#and a man taking care of me without invalidating my strengths

[pencil-n-pen]

Princess ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

⊹‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

leon kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Being an independent woman and a full time student is all fun and games until final’s season. Luckily, your not-quite academic rival Leon Kennedy is there to pick you up when you fall.

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cw: Female pronouns and description used for reader but nothing detailed (no skin color, eye color, hair type, body type, etc.) This is basically just an x reader for my independent eldest daughters who do nothing but their absolute best all the time everyday and deep down want a hot guy with beefy arms to let them relax for a minute. So i guess expect the related issues that come with being an eldest daughter?

Tags/tropes: hurt/comfort, dom! leon if you squint, leon’s very touchy, leon being a gentleman!! probably ooc, i kinda struggled finding his voice :/

wc: 3.3k

a/n: wowee so i’m not rlly looking to be a full time author or anything but i could NOT get this idea out of my head and i figured i could give back to the tumblr fic community <3 here’s to everyone who wants hurt/comfort without smut, incest, or a needlessly specific reader! hope everyone’s recovering well from finals!

— ‎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ

The first time it happened, it honestly, truly, was an accident. A mistake, if you will. You would never willingly fall asleep on a random guy at a party. That is all kinds of bad for a number of reasons.

However. There were some… extenuating circumstances.

Finals. They’re a make-or-break for the first semester. Mostly just a break. In the sense that you contemplated how upset your parents would be at you if you dropped out and if the subsequent disowning would be worth it.

You did finals the same way you did everything. You worked. Studied. Borderline obsessed over it. Romanticized it so you could push through when the other’s resolve started dropping. Stayed home. Your friends bemoaned your “no-fun attitude” but they’re crying over their grades and you’re not, so.

Well. Actually you’re definitely crying over your grades, almost every day in fact. But not because they’re bad. Just because you’re tired. Really tired. The kind of tired that makes people have public breakdowns. But you can’t afford to have a public breakdown because you have to succeed at college and you have to work in order to stay on top of your bills and be able to send some money home to your family and make sure you have time to call your parents and make time for your sister to call you and vent because you didn’t have a you at her age and you wish you did so you have to be there for her and your friends need you to be there for them not to mention planning for how you’re going to use your degree after you graduate and—

Most of the time you try not to think about it.

So finals were over. And everyone wanted to celebrate. And you did, you promise. You’re totally the party girl type. Totally. (Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true?)

You don’t hate parties. You like dressing up and going out. It’s fun! It’s just… not your idea of an unwind. Not after you nearly ran yourself into the ground for a month straight for the sake of academic validation. You’d prefer to sleep for 72 hours straight. And maybe watch a movie at home in the sweatshirt you cried over your textbooks in. Maybe over a glass of wine? You’re not really sure. Relaxing never really goes well for you. It’s either depression-bed-rotting or full productivity.

Needless to say, you weren’t exactly thrilled to find yourself at this party. You’re not really sure how your friends convinced you.

But you’re here, in makeup and an outfit you like (you’re thankful this isn’t one of the ‘put on a tight dress and dance’ parties) and you just honestly want to go to bed. It’s a house party, so it’s not nearly as crazy as some of the other parties you’ve been (read: dragged) to, but still.

You’re on the couch, ignoring the smell of alcohol in the air and pretending the pounding baseline of the music coming from the speaker in the kitchen isn’t starting to give you a headache.

Ada Wong, a girl you’ve hesitantly dubbed your party friend, is sitting on your left, while the guy you can never quite tell what he is to her, is sitting on your right.

Leon Kennedy.

On a good day, Leon Kennedy is a smart, brooding, annoyingly capable guy who you share some of your classes with. On a bad day, he’s the bane of your existence. On a really bad day, you fantasize about all the ways you could kill him and turn the experience into a really good term paper.

It’s complicated. You’re smart. He’s smart. You tend to clash because neither of you like backing down from a challenge.

But right now, in this moment, at this party, the only thing you can think about is how fucking tired you are and how warm he is.

The music is so loud it drowns everything out in your brain. The few thoughts that make it through the overwhelm of sound are fuzzy and staticky. The cling and slip around in your head like syrup. The worst parts about parties are, funnily enough, working to cancel out the main reason you can’t fall asleep in your own bed at night: overthinking.

That and the fact that you haven’t sleep in forty-eight hours. An energy drink and an iced coffee count as a full nights sleep, right? You’re sure the heart palpitations are normal.

You manage to keep up with the steady flow of the group conversation, but as the night wears on, talking becomes harder and harder and just plain processing the words being said slowly turns into an impossible task. At some point, someone else squeezed onto the couch— you think it might be Chris? Ada did say he was coming late— so now you’re pressed against the one and only Leon Kennedy, and he’s radiating heat like a furnace.

Like you, he opted for a slightly more casual approach to the house party. Of course, he’s a guy, so his wardrobe was probably never that big, but still. It’s nice to see someone else in a sweatshirt and jeans.

You at least put on your favorite jeans! You call them your hot jeans, for self explanatory reasons. So what if you’re wearing an oversized sweatshirt? It’s cold!

You jolt in place, not realizing your eyes had slipped close and the conversation had continued on without you. Something prickles in the back of your head. An instinctual sort of thing.

Don’t fall asleep in public places.

Don’t fall asleep at someone’s house you don’t know.

You know the owner of the house, you think. You’ve been here once or twice. But you don’t know everyone at the party and where your friends have gone because they’re not in the group talking here and you should probably stand up soon, to wake yourself up, don’t let your friends down, don’t be that girl who falls asleep at the party, don’t—

You jolt again.

Wake up. You tell yourself. Leon’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye, but you ignore it.

It feels like a record skip. You’ll blink, and the conversation isn’t the same as when you first closed your eyes. The song isn’t the same. Were the lights always this bright?

“Whew!” Ada whistles from above. When did she stand up? “Someone’s got final’s exhaustion written all over their face!”

The group laughs and you do too, but it sounds different. Leon doesn’t. Why isn’t he laughing?

You jolt again. Harder this one. A full body shake. You wince as your knee knocks into Leon’s.

“Sorr—“

“Stop that.” He grumbles, and oh. A warm, solid hand snakes around your waist and pulls you closer. Closed to that warm, stupidly comfortable side.

This is wrong. It’s Leon. It’s Leon. You can’t. And this is a party, and your friends are here—

“Stop being stupid,” You can feel his chest rumble from where your cheek is pressed flush against it, and when did that happen? He picks up your left arm and drapes it across his stomach, then picks up your right arm and wraps it around his lower pack. “Squeeze.”

You listen, and wow. Who has time to go to the gym this much and be an academic rival? You feel like you’re slacking. Maybe you need to make time to get some—

“I can hear you thinking,” He says, voice deep and rumbly. It’s honestly a miracle you can hear him over the music. It’s probably because your face is pressed against his chest. If you strain, you can feel the dull thud of his heart.

“You have a heart?” You say, half-delirious with exhaustion. It comes out more as a question than a statement

“Mhm,” He rumbles. “I am in possession of one. Great observation princess.”

You frown into his chest. “Why are you always so mean? You call me that stupid name. I’m not a princess.”

“I’m not mean. Whoever said princess was a mean nickname? You decided that on your own.”

“Then how come you call me that?”

“Because,” He huffs, repositioning to a more slouched position that’s more comfortable for your neck. The arm tightens around your waist.

It’s nice. It’s possessive. Protective. No one’s ever really done that for you before. Usually it’s you doing the protecting.

You don’t want to relax. You can’t. You can’t.

“Because,” He continues, “Princesses need to be taken care of. Especially smart, stubborn princesses who never pause for one second. Not even when they should.”

You should get up. Apologize for how weird you’re being. Have another coffee or energy drink. Join the party. Do something that isn’t this.

“Go to sleep,” He says, his voice like a warm blanket settling and slipping into your mind. “Nothing‘s going to happen to you while I’m here. No one is going to be mad at you for sleeping. And if they are, I’ll kick their ass. Go to sleep.”

It’s easy to give in after that.

You sag, boneless. Like a puppet with it’s strings cut. You inhale deeply, breathing in the deep, rich scent that’s distinctly Leon.

Just for a few minutes. Because Leon’s watching. He won’t let something happen to you. Just for a few minutes. You’ll get up soon. You will.

He tucks you closer to him. “Sleep.”

You’re out like a light.

—

“No way, she’s actually asleep?”

“Holy shit Leon, did you drug her?”

“I did not.”

“Well, thanks, for whatever weird magic-spell you cast. Seriously. We’re all starting to get worried about her. She doesn’t take any breaks and she doesn’t let anyone help. Last week a librarian found her asleep on the printer. Fully standing.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to start inviting you to our apartment if it means she’ll actually get some fucking sleep. It’s unsettling finding her in the same position as when I left like, six hours beforehand.”

“Don’t worry. She’s in good hands.”

—

It’s horrific, running into him in the library.

What makes it more horrible is the fact that you’re ugly crying silently in the English textbook section, because it’s always empty. You’re ugly crying in the English textbook section of the university library and Leon Kennedy just walked into the aisle.

You sniff, lifting your head from your knees to stare up at him from the ground. He has a knack for finding you at your lowest, it would seem.

“We’ve got to stop seeing each other like this, princess.”

“Oh?” You sniff hard, running a hand across your face as if that will clear up your red rimmed, puffy eyes, the tear tracks on your face, or the flush on your nose. The action at least wipes away the snot. “I wasn’t aware you ever fell asleep on me at a party. Did I ever find you crying in the English textbook section of the library?”

He tilts his head. “Why the English textbook section? It’s one of your best subjects.”

“It’s the emptiest section. Plus, anyone looking for an English textbook at this hour isn’t going to bat an eye at me.” You wrap your arms around your legs and hug them to your chest. “What are you doing here?”

“One of your roommates called Ada. They said you haven’t been home since this morning. They thought you might’ve been at hers, or with me.”

You snort. “It’s like they don’t even know me.”

He rolls his eyes. “I think they were hoping you’d be there. I think anyone who knows you knew you’d be here.”

“Crying in the English section?”

“In the library, dumbass.”

He stalks forward, leaning back against the bookshelf across from you and sliding his hands into his sweatpants pockets.

“Tell me. Is your pathological avoidance to asking for help conscious or not?”

You kick out, one shoed foot catching him in the shins. “Dick.”

He shrugs. “Just want to know. I can’t exactly gloat over scoring two points above you if you’re not in top form. I want a fair fight.”

“Is that what you're here for?” You ask suddenly, everything in your body going rigid. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” He says calmly. “I’m here because you’re being stupid again. You know what’s not healthy, or smart?”

He gestures to you. You, sitting on the floor, tears drying on your face. “This. Going out to parties to make your friends happy when you should be at home, sleeping. Studying for so long you end up looking like your boyfriend of eight years just broke up with you. Come on, princess. Where’s those brains you brag about?”

“They’re up here,” You tap your forehead. Against your will, your eyes burn, tears welling up, your face tightening. “And they’re tired.”

You drop your head into your hands, forgoing your silent crying of earlier in the place of open mouth sobbing. You can’t help it. You’re just so tired. So done with it all. With trying to keep up, with trying to make space, with trying to make time. With doing your best and it not being enough. You’re tired of being tired.

“Annnd there it is. Come here.”

He lowers himself to the floor next to you, tucking you close in a similar fashion as that night at the party.

“Come on, same thing as before. Hold onto me. Give yourself a minute.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, same way as last time, burying your face into his shoulder. Someone could see. Someone you know might see you crying and think—

He reaches a hand up and pulls the hood of your sweatshirt over your head.

“There. Now no one can see your face. Stop worrying. Just cry, princess.”

You sniffle. “I’m getting snot on your sweatshirt.”

“It’s had worse on it.”

“Gross.”

You can practically feel the eye roll. “Can you stop being dirty-minded and focus on something productive? Like crying? Or not crying, if that would make you feel better.”

You shift, so your head is lying against his shoulder instead of smashed into it like before.

“Why do you care if I feel better?”

Why do you care?

He shrugs against you.

“Told you,” He pushes your hood back a bit, tapping you on the forehead with his pointer finger. “My competition’s no fun if she’s not taking care of herself. How else is she gonna kick my ass?”

“I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need you to swoop in here, Leon.”

“Mhm,” He says. “And i’m sure you do great at it, considering you’re still alive and kicking my ass at those stupid socratic seminars. Consider this… self-care. In the face mask, getting your nails done way.”

“Who taught you self care?”

“Ada. We have face mask nights.”

You jolt up. “Is she—“

“She’s not my girlfriend, we’re not fucking, no she’s not going to be upset or care in any way about this. Calm down.”

You begrudgingly settle back against him.

“If anything,” He continues. “She’ll be excited to see you at more parties in the coming months.”

You frown. “I never said—“

“You only go to parties if your friends physically drag you or when you feel confident enough in your grades and the general state of your life. It’s really easy to tell which version of you shows up to the party. It’s the way you dress.”

“How so?”

He shifts slightly. Guilt twinges in your stomach as you realize how uncomfortable he must be.

“You wear your pick-me-up pants when you’re dragged there. The ones that make your ass look great.”

You sit up with a gasp. “My hot pants?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you call them?”

Your brain catches up to the rest of what he said. “Hold on. Did you just say—“

“I said what I said. I’m assuming there’s a reason you call them your hot pants.”

He smirks, and you flush.

“Moving onto more pressing matters,” He tilts his head at you. “You have two options this evening. Either I take you back to your place and you sleep in your own bed, or you come to my place and we binge watch the Oceans movies until you fall asleep.”

“How did you know I like the—“

“The icebreaker for club thing. You said they were your favorite movies.”

You look up at him. “You remembered?”

“You were wearing your hot jeans.”

“You’re the worst.”

He scans your face for a moment, eyes sparking with mirth and a little something less innocent. “Maybe.”

You sigh and lean back against him, exhaustion from all your crying hitting you at once.

“Nuh-uh, no sleeping here. You gotta pick one. My place or yours?”

You frown into his shoulder. “Ugh. Fine. Yours, but only because I wanna watch the Ocean’s movies. You better not have a disgusting frat house.”

“I do not. I do have popcorn and ice cream.”

“Ada bought those, didn’t she?”

“Nope,” He says, nudging you with his shoulder to stand. You clamber in gracefully to your feet, your head starting to pound. “Chris likes to have movie nights. It pays to be well stocked.”

Your cheeks warm as a large, steadying hand finds its way to the small of your back. “How many of my friends are you friends with?”

“I was friends with them first.”

“Ass.”

He chuckles incredulously. “For having friends?”

“Yes,” You say, letting him pull you to his side while you walk to your table where you left your stuff. Probably not the best idea to leave your entire net-worth unattended, but whatever. You were going through it. “How dare you.”

“Mmm. I see. My apologies, princess. I’ll tell Chris and Ada.”

“You get on that.”

You can’t help but smile as he helps you pack up your things, passing you items across the table and carefully zipping up your pencil case.

“Don’t touch my papers, I have a system.”

“Is the system absolute chaos?”

“Shut up.”

Once everything is packed up, you zip up your backpack, but before you can sling it on, Leon’s arm darts out and snags it right out from under you.

Your expression grows pinched. “I can carry my own bag, Leon.”

“I know you can.”

“Give me my bag.”

“No.”

You groan. “Why do you want to carry my bag?”

“See, there’s this thing called chivalry—“

“Oh my god, shut up. When have you and chivalry ever been synonymous?”

He shrugs. “Ever since I met the girl in the hot jeans who regularly kicks my ass academically.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Mmm,” He hums, wrapping an arm around your waist and walking you towards the doors to the library. “And you’re stubborn. Come on. Brad Pitt and George Clooney are waiting for you.”

You sigh dramatically, hiding a small smile in your hand.

Maybe you could get used to this.

masterlist | next part

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

[calaisreno]

Map of the World

1145 Words / CW: Nudity, sex

The day has not yet dawned, but everything in the room has barely started to take shape, gauzy and grey. I can’t see the clock. Doesn’t matter; too early for the hour to have a number. 

I remember sleepless nights when dawn was near, some vigil ending but  the day not yet begun. I remember nights without dreams, my sleep a solid and unbroken place between days. 

I open my eyes, your warm presence reminding me that this is real, this is my life. 

You’re still asleep, but you won’t be for long. People who know you would predict you’re a restless sleeper, tearing the sheets from their moorings, stealing the blankets. You’re not. When you sleep, it’s quiet, deliberate, deep. A trip into a Night Palace, perhaps. 

You don’t move when I touch you, still deep enough that you don’t register my hands. I adore your hands. You’ve deduced this, I know. Long, thin fingers, sensitive, artistic. Violinist’s hands. 

But there’s a place on your body where my hands always go, my favourite part of you. I’ve never said, but since the first time, I think you’ve known. Touch doesn’t lie. 

My hand travels lightly over the swell of your arse, finding the soft bit of skin between that and your leg. You’re lying on your side, top leg bent, the bottom one straight, and that’s where I find it, the soft crevasse between the gluteus maximus and the biceps femoris. 

I could live in that tender spot. 

You sigh now and begin turning into me, settling your head against my shoulder. I won’t touch your neck yet because you’ll wake as soon as I do, and I haven’t finished my exploration.

Soon I’ll roam the canvas of your back, feel the smooth, raised marks that are reminders of your two years away. These are the sigils that spelled the end of that journey and brought you back to me. They’ve faded to silvery-pink, and to me they are beautiful, a sacrifice you made out of love. You don’t walk around in a sheet these days, showing them off, but I know what they mean.

I find the scar on your chest, the one that nearly took you away from me again. It’s deceptively small, just a white pockmark now, barely able to be seen unless you’re looking for it. I don’t need a map to find it; my finger goes right to it. I touch it lightly, with reverence, knowing that you would have given your life for me to be happy. 

I wouldn’t have been; we both know that now.

Mapping each ridge of your ribcage, I feel your heart beating beneath.

Clothed, you don’t appear muscular, but your strength is here, in these long, lean limbs and the planes of your abdomen. The first time you hugged me, you were at your lowest peak, physically. You’d been shot, barely recovered, and then plunged yourself into drugs, wearing yourself so thin that it shocked me. I was angry, confused, distraught. 

When your arms went around me in comfort, I felt your strength. You were not frail. I did not doubt that you’d been using yourself up, abusing your transport in ways I hated, but you still felt solid, strong enough to catch me before I fell into despair. The weeks before—the drugs and the madness—were not a deception, but you’d been careful to hold back enough strength for when you would need it. Either I would save you, or you would save me. 

I think we saved each other.

You sigh, a barely-felt susurration against my neck. Avoiding your neck, I let my fingers travel to your nape, into the curls there. Your hair will look like a bird’s nest when you get out of bed, and that will be partly my fault. I love seeing you sleep-tousled, disheveled. For everyone else, you’re carefully put together; in disarray, you’re mine alone. 

Your hand rests on my shoulder, over my scar. An ugly thing, I’ve always felt, and difficult to hide because of its size. My country branded me a hero and sent me home. I didn’t feel like a hero; I hated my scar, the way my hand shook, and the perplexing limp that defied explanation. 

That day in the lab, I was invalid, a broken man trying to return to some sort of life. You were able to read my entire history in one look, and I felt embarrassed.

It was only years later, when we lay in bed and you traced my scar with gentle fingers, that you told me what it meant to you: Without this scar, you would not be mine. We would never have met. You might have died in another battle and never returned. Or you would have returned a different person, with more possibilities. That you returned as you did, a man who needed a flatmate, brought us together that day. The rest is history, as they say. 

Your eyes are open now, blinking in the pale early light. We are shadows here, a land before the dawn. Your hand reaches below, finding my eager cock. I touch all the hidden places, the soft skin of your bollocks, the swell of your muscles as you tense. You’re wide awake now, quietly watching my reactions. Patient now, soon you’ll be pleading, insistent. 

I kiss the smile that is curving your lips and, begin my journey below your jawline, down your neck. My hands are around you now, exploring. 

There are no words yet, none needed. We move together, the rustle of the sheets the only sound. Our bodies know one another. We read the signs: breath quickening, pheromones unloosed, flesh growing erect. 

We move. You once taught me to dance, telling me that it was all about reading your partner. This dance, we learned together, whispering under the sheets: Is this all right? Do you want—? Oh, God, yes! More! 

It’s early, and we’re both too impatient to lengthen this intimacy. I take us together in my hand, slick from sweat and semen, and you stretch out, gloriously pressing into the touch. Seeing you like this always burns me to the ground, lays waste my body. You shudder, and I no longer hold back. 

The sun rises, the room is lit gold. 

The sheets are already cooling as we lie heavy in our sweaty embrace. There will be more, when we’re awake, and it will be different, another journey across well-loved terrain. 

And now good-morrow to our waking souls, Which watch not one another out of fear; For love, all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room an everywhere. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown, Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one. — John Donne, The Good Morrow

---

And here we are, the final day of May Prompts 2024! Thank you all for reading and for leaving wonderful comments. It's been so much fun. 💕

My final story was going to be a sequel to His Favourite Jumper but that story outgrew the category of "ficlet" and will be posted separately tomorrow on AO3. There will be socks! And Sherlock returns!

My entire collection of May ficlets can be found here: Trifles 3.

The May Prompts 2024 Collection (all authors who have submitted stories) can be found on AO3 here.

[allywritesforfun]

i’ve watched george’s and punz’s response and seen the comments on youtube, twitter, and tiktok and it’s destroying me. the me too movement was such an important and historic movement that gave power to women and victims of sexual abuse and rape, but i am now wondering if the outcome of this movement is being used to villainize others unfairly and unjustifiably.

as we all know, the me too movement addressed the violence of victim blaming and not believing/validating women’s and other’s abuse and rape. this movement is why we often hear the phrase “always stand with the victim, always believe the victim” and other iterations. this was very powerful and held a lot of influence on all social media, holding celebrities and other socially and economically powerful people (especially men) accountable, and rightfully so.

however, these last few days have shown me a capitalistic narrative of using an actual victims abuse to gain popularity and power through fallacies. when andi and cati shared their story, there was an outrage across multiple media platforms of people pulling their support of punz and george and sometimes even wishing violence upon them. there was an overwhelming support for andi and cati, and rightfully so; support that is encouraged by the me too movement and at first it made sense to me; the bravery and strength of shelby giving confidence and voice to others who have abused and violated by men much bigger and powerful than them. even though my support was not public, those in private knew the feminist rage in me.

but now punz and george have come out with their sides and i have read and watched them both, and i’ve read all the comments and it seems the general consensus is that punz was a horrible person but no means a rapist as well that george is a good person. in the last three days or so, i’ve seen a community destroy a person and then commend them. in other words, i have witnessed people take advantage of the goals of the me too movement and use them for fame and possibly profit. i am in no means invalidating the feelings of andi and cati, but it is clear that for one reason or another, they told a false story that they have gotten benefit out of, even if it was for a day, at the cost of another human.

it leaves me with many distraughtful questions about what it means to be a victim in this moment and how to support actual victims without villainizing others. if there is one lesson everyone can take away from these events, it is that people were too quick to judge and unrightfully made comments and sometimes threats towards people who did not deserve it. i’m careful when i say this because i don’t want to be misunderstood. i am not saying don’t believe and support the victim right away, please do so, but i am also suggesting that with “viral culture” we need to be careful to villainize those accused. i’ve seen the posts of people saying that they were waiting to see georges response and have others accuse and “attack” them for not supporting cati right away. but i feel that they too were misunderstood and treated unfairly. is there a world where cati could be supported but george didn’t have to be an immediate villain? i truly don’t know and it’s not up to me to decide. i will never truly know the intentions of andi and cati, but it’s been dystopian to see how quickly people turned against punz and george and how they just as quickly supported them. it doesn’t feel real.

how many people have taken advantage of the me too movement is such ways? how do these actions address our everyday life? was the man that got fired from my university bakery shop really a sexual assaulter or did those women who accused him just wanted him gone because he was old and Black?

is there a space for victims of abuse and rape can come forward after another victim? can they too be empowered? the answer is seems so simple. of course they can, but now the effects of capitalism have turned the success and strengths of one victim into profit. it’s why booktok is so popular, colleen hoover makes one dark romance that goes viral and then everyone else is making dark romance because it’s what’s selling. have we really turned abuse stories into commodities?

i will end by saying that i am writer. i feel that my task as a writer is to write about what it means to be alive in this moment. i distinguish myself from writers popular by media and write for profit. i have friends who say they are readers but have no clue who zadie smith and george saunders are. our current life is banal and desensitized. we are all marionettes being tugged between mark zuckerberg and elon musk. i thrive to cut the strings and instead retie them to my own fingers. i have put a heavy burden on myself to capture the last four days and show the authenticity of today without catering to a sincere audience. we have clearly lost our god damn minds.

[punkpandapatrixk]

🔻Tier 3 Patron-exclusive PAC at the end🔻

☆°・. A Life that Suits You, Just You .・°☆ | Punk Girl Culture

Unless you’re terribly blessed since birth, I have a suspicion you might have noticed that living on this Planet, most of the time, for a lot of people, living a Life that suits you, just you, does not come automatically naturally. And to endeavour to create a Life that indeed suits you, just you, comes with a terribly high price tag.

Umm no, I’m not talking about collecting expensive shit because you have expensive hobbies. I’m talking about paying the price of your freedom with discreditation, invalidation, isolation, and perhaps to a lot of extent, alienation from those whom you believe should support your being yourself. Get it?

‘Parents will do anything for their children except let them be themselves.’ — something I found on Pinterest

If you haven’t noticed at all, the moment you were born into this Matrix of slavery, your first enslavement is to your parents. And for that, very little of your Life is even yours to actualise in the Style that suits you, just you. And I think… that’s such an unfortunate thing.

‘Man is born free, but one of the first things he learns is to do as he is told and he spends the rest of his life doing that. Thus his first enslavement is to his parents. He follows their instructions forevermore, retaining only in some cases, the right to choose his own methods and consoling himself with an illusion of autonomy.’ — Eric Berne

If you care enough… If you’re gonna commit to anything at all, I’d say commit to your own Style, honey. Life is too short to be unfulfilled on a spiritual level. To think your Soul chose to be born on a planet of free will and here you are living a life dictated by a System that profits from your phoney and misery.

‘We are born princes and the civilizing process makes us frogs.’ — Eric Berne

I’ve noticed that via education, most children grow up to find great strength within themselves to find all kinds of reasons to justify not realising a Life that’s just their own and nobody else’s. Becoming practical adults, they just flow along the river of society and drown in a sea of duty. Mingling and fitting in, though somewhat reluctantly, everybody is quick to forget the vision of an honest Life that’s dripped from the vast microcosm of their daydreams.

As if diving straight into the bottom of the ocean with just a single breath, most people race towards their graveyards without having truly lived. Are you… sure you’re OK with being just like that yourself? Damn, are you already that at this point?

I hope you understand just how important it is that you take action daily to create a Life that is just your Style. Even if just one small tiny puny thing. Any small action you take brings you closer to a realisation of why you chose to be born at all.

Everybody needs strength to take back their divine birth right—your freedom to create a Life that suits you, just you. You’re not anybody’s toy. In a world of your own you are God. I hope that by prioritising your own happiness you grow up to become a really kindhearted God. It all sounds so unnecessarily tragical but only because this world benefits from its inhabitants being miserable and cruel. But I think, I really believe, that if you can live on your own terms and conditions without being too much at odds with the world, that’s good enough of a win.

In a world of my own, I’d rather be a silly barbie doll of my own design than a stupid mechanical robot forced to serve a society that isn’t even kind to me. When people are miserable they become cruel and I simply do not wish to join that shit circus. I don’t wanna cry on my deathbed regretting an entire life I wasn’t ever happy because I wasn’t true enough to my Style⚰️🪦⚱️

If you’re gonna commit your entire Life Force to anything at all, commit to your own Life Style~

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PGC Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings]

🍃🪨🍄🧚🏻‍♂️

🔻Tier 3 Patron-exclusive PAC🔻

— [Your Reservoir of Abundance] —

Spring Equinox is a time of New Beginnings. Its theme revolves around joy and creativity, celebration and abundance. If you start NOW on your visions, it’s only natural you reap the aenergetic rewards by Autumn Equinox~

Celebrate Life but more importantly, celebrate YOUR Life. Every Spring, celebrate the fact that you made it another year. You’ve been growing and expanding. You’ve learnt more about yourself. You’re literally an unstoppable force.

It’s high time you crafted an abundant LYFE that’s totally your STYLE~ So draft it now with whatever you know and have at the moment. Aenergetic preparations to begin your Spring~🌱🍃🌸🌼🌷🌬✨

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[lowkeyorloki]

I legit read your recent post like three times. Absolutely love the way you portray angst man. What do you think would happen if the roles were reversed? What would loki’s reaction be? :00

i cannot tell you how much i LOVE these types of asks. apologies for the late response - classes started back up again. you know how it is.

CW for cheating, blood. Unhealthy relationships. Puritans and minors begone.

~

You don't need to duck to miss the wine glass that's soaring towards your head. It misses you by a fraction - something you're sure Loki does on purpose. When a shard nicks you on the way down, shattering against the wall and cutting you, drawing blood on your cheeks where tears should be... well, that's probably on purpose too.

Your fingers lift, collecting the blood and looking at it. It shines under the kitchen lights. Without a thought, you wipe it on the front of your jeans, then drag your eyes towards Loki.

He's seething. Or he wants you to think he is. Loki's shoulder's are raised, and it's probably supposed to make him look bigger, but it just makes him resemble an animal in its final defense. Snarling, hackles raised. Lashing out as a last resort.

Even if doing so gets itself killed. Doesn't matter. It's going to die anyway.

"Not you," Loki is saying, muttering as his hands shake. "It's not - anyone but you. You're not supposed to do this to me. Not like everyone. You can't hurt me like everyone else. You wouldn't."

"I would." Your words are unsympathetic, your tone dejected. You're crying - the salt burning the slices on your cheek gives it away. You wouldn't say you're crying, though, that's not how you'd phrase it. No sobs rack your body, no weight sits on your chest.

You're tearing up is all. A physical reaction, not an emotional one.

"Yes, but you're not supposed to," Loki snaps, roaring. Magic escapes his every pore, it shatters the windows and the pictures and the doors of the oven and microwave. Destroys the home you've built together, strips it of the mundanity. The very thing Loki craves, the one thing you can give him.

You don't even flinch.

"This is part of it, Loki, I can't," you swallow, your mouth dry. "You need to stop... idolizing me. You've built me up in your mind. I'm not the perfect person you want. It's like... I don't even want to try to be whoever your idea is. I don't care. Just like you don't if you don't take the time to learn about who I am. The person who actually exists, not the version of me you want."

"So that's why you've betrayed me?" Loki spits. Literally. Saliva drips down his chin. "To make a point? To highlight the flaws of our relationship? The ones that I am to blame for?"

"Loki -"

"Just like Thor? Like my father? You speak about expectations, but your tiny Midgardian mind cannot even come close to understanding what it is like to have to live in someone's shadow, to always -"

"Enough!" You shout. "Enough, Loki. Enough with the self pity. No more. I'm tired. I'm tired of your inability to see outside yourself. I'm not diminishing what you've been through. I never have. I'm saying everyone else has problems, too. And you seem to think that statement somehow invalidates your struggles. I don't have the strength to keep hearing that. I just don't."

"You don't love me." Loki whimpers, taken down a peg. You finally feel it, the emotions while you were still in bed with the woman. The shame you felt, and the guilt.

Cheating is a crime, you won't deny Loki of that. But you aren't the only guilty party in the room.

"I love parts of you. You're beautiful, Loki, your mind and your heart. I love you ugly, too." Loki has turned around, leaning over the kitchen sink as he pants. You rub his back, feel his taut muscles shift under his shirt. "I don't like your competition. I don't like looking back over all these years and realizing my pain has to come in second to the person I should trust the most with it."

"You're blaming me."

"No," you say truthfully. "Not at all."

You and Loki are silent. Loki turns back around, and he takes your hand. You let him.

"Hurts," he whispers.

"I'm sorry." Your voice cracks. "I just... I just wanted a distraction. I wanted to stop being myself for a moment. The version that you've made, and the one I like to think I am."

"I'll never forgive you." Loki tells you. "I'll never trust you again."

It stings. It throbs, actually. The knowledge settles over you like a fog, shrouding you.

"You don't have to stay." He deserves to leave. You know he does.

"No, but I want to. How fucked up is that?" Loki's eyes are tired. He slumps forward, his head burrowing in the crook of your neck. You close your eyes, carding your fingers through his hair.

"Terrible," you admit.

You both stand.

For better or worse (for worse, for worse, for worse) you both stay.

[kojinnie]

Why you should NOT date AOT boys...

Headcanon on what kind of headache you're bound for when dating the AOT boys, and why I advise you NOT to date them! Enjoy, loves!

levi - eren - armin - reiner

part two here | erwin - zeke - jean - connie

— LEVI

He's an incredible man with a lot of talents and he'd be doing real good at his job, that dating him would give you a huge sense of pride. However, this man suffers from being emotionally constipated. He'd always keep you in the fine line of "are we or are we not?", even though you’ve been seeing each other for a long time. He’d never say “I love you” or any type of flashy display of affection. His love language is acts of service and quality time, so if you’re the type to wanting outward reassurance of how someone feels about you, Levi’s not gonna be the person to give you that. 

This problem stems from his deep, unresolved insecurity about the nature of relationship. It’s not just the “Am I good enough?”, he genuinely thinks that he is not a good person, and thus the inherent belief that everybody will abandon him in the end  — something he picks up from his traumatic childhood. He’s wary about establishing relationship because he’s afraid to succumb into his own feelings and vulnerability. He fears at certain point he has to feel and suffer the emotional consequence of being left by someone he cares for. He dreads the idea of getting caught off-guard with being fragile.

You gotta be extremely patient and understanding when it comes to Levi, the reassurance needs to come from you, and frequently too. Bluntly saying, “I’ll stick around” or “I’ll accept your shortcoming” is really soothing for Levi, because although he never shows it, he really thinks he does not deserve you.

— EREN

If you wanna be frustrated in a relationship where you constantly feel like you’re in an endless coaster, then dating Eren gotta be your poison. Sure the honeymoon phase was intoxicating, sure he makes you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. The morning text, the playful neck peck out in the public, the butterflies you feel in your tummy when you catch him staring at you even from afar with those oh so enthralling green eyes. But once the honeymoon phase over, Eren is quick to get bored. Especially if you’re an unproblematic, matter-of-fact type of person. Eren likes to fight, he gets thrilled by it, and he’s high with the rush of adrenaline. He likes it if you’re jealous, if you sulk, if you argue. He likes you to be ‘childish’ because then he gets to be the adult, the savior, the knight in shining armor. It grinds his gears. If you’re unfazed by his antics, if you’re easy to forgive, if you’re chill, Eren will think that you’re not really into him, and will exit the closest door out before his ego gets bruised even further.

Eren is sort of babied by people around him – his parents, his friends, and constantly being compared to his older brother doesn’t help either. He realizes that he got saved a lot of times by a lot of people. And this creates a deeply rooted insecurity with him that turns into an incessant impostor syndrome. The constant thought of not being good enough and the idea that all the achievement he’s ever got was the result of someone else’s help really crush him. You can shower him with praises and reassurance, but he would completely dismiss it, because he thinks your compliments are not based on objective views and that he does not deserve it. He painfully seeks for approval from any authority figure that (he thinks) does not have any emotional connection with him. And it can be really hurtful when he constantly dismisses your sincere compliments while desperately chasing from others who don’t care about him.

— ARMIN

It’s really hard to hate Armin. He’s a really nice man through and through, but what is his strength can also be his deepest weakness. He’s too nice and unsure about a lot of things. He knows he is knowledgeable, but he often doubts himself for being too ‘text-book smart’. Which is a valid cause, because at times he would get very oblivious to how relationship works, and treat feelings like it’s a quantifiable system. It will literally take years for him to finally get down and say how he feels about you, because all these times he was so busy filling the check-list in his mind to convince himself whether you truly like him or not, even though you couldn’t be any clearer with your intention towards him.

He is perceptive with what you think and how you feel, unfortunately this does not materialize into any action as he doubts his own intuition when it comes to his significant other. He fears that his own sentimentality has affected his intuitive judgment and thus deems it invalid, which is completely untrue because every hunch he has about you has always been accurate! That’s just how much he understands and knows you from years of quietly observing and taking each of your word into account.

He really relies on you sitting him down and telling him in details how you feel and the things you expect from him. He will do it, in a flash with no hesitation, but really, he just needs that verbal affirmation that he is doing the things that you want, and it’s not just based on his assumption. So, if you like sweet surprises, impulsive dates and expect your significant other to read your mind, Armin might not be the person.

— REINER

Oh my, truthfully, he is such a sweetheart, and can be completely smitten for the entirety of his life if he has found that one person. However, it’s a treacherous road for both Reiner and you to get to that stage. Initially, when you start to get closer to him, he may seem rigid and uninterested. The first date you had with him probably went awkward and although you really liked him, you were pretty sure he didn’t like you back, until he texted you the morning after, asking for a second date. That’s basically how being with Reiner is, a series of you being sure that he feels nothing towards you, only for his following action to prove the otherwise. He is really awful in displaying his emotion, he tries to be stoic all the time, and it often frustrates you because you cannot really tell how he feels, and you fear that you might have hurt him without realizing.

He may start to open up, only when you open up first about yourself. He thrives in romance with someone who he thinks shares his inner pain, and that’s very important for him, because he is always in a position where everyone expects him to be strong, and to have a significant other that understands his struggle is all he wants. But this gets hard for you, because sometimes Reiner’s sadness can be quite extreme and you cannot match that. Once Reiner realizes that you’re not on the same boat, he may become withdrawn, as he thinks he’s a burden and inadequate for you, and may end up self-sabotaging the whole relationship he has with you.

Although he does not like to admit it, but Reiner often slips into his sadness too deep, that it almost seems like he victimizes himself with his self-hatred. He will be the one to say stupid shit like, “You deserve someone better.” Or “I cannot make you happy.” When in fact you are perfectly willing to be with him all the way through.

With Reiner, you gotta be the bigger person, with bigger gestures and bigger patience. It’s because Reiner needs an anchor and a figure to lean on. In returns he would be the best lover that you will ever have for he is selfless and will be helplessly devoted to you.

Racking my brain writing for the rest of the boys (Erwin, Jean, Connie, Pocko) because they're the ones we SHOULD date.

Update: Thanks thanks thanks for everyone who read this! I received a lot of love and you dunno how much this encourages me to keep going. Anyway, 2 things:

- My Masterlist

- Talk to meeee ♡

[ON-GOING REQUEST EVENT]: Kojinnie's 200 Followers Celebration - 24/7 Writing Event

[psychshalala]

Hold on what is this whole Stockholm syndrome thing?

My mind truly cant comprehend how people think sometimes. No wonder my arguments always filled with questions. I just simply dont get it.

“A hostage and abuse victim stuck with their abuser” and u define that hak and yonas relationship?

Let me tell u little about how hak loves yona.

He gave his heart to her. Has unshakable trust in her. Respects her. Her number one supporter. Finds the joy in seeing her grow. Yona is his strength, his inspiration and his love.

“Princess, if you can be happy then to me thats my greatest happiness” - hak.

Did ur bae ever say that to u?... yeah i thought so.

He loved her in times he believed she would never return his feelings back yet he was happy as long as she was happy with whom ever she chooses. (Talk about respect)

He thought about her and her loneliness choosing to stay despite his own longing for his family after missing them for so long. (Talk about care and selflessness)

He is playful and goofy around her and yes he teases her from time to time to get her energy up. Fighting? More like goofing around.  (Talk about cuteness)

His trust in her is unbreakable. When she says she can, he might not always agree (with good reason) but he always has her back. Always lets her know he will be by her side no matter what.

He respects her, has faith in her whether in training, in the battle field or everyday. and he never fails to show her that and let her know. knows her strengths and weaknesses yet never stands in her way when she takes a leap and instead he gives her a hand. 

He is always the most proud of her accomplishments and Finds the strength and joy in seeing her grow and become stronger. Loves seeing her struggle because from struggle comes growth.

Forceful? Abuser?

Yall forgot so fast how this man literally had to feed her with his own hands to keep her alive after the betrayal toke place. That man carried her pain with his own. Not to mention having to leave his family, name and home cause the guy he trusted with his life, loved as a brother and called his best friend forced him to. Yet he still prioritized yona and his tribe before himself, was even willing to leave on his own taking full responsibility of something he never did. 

That man cried for the first time in this whole anime so far when he first confronted soo wan. the moment u realize holy shit, that guy is in fucking pain. U realize that that man had held his feelings and pain inside this whole time to help yona recover. The selflessness this man shows sets fucking standard to its highest level. AND HE STILL CARES ABOUT SOO WAN!

What u talking about Stockholm syndrome? Where u getting that from? From him licking her hand filled with honey? U guys Acting like he raped her.

Talking about forcing himself on yona. From the beginning he was always playful with his flirting. 1st time he tried kissing her he told her she could easily refused. And threw most them yona was completely oblivious 🤦🏻‍♀️ telling me he convinced her.

The guy apologized after kissing her in the cheek cause he thought he wouldn’t see her again. He was always gentle with her while being his playful self. And u always find yonas Guard down around him cause she is so comfortable being herself with him, to the point she only shows hak her weakness.

So easy to talk about a characters flaws when ur only looking for flaws. U even start creating invalid shit like that as an excuse.

What u call Yona kissing hak without his permission? Where are the complaints please? Where are the human rights activists? Where the lawyers at? Thats sexual harassment. This bish stole what might be his first kiss and in what right and thats before his confession so bo excuse. Yona told him she wanted to touch him and he gave her a hug. The lord said ask and u shall receive, where is the force here? She ran away cause of her smell yet that man embraced her and told her she smells so good and ur boy friend be here screaming at u to put some deodorant. know u damn self worth!!! And dont get me started on yu-hon and yong hi if u wanna talk being forceful but NOOoo thats so romantic! Fucking kill me please!

Soo wan killed her father, tried to kill her and since he couldn’t he forcefully toke over the throne and chased her out of her home. Never trusts her until she begs all the damn time while treating her like a child And now just cause he spared her life 2 times which he didnt really have any other choice cause then hell would let loose or maybe just maybe cause of little fucking guilt for what he did to her and she hugs him one time to Comfort a guy in pain and suddenly they are a match made in heaven? 🤡🤡

Basically when u look at the general picture soo wan broke yona and hak helped put her back together with stronger material. And yall want him to get out the way of true romance? Cause he is rebuilding a country on the blood and wounds of the people he so call loves? The born Genius soo wan couldnt find another way. U guys break my fucking heart. To see such injustice.

What a sad world we live in.

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwyn one shot

Idk I just write shit I think is chaotic

TW(possible): SA

Devlon was, once again, trying to invalidate the females who had won the blood rite. Gwyn didn't see why it was necessary for the three sisters to help train the other female Illyrians in their own camps. It would be much more beneficial for them to train at the house of wind training ring, away from all the male scrutiny. Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta knew how much it bothered Devlon that they had done so well in the rite. He had made comments here and there invalidating them and went as far as embarrassing them in front of other war camp leaders, suggesting that they only won because the Illyrian males went easy on them. Cassian and Azriel could only do so much. It was really starting to piss Gwyn off. She knew Devlon was provoking them, but Gwyn no longer seemed to care. He would continue to do this until one of the girls proved him wrong.

"I mean if we are speaking honestly, you females only did so well because you had each other. Individual hand-to-hand combat is a completely different playing field." Some of the higher rank males laughed along with Devlon. Nesta rolled her eyes while Emerie could not have looked less interested if she tried.

"Fine. Who do you want me to fight?" Gwyn snapped at the pigheaded male. It caught everyone by surprise. While Devlon was trying to goad them, he didn't think they would call him out by proving him wrong. Cassian and Azriel sent Gwyn a wary look. They knew her and Emerie won the blood rite, but they haven't seen any of the females actually fight. They would continue to underestimate her too.

"I don't expect you to actually fight any of my males, darling." He sent her a toothy grin as if they were in on the same joke. "It wouldn't be fair."

"Pick your guy and I'll fight him." She insisted. She would shut him up once and for all. Devlon had never seen her fight either. She would show him exactly where he could shove his "darling."

"Gwyn." Emerie muttered. Clearly hoping for Gwyn to shut up. If anyone knew of the Illyrians ruthlessness, it was her. Devlon smirked before scanning the area. There were several men training on the opposite side of the ring. Gwyn, her two sisters, Cassian, and Azriel (for some reason) were currently standing on the females side along side Devlon. They were supposed to be giving helpful tips, but the arrogant male had been too busy undermining them to allow any teaching to occur. Devlon stopped his scanning and turned to Gwyn.

"Trev. Come here." Devlon called to the other side. Almost predictably, the largest man over there came strutting over to them. When Gwyn made eye contact, she immediately froze. He was in the same group as her in the blood rite. He also woke up early. He seemed more fascinated by the weapons on the playing field than her, so she took his distraction as her time to escape. Trev stopped a few feet away from them and looked towards Devlon.

"You're going to do hand-to-hand combat with the half-breed." He sneered out the last word as though it might hurt Gwyn. She rolled her eyes. He was going to have to do a lot better than that if he wanted to hurt her. To his credit, Trev looked apprehensive.

"No weapons?"

"No." Devlon almost looked gleeful as he said this, but it caused Trev's eyes to nervously glance over to Nesta's.

"Seems unfair. Does the witch promise to leave me alone if I hurt her friend?" All eyes seemed to turn to Nesta who was glaring as per usual.

"I don't make promises I can't keep." Her response was curt, but it had Gwyn elbowing her in the ribs. If this was how she had to prove herself, then so be it. It appeared she would need her sisters on board for it though. "Fine. No witchy shit." Nesta conceded after an intense stare down with Gwyn. Cassian spoke up next.

"This seems like a bad idea." Gwyn shot him a glare. She knows he doesn't mean to do it, but comments like that undermine her ability as much as Devlon's. She could handle herself against anyone. She would never allow a man to have the upper hand again.

"She can do it." Azriel's quiet confidence had her sliding her eyes to meet him. She could find only support behind them which strengthened her resolve. She stepped inside the ring and quickly ran through her stretches. Just as Trev stepped in, she began her mind-stilling.

"Go." It was a singular, quiet word spoken by Devlon, but Gwyn was off. She knew that Trev wouldn't make the first move with his apprehension. Gwyn shot her fist into Trev's neck which had him bending over in a coughing fit. Gwyn grabbed the back of his head and shoved it into her knee. He was sprawled on the floor for less than a second before he hopped back up.

"Bitch." He muttered as he spit blood from his mouth. Gwyn could now see the anger simmering in his eyes. This is where the real fight began. They traded a series of blows, and punches, and kicks. Gwyn got hit so hard in the temple she started seeing stars, but she refused to give up. Her stubbornness wouldn't allow her to lose this fight. Gwyn once again got the upper hand by kicking the back of his knee which had him falling once more. She jabbed her fingers into his eyes which had him screaming. He managed to shove her back while yelling profanities at her. She wasn't playing fair and she knew that. She was taking as many low blows as she could. Trev wouldn't be used to this kind of combat considering other males liked to play by certain rules. Gwyn didn't have that sort of luxury being at such a physical disadvantage.

"Fuck you." He shouted then a small smirk quirked his lips up. "You should hear what the other males have to say about you." They were both circling each other at this point. The exhaustion was setting in for both of them and they needed a second to breathe. Gwyn didn't think the other males would gossip like teenage busybodies, but apparently she would be proven wrong. He threw out a fist that she barely blocked. It still clipped her jaw though.

"Didn't realize the great Illyrian warriors were such gossips." She huffed out. Stupid males.

"Those Illyrian warriors talk about how much they wanted your friends that day. How they would have been willing to lose the whole thing for one night with either of them. Didn't hear quite the same thing about you." Gwyn suddenly knew where this was going and blood roared in her ears. She impulsively threw a punch into his ribs that he easily blocked and responded with a punch of his own to her ribs. She realized then that that was his plan. Piss her off enough that she becomes sloppy. She started her mind-still again, but he wouldn't stop talking.

"I'm curious what's under those leathers. I didn't get a good look that day." He paused for only a second to drag his eyes up and down her body. It was enough to make her skin crawl. "I hear it is quite the canvas of scars. One of my brothers said one look at you in that nightgown had him gagging." Gwyn's breathing became much more labored.

"Shut up." She spit at him. She sent a kick to his thigh, but he stepped away too quickly.

"Another one of my brothers said your skin was so mutilated, he'd rather fuck a suriel." Trev laughed at that. Gwyn didn't peg him for a vindictive male, but she supposed he didn't like being made a fool of so quickly within their fight. "It's hard to know for sure without seeing with my own eyes though. Why don't you show a little skin?"

"You know what I have noticed about men?" Gwyn started. Her rage had peaked and she was about to let it out. "They don't play by the rules. So why should I?" Gwyn dropped down to her knees and swung her legs out. Trev fell hard, too slow to notice what Gwyn was doing. She was sitting on his chest. His arms stuck under her legs. She had pulled a hidden dagger out and shoved it through his lips. She held his tongue between two fingers and pressed the dagger heavily to it. Trev's eyes widen and Gwyn could hear shouts from outside the ring.

"What was that, Trev? I couldn't quite hear you. What were you saying about my body?" Trev was squirming with all his might but he had exhausted most of his energy by now, and Gwyn's anger was insatiable. She felt as though she had increased strength even for a fae. He was muttering and mumbling, but none of it made since with his tongue in her tight grasp.

"Don't get shy now. Speak up." Gwyn felt as though her anger could shoot out of her like a ray of light. It was uncontrollable. The shouting outside of the ring continued but Gwyn was only focused on the male in front of her. It wasn't until she registered the fear in his eyes that her anger started to dim. She finally could hear what they were saying.

"Gwyn, stop." That was Nesta.

"Gwyn, he didn't mean it." Emerie.

"Let him go." Cassian.

"Are you fucking crazy, you dumb bitch?" And that one was definitely Devlon.

It was as if she was burned by fire. One second she was about to cut his tongue out of his mouth and the next she was throwing herself off him and scrambling away. It appeared Trev was on the same mind set because he also was scrambling away from her.

"Sorry." Gwyn could barely choke it out. She didn't know what overcame her. She just hoped it never happened again. Her breathing was heavy as she searched her family's faces for the judgement that should be there. Nesta and Emerie looked concerned, Cassian looked wary, and Azriel looked...supportive? He had that same look on his face as before. As though he understood the rage that was boiling over inside before she shoved it back down.

"Sorry." Gwyn tried again. Devlon was looking over Trev at this point who still looked spooked. Both of the females jumped out of whatever daze they were in and grabbed Gwyn.

"We need to go." Nesta whispered. "Before Devlon can dish out any punishments." The beautiful high fae female was hurrying them over to Azriel to winnow them away. Cassian was staying behind. Probably to do damage control if Gwyn had to guess.

It wasn't until the were back in the personal library of the house of wind did Gwyn break down. She was so startled by her own wrath that she didn't know how to cope. Gwyn had never been cruel before, but in that moment, she felt cruel. Azriel left the females to comfort their sister, but not before whispering so only Gwyn could hear.

"Good job."

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

PROMPT

Happy Lowman x Tig Trager daughter!Reader

@forest-rav3n​ asked: 32 and 40 smut with Happy pretty please

Prompts:

32. Bring that pretty ass over here.

40. What if I put chocolate on you?

Word count: 3.2k

WARNINGS: NSFW and smut and Happy being the daddiest

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @CHIBSYTELFORD 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. The gif isn’t mine.

Tag list: @starrynite7114​ @chibsytelford​ @dazzledamazon​ @mara-mpou​ @sammskellington​ @gemini0410​ @1-800-imagines​ @briana-mishell24​ @trulysuccubus​💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

“HAPPEEEEEEEEW”

“Shit...”

It's too cold outside of the bar that your skin bristles, but you actually can't feel it because of the alcohol running through your blood. It's another friday night in which you end up so drunk you can't even talk properly. Having a puff of your cigar, you let the smoke go out by your nose. You're tired and all you want is a warm bed to die. But you also know that your father would kick your pretty ass, if he find you in that mood. So, Happy is the one who always takes care of you. And, by the way you have to call him, he knows how much you drunk.

You know that he is sitting right now on his sofa, waiting for your call and praying like never before, till de phone rings. And you know he's rubbing his face with a hand, splitting a snort and shaking his head. You know him well. He's not a man who is always talking, nor commenting. He speaks through his gestures, you've been studying him over the years.

“I'm co—cold. Can you come?”. You say after some seconds in silence.

“I hate Fridays”.

“But I kno—know you love Satu—Saturdays”. You say chattering teeth, trying not to laugh before he hangs up the call.

You text your friends, inside the bar yet, to tell them that you're leaving. Probably they'll continue the party till dawn, but you have had a long week. Some beer and some shots have been enough for you. When you feel how everything starts to turn around your position, you decide to rest your back against the facade. You can see some men whispering about you, believing that they have found an easy prey. Bikers, no MC. Maybe nomads that they're passing, so they probably don't know who you are.

Happy's bike roars enraged, just in time,  stopping next to you. The man gets up without looking at you, but the other bikers, offering you your own SAMCRO jacket. Warm and comfy. Throwing the cigar away, you turn to them. Now they know you're part of the club, but not in a ‘bitch’ way, but in a ‘family’ one. Charmin running through your veins. You show them your middle finger and also your tongue in a clear derision, before sitting up behind Happy. Helmet on, he starts the engine.

You don't need to do it, but your arms are surrounding his abdomen, with your left cheek resting on his back. Fresh air feels good now that you find yourself better with your hoodie, on your way back home. Happy drives without hurry, taking his time 'cause he truly loves having you by his back, riddin' by night as if the world were his, and yours too. You could call whoever you want. Even Chibs would leave anything he could be doing, to take you home. Or Juice, who is your best friend and partner in crime since ever. But you feel secure with Happy, and he's the only one that doesn't reproach you if you drunk too much, or if you should stop doing it.

You could swear that you fall asleep, at least, some minutes on the road till you two arrive to his house. Parking the bike in the yard next to the garage, Happy helps you to get off of the bike. You feel somewhat better, but still feel the dizziness stir your stomach. The man places an arm in your waist, holding one of your hands with his free over his shoulders, walking inside the small house to take you to the bed. The next mission it's find a shirt and change your clothes. 

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he bends down in front of you leaving a shirt by your side. First, he takes off your sneakers, getting you up with your hands on his shoulders to lift up the tight black dress keeping your gaze a little upset.

“Happew”.

“What?”

“I wanna lose my virginity with you”. Whispering as if it was a secret, he rolls his eyes.

“Don' start with your foolishness”.

“I'm serious... I trust you to do i...”

Before you can say anything, he holds you between his arms, forcing you to walk towards the bathroom turning on the lights. You don't know what the hell is going on, till he opens the shower faucet, pushing you into it without prior notice. Your yells and curses flood the house, while you fight to get out of the cold water falling all over your body. You want to kill him, 'cause you know he's enjoying it.

Closing the faucet, he offers you a towel, holding it shivering with cold, he gives you a petty smile before turning to bring you the shirt.

“I'll be at the sofa, sleep in my bed, love. I'm gonna text Tig to tell him you're here”.

A heavy sigh escapes from your lips, closing your eyes for a second. You're drunk, but you were also talking serious. Your father is so different, he doesn't care about sex as something special. He could fuck whoever he has in front of him. He doesn't care about the age, about the nationality, about the body... Sometimes you think he needs help. But you're on your twenties and, even if you don't feel ashamed, you wanted to find someone appropriate to have your first time. And you know that Happy is the best option. So, you're gonna try the next morning.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

The smell of hot coffee and french toasts wakes you up. But the hangover keeps you in bed for some seconds. You roll under the sheets, sinking your nose on the pillow. Yes, you love that smell too. Barefoot and with your hair made a mess, you walk slowly dragging the feet on the floor. You cough for a moment, knowing that maybe you smoke too much last night, and feeling dry your throat. Water. You could kill wildly for a bottle of water. Opie jumps off of the couch when he sees you, moving his tail, to leave some dearly licks on your legs till you pat his head softly.

“Mornin'”. Happy says, serving the last dish on the table.

You can't say nothing. Absolutely nothing. Now you're ashamed. So you sit on a chair in front of him, having a sip of your mug with a gasp. It feels like you're recovering life with that drink. Stretching your right hand, you take a toast with some chocolate on it, giving it a big bite. You're hungry and you can't help but eat it faster than you should.

Happy is judging you, in silence, as he always does. With his elbows nailed on the table and his coffee between his hands, he's staring at you over the edge of his mug. You're not looking at him, but you know he's trying to figure out if you remember something about last night.

“I was talking serious”. At the exact moment your words go out, he spits the coffee he was drinking to some point above the floor.

“You have the same mental illness as your father. Is it hereditary, some Trager family shit?”

Rolling your eyes, you lie your back on the chair.

“I wanna do it with someone I trust in”.

“Ask Juice”.

“I don' wan' someone who's gonna cry while he's fucking me, 'cause I chose him to lose my virginity”. You're indignant, pissed off and talking so fast, that those facts provokes Happy's laugh. 

“I'm not going to do it, (Y/N)”. He sentences, even if you know he's not sure about what he's doing. You can see it in the way he stretches his ring finger for a second.

“C'mon, Happy! Why not?”

“'Cause you're a kid, and your father's gonna kill me”.

“He fucks chicks younger than me”.

Good point. He nods with pursed lips, because you're right and any other arguments will be invalidated. But he also shakes his head again.

“Your father is sick and needs help, I'm not and I don't. You can't even get me hard”.

Has it sounded like a challenge? You raise an eyebrow. Happy is remembering that he should watch his words, before saying any other stupidity. You drag your chair back, with your hands supported against the table. He knows he's fucked. With narrowed eyes, you walk towards him, so slow like a lion studying his prey. Your left hand touring the board wood. He swallows, putting his gaze away from you, fighting against his desires. 

“Don't”. He says, stopping you by his hand on your abdomen.

But it's not enough, so you ignore him sitting on his lap, facing each other. Happy snorts rubbing his face with both hands, looking for the strength he's losing by big steps. You get comfy above his legs, letting your hands travel from his chest up to his neck.

“Please, don't”. He asks you again, almost supplicating.

“Just one time”. Your lips are so close to his, that you can touch them in a soft caress.

Without him expecting it, you grab one of his hands, guiding it behind your shirt feeling the heat that emanates from your tights. Spreading your legs a little more, his fingers meet your wetness. A slight gasp escapes from his parted lips, with his eyes on yours. You're playing with fire, but never a burn felt so good.

Placing your lips on his in a slow kiss, tasting his mouth, Happy slices his middle finger in your tightness making you moan almost in a whisper.

“Shit, love...” He mutters moving it with soft moves. 

With your hands on his chest, starting a new kiss more needy, you dance your hips against his finger, fucking it to show him that you really want to do it with him.

“You want me to stop?” You ask then between gasps. He can't even talk and you like to play with Happy's mind.

So, you do. Behind his confused gaze, you get up from him with the clear intention of walk back to your chair.

“Bring that pretty ass over here”. He growls grabbing your left wrist pushing you into his lap again, you can't help but laughing at the man. “I can't promise I'll careful”.

“I know”.

“Sit on the table, I wanna taste you”. He demands, and you takes it as a command putting away the dishes and the coffees.

He places your legs on his shoulders, licking his lips while you take of your shirt to throw it and getting naked to his own pleasure. He doesn't need words, seeing how his eyes get darker because of the lust running over your bodies. His tongue toures your entrance, catching between his lips your clit to suck it softly. One of your hands, now on his head presses him to it, growling a moan when you feel how Happy slices two fingers inside you without expecting. This whole thing feels better than you could have imagined.

With his free hand, he pushes you to lie over the table, pinching one of your nipples when he gets you at his mercy. The name of the Son' is stuck in your throat, because of the moves his tongue does sucking and licking your clit and his fingers throwing you faster than it. Arching your back, you fit your legs somewhat better, feeling his saliva filling you.

“Shit, Happy... Fuck me...” You beg squirming on the table.

You know that you said the corrects words, when he gets up of the chair and you're allow to see the huge lump in his pants. You also know that it's gonna hurt, but it's gonna worth it. With a hand on your nape, pulling down your legs till his body is between them, he kisses you filthy. Happy is pretty hard. Happy is hating you so much, 'cause he respect you, but you taste so good. 

Your tongues finally meet inside your mouth and it's the best thing you ever savor. You're desperate for feeling him, putting a hand on his lump, caressing it tightly and provoking some moans on the man. He doesn't want to wait. He wanna makes you enjoy, and this morning it's all about you. But you know that, later, he's gonna lose his mind at all when your lips would being fucked by his cock.

“You want my dick, uh?”

“Yes”. You answer not being capable of break the needy kiss between both.

“Say it”. He demands surrounding your throat with a hand, and using that scratchy voice that makes you shake in a good way.

“I want your dick, Happy... please”. You repeat touching his lips with yours, almost begging him again.

“Good girl”. He smiles softly, before holding you in his arms, to walk towards the bed. If he'll not be careful, at least you're gonna have some comfort.

He lays you there, getting undressed hurriedly, to spread your legs with both hands. At this point, you can't think clearly. You thought that could be more difficult ask him, or that you're insecurities would float in your head. But you want to do it, you're sure, you're convinced, and Happy looks delighted with the idea that you chose him over the rest of the friends you could trust in. Maybe you two will die when your father knows, but again: it's gonna worth it.

The Son' lays on top of you, placing your legs tangled on his, grabbing his cock to  your entrance, rubbing your clit tightly with his reddened glans. He's not going to ask you if you wanna continue, feeling the heat of your wetness calling him. Catching out your breath with the first pound, Happy presses your lips with his, pushing you into the limit. The way his cock has to break through your tightness makes you feel burning and stinging. But he doesn't make a move. He's not the kind of lovely man in sex, at least that's what you heard about him, but you know he's gonna have some patience at first.

So, when you feel that he can continue, you bite his lower lip to give him green light. Pulling back his waist, he pounds you deeper making you moan. You start to feel the pleasure running all over your body with every thrust, faster and harder than the last. Forehead against forehead, your nails scratch his back provoking him more than one growl fill of enjoyment. 

“Shit, love... How can you be like this wet?” He mutters with shaky breath, licking your lips. 

“Fuck me harder, daddy”. You joke on him, surrounding his waist with a leg, to pushing him deeper.

Happy chuckles when he's sure that you feel comfortable, turning your wishes into commands for him. The headboard hits the wall with every blow of his hard dick against you, and his name echoing throughout the room between your gasps and moans. And you can see how proud and triumphant he feels.

With a hand wrapping your throat, forcing you to leave him some space on your neck, the man bites your skin making you arch your back with a heavy sigh in your lips. You know that it's gonna cost you a lot of make up to cover the bruise he's doing, so as not to piss off your father and prevent him from finding out.

“Happy, I wan—wanna cum... don't stop, please... fuck, Happy”. You says as you can with trembling voice, closing your eyes tight.

“Do it, love... Cum for daddy, c'mon...”

His arms wrap your body, pounding you faster with your gasps getting loud, supplicants for more. The Son' keeps your gaze, wanting to see your face when the orgasm runs your back bristling your skin, shaking your legs placed around his hips. Your body hitting the mattress harder.

“Holy fuck, Happy!” 

Sinking your face on his neck, when it takes your breath away, even if he doesn't stop, nor does it slow down each thrust. You're not using a condom, but you don't want him to pull it out and you let him know by turning on the bed, putting yourself on top of him. 

“Good girl... ride me, love... ride me”. Happy squeezes your ass, while your hips dance over him.

With your weight resting on your palms, above his chest, his fingers are nailed on your tights pushing you somewhat deeper till his breathing becomes more constant and restless. You look for his lips, bowing down to him. Happy's hands runs over your back, kissing you desperately, drowning a pleasant growl against your tongue. You feel how he fills you warmly, with your shaky legs nailed on the bed and your moans meeting each other, somewhat lower and exhausted.

“'Am gonna... tell you something”. He whispers caressing the mess your hair is with both hands, pulling it to your back, trying to recover the air that is lacking in the lungs. “If you think that 'am gonna let someone else fuck you, or touch you, or kiss you... You're fucking wrong, love. Because if someone else tries it, I'm gonna bury him alive”.

You know well he's talking serious. Happy doesn't do those kind of ‘warnings’, nor does it say the things you would like to hear. You nod in silence, 'cause you don't have any choice, and you also don't want any other. Wheezing, you fall by his side feeling a little empty, to get comfy lying in the bed. 

“And my father?”

“Tig fucks chicks younger than you”. He repeats your own words, making you laugh before hold you into his arms. “We should take a shower and make an appearance at the club”.

Snorting, you're not even sure if you're allowed to walk.

“What if next time I put some chocolate on you...?” You ask joking, placing a hand behind the pillow, closer to him.

“Tonigh', you mean...?

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Before you can find some words to defend yourselves, your father's right fist goes straight Happy's nose making him wobble. Chibs and Bobby grabbing Tig, while Juice and you tries to help the other.

“Did he force you?! Did he hurt you?!”

“Dad, stop! I asked him!”

The silence floods the Sons' clubhouse, seeing how a strange grin is drawn on your father's face. Juice goes for some ice to bring the ex-nomad, while the older is waiting for an explanation.

“I just... felt that I need to lose it. And I asked Happy, 'cause I trust him. That's all! How the fuck you can think that he... raped me or something like that?”

“Why didn't you ask...? I don' know! The fucking Juice!”

“'Am bloody sure he would cry fuckin' your daughter, fo' choosin' him”. Chibs, the voice of wisdom has talked, helping Happy to get up and grab the ice against his bleeding nose.

“Man!” The aforementioned replies.

“And now what? Do you intend to make it a habit?” Tig can't believe that his best friend fucked his daughter.

“Who cares, Alexander? He takes care of the kid!” The Sons' president palm his shoulders to play down, pushing him to the bar to serve him a drink.

[soc-characters-as-songs]

The OCs as Jane Austen characters?

everyone is lizzie bennet, remember? lmao

quoted descriptions sourced from the atlantic, barnes and noble, the guardian, and stylist.

and yes, I realize some of these could definitely qualify as hot takes lmao

ivy: fitzwilliam darcy ("I always saw myself as more of a mr. darcy than an elizabeth bennet. we’re both more reserved, and people can mistake our standoffishness for arrogance. but mr. darcy gets the chance to prove what he is really like, and now people often think of him as the ideal romantic hero.")

meredith: marianne dashwood ("marianne is a hopeless, self-indulgent romantic who veers from ecstatic, all-consuming happiness to miserable self-neglect over the unsuitable man she has pinned her hopes on. she is, however, capable of self-improvement and learns invaluable life lessons from her practical and generous older sister, elinor.")

diana: susan vernon ("not all austen’s protagonists are morally sound, well behaved romantics. in her only epistolary novel she presents us with a vicious anti-heroine in the shape of lady susan vernon. a beautiful 30-something widow, she is charming and manipulative towards anyone she can make use of.")

dahlia: isabella thorpe ("in northanger abbey, isabella is one of austen’s funniest characters. she’s a very realistically drawn teenage girl who makes and breaks friends on a whim, is a shallow flirt and loves dancing, shopping and giggling.")

alassie: mary crawford ("in mansfield park, mary crawford is the character all men fall in love with. vivacious, worldly, musical, funny and kind, she is the ultimate femme fatale. even the dull parson edmund bertram falls for her charms, simultaneously attracted and repelled by her particular brand of sexy charisma. she’s a wonderful actress and plays the harp like an angel. she makes the filthiest joke in austen when she makes a pun about sodomy in the navy, concerning rear and vice admirals: “of rears and vices I saw enough. now do not be suspecting me of a pun, I entreat.”")

ramona: anne elliot ("she may be austen’s most hopeful character. without the native strength of emma or lizzy, her quiet character withstands her own youthful mistake to triumph in the end. since most of us blow it to one degree or another in our twenties, anne represents that painful journey to self-knowledge and courage that most of us experience.")

rhea: elinor dashwood ("on the surface, she has it together, she’s in control, she keeps her family together, and she acts like she has no need for romance. but underneath, she is a deeply emotional person. to me, she is jane austen’s most complex and human character. we all exist in layers and are neither sense nor sensibility, but a mixture of both.")

cornelia: elizabeth bennet ("she is smart, witty, charming, and loyal. I have always admired her self-respect: a self-respect that wasn't entirely vain or selfish. the self-respect that would not allow her to marry her intellectually inferior cousin, just to have a home, or save her family. her self-respect that gave her the fortitude to reject darcy's marriage proposal, though, again, it would have secured her future. Her self-respect that gave her the courage to speak her mind among men and women who outranked her socially and economically.")

kaden: emma woodhouse ("emma is rich, pretty, and thinks more of her matchmaking abilities than she should, but she is also a devoted daughter, a loving friend, and above all is someone who is willing to own up to her mistakes and attempt to right them. emma is a heroine you root for as she not only finds love (as any great austen heroine must), but also as she matures from an often inconsiderate girl to a sincere and kind young woman.")

andreia: diana parker ("diana is a homeopathic health fanatic in austen’s final, incomplete novel sanditon, written when she was dying. diana sips herbal and green tea, has anorexic tendencies and distrusts conventional medicine and doctors. she self-medicates with her numerous homemade remedies and is drawn to the other invalids who are staying at the seaside resort. she plans to take a sea bath in a bathing hut on wheels with a mixed-race girl. what a pity that we’re deprived of the chance to see how that would have turned out")

arely: fanny price ("fanny price is also an odd heroine, meek and quiet without any of the strength of her other heroines. she’s also very difficult to read, with a moralistic streak that comes across as quite judgemental. however, like anne elliot, she is very much the outcast of the family and has to endure a fair amount of humiliation from childhood. to see her finally defy her uncle in the gentlest way possible and end up with her childhood love edmund bertram is satisfying."

suzy: catherine morland ("catherine is a dramatic, gothic-novel-loving teen who is desperate for drama and tries to turn her own life into a ghost story, offending and upsetting her friends in the process. throughout my teens I did my best to make my life something in between a fantasy novel and a sofia coppola movie—I can relate. she’s funny, outgoing, and magnificently stupid. but catherine, in her ridiculousness, just wants to make life a fun story. she is the angsty suburban girl who invites you to join her book club with a message written in invisible ink. I would join in a heartbeat.")

samuel: henry tilney ("funny, good-natured, and forgiving, tilney’s even ready to defy his boorish father’s wishes to marry the woman he…loves? this novel lacks the intense romanticism of austen’s later works, but that doesn’t mean henry isn’t a peach.")

bianca: charlotte lucas (sensible and intelligent, does what she has to do for a successful life)

archibald: george knightley ("he is the epitome of kindness, an underestimated heroic quality. he takes care of a vulnerable woman like miss bates, and steps in to dance with lowly harriet smith when he sees that she has been snubbed by the awful mr and mrs elton. he represents the perfect english gentleman and sets himself firmly against french affectation. he refuses to play the conventional hero and talk the language of love: “I cannot make speeches, emma. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” perfect!")

raphael: charles bingley ("this charming, gallant gentleman wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he would let his chilly sisters talk him out of proposing to the woman he loves, in an era when dancing with her all night has already got half the neighborhood writing up the wedding banns. but who doesn’t keep a spot in their heart for bingley, who’s glad to dance with even the homeliest old maids (we’re talking 27-year-old hags here). he may be suggestible, even a touch weak-willed, but he’s also got a heart of gold. (and if he had a bit more spine, he’d top mr. darcy.)

[be11atrixthestrange]

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 10

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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TW: non-con, although nothing explicit

[Hermione]

Hermione leans on the bar table for support, one hand clutching her drink and the other rubbing at her temple. The room is spinning, and she's dizzy, nauseous, and unable to focus her eyes on anything.

With one blinding exception, of course. In her peripheral vision, she can see the security guard dragging Ron Weasley from the venue, his arms flailing as he stumbles alongside. Against all odds, his vibrant red hair always draws her attention, even when it's entirely inappropriate.

"Can you believe him?" growls Cormac, massaging his eye. "Bartender, ice."

The bartender abruptly stops wiping down the table to stare back at Cormac, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "Bartender?"

"Yeah. Ice."

Hermione takes a long swig through her straw and glances between Cormac and the bartender, who seem to be sizing each other up.

The bartender flashes her name card at Cormac and offers a smile that looks more fake than genuine. "Sure, you can have some ice," she says sweetly. "But for next time, my name is Rosmerta."

Rosmerta turns away from the bar, muttering something about rude tourists. Hermione makes a mental note to leave her a good tip at the end of the night.

Once Rosmerta's out of earshot, Cormac turns to Hermione. "Why is everyone being so rude to me today? First your ex-boyfriend, now that old broad?"

His comment, and more specifically, the way he says it feels slimy to Hermione, as if his 'woe is me' attitude is nothing more than an effort to rack up pity points.

"Aww, you're almost done with your drink," he says, right as Rosmerta returns with a pack of ice. He snatches the ice from her hands and demands, "Another for the lady."

Hermione's cheeks heat up in embarrassment. No 'thank you' for the ice, no 'please' for the drink — what does she see in this guy? Other than the fact that he's conveniently interested in her, and he's not Ron, of course. Hermione mouths an apology to Rosmerta when the bartender saunters off to refill Hermione's glass.

"Rosmerta has been lovely to us. She's not an old broad," says Hermione to Cormac, who's now pressing the packet of ice to his bruised eye. "And he's not my ex-boyfriend."

Cormac chuckles. "It sure looks like something happened between you and ginger. By the way you dumped ice water on him, you'd think he cheated on you or something."

Hermione stiffens at the reminder of Lavender's mischievous look as she buttoned her blouse in the hallway, followed by the nonchalant way Ron waltzed up to her just now, as if nothing had happened between them. She covers up her shaky hand with another drawn-out sip of her strong drink, forcing down the bitter taste with a grimace.

"I'm glad you never dated the ginger because you can do so much better. Like me, for instance." Cormac motions to himself, a smug smile on his face.

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione puts the straw back to her lips — she really should have asked Rosmerta to hold the straw, but thanks to Cormac, they were already the most demanding couple at the bar, and she didn't want to put any more stress on the poor woman.

She glances over to her companion. So far he's been quite rude — embarrassingly so — and has only talked about himself. He spotted her on the dance floor a short while before and seemed kind enough, so she'd agreed to get a drink with him. She hadn't let herself get a good look at him earlier, so her eyes trace over Cormac's body now, his biceps bulging from his too-tight polo, his chiseled jawline. Underneath the bruise, his eyes are nice. They're not impossibly blue, like tropical seas she can get lost in, but they're not bad.

He's actually quite good-looking, but he'd be even easier on the eyes if he didn't know it. Pompousness is not a trait Hermione looks for in a man.

But she's not looking for anything serious with Cormac, so maybe she can turn the other cheek to some of his more unpleasant qualities. A bit more alcohol might help. She's just here to have fun, after all. Cormac seems to be an appropriate option for that.

As if reading her mind, Cormac leans over to her and whispers, "What do you say? Want to get out of here?"

It's the memory of Lavender fastening her blouse, her smug 'Give him a chance to get dressed first' that gives her response all the permission needed to slip from her lips.

"I guess."

"I'll take that as a yes," says Cormac, rising to his feet and tugging at Hermione's arm.

She stumbles out of her chair, somewhat surprised by his constricting grip on her wrist. It almost cuts off her circulation and would feel unnecessary in any other circumstance.

But she also stood up too quickly and is momentarily flustered and dizzy, so maybe she has his support to thank for not falling down.

"Oh my god, I'm drunk, aren't I?"

Cormac scoffs, sliding his arm around her waist to support her. His hand lands a little too low on her hips for comfort. It doesn't feel anything like Ron's did — caring, gentle, and responsive to communication. Yet, she's hesitant to say anything and bring his attention to what lies beneath his fingers, just in case his hand placement isn't intentional. She might ruin something innocent. That, or he might read too much into her taking notice. She's unsure which is more likely.

"You seem perfectly in control to me," says Cormac.

His softly-spoken comment flushes out some of her self-consciousness — before, she feared that she looked sloppy, messy, unattractive. But it also irritates her, invalidating her difficulty standing and walking in a straight line without the support of his body up against hers. Plus, the fact that it's nearly a whisper, and she can barely hear him suggests that she's not the one he's trying to convince.

Maybe she's reading too much into everything, and it's just the alcohol talking.

They continue across the dance floor and out the doors, his thick hand steady on her hip. When they reach the stairs and the music quiets down, he picks up the conversation again.

"For real. What did that boy do? You said he lied to you?"

Right. Hermione glances at Cormac, who's smirking at her, and decides he doesn't need to know the details.

"Oh, that? It was nothing."

"Nothing gets a drink in the face?" laughs Cormac. "Well, lucky for me, I like them a little feisty."

His words immediately make Hermione uncomfortable. He likes them feisty? How many feisty notches are there on Cormac's bedpost? Is she sensing an attraction to a woman who fights back? Her head spins, and again, she has to remind herself that it's probably just the alcohol talking.

Still, something feels off.

When they make it to the top of the stairs, Hermione places some reluctant trust in her instincts and uses the flat ground as an opportunity to pull away from Cormac. In doing so, she accidentally slides her backside against his hand. As predicted, he interprets her movement incorrectly.

"I see what you're doing, Hermione," he growls. With a hum of appreciation, his fingers clench down through the fabric of her skirt and firmly grip her bum. He turns his body toward her and presses her back to the wall.

Hermione opens her mouth to speak up, but she doesn't know what to communicate. She's not sure if she wants him to stop or if she just wants assurance that he would if she told him to, but her racing mind has no clue how to phrase that request without ruining the possibility of a casual, consensual encounter.

He'd probably prefer the benefit of the doubt, as most men have come to expect it, but then there's the problem that he's nearly twice her height, his hands are as big as her face, and he likes them feisty, which might cause him to interpret dissent as a flirt or a challenge.

Hermione internally chastises herself for wasting time overthinking everything, again, because she instinctively knows that the longer she's quiet, the more her silence will sound like permission. It only takes a few seconds for her to run out of time to decide where she even falls on the spectrum between yes and no before his lips crash roughly into hers.

He presses his hips against her, and she can feel his erection digging into her leg. It's prepped and ready, and she's anything but.

He runs his tongue across her lips, and his grumble of pleasure reverberates into her throat. It takes effort, but she turns her head to the side. As she feared, he interprets this as an invitation to tug at the soft flesh of her neck with his teeth and slide his free hand up her dress until it cups her breast.

"Cormac—"

"Couldn't even wait until you got to my room, could you?" he muses, his lips dragging hungrily along her shoulder. "I could tell you wanted me, but damn."

A storm of anger boils up inside of her — his supposed confidence in feelings she herself has yet to identify is beyond invasive.

She can't get her hand between them for leverage. "Cormac, please—"

"You're welcome," he chuckles back, completely misinterpreting her meaning. Again.

His pinned hand tugs at the fabric of her dress, inching it up and over the curve of her bum and exposing her lacy knickers. "Ahh, you came prepared to fuck, didn't you?"

Another burst of anger and the following rush of adrenaline gives Hermione just enough strength to push him off of her, even if it's only for a second. "Cormac, please get off me."

He removes his mouth from her neck and narrows his eyes at her. "What?"

"I don't want to do this."

He doesn't move. "You serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious," says Hermione, her tone steady and firm.

"You agreed to leave the bar with me. What do you think I meant by that?" Cormac's face is reddening, and Hermione's palms respond by breaking out in a sweat. "Fucking tease."

"Hermione!"

A familiar voice — one that typically irritates her to her core — draws Cormac's attention away from Hermione for a split second, long enough to take a breath.

"We're busy here," he quips but pauses when he sees Lavender Brown, clad in a tight pink skirt and sparkly kitten heels. "Oh, hello there—"

"I can see that," says Lavender, narrowing her eyes at Hermione, who sends her a pleading glance. "But I have to steal Hermione away. It's an emergency."

Hermione's shoulders instantly relax — the irony of this being Lavender's second "emergency" excuse of the day isn't lost on her.

"It's not the best time," says Cormac. "But you're welcome to join us."

"Tempting. What's your room number?" she asks, batting her eyelashes while simultaneously reaching for Hermione's arm. "Maybe we'll meet you there in a bit."

Cormac grins as Hermione slips out from between his body and the wall. "I'm in room 407. I'll be waiting."

"Perfect! See you soon," says Lavender, looping Hermione's arm over her shoulder and turning her down the hall again.

Hermione can hear Cormac's content chuckles as they round the corner. As soon as they're out of his sight, she slips from Lavender's arm, instantly annoyed by her again.

"Why did you do that?" She tries to hide her irritation, but it escapes into her tone.

Lavender raises her eyebrows. "Um, you're welcome."

A tingle of guilt almost causes Hermione to apologize, but the uncomfortable notion of owing Lavender stops her. "I didn't need you to swoop in and save me. I had it under control."

Lavender scowls at her. "Well, from my perspective, it looked like he was going to take advantage of you right there in that hallway, so my instincts kicked in. Next time, I just won't bother."

They slow to a stop at room 210, and Lavender whips out her room key. "You're welcome to come in — I didn't think you'd want him to know where your room was. Especially since it's on the same floor as his."

The floodgates holding back Hemione's guilt break, and she's suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation for the girl holding open the door. She smiles sheepishly at Lavender as she passes her and enters the room.

"Thank you, Lavender. I'm… I'm sorry."

Lavender follows her in and lets the door shut behind her. "It's fine. I know we don't exactly get along, but I'd like to think you'd do the same for me."

"I would." This, Hermione is sure of. At least, she thinks she is. If not, she should self-reflect, but that's an ordeal for sobriety.

"I'll make tea," says Lavender.

Hermione takes a seat at the kitchen bar, and silence fills the room. Her head collapses into her hands, and she gets lost in her thoughts while the water boils.

Tonight could have been an utter disaster.

Although thankful for Lavender's intervention — she shouldn't have left the bar with Cormac in the first place — there's a part of her that blames Lavender for it all. It was Hermione's jealousy that drove her to cling to the first guy to show interest tonight. She's hesitant to thank Lavender for fixing a problem she created in the first place.

The tea kettle whistles and jolts Hermione away from her thoughts.

Lavender pours her a cup and slides it over to Hermione, along with a bottle of aspirin.

"That will help you sober up."

"Thanks," grumbles Hermione.

Then Lavender takes a seat next to Hermione and says something that changes everything.

"I didn't have sex with Ron earlier today."

Hermione freezes, her mind overwhelmed with a tidal wave of rioting thoughts that can somehow be stripped down to one single word.

"What?"

Lavender sips her tea, her hand trembling. From nerves? Jealousy? Anger? Hermione doesn't know.

"When I came out of Ron's room and buttoned up my blouse, I was pretending." She glances away as she says it, her cheeks reddening under a blanket of foundation.

Hermione sighs, doing her best to steady her breath as to not give away the sheer amount of emotions Lavender just ignited. "Why… why did you do that?"

Lavender shrugs. "Honestly? I'm not entirely sure. I went to his room with the intention of flirting with him. We'd just slept together a few days ago, and I thought it would be the same. It wasn't the same."

Hermione's sudden envy doesn't make sense, and she knows that; she had no claim to Ron a few days ago. She has no claim to him now, really, so her relief that they didn't sleep together today has no bearing.

So is the fact that she just poured water over him and paraded around another bloke to 'get back at him' for something he never did. Hermione's stomach bubbles with nausea, and not from the alcohol.

"What happened in his room?" Hermione asks, aiming for a neutral tone.

Lavender sends her a sideways glance before answering, and according to her expression, Hermione's casual questions aren't fooling her at all.

"I saw you two at the bar, and I got jealous. I want him back so badly, and I thought this week in Vegas would finally make it happen. But his eyes have been on you since day one, and I don't understand. You and I are so different."

Different we are, thinks Hermione as she pulls another sip of tea to drown out her sudden self-consciousness.

"I can tell he's interested in you. He's expressed interest in other girls since we've broken up, but they always looked like me, and I would just pretend that was the reason he was looking. I can't do that with you."

Lavender's not straight-up insulting Hermione, but it feels that way, so her defenses start to rise. All Hermione can hear is, 'How can Ron be interested in someone like you?'

She's still avoiding Hermione's eye contact when she continues, "I got so jealous and insecure, and thought, 'why would Ron be interested in me, when he could have someone like Hermione?' Someone smart, successful, someone who doesn't need male attention to feel good about herself."

Hermione nearly drops her tea. She was way off the mark.

"I gave it one last-ditch effort. I followed him to his room, tried to flirt, and he rejected me. It confirmed he was interested in someone else, and he didn't have to tell me who. So when I saw you in the hallway, my instinct was to try and sabotage it."

Lavender finally looks at Hermione, and there are tears glistening in her eyes. Clearly, she feels awful.

She's not the only one.

"When I saw that guy basically forcing himself on you, I felt awful. I knew something bad must have gone down between you and Ron."

Hermione's eyes sting with tears, and Lavender notices. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Lavender smiles and wipes away the remaining tears from her eyes. "Okay, get out."

"What?" says Hermione, affronted, but then looks to see that Lavender's still grinning.

"You seem sober enough now, and we're still not friends. But at least you know that… it's not about you," she laughs, and finally making sense of Lavender's dry humor, Hermione can't help but laugh back.

"Men," says Hermione, and it's all she needs to say for Lavender to snort.

"Are the worst," she continues. "But Ron's a good one. Go find him at the bar. He's probably looking for you."

"About that," says Hermione, and Lavender's eyes narrow in curiosity. "He got kicked out. I splashed water on him, and then he punched Cormac."

Her eyes widen. "Wow."

"Yeah," says Hermione, swirling her tea.

"So he's probably wallowing in his room," she grumbles. "I'd tell you to go there, but seeing as he's my ex-boyfriend and I still want him, it's a conflict of interest."

Hermione gets to her feet. "Then I'll go somewhere else."

"And I don't want to know."

Hermione sends a thankful smile Lavender's way and turns toward the door.

"Lavender?"

"Yeah?"

"I misjudged you. I'm sorry."

Lavender contemplates her for a moment, then nods. "I misjudged you too."

It's enough closure for the pair to part peacefully — no admissions of friendship, but clarity on where they stand. And it's more than Hermione can hope for.

Lavender turns away to wipe a tear, and Hermione smiles again as she passes through the door and into the hall. The pit in her stomach has morphed into something else entirely — empathy, gratitude, and a small nugget of guilt.

As for right now, she only has one pressing matter on her to-do list.

[rk1kheadcanons]

AU after the revolution Connor becomes a “symbol of escaping your oppressors (esp sexually-conservative parents)” by becoming Markus’ partner and is very uncomfortable with everyone using him as just an object to project their fears and fantasies onto. He gets called a thot and “Markus’ good little slut” just for kissing and he hates it, the amount of pron people make of him makes him puke. No matter how hard they try, they can’t ignore how fetishized/objectified their relationship is becoming

You have no idea how vastly I love you for your prompt, Anon.

I took this prompt on for many reasons.

As an ally, it's imperative to respect and uplift all forms of love. It becomes a problem when we actively seek it out for the "entertainment value." There are people behind those alternative lifestyles with their own struggles on a daily basis. They are human, not 2d paper and pen figment of some of all perversions. They're not here to be anyone's form of sexual excitement, period. If someone asked me now why had so much more homosexual pairings instead of hetero, I got my receipts for each and every one of them, and I promise "they so cute" is not my first thought. If it is for you, well might give this a thought or two. And, no, I am NOT singling anyone out, never that.😌

Anyways, I'm off my soapbox now. I just felt l I owed it to my friends out there to say that they aren't just "quirky, gay babies, uwu."

That said, you'll have to pry booty shorts-wearing, nail polish bedazzling Connor from my cold, dead hands. I know he can be a BAMF, break my neck, and still be adorable while doing so. That's just gospel, sis. 😏

Markus and Connor had decided to go public with their relationship sooner rather than later for a myriad of reasons. There was a history between the two that no Android alive now would forget.

The famous deviant leader and the infamous deviant hunter now in a romantic relationship was the talk of New Jericho.

Of course, those hurt during the period of time that Connor had not Hu deviated was the louder voice heard from the masses. They didn't establish the 'ex' on deviant hunter for a reason. They were bitter, intimidated, and above all else, felt the relationship between the two men betrayed something that Markus had pledged to them. So long as Connor was just there acting as the security on his off time from the DPD, no one cared. As soon as he showed true signs of his deviation, that he could indeed understand the concept of emotions like love... Well, to many that was unacceptable. What about their friends and possible lost lovers in the original Jericho? They, the murmuring androids, knew that he would have been shackled to his programming, that until it was broken, he would have been just as much a slave to his protocol as they would have been in his place.

The funny thing about emotions though is it tended to make you irrational.

Connor was forever cautious when at New Jericho despite Markus and North, Josh, and Simon finally taking him under their wing. He heard those murmurs, though. It wasn't like he did not have good hearing. Then there were the social protocols that let him know that others were uncomfortable around him. Maybe they glanced away upon looking at him or more obviously changed positions to get away from wherever he strolled.

Connor hated the feeling but he wore the mass shunning like a Scarlet Letter around his neck.

Markus and the others knew of Connor's treatment. Markus often publicly condemned the behavior. It worked for some, others revolted against it. That's when they changed tactics.

Connor immediately became apprehensive about the sudden change in behavior over the next month. No longer did those who meet him look away or run from him, but more and more an odd behavior happened in some.

Connor was met with blushes, flustered looks while others, male, female, or other, looked at him with a look that could only be described as hostility mixed with lust. It caused him to recoil away from those who wore those looks, recalling how North had confided candidly in him, shared memories of how she'd been treated. Those human faces matched those of these Androids.

Markus had come to him without him knowing, so caught up in the sea of emotions he was, pulling him away.

When Connor looked at the other man, his face looked tired. He looked overall defeated and hurt. Before Connor could ask, Markus took him back to his office and gently sat him in his office chair behind Markus all in one desktop he used to interface with when going over things. It was not long before North busted in the office, Simon right behind her, both taking there side by Connor. Josh came in lathe st closing the door and locked it.

Connor was wary. What was going on? Markus began talking to him telling him about how about a month or so ago a new online group had been created, a forum. It revolved around their relationship solely. He told Connor that the maker of the room was in custody, as well as several of the main instigators, that he was heartbroken that this was happening, that he should have done more and to not concern himself, he was taking care of it and to never look at the site as they worked to close it down for good.

The LED on Connor's temple pulsed yellow and Markus had to stop him from searching for it, instead interfaced with the PC front of him on his desk. He knew Connor would want to go to it regardless. He was too inquisitive for his own good.

The website seemed pretty benign, it even had a cute shorthand for their relationship as 'RK1K' or 'R1000'.

Connor gently shed the human skin and interfaced with the site.

It was wasn't cute or sweet at all if the tightening if his other hand on the armrest indicated with the squeal of leather in the starkly quiet room. North's fiery glare was in one screen as well though she gently pulled his fingers away from the chair willing him to grab at her own hand, even if his strength in his stress crushed it. Simon placed a resting friendly hand on his thigh, sad eyes turned up to him.

Markus wrapped his arms around his lover's shoulders and rested his head on one shoulder, also taking in the devastating effects of what misguided hatred could do again with Connor.

The tears came naturally to his eyes as he took in the sheer volume of disrespectful post one after another. Pictures and videos edit made to look very realistic of Connor in a very harmful or demeaning role in his relationship with Markus.

They really did have him as if he was just Markus' slave, literal pet, or even more insulting, just a hole to use, eluding Markus still remained with North but they agreed to this arrangement due to her history as a known sex model. This was insulting to not only him but also North, cheapening her struggle.

Others said that this was his new attack on the android leader: get him used to him, in a relationship with himself, and then when they were in the throes of passion he'd strike like some twisted black widow.

The group chat was abhorrent. Connor to them was little more than a beautiful carcass. He meant nothing to them but they'd be willing to bed him. The female-presenting androids made him little more than just some sort of soft, weak invalid that lived only for Markus to dominate in and out of the bedroom. Others just lusted for them both, striping everything that was Markus and Connor away to nothing but rutting animals, nothing further.

The screen turned off with the withdraw of Connor's hand from it. He was up and out of the chair on his way, away from here. He could not do this with these people.

Markus was right after him.

North and Simon were calling all Androids on the campus for a meeting while Josh had been working on ways to fully dismantle such an awful website.

About time Markus caught up to Connor, he was in a self-driving cab, whisking away from New Jericho, Markus knew most likely to Hank's House called his own to go there.

The meeting went exactly as one would expect from two extremely pissed leaders, one who could remain level headed regardless, and the third finally joined giving the names of the known accused and that the site was permanently shut down. There was no grumbling because they knew that it would be more issues. They all have seen Connor flee the compound, markus on his heels.

For however angry North was, nothing would compare to Markus when he showed that side of him to the people that caused this and the others that cast a blind eye to this sort of abuse, allowing for it.

When Connor reached Hank's door, he knocked hard but couldn't see well due to the tears. His face was flushed as they poured down his face. It was not long before the older father figure lieutenant let Connor inside just as Markus pulled up in his own taxi.

After Hank was assured Markus was not the cause of Connor's distress, he was admitted into the house as well. Markus immediately went and held on to Connor. They were both hurting from that level of hatred.

Of course, Markus would be upset and just as hurt as if the subject matter was him. He loved Connor and the sheer disrespect for the one he cared for was a slap in the face to him, as well.

The situation was explained to Hank, who was livid for them both, and sad that the other Androids couldn't see Connor for himself. Dad powers activated and Connor would stay with him for a while, away from Jericho.

Weeks pass, Markus is hurting and the rest of the leaders can see just how much Connor helped with smoothing the frayed edges in Markus own personality when he was tired, hurt. He tended to be snappish, not meaning to be. While he still did everything required, the whole of Jericho started to understand the gravity of the situation.

Sure, there would still be those who just treated the situation like Markus lost a favorite toy like Connor wasn't even a person, to begin with. As if Markus was throwing a tantrum in the face of genuine mistreatment.

Others though would likely see the pain they caused, fear what would happen if, though unlikely but improbable, Markus decided to walk away from all of this as a leader in the Deviants for his lover.

There are very real rumors.

It's not like they don't see Josh counseling his friend and brother daily when Markus anxiously paces the floor, the sometimes bitter and harsh words directed at no one stating the same grief he feels from this strife of his people and who he's chosen to love in the end. Or how he leaves all things that can be to the three leaders now, where before it wasn't an issue to wear that heavy crown of leadership primarily. Or how when he can he sneaks off to the old human Lieutenant's house to see the ex-deviant hunter and second he can because of that love.

Yeah, the vast majority of people are feeling like they fucked up, including any androids who dared to join in with this witch hunt for Connor and they were part of the group he directly deviated and saved from Cyberlife.

Fractions start to happen among the group, those for and against Connor's presence like finally some of those saved remembered some semblance of loyalty to him. North is fucking done with this shit. All she knows is that she misses her awkward murder baby that is so much more than just arm candy to Markus and it takes both Simon and Josh to keep her from charging into another dispute of Connor this week.

"Shut the fuck up! You have no idea what you are talking about, the person you are trying to tear down just because of his past and programming."

Of course, she'd vested. It was an explicit reminder of her own life before Jericho and how people, human and Android, loved to devalue someone with a sexual abuse past.

Connor's was mentally and emotionally abuse he suffered. The abuse was abuse at the end of the day. He had confided in her. She had seen Amanda...

From that day on, it seemed quieter about the Connor subject.

Six months.

It took six months of Markus creeping to see his lover that felt an outcast, North railing at any Android who dared speak ill of Connor, and Simon and Josh going to see him at the old lieutenant's house.

Simon had missed Connor, too. Though he was quieter about the whole thing, it didn't mean he didn't suffer the same.

Connor was so unique. He could be so cold and calculating in the heat of the moment, gun out, ready to go. But in private, talking about the 'family' dog Sumo, sharing snapshots of him, and talking about a new soft sweater he thought Simon might like as well.

Simon helped Connor with his identity as a homosexual man and as such, they bonded together. Between him and North scheming when they had a night out, it was so hilarious and refreshing.

He missed him.

Josh enjoyed Connor's brand of humor. It was dry as the Sahara, and typically delivered deadpan and it murdered him. Connor did laugh like a madman, but it was typically in Markus presence at his dry humor or sarcasm.

All the while Connor was gone, Markus and Connor talked about the dilemma. Whether Markus came and got him for lunch or they met after work at Hank's place, they talked about it, kept their communication strong, and their relationship stronger. It had been hard for them, and blame had been spread, mostly hurt fueled from Connor's side to Markus initially that this even happened under their leadership. Markus mutely had taken it, feeling as though he could have done more. Then Connor would apologize, realizing that his past was not anyone else fault but his own, that he deserved this treatment to which Markus would rally against, telling him he was good and kind, no he most definitely did not deserve this disrespect. In time, the storm calmed between them and Connor knew what to do.

On a cool, wet morning in October, Connor Anderson moved back into New Jericho, back into the living quarters with one Markys Manfred. Sure, there were murmurs but nothing like before.

One android saw this again felt some sort of way about Connor and his existence at Jericho. Just as she readied her verbal barbs, another shut her down before she could even start.

Connor witness it; Markus did too, as did North, Simon, and Josh as they were welcoming him back. A majority of people saw this brave soul stand up for one of their leaders as they had never done before.

It makes a difference in the way Connor is perceived and treated. Instead of the leadership having to police the situation, the fear of another common android speaking out for Connor and against the naysayer's curves the negative vibe that attempts to take hold again.

Connor is now welcomed back by the majority of New Jericho, not the minority, and things are back to running smoothly as before he left.

[rethesun]

Is there a name for middle lane larries?

Topic: An opinion on larry

I think there is substantial compelling evidence, but I'm not 100% convinced that there is still something but it’s possible there is we just don’t see.

If someone calls me a larrie, it's not insulting at all, but if someone were to call me an anti i’d be sad, honestly. Below I say many things that make it seem like I negatively judge hardcore larries, but I don't. I find it extraordinary that people can be so brave and sure of themselves, and I wish I could be too. I tend to get along with larries, while I mostly avoid antis unless they manage to be respectful, which is unfortunately quite rare. 

I think it's practically effortless to get toxic when trying to prove or disprove things. I think it's dehumanizing and feels stressful to me as a fan. Therefore I can only imagine the difficulty and what it takes for people in a position of fame to get to a place of inner strength and resilience where the millions of opinions of the world don't affect them as much. It's sometimes hard to judge/differentiate what is and isn't disrespectful, and it hurts terribly to know I'm crossing boundaries. So I'm putting my opinion together in hopes it isn't as counterproductive or pointless as it feels.

I'm not at all trying to convince anyone of a narrative to sway people to believe or not believe. What and how much you know and where you "stand" is down to you. 

Do I believe in larry? 

First and foremost, being a fan of someone means supporting that person without expecting anything from them. It means any fan theory isn't crucial. What’s important is just supporting them as is, as an individual. It means caring about how the person may feel about things more than caring about how I feel about things that aren't my business in the first place. 

That said, here is my not long-awaited opinion.

I think there is substantial compelling evidence, but I'm not 100% convinced that there is still something but it’s possible there is we just don’t see. I will not disregard what Harry and Louis said back in the day and pretend they had nothing when at the very least, Harry said it on video directly twice. Yes, he was a kid, but people will decide Harry is with a skinny blonde woman older than him for much less, so I don't take what he said as a platonic joke. However, I try to be as realistic as possible. As an outsider, it's not easy for my brain to conclude on most things. However, this doesn't mean I disregard how bad the industry can be. One big reason is that I don't know any of these people personally, and I want to believe in the best in others. Even though I understand controlling narratives in the industry happens and happened to 1D. I don't know to what extent. It's hard for me to judge that any or all of Harry's "relationships" are fake, and thus, he's had a few "stunt" songs for those relationships, etc. It’s plausible that he wrote female pronouns on a song or a few and the song refers to a man/men but that's far from saying this is a stunt song which would imply an entire fake relationship which is too far for me to say wasn't real as I am just an outsider. 

Whether people say it's the fans who say it or the boys behavior, the statement, 'larries ruined their friendship,' is sometimes interpreted as centered around homophobia. I do not see it this way.

However, whether there was or is a relationship, it's entirely reasonable to consider, the circumstances as a whole hurt them and likely the rest of the band in multiple ways that made things really hard. I do not think fans ruined the band or their connections with each other. I think being overworked with little freedom or breaks to discover/express independence were just a few reasons why.

Why I think larry appeared to become distanced to the public eye: 1. Understandably, putting blame on the heteronormative gender restrictive times we were in and still are in. 2. How some fans react to Larry's interactions due to reason number one. Otherwise, all the 1D members, their families, and friends have been honest. That would mean there isn't an elaborate conspiracy; they are just tired of people messing with who they care about and want to live without the harassment. Regardless of whether some fan theories are accurate or not, people in the spotlight and their families deserve peace of mind. They don't deserve to be dehumanized. I wish some fans would understand how wrong it is to swarm people or ask strangers to confirm any personal things. Not only because it's rude and invasive but because of mental health. If that's confusing, imagine if it were you in their position.

I used Zayn's interview because he shared it eloquently while the other mentions that ‘Larry isn't real’ were mostly screen captures of constituents replying impatiently to larry comments on social media saying the Larry thing is delusion and not what real fans do.  Zayn in this 2015 fader interview. "There's no secret relationships going on with any of the band members," he explains. "It's not funny, and it still continues to be quite hard for them. They won't naturally go put their arm around each other because they're conscious of this thing that's going on, which is not even true. They won't do the natural behavior." He goes on to add to the statement, "But it's just the way the fans are. They're so passionate, and once they get their head around an idea, that's the way it is regardless of anything. If it wasn't for the passionate, like almost obsession, then we wouldn't have the success that we have." Before the subject changes, Zayn said that fans would find a way to water down what he said and make any excuses, e.g., that he couldn't speak the truth.

I can't speak for anyone but myself. (I’m a queer cis female) I don't think I would want to 'get dragged through a round of 'coming out' press. Why should sexuality be treated as an oddity by the median, and why should queer people have to subject themselves to that treatment?' The amount of coming out stories and things that could follow a person, or the people around, in the aftermath, would be atrocious. People, personally and professionally, may treat you differently after. The queer stereotypes would be exhausting. Also, it's not always as safe sometimes to be out. Whether there was/is a relationship at all between 1D members. “Being open to everyone isn't easy. Now imagine yourself no less human than right now, but add millions of eyes on you. It's insensitive to assume about someone when they could be doing their best/what is comfortable—please let's stop invalidating what we don't understand.”

Zayn's career connects to Hollywood, and he’s in the spotlight so it's not easy to suddenly believe everything I hear and see is the truth just because someone like him said it. However, at the same time, it's rather discomforting for me to disregard and look into everything people like Zayn or his constituents say. I want to believe the best in people and sympathize and “back him up” in a sense. It's also way to hard to believe all things other fans say because we are passionate and obsessed, so there is confirmation bias. 

Do I concretely believe anything? 

Yes, but those things don't directly confirm or deny anything especially Larry.

I believe the boys were responsible for RBB & SBB.

I have some reason to believe the song Carolina could be about experimentation with drugs since Johnny Cash's Cocaine-Carolina song is plausibly similar. Also, it's not uncommon if you're wealthy or famous to experiment with drugs, including harmful drugs; the environment can make it more accessible and normalized. I don't condone drug abuse; I hope Harry is wise enough not to make it a reoccurring thing. I want him naturally happy and healthy, but it's not my life, and I don't know him to have any right in making that call. I trust from Harry's character and what he said in his Zane Lowe interview that he knows better. However, the song Carolina might be about Townes or maybe it's both, I have no clue. 

I believe SOTT is about "fundamentals" like Harry said it is, not just from the perspective of 'a mother telling the child to go forth and conquer.' I notice some people readily look over the childbirth story, saying 'it makes no sense,' but it can easily coincide with fundamentals, "Equal rights for everyone, all races sexes, everything." Check out this in depth lyric analysis?

I think most of us know and support that Harry is a proud member of the community. If he wasn’t he’d just say that. 

I think maybe COAC and SOTT may have been collaborative. There are multiple writers on both songs and if it’s possible to have a ghost writer then I say it's plausible they chose to write them similarly. 

I think Louis possibly queer codes. Straight people don’t queer code so you might think it’s queer baiting but I don’t think someone sick of gay rumors would go that route. Either that, or he's a passionate and sympathetic ally.

However, Louis is still "with" E. From a perspective of committed fans, it doesn't look like a sincere relationship. As an outsider, again, it feels far too presumptuous for me to have a B&W opinion.

It seems that adults with somewhat official platforms let rumors run rampant, and not many grown adults of the time seemed to correct or silence it. I should have said this early and cannot stress this enough, ANYONE who is not the Louis Tomlinson or in his family tree is in no way an official source. If they're acting like they know things (not just reporting on what's happening), they were/are either trolling or want people to freak out for clout. Being led astray by people looking to capitalize on fans is always a danger. It's insensitive, inappropriate, and unprofessional, but it happened. I am surprised by that and that 1D's management didn't try to protect Louis and his image more. I’m not an insider able to judge him negatively or to overanalyze the situation. So I won't assume he's not a dad, and I hope he's doing well.

(About the above paragraph about Louis this is an update after the original post I made to say I don't have a further developed opinion because I never looked into it and don't know if I will so don't hold that against me please I just personally don't feel like it’s a thing I need to do and I know larries don’t appreciate when non-larries make comments on things without thoroughly looking into things so you won’t see a further opinion from me or judgment unless I do actual research)

In conclusion, and to reiterate, I feel like there is some truth to some things. Again, it feels disrespectful or too presumptuous for me to have many opinions, especially of the negative kind, as an outsider. I don't know any of these people personally, and I want to believe in the best in others. I am not harshly judging things because I don't have a complete story or the right to. However, this doesn't mean I disregard how bad the industry can be to people in multiple ways.

As fans, we can do much better. It's not unreasonable to wish people didn't constantly objectify/sexualize people with fame and didn't harass them/their families about fan theories. Also, always wanting something from these people and expecting them to fulfill god-like expectations as if they don't go through the same human experience and aren't completely flawed like the rest of us, or stalking them—something sick and a behavior that's saddening and disgusting. Real fans just leave them be to live their lives. Please call out stalking and discourage it if you notice it. Overall, I think we can all be a bit more respectful and understanding or try to make an effort. I'm not a superfan, but I'd like to be genuine and not a reason why these people dislike being in the spotlight. I feel like that means being as grounded, realistic, and sensitive about how these people may feel about things more than caring about how I feel about things that aren't my business in the first place. It ultimately means any fan theory isn't crucial. What’s important is just supporting them as is, as individual.

[#’s are for exposure and may not correlate]

[poppy-pelican]

Darkness on Fire (Chapter 3)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692747/chapters/65866213#workskin

Chapter 3: Mustang and Hawkeye escort the Elrics to what they hope is a safe place.

Roy went back to bed while Hawkeye stayed awake. They were all unnerved after sending Dr. Rockbell home with a vial of blood to give to the rest of his family just in case they had been compelled, too. Hawkeye promised to keep watch so the vampires could sleep. She seemed well, full of vitality, thanks to his blood. It was more than he could say for himself. She’d taken a bit too much from him. He drank some animal blood before going back to bed, but it was unappetizing when he was craving hers so badly.

As he slept, he dreamt of being wrapped in sheets, Hawkeye’s bare skin, his fangs deep in her throat. He woke up with a gasp, his cock hard, fangs elongated. It took him a few minutes to orient himself to where he was, not in his comfortable basement apartment, but in Hohenheim’s study. Roy was grateful Hawkeye wasn’t in the room—and the temptation to have one off quickly was there, but with two impressionable boys around, he stewed in misery instead.

This assignment had gone to shit, fast. As he dressed, he realized why his dreams were plagued with images of Hawkeye. He had given her his blood, and for vampires that was as good as attaching a piece of your soul with them. He’d given his blood to his aunt, and a few others he had fed from, and he could sense them distantly. But Hawkeye was in the same house, tantalizingly close.

Downstairs Ed and Al were complaining to each other because they weren’t allowed to say goodbye to Winry or the rest of the Rockbells.

The moment Roy caught sight of Hawkeye, scrubbing her bloody shirt in the sink, his fangs descended, his whole body tuning toward her. He made sure to keep his mouth shut and went to grab more animal blood. He poured it into a glass, and Trisha swung by and offered him some wine.

“It helps it go down easier,” she said.

“Having more already?” Hawkeye asked, eyes crinkling in concern. “Did I take too much?”

“You’d been stabbed. I think you took what was necessary,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. She would worry too much otherwise. Her guilt about his vampirism was greater than it should be, especially considering how much he enjoyed his new lifestyle. Sure, burning to a crisp in the sun was a major sacrifice, but it was manageable most of the time.

“Hmm,” was all she said in reply, going back to her shirt. “I might have to call this done for. Even if I could fix the hole, this blood is not coming out.”

Roy took a final swig of what he was going to call sheep wine and ignored the urge to offer to suck the blood out of her shirt. He admonished himself. He wasn’t even thirsty in the usual way. It could be compared to wanting a dessert, delicious but not essential.

“Let me see if I can’t find something else to try. The boys are always staining their clothes,” Trisha said, disappearing to search upstairs.

“I think I might have a quick look around in town before we leave,” Roy said to Hawkeye. “I shouldn’t be gone more than half an hour.” If possible, it would be easiest to take the Elrics to a safe house Hohenheim owned by train, although he assumed the station would be watched—Selim would expect it.

“You’re too thirsty to go burning energy like that,” Hawkeye pointed out. “You’ve only had animal blood after giving me a lot of yours. You know how you get.”

“Well, this town doesn’t exactly have a wide selection of willing humans. And Hohenheim would kill me if I asked Trisha…though it would hold me over a lot longer.” As it always did with vampire blood. He needed human blood at least once a month, preferably once a week, to keep him at full strength. When he acted as a donor it was more frequent. Vampire blood could sate his thirst for twice as long.

“You could drink from me. Just this once,” she said, holding up a finger in warning. “Since you gave me some of yours earlier. It’s only fair.”

“But you were just hurt.” His hunger told him to shut up and go for it. It was exactly what he wanted.

“And I feel twice as healthy as normal. I can spare some.” She dropped her wet shirt into the sink, drying her hands on a towel.

“I shouldn’t—”

His fangs betrayed him, descending with thirsty enthusiasm. He covered his mouth as she gave him a smug smile.

“Go ahead.” She rolled her eyes at his hesitation. “Just because I don’t want to be a regular donor doesn’t mean I can’t handle it.”

“I know.” That wasn’t why he held back. The last time he’d tasted her blood, he’d wanted to rut against her like an animal. But that was different, he reminded himself. He had better control now, more practice.

“Wrist or…neck?” she asked.

He shouldn’t. There was a reason he always drank from the wrist.

“Neck,” he said lowly, the words flying out before he could stop them. So much for control.

She pulled her hair to the side, revealing the beautiful curve of her neck. Before he could second guess himself, he cradled her head and shoulder, holding her in place. She gasped at the suddenness, and he heard the warm, wet gushing in her heart pick up speed.

He bit down, taking care to ease his fangs in gently.

She’d always smelled better than anyone else to him. He wondered if it was because her blood initiated him into this lifestyle. It was overwhelming, flavors and feelings pulsing through him rapidly. He usually hurried to drink and leave, but he slowed down his pulls to savor each flow of liquid across his tongue. Why was it so good? Would she let him do this again? God, he hoped so.

He couldn’t stop himself. The quietest moan escaped him, and suddenly it was just like the first time. He was unbearably aroused—almost senseless. He wanted to bury his cock inside her while he fed from her, something he had always thought was overkill. He grunted, biting down the tiniest bit harder.  Her breath hitched, and he wanted to grind against her, but he held himself in check, remembering the Elric brothers in the next room—and Trisha upstairs.

Caving to one last taste, he released her with a gasp, licking the wound closed out of habit. Hawkeye shivered against him and he leaned back just enough to gauge her reaction. Her amber eyes were soft, pupils blown wide, and her steady heartbeat danced just a little faster. He wanted to kiss her, but he was also a coward.

“Better than the sheep wine, that’s for sure,” he said, breaking the tension. He didn’t want to let on how turned on he was.

“Sheep wine?” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to know.”

 #

 Roy sprinted to town as soon as it was dark enough and found several humans standing suspiciously still and quiet near the train station, positioned at every entrance. They were waiting.

He expected it, but Hawkeye wasn’t going to like it. This meant they would have to cut across the country on foot to the next town over.

Returning to the Elric house, Roy gave Riza the bad news. She sighed. “Well, I better go consolidate our bags—two bags will be too cumbersome if I have to be carried.” She held up an angry finger. “On your back.”

Roy laughed, his smile lingering until he took his post outside to keep watch. He settled under the tree, checking his gun and his gloves.

It wasn’t long before Ed appeared.

“Riza is not happy about this,” Ed informed him. “She told Mom it makes her feel like an invalid.”

“Well, to make it to our destination before sunrise, it’s what we have to do. She knows that,” Roy explained, watching the boy in amusement. Ed was fidgeting—tugging his braid, tucking his hands in and out of his pockets.

“Why is she still human?” Ed asked out of the blue. “She has your blood in her. Why don’t you just snap her neck and keep her forever?”

Roy choked. “What?”

“Riza,” Ed clarified, as if Roy just hadn’t known who he meant.

“Turning someone…isn’t a science. It fails almost as often as it succeeds.” And Roy had no plans to live forever. He would step into the sun when the time was right. Immortality had no appeal to him. Hawkeye’s own thoughts on immortality were…murky. She once said being a vampire was better than being dead, but he wasn’t sure she thought it was better than being alive and human. Going out into the sun.

Roy wouldn’t say vampirism was superior to humanity, but if he could choose to return to being a human, it would be a difficult choice.  Blood was divine—Hawkeye’s was especially intoxicating. Smells were stronger, but not in a bad way. It made things interesting. And with the difference in his vision and senses, the moon felt as warm as the sun had when he was human. Regular food tasted better, too. He didn’t need as much anymore, but what he did eat was a full explosion of flavors, even if it was just a simple tomato off the vine. The increased strength and speed were undoubtedly his favorite though.

Ed must have been deep in thought too because he said, “That must be why Dad says I can’t go around changing all my friends into vampires when I’m older.”

Roy held back a laugh. “Probably not the best idea, no.”

“But…I don’t want to live forever without Winry.” Ed sighed. “Don’t you feel that way about Riza? You guys are best friends, right?”

A dark something twisted in Roy’s gut.

“Yes, best friends. I’ve known her since she was about your age.” Back when her best friend was a dog, and Roy’s best friend was his alchemy studies.

Berthold Hawkeye was a brilliant man, but a mediocre father. He’d been fearful of vampires ever since his wife was killed by one, and his research in flame alchemy was born from his desire to destroy vampires. It had taken precedence over everything in his life, even raising Riza. But Berthold loved his daughter, and Roy guessed that some of his obsession in finding a weapon against vampires came from the need to keep her safe. Roy had been tossed out of the house when he’d argued making peace with vampires was for the good of all, but when his master was dying…he had asked Roy to protect her.

  #

 An underground tunnel beneath the house had been as much a surprise to Edward and Alphonse as it had to Riza and Mustang. Trisha had given a nervous smile as she uncovered a secret opening in the closet floor.

“Wow!” the boys cheered, jumping down into the dirt, bags over their shoulders. Riza was much less enthused, but grateful they could leave the house unseen from the outside.

“Hohenheim has been working on these since he turned me,” Trisha said. “About fifteen years ago.”

“This is the best trip ever!” Al said, his voice muffled inside the tunnel.

Trisha dropped down next. “Boys, don’t run ahead. There are some dead ends your father constructed on purpose. You’ll get lost on your own and wind up in Xing or someplace.”

“Al’s right. This is kind of fun,” Mustang said, grinning at Riza as he took their bag and leapt into the tunnel. Riza was last. She peered down the opening. It was a farther drop than it looked. Of course, Hohenheim built it with vampires in mind, not a petite human.

“Is there a ladder?” she asked, without hope for an affirmative.

“Just slide down on your stomach and I’ll catch you,” Mustang said.

And probably get an unflattering view of her backside, she thought sourly, but she did as instructed, aware that dropping straight to the floor would likely sprain her ankles if Mustang missed.

“Ugh,” she said, fighting the urge to kick her legs for a foothold the farther down she went.

She felt Mustang’s hands steady her, easing her descent. Then things went in a different direction as she lowered herself more. His hands ran up her legs, across her hips, until she was on the ground pressed against him, chest to chest. Oh, that was—

He released her with a nervous chuckle, practically shoving her away.

“See? Simple,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, taking in the tunnel before them. It was pitch black. “I won’t be able to see a thing.”

Mustang snapped his fingers, illuminating the long tunnel before them. He also lit a candle Trisha was suddenly holding.

“You’ll still have to be carried,” he told her, “but any light will just blow out.”

Riza understood. Not only did she have to be carried like a child, she had to do it while blind. She couldn’t shoot in the dark.

“I can’t remember the last time I rode on someone’s back,” she groused, as the boys giggled at her predicament.

“Just hop on!” Al said encouragingly. He demonstrated by tackling his older brother, then squeezing his neck in a pretend chokehold while Ed dramatically gasped for air.

“I hate being such a burden,” Riza said, but as Mustang squatted down, she winked at the boys and ran at him, pretending to choke him just as Al had done to Ed. She grinned as they laughed—even Trisha’s worry lines fading as Mustang acted like he was going to drop her. He recognized what Riza wanted to do for the family: put them at ease.

“I’ve given you a piggyback ride before, you know,” Mustang said. “You must’ve been twelve because I was about sixteen. You sprained your ankle and couldn’t walk home from school,” he said.

“Oh! I forgot. That might have been the last time I did this.” She’d been in too much pain to have any fun with the experience back then.

“And here we are again,” he said fondly, except when he gave her thighs a friendly squeeze, it made her heart race in a very non-platonic way.

The rest of the run through the tunnel was as unpleasant as she expected. Her human body wasn’t made for being jostled at high speeds, and her teeth were clenched together to keep from biting her tongue. No matter how careful Mustang was, he could not cushion her perfectly. Worse, being totally blind meant she could only concentrate on her other senses. The smell of Mustang’s aftershave, the way his large hands adjusted his grip on her thighs whenever he took a turn or ran down a steep slope, the warmth of his back…

Forcing those thoughts from her mind, she concentrated on alternate routes to the safe house in Central Trisha wanted to go to.

They finally stopped at an exit, which was as bad as the entrance at the Elric home. This time Trisha gave Riza a boost while Mustang pulled her up. Out of the tunnel, they found themselves under a bridge that reached over a wide creek—which explained the earthy-fish smell that had appeared in the tunnel.

“I know my way around, so I’ll go check the train station. They have a midnight train we could still catch,” Trisha said.

“Mom,” Ed started to protest, but she blew her sons a kiss and vanished. Mustang didn’t have time to argue either.

“It’s probably for the best. You’ve never been here before,” Riza said. “And leaving me with the boys in the dark—” She shrugged.

“Yes, you’re right,” Mustang said. “If your mother takes longer than thirty minutes,” he addressed the boys, “I’ll go after her.”

“At least the tunnels were fun,” Al said optimistically. “I wonder why Mom and Dad didn’t tell us?”

“To keep you quiet about it. You know you can’t keep a secret,” Ed teased.

“Yes, I can!”

While the boys began listing the various secrets the other had spilled over the years, Mustang turned to Riza.

“We might have to separate,” he said. “You could go with the boys to the safe house. Travel in the daytime.”

“Only if we have to,” Riza said, but his logic was sound. She was torn between her responsibility to watch over Mustang versus the family. She could not protect them all.

 #

 When Trisha returned, she was running at full tilt, her dress flying behind her. Roy heard her arriving before the others, so he leapt to attention, nudging Hawkeye.

“Quick,” Trisha whispered urgently. “Back to the tunnel!”

The boys dropped in first, followed by Trisha, Roy made the executive decision to grab Hawkeye and leap down with her in his arms. He could tell it was a rough landing, but she only grunted.

“We need to seal the entrance with alchemy,” Roy said. Ed was quick, concentrating for a moment before clapping. With a brief glow, it was done.

“Now we run. They can probably still hear us down here,” Hawkeye said, wiggling out of Roy’s arms. He was momentarily confused as she kept her hands on him, fingers tracing across his chest and arms, before he realized she couldn’t see in the darkness and was trying to climb on his back. He helped her up, reveling in the sensation of her arms around his neck. She smelled good, and his fangs, wildly misbehaving on this assignment, were aching to sink into her veins.

They kept a brisk pace until the boys tired and needed a more human speed. Roy could feel Hawkeye’s relief as she relaxed against him.

“I could walk,” she said, and he heard the sluggishness in her voice. He wondered how much sleep she’d managed the past few days.

“Stay put,” he said. “If we need to take off, you’re already in position.”

The group remained quiet, fearing anyone following them would overhear them. Trisha led the way—only she knew where they were going.

It was almost sunrise when they neared the other safe house’s entrance, stopping far enough out that their presence wouldn’t be noticed.

“A friend lives here,” Trisha said. “Well, Van’s friend. I haven’t been able to meet him much. He doesn’t know about the boys.”

That wasn’t ideal. “Can you trust him?”

“Van believes so. And they have an agreement about the tunnels. Barry can come to our home as easily as we can go to his in an emergency. It’s been a couple of years and he’s never abused it. He’s one of only a few who have direct access.”

Roy clutched Hawkeye closer. He wasn’t sure how he felt about introducing an unknown vampire to his very human companion.

“How about Hawkeye stays back with the boys while we introduce ourselves?” Roy suggested.

“Good idea,” Trisha said.

Roy reluctantly put Hawkeye down, guiding her to sit beside the boys. He got the candle Trisha had brought along, setting it up in front of them with a snap of his fingers.

“Can we eat something?” Al asked. “I’m so hungry.”

“Just wait until I get back. I have some snacks in the bag,” Trisha said.

“And what if Dad’s friend doesn’t let us in?” Ed asked.

“Then we sleep in the tunnels. It will be like camping,” Trisha said, forcing a smile.

No one wanted to sleep in the cramped tunnels. It wasn’t even wide enough for two people to walk comfortably side by side. Not to mention the many little creatures who had made their home here.

It was with this concern in mind that Roy and Trisha hurried down the tunnel. Unlike the other exits they had passed, this one had a heavy door with an elaborate “S” carved into the wood—an old symbol for vampires to know they could find shelter there. Trisha forced open the trap door. Roy watched from below, ready to snap.

“Hello!” a grating voice cheered from above. “Trisha, my beauty, is that you?”

“You shameless flirt,” she said, flustered.

A stocky man with wild, stringy hair peered down at them.

“And who’s this guy? You cheating on my man Van?” Barry asked, his voice teasing. Then he inhaled deeply, his eyes focusing on Roy. “And you have a tasty smelling human with you. And…two others?”

Roy was impressed with Barry’s sense of smell, but very displeased with his description of Hawkeye. Even if he agreed.

“We’re in a bit of a bind,” Trisha said, letting Barry hoist her out of the tunnel. Roy pulled himself out, keeping an eye on Barry. The tunnel connected to a small, messy wine cellar. There was more wine than it could contain, and the bottles had been lined in tight rows on the floor with no semblance of order. Barry was either a lush, a hoarder, or both.

As Trisha explained the situation to Barry, the vampire just laughed and laughed as the story got more outrageous. He didn’t seem to hold it against them that Hohenheim and Trisha hadn’t mentioned their sons before, but Roy didn’t know Barry well enough to tell if he was putting on a front. Barry was also delighted to have a vampire celebrity gracing his home. The Flame Alchemist had a reputation, for better or worse. At least he knew Roy could burn him alive if he tried anything.

 #

 An hour later, Barry had put together a small but strange feast in his blacked-out dining room. The table had been covered in old newspapers, dishes, and knickknacks, but Barry had cleared it off without complaint while cooking dinner.

“I used to be a butcher, but I was never a good cook,” Barry said as the water boiled over. Trisha had stepped in to help, and together they found enough to feed everyone. Trisha acted cheerful and helpful, but she had borrowed Barry’s phone and gone through half a dozen numbers attempting to reach Hohenheim. He hadn’t answered, meaning he had no idea what had happened to his family. When Roy saw her hang up the phone the last time, she had looked defeated, her face pinched unpleasantly.

At dinner, Ed and Al were all over the sandwiches and spaghetti like it was the perfect pairing. To kids, it probably was.

Hawkeye tackled the spaghetti with perfect manners, but Roy could tell she wanted to dig in with the same gusto as the boys. Her stomach had been growling with hunger for hours. Roy and the other vampires didn’t need to eat as much, so he gave her half his sandwich when she wasn’t looking. He could admit some of it was for selfish reasons—her blood smelled better when she was well fed. She ate it without complaining of his generosity, which said something of her hunger.

“Dad said you used to kill people when you were human,” Ed said to Barry, in that forthright way he always used. “Is that true?”

Barry guffawed. “Oh, he told you that, did he?” Roy looked over at Trisha who was avoiding his gaze. “It’s very true. You might know me as Barry the Chopper.”

Roy’s eyebrows shot up. He knew well of that serial killer. “You were supposed to have been executed!”

“And I was,” Barry said, putting on a ghostly voice as the young boys listened raptly, eyes wide. “Before my execution, a strange woman came and started asking me questions. Was I related to any other vampires? Had I had vampire blood before? Had I let a vampire drink from me? On and on. After I was executed…I woke up in a lab, and they studied me like a lab rat.”

“Then the government was behind this?” Hawkeye asked, putting down her fork. Her undivided attention to her food had been diverted.

“They wanted to see if there were any conditions that made vampire transformation more favorable,” he said. “There were many others there in the labs—some prisoners, some folks taken right off the street. All vampires. And just as many corpses leftover from the failed attempts.”

“So they wanted to turn more vampires,” Roy said, the grim truths behind the former regime were endless. Just when he thought he’d heard the worst of it, something new was uncovered.

“For a vampire army,” Barry said, laughing again. “Crazy bastards.”

“How long were you there?” Hawkeye asked.

“Only a year or so. Then the uprising began. They wanted us all to fight for their side, but many went AWOL. Including me.”

“And did you start killing innocent people again?” Hawkeye asked. The conversation was beginning to sound like an interrogation.

“Nah, as a vampire, turns out my bloodlust is easier to sate now that I drink blood,” Barry gave a toothy grin. “I’ve been on my best behavior since I turned.”

Hawkeye looked skeptical but said nothing. Roy wagered she didn’t approve. He mused over the ethics of Barry’s situation. Technically, Barry had suffered the punishment of his crimes. Should they imprison him again? Capturing vampires during the uprising had been challenging, usually ending in death rather than imprisonment, but they had found the right blend of reinforced metals that had successfully held vampires. Or most. Alchemist vampires were a different breed altogether.

But Roy had a bigger question on his mind he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Did they learn the secret to becoming a vampire?” He tried not to look at Hawkeye because he wasn’t going to change her when she was healthy and well, but if she was dying…

“No. It remains a mystery,” Barry said. “Ol’ Van delved into it, too, when he found this pretty thing,” he said, leering at Trisha.

“Gross,” Ed said under his breath.

“You and Hohenheim were together before you were a vampire?” Hawkeye asked her. Roy had heard the story from Hohenheim. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell Hawkeye about it. It wasn’t a story he would share in front of children, either.

Trisha nodded. “We were. I found him irresistibly charming.” She said softly, eyes misty. “We were already married when I became very ill quite suddenly…” she drifted off. She looked at her sons and was able to summon a genuine smile. “And luckily when I died, I was able to return.”

Trisha left out the worst of it. Hohenheim said she was so ill near the end, her quality of life in shreds, that she had asked for his blood one last time. The next morning while he was in town, she’d ended her suffering. Alone.

Roy hid his grimace with his glass of wine.

He reflected on Hohenheim’s original plan. After marrying Trisha, he wanted to age himself alongside her. Vampires usually manipulated their age to be younger, but growing older beside a treasured human had been done on occasion—or so Roy had heard.

If Trisha’s transformation had failed, her husband would have let the sun end his immortal life.

Roy could think of only one person whose death could drive him to do the same, but he also had made her a promise to destroy the vampires who sought to enslave humanity. Could he strive for that goal without her by his side?

“What about little missy here? How’d you get mixed up with the Flame Alchemist?” Barry asked, his eyes on the pulse in Hawkeye’s neck. Roy fought the urge to pull out his gloves.

“He used to give me piggyback rides when I was a girl,” Hawkeye said, glancing at Roy as her amber eyes twinkled.

Barry laughed uproariously. “So you’re just…old friends? Or do you hang around as a donor?”

“To be most accurate, right now he’s my boss,” she replied, casually twirling her fork on her plate. Didn’t she see where Barry was headed with this line of questioning? Roy threw back the last of his wine like a shot.

“I just need to know about the sleeping arrangements,” Barry said. “If you two want to bunk together, or if you want to share with me, or—”

“Barry! Can’t you tell Uncle Roy is about to incinerate you?” Ed chimed in, causing Al to spit out his water as he giggled. Trisha halfheartedly scolded Ed for rudeness, but she was smiling too much to be effective.

Hawkeye turned to Roy. “Really, sir?”

He held up his hands in surrender.

“Uncle Roy and Riza were sharing a room at our house,” Al said innocently, slurping up a noodle. “And I saw him drinking her blood in the kitchen.”

“I see how it is!” Barry said.

“It’s really not like that,” Hawkeye said, and Roy was pleased to see her cheeks were pink.

“So you didn’t give him your blood?” Trisha asked, sounding a lot like her younger son. Deceptive. Trisha came off sweet and motherly, but there was a feisty vampire in there, after all. Roy’s respect for her rose.

“Well, yes,” Hawkeye stumbled over her words.

“From the neck!” Ed added. “And everybody knows what that means.”

“What does it mean?” Al asked, baffled.

Trisha shushed them. “Boys, finish eating. It’s far past your bedtime.”

 #

 Living the bachelor life, Barry had only one extra bedroom. He gave his own to Trisha and the boys, offering Hawkeye and Roy the other while giving an obscene wink. He also insisted on taking over the watch, saying the five of them needed their rest. Roy was hesitant, but there was no polite way to refuse him. Besides, it was daytime, and threats could only be compelled humans. Easy enough for one vampire, and there were two more on hand plus a sharpshooter.

Roy and Hawkeye each took a look around the house, familiarizing themselves with the floor plan before returning to their assigned bedroom. Everything was a bit messy. Barry had haphazardly tidied up, shoving books and clothes onto the floor with enough room to walk to the bed. Roy was sure it was never used for guests. There was a disturbing collection of butcher knives displayed on one wall, warning anyone who wanted to sleep here that their host was a madman.

Hawkeye crawled onto the bed with the determination of a soldier, boots still on.

“You’re just going to sleep?” Roy teased, but he was oddly apprehensive seeing how small the bed was. He didn’t trust himself. Her cloying scent invited him closer, and he barely kept his fangs in check.

“I could go keep watch with Barry, if you’d like,” she said, propping her head on her hand. Roy buried the rush of unreasonable jealousy at the thought of her alone with their creepy host.

“Just wondering where that atrocious nightgown is,” he said instead.

“I had to leave it at the Elric home,” she said. “Not enough room in one bag for both our things.”

The disappointment must have shown on his face because she sat up on the bed.

“I’m on to you,” she said, wagging a finger at him.

“It’s hideous,” he insisted, even as his cheeks grew warm.

She grinned and settled back down to sleep. Roy turned off the light, deciding to take his cue from her and keep even his shoes on. Even with the light off, his vision still allowed him to see her. The room was stuffy and warm, but it meant no blankets, so he watched her curl up on her side, leaving him space behind her back.

He crept in beside her, aware of the creaking of the bed as his weight joined hers. It all felt incredibly intimate. He only shared beds with women he had sex with. He listened greedily to the swiftness of her breathing and heartbeat. Outwardly, she was stoic and still. If he were still human, he’d think her unaffected by his proximity. She was not.

Why she was reacting was a mystery he couldn’t confidently solve. Was she attracted to him? Possibly. Was it merely the novelty of sharing a bed with a man? Or because he was that man? Since learning she was still a virgin, he had been replaying the years of their friendship in a new light.

Hawkeye had been so young when she gave him the secrets to flame alchemy—only sixteen. Roy had been twenty, but his thoughts had been academic and focused. Now it made him wonder if he was the only one to have seen her lethal tattoo, and why that made him so happy.

 #

 The ambush came midday. Riza was awakened by Mustang jostling her awake.

“Get your guns, head to the Elrics’ room,” he whispered. He bolted out the door.

Familiar with this kind of wake up from her days in the militia, Riza was out the door in under a minute, heart pounding, mind focused on her destination.

Gun drawn, she heard scuffling and snarling downstairs. A snap followed by gut-wrenching screams. Riza knocked on the door where the family had been sleeping.

“Trisha? Are you all okay?” Riza asked, watching the staircase—the only way to access the upstairs. Windows, maybe, if they were desperate.

“We’re fine,” Trisha said through the door, her voice strained. “They somehow transported vampires here. I think there are at least two.”

As if summoned, an unfamiliar vampire blurred at the top of the stairs, rushing at Riza. He was heavyset, but frighteningly fast—and armed. Riza aimed her pistol for his bald head, pulling the trigger at the same time the vampire returned fire. Blood and brains sprayed across the wallpaper, and Riza dodged, tumbling into a stack of boxes. Something sharp cut across her hand, but the vampire’s bullet missed her. She repositioned herself behind the boxes, adrenaline thrumming through her as she waited a moment to see if anyone else appeared. The violent noises from below continued.

As stealthily as she could manage, she hurried down the stairs, past the corpse of the vampire, pausing at the bottom to peer around the corner. The clutter of Barry’s home looked like a tornado had swept through. The stench of burnt vampire hung in the air, and two humans writhed on the floor in agony, while two others wrestled against Mustang’s far greater strength. Riza could tell he was trying to be gentle, in case they were compelled, but Riza had no such qualms. She shot one in the leg, the other the arm. The pain overrode their ability to fight back.

“Thanks,” Mustang huffed.

“Is that all of them?” she asked, not moving from her post.

“Two more humans outside. You got the big guy?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “And the family is safe.”

“Good. Can you take care of the two outside? I’ll deal with these four,” he said, binding the intruders’ hands with scraps of fabric he ripped from their own shirts. The humans were all large, younger men, dressed in rough clothes—something poorer folks would wear. Riza suspected they had been compelled because of their strength. If they even had been compelled. Sometimes people pretended to be compelled to escape consequences. Mustang would find out.

Riza slipped outside into the bright sunshine, seeing Barry’s home from the outside for the first time. It was an isolated house, surrounded by trees, with a long driveway where a large truck was parked. There was no sign of the two humans except the truck’s motor rumbling. Riza bumped into a large box, and she figured it must have been used to somehow smuggle the vampires into the house—unless they had known about the tunnel, which was a possibility if Barry had betrayed them. She hadn’t seen him with Mustang.

Riza hunkered behind the box, wishing for a little more coverage to approach the truck. There was too much open space.

But her targets made it easy for her. They dropped out of the truck, guns drawn without skill, more for threatening her. Riza disabled them as she had many soldiers over the years. A bullet for each of them.

“Drop your weapons!” she yelled, approaching with caution. She didn’t want to shoot either of them again, but she would. They refused, and one of them aimed at her. She shot at his wrist, forcibly disarming him. The other took a shot at her, but his arm had already been shot. His bullet went wide.

After that, her greatest challenge was dragging two grown men across the wide expanse of yard as they cussed at her and cried out in pain. One of them took a swing at her, and her cheek was still throbbing when Ed and Al tiptoed into the yard like skittish kittens.

“Mom said we could help you,” Ed explained.

“Go for it,” she said. Or she was going to lose her temper and shoot the intruders dead.

The brothers had no sympathy for the humans, pulling them through the gravel without mercy much faster than Riza was capable. She took more satisfaction than she should have from the men’s shock as they were bested by mere boys.

Inside, Mustang was donating blood to each human, and compelling them for answers one by one, despite what looked like worrisome injuries. He was pushing himself too far again, Riza thought.

Trisha had also made an appearance and had her wrist in Barry’s mouth. He was covered in slashes. It looked like he had been thrown against a wall, based on the dent above him.

He finished feeding and groggily waved Riza over.

“Oh, missy, you have a shiner marring that gorgeous cheek of yours,” he said, his words slurring as he sat up. “I’d give you some of my blood, but as you can see, I’m fresh out.”

Riza smiled gently. “It’s nothing serious, but thank you for the offer.”

Trisha joined Mustang compelling the humans. After they had their information, they compelled the men to forget everything and go home in the truck.

“Two of them did it for money, the rest were compelled,” Mustang told Riza grimly. “I think the female vampire,” he pointed at some ashes, “was the same one who used Dr. Rockbell.”

“That’s a relief,” Riza said.

“Yes and no,” Mustang said. “How did they find us here? Do they know the tunnels and where they connect to?”

“Maybe we should avoid the tunnels for now,” Trisha said, attempting to sweep some cracked drywall from where Barry had been smashed into it.

“I think that’s best,” Mustang agreed. He ran his hands through his hair, falling into a chair in exhaustion. “We’re all tired. We have no way to contact Hohenheim safely…Let’s rest until sunset, then head out on foot.” Riza’s exhausted body approved of the idea.

“I could drive you part way,” Barry said. “I have a safe place on the way to Central. It’s not much, but you’ll be protected from the sun.”

The boys were sent up to bed while the adults sketched out a more thorough plan for nightfall and fixed up Barry’s house. It was only when Riza finally marched up the stairs to return to bed that she remembered the body of the vampire she had killed—but it was gone, only a black, smoky spot left behind.

She hoped the boys hadn’t seen it before Mustang took care of it. As if reading her mind, he caught up to her.

“Only Trisha saw him. And good riddance to that bastard,” he said, giving Riza a nudge toward the bedroom door. “He took a bite out of my arm!”

Riza looked closer at Mustang with concern. His black shirt disguised the fact he was covered in blood. Like Barry, his wounds had healed, but Mustang and Trisha had only had animal blood from Barry’s stash. Mustang was still stronger than Riza, without question, but he wouldn’t be as strong as a well-fed vampire. His thirst would be a weakness she would need to compensate for.

“You’re a mess. Why don’t you go wash up first?” she offered. He nodded and left.

Riza went to the bedroom, brushed her hair and picked out a clean change of clothes while Mustang was gone. Then she took a turn in the bathroom. Looking in Barry’s dingy mirror, she could tell she was going to have a black eye. And while washing her hand she reopened the cut on her palm. She would have to dig through her bag for some bandages.

She opened the door to the bedroom quietly, and found Mustang already lying down, hands tucked under the back of his head. The moment she shut the door, he scurried to the end of the creaky bed.

“Uh, you’re bleeding,” he said, his whole body rigid and focused on her. Like a predator. It was very unlike him. She had cut herself numerous times in front of him—and other vampires—without issue.

“Oh, yes, I scraped my hand. Nothing major,” she said. She gasped when suddenly he was only a foot away.

“Sorry,” he apologized, stumbling back to the bed. “I’m a bit thirstier than I thought.”

“I don’t want to make a habit of it, but…I can give you mine again.”

His tongue ran across his fangs. “You’re tired. And hurt.”

“You’re the one best equipped to protect that family. You need to be at your best.” She thought of the embarrassing teasing from the boys at dinner and offered her wrist, resisting the urge to crane her head to the side.

“You’re far too generous, Hawkeye,” he said. He took her hand instead, spreading her fingers apart and studying the thin slice that marred her skin. His breath fanned over her palm while she held her own breath in anticipation. He merely licked across her hand to ensure the wound would close.

She shivered at the sensation of his tongue but was startled by the burn of disappointment he wasn’t going to feed from her. Then he quickly yanked her into his lap as he settled them on the bed, his hand hot and intimate on her waist. His lips brushed the side of her neck, hesitating as he waited for permission.

And part of her thought she should stop him, offer her wrist and return to the vampire hunting partnership they had before—nothing but a professional friendship.

She arched her neck.

“Please.”

His fangs pierced her neck, groaning as he sucked on her flesh. His hand stroked down to the small of her back, resting just above the curves below.

Heat flooded through her, radiating to her core. Fighting the urge to squirm on his lap, she clutched his shirt tightly as she panted raggedly. What was it about feeding him that aroused her so much? She knew there was a relaxant in their saliva, kind of like certain spiders, but this was different. Her whole body hummed in anticipation, like his bite was just preparing her for something more carnal. Maybe she should be worried. She wasn’t.

A woozy feeling overcame her, and she reached her hand to cup his cheek.

“Roy, that’s too much,” she said.

He immediately pulled back, biting his wrist and holding it up to her. Still high from the intoxicating experience of feeding him, she bent her head to drink, the heady taste buzzing through her like strong wine. It was addictive.

Her mind lost to sensations, it was with dim awareness she realized she was rocking against something thick and hard. She stilled her hips as embarrassment coursed through her, releasing his wrist and licking her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She closed her eyes, unable to look at him.

“Never be sorry for that,” he gasped. And then he rolled them so he was on top of her, her legs wrapping around him instinctually to grind against him through their clothes. She wanted more friction, more bare skin.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, nuzzling into her neck as she carded her fingers through his hair. “I want to taste you everywhere.”

Then his hands froze at her waist, body tensing.

“What is it?” she asked, mirroring his posture. The high of being in his arms was washed away with cold fear. And something that was almost regret seeped into her bones.

Then Mustang rolled off her with a string of frustrated curses, and she realized she was missing something.

“Barry is a bastard,” Mustang said, voice at regular volume. A cackle came from downstairs. Oh.

“It’s for the best. You’re always mixing food with pleasure. It was bound to happen,” she said, giving him an out. Or herself. She wasn’t sure.

“Uh, yes,” he said with palpable relief. “I’m sure your father would disapprove of you working for a vampire, let alone…” He trailed off awkwardly.

“Very true.” Her father would have never given a vampire sympathizer his alchemy, or even worked with a vampire. And he would have thrown her out for willingly sharing blood with one.

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” Mustang said, disappearing without another word.

She heard Barry laughing again and another rush of mortification hit her. If Barry had heard her with Mustang, the Elrics could have, too. With shame, Riza remembered they were on a dangerous assignment, protecting a lovely family from harm. It was not the time to fall into bed with her boss. And realistically, it should never happen, assignment or not. There was a complex, painful history between them that she was sure sex wouldn’t help whatsoever.

Maybe if there were some genuine feeling on his end, but she knew Roy Mustang. He flitted from woman to woman, and while moments ago Riza wanted to lose herself to the thrill of touching and being touched by him…She also knew she was a serious, monogamous person. It was one of the reasons she was still a virgin. And with Mustang, her heart could not afford to be careless. He was too important to her.

[fangirlshrewt97]

Geralt Whump Week Submission, Day 7

TITLE: Born of Kaer Morhen

SHIPS: Geralt of Rivia & Eskel

PROMPT: Kaer Morhen

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix

WARNINGS: NA

SUMMARY:  A few days after the Trials, Geralt is having a difficult time coping with the loss of the rest of his brothers. Luckily, Eskel is there to guide him back to shore. 

Excerpt: His expression was blank but the hurt and horror was apparent in his voice. He was haunted. “Kaer Morhen has been the only home I have known, the only one I remember. I remember walking these hallways, remember when we had the day off and us and our brothers all hid in different towers and took turns trying to see who would find everyone first. We have laughed, and cried, sweat and bled all over the stones of the courtyard. And to what end? Just the two of us stand on the other side.”Eskel hesitated before taking Geralt’s hand, rubbing a thumb over weathered knuckles. “I hear their screams too.”Golden eyes rose to meet golden eyes. “Kaer Morhen doesn’t feel like Kaer Morhen anymore.”

WORD COUNT:  2926 words

AUTHOR’S NOTES:  Additional Tags include Geralt Whump Week, Prompt: Kaer Morhen, Friendship, Reminiscing, Bonding, Emotionally constipated Geralt, Geralt feels a lot, but doesn’t have the words to express it, Eskel is a Good Bro, we all deserve a friend like Eskel, Angst, Soft Geralt of Rivia, Bittersweet, Memories, The Witcher Trials 

AUTHOR: Fangirlshrewt97

CHARACTERS: Geralt of Rivia, Eskel, Vesemir (mentioned), Original Witcher Character

LINK TO AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129021

                                                        ///

Geralt was seated on one of the crenalations of the highest tower of Kaer Morhen, eyes closed as he listened to the wind rustle through the mountains. It was early autumn, so the cold was not too biting and the sun’s heat could still be felt. His legs swung from where they hung over the wall, a five thousand feet drop below him. In the distance, he could hear the training masters barking out instructions.

“I was right.”

Geralt opened his eyes at the voice, tilting his head towards the right to see Eskel walking towards him, balancing on the roof below before bending and propelling himself into the tower in a neat jump.

Their new abilities had not yet lost their novelty, and the two boys enjoyed the chance to explore them outside the strict eye of their training masters.

“What were you right about?”

“Vesemir asked me where you had gone. I guessed this spot.”

“Hmm, what were the other guesses?”

“I was the only one who guessed.”

“Then you didn’t win anything.”

“I found you.”

Geralt looked over at his best friend - no his brother, their common medallions still shining bright on their chests. They had received them mere days ago, and the weight was still foreign.

Eskel settled himself next to Geralt, close enough Geralt could feel the heat of Eskel’s thigh.

They both stayed quiet, enjoying the view. Geralt had never been too fond of words, or at least could not remember being so since arriving at Kaer Morhen. He had found a brother in Eskel, both so similar yet different enough to have a bond strong enough to withstand even the trials.

Subconsciously, his hands curled tight against the stone of the tower.

Eskel noticed, and placed his own hand on top of Geralt’s, rubbing with his thumb until the tension went away. It had been a gesture the trainers always frowned at, but no one had verbally said them to stop, so they hadn’t.

“What were you thinking about just now?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Geralt growled, but Eskel would always be the last person to be intimidated by him. He just stared evenly at Geralt’s face until furious golden eyes met hit own. Eskel stood his ground.

“You’re thinking about the trials.”

Geralt’s growl got deeper.

“Hmm, you wear your heart on your sleeve my friend.”

“What do you want Eskel?”

“Tell me what is bothering you.”

“No.”

“Invalid answer.” Eskel’s tone was light, almost teasing, and it just made Geralt angry, an itch starting beneath his skin that only violence would cure.

“Eskel…”

“What? Are you going to push me off the cliff? I am trying to help, stop being a stubborn ass.”

Geralt let out a frustrated exhale, jaw clenching.

“The new recruits start today.”

The non-sequitar threw Eskel off for a bit, but he recovered quickly. “Ok…”

When Geralt did not offer anything additional, Eskel bit the inside of his mouth. As if Geralt would make anything easy.

“Geralt. What about the new recruits?”

“Nothing.”

Geralt felt the anger building in his veins, Vesemir had warned them that should they pass the trials, the first few weeks, it would not just be their senses that would be heightened but also their emotions. He had not been prepared for just how amplified his emotions felt. He was not angry at Eskel, he knew his brother was only trying to help him. The sound of the trainee’s practice swords banging against each other grew louder. The world started to feel like it was underwater.

“Geralt.” Eskel called out, moving his hand to grasp Geralt’s shoulder.

The anger boiled over. Before he could process it, Geralt had lunged at Eskel, slamming him into the floor of the tower’s balcony above which they had been sitting. Eskel choked on impact but grabbed at Geralt and soon the two were wrestling on the ground, not holding back. They had always been equally matched in size and strength, where Eskel was better at signs, Geralt exceeded in hunting and tracking. But Geralt had also been given an extra round of mutations, so ultimately, he tired slower than Eskel, and at the first sign of slowing down, threw him to the opposite side of the tower. Eskel groaned before moving to sit up.

“Enough Geralt.”

“Tired already?”

Eskel growled. “I am trying to have a conversation with you. But if you insist on continuing this with fists, then I will throw you out of this balcony.”

Geralt rushed for him, but Eskel sidestepped at the last moment, leaving Geralt to crash head first into the wall and fall back with a loud cry.

“Look at that, your skull really is thick. It managed to make a crack.” Eskel said from somewhere near his shoulder. All Geralt could feel was pain, a great throbbing inside his head. He groaned again when strong arms wrapped themselves below his armpits and leveraged him up against the wall he had apparently cracked. He felt a change in the air before the ache faded to the background, and Geralt was able to open his eyes without feeling as though his eyes would pop out of his head.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Es--kelllll….” Geralt rasped, even those simple syllables taking the wind out of him.

Eskel sighed and sat on his knees in front of him. Ignoring his groan and attempts to bat him away, Eskel ran his fingers over the back of Geralt’s head and face, making sure nothing was too badly injured. “Congratulations all you have done is given yourself a massive headache and made yourself look like a mess.”

It was quiet when Eskel shifted from his knees to sit criss-cross in front of him.  

“Do you want me to fetch you a painkiller?”

Geralt shook his head. He had it leaned back against the wall at an angle, relieving the pressure from the bump to the back of his head. His eyes had also fallen shut, and his body was slouched. The fight had also left him.

He opened his eyes when Eskel covered his hand with his own.

“Well. Since we got the useless fight out of the way. Just. Just talk to me Geralt. Please. I want to help.”

A lump formed in Geralt’s throat, same as every other time he tried to talk about his feelings. Words only ever got Geralt in trouble. Words only ever drove away the people he cared about.

“I can’t.” He finally said, a bare whisper. A forbidden confession.

Eskel didn’t force him. That would only serve to make things worse.

"I’m sorry I pushed.”

“Its not-” Geralt grew frustrated. Eskel had nothing to apologize for. He knew he was being the stubborn problem here. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

“Come, it is almost time for lunch.”

“I am not hungry.”

“You skipped breakfast.”

“I am not hungry.”

“Geralt…” Eskel growled in warming. Geralt stared at him with hard eyes, daring him to do something. “You know, usually I can at least guess why you are being a repressed asshole. Today I cannot even do that. So please, I will beg if that is what it takes, tell me what is going on today. You are hurting, and I don’t care about all the bullshit Vesemir teaches us that we don’t have emotions. We may not have them all, and we may not have them as clearly, but we still feel because we are alive. I can hear your blood roaring, your heart pounding. You cannot hide from me Geralt, but I am also not a mage, able to read your thoughts. So please, just talk to me.”

Geralt stares at him before averting his gaze, eyes turning a little softer.

“The new recruits are here.”

“Yes?”

“They start today.”

“You’ve mentioned this already.”

Eskel does not mean to be obtuse, but he had no idea what the new recruits have to do with Geralt being angry, they are hardly the first batch to join since they started training. He can see it is frustrating Geralt that he is not understanding though.

“Geralt…”

“We are the only ones who survived the trials Eskel.” Geralt bites out, and Eskel is once again thrown for a loop with that non-sequitar.

What does them being the only survivors have to do with the new recruits- Oh. Is that what had been bothering Geralt? Stupid man had always had the softest heart, most at odds with his gruff exterior.

“Oh.” Is all he says aloud.

Geralt curls into himself, shame starting to mix into his scent.

“Geralt,” Eskel starts, knowing he will have to choose his words carefully, “correct me if I am wrong, but are you thinking about the new recruits and the fact most of them are going to die during the Trials?”

If possible, Geralt curls into himself more. He felt a mixture of shame and anger, as well as guilt. How was it fair?

“It isn’t meant to be fair.” Eskel said. “Witcher training is grueling, and it is not kind, and it not something any child should go through. But unfortunately we live in a world where Witchers are necessary, and the best way to maximize their chances on the Path is to train them to their limits here, in a controlled setting.”

“There are 20 boys down there Eskel. 2 out of 20 will survive.”

Eskel sighed. “It is not meant to be easy Geralt. It’s just.”

Geralt turned sharply to look at him. “Just what?”

“The boys, they come here, we came here, because no one wanted us. I don’t know the world outside these walls is worse for orphans than in here, but I also don’t think it is kinder either.”

“Maybe not to all. But to some.”

“Maybe. But this is the fate that has been assigned to us. The fate we have all chosen to undergo. We are all given a choice. The life of a Witcher is not one of happiness or easiness but at least it is a life.”

“It has been three days Eskel. I can still hear the echoes of their screams.” Geralt said. His expression was blank but the hurt and horror was apparent in his voice. He was haunted. “Kaer Morhen has been the only home I have known, the only one I remember. I remember walking these hallways, remember when we had the day off and us and our brothers all hid in different towers and took turns trying to see who would find everyone first. We have laughed, and cried, sweat and bled all over the stones of the courtyard. And to what end? Just the two of us stand on the other side.”

Eskel hesitated before taking Geralt’s hand, rubbing a thumb over weathered knuckles. “I hear their screams too.”

Golden eyes rose to meet golden eyes. “Kaer Morhen doesn’t feel like Kaer Morhen anymore.”

“That is because it is tainted. Tainted by the blood of our brothers, and all those who came before them, all who pled their loyalty to her, and ended up dead before they could put their word to work. This keep is ours Geralt, ours to uphold, ours to guard, and ours to return to. The walls, they hold our memories.”

“All they hold are screams.”

“That’s not true.” Eskel pleaded. He glanced around the tower they were in, before rising, making a noise of surprise. He came back and held out one of the broken ceiling tiles. In his hand he had a jar from somewhere.

Geralt looked at him in confusion. “Where did you get the jug?”

“Later, first see this.” Eskel said as he held out the tile.

“It’s… a broken tile?”

Eskel smiled. “Yes. Turn it over.”

Geralt took the tile and turned it, inhaling at the sight. There, in childish handwriting someone had scratched an R and an E into the tile, along with a date.

“What is this?”

“Do you remember that day?” Eskel asked, pointing to the date. No, it had been almost eight years ago now.

“Remus. We were about to start our first round of Trials that week. Remus couldn’t sleep, and neither could I. I heard him get up and leave the dormitory, so I followed him. You and the others were asleep.”

“Where did he go?”

“Here. He came up here, and he heard me too, so he invited me to join him.”

“And?”

“The sneaky bastard had managed to somehow swipe a bottle of ale from the teacher’s table and had hidden it up here. He showed me this nook in the wall, and how sometimes he would sneak up here to drink.”

“I knew he was stealing wine.” Geralt whispered as he remembered his brother. Remus had had some of the quickest reflexes among them, and could sweet talk the cook into always giving me a little extra sweet.

Eskel chuckled. “Yeah, we stood right here, it was practically pitch black, the lights from the courtyard and the torch he had swiped from the hallway the only thing giving light. He shared his bottle with me, told me it was in case we didn’t make it through the first style, we should at least go having tasted alcohol.”

“The inscription.”

“We drank the whole bottle, we got stupid drunk. Remus’s idea. He pulled the tile that hid his nook and used a pebble to scratch it. He was trying for our full names but ended up writing R too big to fit anything else, so he just wrote an E. And the date.”

“It became a little thing between us, right before every Trial, once all of you fell asleep, he and I would sneak up here and drink.”

“Is that why you were always hungover during the Trials.”

Eskel socked him in the arm. “If I had been hungover and still managed to pass the Trials, then that means I am the most incredible Witcher to have ever lived.”

“Fuck off Eskel.” Geralt said jovially. Eskel joined his laughter, and laughed so hard, until they heard pottery clink against the wall. They saw the bottle leaning against it.

Taking it gently in his arms, Eskel turned it over. “After we lost him two years ago, I couldn’t really bring myself to come up here. Until you dragged me.”

“Eskel…”

Eskel shook his head. “It’s alright. In fact it proves my point.”

When Geralt tilted his head, Eskel gave the bottle a shake. “Remus is gone Geralt, he would have been an incredible Witcher, but he didn’t make it. I miss him daily, he was the funniest of us. But just because he died doesn’t mean he never existed. We are the only ones left of our batch, and that is unfair. But the greater injustice is if we forget our brothers. We are the ones who have to keep their memory alive.” Eskel looked down the tile fragment in his hand. “Kaer Morhen is here to keep their memory alive. This tower will always remind me of the nights with Remus, the pools will remind me of the time we decided to add those snapping stones to the water before the professors came to bathe. The greenhouse will remind me of Lionel discovering he was allergic to sagewood.”

Geralt felt a new feeling bloom in his gut. The pain and the anger were still there. But as Eskel kept talking, they faded. He realized it was acceptance.

“Kaer Morhen guards them, guards their memory.”

A moment of understanding.

Of connection.

A breath, a letting go.

A sharing of the burden of grief.

A forgiveness and an acceptance from two guilty survivors to each other.

Eskel smiled, and rose, brushing off his pants before holding out a hand for Geralt. Geralt took it.

“Come brother, let us make sure the injury will heal quickly, and we will go meet the recruits.”

“Eskel.” Geralt’s arm tightened in Eskel’s hold, but Eskel gave him a soft smile.

“The new recruits are still here Geralt, and if we don’t guide them, who will? The test does not discriminate, if you are strong, you pass. Let us go make those boys strong enough to survive. Let us do our brothers proud.”

Swallowing back tears, Geralt nodded, letting himself be pulled up by Eskel.

As they walked down the stairs, Eskel started to recount the story of a prank he had pulled with another of their friends when Geralt was being punished for something. And then another. Geralt shared his own. Their friends were not there anymore to leave their impression on the world so it was up to them to make sure they were not forgotten along with the dust of Kaer Morhen.

///

Witchers are born in Kaer Morhen. It is their cradle, their school, their greatest teacher, and for all of them at one or another, their grave. This castle in the mountain, hidden away against the clouds was theirs, theirs to protect, theirs to love, theirs to treasure.

Witchers train, Witchers are made, and Witchers died. But Kaer Morhen had seen thousands of her children grow up, seen their bloods soak her roots, their laughter and screams embed themselves into her walls. Soldiers, and cowards, boys who never grew up, and old men who lived so long their bones started to crumble. Witchers armed with steel and silver and claws, growls and a medallion declaring them hers.

Because above all, Kaer Morhen was home to the School of the Wolf. And her pack would never die.

[thisiswhatwereupagainst]

Obscure Marvel fancast of the day: Rachel Shelly as Dr. Tania Belisnky aka Red Guardian aka Starlight!

Tania Belinsky was a brilliant neurosurgeon from Russia, written back when the USSR was still in power. She grew up a devoted patriot to her country, and though she found some of what the government did to be (in her own words) repulsive, she was still dedicated to the positive Communist ideals of unity and the individual serving the many. However, when her father was exiled to Siberia for being a dissident, Tania become a costumed vigilante who fought crime, but also protected other dissidents, in hopes to reform Soviet society from within. For this reason, she was considered an enemy of the state and a wanted criminal herself by the Russian government. As a vigilante, she called herself the Red Guardian, after a previous superhero, a man who had been Russia’s answer to Captain America during the 50s. She had no superpowers, fighting purely through athletic skill, hand to hand combat, and the use of a bladed belt buckle as a weapon. Tania came to US at the request of Dr. Stephen Strange. Strange did not know she was secretly a superhero; he merely wanted her help as a fellow neurosurgeon in performing a brain transplant. The operation was a success, but right afterwards, Strange was attacked by the supervillain Plantman. Tania revealed her secret identity as Red Guardian, and they defeated Plantman with the help of Power Man. After that, Tania stayed in the United States to serve as another member of the Defenders alongside Dr. Stranger, Power Man, Valkyrie, Nighthawk, the Hulk, and other heroes. Alas, she only had a few adventures with the Defenders before she received a call from Russia, threatening her loved ones if she did not return. She did as commanded, and when she returned home, the KGB was waiting for her. They informed her that they knew of her secret identity, but it was not the government that they were taking her to…but instead to the most powerful man in all of Russia, the feared being known only as “Codename: Sergei”. It was he who had ordered her return and orchestrated this kidnapping. Tania fought her captors, but a mind-calming cowl was placed on her head, so that she was in a subdued state when she was brought before this man–Sergei Krylov aka “The Presence”, a mad scientific Soviet genius who had caused a Chernobyl-like nuclear disaster in the “Forbidden Zone” by using cobalt radiation that had transformed him into a superhuman being. He had been monitoring Tania and her activities, and while he considered her heroic ideals to be naive and misled, he had decided she was his ideal mate. Tania was forcibly subjected to the same radiation, and granted superhuman abilities as well—flight, super-strength, invulnerability, and the power to shoot blasts of pure nuclear radiation. However, these powers came at a terrible cost: her free will. Tania was now in mental thrall to the Presence, as little more than his zombie-like slave…though even in this state, she always begged him not to hurt others. However, the Presence was a supervillain (what a surprise) and when the pair inevitably came into conflict with Tania’s former teammates, the Defenders, Tania regained her free will when Presence was about to kill her friends. She rejected him, and when he called her the thing he loved most, she called out how his very words showed he just thought of her as a THING, and said that he didn’t really love her, he loved a fantasy he had of her, a zombie he had created. Basically, the Presence was a gross incel before a term was invented for it, and she called him out on it. His heart broken and ego deflated, the Presence departed. As for Tania, she was kept isolated at a Soviet research facility, til the Presence unleashed a giant radioactive amoeba on Russia. Tania was unleashed to do battle the amoeba and stop him. When she arrived on the scene, she realized he wasn’t the blame for the giant amoeba, but was fighting it himself…and failing with their combined powers, they destroyed it…and then Presence confessed his love to her and as if that weren’t bad enough, SHE STAYED WITH HIM! And, surprise, she was later shown to be under his mental control again later! which makes me think that his control never really left her in the first place, and that her getting away from him physically helped her stave it off, but when she got close to him again while fighting the amoeba, that re-activated it, and THAT’S why she agreed to stay with him once more. Anyway, Presence starts going mad with power…which just means he gets more egotistical and gross. he decided he should not just be content with ONE mind-controlled consort, but should have ALL the sexiest Soviet superheroines. So he sends the mind-controlled (yet still aware enough to cry) Tania (who now goes by Starlight instead of Red Guardian) to kidnap her fellow Russian heroines, Black Widow and Darkstar. Darkstar, by the way, is the long-lost daughter of the Presence. And he knows this at this point. And yet he still wants her in his little Soviet Harem. Seriously. It’s so gross. Starlight says that this shows how he isn’t mentally well, but his “symptoms” seem to be just being egotistical and thinking he’s entitled to a bunch of hot women being under his command including his own daughter, he doesn’t seem insane so much as just disgusting to me. In any case, Starlight once again manages to snap out of his control, but “chooses” to return to him since she believes that her love can heal him. Yeah, I don’t think that’s really her choice. I think her “love” for him is just more mind-control. And if it’s not, it’s Stockholm Syndrome. And the tragic thing is, if she ditches him for real? She’s all alone. His radiating her didn’t just give her powers (which seem to have been simply to enable her to do his dirty work, like KIDNAPPING WOMEN) they also make her radioactive herself, so she can’t be around other people long or she’ll irradiate them, killing them or making them sick. He’s ensured that he’s the only person she can be around, it’s either him alone or total isolation. Just like a real abuser often isolates their victims through mundane means. Anyway, yet again she “chooses” to be with him after he is defeated by the Avengers in another villainous effort. Tania begs for his life to be spared and accompanies him into custody despite the fact she did nothing against the Avengers during their conflict, only looks sad. The exposition says that Thor shakes his head at her choice, but…as I’ve said, I don’t think it’s a choice. It’s either some degree of still-active enslavement, or the “choice” of any other abused victim when they “choose” to stay with their abuser. That’s what so many people don’t get about abuse—that victims usually “choose” to stay with them, because of how much the abusers warp their mind. And that’s just in real life, where super-powered mind-control doesn’t exist. Starlight and Presence are later released from custody to fight a greater supervillain threat, Kang the conqueror, and Presence plans to use their regained freedom to do more villainy, but Starlight talks him out of it. That’s usually what she does, try to persuade him not to be a supervillain or hurt innocents. So she’s not under totally robotic control, she can have free thought like that, she just…can’t leave or disobey him. In a way, that’s almost crueler than if she was just a robotic zombie, because it means she’s aware of what’s going on. No wonder she looks sad a lot, huh? But then again, her “persuading” Presence not to go rogue while fighting Kang…was by threatening to him that she would leave him if he did. And he agreed. So he at least does believe she can or would leave. Maybe his control waxes and wanes. Or maybe she really is choosing to be with him, so long as he doesn’t go too far in his evil, because she thinks she can change him or because, as mentioned, she can’t be around anyone else. Of course, HE can’t be around anyone else either, so does that give her one bit of leverage too. Abuse victims do sometimes have that, and it doesn’t invalidate their victimhood or make them “not really victims/not really abused”. Anyway, at some point offscreen, she grew able to control her radiation seepage, so that she was able to be around others again, and she left Presence. She became a superhero again, and joined the Winter Guard, the Russian superhero squad. Darkstar and Vanguard, the Presence’s long-estranged children, were on this squad…and Starlight started a romantic relationship with Vanguard. The son of the man who enslaved her and forced her to be his lover and servant. And as weird as that is…I get it, actually. Abuse victims often desire to go back to their abusers, and many do. Others have to fight themselves on it, even years after escaping. It’s quite possible, likely even, that Starlight still “needed” Presence, and thus getting with his son was a way of coping with that, a way to be with him without returning to him. So yeah it’s weird and squicky but it makes sense. As for Presence, he took up with a Dire Wraith sorceress named Fantasma (who was a former member of the Winter Guard herself) When the Winter Guard fought them, Fantasma was thrown into Limbo…and she dragged Starlight along with her. Neither has been seen since. My problem with Tania’s story isn’t the content itself. A story about a smart, powerful woman with her own interesting life who has everything taken from her because a man decided he owned her is a very realistic one, despite the fantastic trappings of this scenario, and it’s worth telling. But it needs to be handled with care and attention. This should be TANIA’S story. It should be ABOUT her. We should see her tragedy and triumph up close and personal. The writers should CARE and ask the readers to care too. But that’s not what happens. This cool lady joins the Defenders, has an interesting personality set up with an interesting personal conflict set up (her loyalty to her country vs her hate of its government) and then all of a sudden she just gets swept off the playing board and is kind of forgotten, popping up here and again over the next 20+ years to remind us that she belongs to this gross guy now and has limited to nil free will, escapes a few times but only temporarily, and the heroes she was friends with just all kind of ignore it. This isn’t like Bucky Barnes or Laura Kinney where the story of her trauma and enslavement is the focus, where she’s the main character, where careful attention is paid to her arc, where she HAS an arc. Tania doesn’t have an arc. Hell, when she finally gets her free will back and her radiation-seep under control, it’s completely offscreen! Her victory is never shown! She just shows up with the good guys again and we’re left to infer what happened, as if it’s some insignificant detail! And just as she’s done this—she gets tossed offscreen, forever. At least forever thus far. It’s just…so unfair. And I don’t mean on an in-universe level, where drama and conflict and unfairness should happen just like in the real world, and to keep the story moving. I mean it’s unfair in how it was handled on a meta level, and this character and her story deserved a fuck ton better.