#which seems like a lot of time but this is kind of long

[syluses]

𝄞 bloodhound

𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader

(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.

✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,

✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂‍↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D

With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.

By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.

In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.

You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.

And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”

Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.

…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.

✦

You blink and autumn is in full throttle.

You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.

Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.

You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.

Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.

Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.

Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.

Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.

At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…

Potential witnesses if he does.

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.

You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.

You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.

…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—

A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.

You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.

It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.

Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.

…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.

Then-

Tap tap tap.

Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—

You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.

By the sounds of it, he’s already close.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”

-Closer and gaining still.

Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.

You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.

“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”

No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.

You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.

You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.

As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.

Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.

“Sylus-“

You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.

Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.

Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’

You turn the corner and blanche.

Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.

And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.

The bottom falls through.

The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.

✦

“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.

The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.

“Y-You’re not my dog.”

One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-

That can’t be Sylus.

For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.

“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”

With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”

That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”

D-Dragonfruit? How does he…

The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.

…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.

“Y-You’re not-“

Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”

…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.

Not in your tiny apartment.

“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”

Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.

Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?

He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”

You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.

But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!

You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.

“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.

Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.

The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…

And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.

Sylus, it all says.

But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.

He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.

Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.

“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.

“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”

He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”

And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?

Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”

You do believe it. But it’s crazy.

He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.

Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-

“So? Do we have a deal or not?”

And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?

Or several.

✦

A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.

It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.

Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.

…As do your bones.

Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.

Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.

You gasp. “Sylus-“

You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.

He snarls.

“Quiet. I’m eating.”

Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.

He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.

‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’

“Good girl,” he practically purrs.

He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.

Not as much as you do right now.

“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.

But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.

But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—

“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.

“Just take the day off.”

Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.

“O-Okay.”

As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.

So you glance down.

He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.

He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.

Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.

That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.

You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.

…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.

Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:

Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.

Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.

“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”

He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”

You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.

And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.

His cock is somehow bigger.

Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.

Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.

Point is- he’s insatiable.

You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.

In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.

…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.

Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.

“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“

A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.

Challenging.

He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.

It’s the least he can do.

“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”

Your eyes bulge from your skull.

His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.

From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.

When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.

Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.

He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.

You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.

“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”

You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.

He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”

You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.

Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.

Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”

And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.

So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.

The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.

Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.

Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.

For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.

He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.

Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—

Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.

He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….

“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.

With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”

Void of words, you nod.

The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.

Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.

The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.

He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.

You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.

He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”

One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.

With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—

His knot pops inside with a gasp.

Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.

He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.

When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.

The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.

You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.

You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.

Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.

Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.

Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.

“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.

“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”

“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.

Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”

He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.

“It’s too big,” you cry.

“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”

As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.

There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.

“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.

And you—

(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)

Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.

Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.

“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”

Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.

With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.

His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.

You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“

“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.

“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”

Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-

“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.

“So. Did you like it..?”

“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“

He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”

Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.

“I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.

“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.

In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.

“When I know it’s manageable.”

If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.

“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.

“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[quill-of-thoth]

So. Not a tanner or a cloth maker here but - tanning can be very chemically specific. For those curious my perspective is of an animal pathologist's assistant. I have cut up several cows.

You do have the opportunity to amass a lot of leather if you hunt large animals, but post the adoption of farming and herding, most people are not feeding themselves that way. And there is just more small game overall. Leather is not necessarily easier, quicker, or less expensive to make than cloth, it just depends on what resources you have that are most abundant.

So the steps to making leather are as follows:

(Under the cut because, uh. I know this stuff from my job, which is “open a dead animal and let the doctor see what’s wrong with it” and most of it is messy.)

1) Kill and skin animal. This means removing the whole skin, in as intact a piece as possible, which while harder than it seems would be something your fictional leather-working society would be way better at than me.

Actually, scratch that. Step 1 is know what kind of animal gets you the type of leather that you want. Cowhide and horsehide are thick and tough but provide a lot of usable skin. Young goats are supposedly great for thinner, softer leathers, but my professional experience doesn't give me a lot to go on there. The phrase "kid gloves" means that they are leather gloves made from young goats, aka kids, which tells you that the leather is thin and flexible. The main cost of this step is having enough of the animals you need to slaughter. If you’re hunting, then it’s all meat to you, but if you are a farmer pre-industrially, meat might be a byproduct of animal husbandry and not the point of it. One of the main reasons to keep a herd mammal – horses, cows, sheep, goats, llamas – is milk. Milk is liquid protein and once you figure out how to make cheese it can store for longer than meat can, at least without a fuckton of salt, which is often worth its weight in gold historically. (You could also smoke it but fuel is expensive and smoking things is technically a little trickier than salting them.) If you kill too many of your female animals, you don’t get milk, and you don’t get baby animals. If you keep too many male baby animals until adulthood, they start fighting and may injure you, your valuable female animals, or the structures you have built to keep your valuable herd animals in your possession instead of your neighbors. As a herder, your reliable access to meat and hides is mostly culling immature males from your herd, which tends to lead to smaller amounts of usable hide.

2) Scrape that shit. Harder. If you do not remove literally all the connective tissue beneath the skin, your hide will rot. Your hide may still rot if you don’t tan it properly or wait too long to tan it. Or if you tan it wrong by dumping shit in water and waiting for the magic of fermentation to work right without even knowing the difference between an acid and a base.

The scraping is also a great way to tear the hide or put holes in it. If you, for example, want to make leather out of a cow that has been lying around in the summer for a day because you wisely prioritized the meat… it can get kinda fragile, depending on what the bacteria do. I have to sharpen our 21st century steel knives literally every time we do a cow or a horse, just to get through the hide at all, and I have still seen cowskin tear like thin cloth if it’s deteriorated enough.

3) Assuming you have completed steps 1 and 2, you need the chemicals to tan the animal. Historically brains have been used a lot. DO NOT DO THIS if you are a modern person who wants to hunt for meat or leather. Prion diseases like CWD live in the brain, as do a lot of viruses that will kill or disable you painfully and slowly. It’s a relatively low risk (compared to things like accidents with your hunting gun) but it’s a risk you do not have to take. Yes, this is why some states want you to turn in the heads of any deer you shoot, regardless of how many points they have. This is part of how we tell you if the deer you shot is actually safe to eat, and not full of said viruses that will kill or disable you painfully. The other thing that you need is a steady location and a fuckton of water, because these bitches need to soak for a long time. Way longer than soak times for retting flax or other plant stem fibers. And in multiple different solutions of the foulest smelling shit that you can imagine: in addition to brains, the steps included soaking in urine, possibly dung if you didn’t have enough brains, salt curing, soaking until the hair is loosened and then scraping all that off, and then the actual tanning, which is soaking it in a high tannic acid tree bark solution until it’s ready. You can skip some of these steps, especially if you are, say, a paleolithic hunter gatherer. But your leathers will degrade faster. They will be less comfortable and less good for your range of motion. So the production of leather is not necessarily less time consuming than cloth. It is also resource expensive at many steps – from start to finish you need animal wealth, mineral and plant resources, time, and a lot of water that you don’t need urgently for something else, like irrigation or watering your livestock. You’ll also want to do your tanning away from where you eat and sleep, because, the odor of fermenting cowhide is not fun. Finally, it is way more difficult at every step to construct a garment out of leather: cutting it, using an awl to punch holes in it so you can actually sew, or boiling it into shape. It’s also a specialized process when it comes to the chemical aspect, more so than cleaning wool or beating flax, both of which you can produce way more of (eventually) as a small household in the middle of nowhere. Spinning and weaving are both activities you can pick at slowly – you can also get a very small child to spin yarn acceptably with practice, freeing up your adult hands to do things like the weaving, while you really can’t bring your tots into your leather working and expect them to do anything but get underfoot. And shitty cloth smells way better than shitty rotting leather. And none of this even scratches the surface of the material property reasons why a society may prefer leather for some applications (saddles, shoes...) and cloth for others.

@lingerie_addict has a really cool thread on ancient fashion over on twitter.

Those source links are here

cambridge.org

Youtube

ucl.ac.uk

[fkevin073]

take me like you do in your dreams (excerpt)

so this is a little Mel/Frank thing I've been working on. it's been so long since I wrote a long one-shot and did not get impatient and divide it into chapters so I'm trying to curb that urge by posting a little bit of it hear. so much more to go!!

Summary: It surprises people to learn that Mel King is good at sex.  People in this case being, of course, Frank Langon. 

It starts, of course, on a Tuesday, because everything in his life seems to go to shit on Tuesday’s. The shift from hell was a random Tuesday. Abby told him to fuck off out of their house on a Tuesday, he started rehab on a Tuesday and left on a Tuesday. He even fucked up his back on a Tuesday. 

Frank forgets, every so often, about this random pattern in his life. Enough good things will happen, or he’ll be lost in the rush of kids, dogs and work that his world will seem stable and then something fucked will happen and he’ll remember like a punch to a chest this phenomena and think I must have murdered a bunch of people in my past life on a Tuesday to get all of this fucking karma. 

What happens is this: 

Frank doesn’t have many friends. He used to in college, even in med school, and then the more pills he popped the worse his emotions seemed to be and the more he rotted on the inside the more people could sense it, even if they couldn’t quite put a finger on what his deal is. 

That, and he’s also an asshole. 

The point is, he doesn’t have many people. After the pills, after the divorce, after moving into an embarrassing two-bedroom apartment that screams of divorced dad vibes with enough furniture to make it functional but not enough to make it feel like a home. 

He’d like to think that after all the shit he’s been through the past year he’s started to appreciate the people in his life a lot more. Cared more for their happiness and wanting to do right by them. It’s all part of his 12 steps and all that bullshit. 

But then one day he looks across the Pitt and sees Mel bent over a patient, some young dude with floppy blonde hair and an easy smile, and he’s saying something that makes her laugh, that nice floaty laugh like she’s about to glide through the clouds, a laugh Frank thought he had dibs on, and he’s staring so intently Dana has to clap her hands three times before he looks away with a jump. 

“Got an interesting case in South 2,” she says, looking at him weirdly. “You want in?” 

“Yeah,” he says, trying not to look at Mel. “Yeah, sounds great.” 

Blonde fucker, he thinks later, as he tries to remove a dart from this bartender’s ass. He keeps thinking about Mel laughing, even though he didn’t get to see her face. Maybe she was just being polite. Mel is always polite, even when she’s telling someone off. He remembers one time where she lost her temper at Santos – as close as losing her temper as Mel has ever gotten to the best of his knowledge – and told her to please not speak to me for the remainder of the day as I’ll only say something I regret, which I don’t want to do for when you feel bad about this later and Santos had seemed guilty enough for once  that she shut up and did as she was told. 

She was just being polite, he tells himself. But he’s not quite sure why it would bother him either way. It’s just that Mel is one of the few good things he has in his life. He can admit that to himself, if not to anyone else, including of his several mandated therapists or the fucktonne of NA meetings he’s forced to go to. 

Mel had visited him in rehab, which no one else from work had done besides Robby, who Frank had refused to see. They gave him that luxury in rehab – deciding who he did and did not have to leave his room to go and speak to from the outside visitors. Robby had never come back again, but he’d been surprised enough when he heard Mel’s name that he went, quite numb and blank faced, and found her sitting there with a myriad of candies. 

“I wasn’t sure what kind you liked,” was the first thing she said to him. “So, I got a lot.” 

And it was so normal, so earnest, that he almost burst into tears right then and there. 

“I’m a KitKat guy,” he’d grinned instead, when he was certain he wouldn’t cry. 

They’d sat there for the full fucking hour, talking about their favourite candies and desserts. She went on a fifteen-minute-long tangent about how she used to suck on so many gumballs that her tongue used to change colour every day. 

“I tried to make it into a schedule,” she’d told him. “Blue on Wednesday, yellow on Sunday, that kind of thing. Purple on Monday’s were my favourite.” 

“Any reason for the schedule?” He’d been smiling as he asked it. He could only imagine a little Mel with her mouth full of fucking gumballs, her tongue changing to one outrageous colour every day. 

“I was reading about colour theory at the time,” she admitted enthusiastically. “Henri Matisse, that kind of thing.” 

“How old were you again?” 

“Around ten or so.” 

Frank had laughed, because of course he had. Of course, she’d be the kind of ten year old to read about Henri fucking Matisse, which he only knew about because Abby had minored in Art History at college and liked to drag him to art exhibitions before they’d had the twins. 

Mel had apologized after a few minutes for rambling, but Frank had assured her it was fine. In fact he was the one who felt guilty, not just for being a regular ole fuckup who landed himself in rehab, but because he suddenly remembered all the times she had begun to ramble during the shift from hell and he’d just walked away like a dickhead. 

But she hadn’t held it against him. 

Before she left when the visiting hour was done, he’d been so overwhelmed that he’d reached down and hugged her without asking, which was shitty. She’d stiffened but let him, as if sensing that he needed it. 

“Sorry,” he’d told her, wiping his eyes. She was kind enough not to comment. 

“It’s okay,” she’d replied, a little awkward. Her arms were still stuck half-out from the hug, like she was a robot and needed someone to force her arms back down. “I’m trying to become better with physical affection.” 

Mel hadn’t made it back to visit him again, as his program was only for thirty days and she had a life outside of him, but on his first day back he found a KitKat taped to his locker. Mel had already finished her shift, so he couldn’t thank her in person. But he kept the chocolate bar in his pocket and would reach for it whenever someone would look at him sideways, frowning whenever he prescribed some form of medication that couldn’t even get someone high, not that it mattered much to anyone. 

He only finished eating the KitKat when he made it back to his car. It was half-melted and kind of mushy, but he still cried a bit anyway.

But yes, Mel is an important part of his life now. Since getting out of rehab, he spends most of his time with her outside of work, when he doesn’t have his kids. She can do better than a blonde fucker fratboy, he thinks rather viciously. 

He wiggles the dart out of the patient’s butt. 

“No offence, dude,” the patient drawls, sleepy with anesthetic. “But I really don’t trust you holding that with that look on your face.” 

Well, fuck. 

-

Mel finds Langdon in the breakroom, sitting on the floor. There’s no dog to pet this time, but he seems content enough. She goes to the fridge and finds her water bottle. Langdon had gotten this one for her birthday. Stainless steel that she could put in the dishwasher without it melting or affecting the taste. 

She’d complained to him once about how she hated the taste of plastic in her water. She kept on rotating between different containers – wasteful, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. One time in med school she couldn’t get the taste of something sweet out of her water bottle no matter how hard she scrubbed and so she threw it out and didn’t have time to buy a new one because she spent an allnighter on campus and then she fainted in the cadaver lab from dehydration. It’s why she had a small little scar at the nape of her neck, which Langdon had asked her about once when she was pulling her hair into a ponytail at the end of her shift.

She meets Langdon on the floor, and he smiles that little-half smile of his when he’s thinking about something. 

“Is that a dart?” she asks, nodding towards the object in his hand. She takes a long cold sip of water. That was another reason why she loved this one so much – it kept the temperature just right. Not too cold and not too warm either. Becca loved hers too. (Langdon had gotten a matching set). The nurses at the care center told her it made keeping Becca hydrated much easier, because her sister only liked to drink certain liquids at certain times. No water before 8am and no fizzy drinks between 5pm to 7pm for some reason only Becca seemed to know. 

“Patient let me keep it. A souvenir from his ass.” 

“That sounds uncomfortable.” 

Langdon chuckles lightly. “Yeah, apparently an ex-girlfriend of his showed up to the bar and saw him flirting with the coworker he told her not to worry about and went a little nuts.” 

Mel tries to imagine throwing darts at someone in anger and shivers. “Infidelity is no excuse for violence,” she says lamely. She feels Langdon look at her. 

“You okay?” he questions measuredly. 

“I feel well,” she replies. 

“Well?” 

“Fine. Adequate. Suboptimal. Sufficient—” 

“Okay, okay, I got it Miss Encyclopedia.” 

“I think you mean Miss Dictionary,” Mel corrects, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “That better suits the purpose of your reference.” 

Langdon laughs again, wiping a hand over his face. “You’re spicy today.” 

“Spicy?” Mel frowns deeply. “I had wasabi with my sushi a few nights ago, but—” She stops. “Ah. A joke.” 

“Yes, I do tend to make those.” Langdon nudges her leg with his foot. “I missed sushi night?” 

“Sorry,” she apologizes sincerely. “Becca was having a bad day, and I thought it would be better if we were alone. We’re having Pizza Sunday though, if you want to come.” 

“What show are you watching this time?” 

It’s been over a week since Langdon joined them. His ex-wife got down with a bad cold for several days, so he had the twins all to himself. Mel had driven him to their school once, where he apparently liked to take them for ice cream at the truck nearby. She hadn’t joined for that. Last time he was with her and Becca, they’d been finishing up their rewatch of The Vampire Diaries, but only until the end of season 6, because Becca hated it after Elena left the show. 

Langdon had been intensely into the love-triangle of it all. Becca liked to wear her Damon Salvatore t-shirt as they watched. 

“Blue-eyed boy team,” Langdon had joked, reaching out to Becca for a high-five. Becca had cackled, wheezing with laughter. Mel could appreciate the resemblance. She’d always hated them on Damon’s actor though – she cringed sometimes at the sheer colour present in them. But she never felt like Langdon. Not really. 

“Mel’s always been a Stefan girlie,” Becca told him loudly. 

Mel had flushed to the roots of her hair at Langdon’s surprised look. “He treats her with respect,” she’d defended weakly. “And he’s the better brother.” 

That became a hot topic of debate for several minutes before they piped down and watched as Elena struggled between the two brothers for the hundredth time that episode. 

“Gilmore Girls,” she replies absent-mindedly, remembering how Langdon had fallen asleep with his head against the arm of her couch, his snores softly filling the room. The way his Adam’s apple had been exposed. “Becca likes starting at season 2 though.” 

“Any reason why?” 

“Dean annoys her.” 

“Huh. Understandable.” 

At her skeptical look, Langdon grins. “My sister made me watch the show as it was coming out.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. No blue-eyed boys to root for on that show, though.” Langdon then elaborates, “we need to stick together and all, you know. Solidarity.” 

“There’s Luke,” Mel can’t help but point out. 

Langdon pauses, then shrugs, as if realizing he’s been outmatched. “Touche.”  They make plans for him to come over in the morning on Sunday, since they both reliably have those days off now that the kids are back with Abby. 

Mel takes another sip of her water, grimacing. 

“You alright?” 

“Slight headache.” 

A pause. She can feel Langdon inspecting her with his eyes, which has always been a peculiar feeling. 

“That guy earlier wasn’t bothering you, was he?” 

Mel frowns again. She should stop, she knows. She once had a tiktok influencer patient who kept pointing out whenever she did it, which was often enough she jumps a little now when she frowns as if expecting someone to bark at her to quit it because of the ‘wrinkles.’

“Which guy?” she asks, picking at her cuticles. 

“The blonde dude.” A sour look flashes on his face, then changes as Langdon clenches his jaw, as if he’s putting a considerable amount of effort to hide how he’s really feeling. “Frat boy looking fucker.” 

Mel is confused. “Weren’t you a fratboy?” 

He’d told that to her once, even showed her a picture on his phone. It had been a bad day – a little girl dead after pushing her brother out of the way from an oncoming car – and he’d found her out on the roof kneeling, head between her knees as she struggled to breathe. The picture had been old, but she’d been able to make out Langdon with his backwards cap and wide grin, wearing a tight blue t-shirt with Greek letters on it. He was holding – somehow – five beers in his hands along with a bong. Fratboy through and through. 

She’d spent several hours later after Becca had gone to sleep researching the initiation/hazing process, and by the time the sun had risen had texted him at least five articles talking about the danger of swallowing a live goldfish and how a few first-years had done to the hospital to get their stomach pumped because of it. 

How did you know about that???? Was what he’d texted.

Mel wrinkles her nose thinking about it. She’d never judge anyone for their dietary habits, but swallowing something alive gives her the heebie-jeebies.

“That’s not the point,” Langdon says quickly. “He looked like he was bothering you. Flappy hair, red face, unattractive—” 

“You mean Hunter?” 

“Of course his name is fucking Hunter,” Langdon mutters. “Wait, you know him?” 

“Not really,” Mel replies, trying not to sound nervous. Perhaps seeing Hunter had affected her more than she thought. “He knew someone I… was once familiar with.” 

Langdon’s face grows blank. “Once familiar with?” 

Mel blushes deeply. “We were uhm – intimately acquainted.” 

“You dated a frat boy?” He sounds mortally offended on her behalf, which Mel doesn’t know what to make of. 

She takes off her glasses, giving her an excuse not to look at him, and reaches in her pocket for the wipe so she can clean the lenses properly. 

“Mel?” he prompts. 

“He wasn’t a fratboy,” she says. “He was in marine biology.”

“He?” 

“Leonard,” Mel answers. She takes a little longer to clean her glasses than normal. “We dated when I was in med school for around a year.” She hadn’t seen or spoken to Leonard in years. She hadn’t seen the point beyond engaging in pleasantries when they bumped into each other. 

Langdon repeats the name as though he’s disgusted. 

“He was a nice guy,” Mel protests. “Really, we just weren’t best suited for each other, is all.” And that was mostly true. Leonard had an older brother who lived in a care home from when he was very young, so he understood Mel’s responsibilities to some degree. He always brought her flowers and never yelled at her or pressured her to do something she didn’t want to do. Perhaps that was the bare minimum, but Mel had appreciated it nonetheless. 

She relays this to Langdon, who makes a deep grumbling sound in his chest. 

“He sounds like a dick,” he says. “Who the fuck names their child Leonard?” 

“Many people,” Mel replies, puzzled. “There’s Leonard Cohen, Leonard Nimoy, Leonardo is the root name, of course which there are Dicaprio—” 

“I get it,” Langdon says. “What happened, then?” He nudges her again with his foot. “You know all about my shitty divorce.” 

That was true, except also not really. She knew that Langdon and Abby met in college in his last year of undergrad and fucked around – his words – for a few years on and off while occasionally seeing other people before they seemed to just click in his second year of med school. They married by the time he was an M4, and she was already four months pregnant. Then, according to Langdon, things began to implode when she found out about his addiction. “Final death bell of my marriage,” he’d sighed. He’d looked so upset while trying not to be that Mel waited until the end of their shift before she corrected him, “death knell.” 

Things had been falling apart before that though, according to him. He never spoke a lot about that though. Mel knew the timeline, but the intimate details she suspects he only tells his mandated therapist and maybe the group sessions in NA. Or maybe to his sponsor, McKay, who had stepped up to the challenge without missing a beat. 

“Nothing, really,” she says, flushing yet again. She feels oddly embarrassed thinking about Leonard. He had been sweet and kind and nice and yet—

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” 

Mel laughs a little. She feels dizzy suddenly, like she’s just bumped her head. Langdon reaches for his own water bottle – he always kept a plastic one in his lower leg left pocket for some reason, even squished it together so it would fit better – and takes a sip. 

It’s only when he looks away that she finds the strength to respond. 

“Well, he made me think I was asexual.” 

Langdon spits out his water. 

[help-itrappedmyself]

Liminal Jason part 6

This part feels like a lot of exposition. My bad, but the Batfam does not know how Danny and his life works.

You can find the earlier parts on my masterpost

“And in this scenario, you three count as dead?” Red asked, hoping to get some clarity on this, quite frankly, annoyingly impossible scenario playing out in front of him. Because as much as he can see that they clearly have a way to communicate that is beyond him and knows that they have all died, his brain does not seem to want to compute this information into other conclusions. A glance from Tim to Bruce shows that while he may not be struggling as much with the logistics of this situation, he is still struggling.

That may be because of all the children in front of him that- regardless of current status- all did die at some point. 

“Sort of,” Danny shrugs. “What you have to understand is there are a lot of different kinds of beings from what you would consider the land of the dead, which I call the Ghost Zone, and is more formally known as the Infinite Realms. There is a lot of diversity, and It would be a real sit-down kind of lesson to try and explain them all to you guys. The important bit for right now is that the three of us,” Danny gestures to Red Hood, then himself, then to Robin,”are three different beings, as related to the Infinite Realms, and I am the only one that technically counts as dead.”

Danny is very good at ignoring the side glances being thrown around. “But Ghost Speak can be spoken by any denizen of the Infinite Realms, who falls under any of it’s categories or rulers.” 

“Rulers?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny does another hand waving motion. “You know, Hades and Pluto, Lucifer and the Devil, the Ghost King, and other various religions and beliefs rulers. It's all very monarchist. The Infinite Realms are all technically under the control of the Ghost King, but the Infinite Realms are infinite and that’s a lot for one person to control. So various religious leaders all  make up what is essentially Dukes and Lords and Barons and other random titles, and they all control their little Realms and make up what could be considered a council or a parliament or Congress or what-have-you that is technically under the rule of the Ghost King. But the Ghost King really only takes care of the really big stuff most of the time. Unless there’s a tyrant on the throne, like with Pariah Dark. He was a terrible ruler, very controlling.”

Danny was rambling. He was aware of this, but the others seemed too shell-shocked to be able to stop him, and he has never really been able to talk about this with anyone so now that he is he doesn’t think he can stop himself either. 

“He’s not on the throne anymore, luckily. Technically the right to the throne is transferred through single-combat, very old-fashioned. No one could beat Pariah Dark so they locked him in the Coffin of Forever Sleep for a really long time instead. I don’t think the Infinite Realms really need a King all that much, they got by just fine for millenia without one. But now we’re getting into politics. Unimportant. Death Speak, language of the Infinite Realms, totally natural, not at all bad.”

Danny forces himself to take a very long, slow breath. By the time he is done, the others seem at least semi-recovered. 

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I would like that sit-down lesson at some point.” Red mutters, fingers twitching as he pulls out his tablet to start writing down this information. Bruce grunts in agreement.

“If it's all the same to you,” Hood snaps, “I would like to get out of this cell now.” 

“If we let you out, will you stay until we have the results from all of the tests?” Bruce asked. “They’re currently running so it won’t take long.” 

“Why the hell do we need to stay for that? You-”

“Did you take my blood?” Danny interrupted, seeming very concerned.

“It was a precaution, we had to test it. We took some of Hood’s too.” Red tried to explain. It didn’t seem to be helping, Danny’s breathing was getting kind of fast. “The tests are running now, just to look for influences of mind control or magic. And to test for dimensional distortions and integrity, if you were telling the truth about being from a different dimension. And to see if you have an alternate in this dimension that we need to be concerned about you running into.”

“I don’t really care -well, yes I do, breach of privacy, and consent, and-” Danny took a deep breath. “That is not my main concern at the moment. You were safe when handling my blood, right? You used gloves and it didn’t get on you or anything? I don’t know where we are and what you people are like, but just tell me you were safe around my blood.”

The real concern and fear in Danny was starting to get everyone else.

“Don’t worry, we are very safe here. We all have training and we know and use lab and medical safety procedures.” Damian spoke softly, aiming to calm.

“What is wrong with your blood, Danny?” Hood’s concern for him came out in underling Ghost Speak, and between him and Damian, Danny was able to calm some.

“It may be… not radioactive. Not contagious either.” Danny’s voice trailed to muttering for a moment as he figured out how to word what he said next. “My blood has a contaminant in it. Just don’t let it touch you, and definitely don’t let it get inside you somehow. It can also be dangerous if you have prolonged exposure, so make sure to get rid of any samples as soon as possible after the test and keep it away from other samples. And for the love of everything that is holy, try to keep it away from anything that will ever be ingested. Keep it away from food!”

“It can contaminate other samples?” 

“It can contaminate anything given enough time, technology included. But it spreads way more easily when it’s cold for some reason, so really anything put in a fridge with it should be tossed immediately.”

“You said it’s not contagious?” There was concern in even Red’s voice now.

“You’re not ill are you?” Damian eyes Danny warily.

“I’m fine, It’s part of me being what I am. Just,” Danny sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before cupping the back of his neck with both hands and looking towards the ceiling. “Think of it like a transforming agent. I’ve already been exposed, my DNA is altered, the harm is already done. My body actually needs that substance to survive now. Hood and… I’m sorry I don’t know what to call you.” Danny swung his hands back down to his sides as he glanced at Robin. 

“Robin.” Damian stated bluntly. 

Danny nodded and continued. “Hood and Robin have already been exposed so they’re fine for low to medium amounts of exposure. You two,” Danny pointed a finger at Red and then Batman, “Have not been exposed and therefore should avoid it as much as possible. Even a little bit can cause lifelong effects.”

[captainmagpie-risha]

The prompt is interesting, hope it's (still) okay to answer it 😊 As for my characters... (under the cut because I'm shy lmao)

Warden (Kallian Tabris) : Leliana and Morrigan are like sisters to her, but they were not at her side during most of her life. Her bestest of friends are Anders and Nathaniel. Nate stayed at Fort Bastel and she took Anders in her home after DA2, when Hawke and him were on the run. Anders and Kali were in a dark place during this time but they helped each other going on. Both of the guys almost raised her son with her (as Zevran did, but he's more close to a platonic lover so he doesn't really count) and they deal with each other bullshit daily. If she wants to gossip, she goes to them. If she wants to be reassured, that's the same. I love their trio, and I can't even who's the closest to her.

Hawke (Marian) : Oh difficult one. I could easily say Varric, ofc, because she loves him dearly and they basically understand each other without talking. But in my canon, she first romances Anders, then Varric after Trespasser so I will not count him. I'm torn between Merrill and Fenris, but honestly she just loves when he judges her (bad) life choices and to drink too much wine with him so Fenris it is !! She literally asks dating advice. From Fenris. When she is with Anders. It never ends well but it is kind of hilarious. They bicker a lot and sometimes throw hands. Hawke main goal is to make Fenris die of embarrassment when they are in public and is super tactile with him. He's used to it by now.

Inquisitor (Ennera Lavellan) : Her bestest friend is obviously Dorian, even if she is very close to Cassandra as well. She loves his nerdy attitude towards magic and his humor. He reads to her a lot as she has approximately zero attention span with a book in her hands and teaches her a lot about his culture and human interactions. Their personality are mirroring each other in a way : she's more joyful but reserved, calm in appearance but fiery inside ; he seems more at ease and outgoing, but guarded and insecure. They have long chat, talking about philosophy, life, other people, their emotions. Being vulnerable with each other is okay, they feel safe. Dorian loves to tease her a loooot to tone down the Horrors™️ which sometimes doesn't help at all, but at least it's funny. Ennera shows him the bright side of things and helps him accept himself as he is. She also takes him during all of their trips, which he hates, which she loves. She just wants him to be by her side to experiment the joys of nature, teach him herbalism... or just seeing flowers, really. Or snow. He would be very happy not to, but he can't say no to her when she makes a sad face. (He still complains the whole time.)

What a good prompt !! It was fun thanks 😊

no more romance. romance is canceled. tell me about your warden/hawke/inquisitor's best friend and any info you want to add about their dynamic 🖐

[starberry-cupcake]

LAST CHAPTERS!!! I have to make another one for the extra story and all that but these are the LAST OFFICIAL CHAPTERS!!!

previously in ice cube barbie de la tumbita(1):

this happened

this is the general tag of all the collection of recaps

(1) Note: "tumbita" means "little tomb" or "little grave", there was an audio meme going around some years ago where a little girl told another little girl that santa was "en la tumbita" aka dead, which was why parents were the ones who actually bought the gifts

I'm bringing back the very niche cultural slang meme thing that I started the nona recaps with here at the end

also because that audio gives me 'nona and the kids' vibes

CHAPTER 30 (the tower!!! in tarot it means upheaval, disaster, sudden change, ESCÁNDALO)

nona aka ice cube barbie de la tumbita aka AL aka annabel lee wakes up and sees how the truck is swimming in grey stuff

THE RIVER BABY!!!

also, Annabel Lee pause, this quote from the poem, upon knowing what I know now, really hits

And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

coronabeer is talking sweetly to judith

sorry, j o d y

coronabeer 👏 and 👏 judith 👏 sitting 👏 in 👏 a 👏 tree 👏

individually, I feel mid about them but, together, I'll defend them forever

nona looks at camolyctor paul atreides and says "I'll take it from here"

"hold my chewed half-eaten eraser"

ice cube barbie, who is still nona for now, keeps feeling like her body is not her own

which maybe has to do with the fact that it isn't her own

funny how that works

nona tells pyrrha and camolyctor paul not to ask her questions and not to "say things that aren't said like a question but are questions"

she says "take it away" and they decide to indulge her

since she's the one who seems to know what to do in this river surfing situation

she says that the water "doesn't want to touch them" while coronabeer asks judith to come back

nona also feels a lot of people crowding behind her

pyrrha asks "what the fuck is that" and gideon goes "Told you so"

and so the tower comes up from the water, like it did for harrow, last time we heard of her

nona is trying to stay as nona by grasping the "middle of the brain" thoughts that aren't "above" and "below"

the thoughts that know what the tower is

but if she looks at those, she's gonna stop being nona

judith starts talking in that not-judith way again and goes "He left them too long—You left them too long, my salt thing"

to which nona responds "You are here. Okay, good —the water really won't touch us."

at this point, we can do nothing but trust whatever she comes up with, so buckle up

nona has to reach the accelerator but, because harrowcita's body is smol, she's like

she's also kind of having a heart attack in harrowcita's body at the sight of the tower, so everything's f i n e

"The more she thought, the more problems she had"

AIN'T THAT THE TRUTH

DON'T WE ALL

judith keeps repeating "the hole" which is kinda funny

everyone either collapses or is losing it, except for nona, who continues on

because someone has to

they are sucked into the current and a crack appears in the glass like in jurassic park 2

camolyctor paul comes in and asks nona if she can get them to the ninth

I don't know how I feel about camolyctor paul atreides yet

they don't feel camilla enough for me idk I'm feeling abandoned again, but this time I don't think I'll get my love back

unless camolyctor paul pulls a vegetto and unfuses inside the stomach of some entity

but that's highly unlikely

so I'm unwell

I know there was no other way around this and camilla wouldn't have survived anyway but I'm not handling this well you folks

I WOULDN'T PULL A RESSURRECTION FOR HER JUST BECAUSE AND RUIN THE UNIVERSE THOUGH

RIP DR REV EMPEROR JOHN BUT I'M DIFFERENT

this book series is about learning to let go huh

it's about necromancers who, for all intents and purposes, thrive in bringing back dead things but, in some clever irony, is about actually letting go, not bringing back

every book you start, you have to let go of what you were used to in the previous one

you have to let go of characters you grew to care about

of povs you got used to

of things you thought you finally understood

you have to let go of preconceptions of characters who end up showing more than you thought they would

and all this mess started because one man wants the power of never having to let go of what he wants to keep to himself

even if it isn't something for him to have in the first place

*colors of the wind from pocahontas starts playing in the background*

ANYWAY

NO PHILOSPHY IN THE MIDDLE OF A LONG RECAP

BAD LULY

uber driver nona says she can get them to the ninth but she's tired and doesn't want to let go of nona, she knows that this is what's gonna come down to

AGAIN WITH THE LETTING GO

THIS IS WHAT I'M SAYING

nona doesn't want to let people go or let herself go

even if judith is "gone, forever probably" and gideon is "used to" being dead

nona is considering letting it all go then and there and dying with the body she's using

but then camolyctor paul atreides reminds her that noodle is in the back

and BY GOD we're not letting noodle die

middle nona thoughts are brought to the forefront by the presence of noodle

and nona "drove the truck home"

CHAPTER 31 (NINTH SKULL BAYBEY!!!!!)

nona's chakra thoughts align and she wants something

they all find out they're alive and well and gideon rises

nona has lost the ability to move and doesn't quite remember how she was able to do what she did

pyrrha proceeds to carry her around again

like the 0 years baby she actually is

and gideon goes "Home, sweet home"

WE'RE BACK!!!

WE'RE BACK WHERE IT ALL BEGUN

camolyctor paul atreides asks gideon where they are and congratulates nona for her parking precision

pyrrha wants to ask what that was in the river, since it wasn't an RB

but gideon hears something nobody else can hear and decides to just go on her own

so that leaves camolyctor paul and a pyrrha carrying nona to chase after her

nona asks about tsundere pash but she has to stay with angel teacher, who got scrambled around in the landing

don't know what good would tsundere pash do in this situation and I think she wouldn't even want to be there if asked, but nona has a crush or whatever this is

how tsundere pash managed to attract the earth personification or whatever, idk, but I also know nothing about attracting anyone, so who am I to doubt game

nobody can see shit and pyrrha says anastasia should have added skull-shaped fairy lights to the ninth

how many of you lovely freaks went and bought them

nona sees the light, but a literal one for now, because they find a tunnel with light inside it

they find gideon in there

gideon: found, sword: drawn, blood: on it, bodies: scattered

in moments like this, I miss camilla

nona then sees a man that looks old as sin

at this point, I had forgotten crux's name ngl

he didn't matter enough to me to give him a nickname and I just forgot his name and also maybe that he existed

camolyctor paul atreides wants to help him but he doesn't want to be helped

also, there are weird corpses that gideon tells them to look at

weird as in body horror territory again

as in some magnus archives level bs

nona keeps pointing out how different camolyctor paul is to both camilla and palmolive, which makes me sad

and they say they find it all interesting

which is very spock of them, palmolive would approve of that

gideon says that "he said they'd only be on Antioch"

camolyctor paul asks gideon where they've seen that before and gideon says in duracell bunny nephew

remember duracell bunny nephew? I was thinking about him the other day, actually

he's a character I wish I had known more about, poor kid

anyway, duracell bunny nephew had his soul detached too far from his body and Other Stuff took over, so I guess that's kind of what this is

gideon is very shocked and upset at the fact that they're there because dr reverend emperor john said they couldn't travel

I'm holding gideon's face in my hands, putting my forehead against hers and asking her patiently in which universe does she think she can believe a word that man says

gideon says that the entities use revenant magic and that they're waiting for crux to kick the bucket to use him as well, so they'll eventually get to him anyway

if they're waiting for crux to die, they can join the congregation of people who've been waiting, with gideon at the front of it

crux has time and energy to be rude af to everyone around him, especially gideon

nona interrupts the family reunion to announce that there's more of these guys coming soon, so they have to grab crux and move on

gideon is about to stay around and throw hands with a bunch of revenants but pyrrha tells her that "any kid in the Cohort knows the mission comes first"

since when is gideon's priority the Cohort, I asked myself at this point, but anyway

nona sees a figure with dark robes and a pale face swaying in the archway, which doesn't look good

nona starts the description of something that took me a minute to understand was an elevator

gideon asks crux, who had been promoted to seneschal before they left for canaan house, where aiglamene is

remember aiglamene? I liked her

crux tells her she's dead and gideon would have had a heart attack if that would still affect her body

but nona tells her he's lying

what's the point in lying if we're going where the remaining ninth is, you dramatic old bastard????

they ask crux how long the thingies have been in town and he says he has to answer because they're holding "the Reverend Daughter"

which, they technically aren't, but anyway

says they've been there for about a day

they're looking for the youngest of them, which gideon thinks is tough luck for them

they use bodies but don't seem to be interested in bones

BAD HOUSE TO GO TO IF YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT BONES

camolyctor paul is still trying to fix it but gideon says that, since it's "spirit shit" (technical term) the only thing you can do, if you're really good, is ward people so that they aren't taken

I am assuming this is a River imbalance that's going on over here, things are Happening in the River

gideon is about to say "how bad are we" but corrects to "you" in the last second, in another way to attempt to cover up the fact that she cares deeply and isn't fooling anyone

catching the tsundere-itis from tsundere pash

it's a family thing, commander wake sounds like she was very tsundere as well

pyrrha says she was there before it was known as the Anastasian and that she "painted a nursery mint green" which ????????

forgot people were born in the ninth at some point

without baby blending required

gideon makes an ass joke and nona laughs, which makes crux suspicious

pyrrha thinks nona isn't doing that badly if she's laughing at ass jokes

nona is actually falling apart, but doesn't want to bring down the mood of the operation

also, her arm gets scratched with pyrrha's zipper

they end up in a corridor with a bone gate and gideon asks for aiglamene

aiglamene arrives and nona compares her to what she thinks sriracha girlie will look like if she grows older

I can see the vision, actually

aiglamene passes a pike to sister berta, who nona says might be honesty's age, and I am reminded there were supposed to be new people in the ninth, according to dr reverend emperor john in book 2

I can't keep up with everything, so much happens at all times

aiglamene says they welcome back the reverend daughter and it's like that scene in mulan

gideon then reveals that she's very much not alive and goes "You always said I'd come back in a box"

:'(

so aiglamene goes all feral with nona, believing her to be harrowcita

which is a nice change of pace, I missed people getting angry on gideon's behalf

but gideon tells her that it isn't harrowcita in there, it's just her body

and what's left of it, because it's getting complicated to keep it alive

pyrrha starts flirting with aiglamene

(pyrrha has a type for women in command who get angry quickly)

and she calls her a "brandishment baby", which I felt like a generational name

the ninth also seems to not be in good terms with what the emperor might want and aiglamene says last time they dealt with that was thirty years before

nona is laid on the ground next to a heater to warm up a bit and someone kisses her shoe, which she thinks is very unhygienic, to the point that not even kevin would do it

we love kevin

last "we love kevin" of the nona recaps :'(

pyrrha asks what happened to her arm and nona tells her about the zipper

nona realizes that's her first wound and everyone realizes they need to keep it moving

crux calls her "harrowhark" and nona tells him she's not her

he asks her who she is, then, which is something nona is trying very hard not to think about

"There's a box and...and there's someone in that box who isn't me. I'm me. I don't know who's in that box, not really, only—when you open it—I'll be gone, because I can't survive...knowing. And I think—inside that box—there's something that looks like a girl"

I talked about this back in chapter 11!!!!!

I'm considering doing a Top 10 Best Recap Moments, this one might have to go in there if I do it

camolyctor paul is calling nona's imminent collapse "interesting" and pyrrha says their bedside manner is shit

nona says that the more she goes back, the less harrow resists because she wasn't made for it, she isn't "the right shape"

she also tells them that, when she's back, she won't help them and she'll be different, because knowing makes her not be nona and she won't be able to love anymore

pyrrha says that she was loved and liked by a lot of people and goes "what's like except a love that hasn't been invited indoors?" because the time to make sentimental speeches is here

she went "Gideon liked you" and I was like "no, she doesn't" and then remembered she was talking about og!gideon lmao

pyrrha also tells her she had bought her a birthday present she didn't get to give her

it was a tshirt that advertised "cheap moustache rides"

I had never heard that euphemism before, but now I know

camolyctor paul says palmolive and camilla wouldn't have let her wear it but they think "moustache rides should be free"

I don't know what to do with that information, so let's continue

nona says she's gonna make herself remember and promises to use the tshirt and that, then, they'll know it's her

I'd love to see THAT

she's about to not be in a cumple anymore, and we're all gonna be worse for it

CHAPTER 32 (TOMB TIME!!! LA TUMBITA!!!!)

nona can't see in the darkness but recognizes gideon's voice

the doors she's opened

in more ways the one

crux says nobody should be going in there but the Daughter and her cavalier

and gideon says "The Reverend Daughter has no cavalier living"

:'(

suddenly there's light and they feel a weird noise at their feet

nona thinks she sees coronabeer but nope

she describes yandere twin as a "washed out coronabeer"

coronabeer with the desaturation on

yandere twin starts talking in that way in which she says stuff, that tries to seem she's unbothered and everything is beneath her but she actually cares a great deal about it

she reminds me of those youtubers who think that acting like they don't care and making a show of having to drink wine in order to get through what they're talking about will make us overlook the fact that they made a 1 hour video about the topic in question, which means they do care a great deal, and acting in a "non-fangirl way" won't make them seem "more credible"

we're all nerds and losers, it's fine to care

it's ok to care, yandere twin

ANYWAY

she calls camolyctor paul "hectus", which is very uninspired, in my humble opinion of a nickname expert

btw the stuff they're standing on is "Adipose fat and mucous membrane" which I imagine kind of like the grease that collects from the grill after an asado

yandere twin is finally introduced to pyrrha and asks her whether what happened to her and og!gideon normally happens

she's relieved to hear it isn't, because probably she doesn't want chad to be using her body, even if she got to use his

pyrrha tells gideon not to do anything stupid, to which gideon replies that she's too late for that

also, yandere twin isn't drinking wine like the youtubers I mentioned, but is smoking, which serves the same purpose

gideon tells her that coronabeer is outside and she didn't have to use her charm to get her there

yandere twin calls her sister an "ill-shampooed slut"

which is A Lot

and then nona realizes gideon and yandere twin are wearing "friendship bracelets"

yandere twin pulls gideon outside the pool of goo and they do a friendship handshake

my brain is short circuiting a bit at this because last time I heard of them, they were at each other's throats

so ?????????????????????????????

camolyctor paul reminds them that harrowcita's body is on a time limit

yandere twin says harrowcita would want to die rather than open the tomb, as if she hadn't opened it already once

she asks for gideon's opinion but gideon suddenly can't read

they keep acting like besties, which's got everyone and me shocked and weirded at

they're super friendly until gideon goes like "anywayyyy gotta open the tomb, though"

yandere twin does not like that idea

she calls gideon a "three way double crosser" which is one level lower than pyrrha's quadruple crossing record

gideon is saying a bunch of stupid ass stuff

that dr reverend emperor john doesn't care if they kill ice cube barbie, that she'll be his cavalier

yandere twin also thinks all of that is bs and she can't really believe that

idk if this is actually about that or about harrow, honestly

gideon says dr reverend emperor john is very depressed and yandere twin starts talking about who he's sleeping with, which I don't care to know

gideon also doesn't want to hear it, but she's ageist about it because he's allegedly sleeping with a sixty year old guy

that's the least of anyone's concerns

yandere twin is the one making more sense, which scares me tbh, and says she doesn't know what he'll become with ice cube barbie and asks what I'm also wondering: "Is this about Harry, after all?"

gideon gets all defensive without answering the question and tells yandere twin to leave with coronabeer and stop bothering her

gideon insists on dr reverend emperor john wanting to kill ice cube barbie and yandere twin slaps her

yandere twin says he loves ice cube barbie and needs her and without her he's nothing and they need to keep him that way

which again makes me feel like I've lost part of the narrative while looking through nona's perspective

and, at that, nona starts losing her nona-ness

she begins to fall apart, exploding from the inside out, and both yandere twin and gideon run to her

someone says "Keep it together. Wherever you are, idiot, I know you can hear me. Keep it together"

I thought that was gideon talking to harrow, but I'm not sure

camolyctor paul tells pyrrha to "go" and pyrrha shoots yandere twin with a magic bullet

a magic bullet which isn't the blender they made harrow in, another magic bullet

pyrrha says she was saving the bullet for dr reverend emperor john, which would have been a much better use for it, but anyway

gideon and pyrrha carry nona while camolyctor paul instructs to "open the door"

nona, who starts talking more like ice cube barbie, refers to harrowcita as "the baby", which is funny but also accurate since she was The Baby, you know, the Ninth Blender Baby

she starts remembering when she was there before, with dr reverend emperor john, who took her there saying he wanted to show her something

I WOULDN'T PUT IT PAST HIM TO HAVE GOTTEN INSPIRATION FROM IT, TBH

the corridor has things that were disabled and others that are yet to be disabled, but pyrrha says they need fresh thanergy for it

gideon says they should kill her but, since she's already dead, it won't work

pyrrha goes all mushy for wake again and says they should kill her, that if wake had asked her she would have died with her for this

pyrrha always gets very emotional in stressful moments

meanwhile, ice cube barbie no longer nona keeps remembering that she was dr reverend emperor john's cavalier and that she loved him and he loved her because he loved "the world"

idk about that tbh but ok

ice cube barbie no longer nona says she hadn't come on purpose, she was brought by harrow, the kiss and the tear

lots of fairy tale kissing in this book series

crux says they should kill him instead

everyone wants to die suddenly

except for nona, which is ironic

gideon goes "Die for her...it's the only goddamn good you'll ever do her"

aiglamene and camolyctor paul keep insisting if crux is sure and gideon is like "can we kill him already?"

not with those words, but she's like metaphorically pointing at her watch like judge judy

ice cube barbie no longer nona keeps remembering how johnny boy cask of amontillado-ed her and she asked where was anastasia while he was doing it

crux and gideon keep arguing and gideon starts reading her pedigree receipts

she says "I want you to know who I am!" and crux goes "You died as you lived, Gideon Nav—a disappointment to me—and to God"

idk if he was being an asshole on purpose so she'd kill him already or if he just wanted to be a nasty bastard until the very end

also, I don't know if gideon really believes all this, because we haven't seen her perspective in this book, but it'd be sad if she does

I mean, I get it, she lived without an identity and being naruto-ed in the ninth for it, and suddenly she's princess amelia mignonette thermopolis renaldi

but it'd be very sad if she thinks that what makes her worthy is who she was born as or who her father is and not who she actually is

we love you for you, gideon sweetie

more so in spite of your dad than because of him, actually

you're worthy just for existing and you've done good and brave things just being you, before you knew of your background

don't fall for the emperor propaganda

gideon kills him but feels terrible still, because there are a lot of issues to unpack that killing a dreadful old man can't fix

ice cube barbie no longer nona keeps remembering and there are beetles in her memory, as well as a pool of salt water from which she drank

ice cube barbie no longer nona steps into the cold water, with harrow's heart freezing, as she remembers doing the same back then, when she first came into la tumbita

she hears yandere twin coming closer as she sees herself lying there

WHICH I CALLED???? BACK IN CHAPTER 11???

YAY ME

she says dr reverend emperor john made her ugly, which is slander to one of my favorite barbies ever

but anyway, celebratory screencap of the reason I called her ice cube barbie this whole time

she hears someone shout "No" from the shore, which I think is probably yandere twin

and she says she sees anastasia's body, all bones, ready to close the door whenever it was opened

wasn't anastasia the one who "never made it" into the bolthole? whose room was empty? who had "figured out" the lyctor thing? whose cav was killed by the emperor?

did she die there guarding the door or...?

I'm sure you'll correct me in the replies

unless it's a spoiler for the story or the stuff I have yet to read

nona, who is now more ice cube barbie than nona, says her last nona thing and goes "well happy birthday to me, I guess" and head dives into ice cube barbie body

EPILOGUE (first house skull means trouble every time)

ice cube barbie proceeds to break her chains

now here it all turned into shakespeare all of a sudden so I had to go over this a couple times

and the descriptions of the people are like "child 1" "child 2", so

be patient with me here

these books make me feel very dumb very often

yandere twin comes in for the kill but harrow stops her and says that, if she tries to kill ice cube barbie, their vow will be nullified and she'll kill her

yandere twin tells her she doesn't know what she's doing and harrow says "Not lately, but now"

yandere twin says she's half dead to which harrow replies "I am as one half-dead, but you would be two-halves dead, bitch"

I feel like I'm having a stroke

I feel like they're not really talking like shakespeare in the park, that's how ice cube barbie hears it, but idk at this point

yandere twin goes into her mocking flirty kinky territory and says "I only die of longing for thee"

and harrow goes "Then perish"

ice cube barbie then gets up and smacks yandere twin across the tomb

skeletons start coming up but when ice cube barbie lifts the sword, they all go like "better not"

now we're stating to call ice cube barbie "alecto", which I'm not gonna do, because that nickname was signaled upon me by apollo himself

and, now that I think about it, if this book was gonna be part 1 of alecto and then author got carried away, makes sense that it's the same bitch

anyway, pyrrha calls to ice cube barbie and she goes "he has never appeased me, and now all he has done was teach me how to die"

ice cube barbie remembers "the vow" and turns to harrowcita

she raises her sword, but then remembers her from her dreams and doesn't strike her

harrowcita tells her she's loved her all her life and that she can kill her if she wants

which would make this a very very bad day for gideon

ice cube barbie is angry but lifts her up and kisses her and draws blood, because she can't be not feral about anything

ice cube barbie is confused of why harrow isn't appeased by this because that's "how meat loves meat"

gotta teach this earth entity about different kinds of love

through harrow's blood, ice cube barbie understands what she is

at this point I went "a blender baby?"

but she says she's "the blood of the tomb keeper"

so then I got that she meant anastasia lol

ice cube barbie apologises for dr reverend emperor john killing anastasia's cav

testing my memory, these people, had to double check who samael was

she swears to harrowcita the way she swore to anastasia and says "I am in your service until you bid me the favour, and whatsoever you appoint I shall perform, and consider the vow rendered. This is what I promised, until such a time as you deal with me as you see fit"

what was going on between ice cube barbie and anastasia????

harrow thinks she's not worthy of the vow

but ice cube barbie kneels, offers the sword and cuts harrowcita's hand so her blood is on the sword and goes "Notwithstanding, I offer you my service"

and then gideon, very angrily, shouts from the shore "Get in line, thou big slut"

we love gideon

there's a time skip then and ice cube barbie ends up in dr reverend emperor john's ship

she says she still finds the river dead

dr reverend emperor john is butt naked, drunk and looking a mess

ice cube barbie seems to be carrying an unconscious harrow around in one arm

which means we keep separating gideon and harrow and this is the slowest burn ever

I don't even know if they're endgame, at this point

that tagline I really have issues with, the one about the "lesbian necromancers in space", made me expect something entirely different by this point in time

ANYWAY

ice cube barbie is carrying the sword in her other hand

she uses it to stab dr reverend emperor john in the heart

but that just wakes him up and he says "Annabel, good morning"

I reached my quota of images per post for the second time in the recaps lifespan

BUT THAT'S IT!!!! Next time, I'll have the story and the other extra stuff that's at the end of the book and we'll see what we do next!

Some of you have said you'd be interested in me doing Alecto when it comes out, even if you'll be busy with more important fandom input than these silly recaps at that time, others have been interested in me potentially doing this with Murderbot, but before any of that, I'm thinking of doing a couple extras of some stuff, like a top 10 Best Recap Moments, maybe with the best things I predicted or something, you guys can cast votes if you want!! Until next time!!! ♥

[transboyswitchytales]

Busy Woman

Governor Claire DeBella (Alpha) x Student Fem Reader (Omega)

Part 1

Sugar Mama Claire DeBella is having a hard time away from her bonded mate.

SMUT WARNING (MDNI) 18+

Alpha/Omega/ Mommy kink/ Power kink/ Sugar Mama/ FaceTime Masturbation / Possesive kink / Jealousy Kink / G!P

(Glass Onion Fandom)

My Masterlist

You took a hit of your inhaler before sighing at the load of homework you had spread across your bed. The only thing illuminating the small apartment is the low, dim light of your computer screen. You sat with a partially empty chip bag to your right. Adorned in grey sweatpants and an old tie-dye sweatshirt. You’d been sitting at the stupid computer for hours trying to finish your finals. 

Your cold toes are cramping in the cool air of your apartment.

You groaned and set the inhaler aside, scratching your scalp nervously. Aching for a cigarette. Just as you thought it, your phone lit up. 

‘How are finals going?’

You groan again, and before you can type back you see her text again. 

‘You better not be smoking.’ 

You roll your eyes now, before unlocking your phone to type back. 

‘I have a night full of crazy fun times ahead of me. Hows work?’

You never had to wait long. Claire didn’t take long to respond like, ever. She was anal about your quick response as well. You didn’t mind her possessive, nit-picky behavior not even when it came down to midnight texts.  

You fidgeted your bound band around your finger subconsciously. She’d given it to you pretty quickly into your courting. Her poor ex-husband hadn’t even seen it coming. The second she’d sniffed you, you’d belonged to her. 

‘Frustrating. People are incompetent as usual. Which class?’

You pulled the throw blanket at the bottom of your bed around your shoulders and grabbed your phone, heading towards the fridge. Yanking open the fridge door only to see slim pickings. Lots of condiments, a few fancy beers, not so much food. Claire usually sent groceries, but you'd told her she didn’t need to. But she believed you needed supervision in taking care of yourself. You’d called Claire your Sugar Mama on more than one occasion for these tendencies. She seemed to only grin like the cat that ate the canary at this nickname. 

Grabbing a water bottle, you kicked the fridge closed with your heel as you typed back. 

All of them. Do you go to New York this week?

No, don’t change the subject sweet girl. Tell me.’

,American Foreign Policy.American National Government. American Political Thought. Contemporary Political Ideologies.

‘Well, that’s hot.’ Your screen lights up with her message, using that cheery dinging chime for her texts. You started to chew on your bottom lip. A bad habit she told you. 

Lol, the fact that all of my classes are around politics turns you on?

You typed with one hand as you sipped at the water. It’s cold and refreshing as it slips past your lips.

‘You’ll just be such an adorable first lady when I’m president.’ You tilted your head back and laughed in the small apartment alone. 

‘Now that, I can see.’ 

In truth, you really could see Claire as president. She was powerful and had mafia-level kind of connections. It is kinda scary to think of the power she holds. If it wasn’t so sexy. 

‘You flirt. Do you need help with your papers?’

‘I think you being here would only make me horny and unable to do any homework.’ 

‘Are you sure about that? I can be very helpful.’

You are tempted to send back an eggplant emoji. 

‘Oh, Yeah? ‘’

‘I can make you feel so good. ‘

‘I don’t see how that helps with my papers, lol.’ 

‘I could send a car around.’

That's how the two of you had been meeting up. She’d send a car around and you’d either meet her at her townhouse or the apartment near her work. Claire then would fuck you till you were a whimpering mess, she’d feed you dinner. And you’d fall asleep in her million-count Egyptian cotton bed. Only to have to make a mad dash to classes the next morning. 

‘That will really help with my homework, huh?’

‘Who said anything about homework?’

You downed the water and threw it away. 

‘Lol, you did just a few seconds ago Governor.’

‘Not my favorite thing that you call me, but I don’t mind it.’

‘Now if I called you what you want me to we’d both have blue balls.’

You suddenly had a very vivid memory of her dick sliding into your throat over and over as drool flowed down your bottom lip. Talk about blue balls. 

‘Hmmm, now that's a gross term for what we have.’

You chuckled but sat back down and repositioned your laptop. Blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders you shivered in the chilly state of your apartment. You missed her body heat next to you in bed. Maybe you were getting sick?

‘I’m not gonna get jack shit done if you make me horny.’

‘I like to keep my baby in a constant state of wanting. I think that makes it easier for both of us.”

You laughed as you flipped on the TV to see Claire’s earlier press conference on national affairs on CNN. Closing your laptop you turned up the TV to hear her talking back to some lowly pentagon pencil pusher.   

‘I don’t know if I’d say easier.’

‘Just don’t forget the rules.’

She sure as shit caught you just as your hand was reading to the strings on your sweatpants. You sighed. Well fuck. 

“I won't.’ You text back and wish she didn’t know you so well. 

‘Let me hear it. Say it.”

“I won’t touch Mommy’s property without permission.”

“Now that's a good girl.”

You could practically hear her purr the sentiment back at you. 

There was no way you were finishing your homework tonight. You fluffed a pillow next to you and hugged it wishing you weren’t alone in bed. Closing your eyes as you listened to Claire on CNN lull you to sleep. 

_________________

Next morning was not as forgiving as the night had been. You walked onto campus with a backpack slung over your left shoulder. Your white high top converse made squeaky noises on the linoleum floor of the library. Your phone vibrated and you snuck your hand into your jean pocket to pull it out. A librarian gave you the evil eye but you opened it up to see Claire’s name lit up. 

‘Are you being a good girl?’

‘You know I am.’ You text back only to get a reply quickly. 

‘I need to see you this weekend.’

‘You know we can’t.’

Claire rarely followed her own rules. She’d said during this media storm she’d need to keep a bit of distance. It wasn’t that she was ashamed. She was an Alpha in the public opinion, with a much younger college girlfriend. It was a little taboo that she’d already mated and put a ring on you. She’d wanted to pump you full of pups. But she was waiting until she was re-elected before putting that stress on the relationship. 

Though you weren’t rushing things, the idea of being a college student married to a governor was going to make things very complicated. You enjoyed not being seen on campus as it was now. 

‘I don’t give a shit. I’ll send a car.’

You smile but shake your head. That’s all they needed, was to get caught by some cub reporter wanting to make a buck on some sleazy website. 

‘Bad idea Claire. But I saw you on CNN again this morning. That’s some sexy pantsuit Governor.’

‘Are you teasing me?” You could practically see her sexy smirk. 

“I would never, Madame Govener.’

‘Good girl , but don’t change the subject.’

‘You know that it would be super hard. Too many eyes.’

‘When this election is over I’m marrying you. Fuck everyone's eyes.’

‘I thought we were waiting for me to graduate college?’ You pulled out a book on a top shelf down and slid your phone between the pages so it at least looked like you were doing what you came to the library to do. 

‘Nah, I want my eye candy on my arm. I’m tired of endless workdays and all I can come home to is a bottle of wine. I need my good girl home. Where she belongs.’  

You can’t help but smile like an idiot. But the librarian clears her throat and points to the no phone sign to her left. You smile apologetically now and tuck the phone in your pocket. Putting the book back and slinking guiltily out of the library. The phone buzzed not a minute later. 

‘Hello? You know I don’t make a habit out of making marriage proposals and then getting no text back.’

‘Sorry, I’m here. ‘

‘The tracker on your phone tells me you are at school, but you don’t have class today?”

“I love it when you stalk me. No class, but I’m looking for a book I can cite for my paper.’

‘What time will you be home?’

‘An hour tops, why?’

‘I am scheduling groceries.’

‘Ya know, I can pay for my own food right?’ You scoffed. 

‘Mama’s got it covered.’

‘You are such a tease.’ You look around you to find an exit. Pushing it open and hoping it’s not an emergy exit that is going to blare loudly in the library. 

‘You obviously have spent too much time away if that’s how you talk to me.’

‘Thank you for the groceries. Do you want to Facetime tonight?’

‘Will you be naked?’

‘If that’s what Mama wants.’

You turn down the hall to the cafeteria and go straight to the small coffee stand. Ordering a black coffee and slip an AirPod in. With the sole purpose of listening to the audio version of your textbook. But your phone lights up with an incoming call. You answer it and put two dollars in the tip jar. 

‘Govenor slutty hotline. You call I fall to my knees.”  You answer to hear a heady dark chuckle.

“Cute.” 

The barista smiles at you with a big grin and hands you a coffee. She’s adorable and she’s got purple hair. And her bracelet says ‘my body, my choice.’ And then there’s a few vote rubber bracelets too. 

“Thanks, nice bracelets, have a good day.” You say sweetly and grab a coffee sleeve.

“I thought you were at school?” Claire asks, and you swear she sounds little jealous. Which is ridiculous but you don’t call her out on it. 

“I needed coffee.” You balance the phone against your shoulder as you slip the coffee cozy on and sip at the bitter drink. 

“How much coffee have you had today?”

“My usual four cups. And two energy drinks?”

You hear her shuffling paperwork and stop when you answered her. Obviously that was not the answer she’d been hoping for.

“That’s too high for your age.”

“Until I’m pregnant with your pups, I get to drink as much coffee and energy drinks as I want.”

“You think so, huh?” It sounded dangerous out of Claire’s mouth now.

“No,no, no, don’t make this a rule. This is so not cool.” You whine. 

“There are medical studies that back it. Too much coffee is not good.” She says it in her Mommy voice now. It’s smooth and caring like butter on toast.

“Ok, and how many cups of coffee do you drink a day?” You tried to tease lightly in hopes of not getting in trouble. 

“I don’t believe we were talking about me.”

“Pot meet kettle.” You let out a puff of frustrated air. Which Claire heard of course. 

“You obviously need to be taught a lesson with the amount of sass I’m getting today.” A memory of being spanked by Claire came into your mind. Past mistakes and sore bottoms were no fun.

“No sass. Just firm boundaries when it comes to the magical bean.” You took another big gulp of coffee and sighed happily.

“There’s a dirty joke in that sentence I won’t make.”

You chuckled and looked at the clock on your phone. Realizing Claire was talking to you at an odd hour. Not your usual times to talk. 

“How's work?”

“Horrible. I need you.”

It was so sweet that she said this kind of stuff to you. You knew she’d never admit that to her ex. 

“Where are you?” You turned to look at your surroundings, not wanting to say something incriminating. 

“In my office, where else?”

“I don’t know, I was always hoping you’d call me in your office with your hand down your pants.” You mused and licked your lips at the idea. Claire made a satisfied noise in the back of her throat.

“Do not get me started, only to leave me like you did last night.”

“Hey, I fell asleep, and I didn’t even touch myself!” You’d had dirty dreams of her again, though. Waking up a mess, your underwear soaked through and your sheets. You weren’t even supposed to have a heat. It was like your hormones were going nuts and you didn’t know why.  

“Like a good little girl.” Claire praised. 

“Wonder if everyone in parliament is as kinky as you. Calling their partners good girls and flogging them?” You imagined a bunch of old men in cock cages.  

“You’ll never find out.” Claire was chronically possessive. Even though she really didn’t need to be. 

“I bet there's an underground kinky club with whips and chains.” You’d imagined her in leather with a bullwhip now.

“I think I am rethinking your career choice.” She said and you heard her breathing change. The alpha coming out in full force.

“Hey!” You scoffed.

“The only dungeon you’ll be seeing is the one in my townhouse.”

“You don’t have one, I checked extensively.” You’d expected her to have her very own red room. But no such luck. 

“We’ll have to re-model after we’re married. Is that what you are telling me?” Claire sounded excited at the idea. And you blushed in the public place. 

“I’d never make such lofty demands.”

You knew Claire was going to correct you, telling you that when you were married things would change. But before she had the chance she was interrupted by someone opening the door. You knew Claire hated it when people didn’t knock on her office door before entering. 

“What? What is it?” Claire was obviously talking to someone who had just walked into her office. And she did not sound pleased one bit by the interruption. 

“I’ll have to call you back,” Claire said through gritted teeth. You pitied the fool who interrupted her. 

“Good luck.” You said before she hung up. Looking down at your phone, you switched back on the textbook and made your way back to the library. Quickly hiding your coffee as you slipped back in to find your book. You started to feel sweaty, but pushed it down. 

___________________________________

Eighteen bags of groceries later, you were sitting on the floor of your kitchen trying to figure out how you were going to fit all of it in. It was around five pm when Claire called again. 

“This is too much food.” You grumbled instead of pleasantries. You were holding a huge case of strawberries. Which were your favorites, but still. 

“I didn’t want you to go hungry,” Claire defended a little taken back by your lack of excitement at her call.  

“I don’t eat this much.” It was true that you forgot to eat on the regular. If it wasn’t for your early morning runs, you wouldn't eat breakfast at all. But lately, you’ve been chronically running to help with your libido. Ever since your mating bite, it had been extremely hard not to masturbate. You were needy and horny all the time. 

You longed to be filled by Claire. You missed her scent. You missed her everything.  

‘I know, you are too thin.”

“My kitchen physically cannot hold this much food.” You look at the overwhelming produce on your kitchen counter. You weren’t going to comment on your weight with her. 

“You don’t eat three meals a day, and we both know it.” There was an edge to her voice now. It sounded angry, but you knew it was laced with concern. You hated to admit Claire was right, you knew she worried about you. 

“Let me try this again, good evening, darling wife. How was work in the big city?” You changed the subject knowing this would not end well if you two kept going. Claire was like a pitbull, she’d lock jaw onto something and never let go. 

“I like the sound of this. It was horrendous. People can’t follow simple directions and that is why our entire system is failing.” You heard her sigh and you knew she was rolling her neck, where her tension sat. 

“Well, that's a cheery tone. Can’t wait to get into politics.”

“Goodnight Larry.” Claire was obviously talking to the driver, and you heard her heels clicking on the cement stares up to her townhouse. Where the sound of the lock sliding and the door slamming shut. Her alarm system made soft beeps and she put in the code. Which you now knew was your birth month, her birth month, and then the date you met. 

“Facetime me,” Claire demanded tiredly. 

You flipped your phone on and stood so that only your naked shoulders were visible. Your breasts were on full display and you forgot as you walked naked in your apartment all the time. 

“Oooh, I didn’t realize you were naked.” Claire’s face warmed at the sight. 

“I’m not I just worked up a sweat putting away enough food to feed all of Africa. I’m wearing your  boxers.” You said self-consciously looking down. 

“Lemme see.” She cackled as she bound up her stairs to her bedroom. 

“No way! You are fully clothed! It’s not fair!” You whined wanting to see her naked too. Your nipples hardened at her stare. 

“Did you just say no?” Claire stopped walking to light glare at you, and you groaned in defeat. 

“Oh come on, this is-” You stopped when she gave you a certain dominatrix look. One you’d seen before and sent a chill down your spine. You grumbled but set the phone down on your coffee table in the living room so she could see your light blue Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Claire had bought them for herself but you’d stolen them. 

“Now that’s a yummy sight to come home to.” Claire kicked off her heels and pulled her hairpins out for her long, dark hair to unravel from its tight bun. 

“Stoooop.”

“Is my little girl blushing?” Claire teased, and it did what she’d intended. Your chest flushed all the way to your ears. 

“Claire!” You whined again in a submissive tone. 

“You are just too cute.” She unzipped her dress and grabbed the phone, pulling it into the closet.

“Can I move now?”

“Nope, I like my view.” Claire put her dress in the dry cleaning pile. You’d been in her closet before to steal sweatpants and her old college sweatshirt. Which had mysteriously gone missing from her wardrobe. A staple to your sleep attire ever since. It had the faint smell of her perfume still lingering. You’d worn it religiously to bed when the two of you were apart. 

You walked out of frame only to get a clear cough of disapproval. Before you brought the phone over to the kitchen and propped it so she could still see your naked torso. Goosebumps formed over your chest at her gaze. It still never got old. The idea of her wanting you. 

You heated a pan on your small stove. Watching Claire drop her bra. Smiling at seeing her naked, you took a quick screenshot. Before she pulled on a pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweater. 

“I saw that.” Claire teased you, but her face was not upset. 

You tried not to giggle. 

“Governor Debella, I haven’t the foggiest what you mean.” You put the camera over by the stove and pulled out some of the various veggies that were now in your fridge. 

“What do you do with all these dirty screenshots?” Claire asked as she turned the closet light off and her bare feet bounced down the stairs to her kitchen. Where she picked out a wine that you were sure cost as much as your rent. 

“Maybe I’m going to make a dirty scrapbook.” You pulled out a cutting board and started to chop a red pepper. 

“Ah, youth.” She poked fun, only for you to point the knife at the camera in defense. 

“Hey!” You had way too many photos on your phone of Facetime screenshots and videos and dick picks….yeah ok maybe it was a little bit of a dirty scrapbook. 

“What’s for dinner?” She deflected. 

“Stir fry with my garden of vegetables.” You said as you chopped skillfully. Claire knew you used to work in kitchens. You’d been a line cook for a while in one of DC’s Michelin-star restaurants. But that was a lifetime ago. Just to pay for college. 

Your girlfriend took a minute to admire you slicing veggies with speed and precision. Every piece looked perfect as you moved the extra-sharp chef's knife you’d kept from your time on the line. After a few minutes of staring at your naked chest and your talented hands. Claire sipped her wine and picked up her laptop, turning it on as her work never finished. She stopped looking at the computer to look back at you quizzically. 

“Do you like to garden?”

You took a moment to consider where the question was coming from. 

“It’s kinda hard to garden in an apartment in DC. But one day it would be nice to have a little veggie garden or a greenhouse type of thing.” You said, remembering the kitchen greenhouse combo in Practical Magic. You’d loved Sandra Bullock in that movie, a huge crush for sure. But something about magic, herbs, and a big greenhouse attached to a kitchen seemed nice. 

You knew Claire’s ex-husband Devon had gotten their country home. You wondered if that was something she’d been upset about now that Claire was ready to start a family with you. Or if the governor had been happy to leave Devon with the giant house full of bad memories. 

You weren’t being jaded about Devon, you knew Claire had said there weren’t happy times. She’d found him un-intelligent and they’d had sex twice. Neither one of them came. Claire realized Davon thought she was going to take it in the ass for him, and she wasn’t ever. And he didn’t wanna touch her dick. They were never going to be compatible.

He got votes for her from Kentucky; that was his whole purpose. He was a dumb piece of shit that opened her door. But it made the Republican Party less threatened by her. Because she was obviously married to a nice man who wore the pants…how wrong they’d been.  

 Claire quickly told him that if he slept with someone else, her career would suffer. So he’d need to have whatever girl sign an iron-clad NDA, or she’d pay him monthly to stick to his hand.

 I guess Devon didn’t like an alpha woman telling him what to do in any capacity. But he liked money. So for the duration of their marriage they’d slept in separate rooms, and while Claire had stayed celebate Devon had gotten addicted to internet porn. And evidently some pretty intresting chat rooms. 

All that had changed when Claire saw you. 

“Hmmm.” Claire said, bringing you out of your thoughts now. 

“You keep flowers in your house.” You pointed out remembering her townhouse always had fresh cut flowers in large vases.  

“I like plants. But the housekeeper waters everything. I don’t have the time.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder.

“That makes sense.” You wondered what she was picking at before her gaze went back to her email. 

“Fuck, I should have called Lionel today.” She mumbles as you see her start typing rapidly. You know she’s been sucked into the void. You don’t mind as you start to saute veggies.

Unlike Devon, you didn’t mind that Claire was addicted to work. You always thought the love of your life needed something outside of you. Because you weren’t going to drop everything for them either. You were studying to work in politics. But you definitely hadn’t expected to be mated into the job. 

Rubbing your tense shoulder, you mute the FaceTime. Moving over to your laptop, you set it on some tunes on Spotify as Claire gets lost in work. This goes on for about twenty minutes before she comes up for air. You are listening to Sabrina Carpenter's

 ‘Busy Woman’. It was on a playlist you’d made for Claire. You sing along as your alpha gets lost in work. 

I'm so mature, collected and sensible

Except when I get hit with rejection

To turn me down, well, that's just unethical

I'll turn into someone you're scared to know

But if you need my love

My clothes are off, I'm comin' over to your place

And if you don't need (if you don't need) my love

I didn't want your little bitch-ass anyway

Yeah, I'm a busy woman

I wouldn't let you come into my calendar any night

But if you want my kisses

I'll be your perfect Mrs. 'til the day that one of us dies

Claire watched you singing now and was trying to figure out which song you were happily performing in your kitchen. Claire eventually flags you down and you pause the song.

“Darling?” She says, and you turn the burner off. 

“I’m here.” You say soothingly to her, it seems to do the trick, and Claire’s face doesn’t look so anxious. You knew this had been a bit of relationship ptsd. 

“Sorry, work emails.” Claire sighs at how stupid her team is. 

“You don’t have to apologize.” You tell her and you mean it. 

You’d said this to her a million times. You knew Claire had a huge workload and a lot riding on her career. You found it sexy. You were happy to study or read next to her while she checked emails. It didn’t bother you.

You moved the phone and your bowl of food over to the sofa. Propping her up as you sat with your bamboo chopsticks with little doves on them. Eating a little sloppily as she went back into her emails. The two of you sat in silence before, eventually, you started to yawn. 

“Sleepy, baby?”

“Nah, I’m awake.” You lied, and she grinned sweetly at you. Like she’d caught you with your hand in a cookie jar. 

“Come on, sweetheart, off to bed,” Claire told you, and you missed her even more. You wanted to go to bed next to your mate. 

“I gotta shower. I have class super early tomorrow.” You told your alpha instead. You still felt a little under the weather, and you really did like the idea of bed. But you needed a shower. You’d been sweating and slick between your legs all day. 

“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind a view.” She smirks as she sips her wine. 

“You didn’t have dinner.” You chastised her back for her lack of appetite. 

“I’d rather be devouring you.” The alpha showed her perly white canines and you felt your clit throb. 

“SToooop.” You blush and whine. She grins back in a seriously naughty fashion. You know there’s no arguing with her. So you leave the dishes and bring her into the bathroom. Claire goes into her bedroom at the same time. Putting the phone against a pillow. As you propped her up on the sink, you dropped Claire’s Calvin Klein boxers. The patch of pubic hair does little to shield your stiff clit. You could already see the outline of her cock hardening in her yoga pants. She pushed the band of her pants and her dick springs free. It was already leaking. 

“Fuck Mommy.” You brought your one hand down to your stomach. Thinking about how her cum would make your tummy buldge. 

Letting your fingers graze over your mound to show her your clit. It was hard and pink and ready for Claire’s mouth. 

“Get in the shower, baby girl.” Claire started to stroke her cock gently. Bringing the bit of precum around her veiny shaft. Her mushroom head was a darker shade of pink than normal. Usually, the shade matched her perfect nipples. But you realized she’d been hard for a while, because the head of her cock looked like it had been rubbing against her clothes today.  

You started the water, turning the nob over to the hottest setting. You moved over to rummage through a drawer.

“What are you up to? I didn’t say you could touch.” Claire smirked as she moved her palm over her impressive dick. It was a good eight and a bit inches, you’d asked her to measure, and she’d refused. So you had to guess, and when it was inside of you, you’d sworn it was at least ten inches. You’d never fucked an Alpha before Claire. Only betas, one omega girl as a one-night stand, and one guy in high school had been five inches, and you’d been uncomfortable with him inside of you.

 But Claire was good, she always worked you up. And because you two were mates your body oozed slick so fast. You were always wet around her. It was embarrassing to you, but the governor was obsessed with the taste of your arousal. You’d tried to use pads to stop it from ruining your pants and her bedding. But your alpha had none of that. She’d forbid you from using anything to stop the pool between your legs.

 Claire would lick it like she was eating a meal. Not caring how much you begged her to stop or fuck you. Claire would just grin and be enamored as more poured out of you. Her pheromones just caused your body to do it. 

But in return, Claire had said she was always hard when she could smell you. It was a good thing you both hadn’t been in public together much. 

You brought out your favorite item in the apartment, a large pink dildo, very phallic with its veins and mushroom head. A perfect match for Debellas cock. You’d gotten it for Valentine's day. It was a mold of Claire’s dick. She’d said she didn’t like you using dildo’s. The possesive Alpha had thrown your toys away. The idea of something else inside you made her alpha enraged. But you’d seen a casting kit online and bought it. It had been surprising that Claire allowed you to do it. But she liked the idea of you working your hole for her. But only when she allowed it, and always on video for Claire.  

“Oh baby, you miss your alpha’s cock that much, huh?” Claire’s voice was thick with arousal and you knew she wasn’t gonna let you cum. You nod enthusiastically, and you spit on the tip of her dildo. It slowly drops from your bottom lip onto the pink toy. 

“Oh, baby. Good girl. Take it all the way down your throat.” She loves your spit, any fluids really. The governor instructed you, and you were all too happy to listen. 

Obeying Claire, relaxing your throat, and taking the toy deep inside. Feeling it stretch your throat, as saliva started to ease the burn.  

“Oh fuck yes.” Claire sighed her hips pushed up as she twisted her hand around her cock and bared down. Biting her bottom lip as she watched. Claire was not being kind to her dick. You’d be so much nicer to her. But maybe that was why she was being so cruel, because if she’d touched herself kindly, it would hurt her heart. 

You walked into the shower but kept the door open so Claire could watch. As you moved the dildo in and out of your throat. You twisted and sucked closing your eyes and wishing it was Claires. Remembering her smell, her taste, god, you missed your mate. 

“No, no baby girl. Keep your eyes open.”

You hesitated for only a second, and in that time Claire's alpha voice growled out. 

“I mean it.”

You almost came on the spot. Knees going weak, you grab the wall. 

Opening your eyes to see her heavy breathing and flushed. Her hair was in a bit of a frenzy as she watched you with a devilish smirk. Her right hand was working faster than she meant for it to. 

“Can I?” You say taking the toy out and bringing it down to your pubic hair slightly. The pubic hair got a little wet from your saliva. Blue eyes stared at your cute little hair.  

“Is that how you ask?” Claire practically pants out as she doesn’t slow down. 

“Mommy, please, it hurts so bad.” You drop your bottom lip and pout. She smiles at your game.

“Inside slowly.” Claire knows you tend to force her dick inside of you too quickly and you had torn and bled during her rut once. It had made her upset to no end. She’d wanted you to stop her, and you never could. It just felt so good, sometimes you forgot to stretch. But as stated, Claire didn’t ever again. 

“But, I don’t want it slow.” You kept up your pout but moved the head of the dildo in between your folds. Feeling the pressure of it entering you so slowly. You accidentally humped the air and she laughs deep in her throat. 

“It’s not about what you want, baby girl.” Her knot was building now, and you knew she didn’t even notice. But she was about to make a mess. Too much time away from you, too much cum in her balls. She needed release, and her knot was at attention. You wondered how she got it that big without you there. But then you saw a flash of black lace. 

“Is that my thong?” You pant looking at her. Claire doesn’t look even a little phased as she brings it to her nose and sniffs. That’s how her knot had formed. The smell of you. You couldn’t believe it. Alphas couldn’t usually knot from masturbation alone. So the smell of you did it.

You licked your hand and brought it down to the dick to twist it as you would to the base of her shaft so you could tease her knot. She moaned and handled her cock a little too roughly. Making her pump faster than before. 

“I need you inside.” You whimper as you sink deeper down onto the cock. 

“Back up.” 

You do so, and the hot water falls over your shoulders and rolls down your arms. It moves down your chest and stomach. Making the bit of saliva on your pubic hair dissolve with the water. You get goosebumps from the hot water. Tilting your head back so your hair can get wet. Now you are dripping water. 

“Now that is screenshot worthy.” You hear from Claire just as she does so. You see the flash just as you bring the dildo all the way inside. Your clit is throbbing from the lack of touch. 

“Mommy…”

“No, baby, you know the rules.” You weren’t going to get to cum. It was becoming very clear that you were shooting porn for your alpha. So you figured you’d at least give a great show.

 You picked up the pace of the dildo and threw your head back as the sound of your wet hole flooded the bathroom. The loud slaps of your thrusting.  You heard her before you could say anything. Claire came with ropes of white semen. She cursed as she got it on her scrunched-up yoga pants and bedding. 

“Damn it.” She groaned. You didn’t stop, and she cleared her throat. 

“Please, I’m so close.”

“Take it out, now Omega.”

You let out a sob of objection. But do so, taking the toy out and licking the side of it. Tasting yourself as you saw Claire's dick start to semi-harden again. 

“Are you trying to get into trouble tonight?” 

You know how much Claire loved watching you lick your own cum off her cock after you had sex. 

“I was innocently cleaning.” You put the toy under the showerhead to clean your cum off of it. 

“You are going to make me hard again. Put the toy down and shower.”

“You're no fun.” 

To be Continued....

[gamingavickreyauction]

This model doesn't seem to add up to me. Fundamentally, with no money transfers in or out of the bank-operator system except for rent, it's always going to be optimal for them to maximise rent.

There doesn't seem to be a good reason for the building operator to take part in extend and pretend. The article says that by eating $140k in losses each year, they avoid losing the building in 5 years time when the loan comes to be refinanced. But whatever happens- if the loan gets refinanced on the same terms or not, if they lower rents or not- they're still never going to get significant amounts of money from the building. The only way they can make any revenue at all is by lowering rents so they make $60k per year after loan payments, and only for 5 years before the building gets repossessed after failing to refinance- at which point they go bankrupt and the bank gets all their assets, so they don't keep the 5*$60k. Which means, whatever their balance sheet says, the building isn't an asset to them. They're never going to get any money out of the building, so they're paying $140k per year for nothing.

If they can survive the losses of failing to get the loan refinanced at the elevated rate, then they're better off doing that immediately- because it avoids losing a bunch of money in the meantime, and because they shouldn't be borrowing $16m if they only need $11.2m. If they can't survive, then delaying while paying $140k per year isn't going to help them. At some point they're going to run out of money, and go bankrupt anyway. In that case you can see why they might want to keep the scheme going anyway- the executives at the business want to keep making their salaries for as long as possible before it goes under. But in that case it makes no sense for the bank to keep the scheme going- because there is going to be a default at some point, and when that happens, all of the operator's assets will be owned by the bank. So it's in the bank's interests to force the default to happen earlier, before the operator burns away many of their assets from paying for the loan out of pocket and keeping paying dividends to shareholders with net equity that they don't have.

The article suggests, without further investigation, that they are just keeping the scheme going 'until circumstances change'- perhaps they will start to make $1m/yr rent if they keep this going long enough. But if they will start making that much then the building really is worth more than $14m, and either a) at the actual value of the building the operator is still in negative equity, and by the same argument the bank wants them to default as soon as possible or b) at the actual value the operator is in positive equity, and can afford to refinance the building at the actual value of the building, as long as they lower rents. So 'until circumstances change' does nothing to rescue the model.

The only way this works is if the bank thinks they can get a different bank to refinance the building next time- to find a greater fool to eat the losses instead. But that doesn't seem terribly likely, and it means the bank is essentially running a scam, while the executives at the operator have a mutualist relationship with the scam, with it allowing them to keep their jobs temporarily. Alternatively, the bank isn't acting in a profit-maximising way because agents within it want to cover up their mistake in losing up to $2m on a loan they shouldn't have made, and even though 'extend and pretend' loses the bank money in the long run they can hope they've moved on elsewhere by then. But one would hope banks are well designed to prevent these kind of problems, otherwise these 'extend and pretend' loans would be happening everywhere, not just in real estate. But maybe they don't, and banks are a lot less solvent than they appear generally.

This is a much better and more thorough explanation of the “why does commercial real estate sit vacant instead of lowering rent until they find a tenant?” phenomenon than the ones I saw spitballing on Tumblr. Those were close but didn’t have the full answer to my satisfaction.

[sca-nerd]

Hi!! unlike a lot of the asks youve gotten lately, i dont have any advice or answers for anyone, but i do have a few questions for you!

im not worried about titles or how id be treated in the SCA as a trans person given the demographics of my area, but i AM kind of worried about things like clothing. i know there are some somewhat neutral options but having to be historically accurate kinda kills my usual method of blending historical clothing into androgyny, do you think theres any leway for things like that or would it be up to my local group entirely what theyd allow?

i was also wondering if the SCA is always so focused on such a specific geographic history (everything ive seen is either very english or somewhat scandinavian), or again is it up to the individual as long as its time period accurate? i think my local group would be the canton of seashire/barony of ruantallan so im sure theres at least a few people whod want to deviate, i just want to join a group like the SCA but i dont have much love for the english....

i also have a disability that makes it hard to travel and do stuff like pitch tents, i sometimes have to skip events. is that something id be able to compensate the group for in other ways if i need a little extra understanding sometimes? i dont feel right asking for help and not paying it back when its my own fault.

thanks for always helping us when we want to know things, ive wanted to join a group like this for so long but the SCA seems so strict that a two hour drive for someone who cant drive wasnt worth it, but now im moving and this new group gathers down the road from where im moving to so i figure maybe id try looking into it again! (im sorry this sounded like an email 🙃)

Hello, friend!

I have great news for you. :) The only requirement for garb in the SCA is that you make SOME attempt at pre-16th century clothing. That's it. That's the rule. Some people interpret this for themselves as being as strictly as historically accurate as they can, while others interpret it as doing what they can with the resources they have. It all depends on how you want to play your game. The other good news it that, just like today, people then played with fashion to fit their specific needs. So if you want to adjust your garb to something that is more comfortable for you, then by all means - do it!

When it comes to fashion among the populace, there are definitely trends that happen. But, like I mentioned before, there's also necessity in fashion. There was a little ice age happening from approximately 1300-1800, and so fashions tended to be layered and well... warm. That doesn't really work in some of our modern climates. In warmer Kingdom's you'll see a lot of Roman or Anglo-Saxon happening in the summer. In the winter, Viking tends to take over. You also find that fashions that are easier to make and wear are usually preferred over ones that are more complicated, expensive, or just unsuitable for the event.

In my Kingdom, there was a trend for a little while for each of the reigns to be themed. We've had a Persian reign, a Landsknecht reign, a Viking reign - and then the populace made garb to coincide with the theme of the reign, which did add some diversity to looks. Right now, I've noticed that Landsknecht is definitely on the rise in our particular area after Viking had a bit of a strangle hold for a while. It still does, really, because it's such an easy fashion to make, and can be comfortable in all climates depending on the material you use (linen for summer, wool for winter).

Everyone has their skills and talents, as well as their limitations. You can absolutely find something to contribute to your group based on your own capabilities. Coordinating the hospitality, offering to watch little ones, heck - even being in charge of making the field space reservations would be ways that you can contribute to the group event experience. If you are a crafter, an artist, a performer, or even filling an officer position or assisting an office with their duties. And if you're none of those things, that's fine, too. Events are more fun just having people there to share the experience with. No one will begrudge you for not doing something you are incapable of doing. If they do, then forget them - I'm your SCA Mom now, and you can come play with me.

I'm so glad that you're closer to a group and are going to be able to be involved! I hope that you have an amazing time - please let me know when you go and how everything went! I'm so excited for you.

Welcome to the dream!

[reflectingiridescent]

The Grand Complication Job

Oh my GOD where do I even begin. This episode was SUCH A GIFT IN GENERAL AND ALSO TO ME PERSONALLY. We've got references to The Inside Job, The Rashomon Job, The Girls Night Out Job, The ACTUAL PILOT, The Runway Job, The Maltese Falcon Job, and that's just me pulling from my first watch.

Also peep Tara "I'll do it but only if you pay me" Cole turning down thanks for the first time EVER and only taking an itty bitty watch as payment.

The fact that it's a very clear-cut 5-person con using Tara and Astrid instead of Eliot/Hardison/Harry. The fact that they USE TARA AS THE ELIOT BECAUSE THAT IS A DISTINCT PART OF HER SKILLSET and we always forget that because she was brought in originally as a temporary replacement for Sophie.

Tara's extremely calm and measured approach to everything. The reference to her previous work with governments and coding. The Russian border.

I HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT HER GIVING SOPHIE PARENTING ADVICE? DID TARA GET A FOUND FAMILY? WHAT'S GOING ON THERE?

The glow up from her questioning the way Nate and the team did things to just doing them herself.

Parker: You're my wild card.

Parker seamlessly stepping into the role of leader which we all know and love. Sophie seamlessly stepping into the role of distraction so that the team can work. Astrid was kind of being taught here.

The team's ability to turn on a dime and Tara knowing exactly who to defer to and who to call. It's just so good. There is so much trust there.

"Aww, I'd've killed you too, babe."

Tara calling Breanna "hun" and "kid". Breanna acting very lesbian about meeting Tara. The in-episode upgrade to WINGMAN.

How the entire theme of the episode was an inversion of The Inside Job, where there it was two "dads" fighting to get Parker out while she was kind of coordinating her own thing. And this time it's two "daughters" fighting to get Sophie out while Sophie was just like lmaooo just wait until my kids get here.

The big spot of affirmation for Astrid and Parker from Sophie, and how Sophie considers herself to be one of Astrid's weaknesses 💔

Tara & Astrid mirroring that bit that Eliot and Hardison always used to pull! Mind you, they have JUST MET. I do like the idea that Sophie tells Tara so much detail about her team in passing that Tara can work with them if possible, but it also again drives home how much Sophie trusts Tara.

THE REFERENCE TO THE RASHOMON JOB BECAUSE ASTRID DID NOT NOTICE TARA.

Honestly still dying at how the bad guys have so much information on this team and didn't look at who Sophie was having lunch WITH. Sophie and Tara are the definition of DL.

I honestly don't know if Tara, the last time we saw her, would have verbally admitted how much she cares for Sophie in the way that she did this episode. She was so cagey back then. They both were. Warms my heart at how happy she seems and how wholeheartedly she stepped into the way that this team runs.

And I will actually take this growth and elevation of Tara over like, yeah, I know, the gay stuff a lot of us want to see between her and Sophie because like, I don't think any episode of the show has ever hit on how transcendent, rare, and deeply trusting it is for grifters like Tara and Sophie to have remained friends and confidantes for so long. No episode of the show before has ever really put this much emphasis onto the relationship between these two. Tara's always going to be there for Sophie. PERIOD.

We get foreshadowing of Tara's presence with the way that Parker and Astrid were acting on the roof.

Very slight reference to Sophie thinking the way Parker does in the s1 finale with Tara looking at that cable on the roof.

TARA DOES NOT UNDERSTAND PARKER AT ALL BUT SHE RESPECTS HER AND UNDERSTANDS HER AND HER LASER QUIRKS ENOUGH.

We even get the dance nod to Tara's iconic dance scene in s4!!! But no actual dancing which is fine.

Obsessed with how Tara stayed for drinks this time, even though I'm convinced that the only reason why she left with that one guy in s4 is because Sophie was obviously having serious issues with Nate and Tara was not about to stick around for that (never mind that Leverage was not going to pay Jeri Ryan for a whole extra episode).

Like even the styling is super consistent! Tara with all that silver bling around her neck.

We also get Tara driving which she did a lot in the OG series.

The Let Them Eat Cake function was sooo funny and I love how the entire episode is about how women can also be toxic and how they use that toxicity.

We also get Tara with a clothes rack which is a nod to that one fashion episode.

TARA COLE FOREVER AUNT OF THE LEVERAGE FOUND FAMILY!!!

[landmineconfessional]

I'm really sorry if this is long or doesn't make a lot of sense but I just have some thoughts about the community that I have gotten hate for previously and I just need to vent. You don't have to post this if you don't want to, and anyone who wants to read or not is okay. Don't take anything too seriously or personally please I'm not talking about anyone in particular.

I'm older I'm 28 so I know I don't fit in very well, but I grew up on tumblr and I have found myself becoming more and more disillusioned with this community lately to the point where I'm not sure why I'm still here. I think I'm just sticking around out of concern at this point. Its hard. There are very solid and good arguments for having a space where you can talk about your unhealthy coping mechanisms or lifestyle and not be judged. It's almost like a form of therapy, and especially if people can give you advice on how to stay safer while doing these things it can be really helpful. At the same time though I've noticed that a lot of this seems quite performative in this community. Much so as in the early 2000s on this website with the proana community romanticizing specifically anorexia to the point that people would very commonly post prayers to Ana. It became almost like a religion or cult within itself. I don't think it's at that point yet and I know thats a bit of an extreme metaphor but I do think that a lot of the eds and sh and alcoholism is almost becoming competitive on here. Ive seen people answer asks about how to cut deeper or things of that nature which is alarming to me. Im really torn. I want people to have a space, but I also have the foresight as an adult to know that this space is hurting them mentally because I'm older. People think I'm an asshole when I say that the teenagers on jiraiblr will grow up and realize that the community really fucked them up but I fully and truly believe that. A lot of older people who were on things like myproana or sh forums grew up and realized those forums made things worse for us and made it harder for us to recover and told us repeatedly its okay to never recover you dont have to recover. But this idea that its okay not to ever recover came back to bite us. Im torn. I think that it is kind of shitty to force people to recover and I think its shitty to say people can't do anything but post recovery content, but on the other hand once we reached the ages of around 23-27 on the ED forum... I watched a lot of my friends cling to their mental illnesses and it killed them. I watched the friends I had been counting calories with have heart complications and experience heart attacks at the age of 24. I watched the friends I had been sharing bodychecks with reach a point in their life where they could not do anything. They desperately wanted to be able to get a job and live their life and do what they wanted but their illnesses had become so bad that they could not do these things, some of them were hospitalized repeatedly, some of them had to live with their parents into their 30s, some of them desperately wanted to recover and had reached a point where they just couldn't and they withered away. I had a friend that I was talking to one night they were self harming and they told me that they were, and I did too at the time so I jokingly told them to send me photos. She severed a nerve and shortly after killed herself after coming to the full realization that she had taken away her own ability to use her hand.

Its just very sad and it hurts me to see this and I worry for the kids here. Especially the ones who run the kangel or ame blogs and try their best to play that role. I know at first they're being hyperbolic and trying to play that role, but over time that's going to become part of their daily speak and it's going to hurt them. "Fake it until you make it" works in both directions.

I dont know just I guess... know that if no one else I care about you and I worry about you and... I guess that's it. Sorry this is so jumbled

[kwanholic]

butterflies — wen junhui

pairing; classmate!jun x afab!reader

genre; fluff, classmates to friends to dating

word count; 1,3k words

summary; your new classmate seems shy, no way he would ever come talk to you, right? wrong. he wants to become friends with you, why not? not like you’ll fall in love with him and his perfect personality.

a/n; idk why this took me so long to write bye but anyway i hope you like this!! i might write a part 2 if you people enjoy this 💕💕 i love jun

you have a new classmate. he seems shy, and the only time you’ve heard him talk is when he introduced himself to the class.

you also had heard every other girl in your class talking to each other how cute the new student is, how they’d want to date him.

but was he really that cute?

to you, he looked like every other guy in your school, nothing special.

week one

it had been a few weeks since he had joined your school, and thankfully, most people have stopped talking about him. you were tired of hearing everyone say the same things over and over again.

as you walked to class and to your usual spot at the back, you thought it would be the same as every other lesson. boring, tiring, boring.

setting down your laptop and book down on the desk as you finally noticed a shadow casting in front of you.

you turned around to see the new kid standing there awkwardly, holding his backpack on one shoulder.

“can i sit here?…”

he asked, his voice quiet. you were a little surprised, since you had never talked to him before. nevertheless, you softly nodded and moved your bag from the chair next to you on to the floor.

he sits down right as the teacher walks in, and you don’t have any time to even question him. you sigh and rip a small piece of paper from your notebook, writing a question on it.

you slide the paper to the other side of the desk and pretend to write some notes on your laptop as you wait for his reply.

soon, the paper gets back on your side with his reply written under your questions.

you look over at him to see him already looking at you with a slight but shy smile on his face. you smile back at him but quickly return to doing your work.

he seems sweet… but you definitely need to get to know him better. the only thing you know about him is his name, and the fact that he likes cats. he never told you that, but based on his pencil case being a cat and his phone case having cat stickers on it, you kind of figured it out yourself.

week two

it’s been a while now since you two started talking. he has started sitting next to you more usually too, and so, you two have talked more.

he’s kind, and really helpful. he’s smart too, which is good for you, since you’re been close to failing most of your classes.

he has helped you with homework after school and with studying for test. you’ve also learned a lot about him, things like what he likes, his favorite shows and more.

you know he really likes spicy and sour things, and he’s brought some snacks for you too while you two study together. it’s cute, the way he takes care of you even when you haven’t known each other for long, or even when you’re still a little awkward with him.

surely you’ll get more comfortable later on. you’ll just need a little more time.

week four

it’s been a month now, and honestly, you’re starting to get what all the girls were talking about.

he’s cute, sure, but what’s even better is his personality. he takes care of you, makes sure you don’t forget to eat even while stressing over tests, makes sure you sleep enough, makes sure you understand everything before moving on as he tutors you…

he also loves talking to you about cats, and especially his cats. he’s told you all their names, their breeds, their ages… whatever you could tell about them.

truthfully, it wasn’t that interesting to you. but what was, was how cute he looked while talking about them. he was so excited, like a kid talking about their favorite toy.

week five

you definitely had a crush on him.

for the past week, you couldn’t think about anything else but him. he filled all your thoughts, while you were with him and while you were alone.

when you two studied together, all you could do was to stare at him and act like you listened as he explained something about algebra.

he didn’t seem to notice though. he just kept talking to you normally like your mind wasn’t just full of him.

you needed to do something about it, about your thoughts and feelings.

so what a better way than to meet up with him at a cafe on the last day of the week and tell him everything face to face!

you were a nervous wreck as you sat at one of the tables at the back of the cafe, waiting for junhui to arrive.

you wanted to tell him everything, but you weren’t sure if you could do it.

maybe it was a mistake to invite him here, maybe you were wrong about your feelings. what if he didn’t like you?

the worst he could say is no, though. you two haven’t known for that long, it would be fine if he didn’t want to continue on being friends.

before you could notice him already sitting in front of you, he called out your name.

“you there?”

he asked as he waved his hand in front of your face.

you suddenly sat up and smiled at him, nodding your head. it was going to be alright, he’s not that mean to just leave you there.

and so, you opened your mouth and before you could think about what to say, the words had already come out of your mouth.

“i like you.”

and you stared at him with your jaw open, your face probably as red as a tomato. as if you were the one surprised by the confession.

your head dropped down and you stared at your hands, unable to say anything else. what if you embarrassed yourself even more?

you finally looked back up as you heard junhui call out your name. it sounded a little nervous too, maybe you weren’t the only nervous one in this situation.

“i- like you too…”

he mumbled, almost too quietly. you barely heard it, but yet you jumped out of your chair, your face immediately lighting up.

you were sure he got scared by your quick move, but nothing mattered anymore. he liked you back? was this a dream?

“seriously? pinch me.”

you said before pinching yourself and wincing in pain. it really wasn’t a dream.

then, embarrassed, you sat back down on your seat. you heard junhui chuckling quietly at you as you stared down at your feet. he leaned over and tucked your fallen hair behind your ears.

“i’ve liked you ever since i transferred to this school, you caught my eye the very first day. i was too shy to talk to you, but i gathered my courage. that’s why i asked to sit next to you that one day.”

you could only stare at him with your pupils blown wide. you? since he came here? you were sure you looked like some homeless person that day, what were you even wearing? a hoodie and sweatpants? what was attractive about that…

“stop overthinking.”

his words snapped you back to reality, away from your thoughts. he could read you like an open book, sensing it from meters away that you were overthinking everything.

“i just like you, okay? your personality, the way you always talk so excitedly, your cute little habits, your smile, everything you do gives me butterflies.”

he talked with his hands holding your shoulders, a serious look on his face.

what was this? you were supposed to be the one telling him how much you liked him. not the other way.

you couldn’t help but smile at his words though. he was so perfect. how could someone be so perfect?

“alright…”

you said, a shy smile on your face.

“let’s go? it’s getting late, and you have an exam tomorrow.”

you laughed. you were dating now but still, his nagging didn’t stop. that was one cute trait of his you liked too. he cared for you.

[no-gorms]

I wrote a coda for Thunderbolts! Established relationship Sam/Bucky, about 1k, it's also on ao3.

(Spoilers for Thunderbolts)

----------

Bucky hates that it’s come to this. He and Sam have run the gamut of ways to know another person, and even at their worst – those early moments of fear and suspicion – Bucky never dreaded to be around Sam. He certainly never felt his stomach turn in knots at the knowledge that he was about to see Sam again, as it is doing at this very minute. In fact, recent times had seen a distinct uptick in Bucky’s feelings in that arena, which he’d been enjoying that a great deal.

This is just his life, he supposes. Giveth, taketh away, and all that.

Resisting the urge to sigh for the dozenth time, Bucky knocks the door. He doesn’t have to wait that long, and he is not at surprised by Sam’s flat, narrow-eyed face that greets him when said door opens.

“The flowers are a nice touch,” Sam says. He backs into the apartment and Bucky follows, doing his usual sweep to clock all the changes from the last time he was here.

“You’re supposed to take them, though,” Bucky says. “Put ‘em in a vase, that kind of thing.”

“Seems like work. You giving me work, Barnes?”

“Oh, I’m Barnes now. Great.” Good thing Bucky bought an arrangement that has a little stand, and he places it on the little table Sam’s been idly complaining has been looking ‘kind of bare’, but not bare enough that Sam cares enough to do something about it.

“But I did say they’re a nice touch.” Sam crooks his finger. “Let me have a look at you.”

Bucky turns to him. “What, the hair? I know, it’s getting a bit long—”

“Sshh,” Sam says, fingers gentle on Bucky’s neck, just before kissing him.

Okay, the kissing’s nice. Bucky wasn’t expecting it this early, and honestly thought it optimistic to expect it all, so this is great, maybe the flowers did work a treat and the night won’t go badly after all.

Unfortunately the kissing doesn’t last long enough for Bucky to even get his jacket off, because Sam’s pulling back and saying, “Remind me again what you told me?”

“Look, I know what I said—”

“What did you say?” Sam says sweetly.

Oh, the kissing was strategic. Not entirely strategic, because it has been weeks since they’ve seen each other and Sam is as human as the next person, i.e. Bucky, but the dizziness in Bucky’s head does not make the next series of words out of his mouth as clarifying as they could’ve been.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be in your team. It’s not about assembling teams.”

“Mm-hmm, sure. But you are choosing them over me.”

“I’m not, I’m not! It’s just, it’s—”

“You ran for office because you didn’t want to do the superhero thing anymore and wanted to try other ways to help people. Fine, I respected that, because that’s what you said. Then the whole thing with Sentry happened and it’s like, okay, you were at the right place at the right time to help, it’s all fait accompli with Valentina—”

“That’s so sexy when you speak Latin, do it again.”

“Stop that,” Sam says, but he hasn’t stopped petting Bucky’s chest, so he’s probably not all mad. “But now with the billboards? Interviews with the press, actually calling yourself the New Avengers? What am I supposed to think, man? What is this saying about what you actually want?”

Bucky startles a little at the sliver of hurt there, in the unsaid without me. “They’re not bad people,” he says quickly. “Well—they’re not all bad people. I just think…”

Sam nods. “I’m listening.”

“They don’t really know what they’re doing. They can do a lot of good when they’re focused enough, but you haven’t seen the clean-ups we’ve had to keep under wraps. On their best days Yelena’s the only one clear-headed enough to understand the responsibility they have, but even she’s too confident about their hold on Valentina, which is not going to last.”

Sam’s face clears a little. “You’re worried about them.”

“I can’t steer them, and I sure as hell can’t lead them, but I can… help. In my own way.”

“They won’t take my help, either,” Sam says.

“Yeah.” Bucky takes the daring step of covering Sam’s hands with his own and rubbing gently. “Are you still mad?”

“I’m not mad. I was never mad. Do I look mad? Even slightly mad?”

“Not right now, no,” Bucky says, though tempers may have a chance to rise again when they talk out how they're going to move forward with this. Preferably later. In bed, maybe. “I did try to get them to drop the Avengers name, though.”

“I’m halfway to letting you guys take that one, after everything with Ross.”

“No, don’t do that,” Bucky groans. “Do you know how even more insufferable Walker will be? And already is, actually?”

“I thought you said he can be okay sometimes,” Sam says dryly.

“I did not say that, and you shouldn’t be going around telling lies. Sets a bad example. Is there dinner? I’m hungry.”

“Yes, Bucky, there’s dinner.” Sam sweeps away, one hand around Bucky’s wrist to tug him along to the other room. “Probably cold by now, but whatever, right?”

“Did you cook?” Bucky doesn’t bother hiding his surprise, nor his appreciation for the way Sam smirks at him. “Anyway, you should sue us. For the name. Captain America should be leading the Avengers, that's just the way it should be.”

“I am not suing you for the name,” Sam says.

“I know some good lawyers,” Bucky says. “From the half-term I was in congress. Connections. I’m so good at that.”

Sam laughs, a delightful rich sound that warms Bucky right down to his toes. Just as soon as Bucky sits down in a chair, Sam rounds the table to drop a kiss right at the top of Bucky’s head, quick and fleeting and hopefully not at all like the kisses to come.

“Yes, Bucky, you’re very good at networking.” Sam takes his own seat, close enough that his knee presses against Bucky’s when they both settle down. “I assume you haven’t told the others you have a special someone out there?”

“No,” Bucky says. “Gotta keep that air of mystery, you know? Oh my god, you made the potatoes, I love you.”

Sam grins. “Air of mystery loves to demolish my family recipe potatoes, I know.”

[elllisaaa]

Hiii lovely!! I hope you're having a good day when you read this!

I came across your blog recently and loved your writing (haven't read everything but I will soon 🙂‍↕️), and your blog says requests are open? I'm not sure. But in case you see this, can I request something?

Could you do a short scenrio or fic or something with Seungkwan where he's a popular, sporty college guy, and he & reader have are having some sort of confrontation/argument & reader confesses in heat of the moment, and then the dam breaks or whatever and seungkwan kisses her and confesses too? Dndjdjdjdjdidi like angsty and passionate stuff dndjd

Is that too much 😭😭 I'm sorry, you asked to be specific and idk if it's too specific or vague. Feel free to ignore this request fndjfnrk

hii sweetheart ! i'm doing good, thanks for asking and i hope you're having a great day too ! my requests are open, i just went through a rough patch but i finally have time and motivation to write again so here is your request, i hope you'll like it !!

SPORTY COLLEGE!SEUNGKWAN who's kind of a golden boy : he's popular for his victories with the volleyball team, for his looks and for how kind he always seems to be. the only person who doesn't seem to warm up to him as much is you. you're the student council president, so you should have good relationships with him, right ? but it wasn't the case. you always stayed pretty closed off and short in your interactions with him

and to be honest, it drove seungkwan crazy. all he wanted was to get closer to you, to know more about you, but you wouldn't let him. at first glance, he thought you were beautiful, and at second glance, he thought you were really smart, and he immediately developed a big crush on you. 

so he would spend too much time in your office, pretending the need to discuss things about the volleyball club so just he could see you, talk to you. and he tried to invite you out to drink a coffee, but you always refused. and seungkwan didn't understand why, didn't understand why you wouldn't even give him a chance. 

and he kept trying to warm you up. he learned through your friends which snacks were your favourites, and he sometimes gave them to you when he had a feeling you had a bad day. he tried to do little things for you, to help you out as best as he could even if you always protested and claimed you didn't need him.

the truth was that seungkwan had broken up your shell a long while ago, and the fact that he didn't let go, that he kept trying, made you fall for him even more. but he was too good to be true, too good for you. you were too scared of letting him in, to hurt him. you just didn't know that your rejection hurt him more than anything. 

"y/n ? i just wanted to give you this." seungkwan said as he chimmed inside of your office, dropping a chocolate bar of your favourite brand on your desk. you barely looked up at him, only humming as a thank you. you missed the way seungkwan's eyes turned sadder. "are you alright ? it's already late, you should go home." - "i don't need you to dote on me." - "i'm not doting on you ! i just want you to take care of yourself." 

you finally looked up at him, noticing how his usually happy and joyful gaze was a lot darker, and you put down your pencil with a sigh. "why do you keep doing this ?" you asked, with more vulnerability in your voice than you intended to, and you knew seungkwan heard it. "because i care for you, because you're always watching over everyone but yourself." - "i would've asked you if i needed you to do this." seungkwan looked at you with a flash of hurt, and you hated yourself for this, you hated yourself for breaking his heart. but it was easier like this.

"stop pushing me away, y/n." you hesitated for a few seconds, looking away because the weight of his eyes on you was too much. "i can't." you finally confessed in a low tone, your grip around your pencil tightening. "i can't because if i let you in, i'm gonna hurt you, and you don't deserve that. you deserve better than that seungkwan." he shook his head at your almost whispered words, bypassing your desk so he could stand right in front of you. "you don't get to decide that alone. you don't get to choose what's good for me, and what's not. and i decide that you're what i want." he stated firmly, his eyes never leaving yours, sincerity pouring out from them.  

you wanted to believe him, you wanted to let him in so bad but was it really the right choice to make. "just... give a chance to prove to you that it can work out. give me a chance to show you what you deserve." seungkwan pleaded as he crouched down in front of you, taking your hands in his. you didn't know how to answer, didn't know how to get the words out. so instead, you leaned down to kiss him. and you couldn't lie anymore, couldn't say that you felt nothing for him because when he responded to the kiss with his hand cupping your cheek, the way he made your heart beat couldn't be ignored. "okay..." you finally agreed. and seungkwan smiled at you, with that smile that could easily outpower the sun. and you knew everything would be alright.

[pixiedurango]

Lucanis to F! Mage! Rook (Yvonne) Mercar

Post Veilguard, Rook is busy participating in the repairs of Minrathous. With his obligations Lucanis was forced to go back to Antiva and he miss his lover

Ding Dong! Antivan Postal Service back to deliver! Thank you so much for your ask and the interesting backstory you told me bts about how sweet your Rook and Lucanis' dynamic is. I hope I do it justice and you (and Yv) enjoy.

Transcript:

Yv. My beloved.

One would think the Ossuary would have taught me at least the ability to endure time, but it seems, missing you is a whole new kind of torture. Call me dramatic, but after all you knew what you are in for with an Antivan man. We live and breathe drama and elevate it to whole new levels.

But even without the added drama: I still miss you. Every now and then I see a flower that I know you love, or taste food that is one of your favorites. Even worse… or good… when I catch a scent that reminds me of yours and I am catapulted right back into sweet memories of times, cherished together.

The other day I went to see a ballet. It wasn’t even in the Dellamorte Opera House where my attendance as First Talon would have been obligatory, no! I fully inflicted the sweetest of torments on myself by walking into the Treviso Public Theater to watch Swan Lake. I wished, we could have shared this experience. But since I know it’s not possible at the moment - even with the luxury of short travels via the eluvians - so it was the closest thing I could do to feel like we’re sharing a moment together.

See, Yv, mi amor - it’s hard to top the drama that is an Antivan man, let alone a Crow, when they… feel. And, Maker! Do I feel! Almost forgotten, buried under years, decades - a lifetime of pushing away every emotion in order to be able to to what I was supposed to do. You saved me. In more ways than you think even possible.

Mierda! I had intended to write a lighthearted letter to you, telling about my days as First Talon and only in a sweet undertone there was supposed to be an even sweeter hint of ‘I miss you, hurry, my heart, so we can be together soon again.’ Well, I guess, I royally messed that up! But I am not ashamed to admit it, either. Because I know, that my words will make you smile as you read them and that alone is worth everything to me.

Of course, if you can’t come for a visit, soon - a letter will have to make do, but I hope you’ll tell me everything about how your days are going and how Minrathous is rebuilt up to thrive soon again. But it’s also the little things I long to hear about. Do you eat enough? Sleep well? What made you smile? How many cats have you petted and are you recharging after doing a lot of magic, mi amor? Do you take time off your busy day to do something for yourself? Nourish the soul? Read a novel, listen to the bards, practice your dancing, buy yourself a treat? If not, and I highly suspect, that more often than not, you tend to forget, promise me to take an hour away from duty every day and use it for something beautiful just for yourself.

And of course, if you can’t come over to Treviso any time soon - be assured, that I will elope from my First Talon duties (which are not as tense as first suspected, since Caterina is still technically in charge and unwilling to let go, yet), and find you in Minrathous. I can help with what ever needs to be done and I know you don’t like to accept my gold - but you surely won’t reject the honest work of two willing hands which don’t shy away from getting dirty. And I mean that not even in a Crow way, but quite literally.

So, I’ll let myself be surprised which will find me first - a letter written by your sweet hand, or you in person, which of course I’d vastly prefer.

Stay safe. Try not to kill anyone who doesn’t deserve it and promise me to at least try to do any of the things I suggested above. It will do you good, believe me! It makes a difference - I can tell, because I try to remember and take times off like this for myself more frequently. Remember? To live life, means to live it fully. We may not have been able to do it back then - but we can choose to do it. From now on and forever. I love you!

Yours always ~ Lucanis

find all the other Antivan Postal Service letters here Rules for application to get your own letter here Veilguard faction dividers from here, thank you @flowersforthemachines

[krystalchoi]

A simple laugh, "It shouldn't take too long to grab two carts, though it'd be easier if people actually returned their carts." Krystal supposed that's why they had cart returns out in the parking lot for someone else to grab, but how hard was it to walk the cart back to the store? This was a small town, the parking lot wasn't large enough to think it'd be too far to walk. To her returning it back so others didn't have to go out on the hunt seemed easy enough but maybe that was asking too much.

Glancing down at her scrubs, she practically lived in them, she had more scrubs in her closet than she did jeans and dresses. Which was unfortunate given she loved getting dressing up, but when you were practically living at the hospital during your residency, these were her fashion. "Yeah, I just left the hospital — twelve hour shift, was too lazy to change there." It wasn't like she was working in surgery where she'd need to. She was in radiology she kept relatively clean. "You're a write, that sounds like a lot of fun — creative. Plus you can dress in anything you like." Which was nice, and he was dressed fashionably, at least in her opinion!

"I'm in my residency actually, so I'm a doctor." She officially had the title of Dr. Choi but there was still finishing up residency, making sure the hospital even wanted to take her on permanently afterwards. "Radiology." Clarifying what kind of medical professional she was, since she was sure most people thought of emergency room doctors and high-end specialities thanks to shows like Grey's Anatomy. Not that she hadn't taken her required rotations in the ER but still. "Exclusively produce? Well I have time." she said as she located a cart, and thankfully two parking spots over there was another one. "As for me, groceries in general. It's stark bare at home."

“Right! It’ll take just two seconds—that’s the right attitude to have.” Christian laughed. “Yeah. Let’s hope they’re not driving off with grocery carts—that’d be a genuine problem.” He liked this woman’s way of speaking—conversational, well-meaning.

As he turned to head back outside, something caught Christian’s eye—the woman was wearing scrubs. Instantly, he was intrigued. He knew few people in healthcare, and he’d always wanted to learn more about it.

“So I’m noticing your scrubs,” he said to her with a smile. “I’m actually here after work, too, although I’m a writer so it’s not as obvious.” Christian always worked eight hours a day, whether that meant conversations with his editor, writing nonstop, or locking himself in a room in his condo so that he’d only think thoughts about his novels. “Tell me, what do you do?”

He added, “And what brings you out to the grocery store? Me, I’m shopping for exclusively produce. It’s a long story.”