#- food until im distracted enough to not feel like my nerves are on fire. then ill spend the rest of my night high off my ass so ill be -

[fabulouslygaybean]

apparently someone in my fucking gsa is a racist cunt who keeps creeping on my little sister. this is the final straw i think

[dashedwithromance]

Slithered Here From Eden - Princewitch

KINGDOM OF THE WICKED SPOILERS!!! I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW SPOILERY THIS FIC IS. THE HEIGHT OF SPOILERS!! THE PEAK OF SPOILERS!! THIS IS A VERY LOUD WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! KINGDOM OF THE WICKED SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT DO NOT KEEP READING IF YOU DONT WISH TO BE SPOILED THANK YOUUUUUU

anyways here is my first princewitch fic!! i hope you guys like it, and let me know if you have any ideas for fics for those two. im a little nervous to put this out here - ive written only cressworth and original stuff for a while, so im kinda nervous this wont be in character or will be weird in my style. anyway, please let me know if you like this, and if its something you want more of. im already working on a few others, courtesy of @duchess-of-nothing-and-nowhere ‘s brilliant ideas, but send in any requests you have!!! i hope you guys enjoy, thank you!!!!!

---

Hell was, well, hell.

Her husband was busy doing whatever kings of Hell did in their spare time, which she was thankful for. She didn’t wish to run into any of the Wicked, but Pride was close to the top of the list. Not the worst offender, however. The Prince she’d once tentatively called an ally had claimed that spot with his spectacularly humiliating betrayal. 

The worst part was that she still didn’t understand. His motives, his feelings, his aims - all were shrouded in mystery, one that seemed to taunt her at every twist and turn. Bastard. 

Contrary to her preconceptions, her rooms were actually rather beautiful. Similar to the style of the house Wrath had rented in Palermo, but it felt different. Darker. Her quarters were styled in black and gold, with serpent scones lining the walls. The fire flickered in a menacing fashion, though she’d long since learned it had more bark than bite. 

Shadows crept along the floor until they curled at her feet like a cat, announcing the presence of the one demon prince she wished to see the least. 

“What do you want.” Emilia barely gave him a glance before he walked him, arrogance pouring off him. As if he owned the damn place. 

Infuriatingly beautiful as usual, he wore a dark suit, flecked with golden patterns, not unlike the tattoo she knew adorned his shoulder. Her attention flicked to the wicker basket he held gingerly in his hands. Covered with a soft blue tea towel, it looked like something plucked off the streets of her home, not something that belonged within the obsidian walls of the kingdom where wickedness ruled with abandon. 

Silence was his only reply as he looked her up and down. The gaze threatened to set her alight; with rage or desire, she wasn’t entirely sure. Once, the bed that loomed behind her would’ve offered a taunting distraction and a fragile but desperate wish. Now, it only annoyed her, reminding her of the moments she’d failed so magnificently at seeing through his façade.

Still no response. They hadn’t spoken since her wedding, and their last words had been less of a conversation and more of throwing of well-deserved insults on her behalf. He’d told her that she knew nothing of his motivations, and to assume he wished her harm was foolish. She’d told him a few carefully chosen expletives, complete with a hand gesture that would’ve had her mother wringing her hands. Wrath had spent the days prior skulking outside her quarters, never saying a word, only letting his shadows pollute her already foul mood. She might’ve had the slightest amount of sympathy for him, had he not betrayed her, lied to her, married her to his brother and thoroughly pissed her off in the process.

He placed the basket down on the table at the other side of the room. Looking up, Wrath raised a carefully groomed brow. Apparently, princes of Hell had beauty routines.

His mood was undetectable through his face, but the shadows that followed him gave it away, if only slightly. They were the same dark as a summer night; dark enough for comfort, but not the soulless black pitch she’d seen him wear so often. An interesting combination for a prince who seemed to care not a whit whether she lived or died after he’d gotten what he wanted.

Wrath pulled back the cloth covering the basket to reveal – food. A carefully curated selection of her favourites, smelling like they’d been plucked off the serving plates of the Sea & Vine.

She nearly salivated at the sight – the food she’d eaten in Hell had been a sore spot for her. Though nothing was wrong with it, it lacked the love of homemade food. The flavour that came with knowing that someone lovingly made every single bite. There were no laughing families who cooked here, no fathers to taste-test, or sisters to tease while they made sangria side by side.

  “How on earth did you find this?” The words slipped out before she could correct herself. ‘Earth’ was perhaps not the right term, though she couldn’t truly tell where she was. Under, felt more accurate. Below.

He looked at her as if she was missing the obvious – and she was.

The food smelt like she was used to because it was what she was used to. The same recipes, made with the same care as every meal that came from the Sea & Vine kitchens.

Panic enveloped her faster than joy.

“Did you hurt them?” She hissed, desperately searching his appearance for any sign of violence. He was wearing black, that much was true, but either he cleaned up exceptionally well, or there was no blood to be found.

“Hurt them?” Wrath’s tone was even, but she could hear how he scoffed. The nerve, “No. I even paid for it.”

Her heart still beat fast enough to burst from her chest, so he continued, “Relax, witch. No harm has come to them, nor will it, if you comply with my brother’s terms.” There was no audible threat in his tone, but she knew it went without saying. Comply, be Pride’s blooded wife, or her family would receive the same fate as Vittoria. It hurt to even think about, however brief the thought was.

She was going to throw something right at his beautiful, awful face. Maybe the basket, once she was finished devouring her favourites. Wrath would certainly look ridiculous enough with a basket slammed over his head, if he didn’t kill her first.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you fear.” Emilia blinked, unsure how to respond. He seemed to be lingering, if demon princes could ever linger. Why wouldn’t he leave?

She nodded, restraining a biting retort about how she was sure that fact was a deep disappointment for him. Remembering the odd rules of demonhood, she thanked him.

Still, he wouldn’t leave. Just stood there, watching her with those golden eyes that peered into her very soul, reaching inside and setting her alight. His gaze was unnerving.

Her patience, which had thinned dramatically since becoming a co-ruler of Hell, waned, “Are you waiting for payment?”

He laughed. Actually laughed. A short, biting sound, but a laugh nonetheless.

“I could smell your foul mood from my own House. Perhaps this will appease you.”

Appease her. As if it were that simple. As if he hadn’t tricked her, lied to her by omission, made her into an even greater fool than the one she was.

“Perhaps if you deigned to be truthful, I would be more polite.” Lies, but worth a try. If only he would tell her something, anything by way of explanation. Even if it was brutally cruel and benefitting a member of the Wicked. Anything but the agony of anticipation.

Apparently this evening was full of more surprises, because Wrath then pulled out a chair, and gestured for her to sit down, like they weren’t sworn enemies. The thought of a biting retort was attractive, but the smell of food was too much. The scent of all her favourites, food she’d spent hours labouring over in the past, wafted towards her like an irresistible gift.

The basket held everything she dreamt of. Wrath laid the table with his harvest as she tried not to gape at the sight. Twin glasses of sangria, somehow still delightfully cold. The comforting smell of garlic and fresh herbs permeated the air. Plates piled high with a mix of all her favourite things: a selection of antipasto, a side plate of bruschetta, a bowl of pasta, and a small dish of cannoli. If she closed her eyes, and forgot the presence of the prince in front of her, she could picture being back home, surrounded by her family and loved ones. If she thought hard enough, she could faintly smell Vittoria’s favourite perfume, the one she made for herself.

When she opened her eyes, the dream faded away, and there was only Wrath sitting across from her. Despite all the effort she presumed he must’ve taken to fetch the food, he sat watching like he thought it was attack him. Or she would. A laugh escaped her lips, almost hysterical, at the situation. Her, Queen of Hell, sat with her husband’s brother, another demon prince, as they ate food from her family’s restaurant. Comical, if disturbing.

“It won’t bite,” She said, eagerly helping herself to a plate. His eyes flickered with the promise of his bite, and she fought to keep any sign of her reaction off her face. Now was not the time to think of his kiss, or goddess forbid, his tongue. Watching carefully, he followed suit, piling his plate high with a mirror of her own. If she didn’t know the strength that lurked beneath that bronze skin and manicured hands, she would’ve called it sweet.

The food was – the food was heavenly. The taste of home, the love of her family, the promise of safety offered in those few bites brought her more joy than she thought possible. She wanted to stretch out the meal forever, as long as time would permit. If this was the last time she would taste such heaven, she wanted to remember it.

Despite her anger at the demon sitting across from her, curiosity embedded itself in her mind. How could he have known? How could he have known this was exactly what she needed, what her soul craved? Just as he’d done with the orange blossoms after Lust, he’d somehow known her mind and soul needing nourishment, and brought it as a gift to her door. Perhaps there would be a price to be paid, someday, but for now, her happiness was enough.

It was ridiculous and Nonna would’ve scolded her dearly, but it was the first semblance of normal she’d had since signing her name over to Pride. The meal sent flashbacks of the time she’d spent after Lust had invaded her mind; the days she’d spent lying in bed, a stranger in her own body, while Wrath sat like a comforting guardian demon. They hadn’t spoken, but he’d delivered her meals thrice daily, and never left her side unless to fetch her clothes from his mysterious source, or to give her privacy if she’d asked. He’d even brought her reading materials, though they were filled with battle strategies, not the steamy romances she craved. At the time, she’d thought it was a sign that maybe, just maybe, Wrath was different. Now, she only felt the white-hot flush of shame. Her appetite faded, and she pushed the plate away.

He catalogued her change in mood with a barely perceptible nod of his head. Truly, she had no idea what he was thinking. Sometimes she thought he was terrified for her, her witch-blood and mortal heart acting as a beacon for all those whom Pride had made an enemy. Sometimes she thought he wanted to kiss her until her lips were swollen and she begged him for release. Sometimes she thought her presence disgusted him to a never-ending degree. A mystery.

“You need to be careful,” He broke the silence with a warning, as if she treated Hell like a stroll along Sicilian streets.

“It would help if you told me anything.” She hated the petulant near-whine of her voice, but it couldn’t be helped. She had nothing and no-one in the world, but she needed an ally. Or, if she couldn’t have that, information would have to do.

“I’ve already told you too much.” Lies. Complete lies.

Her questioning had bored him, she assumed, as he stood up to go, leaving the remnants of their meal scattered around them. Wrath cast one last look at her before stalking out, taking the shadows with him.

Just as she was about to curse his name, she spotted a bouquet of orange blossoms on the dresser.

Bastard.

---

Let me know if you want to be added to my KOTW tag list!!

Tags: @shadowturtlesstuff @otome-azarada @chococannolii @beccalovesbooksstuff

[mxrcayong]

avatar series: 01.19

masterlist.

previous | next 

Exiting the crumbling arena, the group was greeted by the rising sun. The early hours of the morning were characterized by the usual red and orange sky, but unlike usual – an invisible and  often ignored worries about the Equalist party have evaporated. Kilari swore she never realized how much her worries impacted her day; but as she saw Amon in handcuffs, her heart lifted.

“Good work on the back exit, Mr…” Lin turned to look at Jisung as she continues to constrain Amon in his cuffs.

Jisung was fumbling over his words at her recognition – this is the woman he always looked up to, who happens to be the daughter of his major idol. “Mr Park, Jisung Park, Ma’am General.” Lin chuckled to herself at her own impact on the flustered kid.

“The police in front just messaged me it’s surrounded by media,” Lin sighed, her eyes turning to look at one of the very few people she considers family unconscious and potentially… Lin can’t even think about it. “Tari would want to keep her identity hidden.” She looked up gently at Sukiara, “Can you tell me when she wakes up?” When Sukiara let out a hum of agreement, The general let out a solemn nod before dryly coughing. “Now, I got to take this asshole to the cameras, c’mon.” She was quick to hide her emotions, giving everyone a nod as she drags Amon’s weakened self away.

But Amon turned around. “This isn’t the end.” He sinisterly laughed, “The Equalist party is strong, we have people on the inside, we have-“ Lin gave him a particular hard shove, making him quiet down.

“We need to bring her to the infirmary.” Sukiara noted, motioning to Tari in Johnny’s arms. “If an Avatar passed out after Avatar State, it only lasts a few minutes.” She explained, “…but this so far is the longest time an Avatar is unconscious after exiting the state.” The guardian tried to hide her emotions through a stiffer demeanor, her hands behind her back and her shoulders wider than usual. She was giving herself more ground and, in a sense, give her more stability. It’s her usual public speaking stance to keep her nerves in check. It wasn’t working, unfortunately, as whenever she looked at Tari – she felt her knees bend into itself.

Yuta and Jisung were entranced by the arena. Their home away from home have crumbled into pieces, collapsed into itself. It was as if it was a biscuit, crumbled in the hands of Amon, and here are the crumbs. They would spend hours and hours here, training and practicing. Hell, this is where they met.

Sonan noticed them lagging behind as Kilari, Johnny (and thus Tari), and Sukiara climbed onto the flying bison. Their eyes were like a puppy kicked to a curb, pleading that this was not real. They looked harmed and broken, despite the events of last night. “Let’s get a move on,” Sonan mumbled, comfortingly placing her arms around their shoulders. “We should get Tari to an infirmary.” Jisung and Yuta had to tear their feet away from the ground they stood on, climbing onto the bison that patiently waited for their presence.

Johnny refused to let go of Tari. Even when they were on the flying bison, Tari’s head was on Johnny’s lap as he stroked her hair comfortingly – more to himself. From stroking her hair, Johnny could feel some movement – he could sense the fact she was breathing. It reminded him he wouldn’t lose her.

But throughout the ride, everyone’s eyes either fell asleep or stared at Tari – praying her eyes will open soon. “Avatar Aang passed out temporarily when he first entered the Avatar State, Tari should wake up in a few more minutes.” Sukiara reminded as if a way to comfort everyone, mumbling loud enough for everyone awake to hear

But minutes became hours, and Tari was eventually back at Bak Mei with no sign of regaining consciousness. “Uhm,” Sukiara stared at her feet, unsure how to comfort Tari’s friends or herself. She didn’t want to lose Tari either; as much as she tried to be distant, Tari was like her daughter. This is the longest time recorded for an Avatar to be unconscious after the Avatar State and Sukiara didn’t know what that could mean. “Everyone should get changed into new clothes and just get ready…uhm, the canteen people are preparing food.”

The rumbling of stomachs soon followed the mention of food. They didn’t even realise how hungry they were, the feeling being pushed aside by their concern. “We’re no good if we are weakened ourselves.” Yuta mumbled under his breath and everyone seemed to nod in agreement, except Johnny.

Johnny’s hands wrapped around Tari’s hand as she laid on the infirmary bed, hooked up to a number of IV fluids. The group was half way out the door by the time Sonan noticed Johnny stayed behind. Johnny couldn’t hear her over the beeping of the heart monitor; the only thing he listened to – as she told the rest of the friends to continue going.

“Johnny,” Sonan sighed, putting her hand on his back, “What would Tari say when you haven’t eaten?”

“Nothing.” Johnny scoffed. “She’d just continuously push food towards my plate until I see her….” He trailed off, as he looked at Tari’s face for the hopeful glimpse of the same eyes who would beg him to eat.

Sonan chuckled, looking down at her chosen family. She has never felt more uncertain than this; she felt like she was on the cliff edge, waiting to hear the news. “Don’t make me do that to you.”

The canteen wasn’t a better distraction. The hall practically echoed the silence back at them, the only sound amplified being the slurping of soup. No one wanted to speak with the fear that once they speak and Tari wasn’t there to make snide comments, that it’ll all start to feel real.

Luckily, an ‘urgent and mandatory’ newscast came on screen – the silence now replaced with the static of TV. The screen took up the whole wall; a familiar sight was shown in front of them; The NCT Arena in ruins. Mayor Roddin and Senator Zhong stood on top of the broken building, the unmasked Amon in cuffs behind them being held by Lin and two of her guards. Tenzin was beside them.

“We are standing here at the NCT Arena where it was learnt that the illegal underground bending fights were occurring, hosted by the previous internationally renowned pro-bending group Big Bang Crew.” The lady announced, a lady Johnny recognized from his company although vaguely. “It was also the location of the mandatory bending event that was planned last night by the Mayor, Senator, and Equalist party leader. We are here to hear the public speech made by the mayor and senator about the attacks that happened here the night prior.” The screen cut to a closer angle of the officials. From the background, it was obvious this was filmed around the same time they left the mainland.

“My name is Mayor Roddin and this is my colleague Senator Zhong.” Mayor Roddin spoke into a makeshift-podium’s microphone, Senator Zhong beside him staring down at his feet. “Over the last few years, we have been manipulated and tricked to believe a vengeful individual. We have believed every word he said and last night, we learnt that he was the true danger to society.” A video footage Amon, now in chains appeared on the screen, before cutting to the shot of him behind them. “He was fueled by revenge. His father committed a crime; he bended blood bending, the forbidden and inhumane bending that is the most powerful of them all. The Avatar Aang then took it away. Since, he was looking for revenge. To take away all bender’s powers.”

Senator Zhong took over the podium, “We apologize to all benders we have harmed, hurt, or belittled. We have to take a look at the history. Benders were family members who’d go out to hunt for food in the Spirit Wilds, they were the ones granted the power to give them safe journeys. Yes, not everyone can bend – but benders are not much different than non-benders.” They sounded sincere and genuine. “We offer our sincerest apologies. We know that may not be enough to help the harm we have caused, so we’d like to announce that Mayor Roddin and I are resigning from our seats in government. Mayor Roddin will be replaced by Chief of Police Lin Beifong who aided the Avatar last night in saving thousands of lives and my senate seat will be replaced with a non-bender.”

“We hope to see future change and acceptance for the benders.” Mayor Roddin took over again. “We wouldn’t be here today without them. We also like to extend our deepest and warmest gratitude to the current Avatar, who helped get Amon in prison.” The two government officials exchanged glances before looking at the journalists lined up in front of them at the press conference. “Any questions?”

It wasn’t long before journalists were left with many variations of the same question; “Who is the Avatar?” The questions were ignored and discarded, the now officially resigned officials just smiled and told them that information will remain classified.

“I can’t believe its all over.” Kilari let out a breath, sudden tears coming from her eyes. Johnny’s arm immediately jumped to wrap around her shoulders, feeling much more connected to the fire bender since they spoke at the bench. “We can finally breathe.” Kilari’s eyes went wide with happiness as she directed her comment to the other benders at the table.

Yuta was at a particular loss for words.

“This feels unreal.” Jisung comments.

Tari’s eyes fluttered open, noticing where she was. She was hooked up to a ton of medical equipment.

Beside her sat Sukiara, who practically leaped to her feet with excitement at the slightest movement from Tari. “What happened?”

“You did it.” Sukiara celebrated, “You did it, Avatar Tari.”  

sorry this kinda sucks!!! ive been super busy the last two weeks with my internships and some family stuff. im not the most proud of this chapter but i gotten to a point where i wasnt wanting to write because of this chapter, so i wanted to get this chapter out of the way. something about htis chapter just messed with my mood. so! one more chapter until book one is over, but there’s a book 2 coming up!

request anything for future parts / penny for your thoughts here

[turtle-steverogers]

Hero Complex

lmao hi IM BACK i wrote a fic pfffff it’s kind Shit cuz i started writing at midnight and now its 2:40 am so excuse the BAD WRITING dajfdslkfjalsdkfs

warnings: fire, mentions of death (kinda graphic ish, sad), crying

ship: ralbert

word count: 2762

-

Earlier

“Just- don’t try to be a hero, dumbass.”

Albert’s fingers freeze on the top button of his uniform, eyes darting up to study Race’s face.  He bites back a sigh, something weighing down on his chest as the fear in his boyfriend’s eyes grows.  

“That’s the whole point of my job,” He says softly, “But I’ll be careful.”

Race nods, wordlessly handing him his helmet.  Albert takes it, drawing in a deep breath to steady his hands.  Queso lifts his head from his paws, looking at the two of them questioningly before padding across the room and nudging Albert’s knee.  He lets out the breath he’d been holding and bends over the slightest bit to scratch behind Queso’s ears.  No matter how many calls his squadron responded to, his nerves still managed to run high.

“That’s all I ask,” Race responds, gently tilting Albert’s jaw and kissing him intently.  Albert presses back, heart kicking double time as adrenaline starts to overcome him.  He pulls back, the need to move overtaking him.  

“I gotta go,” He says, shifting the helmet onto his head, “I’ll be home later…”

The unspoken, ‘hopefully’, rings loudly in the air.  Albert really hates this part of the job.

Race nods, dropping his hand from Albert’s face and squeezing his bicep briefly, “Go.  Be safe.  I love you.”

Albert smiles, but it feels strained, “I love you, too.”

Now

“Dasilva, get that room on the right!  Some kid’s in there!”

Albert swears under his breath, shooting a quick nod to Finch as he hurries past him, carrying an infant in one arm and shielding a young looking mother with the other.  He grimaces, adjusting the mask on his face as the building gives the second unsettling creak in as many minutes.  

In the three years that he’s worked for the FDNY, he’d never seen a building fire this destructive.  Details were still being investigated, but from what had been gathered, an apparent fireball had formed on the 14th floor, engulfing the top four floors of the building and spreading quickly to the lower levels.  The casualty count was already tragically high, but between the first responders and following squadrons showing up to the scene, the fatality rate was going down.  

That didn’t make it any less gut-wrenching.  

Albert crosses to the apartment Finch had pointed him to and easily knocked the handle off the door.  He knocked once, calling a loud warning into the room before shouldering the door, which gave way easily thanks to the heat. 

In the corner of the room, a young boy sat cowering against the wall, arms wrapped protectively around an even younger girl.  Panicked breaths were coming vehemently from the pair and as Albert gets nearer to them, he can see the tear tracks that cut through the soot.  He crouches down, trying to seem nonthreatening.

“Are your parents here?” He asks, raising his voice over the roaring flames.

The little boy lets out a sob, pointing a trembling hand to the room adjacent to them.  Albert glances to the side, nausea rolling in his stomach as he takes in the flames licking under the closed door.  Whoever is in there, sure isn’t getting out.  

“Okay,” Albert takes a deep breath, turning back to the siblings, “I need you both to take your shirts and pull them over your mouths and noses, okay?”

He waits for them to do so, then scoops them both up easily, ensuring that they have secure grips on his shoulders, before moving swiftly out of the room.  The building lets out another threatening creak and Albert falters, trying to map out the safest route in his head.  He settles on running to the stairs on the southside of the building, opposite of where the fireball had started.

Five excruciating minutes later, Albert is able to exit the building, immediately seeking out some paramedics and dumping the kids in their care.  He turns back around, taking a deep breath before running back towards the building.

“People still up there?” Spot, another commissioner, calls.

“I don’t know!” Albert calls back, “But we can’t risk leaving anyone!”

“This building’s ‘boutta go down, man!” Spot shouts, jogging up to him.

“I don’t care,” Albert says, firmly, tightening the strap on his helmet, “If I can even get one more person out, that’s one more life saved.”

“Alright,” Spot concedes, “But I’m coming with you.”

Albert nods, steeling himself.

“Don’t try to be a hero…”

Race’s words echo in his head and he bites his lip, casting a hurried glance in the direction of their apartment complex, across the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Sorry, Racer,” He murmurs, hesitating for a short moment before running back into the building.

-

A recently opened beer bottle sits forgotten on the table as Race paces anxiously in front of the TV, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips.  He’s not entirely sure why he’s smoking.  The thing that usually eases his worries only worsening the sick feeling in his stomach as smoke rolls over his tongue, parallel to the cloud of smoke he’s watching climb higher and higher from the building until it billows off-screen.

This routine is familiar, but it never gets easier.  Letting Albert go will never fucking get easier.  It feels like he’s dumping him into the jaws of death, fire biting at his ankles every time he leaves through their apartment door.  

But he does let him go, allowing himself to grow sick with worry as he immediately searches for whatever information he can find, usually settling on the local news and popping open a beer or lighting a cigarette.  Maybe both.  More often than not, they remain unfinished.

He lets out a frustrated hum, stubbing his half-smoked cigarette out in the ashtray they keep on the coffee table.  He forces himself to sit down and drags a sweaty hand down his face.  Albert had been gone for a good two hours by now, but the fire doesn’t look like it’s getting any closer to being put out.  If any, it looks worse.

Every time a firefighter passes by the camera, Race’s stomach does a violent flip.  He can’t really tell who’s who underneath their face shields and helmets, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to differentiate them.  

Once, the news caught a clip of a firefighter being wheeled into the back of an ambulance looking very much not alive and Race had been violently sick for an hour before Albert came home and assured him that it was not him and he was okay.

That had been a bad fucking night.

Suddenly, the face of the reporter on screen morphs into one of sheer terror and the camera shifts sideways to show the building, crumbling in on itself.  There’s a moment where no one seems to react and Race scrambles to unmute the channel.  Screams ring through the speaker as the reporter and the cameraman run for shelter.  

Race feels his eyes go wide, but he can’t look away.  Somewhere to his left, Queso lets out a whimper, but he can’t find it in himself to look.  A second later, he feels Queso hop up next to him on the couch cushions and settle his weight against his side.

A million frantic thoughts crowd Race’s mind, eventually settling on the horrible debate of whether Albert is in the building or not.  Part of him wants to believe that he got away in time, but logic tells him that the idiot was probably in the building until the last second, searching for straggling survivors.  Fucking dumb shit.  Always has to be a fucking hero.

Sometimes he really hates Albert’s lack of self-preservation over others.

Scratch that.

He always hates it.

He runs his hand through his hair, pulling it almost painfully as his chest tightens.  Taking a deep breath, he presses his knuckles to his eyes, trying to stave off the oncoming panic attack.  He has to stay calm.  If Albert is alive and got out of there unharmed, he’s going to need Race to be a rock for him tonight.

Race takes another deep breath, letting it out slower this time as the vice that previously gripped his lungs loosens a bit.  He can do this.  He just needs to be patient.

He watches the news for another few minutes, picking at his cuticles distractedly as shots of firefighters and paramedics work to reign in the newly charged chaos.  Then, he clicks off the TV, heaves himself off the couch and begins to prepare for Albert’s (hopeful) return back home.

He puts some more food and water in Queso’s bowls, then crosses to the bathroom to take a quick shower.  The water is too hot and he drops the bar of soap three times before he can steady his hands enough to use it.  

He dresses himself mechanically, then digs through their dresser for Albert’s favorite pair of briefs, sweatpants, and a hoodie, setting them neatly on the end of the bed.  As an afterthought, he grabs a fresh towel and washcloth from the closet and sets them on the toilet in the bathroom.  

It’s doubtful that Albert will want to eat much of anything if- no, when he gets home, but Race busies himself in throwing together a quick pasta primavera nonetheless.  If anything, the cooking helps to settle his own nerves a bit.

Another hour passes and Race has managed to finish cooking, eat a little, and clean up the kitchen, all the while forcing down the ever-growing wave of dread.

He’s starting to run out of distracting things to do, so he picks up the book he’s been reading and settles on the couch, eyes scanning the pages, but not comprehending a thing.  

45 minutes later, the front door unlocks and opens.

Race is off the couch before it can swing back closed.

Albert doesn’t look at Race as he hangs his helmet on it’s hook, but Race can already tell that it’s going to be a rough night.  Despite the gear protecting every inch of Albert’s body, his face and hair are covered in a thick layer of ash.  He’s still dressed in his turnout pants, but his uniform top has seemingly been abandoned at some point on his return home.  The sharp tense of his shoulder has rendered his movements stiff and Race watches in carefully masked concern as he tugs off his boots.  

Once they’re dutifully lined by the door, Albert straightens up, looking at Race for the first time, a dull, haunted look in his eyes.

For a moment, Race is scared that he’s going to breakdown then and there, but Albert only clears his throat and croaks, “I need to shower.”

Queso is lingering by the kitchen entrance, but he seems to sense that his company would not be very well received right now.  Race nods at Albert, bending down to pluck one of Queso’s toys from the ground and tossing it in the direction of the kitchen.  He hears the slow patter of Queso’s paws on the tile and sees him pad out of the room in his peripheral.

“Let’s get you out of those pants before you do anything else,” Race says in a measured voice, working to sound easy, but firm.

It’s a testament to how fucked up Albert must be feeling that he doesn’t make a dirty joke at that.

Albert barely moves as Race unbuttons his turnout pants and eases them down his hips.  His gaze is unwavering as he stares blankly across the room.  Race can hear his slightly erratic breathing and it seems as if the adrenaline has yet to wear off.

“Lift up for a sec, love,” Race says, tapping at Albert’s socked feet and waiting for him to lift his legs one by one, allowing for Race to fully remove his pants.

“You can go shower now,” Race says, standing back up, “do you need me to come with you?”

Albert shakes his head, “No, I’m-I’m good.”

“You sure?” 

Albert nods, “Yeah, just- yeah, I’m good.

“Okay,” Race smiles a little, trying to look encouraging, “Shout if you need me, though.”

Albert nods again and makes a stiff beeline for the bathroom.  A few minutes later, Race hears the shower turn on.  He crosses to their bedroom to find that Albert took the clothes he’d set out in with him.

He smiles a little more genuinely as he crawls into bed.  Rolling onto his side, he busies himself with his phone while he waits for Albert to finish up, turning up the brightness to keep himself awake.  Albert was bound to take a while in the shower tonight.  He always does after missions.

A half hour later, he hears the bathroom door open and close and a moment later, the bed behind him dips as Albert joins him under the covers.  Race clicks off his phone and sets it on his bedside table, shifting onto his back as Albert settles into his arms.

“Want me to keep the lights on or off?” He asks quietly, pressing a little kiss into Albert’s now clean hair.  It’s still a little wet and smells strongly like the coconut shampoo he likes to use.

Albert nestles closer, pressing his nose to Race’s neck, “Off, please.”

Race extracts his arm momentarily to flip off the lamp switch, then draws Albert in protectively.  The silence between them stretches on for what could be hours, but Race knows Albert is still awake.

This is also part of the routine.  If Albert wants to talk, he will, but if he’d rather just lie quietly and process, Race wasn’t going to push him.

But he’d stay up with him either way.  There’s no way in hell he’d leave him to handle this alone in any capacity.

Eventually, the silence is broken by a soft whimper, then a short sniffle and Race feels Albert tuck his face further into his collarbone.  He feels his heart break in his chest, but he wills himself to remain steady as he tightens his hold on Albert.

A moment later, Albert begins to cry in earnest and Race presses a firm kiss to the crown of his head, shushing him.  

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs as Albert fists his hand in his nightshirt, holding on like a lifeline, “I’m here and I’ve got you.”

“There-there was a little girl on a fire escape,” Albert hiccups, “and she was screaming for her mom and I was about to go back in to get her, Race, I was about to go get her!  But the building…” he trails off, an awful keening noise sounding from his throat.

Race blinks back his own tears, rubbing a hand up and down Albert’s back, “You did what you could, baby.”

Albert shakes his head, “But it-it wasn’t enough.” His words are stilted- broken- and his breathing is harsh and heaving.

Race maneuvers them so they’re lying side to side, facing each other.  He cradles Albert’s head with one hand and rests the palm of his other hand on his cheek, brushing away his tears with the pad of his thumb.

“It wasn’t your fault,” He whispers firmly, “There’s nothing else you could have done.  You can’t save everyone.”

Albert closes his eyes, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood as he tries to take slower breaths.

“I wish I could,” Albert says after a lingering pause, “It’s fucked up.”

“It is,” Race says, “But you helped a lot of people get out of there today, you did a lot, Albert.”

Albert doesn’t answer, just tucks himself closer to Race, breathing in his warmth.  

“Rest, baby,” Race mutters, knowing that neither of them are really going to sleep that night, “I’ve got you, you can relax now.”

Albert lets out a shaky sigh and Race feels his heart grow heavier still.  The concern, grief, and anger at the world for plaguing Albert with the fucked up trauma that accompanies his job are indiscernible from one another.  He wishes more than anything that he could take away his pain, but he also knows that’s as naive as wishing he’d quit.

The most he can do is be there for him, even if there’s nothing he could say to truly make it better.

But he can be there and maybe that’ll be enough.

“I love you,” He breathes, lacing their hands together, “I’m here.”

Albert squeezes his hand, “I know,” he pauses, “I love you, too.”

And for a second, things are a little okay.

-

yeah, so im still alive!

anyway

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[daddyslilkitten100-blog]

Road Trip story!

I enjoy pet play. I enjoy it thoroughly. I am marketing manager and life can get very very hectic. So some of the most relaxing, sexy and stress relieving time i have, is when i go home to my loving owner, strip out of my people clothes, put on a tail and spend the rest of my time crawling around on my hands and knees and meowing, Curling up in my owners lap, lapping milk out of a bowl, and feeling my owner pull my tail and pound orgasm after orgasm out of me doggy style as i bite on a toy mouse, and purrr. When i was not a kitten i was a dutiful masochist slave, seeking tight bondage and hard hits.

However some times i have a hard time getting into it, i get so stressed that i cant get into my kitten space, and i cant really submit. This was one of these times, it was a big push to handle a large account and it was three weeks of stress and busting my ass for it. After which i was due a very nice long vacation.

My owner, my wonderful owner, had recognized my stress, and as all good owners do, accommodated. So on the first day of my vacation. He woke me up by pressing his finger on my lips.

"Shush now, kitten, we can do this one of two ways, i have something quite amazing in store for you, you can come along as yourself, and have an amazing time, or, you can come along as slippers and have the most intense, long term pet play mashed up with your masochistic side" Slippers was my cat name, and i couldent really resist, not what he was offering, so i replied "mew" He took me to the garage, still naked and sleepy, where parked was a small hitch compartment meant for moving, hooked to the back of his truck. He opened the hitch, and what i saw was an empty container with nothing but large heavy shackles chained to the walls with a neck harness, and a feeding tube. I took a step back, unsure, and felt his hand on the small of my back.

"Hang on slippers, we need to crate you, you remember your safe words" I shivered in nervousness, concerned, but i was not at a limit, i nodded and meowed, he pushed, and i resisted, as any cat would, but did not use my safe words, we both enjoyed the struggle, but soon enough i was in the cuffs and harness, he tightened the chains, and i was caught, stuck on all fours in the container. Like an animal packed for shipment.

Then he set up a baby monitor in-front of me, taping it down. Finally he came around behind me, and he lubed me down. First he inserted a new tail plug, showing it to me before putting it in. Then he slipped 2 vibrating eggs inside of my cunt. Making me gasp, finally he took latex tape, and used it to wrap me a pair of latex panties, holding in my plug and eggs. Finally, he added two new bars to my already pierced nipples that weighed heavily on my nipples. He stood back, and pulled out his cell phone, clicked it a few times, and then smiled, and hit a button.

Immediately, the two nipple piercings, the 2 vibrating eggs AND the tail plug, vibrated simultaneously, hard. If i was not already on my hands and knees i would have buckled. "MEEEEOOOOOW,  HISS HISS"

He smiled, shut it off, and made his way out, a small light popped on as he shut the door, so i was not in the dark.

Shortly after the truck began to move, and i struggeled to maintain some balance, as i heard the car hit the road, my nerves doubeled, but i saw the baby monitor and knew he was keeping an eye on me, so i calmed a bit. It was a long trip, we had started in the morning, and he kept going, after the first half hour, he turned my vibrators back on, but very low, and i scratched at the smooth metal floor as my body begged for something more powerfull, i was being kept just at a level of extreme arrousal. Bucking my hips, leaning into the neck shackle to choke myself a bit, it did nothing but make it worse, after an hour of that i started meowing out loud, complaining and begging alk at once, i was a cat in heat.

But it kept going, and my arms and legs where shaking hard, and i was a drooling animal by noon, when he stopped for the first time. I realized it had been hours since i had worried about the movement of the car. The tight bondage mixed with the god awefull bliss torturing my body had distracted me greatly from the world outside my mind.

He opened the container to an outside that was very obviously a country road, with a wheat field blocking anyone's sight into the container.

"HISS, HISS RRRRRRRRROWRRR"

I made my displeasure known as he made his way in, all while drool fell from my chin dumbly and my hips bucked unconsiously.

"Awww is slippers annoyed at the car trip? I know its difficult"

I wanted to say "no im annoyed that my cunt is on fire, i want to pounce you and claw your face as i rape your hard dick till i cum and then pop a squat on your face untill you beg me to breath.

What i said was. "HIsssssssssssssss"

Oh a temperamental kitten aren't we, okay this should help. He pulled out his cell phone and shut the vibration off. I breathed easier but gave a sad "mrow" as feelings of pleasure slowly ebbed, cunmimg would have been better.

He kneeled at my side and began petting me, i was still rather pissed when he started, but in a few minutes, the constant stroke of hos hand through my hair and along my skin, i was purring and melting into my bondage, relaxed.

"Okay lunch time"

My head was pretty much locked in position so i couldent move away, he shoved a robber hose quite forcefully into my mouth, and used a few straps attached to the tube to lock it on my head, it was a little passed my toung so i couldent even try and push it out, my eyes where wide, he pulled out a thurmus of somrthing and poured it into the metal funnel.

I could barely taste it, but it was pretty obviously oatmeal, milked down a bit to be a little smoother. My body jerked in reaction, immediantly wanting to pause the flow to swallow it one bit at a time, but i couldent move, i couldent even jerk my head away, though i tried. It was the most claustraphobic i had ever been in my life, because your body has an inherent reaction to having a full mouth, close it and swallow, but i couldent do the first part so i naturally did not feel like i could do the second one.

And the pressure built, and slowly, i allowed myself to swallow, which was the start of a chain reaction of swallowing, because every time her throat contracted, there was more pressing its way to get in. It was the most invaded she had felt in any of there activity, because a dick went in an out, so did a toy, but the food just kept going in to stay. After a few short minutes it was gone, and i breathed heavily in release as he freed the tube from me.

I felt a little numb, as I sometimes did when I was owned in a phycological way. I looked up at him with drowsey eyes and a full tummy.

“I know slippers, its pretty intense, but not as intense as the last hour of our ride. “

He showed me the cell phone, and the screen had two buttons, low and high. He taped the phone to the wall, and then tapped the high button. Then as all my attachments wound up into a high vibration, he walked out without the phone , and closed the door.

I did not feel the truck move, i did not hear the cars out side, or feel the bumps in the road. I hardly registered time. I just came, over and over, unill i felt my juices escaping the latex tape panties down my legs, untill i couldent tell if i was cumming from my nipples my ass or my cunt.

When it started it built quickly and stayed at a level of orgasm the entire time. Honestly, looking back, i think i had only one orgasm that started five minutes after he hit the high button, and did not end until we arrived an hour and 15 minutes later. I just remember being struck dumb as he left that cell phone behind, taped up so its the only thing i could stare at.

When we arrived, he did not shut off the vibrations untill i was completely untied. As my body refuzed to really do anything while cumming , i couldent fight hom as he let me go.

Then he shut them off, and let me rest in him lap as he petted me, and pulled all the vibrating things out of me as gently as he could, accept for the tail of course.

When i regained myself. He let me out, the destination was a large field of flowers way out in the wilderness, where i could be a cat girl in the wild as we camped for the next week. It was a massively amazing start to what would be a mind blowing vacation.

And i cant say i was not looking forward to the ride back either.

[mooosicaldreamz]

i was going to ask for faberry but then i promised myself i wouldnt be That Person™ but like..,,,,.,. no one asked for faberry.... I Must. i'll take anything you're willing to write and also im sorry

i don’t know what a faberry is but this is set in the summer between s1 and s2 and i didn’t do a ton of research about the state of affairs at the beginning of s2 because i’m not a LOSER and I DIDN’T LISTEN TO I FEEL PRETTY/UNPRETTY AND CRY. nO ONE SEND ME ANY MORE FABERRY PROMPTS BECAUSE I HAVE ENOUGH. thAnk YOU. FOR ur TIME. for the feels, enjoy this tag. also, this is for my 1k follower extravaganza. what are all you ppl doing here anyway?

“Rachel, sit down,” Kurt yelps, yanking Rachel back into her seat. The whole club’s at the shady carnival that sets up in the Kohl’s parking lot every summer in Lima, where all the rides are run by suspiciously tattooed, bearded men. Finn and Puck are starting a fight in line, having been cut off from boarding the ride with the rest of them. Santana laughs loudly at the affronted look on Rachel’s face.

They’re all shoved into this strange bear-shaped contraption that spins and spins until someone (usually Quinn) gets sick. Mercedes next to Kurt, Kurt next to Rachel, and Quinn in the enviable position of being between Santana and Rachel, in the very back of the bear. The furthest from the exit.

Before the ride even starts moving, Brittany is torquing the center table to get the bear to spin on its axis, and Quinn closes her eyes as Rachel and Kurt whisper fight over how Finn is behaving today. He’s being petulant; what else is new? Rachel and Finn are trying to pretend that they aren’t dating, maybe out of respect for Quinn, but it’s obvious and Quinn wishes it were something more than annoying, that she could - feel anger, or betrayal. But there’s not much more than the numb feeling that’s followed her around since -

The ride starts, Brittany starts spinning even faster, Santana joining in. She places her hands on the table in front of her, watching as the room spins faster and faster until she has to close her eyes. To push back against the nausea, she presses down on the metal of the table, and the burn on her palms from the friction is almost enough. She still throws up the minute she stumbles out of the damn thing, and only Rachel stops for half a second to look - well, something.

-

The Himalayas ride is next. The ex-con operating the ride is refusing to let Finn on the ride, because he’s “too tall” and Finn is too afraid to start a fight with him because the man is massive and has a face tattoo. Santana and Brittany settle into their car, Kurt and Mercedes into another, and Puck and Quinn and Rachel stare around at each other before Puck spots a single female rider and grins at her until he’s in her car.

So that’s how she ends up on the outside seat of the car with Rachel clinging to the other side.

“How are you feeling?” Rachel asks, while they wait for the rest of the riders to file into their seats and for Finn to stop distracting the operator with his whining. There had not really been a height maximum on the ride, and Quinn’s certain that she’s even ridden this ride with Finn before - so she feels a certain thankfulness to him. Well - some thankfulness, because when she takes a glance at Rachel, she looks pitying and sad.

“I’m fine,” Quinn says. She is fine. She is fine.

“Right,” Rachel says, shifting in her seat and looking around the ride and further onto the carnival and further onto the Kohl’s parking lot, overrun with people and children and young parents pushing their babies in strollers. “I meant…I’m asking about…”

“Yeah, I don’t exactly want to talk about that with you,” Quinn says. Rachel blinks, nods. The ride starts moving then and Quinn can’t help but laugh as she watches Rachel cling harder to her side of the car’s handrail to prevent herself from sliding up against Quinn. Rachel looks flabbergasted by the noise, her eyes going wide.

“Just let go,” Quinn says. “You’ll break your arm if you try to fight it.”

So Rachel does let go, and Quinn opts to ignore the rush of warmth that floods through her when Rachel’s body settles against hers and stays firmly pressed there as they go up and down and all around.

-

The fun house is not much fun. Santana refuses to go on it because she “needs some food” aka she hates clowns and the funhouse is clown-themed, and of course Brittany goes with her, and Kurt begs off to go buy some cotton candy with Finn, who the operator claims will smack his head on a doorway. Puck rushes Mercedes straight into the spinning walkway, ready to catch her if she falls, and Kurt lingers at the entryway, talking to the operator - who Quinn really thinks he should not be attempting to flirt with.

So it’s just Rachel and her, in the mirror maze. It’s quiet in there, populated only by the sounds of distant children shrieking, the mechanical groans of the building around them. Rachel’s staring is louder than all of that, though, and Quinn directs a glare at her, hanging out by her shoulder for “navigation purposes.”

“What is it?” Quinn asks, finally, after she bumps into a third straight wall and decides to just stop and let whatever Rachel needs to say come out. It’s exhausting, all of a sudden, to have to stand, so she rests against the mirrored wall and tries to give a good glare. Rachel looks softly back, however.

“I just - well, I’m worried about you,” Rachel says. Not unkindly, but it grates at Quinn - she feels hot all over all of a sudden, like she wants to cry and yell and -

“Don’t,” Quinn snaps. Rachel doesn’t even seem fazed.

“It’s been a month since - ”

“What part of don’t doesn’t make sense to you, Berry?” Quinn asks.

“ - and I know that Santana and Brittany have been doing Cheerios and Puck has been - Puck - ”

“And you’ve been gallivanting off with Finn,” Quinn says, happy to take ahold of something that will derail this ridiculous conversation, will get her out of this stupid maze and stupid town, will get Rachel out of her face and Quinn can just be numb and she doesn’t have to think about anything.

“I’m not going to start a reductive argument over a boy with you, Quinn, when I’m concerned about you and about how you’re handling giving Beth up for adoption,” Rachel says, and Quinn freezes. Something cold and numbing sweeps into her hands and she has to clench them. She turns around, finds herself looking straight into the mirror she had bumped into. Rachel is right behind her, looking - so sympathetic and kind. Not even her mother looks as her like that. And it makes Quinn so mad.

“I care about you, Quinn,” Rachel says. “I just want you to - be okay.”

And she reaches out to touch Quinn’s hand, still clenched, still empty-feeling and like the nerves have gone fuzzy. When Rachel’s soft, smaller hand connects with hers, fire bursts into fill the spaces between the bones and muscle and it feels like she might explode suddenly. Her blood is rushing around in her head, there’s something warm building up in her chest, and she can’t breathe, can’t handle this -

She looks in the mirror again, where Rachel is staring at her plaintively. When she looks at herself - well, she just sees blonde hair and hazel eyes and that’s all. There’s no expression, no special thing, nothing worth remembering and easy to forget and leave aside. But Rachel, somehow, is looking at her like there’s something.

When she turns back to look at Rachel, a strange feeling shocks through her. A bolt, an urge, to tip forward and to slide her hands into Rachel’s hair and to -

“I have to go,” Quinn says, tugging her hand free and feeling for the wall behind her to find the edge so she can get out of this maze, and go home and stare at the ceiling and not think about - think about this.

“Quinn,” Rachel says, following after her, but Quinn makes it out of the maze quickly then, dashes past Puck and Mercedes, out of the Tunnel of Love and into the sunset.

-

When she manages to get home, manages to stop feeling like she’s shaking, she lies on her bed and closes her eyes and lets herself think, just the littlest bit, about that strange feeling that had shot through her. She had never felt it before - or rather, had never thought to identify it for what it was. She wants to kiss Rachel Berry. She likes Rachel Berry. And it’s all a mess, because Quinn? Quinn’s nothing, a former pregnant high schooler, not even a mother, barely a daughter, has nothing to her name - will be stuck here in Lima for the rest of her life. Not unless she somehow manages to battle back, but - that all seems so far out of reach right now, cloistered in her bedroom.

For the first time in a month, she lets herself cry.