#why do they look like they’re going to ask each other for square goes in the first one

[racewinnerlandonorris]

Lando Norris and Alex Albon in the paddock on Thursday ahead of the Monaco Grand Prix weekend

Photo Credit: James Moy

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Three Seconds

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: 

Summary: Your kids plan a weekend at the family cabin, hoping to catch the snow one last time before summer comes. What you don’t know is that your ex-husband is coming along, an ex-husband that you’re still in love with.

Square Filled: single parent!dean (2021) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

“You ask her.”

“No, you do.”

“I’m the oldest and I say you go.”

Your oldest daughter pushes your youngest son over to you who is sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a newspaper in hand. Your kids have been whisper arguing for the past ten minutes so now it’s a matter of who will actually come over to you and ask you.

“Are you three just gonna stand there or are you going to ask me whatever it is that you want?” you ask without taking your eyes off the newspaper.

Your son walks over to you and taps the table nervously. You move your eyes from the newspaper to his, and he nervously chuckles.

“Listen, I love you so much.”

“Spit it out, Jacob. What do you three want?”

“We want to go to the family cabin this weekend,” your oldest daughter blurts out. “We’ve been working hard in school and think we deserve a break. This is probably the last weekend we’ll get snow and we want to go to the cabin for it.”

“I don’t see why not,” you shrug.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “It’ll be fun.” You look at your kids and notice a nervous look between them. “What is it?”

“Dad’s going.”

Your entire body goes rigid at the mention of your ex-husband. You haven’t seen or heard from the man in four years. Your daughter is old enough to keep in touch with her father on her own, and the other two are young enough to follow in her footsteps. When she goes to stay with him, they both follow her. She’s been your scape goat for not wanting to talk to him.

“Okay. It’s going to be fine. You three can go with him and I’ll have the house to myself for a bit. It’ll be fine.”

“What? You’re not coming with us?” your middle son asks.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Your youngest son puts a hand on your thigh and looks at you with wide green eyes. God, he looks just like his father.

“But I want you coming, Mommy. Please don’t break up our family.”

Yep, just as manipulative as his father is, too. Okay, that was harsh. They’re not manipulative as an evil way, they just know how to play you well enough to get what they want. You set your newspaper down with a sigh, a sigh that your kids know as you being compliant.

“Fine, I guess a weekend wouldn’t hurt.”

Immediately, all three of your kids jump on you to hug you. You can’t be mad at them. They’re children. They want to have fun and be kids. You can put aside your feelings for your ex-husband for a weekend. If he can do it, you can.

That night, you’re packing your pag deep in thought. Does he know that you’re coming? Was it his idea? Is he going to stay if you are? Can you two get along? The family cabin is a good place to stay in during the summer and spring months, but it’s very isolated during the winter months. There are tons of storms up north that will keep you stuck inside the cabin for days at a time, but you think it’ll be fine since winter is ending. There will be snow but not enough of it to keep you from leaving… You hope.

The thing with your ex… he was a good husband in the beginning of the relationship. You two met through his younger brother, Sam. He and his girlfriend were having a birthday party where he invited you to it. You and Sam know each other from college and kept in touch for years after graduating. It wasn’t love at first sight but you and Dean got along very well from the get-go.

After the party, you two started hanging out more and more until you were as deep as ten dates in. He asked you to be his girlfriend after fucking you in the back seat of his beloved black Impala. He was very attentive and loving. Sure, he had his issues just like you had yours but you two were willing to overlook them to make the relationship work.

You two were married for ten years before something changed. It was like a switch had flipped and he was more angry either at you or himself or at the world. You’re not sure why because he stopped talking to you about his issues. He made decisions without talking to you about it, first. He claimed he knew what your answer was going to be. Whether he was right or not, that still didn’t matter because you stopped being his person.

You tried talking to Sam about it but he said if you wanted to know what was up with Dean, you’d have to talk to him. Dean was hunting a lot more with his brother and bottlig his feelings up. Yes, you know about the supernatural but you made Dean promise to keep you and your kids out of it. You didn’t want them dead in a ditch somewhere because of some vampire or werewolf, but that didn’t mean you didn’t want to hear about it.

He was struggling and for that, he disappeared. He pulled himself away from you. He loves you with all his heart and it hurt him to treat you like this but you weren't in the life. You didn’t know the hardships that came with it. You didn’t understand and he can’t fault you for that. It’s just hard to focus on thing slike a marriage and love when he’s getting people killed left and right.

Divorcing you was one of the hardest things he ever had to do not because he didn’t love you anymore but because he thought it was the only way to protect you. It’s also why he didn’t contact you in those four years. He kept hjis kids in his life because he’d do anything for them but only when he knew he wasn’t going to be out on a hunt.

You and your kids drive up to the cabin Friday night so you can have the entire weekend up there. The closer you get to the cabin, the more nervous you get. What will it be like seeing Dean after all this time? He’s been in his fair share of relationships thanks to Sam telling you, so you wonder what his new girlfriend might think about him spending time up here with his ex-wife.

You park and get out of the car, already seeing Dean’s shiny black Impala in the driveway. Your kids run up the stairs of the cabin calling for their dad while you stay by the car to get the bags. You heave the kids’ firsts since their suitcases are light before grasping the handle of yours. A bigger hand encases yours to help, and you look to the right to see Dean standing there.

“Let me,” he says.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Even now, with all this time apart, that nickname makes your heart flutter. He takes the bag out of the trunk and takes one the smaller suitcases before heading up the porch stairs into the cabin. This was a bad idea. You know it’s a bad idea because all you can think about is the time you two spent apart and how much you want him back. You’re still in love with him as the day when you first told him.

You take the other two suitcases and join your family inside the cabin. It’s snowing outside but it doesn’t look too bad. Tonight might be a mellow night even though you saw storm clouds in the distance. When it storms, the power loves to go out so you hope it doesn’t happen tonight.

“I bought pizza on my way up here. We can reheat it in the oven. I figure it makes for an easy night tonight.”

“Thanks,” you mutter.

Dean heats the pizza in the oven before letting the kids take what they want. They take their food into the living room to watch a movie while you and Dean stay in the kitchen.

“So, how have you been?” he asks.

“Oh, um, good, I guess. How are you?”

“Look, this doesn’t have to be awkward. It’s only for a weekend.”

“Right,” you chuckle breathlessly. “So, how much convincing did it take from Sam to get you out here?”

“None, actually. It was my idea.”

“Your idea?”

“Yeah. I know the kids love snow and I figure we could all use a break.”

“So, how is hunting going?”

Dean doesn’t want to talk about that with you not because he wants to keep you from it, but because he doesn’t want this place to be tied to hunting. He shakes his head without saying a word and you understand he doesn’t want to talk about it. Since you got here late, the kids grew tired right after the end of the movie. The sun has gone past the horizon, and you don’t need the sun to tell you that a storm is rolling in.

“Alright, time for bed,” you say to the kids.

They whine but you know they’re tired. You turn then TV off but keep the lamps on since your sons like the room to have a bit of light when they sleep. This is a one bedroom cabin but the living room has such a big couch that all three kids can snuggle on it like one big sleepover. However, right as you turn the TV off, all the lights go off. The power is cut off because of the storm outside.

“I knew this was going to happen,” you chuckle humorlessly.

“Mommy, I’m cold,” your youngest shudders.

Along with the power cut off, the heater had run its course. The only place where you can get heat is the big fireplace in the bedroom.

“Alright, you three can take the bedroom. I’ll put more firewood in there. It’ll be warm. Is that okay, Dean?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll get the wood.”

You take the kids and tuck all three of them into bed while Dean puts more than enough wood into the fireplace. He lets it burn and keeps the grate closed to keep the ash from falling out. The only light source available is the fire which the kids don’t seem to mind.

“We’ll be right outside if you need us. I love you all. Good night,” you grin and kiss each of their heads.

“Night, kids,” Dean says.

You two walk to the dark living room where you take one side of the couch and Dean takes the other. You’re not sure what to say so you keep your mouth shut. However, the cold seeps into your skin and causes goosebumps to rise. It doesn’t matter how many blankets you have on you, the cold seems to want to attack your bones. You’d snuggle with Dean to stay warm but you don’t want to be lying in his arms. You haven’t felt his arms in so long that you fear you’ll fall right back in love with him.

Who am I kidding? I never fell out of it.

“Oh, my God, just lay on the couch with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I can hear your teeth chattering, and I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Fine,” you huff out in annoyance.

You move across the couch over to Dean and slip underneath the blanket with him. He’s always been warm and it’s no exception now. He rubs your back that sends a different kind of shiver down your back, and you look up at him in curiosity. After spending four years away from him, you’re now lying in his arms.

It scares you how easy it is still to do this with him. It’s like you belong in his arms. Reality hits you when you remember his relationship status, and you move away from him so you can stare into his eyes.

“Won’t your girlfriend be mad you’re cuddling with your ex-wife?”

“Not my girlfriend anymore. Don’t really care.”

“Oh? What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

“I know you, Dean. What did you do?”

“Let’s not go there, okay? Just go to sleep.”

He closes his eyes to signify that he’s going to sleep but you’re not letting him off that easily.

“Oh, no, we’re talking about this. What did you do? Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Fine.” He sharply inhales and opens his eyes. “You want to know what I did? I broke up with her because she’s not you. Because every day I spend wondering what I did wrong to make you not love me anymore. For the first time in four years, I’m happy in a freezing cold cabin lying on an uncomfortable couch because you are back in my arms. Is that enough of an explanation for you?”

You’re stunned into silence as your brain processes his words. This is his love confession for you. He’s just as in love with you as you are with him.

“I didn’t divorce you because I stopped loving you. I never stopped loving you,” you whisper.

“Then what did I do? You tell me that.”

“You decided on your own that you were the only person capable of taking care of you. You made decisions without asking me. Just because you know what my answer would be, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ask. You shut me out. Hunting became too much and you shut me out.”

“You told me you didn’t want anything to do with the life.”

“I didn’t and I still don’t but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want nothing to do with you. You were my husband, Dean. Seeing you in pain brought me pain and you decided to suffer alone.”

“I didn’t…” He swallow thickly and looks down. “I didn’t want you dying because of me. I’d die myself if you or the kids got harmed because of me.”

“Dean,” you whisper.

“All I want to do now is take you and kiss you and prove to you that I am the man that you can love. So, you have three seconds.”

“Three seconds for what?” 

“Three seconds to tell me not to kiss you, and I will go to bed and pretend none of this ever happened. If you feel for me what I feel for you, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Three.” You don’t say anything. “Two.” You move closer to him so only a whisper lies between your lips and his. “One.”

He closes the gap and kisses you, and sparks explode behind your eyelids. He makes you feel the same way as he did from the moment you first kissed him. You don’t realize how much you’ve missed him until this exact moment.

“Marry me again,” he whispers against your lips.

“Yes,” you whisper back.

x

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[bloodiedrogue]

EASY DAYS AHEAD

SUMMARY: Astarion's not used to feeling cared for. Luckily though, you're as caring as they come.

PAIRING: Astarion & Gender Neutral Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,925

WARNINGS: Astarion's POV, 18+ sexual content, oral sex (male receiving), body worship if you squint, CONSENT!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, consent is incredibly sexy. That's all I gotta say. Also that I'm pretty sure I was possessed by something because I wrote this in literally an hour and a half???

MASTERLIST

-

Astarion doesn’t deserve the care that goes into loving him. With nothing more to offer than a broken mind wrapped in precious, tainted silk, it’s hard to wrap his head around the tenderness. Specifically the feeling of your skin, trailing patterns down his spine —painting fresh images over the scars that line his back as you praise him for his efforts. 

Your voice sounds wrong in his ears. Every word distorting. All the syllables jumbling up in ways that make him narrow his eyes, staring through the darkness of the tent at nothing in particular. 

“You okay?” you ask, and even now, weeks after your first night spent together, he has to muster up everything he’s got not to break down in front of you. 

“I’m fine, darling.” 

His lips always pull in that liar’s grin, ripping through his face like knives. Slicing the inside of his cheeks each time his fangs bite down on the wet flesh inside. 

He has to force himself to look at you. To stare at the exhausted smile that slowly shifts to a frown, showcasing your insight. How you know he’s lying before he can even elaborate on why he’s fine or how you shouldn’t worry about him —he’s a creature of the night after all. 

Pressing fully against him, he hears you click your tongue and shake your head as if scolding him. “What do you need?” 

Each time you pose that same question he feels like dying. Despite the fact his heart no longer works like yours —despite the act of breathing being nothing more than a habit he’s carried over from his deathbed— there’s a dread that coats his chest. Like oil, thick and slick, it completely drowns his organs. Suffocating his body while his mind and soul fight over what comes next. 

As the internal argument grows, his eyes always dart back and forth. One moment they’re locked onto your face, obsessively viewing each section and the next they’re anywhere but. In the forest, on the battlefield, back home tucked tightly inside the palm of his master’s hand —each night he travels everywhere, lingering in certain places while speeding through others, praying to all the Gods that never listened that he’ll make his way back to you. That just this once, instead of drifting off to sea, they’ll grant him the anchor he so desperately craves. The one that’s tethered to you and the solid ground beneath. 

“You still there, handsome?”

He is —sort of— depending on the moment, but instead of saying that he merely hums. Offering the bare minimum to the only person he’s ever met deserving of more. 

“Tired?”

“Incredibly.” 

You push your chest against his back and grip his shoulder, allowing your fingers to tighten around as you maneuver your lips to his cheek. “You should rest then,” you tell him afterward, but like always the words get pushed together. Morphing into something else entirely, causing him to narrow his eyes. 

“You’re one to talk, aren’t you?” he teases, watching you roll your eyes —feeling your nails tentatively dig into his flesh as a warning. 

“Shush. Don’t make me shove a sleeping potion down your throat.”

In response, he lets out a humorous huff. Then, his hands move to snake around your waist, pulling you on top of him. “Go ahead. I’m sure Gale would thoroughly enjoy such misuse of his wares.”

“My wares,” you correct, pressing an annoyed kiss to his chest, making sure to catch his skin between your teeth in the process as a warning. “I bought them from him fair and square.”  

Immediately, he grabs your chin and raises his brow. “Why the hells would you need a potion of sleep anyway? You already sleep like a corpse.”

You merely look away with a smile. All while rolling your eyes in that way that makes him feel like he’s young again. Freshly born into a world that hadn’t yet chewed and spat him out. One where the veins beneath his skin are full of warm blood, pumping through his system, fuelling the desire he knows he should have now that you’re lying against him, flesh against flesh. Beating heart against— 

Your lips press against his sternum and he swears they’re the most tender things he’s ever felt. Next to the way your fingers always seem to lace in his when you’re sitting by the campfire, they’re softer than any touch he’s ever experienced. Hungry yet restrained for his benefit, knowing it’s hard to feel like this. To experience the kindness of a pair of lips, worshipping a slab of skin so undeserving of such care. 

Each time your mouth makes contact, your eyes are always on him, asking for permission. Begging for consent. He’s never told you this but it’s the most selfless thing he’s ever experienced. Despite it’s obvious subtly, that look you give each time your mouth can’t help itself or your hands grow a bit too greedy, means more to him than life itself. More than power or revenge. More than freedom. Because that look requires worth. Value. An offering of submission he’s long since memorized. 

Each time it’s given to him, he has to compose himself. Otherwise, he might just shatter entirely —fall to the floor in a hundred tiny pieces not even you may be willing to put in the effort to fix.

Swallowing hard, he has to stare intently at your face, taking in the way you look up at him through your lashes. How you arch your brow just slightly upward, asking for forgiveness. Atoning for your sins in the form of restraint until he eventually nods, hearing your voice. 

You always ask out loud to make sure. An act that only further fuels his desire to feel you wrapped around him. To experience the warmth of your flesh tenderly pressing against the iciness of his. 

“Go ahead, darling,” he tells you, and for once, he means it. Truly. 

Instead of pretending like he wants this for the sake of a game, he accepts you in full. Watching you genuinely grin as you lean up to capture his lips, savouring the taste of his approval. Consuming the sound that absentmindedly passes through his lips as your hand lingers down, drifting past his chest and stomach until you’re pulling away to breathe. 

He can feel his mouth swell with need. The rest of his body following suit as you begin to descend, touching and kissing and biting —putting him through every sensation he’s gifted so many others. 

Leaning up to watch you work, he can see the excitement in your face each time he accidentally twitches beneath you. How the edges of your eyes crinkle with anticipation the moment you find yourself tucked between his legs, looming over him with heavy hands and breaths. 

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him then, and for once it means something. 

“You’re beautiful,” he repeats back, and for once it isn’t a lie. In fact, it’s the most honest he’s ever been, and secretly that scares him. So much so that he has to look down to see if you’re still there. 

Hoping that the sudden sincerity in his voice hasn’t scared you away, he can’t help but focus on the curve of your spine. How it starts low; your chest slightly leaning against one of his inner thighs.

Somehow despite the precarious position, you look perfect. Like a piece of art so carefully made, he can’t help but reach down and touch, revelling in the way you shudder beneath him. Sighing at the sudden desperation that erupts when you pull at the fabric against his waist. 

“Greedy, are we?” he jokes. 

Shooting him an embarrassed look, your hands continue to work his underwear down his legs —ignoring the way they catch at his knees and ankles. “I just really want to make you feel good.” 

The way you speak sends him over the precipice of ruin. Even before you discard the cloth and wrap your hand around the head of his cock, he’s already done for. Lost to the feeling of your digits. Fully enraptured by the heat of your breath as you lean forward and take him between your lips, coating him in spit. He has to close his eyes despite wanting nothing more than to look at you. Feeling the way your cheeks hollow out against him, he can already imagine the expressions of your efforts. All the time and care put in as you stroke him gently, maintaining the slowest pace he’s sure he’s ever experienced. 

It drives him mad with need. Bucking upwards each time your tongue drags across the tip, he instantly feels you push back. With a firm hand, you grip his hip and dig the pads into his flesh as yet another warning, telling him to behave. To just sit back and savour the pleasures he’s deserved rather than rushing through. 

He isn’t used to enjoying this. More often than not feeling like nothing more than a body designated for others enjoyment, he isn’t entirely sure how to properly relish your efforts. Or at least, in a way that doesn’t feel forced. Because he could do what you’re supposed to in this situation: touch you, moan for you, utter sweet nothings in your ear to further spur you on. He could do one of them or all of them, perhaps a mixture of two and still, it wouldn’t be enough to fully showcase the weight that fills his chest each time your mouth bobs up and down. How, as you begin to push him further and further into your mouth until he’s grazing the back of your throat, everything you do feels like the greatest gift he’s ever received. How maddening it is to feel loved like this even when he’s at his most unloveable.

Because that’s what you do to him. With the simplest of touches, you make him feel like him again. Like his mind hasn’t been shattered by the repeated slams of a sinner’s hand. As if his skin, etched by the knife of that same bastard, isn’t scarred. That instead it’s merely just skin. A grouping of muscle and tissue wrapping around his bones —a simple casing of flesh meant to be licked and sucked and pumped for all it’s worth until he’s gasping for air and uncontrollably shaking. 

And sometimes he feels like he’s earned it. During the easy days when he’s able to forget about his past and instead focus on the beauty that’s pressed against his leg, continuing to suck the come from his orgasm, it’s as if he’s on top of the world. Standing on a pillar of his past self’s hopes and dreams, he can easily look down at you with pride. Reaching down to touch your temple, he can feel the haze of your affections in full. The tremors of your possessive lips slowly slipping off, granting him a slick-coated smile that makes him almost faint. 

During those days he can smile back and pull you up into his chest, ignoring the ache between his thighs in your absence. Opting to hold you close. 

“Was that okay?” he hears you ask, and despite the question seeming almost juvenile, all he does is kiss your face. Starting at your forehead before moving to your nose and cheeks —eventually ending on your lips, he answers the question the only way he can. By showing you that, thanks to the care you foolishly offer, the days really are getting easier.

-

@poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo @jjfchk @idiotsatan @bluestuesday @bloopthebat @art-by-greenie @heneralmoon @sukunababe @dreamingaboutyousworld @ranfithegood @haniscrying @liadamerondjarin @the-lake-is-calling @marina-and-the-memes @rookieoftheyear @zraloci-cpr @kaetmo @snickerdoodle-daydream @wowowwild @d1anna @raswiet @conniesbbymama @venus-wrts @demonicthorns @kihten @sanscas @spammypasta @leighsartworks216 @rose-gold-blue @p1ssmagg0t @hellish-writes @ghostinvenus @otayz @sexysquatch @sleepyeclair @colorful-anxieties @alina-exe @lillifer @girlwiththepapatattoo @acelin-ginsberg @pinkuranium @catrad0rable @scarletrosesposts @qwnamidala @itsrosebabe @bunnyperi @queenofcarrotflowers-s @tatumadams20 @spkyxszn @chlort @f3v3rs @awkwardwookie @joy-the-reader @warm-milk-with-honey-blog @vertigocrime @iyis @wildpiper @pebblethestone @tillywasneverhere @bex-03 @revemiya @staticspouse @itzagothamcitysiren

(tags continued in comments)

[fryingpan1234567]

listen I knowwww Roach should be British. he was on a British task force. he’s got the flag on his uniforms. but when @fixfoxnox said southerner Roach I just couldn’t not love him okay leave me alone

anyways. southerner Roach shenanigans

(I guess you could call this a Something in the Orange fanfic since he’s besties with Jackson in this scenario as well as dating Ghost and Soap……… but it’s general enough it’s probably fine ANYWAYS)

Roach’s accent, while it normally only lightly flavors a few of his words, gets considerably thicker when he’s visiting home

I mean like he does the thing southerners do where they somehow mash entire sentences into one word and the others are just like “……….what” but Jackson is nodding like he understood

Like. They’re all at dinner together somewhere. Somebody brings up the rodeo at the state fair. The Europeans have no idea what they’re talking about. Roach just goes “y’ain’tneverheardadat??” and Soap nearly has a stroke trying to figure out what he meant but Jackson continues to eat soundly like he didn’t hear anything wrong

COWBOY👏 HAT👏 RULE👏

HELP

No no no they go to some random dive bar for one of their birthdays. It doesn’t matter whose. Jackson and Roach both have cowboy hats because OBVIOUSLY and like. They exchange this look that the others can’t figure out whenever one of their boyfriends steals their hat via flirting

(They tell them later and then can’t stop laughing while Soap and Ghost and Gaz are just sitting there like uh oh)

After that the hat stealing is very much purposeful

Square dancing to fucking Timber by Kesha and Pitbull in said dive bar because that’s just required idk what to tell you

Soap and Ghost seeing Roach ride a horse for the first time and visibly bluescreen

Roach recognizing people from high school in his hometown even tho he hasn’t seen them in like 20 years

He likes Taylor Swift but only her old country-adjacent stuff

Ghost and Soap couldn’t figure out his aversion to any kind of substitute milk until he took them home and they found out it’s because he grew up drinking milk that literally came from the cows he has in his backyard. They own two cows. And a few chickens. Very resourceful

Jackson and Roach dragging the 141 to Roach’s family’s Super Bowl party one year because in the southern states it’s a huge fucking deal

The Europeans being like “………this is quite possibly one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen in my life” but their boys are having fun so it’s okay

God help the rest of them. Jackson and Roach are rooting for opposite teams.

There’s screaming, there’s wrestling on the living room floor, there’s spilling food and beer everywhere. The amount of rubbing it in after a touchdown lands is fucking crazy, and they’ve shouted about stabbing each other every single time

Eventually, maybe with a bit of googling, the others get into it. Soap hasn’t stopped shoving Mrs. Roach’s buffalo chicken dip in his face since he’d discovered it when they’d arrived, and Ghost was letting the kids use his tattoo like a coloring page while he chatted with Roach’s dad and brothers. Gaz kept getting elbowed in the ribs whenever Roach and Jackson tousled on the couch, and a couple times he was asked to hold Jackson’s beer so “I can kick some sense into this dipshit,” usually followed by Roach’s maniacal cackling. Price was banging around in the kitchen with Mrs. Roach. Nobody knew how he’d gotten dragged into that, but he seemed to be enjoying himself

On the topic of bringing the boys home to the fam oh my GODS thanksgiving

Ghost is not a dessert person. He’s never been a dessert person. But he had four slices of Mr. Roach’s apple pie, so,,,,,,,,, apparently he is actually a dessert person

Obvi Roach is good with all guns, but he was hunting with his dad and brothers by the time he was like six. He knows how to work a shotgun like he breathes

(Ahem being southern is why he’s so fucking stubborn btw if anyone was wondering)

Roach and Jackson both are religious Dolly Parton listeners

“DID U GUYS KNOW SHE WROTE JOLENE AND I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU ON THE SAME DAY—“

Ghost and Soap wake up one night because there’s a weird noise outside. They poke Roach awake like “???? what was that??” and he was just like “oh yeah the woods make noises sometimes. don’t worry about it. if something actually wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t hear it coming” and promptly passed back out

“Yea I’ve seen a skinwalker before” “FYM YOU’VE S E E N O N E ? “ “It was in my backyard?? Relax it just wanted the coyote that always tries to kill our chickens. I didn’t really mind”

Gaz suggests investigating a weird figure he saw in the woods. Roach laughs out loud and Jackson smacks him in the back of the head like “that’s how you fucking die you idiot”

“Y’all’re lucky we’re here to stop you from doing somethin’ stupid. Fuckin’ city slickers” “What did you just call me”

The deafening sounds of crickets and locusts puts Roach to sleep almost instantly every night. Ghost barely sleeps every time they visit.

”IT IS SO FUCKING LOUD IF ONE MORE BLOODY CRICKET—“ “Simon not everyone needs literal dead silence to sleep—“

No matter how many pillows he stacks on top of his head he can’t escape it

Oh. Oh. The Europeans CANNOT do southern heat. They’re passed out on the porch while Jackson and Roach and Roach’s brothers play football in the front yard

Roach makes killer lemonade and iced tea nobody talk to me

He has a rusty blue ancient pickup that he says is his baby. One of the wheels is misshapen and the bed squeaks dangerously every time they hit a pothole, but he won’t get rid of it EVER

Roach introduces Soap and Ghost to catching fireflies in jars with his nieces and nephews. They are. So in love with the concept.

It gets turned into a competition, because of course it does, and it looked like Ghost was going to win— but then the youngest of the participating children silently held up a jar that was too bright to look at and audibly buzzing from the amount of bugs inside of it. They cut their losses and embrace the fact that they’ll never be That Good

Southern👏 sunsets👏 there ain’t nothing like it

Soap has a sketchbook dedicated entirely to doodling Roach doing farm things

Roach had a horse he took care of in high school. Her name was Peaches and he literally cried when he found pictures of her in his room

Ghost LOVES the sweet old border collie Roach’s parents have. That dog has seen many a stampede, and he’s herded just as many. What a man. Ghost does not leave him alone Ever

gods fuck me bro I could literally talk about southern Roach F O R E V E R (idk if you can tell from the long ass post Jesus Christ)

good morning/ night/ 4am lmk if you want more of this

[scary-grace]

For the milestone thingy with shigaraki, 24 and 28!

Thank you so much for the prompt! I went a little crazy with this one, and I hope you like it! If anyone else wants to prompt me from this list for a Shigaraki fic, please feel free.

When a child from your settlement goes missing, you go willingly into the woods to rescue him from the entity that dwells there. You're not at all prepared for what you find. Based on the tale of Tam Lin. 7.1k words, afab reader, warnings for dubcon + smut. Prompts: 'whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin' +'feeling for each other in the dark'

Izuku’s been missing since noon, and you and the others are out of places to look. You’ve searched high and low, crawled into every closet and tight corner, and checked every building, outbuilding, and hole in the ground. You even risked the radio, calling to the next settlement fifty kilometers away, on a wild hope that someone had found him and taken him to the wrong place. You’ve asked everyone if they’ve seen him, and got the same answer – not since noon. Now the sun is setting, and you’re out of ideas. Except one.

You’re the one who raises it, because no one else will. “What if he went to the woods?”

“Why would he do that?” Yue looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “He knows better. They all know better.”

“Something could have enchanted him,” you argue. “We have to think of everything –”

“Nothing that’s supposed to stay in the woods ever comes out of it,” Rumi says. “That’s why we’re here instead of somewhere else.”

So much of the world is haunted now. You and the others are old enough to remember the way it was before, but the little kids have never known anything different. Fear of the woods isn’t learned for them, it’s instinctual. It’s hard to imagine that a kid like Izuku, a kid who follows the rules to a fault, a kid who’s always eager to please, would do something like this. But if there’s anything you know about the world as it is now, it’s that you can’t trust the rules to stay the same. Soon enough, they bend and warp, and there’s enough space between them for Hell itself to slip through.

Some say the creatures that claimed half the world seven years ago are demons, drawn up by humanity’s sins. Others think they’re aliens who’ve been watching Earth for eons, choosing to step in now for reasons incomprehensible to anyone but themselves. It’s easier to believe those things than the truth: They’re the Fair Folk, creatures of myths and fairytales the world over, who burst from hiding all at once and forced humanity to the brink in a seven-day war. Seven days. To you it shifted overnight.

Millions were lost. Any space where nature had been left to flourish became a stronghold for the Folk – forests, beaches, streams, mountains, fields, lakes. Deserts. Oceans. City parks. What the Folk couldn’t overrun, they destroyed; what they couldn’t destroy, they transformed. Even iron can’t protect against them, when there are enough of them, and they targeted the cities and towns first. That’s why you and the others were sent away. The Folk’s armies are merciless. The Folk who took up residence in the wild places are – less.

There are no truly safe places, but the settlement is as close as it gets – a cluster of buildings in the midst of a square mile blasted clean of anything wild, on the edge of a forest whose fey inhabitant never ventures out. As long as you don’t go into the woods, look at the woods, think about the woods for too long, you’re safe from him.

Or you thought you were. Fuyumi’s coming around to your way of thinking. “If Izuku’s in there, we have to go get him.”

“Are you crazy?” Natsuo crosses his arms over his chest, shakes his head. “I love that kid as much as any of us do, but if we go in there, we’re dead. That thing in there wants us more than it’ll ever want him.”

Manami wraps her arms tightly around herself, shivering. “Maybe we should call the grown-ups.”

“No,” you and everyone else says at once. Rumi keeps talking. “The radio’s too risky. The Folk can distort it. And we can’t distract them. What they’re doing is too important.”

“Besides,” Yue mumbles, “they left us in charge. We’re the grown-ups now.”

The military was decimated in the first round of fighting. Now the military, such as it is, consists of every able-bodied adult, no matter who they were before. Every able-bodied adult includes the parents of every single kid in the settlement, but someone has to take care of the kids during the three-quarters of the year where the adults are away. The older kids got the job, because in spite of the fact that all of you are old enough to vote and all of you could theoretically fight, you still count as underage in the eyes of the law. That makes you children to the Fair Folk. The Fair Folk love human children too much.

“We can’t call the adults. We looked everywhere. We can’t go to the woods,” Fuyumi says. “What are we supposed to do?”

“We don’t have proof he went to the woods,” Keigo says, speaking up for the first time. “Nobody goes in unless there’s proof.”

“How are we supposed to get proof?” Yue asks. “We already asked everyone.”

“Let’s ask again,” you say. “And let’s hurry. Whatever we do, we have to do it before dark.”

You and the others split up. Natsuo and Rumi go to quiz the oldest kids, while Fuyumi and Manami and Yue go to talk to the middle-graders. Keigo aims for the youngest kids; you go to the ones who would be in primary school if the world hadn’t ended. It’s Izuku’s age group. Even though he’s not popular, they’re more likely than anyone else to know where he is.

You asked them already, but this time, you’ve got specifics. “I know you don’t know where he went,” you say to them, once you’ve herded all of them into a corner to talk to. “I want to know what he’s been like over the past few days. Has he said anything about the woods?”

The reaction among the kids is instant, and it strikes fear and guilt into you like you’ve never felt before. “What did he say?” you ask. Head-shakes all around. “I need you to tell me. Izuku might be in big trouble. We can’t do anything to help him if we don’t know what happened.”

More head-shaking, from all the kids but one. Katsuki’s looking away from you, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set. Of all the kids, Katsuki’s the one who likes Izuku the least, who picks on him the most. You and the others try to stop him, but you can’t be there every second. “Katsuki,” you say. He looks quickly at you, then looks away again. “What did Izuku say to you about the woods?”

“Deku’s a coward. He wouldn’t do it. I just said I’d stop if he –” Katsuki’s voice wavers. “I didn’t think he’d really go.”

You feel sick to your stomach. “Did you dare him to go into the woods?”

“And bring something back,” Katsuki says. “To prove it.”

It all comes together in your head, an awful picture you can’t look away from. What Izuku wants more than anything is to belong with the other kids, to have friends, and Katsuki’s the one who won’t let it happen. Promises hold more weight in this world than they used to. If he promised to leave Izuku alone, Izuku had good reason to trust it. But he dared Izuku to break two rules at once, two rules that are guaranteed to seal Izuku’s fate. Humans don’t trespass on the Folk’s territory without consequences. And they definitely don’t steal from them.

But you know where Izuku is for sure. Now there’s something you can do. “Stay here,” you order the kids, and you run to find the others.

“No,” Yue says, even before you’ve finished explaining. “We still can’t go in there.”

“We have to,” you say. “He’s just a kid –”

“So he’ll be safe,” Natsuo says. You stare at him. “If the stories are anything to go by, that thing’s not interested in kids. But you can bet he’d be interested in us.”

“The stories also say he can be bargained with,” you say. It gets quiet. “There’s no story about Tam Lin where he doesn’t let you make a deal.”

Part of the reason the settlement is here is that Tam Lin doesn’t leave the woods. The other part, never said but known all the same, is that unlike the other monsters from folklore, an encounter with Tam Lin doesn’t lead to death. You can walk away alive, so long as you and he come to an agreement. “No,” Keigo says. “Nothing ever goes well bargaining with the Folk. Especially not at night.”

“So you’d go in the morning?”

“I’d go in the morning,” Rumi says. “We could all go – or most of us, since somebody has to keep an eye on the kids –”

“What if he doesn’t have until morning?” you ask. It gets quiet again. “Time runs differently in their territory. We only know how long he’s been gone out here.”

“That’s just a rumor,” Natsuo says. “I say we go, some of us. In the morning.”

It’s a solid plan. You’d probably agree with it if there wasn’t this awful feeling in the pit of your stomach, the one that says Izuku has less time than you think, the one that says waiting until morning is waiting too long. There’s fear, and at the same time, there’s guilt. Guilt when you imagine Inko, Izuku’s mom, coming back from eight months of war to find her son gone. And even if it wasn’t for Inko, you know what kind of kid Izuku is. You know that if someone was in trouble, he’d run to help them, no matter how dangerous it was. You owe him the same.

“You can do what you want,” you say to the others. “I’m going now.”

“Are you crazy? You can’t just –”

“I know the stories. I know the rules. And I’ve still got things –” You touch the necklace your mother gave you before she died, the bracelet from your grandmother around your wrist. The idea of letting them go makes your heart ache, but for another person’s life, it’s not a question whether you’ll make the deal. “I still have things to trade. I can’t live with myself if I don’t go now.”

“You want to go get snatched by a faery? Fine.” Natsuo turns away, his jaw clenched. “My dad and my brother both tried this shit. You know how it went for them.”

“They didn’t try it with him,” you say. Natsuo walks away, and you face the others, forcing a smile onto your face. You hope you look brave. “Take care of the others. If I’m not back by nightfall, I’ll be back by morning. And so will Izuku.”

Promises made carry more weight in the world now. You take it as a good sign that you’re able to get the words out of your mouth without choking on them.

Crossing the border into the woods feels like entering another world. The Folk’s magic is so thick in the air that it’s hard to breathe, and you stumble against a tree before you’ve taken more than a dozen steps, your head swimming. You’ve never felt their magic like this except once before, and you do what you did then; small, paced breaths, taking sips of the air rather than gulping it down. Your lungs will adjust if you give them time, and once the knot in your chest loosens, you straighten up again. There’s a path before you, almost certainly a trap. Is it still a trap if you go into it purposely?

It doesn’t matter if it’s a trap or not – it’s Tam Lin’s trap, and you want to find him. You step onto the path and follow it into the trees.

Each step seems to take you centimeters forward at most, and at the same time, you can feel time passing in a way that’s not quite normal. It skips and starts and pauses, and panic begins to well up inside you as you feel yourself getting tired. On either side of the path are logs covered in soft, pillowy moss, hollows at the base of trees that would be perfect to curl up in, all inviting you to stop and rest. You ignore them, the same as you ignore the shimmering flowers a few meters off to the side, the same as you ignore the deer that follows along beside you close enough to pet. They’re all tricks made to stop you. You won’t stop until you find Izuku. And you won’t find Izuku until you reach Tam Lin.

The path terminates in a clearing, and you nearly stumble into it before you catch yourself. Instantly you know you’ve found the right place. The glade is covered with roses, a few of them white but most of them red, and Izuku sits amongst them, bound hand and foot in thorny vines. You call out to him, remembering only at the last minute not to use his name, and he looks towards you. There’s panic on his face. “Run,” he says. “This is his place. He’s here. If you take another step –”

You look more closely at Izuku. He looks terrible, dehydrated and exhausted, and worse than all of that, he looks thinner. Like he’s lost weight. Like he’s been here much longer than half a day. There’s a white rose clenched in his hand, bound there purposely by the vines. He’s made both mistakes outlined in the stories – trespassed in Tam Lin’s territory, and plucked a flower. Tam Lin has him. You wonder if he’s offered Izuku a bargain, and if he has, why Izuku didn’t take it. “Have you seen him?”

“He won’t show himself, but I know it’s him.” Izuku is crying now. “Please just go. This is all my fault. I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.”

“It’s too late for that.” A voice rasps out from between the trees on the far side of the glade. You see a pale figure there, just out of clear sight. “Listen to the boy. Run while you have the chance.”

So Tam Lin can entrap only one person at a time. You think through the rules of bargaining with the Folk, slowly and carefully, knowing that a mistake will cost Izuku everything. Tam Lin must have offered him a bargain. He must have refused it. And if he’s still here, it means that Tam Lin offers only one chance. It means you’ll get only one chance, and it’s the only choice you have if you want to save Izuku.

It’s not a choice at all. You take a deep breath, shaky enough to rattle your entire body, and step forward into the clearing, ignoring Izuku when he protests, noting the way the shadow in the trees startles. You bend down and grasp a red rose, snapping it free of its vine. “I’ll make you a deal, Tam Lin,” you say. “Let the boy leave the woods alive, safe, and whole, and I’ll take his place.”

Izuku protests again, or tries to. A vine wraps around the lower half of his face, clamping his jaw shut, as Tam Lin steps from the shadows at last. He looks nothing like the Folk are meant to, beautiful and healthy and whole – instead he’s gaunt and deathly pale, his skin dry and ashen and laced with scars. His clothing is ragged, and his hair, even paler than his skin, hangs lank and tangled around his face. His face is scarred, too. His eyes are bloodred.

You catch your breath in horror at the sight of him. He scoffs. “If you dare to offer that bargain again, it’s yours,” he says. “But I don’t think you will.”

“You think the way you look will make me forget why I’m here?” You let out a scoff of your own. “Let the boy leave the woods alive, safe, and whole, and I’ll take his place to bargain with you.”

Tam Lin’s lips are dry and cracked. When they curve into a smile, blood spills from them, dripping from the corner of his mouth to stain the collar of his tattered shirt. “Done.”

The vines unwrap from around Izuku, and you turn towards him, clamping your hand down over his mouth before he can say anything that will put him in Tam Lin’s clutches again. “Go home,” you order. Izuku’s eyes are welling up again. He shakes his head. “I know what I’m doing. I made your bargain, not my own just yet. Promise me you’ll go home now.”

If he promises you here, he won’t be able to break it. You lift your hand away from his mouth. “I promise,” Izuku whispers, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

The vines slip away from him at last, and with them, Izuku moves to drop the white rose. You fold his fingers around it. “Keep it,” you say. “Show Katsuki. Make him keep his promise, too.”

Izuku nods. “Go now,” Tam Lin rasps from behind you, as you help Izuku to his feet and turn him in the direction of the path. “Not that way. Here.”

He points to a gap between the trees, one that travels straight and true. At the far end of it, you can see the light of the setting sun. Izuku stumbles towards it, then steps between the trees, takes a single step – and vanishes. At least, that’s what it looks like from your angle. When you race through the vines to peer into the gap yourself, you see a small figure, dwindling rapidly, disappear into the light.

“You think I’d break my word?” Tam Lin’s come up behind you without warning. He speaks with his lips pressed against your ear. His breath is cold, and you freeze in terror. “Remember, I can’t lie. Unlike you.”

“What makes you think I lied?” You step forward, away from him, turning so you’re face to face. “If my bargain for his life wasn’t true, you wouldn’t have accepted it.”

“That’s right, but you didn’t lie to me,” Tam Lin says. “You lied to the boy, when you told him you had another bargain to make. You knew it was a lie when you said it.”

“I knew,” you admit.

“Then why?”

“So he’d leave without trying to help me.”

“Is that all?” Tam Lin tilts his head, studying you. “I think you lied so he wouldn’t think about the bargain you truly made.”

“That, too.” There’s no point in lying about this. You sealed your fate the moment you pulled the red rose. You let it fall from your hand to rest among the vines. “I don’t want him to think about what you’re going to do to me.”

“You offered yourself to me,” Tam Lin says – snaps, almost. “I gave you the chance to leave. You refused.”

“Yes.” You knew what you were offering, and he knew when he accepted. Why is he still talking? “Let’s get this over with.”

You have the brief satisfaction of seeing Tam Lin’s jaw drop. “Get this over with?”

“Don’t be dense,” you say. You made your deal with him. What else can he do to you? “When someone trespasses and steals from you, you take their virtue or the most valuable thing they have to offer. I made my bargain already, so I don’t get to choose. I don’t want to stand here waiting all night. Let’s get this over with.”

Tam Lin is staring at you like you’ve gone insane. The magic permeating every centimeter of the woods must be making you insane, because you’re standing here in a faery’s haunt, telling a faery to hurry up and – you can’t even finish the thought. Maybe you won’t need to finish the thought if you take control. “Well?”

Tam Lin looks away from you. “Take off your clothes.”

You think about it for a moment, then decide against it. You’re out of choices when it comes to this, except for how it goes, and you don’t want it to go like this. It must not be what Tam Lin wants, either – he’s still looking away, visibly uncomfortable. You cross the space between the two of you, reach up, and turn his head back to face you. He startles when you touch him. His skin is cold. So are his lips, when you rise on your toes to kiss them.

Tam Lin stays frozen, maybe in shock, maybe in disgust. When you draw back, you can read nothing on his face. Maybe this isn’t how the people whose virtue he steals usually react. You kiss him again, and he doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t respond. You haven’t done a lot of kissing, but you think the person you’re kissing is supposed to do something back. “Do faeries not believe in kissing?”

“I’m not a faery.”

He expects you to believe that, when he has faery magic, when he lives in the middle of a haunted forest, when he’s bound by the same rules that bind them. “Then what are you, Tam Lin?”

“I’m not a faery,” he says again, and you remember, suddenly, that he told you he can’t lie. His hands rise to grasp your waist. They’re thin and bony, almost skeletal, and cold just like the rest of him. “And my name’s not Tam Lin.”

“Oh.” You can’t manage much more of a response than that. “What do I call you, then?”

Not-Tam Lin, not-a-faery, leans in close, presses his lips to your ear again. “Tomura.”

You start to repeat it, to make sure you’ve heard it right, and Tam Lin – Tomura – covers your mouth with his hand. “Not out loud,” he says. Then why did he want you to know it? You kiss the palm of his hand and he flinches. “What are you doing? I told you to take off your clothes.”

“I have to at some point.” Your stomach clenches with discomfort at the thought of exposing yourself here, exposing yourself to him. “But you were right, before. I offered myself willingly. I should act like it.”

Tomura still looks confused. He looks frustrated when he’s confused, or else he’s confused when he’s frustrated, and either way, the whole virtue-stealing thing is taking too long. Your resolve could break at any second, and then this will be awful and painful and terrifying instead of simply awful, simply awkward. You’d rather he acted while you could both still convince yourselves that you want this. You watch Tomura’s expression shift, see the moment when he comes to the same conclusion. This time, when you lean in to kiss him, he kisses you back.

Cold. His kisses are ice-cold and unrelenting, even as his lips split against yours and blood spills between you. You lick it away on instinct and his grip on you tightens, and worse when you swipe your tongue across his lower lip again. Tomura’s lips part at once, and although you’ve done nothing more than read about this in a book, you lock your mouth against his. He’s so cold. But when your hand slips to rest against the side of his neck, you can put your fingers against his pulse. Whatever else Tomura may be, he’s alive.

The thought comforts you ever so slightly, but whatever peace or comfort you feel evaporates when Tomura’s grip on you shifts. He lifts you off your feet with a strength you wouldn’t have imagined he possessed and lays you down amongst the thorns. Amongst a spot that’s clear of them. You can see the vines retreating out of the corner of your eye a moment before Tomura pins you down. His mouth crashes against yours, and the way he’s stretched out on top of you forces you to part your legs, just enough that one of his can fit between them.

You chose for this to happen. You offered yourself willingly, and still you squirm to get free. Tomura shifts his weight so he’s no longer pinning you quite so heavily, but one of his hands slips beneath your shirt, pulling one cup of your bra down to clear his way to your breast. “Hey,” you protest. “What are you doing?”

Tomura doesn’t answer. He seems fascinated, too fascinated to even kiss you, as he cups your breast in one hand, gives an almost experimental squeeze. Your nipples harden, more from the cold than anything else, but of course he notices. He pinches it lightly, and your body jerks. An unfamiliar sensation runs quickly through you. “Hey,” you protest again, softer this time. “I thought you just were supposed to take my virtue.”

“I want everything.” Tomura’s leg presses harder between yours as he pinches your nipple again, tugs at it for a moment before circling it with the rough pad of his thumb. Your body jerks a second time, forcing your hips up to grind against his leg. “You’re warm –”

Warm, bordering on hot, and the way he’s yanked your bra aside is uncomfortable. You shove lightly at his shoulders as he wrestles with the other cup. You shove weakly at his shoulders, and he gives you an annoyed look. “Let me sit up,” you say. “I need to take it off.”

Tomura lets you up just long enough for you to take it off and pull it out from under your shirt, but as soon as it’s gone, he pushes you back down again. This time his mouth finds yours as he plays with your breasts, and when you squirm against the sensation running through you, there’s nowhere for you to go. If your back isn’t arching into his touch, your hips are rolling against his leg, your motions growing more urgent as he toys with you. He has to stop. He has to stop, or he’s going to –

“Tomura,” you gasp against his mouth, and you feel him shudder. So that is his name. So you do have something, after all. “Tomura, please –”

He stops, which is what you wanted – and at the same time, it’s not what you wanted at all. He sits up, draws back, and before you can protest, he’s tugging at the waistband of your pants. You start to sit up, but he pushes you back. “I need to take off my shoes,” you say. He gives you a skeptical look. “I said I’d take my clothes off.”

“I want to do it.” Tomura pushes you back onto your elbows, then pries your shoes off your feet, along with your socks. Then he’s back to your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear and casting them aside. “I told you. I want everything.”

He’s still fully dressed, but his shirt’s in tatters, barely concealing anything. You thought he’d undress more, but he’s already pushing your legs apart, sinking down between them. Too far. By the time it occurs to you what Tomura’s doing, his mouth is between your legs, his tongue cold in contrast to your heat. His fingers are the same, when two of them slip easily inside you. Your legs are shaking from a few laps of his tongue against your clit. Your body tenses, forcing a sharp gasp out of your mouth. You feel exposed to an awful degree, horrified at how helpless you must look, how helpless you are – and at the same time, the sensation of his touch feels so much better than anything you’ve felt before.

You sit up on your elbows, but your face goes up in flames at the sight of him between your legs, and you fall back, staring up at the sky instead. Even then, you can’t shake the image of him with his eyes shut, face buried between your legs, completely lost in you. You can’t fail to hear the harshness of his breathing, the sound he makes when you clench tight around his fingers and come so hard your eyes go blurry. Even if you could, it would be impossible to miss the fact that he keeps licking you even as your body goes limp, that it takes you shoving at his shoulder to make him pull away – and even when he does, he’s reluctant in a way that makes you cringe with embarrassment.

Tomura sits back, and you sit up. When you make eye contact, you see that his eyes are dilated, and that his pupils are round rather than vertical. He wasn’t lying. He’s not a faery, but the way he’s looking at you means you can’t look at him for long. You look away. He catches the hem of your shirt and peels it off, and you do the same before unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. You don’t know the first thing about cocks, but you’d have to be an idiot to miss that his is hard already.

You reach out for him and he pushes your hands away, shaking his head. “Don’t. I can’t if you –”

If you touch him? You’ve barely touched him. Why does he look like he’s about to come already? You lie back and Tomura follows you down, knocking your legs apart and lying down between them. This is what you were steeling yourself for, an eternity ago when you told him to get on with it, what you planned to grit your teeth and bear through. But Tomura sinks into you easily. Your legs shake where they’re hooked over his hips, but that’s nothing new. Tomura, with his gritted teeth and flushed face, looks like he’s having a harder time with it than you are.

You wrap your arms around his neck on his first unsteady thrust, pulling him down for a kiss that tastes the way you must. You don’t know how you feel about that. You kiss his neck instead, then his jaw just below his ear, and Tomura moans. You know how you feel about that – heat rushes through you, and you kiss him again. He’s almost frantic in the way he fucks you, no control, all need. Almost like – the thought’s absurd – almost like it’s his first time, not just yours.

You know you won’t come a second time. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good to have him like this, to be the reason why he’s desperate, why he’s panting for breath, why some trace of warmth has returned to his icy skin. There’s no way you can touch him that won’t unbalance him somehow, no matter how light or gentle you are. When you cradle his face in one hand, run your thumb over a scar on his lips, he leans into your palm for a split second before seizing your wrist and pulling your hand away.

But he doesn’t let go of your hand. You pull your wrist free, then lace your fingers with his, and you see his eyes go wide. “Tomura,” you say, and he looks at you.

You have no idea what you look like, and no idea what to say next, but it doesn’t matter. He shudders, curses, his grip on your hand tightening to the point of pain as he comes. His grip doesn’t loosen, not even when he pulls out and slumps against you. The fact that he’s still holding your hand is the only proof you have that he’s not completely unconscious.

Even though he’s warmer than he was before, you’re still cold. And naked. And lying on the ground. You start trying to escape, and you get as far away as sitting up and reaching for the nearest item of your clothing before a not-quite-so-cold hand closes around your wrist. “No.”

“I held up my end of the deal,” you say. “You can’t keep me here any longer.”

“The woods aren’t safe at night,” Tomura says. “Not from them. Not for you, and not for me. I can’t stop you from leaving, but if one of them finds you, they’ll do worse than anything I could.”

You remember what you said to the others before you left – you’d be back before nightfall, or else tomorrow morning. It looks like it’ll be tomorrow morning. “All right,” you say, and Tomura’s grip on your wrist relaxes. “I’m still putting on my clothes.”

Somehow, getting dressed again makes things more awkward, not less. Even with your clothes on, you can’t forget that he’s seen you without them, or anything else about what happened between the two of you. You’re hungry and thirsty, but even if Tomura offered you food, you couldn’t eat anything that’s passed through faery hands or come from the Fair Folk’s domain. It’s dark, and you’re tired. Once you’re dressed again, you go looking for somewhere to sleep.

“Here.” Tomura is shadowing you, never more than a hairsbreadth away. He points out the hollow of a massive tree, more than spacious enough for three people, let alone two. Inside it you can see a collection of objects, scattered in the corners, decorating the walls. “This is where I sleep.”

“So I should sleep somewhere else,” you say, but your attention’s drawn to the objects. There’s no rhyme or reason to what they are, no common thread. Jewelry and watches hang on walls beside folded pieces of paper, books lay in piles on the ground next to stacks of CDs and old cameras – and phones. There are more smartphones piled up under this tree than you’ve seen since the end of the world, and suddenly it clicks. “These are from your trades.”

Tomura nods, and you study the objects, feeling sick to your stomach all over again. The most valuable thing a person had – in the war and immediately afterwards, it would have been their phone, because everyone still hoped they’d start working again. Then photo albums, picture frames, even missing posters, reminders of people who’d been lost, and after that, simple objects. A CD, because things with batteries still work. A favorite book, because no books will ever be printed again. A piece of jewelry, gifted by someone a person loved. Like what you would have traded to Tam Lin, if you’d had a chance to choose.

You get a little fixated on a dog’s collar, well-worn, with a tag still dangling from it. It’s all too easy to imagine the person who would have carried it with them. “This is cruel.”

“They had a choice.” Tomura takes the collar out of your hand and sets it back among the rest, arranging it just so. His hands are covered in scars, just like the rest of him. “They chose this.”

Something occurs to you. “How many of them chose it?” you ask. He glances sideways at you, then looks away. “How many of gave something to you, and how many of them –”

You aren’t sure how to describe what happened to you. Tomura doesn’t answer, and you think about the world before the war, the world after. Of how many people still cling desperately to the scraps of a world that will never come back. You know the answer to your question. You wished you hadn’t asked in the first place, and the idea of sleeping here makes your skin crawl. Sleeping here next to him feels even stranger.

But you don’t know what else lives in the woods, and while you can’t trust Tomura, you know at least that he has his end of the bargain to uphold. You crawl into the hollow beneath the tree, keeping as far from Tomura as possible. Tam Lin’s glade shimmers even in the moonless night, but within the tree, it’s ordinary darkness. Somewhere within it, Tomura speaks. “Out there. What’s it like?”

You don’t know what to say. “I asked that boy,” Tomura continues. “He wouldn’t tell me. Is it a secret?”

“It’s not a secret,” you say. “He knows better than to talk to faeries. All the children do.”

“For how long?”

“Why does it matter?” you ask. Tomura scoffs, shifts in the darkness. Your eyes have adjusted enough to see his shoulders hunched, his almost-skeletal limbs folding in to make him smaller than he should be. “You’re one of them. Shouldn’t you know?”

“I told you I’m not a faery.” It’s quiet for a few moments. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you. How long ago did it start?”

“Seven years this October,” you say, and on the other side of the hollow, Tomura sits bolt upright. “Does that mean something to you?”

Tomura doesn’t answer that, either. He sits there, frozen like a statue, and you turn away. It’s been a while since you slept on the ground, but you’re tired enough that it won’t matter, and you feel so strange. Your legs hurt, and you’re sore between them, and when you lick your lips, you find Tomura’s blood still staining your mouth. Lying down on the far side of the hollow with your back to him doesn’t feel like the right answer, but neither does trying to talk to him, let alone going closer. You lie down, fold your arms against your chest in an effort to keep warm, and close your eyes.

Your eyelids have just begun to grow heavy when Tomura speaks again. “Seven years,” he says, and his voice sounds wrong. “Are you sure?”

“I remember the day it happened,” you say. “I know.”

You were thirteen. You remember the way the weight and taste of the air changed, the icy winds that whipped through town ahead of the advancing armies. You remember running, then hiding, hearing but not seeing what was done to the people who were caught. Izuku and the others will never know what the world was like before, but even if you don’t cling to the past, you can never forget what the Fair Folk tore away. “I know,” you say again. “Almost seven years.”

“Seven years.” Tomura takes a deep breath, or tries to. You hear it catch and rattle. “I didn’t think –”

His breathing rattles again, and a sense of foreboding sweeps over you. There’s something he knows that you don’t, something you have to get out of him – but then he takes another rattling breath, and you match the sound to the reaction. It’s not one you’d expect from the Fair Folk, and it’s what convinces you at last that Tam Lin’s not one of them. The Fair Folk don’t cry.

You shouldn’t care at all, not when you’re sitting amongst the precious things he’s stolen from so many in exchange for their freedom, not when you’re one of his – victims? – yourself. But ignoring it feels wrong, wrong in the same way as waiting until morning to look for Izuku was. You sit up, reach out across the hollow, but the distance between the two of you is too great. You scoot closer, feeling for him through the darkness until your hand encounters a frozen, shaking shoulder. The question you were going to ask him dies on your tongue.

Whatever this is, it’s not something you can fix. You wrap your arms loosely around him instead, feeling him startle the same way he did when you first kissed him. You lie back, pulling Tomura with you, until the two of you are sprawled on the ground. It’s uncomfortable, still. Tomura’s still cold. You still don’t know how you feel about what happened between the two of you. But you know you feel better like this. Things feel better when you aren’t alone.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when the sounds of the forest wake you up, it’s dawn. Tomura hasn’t stirred, and he’s lying on one of your arms, which is numb and full of pins and needles as you try to work it loose. Tomura sits up before you’ve freed yourself. The darkness wasn’t kind to him, but in daylight, you’re struck by just how terrible he looks – thinner, paler, skin dry and cracked and scarred. He’s hard to look at. Harder to look away from.

You look away and get to your feet. “Which way do I go to get out?”

“The low road.” Tam Lin is slower to rise, and as he does, the same passageway that Izuku left through opens on the far side of the glade. “Don’t leave the path.”

“I won’t.” You straighten your clothes, then turn to look at Tomura. What are you supposed to say to him now? Thank you for not hurting you, for letting you fulfill your side of the bargain your way? “Goodbye, Tam Lin.”

“That’s not my name,” he says. “The other one. Do you remember it?”

“Of course,” you say, and Tomura’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. “I won’t forget.”

“It won’t matter anymore, soon,” Tomura says. He turns away. “Go.”

You have questions – questions, and a strange twist of worry within you – but you also made a promise to the others in the settlement, and you have to keep it. You turn away from him and cross the glade, heading for the opening between the trees, not stopping even when you hear his footsteps behind you. One hand grasps your waist again, stopping you in your tracks, while the other arm wraps around you. There’s something in his hand. You look down and see the rose you plucked last night, as perfect as when you pulled it from the vine.

“Here.” Tam Lin’s voice is less than a puff of air against your ear. “You won this. Take it with you.”

You take it from him, and his hands fall away from you. The urge to look back is there, and it’s strong. You step forward instead, crossing out of the glade – and three steps later, out of the woods and into the bright morning sun.

It’s not long before one of the others spots you – Keigo’s always had sharp eyes – and he calls for the others. As they race towards you, you decide what you’ll tell them. You spent the night bargaining with Tam Lin, the same as the hero in another folktale spent her night as wife to a murderous king telling stories to keep him interested, and eventually you won your freedom. You’ll say nothing of the bargain you really made, nothing of what happened between you and the being the world knows as Tam Lin. They’ll look at you differently. They won’t understand. You barely understand yourself.

You’ll keep it to yourself. When the others reach you, you ask your question first. “Did Izuku get back? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Fuyumi says. She looks you anxiously up and down. “What about you?”

You’re conscious of the woods behind you in a way you never were before. You’re still holding the rose. “I’m glad Izuku’s okay,” you say, because you are. And then you lie, because you can do that, because they don’t need to know how you returned – just that you did. “I’m fine, too.”

[iamthecomet]

Kinktober - Day Twenty- Dry Humping AND Public Sex.

1k about why ghouls should not be allowed in bars. AKA: Swiss and Aeon share a perfectly innocent dance in a very crowded bar.

The bar is loud. Aeon’s still not used to this. The strange crush of humanity up by the bar. The cacophony of noise as they all talk over each other. Drunk on noise long before the alcohol hits them. 

He stands at the back of the room, a lukewarm beer in his hand. He’s only taken a couple of swigs. He’s found over the couple weeks of touring that he doesn’t particularly like beer. He’d rather have the wine Aether gave him back at the Abbey. Or something else. Something sweeter. But he isn’t sure how one goes about ordering that. Doesn’t even know what he would ask for. So when Dew asks him if he wants something he’s gotten used to just nodding and telling Dew to get him whatever he’s having. 

There’s no way Dew really likes this swill either. But the fire ghoul doesn’t seem to be having any trouble drinking it, so maybe Aeon’s wrong about that. 

He leans against the wall. He’s just to the left of the hallway that leads to the bathroom. Between him and his bandmates is a small square of floor in front of the digital jukebox that no one seems interested in. 

He taps his fingers on his glass and wonders how long he should wait before feigning exhaustion and leaving. How long is acceptable? Maybe he could set the beer down and go try his hand at something else. Ask the bartender for something popular that isn’t beer. There have to be other choices. 

He’s mulling it over, trying to decide if risking embarrassment is worth it, when Swiss sidles up to him. Leaning his shoulder against the wall and looking at Aeon through golden eyes glinting with mischief. 

Aeon’s still not used to seeing Swiss full glamored. Both eyes the same color, no obsidian horns. Fangs dulled down to something acceptable. He flashes Aeon a grin that makes the smaller ghoul’s stomach twist. 

“Wanna dance?”  

Aeon blink, swallows. He twitches away from Swiss in confusion, head shaking like he must have misheard. “What?” 

Swiss’ megawatt smile doesn’t dim. If anything it gets more predatory. “I asked if you wanted to dance.” 

“Dance?” 

Swiss rolls his eyes and curls his hand around Aeon’s forearm. He’s so warm. That’s the one thing about Swiss that stays constant even with the glamor. The heat of him. Aeon moves closer like a moth drawn to a flame, and Swiss abandons his grip on Aeon’s arm in favor of one around his waist. 

“Yeah,” Swiss whispers, leaning in to drag his nose up the side of Aeon’s neck. Inhaling sharply as he noses against his hairline. “That’s what I said.” 

“There’s no music?” 

Swiss pries the warm beer out of Aeon’s hand. He tugs him toward the little square of empty floor. Setting Aeon’s abandoned beer on a table as they go. Aeon lets himself be pulled, stumbling as Swiss digs his fingers into Aeon’s side. Aeon is about to protest again. To ask about the music–something–anything. But then Swiss has both of his hands around Aeon’s waist. And he’s pulling in him until they’re touching from chest to thigh. Aeon curls his arms around Swiss’ neck. They’re so close Aeon can smell the beer on Swiss’ breath, tinged with weed. 

And then there is music. Swelling up through the bar speakers. It’s a slow song–but not a balled. There’s something sensual about it, the pulse of the bass. The way Swiss guides Aeon’s hips as they move. 

Swiss drags him closer until they’re really pressed tight, zipper to zipper. With each sway of his hips Aeon can feel where Swiss is fattening up in his pants. His own cock twitching in interest as the sway together to the beat of a song Aeon’s never heard before. 

“How—how’d you do that? The music?” 

“Magic.” Swiss grins at him, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Aeon deadpans and Swiss laughs, tipping his head back. The long exposed line of his neck makes Aeon’s stomach flip. Does nothing to help his rapidly hardening dick. 

“Lus has the app on her phone,” Swiss concedes as he pulls his head back to center. He rests his forehead against Aeon’s, gazing down at him. Rolling their hips together until Aeon gasps.

There are people everywhere. He can still hear them outside of the little bubble he and Swiss have created. Watching them. He isn’t sure why the thought makes his cock twich, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. Swiss’s smile deepens. 

“They’re going to notice,” Aeon whispers. He has one palm flat on Swiss’ neck, fingers digging in. The other is gripped in his shirt by his shoulder blade. Still pulling him closer even as his logical brain tells him to stop this before he gets so hard he can’t hide it. 

He thinks Swiss might already be there. Hot and solid against Aeon’s dick as he rolls his hips forward. Aeon wishes for less clothes. He wants to see the heads of their cocks slide together. Wants to watch as they both leak pre. 

“They see this shit all the time,” Swiss promises him. “Every day. Humans do this all the time.” 

Aeon believes it. But that doesn’t stop his blush. Aeon drops his head, buries his face in Swiss’ neck as they sway. Cocks dragging over each other through their jeans. Aeon’s going to have a wet spot. He’s going to make a mess. He should stop. He doesn’t. 

“And we both know you like to be watched,” Swiss adds, voice directly in Aeons’ ear. Teeth catching on the shell of it as he hitches Aeon even closer. Fingers dipping just below the waistband of his jeans. It’s nothing, barely a touch but Aeons’ bucking his hips forward anyway. 

He whimpers against Swiss’ neck. Tongue darting out to lap over Swiss’ hammering pulse. Aeon lets Swiss guide him. Their bodies rolling together. Aeon knows it can’t look like dancing no matter how on beat they are. He’s rutting his hips against Swiss’ like a horny teenager.

“They’re all gonna know,” Aeon whines, devastated but not willing to do anything about it except chase his pleasure. “When the song ends and we’re both hard. They’re all gonna know–.” 

“No one’s gonna know, Bug.” Swiss promises. He licks a filthy stripe up the side of Aeon’s face. Nips at his ear again.

“Course they are,” Aeon whines. 

Aeon feels Swiss’ grin against the side of his face. Grinding his hips into Aeon’s a little harder, Aeon shudders in his arms. “Not if we don’t stop until we cum.” 

[thwispsings]

Can i get some demon trio bonding pls?

Sha Hualing is the worst possible person to ever go drinking with. Mobei-jun will simply sulk in a corner and sip his wine like an ice statue that wished to be a real boy and make you feel somehow inadequate to even be in his company, Sha Hualing on the other hand will start a tavern brawl and only be satisfied once she’s sure she’s spilled blood from at least three people.

“Why are you like this?” Binghe begs her after they’re kicked from the third tavern this week, she’s cackling like a mad witch, not an ounce of concern for her -admittedly, very flimsy- human disguise, he prays no one associates him with the new prestigious guest of Huan Hua Palace and goes babbling to the old palace master, heavens know Binghe does not want that old geezer coming around to act all paternal around him again.

“Because it’s fun, Xiao He! You should do it too, it would loosen you up a bit maybe,” she tells him, pinching one of his cheeks with her sharp rouge stained claws, he whines “Ancestors know it would loosen up that one.” She gestures rudely to Mobei-jun, who just stands there looking serious as usual.

“Is his face stuck like that or does he have another even bitchier expression somewhere deep inside of him?” Binghe asks her in a very serious voice and Sha Hualing chortles like a piglet.

“Oh not, you should see him with his mousy little human, he gets so soft it’s unbearable to watch, like snow melting in the sun, blegh” Sha Hualing tells him, still giggling, draping herself over his shoulders like a warm and jingly scarf. 

“Shang-shishu!?” Binghe exclaims, eyebrows climbing up to his hairline, his expression growing even slacker with surprise at the flush that appears over Mobei-jun’s regal nose “OH YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH HIM!”

Sha Hualing cackles loudly again, right against his ear. Mobei-jun shushes the both of them, looking around with wide eyes as if Shang-shishu would pop out of the ground and catch them in the act of making fun of Mobei-jun for wanting to put his dick in him.

“He wants to give him babies.” Sha Hualing says loudly, pretending to whisper in Binghe’s ear and this time it’s him cackling as loud as he can.

“Hualing.” Mobei-jun hisses, his tone has hardly changed but Binghe gets the impression that he’s close to tears.

“Ancestors, you want to be the peak lady of An Ding Peak.” Binghe says and he and Sha Hualing immediately crumple into giggles again, Mobei-Jun lets out a noise not unlike a tea kettle.

Binghe and Sha Hualing are both doubled over laughing, a strong wind could probably make them topple into a puddle of giggly demon right here in the middle of this town square with the ugly lion statues and crooked lanterns. Mobei-jun looks heavenward as if asking for patience.

“He wants to be Shang Qinghua’s special little demon.” Sha Hualing says, slapping Binghe while tears stream down her face from how hard she’s laughing, Binghe is already hiccuping. Mobei-jun seems to decide that enough is enough, bending down and picking both of them up one under each arm, he opens a portal to Binghe’s palace in the demon realm and steps in.

Their cackles echo loudly while Mobei-jun hunts down Binghe’s room. A few of the demon servants stop to listen and smile to themselves before continuing, for once since Tianlang-jun’s demise there’s lightness in these halls again.

[tgmsunmontue]

Second time lucky...

College AU featuring Bradshaw!Twins Bradford and Bradley, a Jake Seresin with a crush, and a long-suffering Javy Machado.

                “He’s so fucking hot,” Jake whines and Javy rolls his eyes, clearly sick of hearing about it but Jake just can’t help himself.

                They’re watching a group play ultimate frisbee, a sport they’ve both learnt to come to appreciate watching when the teams differentiate themselves by shirts and no-shirts, the women stripping to tanks and everyone wearing the shortest-shorts they apparently seem to own. Jake approves, even if he doesn’t really understand how the game itself works. But the guy is playing, and Jake has dedicated a lot of time to watching him.

               He’s been seeing the guy everywhere on campus, can’t seem to walk anywhere without seeing him and it’s really fucking distracting. He goes to the pool, and the guy is there. He goes to the gym, the guy is there. He goes to the library, the guy is fucking there. He’s not in any of Jake’s classes thankfully, he does get some reprieve, however if the guy was in a class he’d have an actual chance of learning his name.

                “Where’s your infamous charm now? Why don’t you just go and ask him out?” Javy asks. While there are a lot of names being thrown around, it’s impossible to tell which one belongs to the guy in question.

                “I… I can’t.”

                “Seriously? You can’t? You’re actually… oh my god. You actually care about getting rejected by this guy.”

                Part of Jake wants to snap that he doesn’t care. And that he doesn’t get rejected. However he has to admit that he usually doesn’t get rejected because he generally only asks people who are a sure thing. People who have made their interest known. With this guy, he just doesn’t know. Sometimes he thinks that maybe yeah, he’d totally be down to going out with Jake. Maybe. And other times there’s definitely zero interest. So it’s not like the guy is blowing hot and cold. More like… barely lukewarm and cold. Maybe once or twice he thinks there was something, but it had been gone so fast he’s pretty sure he imagined it.

…            …            …

                “I think I’ve found you an in. The guy is a member of the Delta Frat. And he’s a senior. That’s why he’s not in any of our classes.”

                “He’s in a frat?” Jake asks, pulling a face.

                “Yeah, and I am totally judging your taste. Because not only is he in a frat, but his name is Bradford Bradshaw.”

                “Oh god…” Jake groans, because that is one hell of a name. But he has a name now, and he recognizes it as being one yelled out while watching ultimate frisbee, so it sounds like it is probably the same person.

                “And, because they’re a frat, they’re having a party on Friday night to celebrate… the end of the week probably. I don’t remember. Anyway, I got the details. You owe me.”

                Jake feels like he might throw up.

                Javy has gone to all this effort for him, he can’t just not use it.

…            …            …

                They stand in front of the house and it doesn’t seem like there’s a party and they look at each other hesitantly before Javy shoves him into motion with a push to his shoulder.

                “Just walk up and knock. Come on.”

                He huffs out a breath and squares his shoulders. He can do this. He raises his hand to knock and then the door is opening away from him and there’s a guy standing there looking at them, wide smile on his face, and at least he looks welcoming rather than asking them who the fuck they are.

                “Oh, hey man, just go straight in. Mickey’s out the back heating the grill, think Bradshaw’s in the kitchen. You’re a bit early, game doesn’t start for another hour.”

                He exchanges a look with Javy, because that would have been useful information to have, and he also feels empty handed, like maybe some chips and dip wouldn’t have gone astray, because it seems far too settled, too quiet, considering they’re having a party, and Bradshaw is in the kitchen. Chips and dip would give his hands something to do, something to hold onto. Reaching out to grasp hold of Javy just doesn’t elicit the image he’s at least trying to portray here.

                There’s posters and scarves for different teams. A pair of silicon boobs is sitting on a shelf beside what Jake is pretty sure is a bong. Beside which is a dildo. Okay then. They walk further into the house, and there he is. Bradford Bradshaw, in the kitchen as promised, poking at an assortment of Jello shots in the fridge. They’re arranged like a rainbow, and it gives Jake a little flare of hope, because so far, the house had been very… frat bro aesthetic.

                “Uh. Hi. I’m Jake.”

                “Hey man. Bradford. I think I’ve seen you around. Swim team right?”

                “Uh, yeah,” Jake manages to croak, because that also bodes well for him, that the guy has at least noticed him enough to know that. “I’m actually here to see if you’d be interested in going out sometime,” Jake says, surprised his voice sounds fairly level given how badly he feels like his insides are shaking.

                The guy has looked up sharply at that, his eyes have gone wide and he’s suddenly looking supremely fucking awkward and Jake shrinks inside. God. He’s about to get rejected. At least he can just leave. And maybe transfer to another college. Or country.

                “Oh… dude. I’m flattered. Seriously. Uh. Look. You want the good news or the bad news first?”

                Jake isn’t quite sure how there is any good news to come out of being rejected and he just shakes his head, is already stepping back, heading toward the door. But the guy is quick, slaps his hand against it and looks at Jake likes he’s an idiot. Sue him, maybe he is.

                “So, bad news, I’m mostly pretty straight. And I know that without any shadow of a doubt,” Bradford says, like he’s trying to somehow let Jake down gently, but he seems happy or eager about something, like crushing Jake is somehow making his night. “So, while I don’t really bat for your team I did say I have some good news. I have an identical twin brother who is very not straight, so… lets go find him!”

                “Uh, what?”

                “An identical twin. Well, identical enough. So if it’s all this you want to get up in on, then I have another model that I think would be very, uh, interested,” Bradford says, gesturing at himself and Jake despairs of himself, because unfortunately he is very much interested in getting all up in that. He looks to Javy, who has followed them, and he’s glad, because they’re walking down the street past other houses. He’s pretty sure he’s not getting pranked or anything, most people don’t invent something like an identical twin out of thin air as a joke…

                “How do you know? That he’d be interested?” Javy asks, and Jake blinks, looks between them, because he hadn’t caught that, his mind too busy processing the idea that there are two guys that look like this and that he wasn’t going mad thinking he was seeing them everywhere.

                “What?”

                “Would you believe twin telepathy?”

                Jake raises an eyebrow disbelievingly and scoffs.

                “No.”

                “That’s a good thing, he doesn’t buy into any of that bullshit either. What he has been doing though is whine about this guy…” he says, turns to give Jake a quick up and down glance which makes him flush a little, because this is still the guy Jake has been sort of drooling over the last few weeks. “You happen to have a toothpick on you?” Bradford suddenly asks, apropos of nothing and Jake glares at Javy when he snorts.

                “Yeah, I have a couple. Why?”

                “Oh yeah, you’ll do. He’s been mooning over this guy with an oral fixation that won’t stop flicking a toothpick with his tongue. And buddy, I don’t know how many guys are walking around with a supply of toothpicks to fellate, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to fucking play cupid.”

                Javy is outright laughing now and Jake punches him in the arm, wrestles away from the noogie Javy tries to give him in retaliation.

                “What’s his name?” Jake asks, trying to straighten his hair, no idea how close they might be getting, but they’ve been walking pretty fast for about five minutes now.

                “Bradley.”

                “Your parents named you Bradley and Bradford?”

                “Our parents think they’re hilarious. Last name Bradshaw remember.”

                “Yikes.”

                “It’s fine, means we’ve got thick skin and a decent sense of humor. Although, while I can commend you on your taste, he is definitely the more boring twin. See if you can make him come to the party, I made the Jello shots especially for him.”

                Oh. That’s kind of sweet Jake realizes, showing support through no-doubt alcoholic Jello shots arranged in rainbow colors.

                “I’ll ask him.”

                “Good thing you’ve got balls and are doing the asking, because he’d never get around to it. Anyway, this is him,” Bradford says, and he’s just pushing the door open and kicking his shoes off and Jake exchanges a look with Javy and just follows after him, scrambling a little to keep up as Bradford just calls out a general welcome to the house, telling anyone who can hear him that it’s only him, and not someone here to steal their shit. From somewhere there’s an answering yell about them having nothing worth stealing and Jake blinks, because he’s in the dorms, and this isn’t a frat house, but it’s still a shared house of some sort, smaller for sure. Then Bradford is banging on a door, and Jake sucks in a deep breath, because this must be Bradley’s door. His bedroom. Oh shit, suddenly this feels far too personal and he feels like he’s shaking.

                “Bradley!” Bang bang bang. “Bradley stop jerking off and answer your door man.” Bang bang bang. “Dude, come on, I will open this door on you…”

                Then the door swings open and there is another man standing there, the spitting image of Bradford, but he looks furious, eyes flashing, knuckles white where they’re gripping the door and Jake swallows nervously, but also a little turned on. That anger isn’t directed at him after all.

                “For fucks sake Bradford, I’m trying to study!”

                “Yeah, not anymore you’re not. Here. I come bearing gifts. You can thank me later.”

                Then Jake is being grabbed and hauled in front of Bradford like a human shield and the change in expression from anger to surprise on Bradley’s face is immediate.

                “Uh, hi.”

                “You’re the guy from the library,” Bradley says and Jake nods.

                “Yeah. I didn’t realize you had a twin brother.”

                “Yeah, my whole life.”

                “Um. Did you want to… um. Get a drink sometime?” Jake asks, and the way Bradley is looking at him is still surprised, like he can’t believe Jake is there. And Jake hadn’t ever planned to do this in front of Javy and somehow, the identical twin of the guy he’s got a crush on. Well, he was told going to college would give him new life experiences.

                “What?”

                “A date. Or something. Or just studying together if you don’t have much time. Just, uh, I wanted to ask you out.”

                “And my work here is done,” Bradford says, taking a step back and making a bow. “I’ll see you round. You want to come back with me?” Bradford says, turning to Javy with the last question, and Javy’s giving Jake a little salute, slap to the arm and he’s leaving with Bradford; leaving Jake there alone.

                They stand there awkwardly looking at each other and Jake’s wondering if he should maybe just leave, because Bradley hasn’t said anything else, not even yes to Jake’s jumbled date asking.

                “I think I’m just going to go. Leave you to it.”

                “No! Sorry… I’m just. You want to go out with me?”

                “Yeah. I’d like to… get to know you.”

                “Yeah, okay. That would be nice. What’s your name?”

                “Oh shit. Jake. My name’s Jake Seresin. It’s nice to meet you.”

                The smile Bradley gives him is breathtaking and Jake can’t help but smile back, his stomach feeling like a kaleidoscope of butterflies has made itself at home, but he feels a lot less nervous now.

                “It’s nice to meet you too.”

                They kind of stand there and just grin at each other for a few moments, and Jake feels so relieved that Bradley seems to be into him.

                “Oh. Did you want a drink, or to… go out somewhere? Now?” Bradley asks.

                “Well, we could go to the party. Just walk there, say hi, then walk back…”

                “You don’t want to actually spend time at the party?”

                “No, not really. I was only going to meet you, so… Think your brother might like to see you there though.”

                “I think the last thing Bradford wants is me there killing his vibe, but sure, a walk sounds nice.”

…            …            …

                As they walk their arms brush and bump occasionally and Jake finds himself unable to stop smiling. He’s also pretty sure he’s blushing, but Bradley is definitely blushing, so Jake doesn’t care. They’re walking slowly, ambling really, neither in a rush. They’ve talked about what they’re studying, their families, friends and now…

                “I need to teach you how to tell Bradford and I apart. For a start, he’s left handed. He’s also taller and heavier. I’m the oldest though, but you can’t tell that from looking.”

                “Hopefully I get to know you well enough I’ll just be able to look and easily tell you apart. Your parents can tell you apart, right?”

                “Yeah. Mostly. As long as they’re actually paying attention. Our voices changed when we went through puberty. We sound pretty much the same now, except for the part where he sounds like a typical frat-boy jock.”

                “You do seem to have very different personalities,” Jake concedes, and part of him is glad that Bradley seems more chilled out than Bradford.

                They’re back in front of the Delta Frat and Bradley is pulling a face and rolling his eyes, and Jake laughs, reaches for his hand to tug him inside.

                “Five minutes. Ten max and then we can leave. Okay?”

                “Okay. I’m holding you to that.”

                Jake grins and then pushes the door open. There are a lot more people here now, there’s music and a football game being projected onto a white wall in the living room. There’s a keg and the smell of cooking meat. It’s still early, no-one appears drunk, although he’s sure that’s a certainty considering someone is setting up beer pong. Bradley is rolling his eyes and Jake pokes him for good measure, it’s not his scene either, but he’s not going to judge his peers if they want to take part.

                “Bro! You made it! Oh my god, you’re a miracle worker already!” Bradford says to Jake, slapping him on the back and reaching out to give Bradley a fist bump. “I made you Jello shots! Rainbow Jello shots!”

                “Of course you did…” Bradley sighs.

                “It’s sweet of him,” Jake murmurs in Bradley’s ear, because he doesn’t know either of them well, not yet, but he imagines one of his siblings trying to be supportive by making him rainbow colored drinks at a party and it is sweet.

                “They’re Redbull and vodka, caffeine and alcohol, avoid at all costs.”

                “One won’t hurt…”

                He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a paper-wrapped toothpick, strips the paper off and runs it around the inside of the shot glass, loosening the Jello so he can better suck the entire thing into his mouth. His tongue is running over the bottom of the shot when he realizes exactly what it might look like, because Bradley is watching him with hooded eyes and he swallows, nervous again.

                “You and your fucking toothpicks.”

                Jello now gone Jake sticks the toothpick in his mouth and rotates it 360, raises an eyebrow.

                “I think you have a thing for my toothpick…”

                “I have a thing for a guy who might have an oral fixation. It’s been five minutes; can we go now?”

                “Lead the way.”

                “You guys leaving already?” Bradford asks.

                “I have better things to do,” Bradley states and Jake snorts.

                “Yeah you do! Go. Have fun.”

                “Oh my god…”

                “I’ve only known him like an hour, you walked right into that one,” Jake says, grinning, letting Bradley pull him out of the house.

                “He’s the worst.”

                Jake isn’t going to agree or disagree, because he’s pretty sure Bradford would die for Bradley, but also if anyone pointed out to him how much his siblings loved him, he’d also deny it until his dying breath. He does laugh along with Bradley though, as they walk back to his place, and he doesn’t miss Bradley’s eyes flicking to his lips, where the toothpick is still being worried at between his teeth. They’re almost back to Bradley’s when he slows to a stop and turns toward him, and the street is quiet and empty.

                “Can I kiss you?”

                Jake quickly takes the toothpick from his mouth and throws it into the nearest bush.

                “Yes, yes you definitely can.”

(FYI - all photos (and children) are my own. I haven't gone and posted pictures of someone else's kids without their consent etc.)

This fic fills the "Frat Party" square on my Top Gun AU Bingo card, as well as the "Free Space" which can be either a College AU, or Bradshaw Twins AU.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

With Playful land ending soon, can you try which part of the Halloween event is better which is either Playful Land or Glorious Masquerade? For example, the topic is characters and you picked Glorious Masquerade because of etc like that. (NRC cast design, NRC cast role, Yuu and Grimm's role, New character/s, Movie-inspiration event, Plot, Music, Place Setting, Opening, Ending) You can add more topics if you want.

By “better”, I’m going to assume you mean which (between Glorious Masquerade and Stage in Playful Land) I preferred in each of those categories? (I say "preferred" here because I'm judging based on my own tastes; obviously everyone will have a different opinion on how the two events compare.)

It’s quite a few to get through, so I’ll just quickly summarize each. This post will also serve as my general thoughts on Stage in Playful Land.

***Spoilers for those two events below the cut!!***

NRC cast design — I’d say the designs are pretty split down the center?? In theory, I love the concept of masquerade balls and marionettes, but in practice the designs look all over the place and I really only like a select few of them.

NRC cast role — GloMasq was stronger in this, especially the choices for the SSR trio. Malleus and Idia are a deliberate rival and foil to Rollo, whereas Azul’s UM comes in clutch during the final showdown. Meanwhile in Playful Land only Kalim seemed to be very significant story-wise; he was the one trying to convince everyone to sit down, eat, and try to understand Fellow’s motives, is the last to be captured, and gives the big speech about how he’ll never abandon his friends + the importance of school. Ace has his usual schtick of being brutally honest and there are some parts where Ortho’s robotic abilities come in handy (like playing sounds to distract the puppets), but these seem like very minor roles compared to what the GloMasq trio did. Perhaps they were good choices for the end when they all decided to destroy the amusement park though??

I also feel like some things the SSR trio does in Playful Land (like dispersing the puppets by using a “lost item”) could have been done by any smart or deceptive character (Leona, Vil, Cater, etc.), not just the SSRs (ie Ace). Furthermore, the other cast members in GloMasq seem much more important in how they split off and battle—there are good reasons or synergy given as to why they pair up the way they did (ie Riddle and Epel needing to be good flyers, Ruggie and Jamil willing to use others as meat shields, etc), while in Playful Land it seems more random (like Floyd losing interest) or obligatory (mostly the third years stepping up to defend the younger students).

It’s also anticlimactic how Fellow just let them all go??? Especially compared to Malleus, Idia, and Azul and Rollo squaring off to the bitter end.

Yuu and Grim’s role — Once again, this goes to GloMasq. In Playful Land, Yuu is automatically caged and tossed into a corner to wait it out to the climax. At least in GloMasq Yuu is actually doing something (even if it is offscreen): they’re with Grim and Trein, helping the townspeople from the flowers. (Note: I’m not entertaining the “but Yuu is magicless! It was a wasted opportunity for them not to have a bigger role in GloMasq!” thing because I’m talking only about canon and not hypotheticals here.)

New character(s) — … Do you even need to ask 😭 Obviously, I’m loyal to Roro-chan Rollo; I just find his story and character to be super interesting, especially with the root of his conflict being inner turmoil and an inability to move on… It makes him an excellent foil to Idia.

While I do also enjoy Fellow and Gidel, I feel that I’m not as invested in them because despite the terrible dark shit they're doing, the conflict they get wrapped up in gets resolved in an underwhelming manner. Plus, there was not a lot of elaboration on their own backstories?? It was mostly told to us via Fellow, yet kept so vague that the fans are left to fill in many missing details on their own. I’ll have another post out later going into more depth with how I feel about Fellow and Gidel.

Movie-inspiration — I think both events have their moments of film inspiration. A lot of GloMasq's comes through in the traditions and culture of the city, whereas Playful Land's are embedded into the games, foods, rides, and attractions in the park itself. Playful Land feels more overt because of how flashy everything is, but also because it's not really based on any real-world area (unlike the City of Flowers/Fleur City, which is fantasy Paris and therefore also has Paris elements) it has to stand on its own. They don't need to worry about developing a unique "culture" for a smaller area like a park; they can just cut loose and have everything be fun and whimsical like Pleasure Island is. For this reason, I feel that Playful Land has stronger movie ties.

Side note: I want to put out the disclaimer that I personally don’t think how much an event references its source material should be counted when evaluating the quality of its writing. Just because you mention things from the film or reinterpret them doesn’t mean the story itself is good.

Music — I’m going to give this one to Glorious Masquerade because while the tracks are nice for both (I love the dramatic bells in GloMasq and the eerie music box of Playful Land, and both songs with lyrics are also great!). However, the narrative context and meaning behind the songs with lyrics are very different, and I feel that this makes Let My Wish Resound performance that much more meaningful. Additionally, Playful Land introduced a sung version of Rave Up! Up! in part 3 (even if it was just the first half of it) whereas GloMasq saved its sung version for part 5, which grants us more time to get hype. (I also like the rhythmic/twistune of the boys dancing over the boys… idk, dancing and doing property damage for funsies.)

Opening — Both openings do a good job at building up the hype for the ominous events to come, but again GloMasq wins on a technicality… which is the quality of the evil laughs given during them 💀 Fellow’s is kinda weak (like it stutters and sounds like he’s out of breath), at least Rollo can do a slow, unabashed laugh like a proper villain/j

Setting — This one’s suuuuper subjective; I don’t really like amusement parks I know, I’m boring so that automatically means I don’t find Playful Land to be a compelling or interesting setting (even if it fits thematically). I’d much rather just be allowed to wander and explore a city unsupervised, get to learn about its history and culture by experiencing it myself. GloMasq’s City of Flowers/Fleur City allows Twisted Wonderland to be expanded so much more (like, thinking about how this city relates to other cities and countries), whereas one isolated floating park doesn’t add much to the overall world lore.

Plot — Playful Land was so… boring 🤡 I’M SORRY, IT’S TRUE (to me)????? Like, they were just aimlessly wandering around during the second half of the event (even though it should be obvious that Fellow is at the theater)???? While at least in GloMasq they knew where to go (the bell tower) right away and strategized around that… Plus, we keep switching perspectives between the captured boys and the action, which bogs down the pacing. GloMasq keeps the action going and only takes very brief pauses to check in on our villain for the evening. There was way too much time spent meandering and not enough time spent actually Doing Things in Playful Land.

Stakes — GloMasq’s were higher. This isn’t to say that higher stakes automatically means the event itself is good. It’s just that the same urgency isn’t present in Playful Land because the scope of it is not as grand. If the crimson flowers/fire lotuses spread, there is no stopping them—and it endangers many people, communities, industries, etc. if they do. Meanwhile, a handful of people go missing in Playful Land. It’s still tragic, and their losses will still impact their loved ones—however, that’s still on a smaller scale than what the flowers would have done to their world.

Ending — GloMasq trumps. It’s just perfect how Rollo indicates he won’t give up and then drops ominous lines foreshadowing Malleus bringing ruin to them all (ie book 7) 😂 Love the pettiness of the banter, the ballroom setting, the perfectly timed delivery of the gift/song, and especially how Rollo’s punishment was so perfectly fitting for someone as neurotic and self-righteous as he is!! Also loved little details like the gargoyle and Trein wanting to keep an eye on Rollo 💕

The conflict resolution for Playful Land felt like a deus ex machina…? Fellow’s literally about to win (he caught them all) and the boys get let off the hook because Fellow had a change of heart. The boss told him it will cost a lot to repair the destroyed puppets so it’s coming out of his paycheck… That, and I guess all the stuff the boys were saying about how great school is finally got to him? Fellow got so fed up he called the whole thing off???? So he releases everyone and they all go around busting up the park???? I mean, they did foreshadow it by pointing out earlier how Fellow isn’t loyal to his boss + showing more phone calls where the boss is getting increasingly annoyed 💦 so it’s not as anticlimactic as Endless Halloween Night (one of my least liked events). I just mainly dislike how the conflict is triggered in part by Fellow’s boss being rude 😭 Like damn, what if his final straw hadn’t been claimed??? Then everyone is screwed.

At the very end, Fellow and Gidel decide to go on the run?? Which… isn’t an easy thing to do but it’s hand waved away so fast. If the staff meant for it to feel this way because the original Pinocchio also left Honest John and Gideon’s fates ambiguous and they did show remorse for their victims 💦 idk, it’s cases like this that make me think TWST is at its best when it does more of its own thing rather than strongly stick to the source material…

I also have?? Mixed thoughts on how TWST doesn’t follow up on the whole “yeah a bunch of rich people are caught up in running a human trafficking operation using this scary ass magic”. I know crime must exist in TWST, so in a sense this is… realistic??? But it feels odd to see such a big thing being casually mentioned and not being treated with full gravity?? (Maybe these are the types of crimes that special mage police defense forces (like the one Deuce wants to join) investigate??) Guess that’s just going to sit in the back of our heads from now on… It’s not satisfying seeing a story “end” like this, but I understand why it had to be 😭

The cathartic release of breaking down the park that once trapped them all is fun, but too goofy. I know it symbolizes a lot more than that, but it’s just not for me.

And so (to no one's surprise, given the frequency with which I talk about R*llo), I much prefer Glorious Masquerade to Stage in Playful Land. It's not even a contest to me. A certain pseudo-French boy aside, I just think the former has much better writing overall. By comparison, Stage in Playful Land has a very strong aesthetic and start, but not much else to keep me engaged??? It was an entertaining if not mid event aside from the big scare when the twist is initially revealed (because none of us expected it to be that dark) and minor other parts like Kalim’s big speech. The rest of the event felt like walking around and not doing anything useful.

I honestly think the failure of Playful Land to execute on its ideas comes in part from the hype of Halloween events (like, so much attention is put onto them that when Halloween events flop, it is SUPER noticeable) and the legacy of GloMasq (which set the bar VERY high) 💦 A shame, really…

Anyway, round of applause for Roro, who stays winnin’--

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

There's Beauty in Tragedy: Part Three

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.4k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: JJ feels insecure with the amount of money she has compared to you and hates she can't give you what you can give her. So, she decides to show you a bit of her world by taking you on a date.

Part One Part Two

Square Filled: "your laugh is adorable" for @goodthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

JJ walks into work on Monday morning with a slight smile on her face. She had just spent the weekend with you in Milan. You whisked her away for a romantic but expensive weekend in one of the places she’s always wanted to visit. You spoiled her with whatever she wanted, even showered her with gifts she couldn’t possibly accept under normal circumstances. You have all this money you want to spend on someone, and now you do.

She just feels so bad because she doesn’t make nearly as much as you do, so she can’t give you the same treatment. She’s brought up the money concerns even though you’ve dismissed them. You truly don’t care if she has money to spend on you or not. You do, and you love spending money on those you love.

It’s just hard on her because you’re giving her so much luxury and she can’t do the same for you.

Emily and Penelope are in the break room talking about their weekends when they notice JJ walk past them. Yes, she has a smile on her face but it’s not reaching her ears. They know she spent the weekend with you, so they’re not sure why she doesn’t look truly happy. Without a word, both of them follow her to her office.

“Hey, are you okay?” Emily asks.

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

“Babe, we can sense something isn’t right. Did something happen between you and Y/N?”

“No, the weekend was perfect, actually,” JJ sighs and sits down.

“Then, what’s bothering you?”

“We all know how much money she has. She’s given me so much, and she spoils me even if I tell her not to spend money on me. I mean, she has it. She might as well spend it on everything she can. I don’t make as much money as her, and I don’t want it coming across as me taking advantage of her.”

“Do you love her?”

“I don’t know, honestly,” JJ blushes. “It could be if given some more time. We’ve only been seeing each other for a few months.”

“If Y/N likes you for you, then money shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Yeah,” JJ nods.

“She’s been taking you on all these expensive dates, right?” Penelope asks. “Why don’t you take her on a date? Maybe it’s more mellow and more your style. Show her that you two can still have fun without all that luxury.”

“The Redskins are playing in the Superbowl. I’ve always wanted to go to the game. Maybe I can bring her.”

“Yeah! Like I said, if she likes you for you, she’ll love going to the game. We gotta go but let us know how it goes.”

Once Emily and Penelope are gone, JJ takes out her phone to call you. She has a lot of work to do today but will do it after she’s talked to you.

“Hey, I was just thinking of you,” you answer with a grin. “We spent a whole weekend together and I already miss you.”

“Yeah, I kind of wish we were back on the beach.”

“We could think weekend if you want. I hear Bora Bora has beaches to die for at this time of year.”

“Maybe we can do that, sure. I called because I wanted to know if you wanted to go on a date this weekend with me. The Superbowl is this weekend, and I’ve always wanted to go. I think it could be fun.”

JJ bites her lower lip nervously as she waits for your answer.

“I think that sounds amazing. What time?”

“Two-thirty on Friday. I can pick you up this time.”

“I look forward to it. I have to go now. Have fun at work.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” JJ smiles and hangs up.

If you’re going to go to a football game, then you need to dress the part. All you’ve ever worn are fancy and elegant clothes because you’re expected to dress a certain way. Being a CEO comes with downfalls, so you have to go to the store to buy more casual clothing for the football game. You don’t think you can get away with wearing heels, a fancy dress, and a designer-brand bag at a football game.

Once you got a whole wardrobe full of a new style of clothing, you got dressed in jeans, converse sneakers, and a red and gold shirt to represent the Redskins’ colors. You’ve been looking forward to this date all week because you want to get to know JJ in an environment that’s more her style. Sure, you can take her all around the world and shower her with gifts and luxury, but she won’t fully be herself unless she is in her world.

Two hours before the game starts, JJ shows up at your house to pick you up. Where you have town cars and expensive cars, she has her SUV which is a bit older than the newer models that are on the lot. You get into the car and greet JJ with a loving kiss.

“Hi. I’ve been thinking of you all week. I’m really excited about this game.”

“Have you ever been to a football game?” she asks and starts to drive off.

“Never, but I’m glad my first is with you.”

You know nothing about sports. The only reason you’re going is for JJ because this is what makes her happy. You want nothing more than to see her happy, and you’ll do anything to keep that smile on her face. Once you get there, you quickly find your seats which are in the lower bowl of the stadium.

The frigid February weather bites at your skin but you welcome the cold. It gives you a chance to snuggle close to JJ.

“So, who’s playing?”

“Redksins vs Green Bay. I’ve been a major Redskins fan since I was little. My dad and I would try to make it every game they did.”

“That sounds awesome.”

“Yeah, it was. I haven’t been to a game in a long time, so I’m really happy we’re doing this together.”

You reach over and grab her hand, intertwining your fingers together.

“Me too. Thank you for inviting me.”

“I know this isn’t luxury or expensive dinners, but--”

“No, this is amazing. I’m really glad I’m here with you. As long as you’re happy and we’re together, I don’t care what we do,” you kiss the back of her hand.

There’s that beautiful blush on JJ. The color compliments her skin. As soon as the game starts, something changes in JJ. She becomes more animated as she cheers for her team when they score and growls in frustration when they lose. You’re not sure when you cheer, so you follow her lead. One of the members of her team runs toward the endzone when someone from the opposite team tackles him to the ground.

Someone a few rows down from you stands up and yells at how stupid that play was, and JJ is caught off guard by the outburst. She covers her mouth and giggles but you hear it.

“Your laugh is adorable,” you smile at her.

“You are adorable,” she smiles. “I hope you’re not too bored.”

You let go of her hand to wrap an arm around her back. You rub her shoulder sensually and cock your head to the left.

“I am happy wherever you are. I’m starving.”

“They have food up top.”

“You mean I get to try stadium hot dogs and beer? Sign me up,” you chuckle. “Do you want one?”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

You two head to the concession stands where you get two beers and four hotdogs. This is so much different than the elegant restaurants you’re so used to going to, but you love the change of scenery. This is something you’ll have to get used to if you want to continue dating JJ. You can’t expect her to adapt to your lifestyle. That's not how a relationship works.

During a small break, you look over at JJ to see some mustard on the corner of her mouth. You reach other and wipe it with your thumb only to put that same thumb into your mouth to lick off the condiment.

“You got something there.”

“Is it all gone?” she asks after she swallows.

“No. Here, let me.” You grab her chin with your index finger and thumb and pull her into you. You kiss her without caring who is watching you two. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Whatever thoughts and worries she had about you and your money are gone because she really likes you and hopes this lasts for a long time.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she grins.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[awoogayanderes]

CHAPTER FOUR : NINE HOMO SAPIENS

➪ sypnosis : the nine of you come together for the first time to discuss the basics of this game

➪ other notes : i’m so sorry for the very late updates, it’s just been so hard to balance out my life lately and find inspiration to write, BUT I REFUSE TO LET THIS STORY DIE OUT !!! ( non edited sorry :P )

➪ between the floors masterlist

“sorry, do any of you know where I might happen to find a bathroom here ?” 3rd floor k-pop guy said. you didn’t need to go yesterday but right now, being able to just urinate would mean everything to you. “there’s no pisser,” 2nd floor blondie says. your eyes widen, do they just expect all of you to hold your bladder ? 2nd floor goes to the hot dog stand throwing a hotdog at third floor, but it was plastic.

2nd floor blondie goes to tap the other stands. “nothing is real, everything is plastic,” you walk up to the several stands just to confirm, she was right, everything was just fake, like a movie set. everyone checks a different area, no other doors opened, there was just nothing. “so does this mean the bathrooms are fake too ?” 3rd floor k-pop guy says. “i’m afraid so,” 7th floor glasses responds, sighing.

“It seems they must have removed the existing plumbing.” he continues. “what’s the point of putting so much effort in all of this if they can’t even provide basic plumbing for us,” you say, crossing your arms. “same goes for our uniforms, they look classy at first, but there's no real substance,” 7th floor says. “they could've at least given us real pockets, it’s so silly. they’re just outlines,” 5th floor says.

“i didn't know where to put my key so I thought maybe... sticking it in my boxers was the best choice for now.” you can’t help but smile at 3rd floor’s honesty. you had put your keycard in the strap of your bra.“but, uh, what do we do without toilets ?” 4th floor white knight asks. “you know, i figured we'd just be here for a day. So I bought those waste bags that campers and truckers use.” 1st floor says.

“You leave it in your room ?” 4th floor asks. “well, we can't take anything we buy in our rooms outside, so I guess so. so that means we'll just be buying them each day. plus, they all cost way more than normal,” that’s when your eyes widen. “wait you already bought stuff ?” you ask. “you haven’t ?” 8th floor ray of sunshine asks, his face in surprise. “no, i didn’t want to risk anything,” you respond.

there’s a sense of embarrassment you have, thinking that you had this game figured out, obviously not. “nevertheless, we might not have to follow that course of action. there is another way.” 7th floor says, looking at the clock behind him. "’items to be used outside the room can be purchased in the square via the intercom in the common area. a special rate will still apply.’ rule book, second paragraph, somewhere on the fourth page.” 7th floor continues.

did he…did he memorize the rule book ? “are you sure we should buy stuff together ? what if it's even more expensive in the square ? what’s the rate ?” 4th floor asks, it was a bit nerve-wracking. “we know that the rate in our rooms is multiplied by a hundred, which means the showrunners don't want us to access too many resources.” 7th floor replies, it’s almost eerie how he has this figured out.

“anything we buy in our rooms has to stay there, or we'll be penalized. and there's a big delivery chute here. therefore, i’m going to assume they want us to buy things together.” yeah, for sure eerie. “well, maybe we should buy something, then. it’ll be like a test.” 5th floor suggests. “do we have to ? i’m kind of scared. what if we pay a ton, but we don't realize it ?” 4th floor white knight replies.

“we could try something small, something you can find at a corner store,” you suggest. “how about we all take a vote on it ? it’s only fair. what do you think ?” 7th floor says, you nod in agreement. “why waste time doing a damn vote ? let’s just try it.” 8th floor ray of sunshine says, before any of us could react, he walks up to the phone. “malboro reds, down to the square. a lighter, too.” he says.

“what the hell ? the fuck you think you're doing, dude ?” 2nd floor speaks up. “what ? we were gonna buy shit anyway.” 8th floor ray of sunshine replies. you suck in a breath, scared of the outcome. just a few seconds later, the chute opens, revealing a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.“oh ! the time just went down. as soon as we got the pack, the scoreboard blinked, and it changed.” 1st floor says.

“how much did it go down ?” 7th floor asks. “it was 30 minutes, now it’s 28.” only two minutes ? “that means in the square, we purchase items with time itself, not money, like in our rooms.” 7th floor says. you partially regret not buying anything your first night. “how much do a pack of Marlboros and lighter ?” 7th floor asks. “five thousand. malboro reds are 4,500 won, a lighter is 500 won, so 5,000.”

3rd floor’s response was quick, he was probably a heavy smoker to remember the exact prices. well you had no right to judge. the group then discusses whether or not your personal money was spent. 4th floor white knight runs down the stairs, screaming “the price money’s the same !” you wonder if it would have made a huge difference, there was a ‘special rate’ but you hadn’t bought anything.

“then, using the share chute, we can buy everything we need,” 1st floor says. “and when the time runs out ?” 8th floor sunshine says as he started smoking his cigarette he had just bought. “i don’t think they’ll give us more time on a whim once we run out of it,” you say. “if we blow it all on shopping sprees, it’ll go too fast and the show’ll be over,” sunshine states. “that’s correct,” 7th floor says.

“…but when i look around and see the size of this place, and the prize money…i doubt they built all this just to kick us out after a day or two,” he continues. “rich people hate spending money, though.”whilst 2nd floor was right, money creates money. “but once you have everything you need and want in the world, what else can you spend money on ?” you ask. “shit. my ass is too poor to think that way,”

“first off, i think we should sit down as a group, and discuss what to buy, only the essentials okay ?” 7th floor diverts the attention back onto what’s important. seems like he’ll be the brains here. you want to die during the long minutes you guys discuss what to mutually buy. body lotion ? no. pillows ? no. pens and paper ? no. sanitary pads ? well that’s a necessity all women need.

“what about buckets ? they can be like makeshift toilets,” you propose. 7th floor looks at you before nodding. “i agree,” finally, you all decide the products you’d buy together. nine plastic buckets, nine rolls of toilet paper, five packs of pads, five garbage bags, five packs of cigarettes. “then these are our toilets ?” third floor asks. “yeah,” third floor runs off frantically.

and with that everyone scatters to their business, you’re immediately relieved when you urinate into the bright colored bucket. when you open your door and peek out, there’s no one outside. there’s almost an eerie feeling to it, none of you really knew what was going on. how is the group supposed to get more time ? you close the door, sighing. you look at your increasing scoreboard, time is money.

taglist : @thepinktiredfreak @xdarkestdesirex

[vacantgodling]

i know what you’re saying

wip: paramour (slums au)

characters: amon (16) & hya (18; who goes by ‘cinth’ in this au)

cinth has made up his mind, even if that decision breaks amon.

tw(s): none unless you feel weird about teens kissing ig. also the girls are fighting but it devolves into emotional things.

“They’re just gonna laugh at you!” Amon finally shouted. His voice reverberated through the alleyway, shaking the brick foundations to their core. Cinth stared at him, wide-eyed. “They’re going to laugh and say ‘who the fuck is this wannabe bastard, fake-rich loser who’s just asking for fucking handouts because his daddy dropped him’!”

“You don’t fucking know that.” As always, when Cinth got angry, his already deep voice dropped to a visceral near growl, but his eyes were still wider and flightier than Amon knew was his real anger. He must’ve swung a hammer at some wedged in nail of insecurity that dug deep into the pits of Cinth’s chest.

Amon did what he did best. He stepped into Cinth’s space and pushed. Literally pushed—shoving the older teen back into the brick behind him as if to instill some fight in him. Amon was never good with words. He was only good with his fists. He expected Cinth to shove him back—shove him like when they were kids and ended up on the ground in a heap, pulling each other’s hair and shouting at each other, then eating frozen cream together an hour later. But this wasn’t that kind of fight. He saw it in Cinth’s eyes. Saw Cinth’s hands ball into fists by his side; saw his jaw clench. But he didn’t swing. He squared his stance, but didn’t take the bait.

“I belong there.” Cinth insisted—defiant, but almost like he was trying to tell himself that. “Just because ma is a streetwalker doesn’t mean my father wasn’t from money. It doesn’t mean that some of that inheritance isn’t mine.”

“They don’t care about that shit up there!” Amon sneered. He didn’t know how else to make Cinth get it. They didn’t care what Cinth was or wasn’t owed—to them, he was an outsider. An outsider who was taking money they’d rather shove in their pockets. They wouldn’t stand for that, they’d sooner throw him into Debtor’s Labyrinth than fork over money. “It’s the law.” Cinth said factually, jaw clicking. Amon stared at him like he’d grown two heads.

“You think they care about law? Hell—when have you ever cared about law?” Amon gestured around them, not just to the dawn-dark alley they were shouting in, but to all of Lower Halifax in its entirety. “This place exists there is no fucking law that anyone gives a damn about!”

“I don’t care about the law morally, dipshit.” Cinth growled. “I care about it legally. They can’t disinherit me if I have proof of my birth and that my father knew of me—”

“You don’t—”

“I do.” Cinth finally did react and he pushed himself into Amon’s space. Even though he had to look up at him now, looking down into Cinth’s deep brown eyes with fire and brimstone raging behind them wasn’t any less knee-weakening. Amon felt his chest start to pound harder; adrenaline for a fight, maybe. But also that something else that he never wanted to put a name to.

“What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the past eight months? Going up to Upper Halifax for my health?”

“Well I wouldn’t fucking know!” Amon threw his hands up. “You wouldn’t tell me shit!”

“Because I know you,” And oh how that stung. “And I knew you’d react like this.”

“Even if you have some grounds to stand on they still won’t accept you. They’ll find some way to push you out.” Cinth only stared at him. Maybe petulantly, if you accounted for the downturn of his lips and furrow of his brows, but mostly just in annoyance. “I know. Because the same happened to me when I was there.” He’d never told Cinth this. Why was he telling him this. Cinth didn’t say anything and didn’t give him any yay or nay to continue, but Amon found that now that he was saying it, he couldn’t stop talking.

“My mom. She—she died. Y’know? The scars I have. I should’ve been dead too. But at the hospital this… this couple—like old money rich couple from Dalry or something like… The Farrah’s okay? They took me in. Paid for my health. Nursed me. Told me they couldn’t have kids and so they wanted me to be their child. I—I couldn’t. I mean. I tried. For the second year I was there. Went to some Galas and like…. tried doing the noble thing but like. If it wasn’t my scars, then it was that I didn’t belong. The other kids they—fuck, they were peachy compared to the adults. They looked at Lady Farrah so… disgusted. I heard her crying herself to sleep and like. I couldn’t take it anymore. I came back. Here. I thought I made a shit choice but then, I met you, and like—you can’t just l-leave me.” Amon’s barely pubescent voice finally cracked. He was biting down hard on his tongue to try and keep his lower lip from trembling but it was far too late for that now.

And even worse, suddenly the tension in the air just drained. Drained because Amon was biting his tongue and sniffing and looking absolutely pathetic in front of Cinth, who was regarding him impassively. The fight left his stance, but he didn’t reach out. Yet. Well—Amon knew Cinth was shit at comforting anyway, and he’d learned by now never to expect him to. So, color him surprised when Cinth out of nowhere reached out and gently tugged him by the front of his ragged ass linen shirt, and wrapped his arms around him for a tentative embrace. It was strange, and clinical—yet more than anything he’d ever offered in terms of affection before.

Amon clutched the back of Cinth’s marginally nice satin shirt like a lifeline between his fingers, hunched over into Cinth’s arms, and began to slowly release the dam of emotions building behind his eyes.

It was a long moment before either of them spoke.

“I’m not leaving forever.” Cinth’s voice was hushed, and burned itself like a prayer into the shell of Amon’s ears. “Just for a little while.”

“Even that’s too much.” Amon mumbled. Selfishly, he squeezed Cinth tighter. “It’s too much to ever be away from you.” He had to know what he meant. Had to.

“Would you come with me?” This whisper was even quieter than the first. It was like Cinth could barely stand to say it but…

“What about Knox? Erecia? Your mom?” Amon said into the crook of Cinth’s neck as tears finally managed to flow further than his eyes. “I’m asking you.” The usual edge returned to Cinth’s voice, even though he was still holding Amon, for Vat’s sake.

It was a long moment before Amon said: “You know I can’t.” Why he couldn’t—Amon barely knew himself. But he just… he knew. Somewhere deep inside of him, an uncharted part of a map of his soul he wasn’t prepared for.

“Then I’m going.” Cinth’s voice was firm. “… Alone.” He finally said and Amon’s heart shattered. Cinth finally pulled back to look at him. His gaze was unreadable—but it always was. Never had Amon more desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, or what he would say.

He didn’t expect that Cinth would tug him again, pulling him down by his shirt once more, but this time until their faces were aligned and Cinth pressed a kiss to his startled lips. And he didn’t pull away immediately either—that’s how Amon thought their first kiss would go ever since he’d dreamed it nearly 4 years ago. He kept pressing, waiting for Amon to react and begin to melt like wax over an open fire. And when Amon pressed back, returning that effortless pressure, Cinth surprised him even more by tilting his head and opening his mouth. A rough, startled “mm!” left Amon’s lips, because he was helpless to this soft, thorough, determined kiss that by the end of it left both of them breathless.

Cinth cleared his throat after a minute.

“I swear I’ll be back for you.”

And what else could Amon do but nod, still dumbstruck when Cinth finally detangled himself from their impromptu embrace. They didn’t say another word because, really… what else could be said? Cinth was going to leave and not even love was enough to make him stay. That stung more than it should’ve. Really. And as Cinth walked into the morning dawn, his plans and opportunities ripe for the execution, Amon turned his back away from it, slipping effortlessly back into the false midnight of Central Halifax.

[cupidskissx]

PROMPT!

“I swear I’m over you, but if you ever do shit like that again, you’re going to set me back to square one.”

with lestappen. duh. 😇

The spin off to @xiaoluclair’s original Spy AU that I finally got a chance to edit to fit this prompt! 🥰🥷

~ 1.3k

“I was making croissants, do you realise how much effort goes into that?” Charles shakes his head, “You pick the worst times to pull this shit,” he tsks as he struggles to unties the thick knots.

Max’s arms are twisted behind his back, linked around a pipe, his wrists bound together. His torso is also tied to the pipe keeping him propped upright. His captors must have learnt from their precious mistake because Max’s ankles are quadruple knotted to the pipe opposite him. Charles’ eyes flick up to the staircase every so often as he works to loosen the first knot that ties his knees together.

“I would have figured out a way to escape.”

“Yeah right, that’s why you doubled texted...”

“I didn’t think you’d see them.”

Max had sent the messages to Charles via their old voice-to-text software embedded into an advanced AI application. The one they used to use to send encrypted sexts to each other when they were dating and posted long distance.

Charles should have turned off his notifications, or better yet, deleted the app months ago, but now’s not the time to think about why he hasn’t, so he just says, “You’re an idiot!”

“You’re not too bright yourself, coming here alone,” Max scolds, “You should have called for backup.”

“They’d only get in the way and make this harder than it already is, stop moving, would you?”

“It fucking tickles, mate,” Max grumbles as Charles keeps accidentally tickling the backs of his knees.

“Oh no,” Max’s genuine dismay causes Charles to look up. Max’s face has contorted into something anguished.

“What? What is it?” Charles asks, checking him over, then looking towards the staircase. They’re still alone in the dank cellar.

“That buzzing noise, it’s the 10 second warning before they blare the most horrific alarm.”

Max isn’t one to exaggerate, he says it how it is and that’s it. Therefore, Charles believes him that this is no small thing. “It’s gone off at least 15 times. Trust me, block your ears.”

Charles shuffles up towards the pipe, pressing his knees into the side of his hip as he leans in.

“What are you d—”

Max falls quiet when Charles cups his ears just in time before that alarm sounds. He can only imagine it’s similar to standing directly under an air raid siren, he flinches, eyes squinting at the intensity of it.

Max tries to pull away, saying something that Charles can’t hear.

“Stop that!” Charles yells, even he can’t hear it.

Max shrugs violently, trying to free himself from Charles’ hands.

“I said stop,” Charles says in earnest and Max gives him an imploring look like he wants Charles to cover his own ears, and that sets those stupid butterflies off. They quickly migrate to be replaced by frustration when Max tries, yet again, to free himself.

Charles resorts to the one thing that he knows will stun him. He leans all the way in, keeping his ears blocked as he kisses him.

That does the trick, Max goes stiff as a board, Charles tries not to smile, adding more pressure for added effect. He isn’t overly surprised when Max kisses him back, but he didn’t expect it to be so hungry! Max kisses like he’s been starved, and it makes Charles’ stomach churn with want and guilt and forgiveness. Why the fuck did they give up on this?

It takes them both a moment to realise the siren has stopped. Max is the first to pull away, cheeks a touch pink. He clears his throat and can’t quite meet Charles’ eye. Charles moves his hands down to his shoulders.

“For the record?” Charles’ voice is distant through the ringing in his ears.

Max takes a breath before meeting his eye.

“I am over you.”

Max snorts, “I can’t say I believe that anymore.”

“But—“ Charles continues, “if you keep pulling shit like this,” he gestures in a sweeping motion up and down his body, “You’re going to give me a hero complex and set me back to square one.”

Max is silent for a long moment.

“Square one is pretty cozy,” Max’s expression is blasé but the way his Adam’s apple bobs gives away his trepidation.

Charles, try as he might, he is unable to prevent his eyebrows from twitching up and his lips from parting. It takes a beat too long to finds his voice, “Is it now?”

“Yeah, it is. You should come over tomorrow night, to talk and stuff.”

Charles was not expecting Max to pivot so sharply, like usual he’s compelled to fight and catch up. “And stuff?”

“And stuff,” Max emphasises, his desire unbridled for the first time in months.

“I’m a very busy man, I might get called out to save another inept colleague.”

“Do you go around kissing the rest of the team as part of a rescue mission?”

“Only the ones I know will kiss me back,” Charles teases.

“You realise the whole team has thought about making out with you a least once, yeah?” Max laughs.

“Fine, the only one I want to kiss me back, then. Better?” The words are out of his mouth before he realises. There’s no point taking them back now.

“Eh, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Charles leans in again, slowly this time.

“Don’t push your luck, mister,” Max tilts his head, “Untie me first then maybe I’ll consider slipping my tongue into your mouth as a little thank you.”

Charles rolls his eyes, “Now you’ve gone and made it gross,” Charles huffs, and because he loves to test the limits he glides his hands down his arms, moving into him until their chests are practically flush, his fingers finding the knots binding his wrists together. Charles can’t see anything but the pipe at this angle so he closes his eyes and rests his face against the side of Max’s head.

Max has gone very quiet while Charles diligently unties him.

“Everything okay?” Charles mocks him like his own heart isn’t pounding in his chest.

“Yeah,” Max whispers. “You’re making this very difficult, is all.”

“Good,” Charles whispers.

“Charles,” Max is stern, like he means it, bringing home the fact they have a lot they need to talk about, and this is not something they should joke about.

“I know, sorry,” Charles presses his face a bit more against Max’s head in apology.

Charles manages to free Max’s hands, he helps to bring his arms back around without twinging any of his muscles. Charles rubs his red raw wrists for a moment before looping his arms back around him to untie his torso.

Max ends up circling his arms around Charles’ waist, holding him closer, and if that doesn’t set his skin on fire nothing else will.

He fumbles over the knots a few times. “There,” he says eventually, triumphant as the rope loosens. “Now you can finish untying your knees and I’ll work on this,” Charles goes to shuffle over to where his ankles are tied to the other pipe but he doesn’t get very far. He’s pulled into a toe curling kiss that Max is pouring a hell of a lot of effort and gratitude into.

“Okay, okay,” Charles taps his shoulder, and Max lets up, “Don’t wear yourself out. Plenty of time for that later,” Charles promises, pressing a swift kiss to his lips and moving down to free him.

[onboardsorasora]

Writing Prompt

You press your gun against the back of a man walking down an alley “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you and rob your corpse.” He replies “I have no reason that would satisfy you but if you take my life, you must take on my unfinished business. The bucket list is in my pocket.”

this spiraled lol 1700 words

So like Daniel’s been having a tough few years; a downward spiral of his life that lead him to this point. He didn’t want to kill this guy but he’s the only witness to him killing some other guy. A killing that will have disastrous consequences for him if he’s caught. 

So, he kills him and takes the bucket list from his pocket along with any cash he had and a ring with a horseshoe on it. The bucket list only had one item on it ‘tell Max I love him’. 

What the fuck?

Daniel searches the guy’s pockets again because well, that’s vague as fuck? Who is Max? Why is a declaration of love a bucket list item? This all felt very problematic all of a sudden.

He found a small handgun in the guy’s other pocket and that just raised way more questions than answers and well, Daniel’s gotten himself into more fucked up situations before, hasn’t he?

So he disposes of both bodies, continuing his night the way he had intended originally– just with an addition. 

Hes sitting in his flat in the early morning hours looking at the ‘list’.

Tell Max I love him

Who the fuck was Max?

Does it have to be a specific Max? Can he just find the first Max he came across and do the deed? 

Because let’s be real; Daniel knew that the moment he killed the guy he accepted the quest. It was either have a witness or accept a fucking deathbed quest and well….he couldn’t have a witness.

“Some direction would be really helpful.” He muttered into the quiet of his space before throwing the piece of paper on his coffee table and going to sleep. He’ll deal with that later. After he’s checked in and gotten everything else sorted.

It was two days later when he was smoking on his balcony that he felt a tug in his chest. He stumbles out of his flat and down the stairs, the tugging was insistent and he knew this was the fucking quest that he couldn’t stop thinking about. He didn’t even get to put on shoes or whatever. He’s standing at the curb looking around when he hears a chorus of laughs; there were some guys walking down the street jostling each other and clearly having a grand time.

“Max you dickhead.” One said, and the blonde of the group laughed harder.

So that was Max, well best to get this shit over with. 

Daniel stumbled towards the group, trying to ignore how warm and not clean the sidewalk was. Also trying to ignore how he knew he probably looked fairly homeless in his ratty shorts and a stained oversized tee. But again– the quest curse thing didn’t really give him an opportunity.

They’re looking at him weirdly–because of course they are. But Daniel walks confidently up to ‘Max’. He’s cute; bright blue eyes, wide lips, square face. 

“Max?” Daniel asks – just to be sure. The blonde nods, his friends look extra weirded out. Because, of course they do.

“Ok good. Max I—” Daniel stops. Coughs. His eyes narrow and he clears his throat. That was weird.

He tries again. “Max I—” He makes a strangled noise and closes his mouth.

“Are you ok?” Max asked.

Daniel clears his throat again, “yeah, I just…sorry.” He mutters. 

“Max we should go.” One of his friends insist and drags Max away from a stuttering Daniel.

What the fuck was that?

Daniel stumbles back to his home and grabs up the annoying piece of paper and looks at it from all angles like he’s been doing for the past two days. The only words on it remained Tell Max I love him

Well he just fucking tried

He threw himself onto his couch and well what the fuck does he do now?

So he goes about his life, because what else is he supposed to do? And his chest aches sometimes. He eventually realizes that that means Max is nearby. He doesn’t do anything with that information at first; determined to just…ignore the quest. Since it refused his fucking straightforward way of doing things. 

He still works for his boss, Christian, but he’s been trying to like…not. He doesn’t want to kill people for hire anymore– he didn’t in the first place. And then since he killed that quest guy he’d been feeling like maybe he strayed too far, y’know?

So he started taking some classes at the university nearby. It's not much and it's subsidised anyway so he can do it part time or whatever. He dropped out when he was 20. He’s like 28 now so– it's fine.

His chest has been hurting him consistently now, its like a dull ache. Daniel sees him a bunch; Max. with his friends across campus when Daniel’s hustling to his evening class or leaving because he has to meet with Christian.

It's fine.

They end up having a class together, if Max recognises him, he doesn’t let on. Things continue on like that. Daniel’s doing less and less work for Christian, and going to more and more classes. He calls his mom more now because, well– he's been feeling like less of a failure recently.

He also can’t stop thinking about Max. 

Tell Max I love him

Like was he even gonna complete this quest? He’s already tried the once. And he spent a lot of time saying “Max I love you.” in his flat to know he can fucking say the words. He doesn’t even know why the quest stopped him in the fucking first place.

Life fucking goes on.

They get a group project to end the semester and of course he gets paired with Max.

Tell Max I love him

“Uh, hi.” Max is awkward around him, so that means he remembers him. Daniel isn’t sure if that's a good or bad thing yet.

“Hey. Uhm…sorry about– yeah.” Daniel apologises because well, it was weird.

They end up spending a bunch of time together, Daniel is doing even less jobs for Christian because he can’t really get away to kill people when he has to also not fuck up his or Max’s grade. 

And well, he likes spending time with Max. He’s fun. He’s sweet. And they have a blast together, laughing at everything. Daniel sometimes spends time with Max’s friends, the ones who he had to promise he wasn’t homeless or weird.

Its fun when he doesn’t have to cut himself off from people. When he can just….be himself.

So the semester is over and they’re still hanging out. Max comes over sometimes to watch movies and to like get out of the dorms. They hang around and learn more about each other and and. Max is amazing. He’s fucking beautiful and kind and fuck.

Tell Max I love him

So Daniel’s now crushing. Wonders if he should try to complete the quest again. His chest has been hurting him a while now, so much so that he rubs it unconsciously and people ask about it and he says it's fine. Because it's fine.

He doesn’t bother with the quest anymore because he doesn’t know what will happen when he does. Will he still be able to spend time with Max? Will he have to like leave? 

The internet is shit at giving him information on what happens after you complete a quest. It’s like no one is allowed to speak about it. And thats fucking frustrating. 

So that's that. He just….won’t.

They’re hanging out on Daniel’s balcony when

“Hey so. I have this family thing this weekend, could you maybe come with me?” Max is hesitant to ask and Daniel’s never heard him like this really. So he agrees before he even knows anymore information.

The weekend comes and Daniel pries more from Max while theyre on the way; “well, my father. We’re estranged, but he’s been missing for a while and my family wanted to hold like a— how do you say it? A memorial? A vigil? And I don’t want to go alone. The guys don’t really…like get it.”

And Daniel’s blood runs cold.

Tell Max I love him

Well, Fuck.

So they go to the vigil and Daniel sees all these pictures of Max’s dad and its the same witness guy he killed. The fucking bucket list quest guy. Fuck.

He killed Max’s father. 

Tell Max I love him

He turns to Max quickly. He’d been silent the entire evening as people hugged him. Daniel was introduced to Max’s mom, sister, aunt, nephews. He felt sick.

Tell Max I love him

So he pulls Max aside. Like, ready to confess. And Max just— breaks down. Daniel hugs him close and lets him cry on his shoulder. And Max is sobbing and saying how much he misses his dad even though things hadn’t always been good and he’s so happy for Daniel to be here to support him.

And Daniel thinks, well maybe the quest was to literally tell Max that his dad loves him. So he goes to try, then stops because…what’s gonna happen when the quest is over?

He still doesn’t fucking know. 

So he says nothing, just holds Max close and whispers reassurances and supports him.

More time passes and well, Daniel can’t deny the pull he feels to Max. He’s been crushing on him for so long now its just a part of his being now. He loves Max. He knows it. Its fucked up, but the quest brought them together.

He’d completely cut ties with Christian. He’s been going to classes full time now. His parents send him money so he can keep his place. Which is good because Max kinda sorta maybe moved in?

Not officially, but he’s there all the time now and the guys come over to see them and not just Daniel.

They’re laying on the couch together, some show is on. And Max is talking about maybe wanting to get cats in the future. And Daniel is so in love, he’d do whatever Max wants. If he wants cats, fuck it…he can learn to like them. 

Max crawls on top of him, smiling that crinkly smile that Daniel loves so so so much. And…well it just slips out really.

“Max, I love you.”

Max’s face goes slack with shock and Daniel tenses beneath him. But before Max has an opportunity to literally do or say anything. Daniel’s vision whites out.

Daniel wakes up in his bed, his alarm is going off.

“Fuck.” He scrambles out and puts on some clothes, he had a meeting with Christian this morning and he was fucking late. He pulls on some clothes and just goes.

Life goes on. 

[forabeatofadrum]

Ljubili se (6/21)

Notes: Well folks, the December Fanworks Challenge has come to an end, officially. This fic still has a long time to go. Like its predecessor, the fic will be finished, but it's just taking some time since I am super duper busy!

But I really wanted to publish a chapter today, to at least acknowledge the work that the people from the @klaineadvent have put into it and to thank them, so hooray, here I am! I am glad that the Advent lives on in whatever way. I'm really happy that this (smaller) fandom is still kicking.

Thanks for reading! Time for Kurt and Blaine to reunite!

AO3 | S&C

–

INSCRIBE

Kurt’s waiting at the airport. It’s the third time in a short while that he’s here: he landed here from Ljubljana, he sent off his dad and Carole, and now he’s picking up Blaine. God, he’s so excited. He went all out. He even brought one of those boards with Blaine’s name on it, so that he can wave it around like all the others who are picking someone up. Kurt even went the extra mile and inscribed it in a piece of wood.

And it pays off, because when Blaine arrives in the lobby and Kurt waves it around, Blaine’s entire face lights up.

“Kurt!”

“Blaine!”

They run towards each other and hug each other tightly. Kurt buries his face in the crook of Blaine’s neck and Blaine tightens his grip.

“You’re here,” Kurt says against Blaine’s skin.

“I am, love.”

“Welcome to New York!”

They stand there for a few more seconds, but then it’s time to go. Kurt’s eager to show Blaine around. They’re first going to drop Blaine’s suitcase off at Kurt’s apartment, and then they’re going into town. New York has a lot to offer.

--

“This place is insane,” Blaine says as he looks around Times Square. Kurt knows Blaine’s been to New York before, but he gets it. New York also takes his breath away. You get used to it when you live here, but it’s nice to be reminded. When Kurt came back from Ljubljana, he had to take it in as well.

He’ll miss it when he goes to LA.

If he goes to LA.

Classes start next week, so then Kurt can really sink his teeth into this. But now, he doesn’t need to think about being with Blaine in LA, since Blaine is here.

Blaine makes some photos of the billboards.

“Ljubljana was never this flashy.”

“True.”

“But I wouldn’t want it to be.”

“Same.”

When Blaine’s done taking photos, Kurt takes his hand and they make the trek to Central Park. Kurt had prepared a little picnic. He even bought a second hand picnic basket at a bargain store!

It’s a nice August day as well. It’s perfect. They roll out a picnic blanket and feed each other food. It’s too cute for words and Kurt loves it. He loves seeing Blaine smile.

“We’ll take the train back to your place next?” Blaine asks after a while.

Kurt nods.

“Do you already want to go home?”

Blaine shakes his head.

“No. Not necessarily, but just checking.”

“Why?”

“Because of your roommates.”

“Ah.”

Yes, they’re going to tell Rachel and Santana. They won’t be home until the evening, which is fine, because then Kurt will have Blaine for himself for a bit longer, but they will be home and they will notice that someone else is there.

“Could you tell me about them?” Blaine asks.

“Oh. Well. They’re cool, albeit busy,” Kurt starts, “They come from the same school and decided to live together. I joined the household later. Santana is a professional dancer. She works at this dance studio and she has a girlfriend named Dani. Rachel is driven and passionate. She landed an agent while I was in Ljubljana, so she spends most of her time auditioning and what not. Not going to lie, she almost makes me feel bad about it.”

Blaine frowns, so Kurt elaborates.

“It’s just… she’s advancing in her career. I fucked off to another country and she’s actually going somewhere.”

“But you also did it for your career!” Blaine argues, “It looks amazing on your resume. And career aside, it was also a lot of fun.”

Kurt sighs. He knows that. And he met Blaine, which is arguably the best part of his semester abroad. Rachel unfortunately tends to make remarks about how much better she’s doing. She’s not even doing it to hurt him, more to show off, but it’s noticeable.

“Besides, multiple ways lead to Rome, and with Rome I mean a theatre career,” Blaine continues, “Your degree is important and you’ll do an internship this year too, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you already started thinking about that? You can show that off to Rachel!”

“I haven’t,” Kurt lies.

He needs to change the subject. He can’t dwell on the internship thing and accidentally spill the beans.

“But yeah, that’s Rachel!” he quickly says, “And Santana. My roommates.”

“And you like them, right?”

Kurt nods.

“I do. They’re my friends. I actually miss them.”

He does. Kurt, Rachel and Santana are roommates first, friends second. It’s the truth, but they’re still friends and Kurt cares for them and he knows they care for him too. Rachel and Santana truly haven’t had time to just relax and catch up. Well, maybe Santana has had, but she prefers spending her free time with Dani.

“I can’t wait to meet them, then,” Blaine says.

They finish their picnic and then they take the train back to Kurt’s place. Kurt’s desperate to have some time with Blaine in private and judging by the way Blaine keeps reaching out, the feeling is mutual.

It’s almost as if the train ride is endless.

But once they’re inside and Blaine’s pushed Kurt against the door to kiss him, it all goes so fast. Kurt doesn’t mind. They take off their shoes and dump the picnic basket before heading to the bedroom.

-

Kurt and Blaine decide to make themselves presentable before greeting Rachel and Santana. They have a quick shower and then get dressed.

Then they wait.

They’re lying in Kurt’s bed, holding each other. Kurt has his head rested on Blaine’s chest and he can hear Blaine’s heartbeat go fast.

“It’ll be fine,” Kurt reassures him. Santana is a lesbian and Rachel has two dads, so they luckily don’t have to worry about homophobia.

“Yeah,” Blaine sighs.

Then, after a few more minutes, they hear the front door open.

“Anyone in here?” Santana screeches out. The walls of this apartment are relatively thin, so Kurt can hear her crystal clear.

“Santana, Kurt’s shoes are here!” Rachel says back.

“… together with another pair of shoes,” Santana notices.

“Kurt?” Rachel also calls out.

Kurt looks over to Blaine. Blaine nods. It’s time.

Kurt rolls of Blaine and Blaine slides out of the bed and walks towards Kurt’s mirror to check his appearance. What a ridiculous man, Kurt thinks fondly, He wants to look at his best when he meets my roommates.

“Ready?” Kurt whispers, so that Rachel and Santana will not overhear.

“Yeah,” Blaine says under his breath.

Kurt also gets out of bed and walks towards the door to open it. He does and pokes his head out of the doorway.

“Hey,” he says lamely to Rachel and Santana.

“Hey,” Santana says back in the same tone.

Rachel’s already moved to the kitchen to probably make tea with honey for her voice, but she also says a quick hello.

“So?” Santana says with a knowing smile, “Something you wanna tell us, Hummel?”

“Yes, actually,” Kurt says and he looks back over his shoulder. Blaine gives him a thumbs up. “Ladies, I have a boyfriend.”

Rachel lets out a delighted shriek.

Santana just yells: “Called it!”

“And he’s here. Ladies, please meet my boyfriend,” Kurt opens the door even wider. It feels so formal. Blaine appears in the doorway, next to Kurt, and he opens his mouth to speak, but then his eyes widen.

Santana has a similar look on her face.

“Blaine Anderson?” she asks in disbelief.

“Santana Lopez?”

[syncopein3d]

The Warm One 7: Wrath

Part 6: Spring Campaign

CW/tropes: living weapon, nonhuman caretaker, female whumpee, intimate/nonsexual touch, servant caretaker, traumatic restraints, nonsexual nudity mention, gore, blood, slaughter, extraplanar abomination/monster. Fair warning, this one's going to be gory and gross and weird. After all, what good is a living weapon story if you don't get to see the weapon being deployed?

The Field of Thearn has never been tilled.  Boulders lie scattered across a knee-deep growth of bracken and heather. The crows and ravens that follow the army circle above it now, more immanent than the distant hawks. The winter heather is still in flower when the army starts pulling it up in organized squares. Space is cleared for tents and latrines, and now there is fuel for the campfires.

The camp of the Elves lies some distance away, fireless, lit by little glowing spheres that hover above it. Their snow-white faces flit across the twilight above their mail.  They’re not pink-skinned, like the Ifrits, but their ears are just as pointed.

Aldo the Orc helps pile up heather, and then goes to wash up in the stream with the maids. He recognizes a tiny gnome girl called Gella crouching beside him.

“Why are you so afraid of her, all of you?” he asks, nodding toward the black wagon with the gilded bars across the back. “Has she hurt you? I’ve never heard her be harsh.”

“Not me,” Gella says. “But we all know what happened to Merrly.”

“What happened?” Aldo asks, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“The Wrath of the King slipped out of one of her bracers and tore her into pieces. The biggest thing they found was a hand,” Gella says, glancing sidelong back at the wagon as one fingertip surreptitiously shapes the holy sickle for protection, curve across and curve down. “If the Master hadn’t stopped her she would have killed everyone. I didn’t see it, but he told Merrly’s family when they gave them the ashes. I heard him because I was dusting.”

“Terrible,” Aldo said.

“Terrible,” Gella agrees. The look she gives Aldo before she scuttles away is one of intense pity.

That night, as he brushes out the weapon’s thin hair in the cushion pile in her tent, he thinks about it for a while. Then eventually he asks,

“Do you remember a maid called Merrly?”

“Oh, yes. Human,” the Wrath of the King murmurs sleepily. She sits on Aldo’s thigh with her face resting against his chest, facing outward so he can brush with one hand and hold her steady with the other. A bony elbow digs slightly into his big soft belly. His liniment seems to be helping. She can actually tie the soft robe closed over the scar that covers much of the front of her.

“She died from falling into one of the arcane fires, the Master said. Odd thing. They only had ashes to give the family. Why?” It’s not often the Orc asks questions.

“He told the maids something different,” Aldo says.

“How strange,” she says. “Why would he bother? He doesn’t care what the servants think…” She is nodding off. Aldo doesn’t think she is lying. He’s never known her to make the mental effort to be circumspect, let alone to try and deceive him.

The next day, the maids dress her in a plain linen robe dyed the color of old blood. The kingdom’s sword and sickle is not embroidered, it is smeared in black paint on the front and back panels. Aldo wonders at this as he helps hold her up. Usually she is swathed in layers of buckram, wooden stays, heavy brocades with elaborate embroidery. Usually her hair is piled in pins and gold combs and sticks. Today it’s a simple braid with a black ribbon. She has always been weak and listless, but today she trembles with a strange nervous energy he has never seen. A fervid spot of color mounts each pale cheek. She seems to blink less often, brown eyes held wide.

“What happens today, Milady?” he asks her.

“You’ll see,” she says, voice raw and stretched. “Until you look away. I won’t blame you. No one watches but him. Just be there when it’s over, all right?”

“I will, Milady.”

“And bring the gray robe.”

“I will, Milady.”

Aldo’s voice is deep and clear and firm, like always. The weapon grieves that that must change today. When he sees what is really inside her, he will never wish to see or speak to her again. And he will not be able to go. He will hate her and be stuck here with her forever. But that grief is a painful, twanging tune beneath the symphony of hunger and want. She knows what’s coming. No amount of shame or disgust can change that she was made for this.

The general and his captains have their last diplomatic parlay with the Elves early in the morning. By the time the Master comes to get her, the military men are back again, stepping over the white chalk line poured onto the dirt as a corporal furls the white flag.

“Well, gentlemen?” the Master says. “Have they elected to surrender?”

“No. Send the weapon,” says General Izath, a rose-skinned Ifrit. Butterfly-wing ears curve back beneath his red-plumed casque. He doesn’t look at her. He only makes the sign of the sickle as he passes.

The Master smiles. His blue eyes are unblinking and intent as he steps behind the weapon and lays his hands on her shoulders. Aldo can see him all but inflate with pride in his own work, in the power he is about to wield. The two of them begin a strange litany, one voice oratorical and measured, the other high and trembling.

“In the name of Malacien, Hearth and Huntress, She Who Wieldeth the Sickle, hear thou the Word of Retribution.”

“In the Name of Malacien, She Who Chooseth the Slain, I hear.”

“In the name of the Eight Good Gods, in the name of the Kings now and past, I abjure thee. Thou shalt harm none who dwell behind this line, but all who lie in front of it are thy prey. Avenge thyself upon the foe and return to thy form of birth. Swear thine obedience.”

“By Morith, He Who Keepeth the Slain, I swear it.”

“Shouldst thou disobey, the bonds of thy keeping shall slay thee. Swear again thy fealty.”

“By Mighty Serne, King of Gods, Hunted and Risen, I swear it.”

“Before this line, before all assembled, I loose the Wrath of the Kings. Return when nothing of his enemies draws breath.”

“I am loosed,” the weapon practically screams, and the Master takes his hands away. It’s the first time Aldo has ever seen her run, stumbling barefoot through the heather, heedless of thorns or sharp stones. He winces for her feet. Across the field, the Elves are forming up lines of battle, spreading the two wings of cavalry that have proved so deadly to the armies of other would-be conquerors of these isles.

They don’t even see her at first. She has a long distance to cover for a small, sick woman past her first youth. Aldo half expects her to be slain by an arrow when they do spot her, but it is now evident to him that they don’t know what is about to happen. Spycraft has failed them, or previous encounters have left no sane survivors. There is no real disturbance in their lines as they begin their slow movement forward toward what appears to be a foolishly disordered foe behind this one little sacrifice.

A few desultory arrows flit into the bracken around her. She stops, swaying, and raises her arms in their golden bracers, spread wide as if inviting an embrace.

Even at this distance, Aldo hears the sound of flesh tearing. He knows it must be the scar, the one that never really heals. He doesn’t expect the snap of bones breaking as she folds backward practically in half. Her arms dangle, eyes rolled up into her head. Aldo is aware of everyone but the Master turning away, making signs, murmuring prayers. Only he and the Master see the arms unfurl, tendrils like a polyp starting at the width of a hand but widening as they lengthen until they are bigger than tree trunks. The weapon’s body simply shreds, crushed beneath the weight of the ever-growing knot of slimy black branches. Only the two little arms in their bracers remain, flat and dead-looking on either side of the thing’s base until they, too, are covered and crushed by the mass.

As the horror expands, Aldo can see suckers on one side of each tendril, discs as big as his head. Every one has a barbed hook in the center of it. There the resemblance to anything in nature ends, for now the arms are sprouting more arms yet, and now some have horns and eyes. He can tell they’re eyes because they are Human, round-pupiled, brown. Brown like hers. They ARE hers, he realizes, as one looks directly at him and a pupil the size of his fist expands with recognition. Wet, glistening lashes flutter, and then the thing twists away from him in its eagerness to get at the enemy.

“I think it recognized you,” the Master says beside him, his voice amused. “You should be grateful for the line. It’s come within a hair of reaching me before the pain stopped it before.”

“She would eat us, Milord?” Aldo asks. His tone is dull. It’s hard to imagine any more horror than what is now happening among the Elven lines. Aldo has seen war, lost someone precious to it, been forever marked by it. He’s never seen an Elf and a horse torn into gobbets of gore and stuffed into the toothy circle of a black maw. There are now innumerable mouths among the coils, lipless, silent.

“Oh, yes. Did you think you were the first in your preset position, Goodman Aldo?”

Aldo is silent. He can’t tell if this is another lie, or what the purpose of such a deception could be. The screaming is too loud now. He sees a single Elf on a horse try to flee up the hill behind the camp, to carry word of what is happening here, or perhaps just fleeing in panic. A tendril snaps out like a whip-crack hundreds of yards long. The Elf falls from the saddle in two directions, top half and bottom, and the horse is snatched into the air to be torn and engulfed with the pieces of the rider.

The Wrath of the Kings rolls over the distant camp. Aldo prays silently that there were no children there. He now understands that the reason this tactic keeps working is that there will be no bodies. The thing does not discriminate between flesh and armor. It’s far away now, but he can see it ripping up tents, too. Everything goes into its horrid jawless orifices.

It’s only minutes before it’s over. The sun has scarcely moved overhead. When at last there is silence, the nest of arms and eyes and mouths slithers back toward the line. It’s bigger than a house. It’s almost bigger than a castle. It fills much of the distance between the two camps. When it comes close to the line it is a writhing wall that fills Aldo’s world, towering into the orange sky. People in the camp move farther away from the shadow that has fallen over them. They cover their heads and whisper more prayers. Many brown eyes fix upon him. Some look at the Master, too. The mouth that opens in front of the sorcerer is taller than he is, drooling blood, stinking of charnel. As Aldo watches, it pulses open and shut, edging further from himself and nearer to the Master. This close, he can see into a throat of incomprehensible, impossible depth, lined with rows of teeth like a hagfish that stretch down endlessly into the darkness.

The Wrath of the Kings is still voiceless. The only sound is the glutinous slither of its movement and the awful click of many, many teeth. From the corner of his eye, Aldo sees the man’s shoulders heaving, face empty of color.

A tiny tendril, as thin as a finger, quests right up to the line, waving to and fro in front of Aldo’s face. Up close, it isn’t really slimy. It’s covered in tiny armored scales, black and shining. He can see the little hooked barb on the tip. It might be white bone like the sucker-hooks, when it isn’t bloody.

The whole mass of the thing shudders. It ripples and twists and begins to curl inward on itself, little arms folding into bigger arms, horns and teeth shrinking and withdrawing into flesh. As Aldo watches, still unable to look away, it gets smaller and smaller. Now it does make noise. There are many hissing exhalations as air is expelled from its vanishing mouths. He is half surprised that the thing actually breathes. He can’t imagine how the form of woman can re-emerge after he watched it so thoroughly destroyed. He watches with a kind of sick curiosity, hands clasped behind his back in an unconscious parade rest that hasn’t been meaningful in his life in a decade or more. The tendrils twist and twist and shrink, and as they fold around each other they sculpt one another into a human shape, at first writhing in all its components, then slick and black, then suddenly blending and fading into lighter flesh, scales smoothing away as if they were never there. At the last, the thinnest of them fold away into a jagged mouth lined with more teeth, and then that shrivels crookedly away and becomes a red scar branching over a naked woman’s breast and belly and thighs. It’s a slightly different shape than before. Of course it is, Aldo thinks. It's a new body.

The golden bracers are the same. She could not, it seems, remake herself into a form without them, however much she must have wished it. They’re not so loose as before. Her body is still thin, but less thin than before now, pink and blushing as she lies gasping in the flattened heather. The battlefield is crushed down flat over all of its width. Black steam rises and sublimes away as the moments pass. Over the fading stench of blood and death there’s a strange and unearthly smell of something Aldo can only describe as perfume, but it’s no perfume of any plant he has ever smelled. It doesn’t smell real or right. The ravens are descending, but there won’t be much for them to find.

“Well, go on and get her,” The Master says. “Be careful. She’ll be heavier.” He turns away to stalk back to his tent. He’s still smiling slightly in Aldo’s last sideways glimpse of him, but the Orc is already kneeling with the robe in his hands.

“Milady,” he says. She opens her eyes, still panting. Her hair is dry and braided. That detail bothers him more than a lot of it, for some reason.

“Oh, the robe. Yes. Thank you.” Her voice is almost normal. It’s stronger than usual, in fact. He helps her into it and then picks her up carefully in his arms. She’s heavier than usual, but not by much. She turns her face into his shoulder in the familiar way.

“How do you feel?” he asks, as he carries her into her tent. He can’t completely keep emotion out of his voice. Is this the same person that he has served and held and warmed with his body? Is it a new one every time?

“Good,” she murmurs. “It’ll be good for a little while, except for the mark. Aldo, do you – can you - ”

That note of worried self-loathing is certainly familiar. Aldo relaxes. He has his balance now. Nothing he saw will ever leave him as long as he lives, but here, now, in this tent, he is with the same person he has been with for months. Nothing that happened out there has changed that. Nothing about her has changed at all. He just understands her better now.

“Of course,” he says softly, no more “Milady” now that they’re alone. “I have my liniment still. Be easy.” He lays her in the pillow pile and turns to get it. When he turns back, she reaches for his arm. Her hand is as cold as he remembers. He lets her hold onto him, looking down in puzzlement for a moment until he realizes she is testing to see if he flinches, eyes unblinking on his face. Her hand holds him so tightly that she shakes.

He sets down the liniment for a second so that he can sit down beside her and lean over and pull her into his lap. He is still very careful. He will always be careful. He lays his arms around her and holds her face against his shoulder again, lightly, so that he doesn’t press hard on the scar.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You’re still you. That’s enough.”

“How could it ever be enough?” she asks lowly.

“He said there were others before me,” Aldo said. “Is that true?”

“No,” she says. “What a strange thing to say. He never even offered before you. I never asked.” He feels her sigh. “Aldo - ”

“You knew me,” he said. “You wanted to eat him, but just him. I don’t think he realized.”

She snorts into his tunic. “Of course.” There’s a silence in which he gently strokes her back over the robe for a little while. Eventually she says, “I remember everything. None of it is outside of my control, do you understand that, Aldo? I can’t disobey him because he’ll kill me, but – I know that I choose to obey. That’s important for you to know.”

“I think I understand that,” Aldo said. “You’re not really able to eat properly in this form, are you? This is only part of you.”

“Yes. All of me is – well. You’ve seen,” she whispers. “You didn’t look away. But I won’t be hungry for a while after the campaign is over. Then – the winter becomes long. He likes that, watching me get hungrier and hungrier.”

“It’s not right,” Aldo says very quietly.

“Nothing about it has ever been right,” she says. Her voice is fading now in a familiar way. She might be a little better fed, but it’s still been a busy and exhausting day, flailing about annihilating an entire army and destroying and remaking her own entire body. Perhaps this way of thinking about it is a little mad. Perhaps Aldo is a little mad now, too. He can’t examine that too closely. There’s work to be done.

“You’ll feel better for a rest,” he says. “Let me take care of everything. It’ll be all right.” She sighs deeply. After a moment she kisses his shoulder over his tunic very lightly. “I might fall asleep while you’re applying the liniment,” she says. “That’s all right, dear.” “You won’t leave me tonight, will you?” “I will never leave you,” Aldo says. He probably wouldn’t be allowed to. But right now, he doesn’t care about that part. He means what he says.