#enough to push them over the threshold and force them to experience it and make it hard to go back

[dravidssideblog]

Finally, a cheap, at-home treatment for perma-tf! And best of all, it's counted as healthcare for tf victims, so you get your first box for free! Victims of virus outbreaks and pranks taken too far rejoice all over the world!

It's just, the medicine is kind of a pain. You have to take it twice a day, at the same times every day, and you can't eat anything for an hour before or after taking it. It only works if you take it every day; if you take it inconsistently, then you're basically just wasting it, and you'll need to buy another box and try again. It takes weeks to see significant effects, and 2 whole months to fully detransform. And it's grape flavored, but that awful kind that doesn't taste anything like grapes!

But you gotta take it to detransform. And you want to detransform. Even though it's hard. Even though it's so much easier to accept it. Even though you could just do nothing.

[yallthemwitches]

The Best Fun

Super silly, short fic for @jilytoberfest Day 6: Food disasters

Because we all know Sirius would be the one to experiment with muggle drugs~ AO3 link here!

“Prongs—don’t be angry.”

Peter stood with his back against the Fat Lady who screamed at him to be unhanded. His arms were outstretched but his face was riddled with absolute fear. 

“Can’t say I love hearing that from you, Wormy.”

If Peter had been sent to ward him off, that meant that the other two marauders must be shit deep in whatever laid beyond the portrait hole. Usually, the prospect of something to spice up his evening would perk his spirits, but tonight was a rare exception. 

He had been forced to do patrols with Chloe Sparrow due to the fact that she had been favoring her fellow Slytherins during her rounds. Although it had been his idea, it didn’t help that it took away precious time patrolling with Lily. Then, as he had come to find out, it also meant the night would be filled with a strange mixture of semi racist remarks and what James could only refer to as a grotesque version of flirting, ending in Chloe being sent back to her dorms before she could smack his arse another time. 

So in short, James’ bullshit threshold was reaching max capacity. 

“So—do you just want to tell me or do I need to pretend to struggle past you…”

Peter started to look visibly sweaty and backed off of the Fat Lady who, now free from her smothering, chirped insults under her breath. 

“Uhm. So before I say anything, you should know Lily wanted to, so—”

“Peter.” 

James was losing patience fast. He had expected the lads to have done something, sure, but Lily was a development he wasn’t ready for. From his tone alone, it all came tumbling out of Peter like a single word.

”Pads made some stuff.” 

“What kind of stuff?”

Peter’s eyes shifted. “Muggle stuff—said something about how that band,The Beagles or whatever, used it to—”

James walked up to his mate who jumped out of the way before he could even attempt to push through. 

Trudging through the portrait hole, Peter kept fast on his feet, babbling excuses like a mosquito hovering to feed.

“Again! She wanted to! Even helped a bit! Moony didn’t stop them!”

A voice drawled out from the center of the common room. “Thanks for ratting me out Wormy.” 

Remus laid reclined on the length of the couch, book in one hand while a cigarette hung from his lips. 

James took stock of the room. The only thing that looked remotely out of place was a tray of what looked like a dessert which had been ravenously attacked. A knife balanced on the baking tray. 

“So where are they?” 

Without any further elaboration Lupin tilted his head towards the fireplace and James took the two steps needed to get enough clearance to see over onto the ground. Lily was curled up in a ball, eyes closed and head resting on the stomach of a giant black dog, both completely asleep.

“Explain.” He used his head boy voice, but Remus only laughed. 

“Sirius thought it would be a scream to make pot brownies—should have seen them about an hour ago—never seen two people hug and dance around so much in my life.”

Peter, who was still standing at the entrance of the portrait hole, pipped up in a quivering voice. “It was quite nice actually—Lily was so affectionate and—”

“And you didn’t call me? Didn’t think that I wanted to come try muggle drug food too?”

James looked down at his sleeping girlfriend who buried her nose into Sirius’ stomach, hands curling around the fur, blissfully unaware that the animal she was laying on could be anything other than a dog. 

“You all knew I’ve always wanted to do this, Moony! Honestly, I’m hurt!”

“Sorry mate, it just happened.”

James crouched down next to Lily’s sleeping form, brushing some of her hair from her face. At his touch, her eyes blinked open, a brilliant glassy green, slightly bloodshot, looked up at him.

“Oh Baby! You’re back!” She lifted up and threw her arms around his neck, nuzzling her nose into his collar. 

“Oh I just love you! Wow, you smell so good!” 

Every word from her mouth sounded breathy and light, like the world was one big cloud with her on it. From behind him, Peter muttered: “See? I quite like her stoned” and Lupin just snorted in response.

“Have you met this dog? I love this dog.” She turned to wrap her arms back around a still sleeping Sirius, but James caught her, pulling her back into him. 

“I have met the dog—that's ok, we can leave him alone now.” James cradled her to his chest and she melted into him, completely forgetting Sirius despite her comment seconds ago.

“I can see you had some fun tonight.” 

She didn’t respond, rather looking up into his eyes before bursting into a laugh, grabbing both sides of his face and smashing their foreheads together. 

“Brilliant fun. The best fun. But not as fun as you. I missed you.”

It was hard to feel upset about that. James scooped under her legs and carried her like a child over to the staircase which led up to the dorms. Laughter tumbled out of her mouth before becoming preoccupied with kissing his neck in quick, frantic pecks. 

“I’m going to get her to bed before she decides she loves someone else—” Lily just squealed, wrapping her hands tighter around his neck in an attempt to get him to kiss her.

“If Sirius wakes up, tell him I’ll give him a running head start in the morning before I beat the shit out of him–.”

Remus didn’t look up from his book, eyebrows raised.

“Awfully kind of you Prongs.”

James started to climb the steps, Lily alternating between laughter and proclamations of love.

“Well–It’s the least I could do to repay him.”

[ellipse-society]

So with our last post we vaguely mentioned that there was something that we feel like we don't have the amnesia or the trauma for(at least per community standards) that we do experience and that is... polyfragmentation. And we have so much denial around actually experiencing it for that reason that we have only started to break out of by discussing our experiences with other polyfragmented systems.

So for our our innerworld is... extremely complex. At the moment to our knowledge(but we seem to be discovering more fairly often) we have two subsystems and six sidesystems. Every one of them with separate rules, functioning, access and communication than those in the main part of the innerworld. Each with designated gatekeepers and secret keepers to keep them in their separate bubbles.

We also have an extremely low split tolerance(and the fact that our brain forces us to split two at a time to keep an even headcount makes that worse). We will split multiple headmates over the smallest of things. We have a significant number of fragments(a later discovery around why some headmates connected to seemingly nothing were elaborating way quicker than we would expect them too and we have no clue how many since we don't track them though there are a few common ones with distinct enough characteristics that we notice them being near front a lot).

But we don't have amnesia(apart from one specific headmate) and we don't have trauma that would be described as even half as bad as what some say would be "required" under the idea that it's only the people with the worst trauma who experience this so it's impossible right?

So a few ideas and theories on this:

One, and something we push a lot because it is one of the things we discussed with a friend that makes us more secure in our experiences, is that it doesn't necessarily matter the severity of individual trauma but could be based on duration and how easy it may or may not be to escape it. Of course not universal as there is no distinct trauma line on these things and it shouldn't be treated like there is. Something being the most common is not the rule. Despite our trauma not meeting the severity threshold many try to put on the experience we were constantly at threat of it happening randomly for all but one hour every week for 7 years(even when we were sleeping). Even if we weren't around abusers we were around people who reported our actions to them so we were never in a safe space. That is what made our trauma bad instead of the severity.

Two for the elaborate innerworld we almost solely process things visually. Every thought needs a visual representation to make it make sense to us. And when I say visual is the predominant I mean it. It's not that we are using it along with other things it's that we struggle enough with other ways of processing that it becomes necessary. Despite what it may seem from our writing language and processing language is a struggle for us. We still struggle with English despite it being our native language. We can't spell no matter how much we practice, our reading comprehension is shot due to lazy eye problems that continue to be a nuisance, we very much struggle to communicate because we just see pictures of what we are trying to say in our head and then struggle to come up with the words for them(and can't draw to save out life lol). Everything in our brain is always about visual symbolism.

Three for splitting we have the we're a mosaic of everything we've experienced type of autism. It's generally how we make sense of the world to try to become it to understand it which has led to so much in the way of interesting splitting patterns even when we don't realize it until later. Our brain finds comfort in introjecting the world(whether or not this means headmates exist because of it since introjection is not system exclusive) and will split different elements of it in different ways. And sometimes likes to keep them separate to keep the processing of them separate.

And four we know why we don't have amnesia. We don't have amnesia because I'm stuck fronting 24/7. And how do we know this? Because I wasn't fronting for two weeks while splitting once. For that period and the time while I was still solidifying as myself while fronting afterwards we collectively had grey out amnesia for the majority of our memories with some blackout amnesia of the really bad ones. We felt like we were wading through a thick fog trying to grasp at pieces of our memories. The way we can manage a collective memory is by keeping someone in the front 24/7 to maintain the continuation of the memory. As soon as I'm not there the memories can't be accessed easily. That is the only way we maintain memory with all the complex chaos that goes on in our head.

So I'm curious to see if other OSDD systems have similar experiences and what others think about this and whatnot. I'm looking forward to hearing from anyone who wants to talk about this :)

[imakemywings]

For the femslash writing, a Meladriel would spark so much joy 💛

Alright, this will be the last fill for the month (and a day late whoopsie)

I think the power plays Galadriel pushes these two into make for such an interesting dynamic. This fulfills the "euphoria" square of FotF's Pride month bingo (I think).

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Pairing: Galadriel x Melian

Length: 3k

Summary: Galadriel is determined to show Melian she is capable of more than Melian believes. Melian wonders if her pupil grasps her lessons.

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

The Patience of the Oak

The resistance of Melian’s mind was as the howling of the winds storming the Helcaraxë. Galadriel wobbled upon a hair’s breadth of solidity beneath her feet, as though she were up in the flexible treetops amid the crack of thunder, or balanced upon some high-flung crossbeam of a ship at sea. If she did not keep her balance, she would fall. If she did not keep her focus, she would be lost, swept out into the ether of those winds.

Still, she pushed forward.

That she could do so at all was a riot of triumph; half of her had expected to get nowhere at all, and while the force of Melian send her skidding backwards, it did not drive her out entirely.

In the physical world, she was only most distantly aware of her fingers clenched around the edge of the table, of her toes digging into the floor until the joints ached. There was no space in her consciousness for the physical now; there was only the vastness of Melian’s mind and the determination of Galadriel’s spirit to know it.

In her own strength, in her conviction, Galadriel had confidence; Melian believed her feebler and more delicate than she was in truth, but Galadriel could show her her error.

The wind blew harder, a silent roar in the blackness through which Galadriel could feel the shine of light from those things she wished to know, those repositories of Melian’s knowledge and power. She stretched herself out towards them, reaching, reaching, reaching, and with another extension of herself, tried to ward off that part of her mind so keen to liken this experience to the terror of a blizzard (She, unlike her sentimental siblings and cousins, would not fall prey to dwelling on the death of Elenwë, lost in just such a storm). The more she allowed those thoughts to enter her mind, the greater risk they would sink their roots in, reshaping this experience into that one, and Galadriel did not want the dual struggle of fighting to reach her goal and not to be overwhelmed by her own past.

There, just ahead of her, a softly glowing center of thought; Galadriel, so near to her goal, surged forward with renewed energy in spite of the flagging of her strength; she did not mean to take yet, only to touch, to show Melian she could—

      That’s enough, I think. Melian’s voice sounded faintly amused and not altogether unannoyed, as one whose pet is both bothersome yet entertaining. Like a flick of her fingers, Melian snapped Galadriel out of her mind, flinging her fully back into the physical realm, and Galadriel staggered away from the table, stumbling over her feet until she landed hard on her seat, sucking in air like a winded horse.

The smoothness of the wood on the table did not allow Galadriel to do much damage to her hands, but her fingers ached from gripping it, and deprived now of the ecstasy of struggle and success, the full measure of her exhaustion came upon her, and she slumped down to the floor, hair strewn about her, and slept.

***

In the garden, Melian waited. Galadriel had felt her call earlier in the day, but forced herself not to rush. With care she dressed and arranged her hair in a neutral style and sipped weak wine as she reassured herself no damage had been done. Standing now upon the threshold of the eastern Jewel Garden, characterized by riotous bursts of a rainbow of fruits and flowers, she smoothed her skirts and lived in the final moments before having to face up to the queen’s displeasure. In her mind, she rehearsed the many words she had prepared for this meeting, but when she came near and met Melian’s night-dark eyes, those thoughts ran wild and she fought desperately to rein them back in.

“So, my pupil—”

Galadriel did not mean to interrupt, but the amok words burst through her teeth before she could swallow them.

“You underestimate my strength!”

Melian fell silent, those dark eyes sweeping up and down from the thrust of Galadriel’s chin to where her toes dug into the grass. She set aside the pomegranate she had been picking over when Galadriel arrived (Melian did not need to eat, but playing with the food of the Elves seemed to entertain her; she would leave the seeds out for someone or something else to claim.) Galadriel held open the curtains of her mind, inviting Melian inward, to show how little she had to hide from her teacher.

Melian wore the form of the Elves, as was her pleasure, and on that day gleamed in carnation yellow, her sleek black hair drawn away from her face with crisp white deer-bone clasps, a gift of the king.

“It is a particular kind of pride, to receive a gift and demand only more,” the queen remarked, and Galadriel drew in a painfully sharp breath. Now in the moment, now with Melian’s low, musical voice picking apart the flaws in her, the shortcomings in her behavior, it seemed foolish to tell herself her tutelage with Melian was not potentially on the line. But she could not now contemplate being exiled from Melian’s presence, or she would falter.

“I respect the extent of my teacher’s knowledge,” said Galadriel, lowering her head. “Had I no curiosity in it, we would never have begun this. Is it not natural I should wish for more?”

“That for which you wish and that of which you are capable do not always resonate,” said Melian. “As we have discussed before.”

Galadriel looked up without thinking, to fix Melian with an expression of helpless desire.

“And still I protest,” she said, straining to keep her voice even. “I am capable of more than my teacher believes.”

“Young you are still, and—”

“I am not a child!” Galadriel insisted urgently. “Horrors have I seen as well, teacher, and much did I overcome to make it to your doorstep. I am strong enough for what you may impart!” When Melian did not immediately respond, Galadriel could not restrain herself from adding: “Much more do you show Lúthien. Is it because I am no daughter of yours that I am not worth  more?”

 “You are not like Lúthien,” said Melian. “She who bears my blood is no Elf, though she may in face and body resemble her father. She is unique, and better able to grasp my knowledge and my power.”

“You have not faith in me,” Galadriel concluded, casting her eyes down unto the ground in tense despair.

“Had I not faith in you, we would not stand here now,” said Melian, rising to her full and considerable height. Again, Galadriel lowered her head. “Still I once more counsel you to restraint. Lúthien, besides being my daughter, has many more years to her name than you. She has had more time to learn and to develop her patience. Yet as I have said, your potential is strong. But you will squander it and turn to cruder, lesser matters than you might if you do not exercise care.”

Melian drifted around her, pale feet sliding noiselessly through the grass, her fingers brushing over the boughs and flowers that surrounded them.

“I feel your hunger, daughter of Eärwen,” she murmured. “Never do I touch your mind but I feel it. Already you have shown greater restraint than others may have. Yet I would look for more.” Even behind her, out of sight, Galadriel could picture, could feel Melian so clearly it was as if she looked upon her. “Those most eager warrant the most caution.”

Galadriel held her tongue and remained still until Melian came back into her sight. The queen did not touch her; never had Galadriel seen her touch another but the king or the princess, and those rare times when she laid her hands on Galadriel for a lesson.

There was more that Melian could have said, that she must know, but she did not, and Galadriel was relieved.

“What is it you desire from me, child?” Melian asked, and Galadriel seemed to feel her words as much as hear them. Her eyes darted up to Melian’s oval-shaped face, divine in her beauty, distant even in her nearness. “My power? Or something more tangible?”

Galadriel’s legs felt weak. The beat of her blood was too loud in her ears.

“I…desire…whatever my teacher would give me,” she said, speaking with markedly slow deliberation.

“You ask for things you do not understand,” Melian said.

“I know my strength,” Galadriel insisted, meeting Melian’s gaze directly. Melian held it, tilting her head slightly, observing, observing. Then she turned away.

“Your inability to admit or recognize your limitations tells me I have been right to maintain the pace we are at,” said the queen, and Galadriel’s gut turned to ice. “You have not yet the maturity for more.” She made to walk away, and Galadriel should have been grateful that Melian was not going to punish her for the invasion of her mind—though she knew now she had gotten as far as she had only because it had amused Melian to see how far she could push against the queen’s half-hearted resistance—but all that consumed her mind was the intolerableness of Melian’s dismissal.

In desperation, she threw up her hands and a bubble of silence ensconced them both; within the bulb of Galadriel’s power the birds hung still in the air, the beetles froze midflight; the wind did not sway the leaves. Slowly, Melian turned back to her.

“I am more capable than you acknowledge,” Galadriel said, straining to speak with so much of her focused on maintaining her spell. “I am a princess of the Noldor, a Calaquendi of the Blessed Realm, a daughter of the houses of Finwë and of Olwë. I have gazed upon the light of the Trees and I have sat at the foot of Manwë and Elbereth Gilthoniel. I have crossed the Helcaraxë. I have fought the forces of Morgoth Bauglir. I am not a child, nor an ignorant. I am not careless, nor incapable.”

Melian made a turn of the extent of Galadriel’s spell while she sweated to keep it up. The queen touched the birds, the bugs where they dangled midair, aware or unaware of their imprisonment.

“Remarkable,” she said, and through the burning of Galadriel’s straining body, she almost smiled.

Melian waved her hand and Galadriel’s spell burst apart, returning the denizens of Doriath to their freedom. Galadriel panted and bent forward, her face hot with exertion.

“You would do better not to trap things so idly,” the queen remarked lightly. Her eyes flashed over to Galadriel’s face. “It has never been your power I doubted, my pupil.” Melian came to her then, and she smelled even at a distance of the onset of rain, so that to breath her in was as if to stand amidst a gathering storm.

Melian reached out, and with her fingertips, she touched Galadriel’s face, tilting it up towards her. A spidery hand crept over her cheek, her nose, her mouth.

“What a fascinating spirit yours is,” she murmured, and as nearly always, her expression was inscrutable. Galadriel did not dare reach out to Melian’s mind now, but she made a slight opening of her own. “Is this truly what you desire?”

“Yes,” Galadriel breathed. “Greatly have I desired this.” It was no good to lie to Melian now; even if she had kept her mind closed, it seemed she had made herself too plain. Lying to herself was a far simpler task than lying to Melian.

“Very well, then. Let us explore.” Melian leaned in, and Galadriel felt the prickle of electricity along her arms and down her back before Melian’s lips touched hers.

The wind was back, but this time it drew Galadriel in rather than pushed her out; she was wrapped up in the maelstrom, that electricity surging through her until her nerves were alight and her lungs breathless. The queen’s mouth was cool and wet against hers, and despite Galadriel’s height, she had to push up on her toes to seek a deeper kiss. All around her was the presence of Melian and that crisp-rain smell filled up her senses; she curled her hands at her sides to stop herself from grabbing at the queen for stability as the presence of Melian bore down on her.

And then she swooned.

***

When Galadriel opened her eyes, she saw the layered canopy of Doriath undulating in the wind above her, and amidst the green, Melian’s face, from below. Immediately she moved to sit up, but she felt drained, not unlike her weariness of the day before, and Melian placed a hand on her forehead to hold her in place.

“Take a moment, Arwen,” she said. She looked down, and smiled, and Galadriel stilled. “I did warn you.”

Galadriel’s eyes fluttered shut in chagrin, but only for a moment, as she did not wish to deprive herself much of the sight of Melian looking on her with such fondness.

“Elwë fainted in the beginning as well,” Melian reflected. “Before we had learned how to be with each other.” This made Galadriel only more determined to prove that she too, could learn to be with a Maia. She wondered how long it had taken Melian to learn to moderate her strength with an Elf. “Shall I take you back to your rooms?”

“No,” Galadriel managed. Her mind felt fuzzy as if from a long sleep, or too much wine. She could not tell if Melian was still in her thoughts or not. “I wish to…remain.”

Melian hummed an agreement and stroked a hand through Galadriel’s golden hair.

“But you should rest,” said the queen. “And do not rush.” Despite her will—or perhaps in service of another desire—Galadriel’s eyes slid shut and her mind focused the more on the touch of Melian’s hand.

“I am capable,” she insisted quietly. “I can learn whatever lessons you would teach me, Your Grace. I will make myself learn them.”

“This I know,” said Melian. “I would not have taken it upon myself to teach you if I did not believe in your abilities. Yet you are young—no child, by the measure of Elves, I know—but young still, and impatient. You would rush headlong from one thing to another without truly understanding either. And I would see you cultivated with more care. Do you not trust me as your teacher, Arwen?”

Now Galadriel needed to pause and consider, for Melian made valid argument: She believed in Galadriel’s ability to learn, and so had taken Galadriel as her student. But why had Galadriel taken Melian as her teacher if she did not believe in Melian’s ability to teach?

Ah, Melian called again on her pride—daring Galadriel to say she believed that she knew better than Melian the pace and scope by which her lessons ought to progress.

A part of her wished to groan; the better part was more concerned with the presence of her head in Melian’s lap, and the queen’s graceful hand on her head. She could almost forget she had come here for a scolding.

“I am tired,” she murmured. “I trust you, teacher.”

“After your expenditures the last forty-eight hours, I am not surprised,” Melian said, again sound amused in spite of Galadriel’s rather inappropriate behavior.

“I wish only that you should know I may understand you.” Melian hummed something neither fully agreement nor disagreement and stroked Galadriel’s hair again.

“In stillness, one may come to know the forest,” she remarked after a long silence. “But without patience and quietude, much will go unobserved and unknown. My lessons for you are not only in the realm of magic and of wills.”

If she were less worn out, Galadriel might have found it in herself to be embarrassed to realize Melian had been trying to temper her impatience from the start.

“Forgive me, teacher,” she said without opening her eyes. “There is much you know that I wish to know also.”

“And much you will know, in time,” Melian said. “A sapling cannot know the truths of the oak without the will of time.”

Now Galadriel made a soft noise not quite a groan and turned her face more to Melian’s lap, which she supposed was hardly more improper than her presence there already, which Melian had created herself.

“You need not drive yourself so hard,” Melian said gently, her nails scraping lightly over Galadriel’s scalp. “Forget not the value in rest, and slow progress. As long as I stand, you will be safe here. Accept this gift I give, and the time which it grants.” Galadriel relaxed her shoulders and breathed in the sharp rain-scent of Melian.

“Shall I sing to you, dear?” the queen asked.

Galadriel mumbled her agreement, and Melian smiled. Carding her fingers through Galadriel’s hair, she set to warbling a tune about the wind whistling through the treetops and a robin looking for shelter. In the clear ringing of Melian’s voice, Galadriel could understand how one might forsake Eldamar to linger a little while more in the reach of her song. It seemed to soothe away Galadriel’s fears and anxieties, and yet to open her to wonders of the world ‘til then unknown to her. While Melian’s voice washed over her, she seemed to sink into new communion with the woods around them, as if through Melian those other things reached out to her: the moles in their burrows and the squirrels in their trees and the moss creeping over the rocks and the worms tunneling underneath. Melian was a part of it, and it was a part of her, and she drew Galadriel into this world which she otherwise touched only through a veil.

Yet it did not alleviate her exhaustion, and to the sound of Melian’s singing, with the queen’s thigh beneath her head and her hand in her hair, Galadriel slept.

[emberglowfox]

My thoughts on why REPO does the mutliple extraction points i think lends to the thing where you said it was wants you to be considerate, etc. differently placed points make you think about where you explore first. what order you unlock the points once you start gettign to 3. since youll have really large items sometimes so like. hey we found this but we should elave it for later when we unlock xyz point. forcing more communication among players n stuff

I have noticed that, yeah. I think it's also a balancing thing, since trying to bring fragile objects to one specific location throughout increasing large maps could probably get to the kind of tedious that becomes painful. And I do think the "maneuvering large items to fit" thing is interesting.

I just personally feel that it's... underbaked, almost? I feel like there could be some really interesting outcomes if that mechanic squeezed you a little tighter, if that makes sense. It's basically the main thing creating tension in the gameplay loop, since there's no timer, especially with imo how easily managable the monsters are (at least at lower... tiers??) if you're playing low and slow. I almost feel like it's too forgiving, especially with the respawn mechanic involved.

Like, okay. Just thinking out loud. The gameplay loop of REPO involves exploring a location, finding fragile artifacts of varying size and (and mechanics! one thing I really actually like about REPO and commend it for is it going a little further with the collectibles and having more gimmicks. I think it's cool, especially because of how it fucks with the intended gameplay (ex: going slow? here's this doll that will try to kill you if you pick it up. good luck) and then taking those objects to an extraction point, which activates once a value threshold is reached, then closes off to future use. The objects will naturally be closer to one extraction point than the others, making it easier to take them there, but you can only fit so much on the extraction platform. So you have to be discerning in what you take where. On it's own, this is interesting!

Except... it's usually pretty easy to fit everything on the platform, at least at lower levels, and even if you can't, you're usually way above what you're expected to make already anyway. Which I think is the amount you then get to spend on upgrades, encouraging you to really pack in, but it's not... really punishing, if you can't. Also, you can kill the monsters... fairly easily by teaming up, and just avoid them if not as long as you play even vaguely cautiously (though 10% of the time you just get fucked with no way out, because you have a sprint speed of 0.03 seconds at the start (i jest, but this is something that drives me nuts about lethal, too. might be personal preference but it can really be a fun-sucker)).

Right now, I'd say if I were going to make changes, I'd make player respawn more demanding, for one. The player heads are tiny-- it's easy to just chuck them on top of everything else. I think, in alignment with the "working to fit everything" deal, I'd make the players bigger. Or, worth something, maybe, for the sake of the threshold. Maybe a deficit, even? Something tricky. (I also think this would be interesting thematically). It's a trade, that way-- more hands to get more shit and deal with enemies, but maybe losing some stuff at this current point that could break on the way to the next. And are you willing to trade your friends' lives for profit, and vice versa?

I'd also make it so that the second that extraction point goes over threshold-- VVMP. done. you have to make that last object count-- no wiggle room. You can still pack a fair amount in in that second or so it offers you, in my experience, and I think not being able to go "oh shit we went over on accident" and yank things out would be really interesting. Oops, you weren't cautious enough! And if you wanted to push multiple things in at once (still doable!) you'd have to really, really coordinate it.

Of course, as any game designer knows, it's easy to talk big shit and then implement things that are either broken, stupid, or supremely un-fun. This isn't something I can meaningfully test, so it's just a what-if. But to me, if you're gonna make a "go slow, be deliberate" game, why not go all in? Especially at the higher levels. (Though maybe it does exist?? I never got like. Super far into the double-digits in terms of levels. But I feel like 4 straight hours of gameplay on one save should have given me a taste of it if it's there).

[bratzboykai]

Silly but the DūnM3sh nonsense around the last episode has me thinking about how like idk mostly white autistic folks (of the vairety who are not in need of higher assistance) online act like ALL autistic folks exhibit the exact same symptoms and behaviors in social settings when like I find mostly other poc and a lot of women regardless of race have very different experiences with the sort of "stereotypical" reaction and behavior that's most often associated with autism. Which leads to a lot of you assuming we are neurotypical and then this line of thinking extends into your reading of autistic characters, be they headcanons or canon characters. Rest of this is going under a read more

Like idk for a poc, theres already very little grace given to us in social situations, especially when around white people. You guys dont realize but we are consistently aware that no matter what, when we enter a space with y'all there will always be an internal bias present in white people that will deem any behavior of confrontation as inherently aggressive or mean.

So we learn to navigate social situations with an already high level of need to analyze so many of the behaviors and cues of the people around us out of complete necessity. Neurodivergency or not, this becomes a matter of survival. And for some people, like me, the need to do this and possibly avoid and save yourself the pain of having people who's racism is a potential harm to you becomes a priority in your brain more than anything else you have going on. You cant completely shut everything else out about your neurodivergency but you learn enough to keep yourself safe. It's what I was forced to learn when I was like 5-13 because I was relentlessly bullied for my race and ethnicity, and later for my incapacity to not understand certain social cues or even break rules until I was about 12/13.

I'm not completely without symptoms and if anything some of them have gotten worse. I struggle now with knowing when to stop talking until I notice people start looking bored or annoyed and I sometimes dont talk enough for fear of being annoying to people I'm close to. Not to mention I'm ALWAYS double checking what I say in a way that's almost like a compulsion. Like constantly, to the point where before I say something with say like factual information, I like quadruple plus plus check everything on Google before I say it (and even then I might get shit wrong and my reaction to that is....oh boy). And even then I sometimes end up not saying anything because I'm too scared I said something wrong and mislead or upset someone. Or worse, this information is unwarranted and annoying.

If anything I'm someone who's neurodivergency made them OVER COMPENSATE the need to pick up on social cues, eye contact, sociability, etc because it was a way to defend myself (by making it harder to pick on me without push back) or keep myself safe.

But at the end of the day the constant need to keep up with ALL of this burnt me out by the time I was in college and it made me incapable of masking very many noticeable things anymore, especially my over sensory and stimming when I'm stressed (which isnt helped by the fact that I have synesthesia), the anxiety it produces, and ultimately that it leads me to having a panic attack and has me in the place I am now where that shame of freaking out in loud spaces gave me agoraphobia. Now my threshold for "neurotypical behavior" is like SIGNIFICANTLY shorter when I leave my house.

And I constantly apologize for sharing information when I do. Like I have it instilled in me now to say sorry for information I share because I think I'm bothering people. And my capacity to understand jokes is flawed if the person I'm talking to isnt someone I'm consistently around because I haven't completely been able to process the way they speak or their sense of humor. I sometimes take jokes that are lies, unreality, or sarcasm as literal and people have to say "oh no I was joking I made that up".

When I first meet people I'm actually told I'm way too quiet and kind of intimidating because I guess people can sense that I'm analyzing them like a lil computer and I look them in the eyes TOO much. Funnily enough one of my close friends in high school didnt like me very much at firsy because she asked me if I liked her after very little time of being introduced and I straight up said no without much thought as to why that would offend her alskdkdmkfkd but after a while of getting to know her more, we got close, and like most people, after a while they say I seem pretty "normal" and "nice".

And this isnt even touching on my emotional responses and my horrible rejection sensitivity. That would make this even longer. But the one thing I'll say is it's made my relationship with my family VERY bumpy, and especially tumultuous when young, and it's something they struggle to understand still A LOT.

And outside of situations where I cant mask anymore from exhaustion, I get why it's sort if unsurprising to me when I've met white autistic folks who mistakenly assume I'm neurotypical because I can just navigate conversations with a sheen of "normalcy" (and lol racism), until we talk and they're like oh shit I get it now (usually white people with ADHD can pick up on my neurodivergency much faster which is funny lol) where as other people of color with adhd/autism dont ever make that assumption, they just get it. They pick up on ME analyzing them and we just look at each other like 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♀️

[chippy193]

The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

What’s New · Titles · Authors · Categories · Readers’ Picks · FAQ · The Garden of MC · MC ForumStory: Salty CandyAuthor: Jukebox

“Salty Candy”

“It’s... um....” Maddy probed the little disc with her tongue, flipping it over in her mouth and feeling another burst of the strange, funky flavor hit her tastebuds. “It’s kind of strong,” she finished weakly, trying to find a way to describe the confection that wouldn’t hurt Peter’s feelings. “Kind of a strong, um, salty taste. It, uh, it could maybe be sweeter?” Maddy knew she was making the understatement of a lifetime there, but she didn’t want to trash Peter’s very first effort at making homemade candy. Not when she knew how hard he’d been working at it the last few weeks.

He didn’t seem upset, thankfully. A little too intent, perhaps—he kept staring at her with those bright blue eyes of his, his piercing gaze only slightly softened by the tiny smile that quirked at the corners of his thin, sensuous lips. “I didn’t want it to be too sweet,” he replied, the condescension in his voice just below the threshold of what Maddy felt she could actually call him on. Not for the first time, she wondered if she’d even be friends with Peter if not for the geographical happenstance that left them growing up next door to one another in a neighborhood full of mostly childless couples; the blond-haired young man with the chiseled alabaster jaw had a bad habit of pretending his defensiveness was a purely rational stance, while any criticism Maddy had of his behavior was a foolish emotional response.

Sure enough, he kept going, hammering at her opinion just that little bit more than strictly necessary. “Sweet and salty is all the rage these days,” he continued, lecturing her as though they weren’t both going to the same culinary college and taking many of the same classes. “It’s one of those flavor combinations that naturally balances each other and gives you a little contrast to prevent your tongue from getting too used to the taste. It’s a candy for sophisticated adults, not kids who just want to fill their mouths with sugar, you know?”

Maddy smiled, trying hard not to make it seem forced or strained. She knew Peter wouldn’t get angry with her if she pushed her arguments too far, at least not deliberately. But he was one of those men who’d never really learned how to understand his own emotions, let alone manage them, and if she hurt his feelings she’d probably be in for days of passive-aggressive sulking that would get on her nerves and make the daily experience of interacting with her roommate strained and frustrating. She’d much rather find ways of expressing her criticism constructively.

“I understand what you’re saying,” she began, tentatively feeling her way into the topic by finding ways to tuck the negative parts of her opinion between two positives. “And it’s certainly got a, a tang to it. Kind of like saltwater taffy. But there’s a lot of salty notes that are throwing off the balance, and some... some kind of funky undertastes? It’s not to say I don’t like it,” she continued hurriedly, wanting to make sure she got to the back half of the praise sandwich she was constructing. “It’s definitely a sophisticated kind of dessert. It just might wind up being an acquired taste.”

The reaction was anything but what she expected. “Oh, you noticed the undertastes?” he said, his smile widening as he looked at her as if trying to peer into her brain and see the flavors she was experiencing. “I thought it might be a while before those came out. Kind of a floral note, right? With a little bit of musk to it? Almost with some of that chlorophyll tang. I had a feeling you might like that part best.” Maddy tried not to wince; if anything, that weird, funky residue on her tongue was exactly what she liked the least about Peter’s candy, but he was so obviously proud of it. A part of her wanted to just give him some bland, non-committal praise and go to the bathroom so she could spit it out into the sink.

But Peter had told her this was for a class project, and that meant he needed honest feedback before he fed this to an instructor who had absolutely no motive or interest in sparing his feelings. Underneath his slightly prickly exterior, Maddy knew he was really incredibly sensitive—if someone really took a Gordon Ramsey attitude to him, he’d be miserable for weeks. And even though school and its attendant competition had strained their friendship a little these last few years, she didn’t want that for him. She had to press on, even if it meant denting his pride just a little.

“I... I mean, they’re interesting,” she mumbled, giving the candy an experimental suck to really saturate her mouth with the flavors she was trying to describe. “It’s just, I think, without the sweetness to really balance it out, it tastes... um, I....” Maddy blushed beet red, suddenly recognizing the exact taste on her tongue and really, really wishing she hadn’t. “Um.” She gulped, very nearly swallowing the candy in her struggle to avoid letting her obvious embarrassment show any more than it already had. The conversation, awkward enough as it was, would get ten times worse if she was forced to explain to Peter that he’d accidentally made a blowjob bon-bon.

Not that Maddy had given that many blowjobs in her life. She and Peter had never been... that way together, not after growing up as friends for so many years and then jumping immediately into an intensely competitive school environment the moment they got into the adult world. And having a very protective male friend who was also her roommate tended to make it difficult to develop the kinds of relationships that involved putting a guy’s dick in your mouth.

But life found a way, and a couple years back when she was a first-year student Maddy found a way to sneak off with Billy Jameson in between classes to the stairwell in the northwest corner of the building for some heavy petting. And on a few of those occasions, before she caught him heading to the southwest stairwell with Betty Loomis and dumped him on the spot, she wound up down on her knees performing a very different kind of suck than the one she was giving Peter’s candy. But as different as the techniques were, the flavor was absolutely identical.

Maddy carefully maneuvered the slimmed-down disc in between her cheek and gum, taking the momentary pause to try to put together a phrasing that would allow her to very delicately bring up the question of exactly what was in her mouth without mentioning Billy or his hair-trigger ejaculation reflex. “Um... that, uh, musky taste,” she murmured, knowing her face had to be redder than her hair right now. “Is that, uh, is that a hibiscus essence? M-maybe some papaya? Like I said, I think it could stand to be, to be s-sweeter, but if it’s papaya, then you could—”

“It’s semen,” he said, dropping the sentence into the conversation like it was a cinderblock in the path of a long-distance runner. “Distilled down through evaporation, of course, to get the strongest dose of its essential ingredients, and then mixed with the sugar syrup late in the candy-making process to avoid breaking down too many of its volatile components. It was remarkably tricky to do, especially since I couldn’t use anyone else’s semen in the recipe. Mixing my bodily fluids with someone else’s would risk contaminating the vital pheromones I was trying to introduce into your system with another man’s essence, and that wouldn’t do at all. The whole point was to get you introduced to my taste, specifically, not just any guy’s.” Maddy’s emerald green eyes widened more and more as he went on, but he seemed completely oblivious to her shock and dismay. Finally she couldn’t take any more.

“The—the point?” she blurted out, almost sending the candy flying clear across the room with her outburst. “You, you told me this was for a class project! Oh my god, I’ve been sucking on your goddamn cum this whole time? Jesus, Peter, what the fuck were you even thinking?” Her hands balled into white-knuckle fists, the intensity of her outrage almost astonishing her. She and Peter hadn’t gotten into a physical fight since he gave her Hannah Montana doll a haircut back when they were seven, but she was fully prepared to change that if he didn’t give her a damn good explanation of his behavior.

His smug grin didn’t help matters any. “I was thinking,” he said, the condescension in his voice creeping out a little, “that a lot of the scientific consensus regarding pheromones is based on flawed research. Either they’re exposing their subjects to low concentrations of male secretions, or they’re using something artificial and mass-produced... or something derived from multiple individuals, when realistically speaking the evolutionary advantage that would come from making a female receptive to mating would only come if they were specifically receptive to the person secreting the pheromone. What you really need, in order to make a chemical attractant work reliably, is a large dose of the necessary compounds delivered over a relatively short period of time in order to prime the subject to inextricably associate sex with the individual in question.”

He chuckled. “At least, that was my hypothesis. But I think I’m seeing the proo£f right in front of me.”

Maddy glared at him. “’The proof’? What do you mean, ‘the proof’? Do you not see my reaction right now? Do you not hear the tone of my voice when I’m talking to you? I’m not fucking horny, Peter. I’m fucking pissed off!” She stood up, her slight body literally quivering with rage. After all the years they’d known each other, after all the times she’d stood up for him and put up with him and managed his goddamn emotional outbursts, he had the absolute nerve to treat her like a human guinea pig in his weird sex experiments? To, to degrade her by feeding her his own semen without even telling her first? Not that telling her would have made this any better, but at the very least she wouldn’t have put the stupid thing in her mouth. Maddy was utterly furious.

But all that fury melted away into icy dread at his response. “And yet, you’re still sucking on it, aren’t you?” Maddy’s blood ran cold as she realized he was absolutely right. The candy hadn’t flown out of her mouth during her diatribe, and she hadn’t spit it into the sink or the trash or anywhere else. Her tongue continued to worry at it, melting away the sugar with her saliva and exposing more of those salty, musky flavors to her tastebuds. And as she paid full attention to what she was doing for the first time, Maddy realized she didn’t seem to be able to stop.

“That was the final test,” Peter said, undoing his fly and pulling out his cock. “I wanted to be sure the addictive qualities I predicted were real... and sure enough, you kept sucking on it even without enough sugar to conceal the semen flavors. Even when you knew what you were tasting. You just couldn’t stop yourself. And you still can’t.” He had the beginnings of an erection, and despite her outrage, Maddy couldn’t help giving it a curious glance—she and Peter had never played doctor or practiced kissing or any of those other things boys and girls did when they were friends as kids, and a part of her had always kind of wondered if he had anything going on downstairs. It turned out he did.

He took his dick in his hand and began to lightly stroke it until it fully stiffened. Maddy found herself thinking, with a dazed and helpless fascination, about exactly what might gush out of it if he kept jacking it off like that. “And now that the pheromones have achieved a therapeutic dosage, your brain should be releasing significant quantities of dopamine to cement the association between my semen and the mating behavior your body instinctively craves. Your limbic system is beginning to take over, overriding the frontal lobes and stimulating—I’m sorry.” His smile became less smug and more sympathetic. “I shouldn’t be lecturing you. Not when your mind is getting so small and simple right now.”

Maddy sputtered and fumed, hating his condescension and hating even more that he was demonstrably correct—the more she stared at his cock, the harder her clit throbbed with arousal and the more difficult thought became. She found herself descending into perpetual distraction, her mind looping around and around back to her slick cunt and the salty, musky taste on her tongue that she instinctively knew would satisfy the pleasant ache between her thighs. She swallowed hard, her mouth watering at the sight of the stiff shaft in front of her. It slowly dawned on her that she’d just gulped down yet more of Peter’s pheromones, but she still couldn’t make herself spit out the candy.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you to notice me, Maddy,” Peter said, and a part of her recognized the longing beneath his smug confidence. “I... I couldn’t afford to let you go to someone else. Not when I was sure I knew how to get you interested.” The rest of her had an increasingly difficult time parsing out words when there was a warm, hard cock just waiting for her to reach out and touch it, nuzzle it, lick it... Maddy realized he was getting larger and larger in her field of vision as she approached closer and closer. She felt hands stripping off her clothing, and barely even recognized that they were her own.

“That’s right, Maddy,” Peter purred as she sank to her knees, staring in slack-jawed fascination at his jutting cock. “It’s time to do what your body is telling you to do, time to follow that scent and that taste that it craves so badly all the way back to the source. You know what you need, Maddy, and you know how to get it. And once you’ve gotten it straight from my body, you won’t want anyone else’s ever again. Doesn’t that sound so nice?” Her head bobbed up and down in an absent, amiable nod. Then it bobbed up and down again. Then she couldn’t stop it anymore.

She inhaled his musk again and again, taking deep lungfuls of it and letting it drive her to newer heights of frenzied sucking as she tried her best to force the orgasm out of him. Peter’s breath quickened, becoming hoarse and irregular, and Maddy’s mouth flooded with the salty flavor of his precum as her lips went up and down his shaft. She found that it only deepened her own arousal, letting her body know that she was on the verge of receiving the reward she craved, and Maddy let out a deep vibrato moan of excitement at the thought of swallowing Peter’s cum. And when his hips rose up, meeting her bobbing movements with his own instinctual thrusts, she knew that moment would be arriving very soon.

When it finally did, a virtual tidal wave of semen flooded Maddy’s eager mouth. She guzzled it down as best she could, but Peter must have started getting his load ready for her the second he had enough semen for his experiments because the torrent of cum gushed out faster than she could swallow and she felt warm, sticky fluid dripping onto her bare tits. Without shame or hesitation, she wiped it onto her fingers and licked them clean.

“That’s my good girl,” Peter said, still a little breathless from the sudden exertion. “W-why don’t you go over to the couch and start getting yourself ready, and I’ll join you when I’m recovered? I think there’s something you need me to do to you right now.” Maddy nodded, her brain now almost entirely in the grip of her arousal. She crawled over to the couch and climbed onto it, spreading her legs and teasing her cunt until it was dripping with musk. The scent wafted up to her nostrils, making her desire to fuck even stronger... but she knew that nothing would ever again compare to the salty taste of Peter’s cum.

THE END

(If you enjoyed this story and want to see more like it, please think about heading to Patreon and becoming one of my patrons. For less than $5 a month, you can make sure that every single update contains a Jukebox story! Thank you in advance for your support.)

Story: Salty CandyAuthor: JukeboxWhat’s New · Titles · Authors · Categories · Readers’ Picks · FAQ · The Garden of MC · MC ForumHosting generously provided by Daphne’s Fantasies

[thecioworldindia]

Embracing the Crucial Fundamentals of Transformative Leadership

Conquests, adventure and exploration are the elements that make the human race admire their thoughts and push themselves to the limits, to achieve greatness. Though few people who like the puppet master like to control everything below them, there are the strings that define their actions. Keeping the metaphorical language aside, such is a leadership style that allows this human race to achieve everything they set their eyes on.

Though the men and women who cross the threshold of greatness are often seen on the top and are considered great leaders, there are different leadership styles adopted by them in the process to pull the right strings to get things done.

To understand these leadership styles, one must first understand what a leader is! So, let me ask you a question,

‘Who is the most influential leader that changed the face of the world we live in today?’

The answer to this question varies, but in the bracket of pure leadership, one cannot agree that Adolf Hitler is one of the greatest leaders and a transformative one, who not only influenced millions on the path of conquering the world and making Germany great again.

However, there is no justification for the actions Hitler chose to accomplish his conquest, but history is the standing witness — The Treaty of Versailles — that somewhere justified the actions that groomed him into a complete transformative leader.

Leaders are the ones who are often in the spotlight, where they fight the wars, making others the KING OF THE HILL. A leader is a person who guides people to achieve a collective common goal.

The Uncovered Discovery of Transformation Leaders

Over the course of centuries, even in the lost pages of history and manipulated tales of heroism, a constructive leadership style that has remained common and unique is the transformative leadership style.

Connecting the dots of all the song of fame and name, Adolf Hitler once said, ‘What luck for rulers that men do not think.’ And believe it or not but this is the hidden trust that every transformative leader discovers and builds his leadership approach on principle.

Agreed, that what Hitler once said is contradictive in many senses, but when decrypted, a leader forces men to think towards a common goal. Discovering this fact is just not enough to make a transformative leader, and of course, some qualities are crucial for a transformative leader, irrespective of the industry.

Fundamentals of Transformative Leadership

A few of the fundaments of a leader are common in transformative leadership, and that has been constant in every leader ever to walk the face of the earth. To list down a few of them are listed below:

Visionary

Well, a leader must be visionary because it is the vision that inspires people to follow that path. It shapes and defines the journey of the leader and the team he carries.

Team-centric

This quality is not as often seen in all leadership styles, but in this modern world where being woke is the call of our day-to-day activities, team-centric leadership is something that a leader should have.

Engaging & Inspiring

A fact that every man agrees is the trigger of the human mind that carves for engagement and inspiration. Give a man these two things and see his take over the world. And that is what exactly a leader does, just in a goal-oriented approach.

Emotionally Intelligent

Believe it or not, human beings, being social animals, are driven by emotions. Being emotionally intelligent is a must for every leader wishing to inspire. Though some leaders naturally inherit this quality, people with experience can develop it.

These are some of the many fundamental qualities that a leader possesses. Moving ahead in the spectrum and narrowing it down to one leadership style demanded by the market, transformative leadership styles also have some distinctive features that define their leadership style.

A Transformative Leadership Quality

Though the leadership qualities of a transformative leader can be listed easily, since the leadership style is all about connecting the dots, this particular leadership deserves a descriptive explanation.

Transformative leadership can be defined as a leadership style that works on inspiration, motivation and passion for the work at hand. This process of taking the whole group forward as a whole requires precession and clear communication.

That is the reason that even the most prominent transformative leaders like Mahatma Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, Abraham Lincoln and arguably even Adolf Hitler are proficient and influential speakers. They communicate clearly for a purpose and connect with every listener on a personal level, inspiring and motivating them to do the work.

These leaders also lead by action, setting an example for everyone, which is heavily embedded with reaction and empathy. Keeping this philosophy of leading with empathy and example, many giant companies worldwide showcases a standard of exemplary transformative leadership. Companies like Google, Microsoft, Apple, Walmart, IBM, etc., have included this philosophy of leadership style in their company culture.

Read More: https://cioworldindia.com/

[antielevator]

After seeing the first glove, Sebastian keeps his eyes peeled for the second, quietly appreciative of Benjamin's partner and her efforts. In a way he'd expected the scent of rot to hit him as soon as he'd passed the threshold of the cave, but it goes far deeper than he'd expected. He and Benjamin may not be descending vertically quick enough for any abrupt changes in pressure to be felt, but if he really thought about how long they've been walking and tried to compute the distance...

This is a stupidly long cave, isn't it?

Much like all the other new information Benjamin feeds him, this talk of ghouls and trolls is filed away for reference later. Sebastian doesn't have a point of experience to draw any conclusions from what he's told, but he's of the opinion that this creature choosing not to kill its victims on the spot could probably be construed as a good thing. The delayed gratification gives them time, assuming that its victims aren't used for some other heinous reason.

Never one to dwell too long on hypotheticals, however, Sebastian's brought back to reality with Benjamin's question, and he nods once and clips his flashlight back onto his shoulder holster to free his hand.

Pulling his sidearm out, one hand reaches for the door to the room (he notes the marks on them, as if something had tried to break in-- what could've made those?) and pushes. Sebastian exerts enough pressure to check if it's locked first, but as the door goes the rest of the way, he decides to move it as far as it's able to go.

He can't tell how long this base has been here. Considering the scent of water that's been lingering-- groundwater? Some other source?-- the rusting on the door doesn't really help. As he enters, nothing jumps at him, and a quick circle of the room doesn't bring any nervous skittering or other noises of alarm with it, either. After making certain the larger cabinets and drawers are uninhabited, he says, "It's clear.

"Looks like something went down in here, though."

For all that it's empty of any creatures, it certainly isn't free from mess. The upturned seats, remnants of torn clothing, broken coffee mugs and pot, and what looks like a nasty stain of blood spatter on the wall don't print a very pretty picture. Sebastian follows the trail with his eyes and suspects whatever had left it was hit particularly hard-- the blood had arced in a way that would imply force beyond the spurt of a major vein or artery.

A single boot left behind makes him mutter a "Cinderella, huh" under his breath. Hopefully Benjamin hadn't heard it.

"Whatever did this took down a pretty big person." The boot's a bigger size than his own, after all, and Sebastian's six feet. "This look ghoul-y, or troll-y?"

Sebastian's gun is replaced with the safety back on, and he takes his flashlight in hand again to start rifling through what's left. There're quite a few documents: he finds a rolled up map that might come in handy, furrowing his brows at just how far the god damn mine goes; he finds a day-to-day journal, etched mostly with stats and some of the manager's personal thoughts; and he sees family photos covered in dust that make his chest go tight. Sebastian turns away from them rather quickly to look elsewhere.

"Huh. Check the handwriting out on these ones, Wagner. Looks like whoever wrote 'em did it in a rush."

Left underneath what looks to be the manager's desk are a set of notes that make his brow raise. They must've dropped in the kerfuffle-- some blood's soaked the bottom half of a page farther away from the others, and it makes him wonder if that means the notes had been made just before the attack happened. Sebastian bends to pick them up, holding the paper at a slight distance as he tries to decipher the scrawl.

"If you're reading this," he mutters, "you must be investigating the reason we didn't send a report last week. Over the past few days my guys in the deep have been reporting seeing and hearing things, and three days ago Johnson claimed they've been making moves like they're itching to leave.

"Yesterday, Williams was attacked. We still don't know what the hell they are, but the guys who were with him said the creatures put up a hell of a fight. Before things get worse, we're thinking of collapsing..." The pen skitters off the note at this point, leaving nothing but a black squiggle, but Sebastian gets the gist of it.

It's the last page, the one stained with blood, that reads the following: "Collapsed mine. Didn't stop the bloodbath. It's scratching at the door while I write this. Should've listened to Ma about the cave."

And while the bottom half's all red, Sebastian makes out the ink well enough to read: "Run."

man-made monsters... hearing that alone painted a rather dreadful mosaic of possible past experiences. even if sebastian didn't elaborate, benjamin could get the general gist that his previous encounters hadn't been pleasant. there was a certain terror to fighting and exploring the unknown, but it was entirely different kind of horror when you put a human's touch into the mix. he gave a faint hum of acknowledgement but said nothing else on that matter.

the conversation turned as sebastian assured him of his convictions. he wouldn't freeze, he promised. given his demeanor and what little he'd shared, benjamin had to take him at his word. it had only been a minor worry, really - but to have the verbal reassurance was nice nonetheless.

benjamin slowed his pace as signs of past workers cropped up; abandoned tools, lunch boxes, etcetera. sebastian at least held onto a bit of humor, noting the smell of the miners long forgotten meals. good - a few witty remarks thrown out here or there only helped solidify his claims of not easily losing his head. humor was a better coping mechanism in these instances than panic, anyway.

he took a moment to carefully shine his light across the scattered items, looking for any last minute clues. more assertions of being useful from sebastian and benjamin vaguely wondered if this was a sore topic for him - he'd come here alone, but perhaps it hadn't always been that way? his attention snapped towards a stray glove on the ground and he crouched down to observe it. it was caitlin's - he looked up, light guiding his eye as he further investigated the area. sure enough, a few feet away was another glove; cast aside just before the fork in the clearing they were in.

"she left a trail." he stated to sebastian. atta girl, cait! benjamin stood up and briefly regarded the detective with a slight incline of his head. "and you have my gratitude then, for your support. i would not so readily call you 'inexperienced', however." a small nod. that was as far as his pep talk went, as he moved on to the next glove:

it was a short walk through a smaller tunnel than the entrance, and the next clearing they entered was smaller than the one before. a small metal structure, like a manager's room, sat elevated on a slightly raised ledge - while the rest of the room was caved in or flooded. benjamin turned the possibilities in his head, and answered sebastian's request for clarity slowly.

"based on it's choice of home and it's diet... i would venture a guess into something of the ghoul genus." it was a rather broad description, to be frank. "or perhaps a kind of troll." the characteristics of a troll were more specific than that of a ghoul, but neither option was really better than the other. his lips dipped slightly. there was no way out of this area, save a dip in the ill-formed 'lake'. they could also take the stairs up and a look at the manager's room...

"if it's ghoulish in nature, then it will be more primal - driven more by instinct and hunger. should it be a kind of troll, or something similar.. it would be more keen; intentionally malicious. the fact that it's been taking its victims back to its lair instead of simply devouring them on the spot is what concerns me." it muddied his guess at what it could be, since the behavior was strange of a ghoul and more in line with a troll - but the fact that there was very little else stolen (not even the miner's tools seemed to be taken) made him second guess the latter theory.

benjamin nodded towards the small metal room, "shall we take a look inside?" this time, he prompted sebastian to take the lead. to err on the side of safety, benjamin unholstered his gun and held it alongside the flashlight - a show of his support to back sebastian up just the same as the man had promised he would do for benjamin.

[oceangirl24]

BW&VK: Stop the Rave

"Hey, Mistah T," she drawled in a sultry tone no fifteen-year-old should be aiming at someone his age. "Gotta minute?"

Jon raised his brow and gave her an inquiring look. "Sure."

T.K. pulled a paper out of her binder and laid it on his desk.

He took it and frowned. "Why didn't you hand this in before you left?"

"'Cause then I wouldn't have an excuse to come back," she grinned leaning over his desk.

Jon immediately leaned back. He liked T.K. Really, he did. Much like he liked a German Shepherd that was trained to be a part of the K9 unit- from a distance. He couldn't help but feel very uncomfortable around her.

T.K. projected an air of confidence, too much confidence, and she wielded it like a skilled fencer. The student body was equally fascinated and terrified by her.

Jon learned from Audrey that this persona was crafted by T.K. because she felt there was nothing special about her. She sought to stand out from the pretty, preppy crowd by talking in loud, rough language with a New York accent that came naturally to her, despite being born and raised much further south than Philadelphia. She dressed in leather and chains, and miniskirts with crude words on them. He never understood why Mr. Feeny overlooked this.

No one else looked or acted like T.K.

It was sad really.

In class, Jon often saw glimpses of a much deeper, curious kid beneath the facade. Every so often she would come up with an analysis of a scene from the current novel they were studying that rivaled Topanga's. Unfortunately, not even Audrey had been able to get this side of her out more.

T.K. also had the tendency to make very bold and often inappropriate comments about guys both teens and adults, giving the impression that she had much more experience than a fifteen-year-old should have. Whether this was true or not, no one had been able to find out, despite numerous meetings with counselors and social workers. Her remarks were brash enough to make Jon not want to take any chances. He didn't want to be too close even with a classroom full of students.

His door was open, and the hall was crowded, but still they were alone in the room.

Jon wished Audrey would hurry up and get back. Audrey could get her attention off him. Not surprisingly, she connected to Audrey in a way she did with no other adult. T.K. enjoyed boasting that she and Audrey shared a name- Theresa.

"So," T.K. ran a finger across the wood grain of his desk in a way that made Jon want to run, "Ya got any plans for Saturday?"

Jon gave her a suspicious look and scooted his chair back. "Shawn's birthday party is Saturday."

"I know." A slow, lazy smile spread over her face. She looked at him through heavily mascara-ed eyelashes. "I'll be there."

"Good."

The smile turned into a smirk. "It's also Valentine's Day."

"Yes," Jon said slowly. Her tone and body language began to worry him even more. He pushed his chair further away.

"Ya got any plans for that?"

A sickening shock went through Jon as her words sank in. Immediately, he stood up and started walking to the door.

"Shawn's birthday," he said again in a firm voice. He stood on the threshold between his room and the hall, looking for someone- anyone- he could grab and put between them.

"Oh, I'll be there." Slowly she sauntered up to him with a Cheshire cat grin, lazily swinging a metal chain that was attached to the belt she wore low on her hips. "But it is Valentine's Day, surely a guy like you ain't spendin' the whole night a kid's party."

Jon stepped out fully into the hall that was quickly emptying of students. "It's my kid's party so, yeah, that was the plan."

"Oh, c'mon, Mistah T, I don't believe that for a minute."

T.K. either missed that he did not want her any closer or didn't care. Either way, she advanced on him, forcing him to back up.

Where  is  Audrey?

"Any guy who looks like you do and rides a Harley has gotta have a girl stashed away somewhere." She pursed her lips together and let them go with a pop.

"I don't," Jon said firmly as he continued to back up. "T.K, don't you have a class to get to?"

She gave him a playful shrug and continued to advance.

"No girl?" A disturbing grin spread over her face, and she quickened her pace. "That's' what I like to hear."

Read the Rest:

AO3 FFN WattPad

[comeandreadawhile]

Clone Social Media : Hobbies

The phenomenon starts with the intention to show the civilians of the Republic the men behind the armor, as well as an encouragement for the men to do the things they enjoy when they have the time to in lieu of sitting around cleaning weapons for a third time that day.

Scratch that—the phenomenon starts with High General Kenobi, on a rare day of leave, teaching his Marshal Commander how to bake. Said Commander’s men were happy to taste test the flurry of experimental confections that pervaded their leave days in the following months. News spread fast of Marshal Commander Cody having a knack for baking, and so followed the spread of troopers attempting to make their own treats and/or branching off into other things the civilians called “hobbies” whenever what they could get their hands on afforded them.

The phenomenon kicked off when Padawan Commander Tano began a social media account with the intention of using it as a public diary, her first post was a picture taken of some of the 501st—with permission, her caption says—as they went about retouching paint scuffed in their most recent battle. The men are relaxed, some with paint smeared on their hands and cheeks and seemingly reacting to some joke or story told outside the threshold of the camera, and it’s an almost startling difference from the image of rigid lines of men, faceless in their full kits of white plastoid, that the civilians are used to. Tano’s second post is a video clip of one Captain Rex, with one General Skywalker sitting on his back counting reps, doing push-ups; the video was captioned “Another day in the G.A.R., restless in hyperspace.”

The digital diary continues from there, videos and pictures of specific locations posted only after reaching a safe distance to do so, never sharing anything mission critical—past, current, or hypothetical future. Eventually she shows the men under her how to make their own accounts, and other Jedi and their own troops follow suit. The 212th then takes it upon themselves to post pictures of the little cakes their Marshal Commander has gotten so proficient at making, and, when General Kenobi creates a joint account titled “command_212”, convince Cody to post pictures of things he bakes before they are distributed—even in the process of baking, if the fancy strikes him.

So Marshal Commander Cody shares pictures of his experiments, of recipes he finds that turned out well, of recipes that didn’t because of some error or other that he’s determined to give another go, with the occasional cryptid picture of General Kenobi taking his tea in the barrack’s kitchen. As time goes on those pictures shift to Obi-Wan covered in flour, or a shot taken from several feet away of Cody sneaking batter captioned “caught red-handed in the red velvet”.

As Marshal Commander of the 212th has taken to baking to relieve stress, the Commander of the 104th has turned to needlecraft and yarnwork.

The 104th retaliate the populatrity of the 212th’s command account with the domesticity of their own, despite the vaguely threatening possibilities of knitting and sewing needles. Boost and Sinker run the majority of the account, although all OG members of the 104th have access to it; they post pictures of the things Wolffe makes them, of General Plo covered in the lengths of scarves he’s received, of Comet in the ever-growing swath the gifted blankets with the current tally in the caption (his toes were off the floor by blanket burrito 6). The holonet at large loves Plo almost as much as his men, and once a week they post him saying some piece of sage wisdom—or utter nonsense, as the mood strikes—as the war goes on. After months of asking for a face reveal and requests for the patterns people are sure Wolffe uses, they make the most Force-forsaken tutorial videos as an all-in-one series.

“HOLY **** HE’S CASTING ON 12 TO START—“ “WHAT A MAD MAN!”

“So when you get to this row here you’re going to knit 3, purl 3–“ “TRANSCENDENT!” “—yes, thank you, and then keep doing that until you reach the end of the row...”

“Oh, OH MAN HE’S GONNA DO IT!” “HE’S GONNA CHANGE COLORS!” “Holy **** man he’s gonNA YOOOOOOOOOO!”

Cody is then issued a challenge by the holonet to learn to knit. He learns to crochet. Because Obi-Wan knows how to crochet. The holonet loves video snippets of them progressing on projects together. They also love the videos Ahsoka posts of Cody attempting to teach Rex, and praise the absolutely completely unrelated hat she later posts a picture of; it covers her Montrals with enough room for a few years’ growth. Anakin gets yarn stuck in his mechanical hand because he forgot to put his glove on before attempting to craft.

The real throwdown happens when the account for the Coruscant Guard posts videos of Fox aggressively tatting while venting about the lack of funding for proper security and surveillance tech.

Each posts sees a comical increase in the surfaces covered in lace doilies and runners, as well as a new topic for Fox’s venting.

A picture of an pillow embroidered with “Kriff the Seppies” is briefly posted to the 104th’s account before being taken down and replaced with a censor bar. Rumors begin to circulate when Senator Chuchi posts a picture wearing a gifted lace shawl; Senator Amidala comments on her confusion being resolved as to why Riyo kept bringing little baskets of crochet thread with her before a senate meetings.

A competition for ship nose art starts up, many votes going to the 501st, and the holonet’s heart once again melting at “Plo’s Bros”. Personal art begins popping up soon after. Fives starts posting spray paint tutorials, Rex and Hardcase become popular for clean graphic art. Bly gets his hands on metallic paint and the crowds go wild. Kix has taken his clean haircut game to the next level.

And then Colt and Shaak Ti make an account to post art the Littles make, most of them representations of their older brothers with wishes of safety and good luck, and of the only Jedi they’ve ever known, sometimes creatures they studied in their preparation for worlds outside of Kamino. Of batches passing their final tests with a congratulatory post.

Suggestions and instructions are sent out for clones who want to take and sell commissions, allowing them to finally make some money; most Jedi are more than happy to help make sure the finished work mails out properly to the buyers.

Ships of the non-nose art kind surface on the holonet. It’s generally agreed upon that command_212 is run by husbands, and Aayla is the protector of the 327th and Bly’s heart, even if she’s a clumsy menace around his artwork (caf spilled over a drying watercolor can be interesting or terrible depending on the circumstance). No one can agree whether Skywalker is married to his captain or Senator Amidala, but everyone agrees that Ahsoka is their baby. The holonet declares Plo to have Big Dad Energy. Shaak Ti’s Big Mom Energy is a friendly rival. The Jedi council has made no official statement denying or denouncing these attachments.

Public interest begins to shift from producing more soldiers to making sure the ones the Republic has stay alive, when the realization hits that within a couple of years the children posting art and losing teeth would probably be losing blood and brothers on some far away planet. Of making sure the men are eating well instead of just surviving. Well certain account-holders don’t post for a while, grieving a loss, posting again to reassure their followers they’re alright, the public questions what’s being done to keep the men emotionally and mentally well outside of the hobbies the public knows them for. “Born to handle any stress” is very much the wrong answer.

Pressure is put on the Chancellor to let the Separatists sucede, no one quite sure anymore why allowing them to would be harmful when at worst new trade agreements would need to be brokered; if they want to leave so badly, let them. And let the men have their hobbies.

(Sad thoughts ahead)

Sometimes commissioners never receive their orders, simply a refund with a letter from that clone’s Jedi after the latest battle ends. Any money they’d made would be split however their closest brothers decide.

The channel that always posts pranks and spray paint tutorials makes a post saying they’d be away to look after their sick little brother. It’s the last post they make.

The Coruscant Guard’s account stops posting a few nights later.

After Order 66 goes out, a new account goes up posting any pictures and cute videos of Aayla. Reposting old ones that the public is sure they’d seen somewhere before, posting new ones of funny faces and ridiculous videos of silly dances. The last one is the only one captioned, “she wasn’t a traitor.”

The account is deleted the same night, and the one of the 327th’s adventures never posts again.

Wolfpack_104 does not post, but is still there.

Command_212 is deleted almost immediately the night of the order.

Years go by, almost sixteen, and only after Vader already knows she’s alive does Ahsoka post again. It’s a picture of her, and Rex and Wolffe onboard the Ghost in hyperspace captioned “Was never a traitor. Always the little sister even if I’m four years older. In case you’re wondering, Rex still draws and Wolffe still knits when we can nab the string and flimsi.”

[princeanxious]

Soulmate au fic that I really wanna write where Janus is soulmates with everyone(aka DLAMPR) but soulmates stay the same every lifetime but theres a chance to have multiple soulmates and in rare cases you don’t meet them all in that life before you or your soulmates dies.(especially in janus’s case, for reasons i’ll get into shortly) With each life once you hit a certain age(say somewhere between 19-20) and/or meet your soulmate, you gain the memory of every life you’ve had in the past, specifically the life you lived with your soulmate.(also soulmates arent inherently romantic in this world, and i’ll mention that roman and remus are always inherently platonic soulmates to eachother, and are often born as twins to eachother, and if not, are often always the first meet in their group)

Janus is a very special case, and in their world considered almost an anomaly.

All the information gained in the world is supplied from his soulmates, who at the end of each of their current lives always end up together as a group, though it on average happens pretty early on in their lives, minus janus.

Janus is an anomaly because it seems that he’s dying every lifetime time that he meets one of his soulmates, lost to the world 24 hours after hes come into direct physical contact with the first of his soulmates in that lifetime.

(Check the tags for trigger warnings before reading!)

In the first lifetime, he meets Patton(who, in this life, is not called Patton), a young baker who takes his hand with excitement, the barest brush of skin alone triggering not a memory of a past life, but instead a brilliant feeling of connection, a soul-deep aknowledgement that their souls are brand new, and infact are connected to a whole group of souls. Patton is overtaken by a whole new kind of excitement. Janus matches it, and they plan an outting for the very next morning. Janus does not make it to the outting, succumbing to a stab wound just hours after meeting Patton while on his walk home. Patton meets the rest of their soulmates while waiting for Janus to arrive. They hear about his death a week later.

The in second lifetime, he briefly meets Virgil, theyre 16 and 17 respectively. He doesnt learn much, the brief brush of skin while waiting in a croud for a train, enough to distract him into turning around just enough to meet eyes with Virgil, who had been on a train back to meet the rest of their soulmates, an exclamation of relieved surprise on the tip of Janus’s tongue. And then Jan trips, or someone impatiently shoves at him and he loses his footing, niether of them really know for sure. One moment they feel the euphoria of their souls connecting, the next Virgil feels the bond instantly shatter alongside his heart as he watches Janus disappear under the oncoming train. Virgil spends that lifetime traumatized by his sudden death, guilt ridden in knowing their soulmate’s last lifetime’s death had ended in a similar fashion even in mer secs, and his soul takes on a much more cautious nature from then on.

In the third lifetime, he meets Remus, theyre 18. Remus manages to spend a whole hour with Janus before they touch, and it’s only because Janus talks him out of jumping off a bridge. Remus wasn’t being suicidal, just hyper moridly curious, but Janus didn’t know that. Janus strikes up a conversation with him, its snarky and fun and perfect, and Janus joins him on the railing as they talk. Janus derails Remus from jumping by mentioning that he’s never had sushi, and to Remus this is an afront to living. Remus hops back over to the safe side of the railing, declaring to fix that crisis immediately. Janus laughs and agrees, relaxing visibly. The relaxing is a mistake, as for a single second Janus forgets that hes still in a dangerous position. He slips, his hand missing the railing, Remus only just barely managing to catch his hand in time but he doesnt get a good enough grasp, the spark that triggers their soul connection distracting enough that Janus’s hands slip from Remus’s, and Remus is forced to watch in horror as Janus plummets to his doom. He scrambles to fish Janus out of the river, but they cant revive him, Janus died on impact. Remus doesn’t meet the rest of their soulmates for another three years. He never touches sushi again for the rest of that lifetime

In the forth, Roman is 17, Janus is 18, and Janus actually meets Roman multiple times, knowing full well what his life has in store, neither ever knowing. Roman and Janus are actors for the two main characters for an up and coming movie, and they get along super well. Janus has always worn gloves, scarves, long sleeves and jeans, hoodies, beanies. Its a bit taboo at such a young age, but Janus never seems to mind the controversy and never commets on it, and Roman doesn’t mind either. Janus is infact very withdrawn, and often gives very little input on what his true personality is and so Roman doesn’t push it. Later, he really, really wishes he did. Inevitably, they become closer. But it’s only until after the movie is released that Janus lets his walls down just a little. Somehow, he seems to know that Roman is his soulmate long before theyve actually touched. Somehow, for some reason that they just cant seem to fathom, at the end of a large event for the movie, Janus and Roman are being ushered away from eachother and into seperate cars to avoid an influx of fans for some reason or another, Roman doesn’t remember what. All he remembers is Janus taking a glove off his hand and brushing Roman’s cheek after he wished Roman an odd farewell. Not a see you later, just “Farewell, my Prince.” In perfect sync with a very specific line that Janus’s character had said. Roman is in too much shock by the time he’s in his own car, the past three lifetimes of memory flashing through his head taking just long enough to settle into dread as he realizes. He panics, he tries to get someone to listen, and by god do they try, but no one can get into contact with Janus in time. Janus dies in a freak car crash just minutes after they touched, dead on impact. Roman and his soulmates hold onto this movie for the rest of this lifetime, the last physical record left behind by the soulmate that fate just wont let them meet.

In the fifth, he meets Logan, each at age 21, Logan is a nurse in training, and Janus is a cashier, a college student just starting to work towards getting their law degree. By this point Logan has met all of their soulmates, and they all live in a flat together. Really, these days they all sit in wait, they have a plan amongst themselves, about what to do when they meet Janus, a last resort, a trying attempt to keep him alive just long enough to break that 24 hour threshold, to break the spell, to be able to say they did something to try and save him. So its truely a shame that in this lifetime, Janus is bleeding out from a gunshot wound by the time Logan is able to reach him. Its late at night, the police have been called, but it seems Janus was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and finds himself bleeding out on the tile floor. He doesn’t struggle, he doesn’t panic. When Logan approaches, he instead smiles sadly, and reaches his hand out to Logan. On instinct Logan takes it, just before he processes hearing Janus greet him with “Hello, Soulmate.” In vain, Logan tries to staunch the bleeding, but he’s done all he can do, and they know the real paramedics will be 2 minnutes too late. So they sit there, covered in Janus’s blood at 2 am in the middle of a shoddy convenience store, talking quietly about life and how their soulmates love them. There are tears in Logan’s eyes as Janus smiles sadly, knowingly up at Logan. He reaches his hand up and cradles Logans face, and asks Logan to “never forget to smile, okay?” Logan ends up leaving nursing, his mental health unable to take the soul-deep wound that incapacitates him when surrounded by the call of death.

In their sixth life, his soulmates wait, the group meets at age 23, and feel renewed hope as each month passes that they do not experience another traumatic death in their midst. Around age 30, confusion sets in, the hollow itch of meeting their last soulmate is dulled, almost non existant. They’d believe it gone if they didn’t feel it whisper to them late at night where theyre all gathered together. By the time their 60, the whisper seems to fade, and they slowly mourn the loss of the loved one they never got to have. Janus’s soul infact does not make it to the sixth lifetime, but not for lack of trying. His soulmates don’t want to believe it, waiting for his arrival to the very last of their days in this lifetime and never meeting him, they refuse to voice that they mightve lost Janus for good..

Fate has instead taken hold of his feeble soul, the weakest soul in an already unusually huge soulmate group, his soul only half as strong as it should be to balance fate in each lifetime, and so weak that his soul collapses under the amount of soulpower that reaches out to his own when his soul meets the others, and the fates are agitated by the constant unbalance of what should be their greatest and most intricately created group of soulmates yet. So the fates decided to hold onto his soul for a single lifetime, and spends the years mending and healing and strengthening his soul, practically filling in a full half of his soul, and spending years merging it while still carefully balancing his connection with his soulmates perfectly. The trade off is that the tampering and adjusting of his soul fucks with his soulmate memory trigger. He doesn’t forget, no, but his access to his previous lifetime memories is staggered, and so it takes months before he gets back all of his pevious lifetime memories, leaving the inital soulmate connection actually connecting but not immediately supplying his soul with any information of his own first 5 lives, leaving him blank at the start, though knowing that he and his soulmates soul’s are still older than being a brand new soul without memories, and doesn’t actually have a point in his lifetimes when he his an age and his past lifetime memories come to him, he /has/ to meet his soulmates to trigger those memories. The fates are very particular about him, keen on not providing this group with anymore unnessesary trauma.

So, imagine Janus’s genuine confusion, in his sixth life and his soulmate’s seventh life, at age 23 when he approaches a group at a college party on a whim to chat/flatter/flirt with the infamous Remus Sanders, the local social cryptid who always raises more questions than answers when you talk to him and who, Janus has learned, is a highly entertained arsonist-wannabe, and Janus knows that it’s smart to have contacts, because who knows when he’ll be need of someone who’ll commit arson with him? It just happened to be an hour earlier that Remy had spilled soda on his gloves, so he’s braving this interaction without a safety barrier but he’s heard Remus has all his soulmates already, all four of them to be exact, so he doesnt think he has much of a reason to worry. He manages to slide into the conversation easily, and none of Remus’s soulmates seem bothered by his intrusion, especially when he takes the eccentric way that Remus speaks in stride without even a pause, they just seem exasperated when he sneakily brings up the topic of fire.

Then Remus takes him by the shoulders, grinning at him almost crazily, and states “You. I like you” and, it’s obviously instinctive, the graceful way he laughs and puts a hand on Remus’s to agree, but of course the moment skin touches skin, their souls link and everything sparks. And then Remus shutters, and stares, his jaw going slack but his hands seem to grip Janus tighter. And for a moment, Janus finds it terribly, terribly fitting that he’s soulmates with a filterless pyromaniac, but then he remembers that Remus also has soulmates, and then the panic sets in because, assumably, that makes them his soulmates too.

Imagine Janus’s confusion when instead of being met with joy, he suddenly finds himself tucked carefully yet securely into Remus’s arms, being rocked by a man whose suddenly panicked and almost manically whispering “it’s him, hes here, it’s him.” Any move he makes to pull away even a little is met with a sob, Remus is crying, and Janus is so very confused. He tries to coo and comfort Remus, but each of their other soulmates crowd around them, touching his skin one by one, none of them moving away, his skin is burning from touch starvation, its a lot, its to much, its not enough, it burns.

It takes Janus over an hour, after being shuffled into a corner and placed in another soulmate’s lap, Janus thinks his name is Patton, to come back to himself, and finds his soulmates can’t stop touching him. He, too, feels the zing with each touch, the specific innate and undeniable feeling of ‘soulmate, soulmate, soulmate’ but he feels that hes very specifically out of some kind of loop considering all of his soulmates are crying.

When the fates whisper to them, three hours in, with the words “his soul was weak, we have fixed the issue, he is now yours for life to keep, he will safely continue.”

And while Janus requires quite a bit of catch-up, he feels like nows not the best time to ask. He feels more than sees the collective relief that sweeps through his soulmates, he lets them crowd around him further, touching and holding and assuring themselves and eachother that hes real, hes there, he’s staying alive, hes going to be safe. He tries not to say too much, doesn’t want to step on any sore spots, and finds theres tears in his eyes as well. He just lets himself be passed from lap to lap, and somehow or another they manage to all safely arrive at their joined home, pilling up a pillowfort into the livingroom and putting on a movie. Not once does he leave the hold of at least one soulmate, and finds at least two other hands on his person at a time up until he’s sat in the middle of the pillowfort(after he was allowed to get ready alongside the others for bed. He ends up in an oversized nasa hoodie that belongs to Logan) and the others begin to just, talk about life. Its too early to talk about the extreme protectiveness that theyve all treated him with each second, like hes about to dissapear at any moment. The thought makes him shudder, and he tries not to dwell on it.

Turns out, Virgil has the best idea of the night, suddenly and carefully kissing him, which triggers a bit of a domino effect, where Janus goes gently from soulmate to soulmate and trades kisses and hugs until everyone is breathless and giggling wetly with emotion.

And, when he wakes up the next morning, refusing to leave the warmth that is Roman’s chest and whining when Logan, who’d been acting as his other warm big spoon, start pulling away to start the day. And for the first time in this lifetime, Logan startlingly quickly relents and actually returns to their makeshift bed, pressing closer to Janus in an instant to hear his happy, sleepy hum. None of them get up for hours, and when they finally do, they order takeout, and dont stray far from eachother in the coming days.

Its the start of something new, something beautiful.

Something completely and finally whole.

[pennyl4n3]

The Pool

*Taking a deep breath*

Well well well, this is my first fanfic (or should I say second or third? Btw, this one came to a conclusion) and I've never been much into writing, but Duskwood and all of you fantastic people in the fandom here brought me to this. I hope you like it, and of course I look forward to your comments and feedback.

Pairing: Jake x MC

Contents: Angst, Sadness, Fluff, Romance

It had been three months since his last contact with her. He'd had to disappear from the radar, the government breathing down his neck. Every day he fought the urge to write to her; he couldn't risk putting her in danger. He couldn't even risk reading her conversations at the moment, so he was as blind as she was.

He didn't know where she was, if she was okay, if she was mad at him, though after all this time he imagined she was. The last time they had written to each other she was in Duskwood and he had every intention of finally catching up with her. Things hadn't gone as planned unfortunately, and the deal he was trying to make with the government had fallen through, forcing him to become a fugitive again.

He was exhausted, he was free and yet he felt imprisoned in an endless loop. Ever since he had met her he had realized how heavy his condition was to bear, how much he missed talking to someone in person, how much he longed to get out without having to disguise himself. He wanted to move, to run, to be outside, and above all else he wanted to run to her, and hold her, look into her eyes, tell her in his voice how much he missed her.

While he was lost in these thoughts he scrolled through their last conversations, rereading every word and every comma. At one point he found the conversation in which they had talked about one of MC's great passions, swimming. He barely knew how to float, he had never had a chance to learn it as a child, and on that occasion he had promised himself he would try it someday. MC had told him about a public pool in her hometown that was easy to get into at night through a gate with a broken lock. She had gone there many times, when she needed to relieve her nerves and to be alone. Suddenly Jake felt the urge to see that pool, and set about finding it. Amazingly it was a couple of blocks from where he was hiding, the next step was to check the security cams near the building and along the way. He could do it without too much difficulty, and he really needed to get some air and some purpose, so he slipped on his sweatshirt, pulled on his hood and mask, and set off.

He arrived within minutes, constantly looking around. The streets were practically empty, but caution was never too much. The pool was a low building, all on one level. Mentally following MC's directions he managed to find the little gate, behind some bushes. It was still broken, unbelievable. Curiosity was stronger than him and he continued towards the entrance. His footsteps echoed in the hall, as he went down the few steps that led directly to the pool floor, the smell of chlorine filled his nostrils. Even though it was night he could see almost all of the interior well, thanks to the huge windows that almost reached the ceiling and let in the illumination of the street lamps, just as MC had told him.

He sat on the steps and stayed there for a while, lost in his imagination, even though he had never seen MC, enjoying that moment of peace, and trying to imagine her doing something that made her feel good...

A noise outside startled him, he ran off the steps and flattened himself against the wall. He waited in silence, his nerves on edge, his heart in his throat, his eye searching for possible alternatives escape routes. another metallic noise, and the angry meows of two cats fighting each other. Jake breathed a sigh of relief but waited vigilantly for a while longer before heading for the exit with shaking legs. When he returned to his shelter, he promised himself he would never try it again, but that was not to be. He returned there two more nights, until he decided to get a swimsuit and try swimming.

And so Jake found himself inside the pool, scared and unsure at first, but after a few minutes he began to feel the benefit of being in the water, the lightness provided by its support. He knew it wouldn't last long, but he continued to go there as many nights as he could. He would return to his hut tired but satisfied, and he could even get a decent night's sleep.

One evening he was trying to swim as usual when he heard a female voice saying jokingly, "well, I thought I was the only one who knew this place, but apparently not." Jake froze, almost having a heart attack. He was in the water, there was no way to escape. He drew a deep breath, thinking that it was anyway dark enough, and that his features weren't clearly visible, and decided to try not to look too suspicious. "Yeah, apparently not" he replied, trying to keep his voice from shaking. The girl smiled, or so it seemed to him, and continued, "I guess you like to be here alone, just like I usually do, but I could really use a swim tonight. I'll go in the back lane, I swear I won't bother you. Is that okay?" "O-oh yeah, yeah, go ahead," Jake mumbled, trying to hide his face as much as possible, and stood watching her as she made her way to the other side of the pool, still shocked that there was another human being in the same room as him. He realized that he was staring in her direction, and decided to start swimming again. After a while he stopped, out of breath and with tired arms, and saw that the girl instead was still swimming, at a brisk pace, and giving no sign of wanting to stop. He got out of the water and sat on the steps, wrapped in his towel, trying to catch his breath. Watching her was hypnotic, she moved with fluid movements, slow and steady. He wondered if MC swam like that too. How he wished he could have written to her to tell her he was swimming, or at least trying to, and to thank her for letting him discover this wonderful new experience as well. Since he had met her, his life had taken on a new light, where before only greyness and despair reigned.

His phone made a sound, bringing him back to reality. It was time to go home. He dressed quickly and headed for the exit, he didn't want to interrupt the girl's concentration, and he didn't intend to introduce himself, so better that way. Once back at the shelter he went back to work on his laptop, while eating a sandwich. Concentration continued to leave him that night, however, as the encounter with the stranger had brought him back to MC in a big way.

He returned to the pool the next evening, yearning to tire himself out and find some peace of mind. Once he got to the door he heard the sound of water coming from inside, he carefully pushed his way across the threshold, trying to figure out who was there and was relieved to see that it was again the girl he met the night before. He walked over to his side of the pool and removed his clothes as he cast furtive glances at her. He dove into the water and began to swim, trying to focus on his breathing, which was the part he struggled with the most. When he emerged with bated breath, he saw the girl standing at the edge of the pool and winced. "Hi, I didn't mean to scare you. I've been watching you swim and I thought I could give you a few tips, if you don't mind" Jake was so amazed and scared that for a few seconds he could only stare at her with his mouth open. "I-I...I don't.... " she giggled softly and shrugged her shoulders "Ok, look, I didn't mean to embarrass you...I'm going back to my lane. If you want it you know you can ask it okay?" And she turned to go back to her lane. "Wait. Yes, please I will gladly accept your help." Jake said. She retraced her steps and squatted down beside the edge of the pool with a smile on her face. "So, first let's start with your upper body, I've noticed that you move it a lot between strokes and that wastes your energy and breath. Try to stand up straighter, your arms and legs do most of the work. Then, every time you pull your arm forward, you can inhale if you feel the need to, and slowly you'll find yourself pulling two strokes, then three, and so on, but don't be in a hurry. If you take care of your technique well, managing your breath will already be easier." Jake was focused on her words and nodded, before turning around and trying again. Following her advice actually felt like he was already doing better. A wave of satisfaction ran through him when he managed to do his usual laps without getting breathless. He emerged smiling and sat on the edge of the pool. She was still there and looked at him approvingly, then asked "Better now, isn't it? "Yes, thank you very much." He answered. "Thanks to you, I'm just back in town but I'm not having much contact with the rest of the world, helping you was a pleasure" "I... I understand, I didn't have much contact lately either". A slightly embarrassed silence fell between them. It was Jake's phone that broke it, by emitting an alarm tone. Jake got up quickly and headed for his bagpack. "I, uh, have to go now, thanks again for your help." She looked at him briefly, nodded, and stepped back. "Oh, yeah, sure, no problem. Well, good night then" and walked back to the pool. "Good night" he replied, and as soon as she turned around, he changed his wet swimsuit with dry clothes and headed quickly to the exit.

As he walked down the street, he wondered if he wasn't risking too much by going to the pool regularly, and by confiding in that unknown girl. He then decided that it would be better to avoid it for a while, even if it was with great regret.

Jake avoided the pool for a few days, but eventually decided to go back. He couldn't wait to get there. As he walked the short distance between his hiding place and the pool, he mentally savored the feel of the water, the smell of the chlorine, the relaxation it gave him to swim until his muscles ached. As always, he sneaked up on the hidden entrance, his senses all out to catch any suspicious movements or noises. That evening, however, he heard no suspicious noises as he entered the large room with the tanks, but a soft sobbing. He listened for a while, trying to distinguish where the crying was coming from. When he spotted the silhouette of the mysterious girl on the steps he felt a tug at his heart, and could not help but go near her.

"Hey, is everything okay?" he said softly.

She looked up with a jolt, and when she recognized him she answered a little annoyed: "What do you think? No, everything is not okay." She immediately realized she had been abrupt, and added in a tone of apology, clutching her knees to her chest: "Sorry, I didn't think you would come, I haven't seen you here in a while and you caught me off guard..." "It's okay, no need to apologize. I guess I interrupted an intimate moment of yours. It's just that hearing you cry made me worried somehow." He replied to her as he blushed, realizing what he had just said. "I-I meant...well I mean, sorry if I m-maybe I embarrassed you, I should probably go and..." hinting back. "No, wait. Please stay. If it's not a problem for you of course. I don't really feel like being alone anymore." she said as she reached out a hand towards him and motioned for him to sit beside her. Jake was tense, the last thing he had expected that night was to find himself consoling the mysterious girl, but he certainly couldn't leave her there alone, she had always been very kind to him and he was sincerely sorry to see her sad. He exhaled a deep breath and went to sit next to her as he pulled a handkerchief from a pocket of his backpack and handed it to her. "Thank you," she said with a smile, "I really appreciate it." For a while an awkward silence descended, during which they both stared at their hands. Suddenly she blurted out "You know, I'm worried about someone, that's why I was crying. I haven't heard from him in a while and I don't know what to think. I'm trying to move on, I promised him, and really, I'm trying so hard, but some days the weight of his absence is so hard to bear that I can barely get out of bed. Whatever I do the thought of him is with me. This is the only place I can find some peace, because swimming empties my mind b-but t-tonight..." her eyes glazed over again as she swallowed, trying to push back the tears. He had listened to her in silence until that moment, respecting her moment of venting, but when he realized she was about to cry again he felt he had to do something, so he passed his left arm behind her back and pulled her to him, gently holding her in an embrace. "I-I can understand it, you know? I promised one person I would move on too. But it's so hard. I want to call her, I want to write her, I want to know how she is doing, where she is...but every day I forbid myself to do that. And I know I owe it to her, because she doesn't deserve to keep feeling bad because of me and my mistakes and..." his voice faded away, as he realized that he was risking to say things he shouldn't have said, he recovered quickly trying to cut it short and not to let the tremor in his voice be heard "...and I understand you, that's it. I miss her so much too."

As they stood in silence, his heart running fast in his chest and he desperately looking for something else to say, he felt her draw back into his embrace and sigh. It felt good to have her in his arms, and feeling her calming down warmed his heart. It had been so long since Jake had touched anyone, not really talked to anyone, hardly remembered what it was like. A little later she said softly, "Thank you. For sharing a little piece of you with me. You don't need to talk about it if you don't feel like it, I understand. It's... " she stopped thoughtfully, "Complicated" finished Jake. "Yes, yes exactly! It's damn complicated. But knowing that someone can understand me makes me feel better." then she turned to him and drew a deep breath, then added, "Well, how about a swim? After all, this is what we both came for." Jake nodded and removed his arm from her shoulders. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He got up from the steps and walked over to the usual little corner where he used to change his clothes, while she headed to her pool lane and dove in. Once he slipped into his swimsuit, Jake entered cautiously, still pensive from that brief but intense exchange of confessions.

He slowly dived down to the bottom and stayed there for a while, still immersed in his thoughts. He had to stop those nightly outings. They were already dangerous in themselves, and now this unknown girl had been added, making him talk too freely. All of his inner alarms were telling him it was time to stop, and it was also time to change hiding places again, even though being so close to a place in MC's heart made him feel closer to her.

A movement to the side of his field of vision brought him out of his thoughts, and out of the pool as well. When he got to his feet he ran a hand over his eyes and pulled his hair back so he could see better, turning to face the source of the movement. He saw her in the aisle next to where he stood, staring at him. "A-are you ok?" said him in an uncertain voice. She giggled and replied, "I was going to ask you the same thing, you weren't coming up out of the water anymore." "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I scared you, I was just... well, reflecting." he replied. She stared at him intently, looking at his black hair, stuck to the sides of his face, and said tilting her head "It's weird you know? You remind me so much of him, the way you behave somehow, I can't actually explain it". Jake blushed and swallowed hard. "I'll take it as a compliment" he replied, and stepped out of the water. "I have to get back. I hope you feel better now." continued, while heading to the bag of dry clothes. She stood staring at him, wondering if she had made him uncomfortable with that confession. When she realised he was about to undress she turned around, blushing. She waited for a while and then sat down on the edge of the bath and said with a smile, "Yes, I'm feeling better, thanks to you. Good night, stranger."

When he arrived to the hut, something alarmed him: some of the boards near the entrance were placed differently than he had left them. He quickly stepped into the shadows and took out his phone to check inside. Two men were sitting at his usual spot, peering at the screens. Jake was quick to slip back downstairs and to reach out his hiding place number two, three doors down. As soon as he was seated, he took his phone out of his jeans pocket and started the hidden cameras. The two men didn't seem to have any idea what they were looking at, and they didn't look like officers either, to be honest. Maybe two thieves? But what kind of thieves would break into an old warehouse with the windows covered by boards? What did they expect to find there? He carefully examined the video images from the cameras he had placed around the rest of the perimeter of the building and saw a couple of policemen in the back. "Fuck!" he whispered through his teeth. He prepared to format everything in the hiding place and stood vigilantly by, watching them alternately. The two intruders were probably hiding from the cops, and risked exposing him. He noticed that there was a car shop next door and decided to create a diversion. He quickly managed to hack into the shop's security system and set it to go off, so that the cops could be sent away. He then logged on to his workstation and simply brought up Nymos, some glitches and the words "intruders detected, defensive protocol activated" on the screens. It was more than enough to send the two of them running for the hills.

He sighed with relief, letting himself down on the makeshift mattress behind him. He stayed like that for a while as he listened to his heartbeat return to a normal rhythm, his adrenaline slowly subsiding, his breathing becoming regular. His stomach rumbled, so he reached into his bag and pulled out an energy bar. After an hour or so, he locked the entrance to the main hideout and went back the way he'd come: better stay there for the night. As he settled in for the night, streams of thoughts came over him. He realised that the idea of leaving MC hometown made him feel lost, even though she wasn't there, and it wasn't even certain that she would return. Still, he knew he had to leave, that evening's mishap was another proof of that. There wasn't much to think about really, he had to move again, maybe he'd come back later. He thought of the girl at the pool, of her pain, so familiar. How was it possible that love could always bring so much suffering? He drifted off to sleep with those thoughts in his head, and woke up restless.

The next morning Jake was almost done packing up all of his belongings and ready to go. He wondered if once he was settled into his new hiding place, he would find another pool where he could train undisturbed, so he set about identifying all the potential candidates. How he wished he could have told MC about this! As he scanned the pools and studied their surroundings it occurred to him that he could write her using a disposable phone before leaving. His hands began to shake at the mere thought of being able to write her again. Would she be happy to read it? Maybe she was angry with him. In their last conversation she had told him to at least let her know if he was alive as soon as he could. Before he could think about it too much longer, he stormed out of the room and headed for the first open store. Once he retrieved the disposable phone he went back to the spare hut and slipped into it with all his things. He turned on the phone and prepared it for use.

*??? is online*

Jake:Hello, MC.

Shortly after came the reply

*** MC is online ***

MC:Jake! Are you okay?

Jake:Yes MC, I'm fine. I apologize for not letting you hear from me again, it was too dangerous.

MC:That's okay, I'm so glad to read you now, I kept telling myself that you were definitely fine and that I shouldn't have written you, as promised

Jake felt his palms sweat.

Jake:You know, I've been going swimming lately. At night, on the sly. Your enthusiasm about it convinced me. You were so right MC, it can empty your mind. I wanted so hard to thank you for that.

MC:I went swimming recently too, at night, it kept me from going crazy. Maybe we swam at the same time

Jake: :)

Jake:And do you know where I was? The place you told me about. It was like I felt closer to you

MC squinted her eyes

MC:Jake... you don't mean that place with big windows almost to the ceiling,do you?

Jake:Yes, exactly that.

MC bursted in laugh and shaked her head in disbelief.

MC:And you didn't happen to meet someone? Like a really nice, kind girl who gave you lessons?

Jake felt his knees buckle and had to lean against the wall to keep from falling.

Jake:You...

Jake:Was that you?

Butterflies were spreading through his stomach.

MC:So you hugged me the other night! I was crying just for you, and you were there, this is crazy!

MC:Where are you now?

His eyes widened.

Jake:MC me, I was going to leave the town, last night I found intruders in my shelter, it's not safe for me to be here anymore.

For a time that seemed eternal to him there was no sign of life on the other end of the phone.

Jake:MC...

MC:Don't you dare

MC:Don't you dare leaving again. You've been staying here for days, and even allowed yourself to go out almost every night, and you never wrote me anything. Now that we might meet you're starting this again.

MC:We met by accident Jake! Does that seem normal to you???

MC:I'll be waiting there tonight, you better come

***MC is offline***

Jake stared at the phone bewildered. He was terrified. He couldn't believe he had hugged MC the night before. And she was crying, because of him. She was right, he couldn't leave again.

That night he went to the pool, almost running. He sneaked up on the hidden entrance, holding his breath, and went to sit on the steps where he usually rested his backpack. A short time later he saw her walk in and head towards him. It seemed to him that his heart was about to explode. He stood up and walked over to her. They both found themselves running to cover the final distance that separated them. They hugged each other tightly, and stayed that way, without speaking for who knows how long. Neither of them wanted to untie the embrace, as if to do so meant to lose themselves again.

At the end MC pulled back a little to look him in the eyes, and said, "I was beginning to think this moment would never come" "And instead we found each other without even knowing it" he replied chuckling. She blushed and rose on tiptoe to give him a light kiss on the lips.

"Shall we go for a swim?" she told him with a mischievous grin. "Sure. I've been taking lessons" he replied as he began to undress.

[theladyofdeath]

Elorcan 1st time?

PART II of drabble prompt: "Playing 2 truths and a lie while tipsy for Elorcan please", which you can read here :)

This is obviously nsfw. Caution: dirty love making. “Cock” is used, along with other sexual words of vulgarity. Anyway. Enjoy. 

Written with @snelbz

Lorcan waited for Elide to come back, but she never did. Yeah, he was a little tipsy - okay, he was straddling the border of being completely drunk - but he had meant what he had said.

I am completely in love with you.

Should that have been how he told her? No. Probably not, and he knew it as soon as the words had left his mouth, but he couldn't help it. Ten years, holding in such overwhelming feelings and emotions...they eventually just had to fall out.

He was surprised he'd held it in for so long.

Now, he almost wished he'd held it in longer.

He wasn't drunk enough to not have seen the panic in her eyes as she stood and walked away, back toward her bedroom. Which is where she had been for the last twenty minutes.

Lorcan remained lying in the beanbag in the corner of the living room, watching everyone else dance and have a good time while he drank and drank and drank.

Until eventually he couldn't take it any longer.

He pushed himself up, and caught his balance, and made his way down the hall. Elide's door was shut, which he expected, but he hadn't expected it to be locked when he tried the knob.

With a sigh, he knocked. "Elide."

Nothing.

He knocked again, harder, and consistently, until it was cracked open. "Will you stop before my door breaks in half? Gods."

Lorcan rolled his eyes and pushed his way into Elide's room, not bothering to wait for permission. He had been in Elide's room a million times, and it had looked the exact same as it had every time. Nothing had changed.

Except for the lingering discomfort in the air.

Elide didn't look at him as she shut her door behind them, shutting out the noise of the party raging outside. When it was just the two of them, standing alone in the silence, Lorcan cleared his throat.

"Care to tell me what the hell that was about?" he asked.

When she swung around, he instantly knew she was pissed. "What the hell that was about? Lorcan! You just told me that you...." She shook her head, her face falling into her hands. "Seriously?"

"That I'm in love with you?" he asked, and took in the sight before him. She wouldn't even meet his eye, and it was clear that she'd come into her room to quickly make an escape from him, to get away from him. There was no emergency of any kind, nothing else that had stolen her away. It was him. He'd told her how he felt, and it had scared her away. So, he scratched the back of his neck and said, "No, I only said that because I was drunk. I thought it would be funny, and it obviously wasn't, so...I'm sorry."

She met his eyes then, and he couldn't quite pin the emotion in her eye. Was it relief? Or disappointment?

Elide swallowed as she nodded. "Well...that's good, because I was sitting here thinking about how I could never bear to lose you. You're my best friend, Lor, and if...you did have feelings for me, that could really complicate things. So."

"Yeah," Lorcan agreed, a little too quickly. "So, I'll leave you alone in here and go back out there and get a drink and feel like an asshole."

Elide chuckled, quietly. "Yeah, alright. Pour me one too while you're out there."

Lorcan nodded and walked past her, back toward her door, but when his hand touched the cool metal knob, he froze.

Then he slowly turned around and met Elide's gaze. "You know what? I'm not sorry." Elide opened her mouth, but Lorcan cut her off. "It wasn't a joke, I was deadass serious. El, I'm in love with you, and I have been...for years. If you don't feel the same way, that's fine, but I finally spoke my truth and I'm not going to pretend like it was some douchey prank. I love you. You're incredible, and if this ruins our friendship, then that's something I'll never forgive myself for, because your friendship is the most important thing in the world to me, but...I love you. I do. And I would be a fucking idiot to act like I don't."

The words rushed out of him so quickly he wasn't even sure if they were comprehensible. Elide didn't say a word. In fact, he wasn't even certain she was breathing, she just stared at him with those big, dark eyes.

Lorcan turned back around and threw open the door when it became clear that there would be no response, but the second he crossed the threshold, she was calling his name.

"Lor, wait."

He did.

He didn't want to, didn't want to get shot down by the person who had saved him in every possible way throughout the last decade, but he was weak when it came to her demands.

"Look at me," she pleaded.

He did that, too.

He turned, and met her eye. She was closer now, only a few feet away from where he stood, halfway in the hall.

"You think I don't feel the same?" she asked, quietly.

He blinked. "You just said-."

"I haven't told you how I felt because you're the most important person to me, too," she whispered, taking another step toward him. "If we...acted on this, and it ended badly, and I didn't have you in my life anymore..." She shook her head. "Lor, I couldn't handle that. I would rather have you as my friend than not at all."

He stared at her. It was the last thing he expected her to say after what she had said before. Now she was there, looking at him completely raw, telling him that she felt the same way.

Lorcan stepped back into the room and shut the door behind him. "You know what your problem is?"

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously? That's what you're going to lead with in this moment?"

"Your problem is," Lorcan went on, ignoring her question completely, "that you think too damn much."

She opened her mouth to speak, surely to protest, but Lorcan had closed the distance between them in one long stride, took her up into his arms, and kissed her, slowly.

Elide immediately melted into that kiss, her arms going around his neck as her feet were swept off the ground. As her legs wrapped around his waist, Lorcan turned and had her back pressed up against her bedroom door. Holding her up with his hips, he cupped her face, and when they finally broke apart, his hands remained on her cheeks, his forehead having fallen against hers as they both struggled to calm their breathing.

Their eyes met, and neither of them said a word as their lips touched again. The kiss was slow, sensual, full of endless longing.

Lorcan had spent long hours wondering how well Elide kissed, but his imagination hadn't even come close to the reality of the feeling of his mouth on hers.

Her tongue swept between his lips and brushed along his teeth. His hands fell from her face and down her body until he had the hem of her tank top in his fingers, and he was pulling it over her head. His eyes trailed down her body, and Elide took the opportunity to unhook the clasp of her bra and drop it to her carpet.

Gently, Lorcan cradled her full breast in the palm of his hand and brushed his thumb over her nipple as her chest rose and fell in quick, rapid motions.

"Now you."

Lorcan's eyes snapped to hers, and she gestured to his shirt. After setting her down on the floor, he pulled his tee over his head, and her fingers were instantly against his skin. She traced the lines of his muscles, and Lorcan didn't dare move. He stood perfectly still, perfectly quiet, while her fingers roamed his body. They trailed from his abdomen, up to his chest, then down his side, and the edge of the v that disappeared beneath his jeans.

She stopped at the band of his boxer-briefs that were peeking out above his jeans, and she looked up, her eyes meeting his, and she popped open his button, and slid his zipper down.

Lorcan still didn't move, was terrified to. Apparently, keeping still had it's advantages and he wasn't about to curse the situation.

He’d made the right decision, too, he’d decided, and Elide inched down Lorcan’s jeans until they were in a pile on the floor beside them. She palmed the hardened bulge in his boxer-briefs, and a soft groan left Lorcan’s lips.

The sound made Elide grin from pure satisfaction.

That grin only disappeared when she pulled those boxer-briefs down, and Lorcan’s cock sprung free, making Elide’s eyes widen and her mouth run dry. For a second, she didn’t move, and for Lorcan, that alone was agonizing.

Then, without a word, she dropped to her knees and met his gaze through her long, dark lashes as she slowly licked the tip. 

Lorcan cursed, the sight nearly making him combust. He brushed the hair out of her face so that he wouldn’t miss a damned second of what was about to take place, before letting his hands fall back to his sides.

Elide’s hands had other plans. They wrapped around his cock and began working the base as her mouth took him in. It was slow at first, then with each pass Elide took him in a little deeper, a little further, a little faster. He watched her head bob, watched as this woman he was so madly in love with sucked him dry. 

He forced his eyes not to shut, forced his head not to fall back, forced his hands to remain at his sides. It was an all new kind of torture, one he couldn’t endure as one hand, at last, came to rest on the back of Elide’s head, his fingers weaving through her hair with enough force to make Elide moan, softly, against his sensitive skin. 

That moan reverberated through his entire body, from his cock to his chest where a growl pulled from him. Elide’s slim hand tightened, working him harder, quicker, and it was something straight out a wet dream he’d had a million times.

He just never imagined it was something he’d experience in his waking moments.

She looked up at him, and he was frozen, chest heaving as he stared down into those big, dark eyes. Eyes that were as glazed with lust as they were the alcohol that flowed through both of their veins. But there was something else in them, something he hadn’t seen in a gaze in a long time.

Care and longing and…love.

She could tell him that she loved him until she was blue in the face, but there was no denying that those eyes were full of love as she looked up at him. It nearly brought him to his knees with her. 

That realization only brought him to his release quicker, and Elide’s head fell back as he came onto her breasts, her hands continuing to work him until there was nothing left. 

Lorcan’s hand remained on the back of her head, if only for balance as he swore, and closed his eyes. By the time he opened them again, Elide was rising and crossing her room for a towel that hung on a hook by her door, which she used to wipe his cum off her skin. 

Lorcan watched the entire thing attentively, and when she turned back around and met his stare with a sly smile, he asked, his voice low, “Why the hell aren’t you naked?”

It was unfair, really, to be completely nude while her jeans remained. Elide didn’t argue, and in answer, she slowly shimmied out of her jeans until she stood before him in a lacy, black thong.

Lorcan’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he had only taken one step toward her when she slipped that thong off, too. When she rose again, there was nothing hiding her beautiful body.

The next thing he did was something he swore he had absolutely no control of. He picked her up and threw her back onto the bed, before crawling up after her, his body covering hers. It was rough and primal and something he’d imagined doing but never thought he’d actually get to do. His lips wrapped around one of her nipples and she moaned as her hand dove into her hair.

Her legs were already parted to make room for his body, so he had easy access to slide a knuckle between her folds, surprised to find her already warm and wet for him. He pulled back to tease her, to say something that would no doubt cause the blush on her cheeks to deepen, but he was interrupted by a knocking on her door.

“Elide?” Aelin called, over the music still playing in the living room. “You okay in there? I haven’t seen in you in a while.”

Lorcan was about to holler back but Elide’s hand covered his mouth.

“I’m okay,” she replied. “Just wasn’t feeling great. Decided to lay down.”

The knob shook as she tried to open it and both Elide and Lorcan were extremely grateful Lorcan had thought to lock it when he’d closed it before.

There was a pause on the other end. “Okay, well, can I get you anything?”

“No, go have fun!” she called, and Lorcan snorted into the hand that was still covering his mouth. 

“Alright,” Aelin muttered, as she walked away.

They both remained still for a moment on the bed before Elide’s hand fell away and Lorcan slowly shook his head. “You didn’t want her to hear me pleasuring you?” he asked, a long finger slowly slipping up inside of her.

Elide’s lashes batted against her porcelain skin. “If you pleasure me as well as I think you will, the whole damn party just might hear.”

A soft growl escaped him as Lorcan leaned down to kiss her. The kiss was short, sweet, and then his mouth trailed across her cheek, and along her jaw, and down her neck where he stopped to suck that sensitive spot, just at its base. Then his lips fell to her breasts, once more, and he took her nipple between his lips, tugging on it with his teeth.

Elide hissed, her hands diving into his hair. Lorcan gave her breasts the attention they deserved before moving on, his lips trailing down her abdomen, and when he spread her legs open as wide as they could go, Elide’s eyes shut in preparation for the bliss that was about to occur. 

Lorcan leaned back to observe her sex, and took his time before sliding his tongue slowly between her folds. 

Elide muttered a curse that had Lorcan’s hands tightening around her ass. 

True to her words, the moan that Lorcan’s tongue wrung from Elide was far from quiet. If Aelin had still been on the other side of the door, she would have immediately known Elide had been lying, would have put two and two together when she noticed Lorcan’s absence as well, and would be banging on Elide’s door, demanding to know what the hell she thought she was doing.

Elide couldn’t find it within herself to care. Not as Lorcan’s lips wrapped around her clit and sucked gently. Something that sounded like his name tumbled from her lips, but she was far past coherent thoughts as she gripped her breast with one hand and Lorcan’s hair with the other.

That grip fueled Lorcan more and he sucked a little bit faster, a little bit harder, his tongue going wild as he feasted. Those moans from Elide grew louder, and the fact that she wasn’t a quiet lover had Lorcan feeling even more excited. She was wild, and she knew exactly what she liked - Lorcan admired that.

Elide’s back arched and her knees around Lorcan’s head tightened around him. She gasped between those moans, those delicate fingers woven into his hair gripping the strands to the point of pain. A delightful, wonderful, exhilarating pain. 

“I can’t,” she breathed, followed by a lovely string of curses. “I’m going to- Lorcan-.”

She came, and Lorcan held onto her ass, his tongue continuing to circle her clit as she did so. He didn’t lean back and look up until she was finished, and her body collapsed onto her blankets. And when he did, he climbed up her body, took her face into his hands, and kissed her. His chin was wet from her, but he didn’t care, and she didn’t seem to, either, as he sank down on top of her, hiking up one of her legs around his ass. 

“I want you,” he muttered, into her lips, as if it wasn’t obvious enough by now. “Gods, I want you.”

She kissed him again, roughly, her tongue exploring his mouth, tasting herself on him, and breathed, “Then take me.”

There was no hesitation after that, no lingering touches or kisses. Not as Lorcan reached between them, lining himself up with her entrance and sank into her warm wetness.

It wasn’t rough, he didn’t want to hurt her, but by no means was it gentle. He filled her with one, long stroke, while she gasped and clung to his back. Her nails sank into the muscles she’d lusted after for so long, his name falling from her lips with a string of curses behind it. He echoed the sentiment as he pulled back and pushed back into her, setting a strong, relentless pace.

Her eyes kept trying to flutter closed, barely able to endure the sensation of having him so deep inside of her, but she kept them firmly on his. She could watch as that cool, well-maintained demeanor began to fall to pieces, could feel it as his thrusts became harder and faster, until before she knew it the headboard was slamming against the wall.

Surely Aelin would hear that.

Neither of them cared.

Lorcan fucked her, unceasing and without abandon. Their eyes remained locked the entire time, although with great difficulty. They didn’t want to miss it, though, didn’t want to miss the reactions, the emotions, the realizations that after all that time had passed, they were finally there, together, in that moment, and no one would ever take that away from them. It was a memory, a part of their story, that would forever be cherished and never forgotten. 

Elide came, her knees shaking around Lorcan’s waist, and he only lasted a moment longer before he was pushed far over the edge. When they were done, they laid cuddled up together beneath her blankets, Lorcan’s arm draped around her bare waist as his face rested in the crook of her neck, and she ran her fingers through his long, messy hair. 

As they were beginning to drift off into a sound, dreamless sleep, Lorcan said, quietly, “I want it to be noted that I didn’t tell you that I love you to get you in bed.” 

Elide laughed, breathlessly, as she looked over at him. “No?”

He shook his head, knowing full well that she knew better. He explained himself, nonetheless. “No. I meant it, Elide. I love you. I have, for a long time, and I will, for a long time.”

Her eyes softened as she pressed her lips softly against his forehead. “I love you, too. Always have, always will.” 

[carrotmakar]

the weekend

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You get a lot more out of a songwriting session with Harry Styles than you ever bargained for.

Warning(s): cheating, explicit language, suggestive comments (nothing super explicit happens though), angst

A/N: this is a submission for nat’s ( @harrystylescherry​ ) song fic challenge!! this is based on “The Weekend” by SZA, so i’d recommend listening to that either before or while reading this so you get the gist of what this is about!!!

Masterlist | Request | Come Talk | Patreon

You’re nervous.

Should you be? Not really. You’ve written songs with and for hundreds of fantastic artists before, but there’s something about helping Harry Styles write one that has your nerves on end. Maybe it’s his fanbase, how they pick and critique everything to get the full experience. Maybe it’s the expectations of another number one from the next new song. Maybe it’s the way that your sister had sent you text after text freaking out about how good he is at what he does (If he’s so good, why will he even need your help? What if he hates the fact that you’re there and that makes him despise you?). Or maybe, just maybe it’s the way that you run headfirst into him when you walk into the room. 

Immediately, there’s a ring clad hand on your shoulder to help steady you. “Are you okay, love?” he asks, British accent thick through his words.

You nod, cheeks burning with the embarrassment of the mishap. At least he doesn’t seem to hate you, though. He seemed pretty chipper, so maybe he just likes to have a new set of eyes and ears every so often to aid in the songwriting process. That thought sets you at ease, and you immerse yourself in the routine of it all.

The entire day goes by faster than you’d like it to, honestly. It’s filled with suggestions, edits, and ideas thrown into the air. It’s all very smooth and you find yourself wishing that you worked with people more like Harry more often. He’s smart and talented but he isn’t stuck up about it. That’s something that you like about him, he knows that he’s capable of doing this but he’s not cocky.

More than once throughout the few hours that you’re around him, you find yourself looking over at his features. Really, how could you not? He’s undeniably attractive, and you’ve never been one to pretend that you don’t see something that you like when you do. As subtly as possible, you sneak glances at him. You admire the way that his cheekbones seem to have a natural highlight even in the dim, buttery light of the room. You take in the way that his curls fall loosely into his face, causing him to haphazardly push them away every few minutes. It’s a bit disturbing to you when you look over at him once and find yourself thinking about how cute the slope of his nose is. 

You take it all in, but you don’t let yourself do anything else than that. You know that he has a girlfriend, and you’re not going to actively pursue a taken man. Besides, you’ve seen the girl he’s with, along with the girls that he’s been with and you’re pretty sure that you don’t compare, so even if he were single, you wouldn’t try anything. 

Shaking the thought completely from your mind, you focus on the page in front of you and look over at Harry. “What if you just release Medicine? That'll be a number one for sure.”

He laughs, full on cackles at your words. He throws his head back and you can’t help but smile at the sound of his laugh. It takes him a minute for it to die down to giggles soft enough that he can get words out. “Never gonna happen, love.”

*

You greet your Pomeranian puppy, Daisy, as you walk through the door that night. She runs right towards you and trips on her paws. You chuckle at the memory of the first time that she did that. You were babysitting your niece and Daisy took a tumble and all you heard was an “Oopsie Daisy!” You hadn’t yet named her, so you decided that you could just go with Daisy, especially after she continued to trip all over the place. Picking her up, you make your way to the kitchen to feed her and top off her water bowl. As you’re sitting the bowl down, your phone dings with a notification from an unknown number.

Hey, it’s Harry. I hope it’s okay that I asked Jeff for your number.

You force the butterflies away the moment that they swarm your stomach; you can’t have feelings for a man that’s already in a relationship. 

Hey, Harry! It’s completely fine, I don’t mind.

You’re a bit confused as to why Harry asked for your number, but you assume that it’s to ask some questions or tell you something about the song, so you let the thoughts leave your mind and you go back to petting Daisy until you get another text from him. 

I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner? At my place?

You’re taken aback for a moment at the suggestion of dinner at his place, but then you realize that it’s probably just a thank you. Chances are that his girlfriend will be there and it will be completely formal. Plus, it’s probably just at his place because if he goes out then he’ll get swarmed by paparazzi and he’d most likely want to avoid that as much as possible. 

You mull it over for a few more seconds before deciding that you’ll have dinner with him. There’s no reason for you not to, really.

Yeah, I’d love to! Just let me know when and send me your address!

Locking your phone, you place it on the counter before making your way to the bathroom to take a relaxing shower and then head to bed.

*

When you step into Harry's house, you’re hit with the overwhelming scent of cashmere and vanilla, and it smells unmistakably like Harry. When he sees you, his eyes take you in, and then he’s smiling. “You look great!” he says before pulling you into a hug that you didn’t expect. 

Your cheeks heat up slightly at his words. It’s not like you even tried, honestly. You just threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater before leaving the house. His comment makes you smile, though, so you choose not to say anything about it.

He happily leads you towards the kitchen and you can’t help but let some of his excitement rub off on you. When you step through the threshold to the room, you expect to see his girlfriend sitting there, but instead, you're met with an empty room. He must see you looking around because he speaks up. “Amelia’s in Paris for some fashion show she’s doing.”

“Oh, that’s cool! Which show is it? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.” You run your hands along your sides nervously as you wait to see if you’ve crossed a line.

He gives you a small smile before shaking his head. “I would tell you if I knew. She hasn’t talked to me in a few weeks. It’s normally like this before shows. She gets even more distant than normal.” The both of you fall silent for a moment, but then he clears his throat and hands you a plate. “That doesn’t matter though, I wanted to thank you for helping me out today, so I made you pasta.” A warm smile graces your face as you take the plate from him. “You can head into the living room and make yourself comfortable if you want. I’m gonna get some wine. Would you like some?”

You nod and walk to the living room after he goes to get the wine. You do as he said and make yourself comfortable on his plush couch. It’s much softer than you expected it to be when you first saw it, and you’re pleasantly surprised. 

Once he returns with two glasses and a bottle of wine, you quickly set your plate down on the wooden coffee table and help him set everything down so that he can go get his food and join you on the couch. You pour the wine into the glasses while he’s getting everything settled.

“Thank you for pouring those, I’m trying to make sure I have everything together, so I probably seem like a chicken with its head cut off.” His cheeks tint a slight pink at the admission and it makes you want to reach out and run your hand over his arm to reassure him that everything is alright, but that’s not something that you can do so you settle for trying to make him feel better with just your words.

“You’re fine, Harry. Honestly, this is a lot better than any other meal that I’ve probably ever had, so you’re doing great.” He gives a grateful smile at your words, and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s no longer feeling as embarrassed. There’s something about him that makes you want to make sure he’s nothing but happy.

“So,” you say, trying to rid your mind of thoughts like that, “did you like what we came up with today?”

“Yeah, I really did, honestly.” He nods as he takes a bite of his pasta and chews. “I think you’re really talented. The things that you came up with today were absolutely phenomenal.”

You feel your cheeks heating up under his gaze and you try to hide that by taking a drink of your wine, but if his smirk has anything to say about how well you hid it, you failed epically. 

“Thank you, I think you’re really talented, too. You’re probably one of the most talented people that I’ve worked with, to be honest. And you’re really nice about it as well.” 

“You flatter me.” 

“Take the compliment, Styles.” You playfully point your fork at him and he laughs lightly.

“Fine, thank you, Y/N.” You both fall into a comfortable silence before he clears his throat and starts up the conversation again. “Tell me about yourself, wanna know you better.”

There’s an awkward tension in the air as you start telling him about yourself, but as the night goes on, you get more and more relaxed around him. It feels like you’re talking to an old friend, not someone that you just met. 

And maybe that’s why you invite him to come hang out at your place sometime soon. After all, you could use another friend.

*

You’re much less nervous sitting beside him on your couch than you were a week prior on his. After you spent that evening at his house talking to him and getting to know him a bit better, you feel much more relaxed and comfortable around him. It’s a great feeling, really, because now that the awkward tension is out of the way, you can focus on just getting to know him even better.

Harry had suggested takeout for dinner just so it was easy and so you didn’t have to dirty up the kitchen just because he was coming over. You reluctantly agreed, even though you felt a bit bad for not giving him a home cooked meal like he did for you, so now you’re sitting beside him with Chinese takeout containers on the glass coffee table in front of you.

It seems like Harry’s a lot more relaxed as well because since he’s walked through the door, he’s been a bit more touchy than normal. You’ve heard that he’s a pretty touchy person, so you don’t think much of it. You revel in it, really, because he’s a really good hugger. He’s also great at cuddling and hand holding and everything else. There’s a part of you that questions why he’s being so cuddly with you, but you remind yourself repeatedly that it’s just in a platonic way.

Once you’re both finished with your meals, he insists that he’ll clean up, so he takes all of the containers to the trash and washes the forks that were used (the restaurant forgot the plastic ones when it was delivered).

“Hey, Harry?” you call into the kitchen. 

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing?” The moment that the words leave your mouth, you know that they were worded wrong, so you rush to fix them. “I mean, I know what we’re doing, but why? Like why did you want to spend more time with me? We didn’t even talk really when we were writing the song, not more than anyone else, at least.”

He comes into the living room with a furrow between his brows. You refuse to make eye contact with him, so your gaze locks on the tea towel that he’s using to dry off his hands. “I just wanted to know you better, I don’t know really. There was just something about you that pulled me towards you and I couldn’t invite you to coffee or something like that as a thank you or a friend date because paparazzi would eat that up and I really don’t want to jeopardize your privacy like that. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way I should have probably eased more into it, that’s my bad—”

“It’s fine, Harry, I was just wondering,” you cut him off, finally meeting his eyes. “People don’t normally invite me to anything even for a thank you after our sessions, so I just wanted to know what caused you to do it.”

“I don’t see how anyone could pass up the opportunity to spend more time with you.” His words make you smile, and you’re suddenly aware of just how much he affects you. It’s a bit ridiculous, really. Nobody should make you care this much about them within three times of being around them. 

Standing up off the couch, you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head into his chest. He immediately returns the embrace and you both melt into it like it’s the only thing that either of you needs to be happy.

After a few moments like that, he pulls back slightly and pulls you with him back to the couch. He discards the hand towel onto the coffee table and sits down with his arms outstretched. You climb onto the couch next to him and let him hold you close. “What movie do you want to watch, doll?” 

Your heart flutters at the pet name, but you ignore it and just shrug. “I dunno, I’m tired anyway. You pick.”

As soon as he starts the movie, you settle into him further and feel your eyes begin to get a bit heavier. The second that you yawn for the first time, he pulls you closer to him. "Do you wanna take a little nap?” he asks, smoothing your hair down.

You nod, letting your eyes slip closed as you cuddle into him. It’s not really that late. He came over at around four and it hasn't been that long, so you assume it’s good to take a nap. Your naps normally only last for an hour or two anyway, so you’ll be up before the movie is even over.

Right before you drift off into a peaceful slumber, you feel a light kiss being pressed to your forehead. If you were completely lucid, you’d say something about it, but your foggy brain accepts it fully.

*

When you wake up the next morning, you try to stretch out as you normally would, but there are a pair of arms wrapped around you tight enough to hold you in place. It takes you a moment to realize that Harry’s the one that’s wrapping you up in his warmth. Almost immediately, your eyes widen and a gasp leaves you. Both of you fell asleep on the couch the night prior, which means that he didn’t go home. He didn’t go home to his girlfriend. 

“Harry,” you say a little louder than you anticipated as you shake him awake. He groans and pulls you closer to him, groaning for just a bit more sleep, but you continue to shake him. “Wake up, Harry, you need to go home.”

“You’re kicking me out already?” he jokes, smirking slightly. His voice is at least an octave deeper than normal, the gravel in his tone sending a shiver down your spine that absolutely should not be happening. None of this should be happening.

“You need to go home and figure out what to tell your girlfriend about why you didn’t come home last night, Harry.”

He chuckles lightly and waves you off, eyes still closed. “Don’t worry about her, love. She doesn’t live with me. Not really, she just comes over to keep up the image. She won’t care where I am.” Squeezing you to him once again, he lets a content smile form on his face. “Now settle back down and go back to sleep, I’m still tired.”

Reluctantly, you settle into him again, your head on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, and you allow the soothing rhythm of it to lull you back to sleep.

The next time you wake up, Harry’s not there. The scent of him is still overwhelming and the couch is still warm where he was laying, but he’s not holding you like he was.

Before you can call out to see if he’s still there, he comes walking into the living room with two cups of tea. “I didn’t know if you were more of a coffee or tea type of person, but you had both, so I just made us both tea.” He reaches out the mug to you, and you sit up and take the cup from him. 

“Thank you.,” you mumble as you bring the mug to your mouth and take a sip. The warm liquid washes over your taste buds and down your throat and you can’t help but think that this may be the best tea that you’ve ever had. “This is really good.”

“Thanks, my mum taught me how to make it.” You smile at the way his dimples carve into his cheeks when he mentions his mom.

You make light conversation with him, finding it easy to talk about any and everything with him. There’s something about him that soothes the nerves that you’d usually have with someone that you hadn’t known for all that long. There’s just something different between the two of you.

As you’re finishing up your tea, he takes both his own mug as well as yours to the kitchen and washes them before putting them up. When he returns, he leans down and places a friendly, very friendly, kiss to your cheek. “I’ve gotta go, love. Need to get into the studio, yeah?” 

You nod, standing up to envelop him in a hug before watching him leave. For some reason, you find yourself longing for him to turn around and walk right back through the door the second that he closes it behind him. You quickly scold yourself for feeling this way, he has a girlfriend, before getting up to go take a shower and get ready for the day.

*

Three months later, you and Harry are inseparable. Throughout the time that you’ve known each other, you’ve cried in his arms, he’s screamed at the top of his lungs to get his anger out when something with the label isn’t going right, you’ve fallen asleep cuddled into him, and he’s taught you how to cook food that isn’t frozen. 

Harry quickly became your best friend, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s the one person in your life that you know you can count on no matter what. He’s also the only person that knows everything about you, just like you know everything about him. Over the past few months, you’ve learned all about him, and it’s just made you fall a bit harder for him every time you think about it. 

You know it’s wrong, you do. You shouldn’t have feelings for your best friend, who also happens to have a girlfriend. From what he’s told you, though, she’s not really his girlfriend anymore. Sure, they’re technically together, but she never talks to him unless she needs something or they have to go out to keep up appearances. There used to be something between the two of them, but that quickly changed when things with both of their careers began to pick up. Now it’s like he’s in a relationship with someone that doesn’t even want him.

It doesn’t matter if he’s in a relationship with someone that doesn’t really want him, you can’t be the reason that someone gets their heart broken, you think to yourself for umpteenth time today.

Sighing, you shake yourself from your thoughts and hop off the counter to come stand next to him as he sautés the asparagus. You lean your head on his arm once you come to a stop beside him, and he immediately lifts the arm and pulls you closer to him. You hum contentedly as you inhale the scent of his cologne. The hints of vanilla and sandalwood make your head spin in the most delightful way as you revel in the feeling of being completely enveloped by him. 

After a few moments, you look up at him and watch the way that his jaw flexes every so often while he’s concentrating on cooking the asparagus just right. In reality, though, he’s just concentrating on not looking at you because he knows if he does, he’ll end up doing something that he may come to regret. 

He doesn’t keep his eyes off of you for long, though, because as soon as he removes the pan from the heat and scoops the asparagus onto its plate, he’s turning slightly so that he can place his hands on your hips and pull you closer.

Your breath catches in your throat as you peer up into his sea glass green eyes and try to figure out what he’s thinking. Before you can say anything, he’s leaning closer to you and there’s a part of you that wants to tell him to stop, to tell him that this is wrong. The bigger part of you, however, is so caught up in the way that his breath feels fanning over your face that you couldn’t even fathom telling him no right now. He pauses for just a second when his nose is rubbing against yours and your breaths mixing together. You’re just about to make a move when he presses his lips to yours and pushes you back until you’re pressed against the counter. The kiss is eager, sloppy, needy. He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and you immediately open up for him, letting his tongue dance with yours. 

Too soon, you have to pull away to breathe, and Harry mistakes it for you regretting it by the way that you harshly pull your face back. He rubs a hand over his face, “I’m so sorry. Fuck, that was so wrong of me, I don’t know what I was thinking I just don’t know how to act when I’m around you. I should have asked, I shouldn’t have done it at all really. I’m so sorry.”

You inhale sharply before chuckling. “Don’t apologize, H. I didn’t stop you. Fuck, I wouldn’t have stopped you, I just needed to breathe, but are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes. God, yes. I’ve wanted this since the moment you fell asleep in my arms. Probably before that.” With that, you place your hands on either side of his face and pull him closer to you, throwing all caution to the wind as his lips connect with yours.

*

You pull away from Harry, disconnecting your lips from his. He whines low in his throat as he immediately chases after your lips. You just giggle and shake your head no as he pouts. “We have to talk about what’s going to happen, Harry, “ you reason, and he just sighs as he sits up.

“I’ll try to find a way to get out of this relationship as soon as possible, okay?” You nod as you take in the words that he’s saying, ensuring that you understand exactly what the plan is. “I’ll have to find a nice way to do it so that nothing blows up in my face, but I will get out of this. And then after a few months, we can go public.” He brings his hand to your face and caresses the skin with the pad of his thumb. “We just have to keep it under wraps until then.”

You nod, taking in what he’s saying. “That sounds good. How fast do you think you can get out of this?”

“A month, tops,” he promises, sealing it with a sweet kiss to your lips that makes every doubt leave your mind.

*

That conversation happened almost six months ago, and Harry’s still with Amelia. You try to pretend that it doesn’t bother you, but it does. He told you that he was going to do something and he hasn’t. He promised. You know that you’re supposed to be patient, but quite frankly, you’re tired of sharing him with someone else. You’re tired of him telling you that he loves you so much right before he goes back to her.

So you decide that you’re done with it. You don’t want to be the one that’s hidden anymore. He swears that he loves you, so it’s time for him to act on it. If you were in his shoes, you would have left your partner as soon as you had feelings for Harry. You would have chosen Harry because you’re truly, madly, deeply in love with him. Which raises the question of whether or not he feels the same. Is he lying about that, too?

You shake that idea out of your head as soon as it enters. Of course he loves me, you tell yourself as he lets himself in the door. You don’t move from your spot at the kitchen table when you hear him make his way to you; you just sit there and wait for him to approach you. You know that as soon as he sees your face, he’s going to know that something’s up, and as much as you know it has to happen, you’d do just about anything to put off this conversation for a few more seconds. 

This entire thing could blow up in your face, and if that’s the outcome then you want to savor the last few fleeting moments of your life with Harry.

You feel him rest his hands on your shoulder and lean down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Hey, baby.” He comes to sit next to you and you just give a weak greeting in return.

“What’s wrong?” You glance up at him briefly and see the way that his eyebrows are knitted together in concern.

“We have to talk,” you mumble, trying to get the words out without sounding weak. You have to come across strong or there’s no chance of anything going right tonight.

“Okay… what do we have to talk about?” he asks, voice shaky as he prepares himself for the worst.

“It’s been almost half a year, Harry,” you breathe, trying your best to meet his gaze to show him that you mean every word that you’re saying. “I want more than I have, and you promised that I wouldn’t have to share you for more than a month.”

“I know, but I don’t want everything to blow up in my face,” he tries, making yet another excuse that you don’t have the time, nor the patience, to hear.

“Nothing’s going to blow up in your face, Harry!” you say, slightly louder than you previously were. Pushing yourself to stand from your chair, you make your way over to the counter to put a bit of space between the two of you. “Nobody knows about me! The worst thing that happens is that you get blamed for the breakup, but who cares? Is that really more important than being with just me?”

He’s silent, and you have to stop yourself from crying. His silence is never a good thing. He just looks down at the table and rubs his hands through his hair while you try your best to steady your breathing.

“I want more than this, Harry,” you repeat. “I want more than two nights a week when I can call you mine. Sure, we’re technically together, you’re technically mine, but you’re hers too.” The thought alone makes your voice catch in your throat and you have to clear it before continuing. “You say that I’m the one that you want, but who’s the one who can be seen in public with you? Who’s the one that you can show off? Who’s the one that will be going on tour with him? Who’s the one that you’re going to look into the crowd and meet eyes with as you have that stupid heart stealing smile on your face?” He’s silent still and you scoff. He can’t even look at you. “Her. All of those things are her, they’re not me.”

He stands after a moment and reaches out for you, but you know that this isn’t something that can be fixed with a hug and a few light kisses, so you hold up a hand to stop him and say the words you know are either going to make or break your relationship. “I love you Harry, and I know you love me, too. But if you don’t love me enough to choose me, then I need you to go.”

Knowing that he can’t give you what you need, he hangs his head low and holds the tears back as he walks out your door without so much as a glance back at you.

*

[roswellwrites]

>posts for the first time in two years

>it's 5k words of the cowboy from dbd eating p*ssy

>refuses to elaborate

>leaves

Pairing: caleb quinn x reader

Tags: oral, fingering, some dirty talk. Relatively tame considering how overboard i went with this imo

Word count: 5052 but we don’t have to talk about it

When you opened your eyes to find yourself standing in the center of Glenvale’s dusty street, you huffed. 

You were used to it by now, the way the unsettlingly thick fog would seem to appear from nowhere, rolling unnaturally across the clearing as it picked and chose those who would be unfortunate this time.

You remembered holding your breath, your eyes squeezed shut and hands wringing anxiously on your lap, begging wordlessly for the Entity’s fog to pass you over.

And yet here you were.

Still, Glenvale was not the worst case scenario.

The old fort -while not exactly new territory in the Entity’s realm- was still relatively unfamiliar to you, unexplored, eerie and overgrown. 

The air was always strange here, imbued with an undercurrent of dark energy, thrumming heavy and electric as if alive with the misfortune that had befallen the small settlement.

You lazily kicked a pebble in your path, the action unsettling the dust in a way that felt dramatic, even by trial standards. 

You noticed your boots first, like nothing you owned in the real world but familiar to you in a way you couldn’t quite place. But it wasn’t just your shoes that were different. Some time between the campfire and the fog and arriving on the dusty streets of Glenvale, your outfit had changed completely.

The dress you wore was a new addition to your (very limited) wardrobe, short in the front and long in the back, layered but surprisingly light, contradictory to the material’s heavy appearance. The fabric itself was a deep maroon trimmed with black, matte with no hint of shine to it, unmistakably high quality though perhaps not quite authentic to the setting. The dress’s bodice was tight and low cut, flattering, you mused, if the eyeful of your own cleavage you got when you looked down was any indication.

You rubbed your gloved hands together idly, enjoying the smooth feel of the fabric and the small ‘swish swish’ of your fingers as they brushed against one another. 

Beyond that you wore stockings, the material closer to sheer than opaque, lacy bands fitting you snuggly slightly above your knee as they disappeared under the hem of your skirt.

Your boots had a small heel to them, laced tightly, the cuffs extending an inch or so above the natural curve of your ankle.

You clicked your heels together experimentally, more amused than anything else.

A saloon girl outfit.

Fitting.

You stopped in the dusty street, raising your eyes skyward in awe as you admired the beautiful swirling galaxies and twinkling stars, brighter and more defined than you had ever seen them before. You allowed yourself only a moment to enjoy the sight before hurrying along, side-eyeing a wayward buzzard as it screeched its displeasure from an overturned cart in the street.

You climbed the steps leading to the saloon’s main entrance, eager to get off the street and find somewhere a little less out in the open, your eyes scanning the establishment quickly as you crossed the threshold.

The inside of the old building was a scattering of overturned furniture, tables and chairs covered in a fine layer of dust and pockmarked by bullet holes.

You cast a cursory glance over the dead bodies, frozen permanently in the entity’s snapshot, no longer human bodies but now props to set a stage.

Your eyes lingered on the bar before passing over it quickly, knowing from experience that nothing of value would be found there. You had conducted a thorough investigation the first time you were here -a search for resources of course, nothing more- finding only shattered glass and a single unmarked bottle, the lone swig of alcohol inside burning your mouth in a way that had you tasting it for the rest of the trial no matter how many times you spit.

But off to one side rested the shining star of the old saloon, an old piano that had completely enthralled you the first time you saw it and every time since.

The instrument in question was the oldest piano you’d ever seen, exciting but not all that much of a surprise given the setting. You dragged the rickety chair from its place under the keybed and took a seat, ignoring the small screech of the chair legs on the old floor as you did so.

You spread your fingers over the keys, your touch feather-light, unbothered by the accumulated dust and grime on your pristine gloves as the piano banged out its own discordant tune.

There was the light creaking of worn floorboards behind you paired with the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps as they approached. Boots, you parsed easily. Definitely boots.

You felt a flash of fear, the feeling lasting only a handful of seconds before you forced yourself to settle again. You took a moment to think of the other survivors that had entered the trial with you. Too loud to be Ace’s loafers, the wrong sound altogether to be Yui’s sandals.

Jeff then.

You straightened in your chair, casting an excited glance over your shoulder. “Jeff,” you beamed. “Check this out-“

“Not Jeff,” the tall man rasped behind you.

Your blood ran cold, all traces of your smile vanishing and eyes widening in dawning horror as your entire body went rigid with fear.

The gunslinger’s hand was on your shoulder suddenly, his grip punishing, and you spun, your heart leaping into your throat at the sight of the man towering over you. Your mouth dropped dumbly in surprise as you moved immediately to stand, to run maybe, a startled noise instead tearing itself from your throat as the cowboy shoved you backwards so hard that the old wooden chair groaned in protest.

You noticed his grin before anything else, crooked and unkind as he looked at you. His eyes were intense, sharp and predatory, alight with the thrill of having caught you off guard.

‘My heartbeat,’ your brain supplied unhelpfully, gloved hand flying to your chest as your heartbeat suddenly roared to life behind your ribs. “Why...” you trailed off, tongue darting out nervously to wet your bottom lip. “Why didn’t I hear-“

His grin widened, strange eyes dragging leisurely and without shame from your face to trail the length of your body. “Reckon you just weren’t listening, girlie.”

You followed his gaze, puzzled briefly.

You could instantly feel the blood rush to your cheeks, fear pushed aside and replaced with embarrassment to find that your skirt had ridden up when he shoved you backwards, the already short hem pushed back enough to reveal the tops of your lacy stockings and garters, decorated with small, intricate bows.

You shifted in your chair, moving instinctively to press your thighs together and smooth the fabric back into place before you stopped yourself, a piece of advice given to you by another survivor ringing clear as a bell in your ears.

“Try to catch them off guard."

‘Sure,’ you thought. ‘Why not?’

You inhaled deeply, taking a moment to compose yourself under the man’s sharp gaze, lashes fanning against your flushed cheeks as you closed your eyes. When you opened them again, you tilted your head slightly, allowing a strand of loose hair to slip free from behind your ear and teasingly brush the tops of your breasts. You shifted forward in your seat, pleased to note the obvious way that the gunslinger’s eyes drifted to your chest again. You spread your fingers over your collarbone, making a show of it as you arched your back to give the man a better view.

“Ain’t above fightin’ dirty, I see,” the tall man scoffed.

You ignored the comment in favor of action. You reached towards him, willing your hands to steady themselves as you hooked pseudo-confident fingers behind the man’s belt and tugged him playfully towards you. “Reckon we might have gotten off on the wrong foot, Mister,” you drawled, tongue darting out to wet your lips in a way that you hoped read more sultry than nervous.

There was a moment where the man simply looked at you, head tilting slightly as if mulling the phrase over. He seemed to come to his conclusion quickly enough, perhaps deciding that your sudden exaggerated southern drawl wasn’t meant to offend or that this wasn’t some kind of trap he was about to fall into.

“That so?” The man grinned. He stepped forward into your space obligingly, seeming to humor the invitation of closeness. His eyes still held that unsettling glint to them, too bright and too shiny. Unnatural. Inhuman.

Regardless, you were pleased when he dropped his gaze again, his strange eyes focusing on the slight rustle of your heavy skirt as you spread your thighs wider to accommodate him.

This was easy. This was something you could do.

You felt your heart rate spike again when he shifted his weapon in his hands, your shoddily crafted facade dangerously close to slipping as you fought the urge to flinch. You allowed your eyes to linger on the gun for only a moment before sliding your gaze instead to his face, forcing an air of casualness. “I bet if you put that gun down, we could find a better use for those hands of yours, cowboy.”

You knew the gunslinger could end this little game right now if he wanted, could pick you up and carry you to a hook and there would be nothing you could do about it. But the thought of escaping the situation (or the trial, for that matter) was no longer at the forefront of your mind, a concept that emboldened but -more importantly- thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite articulate.

That’s all this entire scenario was; just one big trust fall.

The gunslinger made a small noise at the offer, over exaggerated as if mulling it over. “Hmmm…” he said, stretching the sound long enough that you had to tamp down your fear again. After a brief pause,  there was the dull sound of steel meeting wood as the man reached past you to prop his gun in the corner where the piano met the wall.

All at once the tension seemed to leave your chest, like a bubble that had burst behind your rib cage. You exhaled softly through your nose, breathing a silent sigh of relief as you cast your eyes upwards to see now that the large man’s expression truly had shifted from ‘firmly murderous’ to ‘more than slightly amused.’

With his hands now free, the gunslinger reached down to cup your jaw, calloused thumb passing idly over your lips as if inspecting you.

“My, you certainly are a pretty thing, aren’t ya,” he mused. “Never woulda guessed what with all the blood yer always covered in.”

Without the immediate threat of death looming over your head, you allowed your shoulders to loosen. You shifted forward in your seat, one hand sliding from his belt to linger now on his thigh. Time to really go for it. “Maybe we could work out some kind of...trade.”

“Oh?” He asked, smug. “And what could you possibly offer me that I couldn’t just take?”

“Been told I’m pretty good with my mouth,” you said matter of factly, purposely ignoring the second half of the question. You tilted your chin upwards slightly, both hands coming up now to catch the gunslinger’s hand as his thumb lingered by your mouth. You parted your lips slightly, taking the tip of the aforementioned digit into your mouth and closing your teeth playfully around it.

The taste that hit your tongue wasn’t as unpleasant as you thought it might be, all dust and faded tobacco and some sort of bitter machine oil. Certainly not a deterrent. “Just say the word, cowboy, and I’ll get on my knees and take you for one hell of a ride.”

The gunslinger said nothing at first, as if processing the information he was given. Finally after a moment he spoke.

“I’ll do you one better, girlie,” he grinned. He moved quickly then, giving you only a few seconds to process what was said before he was lifting you out of your chair, settling you with ease on the dusty piano top. “Won’t even have to get on your knees for it.”

You froze at the suddenness with which he moved you, reminiscent of a deer in headlights. You regained your bravado quickly however,  lifting one thigh and then the other as you freed your dress from where it had become trapped beneath you. “Is that so?” You asked.

He watched the movement of the fabric with hungry eyes, his calloused hands moving from their resting position at your waist downwards, trailing your hips before settling firmly on your closed thighs.

Your heart leapt into your throat as exploratory fingers dipped below your skirt to find the top of one stocking, hooking a finger beneath the garter and snapping it lightly against your thigh. You squirmed, your eyes glued helplessly on his long fingers as he began to push the fabric up and out of the way.

“Reckon you’ll have to pardon my eagerness,” the man said, though the crooked grin on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t as apologetic as he tried to appear. “Suppose if I was a gentleman I might be takin’ this a little slower,” he mused, meeting your eyes before continuing. “But it’s been a long time since I was a gentleman…and I’m in a mighty big hurry to get started.”

From here the gunslinger made quick work of your garter clasps, his deft fingers moving immediately upwards to catch the edge of your delicate ruffled bloomers.

You could feel yourself blushing heavily in anticipation, too warm, almost dizzying as the heat crept further into your chest and face.

The man paused, his predatory gaze finally straying from your lower half to meet your eyes. His lopsided smirk widened further as he seemed to catch sight of your frazzled expression. “You pick these out?” He asked teasingly, tugging playfully at the fabric.

You opened your mouth to speak, your long overheated brain struggling and failing to churn out a suitable answer. “No,” you said instead, decidedly less than intelligent.

He chuckled at this, seemingly amused as he worked the undergarments down your thighs and then over your boots with ease.

You inhaled sharply at the experimental prodding of his fingers at your entrance, the almost gentle way he pressed forward before withdrawing, spreading your growing slick in his wake.

The sounds of your wetness were already audible -embarrassingly so- even over your shaky breathing and the screech of the buzzards outside. You closed your eyes, attempting to ignore the lewdness of the sound but finding this only served to deepen your blush and make you wetter.

“This doin’ somethin’ for you, sweetheart?” The cowboy asked, entirely too self-satisfied for your liking. “Or are you just easily excited?”

You chose to remain silent, a futile attempt to preserve the small amount of dignity you had left.

When he placed his hand on your middle and guided you back gently, you took the hint, supporting your weight with your arms as you leaned backwards to give him better access. From here he bent forward to get a better look at you, large hands forcing your thighs wide, grunting in annoyance when the brim of his large hat bumped against your stomach.

“Damn hat,” he muttered, his tone edging on irritated as he all but snatched the offending accessory from his head and placed it swiftly on top of your own. “Hold this for me, would you?”

You reached up reflexively, grabbing the brim of the old hat and lifting it slightly where it had fallen into your eyes.

You jolted at the first touch of his lips, sudden and bold, cheeks flushed and eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of his harsh stubble on your delicate inner thighs.

“Christ,” you said, too caught off guard to say anything else.

“We’re just gettin’ started.”

His mouth was hot against you, impossibly wet, the movements of his tongue languid and unhurried, thorough as if he planned to explore every inch of you and thought himself to have all the time in the world. The gunslinger’s hands were fire where they met your skin, his calloused fingertips tracing the edges of your stockings with teasing almost feather-light touches.

You lost yourself in a sea of heat, nerve endings alight with pleasure as he really set to work. In the distance you heard a generator roar to life, so far away that you weren’t entirely sure you had heard it at all. How many was that now? Two? Three?

He flattened his tongue against you, the pressure suddenly merciless when combined with the chapped lips and the barest hint of the man’s teeth. You began to squirm, the noises now slipping freely from your lips before you could stop them. You reached for him, your shaking fingers grasping desperately at his coat collar to drag him in closer before you could think better of it.

The gunslinger shifted his weight from one leg and then the other, hooking his arms around your thighs and dragging you to the edge of the piano top and closer still to his mouth. He hooked one of your knees over his shoulder, grinning against your inner thigh as he found a new angle that seemed to please him.

You made a small noise when he pressed one of his long fingers inside of you unexpectedly, a whine slipping from between parted lips as he twisted the digit this way and that. Your hips jolted involuntarily, the action surprising you in its abruptness. Your roving hands flew from the uncomfortable hold on his collar to scrabble uselessly at whatever else you could find, settling eventually on the cowboy’s hat as it rested on your head.

You grabbed the brim with both hands, pulling it down to hide your embarrassment as the gunslinger worked you open with all the experience of a man who had done this many times.

“Now, now,” he chastised, one arm moving from where it curled around your thigh to reach up, pulling the hat from your hands easily and replacing it atop your head in its original position. He flicked the brim teasingly, knocking it upwards and away from your eyes. “No hidin’, girlie.”

You gasped when he added a second finger alongside the first, your body suddenly overwhelmed entirely by the sensation. You twisted in his hold, thighs quaking and toes curling in your boots as the man continued his onslaught.

He chuckled then, a deep rumbling sound that sent another wave of liquid fire to your lower abdomen.

“You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya? So warm and welcomin’ for me...squeezing my fingers like you ain’t got no desire to ever see me go,” he teased. His cheeks were flushed, obvious now where you weren’t entirely sure before, sun damaged face ruddy even beneath the thin layer of dirt that coated him. His breath was hot where it fanned against your inner thighs, something you were acutely aware of as he went on. “…and wetter than a goddamn thunderstorm already,” he continued with a grin, seeming to revel in your squirming. “You sure don’t disappoint, do ya?”

You could feel your face heat impossibly further under the scrutiny, shaking legs attempting and failing to squeeze shut subconsciously as the man’s words began to register in your delayed brain.

He gave another raspy laugh, as if amused by the halfhearted attempt.

“Aww, now don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he grinned, turning his head to deliver a playful nip to your inner thigh. You could feel his large hands on your trembling knees, spreading them to their previous positions and then a little beyond that, exposing you obscenely to his hungry gaze.

As he brought his mouth back to your heated flesh, you realized you had never felt like this before, so entirely overwhelmed and thoroughly devoured.

This was going to ruin you.

There was movement to your right, a flash of pink just beyond the window, and you shifted your eyes to it instinctively.

Ace’s eyes were unreadable behind his reflective lenses, his lips pressed into a tense line, more serious perhaps than you had ever seen him. He lifted his hand slowly, raising his thumb first in question before rotating his wrist nearly a full 180 degrees and giving the universal signal for thumbs down.

You blinked slowly in confusion, eyes moving from the man’s hand then to his face and then back again. You knew you were supposed to say something here, or maybe do something. Your thought process was slowed nearly to nothing as the cowboy fucked you mercilessly with his fingers and tongue.

You were surprised to hear the tall man speak suddenly, the sound all but snapping you from your trance as you continued to stare with unfocused eyes towards the newcomer.

“He’s askin’ if you’re alright,” the gunslinger said, finally dragging himself from your lower half as if that was the last thing he wanted to do. He sneered, shooting a scathing look towards the interruption, impatient in a way you knew would mean trouble for Ace later. “Reckon you should answer him so we can go about our business.” Here he paused, mischievous glint in his eyes as he tilted his head teasingly at you. “Unless yer lookin’ to give the man a show.”

You mulled this over for a moment, seconds stretching on, not so much entertaining the idea of giving Ace a front row seat to your escapade so much as trying to remember how to string together words to make a coherent thought. “Oh,” you said finally, licking idly at your lips. Right. “I’m…I’m good,” you called, your voice cracking under the strain.

“Just good, huh?” The gunslinger teased. His long, dexterous fingers crept back to their original positions on your flushed skin. “Thinkin’ we can do a little better than just good.”

In the time it took for you to realize what was about to happen, he was on you again, delving forward to press his tongue inside of you once more.

You arched in surprise, sitting completely upright now as opposed to your relaxed, blissed out posture from only a moment ago, your own fingers twitching restlessly against your thighs. You gasped softly, eyes darting towards Ace again to find that his expression had changed entirely, smirk curling his lips now where only concern had been before. He tipped his cap at you, head tilted in a small nod and his grin growing ever broader when you reached up reflexively to tip the cowboy’s hat in return.

And then as quickly as the gambler appeared, he was gone, your attention shifting immediately back to the gunslinger as he pressed his fingers inside you again. You reveled in the delicious stretch, the digits thick and pleasant as he scissored them within you. Your legs shook, twinging muscles threatening to cramp as the gunslinger held them in their current positions, stretched too wide for too long.

Your hand dove to grab the edge of the piano top when his tongue found your clit, circling it first before beginning to lick it, all teasing thrown out the window now as he set to work in earnest.

“Quite the gentleman droppin’ in to check on you,” the cowboy sneered between punishing licks. His eyes cut suddenly towards the window, as if scanning for the other man. He gave a pleased hum to see that the other man had moved along, the noise vibrating deliciously against your skin. “Was wonderin’ when he was gonna make himself known,” the gunslinger grinned. “Been standing there an awful long time just a’watchin’.”

“If it was anyone else, I’d probably have the common sense to be embarrassed,” you gasped, head tipped back now as you lost yourself in the rhythm of his long fingers as they rocked in and out. “Ace…” you continued, breath hitching as the gunslinger picked up his pace. “Ace is Ace.”

“Not a fan of that one,” the cowboy said offhandedly. “Beat me in cards once. He cheats.”

“He’s just lucky.”

“He cheats,” the man said again, firm, the tone brooking no argument. The bottom half of the cowboy’s face was shiny and wet, and you found yourself distracted by his tongue as it slid from between his chapped lips to run his tongue through it.

“Okay,” you said dumbly. “Okay.”

There was the abrupt sound of a generator being completed, a sudden blinding brightness that shone through the windows and had you squinting your eyes.

“Ah,” the gunslinger said. “Reckon that’s my cue to finish this up.”

You nearly arched off the piano top when he dove back in purposefully, all tongue and lips and fingers that plunged in and out, in and out. He pinned you easily as you squirmed, movements becoming increasingly more wild as he continued his merciless assault. You could feel the build up in your lower stomach, nerve endings alight as your body struggled to process the gunslinger’s ministrations.

When had you started panting?

“Maybe if you ask real sweet, I’ll - “

“Please,” you said immediately, the word falling from your lips before he could finish his thought. You weren’t above begging. You were so close now, teetering on the precipice, any bit of hesitancy you had before completely thrown out the window in the wake of your impending orgasm.

You began to plead in earnest, the same word spoken over and over again -please, please, please- so many times now that the word began to lose its meaning.

You were beyond incoherent, you knew, entirely incomprehensible as the cowboy worked you so thoroughly that you could swear you saw stars. “Please,” you begged, desperate in a way that would surely embarrass you later. “Please, please.”

The gunslinger said something in his gravelly voice, his tone distinctly pleased but overshadowed by your shameless begging. When his thumb met your clit, you gave a sharp inhale as you were pushed over the edge, less a gentle step into the unknown and more a runaway train careening off the tracks.

Despite the build up, you were entirely unprepared for the orgasm that tore through you. It was all encompassing, intense in a way that you had never experienced. Your entire body shuddered, knees and thighs quaking on either side of the gunslinger’s head, thoroughly overwhelmed. You whined when he continued to lick into you despite the overstimulation, his long fingers still pumping in and out even as you squirmed and twisted.

Then all at once the stimulation was gone and you could breathe again.

The gunslinger began to pull away from you, his voice barely muffled against your skin as he spoke once more. His voice was deep, husky and too low to hear over the blood that still rushed loudly in your own ears.

“What?” You asked, flushed chest still heaving as your head continued to clear. You felt like you were underwater, like you could see the cowboy’s mouth moving but couldn’t make your brain understand what was being said.

The gunslinger straightened, finally returning to his full height as he wiped the slick off his face with one dusty sleeve. He opened his mouth again, a sudden sickening ‘pop’  filling the air as he corrected his crooked jaw. He gave a soft grunt of pain, one hand coming up to cup his face in a way that indicated that this was not an unusual occurrence.

“Said my jaw is hurtin’ like a sonuvabitch,” he repeated, grimacing as he shifted his jaw from one side and then the other as if trying to keep it from becoming stiff again. “I’ll be damned if you didn’t make it worth my while, though.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, overtly aware of the awkwardness as it began to seep back into the situation without his hands and mouth to occupy you.

You made a small noise of surprise when he grabbed you around your waist suddenly, lifting you from the piano and setting you down as easily as he had lifted you in the first place. Your legs felt wobbly underneath you, unsteady, a feeling you tried to brush away as you smoothed your skirt back into a position you deemed acceptable.

The gunslinger watched the movement of your skirt with rapt attention, much in the same way he’d watched it earlier when you were trying to tempt him.

”Nothin’ left to do but leave,” the tall man said idly. That strange glint had returned to his eyes, any warmth fading as he reached behind you for his weapon. “Reckon you oughta head out as soon as those gates are open if you want to make it out in one piece.”

Uh oh.

“Go on now,” he grinned, all teeth, unkind and dangerous in a way that sent a chill down your spine. He stepped into your space, standing nearly two heads taller than you as he plucked his hat from your head. “Trust me when I say you don’t wanna test me.”

You yelped when he delivered a sudden sharp slap to your rear, the contact finally spurning you into action. You stumbled down the saloon stairs and back onto the dusty street, one arm coming up to block the too-bright light as your eyes struggled to adjust.

Behind you, the gunslinger laughed, raspy and low. “Find me in the fog any time, girlie.”

You shot one last glance over your shoulder as you hurried along, making your way quickly towards the nearest gate as it loomed heavy and industrial at the end of the street.

In the distance you heard a scream, ear piercing and guttural. You sucked in a breath, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other as if debating what to do, the cowboy’s words from earlier echoing suddenly in your head.

‘Reckon you oughta head out as soon as those gates are open if you want to make it out in one piece.’

In the distance another scream rang out, echoing across the prairie.

You didn’t stick around to hear a third.