#My mind is willing yet my flesh is weak

[arandomapocalypsedweller]

Tonight: A mon designer has an internal crisis relating to conflict of ability and desire to create

I want to make a game. I know what I want, but my big idea is too complicated for my skill level, so I’ll start small. Just a little game about collecting mons, probably not even a combat system for this first one, just a simple, small game you could play in browser or something.

Where the hell do I even start?!

They tell you ‘start small’ but they never tell you *how* or *where* to start. 

What mechanic do I code first? How do I even start writing the code? What keywords correspond to the method I’d use to make the ‘monster table’? How do I log each individual monster as separate from each other? Do I need to find a design doc template? Do I need to go that far for something so small? 

I have so many questions, but I must suck a googling because I get no good answers!

Maybe I should stop thinking about development while sleepy after a long work day.

[ryin-silverfish]

LMK and the Problem of Li Jing

If my browsing in the Nezha tag is any indication, I'm not the only one who has...opinions about the interesting writing choice in S5.

Namely, it's awkward, completely out of left field, and forced.

I am also gonna try and calmly dissect my feelings on the matter, so that it doesn't become a "me sassing Li Jing for ten pages straight" post.

See, my biggest problem isn't "Li Jing is a good/sympathetic dad instead of his more mythos-accurate portrayal".

There are adaptations that make him a good father (Nezha 2019), or at the very least, a flawed but still sympathetic figure (Legends of Nezha cartoon).

And even though FSYY and JTTW's Nezha both have their Attempted Patricide Arc as part of their backstory, when JTTW's Nezha showed up in the novel proper, he was overall more obedient towards Li Jing, so it's not completely without basis (tho crucially, JTTW's Li Jing is also terrified of him picking up the "Patricide" hobby again).

The key, however, is Show Not Tell.

See, the adaptations above are all Nezha-centered works that have plenty of screentime to show where they diverge from the original mythos, and build their takes on the father-son relationship off that new foundation.

LMK, however, doesn't have that. We don't know if either version of the Patricide Arc is true for the show, or even given Nezha's particular backstory for this setting.

We don't know if we should just assume that Nezha's backstory in either JTTW or FSYY went down the same way, or given clues as to where it differs.

All we have are the on-screen interactions, and these consist mostly of Li Jing being his typical Lawful Stupid self.

Sure, there are weak attempts at making him more sympathetic: we are told, through Nezha, that he had been "working sooooo hard" to keep everything running after taking over as basically regent of the Celestial Realm, but again, we aren't shown that properly.

All I see is this guy who...I dunno, went out to get Starbucks or something when JE was kill, then showed up after everything was over to play the loyal minister and prosecute SWK and the gang for bullshit reasons.

(Which is coincidentally very accurate to his overall role in FSYY. Except FSYY's Li Jing was anything but the most sympathetic father figure.)

And because we are given no context for their relationship, their confrontation and reconcillation also feel rushed, falling completely flat when it comes to emotional impact.

Like, if we are to assume their backstory are mythos-accurate, then the whole thing makes no sense——neither "returning your flesh and blood" or attempted patricide can be shrugged off that easily.

If we are to assume it differ from the mythos...HOW and WHERE? Does the birth from a flesh ball happen? Is Nezha destined to be the Vanguard of the Zhou Army, or just a supernaturally powerful kid who can wreck the dragon king's crystal palace three days after his birth?

If he did kill Ao Bing and not just some random dragon, was it an accident, completely justified, or FSYY-accurate? Is his suicide forced or a willing sacrifice, done to save his parents? Did Li Jing destroy his temple? If the Attempted Patricide Arc happened, how was it resolved?

Change one of these, and it will have completely different implications on the Li Jing-Nezha relationship, yet we don't get a single answer to any of these questions.

As a result, the show's version of their relationship and conflict also feels very shallow and generic, your standard "The obedient son must finally stand up and find the courage to voice his opinion to his harsh but loving father——no real anger involved, of course!"

Which is a narrative divergent enough from the mythos as to require proper explanation, instead of being left up to the audiences' imagination, and also, in my opinion, far less interesting than it could have been.

For example: instead of learning to speak his mind (like he'd ever be afraid of doing that), the high point of their conflict is Nezha realizing that he has legitimate reasons to express his anger towards Li Jing for his short-sighted, unsound and overall Lawful Stupid decisions in the here and now, without it being a continuation of their old grievances or exploding into Patricide Arc 2: Electric Boogaloo.

And for someone whose limited characterization has been nothing but an unbroken chain of putting laws and loyalty above reason and common sense, it should take something a lot harsher and undeniable than "They aren't bad guys, dad!" to convince Li Jing.

Lastly, instead of the very cliched "I'm sorry, there's so much left unsaid, I'm proud of you" line, I'd prefer something that was less blatant and, though still awkward, more in line with the rewritten conflict above: sth like "You are right to be angry at me, and I won't mind if you never stop being so."

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

I’m soo in love with your writing! Could I request a fic where vamp Tav had a cruel master too prior to being infected by the tadpole. However instead of being very guarded and practiced like Astarion, they’re just fearful of most things. And Tav starts to cling to Astarion because he’s the only one who understands what she went through. Give me all the angst lol

Crying in my cry these wounds will not heal CRRYY lol

Rated: M

Warnings: vampirism, killing, angsty, manipulation (unintentionally), degradation

Dependent.

Ten years of constant isolation, of darkness within your cell, tortured and forced to drink the blood of people. Ideally, it takes seven years to break the mind of a strong-willed person, lucky for your master it only took two years. You broke the moment he turned you, he just had to clear the rubble and start building the ideal foundation of what he wanted from you: Complete dependence on him.

When you escaped, you nearly turned back on the first night before you were kidnapped by the Mind Flayers.

You have no idea how to be a vampire, that information was kept a secret. The rules, the customs, even the basic taste of feeding on mortals was never told to you. You drank blood from bottles or cups, you ate solid foods for the most part. Your master supplied everything…

When you tried to feed on a mouse or on Astarion, all you felt was both the pain of not feeding your hunger and the guilt. You are a monster, a monster who needs help like a newborn baby.

Which makes you frustrated, angry, and goddamn weak.

Worse is such behaviors then bleed into your interactions with the kindred. This dependency on Astarion.

The blood wine of a boar, a rat, a bear; animal blood is not as sweet as humanoid blood. And though you are grateful for being able to now function, your beast demands true subsidence.

Then you killed a Gur, a monster hunter.

Rather, Astarion had his fun then you both fed on the poor hunter. Gods, the sated feeling, the beast pleased to finally consume a worthy prey.

"Need something– Oh~, how cute." The beast craved more. Greedy. Insatiable. Your mouth shared the taste of fresh blood with Astarion as if it were natural to seek out the pleasures of the flesh.

It didn't get that far though, you pulled away before you made Astarion do something he probably doesn't want with someone like you.

"I thought you didn't like me."

You asked after saving the tieflings and destroying the heads of the goblin camp (goblins included).

"Now if I didn't like you, dear, we wouldn't have our pact."

Kill his master, he kills your master. The bonus is he is willing to teach you how to be a proper vampire (which is hard for him because you insist on having some moral code when it comes to feeding on people).

There was no sex that night. You are too shy. He found you after the party by chance on the outskirts of the camp, where you played your lute as you sang a song.

A sad one from what he can tell from the tune.

The lyrics are equally painful, vague with flowery words, yet the pain is there.

"You want to join me?" You say after finishing your song, "Thought you would be in the arms of someone by now." He sits beside you with his back facing the river, attention on you.

Astarion stays with you that night, you don't know why nor does he. It is like this bond between you two, kindred in blood bound by necessity. When the tadpoles are dealt with, you want to remain with him though you are not sure if he will let you.

The thought of offering yourself to be his spawn has crossed your mind… He will be a vampire lord if he kills Cazador and drinks his blood. You have no idea about where your master could be, but Astarion is strong. Stronger than you and could kill him.

Dependent.

You wish you weren't but you are at a disadvantage with the only advantage is keeping Astarion by your side. It hurts to be like this, using someone you would like to be friends with, you swear to make it up to him during this adventure!

[brandyllyn]

Sinners

Pero Tovar x f!reader

Summary: "I do not understand you, Pero Tovar. Or this… whatever this is. But I will not give something that cannot be returned." Words: 8.4k

My Masterlist

Rated: Explicit Warnings: pining. talk of adultery (no one actually commits it). a lot of reference to vaguely Catholic religion on reader’s part. smut. 

This one is @pedropascalsx​​ ‘s fault. She attacked me without warning. Don’t let her convince you otherwise.

He was too handsome, that was your first thought.

Well, not your first. When he had arrived in town he had looked like one of the roving monsters from the tales of your childhood - teeth flashing from behind a scraggly mess of a beard. You had quickly stepped out of his line of sight; peering from around the corner of a crofter’s cottage as he rode by, his companion’s horse trailing just behind him. They were obviously only passing through, likely stopping for supplies before moving on.

But they hadn’t.

Instead they had taken up residence on the south end of the village, a lop-sided building that had stood empty since the elderly couple who lived there had passed, their son long lost to war.

The man had stalked the town for nearly a week, speaking with locals and buying supplies. Stores were low this late in the winter but summer was just around the corner and with the promise of new crops the villagers were more than willing to sell the last of the foods that had seen them through the cold months. You had avoided him the entire time, his angry visage and large frame enough to send you quickly in the opposite direction.

How quickly you had proven shallow.

When he walked through the village a sennight later, on his way to the smithy, freshly shaven and his hair cut into neat curls at the base of his neck, your heart had skipped a beat. His lips were full, and the chin you had assumed weak was instead perfectly framed by a strong jaw. Even the scar over his eye only highlighted the angular jut of his cheekbones.

He was beautiful.

And married.

Who else could the woman be who had arrived with him? Who shared his home in the one room cottage? They were not related - her features reflected far-distant lands - and she treated him with a familiarity borne only from shared experience.

She was a lucky woman.

The Holy texts only mentioned coveting of thy neighbor’s wife, yet surely coveting her husband was equally damnable in the eyes of the Lord. But you couldn’t seem to help drifting by the forge a few times during the next week. Nor could you resist letting your eyes settle on the muscles of his back as they strained under the weight of the hammer he was lifting with trained precision.

Envy was a sin. But surely it could not be a sin to look?

You did not ask, you knew what the answer was. 

And yet…

And yet you found yourself altering your route to the forest, eyes darting to the smithy in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him. In the bracken woods your fingers moved without conscious thought, your mind elsewhere as you imagined what it might be like to share the small cottage with him. And at night, you bit your teeth into the meaty part of your palm to muffle the your own fingers and thoughts of him were drawing from you.

It was a sin, you knew that. But then again, you’d always known you were a sinner.

Pero Tovar had spent his life in battle. He knew the whistle of an arrow as it passed his ear and the precise noise a knife made as it parted flesh. He could identify the craftsmanship of a blade whether it was from the Far East or the wilds below the sands of the Sahara. He knew the moment to strike, and more importantly when to hold his own counsel - when to fight and when to run.

And he knew when he was being watched.

The woman made no attempt to hide it, darting glances at him from behind long eyelashes. At first he’d bristled at the attention, waiting for the sneering comments or sharp gestures that were sure to follow. But they never came. Day after day he saw her, more and more often, once even caught her staring at him from afar with her lips slightly parted, her basket of herbs loose in her grip.

Wiping the sweat from his brow with one hand he’d nearly called out to her, scolded her for her inhospitality and rudeness. But her gaze had fallen to his bare arms, her lips parting even further and he’d flexed for her almost unconsciously. Even from meters away he could see her sudden swallow, nearly hear her gasp as she quickly turned her back on him and all but ran into the woods.

Humming thoughtfully, Pero traded his large working mallet for one of the smaller hammers, ignoring the sparks that flew as he repaired the tines on a pitchfork. He had assumed the local healer was only wary of him - many in the village gave him a wide berth and he did not blame them. But he knew that look in a woman’s eye - could clock the rise and fall of a bosom as easily as he could the footfall of an assassin.

She wanted him.

After that he began to work shirtless more often, using only the leather aprons for cover, making a point of stretching and reaching whenever he caught the movement of her in the corner of his vision. He did not acknowledge her staring - she would likely faint and he was enjoying the attention too much to see it come to an end.

It was nice, to be wanted, even knowing that he was still not worthy of her. Nor was he free to pursue her. Lin Mae had his presence as protection from the villagers. And while it seemed unlikely they would turn on her, he had promised William when they left that he would protect the man’s love with his life if needed. The least he could do was give her the protection of his name.

It hadn’t seemed like such a large ask, when it was made. But now his fingers itched to reach for another. To draw someone else into his arms. He did not deserve her, had no chance with her, but was it not the penance of those damned to dream of what they could not have?

The first day he changed his schedule he missed her entirely. The second he found himself arriving at the smithy just as she appeared around the far corner. It took him four tries, in fact, to time his short journey so that they rounded a corner at the same time, nearly running into one another.

"Oh!" she let out a short yelp and stumbled backwards and he reached a hand out to steady her under one elbow.

"Pardon," he tried not to think of how smooth her skin felt.

They walked to the smithy in silence, the light scent of honeysuckle drifting up from her hair. It stayed in his nose the rest of the day, teasing his senses and making his blood thump loudly in his ears.

The next day he did not scare her, in fact he was nearly certain she had timed her arrival as well, falling into step beside him without a word. They did not touch, not even a brush of her arm against his. And at the forge he left her without so much as a goodbye - ignoring the urge to look back and see if she watched after him. If her eyes traced over him the way his hands longed to trace over her. To wrap his fingers around the back of her neck and-

No, those thoughts were for the nights. Laying on his pallet near the fire, one hand stacked behind his head and the other around his cock. In the darkness he could pretend he was another man - one free to court her and touch her. To find out what his name might sound like when it fell from her lips on a sigh of pure pleasure. A man she might choose.

He was doing it on purpose.

At first you had thought he was confronting you. Lying in wait for you to leave your home so he could scold you for your licentious behavior. But he hadn’t said a word

Nor did he say one the next day when you met in the small clearing between your cottages, walking side by side until you parted ways behind the smithy. On the third day you didn’t even need to go to the woods, it was a day for brewing and drying. But you went anyway, walking near to the silent man and gathering kindling before making your way back.

It was impossible that no one would notice.

No one said anything to you, not directly. You were the best healer for leagues in any direction and they would turn a blind eye to any multitude of transgressions before dismissing you. But you did see the Master Smith giving him what looked like a stern lecture one day, both men’s eyes following you as you fetched water from the stream. 

The next day he was not there and you sighed as you skirted the edge of the smithy, sighing louder when he was not there. It had been a short fantasy, and not an unproblematic one. You would do well to remember that he was spoken for - and that anything beyond mere companionship was not fated.

But then he spoke to you. Catching up with you one morning as though he had never missed a day.

"Morrow to you."

"Morrow," you mumbled, trying not to stumble. His voice was gravelly and deep, exactly as you had expected it to be.

"The Master Smith says you have a salve for burns," he continued. "I do not believe it is serious but-"

You stopped in your tracks, turning to him and scanning what of him you could see with a trained eye. "Show me."

Sighing, he pushed one sleeve up, revealing blistered red flesh high on his forearm. You held back a gasp, reaching out with one hand to grip above his elbow. "This will scar," you told him with a frown. His lips twitched and you realized suddenly that he was covered in them. Thick and thin, burns and cuts. 

"I would hate to add another," he said dryly.

Biting back your own smile you prodded lightly at the edge of the burn, listening to the quick hiss of his breath. "It will need to be covered, come with me."

You didn’t wait to see if he followed, your cottage was not far and he was welcome to make the decision for himself. But a moment later you heard him fall into step beside you. He even held your own door open, only ducking inside once you had and leaving it slightly ajar so that any passers-by would be able to see what was happening. A courtesy you had not expected.

"Sit," you ordered, pointing at a low stool. He did not argue, sinking onto it and resting his arm on your table. You gathered your supplies quickly, a jar and a stack of clean bandages.

"When did this happen?" you asked as you set the items near him, slowly rolling the edge of his sleeve past the wound.

"Two days ago, I was… distracted."

You didn’t ask why, spooning a generous amount from the jar and gently spreading it on the burn. When you returned with a second you saw his nostrils flare, one eyebrow rising.

"Is that… honey?"

"It is an old cure," you shrugged, carefully covering the edges, "and one that has long stood the test of time." Picking up the bandages you motioned for him to hold his arm from the table. "Besides, it might help to make your disposition a bit sweeter."

Sweet Jesu had you really just said that?

A snort left him and he turned to more fully face you, eyes meeting yours. "I’m not certain you have enough for that."

"I shall have to save it for myself," you demurred, tucking the edge of the bandage under and patting it softly.

"Are you so bitter?"

"Not bitter," you laughed softly, once again gathering your supplies. "Only…" 

This man was a stranger to you. And while you might like the look of his face and admire his fine thighs, he was not your confidante.

"Not bitter," you said again, more firmly this time. Wiping your hands you felt the small tug of the cloth against your finger and raised it to your lips without thinking, sucking the small bit of honey from your flesh. "Is there-"

His eyes were locked on your lips, on the hand still hovering near them. When had it gotten warm in your cottage? When had he stood up? Gotten so close? You had to lean back to look into his eyes, his chest was practically touching yours, a soft growl rumbling from deep within him. You felt an answering purr rise in your own - something soft in your reacting to his nearness.

Then he shook his head suddenly and stepped away. "Apologies, I did not mean to overstep."

Could he hear your heartbeat? You could. And the way he was looking at you…

"It is no matter," you waved a hand uselessly in the air. "We were finished unless there is something else I can help you with?"

"What is my debt?"

You waved a hand again, "For this? It is nothing."

"It is not nothing," he insisted. "Do not sell yourself so cheaply."

"I do not sell myself at all," you pointed out, carefully stepping away to place the honey back on its shelf. "People help me when they can, if you really must insist there is wood behind the house that could stand being chopped and brought in."

He nodded and strode out the door and you let out a breath. That had been far too close for comfort. If he hadn’t stepped away… would you have? You liked to think he would but the smell of salt and smoke that clung to his clothes made your head spin.

A loud noise cut through the air and you frowned, following his path outside and crossing your arms when you saw him. 

"I didn’t mean now."

He shrugged and set up another log, swinging the ax high over his head and bringing it down with a solid thunk. "It is a task that needs doing, no?"

"It is," you waited for him to bring the ax down again before continuing, "but I certainly had no expectation you would do it right after being treated."

"It does not interfere," he pointed out. 

"I will not treat it again," you scolded softly. 

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth and you noticed he had a dimple on his right cheek. Why did he have to be so handsome?

"Perhaps if I find some honey you will be sweeter to me."

I am far too sweet for you already, you thought with a sigh, turning your head before he could see how flustered he made you.

Ignoring the fact that you had been headed to the forest before being sidetracked, you pulled your largest kettles into the clearing beside your home and began to set fires beneath them. The sound of chopping wood kept you company as you set the fine sticks of wood carefully under them and grabbed your bucket. You were halfway back from the stream when he caught you, taking the pail with a scolding murmur and taking two back with him. While he fetched the water you carefully minced herbs, dropping them into the water and striking stone to steel to create a fire beneath.

You spent the remainder of the morning tending the pots, carefully judging the smells, consistency, and colors of each. Illness always came with the spring, people being in too much of a hurry to enjoy the weather to take proper precautions, and you wanted to be ready.

At midday you tried to stop Pero, offering him a hunk of bread and cheese and pointing out the amount of wood he had chopped far exceeded to small amount of care you had given him. He’d grunted at that, taking the proffered food and shoving it in his mouth. Then he had pulled his shirt off and gone back to work, leaving you agape and trying not to stare.

He was too handsome for his own good.

It wasn’t fair of him and he knew it. But then again, what mattered was who won the war, not how honorably they fought.

He knew he was tempting her to sin with a married man. And he would feel worse about that if he was in fact married. But he wasn’t - and the way her breath hitched in her throat every time he stretched and moved made his lungs near burst with pride.

Swiping a hand across his chest he shook his head, feeling droplets of sweat spray from the hanging ends of his too-long hair. He’d been working in the sun for her for hours now, chopping what had to be a half cord of wood and stacking it neatly both inside and outside the cottage. No matter what he did she seemed to be nearby, finding tasks that kept him in her line of sight.

Could he tempt her down to the stream? There was a small, shallow pool there - barely as high as his waist. But if he could get her in it… no, she still was as fresh and clean as she had been this morning - keeping to the shade even as he sweat in the sun. Well, he always had a backup plan.

"You have another pail?"

Her head jerked up and she tilted her head to the side without seeming to think about it. He took the proffered object, heading to the river and bringing it the entire way back before dumping it over his head.

"Ah, that is better," he said, shaking his hair out.

She was staring again. Hands clenching and unclenching around the small paring knife. He took a careful step closer to her, watching the ways her eyes tracked his movements and her chest rose and fell in rapid breathing.

"Is there more I can do?"

A confused noise left her and he bit back a smile, moving closer until she tilted her head up to look at him.

"I see how you watch me." Her head shook in a frantic denial and he stopped her with a finger under her chin.

"I do not," she tried but he raised one eyebrow and she quickly silenced. A long moment stretched between them and her shoulders dropped. "I should not."

"No?" he asked, tilting his head. "And do you think I do not also watch you?"

Her lips parted and he took advantage, ducking his head and pressing his own to them. A soft noise left her and he swallowed it, gathering her into his arms and deepening the kiss. She made no protest, her hands clutching at his shoulders and her lips parting even further for him when he dipped his tongue inside.

Without thinking about it he backed her up until he had her pressed to the stones of her cottage, reaching down and hitching one of her thighs around his waist. She fit him perfectly, the hard planes of his body sinking instantly into the soft curves of hers.

"We can’t," she whispered.

"We must," he countered.

She tasted of herbs, rosemary she had chewed that morning and bits of things that clung to her skin after her day’s work. His hands gripped at her hips, her thigh, the dip of her waist and the curve of her ass. He couldn’t get enough of her.

But when she shoved at his shoulders he stepped away. He had never taken a woman unwillingly. Convinced, wheedled, paid - even once long ago had quite nearly begged - but never forced.

"You are married," she bit out, one hand pressing to her chest.

"An inconvenience," he told her truthfully. "We are together only in the eyes of man, not God."

Her eyebrows drew together, "What does that even mean?"

How could he explain and still keep his oath to William? He was treading a fine line already. "It means I have never lain with her. Nor do I plan to."

"I don’t understand," she shook her head and when he went to step closer she held her hand between them. "I do not understand you, Pero Tovar. Or this… whatever this is. But I will not give something that cannot be returned."

"And if it were?"

She closed her eyes, hand wavering, and he took his opportunity. Were this a battlefield he would have sliced her tendons at the knee and downed her from one heartbeat to the next. Instead, he pulled her into his arms again, dipping his head and nibbling at the soft column of her throat.

"Do you want me?"

"It is a sin," she sighed, but tilted her head to give him more access.

"Lying is a sin," he pointed out, scraping his teeth along the flesh she offered. "Do you?"

"I shouldn’t."

"Do you?"

Someone called her name and Pero swore, stepping away from her quickly and jerking his shirt from the ground. He would not see her shamed in the eyes of the village.

"We are not finished," he told her solemnly.

That man was a menace.

He continued to meet you on your walks into the woods - and even on the days you varied your routine he managed to find you at some point. Falling into step beside you and brushing your shoulder with his. Twice, when no one was around, he tried to tug you into shadowed corners. The glint in his eye giving away what he wanted.

You were only flesh.

Flesh that was weak where he was concerned. Arms wrapping fiercely around his neck even as you cursed yourself for it. You went willingly, allowing him a few stolen kisses before breaking away. He always asked the same question, "Do you want me?" and you always avoided it.

You dreaded to think what might happen if he knew it for certainty.

Even now, settled in his lap beneath the span of a large oak tree, his lips repeated the words into the tendons of your neck. But he said it as a statement, his hand slipping under your skirt and palming the skin of your thighs in rough strokes.

"You want me."

"It doesn’t matter what I want," you told him for perhaps the hundredth time.

He bit you and you yelped, pushing hard on his shoulders and glaring. He was glaring right back, his lower lip protruding in an uncharacteristic pout. You ignored it, climbing to your feet and swatting his hands away when he tried to pull you back down.

"You have to stop this."

"I do not wish to," he grumbled, leaning back on one hand and looking up at you from lowered lids. He looked positively pagan, sprawled among the early spring flowers like some sort of god.

"The weather is changing and with it the markets will begin again. I will find someone else."

He moved so fast you didn’t even see him, a blur of motion and he was in front of you, grasping your arms in a strong grip. "You are mine."

"I am not," you gritted out, trying to shrug him off to no avail. "What can you offer me except heartbreak?"

"I would offer you everything," he said quietly, ducking his head to force you to meet his eyes. They were earnest, soft and brown and it took all of your will not to sway to him.

"Everything but your hand."

"Even that," he cracked a small smile. "I have two."

"That’s not funny," you growled, finally moving away.

"I found it a small amusement," he huffed.

"Tovar…"

"Pero," he corrected.

"Tovar," you said more forcefully. "The spring festival is at the next full moon. I intend to make my intention known that I seek a husband."

A snarl curled his lips and you took an unconscious step back. One hand clenched at his side as though he might find a weapon there. "You will not."

"I will," you corrected. "And you should gather peonies for your wife."

"Peonies? I do not understand"

"You don’t… I suppose maybe it is not your custom." You bent and picked up your basket, "During the festival, couples will exchange the flowers - to show their love. At nightfall, all of the unmarried townsfolk will take to the woods hoping to find their own." A thought came over you and you waved a hand, trying not to look flustered, "Many return together."

He hummed thoughtfully, holding a hand out to you to help you step over a large tree root. "And I should gather these flowers for my love, yes?"

You nodded, swallowing past a knot of emotion. "I will not tell you this has not been… fun. But it is over now. It must be."

Humming again he guided you back to the path. "And you are certain that this is what you wish? You will find your husband during the festival?"

A small laugh escaped you and you shook your head. "I intend only to find the flowers, to make it known I wish to find someone."

"So there is no one else?" The answer fell from his lips with a more plaintive tone than he seemed to want, frowning to himself after he finished.

"How could there be?" You brushed past him, swinging your basket, "I already spend half my day in confession because of you."

A low growl caught in his throat and he grabbed you, pulling you back to his body and once again taking your lips. You let him, conscious that your time with him was drawing to a close. And besides, you were already going to have to confess that morning’s indiscretion - what was one more?

The setting sun bathed the village in warm glowing light, making the women look ethereal as they danced around the large pole in the village square - but Pero’s eyes sought only one. By his side, Lin Mae smiled and spoke with one of the local farmer’s wives - comparing the soil and harvest months. She had notes in that strange writing of hers, ideas for things she and William might grow when he returned from his journey.

"Does my husband grow bored of me so quickly?"

Pero blinked and glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow and scowling. She smiled in return, tucking a piece of jet black air behind her ear. "It is strange, the gossip, and how many women of the village want me to know your eyes have strayed."

"They should mind their own business," he grunted, finally spying who he wanted through the crowd. Her eyes shone in the firelight, the orange glow making the simple white shift she wore seem to come alive around her as she danced with several other women.

"They think they are protecting me," Lin Mae shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. "They were properly disgusted at your behavior."

He grunted again, not bothering to give her words. The woman who held all of his attention was braiding flowers into another’s hair - fingers working quickly.

"I don’t suppose I could make you pretend that you are not pining for her this eve, could I?"

"Small chance," he said truthfully, sipping his drink and never taking his eyes off of her.

"They are getting ready for their ceremony," Lin Mae said, shifting her stance slightly. "Perhaps I am growing too tired to stay out."

Frowning, Pero glanced down at the former Commander of the Crane Troop. "Are you well?"

"Perhaps my husband should take me home, so we may both retire for the evening. That way, if he disappeared into the woods later no one would note it."

He finally turned his full attention to her, "You are a brilliant woman, much smarter than your husband."

She winked and he held an arm out, studiously avoiding looking back at the revelers as he led her away from the fires. They returned the shouted greetings from a few people and he held the door to their shared quarters for her when they arrived.

"Is there anything-"

"Go, Pero Tovar," Lin Mae smiled, settling by the fire and patting a hand over her stomach. "I will be fine for the evening."

He did not need to be told twice, going out the back door and circling around the forest to watch the festival. An old man stood by the fire, hands held high in the air and saying something he couldn’t hear. Near him, two groups of men and women giggled and chatted amongst themselves. Blushing and elbowing as they looked towards the other group.

The man’s hands came down and the women sprinted into the forest, although Pero noticed many did not seem to be in a particular hurry. He slipped into the forest behind them easily, padding on soft feet and slinking through the trees like a wraith. He found his quarry easily, her lilting laugh all he needed to zero in on her. With casual competence he brought down two men who sought to follow her, leaving them in slumped piles to be found in the morning. Soon she had outpaced the other maidens, either through swiftness of foot or perhaps their own desire to be caught. It didn’t matter to Pero.

Moonlight bathed the glen in pale light and he slowed to a careful stop. He had arrived before her and he did not pause before plucking several of the prizes before  ducking behind the old oak tree and watching for her. It was not long before she entered, laughing to herself and throwing her head back to stare at the moon before dropping to her knees. The beautiful petals of the flowers were almost black in the silvery light, her hands cupping them as though they were the most precious thing. But that could not be right, because she was there and there could be nothing more precious.

He watched as she carefully picked three of the blossoms, cradling them tightly before rising to her feet and turning back to the forest. Back towards him. He could no more have plucked the moon from the sky than he could have stopped himself from reaching out. Catching her wrist in one hand, pulling her back to his chest and dropping his other to press low on her stomach. She gasped in shock and he nuzzled his face into her neck, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth.

"Careful, one might think you wished to be caught."

The tenseness flowed from her and her body melted back against him. He groaned with it, crossing his arm over her chest and feeling the petals in her fingers crush under their combined grip. Slowly, he released his own hand, letting the flowers he had gathered fall and mix with hers.

"I have done what you said, I have gathered these for my love."

"Pero…"

His body lurched at the sound of his name on her lips. Sucking a bruising kiss to her neck he tried to turn her, growling when she resisted. Instead he let her wrist go to grip her chin, jerking her face towards him and thrusting his tongue past her lips. He met no resistance there, the soft give and take of her mouth and the low moan in her throat enough to set his blood thrumming through his veins. Her fingertips gripped his forearms and he tightened his hold.

"Lay with me," he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, dipping his tongue behind her ear. "Let me make you mine."

A shudder wracked her frame and he paused, this time meeting no hesitancy when he spun her to face him. "What is it?

"You will always belong to another," she whispered quietly, pain tinging her voice. With the greatest care he cupped her jaw in one of his palms, brushing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. 

"I belong to no one," he told her, willing her to look into his eyes. "Except perhaps to you."

Another shaky breath and her eyes squeezed closed. "Tovar-"

"Pero," he corrected quickly, pressing his lips to the lip of her nose. "If you are to hold my heart you must call me by my given name."

"How can you say these things?" she chided softly.

He should tell her, should have from the start. Tell her that in the eye of the Lord he was free, that the only sin between them was lust. But she would not believe him. Hell, he wouldn’t believe him. Not here, not like this. Not knowing the things a man might say to have a woman in his arms.

"All I can ask is that you trust me," he whispered. Stooping down he plucked one of the round flowers into his hands, holding it out to her in his cupped palm. He waited, holding his breath until she took it with shaking fingers.

"And when we are damned?"

"Then we will burn together."

This time when their mouths met he felt no hesitancy, her arms coming up and fingers threading through the hairs on the back of his neck. He shuddered in her embrace, pulling her close and falling to his knees on the soft mossy ground. His hands shoved at the cloth of her skirt, pushing it upwards as she sank into his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. The moon behind her cast her in a soft, silvery aura and he paused to admire her beauty.

With careful fingers he slipped the sleeves of her dress from her shoulders, watching them fall until the shift caught in the crook of her elbows and on the swells of her breast. From her position above him it was an easy thing to lean forward and catch it with his teeth, pulling downwards and exposing her soft flesh inch by inch. He heard the hitch in her breath when her pebbled nipples were bared to the cool night air. And he felt the way her body trembled when he curled his tongue around the hardened nub and sucked it deep into his mouth.

His name fell like a prayer between them and even if he were what she thought he was - there was no world in which this was a sin. No world in which holding the trembling figure in his arms was anything less than worship.

"Pero," she cried again, her hips rocking in his lap and his control snapped. He reached between their bodies, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers.

"You know the herbs?" he asked, breathless and frantic.

She nodded, hands working between them as well. Groaning he shoved her fingers to the side, lining his cock up and sinking the head of himself into her. "You will tell me if it is too much?"

"Pero please," she begged and he lost himself, plunging forward until he was seated fully inside her. Her heat made him go cross-eyed, and the small cry that broke from her lips made him cup her face in his hands in worry. 

"Are you-?"

She lunged towards him, pressing him back down to the moss. They tumbled for a moment, legs tangling, her hips rocking into his. A deep curse left his lips and he steadied her with hands on her waist, looking up in awe as she rose to her knees over him, one hand pressed firmly to his chest and the other his waist.

"Fuck," he snarled, unable to take his eyes off of her. The white of her shift shone ethereal in the moonlight. This could not be a sin, for surely she was an angel sent down to redeem him. Her muscles bore down and he cursed again. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she had been sent to damn him.

"Pero," she sighed, reaching for one of his hands and tangling their fingers together. "Please."

This he could do for her. Slip his hand beneath her skirt and find where they joined, rub his fingers in wide circles through her slick until she threw her head back and came around his cock. It was all he needed to follow, clutching her skin so hard he knew he’d leave bruises before hauling her down and into his arms.

Confession was going to be interesting this week.

Measuring the pennyroyal carefully, you added it to the other ingredients of the tea you were making. You had made it many times in the past for other women - but only once for yourself.

Then again, last night had been only the second time you’d ever lain with a man. The look in Pero’s eyes told you it was well on its way to also being the third and perhaps fourth before you were interrupted by a small group of giggling girls, barely old enough to participate in the festival, bursting into the clearing and exclaiming at the sight of the flowers. It had been almost gentlemanly, the way he had tried to shield you from their notice. But all it took was standing up for your clothes to be set to rights - he had to fix both his shirt and the fall of his trousers. 

Plenty of time for you to escape and join them.

It had been a mistake. A massive, soul-damning mistake. Adulteresses did not get to go to heaven. There was literally a whole commandment devoted to it - right between killing and stealing. That’s how important it was.

You’d be saying Hail Mary’s until you were old and gray to atone for this.

Sighing you wrapped your hands around your mug, taking the first sip and opening your front door to let in the morning air. The sight that met you froze you in your tracks however. Pero and his wife were arguing. Shame overcame you and you turned away before they could see you - but you couldn’t help but overhear their voices carrying.

"I am not fragile, Tovar, and will not have you treat me as such."

"I know as well as any man that you are as tough as forged iron." A strange way to talk to his wife, but then again he had been telling you for weeks theirs was a strange marriage.

"Then get out of my way."

"I will not have you harm the babe!"

The world stopped and you gasped, watching the mug tumble from your fingers, the dark liquid spilling across the dirt. Your head jerked up and Pero met your eyes. 

Of course that’s why he asked if you knew how to not conceive.

"Cariño…" his soft voice floated across the field and you stooped down quickly to pick up your mug. You would need to rebrew it - be sure you had taken enough. You were absolutely not going to have that man’s child.

Your pot had just started boiling when he stepped through your doorway. "It is not what you think."

"What I think?" Your voice had an edge of hysteria and you fought to keep calm. "What I think is that you left your pregnant wife at home to seduce me last night. Am I wrong?"

"I told you I have never lain with her."

You blinked, jerking backwards. The world seemed to come to a standstill. After a moment a strangled laugh left you. "Your wife sinned with another - so you sought to do the same?"

"It is not a sin," he growled, coming around your worktable in long strides. "This - you… it is not."

Saints above he was kissing you again, and as angry as you were your body betrayed you immediately. Sinking into his warmth and burying your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. With an ease that left you breathless he lifted you onto your table, shoving your skirts to your waist. The hard ridges of his body pressed between your thighs and you gasped.

"It is not a sin, cariño. To want an angel?" His hips rolled and you arched into his chest. "To take a piece of heaven for myself?"

"It is one of the first," you corrected him, gasping for breath and speaking the words directly into his mouth. "Is it not why Lucifer fell?"

"Fuck Lucifer," he growled in return, clutching your body closer. "He wanted power. I want only you."

Why, why did he have to say things like that? "Pero…"

"Say it again," he groaned, fingers working the fall of his trousers. "Say it while I am inside you."

You should protest. You absolutely should not be letting him swive you after everything else that you now knew. But he fit you so perfectly, and looked at you with such wonder in his eyes you couldn’t help it.

"Pero."

The words that left him were in a language you didn’t understand. Falling from his lips like a psalm and for just that moment you let yourself believe him. 

And when he slipped into your cottage that night, wrapping you in his arms and pressing your hand over his heart - you let yourself imagine a world where he was yours.

Pero’s shoulder brushed hers as they walked through the village. He wanted to wrap an arm around her waist, hold her close against the morning chill - but he knew that was impossible.

It had been amusing, at first, sneaking away into the forest. Going to her cottage in the middle of the night and having his way with her. And she with him. Once she was in his arms she showed a remarkable imagination and flexibility that often left him breathless in the aftermath.

But the secrecy was quickly growing old. He wanted to kiss her. Her eyes were bright and her skirts whipped around her legs as they walked into the wind, reminding him of how they felt wrapped around him only hours ago.

A leaf caught in her hair and he reached up with a smile, plucking it from the strands and touching it to the tip of her nose with a playful tap. She grinned in return and he felt his heart swell in his chest.

"It is shameful how they carry on."

Pero froze, his jaw tightening. For a moment he hoped she hadn’t heard.

"He’s a foreigner, probably an infidel, but she should know better."

Oh she’d definitely heard, her eyes widening as she took a step away from him.

"Cariño," he said softly, willing her to look at him. The leaf dropped from his fingers and he reached for her. But she was shaking her head frantically, her hands gripping her basket so hard he worried she would snap it.

"There always was something unnatural about her."

Pero’s vision went red and he turned, ready to confront the two gossiping women. Or kill them. He wasn’t sure which. They balked at the look on his face and he took a threatening step their direction before a hand on his elbow stopped him. Scowling, he looked down at her.

"They do not know what they say," he told her, trying to keep his voice level.

"They know exactly what they say," she corrected quietly, "and none of it is untrue."

The truth lay thick in Pero’s throat, the chance to say it long passed. William was not supposed to have been gone this long. Should have only been a fortnight behind them. Instead it had been nearly two months and Pero was beginning to grow worried something had happened to his friend.

"They question your honor."

"I know what I am," she said softly. "I know what I chose when I chose you."

Something lodged in the back of Pero’s throat. He had fought for everything, every chance he’d ever had. Even William and he had ended up together only by chance, joining the same merchant trip to the East. He had trained harder than anyone else, stolen what couldn’t be achieved, and paid coin for another’s favors. But no one had ever chosen him for him.

"Cariño," he took a step towards her and she stepped away.

"Not out here, I don’t want to give them more to talk about."

"Let them talk," he grunted, pulling her into his arms and tilting her face up to his with one finger. "I choose you as well."

"A second choice," she whispered and Pero’s blood thrummed through his veins.

"First," he corrected. "First and always."

"How can I be? You’re-"

He cut her off with a kiss, not caring who saw. Not caring the way it would look to others. She was his and he would claim her for all to see it. And he could not hear her say that word again, could not hear her denial of what he felt.

"Trust me," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. "That is all I can ask."

"With everything," she murmured back. Her spine was straight when she stepped out of his arms, ignoring the hushed mutterings that followed her as she left to the forest and he turned to the smithy. He contemplated scaring the women within an inch of their lives, his size and face more than enough, but it would only cause more problems.

The days were growing warmer and soon enough Pero had sweated through his shirt, tossing it to the side and covering himself only with his leather apron as he worked the metal. A few rings of his armor melted down, the most precious thing he had, now being reworked into a far different purpose.

"You can’t even pretend to make friends can you?"

Pero froze, closing his eyes a moment before turning.

"Tu hijo de puta."

William held his hands up, brows drawing together. "What did I do?"

"A couple of weeks, you said." Pero carefully set his finer tools down, reaching for one of his larger hammers as he approached his friend. "No time at all."

"Things were more complicated than-"

William dodged Pero’s casual swing, but dove straight into the man’s fist.

"That is for taking so long," Pero grunted, setting the tool to the side and shaking out his fingers. "Your head is as hard as ever."

Rubbing his cheek, William blinked at him. "Has Lin Mae been that difficult?"

"It is not…" Pero sighed, picking up his shirt. "Come, I will tell you on the way."

You took a different path through the forest than usual. You didn’t want Pero following you, although you knew he could easily track you if he wanted to. You need time to think, to come to terms with what you were doing.

It had been too much to hope, that no one would notice. It was a miracle that you had avoided the gossip as long as you had. And there would be no denying it, not after that kiss.

Your fingers touched your bottom lip for a moment and you sighed. Pero was a passionate man, and yet you had never seen him touch his wife the way he touched you. It heartened you, although it shouldn’t, that maybe he did feel more for you than he did her.

"Ave, María, grátia plena," you said quietly, stooping to pluck an herb. "Dóminus tecum."

No harm in getting in a few prayers before confession - you were bound to be given another dozen at a minimum for what had happened today.

At your cottage you set about preserving your stores. The rainy season would cause many things to rot if you did not dry them carefully now, hanging them from the rafters in bundles. You hummed as you worked, trying to ignore the events of the morning. There was nothing that could be done about it now.

A knock jerked you out of your thoughts and you glanced towards the window to check the time. It was early afternoon, and you were not expecting anyone. Certainly not the sight that greeted you when you opened the door.

"Pero?"

The man was standing there, arms overflowing with peonies of every color. He must have taken the entire field’s worth.

"Cariño," he said softly. "Quiéreme."

You gasped, covering your mouth with one hand. "What?"

"Love me," he repeated, offering the cascading bundle of flowers in his arm to you. There were so many that some fell to the ground as he moved, littering around your feet.

"I do," you smiled, a small wane thing. "You know I do."

"Marry me." You gasped and he dropped the blooms finally, not seeming to care as he crushed them and gathered you close. "Marry me, today. As soon as we are able."

"But you’re-"

"Do not say it," he growled, dipping his head and kissing you. "I will not hear you say it again. William."

William?

A cough interrupted your thought and you glanced over Pero’s shoulder to see a blonde man with his arm around Pero’s wife.

"I believe this is my fault," he said, nuzzling his nose into the woman’s hair and you noticed a bruise forming around one of his eyes. "This lovely woman is not Tovar’s wife, she is mine."

"What?" The word left you on a whisper, your mind unable to comprehend.

"I am not wed." Pero said it this time, tilting your head back so you looked into his eyes. "I never have been."

"Why did you-"

"Me again," the blonde called out. "Pero promised to look after her for me. This wasn’t exactly what I thought would happen but…" The woman at his side elbowed him and he gave you a sheepish smile.

"You are not married?"

"No."

"Then we…?"

"Have not sinned."

A giggle bubbled out of you and you smiled up at him. "I believe we have sinned many times."

His answering smile was dazzling. "A small thing, and one that can be absolved when you are my wife."

"Your wife?"

"Now," he punctuated the word with a kiss. "As soon as we can find the damned priest."

"Your friend is injured," you pointed out. 

"No more than he deserves," Pero griped.

"And the banns have not been read."

"I do not care if another seeks your hand, you are mine." He suddenly looked unsure. "Unless you do not want-"

You threw your arms around his neck, hugging him close. "I have two hands, Pero Tovar, and neither are claimed."

"I will take them both," he told you solemnly. "And make you mine."

"As you are mine."

Taglist:

@pascals-cat, @hotspacepilots , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @amneris21 , @writeforfandoms , @yaachtynoboat711 , @Pedrohoe04 , @gingersnappe-9 , @carbonated-beverage , @salome-c , @dihra-vesa , @artsymaddie , @withakindheartx , @punkerthanpascal , @evildxad , @sunfairyy, @nabootycall , @ohhersheybars, @Silverwolf319, @hdghty, @pasckles, @bestattempt, @Stevie75, @xxxroxsxxx, @petersunderoos96, @mssarahpaulsooonn, @sherala007, @jitterbugs927,@spacedadmando, @eternallyvenus, @frietiemeloen, @adalanta, @librariantothejedi, @i-neverasktwice, @selfishpresley, @moonlightburned, @frenchyjuju, @yllwtaxi, @jedi-mando , @heartofjakku, @seececerun, @ludditereformed, @thirdtimesthecharm, @javierpinme, @kesskirata, @mamacitapascal, @supernaturalgirl20, @thirstworldproblemss, @bestattempt, @greeneyedblondie44, @daddymando69, @martellthemandalor, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @flower98child, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @sarasapen, @the-finalfrontiier, @janebby, @mstgsmy, @sleep-tight1, @lostinwonderland314, @Stevie75, @astoryisaloveaffair, @jasterslegacy, @practicalghost, @one-hell-of-a-disappointment, @giselatropicana, @taticalsparkles, @tobealostwanderer, @huitzilinthebudgie3, @beesting77, @omlwhatamidoinghere , @andyl394, @aesnawan, @1950schick, @fic-appointment, @dolly-on-the-dotted-line, @paperbag33, @pinkninja200, @sarhabee, @chaoticgreen, @kirsteng42, @mishasminion360 , @giselatropicana , @letsfly-andbe-free, @miraclesabound, @quicksilvermad , @prettlilhalforc , @rosechvnel , @masnuelle , @xocalliexo , @alm0501 , @recklessfangirl-blog , @blueeyesatnight , @uncle-kenobi , @gooddaykate , @omlwhatamidoinghere , @dindjxrinslover , @pjkimrn , @thesundrop , @radiowallet , @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage , @recklessfangirl-blog , @the-feckless-wonder , @linkpk88 , @litakino , @disasterhann , @solemnlyswearss , @pjkimrn , @xxxroxsxxx , @justreadingthings , @sherala007 , @fan-of-encouragement , @jeeperky , @pjkimrn, @writefightandflightclub, @frankiemoraleawifexo, @leelee2890, @pedrosbrat,@ssppoorrkk, @sia2raw, @severewobblerlightdragon, @mishasminion360, @artsymaddie, @janebby, @pjkimrn, @miraclesabound, @booksarekindaneat, @tanzthompson , @terecord, @tanzthompson, @thesoftdumbass, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @bellaisasleep, @vaguely-here-wish-i-was-not, @sixshooter665, @showbuckysomelove, @bethany-bee0128, @tenderwhat, @sherala007, @girlwholoveswords, @pjkimrn, @reader-without-a-story, @graphitegator, @mylittlesenaar, @eri16, @dinsangelx, @absurdthirst, @sherala007, @girlwholoveswords, @pjkimrn, @reader-without-a-story, @graphitegator, @mylittlesenaar, @dinsangelx, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @hogwarts-is-home, @wizardofrozz, @felicisimor, @littlekittymeow, @lyr1ssa, @rose-bliss, @mrsstevenbuchananstark, @lyly00, @kirsteng42, @ionaboner, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @echoskama, @mac-and-chees21, @withmyteeth, @thesandbeneathmytoes, @stardust-galaxies, @girlofchaos, @mstgsmy, @susanabassi, @susie1234, @alexxavicry, @harriedandharassed, @nessamc, @elegantduckturtle, @thelion-sroar, @mswarriorbabe80, @artsymaddie, @stark-kirk-rogers-grant-blog, @jupiterfics, @princessxkenobi, @thesmutslut, @ruhro7, @tentacruels, @toxicfrankenstein, @jediknight122, @whoreforthemandalor, @iamskyereads, @elegantduckturtle, @mariwinns16, @the-blind-assassin-12, @curiouskeyboard, @totallynotastanacc, @shirks-all-responsibilities​, @mandoblowmybackout​, @toxicfrankenstein​, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @karlawithacapitalk, @cannedsoupsucks, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @what-iwish-you-knew

[coralinnii]

Floyd Leech (merman!Floyd x bullied!Reader)

genre: horror, friendship(?)

note: off-screen bullying, allusion to violence and worse

summary: A nobody at school, your only solace was taking in the serenity of the ocean cave away from the big city. However, a dweller is more than happy to show you a part of his world.

series index

“You’re sad again, land shrimp. What is it this time?” 

“F-Floyd…”

You looked at the man in the waters. Except he wasn’t really just a man. You met Floyd when you ran from your classmates that started harassing you and you left school early to eat your lunch in peace. Sadly, you accidentally dropped your lunch into the waters as you maneuvered through the cave you found. However, it was how you met the man whose skin shimmer like the ocean. 

“Hey, that wasn’t half bad~” 

Since then, against your better judgment, you started hanging out in the cave during lunch with your “friend” while bringing something for him to try. Floyd was a creature driven by curiosity and luckily he was fascinated by you, a human, and the treats that you bring his way. 

“I like you, Shrimpy~” he grinned, showing off his white serrated teeth which reminds you to tread lightly with him. 

Still, you preferred his company over anyone else in school as you became the target for some mean-spirited classmates. Floyd found you in tears as you cried out in confusion as to why your situation came to be like this. 

“Became you’re weak, Shrimpy” Floyd was bluntly honest with you. “If you were in my territory, you would be eaten alive” 

You let out a scared hiccup, shocked by the brutality of your “friend’s” world. This was nothing like the fairy tales and movies you were shown as a kid. You continued to weep, can people like you really survive anywhere when the world is this cruel? 

“Ah, stop crying~” Floyd spoke to you as he floated closer to wipe the tears from your eyes. “I won’t eat you, as long as you bring me something good to eat~” 

In your delusional state, you wanted to trust Floyd. You wanted to relish in his protection as he wiped your tears away with nails that looked sharp enough to slice through flesh. 

Perhaps it was this delusional state of trust that convinced you to run back to the cave as your classmates chased after you with sadistic glee, drinking in the pleasure of your fear of them. 

“Come back here, loser! We’re not done!” 

You yelped in fear as you ducked into the cold waters in the caves, hiding behind the shadows of the rocks hoping the dark would aid you. You kept your voice down as you heard your bullies scream angrily into the cave, demanding that you come out. 

You covered your ears, desperately blocking out the angry screams of your tormentors, blocking out their screams of shock, their voices as they scrambled inside the cave, the sounds of thrashing in the waters and harsh collisions against the sharp walls of the cave. You ignored everything. 

Until you felt a pair of wet hands covering your own. 

You yelped and turned to see the merman you’ve come to know. The merman who wrapped his long body around you, somewhat curiously and somewhat possessively. He looked at you with unreadable eyes before reaching out to your tear-stained cheeks. 

“Hey, I told you not to cry anymore,” he said with an annoyed frown. “How weak can you be to be scared of those ugly guppies?”

“Floyd…” 

Unhesitatingly, you wrapped your arms around the beast of a (sea)man to tightly embrace him as you continued to cry despite his warnings not to. But Floyd didn’t mind it for now, surprisingly enjoying the warmth of your body that is unlike those of his kind. He mirrored you, wrapping his arms around your waist and his extensive tail coiled slightly tighter. 

You were such a strange creature to him, so weak yet brave enough to approach and feed a predator like himself. Oh well, he liked that about you and he’s willing to put up with you if this continues to please him. Besides… 

You always bring him something good to eat~

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Rinse and Repeat

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Even moments of reprieve are no release at all. The cycle continues, endless and circling ever tighter.

Thank you so much to @whump-kin and @inscrutable-shadow for beta-ing this for me! 🥰

Contains: Explicit noncon, intimate whump, bathing, aftermath of torture, mind/emotion control, mind reading, dissociation, shame, manipulation, cockwarming

~~~

The feeling of being dipped into warm water pulled Elze’ith ever so slightly out of the haze of agonized semi-consciousness.

An instinctual part of him almost expected the water to sting, to lap at his flesh and scour his bones. But there were no open wounds to bring fresh pain; the aches and anguish that radiated from his core were just a visceral memory, the sticky blood on his skin having long stopped its flow.

He didn’t remember healing himself. And yet his body was intact once again. Once, that might have been calming, comforting. It wasn’t now.

The air smelled of iron and lavender, of steam and smeared gore. Though his eyelids weighed as much as anchors, he still tried to force them open, only managing a weak flutter. It wasn’t enough to see anything beyond vague blurry shapes; giving up, he let them close once again. The steady, solid hands that had lowered him into the water didn’t leave him as he settled into what he distantly recognized as the tub, instead holding him upright even as his head spun and his body sagged.

“I know, my light. One moment, and then you can relax.”

Lord Denholm’s voice surrounded him, filled his senses and his mind with reassurance and dread. The promise of rest was tantalizing, but he had long since learned that such comforts were not given freely. Maybe once Elze’ith would have been willing and eager to pay that price; now, he wasn’t so sure. For a moment Elze’ith was left to linger in that hope-uncertainty-dread, held in place by Lord Denholm’s unwavering grip, before the water around him shifted, and a cold body slipped into the tub behind him.

“There we are. Isn’t that better, light?” Joy and contentment radiated off of Lord Denholm, even as Elze’ith’s weary heart clenched in numb, exhausted fear. Groaning, he tried to shift, tried to extricate himself from his position against Lord Denholm’s chest, but Lord Denholm only hummed and folded his arms around him to hold him securely in place. “Shh, light, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Of that, Elze’ith had no doubt. It was what came next that worried him. He could feel every inch of Lord Denholm’s bare skin, the bulk of his muscles, the bulge between his legs. They were naked together; there was only one thing that could lead to. Even through the haze of exhaustion closing in on his mind, the prospect was still enough to horrify him. After all he had already endured, even his Lord’s careful ministrations would surely break him.

A soft whine escaped his parted lips as he once again tried to squirm, hoping beyond hope that he might avoid the inevitable. But Lord Denholm’s strength and his own fatigue won out, and he collapsed back against his Lord within moments. A torrent of emotions threatened to swell up and drown him, only to be whisked away as Lord Denholm pressed a kiss to the top of his head. The compelled calm was not unfamiliar, and not entirely unwelcome, even as part of him yearned for the briefest moment to be granted the dignity of resistance.

Elze’ith drifted in that docility as deceptively gentle hands caressed him with a soft cloth, letting all of the blood and sweat of the day run into the water. Each brush was done with such care, as much care as the subtle but overwhelming influence on his mind.He was afraid, and yet he couldn’t be. He was angry, and yet he couldn’t be. He was grateful, and yet he shouldn’t be.

Every tender swipe of the cloth had more and more blood removed from his skin, had more and more tension leaking out of him. There was something sincerely, uncomplicatedly relaxing about it; after so much turmoil, he was being treated gently. The blood and gore was being washed away. He didn’t have to do anything but let himself be taken care of. The more time passed, the less he was sure how much of the calm he felt was imposed, and how much of it was genuine.

A sigh left his weary lungs. Would it be so bad to just let himself enjoy this moment of peace? They seemed so few and far between, and he needed as many of them as he could get.

“My beautiful, precious light,” Lord Denholm murmured, almost absentmindedly. “So magnificent. So strong. And all mine.”

The water shifted. The cloth and its gentle, caring, undemanding caresses vanished. Elze’ith whimpered; dull, echoing agony still resonated through his bones, through his soul, and he wasn’t ready for the soft touches to leave in favor of something more insistent. But it didn’t matter what he wanted. It never did.

Was his Lord’s love truly worthwhile if knowing it made him feel as though he were drowning?

The thought threatened to slip through his fingers, to be tugged away from him, but he clung to it. He clung to it as Lord Denholm gripped his hips and grasped at the juncture between his legs, making him gasp in dread and desperation. There was no strength left in Elze’ith to struggle or squirm or try to wordlessly ask for mercy. All he could do, as he felt the soft warmth in the back of his mind pulse with uncertainty, was cling to the knowledge that Lord Denholm had tried to erase from him, even as the conscious thought was finally pried from him and only the deep, instinctual understanding remained.

This was no kindness. This was violation. And it was wrong.

Lord Denholm pushed inside him with a slowness that might have been tender, but was nevertheless nothing short of agonizing. Though his voice was raw and ragged from screaming, Elze’ith still let out a hoarse cry as he was made to part around his Lord once again. His exhaustion and the arms cradling him didn’t let him try to escape the intrusion; all he could do was arch his back and accept what Lord Denholm wanted for him.

For a moment, Lord Denholm went still, as though basking in the feeling of Elze’ith encompassing him. His satisfaction and joy was thicker than the steam that suffused the air, almost thick enough to choke on. And it was getting harder to breathe, though that might have been tied to the panic constricting his chest, the heat gathering behind his eyes.

Lord Denholm had never wanted to take him to bed so soon after something so intense. The agony of being pried open by Lord Denholm’s careful hands and seeking teeth still hadn’t left him, even after his wounds had been healed and the blood had been tenderly washed away. Elze’ith knew, he knew, that this would only make him feel so much worse, on every possible level.He wasn’t ready for this.

(He was never going to be ready.)

The light in his mind called to him, sang something that he couldn’t identify. And Elze’ith, coward that he was, shrank away, tried to shut it out, because he didn’t want Altair to witness him like this, even as distantly as whatever this connection allowed him.

The rhythm started, that steady cadence of movement and sensation that Elze’ith knew far more intimately than he had ever, ever wanted to. The water sloshed around them, barely louder than the almost-silent whimpers Elze’ith couldn’t hold back. Each thrust sent pulses of anguish through him as his muscles futilely twitched and his bones quaked in protest. He yearned for the peace of when Lord Denholm had been bathing him, for the comfort of it, because as awful as having his thoughts suppressed was, being ravished like this was simply unbearable.

“You’re perfect, my light,” Lord Denholm murmured into his ear, making him tremble despite the fading warmth of the water. “Perfect just like this.”

Perfect. Always perfect. His Lord was the only one to ever call him perfect. To always want him, no matter his faults or mistakes or transgressions. Elze’ith didn’t know who he would be without that love. It almost made everything else worthwhile.

Almost.

Because he didn’t want to be perfect. Not anymore. Not when this was the price of perfection. Not when he could never be sure how much the affection would hurt. Not when there might be something better waiting for him, even despite all his failings.

Lord Denholm’s hand between Elze’ith’s legs came to grasp his dick, and all thought shattered once again. There was only his Lord, and his Lord’s desires, and the overwhelming sensations and emotions and intent that threatened to smother Elze’ith in the process.

“Let go, light. I’m right here. Just let me take care of you.”

Elze’ith shook his head, but there was no resisting his Lord. He had never been able to, especially not in this. There was no pleasure, only misery, as Lord Denholm drew his release from him. Even if his body had not hurt so much, the violation of it would have been awful enough. At least now, with his hand no longer paying attention to Elze’ith’s cock, Lord Denholm could wipe away the tears that were starting to gather at his eyes.

The water was still warm when Lord Denholm stilled inside of him, holding him close with a groan as he spilled into Elze’ith like the vessel he was. Lord Denholm tucked his face into the crook of Elze’ith’s neck as he came, and though the contact made Elze’ith’s blood turn to ice, there were no piercing teeth. Just Lord Denholm’s arms, wrapped around so tight they threatened to bruise. The smallest of mercies, and Elze’ith didn’t even know how he felt about it anymore.

Awful. Relieved. Ashamed. Too many emotions warring for dominance in his mind, none of which he wanted to examine too closely, even if he thought he could.

But it was over now. It had been quick. He could put on his robe and crawl into bed and sleep and sleep and sleep until his Lord called upon him again.

And yet, Lord Denholm made no move to pull out. Though he relaxed his grip, his arms remained securely around Elze’ith. His aura thinned, though his delight still rang out through the air as strong as any cathedral bell.

“That was nice, wasn’t it?” he sighed, pressing a kiss to Elze’ith’s neck. “You are always so wonderful to be around, light. And we so rarely get to relax like this. I think we should indulge a bit, don’t you?”

All Elze’ith could do was whimper. He just wanted to be left alone. He just wanted to sleep. But his wants never mattered. What Lord Denholm wanted was to soak in the bath, the two of them inextricably linked in body and mind, and Elze’ith could not refuse. He was but a vessel to be filled by his Lord’s desires.

Lord Denholm rubbed Elze’ith’s arm in a soothing gesture. “There we go, that’s it. Just relax and enjoy this. You don’t need to worry. I’m right here. I’ve got you. And there is no one who cares for you like I do.”

Elze’ith knew his Lord spoke the truth. And that was the entire problem.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep4 Musings - Loumand

Assad was NOT. PLAYING.

Put those village feeders AWAY, sir~! 😍 You look ready to start lactating, omg! Assad NEVER misses a day at the gym!

What happened to y'all being so in sync, fellas?

Armand seems WAY more delusional here than Louis, for once. Which is telling--Armand had long been "failing" to hold onto his coven, and his authority.

Louis reading about Death while his daughter's arguing for her life, I can't.

And this little shrug when Armand punished Claudia, omfg, he is giving weak-willed-mother-who-lets-the-mean-stepfather-run-roughshod-over-her-kids-cuz-the-peen-is-too-good-and-he-pays-all-the-bills.

So we go from Lestat's "the Meat" and Claudia's "Kill Juice" to Armand's "Cattle."

NGL, I'd be pissed if I was the coven, too. How you gon' have this dude sit there not needing to follow the rules, while all of us are stuck wearing clown makeup and having our makers killed cuz of your dumb rules?!

I REALLY like this mutinous angle AMC's using, fleshing out the tension in the coven more, cuz it really makes sense.

I get that Louis would want to be around, but omfg cut the umbilcal already! I agree with the coven: like, WHY are you there exactly? Not even the worst helicopter moms are allowed to sit in class with their kids all day, so wtf? And I agree that Armand needs to draw MUCH thicker lines in the sand. Coven business is coven business--if Louis' not gonna even be allowed to speak up in Claudia's defense, then he shouldn't be there at all. ESPECIALLY if he's gonna flaunt how much he doesn't GAF about their rules--their CULTURE.

Aw crap, you got the homie Estelle mad, too?!

You done effed up, Louis--that's the smile of a psychopath. XD

Oh, he's keeping SOMETHING tight, he ain't lyin! 😜

👀

LOUIS! The ONE time you should've lied, omfg! 🤦 It's called making a UNITED FRONT, ffs!

Louis said Hot Girl Summer--literally.

🔥🕯️ FIRE GIFT LOUIS THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ️‍🕯️🔥

Louis said it only works when he's PISSED OFF, OH LAAAWWWWD!

This bit scared the crap out of me--at first I was like the coven's gonna jump y'all in your skivvies!? 😂 Then I was like wait--was that a crew member?! How did y'all not catch that in post!?

And then it all became clear.

*crosses self* HISSSSS.

CLEARLY it's not "great," when your man's man is throwing shade at your whole setup in Louis' head. 😬 Armand, you're barking up the wrong Rebound Tree, my guy.

The face that launched 1000 undead theatre kids into a blazing inferno. THE Louis of Troy, yaaaas~!

MESSY QUEEN.

🔥 FIRE GIFT LOUIS LFG. ️‍🔥

And this is likely why Louis believes what Armand said about him teaching Lestat the Mind Gift, cuz Armand taught Louis the Fire Gift.

Oh trust, we know you do, Armand. But how much does LOUIS know? 👀 ESPECIALLY when he doesn't go on hunts with y'all.

This can only end well.... 😬😈

AMC knows what they're doing--you knooooow that would've hurt Les to his core, if he knew Lou said ILY to Armand after only 1.5 years, when he (allegedly) never said it once to Lestat in 30. U_U Cuz you don't effing deserve it yet, Lestat! It's no skin off Lou's back to say that to Armand, cuz he's not REALLY giving up anything. He's not joining their stupid coven, and he's fine with them killing him. But Lou admitting that he loves Lestat means he'd have to take accountability for his COMPLICITY in everything that went wrong in his life, and that he chose Lestat over his entire family, his religion, his self respect, his sanity, ALL of it, for some heinous blonde Frenchman, lord have mercy. 😔 It's a hard pill to swallow.

And he's REALLY in the deep end now, if he expects his imaginary (boy)friend to start keeping promises. 🤦

[authurials]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ... 1/3

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . you look to secure your future in way of a betrothal--against the wishes of your lover, ser harwin strong

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . two / three

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations, sexual intercourse (m/f), fingering, minimal dirty talk, nudity, diet coke angst

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . been meaning to write this idea for awhile but inspo has come and gone the past couple of weeks. here it finally is though! i love the character of harwin and will definitely be writing more for him in the future. if you enjoy reading this and want to see more from me make sure to follow and turn on notifications, and if you have an idea you’d like to see feel free to send me a request. remember to like, comment and reblog if you enjoy reading! do not repost/claim as your own please

“𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐌,” the words were whispered into the plains of your trembling stomach, followed by the press of desperate kisses into the soft flesh. “Do not leave me.”

Your lover shifted above you, making their way down your body as you stared teary eyed up at the canopy of your bed–weak and wanting. It was pathetic really and far from your original intention when you invited him into your solar, yet there you found yourself–sprawled out across the bed, dress pulled down over your exposed breasts and bunched at your waist, at the mercy of the man you loved. 

And love Harwin Strong you did. 

You had loved him since you were a girl of six and ten, stealing away to meet him at the shores of the Gods Eyes; you had loved him when he left to join the City Watch, you had even loved him when he fell into the bed of another, whom had bore him two sons and was pregnant with a third. Even after each offense against your heart, you had still let him crawl back into your bed and back inside of you under the shroud of night, swallowing moontea the next morning like a bitter poison. It was true that you could not stop yourself from loving Harwin Strong, but you could ensure that your own future was secure in spite of that fact.

“I can’t,” you choked out a shuddering breath, back arching as you felt his head duck back under your skirts; already he had drawn two releases out of you, with the promise of many more to come until you relented on the subject of your recent betrothal. Yet though your body was more than willing, your mind and heart refused to relinquish so easily this time–before? Maybe. But now there was more at stake than just someone finding out about your premarital trysts because now it was with someone who was not your intended. “Harwin, please….”

“Please what?” He whispered against your thigh, the scratch of his beard against the already sensitive flesh drawing another moan from you. “Tell me what you want–what you need–and it is yours.”

You sighed as his fingers teased through the lips of your wet cunt, pressing forward to circle your opening before gently placing pressure on your clit. Your body shuddered, knees drawing up and away from the intensity of the pleasure, feet pressing into the mattress as Harwin continued his ministrations. The pad of his thumb rubbed your clit in circular motions, slow at first before increasing in speed as he pressed kisses up the length of your inner thigh. You felt his breath on you, cold against the slickness of your arousal as he pushed two fingers into the heat of you.

“I need….” you gasped out, unable to string together the right words as your thought process was lost to the crook of his fingers inside of you. “Oh gods, Harwin!”

“This is what you need,” he spoke with certainty through clenched teeth, the whisper of a punishing bite against the skin of your leg.  “This–right here–my fingers, my cock, inside of you….claiming you. Tell me this is what you want and it is yours.”

“But it isn’t,” you croaked out desperately, hips moving in earnest now against the glide of his fingers inside of you.

“It is,” he reaffirmed gruffly, pace quickening as he seemingly became desperate to make you see the truth–or more accurately his truth.

For Harwin, things had always been so simple between the two of you–very black or white. You both loved, you both desired therefore you belonged to one another–or at least you did when he was not busy in his affairs with the named heir. For Harwin, there was no repercussions–no proof–if only things were as simple for you; you held the proof of your couplings between your legs, and in the heaviness of your heart when you looked upon the unclaimed family he had made with a woman he owed his loyalty to. You could not so easily forget these transgressions, nor the reality of your place in this world–without a husband, without children, you were nothing; your love for Harwin, no matter how strong, could not save you from this fate.

And so you had betrothed yourself to Larys Strong, Harwin’s younger brother, in hopes of creating a future of something rather than nothing.

The news of your betrothal had not gone over well with Harwin, even worse so when he found out it was to be his own brother you would call your husband. Yet up until this moment, you had not yielded to Harwin’s pleas or compromises and even now you only simply entertained them to satisfy more base desires. You knew come morning he would return to his post, and you’d once again be left empty by the whole experience–or you would have had you not promised to take your breakfast with Larys and his father to discuss arrangements. This was to be a short engagement, you believed, with plans moving quickly to secure the deal between both families. You had a reluctant suspicion that both sides were aware of you and Harwin, and therefore worried you might prove to be a flight risk.

“It is yours,” Harwin continued to mutter against your body, pressing kisses up your torso this time as his fingers continued to pump into you. He whispered the words into your skin like a prayer, as if he could somehow speak them into reality; nipping and sucking at your breasts, he pulled away only long enough to utter the next few words, “it has always been yours.”

With that, he leaned down and claimed a nipple with his lips, using his free hand to tend to the other as he suckled at the peaked flesh. Your thighs pressed against his forearm, trying to still his movements as your peak drew closer. The resolve to stop him had slowly slipped from your grasp as you finally let go, instead settling for riding the crashing waves of your approaching release. He owed you this much you had concluded–one last time for memory’s sake, something to fill the quiet moments of your marriage.

“Harwin,” you gasped as he pulled his fingers free from you, fearful that he might have finally come to his senses just as you had lost all of yours. Instead, you watched as he reached down to push down his trousers just enough to release the impressive girth of his cock–the all too familiar vein that ran the length of it pulsed as he gripped it in his slick hand. Mezmorized, you watched as he pumped it to fullness, shifting to a comfortable position between your thighs. Spreading your legs, you allowed him to settle in the cradle of them as he pressed the head of his cock to your entrance.

For a moment, both of you hesitated and looked at the other with hooded eyes, waiting for what you did not know. Your resolve had already fallen through, there was no going back now–might as well finish what you both had started; not just this one moment, but all of them, all the way back to the very first time he had had you. There was no regret in your heart, but the taste of it lingered on your tongue as Harwin pushed his way inside of you. Sat back on his knees, your legs pulled over his, he pushed into you slowly all the while his gaze on your face.

You had no choice but to stare back, tilting your hips so he entered at a better angle and hit right where you needed him. Gasping as the length of his cock dragged against your inner walls, you let all thoughts of what was to come leave. This moment was for yourself, something for you to take with you after; you were sure there would be little pleasure to be had in your union with Larys, but you had already promised yourself to be a dutiful and loyal wife; thankfully, as Harwin pulled out slowly only to thrust all the way back in in one fluid movement, you thought about how you had yet to take on that title.

Planting his hands under both of your arms, Harwin leaned over and claimed your lips in a searing kiss; it was a clash of lips and teeth, all take and no give on both of their parts. You could taste the punishment on his tongue as he kissed you almost desperately, as if he knew that this would be the last time. His hips moved at a brutal pace, rolling against yours in a fast rhythm as flesh slapped against flesh. The strong bands of his arms came around you, cradling you against the monolith of his chest as he began to fuck you with deep, shallow thrusts. Sighing, your hands came up to comb through his hair, your own hips lifting up only to be pushed back down into the mattress.

When you came, it was almost together, Harwin not falling far behind you as you came apart in his arms. Your legs lifted, knees framing his hips as you tried to keep him there inside, the feel of his seed an odd sensation even after all this time. For a moment, you could imagine it quickening into a son, with dark hair and eyes–fantasy turned nightmare as he became a mirror of a child that already walked the halls of the castle. Closing your eyes, you shakily breathed in and out, focusing on the press of Harwin’s hips as he continued to rut into you.

Only when he was done spilling did he pull out of you slowly, hand coming down between you once more to clean his cock with the already soiled sheets; you would have to remember to have him dispose of them when he left. You watched with eyes half mast as he tucked himself back into his trousers, leaving them unlaced as he sat up, kneeling between your open legs. His eyes traced down your body from your face, over your exposed breasts and the beaded sweat on your stomach, all the way to the cum dripping from between your lower lips. The heated expression could only be read as one of satisfaction, of pride in a job well done, and for a moment you allowed yourself to smile–until you reminded yourself of what needed to be done.

Ignoring the protest of the muscles in your body, you sat up, face level with hair on Harwin’s chest–once a feature you adored about him, now you simply stared blankly at it. All of the sudden you felt tired as you put yourself to rights, or as much as you could without a proper bath. You pulled your legs out from around Harwin, tucking them in as you turned to get off the bed. Before you could, however, you felt Harwin place a hand on your shoulder, the pads of his fingers brushing away the hair at the nape of your neck as he leaned down to press a kiss there. You almost allowed yourself to fall into that gesture, allowing your eyes to close as you let Harwin bring you back to bed for a good night’s sleep.

But there would be no good night’s sleep, not when there was moontea to fetch and sheets to dispose of and a Lord Commander to convince to leave. You knew Harwin would not go easily, he saw this as him having won, fully expecting you to go back on your word and to not marry his brother. That, however, was not an option, you would not make a fool of yourself, or  your family, or even his; Lyonel had been generous enough to take a counsel with her father to discuss the possibility of uniting their houses, and Larys was reasonable enough to understand that this was a marriage of duty, and not one of love. He would not expect more than what was expected out of a wife–you would be loyal to him after this moment of weakness, bear his children proudly, and stand by his side always. You would have the life with Larys that you could not with Harwin, and it was not fair of either him or yourself to deny you that possibility.

Sighing, you pulled away as you felt Harwin attempt to press another kiss to your neck. Finally able to disengage yourself from his body, you made your way to the fireplace to stroke the flames within with a poker; there was already a kettle and grate there, you just needed more moontea. Feeling his eyes on your disheveled person, you reluctantly turned to look at Harwin finally; he remained kneeling on your bed, confused and maybe a little afraid. It was a strange sight to see, and for another paralyzing moment you felt your resolve slip, but you squared your shoulders and cleared your throat:

“I am out of moontea.”

It was stated as a fact, the request for him to fetch more implied, but as you waited for a response you saw he made no move to get up and put himself to rights. Sighing, you felt your shoulders sag, hands folded in front of you as you walked closer to the bed, head bent slightly in apologies.

“I know this is hard, Harwin,” you began, “trust me–it is hard for me as well.”

“Then why are you doing it?” Harwin demanded to know, frown upon his lips. “Why marry my brother if it is so hard?”

“Because….” You tried to string together the right words, putting them together in your head but nothing sounded right. How did you even begin to explain everything to him in a way that did not give way to all your anger and hurt?

“Why?” He demanded again, impassioned this time as he pushed himself from the bed and made his way towards you. “Why are you doing this to us?”

You hesitated for a moment before your lips set in a grim line: “And what is it exactly that I am doing to us? I am doing nothing that has not already been done, ser.”

Harwin looked away as you addressed him by his title instead of his name, a common occurrence when you were angry with him–and angry with him you were.

“I have done everything I can for us,” you continued. “I have loved you and only you since I was a girl, Harwin–there has been no one else nor will there ever be.”

He reached out to you but you held up your hand in protest, stepping back to put space between you two as you took a deep breath. You looked around your room, it had been yours since Harwin had brought you here under the guise of being a handmaiden. Soon, it would be another girl’s, probably not all that different from yourself–would she too foolishly and blindly love a man that was not her own?

“But I have grown tired of waiting,” you spoke brokenly, feeling the ache deep in your throat as you choked the words out. “I am tired of watching you love another as you have loved me, and I am tired of watching her carry the children that should have been ours. They were taken from me before they could even quicken, Harwin, and yet I still feel the weight of their ghosts inside of me just as I feel the weight of this tired heart.”

You pressed a hand to your chest, tears stinging your eyes as you looked at him. Desperately, he held out his hand as he spoke:

“Please know that I never meant to hurt you–”

“Yet you have, Harwin,” you inserted, “and I allowed it for so many years because I had hoped that someday I would call you my husband, and you would call me your wife. It will never happen, though, will it?”

The silence that spread out between you as Harwin allowed his hand to drop was answer enough. Tearfully, you nodded, lifting your hand to wipe them away.

“I am sorry,” he broke the silence, taking slow but assured steps towards you. “I am sorry that I have allowed this to go on for so long, and that I have caused you this pain. But you must know that when I say I love you those words ring true, that for me it has only ever been you. No matter what I have done or will do, you will always be who I come back to, don't you see that?”

“What if that is not enough?” You replied as he stopped in front of you. “I deserve more, Harwin; I deserve a man I can call husband, I deserve children, I deserve….everything that I have put aside because of my love for you. I have allowed myself to settle for less for far too long and even though the marriage between Larys and I will not be made of love, at least I will not have to hide it from the world.”

“Please,” Harwin grabbed your hands, letting the entwined fingers hang between your bodies as he spoke, “I know it is selfish of me to ask….but please do not do this. I will make this right; I will leave the City Watch, I will make you a home, I will give you a child–”

“Will you marry me?” You interrupted, staring at him with intensity. “Say you will marry me, right here with the gods as my witness.”

“I-” he tried to speak but you continued.

“Say you will marry me,” you repeated, looking into his eyes as you stepped closer–chest to chest, “and I will not take the moontea, I will call off the betrothal to your brother, and I will be only yours for however long we both shall live. But if you cannot do that for me then I will not allow your seed to quicken this night, I will marry your brother as soon as I am able, and I will never allow you to touch me again–I will no longer be yours, Harwin.”

“I want nothing more than to marry you,” Harwin spoke, pain evident in his eyes.

“But?” You asked, hands coming up to grip the sleeves of his tunic as tears slid down your face. “This is all I have ever asked of your Harwin, this is all I have ever wanted–to be your wife, to be yours truly and completely. Why can I not have it? Answer me this.”

When he did not answer you shouted: “You at least owe me this! Tell me! Tell me why we cannot marry! Tell me-”

He stopped you with a kiss, cupping your face as he stole your breath away, silencing your cries. At first, you melted into the kiss, eyes threatening to close before you remembered your fury and began to push him away. Breaking the kiss, you glared at him, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you turned your back on him and began to walk away.

“I am afraid she will hurt you,” his voice stopped you midstep, and you looked over your shoulder at his torn expression. “She knows of us and has allowed me to be with you only because I have continued to warm her bed. Me and her share a love, but it is different than what I feel for you, it is a love built out of respect and loyalty and fondness. I see the same fire in her that I feel in myself, and it has drawn me to her over the years. I love the children she has borne, but they were never mine to claim; I would love nothing more than to see you heavy with child–my child–to know that I put them inside of you….yet I fear if she were to find out how truly enamored I am with you that she would hurt you and then I would truly have nothing.”

Again, he strode over to you and took your face, eyes pleading as he continued-

“But if marriage is what you most desire then I shall give it to you. I will not allow duty to drive us apart any longer, for I could not bear it if you were gone from my arms forever. I will speak to her and hope that the years we have spent together–the children we have made–have meant enough for her to let me go. And if not, then I will take you away from here and marry you as another man if I must.”

“Truly?” You spoke, barely above a whisper, hardly daring to believe. “This is not a jest?”

“I would not jest about such things,” he smiled warmly, the pad of his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. “Now, may I take my future bride to bed? There is much to be done tomorrow; I would have us married by the end of day.”

“You cannot be serious-” you stopped when he raised an eyebrow, cracking a smile of your own as you leaned in to press your lips together softly. “You may take me to bed then.”

“Good,” he leaned down to pick you by the backs of your knees, his other arm supporting your back as he carried you to bed. 

Once the soiled sheets were stripped and replaced with fresh ones, Harwin took off your own ruined dress and laid you naked on the bed. At first, you thought he intended to ravish you once more before sleep but instead he climbed in naked as well and wrapped an arm around your waist, hand settling over your stomach in an unspoken promise. Tomorrow would surely bring its own challenges, but for now you could rest easy in the arms of the man you loved–the man that you would marry.

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 12)

Chapter 11 took me SO long to write, so I was relieved you all liked it (minus the cliffhanger).

Originally as I was writing Chapter 12, I planned to give you the entirety of this next “piece” of the story. As I started fleshing things out though, this chapter got incredibly long, and editing it has been a beast. I’m leaving to go out of town for a few days and have decided to split Chapter 12 into two or three smaller pieces. I’m hoping to feed you at least one more piece before I leave, but I can't promise anything.

Anyways, we’re super close to the end. Thank you soooo much for the comments. They FUEL me.

Although her current accommodations really are quite nice, Scully has been restless since arriving on the property. A combination of shock and sedation has made the past twelve hours a blur. She keeps remembering things in bits and pieces—seeing Skinner and the Gunmen appear at her bedside; listening as Skinner spoke to the woman in the hospital room, then the guard; leaving the hospital facility as a free woman, Byers pushing her in a wheelchair down a well-lit corridor. In fragments, she recalls a long van ride, awakening to a raging pain in her shoulder that Frohike promptly medicated with something over-the-counter.

The rest is lost to her.

When she wakes up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, she tamps down her initial panic by reminding herself that she is with trusted friends, that people who care about her have brought her here. Her shoulder aches badly but her mind is alert. There’s a plate of toast and a glass of water sitting on her bedside table, and she forces herself to sip at the water. A shopping bag sits beside the bed, and she rifles through it to find an interesting selection of generic women’s clothing and toiletries. She wonders who did the shopping and almost cracks a smile at the thought of Skinner picking out her underwear.  

A note rests beside the shopping bag, the handwriting unfamiliar.

Come downstairs when you’re ready.

She peeks out the bedroom window and sees a thick forest shrouded in twilight. It takes her a few minutes to find a bathroom and then the stairs. She quickly realizes she’s in an old house, and at the foot of the stairs is a living room where everyone has gathered. All four of the men watch as she takes the stairs and joins Frohike on the couch. They glance at her with a funny mixture of expressions: apprehension, relief, fondness, grief.  

Grief.

She doesn’t waste time on greetings or platitudes.

“Do we know anything about Mulder?” she asks, her voice weak from disuse.

Skinner shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “Not exactly,” he tells her regretfully. “My contacts at the Bureau told me that someone lunged at the cameraman, that there was a gunshot, and that Agent Mulder went down. From there, all the accounts report simply . . . chaos. When everything was said and done, Agent Mulder could not be located.”

Scully licks her lips, restraining her emotions. This is good, she thinks. They didn’t find a body.

“Who attacked the cameraman?” she asks.

“It’s not yet clear what happened,” he says enigmatically, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes flit meaningfully to the Gunmen’s. They know something that I don’t, she realizes with a sinking stomach.   

“But you should know,” Skinner continues, “that regardless of the facts, the Bureau is officially reporting that Agent Mulder died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”

She closes her eyes and wills herself to breathe. There’s no proof, her logical mind argues. No one actually saw it happen.

But there was a gunshot.

“How did you know where I was being held?” she redirects, her investigative mind fighting for dominance over her emotions.  

Skinner clears his throat. “That uh, that was part of the deal,” he explains tentatively.

A pause. “The deal?”

“Mulder made plans to ensure your safety before—before committing the act,” he explains. “Part of that arrangement was releasing you freely back to your life, whatever that may look like. To live in peace.”

She scoffs. There’s no peace if Mulder is dead. “They put a gun to my head and filmed it for him to see,” she counters petulantly. “Mulder never had any real bargaining power with them. They could have killed me the minute Mulder—pulled the trigger.” She fumbles over the words.  

Skinner shrugs. “Yes, well . . . he planned for that too.”

She raises a brow in question.

“Before Mulder agreed to any sort of . . . action on his part, he asked that you be released into my protection. I got the orders to meet you at the hospital just hours after you were brought in.” Skinner’s face softens slightly as he nods towards the Gunmen. “I brought these three with me, because a long time ago, Mulder made me promise to use them to keep you safe. So that’s what I did. That’s why you’re here with us instead of back home in California.”

She takes a minute to absorb his words and feels a curious, confusing, unexplainable anger begin to rise in her body. “And where am I, exactly?”

“You’re at a safe house,” Skinner explains, “deep in the mountains of rural West Virginia.”

She cocks her head testily. “If I’m such a free woman now, why did you need to bring me to a safe house? I thought I wasn’t in danger anymore.” Her heart is beating fast, furiously.

“Truthfully, we don’t have all the facts yet. We don’t know what happened to Agent Mulder and we don’t want to risk your safety any further.” He pauses, his expression hardening. “If Agent Mulder isn’t—if he didn’t die, and if they discover that he’s still alive, your life could still be in danger.”

“And if—if the opposite is true?” She can’t even bring herself to speak that possibility aloud.  

Skinner nods tightly. “If Agent Mulder is dead, then you’re free to live your life. Mulder’s death guaranteed your continued safety.”

“There is no guarantee,” she spits as heat rises to her cheeks. It’s irrational, and she remembers the threat of a cold gun pressed against her temple, but all she knows right now is a searing pain, a heated rage, a colossal fury, at the fact that once again, Mulder thought he could save her life by leaving her. “Those people—whoever they are—they could still decide to murder me, or torture me, or kidnap me. Just because he might be—dead doesn’t mean I’m safe—”

Skinner holds up a hand and she falls quiet, her mouth open in protest. “It was a guarantee,” he says softly but firmly. “Mulder’s life for your protection. As much as they threatened to hurt you, Scully, they never actually wanted you. Sure, they used some very credible threats to scare Mulder into making moves. But now that he’s gone—”

She flashes Skinner a warning look and he murmurs an apology.

“Now that Mulder might be gone,” he corrects quietly, “they couldn’t care less about you. It was always about discrediting the X-Files, discrediting Agent Mulder. And you were always just . . .”

“A pawn,” she says softly. “But the X-Files were mine too.” A sharp pain rips through her heart, surprising her. She’s been so distracted, so busy, so scared, that she hasn’t quite begun to absorb the loss of the files, or the grief that comes with that loss. She shoves the thought aside. It will be something to deal with later.

Skinner sighs. “Yes, well. Luckily for you, all they wanted was the figurehead of the X-Files. We’re in a holding pattern right now, waiting to see if any more information comes forward about Agent Mulder. But when you return to California, your safety is guaranteed, so long as you keep your mouth shut.”

Her ears ring with the unfairness of it all. “They tried to kill us!” she spits. “They made Mulder destroy his life’s work, they villainized him for kidnapping me, they’ve made him out to be some kind of—of—of lunatic! When all he ever wanted to do was keep me safe. It’s not fair, it isn’t right. The world needs to know the truth—”

“Agent Scully!” Skinner barks exasperatedly. She falls quiet. “Agent Mulder gave his life for you. And these three men have risked everything to keep you safe. If you return to California and start spouting off the truth of what happened out there, Mulder will have died in vain.”

Something inside her snaps. “He’s not dead, dammit!” she shouts, leaping to her feet. She fixes Skinner with a furious look and he rises, catching hold of her biceps. But when he meets her incensed gaze with tenderness, her defenses fall.

“He can’t be dead,” she whispers desperately as he pulls her into his arms.

She feels a large palm cup the back of her head and her entire body trembles as grief and outrage race through her. He’s right, she tells herself, but in the back of her mind, she’s still wondering about the suspicious look he exchanged with the Gunmen earlier. They know something I don’t, her mind plays on repeat. What aren’t they telling me?

“Do you know?” she asks wetly, pulling back. “Do you know what happened to Mulder?”

Skinner shakes his head candidly. “I do not.”

She swallows hard, her vision swimming, and drops back down to the couch. She rakes her hands through her hair, tugging hard at the roots and wincing when the pain is too much.  

“Mulder spent years blaming himself for the way my life has played out. Funny,” she says with a mirthless laugh, “that I’m now the reason for his suffering.”

All four men drop their eyes to their laps and a tense, disconsolate silence fills the space. Gently, Frohike places a hand on her wrist and she notices offhandedly the way her tears pool on the back of his hand.  

“So,” she asks after a time, brushing carelessly at her wet cheeks. “This is an FBI safe house?”

Skinner’s solemn face finally ticks up into a sort of smile. He glances at the boys. “No. It’s a Lone Gunmen safehouse.”

**

It’s been twenty-four hours since she was rescued from the hospital room. She aches from head to toe and her post-surgery body is desperate for rest, but she can’t sit still.

Her mind is obsessively fixated on Mulder. Whether he’s alive, whether he’s being held somewhere, whether he’s dead and where they’ve put his body. Skinner has delicately kept her abreast of all the Bureau updates—official headlines about Mulder’s erratic behavior, his descent into madness, his visits to the psych ward. His suicide.

Yes, the X-Files have been properly besmirched.

For hours, Frohike tries to get her to eat, but her stomach refuses anything besides toast. She blames her lack of appetite on the surgery, but anyone with half a brain can tell she’s stuck in the agonizing push-and-pull of despair and hope.  

The first morning at the house dawns gloomily. Raindrops streak the windows and low, leaden clouds hang heavily across the sky. Out here in the woods, where a thick forest surrounds the house on every side, she can hardly see anything but trees.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table pushing oatmeal around in a bowl when Skinner bursts into the room.

“Get to the basement,” he demands tersely, yanking his Glock out of its holster.

She jumps up abruptly but before she can ask questions, the Gunmen are ushering her swiftly towards the house’s basement stairwell. She glances back at Skinner and watches him duck beneath the front window.

“What is it? What’s happening?” she asks as she flies down the stairs.

Langly slams shut the basement door and locks it quickly, then gestures for her to keep moving. “A car coming up the road triggered the alarm system.”  

“But it—it could be anyone,” she suggests rationally, even though her heart is racing. “A lost hiker, someone just passing through—”

Langly shakes his head knowingly. “Not out here. This is end-of-the-world territory.”

The basement is wide and spacious, lit by a single, exposed bulb with a pull-chain. Although there are places to sit against the walls, everyone remains standing, a collective anxiety thrumming between their bodies. If someone dangerous breaches the house, if Skinner can’t hold them back, Scully knows the four of them don’t stand a chance down here.

“I need a weapon,” she mutters irritably. “Why don’t I have a weapon?”

No one answers her and she swears. “I should be up there with Skinner,” she says defiantly. “Even unarmed, I can fight—”

Frohike places a firm hand on her uninjured shoulder. “Let him handle it. You’re the priority.”

When she opens her mouth to protest, he shoots her a warning look that she’s never before seen on the little man. “Agent Scully, might I remind you that we didn’t go to all this trouble for you to die.”

She glares at him for a second longer before her shoulders sag in surrender. Stuck down in the basement, though, her frustration and anxiety have nowhere to go, and she finds herself pacing restlessly. If there is danger upstairs, she would rather face it head-on. Hell, she’d give almost anything to have a chance at taking down the people who hurt her and Mulder.  

Eventually, she makes her way to the top of the stairs and presses her ear to the door, but the basement might as well be a steel trap for all that she can hear. Frustrated and on edge, she paces back down the stairs and rounds on Frohike.

“What do you and Skinner know about Mulder that I don’t?” she demands accusatorily.

His eyebrows fly to his hairline. “What do you mean—”

“I saw the look he gave you earlier when you were talking about what happened at the Hoover Building. Something—something happened and you all know—”

A knock at the basement door sends them jumping out of their skins, and all three of the boys rush to stand protectively in front of her.  

“All clear,” they hear Skinner announce loudly.

Frohike frowns, unconvinced, and starts climbing the stairs towards the door. “Prove it, FBI boss,” he shouts back.

“Open the damn door, Frohike,” comes a familiar voice.

Scully gasps, her whole body freezing. And then she lurches forward, shoving Frohike aside to take the basement stairs two at a time. Her fingers fumble agitatedly at the lock on the door and when she finally gets it, she flings it open.  

Mulder stands at the entrance, a beaming Skinner behind him. She meets her partner’s eyes, tracks the elation and devotion in his gaze. His lips quirk into a smile and she sags with relief.

“Come here, Scully,” Mulder murmurs quietly, just for her.

Without hesitation, she falls into him and he catches her, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist, pressing her body flush to his. His other hand sinks into her hair, drawing her head down into his chest. She links her uninjured arm around his neck and squeezes him fiercely, unwilling to ever let go.

“You’re alive,” she breathes, tears gathering on her lashes, “oh, thank God, you’re alive.”

“You okay?” he asks, fingertips skimming her wounded shoulder. She notices offhandedly that he is trembling.

Holding back a sob, she nods, pressing her face into his shirt, letting her tears dampen his neck.

“I love you,” she mouths into his skin, unwilling to speak the words in front of their audience.

His fingertips scratch idly at her scalp, then travel down to her neck, then her back, where his warm palm rubs up and down her spine. She wants to stand here all day wrapped in his arms, but after a few moments, his hands slip to grip her waist, and then he gently pushes her back. Off her surprised look, he gives her a soft, sad smile, then brushes his thumb across her jaw. Her hands resettle against his hips, unwilling to lose contact with him just yet.

“You, uh, you may want to say hello to the person responsible for my being alive.” His tone is a complicated mixture of gratitude and resentment, and she frowns.

He pauses, his eyes pinning her in place, and then he dips his head and breaks her gaze. When he moves aside, her mouth parts in shock.

Because standing behind Skinner is Alan.

[peachymilkandcream]

Break Me Slowly|Part 22|Yandere Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: Happy New Year to all of my lovely followers! What a better way to kick off this year than with another chapter of Break Me Slowly. Tomorrow is the end of the holidays so I can get back into a proper writing schedule with MHMM coming out. As always I hope you enjoy and reply to this post to be added to the taglist!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

==============================================

Her core burned for him, she was so needy she couldn't think straight. Had this separation taken a bigger toll on her than she thought? He was weak and wounded, she didn't have to do any of this, he couldn't force her to do anything, and yet she wanted it. He wasn't shredding the clothes from her body, she was taking them off willingly. She refused to let the momentum slow, noticing his interest in her bare chest and putting his hands on her. Levi pinched and squeezed, making her body clench on nothing, the wetness soaking through her panties.

Evelyn started to grind down on his hips, needing any friction to hold herself together. The rock hard bulge rose to meet her, instincts taking over as she rocked her hips faster.

A gasp caught in her throat when he took her nipple into his mouth, sucking, nibbling and flicking the hard point with his tongue. Each circle he made sent a jolt of desire straight to her cunt. She needed him, oh how she needed him.

Finally she pulled his face away from her breast, forcing her tongue into his mouth and earning a groan from the usually emotionless captain. He was letting her win this fight for authority, he wanted to see how much she wanted it. Most likely it was all ammo to be used in his manipulative arsenal but when he was this hard and she was this wet who the hell cared.

Their bodies belonged together. They yearned for each other. Maybe Levi was right, they were meant to be. Two assholes destined to kill and destroy anything in their path for the sake of winning this little game. They would burn the world to the ground if it meant triumph over the other and bragging rights. Perhaps the world should be afraid of Eldians, at this moment the fate of humanity was irrelevant compared to the passion and heat between them.

His dick was leaking in anticipation, desperate to be buried in her warm folds. Painfully hard and perfect, perfect to be deep inside her. Levi was so compliant and willing to let her have her way it was almost unnerving, so she hesitated, looking to him for permission.

"That's right, give in my dear."

All at once he's inside her, when she sits fully down on his hips he's so deep it feels like he's in her stomach. Evelyn can't help it, her body moves on its own, rocking with such desperation. Moans and gasps fall freely, her hands on his arms digging in to his flesh as all the sensations are too much.

He holds her steady, hands on hips guiding her to find a good rhythm. Every so often stilling her movements to sheath himself as deep as possible, ensuring she feels every inch and vein. Praises come from him when she's willing, calling her a good girl and encouraging her to do more.

She jumps and tries swatting his hand away when his thumb finds her clit, every jerk of the hips rubbing his digits against that bundle of nerves. He keeps his finger pressed firmly, determined to drive her over the edge and squeezing every drop of cum out of him.

All at once the familiar warm tingle washes over her entire body, making her ride him feverishly to continue the high for as long as possible. Her moans loud enough anyone could hear as she cries out his name over and over, as if begging him to stop and begging him to keep going all at once.

When she's through his dick twitches inside her as his cum fills her, his breathing slowly returning to normal when she collapses onto his chest.

As touch starved as he was, Levi desired nothing more than Evelyn willingly in his arms, holding her tight and kissing her forehead. "That's my girl."

===============================================

The return to camp was awkward to say the least. Evidently even in a forest of this size passionate sex would not go unnoticed. For fear of their hide no one would dare mention it however.

Reiner especially seemed distraught. Deep down he believed that what they had done was forced by the ruthless Captain and poor Evelyn was threatened to take care of his lust. The look of pure satisfaction in her eyes a coincidence of course. One of these days he would wring that midget's neck and then Evelyn would be free, free to be his. They could both forget the war, and be happy. According to what Evelyn had said in Marley no one believed her plight, perhaps it was time to expose Levi for the monster he really was.

=============================================

Later that night Reiner fumed over the closeness husband and wife shared. With so many men present Levi seemed especially possessive, never once letting his hand leave her thigh, and taking turns glaring at all present to ensure no one would challenge his authority. Hange wasn't spared from his gaze either, even though she would never think of trying anything with a married woman, it seemed Levi wouldn't put it past even her. His attitude and arrogance sent Reiner over the edge, he couldn't take it anymore, Levi thought he could get away with anything because of his status and strength. Well now it was everyone against him with no legality standing in their way of teaching this runt a lesson.

"Something wrong Reiner?" Since it was Evelyn who asked, the sole burning gaze of hatred was settled on Reiner from Levi.

"It's nothing." He mumbled, dropping his eyes.

"Oh, well if you're sure."

The gaze of smug satisfaction on the Captain's face at Reiner's cowardice pushed him to speak up regardless.

"Actually, there is." He pauses, taking turns looking at everyone. "My problem is when a man can get away with raping a woman and holding her hostage while everyone commends him as a great hero."

The look of warning flashes in Levi's eyes, daring him to say anything more and promising a consequence.

"What are you talking about Reiner?" The barely hidden annoyance in Jean's voice just adds to Reiner's frustration at the naivety of his now comrades.

"I'm talking about your beloved Captain Levi. The measures he's taken to ensure Evelyn is a docile servant destined to wait on him hand and foot."

A look of shock comes to Evelyn's face, disbelief in the fact Reiner would attempt to expose Levi here and now of all places. Whereas the Captain's jaw twitched, moments away from publicly executing this insolent cur.

"I know you have some hard feelings against Levi for what happened to Bertholdt but that's a bit too far." Hange's frown signified her disproval of this sudden attack on her friend.

"It's not far enough. Words don't do justice the horrific torture that man has placed on an innocent woman. And you all defend him because he lies through his rotten teeth!"

"Reiner enough-" Evelyn's voice is weaker than he had ever hoped to hear, she was trying to protect him from Levi's wrath.

"I can't just sweep this under the rug Evelyn! After all he's done to you he deserves to be hung in front of everyone as they expose him for what he is!" He stands and points a finger at Levi, who is uncharacteristically calm. "Well!? Don't you have anything to say!?"

Levi sighs, as if too bored to deal with this. "Have you any evidence?"

"Evidence? I have your own wife's confession!" He forcibly softens his gaze and looks at Evelyn. "It's okay, you can tell them."

The silence is heavy, she looks between the two and then the rest of those gathered. Levi's eyebrow is raised, a silent threat but also curious as to what she'll do.

"Levi..." She hesitates, making up her mind. She could be free right now, someone believes her and would back her up. Or she could continue the life she's been living with this man.

Reiner gives her an encouraging smile, prompting her to speak.

Finally she sighs, her mind made up. "Levi is a loving husband, I couldn't ask for a better friend and confidant."

The Captain's face contorts in a smug grin, pleased with her response. Whereas Reiner's face falls into despair and disgust.

"He's threatening her to say that! Can't you see that she feels she has to say that?"

"Enough Reiner, you've lost. I'll forgive these insults you've hurled against me if you drop it right now."

"Forgive me? Don't waste your breath, this isn't over you bastard. I'll find some way to make sure you never see the light of day again." With that he storms off, causing Connie to call after him.

"Where are you going?"

"To find somewhere else to sleep, I wouldn't put it past that devil to slit my throat." He marches off, vowing under his breath to get even with that smug son of a bitch.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Prayer Imports Blessings

by William Mason (1719-1791)

Men ought always to pray and not to faint, — Luke 18:1

There can be no room for despair; for prayer exports wants and imports blessings: but our dear Lord knows there is in us all at times a backwardness to prayer; this he would remove: it arises from fainting, this he would prevent; therefore he opposes praying to fainting, for fainting prevents praying. Have you not found it so? When weary and faint in your mind, when your spirits are oppressed, your frame low and languid, you have thought this is not a time for prayer: yea, but it is: pray always.

Now sigh out the burden of your heart and the sorrows of your spirit: now, though in broken accents, breathe your complaints into your Father’s ear: now cry to him who loveth you and careth for you with the love and care of the most tender and affectionate father. What makes us faint? Do troubles and afflictions? Here is a reviving cordial: “Call upon me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.” Psalm 50:15. Does a body of sin and death? Here is a supporting promise: “Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord Jesus, shall be saved.” Rom.10:13.

Do we faint because we have called and prayed again and again to the Lord against any besetting sin, prevailing temptation, rebellious lust, or evil temper, and yet the Lord has not given victory over it? Still, says the Lord, pray always: persevere; be importunate; faint not; remember that blessed word, “my time is not yet come: but your time is always ready.” John 8:6. “Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation” Matt. 26:41.

Note the difference between being tempted and entering into temptation. We are assured in due time, we shall reap, if we faint not Gal. 6:9. Do we find the spirit willing, but the flesh weak? and because of our coldness, deadness, and langour in prayer, do we faint? You cannot pray to please yourself: you think your prayers are irksome to God; and therefore do you faint and are ready to give over praying? Look at David; he begins to pray in a very heartless, hopeless way. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord, for ever, Sec. See how he concludes; he breaks out in full vigour of soul; “I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath dealt bountifully with me.” Psalm 13:6. Above all, look to Jesus, who ever lives to pray for you: look for his Spirit to help your infirmities. Rom. 8:26.

[sapphic-woes]

A/N: I dunno honestly just like. You likey whamen but you godly woman oh no :C

_____________

The candles are blown out. Only a few servants walk the palace halls. The air is frigid. 

You don't like it. 

Nature itself is hostile to your misdeeds. No–heaven is–and it's staring down at your soul with contempt.

You let it. It's fitting.

It's irredeemable, to let debauchery enter his holy palace. To allow yourself to be tainted by it. Would the people you rule over honor you, if they learn of your deception? If they know how willing you are for her?

That you would throw away an eternity of salvation for a moment of her touch.

She has ruined me. The door clicks. It opens and swiftly shuts. Your weak heart is an endless drum, it beats faster with every moment her eyes rest on you.

Eivor. Resistance is futile in the face of your hunger. It aches. It claws. Have worldly desires always been so strong? Had your foundation always been so weak?

Like sinking sand, you're melting into her presence. At this point, your fear that all she must do is ask. For the harvest of your lands. The riches of your people. A piece of your flesh. 

The entirety of your body is an offering to her. No, it's tithing–it's payment for the freedom she gives each night. In return, you beg her to grasp your uncertainty in her hands. To crush it all away and leave only the bliss you feel under her touch. 

What was the price? Should she hold a dagger to your chest, you'd help guide it to your heart.

You don't tell her that.

You're still in the center of the room, as you always were whenever she came, growing suffocated under the bitter cold. You could have stayed under your blankets and waited. Certainly, she would have liked that.

But you're too restless to simply wait, haunted by guilt and tempting desire, and no amount of scripture was capable of satisfying the latter.

None, of course, but her very own.

"My Queen." The title rolls off her tongue, and it is blasphemy sweetly hiding poison. You must turn your eyes away. A lingering thought plagues you.  It's too weak to make you comply, yet too strong to outright deny. Regardless of the way Eivor addresses you, your indecisive movements didn't come off as royalty.  

Have I ever wanted something so badly? A tentative step feels like walking on thin ice. Have I ever been so afraid of that very same thing? Eivor was everything you yearned for, yet she was also someone you always told yourself to run away from. 

So why aren't I running right now?

"I…Eivor…" Words fail you. Emotions prevail. The ache in your heart is cruel. Perhaps deserving. Yet a selfish part of you wishes her to free you from it. 

How long must I simply endure?

You are tired of this sacrifice. 

"Come here, love." Her voice is soft. Gentle. She never fails to understand. She never fails to wait.

She knows the pieces carved out of you. She knows how intimidating it is to put them back in place. She doesn't mind helping.

"I've missed you too." She says what you dare not speak aloud, blue eyes bright with overflowing warmth. She drops down on one knee, arms open wide and fingers curling in a beckoning motion. She never treats you like a queen. Rather, Eivor spoils you rotten. 

It looks so safe, that space between her arms, and before you know it you're closing the gap between you two in a needy kiss.

Oh. It was rapture. Her unholiness. 

Where she touches you, there's glory–sweet and crisp as blessed honey. Calloused fingertips trace over your body. They're worn from battle yet soothing as she holds you. Her breathless laugh tickles your neck, and the sensation is something golden. 

She's here, alive and breathing. She's showering you with her love, clearing away the fear in your heart. You see the sun in her eyes, basking in the presence of her hands. 

You swear she is the essence of creation. How else could you change so much because of a single woman? With every press of her lips and stroke of her hand, the fear melts and is replaced by joy. What kind of bliss is this?

You don't know, and doubt you ever will–but you're more than happy to accept it. You want to be made new in her. You want your holy shackles broken beyond repair. You want to know the real you. Has heaven ever been so easy to touch? Perhaps it always had been, and you were simply looking in the wrong places.

[psychewritesbs]

Any thoughts on the current Takaba vs Kenjaku face-off?

Hola anon! Yesssss I have thoughts. So many thoughts because, while not necessarily amongst my top 5 chapters in jjk, chapters 240 and 241 are sooooooo damn good in their exploration of both Takaba's and Kenny's sense of self.

Thing is... I already liked Takaba, but after this set of chapters, it's not necessarily that I love him more, but rather I appreciate how relatable he is.

In a nutshell, my reaction to this chapter this week was:

fucking Gege 😭👌

I taco'bout it under the cut!

Let's start with 240 though...

Chapter 240: Foolish Survivor, Live On—Battle of Equals

I think it's very relevant that Gege just gave us Gojo and Kashimo's death served on a cold platter of "I wanted to feel I belonged in a world where I felt no one could understand me" because I am totally loving Takaba's sense of self revolving around the same need and desire.

So I love that he found in Kenny someone who understood him so well, to the point that his jokes were rendered ineffective because Kenny could see right through the joke's weakness.

Similarly, I am loving what Takaba is doing for Kenny.

In chapter 239 Kenny mockingly asks Hanezoki to be friends...

... and specifically says that to be his friend, such a person must never bore him and must be his equal. This is also interesting in the sense that Kenny calls Granny Tengen his friend, so I'm curious to see Gege expand on this.

Now, this is relevant because Kenny is basically a 1,000 year old brain. When you've lived that long and you've seen everything there is to be seen in terms of human drama, I imagine life can get pretty boring. So what is it that drives someone who's seen it all to get up every morning and face yet another day in the world?

What is their raison d'être? Their reason for living and existing...

So I love Kenny's state of mind "being written all over his face" because it goes right back to the intellectual curiosity that drives his actions and Takaba is the one who is reigniting that intellectual curiosity that drives Kenny.

Kenny is smart and wants to laugh. The fact he knows so much about comedy shows he's found in comedy something worth exploring. I mean... imagine Kenny as Kaori, Yuji's mom, pregnant af, watching comedy shows to pass the time because it feeds her intellectual curiosity.

Similarly, think of how Kashimo asked Sukuna about what brings him enough satisfaction to turn himself into a cursed object to cross the ages, to which Sukuna's simple response is "the ephemeral taste of human flesh is enough to pass the time until death".

This is interesting in and of itself given the recent ask about which element each of the three big clans represents (mind/body/soul). It kind of feels like Sukuna represents body and Kenny represents mind. But I digress....

Chapter 240 then ends with Takaba having an identity crisis--that is, he's come face to face with the very source of his own woes the way it happened for Gojo.

If he is to go on living, Takaba needs to re-assess his sense of self.

Chapter 240: Foolish Survivor, Win and Remain—Bridging opposites

The chapter opens showing us a Takaba we hadn't seen up until now--harsh and critical, he takes things too seriously. Little did we know, this is part of his sense of self.

And I just loved this juxtaposition of these two conflicting parts of Takaba's personality (someone who takes things too seriously but who is also capable of being one hell of a goofy mf) because it showed that

a) two seemingly contradictory elements can coexist as one and the same, and

b) when we get out of balance (i.e. choosing to prioritize one of these contradictions over the other like Takaba being so focused on doing comedy right that he's forgotten that the spirit of comedy is being lighthearted), we lose sight of what's truly important.

So Takaba's trying to get back at why he became an entertainer in the first place...

... and the lengths he was willing to go through to be accepted and feel like he was understood by his peers... idk. It's so fucking real...

This is also the antithesis of everything Sukuna stands for.

But what I personally think is neat about Takaba is that, while he did act goofy so that others found him relatable, I really do think he's one hell of a genuinely goofy mf for a couple of reasons. First, an overly serious personality type has to be balanced out by an unserious personality (in Jungian psych it's all about wholeness by bridging opposites). Second, he seems to genuinely be interested in comedy and the craft of comedy.

Takaba's problem was then that his overly serious persona would kill all the fun out of comedy, while on the other hand, the part of him that wanted to be accepted did not want to take things seriously because it meant getting rejected.

It's almost like Takaba never got these two parts of himself to work together and so they worked against each other.

And can I just say that I absolutely loved this interaction between Takaba's current self and his child self? Representing Takaba in his younger years felt like Gege was writing about how this was the formative period when Takaba's conflict between his two personalities started. Gege already did something similar with Gojo in his teen years and this is just so masterful and beautiful because I don't even know how to put into words that Gege is writing about a process of healing through dialogue with the inner child.

I'm screaming in depth psychology nerd.

Above all, I love how this chapter in particular gets at the conflict we've seen repeated in other characters in jjk--i.e. Gojo felt isolated but did not realize that was partly because he built barriers around himself.

It's like Gege is showing us how we see ourselves (our sense of self) is the very source of our own tragedies because we're largely blind to anything that is outside of conscious awareness because we push it into the shadow.

It's just... *chef's kiss*

fucking Gege 😭👌

So I LOVED seeing Takaba own his need to be known and understood because that's so fucking human.

But even better was how he brought together that goofy mf he tapped into due to his need to be understood with his earnest and serious nature.

Also, his level of self-awareness...

And to bring it all back full circle...

Will Kenny laugh? Looks like Kenny is excited to see what Takaba has in store, so that's already a good sign.

idk, again, this isn't my favorite chapter ever and at the same time... man... what a fantastic character exploration.

There's something here about how Takaba may be the only one who gets this whole sense of self thing right.

The other thing I'll say is that Gege has a tendency to make his characters relatable in their last moments. There's something here that I can't quite put my finger on quite just yet that goes back to the idea that "how we live is how we die" and jjk characters have a tendency to go out in such a way that reflects how they lived their lives.

Whatever the case, I'm on #Team Takaba and am rooting for him from the sidelines.

Thanks for stopping by anon!

[amysubmits]

My wife struggles with being viewed as a sexual object, even with her self determination as a submissive to me. I struggle with telling her to do stuff, because i'm a feminist and I worry a lot about becoming the kind of abusive husband my dad and her dad both were. But when I get on a roll and I'm pushing forward with the dominant stuff, she starts to feel objectified, and we have to stop and recontextualize our relationship. I'm not sure I'm even describing this well. But do you have any advice for a couple who have entered a D/S relationship, but both seem to struggle with our roles within the dynamic? we don't want to stop, we both get a lot out of it, everyone is having fun, but we hit roadblocks every now and again that seem to be related to the form of our relationship. I know the communication is important parts, but we talk it out, and then we still end up in the same corners every now and again.

I know I have pretty limited information here but here's what comes to mind for me.

I find myself wondering if the primary issue that results in you guys getting to a place where she feels objectified is the result of you seeing your role as more objectifying than the type of dominance that she's interested in...or if it's more that she struggles with separating submission from objectification, so anytime she starts submitting she ends up feeling objectified no matter what form that submission takes.

I believe both experiences are common. There's certainly a ton of objectifying BDSM and D/s content out there, so I can easily see how someone might look up D/s and think that the role of the dom is to do a lot of objectifying stuff. And if that isn't the type of d/s that the sub is wanting or open to, that would create problems pretty quickly. If this is the case, then you're likely to have to shift your idea of D/s to find a view of D/s that is more compatible with hers. Forgive me if you already know this (you probably do but I never know). D/s doesn't inherently have to include objectification in any form. Not all subs want to be objectified at all. So if that's her, and your idea of d/s was largely about objectifying her, then a big paradigm shift may have to happen before you can find a dynamic that works for you both.

But I also know it's common to have insecurity and even guilt and shame surrounding being a sub or being submissive. I've chatted with subs who spent their whole lives believing that being as independent as possible, as "strong" as possible, as strong-willed as possible, etc is the ideal or is the way to be a valuable person. So for people like that, letting someone else lead, even in pretty subtle ways like deciding what's for dinner or something, might make them feel triggered into feeling weak, inferior, or objectified.

I guess in either case, I'd suggest trying to really flesh out exactly what makes her feel objectified. When thinking back to past experiences, any specific things you've said or done that caused that feeling in her, write those down. Then maybe go over that list and see if those behaviors have always caused her to feel objectified, or if those same interactions have felt good to her at other times.

If there are things that have happened that just always feel objectifying to her, those should probably be considered hard limits of hers.

If you find that there are certain things that have triggered her into feeling objectified sometimes, but have felt good other times, then I'd wonder if the overall relationship balance might be the issue.

Let's take the example of a orgasm denial. If both people like this idea in theory, and have some experiences where it's felt good overall (despite being frustrating, haha), and yet other times it's triggered and objectifying feeling in the sub, it may be context-dependent. Maybe orgasm denial can feel good to the sub when the sub is feeling really connected to their dom, really prioritized by their dom, and has just felt really loved and cared for in other ways. Yet, if a day comes where you've both been busy and haven't made as much time to connect, you haven't made her feel as prioritized or special for a few days, and then you have a sexual experience and deny her...she may find herself feeling used and objectified instead of feeling good. This type of thing can happen with non-sexual elements of power exchange too. Maybe something like a bedtime rule feels good sometimes, but objectifying other times depending on how the rest of your relationship is feeling to her that day. Sometimes when people work to transition to D/s, they stop showing love and care the way they did when vanilla, thinking that "softness" doesn't fit with D/s, I guess. That's a huge mistake in my opinion. In most cases, subs are going to need their doms to give them more affection, and are going to need to feel like even more of a priority and to feel even more respected by their partner while they are D/s than they needed while vanilla.

In cases where what is objectifying feeling and what isn't changes with context, the solution will likely be recognizing certain acts as soft-limits. They might be things that she can submit to certain circumstances (such as when her mental health is in a good place and you've had lots of time to show her lots of love and care) but they might be treated as off-limits if those conditions haven't been met. Or, it might teach you about some core submissive needs that she has, that haven't been consistently met, and if you're able to start consistently meeting those needs, then perhaps this wouldn't need to be a limit. It would just depend on whether the level of care that she would need to be able to do that act and feel good about it is something you can realistically sustain regularly.

Anyway...I think ultimately you guys want to figure out exactly what triggers her feeling objectified, and find ways to then respect those limitations. In addition to analyzing your own personal experiences with this, you might also have her consider what she does and doesn't like in other people's writing, porn or erotica. If she finds that some examples of BDSM feel objectifying to her and others don't, she could share those examples with you and explain what sounds good or sounds bad about it, and you can use those to further flesh out this understanding of what type of submission she wants and what types of submission she dislikes.

I got all this written and then realized I didn't address the part about you worrying about being abusive. I'm sorry that you worry about becoming the man you don't want to be. I'd try to keep in mind that one of the biggest differences between abuse and D/s is consent. If you do dominant things that your sub has specifically consented to, but they make her feel bad, that isn't the same thing as you just randomly making her feel bad. Sometimes the reality of D/s is that we have to try things to figure out what does and doesn't work for us. Sometimes things sound good in theory, but feel bad in reality. You aren't an abuser if you try out things that your wife has given the OK to, but then she doesn't like in practice. Be sure to communicate with her about these worries you have so she can help reassure you. Also keep in mind that if you're ever unsure of what she wants, it's never bad to ask her. It isn't lacking in dominance to double-check consent.

It sounds to me like you guys both know you want D/s and both really care about each other. It's normal for it to take a lot of conversations , trial and error and learning as you go before you find your footing with D/s. Keep talking and I bet you'll get there. :)

[madreemeritus]

「Kisses in summer night」

(Leroux Erik / Christine) Romantic, SFW

NOTES: this is my first fanfiction i post here and i'm so nervous because english is not my first language, please be kind!! Btw, this is Leroux Erik and Leroux Christine 💋

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A cold and orange afternoon covered the sky of Paris, the last glints of the sun slowly agonizing on the horizon before disappearing completely. This was the time when most men returned to their homes after a long day at work – and unfortunately, others were just beginning a journey of hellish fatigue. However, whatever was going on in the sick, dystopian world outside didn't interest Christine. The Scandinavian soprano has spent most of her recent days in the catacombs of Paris since she met her Maestro in person. She was certainly surprised to discover that the Angel of Music was a man of flesh and blood. A man she could touch and see. She considered him a divine gift, even as mortal and imperfect.

Christine was not forced to stay downstairs, and she was well aware that her adoptive mother and her acquaintances were curious and worried about her long periods of absence. But she couldn't resist. She loved spending hours and hours in that place, next to The Phantom. Her will was never to leave the dark catacombs again, never again to feel the fatal light of day burn her white and ruddy skin, and Erik's presence was her main reason. That afternoon, he was gone most of the day... he insisted on shopping for his student and guest, but all that stress and interaction with other people just made him irritable. Erik hated leaving the house, hated being in public and interacting with human beings. In addition to hatred, he was afraid. Poor Erik.

When he returned to his lair on that evening, he felt tired and sore after walking so far. He wasn't used to exercising, walking a lot or even leaving the house to get some sun. Yes, his care for his own health was questionable. But Christine still loved and admired him, and she cared for him even though she wouldn't admit it. She was engaged in academic reading during his absence, but as much fun and interesting as Nana was, Erik's arrival was far more important.

— Survived the outside world? – Christine asked in an ironic tone, closing the book and following her teacher's discouraged steps.

— Barely – he replied, tossing the shopping bags onto the couch and pulling off his cloak – I don't know how you manage to exist out there without freaking out.

Erik was visibly stressed and tired; his fingers trembled in agony, which always happens when he anxious. Despite this, he was still willing to sit down at the piano and try some composing. Christine moved closer to him, keeping her hands tucked into her dress – she wasn't sure it felt right to touch him right now.

— Try to get some rest, Maestro. You're not well, you won't be able to compose today.

— I'm fine, Christine. It's over... – his voice came out weak and trembling – the looks, that crowd of people squeezing me... it's over...

— Next time, I'll go with you. You've been so kind to me this week, sacrificing yourself out there to please me, I need to make it up to you somehow.

— Your presence alone is more reward than I deserve, Christine. – he made an effort to smile at her, it was still strange to express himself to other people without his mask.

Erik focused on the piano, still a little embarrassed by his student's proximity. It was stressful in every way imaginable, which reflected in his performance – he frequently missed notes when he was anxious, and his creative mind was still too blocked to write anything. But he didn't want the luxury of confessing his weaknesses to Christine; no, they weren't close enough. Not yet. He tried to ignore her presence there, avoiding eye or physical contact.

But what Erik didn't expect to feel at that moment were Christine's small and delicate hands touching his shoulders. And it wasn't just touching, she was massaging his stressed muscles. It wasn't long before he felt less sore, the muscles relaxing as Christine gently twisted them with her slender fingers. Yes, it was a very good feeling, even if it provoked an annoying shyness in the Maestro – but he would not be ignorant to refuse that privilege. Erik didn't know what to say, so he just stopped playing and accepted the affection. He was careful not to slump into her body or even sigh at the relief her hands brought him.

— You need to relax – Christine said at last – You're too hard on yourself. You don't have to be strong all the time, not by my side.

— Oh, hum, thanks. I-I... I don't know how to take care of myself. I didn't have the opportunity to learn how.

— Let me take care of you, then. – she realized that her suggestion left the Maestro awkward and embarrassed, he was still hesitant and shy.

Christine quickly sat down behind Erik in the small space left over from the bench and laid his head on her chest. She continued massaging his shoulders, this time he allowed himself to sigh at her soft touch. For a moment, all of her tiredness and stress from before was completely gone. He craved Christine's touch – as simple and chaste as it was – every day, every night, every moment. I craved them at levels that were painful, almost physically. But he was too insecure to ask for them, he felt like a damned gargoyle demanding the unworthy affection of a divine angel. Erik realized that he needed to surrender to his own desires every now and then... no, he didn't need to be strong all the time. Next to her, he could be himself.

Immersed in brief comfort, eyes closed, Erik was unprepared for the soprano's next move – she leaned in and placed a warm, lingering kiss on the crook of his neck. He opened his eyes in fright, his pale skin reddening like a cherry in a matter of seconds. Christine, still blushing with her, let out a soft, low laugh as she realized the effect her kiss had had on the Maestro.

— You look like a tomato – she said, in an amused tone.

— I-I noticed... and it's because of you... – Erik replied awkwardly, unable to hold back his shy smile as he rubbed his hands together.

Christine didn't answer, just gasped weakly and trailed kisses down the curve of his neck, feeling him grow warmer. She didn't stop there, pulling a little of his shirt away and kissing his shoulders. It was the first time she had heard Erik laugh and sigh, filled with a happiness and relief he never thought he could reach.

— You are so strange, Maestro – she commented, without stopping kissing him – You seek affection and when you receive it, you are scared.

— It was a quest… a bit platonic, at least that's what I thought. Oh! – he gasped, surprised to feel his student's sweet lips kissing his face – Oh, Christine… I don't deserve this. She kissed his cheek harder and caressed the other half of his face with her left hand while her right massaged Erik's chest.

— You deserve this and much more – Christine kissed the corner of his lip – Please start loving yourself the way I love you.

— I-I... – he turned his face slightly, receiving a chaste kiss on the lips – I'll try.

At that moment, it was his turn to act. Erik turned his torso to the side and hugged Christine tightly, kissing her passionately as he threaded his hands through the soprano's golden hair. He was hungry and desperate for her touch, for the sweet pink lips she possessed. She returned the affection and wrapped her arms around his neck, but it didn't take long for her to pull away from the kiss, gasping for air. Both were flushed, panting and smiling, caressing each other with their faces. Erik kissed her lightly on the forehead.

— I love you very much, Christine. Much more than my own life – he whispered – Let me sleep on top of you tonight, my Angel. All I want is to lay on your breasts and sleep hugging you.

— You will never be alone again, Erik. – she answered with a sweet smile and a calm, loving voice.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing and smelling her pale skin – now lightly flushed like a delicate tulip. She kissed him on the forehead and remained wrapped around him, her sun-colored hair falling over Erik's shoulder. Nights were never as calm as this one.

[silverfoxstole]

NotD coat progress report, after three days and a lot of backache! My body likes to remind me sometimes that though I generally feel like an overgrown teenager I’m actually middle-aged; the mind is willing but the flesh is at times very definitely weak! I could barely straighten up first thing this morning. 🫤

After being happy with the toile I got everything cut out on Sunday and started putting it together. I didn’t have any seam tape for the roll lines so had to use ribbon instead which works just as well; as you can see above, the front is falling where it should. I interfaced the front pieces as per the instructions but I’m sort of wishing I’d used something softer as it’s a little bit stiff. They actually said to interface all of the shell pieces but that wasn’t going to happen; I don’t know about anyone else but unless your fabric was a very loose weave why on earth would you interface sleeves? I want to move my arms, thank you! I also ended up skipping the interfacing on the front facing as that would have made everything completely inflexible, but which unfortunately meant I had to cut another couple of pieces as I’d already fused the stuff before I changed my mind.

That, however, actually turned out to be a good thing as I had a brainwave and realised I could copy the seam lines on the front of the original coat by splitting the facing piece in two:

Result! I finally got the collar the right length and shape, too.

I was complaining on Sunday about having bought too much fabric yet again only to find out that it was just as well I did when I ruined another set of facings by spending ages making bound buttonholes that I didn’t keep. That meant I had to cut out a third lot, and after that unsurprisingly there’s very little material left! It was also a good job I had a lot of lining spare as I decided to completely recut all of the top half after the sleeves refused to go in properly because I’d had to enlarge the armscye so much. My seam ripper is getting a hell of a workout this week; I battled with those sleeves for ages yesterday, trying to get them to sit in the right place. Got there in the end, but I’m not convinced I won’t have to add a bit extra at the cuffs as they don’t look long enough. We shall see.

I’ve not been able to get very far with the coat shell because I’m waiting for some velvet ribbon I ordered to trim the sleeves. It’s going to be much easier to put that on flat so I’ve had to leave them for the moment and work on the lining instead. You can see it above with the shell on top (please excuse the horrible wrinkles in the back; coats and jackets made to fit me always do that when Stella models them), and below once I’d attached the lining skirts:

In the top photos I’d tucked the shoulder pads underneath to check how they sat; I didn’t do it again, hence the coat hanging slightly differently in the ones underneath.

It does actually often make sense to put the lining together first because you can iron out any further fit issues. For instance, there was too much fullness in the armhole at the back so I had to take some extra in the curved seams to remove it. I also extended the waist darts to make it a bit more shaped at the front ; being female I need that. I don’t see myself ever buttoning it up as it’s not worn that way but there’s plenty of room should I want to at any point; I tried it with my shirt and waistcoat underneath this morning just to make sure.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned the fabric but it’s a heavy cotton drill; I can’t work out what the original is made from and it was hard to find something suitable that was the right colour within my limited budget. It was my intention to use self-cover buttons but as we were going up to our local fabric shop to check out curtains just out of curiosity I had look at what they had to offer and found these:

They’re not identical but are sort of reminiscent of those used on the original coat:

Well, vaguely. I’ll try both and see what looks best!

Now, let’s see whether my ribbon comes tomorrow…