood grains on the box.  Xoliswa was right there, underneath the lid, but far from there.  Okoye’s vision gets blurry as she holds her eyes closed a moment, willing her tears back from whence they came.  

A hand finds the middle of her back.  When Okoye opens them, Ayo is standing beside her, comforting her.  Despite their outward appearance and posture, it is commonplace for the Dora Milaje to express their emotions properly.  They were not robots and they prided themselves on the fact; knowing each other and what was going on in each others lives helped to keep their morale at its peak.  

Okoye nodded, grateful to Ayo for her compassion before collecting herself as the other Dora arrived, T’Challa in tow.  They stood around the casket of their beloved comrade in silence as the sun continued to rise, before T’Challa spoke a few words.

“I am forever grateful for the invitation to be here and speak on behalf of you all.  The Dora Milaje are the fiercest and most capable warriors the world has ever seen.  Undefeated, to this very day in their plight to protect Wakanda and its people, as well as those outside of its borders when necessary.  These facts are well known, but what may not be fully realized is how much the Dora give to the community with their hearts as well.  The people of Wakanda are not fearful of their officers of authority, which is a minority way of thinking.  The Dora are human beings first.  People with a heart for those who need help, love for their country and all who inhabit it.  They are the epitome of what a good warrior can be when allowed to feel, and be themselves.  Xoliswa died with honor, and no regret for her time served with the Dora Milaje, pronouncing her loyalty to country with her last breath.  Her service will never be taken for granted and her personhood will never be forgotten.”  T’Challa finished by walking up to a vibranium plaque that sat at the head of the casket, and would remain, in remembrance of the first Dora lost to enemy hands.  The plaque read a prayer to Bast and the ancestors for the safe travel of their sister to the heavens.

At this point all of the Dora had tears streaming their faces, but not a one wiped them away.  They experienced a hurt that many could not understand, for they were a sisterhood that few could even enter, much less get to know about.  One gone was too many, and it took everything in their power to not feel like they were walking with a limp whenever they assembled together.  Okoye lead a chant of encouragement, chorused by her sisters as the winds picked up around them.  They danced and yipped, holding their spears in the air in celebration for their friends ascendence to the ancestors.

Once the ceremony finished, Okoye dismissed the Dora to their residences to have the day off (or at least to remain on call if needed).  Okoye would arrange for the burial of Xoliswa that evening by some volunteers from the Mining tribe.  As the ceremony ended well, Okoye still felt unwell, empty.  She had not gotten all of the closure she hoped to get from the funeral services and needed to clear her head a bit.

Walking down to the border, the smell of rhinoceros hit her nostrils.  It was putrid, sure, but the she loved them so it was almost gave her euphoria, for it had been so long since she seen them.  

Approaching the fence slowly, one rhino notices her and meanders up to her.  Okoye holds her hand out, careful not to spook the animal.  Once it got a whiff of her hand, it gave her a lick, making Okoye laugh.  Her laughter grew stronger as the climbed over the fence to hug the beast, feeling its worn but soft, wrinkly hide.  Her cheeks hurt from the smiling, as she hadn’t in a long time, and tears flooded her eyes once more.

“It is good to see you, General.”  a voice said behind her.

Okoye straightens up, not out of fear, but anxiety of the person she knew too well.  “You shouldn’t have come here.”

W’Kabi leans on the fence, petting the rhino.  “It is my province, is it not?”

“Can you claim any bit of Wakanda after what you have down?!”  Okoye hissed, climbing over the fence and walking across the field.

W’Kabi jogs up to her.  “I miss you, Okoye.”

“That is not what I want to hear right now.  Where were you?”  Okoye whips around to ask him.

Looking down at his feet, he says, “T’Challa thought it best I not show up on account of...everything.  May have been too much for the other Dora-”

“And why is now the better moment for you?  Huh?  I JUST buried my friend, WHY NOW?!”

W’Kabi steps to touch Okoye, but she pulls back in a defensive stance.  Her staff not out, yet.  “You are the love of my life, Okoye.  We are one, I cannot keep on without you by my side.”

“I was by your side!  Even at your worst, I still loved you!  You undermined me in front of that, that kretin of a human being who wanted to wreak havoc on the world!”

W’Kabi keeps his face soft, trying to reason.  “I know, I know that now.  I was just...too angry with how the world could go on the way it has been.  How it took my parents from me, like thieves in the night, and I had no justice.  That time seemed like the moment for it.”

Okoye laughs maniacally.  “So the best way was to partner with the man who was an associate of the man who killed your parents.  The enemy of your enemy, is your friend?  Even after five minutes of introduction?”

W’Kabi blinks hard.  “It was a silly notion, I admit.  That is why I need you, with me.  So I can make things right.”

Okoye points a finger towards W’Kabi.  “I will not fix your mess!  I will not be your counselor, your guide, or your mother!  I care for you, and I always will, W’Kabi.  But not once have you apologized for my loss.  You may have been imprisoned, but a letter would suffice to let me know how deeply sorry you are.  I cannot forgive what your ego made you do.  I cannot stand by you, not now.  Lives were lost, the most since that attack that claimed your parents.  You realize you have transposed your own hurt onto future generations?  Sick and angry over their loved ones dying, unnecessarily?  Tell me how does that feel?”

W’Kabi is frozen, completely speechless at that revelation.

Okoye waves him away, tired and frustrated.  “Go to your friend, T’Challa.  While he is thankfully still with us.  Make amends with him and look within yourself to see why you would risk life and limb for an outside influence, when the people who know and love you were not enough.”

[demialwrites]

A Dog Needs a Leash Ch 5

You arrived home. In the bedroom, Genji followed you like an obedient puppy, with his eyes and his steps. You stripped down for him to see and crawled onto the bed on your back. You beckoned him over and pointed to the space between your legs.

Genji roughly and hastily removed his clothes also. He climbed on the bed. Without you having to ask, he applied his mouth to your heat. He took a long, probing, meandering lick from the bottom of your entrance to your clit, then closed his lips around your nub to suck. Deciding that this needed to continue, you closed your thighs around his head to keep him there and rocked into the sensation.

Genji was a good boy and didn't stop until you came. He had earned his fuck, so you let his head go.

"Stay sitting up," you ordered.

"Whatever you desire," he tried to say seductively, "uhhhhh, Wife...?"

"Mrs. Shimada."

He heaved a breath. "That is still weird for me, being married."

That didn't put a damper on his need. He inched closer on his knees, seeking your cunt with his cock. He slid inside you, fitting perfectly with minimum stretch. He dug his fingers into where your hips met your thighs and moved slowly, rocking on the mattress gently. Respectfully.

"Faster," you said, growing bored of this.

The slap between your bodies became more audible. His mouth fell open as he panted. He looked down, and through lidded eyes, saw your body tensing and relaxing as waves of pleasure gently overwhelmed your core. While you were lost in that, he snuck his hand over to rest it on your inner thigh. His ego inflated a bit each time your thighs flexed and your lower body arched up to seek more of the pleasure he was giving you.

His cockhead skimmed the sensitive spots on the front of your walls. And just as you planned, the position allowed you to roughly palm a breast and also rub your clit. You couldn't trust him to handle your pleasure just yet.

"Don't stop until I'm done," you told him with a trembling voice once you had your half of this in control.

Been given his task, he shut his eyes. His tongue peeked out of his lips as he went hard into your heat. The bed shook, and you let your moans pierce the air.

Sleeping with Genji once, and then deciding you would sleep with him again thereafter for the sake of baby-making, opened the floodgates. A flood of cum, that is. Genji either conveniently forgot what the outcome of unprotected sex was, or he warmed up to the idea of having a little one. You seriously doubted it was the latter, judging by the way he took any opportunity to do the dirty. Anywhere. Almost every erection he got was satisfied by sex. He coaxed you down off your high horse, and you opened your legs for him in the back seat of one of the family cars. You bent over the sink in a single-occupant bathroom at the restaurant he took you to. During dinner at home, if you were amenable, he cleared all the servants out. He scooted over to sit underneath you. You sat on his dick but ignored him to eat your dinner.

"But I want my wife!" he protested, his hand seeking your clit.

"And I'm hungry!" you said, pulling that hand away.

That's not to say that he was in control. Anyone looking him in his blown irises or watching him palm his throbbing cock through his pants as mere foreplay could see that his current mistress was lust. If he was an animal, he would have been fixed at the vet long ago. But he was also obedient, backing off when you turned around and warded him off with a single finger to his little nose.

"Not right now," you said.

His fingers crawled up his face into his hair, and he growled, but he fucked off. To take care of his own need or whatever it was he did.

Genji had energy to burn off. Each muscle was restless, each atom of his being vibrated. He couldn't believe what happened next; he put on his dusty sparring gear and went to the dojo to train. The Genji before marrying you would have just slunk off to find another willing orifice to sink his cock into. Or take one himself.

Presently, Genji was feeling pretty good about himself until Hanzo ended the sparring session with a decisive shout.

"You need to calm down!"

Hanzo was in awe, and a little shaken, by the ferocity with which Genji had been claiming victory lately. Each time you shut down Genji's advances, he turned around and took it out on Hanzo. He channelled his energy into his second-favourite activity, combat. Fighting was as much play as flirting and fucking to him. In this way, Genji felt more in control of his life. Because you kept him in check. Your control was his control. If at any point, sparring and training weren't enough, he returned to see if you had changed your mind.

"Please. I have been a good husband," he begged, voice breathy but whiny.

He knelt in front of your seated figure, his out-stretched arms clinging to your hips like a man drowning. Drowning in his lust. His hands were a respectful distance from your heat. His mussed hair, leftover sweat, and puppy eyes gave him a neglected look.

[fabermemorialrink]

Day 2 of nurseydex week (bed sharing/room sharing)! Continues in the same universe as day 1.

“Come on up,” Dex says as he unlocks the door. There are trees lining the sidewalk in front of the brick building, and at this time of night, even only a few streets away from the nearest T station, the city is quiet. It’s as quaint as you can get in a metropolitan setting without having to move far west enough to wind up in the suburbs, and Dex admits that he’s grown used to it.

“I’m still blown away by how good you got at riding the subway,” Nursey says, nudging him with an elbow as they climb the stairs to Dex’s fourth floor apartment. “Remember that time you somehow wound up over in Queens?” he asks, teasing.

“That’s because your stupid train routes make zero sense,” Dex gripes.

“You’re a smart guy, Dex; you can figure out public transportation. I believe in you. Besides, it’s not that much better here.”

“It’s easier! There’s only five lines.” Nursey rolls his eyes.

“And I quote, ‘The green line is literally the fifth circle of hell and I hate everyone on it, including myself.’ Said by you only three weeks ago. Insightful, really.” 

“One, that was a one-off comment, and two, okay, it wasn’t. I mean that always; the green line is a travesty and a curse. Trains are bad.”

“Well, I’m just proud of you for not throwing down against the ticket machine,” Nursey laughs.

They're more or less meandering upwards, slowly working off the heaviness of dinner and drinks. In the cool stillness of an early June evening, the glow of a late summer sunset seems still to be hanging in the air even though the day grows late. A thin line of music can be heard from through the walls - Édith Piaf, from what Dex can make out as they pass.

Nursey’s fingers brushes against Dex’s as they round the last flight, and Dex instinctively resists his desire to link their hands, then remembers that he can totally do that now. So he does, taking Nursey’s hand, then forcibly cracking two of his knuckles; Nursey yelps, and reflexively clenches his fingers hard around Dex’s until he’s wincing too.

“Ow, you dick, I’m trying to compliment you here,” Nursey says with a pout, and Dex leaves a kiss on the back of his hand before letting them into his apartment.

Nursey has a tendency these days to turn into jelly when he's both sleepy and a little drunk, so they manage to get a glass of water in him and kiss lazily against Dex’s fridge for a few minutes until he starts to dissolve into pudding in Dex’s arms.

“Well, that answers one question,” Dex says into a sea of dark curls as Nursey tries again to nap vertically on him and they begin listing toward one side.

“Mmm, yeah, I think the only sleeping with you I’m up to right now is the literal kind,” Nursey mumbles against his throat, and Dex gently starts walking them backwards toward his bedroom.

“Sounds good to me.” He keeps one hand at Nursey’s waist and the other at the small of his back to guide him across the floor. Nursey’s arms are still wrapped around him like a kite in a tree, but they manage despite his tendencies.

“I take back everything I said about your dancing skills,” Nursey says as Dex turns them so he can drop him softly on the bed without Nursey sending them both crashing to the ground.

“Pretty fly for a white guy, eh?”

“Wow, okay, never mind.” Nursey laughs quietly into the pillow as Dex flips him off and returns to undoing the buttons on his shirt. It's one that Dex recognizes, which means they've been dating for long enough that Dex has started to memorize the contents of Nursey's closet again. The thought doesn't annoy him the way it did back in school, when he’d reach for a shirt and come up with a soft-knit sweater because Nursey had accidentally stolen his clothes again.

Nursey’s hands come up to bracket Dex’s hips as each button is freed. They're older now, obviously, but he still looks as sweetly pliant as he used to those odd nights Dex helped put him to bed after a kegster. It had been a different kind of yearning back then, new and undefined and terrifying, too much for the fragile peace they were building between themselves to explore. That was the working excuse anyway, more and more inapplicable as time went on, but it was what Dex held onto to protect his heart.

Now, he can lean down and press a kiss to Nursey’s lips if he wants to, his heartbeat only skipping because Nursey can still leave him breathless no matter how many years pass. He does so, and Nursey tries to tug him down to the sheets as well, but he slips free.

“Nope, not yet. Your morning breath is bad enough as it is; it’s biological warfare when you don’t brush your teeth.”

Nursey whines, reaching for the hem of Dex’s shirt to try and ensnare him again. “Can't you just pour some mouthwash down my throat and call it a day?”

“Is drowning in listerine really the way you wanna go out?”

“Going out the way I came in: minty fresh.”

“Not tonight, you’re not,” Dex says, kicking off his socks as he walks toward the bathroom. He drops clothes as he goes - belt, and shirt, and undershirt - like a sexy striptease trail, except it’s not sexy; he’s just fucking lazy. He kept a lot of the habits he developed through a childhood of living in a crowded house with little personal space and privacy, but sometimes he indulges in the luxury of living on his own, and does stuff like throwing his clothes wherever he wants and eating nutella straight out of the jar with a spoon. Chowder was a terrible influence on his life.

He’s brushing his teeth when Nursey finally shuffles in wearing sweatpants and a Samwell Theater t-shirt (signed by Ford in sharpie) he stole from Dex’s drawers. He drapes himself over Dex’s shoulders and reaches around him to grab his brush and blindly squeeze toothpaste onto the bristles. He winds up with a glob as large as a floret of cupcake frosting and winces when it prickles on his tongue.

They fall back into the old patterns they grew used to while living together in college, pretending to jostle for space while they brush even though the only use Dex has for the mirror is to make faces at Nursey and Chowder through their reflections. Dex finishes washing his face first and backs away from the sink to give Nursey room. Like always, he's a step too slow to avoid the claw of death swooping in to smear moisturizer on his face in three pale streaks; with a customary grimace, he allows it to happen before rubbing the lotion vigorously in, ignoring the way Nursey shakes his head in disappointment.

Nursey is indeed minty fresh when they kiss again, but still as structurally sound as a melting flan, so Dex maneuvers them back to bed. Because he’s a considerate person even when only half-awake, Nursey has tossed all of Dex’s shedded clothing onto his chair so they don’t wind up a very romantically injured accident on the floor. They flop onto Dex’s slightly too-small-for-two bed foregoing the covers even though the summer heat hasn’t grown sticky yet.

“You wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon?” Nursey asks, turning his head against Dex’s pillow to watch him with those lovely eyes, half-lidded and sentimental. He’s probably composing something in his head again, twirling language together in ways Dex couldn’t even dream of. Nursey needs to write in the same way other people need to feel sunlight on their skin, and Dex has always admired the tenacity he knows it must take for him to keep writing even when the words don't come easy.

“How ‘bout the soup spoon,” he replies as he wraps an arm across Nursey’s waist. Nursey sleeps flat on his back anyway, so cuddling isn't very effective, but Dex knows being held makes him feel more grounded. He leaves his palm resting on one sharp hipbone, tracing arcs with his fingertips. Just a small physical reminder that this is real. That what they have is real.

“Okay, you can be the salad fork and I'll be the demitasse,” Nursey says, smiling when Dex squints at him.

“You have seen in person that I don’t know what any of those things are,” Dex grumbles. He’s been to a handful of these ridiculous functions that Nursey’s family has to attend on occasion, and resigned himself to surreptitiously studying other people before picking up a utensil. At least the food is always stellar. Luckily, Nursey’s parents are some of the most down-to-earth people that Dex has ever met, and have no problem eating easy mac out of mugs with them at Nursey’s place when they come to visit.

“Chill, Dex. I can teach you. A demitasse is just a small coffee cup. Demi is half, and tasse is cup. And a salad fork is a fork that you eat salads with. Salad is salad and fork is fork.”

“Informative. I can see why you always get five out of fives.”

Nursey gives him a little burst of a laugh, scooching an inch closer so that Dex can lean up against his shoulder. “Dude, have you been looking me up on teacher rating websites again?”

Dex makes a non-committal noise. “You have 4.5 chili peppers - where’d the other half pepper go?”

“I mean, I don’t think I lost it. I just never had it.” He shrugs, uncaring.

The expression Dex wears turns consoling. “You're seven out of five peppers to me, Nurse.”

Nursey’s smile brightens, and he covers the hand at his hip with his own. “That’s pretty damn hot - you sure you can handle it?”

“I’ll get some saltines ready in case. The food of my people.”

“Maybe try yogurt instead.”

“Oh, you have a thing for yogurt? Guess I could work with that. I mean, it’s kinda untraditional, but I could try. For you.”

“Don’t try to shame me in my own bed, Will,” Nursey exclaims, and Dex leans forward to kiss the laugh from his mouth.

“Good thing it’s my bed, then, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for sharing.”

Nursey really does look like he’s going to nod off any minute, but before his eyes slip closed he gives Dex another thoughtful look, asking softly, “You know that time you came to visit a few years back? Around my birthday?”

It had been shortly after a major snowstorm hit the northeast; there were still piles of dirty gray slush on every corner and enough meltwater puddles to soak Dex’s socks for days, but it had been nice, to see Nursey again after half a year. The first few times they met up post-graduation, he thought it might have become awkward between them without proximity to keep them in contact, but they always picked up where they left off, all friendly chirping and stupid arguments, now colored with a few dashes of nostalgic reminiscing of the good old days. That day he had brought a potted snake plant with him as a gift, to add to the growing collection of houseplants on the sill of Nursey’s classroom.

“Yeah, we rode a sightseeing bus around Manhattan for no reason.” Dex had stayed the night, and Nursey had offered him the bed. He'd tried to refuse, but Nursey wasn't having it, and built a nest from a spare comforter in the living room before Dex could protest again. “You slept on the couch that night,” he recalls now. It had struck Dex as a strange miracle at the time, because enough time had passed since they last shared a bed for convenience and necessity that he had almost forgotten what a trial it always was. And as platonic as those moments had been, he hadn't been sure his heart could handle the fresh re-opening of the wound it would be to wake to the sight of Nursey asleep just a few inches away from him, too close to touch but never too far to fall for again and again.

“And you slept in my bed.” The hand nearest Dex tangles in the bottom hem of his t-shirt, a few of Nursey’s fingers slipping under to brush against Dex’s stomach. Dex tries not to shiver, waiting for Nursey to collect his thoughts into something more cohesive. “I woke up first, for once. You were still asleep, bundled to the max in all the blankets, except your leg. That was falling off the bed, dunno how - I fit on there just fine and we’re literally the same height.”

Nursey shakes his head, amused by a memory Dex wasn’t awake for, and takes a slight breath. “You were drooling on the pillow,” he says. “Left a wet spot the size of the pond next to your face.”

“Oh my god,” Dex groans, burying his face against Nursey’s arm.

“Nah, it was cute. I went to check on you, turn your head so you didn't drown in your own spit. You stuck your hand out of your cocoon when I did - I thought you were gonna slap me, but you grabbed my arm instead, and you wouldn't let go. I think it was some sort of anti-sibling protective instinct kicking in.

“I thought you would keep me trapped there until you woke up, and I sat down on the floor next to you because I- I guess I wanted that? I wanted to be the first thing you saw that morning.”

“Just like you used to be?” Dex asks, and Nursey nods mutely. They never talked about it, those hangover mornings where Dex jolted awake so he could untangle himself from Nursey and the sheets before anyone could catch him selling himself out with his moonstruck eyes. “But you weren't there when I woke. You were making breakfast,” he says, the memory coming back into focus, pleasantly overcast in the cool wintry gray of Nursey’s apartment that morning when Dex stepped out barefoot on the cold floorboards to see Nursey studying the spark and sizzle of oil in his frying pan.

“I guess that was always the dilemma. Do I want to be the one you wake up to, or do I want to be the one who makes you breakfast? I wanted to be both, but breakfast seemed safer.” Nursey’s smile, sheepish and uneven, reminds Dex of the years they lost. The years they- well, wasted isn’t the right word for it, because this is the road they took to get to each other, and even now, knowing what they could have had sooner, Dex doesn’t think it was the wrong path. He thinks sometimes they needed to grow up apart before they could grow old together.

“You could be both. You are both,” Dex says, looping his arm tighter around Nursey’s waist. ��My problem was always whether I wanted to be the one to make you laugh or the one to catch you when you fall down the stairs.”

“It’s pretty cool when you do them at the same time,” Nursey says sleepily, and Dex leans in to give him one final kiss.

“Night, Derek. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.”

Nursey drifts off first and Dex is left half-conscious, watching him in all the ways he couldn't when he was younger and less sober. Wanting him just as much as he did at nineteen. But they're here now, and Dex doesn't regret a minute that led them to this point. It feels like all that yearning was a debt to paid before he could know how it felt for his love to be requited.

Eleven years ago, on a night much like this one, Dex had held his breath and closed his eyes, hoping against hope that Nursey wouldn’t feel his pulse running wild as he fell asleep. Tonight he exhales, waiting for his heart rate to slow, and holds Nursey closer as sleep approaches.

Dex wakes bathed in sunlight. Nursey is still out, tucked into Dex’s side with one arm lying at a strange angle, but he stirs when Dex shifts to stretch his legs. For a second, his forehead scrunches and his dark lashes flutter twice before his eyes open.

“Good morning, starshine,” Dex says as Nursey turns onto his side to embrace him. His hair is a mess and he’s still blinking himself awake, but he looks rested and comfortable here in Dex’s bed. The way Dex hopes he��ll always feel when they’re together.

“Morning, Will,” Nursey responds warmly, and Dex remembers that all this was worth waiting for.

He leaves a kiss at Nursey’s jaw, his cheek, his crown. Then he props himself up with Nursey still spread across his chest, ready for the new day.

“C’mon, Nursey. Let’s go get breakfast.”

[ridingtheblackmountain]

DAY FIVE – TO THE COAST

SUN:  The sun was out all day despite the forecast being thundery showers, with a 70% chance of rain til 16.00. During the day, we slowly divested ourselves of wet weather gear, never quite believing that the downpour would come.

WATER: We spent much of the day beside water rather than being pelted by it. We followed a tributary out of town and then the River Moraca – that we had met two days ago on the ‘Chinese day’. The river broadened out into wide marshland covered with water lillies and some quite sophisticated fishing operations – is this where the trout we have been eating comes from?

We cross the river over a long stone bridge complete with ruins of a castle. Much further, and the river feeds into Lake Skadar, the largest lake on the Balkan Peninsular. We are right on the south-eastern corner of Montegro, the Albanian border passes through the lake.

A long bridge takes us across the lake and into the town of Virpazar, for a coffee break. We spend the next couple of hours cycling around the lake, which is quite stunning. Completely calm, the sky reflected on its surface, deep blue, with small islands and inlets along the shore.

ROAD: At Virpazar, Silviu gives his briefing. There will be three big’ish climbs. Two before lunch, one after. The climbers are unleashed. The road meanders around the lake for a while, takes a turn seemingly inland and the climb starts. It’s hot, something we aren’t used to. Mark is taking it easy, so is Ali. But Andy is pushing hard and John is cruising effortlessly. It’s a marvelous climb, bringing us out high above the lake and onto a slow descent. We all stop to take photos. Jaw-dropping.

The second climb takes us back up, Ali is in the lead. At the top, there is an empty terrace with benches and tables for our picnic.

The road takes us inland for a while, long fast descents on bumpy roads dappled with sunlight filtered through fresh leaved trees.

We stop in a small town, where Mark inexplicably buys himself a hairy werewolf mask that he wears for the rest of the day – remarkably no-one seems to bat an eye lid – at restaurants or in the towns and villages we pass through. Maybe it’s because we are so close to Albania?

While everyone is distracted and with the true climbers exhausted by their efforts, Piers pushes forward to the third climb (every holiday he makes tactical play for one hill). Torren has noticed and perhaps sensing his own opportunity gives chase. Martin, in the van, goads the two – “this could be your chance!). Piers is pushed all the way, but cracks Torren on the final climb to emerge victorious onto the ridge at the top. (The 6th fastest time up the hill ever recorded on Strava no less!)

There’s a huge panorama. Looking down the ridge we can see a Mountain that rejoices in the name of Maja Golishit.

We say goodbye finally to Lake Skadar, still visible in the distance,and head south west towards the coast some twenty miles away. The first six miles are downhill as we shed 500m of height.

The final five or so miles were beautiful tarmac with shallow gradients up and downhill, but into a headwind. The faster riders start to push on in a peleton. Then Hamish starts it. He shoots past the group at high speed, making a break for it. Piers bridges the gap. Then others join in and a race is on. Hamish seems keen to lead, so we tuck in behind letting him take the wind. Until half-way up a hill Piers pushes past him, and hears a satisfying whimper. Silviu and Piers try to push ahead. And successfully establish a gap. But then, as always, John appears from nowhere and cruises past. It’s difficult to describe how enjoyable it is riding fast like this on legs that now are strong from several days in the saddle.

BREAKS: Top breaks today. Best coffee yet in Virpazar on a balcony looking at an ancient bridge. The best location for picnic in the sun overlooking the lake. And a top break for ice cream at the Restaurant Panorama just down from Maja Golishit, looking out for miles over Albania.

ANIMALS: Mark has been attacked by dogs all holiday, but  today we cycled past cows in the road, a snake, several tortoises, a huge variety of birdlife around the lake and some donkeys that Mark successfully whispered.

YOGA: Andy’s session was smaller and required bribery with alcohol - he’s now called Yogi Beer.

Our best day yet, by far. And we’ve arrived at the coast.

63 miles. 1,450 meters of vertical ascent. Max speed 37mph.