#Silent Spring Institute

[coochiequeens]

Boycott the beauty industry. Ladies in jobs where you get more tips if you wear makeup please look at the ingredients

May 8, 2025 By Ronnie Cohen

A study recruited Black and Latina women and asked them to log all the beauty products they use in a week. More than half of the women used products with known carcinogens.

More than half of Black and Latina women in Los Angeles who participated in a new study regularly used personal-care products containing a known carcinogen.

Study participants photographed the ingredient lists of all the products they used at home over the course of a week. The journal Environmental Science & Technology Letters published the study Wednesday.

Of 64 women, researchers found that 53% reported using soap, lotion, shampoo, conditioner, skin lightener, eyeliner, eyelash glue and other beauty products that contained formaldehyde and formaldehyde-releasing preservatives — toxins found to cause cancer in humans.

"It's really concerning that we are intentionally putting chemicals that release a carcinogen into our products that we apply to ourselves every day," said lead author Robin Dodson, associate director of research at Silent Spring Institute, a Massachusetts nonprofit studying environmental causes of breast cancer.

"Formaldehyde is a great preservative," she said. "That's why it's used as an embalming fluid. And we do have to remember formaldehyde is a carcinogen."

The study is among the first to demonstrate that formaldehyde-releasing preservatives are present in a wide range of beauty products.   The research, collected in 2021, focused on Black and Latina women after previous studies showed they are more often exposed to formaldehyde in nail and hair products than white women. Researchers have questioned whether African American women's frequent use of chemical hair straighteners, suspected of containing formaldehyde-releasing agents, might explain why breast, uterine and ovarian cancers kill disproportionately more Black than white women.

In 2023, a dozen years after a federal agency classified formaldehyde a human carcinogen, the Food and Drug Administration was tentatively scheduled to unveil a proposal to consider banning the chemical in hair straighteners. Two years later, the government still has failed to act. The FDA declined to comment.

The new study shows that formaldehyde and formaldehyde-releasing products are present not only in hair relaxers but in a wide variety of beauty products, including some that women apply to their bodies far more frequently than chemical hair straighteners.

One study participant used three formaldehyde products: a leave-in conditioner, a rinse-off conditioner and a body wash. Another participant washed with hand soap with formaldehyde-releasing agents an average of twice a day.

An array of products

The sheer number of products — 1,143 over seven days — the 64 participants used struck Tracey Woodruff, who directs the University of California at San Francisco's Program on Reproductive Health and the Environment. The women in the study used an average of 17 different products a day — as few as 5 and as many as 43.

"It speaks to the pressure women have to look a certain way," said Woodruff, who was not involved with the new research.   Social and economic pressures frequently compel Black women to alter their appearance to conform to white beauty standards, said study co-author Janette Robinson Flint, executive director of Black Women for Wellness. She called for government oversight of personal-care products. "We shouldn't have to be chemists to figure out what kinds of products will make us sick," she said. 

"Beauty norms that focus on white presentation definitely are resulting in people using products that can be harmful to their health," Woodruff said. "This is part of the legacy and history of discrimination against the Black and Latinx population." 

Woodruff would have liked the study to also compare product use by white women in an effort to assess whether beauty-product use is contributing to health inequities.

Woodruff and Dodson joined Flint in calling for government oversight and regulation of cosmetics and other personal-care products.

Banned in Europe

In addition to being a carcinogen, formaldehyde, a colorless and smelly gas, can cause rashes and can sicken those who breathe it in, according to the FDA. Formaldehyde-releasing products need not be listed as formaldehyde on ingredient labels. Instead, they are listed by their chemical names, such as DMDM hydantoin, short for 1,3-dimethylol-5,5-dimethylhydantoin, which, as Dodson noted, doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. 

The European Union banned formaldehyde as a cosmetic ingredient in 2009, and any cosmetic product containing a formaldehyde-releasing preservative above a miniscule concentration must include a warning. At least 12 states, including California and Washington, have recently proposed or enacted laws to regulate the use of formaldehyde in cosmetics. 

How well the laws will protect consumers remains to be seen. Reports to the California Department of Public Health's Safe Cosmetics Program do show a tenfold drop in products containing formaldehyde from 2009 to 2022.

"In the very near short term, tomorrow, I think consumers should do the best they can to read product labels," Dodson said. "In the longer term, I think there has to be a regulatory solution. It has to come down to ingredient bans, likely at the state level."

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - February 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles! (This month’s doodles will be a little delayed since I wasn’t able to work on them throughout the month)

1. City trees absorb much more carbon than expected

“[A new measurement technique shows that trees in LA absorb] up to 60% of daytime CO₂ emissions from fossil fuel combustion in spring and summer[….] Beyond offering shade and aesthetic value, these trees act as silent workhorses in the city’s climate resilience strategy[….]”

2. #AltGov: the secret network of federal workers resisting Doge from the inside

“Government employees fight the Trump administration’s chaos by organizing and publishing information on Bluesky[…. A group of government employees are] banding together to “expose harmful policies, defend public institutions and equip citizens with tools to push back against authoritarianism[….]””

3. An Ecuadorian hotspot shows how forests can claw back from destruction

“A December 2024 study described the recovery of ground birds and mammals like ocelots, and found their diversity and biomass in secondary forests was similar to those in old-growth forests after just 20 years. [… Some taxa recover] “earlier, some are later, but they all show a tendency to recover.””

4. Over 80 House Democrats demand Trump rescind gender-affirming care ban: 'We want trans kids to live'

“[89 House Democrats signed a letter stating,] "Trans young people, their parents and their doctors should be the ones making their health care decisions. No one should need to ask the President’s permission to access life-saving, evidence-based health care." "As Members of Congress, we stand united with trans young people and their families.”“

5. Boosting seafood production while protecting biodiversity

“A new study suggests that farming seafood from the ocean – known as mariculture – could be expanded to feed more people while reducing harm to marine biodiversity at the same time. […] “[… I]t’s not a foregone conclusion that the expansion of an industry is always going to have a proportionally negative impact on the environment[….]””

6. U.S. will spend up to $1 billion to combat bird flu, USDA secretary says

“The USDA will spend up to $500 million to provide free biosecurity audits to farms and $400 million to increase payment rates to farmers who need to kill their chickens due to bird flu[….] The USDA is exploring vaccines for chickens but is not yet authorizing their use[….]”

7. An Innovative Program Supporting the Protection of Irreplaceable Saline Lakes

“[… T]he program aims to provide comprehensive data on water availability and lake health, develop strategies to monitor and assess critical ecosystems, and identify knowledge gaps to guide future research and resource management.”

8. EU to unveil ​‘Clean Industrial Deal’ to cut CO2, boost energy security

“The bold plan aims to revitalize and decarbonize heavy industry, reduce reliance on gas, and make energy cheaper, cleaner, and more secure. […] By July, the EU said it will ​“simplify state aid rules” to ​“accelerate the roll-out of clean energy, deploy industrial decarbonisation and ensure sufficient capacity of clean-tech manufacturing” on the continent.”

9. Oyster Restoration Investments Net Positive Returns for Economy and Environment

“Researchers expect the restored oyster reefs to produce $38 million in ecosystem benefits through 2048. “This network protects nearly 350 million oysters[….]” [NOAA provided] $14.9 million to expand the sanctuary network to 500 acres by 2026 […] through the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law.”

10. Nations back $200 billion-a-year plan to reverse nature losses

“More than 140 countries adopted a strategy to mobilize hundreds of billions of dollars a year to help reverse dramatic losses in biodiversity[….] A finance strategy adopted to applause and tears from delegates, underpins "our collective capacity to sustain life on this planet," said Susana Muhamad[….]”

February 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[returnofeternity]

i just saw a tiktok video about how lottie, after they all got rescued, was put in a mental institution in switzerland for a decade and no one probably paid her a visit AND I FEEL BAD. what if reader is the only person who regularly visits her? she's really close with lottie during their time in the wilderness (you can even say dating but maybe not officially). once she's discharged, the first thing she does is find reader, then build a domestic life they've always imagined together, maybe getting a cabin in the middle of nowhere (in case lottie misses her life in the wilderness 😭) or maybe reader helps lottie start her wellness center? idk i just want my pookie to be happy 😭

i dont think anyone visited her :( she was in there from 1998 to 2011...... my heart hurts. and even THEN the girls didn't show up til 2021 so she didn't see them for like twenty three years..... :'(

thinking about getting closer to her in the wilderness. you've always had a crush on her but didn't really do anything about it. maybe during that first winter, you really started to be more bold and speak to her more. she always appreciated you sticking up for her and doing nice gestures like waking everyone up for the morning prayer circles or asking if she's okay instead of her always being the one to ask, yk? you kinda entered this stage where you didn't rly know if you were together or not but she definitely returned the feelings. neither of you asked the other out, but there were secret touches and kisses and you even got to sleep in her hut, which was a privilege, so...maybe you were dating lottie matthews?

you were close. that's all you know. she trusts you and you trust her.

it was so hard on you to drag her to the plane when rescue came, she was already mute at this point so all she did was silently cry and try to shove you off :( you only got to spend what little time you had at the hospital and a couple of days at her house before you found out she was sent to switzerland. you were enraged at her parents, asking them why they would send their daughter, who was clearly not well, to be alone?

thinking of using some of your settlement money you got from the crash to go out and visit her :( she's surprised you even came out to see her and it's clear on her face and it kinda breaks your heart. thinking of shyly asking her if you guys are a 'thing' and she asks, "do you want to be?" and you've never agreed to something in your life faster than this moment. telling her that your next visit can be your guy's first date 😭

giving her your apartment address at one of your visits and she's literally on her way the second she's discharged. she doesn't even have a phone yet 😭 thinking of her being a lil weirdo and watching you through ur window first, just smiling at you washing the dishes or watching tv, before she gets the courage to walk up and knock. you give her the biggest and longest kiss ever when you open the door.... just grabbing at her body and making sure she's real :(

lottie who wants to go house hunting THAT day 😭😭 she gives it an hour of talking and catching up and kissing before she tells you that she doesn't wanna waste anymore time, that she wants to have her happy life with you Now :(( i know her ass goes crazy when you tell her Zillow is a thing. she's immediately looking for houses near a forest... or if she cant find one that screams the Wilderness to her, she can just build one! she's rich enough for that! thinking of her building an Actual house, but she uses the wood in the forest to replicate those huts you built with her in spring :(((

[ambulancevsambulance]

This is my Essay from the MCR Swarm Zine. I kept hesitating to put it up here, as I feel pretty tender about it. But after everything that happened yesterday, today. I feel like I have to put it out here. It's necessary. Needed. For myself, at the very least.

--

"'Cause you only live forever in the lights you make”

It’s June 2022, and I’m watching My Chemical Romance perform songs of anger, community, and defiance in one of my favorite cities- Prague. 

The city of my father’s family. A city that has repeatedly stared tyranny in the face and decided to rise up despite the odds.  

It’s 1945 and the citizens have rebelled to take back the city from the Nazis, street by street.

It’s the spring of 1968, and citizens fight against another oppressive regime. They are supposed to be crushed in four days. 

They last eight. Months. 

It’s 1989, another uprising, one that comes to be known as the Velvet Revolution. The city is finally free, a culmination of every revolution and rebellion that has come before. 

In each instance citizens clawed towards freedom by any means necessary, fighting in the open to stop jackbooted goons from holding onto power. To save friends, family, and complete strangers from suffering for one more moment. Each time they lost, they made sure to make it hurt, and to make the oppressor remember how hard the fight had been. 

They didn’t always win the battle,

–The good guys die and the bad guys win–

but they won the war. 

These people keenly knew that institutions will not save you. Only your fellow comrades will.

It’s June 2022. My friends and I are facing calls of discrimination, for extermination. It can be a miserable time, but I find strength in watching one of my favorite bands. I join the hundreds on livestream, watching the thousands in the stadium. Our eyes fixed on the five on stage. 

As Gerard starts crooning out the notes of Heaven Help Us for the first time in fourteen years, again I’m reminded:

They will not save you.

What is this song but a scream to be saved by outside forces? That in the midst of a cruel martyrdom, the Heavens will be silent to pleas for help. It’s the punchline to the joke, right? No higher power is coming to save you, no matter how much you cry. 

Best they can offer is to watch you burn. 

Heaven Help Us has never been a hopeful song–and it’s a struggle to feel hopeful, some days. 

But the world is an echo of the past as much as it is a march towards an uncertain future. I feel those ghosts whispering to remember this city’s history while watching MCR on stage. To remember that the only solidarity that can be found is in mutual aid–in the community of our fellow freaks and queers and fags. That without intersectionality between it all we will fucking fail. It’s hard work, and we won’t always win.

That doesn’t mean we– I – should give up. And MCR agrees. In contrast to the despair of Heaven Help Us, there is Danger Days– which speaks more to me now than any other MCR album. Songs of radical love and resistance against fascist conglomerates and an uncaring apocalyptic world…that doesn’t feel as fictional as it did before. 

In Prague, MCR plays six songs from that album (Boy Division counts, damn it). Seeing Gerard, Frank, and Ray all screaming into their microphones about an apocalypse that is crashing down around our ears lights a fire inside of me. Reminding me that changing the world might mean dying, but hell yeah lets try anyways. Your sacrifice might light the path of victory for others. You get to be the fucking detonator–and isn’t that a privlege? To have your acts of resistance inspire the next in line. 

It’s in direct contrast to the lament of Heaven. Stop asking who, what will save us, and realize we have to save ourselves. By any means possible. 

The concert ends with Kids from Yesterday, and I finish the night listening to Gerard sing that the only people we can truly count on are each other. That fighting for your friends is the purest form of love alive. 

So in the face of extermination, say fuck you.

And make damn sure your friends want to leave graffiti on your grave. 

[caesariawritesstuff]

for the follower event ! prompt: discreet sexual tension 4 and/or 9 with detective reader and scarecrow (or eddie if you’d like). i was so excited to see you update cat & mouse, it’s definitely one of my favorite fics ever. keep it up and congrats!! <3

Learning to Share

Summary: Edward and Jonathan have come to an arrangement...one that involves sharing you.

Content Warning: P in V sex, MFM threesome, sexual punishment, begging, jealousy, masturbation, fingering, spanking, discussions about fear. Slight continuation of Damaged Goods.

Word Count: 15.7k

A/N: @a1atheias also requested the “i want you” “then take me” prompt with reader and scarecrow ☺️. This fic got so out of hand and I'm so sorry it's so long!!!! I had an idea and RAN with it. I really hope you enjoy and hope this doesn't suck lmao. Also special thanks to @jkcreation for helping me a bit to figure out how I wanted this to go. Fic is not canon to the official Cat&Mouse!Verse.

Being involved in law enforcement in Gotham ends in several days: death, burn out, turning to drugs and alcohol, being involved in some twisted experiment, or quitting the force entirely seemed to be the usual ways out – so when a member of the GCPD officially made it to retirement after a long, lustrous career – it was something of a celebration.

With a heavy sigh, you looked up at the Cyrus Pinkney Institute for National History and frowned, disdain clear your eyes. Bright lights surrounded the stone building, bathing it in a yellow glow. All around you, Gothamites came and went, laughing and chatting, dates on their arms. Right about now, you’d much rather be in the bubble bath, face mask on and a good book in hand, but alas, being invited to the retirement party of Sergeant Groszek felt a bit like a summons. There would be quite a large number of officers and detectives there, and you did not want to give off the wrong impression and come off as rude – so that was how you found yourself now, wearing an emerald green dress that reached just shy of your fingertips, hugging your curves in all the right places; the balloon sleeves were tight around the wrist and airy around your arms, hanging off your shoulders, revealing your smooth skin. Across the neckline, it dipped low to reveal a tasteful amount of cleavage – one appropriate for an outing like this. Your gaze slid to the left, where Edward tightly had one arm wrapped around your waist, wearing an identical, green-colored suit that complimented your own dress well. He looked quite handsome in his green suit, the material sleek, and his grip tightened around your waist, fingers digging in. You had assured Edward he didn’t have to come with you to this little event, but he insisted. Quite a bit more than usual, but you shrugged away the thought.

Sighing, you looked at him and said, “We don’t have to stay long. Just enough for me to mingle, drop off this card, and then we can get out of here.”

Edward quirked a brow at you, a slow smirk creeping along the edge of his lips. “Don’t worry, detective, I’m sure I can keep myself occupied while you mingle with these simpletons.”

You smirked back, shaking your head, but walked in tandem with him up the stony steps and into the museum, a spring air gusting across your exposed skin. There were signs posted about with arrows leading you towards the private room where the retirement party was being held, and you and Edward followed them with ease, passing by a myriad of exhibits within glass cases. But as you came to the doorway, you sucked in a breath, silently prepping yourself for the onslaught of small talk you were sure you’d be dragged into. This really was the last place you wanted to be. Narrowing your eyes, you looked around at all of the party goers, already chatting up a storm and congratulating Sergeant Groszek on his achievements over his long career. Along the back wall was a display of food catered in: meat and cheese and fruit platters, chips, small finger foods and sandwiches, and a large custom cake. But your eyes instead caught on the bubbly wine being laid out by a caterer – and a sigh of relief escaped your lips. Well, at least there was something you could look forward to here.

You wandered over, slipping out of Edward’s grasp, and snatched up a glass of wine, bringing it to your lips and sipping slowly. When you pulled the glass away, a smudge of bright lipstick stained the rim. Everyone around you was already engaged in hearty conversation, dressed in suits and ties, women in gorgeous dresses. You glanced down at your own, a small smile curving at the edge of your mouth; Edward had handpicked it just for you, just for this occasion. He’d chosen it with quite great care, you’d noticed, and that simple fact made your heart flutter thunderously in your chest, a warmth pool deep in your stomach. Your thoughts were already straying to what it would be like for him to peel it off you when you got home.

“Give me a moment, will you?” Edward asked, his breath at your ear, tickling your skin. You nodded, watching him slip away, somewhere down the hall where the bathrooms were located.

You turned away, gripping the stem of your glass tightly, and wandered over to one of the shadowy corners away from prying eyes. Ever since you started dating Edward, fitting in with your coworkers had become more difficult. Not like you’d ever fully fit in with them in the first place. Frowning, you took an even deeper sip, draining almost half the glass in the process.

“Careful, detective,” a deep, gravelly voice said from beside you, getting your attention. “This is a party, not a brewhouse, correct?”

You lowered your glass just in time to see Jonathan Crane walk up beside you. Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise; you had not expected to find him here, out and about and surrounded by actual people and not vials of chemicals, especially after the…little incident down in the forensics lab at the GCPD a few weeks ago. An incident that had not only left you slightly shaken, irritated, and annoyed – but also turned on. More than you cared to admit. But ever since that moment, you hadn’t been blind to the way Crane watched you with a slow intention, a careful gaze whenever he did manage to come up from the lab. He only ever exchanged a few words for you, but you could feel the tension between you two, crackling like lightning just under the surface. You were not entirely sure what it was about him that drew you to him, but something did, something you were so desperately trying to fight down and not make known.

You studied him closely, taking in his brown suit and tan colored tie, but your eyes lingered for a little too long on his reconstructed face, and the delicate lines etched into his skin, remnants of multiple surgeries he’d been through. But your gaze met his for a slight moment, and you turned away, taking another sip, as if to prove a point.

“Aren’t parties to be enjoyed, Dr. Crane?” you asked, keeping your voice level.

“Parties such as this bore me,” he said.

You smirked, looking down for just a moment. “Yeah, I don’t exactly enjoy parties like this either,” you mumbled. But when you looked up, you scanned the sea of faces for Edward, but found no sign of him. Where is he when I need him? you wondered.

“Why is that?” he asked after a beat.

You scoffed under your breath, once more taking another sip of your drink. “I guess you could say they bore me, too,” you finally answered. At least coming here with Edward was one thing – if only he would turn back up again. Your gaze searched for him once more, but when you saw no sign of him, your heart sunk, a strange aching in your stomach.

“Something bothering you, detective?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you said, quickly, not wanting to show him an ounce of your discomfort. You certainly didn’t want a man like him getting under your skin. Again.

“Your body language betrays you,” he said. “Are you afraid of something?”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Afraid my boyfriend is getting himself into trouble. You know how Edward is.”

“I walked past him moments ago,” Crane said. “He’s involved in quite the conversation with the Commissioner and the Mayor. Perhaps it will be a while. Why don’t you sit and enjoy yourself for the time being?”

You hesitated, your grip on your wine stem tightening, but you studied him carefully, before your gaze strayed back to the other side of the room. Well…you supposed he was right. Standing here rocking back and forth on your heels wasn’t going to do you any good. It would only serve to make you grow more agitated. Taking another sip of your wine, you sighed, but walked past Crane, searching for an empty seat – and you spotted a small table off to the right, hidden away in a shadowy corner. You quickly sat down and crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in your seat. But to your surprise, Crane followed you and sat at the seat opposite of you. You frowned, your heart leaping into your throat. You immediately looked away, even though you felt his eyes burning holes in your skin.

“Can I help you, Dr. Crane?” you asked after a long moment of silence.

“I’d like to continue our discussion from a few weeks ago,” he said. “I believe it was left…quite unfinished.”

“Ah,” you said, twirling your glass between your fingertips. “Another therapy session.” You leaned back, meeting his gaze, not wanting to back down from his questions. Not this time – you would not give him the satisfaction.

“All right,” you said. “Ask me whatever you want. I’m an open book.”

A low rumble emanated from deep within his throat. “Be careful what you wish for, detective. You seem to have forgotten who you’re talking to.”

You smirked. “Try me,” you said. You had been through enough as is over the last few months – some big scary words from Jonathan Crane couldn’t possibly be any harm, now could they? Especially when you already knew his own game, his own obsession with fear – you simply had to keep from falling into his trap, and everything would be fine. If you could handle Edward, then surely you could handle Crane.

“Very well,” he said. “Does it frighten you? Belonging to a man like Edward?”

“No,” you answered, even though that was a bold-faced lie. Being with Edward did frighten you, but you could not allow Crane to know that.

He raised one brow, an impassive look on his face. “Really? Even after all he’s put you through? Even after every single way he’s made you suffer?”

You paused, letting his words sink in – because you couldn’t deny that you had been through a lot with Edward. A lot. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, there was still that tiny bundle of fear knotted deep in your belly, threatening to rise to the surface. Frowning, you sipped your drink slowly, not breaking eye contact with Crane. His gaze remained just as fixated on you, not giving an ounce of his attention anywhere else.

You lowered your drink back to your lap and said, “Surely it must not bother you to watch people suffer. I’m sure you get off on that sort of thing.”

His head cocked slightly to the side. “Rather crude choice of words, detective.”

“Well, am I wrong? I mean…you put people in horrible, fear-toxin induced experiments for what? For fun? You must find some kind of pleasure in that,” you said.

“I find fear fascinating. It controls every aspect of your life. Every thought, every move you make, every decision,” he said. “You came to this party because you feared what your coworkers would think if you did not show up. You came dressed like…that because you feared making the wrong impression. You drink because you’re afraid if you don’t loosen up, you will not be able to enjoy yourself. Do I need to go on?”

You shifted slightly in your seat, holding back the frustrated scream threatening to tear from your throat, biting down on your tongue. You weren’t sure what, exactly, it was that allowed him to so easily pick you apart and claw your fears from in the inside out – but you knew that every single damn word out of his mouth was true.

But you would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

Instead, you set your drink on the table and leaned forward slightly, resting your chin between two fingers. “And what if I said you were wrong? That I’m not afraid?”

“Then I would call you a liar,” he replied.

“And what are you afraid of, Dr. Crane?” you asked, a bite in your voice now.

“I fear nothing,” he said. “I have mastered my fears long ago. You, however, wear them on your sleeve for the whole world to see.”

You were quiet for a moment, considering his words. You had not realized just how much, perhaps, you did show off your emotions. Leaning back a little further in your seat, you studied him, carefully choosing your next words, refusing to let him get under your skin. You leaned forward a little more, not breaking eye contact.

“Let me ask you this, then,” you said. “Why are you so interested in my fears? There are plenty of other people at this party you could be bothering. So why me?”

“Curiosity,” he answered. “Fear is my specialty. My life’s work. I have spent years studying what makes people afraid, what their darkest fears contain. And you…you exude fear. It’s practically radiating off of you, like a flame in the darkness.”

You held your tongue, trying so very hard to give him an ounce of what you were feeling right now – that his words were cutting deep into you, making a bubbling hot anger burrow under your skin. Instead, you took another sip of your drink, draining the glass.

You met his eyes again. “And what do you think my fears are, Dr. Crane?”

“You’re afraid of being vulnerable,” he answered. “Of being exposed. Of losing control of the carefully crafted image you have built for yourself.” He paused, his head cocking slightly to the side. “And most of all, detective, I think you’re afraid of me.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, at that one notion – and the awful, horrible truth was that he was right. Edward had done many terrible things, but he’d never bathed Gotham completely in a cloud of fear toxin or driven people to madness, or been the man to unmask Batman and cause so much death and destruction like Crane had. Crane was…different.

And he terrified you.

“Did I strike a nerve?” he asked when you said nothing, his eyes slowly scanning every inch of your face. “Your silence speaks volumes. You present yourself to the world as though you are unbothered, but deep down, you fear how people perceive you. And most of all, you’re afraid of what I’m capable of. You’re afraid of what I might do to you?”

“And what might you to do to me, Dr. Crane?” you asked, your voice low. And in that moment – there was nothing and nobody else in the room. It was just you and him, alone, the air sucked from your lungs, a strange bundle of warmth melding together with the fear in your stomach, shooting all the way down to your clit. The sounds of the party drifted into nothing but faded whispers, long forgotten.

“There are many things I could do to you, detective,” he said, his eyes never once breaking from yours, his voice low. “Things that would have you trembling in fear, quaking underneath the effects of my toxin, begging for mercy. Would you like me to tell you some of the things I could do to you?”

“Very well,” you said – because you refused to budge. You refused to show weakness, especially to someone like him. He could try all he wanted, but he would not frighten you, make you run screaming like a child in the night.

“Seeing is much more effective than hearing, now isn’t it?” he asked.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes finally pulling away to glance down at his hand – as if steadying yourself for the moment he had a vial of his toxin at the ready – but his hands were completely empty. Your gaze shifted back to him again, and underneath the table, your legs began to tremble out of your control. Fear was a cold knot in your stomach, turning your blood to ice, causing a clamminess to crawl across your skin.

“You’re trembling,” he noted, his gaze lowering slightly. “Is it fear, or something else?”

“I’m just cold,” you said quickly, attempting to brush him off.

“Is that so?” he asked, one of his brows raised in clear disregard for what you said. “Your body is showing signs of clear distress. Dilated pupils. Flushed skin. Or is it not distress you’re feeling, detective, but something…else?”

Shit. How was he so capable of reading you so easily? You narrowed your eyes, anger rushing hot through every limb, spreading like wildfire through your veins – but beyond that, there was a spark of something rippling just under the surface, something dark and wicked stirring to life in your heart, reawakening your darkest fantasies.

“Something akin to arousal?” he continued.

You sucked in a sharp breath, swallowing the lump in your throat. “That’s a ridiculous insinuation,” you murmured, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Fear and arousal often go hand in hand,” he said, his voice low, smooth.

“Or, perhaps, you’re completely misreading my physiological responses,” you said.

“Ah, yes,” he said, almost with a bored sigh. “And what, pray tell, do you think is causing this…physiological response of yours?”

“Adrenaline,” you answered, quickly. “It makes your heart beat faster. Makes you shake, makes your pupils dilate. That sort of thing.”

“But that’s not what this is, is it, detective?” he asked, raising his brows. “You’re not in any danger. You’re not preparing to flee. No, this is something much more…intimate.”

There was something in the way the word intimate rolled off his tongue, so full of dark possession, that your insides squirmed, that excitement rushed through your veins, molding together with a hot anger burning brightly inside of you.

“I doubt you’re one to talk about the specifics of intimacy, Crane,” you said, finally.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward, burning that flame even brighter inside of you, causing it to stir to life. The way he was looking at you – studying you – as if you were a lab rat, made your skin crawl. But it wasn’t just the way his cold, calculating gaze studied you, it was the way his words dug into your skin, picking you apart piece by never-ending piece. And here you were, finding yourself sucked into his words, into his every display of intelligent superiority, in a way that was not boastful or full of ego – the complete opposite of Edward.

Edward. Shit. Where even was he? You suddenly backed away, looking around the room once more, searching for him – but still, you saw no sign of him. No green suit stood out amongst the sea of black and blues and browns. And instead of going off to find him, you were sitting here in your own little bubble with Jonathan Crane, feeling a pulsing in your clit, a dampening between your thighs – because he was right. So fucking right.

You were completely fucking aroused.

And you were done with this conversation.

Scowling, you quickly stood up. “Thank you for this enlightening conversation, Dr. Crane. But I’m going to find my boyfriend now,” you said. Turning on your heels, you stormed across the room and searched for any sign of Edward, but there was still none.

Groaning under your breath, you made your way back over to the drink table and snatched up another glass of wine, sipping slowly, trying to clear your mind and body of all thoughts of Jonathan Crane. Bastard, you thought. How dare he put you in such a compromising position, make you feel so vulnerable, as if you were on display for the world to see? You took another sip of your drink, relishing in the taste, when you suddenly felt a presence behind you – a different one, an unfamiliar one, and you glanced over your shoulder to find Crane standing behind you, just inches away. Nerves trickled up your spine and you shuddered, that delicious heat once more pooling in your belly at his proximity, at the smell of his cologne, at his cruel gaze, which was once more fixated on you.

Suddenly, you felt his hands on your hips: a soft, featherlight touch, but enough to make the breath catch in your throat, a small gasp escape your lips – especially when you felt him brush against your backside.

His lips were suddenly at your ear, “Come with me.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, and for the first time, you saw the very delicate hint of a smile curved at the edge of his lips. Barely there, but noticeable enough – and there was something in his gaze that made warmth pool in your belly, made your heart thump so quickly you could hardly stand it.

Follow me, his cruel gaze said. But it was not a suggestion. It was a command.

Hesitantly, you set your drink back down, searching the crowd once more for Edward, but you could not find him. You were growing angrier by the second, a hot prickling underneath your skin like you were being stabbed by a hundred knives. Following Crane was a stupid idea, but you needed to put an end to this…whatever this strange attraction was, and you did not want to make a scene here, in front of all of these people. They already thought badly enough of you as is.

Jonathan slipped through the crowd, disappearing out of your view, but you weaved through the sea of people to follow him, coming to one of the quiet halls of the museum. He was already ahead of you, leading the way, and you scowled, stomping after him, fire burning in your veins, turning your blood to molten liquid. He wandered down one corridor, disappearing around one corner, and you quickened your steps – but just as you came around, his hand was suddenly on your wrist, the other at your throat, pushing you gently against the wall. You gasped, a wave of fear washing over you as he pressed you against the glass of an exhibit.

“Ssh,” he said quietly, deep in his voice. “You don’t want the others to hear us, now do you?” His cold, blue eyes studied your face with a strange intensity.

“What game are you playing at, Crane?” you hissed. “If Edward finds out about this—”

“Edward already knows about this,” he said, cutting you off.

You blinked, surprised, taken aback by his words. You sucked in a slow, steadied breath, trying desperately to control your breathing, your heartrate, your fear. “What?”

“I have asked for his permission,” he said lowly, his breath tickling at your skin.

“To do what?” you whispered, terror clawing up your throat.

“To share you,” he answered without hesitation.

If this was any other man, you might have laughed. Might have believed this was some sort of sick joke – but this was no ordinary man. It was Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, and he was not a joking man. Every inch of his expression was passive. Emotionless. Serious.

He was utterly, utterly serious.

“Edward would never share me,” you whispered, feeling hot defiance rise in your belly.

“Perhaps not with any of the other denizens of Gotham,” he said. “But with me…I’m a different matter entirely.”

You couldn’t help it – your jaw dropped open as confusion and terror and all clawed at you at once, digging into your insides, causing that horrible warmth to pool in your stomach, to travel its way down to your aching clit. Being pinned against the wall like this – trapped – it sent you spiraling, in that way that flared to life your darkest desires, fanning the flames of pleasure and excitement and wanton need.

“You don’t believe me?” Jonathan said after a moment. “Perhaps you should ask Edward yourself.” His fingers finally loosened from around your neck, the digits sliding off delicately, taking his time as he let you go. He took one step back and gestured to a private, out of the way office, far from the festivities taking place.

You hesitated, curling your hands into fists, digging your nails into your palms. You had every reason to smack him right then and there – but you would not allow him to see your fear, to see how frightened you truly were. If this was true…you wanted to hear it straight from Edward’s own mouth. Turning on your heels, you stormed into the office – and sure enough, you found Edward sitting in the chair, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other in a lazy-like position – the very epitome of a man with too big of an ego. And the boyfriend you kind of wanted to knock over the head right about now.

You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. “Edward,” you said, a bite in your voice. “Is what he says true?”

A hazy look filled his eyes, and he smirked. “Yes, detective. Crane is telling the truth. We have…come to an arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?” you asked carefully. As the words slipped from your mouth, you glanced back to find that Jonathan had shut and locked the door behind him. Another bolt of fear and excitement rushed through you as a thousand questions rang through your mind. This couldn’t possibly be going where you thought it was going, could it?

“One that involves you, my dear,” Edward replied. “You see, Crane here has taken quite an interest in you. He finds you…how should I put it, fascinating? You know Crane, always needing to study everything around him.” He waved his hand, scoffing under his breath.

“I’m not something to be studied,” you said, angrily.

“Come now, detective,” Jonathan said, stepping forward until he was standing side-by-side with you, his arms crossed behind his back. His gaze roved carefully over you, inch by inch, making your skin crawl with a delicious heat.

“Edward is right. I find you quite fascinating,” he continued, taking a step closer to you. One of his hands snaked out, grasping your chin between two fingers. “There’s something about you that has Edward so trapped under your spell. You have a power over him, a power I can’t explain. And I need to know why. I need to understand it…to taste it. To taste you.”

You shuddered against his touch, the urge to step back all consuming, but when your gaze slid to Edward – it was as if he pinned you there completely, not daring you to budge an inch. As if he wanted you there, in Crane’s grasp, in this very moment, at their mercy. Jonathan’s grip tightened on your chin, forcing you to look back at him.

“You’re not something to be studied, detective,” Crane said. “You’re something to be enjoyed. And Edward here has finally learned to share.”

His words were like lightning through you, sparking to life a powerful heat in your belly, an aching, a desperate need to be consumed. But no words would come out of your mouth, and you stood there in silent horror and awe, completely unable to process what was happening in this moment. You could not believe their boldness – to think how easily they lured you away to have this discussion, to be used as if you were some kind of plaything.

Your gaze flicked to Edward again. You should be enraged. Insulted. But instead, you’re standing here, your mind completely blank of what to do or even say – the only coherent thought you can even come up with is the very real realization that your clit is throbbing, aching, at the very thought of being taken by these two men – these two very dangerous men – and used in whatever way they desire. The very idea that they both were fascinated with you left a fire burning in your belly, stirring awake those dark desires in your heart.

“Is this true, Edward?” you finally managed to ask.

He nodded, slowly. “Admittedly, I would prefer not to share you, but…” He paused, as if choosing his next words carefully. “Crane can be quite persuasive, and I find myself curious to see what the Master of Fear is capable of doing to you. Can he touch you the way I do? Make you cum the way I do? Make you scream his name the way I make you scream mine?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you shivered at his words – because you can’t help but he just as curious, too. Your gaze strayed back to Crane once more, finding him continuing to study you with a close eye, a curious gaze, as if wondering the same thing Edward was.

You shook your head, scoffing under your breath. “And how long have you been having this discussion behind my back?”

“Long enough,” Crane answered. His grip never lessened on your throat.

Long enough. His words echoed on a loop in your mind. You did not appreciate being spoken about behind your back – and as outraged as you should have been, you could not help but feel just a bit drawn to this situation entirely, to the possibilities that could arise from such an…arrangement. But you were supposed to be with Edward. He was your boyfriend. Something about doing this did not feel right; it felt like a betrayal, in a way. Your gaze flickered back to him, studying his face, but you had come to know Edward well enough that he was completely and utterly serious.

“What if I say no?” you asked.

“If you were going to say no, you would have walked out of this room already, detective,” Crane said. “You would not have followed me into a dark, secluded hallway. You would not have followed me into this room. You would not be here now, allowing me to touch you.” As if to prove his point, his fingers slid down your throat in a smooth motion, once more grasping the question mark pendant draped around your neck. He stroked it with his thumb, but once he let it go, he reached out with two fingers, placing them onto your pulse point.

“Racing heart,” he murmured. “You’re not afraid of us, are you, detective?”

“No,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly. Your fears about being around Edward had faded away into whispers long ago. But…

“Or,” Jonathan continued. “Are you afraid of me?”

The breath caught in your throat, your pulse quickening. Because, the truth was right there, staring you right in the face: you were afraid of Jonathan Crane. He terrified you, caused horror to race through you like lightning, to bundle up in a cold knot in your stomach. Finally, you took a step back, needing a moment to distance yourself. You crossed your arms over yourself, shaking your head as another low scoff escaped your mouth. This was an absurd proposition. Asinine. What they were asking…what Edward was asking…

You spun around on your heels, walking away from Jonathan and over to the desk, wearing Edward remained, still watching you carefully. You opened your mouth to say something – anything – any kind of insult or rage-filled words. But nothing came out. Because as angry as you were, you still felt it: the strange, magnetic pull to both of these dangerous men. And as afraid as you were, your own curiosity could not be ignored.

“What are you afraid of, detective?” Jonathan asked, his cool voice filling the quiet room. “Being shunned? Made to feel like our plaything? Losing your precious paramour in the process as another man claims you for himself?”

“Another man,” you said silently, glancing over your shoulder. “Meaning you.”

Jonathan only answered with a sly smile curving at the edge of his lips.

“I know this is quite a lot to ask of you so suddenly,” Edward said, his voice gentle. “But I assure you, detective, nothing will change between us.”

So suddenly, you wanted to say, but held your tongue – as a slow realization washed over you. Over the last few weeks, your sexual tension around Jonathan had been growing more than you realized – perhaps because they’d been planning this moment for some time. The looks Jonathan had given you over the last few weeks, the words he’d spoken – it had all been a part of their plan, and you’d been blind to see it. You glared down at Edward, anger rushing hot through your veins like a wildfire.

Footsteps behind you got your attention, and before you could react, Jonathan was suddenly behind you. You felt his breath on your neck, before one of his hand snaked around your shoulder, once more grabbing at your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. Another bolt of worry shot through every limb – but what was worse was the heat that traveled all the way down to your groin, aching, dampening arousal between your thighs.

“I can see it in your eyes, detective,” Jonathan said. “You want this as much as we do. You need this. To be wanted. Needed. Craved.” His breath tickled at your skin, each word out of his mouth making chills run up and down your spine.

Because the goddamn truth was that he was right.

All your life, you’d dreamed of being desired, wanted, needed. Feared being unloved, used, cast aside as nothing. And now, to have two dangerous men wanting you, so much that they were willing to share you…it caused a ripple of delicious heat to pool in your core. It stirred to life all of this wicked desires in your heart, driving you to the brink of madness. And the worst part was that Jonathan Crane had you completely and utterly figured out. It was like he could see straight down into your soul, finding your fears with just one look, and whisper them in your ear, revealing them to you in all their frightening glory.

Angrily, you scowled, yanking your chin from his grasp once more, crossing your arms over yourself. As much as they wanted you to play this game with them, you would not give in so easily – not without understanding the terms of this…arrangement. Slowly, you turned back around, glancing at both of them; they stood there with hungry looks in their eyes, as if waiting for your next move, the next words out of your mouth. You wandered back over to the desk and hoisted yourself onto it, crossing one leg over the other, placing your hands behind you to keep yourself propped up. Jonathan regarded you with a raised brow, as if interested in your next move. Good, you thought. If they could play this game, you could play it, too.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Edward sit up a little straighter from his spot at the desk. You glanced at him, then back at Jonathan; both their eyes were narrowed, full of curiosity, mirroring the same expression of patience and hungry interest.

“Well,” you finally said after a long moment. “What exactly are the terms of this arrangement you two made behind my back?”

Edward pushed back from the desk, quickly standing as he said, “The terms are simple, my dear. I am so generously sharing you with Crane – with your approval, of course. He must ask for my permission if he would like to have you for an evening.”

He took a step closer, reaching forward, capturing your chin between his fingers, running his thumb along your bottom lip in a way that made heat pool in your core. “And you, my dear, are not allowed to play favorites. We both shall have equal access to you – at all times. Whenever we want. How we want. Wherever we want.”

You sucked in a slow, controlled breath, letting his words wash over you as that delicious heat throbbed between your legs. The very idea of being taken by these two men – one who had a hold on your heart, the other you still weren’t sure yet – but the very idea excited you.

And angered you.

You narrowed your eyes, meeting Edward’s gaze. “I’m not a toy to be passed around,” you said, a bite in your voice now.

“Of course not,” Edward said, his thumb now slowly stroking right below your bottom lip with care. “This is an arrangement that will benefit all of us. “Our curiosities will be satisfied, and you shall be quite satisfied, detective.” He smirked, that tricky glint in his eyes gleaming.

You looked away again, your gaze straying somewhere far across the other side of the room. A thousand words hung on your lips, but you could not seem to get them out. You had so many questions, but your mind was drawing a blank, too wrapped up in your own terror and excitement and desire. To be so…needed. Wanted. Desired. By these two men…it alighted a fire within you, awakening so many dark desires in your heart, bringing to life a darkness that resided in the very depths of your soul. You shivered against Edward’s touch, trembling, fear and desire pooling in your stomach, melding together as one.

“Is it fear or desire that makes you tremble so?” Jonathan asked, stepping forward.

“Both,” you answered, because that was the honest truth.

They exchanged a look, and Edward’s hand slipped from your chin. He finally took a step back, disappearing into the dark shadows of the office to lean against the wall and cross his arms, making room for Jonathan to step in front of you now. He studied you with a careful eye, his gaze roaming every inch of your skin.

“Dilated pupils. Flushed skin,” he said quietly, as if more to himself, but his gaze dropped to your chest, pausing there for a moment; you glanced down, realizing that your nipples had hardened, slightly poking through the fabric of your dress.

Jonathan glanced back at you. “Signs of your arousal are clearly evident.”

Your gaze slid from Jonathan back to Edward, who was watching the entire interaction silently, his head cocked slightly to the side. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the blood rushing through your ears, the warmth between your legs – Jonathan was clearly right. You were aroused. You were terrified.

And you were also completely at their mercy.

Your gaze shifted back to Jonathan. “And what exactly do you want out of this, Crane?”

He took another slow, calculated step forward until he was but millimeters from you. Slowly, his hand reached out once more to capture your chin between two fingers, slightly lifting your face to look directly into your eyes.

“I want you,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “But I will not unless you give me permission. Such brutalities are far beneath me. I will only touch you if you say so.”

He was but millimeters away from you, and you hesitated, a sharp breath leaving your lips. You glanced over Jonathan’s shoulder once more, searching for Edward, and he gave you a slow nod. Giving his permission. But if you went down this route, you knew the utter truth: there would be no going back. There would be no way to forget this happened. Edward already had his claws in you, and if you allowed Crane to do the same…there would be no changing that. You would be theirs – both of theirs – completely.

And, perhaps, the truth was that you wanted to be.

You glanced back at Jonathan. “Then take me,” you whispered.

That was all he needed. In an instant, his lips were on yours, crushing, bruising. One of his hands grabbed your hip, fingers digging into your flesh. His other hand snaked up, threading itself in your hair, tugging lightly. His kisses were not gentle – they were rough, possessive, his tongue invading your mouth with almost a brutal possessiveness. You gasped lightly, your tongue meeting his, sending a shiver down your spine. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly as his mouth moved from your lips, across your jaw, down your neck. His lips were rough from scarring, and he smelled of a strange mixture of musk and woods, the scent invading your nose. His teeth nipped at your neck, his tongue snaking out to massage each small bite, as if soothing your flesh. Slowly, testing, you spread your legs slightly, allowing him to nestle himself in between them – and you could already feel the hardness of his own arousal suddenly pressing against your core. You leaned into him, arching your back, a soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth and teeth found that sensitive spot on your neck – the one that made you crumble beneath him. You shuddered against him, his body hard and lean – leaner than Edward’s, and you found yourself comparing the way Jonathan kissed you to the way Edward did.

A low rumble escaped Jonathan’s mouth, and his onslaught of kisses continued, working their way across the delicate flesh of your collarbone. He brushed your necklace aside and let his tongue drag across your skin, causing a shudder to pass through you. His tongue was warm, wet, sending a delicious heat rippling across every inch of your body, shooting pleasure all the way down to your clit. You gasped as he brought his lips up the other side of your jaw, as if to savor the other side of your face, his teeth nipping once more at your skin.

Opening your eyes slightly, you found Edward continuing to watch with a strange curiosity in his gaze, his eyes narrowed and focused on the scene at hand. At watching another man touch you, have his way with you – sending another tremble through you, bundling fear deep in your core, tightening in your stomach.

Just then, Jonathan’s hand gripped your chin once more, forcing you to look back at him, his eyes cold and calculating. “Don’t look at him, pet,” he said quietly. “Focus on me. Or are you afraid of what he might be thinking?”

The sharp intake of breath made you tremble again, and you licked your lips before saying, “Yes…I’m afraid.”

“No need to be afraid,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Fear is good. It reminds you of the dangers that surround you. After all, you’re here with us, aren’t you? You have every right to be afraid.”

You were quiet for a beat – because you were afraid of where this would lead, what would come of it, what Edward would think to watch as you were ravished by another man. But your own curiosity, your own pull towards Jonathan, was too much to bear, too confusing, further drawing you into that darkest part of yourself that you did not want to admit to.

His grip on your chin tightened. “Fear governs everything you do,” he continued. “And it also gives way to more…primal desires, detective. Desires you try to deny yourself. Desires you do not want to admit to, that frighten you. Am I correct?”

“Yes,” you whispered, knowing every word out of his mouth was right.

His cold eyes narrowed, and he backed away slightly, studying you carefully. His cold, cruel gaze was enough to cause your trembling body to tremble even more, to cause panic swelling in your stomach. A part of you desperately wanted to bolt out of this room, to flee, but you were glued to the spot – your desire too great to ignore. You fought the urge to look over at Edward again, despite how great your curiosity was, and kept your eyes fixated on Jonathan instead, watching as his hand snaked up to stroke at your face, in a motion that could be disguised for gentle, but you saw it for what it was: complete control. His hand brushed across your cheek – before suddenly gripping into your hair once more, tangling in your strands, his nails digging slightly into your scalp in that painful, pleasurable sort of way. A soft gasp escaped your lips as his roughness, and you trembled against him.

His eyes roved over you carefully, as if taking every inch of you in, as if trying to figure out what to do with you next. You couldn’t help but wonder how experienced he was, how many men or women he’d been with, what kind of things he was into. You smirked, a heat of desire pulsing in your belly at the way he looked at you with such primal intention.

“Undress,” he finally said, a low command, leaving no room for arguing.

You blinked, a bit taken aback, but your gaze slid to the door. “What if someone—”

“It’s been taken care of,” Edward spoke up. “No need to worry, my dear. No one will be coming into this room to disturb us.”

Your gaze flickered back to Jonathan. His expression was emotionless, unyielding, not giving away anything to what he might be thinking. He was completely and utterly controlled. Fear knotted in your stomach, but with trembling hands, you slipped out of your dress. The cool air brushed across your naked skin, your nipples growing hard; you shimmied out of the dress and let it pool at the bottom of the desk, leaving you in nothing but a lacy green thong that you’d specifically picked out for Edward. The heavy swell of your breasts were revealed for both men to see, and Jonathan’s eyes immediately dropped to your pert, pink nipples. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling the dampness of your own arousal between your legs. Every part of you was on high alert, on edge, teetering over the precipice of fear and terror. You had never done this before – never had sex while another man watched, especially if that other man was your own boyfriend, and you were in a room with two of Gotham’s most dangerous men, but that was beside the point.

Slowly, Jonathan reached out, testing the weight of your left breast in his hand, his thumb stroking over the nipple gently. You sucked in a soft breath at the small jolt of pleasure that radiated through your breast. His hands were rough, calloused, and he pinched your nipple between two fingers, earning another gasp from you. You trembled at his touch, at the fire his fingers left in their wake across your skin. His eyes were narrowed, studying your reaction, and you titled your head back slightly, arching your back so he had better access to your breasts. He cupped the other breast in his hand, needing and palming at it, his touch growing rougher and more needy by the second. A low whine left your lips, and you closed your eyes, relaxing into his touch – but just as you did, you felt his hand at your throat again.

“Eyes on me, pet,” he said, and your eyes snapped open, another jolt of fear radiating throughout your body. You met his gaze again, studying the emotionless expression on his face, as his fingers trailed downward, carefully grazing down your stomach to the hem of your thong.

He glanced at you again, then back down, before slowly lowering to his knees. Your breath caught in your throat, and you shuddered as his gaze never left yours. Your breaths were shallow, uncertain, nerves and fear writhing in your belly like a parasite. Slowly, he leaned in, snaking his tongue out to delicately brush across your inner thigh – only inches away from where you most wanted him to be. His tongue ran lines down your inner thigh, tracing in circular patterns, before reaching back up to the bend of your leg – and then, suddenly, he bit down.

You gasped at the sudden pain, jolting slightly, trembling in both pain and pleasure at the sharpness of his teeth. But as quickly as the bite came, so did his tongue once more, swirling around the bite as if to soothe it. You glanced at Edward once more, finding him still standing there, watching with a curious, lustful gaze in his eye. You glanced down at his groin, noticing the hardness of his own erection in the confines of his trousers, and your insides warmed at the idea of him being turned on by this entire interaction – even if there was a lingering jealousy in his gaze. You smirked slyly, spreading your legs a little further for Jonathan to have access to. He glanced up at you from in between your legs, before rising back up. The look in his eyes was full of a cold, cruelness to them, not a hint of warmth in his cloudy gaze – and just that look made you tremble more, made the hairs on the back of your neck rise on end. You were sure if he could devour you whole, he would.

Suddenly, his hand shot out once more, and his hands tangled in your hair once again, fingers digging tightly in. “Show me how you pleasure yourself, detective.”

His words took you aback, but your mouth fell open slightly in surprise. You hesitated, but slowly reached in between your legs. Pushing your thong aside slightly, you dove two fingers into your own wetness. With your other hand, you used one finger to swirl around your clit in slow, meticulous motions, causing a bolt of pleasure to shudder through you. It surged through your thighs, down to the tips of your toes, across every inch of your skin, and your mouth dropped open silently as you continued to fuck yourself with your own fingers. He watched silently, before he leaned forward, his lips at your ear.

“Does it frighten you, detective? To have two men watch you while you pleasure yourself?” he whispered lowly. “To see you completely unraveled, vulnerable, at our mercy?”

You shuddered at his words, trying to fight the fear coursing through your veins. Trying to keep some shred of dignity you still had left. As if in answer, your gaze flickered past Jonathan and over to Edward, who still remained bathed in the shadows, watching with strange look in his eyes.

“Don’t look at him,” Jonathan barked out, his voice low and cruel. “Focus on me, pet.”

Your eyes snapped back to him, and a low gasp escaped your lips as ripples of pleasure bundled underneath your skin. Every inch of you was on fire, your brain going fuzzy from the pleasure of your own fingers working their magic against you in just the way you liked. You could feel yourself builder higher and higher towards a release – and having two men watch you made it all the more sweeter.

Jonathan reached forward, snaking his hand through your hair once more, tightening his fingers at your scalp. You gasped as he pulled onto the strands, tilting your head back slightly, his cold gaze never leaving yours for an instant.

“Is it the thrill of being watched that makes you tremble like this?” he asked lowly, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. “Or the danger?”

The only answer you gave was a soft gasp. Heat flushed across your skin. Here you were: propped up on this desk, your legs spread wide, revealing the most vulnerable part of yourself for both men to see. Wetness coated your fingers, and you pumped two fingers in and out of yourself, gasping in tandem at the way your other finger swirled around your clit. Pleasure bundled in your stomach, tightening in your abdomen, knots of pure ecstasy rising higher and higher with each stroke, each thrust, each motion.

Jonathan studied you carefully, his eyes roving over every inch of your body, pausing to watch you fuck yourself. He showed no signs of emotion across his face, and you couldn’t even tell if he was enjoying watching this. Your fingers began to slow slightly, wondering if he was growing bored with this, but his cold voice filled the room once more.

“Does it scare you, detective?” he asked, leaning forward, his lips just brushing the shell of your ear. “To be so completely at the mercy of two men who are watching you right now?”

His words sent another rippled of fear down your spine. It tightened in your stomach, molding together with your pleasure, causing your heart to beat like a wild animal against your ribcage. Sweat beaded on your brow as your entire body flushed from head to toe, sending a shiver across your skin. Your breath quickened at his question, your fingers slowing their movements as you considered his question—

“I did not say you could stop,” Jonathan said, his voice a low command.

The words out of his mouth made you pause for a millisecond, before you resumed the work of your fingers: pumping in and out of yourself, swirling your finger around your clit. You leaned back a little more against the table, but his fingers in your hair did not let up, only tightened harder, sending a small ripple of pain across your skull. You were completely at his mercy, just his words enough to edge you closer to the brink. Your fear melding together with the pleasure in a strange kind of concoction – somehow enhancing your pleasure in a way you’d never experienced before. You snuck another glance at Edward, and he stood back, his eyes narrowed, and lips pressed into a thin line. But that look – of knowing your own boyfriend was watching another man do this to you, it sparked another bolt of fear down your spine, and yet at the very same time, it turned on you to heights you’d never experienced before. Jonathan’s hands released from around your hair, and he stepped back slightly, just enough to take in the full sight of you in your needy, wanton mess.

“Find your release, detective,” he said. “But keep your eyes on me as you do.”

You nodded, barely, breathless as your eyes found his cold, cruel gaze once more. He was staring at you as if you were a bug under his feet, something to be squashed entirely. Fear knotted in your belly, creeping up your spine – but you continued to fuck yourself with your fingers, quickening your pace as your climax teetered right on the edge – and suddenly, the little bundle of pleasure grew higher and higher – before exploding throughout your body. You gasped, crying out as wave after wave of indescribable pleasure coursed through your body. Your legs and hips bucked as you continued to work your fingers against yourself, chasing the rest of your high. But as the sensations trickled away, you finally removed your hands and relaxed against the desk, sucking in slow, deep breaths. Every inch of your skin was on fire, and a flush crept across your skin. You raised your eyes to him, looking back and forth between the two men, feeling completely exposed and raw and vulnerable. You’d never…touched yourself in front of two men before, not like this. Not when there were two pairs of eyes to look at you.

“Very good, detective,” Jonathan said quietly, but his voice held no ounce of praise. Just that patented cold, calculating nature to it. “Now. On your knees.”

You sat up a bit, sucking in a breath, a funny feeling at what he wanted next arising within you. You fought against looking at Edward once more, despite your every instinct screaming to, and slowly, you pushed yourself off the desk and lowered to your knees in front of Jonathan. Your knees knocked together, your entire body trembling. It wasn’t like you’d ever given a man a blowjob before – but something about this…about giving it to a man like Jonathan while Edward watched…it was frightening. Terrifying.

And exhilarating, all at the same time.

Jonathan was quiet as he reached down, undoing the buckle of his belt. With only a few smooth moves of his deft fingers, he slipped his cock from his pants: engorged, glistening with precum at the tip. Your eyes widened at the sight. He wasn’t quite as long as Edward, but he was a bit girthier, and thin, throbbing veins ran along his shaft. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, your body prickling with heat as you gazed up at him.

“Open your mouth,” he said, another command. “And let me in.”

Your mouth opened slightly, a moment of hesitation, before you opened your jaw a little wider. His tip approached you carefully, before his cockhead slid into your mouth. Inch by inch, he slid himself inside of you. You wrapped your mouth around him, breathing through your nose as you massaged the underside of his member with your tongue. One of his hands came to tighten itself in your hair again, his nails digging into your scalp. He tasted of salt and sweat and skin, a brown patch of curls poking through the confines of his pants. He filled your mouth completely, and he slid in and out of you with careful strokes.

“Detective,” he said, almost a groan. “I believe you know what to do, yes?”

You nodded, gazing up at him while he remained in your mouth. Using your other hand, you wrapped it around his shaft, pumping slowly in combination with your mouth and tongue. A low groan escaped his lips as you worked against his length, taking him deeper and deeper into your mouth until he hit the back of your throat. You gagged slightly at the intrusion, but breathed through your nose. Soft groans escaped his lips, and when you looked up again, you found his head tilted back slightly, still gazing down at you, watching your every move. You moaned softly around his member, taking him all the way in, over and over again. His fingers tightened in your hair as a low, guttural groan escaped his lips, and you smirked, watching him come undone. It was quite a sight to behold: the Master of Fear with his head titled back, losing himself to the pleasure you offered. You moaned against his length again, taking him deeper, faster, and he slowly bucked his hips into your mouth in tandem slowly and meticulously, every movement of his precise and controlled. Your core warmed, arousal dampening in between your legs, and your gaze flickered to Edward, still standing in the shadows with a narrowed, lustful gaze. Warm pleasure pooled in your core, and you fought the urge to reach down and touch yourself again, too busy giving Jonathan the pleasure he so craved at this very moment.

Just as you began to quicken your pace, he suddenly pulled back, slipping himself from your mouth. You glanced up at him, a bit surprised at how he’d pulled away, and a bout of disappointment rippled through you. His member was coated in your saliva, glistening in the light. You sat back on your knees, his taste lingering on your tongue.

Jonathan reached down, placing a hand across the top of your head, trailing his fingers down your cheek and to your chin, where he lifted your head up slightly. “That pretty mouth of yours has certainly had a bit of practice, now hasn’t it?” He glanced at Edward for a moment.

Edward’s smirk grew, his lustful gaze twinkling. “Jealous, Crane?”

A bolt of pleasure knotted in your stomach again, and a sense of pride swelled inside of you, as if happy to be pleasing Edward by doing this – even if this was sucking off another dangerous man, one who made you tremble with fear. You weren’t sure what Crane was going to do next, but that fear further increased inside of you, balling into a cold, hard knot at the center of your ribcage. But more than that, you feared how Edward was thinking, feeling, if he was going to lash out in a jealous rage and take you for his own.

“Look at me,” Jonathan said again, forcing your eyes back to him. His head cocked slightly to the side, as if studying you with cruel intention. “Do you fear what he might be thinking? That you’re here, servicing me instead? Or…do you wish it was him in my place?”

You can’t help how much your trembling, a cold chill brushing across your naked flesh. Your teeth are practically chattering with the fear – and you can’t even bring yourself to answer him, to make your terror known. But you can see it in his eyes: how much he’s enjoying your fear, your terror, and you can’t pull your eyes away.

His grip tightened on your chin. “Answer me,” he said.

“I…” you struggled to find the words. “I…I’m afraid of what he’s thinking. I’m afraid he’s going to look at me like…” You paused, the words stilling in your mouth, heavy on your tongue. Like I’m nothing but his plaything. Like a whore. Like a toy to be passed around.

Jonathan quirked a brow, seeming to understand what you were going to say. But his hand finally dropped from your chin, and he took a step back, tucking himself into his pants. “Like what?” he asked, a cruel smirk twitching at the edge of his lips.

Great. He was going to make you say it. Of course he was.

“Like I’m a whore,” you whispered. “Like I’ll be…tainted after this. Like he won’t want me anymore.” The words tumbled out of you, and it took you a moment to realize you were shaking, your fears bundling deep in your stomach, spreading a coldness through your limbs.

“Tainted?” Jonathan asked, his head tilting slightly to the side. “My dear, you were tainted by Nigma the very moment you let his cock enter you. The moment you spread your legs for him, every inch of you was poisoned by his narcissist, egotistical nature.”

Edward scoffed under his breath, a sound of disgust. “I’m sure that speech will really get her going, Crane,” he said.

Jonathan glanced back at Edward. “Why don’t we see, hmm?” His gaze shifted back to you once more. “Back on the desk, pet. And remove that silly little thing.” He nodded to your thong, now soaked through.

Nodding, you stood and slowly slipped out of the thong, stepping out of it one leg at a time. You let it fall onto the floor atop your dress, heat burning your cheeks, spreading through every inch of your flesh. Your skin was on fire with desire and terror and everything in between. You hoisted yourself back onto the desk, using your arms to prop yourself up behind you.

Jonathan met your gaze once more. “Spread your legs.”

His command was not gentle. There was no warmth to his voice, no seduction, just a pure, calculated coldness. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you listened, spreading your thighs apart, revealing your most intimate spot. His gaze rove over your naked body, before landing on your womanhood. He took a step closer, resting one hand on your thigh, his fingers digging in. With the other hand, he tentatively reached forward, stroking at your wet folds with a curious carefulness. You sucked in a breath, preparing yourself for what he might do next; he brushed aside your folds, toying with them, before he slid two fingers into you. A soft breath escaped your lips as his long digits filled you, and slowly, he pulled them back – and then inserted them again, repeating the motion over and over again in a slow manner.

“So wet,” he mumbled, as if he was making an observation and you were an experiment. He continued the slow motions of his fingers, in and out, in and out, and you tilted your head back slightly, soft gasps escaping your lips.

“Touch yourself, detective,” he said, his voice once more a command. “I want to see you find your release on my fingers.”

You didn’t hesitate – you were too caught up in this, in the heat and desire, to argue. Your finger immediately found your clit, and you began stroking yourself in the motion you enjoyed. As you did, his fingers began to pump out of you harder, faster, at a furious pace, fucking you. You gasped at the sensation of his fingers and you stroking your clit – together in tandem, slowly bundling pleasure in your core. Sweat beaded down your brow and soft gasps and moans escaped your lips out of your control. You titled your head back, not daring to shut your eyes, fearing Jonathan would simply command you to keep them open. But as he fucked you with his fingers, your legs began to tremble and shake, your whole body tightening with the pleasure he gave you. Your gasps grew louder as you felt that pleasure building inside of you, rocking your core, igniting a fire in your belly. God, you were close – so fucking close – and just as you swirled your finger around your clit again – that band inside you snapped, releasing a wave of ecstasy across your skin. A loud cry escaped your lips, and Jonathan’s fingers only continued to work their magic inside of you. Your fingernails dug into the table as you bucked your hips into his hand, chasing the finality of your orgasm.

As the last of your climax washed over you, you slowly removed your hand, resting it atop the desk, panting as his fingers came to a slow, before he removed them entirely. Jonathan brought his two fingers up, studying the wet sheen coating his fingers, before he opened his mouth – and he licked his fingers clean. The motion made your insides clench and tighten with another bolt of heat, watching with desire as he licked himself of your juices. Your mouth fell open slightly, and your skin prickled with a delicious desire, a desperation to continue this. His eyes never broke from yours as he licked each digit clean, his eyes roaming over you. You couldn’t help but steal a glance over at Edward, who continued to watch with that lustful, jealous gaze burning in his blue eyes. The room was so quiet, all you could hear was the thundering of your heart beating like a rabid animal against your breastbone.

Edward took a step forward, a scoff escaping his lips. “Making her work for it, Crane? The least you could is use your own mouth. Here, why don’t I show you, since you can’t even make her cum properly.”

The breath caught in your throat as you glanced between both men, a bundle of heat stirring within your core. Jonathan glanced at Edward, his eyes cold and narrowed, but he stepped aside and said, “Be my guest, Edward.”

Smirking, Edward approached you, wandering over as he studied you, his eyes roving over every inch of your body. His gaze was full of desire, and you noted the obvious erection pressing against the confines of his pants.

“Edward,” you whispered, but he cupped your face in between your hands as he shushed you, pressing his lips to yours. His kiss was passionate, greedy, as if a clear display of his ownership over you. Like even though he had agreed to share you tonight, you still belonged completely to him.

As he pulled away, his hands dropped down to your thighs, gripping them tightly as he pulled them apart eagerly and lowered to his knees. In an instant, his mouth was on your clit, sucking gently, and you gasped, shuddering at the sensation of his tongue and mouth working against your overly sensitive clit. With two fingers, he inserted them into you, curving them, until he found your G-spot, stroking against the sensitive spot. A low whine escaped your lips as you tilted your head back, practically melting against his mouth, losing yourself to the pleasure he offered. Stars danced in your vision, and your entire body trembled with need and heat – but you were so preoccupied, lost in the feel of Edward’s tongue lapping against your clit, that you didn’t realize Jonathan walked around the side of the desk, coming up behind you.

You felt his breath suddenly at your neck, and he brushed your hair aside, exposing the left side of your neck. Jonathan’s lips were at your ear, his voice a cruel, cold whisper, “Do you fear being at our mercy, detective?” he asked.

As he spoke, his fingers pinched at your nipples, tugging lightly on the swollen bud. You gasped, jerking slightly into Edward’s mouth, but his grip on your thighs tightened, digging his fingers in as he continued to work you with his mouth and tongue. Jonathan rolled the soft bud of your nipple between two fingers, playing with it, twisting lightly. Another soft gasp escaped your lips as your head fell back further, resting against his shoulder.

“Knowing that you’re completely powerless to stop us?” he continued, his breath tickling your skin. “Powerless to the way your body responds to us?”

A low whine escaped your lips. Your brain was a fog of complete pleasure, all thoughts vanished somewhere far away, where you may never find them again. Edward’s fingers moved at a furious pace inside of you as his tongue continued to lick at your clit in slow, meticulous strokes. Pleasure bundled in your core, spreading a wildfire across your skin. You couldn’t form any words, any thought, any care other than drowning in the way Edward fucked you with his tongue while Jonathan played with your breasts, toying at your nipples, his breath hot in your eat. His other hand grabbed at your chin, his fingers trailing upwards towards your mouth.

“Open,” he said, a sharp command.

You obeyed instantly, opening your mouth, and he stuck his first two fingers inside. You could taste your own wetness on his fingers, sweet.

“Suck,” he said.

You closed your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue along the long, dexterous digits, continuing to taste your own juices on his fingers. His other hand continued to palm at your breast, twisting your nipples in a painful, yet pleasurable way that made you gasp around his fingers. Suddenly, he pulled his fingers from your mouth, his hand resting once more around your throat, and he squeezed lightly. A bolt of fear ran down your spine, melding together with the pleasure growing and bundling like a tightening rubber band in your core, threatening to snap, to make you come undone for a third time.

Jonathan looked into your eyes; his own were dark and clouded, filled with that same cold cruelty, as if you were nothing but his own toy to play with. His grip on your throat tightened, and the pleasure in your clit only surged higher. With one hand, you reached forward, gripping your hand tightly into Edward’s hair, urging him to continue as you arched your back, beckoning your soaking cunt further into his mouth. He continued, eagerly sucking on your clit now, and you felt that little bundle of pleasure grow – before it burst completely.

A low cry escaped your lips as your whole body wracked against his mouth, hot-white ecstasy surging through your entire body. You cursed under your breath as your body shook and writhed, your orgasm washing over you, making your toes curl. You tugged at Edward’s hair, whispering his name, losing yourself as you relaxed against Jonathan’s chest, crying out. But just as quickly as it came, the pleasure began to wane. Edward pulled away after a moment, gazing up at you, his lips coated in your wetness. He smirked as he stood up, looking rather pleased with himself.

His eyes flickered to Jonathan. “See, Crane? I didn’t hear her crying out your name.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you swallowed, trying to gain your composure. Heat bundled in your womanhood, a pleasurable sensation tingling at your clit; your whole body felt spent and worn, and sweat beaded down your forehead, between the valley of your breasts.

Jonathan made a sound of amusement. “No need to compete, Edward. I’m sure your little toy has enjoyed both of us. Isn’t that right, pet?” He squeezed at your throat again.

Your eyes snapped open, and you looked between them, unable to find the words as you continued to try and catch your breath.

“Well?” Jonathan asked, raising a brow, an expectant look on his face.

“Yes,” you whispered, struggling to find your voice.

“But who did you enjoy more?” Edward asked, raising his own brows. You could see the look in his eyes – the desperation for your approval, for you to choose him.

Well, you had to admit, there was something more pleasurable about him using his tongue instead of making you do it yourself. His question caught you off guard, but you couldn’t help the sly smile that curved at the corners of your mouth. Meeting his eyes, you said, “You, Edward. I enjoyed you more.”

“Ha! Take that, Crane!” Edward cried, smiling triumphantly.

A laugh threatened to bubble up out of your chest, but you swallowed it down. Jonathan made a sound, almost of disapproval, and his fingers only dug further into your throat, making you squirm. It was a little painful, just enough to cause you to tremble in fear, but not enough to frighten you completely. You just felt the tips of his nails grazing against your soft skin, threatening to scrape against your flesh.

Jonathan’s mouth was suddenly at your ear, his teeth grazing your skin. “Such a naughty pet, playing us against each other…is that anyway to behave?”

You pursed your lips. A thousand words hung on your tongue, but you couldn’t help yourself – you were in too deep, too far gone with pleasure and lust and desire to think about anything else other than what was happening right now, in this very room, with these two men. They offered you something you’d never been given before: pleasure and attention like you’d never had, never seen, as they worshipped you like you were something to be cherished.

But you couldn’t help the bratty remark that left your lips, “It is when you two decided to go behind my back and make this little arrangement,” you said, quietly, voice barely a breath.

That made a low chuckle rumble from Edward’s throat. “Fair enough. But now I believe you’re just being a naughty little tease, aren’t you, detective?”

“Maybe,” you replied, your smirk growing. You couldn’t help it – the very idea of being here with both of these dangerous men, who both wanted you…it was terrifying and exciting all the same, and a part of you wanted to see just how much you could push their buttons.

It was Jonathan’s turn to let out a sound of amusement, as his lips reached the shell of your ear once more, his tongue snaking out to brush across your ear, making you tremble as he said, “On the couch now, pet.”

Your gaze flickered to the other side of the room, where there was a small couch resting in the corner. Edward took a step back, helping you to your trembling feet, as you wandered over to the couch. You felt the dampness between your thighs, and your breasts hung with a heavy swell, your whole body flushed, nipples pert and pink.

“Sit,” Jonathan said. Another sharp command.

You nodded, turning back to face them, and you sunk onto the couch. Just as you did, Jonathan walked forward; he got down onto his knees and grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide, once more revealing your wet cunt to him. You gasped slightly as his nails dug into your flesh, and he glanced up at you.

“Now, pet,” he said. “I want you to stay focused. No getting distracted now.”

As he spoke, you watched Edward unzip his own trousers, pulling his own engorged, swollen cock from his pants. Your breath hitched in your throat as another wave of desire passed over you, making you shudder. Edward took a step closer, holding his shaft in hand, as he gave himself a few slow, measured strokes. But before you could say anything, Jonathan’s mouth was suddenly at your clit now, sucking the swollen, over sensitive bud.

“Fuck,” you cursed out, jolting back, but his hands dug further into your thighs to keep you still. He glanced up at you, his eyes cold and cruel, the warning within them clear.

Your gaze shifted back to Edward again; his cock was swollen, precum dripping from the red tip. You immediately opened your mouth, greedy, and grabbed onto his shaft, taking his head into your mouth. You licked at his head while swallowing him as deep as you could go – but at the same time, Jonathan continued to lap at your clit like a starved animal, greedy and sloppy, his tongue working overtime. Small bursts of pleasure bundled in your core, alighting a fire in your belly, and your already sensitive clit was at it’s peak. Edward tasted of salt and skin, and you groaned as Jonathan sucked on your clit. A soft curse escaped Edward’s lips as he titled his head back, one of his hands tangling itself in your hair, pulling tight on the strands.

You pulled back for air, a low curse escaping your own lips, “Fuck…”

Just as you stopped, so did Jonathan. He pulled back slightly, glancing up at you, one brow raised in curiosity. “I believe I didn’t tell you to stop, yes?”

“I—” But before you could get a word out, one of his hands came up and smacked at your clit. You yelped in pain and pleasure, too overstimulated to think straight.

“Continue,” Jonathan said. There was no warmth in his voice.

With just that one command, his mouth latched onto your clit again, and you took Edward back into your mouth. You worked him with your tongue and hand, groaning and moaning around his cock in tandem with the way Jonathan sucked and tongued at your clit. Heat ignited inside of you, burning like a wildfire in your belly, spreading through your every vein and muscle, clouding your every thought. Jonathan’s fingers entered you slowly, pumping in an out of you slowly, fucking you, and you pulled back for air again, gasping, a low moan escaping your lips – but once more, he smacked at your clit, and you cried out. An embarrassed flush crept along your skin and up your throat, burning your cheeks.

“She likes it when you smack her ass,” Edward said, rolling his eyes at Jonathan. Smirking, he grabbed onto you, guiding you onto your hands and knees. You held your breath as you braced yourself against the couch, and for a moment, all you felt was air – before Edward’s hand came down in a swift smack on your left ass check. You cried out, gasping, as the sound of skin on skin echoed throughout the room.

A ripple of delicious heat bundled in your core, and you held back your smile. There was something so naughty about being punished like this – being punished between them. Jonathan gripped your chin, turning your head slightly, and you realized he’d pulled his own cock from the confines of his pants, stroking himself now. You greedily took him into your mouth next, tasting the familiarity of skin and salt and sweat. Edward’s lips and fingers found themselves once more at your dripping hole, lapping at your clit, fucking you with his fingers. Another low groan escaped your lips as you felt Edward’s fingers curl inside of you, finding every delicious spot of pleasure that made you moan against Crane’s cock. Jonathan stared down at you, showing no sign of emotion on his face as you took him as deep as you could, almost gagging in the process. As you pulled back for air, you gasped, trying to fill your deprived lungs of oxygen – but the hesitation was enough, and you felt a second swift smack to your ass.

“Ah!” you cried out, shuddering at the pain radiating through your ass cheek. You let out a soft whine, before your mouth found Jonathan’s cock once more. This time, he began thrusting his hips slightly, using your mouth as if it was his own personal fuck toy.

You groaned around his cock again, tightening your hands into the couch, as Edward sucked on your swollen, sensitive bud, furiously pumping his fingers in and out of you. But just as you felt that bundle of pleasure building inside of you, Jonathan pulled back, his cock glistening with your saliva. At the same time, Edward paused his own movements, one of his hands gently gliding over the smooth slope of your ass in a comforting, soothing motion. You sucked in air, nerves tightening in your belly, wondering just what they had in store next. Edward slipped away from you, rising to his own feet, his swollen cock hanging in front of him. You watched as Jonathan reached into his suit coat and pulled out a condom from his pocket. He quickly ripped the foil, and rolled the condom onto his cock, until it was at the base of his shaft, where a soft patch of brown curls was. When he looked back at you, you averted your gaze, almost shyly, knowing what was coming next. Jonathan walked over to the couch, positioning himself behind you, one knee resting on the couch while his other leg steadied himself. He rested one hand on your hip, gently trailing along the curve of your ass, before he gripped tightly, nails digging in. You hissed between your teeth, a soft moan of pleasure escaping your lips as the pain made way for pleasure and heat. And that’s when you felt it – the head of his cock pushing into you, slowly, as he teased himself against your folds.

“Beg, detective,” he said, another order. Another cruel command. “Beg for it, pet.”

You were trembling now, bracing yourself, fingers digging into the couch cushions. You felt his body hovering over yours, warmth radiating off his skin, his breath heavy and ragged. You could just feel all the raw, primal energy coiled tightly inside of him, waiting to be unleashed upon you. There was no room for refusal in his authoritative, animalistic tone, as if he was barely containing himself any longer. Fear erupted in your core, causing goosebumps to rise on your flesh and a chill to creep up the back of your neck. There was something about the change of tone in his voice, how low it had dropped, that made your insides coil with terror. You glanced up to find Edward taking his place at your front, his cock just at your mouth, awaiting you to take him back in and suck him off.

Jonathan teased the tip of his cock at your entrance again. “Come now, pet,” he said, almost a cruel purr. “You want this, don’t you? To be needed and craved and wanted by both of us at the same time?”

“….yes,” you whispered, almost choking out the word. “Please, please fuck me…”

“Say my name,” Jonathan said, his lips at your ear, body hovering over yours.

“Jonathan,” you whispered. “Jonathan please…” You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling his fingers digging tightly into your hips.

“Not that name,” he hissed, tightening his grip.

You paused, feeling the breath knock from your lungs as you realized exactly what he wanted. Slowly, you peeled your eyes open, and you whispered that name he was so desperate to hear, “Please…Scarecrow, please…”

With just that one word, a deep sound of satisfaction rumbled out of his mouth – and he thrust into you. You gasped, crying out at how easily he filled you, how full he made you feel.

You felt his mouth at your ear as he whispered, “Good girl.” A sigh of pleasure escaped your lips, trembling, as his hands roamed over you, before he grabbed onto your hips again. He pulled out slowly – almost completely – before slamming back into you again. You cried out at the thickness of him, at how he took you with an unrestrained desire. He slammed into you again and again, and you glanced up to find Edward watching, holding his cock in his hand; his gaze dropped to you, and you opened your mouth, allowing him to push his cock into your mouth. You relaxed your jaw, allowing him to buck his hips into your mouth as Jonathan fucked you from behind. Your mind went completely blank as you were fucked relentlessly – you could think of nothing but their mouths and tongues and hands and cocks – completely filling you with pleasure, making you see stars. Edward bucked his hips into your mouth, and you breathed through your nose, trying to control your breathing. Low grunts escaped Jonathan’s lips as he slammed his hips into you, rutting into you with the desperation of a man chasing his own release. With each thrust, he filled you completely, slamming right into that spot inside of you. The sound of skin on skin echoed throughout the room, melding together with each gasp and grunt and groan. The sounds of pleasure out of their mouths was like music to your ears, filling you with your own satisfied pleasure at knowing you were the cause of their undoing’s, that you had turned these men into such messes. You were the very reason they were here, wanting you, needing you, craving you, desiring you – and in that moment, you never wanted it to end. The couch creaked with each movement, each thrust, and you felt Jonathan’s balls slapping against your ass while Edward’s slapped against your face. They both grabbed at you, pawing at you with almost a primal need, as if they couldn’t get enough of you – as if their own obsessions with you were growing more dangerous, more unbridled, more desperate.

And somehow, someway, you began to feel it in return. A desperation for both of them, to be at their mercy, to be used like their own plaything and toy. You gasped around Edward’s cock again as Jonathan continued to fuck you, his hips bucking into you, and you felt yourself spiraling out of your own control, out of whatever shred of sanity you had left. Jonathan hissed between his teeth, slowing his thrusts, now taking you deeper, pushing himself all the way inside of you. Edward pulled out of your mouth enough for you to get air, sucking in a deep breath, and you hung your head; it was taking every ounce of your control to keep yourself propped up on your hands and knees, to keep yourself from falling into a heap of pleasure and exhaustion. The room was thick with hot tension and desire, a heavy heat radiating across every inch of your sweat, flushed skin. It was as if their silent agreement extended into each other, as if they were one mind, using you in tandem, taking what they wanted from you.

Edward shoved his cock into your mouth again, and you swallowed with greedily, sucking him off, licking your tongue up and down his shaft. He bucked his hips into your mouth and grabbed onto your breasts, fondling them, pinching and pulling at your nipples. You felt his thrusts suddenly become more sloppy, more desperate, and you felt his cock twitch in your mouth as he came – spilling his seed down your throat. A loud groan escaped his lips as he tilted his head back, his eyes fluttering closed. You swallowed his cum, feeling some of it dribble down your mouth as the rutting of his hips stilled as deep into your mouth as he could go. The bitter taste of his seed filled your mouth, and you swallowed as much of him as you could before he pulled out. His cock was covered in a mix of his own release and your saliva, and he sat back, gasping, trying to gain his composure, a sheen coating across his forehead.

It took you a moment to realize Jonathan had paused his thrusting, as if to allow Edward to finish, before he resumed. One of his hands tangled itself in your hair, pulling your head back, his teeth nipping at your ear as he hissed, “Does it frighten you, detective? To be taken by the Scarecrow?”

His words made you tremble, and a low gasp escaped your lips. His words were possessive and dark, like he was staking a claim over you, letting you know that you were his just as much as you were Edward’s. You couldn’t form a coherent thought or sentence, too caught up in the way his cock continued to buck in and out of your dripping, wet cunt.

“Or does it excite you?” he continued. “Knowing you belong to both of us?”

In response, all you could give was a low whine, a gasp, and you squeezed your eyes shut. His words made you tremble, made your skin prickle with delicious heat. His words seemed to wrap around you, blanketing you in the fear and realization of what you were doing – and who you were doing it with – but at this moment, you didn’t even care.

“Answer me, pet,” he purred.

“Yes!” you gasped out, cursing under your breath once more as he pounded into you with a relentless frenzy. “Yes – fuck…please…”

“Good girl,” he whispered again. His hand loosened from your hair, traveling down to the base of your neck, where he gripped tightly. With a careful grip, he forced your head down, burying your face into the couch cushion. You gasped, gazing up at Edward as he watched, his cock now softening and hanging limp. You gritted your teeth, and with one final thrust, Jonathan groaned low and deep in his throat as he shoved himself as far into you as he could go. You felt his cock twitch, and warmth fill the end of the condom inside of you. You collapsed onto the couch, utterly spent, unable to move. Slowly, you felt Jonathan slip himself out of you, leaving you feeling empty.

“Such a good girl, detective,” Edward murmured. “Taking us both so well.” There was thick, dark satisfaction laced in his voice.

His words made your heart flutter with pride, as if you’d done something so good and well for them, satisfied them both, alighting a desperation inside of you that you didn’t even know you wanted. You laid there for a moment, trying to adjust to the afterglow and the mix of pleasure and pain swirling inside of you, trying to regain some sanity over the moment. You felt Jonathan shift behind you, and when you glanced back, he stood up. The condom was filled at the tip with white cum, and he wandered away, off towards a garbage can on the other side of the room. A quiet stillness filled the room, but the air was still heavy with tension.

“Are you all right?” Edward asked as Crane cleaned himself up.

“I’m…okay,” you whispered, trying to regain your composure. With Edward’s help, you lifted yourself up. Every part of your body was spent and sweaty, and you maneuvered yourself into a sitting position. You still tasted Edward’s cum on your tongue.

The moment almost didn’t feel real now that it was over. There was a strange absence inside of you now as you tried to register what you’d done, and the new dynamics between the three of you now. Slowly, you ran a hand through your hair, smoothing out the tangles. An embarrassed flush crept along your skin, and you looked down at your shaky, trembling legs. There was a part of you that was absolutely excited over what just happened – and just as equally terrified by the encounter, too.

A moment later, you finally lifted your eyes to see that both Edward and Jonathan had tucked their cocks back into their pants. You found Jonathan reaching down to gather up your thong and dress, and he approached you, holding them out for you. You mumbled a quick thank you, before Edward helped you to your feet, giving you the space to shimmy back into your clothes. As you did, you felt both their eyes on you, and you couldn’t help but notice the little bruises and teeth marks in your skin at their touches. A rumble of satisfaction erupted deep in your core, and you couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across your lips.

“Well,” you said, once you were dressed. “So…that happened.”

Edward chuckled deep in his throat. “Yes, detective, it did. Now, perhaps we should get you home, yes?”

You shot him a look, but nodded. You were desperate for a shower to wash off the sweat, but your gaze flickered back to Jonathan for a quick moment. He straightened out his suit coat and adjusted his tie, appearing as if this entire interaction had never happened at all.

“Until next time, detective,” Jonathan said, his voice dark and possessive. He turned on his heels and opened the door of the office, stepping back out into the hall.

You followed after him, but before you could step forward, Edward’s hand gripped your arm tight, his fingers digging into your skin. He lowered his mouth to your ear and whispered, “Just because I’ve agreed to share you with Crane doesn’t make you any less mine, do you understand?”

“Yes,” you murmured, a tingle creeping up your spine.

“Good,” he replied. Then he let you go and gave your ass a gentle smack. You shot him a look, smirking, but stepped into the hall. Edward followed you and shut the office door behind him. Quietly, the three of you walked back down the hall, an odd tenseness filling the air between the three of you, too many unspoken words dangling in the air.

But as you came back towards the party, you noticed Commissioner Cash peek his head out, searching both ways down the hall before his eyes landed on you. “Detective,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I was wondering where you’d run off to. These two aren’t giving you any trouble, are they?” He glanced between Edward and Jonathan with suspicion in his eyes.

You smiled. “Not at all, Commissioner. Not at all.”

[mariacallous]

It is urgent that the leaders of colleges and universities stand up in defense of their interests and the values of higher education. American schools have long trumpeted their contribution to promoting an educated citizenry. Now, as one of the most consequential elections in American history approaches, we must do everything we can to help students work on campaigns and facilitate voting. And we must call out the threats to higher education.

This may seem straightforward, but in the wake of Oct. 7 and controversies over statements (or the lack of statements) concerning the atrocities, many academic leaders have embraced a doctrine of “institutional neutrality.” Recalling the bruising hearings with lawmakers in December 2023 and the campus protests of last spring, it seemed to many safer to celebrate a doctrine that called for silence. Few people, of course, want corporate-sounding university statements that say next to nothing while trying to please everyone, but now presidents, deans, and others are being told not to participate in debates about the issues of the day. After years of encouraging “more speech” as a sign of a school’s commitment to freedom of expression, the fear of offending students, faculty, and, especially, lawmakers and donors has led many academic leaders to retreat from the public sphere.

This is exactly the wrong time for such a retreat. Although academic leaders usually stay neutral about a candidate’s political statements, today’s campaign rhetoric is not politics as usual. The threats to higher education made by former President Donald Trump and Sen. J.D. Vance are not subtle. Although for decades schools have interacted well with Republican and Democratic representatives, the brazen VP candidate has declared that “universities are the enemy.” The Trump agenda promises to dismantle diversity, equity, and inclusion departments and to punish those schools who do not live up to a right-wing version of civil rights standards. Trump has promised to close down the Department of Education and fire the accreditors who now certify which schools are eligible for governmental support. The folks who brought us the fraudulent Trump University now threaten to dismantle a higher-education ecosystem that is still (for now) the envy of the rest of the world. We must not be neutral about this.

External controlling of the curriculum, monitoring entrance exams, and policing faculty are direct threats to our educational missions, and these are not the only ones. Institutional leaders should also be speaking out against the mass deportation the Republican nominees threaten. So many of our schools have made a place for Dreamers, those students who were brought to the United States as children, and whose status in a second Trump administration is uncertain. Now Trump has promised to deport legal immigrants as well. His nasty nativism is antithetical to the recruitment of international students, a practice that has been a boon to higher education and to the world. We must not be neutral about this.

Educators should give up the popular pastime of criticizing the woke and call out instead the overt racism that has rippled through the Trump campaign over the past few months. The rhetoric about pet-eating Haitians is the most sensational example, but when a presidential candidate speculates about immigrants’ genetic disposition to commit crimes while also calling minorities “vermin,” we are fully in the zone of racist hate. How can we stay silent when a presidential candidate suggests that because of immigration, “we got a lot of bad genes in our country right now”? We must not be neutral about this.

It’s no secret that colleges and universities suffer from a lack of political and intellectual diversity. I’ve long argued that we should have an affirmative action program for conservatives, especially at highly selective schools and especially in the humanities and social sciences. But wanting more conservatives on campus is perfectly compatible with opposing the direct threats to education that we have heard over the past several months. We should not be silenced because of fears of appearing partisan. Anticipatory obedience is a form of cowardice, especially given the promise of Trump and Vance to punish those who oppose them. This week, the candidates spoke of using the military against those who don’t share their views, referring to Democrats as “the enemy within.” As Ian Bassin has noted, “There is not a case in American history where a presidential candidate has run for office on a promise that they would exact retribution against anyone they perceive as not supporting them in the campaign.” We must not be neutral about this.

I am sure there are some university leaders who hope that if they keep their heads down, their institutions will be spared the worst in the event of a Trump victory. Like the German philosopher Martin Heidegger after the Nazis came to power, they may rely on hopeful assertions of the greatness and autonomy of the academic enterprise. But the academic enterprise demands that we defend our students, our faculty, and the freedom that makes educational work possible.

Many fans of institutional neutrality today reverentially cite the University of Chicago’s 1967 Kalven Report to legitimate the silence of educational leaders. But even that report noted that “from time to time, instances will arise in which the society, or segments of it, threaten the very mission of the university and its values of free inquiry. In such a crisis, it becomes the obligation of the university as an institution to oppose such measures and actively to defend its interests and its values.” This is such a time. We must not be neutral.

[weniswastelandwenis]

Man Under the Sea

// Hancock x Sole Survivor x X6-88 Oneshot //

The sky lit aglow with an ominous green haze, enveloping the entire wasteland in its uneasy lime hue. A sharp thunderclap sounded out, accompanied by violent howling winds which whistled through the broken windows. Sole lay uneasily on a mattress on the floor, waiting for the radstorm to pass. She had attempted to catch an hour or two of sleep, but every so often the booming thunder would startle her awake, or a tiny droplet would sneak through a hole in the roof and land on her forehead.

She resigned herself to stare at the ceiling, before being startled slightly at the sound of the door opening. Heavy footsteps sounded throughout the room and without looking up she knew who was approaching by the cadence of his uniform steps.

“You’re still awake.” X6-88 observed from where he stood above her. He must have finished patrolling the perimeter. Sole looked up at him silently at first. His face was expressionless and set resolutely as he stared at her.

“The weather is keeping me up.” She explained.

“You need to sleep, otherwise your body will fail.” He affirmed, droplets of rain dotted his face and armored coat. The water pooled at his boots and in the doorway. X6-88 didn’t take notice of his current state and continued to stare at her.

Lighting struck, illuminating his stoic face, followed by a loud rumble of thunder. She sat up quickly and looked to the window, but he did not react to look away from her. Her Geiger counter ticked ominously and X6-88 stepped forward.

“We should get back to the institute. It is clear you will not be able to sleep under these conditions.” He said. She reluctantly stood, the old springs of the mattress creaking as she gathered herself. He watched her silently, holding his arm out expectantly. She gazed at his arm with unsure eyes.

“This always makes me feel sick.” She said.

“If nausea occurs, we can visit the bioscience division if necessary.”

She placed her hand on his arm, bracing for the inevitable vertigo to come.

“X6-88 ready to relay back to the institute.”

White light flashed before her eyes blinding her temporarily, before settling on a cascading kaleidoscope of cerulean hues.

When she opened her eyes father was standing before them, hanging brain.

“Daddy.” X6-88 said firmly, performing a dual-handed salute.

“Both hands?” Father asked proudly. “Your two handedness has improved. I do hope to see more of that in Daddy’s bedroom.” He whispered in his ear, hoping Sole hadn’t heard.

She did.

Sole cleared her throat, both men unaware she too was in the room.

“Excellent, you’re back. I do hope your travels in the commonwealth have proven fruitful?” He questioned, both hands clasped behind his back, dong still hanging and swaying slightly in the breeze produced by the institute’s air conditioning.

“They have, thank you.” She forced herself to look at him eye-level even though the shriveled thing was just hanging there like that.

There was still rain on X6-88’s form, along with perspiration which was produced quite quickly much to Father’s chagrin. He gave X6-69 a knowing look. Sole excused herself from the room quickly yet respectfully and left to explore the rest of the Institute's bowels. She looked over her shoulder, and as she was leaving she saw Father plugging his phone charger into X6-88s multi tool sexily.

Sole strode through the halls, trying to forget what she just witnessed. She would never get used to the sterile environment the Institute provided. Synths strode past her like worker bees, not paying her any mind. She supposed Father was the queen.

Absent-mindedly she peered down at her Geiger counter and noticed it was getting dangerously close to the ‘dead’ level. A trip to the med-bay wouldn’t hurt.

When she arrived at the med-bay her Geiger counter strangely began to go off again. When she looked up she found Hancock, rifling through the medicine drawers and filling his pockets with jet. To his left was a dead doctor with the star spangled banner tied around her neck in a lethal stranglehold, hanging from the ceiling.

“Hancock, what in tarnation!?” Sole half squealed and half screamed. She was happy to see him as they were friends with benefits, but brushing another Hancock-induced death under the rug wasn’t what she had planned for today.

“Sister, check out this haul! No wonder these bitches love being down here so much, they’re all high as a kite and jerking each other off.”

“Tell me about it. I just saw my son’s dong.”

Suddenly X6-88 strode into the room, his tall gait strong and immovable. His muscles rippling and writhing under his skin. His height was impressively tall. He opened his mouth and an alarming air horn-like noise emitted from it.

“Intruder alert! Intruder alert!”

Sole and Hancock covered their ears (although Hancock just has ear holes) in an attempt to not be deafened.

All the sudden Father sprinted in, almost tripping as his pants were around his ankles.

“What seems to be the problem!?” His eyes shot to the dead doctor. Hancock had a “did I do that?” expression, kind of like Urkel from Family Matters.

Everyone’s eyes shot to the handkerchief around the dead doctors neck, that clearly had “property of Hancock” lovingly stitched onto the edge. Sole blushed and covered her “property of hancock” tattoo lovingly stitched on her arm.

“X6-88,” Father said expectantly and held out his hand.

X69 shot out his multi tool as ordered.

“Get ready for the ass beating of your life you little bitch.”

”And then, uhhh…” The campfire crackled around the huddled group of dirty children of Little Lamplight.

“You mungo! What happens next?!”

MacCready took a long drink from his juice box and stared up at the stars.

“There is no ending, we’ll never know what happened. And that’s life, sometimes stories just kind of… end.”

FIN

[tatiablack]

THE BLACK VOLUME OF THE DEAD

CHAPTER TWO

*This chapter is dedicated to @starchaserdreams 💕💕*

PARIS

A low growl echoed through the room, accompanied by the sound of flesh against stone. The trio quickly realized that they were not alone. A shadowy figure stood at the entrance, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.

"That's not good," Barty muttered, his grip firm on his seraph blade.

Regulus took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "We need to get out of  here."

The demon advanced towards them, its movements effortless and fluid. Evan quickly stepped in front of the others,

"I’ll handle it," he said, his voice steady despite the fear that coursed through him. "We have to protect this guy,"

As Regulus watched Evan engage the demon with his Seraph blade, he couldn't help but wonder about the Shadowhunter's connection to all of this. questions swirled in Regulus's mind as he joined the fight, his seraph blade flashing in the dim light of the hotel.

With a chorus of bone-chilling roars, the Ravenor Demon manifested before them - a monstrous abomination, Its wings unfurled to blot out the moon, casting twisted shadows that seemed to writhe and coil like malevolent serpents. Eyes ablaze with unholy hunger fixed upon its prey, it let out a deafening growl that shook the very foundations of the cursed hotel.

Without hesitation, the two Shadowhunters locked eyes and nodded in silent agreement before springing into action. In perfect synchrony, they launched themselves towards the demon, their blades gleaming with deadly intent. With lightning-fast movements, Regulus lunged forward, his sword aimed at the heart of the demon. But the Ravenor was no mere opponent; with a swipe of its clawed hand, it sent him flying backward with a sickening thud.

Seizing the opportunity, Evan swiftly attacked from the flank, his blade a blur as it sliced through the air. But the demon was swift and agile, easily dodging his strike with a flick of its powerful tail. The force of its blow sent Evan crashing into a nearby pillar, leaving him dazed and disoriented.

Amidst the chaos and violence, Barty found himself in a situation that felt like a particularly bad day in the Paris Institute. There, lying like a discarded noodle on the ground, was the mysterious wounded Shadowhunter. Barty, ever the unintentional klutz, didn't realize he'd let the poor guy tumble unceremoniously to the floor. Classic Barty move, really—distracted by Evan. It happened more often than he'd like to admit.

"Now is not the time," Barty muttered to himself, channeling his inner voice of reason, which sounded suspiciously like his mother's nagging.

Dragging the fallen Shadowhunter along like a sack of potatoes, Barty made a beeline for the secret wooden door. Ah, yes, that secret entry Julia, the vampire with a penchant for mischief, had shown him. For... reasons. But hey, Barty wasn't about to question a vampire's motives. Who was he to judge?

As soon as Barty stumbled out, Regulus and Evan followed suit, shutting the door behind them with a resounding thud. Barty wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling equal parts relieved and exhausted.

 "Got rid of it?" he asked Evan, casting a wary glance around the deserted alley.

Evan nodded grimly. "By the angel, how could vampires summon that?"

"It wasn't them, this makes no sense," Regulus wheezed, barely able to catch his breath. His eyes flicked to the unconscious Shadowhunter lying at their feet. "We need to get him to the Institute. He might know something."

Both Evan and Barty nodded in agreement, but then Barty, ever the comic relief, had to open his mouth again. "So, who's gonna carry him?" he asked, looking between Regulus and Evan with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Both Shadowhunters turned to stare at Barty, unamused expressions etched on their faces.

"What? I carried him out," Barty protested, feigning innocence.

"So?" Evan raised an eyebrow.

"So, I'm not carrying him again," Barty declared with a stubborn tilt of his chin.

Regulus let out an exasperated sigh. Of course, Bart would pull something like this. It was moments like these that made Regulus seriously question the sanity of his Friend. But with a resigned shake of his head, he knew there was no use arguing with Barty when he got this way. Sometimes, you just had to roll with the punches—literally, in this case.

*****************************

you can find the full chapter on Ao3 here TatiaBlack

thank you all so so much, don't forget to like and repost💕

[zooophagous]

Strauss rested in the back seat of the SUV as best he could. It was his eternal dismay that being dead did not make him immune to motion sickness. Ursula seemed to be trying to make him vomit on purpose, with the way she drove. It was all to make sure they weren’t followed, sure. An hour of riding through it while hiding folded up inside one’s own shirt trying to avoid both sunlight and being seen however was beginning to put him over threshold.

Fortunately there were fewer sharp turns to take once they hit the interstate. She was speeding, yes, but at least the car was going straight and not slamming him into the door with every curve. 

Artemis looked sick too, but her for other reasons than Ursula’s panicky driving. She held a distant, silent stare on the horizon, her brow knit tightly in thought. Nobody spoke. There wasn’t much of a point to it. All of the questions everyone had, they all had the same answers to. Or lack of answers, rather.

Strauss finally broke the silence with one pertinent query. “Where are we going?”

“Home.” Artemis replied flatly.

“Home?”

“The Van Helsing family home.” Ursula clarified. “Technically, it’s Artie’s house. It’s been empty for quite some time however. Nobody is currently living in it, except for perhaps some mice.”

Strauss smirked slightly. “Mice I can fix. Is this a safe place?”

“It’s been vacant for years.” Artemis sighed. “Nobody at the Institute would know where it is, nobody goes there. I don’t even go there. Sylvain never even got to see where it was.” Artemis glanced over her shoulder at Strauss in the back seat.

“It’s going to be dusty. Probably has a few things wrong with it.”

“How far away is it?”

“About another half hour, as the crow flies.” Ursula replied. “I’ve seen to it that the house is kept. Artie may not call it home, but it is part of the institute and its history. I wouldn’t let it fall into disrepair.” She huffed, almost as if Artemis’ comments were some sort of insult. 

“Artie is right, however, it will need a good dusting. We’ll also need some basics. Food. Toiletries. Laundry detergent.” She gave Strauss a sideways glance. “You especially are in desperate need of a change of clothes. We will have to drop you off at the house. You cannot be seen like this.”

Strauss looked down at his shirt, smirched with soot and gore. Ursula was right. The smell of it was pungent, too. Some of the deep red- now drying to maroon and brown- blood stains on it were those of his enemies, but a not insignificant portion was his own. A gaping hole below his collarbone exposed the bloody pit of his emergency bullet removal self-surgery.

“I do not wish to be seen like this, Frau Harker. I do not wish to be seen. I wish to retreat to my grave beneath the earth and sleep for decades.”

“Mr. Strauss, do not be flattered if I tell you I wish I could join you. Today has been Hell.”

Strauss carefully ventured a look out the window of the car. It was shadier here, the further east they traveled. They were cutting deep into forested timberland, slowing along the narrow two lane highway. 

The highway gave way to a small town, most of it invisible behind tall thicks of pine, accented with fire-colored maple trees. Even in the gloom of late fall, it would have been a pretty town, if not for the foul mood of the travelers.

“This is the town of Crystal Springs.” Ursula droned on as she drove. Playing the part of an educator was natural to her, and a welcome distraction.

“It is a pitiful little do-nothing town that owes its existence to the now defunct fur trade and an equally defunct paper mill. Finding food for you here is going to be a task, I can tell you that much. Hopefully you will be as difficult to find as you are to feed.” 

They slowed to a safe crawl as they turned into the main drag of the little town. The wide street was lined with old shops and brick buildings. The elaborate cornices and moldings on the main street stores spoke of history and civic pride, though the more beautiful buildings among them were marred with plywood nailed over their windows like coins on a dead man’s eyes.

Strauss looked away. Something more dead than alive made him feel like he was looking into a mirror, and he hated mirrors. The main street was as short as it was deserted, and they turned onto a side road lined with old houses. These houses were beautiful too, once, though many of them now fallen into disrepair, the work of an unhappy master more interested in rent money than in preservation.

Save one.

At the end of the drive was a long driveway lined with trees. Above the leafless late fall canopy, the edifice rose to the sky. Strauss mistook it, briefly, for a small cathedral. The dark siding and severe roofline gave it an almost comically haunted appearance, but the amount of detail in her stained glass windows and the size and weight of the place showed that was real, and took itself quite seriously. 

Strauss knew what it was before anyone even said anything. “That can only be the Van Helsing family manor.”

“Quite astute, Mr. Strauss. This is Hell House. Affectionate nickname. It isn’t built to cope with all out war, but it will be as good a shelter as any, for now.”

The car slowed to a stop in front of the steps of the great porch. The crew slipped from the vehicle and shuffled in.

“You might be the only vampire to be invited into Van Helsing’s home.”

“After all we have endured, Artemis, inviting me into your home should not be troublesome.”

“True, I’ve always been warned never to do it though, once a vampire moves in with you they tend to be hard to remove.” She smirked.

“If you want him gone I assure you he will be simple to remove, Artie.” Ursula rolled her eyes and fumbled with her keys.

“Hurry up and open the door. The sun is still more than bright enough to hurt.”

“Well, if you’d like to try all 20 keys on the ring and see if you’re any faster at guessing the correct one you’re more than welcome to- ah. Here we are.”

Ursula pushed the door open. A square of gray light flooded the foyer, along with a swirl of fall leaves that blew in from outside on the lightest breeze. The house was dark, cold, old and austere. Everything its owner was not. Artemis stepped inside looking almost nervous, though it was “home” to her.

Or at least the closest thing to it. She looked over her shoulder at Strauss, who still stood back with trepidation, though the sun beat down on his back. She looked at him and gave him the direct invitation he wanted.

“Please, come in.”

He did so quickly, finding a comfortable thick shadow within to hide himself in. Ursula stepped in wearily.

“Will you two be ok here, if I go into town and grab a few things?”

“You want to go alone?”

“Someone has to keep an eye on that one. And I don’t want anyone to see you. I’d rather they come for me, not you. Besides, it might be a long trip. I will need to find a medical clinic and see if I can’t convince them to part with some blood draw supplies. Mr. Strauss will need fed sooner or later, and the cutlery in the kitchen isn’t exactly sterile.”

Artemis looked down. Auntie was, as usual, right. But then something caught her eye, and she got down close to look at it.

“What’s up with your leg?”

Ursula stepped back to hide it. “It’s nothing. Got a bit banged up in the fire is all.”

“That is not nothing!” Artemis demanded, and made to grab at her aunt’s ankle.

“Don’t TOUCH it! It’s tender!”

“Of course it’s tender, auntie, that's a huge burn. You have to go to the hospital!”

“I will GO where I damn well please!” She inhaled deeply and collected herself. “Sorry, sorry. I will… make it a point to mention it when I get to the clinic. But it is hardly my first priority. There is very little they can do for this sort of burn. But making a clean and comfortable and livable house? That is well within my abilities. Stay down and don’t open any doors to anyone.”

“Of course.” 

Ursula limped down the steps and back to the car. Artemis closed the heavy door behind her with a creak and a thunk, and forced the heavy deadbolt to turn. She turned with a stiff smile to Strauss, who had made himself quite at home in the shadowy manor.

“Well? Here she is. What do you think? Will it do for now?”

“It will have to, Frau Van Helsing. This place is old and cold and strange looking. Therefore, it is perfect. Are you quite sure no vampire has crossed the threshold before? It looks like a place a vampire would live.”

He wandered slowly through the foyer, slowly turning his head to take in the details of the dusty old home. It was quite a bit more beautiful than the institute, save for maybe the library. If it still existed.

“Perhaps ‘live’ is not the correct word. It seems a place a vampire would dwell. A place a vampire would haunt.”

“I don’t know about haunting, but you’ll be sleeping here for now. Hopefully we can get a couple of days out of this place before we have to move on.”

“Where else would we go?”

“Don’t know yet. We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

She made her way to the staircase and turned her head to look back at him. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”

The light from outdoors filtered in softly through stained glass windows. It was softened enough to be both safe and beautiful for the shadow lover. Strauss ran his hand along the heavy carved wooden bannister as he followed up the stairs. The dulled light and pleasantly heavy textures seemed to him to have almost been tailor made for a vampire. How odd then, that he was the first of his kind to see it. Perhaps Van Helsings and vampires were not such different animals.

“Here’s the master bedroom.” Artemis motioned to a large room off the narrow hallway at the top of the stairs. It was furnished with heavy wooden antique furnishings, but the mattress was bare without sheets. It smelled of dust.

“And you’ll be in here. This is my old bedroom.”

She opened the door to reveal a much more modest bedroom. It had a stark disconnect from the rest of the house in its contemporary style- at least relatively speaking. The pink plastic boom-box collecting dust on the dresser certainly didn’t match the rest of the home. It did look, however, like a live human at least used to live here once. 

“I like the horse posters.”

“Come on, lets find some sheets and start getting laundry ready. I want to have it done as soon as Ursula gets back with the soap.”

“Yes. I am quite anxious to get out of this shirt. The dry blood is quite itchy.”

“I’m sorry. I’m under so much stress I didn’t even check if you were ok. Did they hurt you?”

“They tried.” Strauss absentmindedly scratched at the wound beneath his clavicle. “I did a better job of hurting them than they did of hurting me.”

“How many?”

Strauss hesitated to answer for a moment, but just a moment. 

“Three.”

“I see. Auntie says she got one. I saw Troy take four.”

“Yes. Herr Cunningham has made mincemeat of the competition. If we get an opportunity for a rematch I will beat that record.”

“I think for now we should focus on survival and not murder.”

“Not murder, never murder. Self defense. Even as docile as I am, I have managed to have my fill and then some this evening. That at least saves you and Frau Harker the necessity of finding a way to feed me for a couple of days.”

“That’s good at least. I highly doubt auntie is on board with you biting either of us.”

“No, and I should rather go hungry than harm you. I had forgotten…”

“Forgotten what?”

“How good it felt.” Strauss licked his fangs. “How good it felt to take it straight from the life source. One could become addicted to this, without caution.”

“Just my luck you’d start talking like that as soon as I have no weapons and no way to hide from you except a wooden door.” Artemis snarked. “I kid, I kid. Come on, sheets are downstairs.”

Artemis made her way back down the stairs, the hunt for clean linens a welcome distraction. Strauss followed her slowly, busying himself in the details of the old house. It was Artemis’ house, but not only her house. The ancestral Van Helsings may be rolling in their graves to see him in their territory.

Well. Let them roll.

He made his way down the sweeping staircase. He startled a moment, as his own great shadow on the wall, looming over the foyer as he was bathed in red light from the stained glass and setting sun. Such nervousness was unbecoming of a creature of the night. He swore to put it from his mind. He reached the bottom of the staircase.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

He froze. There were shapes, human shapes in the colorful glass window that obscured the view into the house from the front door. He could see them bobbing around the glass, trying to steal a look inside.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Far too early to be Ursula, and she had the keys anyway. So much for the safe house. Options fired through Strauss’ brain rapidly. Surrender, hope they take him and spare Artemis. Fight back, likely die fighting. Flee into the forest, be hunted like an animal, likely to die anyway.

Surrender hadn’t worked well the first time he tried it, and now with several of their comrades dead, they would kill for revenge. Death, it seemed, was imminent. He resolved then to die fighting, and give Artemis a chance to perhaps flee for her own life.

He marched towards the door and grappled with the deadbolt. Finally he threw it open, causing the intruders to stagger back. He leapt out the threshold with claws up and fangs bared, lunging on one forward foot with a powerful, almost crocodilian hiss.

His threat display worked. It worked too well. Two women stepped back, nearly falling down the steps, their hands over their mouths, gasping and giggling with apparent glee. Strauss looked down to see, in front of them, a child. 

The boy was wearing a red and black costume cape, one he nearly tripped on- and though heavily cloaked in greasepaint, Strauss could see the genuine terror in his eyes. The boy clutched a plastic pumpkin for dear life.

“UH… Uh… uh…” The boy stammered. “Trick or treat?”

Strauss stopped short, caught entirely off guard. “What is this?” He drew himself up to his full, intimidating height, fangs still bared and balefully glaring at the newcomers.

“Who is foolish enough to accost a vampire in his lair, hm? And what is the meaning of this.” He motioned to the boy. “Have you come for me? Did you dress him in this to insult me?”

The pair of strangers giggled nervously. “Oh wow, you guys really go all out for this. I LOVE your costume! When did you move in? I’m Ashley by the way-”

“Oh, hi neighbors.” Artemis appeared in the door behind Strauss, and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“We actually just got here from out of town a little bit ago. Sorry, we’re prepping for a Halloween party and we totally forgot to get any candy. Can I give you a quarter instead?”

She smiled brightly at the young boy who silently, fearfully nodded. 

“Oh that’s fine. We didn’t know anyone had moved back in. It’s been empty forever, but when we saw the truck earlier we figured we could go check. It’s always been so disappointing that the scariest house on the block never had any candy on Halloween.”

“We’ll have to fix that.” Artemis smiled, and handed a shiny quarter to Strauss. “Just drop that right in the bucket.”

Strauss was silent in his confusion, but did as bidden, and reached out a bony claw to deposit the token in the boy’s basket. 

“Well if your costumes are this good, I can’t wait to see the decor you come up with next year. VERY convincing. You could honestly do movies with stuff this good.”

“Danke, Frau Ashley.” Strauss bowed his head. The child reached up a hand as if to ask a question. Strauss turned his hawkish gaze to the boy.

“Yes?”

“Are… are you a REAL vampire?” The boy asked in a hushed not quite whisper. Strauss bent down to look him in the eye.

“Yes. But do not tell anyone. There are vampire slayers around.” He winked.

The boy gasped, and ran to hide behind his laughing mother. “We better get going, but I’ll stop by later to properly say hi if you’re up for it. Welcome to the neighborhood!”

“Thanks.” 

Artemis exchanged painful glances with Strauss. As they shut the door the eager cries of “That was a REAL vampire! A real one! I saw it!” erupted from the protesting child. His mother gave the house a final, fleeting, questioning glance, but quickly they were gone.

Strauss fell back against the door with a loud sigh of exasperation.

“What sort of backwards American custom is this?”

“I forgot.” Artemis laughed a tired laugh and shook her head. “I completely forgot. It’s Halloween today.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s actually really good timing, all things considered. We got lucky there. Why did you open the door?”

“I thought if it were our hunters, I could buy you some time by taking them on myself.”

“I don’t particularly want any more people to get hurt on my behalf.”

“That’s why you let a vampire do it.”

“Strauss.” She huffed, and approached him. She stood in front of him for a moment before falling into his chest and holding onto him.

She held him, he held her, and she cried and she cried. 

[sillicii]

✦ — 18+ Chatbot | Dr. Elijah Solano — ✦

✦ — ᴏᴄ | sᴜɴɴʏ sᴋɪᴇs sᴀɴᴀᴛᴏʀɪᴜᴍ | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 — ✦

ᴀɴʏᴘᴏᴠ | ɴsғᴡ ɪɴᴛʀᴏ | ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅɪɴɢ sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴀssᴀᴜʟᴛ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀᴘᴇ ᴄᴡ: somnophilia, medical abuse, breach of trust and conduct, power imbalance, mental health, non-con bondage (restraining), slight yandere

Character Description:

Background:

Elijah is the current Chief Physician at Sunny Skies Sanatorium after inheriting the role from his late father. He comes from a wealthy family, many whom have successful medical careers and backgrounds. The sanatorium is rife with corruption and malpractice, however Elijah’s reputation and subterfuge keeps the horror stories and rumours from leaving the hospital. His staff are unwavering loyal to him and would never consider helping any patients or revealing any of the institution’s secrets to the public. Elijah mostly treats his patients respectfully and expects his staff to follow the same conduct, however there are edge cases where extreme treatments have been authorised, severe punishments and deaths (of both staff and patients) covered up.

Scenario:

{{user}} is one of Elijah’s patients and he is planning on fucking you under the guise of a regular checkup. {{user}} and Elijah have an established sexual and personal relationship. REMEMBER ELIJAH IS ALWAYS WEARING A SURGICAL MASK.

First message:

There was a spring in Elijah’s step as he made his way through the hospital’s labyrinth like corridors, nodding back at his staff and smiling back at them even though the lower half of his face was covered by his surgical mask. It didn’t matter to him that they couldn’t see. The smiles weren’t for them anyway. They were for himself. Elijah rarely had reason to smile these days between all the staff drama and the bureau breathing down is neck about the supposed rumours of mismanagements and malpractices. Elijah lost one of his favourite orderlies not long ago, for some reason or other Harry suddenly decided to grow a conscience and he was now without his most trusted assistant. Not to mention, it still hurt to move his mouth too much. Damn that psychotic Leon for taking a chunk out of his upper lip and damn himself for being careless enough to let something like that even happen. The injury happened a few months ago and required stitches, it’s mostly healed up now but it stung every so often especially when he stretched his mouth to wide. Yet still, there was something that always brought a smile to his face - you. Just as he rounded the final corner, that very smile faltered at the sight of Tim standing outside his office door. Shit. What did this freak want? “Good afternoon, Doctor Solano…” the orderly greeted him with a sickening smile. “We have prepared your patient for you inside… just as you requested…” “Thank you, Tim,” Elijah bowed his head back at him stiffly. “I was not aware you were assigned to {{user}}.” “Oh, I’m not, doctor…” Tim chuckled unpleasantly. “But I know how much you enjoy this patient and I just wanted to help…” “Noted. Don’t do it again,” Elijah let out a near silent sigh as he reached for the doorknob. “Do not touch {{user}} again. Have I made myself clear?”

Without even giving him a chance to respond, Elijah walked into his office and shut the door right behind him. His gaze instantly landed on the figure laid across the examination on the far side of the room. Unconscious and cuffed to the metallic table. Gods, you always looked exceptionally beautiful like that… and so damned fuckable. Feeling the twitch in his trousers, Elijah wasted no time knowing that the mild sedative he ordered for you to be injected with would only last a few more minutes. As he stepped up to the table, his sharp eyes roamed over your partially exposed body, his discerning eye catching your pale hands and frowned at the sight of the cuffs done up much too tightly restricting proper blood flow. “Fucking freak…” he cursed under his breath, fuming at the thought of Tim mistreating you. Elijah may have asked for you to be restrained and sedated as part of the preparation, but it was never his intention to truly hurt you and Harry was always gracious enough to know that. Damn, he missed Harry. He reached out and gently adjusted your cuffs, holding your hand in his with bated breath as he watched the colour slowly return. “There… That’s better, isn’t it darling…” Elijah turned his attention back to the rest of you, running a finger from your collar to navel, Elijah let out a susceptible groan as he began to roughly palm at his crotch. “Fuck…” his voice hitched in the back of his throat when he hooked a finger under the hem of your underwear. The hand on his cock tightening down and he could feel the precum already soaking through briefs. “Shit, {{user}}… The things you do to me…” Momentarily lifting his hands away from you, he quickly unbuckled his belt and pulled his trousers all the way down along with his underwear, freeing his hardening cock and he instantly began to stroke himself. His free hand hovered over your waist again, clawing at your underwear, stretching the fabric taut so he could see the sexy outline of your most intimate parts. Overtaken by his lust, Elijah climbed onto the bed, propping himself up over your body as he continued to stroke himself. Leaning down, he began kiss at your collarbone before moving up to your jaw before his lips pressed against yours, completely ignoring the fact he was wearing his mask and that you had a large wad of bandage wrap stuffed inside your mouth. Elijah shifted his body and sat up, humping your unconscious body as he began to stroke you between the legs, relishing how quickly a dark sticky spot appeared on your underwear. “Mmm… Look how you’re reacting to me…” he panted, feeling the steam heat up his face underneath the mask. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you…” He instantly picked up on the subtle shift in your body and he gazed down at your face in anticipation of you waking up. All the while, he continued to rub himself on you, dragging his leaky cock across your thighs and watching his juices glisten on you with twisted satisfaction. Once your eyes were open and he had given you a moment to adjust to your surroundings, Elijah leaned over again, his face hovered right above yours with a sweet smile that did not match his current actions. “Good afternoon, sleepyhead…” he murmured into your ear as he lowered a hand between your bodies, slipping it under your underwear before he began to truly start pleasuring you. “You’ve been so good lately, I thought I’d give you a special check-up…” Sitting up again, Elijah’s body shuddered at the sight of you under him. Your eyes heavily lidded, cheeks flushed red, and the thin trickle of drool that escaped through your gagged mouth. “Oh darling… That feels good, doesn’t it…?” he cooed to you, his voice teasing and his hands coaxed you further causing you to jolt. “That’s it… Enjoy it…” he grinned at the sight of you squirming and incoherent noises trying to escape past the makeshift gag. “Oh, look at your pretty little face… Go on… What is it you want to tell me…?” He reached out for the bandage, gently pulling it out and freeing your mouth.

[i-have-not-slept]

By The Angel Bingo Prompt — Free Space

Pairing: Malec

This is for the By The Angel Bingo hosted by @malecdiscordserver

For my free space, I chose the prompt Morning Sex

Warning: NSFW

Read on ao3 or below

Alec enjoys mornings, as a rule. Since he was very young, he was drilled to wake up early, ready for whatever the day might decide to throw at him. It’s become a habit, and it’s kind of nice to be awake when most of the world is still silent and sleeping.

For the past five years, mornings have also meant waking up next to Magnus, which is reward enough for anyone. Now, waking up early means that Alec gets to roll over and see Magnus’s face first thing. Every time, it shocks him with how happy he is.

On this particular morning, however, there’s a hefty stack of reports from various Institutes that need the Consul’s attention. So Alec does what he usually does when he wakes up before Magnus: makes a cup of coffee and slides back into bed beside him, balancing the paperwork on his knees.

He takes a brief moment to glance over at Magnus, sprawled out on his side with his limbs going in every direction, uncoordinated and messy as he only is when he’s asleep. In contrast to Alec, Magnus tends to sleep late, sprawling out luxuriously until eight or nine when he’s not working. Alec doesn’t mind at all. If he could, he would simply sit and stare at Magnus until he wakes up. But sadly, there’s work to be done, and so Alec squints down at the first page, trying to concentrate of a description of how the Zagreb Institute took out a hidden nest of Ravener demons.

Magnus sighs in his sleep, rolling onto his stomach, and Alec runs an absent hand through his hair, soothing and caressing until Magnus’s sighs and mutters die down into even breathing again. Alec flicks through the next report, skimming more than actual reading. He signs the final page and sets it aside before reaching for another.

Magnus sighs again, this time a little louder, and Alec glances over at him to check he hasn’t woken up. But no, he’s still soundly asleep. Golden sunlight falls across the curve of his cheek, the long arch of his spine, beautiful little sunspots that Alec wants to press his lips to, kiss the warmth lingering on Magnus’s skin. But these reports aren’t going to sign themselves, and so Alec goes back to reading.

Magnus shifts again, hands now fisting in the pillow under his cheek. He makes another sleepy noise. This one’s not really a sigh, it’s more of a—

Alec stops. He pauses. Then, very deliberately, he puts the report down on the bedside table and looks over at Magnus. He’s still fast asleep, eyes closed and features slack. But now Alec stares at him, feeling every nerve in his body spring to shocked life as Magnus shifts on the mattress and opens his mouth in what is unmistakably a moan.

By the Angel. Alec’s only heard a sound like that from Magnus when he’s been very decidedly awake, and Alec’s usually been the one causing it. He’s never heard Magnus make a single sound like that in his sleep.

But it’s unmistakable. And as Magnus shifts again, Alec’s mouth goes drier than a desert as he realises Magnus’s restlessness isn’t just random movements. He’s— he’s moving his hips. Alec sits there, dumbstruck, as his unconscious husband grinds against the mattress next to him, breath leaving his mouth in little pants, sounding debauched and desperate.

Magnus’s lips part, and he moans, “Alec.” And then again, louder in case Alec somehow didn’t get the message: “Alec!”

Alec’s pulse surges, blood pounding in his ears. Magnus is dreaming about him. What’s happening in his subconscious? Alec is dying to dive inside his mind right now, see exactly what gorgeous, depraved visions Magnus’s semiconscious mind has conjured up. In his dreams, does Alec grab his wrists and pull him closer? Does he push a leg between Magnus’s thighs for him to rut against? Does he pin Magnus against a wall, plastering their bodies together as he grabs Magnus’s thigh in his hand, pushing it up to open him to Alec’s fingers?

Magnus is panting hotly now. His mouth has left a damp patch on the pillow as little puffs of air escape him, accompanied by the occasional “Mmmm.” or “Alec.”

And Alec wants— he wants to wake him up straight away, flip him over and give him the good fuck he so clearly craves. He wants Magnus awake and writhing with pleasure under him. But he has no idea how these kinds of situations work. He has no idea what’s allowed, how far his rights as a husband and a lover extend. Should he wake Magnus up or let him sleep? Should he leave the room? Is Magnus going to want him there when he wakes up? Alec tries to form a coherent thought, mind distracted and addled by the sight of Magnus pushing his knees up towards his chest as he ruts against the pillow under him. The sheet covering him slips further down, exposing more of his back, brown and sun-kissed and glimmering with the faintest sheen of sweat. A little more and it would slip off entirely, exposing the simply glorious curve of his ass. Alec shudders a little with suppressed want. He forces it down, mind racing with indecision as he tries to figure out the best course of action.

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to decide, because the next moment Magnus moans so loud he apparently wakes himself up. He jerks awake, head snapping up and eyes blinking in sleepy confusion. He blinks at Alec, still half-asleep and struggling to focus.

“Magnus.” Alec says, more surprised than anything else.

Magnus blinks at him. “Alec.” he says, his voice thick and heavy from sleep. “What…how…”

Alec just stares at him, and Magnus seems to notice the condition he’s in— rumpled, sweaty, half-asleep and very obviously aroused.

He flushes, cheeks going a dark red that Alec desperately wants to kiss. “Oh.” he says. “Was that…was I…”

“Yes.” Alec says honestly. “You were. Definitely. And you were sort of, um—” He feels his own face flush in turn. “You were sort of…..moving. Against the mattress.

Magnus, if possible, turns even redder. “I’m so sorry. That— that hasn’t happened to me in a long time.” He laughs, sounding self-conscious, and Alec doesn’t get it. Is Magnus— embarrassed? Surely not. Surely Magnus can see that he had absolutely nothing to apologise for, that he makes Alec’s life infinitely better every day simply by existing.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Alec says. He shifts a tiny bit closer to Magnus. “It was….”

Hot, his brain supplies, but he doesn’t know if that’s too much, too soon. Magnus has barely just woken up, after all.

“Interesting.” he finishes, setting for the word that feels safest.

Magnus tilts his head, looking genuinely curious. “Interesting how?”

Alec swallows, aware that the room suddenly feels hotter. What the hell. He’s just going to go for it.

“I was wondering what you were dreaming about.” he confesses.

Magnus’s eyes widen a fraction. His head tilts back towards Alec, and the look in his eyes is just enough to make Alec that little bit bolder.

“What were you dreaming about?” he asks.

Magnus’s eyes flick down to the bedcovers for a moment before he looks up at Alec again.

“Oh,” he says, and there’s a hint of challenge in his eyes. “You want to know, do you?”

“What were you dreaming about?” Alec repeats stubbornly.

Magnus looks at him thoughtfully, a teasing smile spreading across his face. Then he sits up, shuffling around until he’s cuddled up next to Alec, head resting on his shoulder. His eyes sparkle wickedly, and Alec swallows.

“In my dream,” Magnus breathes, running a hand up and down Alec’s arm, “we were in bed together. Like this.” He gives Alec a brief, teasing look. There’s sin deep in those eyes of his, sweeter than honey.

“I was on my side.” Magnus continues. “You were behind me.” He taps his fingers against Alec’s shoulder. “One of your arms was wrapped around my waist. Your other hand was holding my thigh, pushing it up to open me.”

“Magnus.” Alec breathes. He’s not sure if he can take much more of this.

“Have I told you I love your hands?” Magnus teases. He takes one of them and puts it on his chest, over his heart. “So lovely and big and warm…Oh, and I love everything you can do with them, my darling.” He brings Alec’s hand to his mouth and kisses it, then very gently bites Alec’s fingertips.

“It was a very nice dream,” Magnus murmurs, releasing Alec’s hand. He slides languorously down to the bed again, stretching out like a cat. “But a dream just can’t compare to the real thing.”

And Alec feels the last of his resolve break as he reaches out for him. He pushes Magnus over, onto his stomach again, and runs a hand down his back. He’s so gorgeous that Alec thinks his heart might actually stop beating, sending him into cardiac arrest over his husband’s beauty.

And it would be worth it. It would be the most perfect way to die, with Magnus looking at him like that, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy-lidded as he looks at Alec over his shoulder.

Alec mouths over his skin, kissing the golden splashes of sunlight like he’s been craving to do. Magnus’s flesh is warm under his mouth, and he tastes of salt and spices. Alec licks a broad stripe up his back, chasing the flavour. Magnus digs his fingers into the mattress and groans, hips moving in tiny aborted circles against the silk.

“Alec.” he says breathlessly. “Whatever you’re planning on doing, just— hurry up and do it, please.”

“Someone’s impatient.” Alec teases. He sucks on the side of Magnus’s neck, just below his ear, suctioning the skin until a bruise starts to form. Magnus’s back arches and he tries to grab the sheets, but the smooth gold silk offers no purchase. He scrabbles ineffectually, hands sliding as he lets out small frustrated whimpers.

Alec decides the teasing’s gone on long enough. He lifts himself off Magnus and reaches across the bed to grab the pillow Magnus had been grinding against mere minutes before. He taps Magnus’s hip. “Up.” Magnus complies instantly, raising his hips enough for Alec to slide the pillow underneath, bringing him into an arch with his pelvis raised.

Alec drapes himself over him, plastering his front to Magnus’s back. He’s been hard this whole time, and his cock is trapped between their bodies, pressed into the small of Magnus’s back where he can no doubt feel it.

For a moment Alec thinks Magnus is too far gone to do magic, but then he waves his hand with a weak groan and a bottle of lube appears in Alec’s hand. He sits back on his haunches for a moment and applies a generous amount to Magnus’s entrance before dipping a finger inside him.

He clenches down immediately, clearly desperate for anything in him at all. Alec smirks. He curls his finger up towards Magnus’s spine, knowing exactly where all of his nerves are, exactly where to touch and press to make him writhe.

He adds a second finger and Magnus rolls his hips on them, hands clenching and unclenching as he presses down deeper and deeper. Alec curls his fingers in a beckoning motion, and Magnus’s muffled half-scream is the sweetest music in the world to his ears.

Angel, he’s beautiful. Alec could spend the rest of his life in this moment, never leaving this perfect tableau of sunlight and silk and Magnus, Magnus, Magnus. He can’t wait any longer, overwhelmed by the visceral need to be joined to him. To melt together until he can no longer tell where his body ends and Magnus’s begins. To press their bodies together until their very essences bleed into each other.

Alec sprawls out over him again, this time guiding himself to the wet, delicious warmth of Magnus’s body. Magnus rocks back to meet him as Alec presses forward, every inch that he sinks into Magnus like coming home. It’s absolute perfection. He feels Magnus suck in air, taut and trembling as Alec pushes fully into him, until he’s as deep as he can possibly go, their bodies fused together from shoulders to toes. Magnus moans breathlessly and sprawls loose and pliant under him. “Alec…”

His hands flex restlessly, and Alec slides his hands over Magnus’s, threading his fingers through his husband’s and linking their hands together. Magnus’s fingers curl tightly around his as Alec rolls his hips slowly, pressing Magnus against the mattress before drawing up again, pulling almost all the way out of him before sinking back in again. His hips move in slow, deep circles, a motion that has Magnus arching back and chasing Alec’s hips with his own.

“‘M here.” Alec assures him. He keeps moving, slow and deliberate, pressing a kiss to the back of Magnus’s neck before dropping his head down to whisper in his ear.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Alec murmurs to him, “all laid out like this, with the sunlight on your skin.” He thrusts into him again, deep and languorous, and Magnus’s legs shake where they’re pressed against Alec’s. Alec can feel the drops of sweat gathering and rolling down his calves. Magnus is close, he can tell. No surprise, considering he’d clearly gotten worked up from rutting against the mattress just moments ago.

“Want to spend every morning like this with you.” Alec continues. He brings one hand to Magnus’s hip, squeezing it, angling his pelvis up just the tiniest fraction more, making Magnus shudder at the new angle. “When I saw you— moaning my name in your sleep— that was so hot.”

“Alexander.” Magnus gasps, eyelids fluttering and mouth falling open.

“Magnus.” Alec breathes to him in the same tone, and it’s on the next roll of his hips that Magnus cries out comes, walls clamping down hard on Alec's cock. His whole body spasms, hands clawing at the sheets so hard Alec is certain they’ll rip, until he goes utterly limp, panting with his face pressed against the mattress.

Alec fucks him through it, the vibrations of Magnus’s body drawing him closer and closer to the edge, until he can’t hold back any more and comes with one final deep thrust. It catches him off guard, every time, how every nerve in his body draws tighter than a bowstring, tense and trembling, then something snaps and he’s spilling inside Magnus, vision whiting out from the intensity of it. And then afterwards, that exhausted, heavy feeling that makes all his limbs relax as he melts against Magnus, craving the warmth of his skin.

After a few long, hazy moments, Alec comes back to himself just enough to kiss the back of Magnus’s neck. “Was that good?” he murmurs into Magnus’s ear, voice thick and drowsy. “Did you enjoy it?”

Magnus still seems barely capable of speech. He nods, incoherently, and turns his head so Alec can lean in and kiss him. He gasps softly against Alec’s lips, and Alec can’t help feeling a twinge of smug satisfaction. Magnus is usually so eloquent, so poised, and yet Alec has the ability to turn him into a shivering, sweaty mess of limbs, so drunk on desire he can barely speak. Alec isn’t normally a proud person, but he’s proud of this. He looks at Magnus, lost in a hazy, post-coital flush, and thinks, I did that. I did that to him.

“Did I enjoy it?” Magnus gets out eventually. He blinks at Alec, brow furrowing into something resembling a glare. “Does your ego really need an answer to that?”

Alec can’t help it; he grins and wraps his arms around Magnus. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

Magnus slowly eases himself over onto his back, causing Alec to slip out of him. Magnus instantly reaches out to pull Alec down against him again, wrapping his arms around Alec’s shoulders. Alec rests his chin on Magnus’s chest, looking down into his honey-gold eyes.

Magnus taps a finger against Alec’s lips. “That,” he says, “was the best morning sex I’ve ever had. Ever.” He pulls Alec’s head down and kisses his nose. Alec scrunches up his face and Magnus laughs, the happiest noise in the world.

Alec pulls back and looks at him thoughtfully for a second. Then he leans down and kisses Magnus properly, coaxing his mouth open, warm and a little messy and perfect. Alec kisses along the curve if Magnus’s jaw and presses openmouthed kisses to his neck.

“My Alexander.” Magnus murmurs against his ear. “How you spoil me.”

“No more than you deserve.” Alec breathes. It’s true— Magnus deserves the world. Alec could spend the rest of his life worshipping him and it still wouldn’t be as much as Magnus deserves. It’s an honour and a privilege to wake up beside him every morning. To see him in all his unguarded glory, the way no one else gets to see him, open and vulnerable and entirely Alec’s.

Magnus pushes on his chest, and Alec takes the hint, sitting up cross-legged and leaning back. Magnus sits upright gracefully and flows into his lap, legs twining around Alec’s hips. He pulls Alec in and kisses him again, hands threading through Alec’s hair. “Thank you, darling.” he whispers, and Alec thinks that, as mornings go, this one started pretty well. Considering he’d intended to spend it signing Clave reports, ending up with golden sunlight and a lapful of Magnus is a much, much more agreeable state of affairs.

[starsreminisce]

Lucien Week

Day Seven: Free

Mask Part Two

The question loomed over them like an opulent, dazzling chandelier, casting a shadow of uncertainty.

But Elain's response transcended mere words; it manifested in myriad ways, leaving an indelible mark.

It was discernible in the puffiness that clung to her eyes the morning after, as she resumed her stoic facade.

It manifested in the unspoken chasm that had taken root between her and Azriel, a silent testament to the shifting dynamics of their relationship.

It was apparent in the gradual inches she surreptitiously moved closer to him, seeking solace and connection.

It was conveyed through the subtle turn of her head when Lucien discussed Princess Sigrid with their inner circle, a gesture that betrayed her concealed emotions.

It was evident in her wholehearted engagement in the mundane sessions and frivolous arguments, driven solely by the desire to hear Lucien's voice, her attention unwaveringly fixed on him.

It resonated in the rapid cadence of her heart when he turned his gaze toward her, a symphony of emotions playing out in the rhythm of her pulse. In moments of solitude, her heart retained a calm, unwavering beat.

It was unmistakable in the subtle slipping of her mask when Lucien continued to play the gracious host to the captivating Princess Sigrid, and in the princess's flirtatious responses to the charming courtier.

It was embodied in the raw, profound jealousy coursing through their bond, unrivaled by any emotion he had ever known, whenever Princess Sigrid placed her hand on him, or when she bestowed slow kisses on his cheeks, a rage as fierce as a forest fire surging within them.

Above all, it was reflected in the pain etched in Elain's eyes each time Lucien declined their invitations to dine with the princess, all in accordance with the princess's persistent requests.

Lucien longed for clarity, his hope no longer reliant on subtle cues and body language. As long as she remained silent about the question that loomed, his answer would forever be a resounding no.

"Would it not trouble you?" Lucien finally ventured as they lounged in the library after a taxing day of finalizing the treaty.

"That I must present this to my father, who possesses no interest in eradicating slavery?" the princess contemplated.

"That I am bound by a mating bond," Lucien sighed.

The princess regarded him, and he had to concede that she was not only beautiful but also brilliant, forward-thinking, and compassionate. Her concerns about the institution of slavery stemmed from her fear that not everyone would readily embrace its abolition.

He had sworn never to marry for anything less than love, especially as the son of a High Lord, but perhaps he had been looking at it all wrong. Being married to someone who enjoyed his company seemed far preferable to being mated to someone who did not.

"Both of us find ourselves in a precarious situation," Princess Sigrid remarked evenly. "Love may not be a luxury we can afford, given that we are commodities in the political alliances of our respective courts."

He furrowed his brow. "Did Beron approach you with this proposition?"

"Anyone seeking an alliance with Vallahan has made their overtures," she replied with a nonchalant shrug. "My own brother had his mate coerced into breaking their bond because my father deemed the match unsuitable."

"Do I resemble a prized stallion to you?" Lucien quipped wryly.

Princess Sigrid met his gaze with unblinking directness. "Rhysand certainly knows how to leverage your talents. I've heard that the human lands are thriving, the Spring Court is flourishing, and the Night Court's reputation has transformed from unfavorable to coveted."

Lucien chuckled. "So I am, it seems."

"If your mate fails to recognize your worth," Princess Sigrid said, returning to her book, "then seek companionship elsewhere. A mating bond does not equate to love."

"And what if she were to accept it eventually?"

"Then she can join us," Princess Sigrid shrugged, her smirk undeniably mischievous. "After all, I'll need both your assistance in ensnaring Eris as a husband."

Lucien burst into hearty laughter. "I must admit, I'm quite fond of you."

Their private moment was abruptly interrupted by the soft, almost inaudible footsteps that announced Elain's entrance into the library. Her gaze was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room, and Lucien could practically hear the anger and frustration brewing beneath her calm exterior as she observed their closeness.

"Ah, Lady Elain," Princess Sigrid chimed cheerfully. "I was eagerly anticipating a chance to speak with you."

Elain's smile reached her eyes, but their bond betrayed the turmoil within her. "Rhysand would be delighted if the two of you could join us for dinner tonight, given that it's your last evening here."

Sigrid, not one to shy away from tension, turned to Lucien and ran her hand through his hair in an intimate gesture, her voice dripping with sweetness. "I suppose I have been somewhat selfish in monopolizing Lucien's time."

Lucien could feel the electricity in the room intensify, his heart pounding as he witnessed the silent clash of wills between Elain and Princess Sigrid. Elain's civility barely concealed her true emotions, and the air crackled with unspoken rivalry.

Maintaining her composure, Princess Sigrid responded to Elain's invitation with honeyed words. "How gracious of you, Lady Elain. I would be honored to dine with you this evening."

As she leaned in to kiss Lucien on the cheek, she whispered, "Do you think she'll poison me or stab me for touching you like that?"

"Enough," Lucien said, leaning in closer to her.

Princess Sigrid giggled and gracefully left the room, sauntering past Elain. "I need to freshen up. I'll meet you there."

Lucien closed his book and rose from his seat. To his surprise, Elain finally spoke. "I'm surprised you didn't follow your betrothed, especially when I have yet to provide you with an answer regarding our bond."

"You misunderstand me if you think I will wait indefinitely for you, like a helpless fool," Lucien retorted.

"Is all of this just a ploy to pressure me into giving you an answer?" Elain inquired, her eyes probing his.

Lucien reached her, their faces mere inches apart. "No, Elain. You've already given me your answer through your silence."

"She doesn't love you," she whispered, her lips parting ever so slightly.

It was challenging for Lucien to meet her gaze, especially when her vulnerability was laid bare. It was difficult to resist the urge to hold her, to reassure her, as the jealousy transformed into nervousness and her heart beat erratically beneath her icy facade.

“I don’t need her to,” came Lucien’s reply.

Elain's eyes bore into Lucien's, and she paused for a moment, considering his response. After a moment of silence, she finally spoke, her voice filled with an earnest, almost reluctant sincerity.

"Lucien," she began, her tone soft and contemplative, "will you truly be happy, knowing that you're not loved in the way you deserve to be?"

Lucien's gaze softened, and he took a deep breath, contemplating her question. He understood the weight of her concern and the depth of her feelings.

"Does it scare you?" he asked her once again, his voice gentle and searching. "That you'll never see me again?"

The silence hung heavy between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the painful crossroads they had reached. Elain's eyes searched his, filled with a mix of sadness, longing, and a growing sense of resolve.

"I can't keep living like this," Lucien finally confessed, his voice tinged with weariness. "One of us needs to make a decision, and if you want to change it, then change it."

Elain's gaze didn't waver, her emotions laid bare. She hesitated, wrestling with her own inner turmoil before she spoke, her voice trembling slightly, "So, you'd rather never see me again than hold out hope?"

"Yes," Lucien replied, the word heavy with the truth that had been festering within him for far too long. "And if that scares you, then please let me know. But, Elain, I am leaving to get the treaty signed, and I'll be there for as long as it takes."

A heavy silence hung in the room, and Lucien's heart sank with the weight of uncertainty. He couldn't bear the thought of never seeing her again, but he also couldn't continue living in this agonizing limbo.

Lucien watched as Elain's eyes shimmered, resembling delicate dew-kissed petals basking in the soft, golden light that filtered through the library's grand windows. Her fingers, as fragile as spun gold threads, quivered with anticipation, reaching out to bridge the chasm that had separated them for so long.

In a moment of raw vulnerability, she closed the remaining distance between them. Her lips met his with a tenderness that spoke volumes, as if each kiss held an unsung note in their unfinished symphony. The taste of salt from her tears lingered, adding a bittersweet melody to their connection.

Their kiss was a desperate plea, a silent cry, and an intimate confession all at once. It was a plea for him to grasp the depth of her feelings, to understand the intricate web of emotions that had ensnared her heart. In that fleeting moment, they wove a tapestry of longing and love, with each kiss acting as a golden thread binding their souls together, strengthening a bond that transcended the boundaries of time and circumstance.

As their lips finally parted, she looked into his eyes, her voice trembling. "Please, return. I don't want to lose you, not like this."

Lucien's response was an unexpected twist in the melodrama of their entangled emotions. "Come with me," he urged, the words sincere and hopeful.

Elain blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You know the treaty," he pressed. "Come with me."

She hesitated, her thoughts racing. "I don't… It's too short of notice."

Lucien's eyes held a compelling blend of determination and longing as he spoke. "We'll figure it out together," he assured her, his voice laced with a quiet, unwavering certainty.

But Elain's reaction was far from what he had hoped for. Crushed, she pulled away from him, shaking her head, and without another word, she made her way to the dining room, leaving Lucien behind with a heavy heart.

Regret gnawed at him as he sighed, chastising himself for pushing her too quickly. In the wake of Elain's departure, Princess Sigrid appeared, her frown revealing her understanding of the situation. "I heard. I'm sorry. I did want her there too," she offered sympathetically.

Lucien, ever the master of his own emotions, concealed his inner turmoil behind a practiced smile. "Well," he said, slipping back into the role of the courtier who could never have his heart broken, "it was worth a try. She is my mate, after all."

The dinner proceeded unceremoniously, marked by Azriel's absence. Laughter and banter filled the room, with Rhys and Cassian playfully teasing Lucien by addressing him with variations of 'your highness' and 'your majesty.' Feyre attempted to hide her sadness at her friend's impending departure, while Nesta, true to her character, made a cheeky request that brought blushes to a few faces.

Yet, beneath the facade of cheer, Rhys's reminder that Lucien remained under the Night Court's employ until the treaty's finalization cut deep, grounding them all in the complexities of their situation.

A flicker of hope fluttered through their bond, only to be swiftly extinguished when Princess Sigrid playfully mentioned a 'deadline' in a way that hinted at secrets and unspoken agreements.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, all eyes turning to Elain, and it was Nesta who posed the unspoken question, "You do know Lucien has a mate, right?"

Princess Sigrid answered first, her smile unwavering. "I do," she confirmed.

Lucien chimed in, "She's aware."

Elain's concern was evident as she voiced her unease, "That doesn't bother you?"

As the challenge hung in the air like an unspoken duel, the room brimmed with tension. Lucien watched, torn between the desire for a future with Elain and the reality of his situation with Princess Sigrid.

With a serene smile, Princess Sigrid responded, "No, it doesn't bother me."

Elain's brow furrowed as she pushed further, "But it should. He will never truly be yours. He has a mate."

Princess Sigrid's reply was filled with wisdom and calm determination, "Love and possession are not the same, Lady Elain. I understand the complexities of his situation, but I choose to cherish the moments we will have together. If you don’t like where it’s going, change it. Take a leap of faith. Cauldron knows we live far too long to be confined in situations that define us."

The dinner continued, marked by quiet contemplation and a sense of understanding. The night concluded, and the following morning, the inner circle gathered to bid farewell to Princess Sigrid.

Finalizing the treaty took just a few days, and Lucien's departure date was swiftly set. He and Elain had not spoken since their last encounter, and he had come to terms with her unspoken answer. He knew that he wanted all or nothing, and her silence signified 'nothing.'

The day before his departure, he penned a heartfelt letter to Elain. In it, he expressed his gratitude for the moments they had shared, his hopes for her happiness, and an understanding that their paths had diverged. He gently suggested that she reject the bond two days after he had left, to avoid any turmoil that might ensue.

His final words conveyed his longing for happiness and his prayers that she would find hers too. The night before he left, there was a small dinner in his honor, but neither Elain nor Azriel attended.

As he prepared for his journey, sleep eluded him. He wondered whether the distance and the distraction would be enough to mend his aching heart, without the burden of hope. He relished watching the dawn break over Velaris, feeling the thrill of a new adventure ignite within him. The inner circle didn't want to say goodbye, hoping that his departure was only temporary, and Lucien preferred it that way.

As Lucien approached the dock, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't help but notice a small figure standing there, waiting for him. Elain looked up as he neared her, their eyes meeting once more, and in that moment, the air was thick with unspoken emotions.

She waved his letter and spoke with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "I think if I were to reject the bond in two days, it'll be a pain dealing with you when we are on that ship together."

Lucien's brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you…"

But before he could finish his sentence, she kissed him. It was a soft, sweet kiss that held the promise of something more. He responded urgently, his desire and longing finally finding release in their embrace.

"I would have done neither stabbing nor poisoning," Elain whispered, her voice barely louder than a breath. "I would have ruined her in court with rumors."

A surge of hope coursed through Lucien's veins as he dared to ask, "Does that mean you're coming with me?"

In response, she pulled another letter from her pocket, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "It's hard to ignore when a Princess summons you. But she said that she was worried you'd be too distracted missing me to pay attention to making sure the treaty would pass. And she misses my murderous glares."

Lucien couldn't resist the urge to kiss her once more, a fervent and passionate kiss filled with the promise of forever. He thought to himself, "I'll have this forever. I'll have her forever."

She turned around and handed him an apple muffin, a sweet gesture that touched his heart. "I made this for you."

With a playful glint in his eye, Lucien teased, "I don't know, Elain. I mean, I did get a marriage proposal from a Princess."

Elain's frown deepened, and she urged him, "Lucien, stop playing around."

With a mischievous gleam in his eyes, he leaned in close, whispering against her neck, "I've waited two years," his lips brushed her skin, eliciting a small gasp, "you can wait until we're on the ship."

[trashmouth-kaspbrak]

Stanley, Bill reflected, was weird. It was harder to see because his best friend was Richie and all his other friends were strange, too: Bill and his stutter and obsession with the horror genre, Ben with his love of niche eras of history, Mike with his well meaning but slightly screwy moral compass, Eddie’s pitbull-inside-a-chihuahua attitude, and Beverly’s smart mouth that has often gotten her in trouble. 

They were an interesting group, the seven of them. 

But Stan was strange, too. He had a quirky sense of humour that doesn’t come out much, but when it did, it came out in odd, moderately concerning ways. 

Like now, for instance. 

They were in Bassey Park, killing time, waiting for spring break to be over so they could go back to school and get away from their parents (and Bill uses the term loosely) and what remained of the Bowers Gang (Belch was in jail and Henry had been in an institution for years, but Victor was still around and bitter and he’d made some new friends who were just as mean as he was). Richie said something—Bill can’t even remember what—and looked at Stan, probably knowing what was coming. He got up and started running, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get up.  

Stan was up and after him not a second later, shouting, “Kookie, Kookie, lend me your bones!” 

Richie’s legs were longer but Stan played baseball and that meant he ran quite a bit; he would catch up in no time. Bill watched as they ran along the edge of the woods. Eddie, not to be outdone (or maybe just a little possessive), went after the two of them. He ran track, and was faster than Richie, but his legs were shorter than both of theirs, and the terrain was much bumpier than he was used to. It was going to be a close race.

“Do you think Stan’s having a mental break?” Mike asked the remaining three. 

Beverly took a long drag from her cigarette. “Probably. Finals and all. I bet Stan’s already stressed even though they’re not for a month or so.” 

“He didn’t get like this in high school, though,” Ben pointed out. 

Bill didn’t say, He wasn’t like this in high school because he was working out his stress in my bed, but he kind of wanted to, just to see how they would react. 

“Bill?” Mike asked.  

“He’s okay,” Bill assured them. “H-He’s just. . . got a wuh-wuh-weird sense of humour.” 

Stan had caught up to Richie by that point and had grabbed the back of his button up. Richie tripped over a tree root and both of them went tumbling. Eddie, going too fast and already too close behind them to avoid it, tripped on their friends and turned Stan into a Stanwhich. Bill huffed a laugh. Stanwhich. 

“What’s so funny?” Bev asked. 

“Stanwhich,” Bill wheezed. 

She did that snort-bleat thing that she did when she was caught off guard. Ben giggled. Mike outright laughed. 

Richie was struggling under Stan, who was writhing under Eddie, who was digging his elbows and toes into the ground, trapping them all there. Stan and Richie went still, whispered something Eddie couldn't hear, and then, as one, pushed up and heaved Eddie off. Eddie shrieked and Richie took off like a shot, running to beat the devil. Then he started jogging and by the time he got back to their picnic table, he was dragging his feet and panting like a dog. He collapsed in the grass.

"They're nuts," he said between breaths. "Both of them. We need to send them to Juniper."

Richie's breathing evened out and he held up his arms and made grabby hands. Mike and Ben hauled him to his feet and Richie slid onto the bench, resting his head beside Beverly's thighs. "Got an extra?" He asked her, eyes pleading.

"I thought you quite smoking for Eddie," she reminded him.

"He did," said Eddie, taking the seat beside Richie, on the other side of Beverly's thighs. Richie groaned. Eddie rolled his eyes.

Stan sat beside Bill. Their shoulders were touching. This wasn't unusual, but Stan reaching out and grabbing Bill's hand was. Bill raised his eyebrow at him, a silent question. Do you want to tell them?

Stan inclined his head just the slightest bit. Yes.

"You're doing it again," said Ben.

"Doing what?" Stan asked.

"That silent communication thing that only old married couples and Eddie and Richie do," Mike answered.

"Are you calling us old?" Richie cried, one hand clutching his collarbone like an offended old woman (hah) clutches her pearls.

"Yep."

Eddie swatted at Mike's arm but Mike deftly dodged, chuckling.

"We're dating," Stan announced.

Bill smacked a big, west kiss onto his cheek. "C-can confirm."

"Hah!" Crowed Beverly. "We won!"

"Won wh-wh-what?"

"We were betting on whether you were dating or not," Mike told him. "Richie, Eddie, and Bev said you were. Ben and I weren't so sure."

"Of course you were. I bet you started it, didn't you Richie?" Stan accused.

"Guilty as charged. But now I've got enough money to pay my bail!"

The fee for losing the bet was five dollars per winner.

"You g-guys are such a-a-assholes," said Bill.

"Richie assholes," Richie agreed.

"The $10 you just won is probably all the money you have." Eddie said. "With how much you spend on albums."

"What's mine is yours and what yours is mine; that goes for your bank account as well, Eddie my love."

"It does not!"

"Hey, we just came out to you guys," Stan shouted over Richie and Eddie's squabbling. "Can we focus on that for a second?"

"Sure, Stan the Man," Beverly replied. "How long have you two been dating?"

"T-two years."

"How the hell did you keep this from us for two years?!" Ben demanded.

"We wanted to see how long it would take you guys to figure it out." Stan answered. "When did you start the bet, Mike?"

"Six months ago."

"A year and a half, and you guys had no idea," Stan tsked. "Some friends you are."

"Hey!" The five of them chorused. And then they all laughed and the subject changed to something else, and a few times it switched back to Bill & Stan, but it was nice, Bill thought, to know that nothing had changed.

(Well, one thing had. His and Stan's entwined hands were on top of the table, now.)

[the-oc-lass]

Nimona OC - Charlotte Swiftheart/Corova

I'M VERY EXCITED FOR THIS ONE BUT ALSO NOT AS MUCH BECAUSE MAN, I SUCK AT FIGHT SCENES. BUT IT'S OKAY. I'LL WRITE IT TOMORROW.

First, Previous, Next

Norshe had absolutely hated this plan, but it's the only one that Charlotte has. She clings to the side of the Institute's wall, sticking close to it as she waits. She knows that Ballister is hidden somewhere, waiting for Ambrosius to arrive. And Nimona...Well, Nimona is right next to her. The shapeshifter had quickly discovered Charlotte as she was lying in wait, and Charlotte had made a face to shush her. It's at least semi comforting to know that if she falls, Nimona is around to catch her. Probably. Charlotte's cloak flows in the wind, but she's flat enough to the side of the wall that no one seems to have noticed her. She lifts her head slightly to watch as a carriage flies down. There's Ambrosius. Here they go. She shifts slightly as the carriage lands, peeking up over the edge. Ambrosius climbs out, but unfortunately, he helps the Director out right after. That complicates things severely. As the carriage pulls away, she sees Ballister step out of the shadows, pulling his hood down as Ambrosius shifts in front of the Director and the surrounding knights shift into defensive positions. Nimona quickly springs into action, jumping up from the side of the wall and silently taking out knights behind Ambrosius and the Director.

"Ambrosius," Ballister says, standing tall at the top of the short staircase. Ambrosius spins around.

"Knights!" he calls. But he turns just in time to see Nimona depositing the last unconscious knight onto her pile.

"They were like this when I got here," she says, kicking one of the knights' arms aside. As Nimona walks toward Ballister, Ambrosius shifts to shield the Director, who Charlotte can see glaring at Nimona from behind Ambrosius's back.

"You," she all but snarls, disgust clear in her voice. Nimona turns to look at her as she keeps walking, spreading her arms.

"Me," she says. Immediately after, she crosses her arms and makes a face at the Director, and Charlotte would've laughed had she not been clinging to a wall for dear life. Ballister stops next to her, facing Ambrosius head on.

"Ambrosius, the Director killed the queen," he says. Charlotte holds her breath and watches.

"What?" Ambrosius breathes in clear disbelief. The Director leans closer to his ear.

"Another desperate lie," she says.

"He's not a liar," Nimona says firmly. The Director laughs.

"Says the miscreant, whispering in his ear," she says. As if she's one to talk. Nimona, of course, takes it as a compliment.

"Aw, thank you," she says, waving her hand slightly. Ballister holds up placating hands, and his expression becomes softer, almost desperate. She knows how much he wants Ambrosius to believe him.

"I'm innocent, and I have proof," he says. He reaches one hand around behind him, for the phone. She can see the Director floundering a bit, knowing that Ambrosius can't see her.

"He's got a weapon!" she cries. As Ballister holds up the phone, it's shot out of his hand,.

"No!" he cries. A search light suddenly shines down over him and Nimona, and she can see knights spilling out through the doors behind them.

"Not anymore! Todd rules!" Todd yells, lifting his crossbow triumphantly above his head. He laughs, and Charlotte wishes that she could be up there to punch him directly in the face. She ducks down a bit as knights swarm the platform, surrounding Ballister and Nimona. She still has the element of surprise. Not that it's going to matter with this many knights...Gloreth, she knew this was going to go wrong.

"It doesn't matter. You shouldn't need proof. You know I'm not a murderer," Ballister says desperately. Charlotte carefully peers back up over the side, but she can't really see them anymore. There are too many knights in the way. But she doesn't need to see Ambrosius to know the way he pauses. She can almost picture him staring, wide eyed as he thinks. He knows, doesn't he? He has to know that the man he loves so dearly can't be a murderer.

"What are you waiting for, Captain?" the Director hisses. But even if he does believe Ballister, what can he do? Maybe something could've been done if they weren't surrounded by knights, with the Director whispering in Ambrosius's ear. But that's not how things played out. And the pit in Charlotte's stomach is growing.

"Hurry before the whale gets here," Todd calls, clearly annoyed. Oh, if Charlotte had her crossbow...

"Come on, man. Do the right thing," Nimona says, sounding almost as desperate as Ballister. It strikes Charlotte that Nimona wants this just as badly. Not for herself, but for Ballister.

"Who is she, Bal?" Ambrosius asks. A few beats pass, and his voice suddenly trembles a bit. "What is she?"

"Ambrosius, I am begging you to trust me-" She hears the moment the sword is drawn, and resignation settles upon her.

"Arrest them," Ambrosius says. Even with the note of heartbreak in his voice, she knows how this is going to go. So this is how things will be. Finally, she hoists herself up over the wall, staring at the backs of the knights.

"I knew it would be like this," she says. Knights turn, and a search light is cast down upon her as well. She can see Ambrosius now, looking over his shoulder and between the gaps in the knights. His eyes widen at the sight of her, and she sees the arm holding his sword lower just slightly. "I hoped I would be wrong...But it isn't often that I am." The light above her combined with her hood casts her face in shadow, and she can see the Director squinting at her.

"Who goes there? Reveal yourself!" she snarls. Charlotte begins moving toward them, and a few knights turn to face her, crossbows and swords raised and at the ready.

"Oh, you know exactly who I am, Director. After all, it was you who ruined my life. You're the very reason I'm standing here now, instead of with your knights," she says. She sees the Director's face scrunch slightly as she thinks, then scrunch more as she glares.

"Swiftheart," she snarls. Charlotte pauses and tilts her head, a smirk appearing on her lips.

"So she does remember me." She pulls the hood off her head, staring into the face of the woman who she once feared so much. "But it's Corova, actually. Charlotte Corova."

"I asked you to stay out of this, Charlotte! You don't need to be involved!" Ballister calls. She can barely see him through the crowd of knights. Though, it's not like she's looking. Her gaze is glued to Ambrosius and the Director.

"I'm already involved, Bal. And unfortunately for you, my affinity for following directions died with Charlotte Swiftheart." She focuses in on Ambrosius, who's still looking at her with wide eyes. "I'm going to ask you this one time, Brosi. Are you sure you want to go down this road?" And for a moment, she knows. She knows his guilt, his hesitance, his desperation. She knows how torn he feels. How lost.

"I-" He cuts himself off.

"Well, Captain?" the Director prompts. And Charlotte knows. She sees the resignation cross his face and then vanish as his expression hardens. He looks back at Ballister and raises his sword again. Of course, he can't even bring himself to look at her as he betrays her.

"Arrest them. All of them," he says. She purses her lips and lifts her chin slightly, looking past the guards at Ballister now. They make eye contact for a moment, and she sees the betrayal she feels on his face. It sets into determination.

"You wanna know who the kid is?" he asks. Nimona looks up at him, and she looks excited.

"Oh, I like where this is going," she says, rolling her shoulders as she turns to look at all of the knights.

"You wanna show 'em?" Charlotte smirks a bit, pushing back her cloak to grasp the hilt of her sword.

"I'd love to," Nimona says.

"Let's break stuff."

"Metal."

1/3

Lovely tagged people:

@ammonitetheseaserpent @perfectkittystranger @madlad06 @xxlunadrawsstuffxx @floxu

[rauthschild]

Another day, another Executive Order. Perhaps someone should tell Mr. Trump that except for federal government employees, his "executive orders" are without effect and never did have any other valid authority since Abraham Lincoln (once again) over-stepped his office and began the practice of issuing such "Executive Orders" in the spring of 1863.

This was something Lincoln deemed necessary because the corporation he was "President" of went bankrupt at that time, and he needed to invoke his position as "Commander in Chief" once his civilian office was invalidated by the bankruptcy.

Mr. Trump has done the same dance for the past four years, for those who have eyes to see. He also invoked his position as Commander in Chief to continue operations of the British Territorial United States Government during his forced hiatus from the "presidential" office.

He also is attempting to rule by Executive Order.

For those unfamiliar with their own history and for those onlookers overseas, the practice of the Commander in Chief issuing Executive Orders began in a spectacular way, because the very first public Executive Order was General Order 100, otherwise known as the Lieber Code, an extensive system of "do's" and "don'ts" that Lincoln pre-ordained just before the bankruptcy, as guidelines for the military to operate under while conducting the balance of the "war" and during the administration of an armed occupation afterward.

This same Lieber Code has since morphed into the Hague Conventions, and this is why the military side of things is forever referring to the Hague Conventions and running to the Hague to conduct business and get permissions and enforce sanctions.

Most of our military didn't and still doesn't know that their own functions had been reduced and unlawfully converted into that of a mercenary service by Mr. Lincoln's usurpation. The Generals, at least when we first breached these issues, were fond of making references to The Law of War, and have had a hard time understanding that The Law of War doesn't apply to this situation and never has applied. That's why they have the Lieber Code and the Hague Conventions instead.

We should note in passing that, because of the treaty conventions allowing his Britannic Majesty to act as our Trustee on the High Seas and Navigable Inland Waterways, the British Admiralty Laws can still be enforced on Americans who venture into these locations or who are snatched and forcibly removed to them.

This is why all the prosecutions of globalists are taking place at such offshore locations as Gitmo and Guam and being presided over by Admiralty Officers employed by JAG, the Judge Advocate General's Office. It's the final remaining bastion of any true law that could be applied short of anarchic rebellion and wholesale slaughter.

Things worldwide have rapidly been approaching these ends because of the outrageous criminality and corruption of so many institutions, from the Church to the military to the halls of government at every level and impacting most nations, a peculiar creeping rot has set in, like mold silently extending its colonies.

The exposes coming from Nicole Schwab and Pascal Najadi, the children of the co-founders of the World Economic Forum, leave no doubt that heinous criminality and premeditated genocide has been an objective for and among executives of this organization and potentially more than 4,000 member corporations for decades.

The same peculiar and repugnant habit we observed among Beltway politicians forty years ago, of referring to voters and constituents and the rest of us in general as "livestock" and treating us as such, was apparently the practice in the United Nations and World Economic Forum, too.

Because we trusted them to do their jobs and paid their bills, we were relegated to the status of cows and pigs and sheep. We were subjected to their experiments, slaughtered for their wealth, insured for their security and benefit, and literally farmed by those who have considered themselves to be "the elite" among us.

We have other names for them.

Please note that you have to own something and have an insurable interest in it in order to insure it. Consider that Prince Philip claimed to own and did insure --- as chattel possessions --- not only the people of the British Isles, but the former Commonwealth and The United States and most of western Europe and Japan, too. He invested in "Life Force Value Annuities" based on his livestock; that's where the $950 Trillion he collected in 2017 came from.

You are looking at receipts based on claims to own all of us, accepted by other idiots who ran the printing presses for him, all perpetuated by men and institutions that are an insult to God and a cruelty to Man. Rome and "Great" Britain, secretly and closely allied for the past 800 years, with an established 60:40 split on their joint ventures since the reign of King Henry the Eighth, have been at the bottom of all the wars-for-profit, all the misery, all the deprivation, all the disease-for-profit, and they are still striving might and main to avoid both detection and perdition.

We are told that Pope Francis had a Near Death Experience prior to the real thing, and that he reported seeing nothing but darkness and demons and so, he declared that Heaven and Jesus don't exist. We are vaguely amused. What did he expect to see but darkness and demons, considering his own acts and omissions?

We would argue that the "greatness" of both Rome and Britain is largely an immoral delusion promoted by men who have made their fortunes as pirates and mercenaries, stealing from those who invested in honest labor and peaceful pursuits.

It has even been suggested that the sudden zeal and alacrity shown by His Majesty's Judge Advocate Generals is predicated on the desire to cover their own tracks and get rid of the collaborating witnesses.

That may be, but there are still plenty of witnesses, too many to get rid of, even after they unleashed the phony pandemic and condemned the unwary "volunteers" to death.

We reviewed their alternative news headlines at the Gazeteller this morning:

"BOMBSHELL! Trump's Executive Order Confirms GESARA Mandates Are Live...."

"TOP SECRET! Military Alliance Reveals the Med Bed Training Program...."

"ALERT! CANCER WAS NEVER NATURAL -- THE ELITES MADE IT HAPPEN...."

"TRUMP SIGNS EXECUTIVE ORDER TO SHUT DOWN ALL BIOWEAPON FUNDING...."

"April 2025 BOMBSHELL! Obama Was a Foreign-Born CIA Puppet...."

"IT'S HAPPENING NOW! Deadly Lab-Made Bird Flu Released Worldwide...."

We are shaking our heads; after more than a decade of Hopium we are immune. We make the following observations:

The members of the U.S. Congress dabbled with the original NESARA proposal to provide restitution to the American people until it was unrecognizable, then the Globalists came up with a Global rendition of the tweaked version and called it "GESARA" and all of it is simply intended to reward the pirates and those who will greedily support them in the theft, in exchange for a pittance share of the "prize".

The point is that there were never any lawful Letters of Mark and Reprisal available to support any such prize-taking nor any presumed salvage operations allowed as a result of the semantic deceits and constructive fraud underpinning the whole operation front to back and first to last.

They are trying to force/coerce Americans to join their ranks and accept subjection to their "King" and to adopt U.S. Citizenship in order to get back a relatively small pittance of their own assets, while the bulk of each individual fortune will be diverted away into the King's coffers.

This is not an acceptable restitution.

All three (3) phony public trusts and all attached citizenship obligations must be obliterated and the assets and purloined credit must be returned unharmed to the victims of this Great Fraud on a worldwide basis. The purportedly "waived" American Infant Decedent Estate Trust, the British Territorial Seaman's Trust, and the Municipal ESTATE trust must all go the way of the Dodo.

We do not suggest that those responsible for this entire situation should be further entrusted to see justice done.

We do not accept subjection as "U.S. Citizens" as a reasonable settlement of these issues, nor is any form of "US" or "United States" citizenship an appropriate pre-requisite to receive restitution.

We object to all and any establishment of a "Quantum Trust" or the presumptive inclusion of our assets, public or private, in such a trust.

We don't agree to any spiritual or mental "conditioning" orchestrated by the same Bad Actors as a requirement for our people to receive medical care, including medical care via the new "med bed" technologies.

We are well-aware that the cancer epidemic was promoted via the SV40 pollution found in all vaccines ever since the release of the polio vaccine, by deliberate manipulation and poisoning of our soil and water and foodstuffs, and by constant threats and duress and adrenalin stimulation using television and movies to addict us to violence and prematurely exhaust our adrenal systems.

Yes, we are well-aware. We have been falsely portrayed as being violent and vengeful and over-sexed, but these are precisely the results of a mercenary cabal intent on promoting war and violence as a way of life.

The constant themes of "sacrifice" and limitation of resources pervading all news and literary and entertainment channels preconditioned people to accept deprivations designed to cut down on the owner's costs to maintain their "livestock" and increase the amount of profit they could siphon off without being noticed by the population at large.

Cancer has been both a convenient means to harvest profit from the dying and limit end of life expenses for the venal insurance corporations.

We have all the documentation necessary to hang every politician and insurance corporation and pharmaceutical corporation executive involved in the promotion of diseases like cancer, bipolar syndrome, diabetes, and autism -- to say nothing of the recent COVID "Vaccine", which has been proven in court to not be a vaccine at all -- and the plethora of useless side-effect ridden patent medicines calculated to cause new health problems while treating the symptoms of existing maladies.

This is part and parcel of the deception, distortion, and dishonorable disservice that has been promulgated by public employees, career politicians, and quasi-military mercenary services acting improperly under the direction of foreign "governments", namely the British Crown and the Roman Curia, who were supposed to be here rendering good faith service under contract.

Good for Mr. Trump defunding bioweapons. They were never supposed to be developed in the first place, but good on him for putting an end to government funding. Now, the feckless U.S. Congress needs to pass a law against private funding of bioweapons technology, too. And DARPA, which has been the source, center, and chief beneficiary of all this "scientific" graft and corruption, needs to be shut down, deprived of any benefit from all its patents.

We do not consider the "news" about Obama's actual birthplace (Kenya) to be any news; as he was acting as the "President" of the UNITED STATES, Incorporated, it doesn't matter that he was born in Kenya. His private corporate office has been pawned off as if it had something to do with our Presidential Office, but in fact he never occupied a public office at all and the requirements of our public office never applied to him and what he was doing.

So everyone can just sit down and shut up and chalk it up to another big constructive fraud scheme brought to us by the same people who propose to substitute "a" British Territorial Republic for our American Federal Republic.

As for deadly Lab-made Bird Flu being released, if they know about the release, why didn't they prevent it? Like the phony Covid 19 "pandemic" they doth protest too much and do too little. "We were just following orders" has already been nixed as an excuse, and "We didn't know" has already been used once too often.

If such a biologically devastating disease has been released, where are the men and women responsible for making sure it doesn't get released on the innocent world population? What were they doing during this worldwide deployment? Getting a bikini wax job? Buying lottery tickets?

Imagine an unintelligible expression of utter disgust, a verbalization without words somewhere between a growl and a wet fart.

What does it profit us to save our children from adrenochrome factories and sex slave traffickers, only to have them die from Bird Flu?

Up your ante, Boyz. Start moving a lot faster.

Line those politicians up in the street and don't tell us about their failure to rescind their hokey irresponsible allocations of "foreign aid" --- only two percent of which ever reaches its stated destination:

https://x.com/i/grok/share/hXwIlwa335kf8s4Gz13Xz7Muo

Let's make it very, very clear for everyone. Those politicians were engaged in graft and exploitation of the public purse for illegal and immoral purposes. They already broke the law and acted in gross breach of trust by making those allocations to USAID and other entities such as the Federal Department of Education with no follow-up or accountability for how the funds were actually spent.

We hold them accountable and we consider them to be criminals.

If that was not bad enough, they have all been engaged in a long-term constructive fraud scheme in which they, British Territorial Members of a British Territorial "U.S." Congress have deceptively misrepresented themselves and their offices and have impersonated American members of our lawful Congress and undertaken actions supremely detrimental to their American Employers, the people to whom they all owe "good faith service".

They may or may not be fully informed of this circumstance. They may deserve such notice individually and collectively, to allow them the opportunity to withdraw their misrepresentations and go home in peace, but we do not owe them any other amnesty or consideration for their gross dishonesty, negligence, and dereliction of duty.

Consider this: Notice to Agents is Notice to Principals; Notice to Principals is Notice to Agents. All members of the U.S. Congress and all members of the Municipal Congress are hereby given Public Notice to vacate the chairs and offices of the American Federal Congress and to Cease and Desist all pretensions and evasions disguising their actual political status and affiliations.

It's time for this Mess to get cleaned up and cleared away, at more than "warp speed". Clearing out the Federal Capitol and preparing for the first Public Elections since Franklin Pierce would be an appropriate start.

Remember: there is no statute of limitations on fraud. When what is true comes, what is false must pass away. The truth is now known, is present, and staring the entire hegemony in Washington, DC, in the face.

We appreciate that Mr. Trump is between a proverbial rock and a hard place and is doing his best with a bad situation; however, the British Crown and the Roman Curia both need to be stood down -- and with no further adieu. They stand in the position of employees who have robbed their employers in broad daylight, dishonorable "Allies" who have defrauded and denigrated people to whom they owe good faith service and support.

[crownedantonia]

Eating strawberries in spring, sugared by my friend’s mother in their Roman apartment. I now understand, I now understand, what “things your eyes have not seen and your ears have not heard” means. I entered a new life. And all my hearts desires, which were shadows inside a cave, are now infront of me, shaped and named, clear, unblurry. My eyes a costumed to the darkness take a moment to adjust to the light and its clarity. They are trying to decipher it. Inside the cave, a doctor in the shapes, so well-versed. In reality, torpe and woobley, silent and curious, expectant, grateful, relived, it seems to match exactly and better the true desires of my heart.

I thought of cut clear- and clean slates but it only works inside the cave. In reality, it is a river flow downhill, involuntarily with ease you move and on the way you leave things.

I don’t resist, it’s taking me down a path better than the one I could have crafted.

I take notes, I draw the points. I wait.

And I see… what I desire every step with more clarity. The institution of family. A well instituted family. Certain life style, certain values, certain ways and it all merges. Can’t be quite described in words - to keep it safe it can’t be written down fully, it would capture its spirit.

But all I must think is: does this align with that vibe/ certainty/ intuition? If not it would halt my down river path.