#To prevent coming into the sea

[rexscanonwife]

And by the way just to add some like...angst to my sea beast s/i I guess 😂 I was thinking about the research I did into old selkie folk tales and how they typically tend to go and how it applies to my s/i with Batterbie stealing her coat.

1. She did it when she was still just a child and had lost her whole family, so she probably holds that over her head by saying she's lucky to have had a place to stay and food to eat at ALL and 2. That she could have it...a LOT worse 😬

[acearohippo]

Mermay's over, but I'm not done with it! Anyway mermaid Tang Xuan Au where Tang Xuan is a octopus based mermaid and Li Ling is like a rich aristocrat. They meet when they are kids and become best friends then Tang Xuan goes away. So a few years down Li Ling is an adult and thinks he made it up till Tang Xuan shows up again. Lewis is also going to be in this idea (cause he deserves it) but I don't have an exact idea. I'm thinking sailor who was friends with Xuan and Ling when younger and also has to go away but stayed in contact with Tang Xuan

You put down Octupus!Merman!Tang Xuan, solid as octopus are know for their flexibility and adaptability, but I raise you WingedFish!merman!Tang Xuan, specifically Four Winged Flying Fish. Fast, sleek, [small,] and can perform decent feats of acrobatics when it launches itself out if the water and into the air. They use their ability to speed boost to outmanoeuvre predators, so they're agile too!

Lewis would be a legend, spread in multiple small towns and isolated villages, as a pirate who shows no mercy to other ships that cross his territory, his wrath setting ships ablaze with a terrifying plume of fire that the townsfolk can see clearly from the comforts of their beach. The screams of these tortured sailors travel with the wind from their emblazed ship, providing easy fodder to scare unruly children into doing their chores and listening to their elders.

In reality, Lewis is in a petty sibling cat-and-mousrle game with Bonnie, Lewis actually being part of the Western King's admiral fleet and trying to catch up to his Pirate!Sister before the Royal Navals find her. She smuggles herself onto pirate ships, in the hopes of joining a crew and going on bloody adventures, but since she's a bit too... Excitable... And aggressive... And bloodthirsty... The Royal Naval fleet always gets involved, and Lewis is almost always there to at least rangle her off the ship. He is fine with his sister's dreams, he just wishes they were a tad less violent so he didn't have to lose sleep over her potentially getting caught and sent to the gallows.

With that being said, Bonnie is a bit of a legend herself, among the pirates, as her figure holding a crude, hodge podge farming scythe in one hand and a ball of fire (actually a lit flask) in the other, is the omen before their ship explodes and they're left to die a slow death. She appears out of nowhere and vanishes just as abruptly too.

Then everything you said is happening between our two boys, with the added spice that Li Ling goes off to find his friend, with the idea to find this Legend and join his crew, so that there will be no rules stopping them and no eyes and ears reporting back to his family. Of course, he hops on his Best Friend's™ ship, Lewis, not realising that this man is the Legend and Lewis can only keep a poker face and act like this Fire Fist legend is someone he's met rather than himself.

[dadatello]

Do Minitello and Leo know about Raph and Mikey then?

"We know the basics. It's rough on him, so we try not to bother him too much about it."

[pallases]

[reasonsforhope]

As relentless rains pounded LA, the city’s “sponge” infrastructure helped gather 8.6 billion gallons of water—enough to sustain over 100,000 households for a year.

Earlier this month, the future fell on Los Angeles. A long band of moisture in the sky, known as an atmospheric river, dumped 9 inches of rain on the city over three days—over half of what the city typically gets in a year. It’s the kind of extreme rainfall that’ll get ever more extreme as the planet warms.

The city’s water managers, though, were ready and waiting. Like other urban areas around the world, in recent years LA has been transforming into a “sponge city,” replacing impermeable surfaces, like concrete, with permeable ones, like dirt and plants. It has also built out “spreading grounds,” where water accumulates and soaks into the earth.

With traditional dams and all that newfangled spongy infrastructure, between February 4 and 7 the metropolis captured 8.6 billion gallons of stormwater, enough to provide water to 106,000 households for a year. For the rainy season in total, LA has accumulated 14.7 billion gallons.

Long reliant on snowmelt and river water piped in from afar, LA is on a quest to produce as much water as it can locally. “There's going to be a lot more rain and a lot less snow, which is going to alter the way we capture snowmelt and the aqueduct water,” says Art Castro, manager of watershed management at the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. “Dams and spreading grounds are the workhorses of local stormwater capture for either flood protection or water supply.”

Centuries of urban-planning dogma dictates using gutters, sewers, and other infrastructure to funnel rainwater out of a metropolis as quickly as possible to prevent flooding. Given the increasingly catastrophic urban flooding seen around the world, though, that clearly isn’t working anymore, so now planners are finding clever ways to capture stormwater, treating it as an asset instead of a liability. “The problem of urban hydrology is caused by a thousand small cuts,” says Michael Kiparsky, director of the Wheeler Water Institute at UC Berkeley. “No one driveway or roof in and of itself causes massive alteration of the hydrologic cycle. But combine millions of them in one area and it does. Maybe we can solve that problem with a thousand Band-Aids.”

Or in this case, sponges. The trick to making a city more absorbent is to add more gardens and other green spaces that allow water to percolate into underlying aquifers—porous subterranean materials that can hold water—which a city can then draw from in times of need. Engineers are also greening up medians and roadside areas to soak up the water that’d normally rush off streets, into sewers, and eventually out to sea...

To exploit all that free water falling from the sky, the LADWP has carved out big patches of brown in the concrete jungle. Stormwater is piped into these spreading grounds and accumulates in dirt basins. That allows it to slowly soak into the underlying aquifer, which acts as a sort of natural underground tank that can hold 28 billion gallons of water.

During a storm, the city is also gathering water in dams, some of which it diverts into the spreading grounds. “After the storm comes by, and it's a bright sunny day, you’ll still see water being released into a channel and diverted into the spreading grounds,” says Castro. That way, water moves from a reservoir where it’s exposed to sunlight and evaporation, into an aquifer where it’s banked safely underground.

On a smaller scale, LADWP has been experimenting with turning parks into mini spreading grounds, diverting stormwater there to soak into subterranean cisterns or chambers. It’s also deploying green spaces along roadways, which have the additional benefit of mitigating flooding in a neighborhood: The less concrete and the more dirt and plants, the more the built environment can soak up stormwater like the actual environment naturally does.

As an added benefit, deploying more of these green spaces, along with urban gardens, improves the mental health of residents. Plants here also “sweat,” cooling the area and beating back the urban heat island effect—the tendency for concrete to absorb solar energy and slowly release it at night. By reducing summer temperatures, you improve the physical health of residents. “The more trees, the more shade, the less heat island effect,” says Castro. “Sometimes when it’s 90 degrees in the middle of summer, it could get up to 110 underneath a bus stop.”

LA’s far from alone in going spongy. Pittsburgh is also deploying more rain gardens, and where they absolutely must have a hard surface—sidewalks, parking lots, etc.—they’re using special concrete bricks that allow water to seep through. And a growing number of municipalities are scrutinizing properties and charging owners fees if they have excessive impermeable surfaces like pavement, thus incentivizing the switch to permeable surfaces like plots of native plants or urban gardens for producing more food locally.

So the old way of stormwater management isn’t just increasingly dangerous and ineffective as the planet warms and storms get more intense—it stands in the way of a more beautiful, less sweltering, more sustainable urban landscape. LA, of all places, is showing the world there’s a better way.

-via Wired, February 19, 2024

[deadsetobsessions]

Ghost King Phantom was an odd addition to the League. J’onn was often the last to find others odd but from the get-go, Phantom was the only quiet spot he’d have in his telepathic field. At first, it was off putting as most of the people that slipped beyond the reach of his immediate field tended to be villains and the like. But as Phantom remained in the Justice League, J’onn had come to learn to appreciate the calm spot in the turbulent sea of his friends’ and coworkers’ thoughts.

“You have taken to me faster than the others. Why is that?”

Phantom hummed purringly, another peculiar sound that J’onn had yet to see any of his human or alien heroes recreate with any success. They sat at their usual spot, face facing the cosmos and backs guarded by their friends. Plus, J’onn and Phantom could look directly into the sun without painfully loosing their sight.

“I guess I’ve always been fond of the stars. Of space, and everything in it. What about you? Why did we become friends so fast?”

J’onn shook his head, a human motion he’d learned a long time ago to imitate. “No, we became slower friends than most, as my telepathic abilities allow for easier communication and understanding of one another’s motives. With the exception of Batman but I have found he is often the exception to most expectations.”

“That checks out,” King Phantom laughed. “Well, I’m glad we became friends. It’s very cool to meet a Martian. Space is one of my Obsessions, you see.”

J’onn nodded. “I see. I am sorry that I am the only Martian you will meet.”

“You are?”

J’onn nodded again, slower. Sadder. His facial muscles, in this form, does not imitate human patterns well and he knew that most people could not pick out his emotions without his verbal expression.

Intuition tells J’onn that Phantom knew regardless.

“Would you mind telling me what happened?” His voice is gentle, the emotions that Phantom pushes at him are gentle and questing, but not demanding. It has been a long time since anyone has asked him of memories he clung to. And so, J’onn J’onzz speaks in the way that was natural to him, the way his people communicated.

With his mental voice flowing into Phantom’s head, J’onn tells him of the wonders that used to be his home. He provided images and sounds of how his home shone as the sun rose, how the shadows that fell when the sun dipped beneath the horizon felt as comforting as a Martian’s first telepathic cradle. He tells Phantom of his twin brother, grief and agony entwined in the memories of someone he had loved. He spoke of his wife and their daughter, and their cozy home on the windswept plains of Mars.

King Phantom sat still with him as the Watch-Tower moved along, around a king and his friend who was recounting the stagnant grief of his past.

J’onn tells him of the virus, borne of his twin’s hatred, and how he watched everything around him burn. How he had desperately tried to prevent his wife and daughter from using their telepathic abilities. He spoke of his failures. He wove together a tapestry of insanity and grief, built upon the burning bodies of his wife and their beloved daughter. He tells Phantom how the Mars now was just ashes and dust of his former home. How he could not look upon the planet and not see the shades of his wife and daughter and parents and friends, walking upon a barren planet that no longer held anything familiar to the last Martian.

Phantom had hummed again, a soothing rumble. Sadness dripped from the edges of his consciousness.

“If it was not for the Doctor, I would be dead and shattered.” J’onn spoke for the first time in three hours. “It is… less painful to live. I have purpose.”

“I am glad that you are not either of those things.” Phantom stood. “Come with me. I have to show you something.”

J’onn trusted Phantom, and thus followed the king into the glowing green portal.

They flew past many doors, Phantom often glancing at him before shaking his head and changing directions.

They stopped at a door that felt familiar. J’onn knew it from somewhere.

“Go ahead, open the door. But know that you can’t stay long. You don’t belong to this realm quite yet. Not for quite a while.” Phantom moves, hand gesturing towards the door without a knob.

“How..?”

“How else? You have telekinesis, don’t you?”

J’onn blinked. Right. He opened the door and- oh.

The door warped with the screaming storm of grief and love and oh-how-I’ve-missed-you that J’onn unleashed.

Because there in front of him were M’yri’ah and K’hym, his wife and daughter.

The door was an imitation of his home, back when he had not known true loss.

“Impossible,” he stumbled back.

“You are in the realm of the dead. You didn’t think the title of the Ghost King was for fun, did you, J’onn?” Phantom smiled and- a move J’onn would definitely engage in petty payback for, later after he’d gotten over the shock- pushed him flying right into the room.

M’yri’ah and K’hym cradled him with telepathic swirls of love and husband!-dad!-love-love-love-safe!

And J’onn shuddered and gathered the his world in his arms to say goodbye.

——

[thatpunnyperson]

According to NBC here in the US, the missing titanic sub has been found. As debris. Off the bow of the Titanic wreckage.

And it looks like the sub suffered what we all suspected, and what was undoubtedly the more merciful of the two options: a catastrophic implosion from the pressure.

Also, more info has come to light about the fishing trawler with the hundreds of migrants that sank cataclysmically off the coast of Greece, indicating that the greek coast guard knew about the vessel AND how much trouble the vessel was in, and were towing it at a speed that made it capsize, at which point they unhooked the tow line and watched the trawler sink without helping the passengers to safety. Despite a bunch of other ships trying to help as well throughout the whole ordeal.

So a lot of people are dead, all because of regulations (and the lack thereof) regarding sea-faring vessels and rescue protocols. People shouldnt be allowed to make a business charging a ton of money for a ride on an uncertified, unsafe, un-seaworthy ship going deep into the ocean with no distress beacon or tether to the mothership. People also shouldnt be allowed to enact laws that criminalize the ferrying of refugees, which then force the refugees to hitch rides on fishing trawlers, and which also prevent people from helping those fishing trawlers full of refugees due to fear of legal consequences.

Hopefully BOTH of these events spark changes on an international scale in terms of what is legally allowed to be sailed, who is legally allowed to be the passengers, and what the rescue protocols are in the event of disaster for any seafaring vessel, illegal or not. It shouldnt be just the global 1% who get 24/7 search parties and remote-operated submersibles helping rescue them.

[simpjaes]

requested by: anon enemies to lovers, forced to sleep in the same bed [room] trope. wc: 1.3k tags: not rly enemies to lovers, more like enemies to enemies that fuck

Enemies to lovers Jay learning that this stupid fucking trip forces the two of you to interact. That alone is enough to piss him off and activate the petty part of his brain.

Enemies. That's a fucking fact.

Imagine how he felt when he learned his cousin is dating you and bringing you to the fucking family trip? Trust, he did just about everything to prevent it. Including sending you hateful messages, semi-threatening that if you showed up he would absolutely piss in your cereal.

Well, you showed up anyway. And unfortunately, no one bought cereal for the kitchen so it looks like he needs to find a different method of making you miserable.

What's even more unfortunate? His cousin has no idea that he hates you. And why does he hate you? Well, given that you rejected him all those years ago for prom in a hella humiliating way....does he really need to explain?

For years he was made fun of for it, and you laughed with everyone at him. Not with him, at him.

Fucking bitch. That's what you are.

And you continue to be that bitch this whole time too. Knowing he had a thing for you, unsure of if he still does but still acting like he does.You don't need to know that he'd definitely still hit that shit. In more ways than one. Across the head seems more appropriate at this point though.

"He needs to leave early." Jay's mother explains to him in a semi-whisper. "Guess the sea-food got to him."

Jay silently gives himself a high-five at the idea that you'd leave with your boyfriend, his cousin.Unfortunately, you don't. In fact, you over-stay your welcome solely because your boyfriend's family loves you so much and practically begged you to stay.

At least Jay has his own room, right? WRONG. Oh, his demise hits him in the chest that very next morning, learning that his bitch-ass parents replaced his cousin's room with a different family member. Apparently they had wanted to come but all the spots in the house were filled up.

Now, they're on their way and you're moving your shit to the living room.

"Jay, why don't you let her have your room? It's only polite."

"Fuck that" is what Jay would say if it weren't for his father looming with a death glare.

"No, no!" You gleefully cut in. "If he's okay with just sharing the room, I'll be okay!" He rolls his eyes. Just because there's a pull out couch in the room doesn't fucking mean he should have to share it. With you no less. ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・ Did you do that on purpose? Maybe.

Do you love your boyfriend with your whole heart? Not really.

What most people aren't aware of in this family is, well, your boyfriend isn't exactly the best person to be involved with. Oh, he left because he's feeling sick? No he didn't, you saw that text on his phone. Despite you loving his family, and his family loving you, neither of you really love each other these days. Additionally, neither of you really have the heart to break up due to the benefits you both get simply for holding the title of boyfriend/girlfriend.

So, you trying to pull one on Jay both before and after your boyfriend saw himself out the door feigning sick? Definitely on purpose. After all, if you and your boyfriend are past the point of even trying to make intimacy work, it's not so bad that you both find it elsewhere.

Kind of like a mutual relationship where's you're not dating except for when the family comes together and the two of you pretend that love hasn't fallen through the floor.

Imagine Jay's face when he found out, deep into the night where it's silent save for the rain pattering against the window.

"I'm not actually dating him, you know?" You blurt out of the silence, wanting to push somehow for Jay to admit that he still wants you. If anything, to boost your own confidence and force him to abandon whatever respect he has for his cousin to keep it under wraps. "He left to go fuck his actual girlfriend."

"Okay?" Jay huffs out, pretending he doesn't care but actually loving the juicy hidden secret. "What does that have to do with me?" "Well, Jay Jay-" You smile in the darkness, cuddling close against the pillow and lending a small chuckle at the way he's situated himself on the pull-out bed. "It has everything to do with you if you want to fuck me."

You hear him inhale at your words before breathing out in a shaking breath.

"You are so fucking full of yourself." He starts, lifting up so fast into a sitting position that he nearly feels lightheaded. "After the way you humiliated me? You think I want to fuck you now?!" You shush him quickly, wanting so badly to mock his inability of volume control. Which...that could be fun.

"Please, you've wanted to fuck me since you learned what fucking even was."

Fair, Jay thinks, as he narrows his eyes at your barely-visible figure in his bed.

"You're being ridiculous. I wouldn't stoop so low." He argues back, voice a bit weaker, like it's breaking. Then he flops back down onto the pull-out, ignoring the uncomfortable creaking of the bed.

"Relax. I'm just trying to get laid here, it's not like we have to date or anything."

As if that's not what Jay has wanted since fucking prom?! Casual sex?! With you? "You're kind of a whore, you know that?" Jay spits, aggressively rolling over to face the wall, not at all to hide the fact that he's absolutely about to shove his hands down his pants.

"Do you want me to be?" You encourage him to think like your boyfriend used to. "Want me to apologize for the way I treated you?" He remains silent, squeezing his eyes shut and willing for all of this to just be a dream, though he'd be fucking pissed if it actually was. "Don't you want to punish me for it?" You continue, softening your voice now, lifting yourself on the bed and crawling to the edge of it. "Make me say sorry? Make me regret the day I never let you do it in the first place?" "Fuck off." Jay tries to control himself. The need to absolutely fuck you into the mattress, shut that pretty mouth up? It's intense right now. "Stop trying to come onto me." And when you do, he's actually disappointed. He hears the way you crawl back into position and roll over in silence. The room stays quiet for a little while, but he can't sleep now. Arguably, you can't either. "You're so fucking annoying." Jay huffs, rolling off the pull-out and instantly getting on the bed with you, hovering over you, letting you feel how hard you've managed to get him. "If you're able to actually shut the fuck up, take your shorts off and roll over." You hum, delighted by his weak mind state. Loving that in a way, he admits it. Finally, he admits it. All those narrow-eyed stares at you weren't just from hate. He definitely wanted you, and he still does. You do as you're told with a mocking laugh, shoving your shorts down your thighs and rolling over for him. He makes quick work, already slapping his length against your ass cheeks before instantly pressing his tip into you with a pathetic, whiny little groan.

"Thought you'd be rougher." You smile against the pillow, only to feel his hand in your hair. He tugs you back with an uncomfortable arch now cramping at your back. "Thought you wanted to make me sorry.”

“Can you please shut the fuck up?” Jay groans, shoving his full and thick cock straight into you with a solid thrust. “Hm?”

Well, now you can. Because oh my god? He’s been this big the whole time? You could’ve been bouncing on this countless times already and you’re only now feeling how good it is? Crazy mistake on your part.

You couldn't mock him back if you tried right now, with the way he releases your hair only to push your head into the pillow, fucking into you so aggressively that you can barely even breathe. He really is making you sorry.

[drdemonprince]

I grew up with abstinence-only sex education, and it did a real number on me. But I’ve shaken off enough of my old cultural programming to realize that the transmission of bacteria and viruses is a thing that sometimes just happens when animals come together, no matter how stringently we might try to prevent it.

I have gotten urinary tract infections when a stray microbe found its way into my urethra after sex. Lube and bodily fluids have disturbed my vagina’s pH and caused a yeast infection many times. So has wearing a bathing suit for too long without drying it, yet another “risk” worth the pleasures of swimming along the sea wall.

Once or twice I’ve had an outbreak of cold sores, just like 80% of humans. If I’m like most people, I probably caught oral herpes when I was very young, sharing a sippy cup or rolling around at a sleepover.

None of this makes me disgusting, irresponsible, evil, or dangerous to others. It just makes me a living creature that exists in close contact with other creatures. I believe I have a responsibility to get tested regularly, to alert people who have been close to me when I get sick, and to use preventative measures like condoms, PreP, vaccines, toys, and masks to prevent the spread of infections as best I can. But I never imagine I can lead a life without risk — or that such a life would even be desirable.

There is no such thing as completely “safe” sex. A friend of mine can’t use condoms because they give her bacterial vaginosis. She chooses instead to fuck raw and take PreP and get anything else she catches treated. A guy I know who masks and tests religiously caught COVID while fisting someone (with a gloved hand!) at an air-filtered party. HPV is so prevalent that most sexual wellness clinics don’t bother testing for it, and can’t do much for a patient if they do have it. Our bodies are teeming at all times with various endemic viruses and microbes that we will never have the power to purge.

Then there are the possible costs of not having sex — vaginal atrophy, pelvic floor weakening, reduced access to endorphins, loneliness, touch starvation, the despair of harboring dreams that one never dares try. I can’t decide for anyone else which dangers loom the largest, but for me a gonorrhea shot is a fair trade for the hours of leg-cramping, bed-staining, hypno-kinky sex that led to it. There’s no guarantee that the next time I have sex it will be anywhere near as much fun, but the potential keeps me throwing the dice.

I hear quite frequently from sexually inexperienced Autistic people who crave an intimate connection, but desperately wish to remain responsible and “safe.” They want there to be a set of iron-tight rules they can follow that will guarantee they remain a virtuous person who never hurts anyone’s feelings, and never catches any sexually transmitted infection.

I understand why they want someone to impose order onto an unpredictable, terrifying world. But I can’t give that certainty to them, nor can anyone. All I can suggest is that they be honest with themselves about what they want, inform themselves of the costs and benefits to pursuing their desires, and then venture forward — proudly welcoming the correct risks into their life, rather than trying to avoid any risks at all.

Life is nothing but a negotiation of risk. If a person has gender dysphoria and they want to combat it, they must risk a transition they could one day regret. If an abolitionist wants to take a stand against the police state, they must plan for the possibility of arrest or political repression. When we open our hearts to love, we expose ourselves to grief — our partners will keep changing and growing, sometimes away from us. Each step that we take forward in life closes off potential paths. There is no avoiding this.

Instead of chasing after the false promise of “safety,” trying to remain completely insulated from harm and challenge forever, we must get better at admitting risk into our lives.

I wrote about all about the messy business of risk mitigation, and how the pursuit of perfect safety is used to justify isolation, theft of bodily autonomy, and political repression. It's free to read (or have narrated to you by the app!) at drdevonprice.substack.com

[murdrdocs]

FOOLISH LOVERS. luke castellan

description. luke castellan has betrayed camp half blood. luke castellan has made an enemy out of those around you. and unfortunately, luke castellan has always held a place in your heart that you can't close off. at least, not until you meet with him one final time.

includes. SMUT 18+, fem!reader, daughter of hypnos reader, oral (f and m receiving), brief anal rimming (f receiving), implied p n v, dreamscape sex again, angst galore, some arguing, references to pjo ep 8. inspo from wicked game by chris isaak

wc: 5.8k+

a/n: a dreamcatcher: daughter of the god of dreams installment.

Before you can realize the change, you’re standing on a hill. 

It takes you a second to notice, but the area is much like your dreamscape. Low, waving blades of grass that travel through the air with the wind brushing against your bare ankles. The ocean is loud and to your right, down beneath a steep cliff. From just a quick glance, you see a storm brewing off into the distance. The water swirls angrily as if it’s ready to disrupt anything that dares to come into its path. 

You can’t help but think about the betrayed son of the sea god back in reality who surely feels the same. 

When you take your eyes away from the entrancing scenery of the ocean, you notice a cabin directly in front of you. It’s small, and made from long wooden logs, although there isn’t a forest nearby to identify the source of the frame. The exterior is slightly shabby, appearing manmade with a few imperfections. 

It’s not on a comparable scale to the cabins back at Camp Half-Blood, but something about it feels cozy. It gives implications of a simpler life. Maybe what summer camp could have been if you weren’t the offspring of a god. 

That and the clouds rumbling with warnings of an approaching storm is what encourages you to seek refuge in the four walls. 

Step by step, you don’t fail to notice how a focus subject has yet to appear. 

Your hand wraps around the doorknob and you push the slab of wood open as you wonder who’s dream you could have been pulled into tonight. 

You haven’t even stepped foot over the threshold, you have started to convince yourself that this is the dream of the son of the sea god, and then someone speaks. 

“Hey.” 

You stop. 

Your foot hovers for a second before you place it back beside the other. 

That voice. You hadn’t heard it for months now, but you know it. Day after day, you lay at night with your eyes closed, cementing the memory of the way he spoke and how he sounded as he laughed at your jokes into your mind. Forcing yourself to recall the inflections in his tone as he teased you, and how his words flattened out and got hard when he gave orders to yourself and others. And then, completely involuntarily, you would force yourself to pick through every single intonation and word that you could remember, attempting to find signs. Any hints or clues that Luke Castellan wasn’t the person he made himself out to be. 

Each night, you grapple with the fact that you couldn’t find any clues. You tried to reconcile with your blindness, all while telling yourself that you could have attempted to prevent it all. 

But hearing his voice now, none of that returns. Unexpectedly, your body floods with warmth. 

Luke sits on a small loveseat. The shape of it is a bit of a blur at first, but you blink and it cleans up to present a busy patterned textile couch. It’s well loved, there are a few tears in the bottom of the fabric at the back, and if you’re smelling it correctly, there’s a slight waft of cigarette smoke. 

Strangely enough, it’s inviting. 

You hate to admit it to yourself, but the boy sitting at one end of it makes it even more inviting. 

You step into the cabin and close the door behind you. 

“Hey, Luke.” 

He turns around to face you at the sound of your voice. You sound stronger than you expected. More casual, too. 

You realize that he’d been looking out a large set of windows before facing you. There’s only two but they take up most of the small wall. Outside is a perfect view of the land you’d just come from; bright green grass in the foreground and deep blue salt water off into the distance. 

Luke stares at you. 

The cabin is a little dark—there’s a lamp in the far corner that illuminates the room, washing out the otherwise blue light from outside—but you think his eyes are shining. As if there’s unshed tears barely held within them.

He smiles at you. It’s soft and almost mournful. 

You should leave. 

You shouldn’t be fraternizing with Luke at all, even if it is within a dreamscape. You couldn’t trust yourself in a room with him, especially with the things the two of you used to do when you were in dreamscapes alone. 

Just looking at him reminds you of all of those times. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. The feeling of his muscles beneath your inquisitive hands. The deep and smooth sound of his voice. The way everything felt so real and so tangible as he rocked into you, and then as euphoria swept over your bodies you felt so infinite and surreal. 

Your teeth find your lower lip. Your body urges you to get closer to Luke. Stubbornly, you stay in your spot. 

“What d’you think?” He lifts a finger and circles it around in the air. Your eyes lift and you finally take in the rest of the cabin. 

The main room is spacious, but comfortable. Lightly furnished with hardwood floors. Though almost every surface is covered in some sort of rug, most of them persian. There’s a small kitchen to your left, and then the living area that Luke sits in on the right. There’s a few bookshelves but there aren’t many books on them, and there’s a fireplace that looks to have never been used before. A few picture frames sit on the mantle of the fireplace, but from afar they just appear to be showcasing blobs of people without any distinctive features to identify an identity. 

Admittedly, for this to be the created dreamscape of the son of a messenger, it’s impressive. 

You tell him as such. 

This time, Luke’s smile is appreciative. 

“Means a lot coming from you. Especially with the things you can create.” 

Your skin heats up and you block the memories out of your head before they can firmly cement themselves once more. 

“You might have me beat, Castellan. Giving me a run for my money.” 

You don’t know why you decide to fall into the old routine with him. Maybe it’s because you can’t push Luke away for the life of you. He was once your friend and so much more at the same time. It’s impossible for you to completely forget the times you shared together. 

Maybe it’s the home making you feel this way. 

How comfortable it feels. How protective it is. 

You’ve spent weeks pulled into unfortunate dreams. Nightmares have plagued even the toughest minds of Camp Half Blood as of late, and you’ve been unable to fortify your own mind enough to prevent slipping into the mind of others. Which has left you to fight against unbeatable monsters, fortify the barriers of Camp only to have them knocked down by Zeus over and over again, watch those you love die in horrible battles, and much much more. 

In comparison, there is the possibility of a simple conversation with Luke Castellan giving you what you’d been desperately missing even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself: Luke’s company. 

It’s how you reason with yourself whenever you take a seat atop the cushion of the couch. Instantly, it feels as if you’ve never truly known comfort before. This couch conforms to the curves of your body. You lean back against it, pull your feet up with you, and you quickly decide to stay a little while longer. 

Up close, Luke looks even prettier than you remember. Dark curly hair a little more grown out, unruly and hanging over his forehead like low hanging fruit, begging for you to latch onto it. His face looks a little slimmer as if he’s lost weight, and the angular planes of his cheekbones and jawline accentuates the dark shadow he has along his chin. The mark of facial hair that was previously present. Beneath his clothes—a faded black, almost gray hoodie, and black sweatpants—he appears larger. His shoulders wider, his neck thicker, his wrist and hands veiner. 

(Compared to his covered body, you feel bare in nothing but long socks, and a matching shorts and tank top set.)

He looks virtually the same, but his aura is different. There’s more confidence in him, a larger ego, glory even, that wasn’t there the last time you’d seen him. You know what has caused the change, and it should be something you despise. But his new glory makes him more attractive. It dries out your tongue and lodges something in your throat, pushing it further down until it sits heavy in your stomach. 

“Thought this could be our new spot.” Luke speaks softly, almost in a scared whisper, as if he fears that you’ll reject him. 

(You don’t know if you could ever reject Luke)

Your eyebrows furrow. “Our spot?” Confusion drips off of your words. 

Luke nods once. He licks over his lips and you’re quick to peel your eyes away from the sight and back to his eyes. That’s not helping you much either so you instead try to figure out what books are on the shelves afar. 

Since the little amount of time that has passed, there have been a few more added. From the ones that have already been there, the titles are too far away, too dream disoriented, and your dyslexia hasn’t escaped this dream, but you think you find novels on Seeing. Guides on how to decipher the visions that come to humans, or how to channel them. 

You focus back on Luke. 

“Yeah. Like the old bedroom. But a little more …” he hesitates to find the word then lands on, “Casual.” 

The bedroom. 

Your lower stomach stirs at the mention of it. The large bed, how warm it always was in there, the cold leather of the couch, the things the two of you did to each other on all surfaces. 

This spot is definitely a lot more casual. You’re not instantly compelled to straddle Luke here, although you do have a few thoughts about throwing your legs over his right now and reconnecting in ways you’ve missed since he left. 

So badly do you want to agree. This could be the one place where you get to experience what you’ve been missing without anyone else knowing. This is the only place where you can see Luke without anyone else knowing. 

But it’s wrong. 

He’s the cause of all of this. He’s caused the nightmares you’ve been pulled into. He has betrayed everyone on levels you could have never imagined. And who’s to say that he won’t betray you again. 

“We won’t need a ‘spot’, Luke.” Briefly, his eyes flash as if he’s hurt but in your eyes, Luke has proven himself to be a formidable actor as of late so you ignore it. “This is a one time thing.” 

A moment passes. And then another. 

You turn to watch the sea out in the distance. It appears as if the ocean has lulled for the time being. The sky is still dark, but it has yet to deepen in color. 

Luke takes a breath and you give him your attention again. 

“Why won’t you join me?” 

His eyes flash betrayal, his lips twist into something sorrowful. 

Your answer comes easy. The same one you’ve told yourself over and over again, night by night when you considered reaching out to him. 

“Because it’s not right, Luke.”

When he stands, his newfound power becomes even more clear. It leaks from his pores, spews from his mouth with his words. 

“How could it be ‘wrong’ when you feel the same. All that time you spent telling me about your father. How neglected you felt. What happened to that?” 

Your head shakes. You stand, too, evening out the field for both of you. 

“This is not what I meant. I–” The words don’t find you. Luke takes notice. 

“You what? Love your father? Love the gods? After how they treat you. How they treat us.” 

“Don’t say ‘us’. We aren’t together, Luke.” 

That same look flashes in his eyes once more. He takes a step forward, you take one back. 

He doesn’t say anything. You watch his hand reach behind his back. 

“What, are you gonna fight me like you did with Percy?” 

His head shakes. His eyes harden. He pulls his hand back and it comes up empty. 

“He attacked first.” 

Your voice starts to rise. “And you tried to kill him, Luke. He’s twelve. What don’t you understand about that? ” 

“Twelve and a forbidden child. In the grand scheme of things, his age doesn’t matter. He’s powerful. More powerful than both of us combined.” 

“So is that why you tried to kill him? Because he’s a threat?” 

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you. Not here. Not now.” 

“Yeah? Well then when? And where? Because this is the last time you’ll be seeing me, Luke.” 

“Okay.” 

Your eyebrows raise. Disbelief paints over your features. You’d expected more of a fight. For Luke to disagree or attempt to convince you to return to him a few more times after this. Maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe you wanted him to convince you that you needed him. Maybe you wanted to hear him tell you that he needed you. 

Either way, your reply is the same as his. 

“Okay.” You turn and take the few steps it takes to get to the door. 

Your chest heaves with large gulps of air in and small breaths of letting them out. Your body is buzzing, the same feeling you would get before sparring with Luke. The same feeling you would get before your bodies joined together. 

You tell yourself to reach out for the door handle. You tell yourself to lift your arm, connect your hand with the metal, and pull it open. You tell yourself to return to your own dreamscape, maybe even reality, and forget any of this ever happened. 

Maybe you would’ve done it if Luke hadn’t spoken. 

“You can walk out that door but that won’t change how you truly feel.” 

He doesn’t add on. You don’t move. 

“And how do I feel?” 

The adrenaline is overwhelming you. You need to expel it out of your body somehow. 

As Luke is speaking, you’re already approaching him. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to answer that for you.”

When he speaks, it’s with arrogance. His confidence is heavily laced in his words, overflowing until it drips out into the air and lodges in your chest. Running through your body and down to your fingertips. It annoys you, makes you want to battle it out with him in a fight you’re sure to lose. 

Your feet thud against the floor with each step until you’re close enough to cup his cheeks in both of your hands and pull his face down to yours. 

There’s no hesitation in the kiss from either side. As if both of you were expecting it to happen eventually. 

Luke kisses you back vehemently, his lips messily sliding against yours as he presses into the center of your back, accentuating the curve and drawing your chest into his. His free hand glides down your side to your hips. He circles to your back, dragging his palm down to rest over the curve of your ass. He grips the flesh through the soft fabric of your shorts, digging his blunt nails in before continuing his hand—open palmed—down to grip the back of your thigh. 

His other hand mirrors his previous actions until he has a hand on either thigh. He tugs once, and you collaborate to wrap your legs around his waist and hook your ankles behind his back. Your hands dig into his hair, and your core tightens as you prepare to continue holding yourself up. But Luke takes most of the load. 

He places his hands on your bottom to keep you lifted. You expect him to walk you back to the couch, or maybe pin you to a wall. But he doesn’t. 

He holds you against him in the center of the living room, kissing you like he’ll never get to kiss you again. You don’t fail to realize how he likely won’t. 

His tongue slides against yours, your teeth knock together at least twice, both of you refuse to pull away to breathe which results in heavy exhales through your noses against the skin of the other cheek. 

While it may be uncoordinated, it’s not primal. 

There’s copious amounts of longing beneath each pass of your tongues against each other. There’s human emotion behind the way you tug on his hair and how he uses one hand to pull your hips closer to him. There’s raw longing in the soft sighs and gasps you both let out into the other’s mouth, taking it in and replicating the noises over and over again. 

When you finally do part, it’s with a wet, pronounced smack. 

“Luke,” you gasp his name before you can realize it’s happening. One of your hands moves from his hair to hold his cheek. Your fingers spread around his ear and your thumb probes into his jaw. 

He hums, his eyes still shut. 

“I want you,” you admit. 

You watch the smile spread across his lips, his eyes flickering open to look into your soul. 

“Took you long enough to admit it.” 

You suck your teeth and roll your eyes. Your other hand, previously resting on his shoulder, slaps his bicep. 

“Don’t be an asshole about it.” 

He laughs as he apologizes, knocking his forehead against yours. “Sorry, pretty girl.” 

He takes a moment.

When he speaks, his eyes are nothing but earnest. His words are slow and careful, despite how simple they are. They fill your chest with warmth. They comfort you, possibly in slight delusion as you instantly believe him without caring about what repercussions his promise could come with. 

“You have me. Always have. Always will.” 

You’re quick to surge forward. 

Luke is quick to reciprocate. 

This time, he walks you back to the couch. He settles you on it carefully, not lifting his hands from your bottom until you’re seated securely along the loveseat and pulled to the edge by his hands hooked under your knees. 

His own knees dig into the rug beneath the furniture. His head is tipped up to continue kissing you, this one lacking the over enthusiasm from before. Now, he takes his time, having confessed his desire to be with you as long as you’ll let him. 

It’s not long until he pulls away and trails his lips down, kissing along your decollete, not stopping when he comes in contact with the fabric of your small shirt. He presses his lips into the fabric firmly, as if he’s trying to reach your skin beneath the layer.

You feel the pressure he has beneath each kiss as he trails down, and you arch into his touch, excitement spreading through your lower half whenever Luke digs his fingers into the elastic of your shorts and pulls them off of your legs before he even reaches there. 

You’re quick to leave your legs open, even going as far as to spread them a little more to give Luke more room. 

His wide shoulders fill the space. They nudge against your knees and instead of letting you spread your legs even more, he throws them over his shoulders, effectively caging himself in with your limbs. 

If the small smile on his face is anything to go by, he’s happy about his position. 

You’re still wearing your panties. Your hands trail down to get rid of them, but Luke stops you with a hand on your lower abdomen. 

“Let me,” he tells you, voice soft and light. 

You remove your hands and do as told. It’s a simple system you have worked out, Luke slowly but surely working his way down to where you want him. He's eager, and you know he wants himself there as much as you do. 

It’s strange what desire could make you do. 

You’ve never been anything but loyal to Camp Half-Blood. To both of your parents. And in normal circumstances, you wouldn’t allow yourself to do this.

 But you’ll simply have a final time with Luke. That’s it. Sharing your body with him, and having his body shared with you, won’t make you forget his transgressions. 

As your panties are pulled off of your legs, and your skin is once again placed above the thick fabric on the shoulders of his sweatshirt, you tell yourself that this won’t change anything. 

You’ll never be able to forget what he has done. What he’s planning to do. 

Except, perhaps, you can push it aside for as long as you’ll have to while you let yourself get lost in his touch. 

The first pass of his tongue is a long stripe between your folds. He spreads you open with his thumbs, pulling at the skin on either side to expose your center. Then he flattens his tongue and licks up from your entrance to your clit. 

He puckers his lips, sucking twice before flicking his tongue against the bud. 

Your hands card through his hair, ignoring the way your fingers get stuck on a few stubborn curls that refuse to separate in favor of grounding yourself. It feels too good, and you haven’t been in this position for too long. There’s nothing you fear more right now than getting too lost and waking up in the real world before you’re even satisfied. 

Luke brings his attention back down to your entrance where he laps up what you’ve been leaking. He groans, peeling his mouth away and you stare down at him, entranced by how grateful he looks. 

Eyes closed, face completely relaxed, his scar laid flat against his cheek, his pink lips parted and glistening. 

He looks ethereal. The sight is addicting. 

“Missed this so much,” he admits, tongue flickering out to lick the remnants of your arousal off of his lips. 

You feel the same, but you refuse to tell him that. Instead, you scrape your nails at his scalp lightly and shuffle your hips, hoping that alone is enough to capture Luke’s attention again. 

Either he catches the memo or he had the same idea as you because his lips are right back between your legs.

You’d expected him to behave like a man starved, licking and sucking your cunt like you would disappear any moment. Instead, he takes his time with you. He utilizes the best part about being in a dreamscape: the lack of concrete time. 

He savors the taste of your cunt, and the little sounds you make. His fingers press into the tops of your thighs as he holds them down against his shoulders to prevent you from squirming. His nose nudges against your clit and digs into the short hair you have on your mound. 

He presses his tongue everywhere that he can, sometimes even sliding further down to rim areas still unexplored. Each time, you would tense up just a little less, until eventually you were trying to subtly urge his head further down for him to do it just one more time. 

And when he does, that’s when the coil in your lower belly gets as tight as it could get, just before snapping from the tension. You would have warned him. Or, maybe you did. You were so focused on getting there that any words that came out of your mouth weren’t even considered. You weren’t aware of anything other than your mouth moving at the same speed as your hips as you dragged your cunt against Luke’s face, using him to guide your orgasm to full completion. 

As soon as your hips stop twitching you swing your legs off of his shoulders and slide to the floor beside him. You pull your shirt off, then do the same for Luke, throwing both of your tops off to the side. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s not wearing another layer beneath the sweatshirt, allowing you to run your palms down his chest, feeling the familiar definition along his abdomen. 

You sit in front of him with your legs folded underneath you, and since he’s on his haunches, he towers over you just a bit. You have to tilt your head up to kiss at his jaw and neck, your hands busying themselves with urging his sweatpants off of his hips. 

Luke does the rest of the job for you, hesitantly pulling away from your touch to stand and slide his sweatpants off of his legs himself. You’re left on the ground, hands politely resting in your lap while you stare up at Luke with wide eyes. 

He slowly reveals more and more of his legs until he’s wearing nothing but his briefs. They hug him well, like they always have. A prominent outline of the muscle definition in his thighs, elastic waistband hanging low enough on his hips for you to see the ‘V’ that connects his hips and abdomen. And of course, the tight material reveals the prominent boner confined within the crotch of his briefs. 

You want to reach up and palm him. You want to pull the final layer off of him. You want to take his cock into your mouth and relax with the heavy and warm feeling of him against your tongue. 

But you decide to be patient. And it’s worth it. 

Luke slides his briefs off himself, never breaking eye contact with you as he throws them to join the rest of your clothing. His stare is strong and heavy as he spits into his hand and puts his dick into the same place, wrapping his palm around the center of it and stroking a few times. 

There’s the prettiest, most picturesque bead of precum at the tip and you’re practically salivating just looking at it, praying deep down that Luke doesn’t run his hand over it so you can have it for yourself. 

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Luke takes a step closer, holding the base of his cock right in front of your face, allowing you to get the perfect view of how his tip is a light pink around the almost clear drop of precum. 

“You want?” he asks you simply, smiling a bit when you nod eagerly. “Then open.” 

You’re quick to do as told, lacking any shame whenever you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. As soon as Luke presses his tip to your muscle, you wrap your lips around him and eagerly suck him clean. 

Another good thing about the dreamscape is that everything either tastes like absolutely nothing, or like pure honey. And when you’re with Luke, things are usually the latter. 

You start to get lost in it, enthusiastically beginning to suck Luke off even though you were only meant to be getting a taste. 

You can see that Luke is close to commenting on it. His eyes shine like they do before he has something to say, but just when his lips part and he takes a breath to speak, you hollow your cheeks and sink as far down him as you can and any words he could have conjured up are suddenly gone. 

He lets you do what you want, eyes fluttering shut and one large hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to suck him off. He lets out the smallest noises, pretty grunts and groans and sighs. 

Luke was clearly just as wound up as you were. Within a couple of minutes he’s already starting to spew out praises like he does when he’s close. Some of them are fragments, broken words strung together in incomplete sentences. 

“So … doing so .. you’re–” when you swirl your tongue at the tip and tease his balls just a bit. 

“Gods, you’re so good at this,” when you jerk the majority of his dick with one hand and focus your mouth on his tip with the other. 

“Close. So close. Almost there, dove” when you take all of him into your mouth once more, throat molding around the definite shape of him. 

And when he cums down your throat, you’re so satisfied that you can’t help but moan unabashedly along with him. 

You’ve only just swallowed his cum before his cock is pulled out of your mouth and he’s back on his knees in front of you. 

His arms wrap around your waist, he pulls you into his lap, laying his head on your chest and just letting himself be. 

Just existing. 

After a couple of minutes, you stop expecting him to speak and decide to just exist too. Your breathing eventually matches up, in and out, in and out, over and over again in tandem. Outside, rain starts to thud against the roof of the small home. Distantly, there’s the faint sound of thunder, and you’re sure the ocean is swirling angrily. 

None of that matters, though. You’ll be left to decipher the metaphorical meanings of it all later, when you aren’t coexisting in the shared warmth from you and Luke. 

When he isn’t kissing the tops of your breasts and holding you securely in his arms. 

Eventually, Luke does break the silence. His voice is low when he does, both in volume and tone. 

“Can I have you? Just one final time?” 

He talks into your skin without looking directly at you. But as you start to respond, you cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. 

The entire time, you’ve been fighting this battle. Knowing you wanted Luke, knowing you wanted to be with Luke, but also knowing it was wrong. All of it was wrong. 

But right here, right now, you let go. You nod unashamedly. You kiss his forehead then the tip of his nose then his lips, before landing on the bottom end of his scar. 

You tell him, “Yes. Of course, Luke”, as if he didn’t even have to ask in the first place. 

And truthfully, you don’t think he did. 

‎

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” 

Luke is in the middle of pulling his sweatshirt back over his head when you speak. There’s a second where the fabric is hiding his face, slowly revealing the curls at the top of his head, then his dark eyebrows, and finally his eyes. They look as they have the entire time: despondent. 

“I know you didn’t. Neither did I.” You have a feeling that neither of you are speaking about the same specific thing, but the overlap in your conditions is so wide that you don’t bother correcting him. 

He reaches behind his back once more and when he pulls his hand back around, he has his camp necklace dangling from his fingers. He undoes the knot, and holds it open, waiting, until finally you turn around and let him delicately tie it around your neck. 

Your hand touches the beads. You want to thank him, but it doesn’t feel right. 

Instead, your lips twist into what you hope comes off as a thankful smile when you turn around. When Luke replicates it, you feel a little better. 

There’s a moment, just a brief moment there where you’re both staring at each other and the memory of Luke’s hands and lips and tongue and his everything engrossing you, taking your everything and combining them together, is still fresh on your mind. The warmth of his eyes and the warmth of his camp necklace around your throat heals you. And you consider that your feelings for Luke were stronger than you ever forced yourself to acknowledge. 

He was more than a close friend to you. More than someone you looked up to. More than someone you shared your body with in the dreamscape. 

He was more. 

It feels unfair for you to have these emotions. The wrongness of it all—your feelings for Luke Castellan, how he’d turned out—has rage fueling deep in your gut. With no one else to blame it on, you can’t help but briefly curse the gods. 

For they were the ones to cause this. To instill deep hatred into Luke’s chest. To prevent either of you from ever having a normal life where you could live and breathe and love without the burdens placed upon you both. 

A life where you wouldn’t have to love and lose someone like Luke. 

But there’s nothing for you to do about it now. 

You don’t want to leave. But your time together is up. You should’ve left a long time ago, and your choice to stay before resulted in something you could never take back. 

You turn and walk to the door. And once more, Luke speaking causes you to stop. 

“You are the only one who could make me change my mind.” He says it in a small whisper, as if he doesn’t want to admit it even to himself. As if he shouldn’t be admitting it at all.

‘Are’. His feelings for you still haven’t changed. You don’t know if they ever will. 

Either way, you’re forced to change yours.  

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t say anything. Your hand reaches for the doorknob. You take it in your palm, gripping and turning at the same time until the latch is undone. 

The door opens and fills the room with the sound of rain falling. It’s loud and fills the empty space. Up until Luke speaks and the baritone of his voice joins it. 

“This is it?” 

You nod once. Luke’s scoff sounds painful. It’s bitter with an edge of hatred. Maybe disbelief. 

It makes tears brim at your eyes. Your nose stings. Your throat feels as if it’s constricting with the effort to hold your tears back. 

Luke takes a breath. You step one foot out of the door. 

“Dreamcatcher,” he calls to get your attention, the nickname giving you that fuzzy feeling you used to get from just seeing him around camp. “We’ll be seeing each other again.” 

And then your foot lands on the dry green grass of your own dreamscape. 

Just a few hours later, you rise with the morning sun, sneaking off to the showers before everyone else to get rid of the stickiness between your thighs. 

The dream might not have been real, but the evidence between your legs certainly was. Strangely enough, that and the additional chord of beads around your neck. You only notice it when you’ve undressed and stepped beneath the shower head, scrubbing at your skin and running into additional jewelry you hadn’t expected to have been there. 

You take it off and slip it with the rest of your clothes as a keepsake, carrying it around in your pocket for only you to know about.

[hedgehog-moss]

The great thing about having no internet for a couple of weeks is, you get so much stuff done. I've made great strides in my fight against invasive plants in the pasture!

^ This large rock used to be lost in a sea of broom, you couldn't even see it.

It's a lot more fastidious now that I'm uprooting plants one by one with the root slayer instead of clearing the whole area with a brushcutter, but hopefully they'll no longer be able to sneakily bide their time underground and then grow back even stronger from their intact root system.

I took some in-progress pictures—don't these invasive plants look like a retreating army?

We've had a tiny bit of April snow—I don't know if I can call it that, the air just felt icy and wet and tangible, if I opened my mouth I could feel snowflakes fly into it but nothing was actually falling on the ground. It felt like being repeatedly enveloped then dismissed by clouds that had made plans to drop their snowflakes elsewhere.

But every time I saw Pandolf he looked like a starry night, so there really were snowflakes in the air!

It felt very satisfying to come home with my face and hands all numb and warm up by stuffing entire wheelbarrows' worth of broom into the wood oven then throwing a match. Ever since I've learnt that this plant attracts ticks, burning it has felt like defeating two enemies at once. I listen to the lovely little crackling sounds of a broomfire and picture hundreds of ticks popping like popcorn.

My animals didn't enjoy being stuck inside snow clouds all day—I saw the llamas use their shelter for once, and Pandolf politely asked to come in and sit by the fire instead of staying out to collect more snowflakes in his fur, so I think they were all already in spring mode in their minds.

Merricat also (less politely) asked for shelter, but Merricat treats every instance of wet weather like a national scandal that I personally failed to prevent.

Even the hens wanted to come sit by the fire, and when I said no (you are hens), one of them ignored me and walked in, resolutely, clucking for the younger hen to follow her, like "let me teach you how it's done".

You know when you want to eat a crêpe in a crêpe restaurant in Paris and the waiter looks baffled that you envisage to buy food in his food establishment and he says no that won't possible, and you're like these people over there are having coffee they're almost done we'll just wait inside for their table!, and (with mounting horror) he says no no no if you really insist on giving us your money then you must wait in the street for the privilege, and watch the diners through the window like little orphans, and then your more assertive, confident friend militantly walks in anyway, encouraging you like, come on he's not gonna call the police, we're about to pay 12€ for 1 crêpe I think we can wait inside thank you very much—because a dismissive aristocratic aplomb is the only attitude that'll get you a table in a crêperie in Montparnasse sometimes? It was pretty much this dynamic. Between me and my hens.

[viaxslz]

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩ NOT SAYING I LOVE YOU BACK

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 gn!reader, cw: pet names, not proofread :P, Maknae line ver.

BANG CHAN

“Bye Chan!” You spoke making your way over to Chan who slouched on the couch as he lazily scrolled through his phone with a bored expression. You leaned down placing a soft kiss on his cheek. He hummed turning his head to face you. “Ok bye bye! Love you” he smiles at you. You smiled back turning around to leave but stopped to Chan pulling you back. “Say it?” “Say what?” You asked tilting your head to the side with a puzzled expression. “I love you too” he responded with a slight glare waiting patiently for you. “Ohhh” you giggled as soon as you realized. “I love you too”

LEE KNOW

Lee know pulled over at the front of your house. He was dropping you home after a wonderful date. As you bid goodbye to him, he opened his mouth to speak. “Ok..i love you” he said staring lovingly at you. You nodded turning your body to leave the car only to realized it was locked. You glanced back at Lee know who stared blankly at you. “I love you darling”. “I know” you responded like It was very obvious. You turned to open the door but he pulled your hands back preventing you from getting out. “Babe I said I love you…..didn’t you hear?” He spoke getting slightly pouting as he gripped onto your hands tightly. “Same” you answered trying to stifle your laughter. He scoffed and started the engine driving away from your house grumbling under his breath. “You’re not going home until you say it back”.

SEO CHANGBIN

Today was one of those days Changbin decided to be nice and drive you to work. Before you go down he gives you an I love you filled with happiness and love. You stayed silent and turned around to opened the car door and leave but it was locked. You turned around to give him a “what the heck face”. “I said I love you..?” He repeated in case you didn’t hear it. You nodded turning around to leave again, you were going to take whatever it takes to avoid repeating it. He grabs your arm and looks at you with a forced smile, trying to mask his annoyance. The silence was enough to make him grab your face and pull it closer to his. “I.LOVE.YOU.TOO! Come on repeat after me or else I’m gonna cry” he whines. You giggled at his adorable behavior and finally decided to stop teasing him. “Alright alright I love you too” you said placing a soft kiss on his cheeks.

HWANG HYUNJIN

You were lazily scrolling through Tik tok until you came across a trend where you don’t say “I love you back” to your boyfriend. You decided to do it tomorrow before he goes to work. “I’ll get going now. I love you princess!” He beamed happily. “Ok, thank you. Bye bye” you responded trying to sound dry. Hyunjin paused in his tracks turning to face you. "Huh? I said i love you, baby.…..Did i do something wrong?" His expressions changed as a pout started to form on his lips. He slowly walked towards you. “Did I do anything wrong? I’m sorry….please forgive me” he pleaded reaching out to your hands and lightly squeezing it. “I love you Princess” he repeated in a softer tone. “Thank you!” You nonchalantly responded. “Darling don’t you love me anymore? I promise I'll buy you a sweet treat and a bouquet of flowers. I'll buy you lots of plushies. Take you out on lots of dates. Just Say you love me back, pretty please..." His voice was pleading, and he pouted while looking at you with puppy eyes. “Hyunjin you are going to be late for work” you pointed at the ticking clock. “I don’t care. I’m not leaving until you say you love me back. Please say you love me back. Hyunjin continues to pout while still staring at you with puppy eyes. You sighed in defeat not being able to handle his cuteness. “FINE! I love you too!” You responded making him crack open his lips to a bright smile. His previous sulky and needy emotions replaced with a happier one.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Marshmallow Longtermism

The paperback edition of The Lost Cause, my nationally bestselling, hopeful solarpunk novel is out this week!

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "Marshmallow Longtermism"; it's a reflection on how conservatives self-mythologize as the standards-bearers for deferred gratification and making hard trade-offs, but are utterly lacking in these traits when it comes to climate change and inequality:

https://locusmag.com/2024/09/cory-doctorow-marshmallow-longtermism/

Conservatives often root our societal ills in a childish impatience, and cast themselves as wise adults who understand that "you can't get something for nothing." Think here of the memes about lazy kids who would rather spend on avocado toast and fancy third-wave coffee rather than paying off their student loans. In this framing, poverty is a consequence of immaturity. To be a functional adult is to be sober in all things: not only does a grownup limit their intoxicant intake to head off hangovers, they also go to the gym to prevent future health problems, they save their discretionary income to cover a down-payment and student loans.

This isn't asceticism, though: it's a mature decision to delay gratification. Avocado toast is a reward for a life well-lived: once you've paid off your mortgage and put your kid through college, then you can have that oat-milk latte. This is just "sound reasoning": every day you fail to pay off your student loan represents another day of compounding interest. Pay off the loan first, and you'll save many avo toasts' worth of interest and your net toast consumption can go way, way up.

Cleaving the world into the patient (the mature, the adult, the wise) and the impatient (the childish, the foolish, the feckless) does important political work. It transforms every societal ill into a personal failing: the prisoner in the dock who stole to survive can be recast as a deficient whose partying on study-nights led to their failure to achieve the grades needed for a merit scholarship, a first-class degree, and a high-paying job.

Dividing the human race into "the wise" and "the foolish" forms an ethical basis for hierarchy. If some of us are born (or raised) for wisdom, then naturally those people should be in charge. Moreover, putting the innately foolish in charge is a recipe for disaster. The political scientist Corey Robin identifies this as the unifying belief common to every kind of conservativism: that some are born to rule, others are born to be ruled over:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/01/set-healthy-boundaries/#healthy-populism

This is why conservatives are so affronted by affirmative action, whose premise is that the absence of minorities in the halls of power stems from systemic bias. For conservatives, the fact that people like themselves are running things is evidence of their own virtue and suitability for rule. In conservative canon, the act of shunting aside members of dominant groups to make space for members of disfavored minorities isn't justice, it's dangerous "virtue signaling" that puts the childish and unfit in positions of authority.

Again, this does important political work. If you are ideologically committed to deregulation, and then a giant, deregulated sea-freighter crashes into a bridge, you can avoid any discussion of re-regulating the industry by insisting that we are living in a corrupted age where the unfit are unjustly elevated to positions of authority. That bridge wasn't killed by deregulation – it's demise is the fault of the DEI hire who captained the ship:

https://www.axios.com/local/salt-lake-city/2024/03/26/baltimore-bridge-dei-utah-lawmaker-phil-lyman-misinformation

The idea of a society made up of the patient and wise and the impatient and foolish is as old as Aesop's "The Ant and the Grasshopper," but it acquired a sheen of scientific legitimacy in 1970, with Walter Mischel's legendary "Stanford Marshmallow Experiment":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stanford_marshmallow_experiment

In this experiment, kids were left alone in a locked room with a single marshmallow, after being told that they would get two marshmallows in 15 minutes, but only if they waited until them to eat the marshmallow before them. Mischel followed these kids for decades, finding that the kids who delayed gratification and got that second marshmallow did better on every axis – educational attainment, employment, and income. Adult brain-scans of these subjects revealed structural differences between the patient and the impatient.

For many years, the Stanford Marshmallow experiment has been used to validate the cleavage of humanity in the patient and wise and impatient and foolish. Those brain scans were said to reveal the biological basis for thinking of humanity's innate rulers as a superior subspecies, hidden in plain sight, destined to rule.

Then came the "replication crisis," in which numerous bedrock psychological studies from the mid 20th century were re-run by scientists whose fresh vigor disproved and/or complicated the career-defining findings of the giants of behavioral "science." When researchers re-ran Mischel's tests, they discovered an important gloss to his findings. By questioning the kids who ate the marshmallows right away, rather than waiting to get two marshmallows, they discovered that these kids weren't impatient, they were rational.

The kids who ate the marshmallows were more likely to come from poorer households. These kids had repeatedly been disappointed by the adults in their lives, who routinely broke their promises to the kids. Sometimes, this was well-intentioned, as when an economically precarious parent promised a treat, only to come up short because of an unexpected bill. Sometimes, this was just callousness, as when teachers, social workers or other authority figures fobbed these kids off with promises they knew they couldn't keep.

The marshmallow-eating kids had rationally analyzed their previous experiences and were making a sound bet that a marshmallow on the plate now was worth more than a strange adult's promise of two marshmallows. The "patient" kids who waited for the second marshmallow weren't so much patient as they were trusting: they had grown up with parents who had the kind of financial cushion that let them follow through on their promises, and who had the kind of social power that convinced other adults – teachers, etc – to follow through on their promises to their kids.

Once you understand this, the lesson of the Marshmallow Experiment is inverted. The reason two marshmallow kids thrived is that they came from privileged backgrounds: their high grades were down to private tutors, not the choice to study rather than partying. Their plum jobs and high salaries came from university and family connections, not merit. Their brain differences were the result of a life free from the chronic, extreme stress that comes with poverty.

Post-replication crisis, the moral of the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment is that everyone experiences a mix of patience and impatience, but for the people born to privilege, the consequences of impatience are blunted and the rewards of patience are maximized.

Which explains a lot about how rich people actually behave. Take Charles Koch, who grew his father's coal empire a thousandfold by making long-term investments in automation. Koch is a vocal proponent of patience and long-term thinking, and is openly contemptuous of publicly traded companies because of the pressure from shareholders to give preference to short-term extraction over long-term planning. He's got a point.

Koch isn't just a fossil fuel baron, he's also a wildly successful ideologue. Koch is one of a handful of oligarchs who have transformed American politics by patiently investing in a kraken's worth of think tanks, universities, PACs, astroturf organizations, Star chambers and other world-girding tentacles. After decades of gerrymandering, voter suppression, court-packing and propagandizing, the American billionaire class has seized control of the US and its institutions. Patience pays!

But Koch's longtermism is highly selective. Arguably, Charles Koch bears more personal responsibility for delaying action on the climate emergency than any other person, alive or dead. Addressing greenhouse gasses is the most grasshopper-and-the-ant-ass crisis of all. Every day we delayed doing something about this foreseeable, well-understood climate debt added sky-high compounding interest. In failing to act, we saved billions – but we stuck our future selves with trillions in debt for which no bankruptcy procedure exists.

By convincing us not to invest in retooling for renewables in order to make his billions, Koch was committing the sin of premature avocado toast, times a billion. His inability to defer gratification – which he imposed on the rest of us – means that we are likely to lose much of world's coastal cities (including the state of Florida), and will have to find trillions to cope with wildfires, zoonotic plagues, and hundreds of millions of climate refugees.

Koch isn't a serene Buddha whose ability to surf over his impetuous attachments qualifies him to make decisions for the rest of us. Rather, he – like everyone else – is a flawed vessel whose blind spots are just as stubborn as ours. But unlike a person whose lack of foresight leads to drug addiction and petty crimes to support their habit, Koch's flaws don't just hurt a few people, they hurt our entire species and the only planet that can support it.

The selective marshmallow patience of the rich creates problems beyond climate debt. Koch and his fellow oligarchs are, first and foremost, supporters of oligarchy, an intrinsically destabilizing political arrangement that actually threatens their fortunes. Policies that favor the wealthy are always seeking an equilibrium between instability and inequality: a rich person can either submit to having their money taxed away to build hospitals, roads and schools, or they can invest in building high walls and paying guards to keep the rest of us from building guillotines on their lawns.

Rich people gobble that marshmallow like there's no tomorrow (literally). They always overestimate how much bang they'll get for their guard-labor buck, and underestimate how determined the poors will get after watching their children die of starvation and preventable diseases.

All of us benefit from some kind of cushion from our bad judgment, but not too much. The problem isn't that wealthy people get to make a few poor choices without suffering brutal consequences – it's that they hoard this benefit. Most of us are one missed student debt payment away from penalties and interest that add twenty years to our loan, while Charles Koch can set the planet on fire and continue to act as though he was born with the special judgment that means he knows what's best for us.

On SEPTEMBER 24th, I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/04/deferred-gratification/#selective-foresight

Image: Mark S (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/markoz46/4864682934/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[milkloafy]

HEY, BEAUTIFUL STRANGER — DAN HENG

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: in which you are trying to enjoy the wardance on the luofu, the ipc guards ruin everything, and a beautiful stranger comes to help you.  ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: fluff, first meetings (at least in this lifetime…), fem!reader, vidyadhara!reader, reader is anti-ipc uwu, warning for shitty sexist pathetic ipc guards who try to harass reader >:( ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.7k+ ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: was playing the 2.4 update and this idea was spawned <3 i missed my mans !! was so happy for the dan heng content i can live well again :3 also i hate the ipc so if ur an ipc lover i would scroll past this fic :>

You knew you were capable of defending yourself. 

Verbally, at least.

You were once a distinguished Vidyadhara healer in your past life, aiding in the war efforts to heal wounded fighters on the field, and you were no less capable now in your more normal current life. However, being gifted in the Cloudhymn magic that specialized in healing powers did not mean that same strength carried onto the powers that could part seas and send waves crashing down. 

In short, while you hoped you could be intimidating and defend yourself when needed, in actuality, your physical prowess…lacked. 

Still, you never would have guessed that one of the most humiliating moments in your life would come during a time of festivities at the Wardance when some IPC guards decided to stir up trouble with the unfortunate passerby who accidentally bumped into them on the streets of the Luofu. 

And to be clear, you were that unfortunate passerby. 

“Hey! Watch where you’re going,” sneered an IPC guard as you tripped in front of them, getting distracted by the bustle of Starskiff Central and not noticing the curb beneath your feet. The guard looked to his friend and shook his head with a scoff. “These people here.”

“How shameful of me to have never known the IPC was full of such charming and chivalrous men,” you said sweetly with a smile dripping of honeyed poison as you pushed yourself off the floor and dusted off your skirt with a swift flick of your hands. “I appreciate you both so much for partaking in the simplest task of helping a fallen damsel and being decent humans.” 

The guard who had yet to talk finally spoke up. And you truly wish he hadn’t. 

“You know, you could actually be pretty if you didn’t have such an big mouth,” he said, his metallic voice grating your ears as you fought off the urge to roll your eyes. “Maybe I would’ve helped you up if you just sat there and said sorry instead.”

You folded your arms lazily, a yawn coming out of you from having to engage in such a bothersome and useless conversation. Still, you couldn’t help yourself from continuing to bite back. If there was one flaw about you, it was perhaps that your mouth went running off before your brain and legs could catch up. 

“It’s rather humorous of you to assume I’d want your help in the first place,” you stated as you looked at the guards’ IPC uniforms in disdain. What business would you want with such pathetic interstellar colonizers? “It is also appalling that you place yourself in such high of a pedestal that you would assume I care about what you think of me.” Before the guards could reply, you flipped your hair behind your shoulder and turned sharply on your heels. “Now, this conversation has taken up too much of my time. I have a festival to enjoy. So, if you would please excuse me—”

You felt a heavy hand grab your elbow to prevent you from walking away. Blowing air out of your mouth, you gritted your teeth and tugged your arm to no avail. 

You silently cursed yourself for never taking up martial arts. As much as you liked watching the performances, you personally believed you had seen enough violence in your past life and didn’t see the need to learn any swordsmanship in your current reincarnation. 

All your past lives were cursing at your arrogance now, you could feel it. Or perhaps it was just you internally scolding yourself. 

How much more badass would it be if you had the strength to easily shove the IPC guard’s out of the way and carry on with the Wardance? Instead, you were like a fly caught in a sticky trap, kicking and fighting with no real chance of escape. It was hopeless and embarrassing. 

You felt your face grew hot with humiliation. This is why past you stuck with healing, it seemed. 

“Oh, how cute,” the first IPC guard snickered, looking down at you with a patronizing grin. “Look who finally shut up. If I knew some force was all it would take, I would’ve done this much earlier instead of listening to you talk and talk about how much you—”

“Can you finish talking already?” you asked impatiently, tapping your foot on the floor. “You’re too close to me and your breath stinks.” 

His grip tightened in anger and you hoped he couldn’t see the grimace on your face from the slight feeling of pain in your arm. 

You really did it this time, you thought dryly to yourself. Pissed off the IPC guards just by tripping and opening your mouth. This would be your shortest life yet, at this rate.

Surprisingly, the feeling of pain didn’t last long and a soothing wave of comfort washed over you instead. Your body knew before your eyes could see— A Vidyadhara was around you, helping you. Not only that, but the smallest part of you felt they seemed the slightest bit familiar. 

“Is everything alright here?” a cautious, yet firm, voice asked. 

You looked up and saw a man step in front of you and swiftly yank the guard’s hand away from your arm. The force seemed minimal and effortless, but you knew this familiar stranger had to be strong to fight the burly guard off so easily. 

“That’s none of your business,” scoffed the guard on the left.

Your newfound savior stood resolute and unwavering. “I desire no involvement in your affairs. I only wish to ensure the safety of the Wardance attendees.”

“And you think we’re a threat to safety?” questioned the IPC guard, folding his arms over his chest and frowning. “Seems to me like you’re targeting the IPC. What will they think of the Xianzhou Luofu endlessly bothering the IPC? First, the cargo, now, this.” 

The man in front of you simply shrugged. “Believe what you will.” Instead of engaging in the endless bickering any longer, he turned around and offered you a smile. “Would you like me to escort you to the festivities, miss?” 

Quirking your head to the side, you grinned back and nodded playfully. “Yes, please! You seem like much better company than these idiots over here.” 

“You brat—!”

Eyes widening as the IPC guards began to draw their weapons, you exchanged glances with the grey-eyed man grabbed his wrist, running head first into the crowd and away from the guards with him only a step behind you. 

You would be the death of yourself one day, with no one else to blame, you were sure of it. But for today, you escaped happily. With a cute boy in tow. Somehow, you felt like you won this time. 

Once you were certain the guards lost you, you finally slowed down to catch you breath, a wide smile on your face when you noticed the man stopping next to you, realizing that meant he dutifully followed you amidst the crowd. 

“Thank you for your help…” you trailed off, prompting him for his name. 

“Dan Heng,” he introduced with a nod of greeting. 

“Dan Heng,” you repeated with a chirp. “I’m not sure if I could’ve removed myself from that situation safely without you.” 

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “My intuition tells me you would have found a way. Still, I’m glad to be of assistance.” 

You looked around at the booths around you. The streets weren’t filled with vendors like Aurum Alley, but it had its fair share of food stalls littered around. The smell of sweet berrypheasant fruit filled your senses as you immediately perked up at the thought of a treat after a tiresome encounter. 

“Can I get you a little something to show my gratitude?” you asked, with a hopeful glint in your eyes. For whatever reason, you felt comfort and familiarity around Dan Heng. A remnant from your past lives, you considered. “It’s nothing big! But the best berrypheasant skewers are nearby. This food stall even coats the fruit in melted sugar! You have to try it.”

Dan Heng hummed to himself, as if genuinely considering your offer. “I do have to return to the Palace of Astrum soon, but a short detour for some snacks wouldn’t hurt.” He gave you a small smile as he finally made his decision. “Okay, I will join you.”

You clasped your hands together in excitement, leading him over to the beloved skewers you were talking about. 

It took almost getting your ass handed to you by two meathead guards, but at least you managed to meet Dan Heng along the way. Whoever he was.

“Do I seem familiar to you, too?” you blurted without thinking. 

His step faltered but he continued on after a brief pause. “It’s vague, in all honesty. But…yes. There’s some sort of subtle tug.” 

You noticed his slight tone of discomfort and decided not to press the subject. Even if there was a sense of familiarity between the two of you, it was likely in your past lives. And for some Vidyadhara, they preferred the past stayed in the past. Or, they would at least prefer not to share their past with a completely random stranger such as yourself. While that wasn’t the case for you since you seemed to lack self-preservation, you truly wanted respect that about Dan Heng. 

“Cool!” you said simply, quickly changing topics. “Now let’s get some fruit skewers!” 

Slightly taken aback, he bit out a noise of laughter and stood in line next to you. “Gladly.”

You looked up at him with a smile. “And maybe, we can get to know some more about each other. Our current lives.” 

Dan Heng nodded in agreement. “There is still some time before I have to return to the Express. I would enjoy getting to know you more before then.” 

Ecstatic that he agreed, you ordered some fruit skewers and handed one over to him. The two of you happily crunched on the delightful treat and shared a moment of contentment. 

You smiled to yourself as you exhaled happily. Dan Heng requested another skewer and shared a piece with you. 

Nothing could beat good company and a sweet treat. 

For once—just this once—something good came out of the IPC. 

[pomefioredove]

You know what would be sad? If you/Yuu breaks up with Vil (or vice versa) and then runs to Rook afterwards. I wonder if Vil is going to feel betrayed again? If you could do a little scenario for this, that’d be great!

this is such a good prompt, I love rebound scenarios omg. needed this today. and here comes rook with the steel chair!!!

summary: getting dumped by vil schoenheit type of post: long fic characters: rook additional info: romantic, established relationship, vil breaks up with reader, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, kinda angsty, hahhhh, my god

"It's not personal. I just don't think it's fair to you," Vil says.

He doesn't fidget. Maintains perfect eye contact. He doesn't even try to act sorry, which, perhaps, is what stings the most.

He's supposed to be an actor, after all.

That's what this is all about.

"You must have always known this was a possibility," he says. "My schedule is getting busier, I simply don't... want to push you away."

Each word is spoken with a honeyed softness, as if he's trying to cushion the blows. It doesn't help.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your eyes burn. This is the worst thing you've ever experienced. You would take a thousand overblots over this. Any day.

What a bitter sentiment.

"You don't mean to push me away. What is this, then?"

A look of guilt finally crosses Vil's face, cracking the mask of professionalism he'd been hiding behind. It offers little comfort.

His brow furrows, and he sighs. "A preventative measure. It would hurt more if I'd waited,"

A million questions fly through your mind, faster than you can catch them. You want to shout, to tell him exactly how he's making you feel, to ask him who he thinks he is- but all you can manage is a stare.

He frowns, extending a hand as if to caress your face, but you turn on your heels and leave before he has the chance.

You wouldn't sit there and let him make a fool of you any longer.

You had become comfortable with the Pomefiore dorm in the past few months, but today, its elegance feels suffocating. The white and gold decor seems to mock you, every vase of perfect flowers laughing at your imperfection as you pass them by.

It hurts.

Stings, burns, makes you feel like you're drowning in a sea of perfume, choking on lilac and rose. Has the air here always been so sickeningly sweet?

There's still a lingering part of you that wants to run back to him, to beg, to negotiate, but you know he's right. You hate that he's right.

This... whatever it was... wouldn't last.

And you'd always known it.

---

How does one recover from being dumped by Vil Schoenheit?

Short answer: you can't.

You can wallow all you want, drowning yourself in the unhealthy foods he forbade you from eating, skipping the classes he'd so encouraged you to excel in, and using cheap tissues on your formerly-perfect skin, but that doesn't change a thing.

Perhaps if it hadn't been so public, you might have pulled yourself together sooner. But the very second all of your pictures were gone from his profile, everyone knew.

On some nights, you'd torture yourself by reading the thirsty comments from desperate fans under his latest posts, all of them pointing out his recent singleness. You would wonder to yourself if you had sounded that pathetic when you were dating Vil.

Just another hopeless, desperate fan, hoping for a piece of him.

People on campus avoided you. Not out of fear, but pity, a lack of knowing what to say. How do you even comfort someone after this?

It was like having an open wound on full display. No matter how you tried to bandage it, it kept bleeding through.

Even Grim was keeping his distance.

What little comfort came in the form of an anonymous knight in shining armor. Roses left at your doorstep, letters of love and encouragement on your assigned seats, little baskets full of your favorite foods and trinkets on your kitchen table...

You would have questioned it if you were not so consumed by your grief. At least the mystery offered a distraction.

"Another one," Ace comments, pulling a letter off your chair before you can sit on it. "Whoever this guy is, he's slick."

He hands you the letter, which you gracefully accept.

Deuce watches cautiously. "And you're sure it's not just... some kinda of prank, right? I've known my fair share of nasty types, this could be a trick."

"Too much effort," you shake your head. "I mean, whoever this is is spending a lot of time and money cheering me up. Not to mention... I've tried looking up some of these poems, and no matches. They're originals."

You wave around the letter in hand, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Though, I'm sure whoever's doing it is just being nice,"

"Nice. Right," Ace rolls his eyes. "Cause I know like, a million teenage boys who are just dying to write poetry for their friends."

Even Deuce snickers at that. You roll your eyes.

"Point taken. I guess I just can't believe that anyone would want me after..." you pause. There's no pleasant way to put it, so you let Ace and Deuce fill in the blanks.

"Hey, Vil is a jerk. He doesn't deserve you," Deuce says. "And trust me, if I ever catch him disrespecting you again-"

Ace scoffs. "Woah, there, tiger. Calm down. Vil could kick your ass and we all know it,"

"He really was something, wasn't he?" you sigh, slumping in your seat. Ace and Deuce give each other a panicked look.

"We didn't mean-"

"No, I get it," you say, reaching down to the floor in an attempt to touch your toes. Vil had told you that little exercises help calm the nerves. You hate how you still need his advice.

"Oh, hey, look," you sit back up, another pink envelope in hand. "Another one."

---

There's something about these gifts that doesn't sit right with you.

Each one is arranged to perfection, obviously crafted by a very thoughtful individual, just personal enough to suit your tastes but distant all the same.

It's almost as if the sender is holding something back.

But, not today.

You're greeted by a trail of rose petals leading up to Ramshackle's front door, which itself is ajar. Not uncommon, considering Grim's inability to take care of the makeshift dorm, but with the scent of roses and the candlelight inside, you know it's something more.

You walk in, setting your things aside, and continue following the path of petals into the kitchen, where a rickety wooden table has been set for two.

You, however, are the only one in the room.

"Hello?" you ask, turning in circles. The space is empty, save for a small letter on one of the chairs.

Beautiful,

A little bird told me you doubt the intentions of my admiration. I must amend that immediately, and I see no better way than to say it myself.

Yours truly.

"Trickster," a familiar voice comes from the doorway behind you, and you whirl around to face your admirer.

"Rook!" you gasp, clutching the letter to your chest.

He beams in response. "Oui, c'est moi. Though I was so enjoying the mystery, I feel it's time I made my intentions clear. Sit, please,"

You don't hesitate to follow his suggestion (the surprise left your knees feeling weak, anyway), and he joins you in the adjacent seat.

"But what-"

"Please," he says, holding a finger to your lips to shush you. "Let me start. I first want to say that I have meant every single word, in song and ink, that I have given to you. My heart is true."

Your mind is overflowing with questions, none of which he seems keen on answering in full just yet.

"I have spent the past several months allowing our Beautiful Vil to woo you. I have so enjoyed watching your love blossom from afar, despite my own feelings towards you. But things have changed," Rook says.

"For as much as I love him, this was his own doing. He has made a fatal mistake, one which cannot be undone- he has wounded you, mon amour, in a most vulnerable fashion. Months ago, when we both realized our feelings for you, I willingly stepped aside," he says. "I thought Vil would be the best option for you. I thought I was not ready to commit myself. Now I see what a mistake that was, and I hope you might find it within yourself to forgive me..."

You can only stare back. "Rook..."

"I cannot resent our Roi du Poison for his choice, for it's his to make. But he hurt you dearly, and in the process, he has relinquished his claim on you. I know your wound is still fresh. But, please, Mon Trickster, mon véritable amour, be mine?"

You're silent for a moment, processing every detail of what he said, what he's offering...

He's right. The wound Vil created is still open, and despite the weeks of "recovery", had yet to improve.

If you kept waiting for it to heal, perhaps it never would.

You nod. "Okay. Okay! But-! Let's take it slow, okay?"

Rook just barely manages to stop himself from leaping across the table to take your hands into his, and he reaffirms your request with a nod.

"Of course, mon cœur. What is a hunter if not patient?"

---

Pomefiore is beautiful again.

There are still times where you swear you can see Vil staring at the two of you, a look of discontent on his face, from across the room.

He doesn't utter a word about the way Rook has his arm over your shoulder, or the many terms of endearment he uses on you, though he doesn't have to. The lingering guilt and regret has made a home for itself in Vil Schoenheit.

You're sure Rook has noticed by now, too, although this isn't the first time he's pulled something like this on the housewarden without a second thought, and it likely won't be the last.

Perhaps it's for the better.

[dexlexia]

how to deal with 3 warlords (while pregnant) - cross guild x reader

pairing: dracule mihawk x buggy the clown x reader x crocdile rating: 18+ summary: Three warlords, three of the most vicious men in all of the world. And somehow, someway they are at your beck and call. What started out as an arrangement with Sir Crocodile turned into a liaison with Mihawk and somewhere along the way you ended up in bed with the clown. tags: long fic (over 5k), polyam!cross guild, smut, pwp, table sex, couch sex, lingerie, slight possessive behaviour, good ol' time, fingering, outdoor sex, clothed sex, cowgirl position.

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Three warlords, three of the most vicious men in all of the world. And somehow,someway they are at your beck and call. What started out as an arrangement with Sir Crocodile turned into a liaison with Mihawk and somewhere along the way you ended up in bed with the clown. 

Now you were living quite well in a large manor on some island in the southeast. You spent most of your days reading, you had even taken up a little gardening. Anything you wanted the Cross Guild got for you. Not many people were living like you on the Grand Line. 

Then it happened. You ended up pregnant by one of the idiots. One of the three men was the father of your child. You expected to be on the next boat off the island, but none of the men were willing to send you off. They wanted to make sure their little lady was taken care of. While they bicker over who the father was, they each made sure you were taken care of. 

  ”Can't you hurt now.“ Crocodile told you as he brushed his fingers through your hair, ”If it isn't my brat this time, it will be next time.“ And he almost smiled around the cigar in his mouth.

So that was how you became the lovely wife to three of the most dangerous men on the high seas. And sometimes you wished their boat would sink. 

At six months pregnant it wasn't easy to get around, you spent most days rubbing the sore spot in your back and hobbling around the manor. Most of the time the men kept to themselves and allowed you freedom to roam around the place. 

There was something about the manor you quite enjoyed, even if the men barely got along they still cared deeply for you. You had the pleasure of being called more beautiful than any treasure. But it was Buggy who told you that and then he promptly passed out from too much liquor. So the compliment only went so far. 

It was a home, even with three fearsome men, you still were happy. You thought of it as a way to keep the men in check. You were like the glue that held them together or prevented them from killing one another. It wasn't easy work but it was your work. 

-

You rubbed your achy lower back and huffed, ”You better come out easy, or we're going to have a problem.“ You then poked your swollen middle. Your current wardrobe was clothing that belonged to the men. You hadn't had much time to find cuter clothes so you often were dressed like a mob boss or a gothic swordsman or a fucking clown. But none of them men minded, to be fair they'd preferred if you were naked. You however refused to give them the satisfaction.

You weren't a toy to be ogled at, and if any of them treated you like an object they'd be out on the yard before they could finish their sentence. You refused to raise a child to believe that a woman would be under a man. Even if their father was a warlord you'd teach them compassion and kindness in an unforgiving world. 

It was the least you could do. So even with the aches and pains you were happy to carry such a precious gift. You gave your belly and soft pat, ”I'm not mad at you“ You said, ”I just want everything to go smoothly, I'm excited to meet you. And the boys will love you too. They might be a bit much but you'll always have a home.“ 

  ”Talking to the baby again, I see.“ You heard.

  ”Crocodile.“ You responded as you looked up from your swollen middle. Hand on your lower back once more, ”I thought you were busy, Mihawk told me that.“  

You'd say out of the three of them, Crocodile was the most ”attentive“, there was a charm to him that you couldn't deny. You understood why he was able to charm his way through Alabasta. But anything you needed he got for you without question. He often enjoyed your pregnant state, the idea that he bred you so well left him excited. Such a good girl carrying his spawn, and if it happened that the baby belonged to the swordsman or the clown, he'd make sure that next time he finished the job. 

  ”I'm never too busy for you. Where are you going anyway?“ He asked,“If you need something, I will get it fo you.” He approached you and leaned down to caress your bump, “You will need for nothing. You should be resting.“

  ”I have to move sometimes, Crocodile. Even with the pains in my lower back.“ You huffed as you rubbed the sore spot, ”Can't be bed bound forever.“ 

He chuckled and kissed the top of your head, ”If you wanted a back rub you should've come to my office. Mihawk is too rough with you and the clown is an idiot. So why don't we get what you need and head to the bedroom.“ He leaned further down and kissed you on the lips.

You cupped his face and looked at him, ”If you can get me the ice pop from the freezer in the kitchen I'll happily accept your offer.“ And gave him the biggest puppy dog eyes you could muster. 

He chuckled, ”You always know how to get your way.“ Then took you by the hand, ”Why don't get go before the clown takes all of them.“ Then he started to slowly walk to the kitchen on the lower level.

The warlord had a soft spot for you, he was enamoured by you. You were so small compared to him yet you held your own. The kind of woman who would bear his young. 

Soon you were seated at the massive dinner table happily enjoying the blue ice pop that was in the freezer with your back turned to Crocodile. His hand was on your back slowly massaging the aches and pains on your lower back. You could tell he was getting aroused by the closeness to you. You smiled to yourself as he rubbed at your back. 

  ”How's the child doing?” He asked as the hooked hand reached around you and carefully rubbed your bump, “Is he behaving?”

You chuckled, “We don't know the gender of the baby.” And took another bite of the cold treat, “You better not be disappointed if they're a girl."

He chuckled and pressed at a sore spot on your back, ”I could never, not with you.“ Then pulled away, "You're still a marvellous sight, even this far in. You're a beauty to behold, little one.“ Then leaned in to get a good feeling on the tenseness of your lower back, ”You're a good girl, right?“

You turned your head to look at him, ”You're not just being nice for sex are you?“ You reached over and stroked his face, ”Right?“

He moved back a little, “No, of course, I'd only have sex with you, with you permission.” He swallowed. Only the warlord would get nervous around you.

You chuckled and patted him on the cheek, “Why don't you finish this up for me.” You placed the ice pop in his mouth and moved off the chair. You hiked up the shirt that looked like a dress as you hoisted yourself onto the lavish dining table with a huff. It's hard to be sexy when you're so pregnant. 

  “Oh?” He said, “And here I thought you wanted a massage. But if there's something you desire, I'm happy to provide.” He smirked at you as he got up from the other chair.  He stood in front of you and admired you, such a beautiful woman in his eyes. 

Crocodile was such a fearsome man but here he was in front of you, with a glint in his eye as he watched you unbutton the shirt you wore and soon revealed your almost naked form. He had noticed that your breasts had gotten a bit bigger during the time you were pregnant so far, and that only made the man smirk. 

  “Let's get you out of those." He remarked as he helped you out of your underwear, you held onto his broad shoulders as he slipped them off of you. He placed your bum back down on the table and carefully spread your legs. His hook grazed at the soft flesh of your inner thigh and he carefully licked his hip lip.

  ”Don't stare at me like I'm meat, Crocodile.“ You remarked as you held onto the front of his shirt, all three of the men admired you but you had to warn them sometimes not to view you like a slab of meat for sale. They were yours as much as you were theirs, there would be a level of respect you demanded. 

You didn't think it was too much to ask considering you were carrying one of their children, you weren't a broodmare goddamnit! 

He reached over and patted you on the head, his face got closer to yours as he smiled at you, ”Don't you worry, baby. I would never. You're less like meat and more like the finest gold in all of the blue.“ His broad hand reached to your cheek and rubbed it, ”The others should be lucky I even let you in the same room as them.“ Then kissed you on the forehead. He carefully held your legs open for him, he exhaled deeply as he admired your sweet sex, ”Now let's get the show on the road before the others find us.“ Then with a little help from you, he slid his cock into you. 

Taking him was like a punch in the gut sometimes, even when he was being slow. He was just so BIG. It was hard to take him all at once. But he took his time, he didn't want to leave you too sore. His hand was on your waist as he started to thrust into you. The hook on his other hand held onto the side of the table for support. He leaned down and kissed at your neck, ”That's it.“ He said almost breathless against your neck, ”There we go. Such a good girl.“ 

The table made small noises as it was pushed ever so slightly across the carpeted floor. But you didn't pay much mind to it, you were too concerned with the feeling of euphoria that came over you. It was a great feeling, even with the minor stretch you were in good hands with the warlord. 

  ”Crocodile.“ You said softly, ”Fuck.“ 

He chuckled, his warm skin was pressed up against you, ”I know, you like when we have sex. I wouldn't have it with anyone else, those other idiots should be lucky that they get to have a taste of you.“ His voice was low, there was a possessive edge to it that sent a shiver up your spine. While the agreement worked you knew that Crocodile would rather have you all to yourself.

The sex was quiet and secretive. Hot breathing and soft moans filled the air of the lavish dining room. Crocodile's larger body stayed around you as he thrusted up into you. But even the warlord couldn't keep his composure for long.

  ”I want you to finish at the same time as me, baby.“ He said hotly into your ear, ”I want to feel you get very tight around me when you finish. Can you do that for me?“ His breathing was rapid and his shirt was sticking to his muscular back as he thrusted up into you. 

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment as you felt the wave of pleasure over your body, ”I can do that.“ You panted. Your body jolted with the thrusts, your pregnant belly and heavy breasts moved with each thrust of his hips. 

He pulled you into a deep kiss, he even explored your mouth with his tongue while the intense feeling of climax took hold. It wasn't long before you were clinging onto him for dear life, you belly pressed against him. Then with one last thrust of his cock, you moaned into his mouth and climaxed at the same time as him. You let out a sharp squeak before a primal groan as you felt the wash of pleasure through your system. It made you go lightheaded. 

Soon Crocodile pulled away and patted you on the cheek. He looked over at the half melted popsicle beside you. Between his breaths he said, “Let me get you another one.” then leaned in for one last kiss. The thrill of pleasure still coursed through his body. He cleared his throat and asked, “Blue, right?”

You giggled, your head still a haze and replied, “Or we could go again?” And spread your legs a little further. And what kind of husband would Crocodile be if he didn't give in to his wife's request?

-

It had been about a week since your encounter with Crocodile. And while you were achy for days later, it wouldn't be the last time you'd have sex. Mihawk had just come back from a trip abroad and while he brought nothing for the other men, he was more than happy to show you what he got you. 

You were now almost seven months and the baby in you was feeling a lot more active, which made you out of breath a lot of the time. But you were determined to see what the swordsman got you. One of the gifts was a lovely dress made for someone as far along as you and while it was a little tight around the belly, you were happy Mihawk even thought of you. 

But there was still more he wanted to show you. The other men were out of the manor, so you went looking for Mihawk. You were occupied all morning with prepping for dinner, between the three warlords not a single one of them knew how to properly cook. They were as clueless in the kitchen as they were competent in combat. So it was just easier for you to cook, there was less of a chance that a fire would break out. 

 “Mihawk!” You called out as you climbed the long staircase upstairs. You peeked into the rooms until you found the man in his study. You let yourself in.

  “You know you can't just- oh, I didn't hear you, my love.” He got up from his chair at the desk, “You shouldn't be putting so much strain on yourself. Come.” He guided you to the old style leather couch at the other end of the room, “You should be resting.” 

  “Well I heard that someone bought me presents while away, and I want my presents.” You smiled at him as you tried to get comfortable on the chair, “Can you blame me?”

 “I'm sorry, I should've found you sooner.” he replied, “Let me get them for you.“ He quickly left the room only to swiftly return with delicately wrapped gifts in hand. He put them on the table in front of you then sat beside you. He watched you with careful eyes as you grabbed the first one. His lips were close to your ear as he said, “Open it.”

It was a floral patterned wrapping paper and underneath was a black box with a white ribbon tied around it, there was a note attached to it that read, ”Forever yours, Mihawk.“ You turned to look at him and he softly kissed you. You then went back to opening the box. It wasn't long until you discovered the contents of the gift. Inside in a bed of tissue paper was burgundy lingerie. 

You turned to look at Mihawk who had his eyes on you. You said to him, ”You shouldn't have.“

He tilted his head to the side, ”What I paid for is nothing compared to how much you're worth. It should fit you.“ His hand played with your hair gently, ”Will you try it on for me?“ And smiled when you slowly stood up, he even carefully supported you while you moved. 

You responded, “Of course.”  With gentle hands you pulled the bra and matching panties out. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw how little fabric there was. You guessed he was right, it would fit if there was nothing to put on. You felt his eyes on you as he got up and started to undress you.

His hands found your swollen middle and he sighed contently, “You've been taking care of him while I've been gone. Good girl.” 

You turned around to him and started to take the dress off, “You men are so possessive. I'm your wife, not a broodmare.” You reminded him.

He leaned in for a kiss and before he did it, he replied, “Of course, I could never remember you as anything but my wife. I am just glad that the others weren't too rough with you. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you.” 

  “Nothing will ever happen to me, I have the best protection on the planet.” You said as you stepped out of your dress. Soon your undergarments came off and he slowly put the pieces on you. 

You noticed right away that in the crotch area, there was an opening. You looked at him with a bit and shock and he got even closer to you. His bare chest was pushed against you and his hand dipped down between your legs. 

  “It's your gift. But under my conditions.” He remarked before he pushed two fingers inside of you. His skillful digits massaged the inside of your pussy and felt just right that you went on your tippy toes and clutched onto him. 

Your nipples grew hard from the sensation and them being practically exposed. Your cheeks grew warm and he went in for another kiss. You held onto him tightly as the pleasure raced through you. This felt amazing. 

Mihawk's favourite position was when he had you so close to his bigger form and fingered you. He prioritised your pleasure first, he wanted to see every expression you made when he pleasured you. He wanted to see and hear how good it was for you. And he was one to never disappoint. Those sharp gold eyes trained on you as he brought you into his lap with your legs open and facing the door. He kissed your neck while you panted and moaned. 

His other hand wandered your bump, “I want it to be mine, I want you to bear me a child who'll truly be the greatest. I have high hopes that it'll be mine.” Then left a deep bruise on your neck.

Your moans often got stuck in your throat from the immense pleasure that Mihawk was giving you. You hooked your hands under your knees to give him a better angle, with your back pressed against his chest.

The thrusts of his fingers were powerful and left your head spinning. This was euphoric. Soon his hand was on your breast and he skilfully fondled it as he continued to finger you at a punishing pace.

Your moans rung clear in the office while he pleasures you on the couch. At least your wetness can easily be cleaned off the leather. Your eyes rolled back as you gripped your thighs in a heightened pleasure.

  “So good for me.” He praised, “A beautiful woman I am able to give pleasure to, it's an honour.” He knew your heart was racing, he could probably feel it. He continued to kiss at your neck as his pace quickened even more. 

Your toes curled in the intense feeling and you moaned loudly as you rolled your hips in time with his movement which caused your breasts and belly to bounce. The knowledge of that made Mihawk's cock twitch in his pants. You really were a remarkable woman. 

He pinched at your nipple and your moans got louder. You pussy clenched around his fingers and he groaned into your flushed skin, ”So perfect.“ he thumb gazed at your clit and you practically jumped but you didn't get too far. He pulled you back in and you got louder as he pleasured you further.

You felt a grip around you as hot pleasure raced through your body. Your core felt on fire from the sensation. And Mihawk thought it was divine.  You looked angelic, especially when he hit just the right spot and you climaxed. 

He groaned into your skin as you tightened around his fingers. You tensed for a moment before you relaxed against him and tried to catch your breath. Yor head was spinning but you felt safe in Mihawk's arms. 

  ”How was that?“ He asked, ”You looked divine when I was pleasuring you. Do you want more?“

You exhaled deeply and slowly got up. You stood in front of him, ”Well.“ You said, ”Let's see how resilient this lace is?“ Then slowly he brought you back to the couch with the full intention of seeing what 'damage' he could do before the other men came home. 

-

Buggy was home the most, while the other two had matters to attend to off the island, Buggy was well Buggy. He was a fearsome clown but you spent the most time with him. You enjoyed his company, even when it was something as simple as watching over you while you gardened. 

It was the middle of summer and everyone was in their own little corner of the house. You were out in the garden behind the manor waddling around with a watering can in hand. You were tending to the roses portion of the garden before you moved on to the strawberries nearby. 

You didn't mind the alone time, it gave you time to think. You tried not to get too anxious about how your life is going to change once the baby is born. It felt so far away yet so close. Before the first autumn leaves you were going to be a mother! And at times it left you rather anxious. 

You shook off the thoughts while you poured the water over the roses. You heard the back door open and close. You turned to look over and saw Buggy. And when your eyes met, he broke out into a grin. 

  ”Well there you are, my peanut!“ Then made strides to get closer to you. You quickly noticed in his hand was your large sun hat. He approached and placed it on your head, ”I don't think now is the best time to get a sunburn. You know Crocodile will kill you.“ Then leaned in for a kiss. 

While the other two were mysterious, Buggy seemed normal in comparison. Well, for a clown pirate anyway. He had a very sweet spot for you and while you hadn't seen much of his feared nature, you enjoyed your time with him. He was an open book to you.

  ”You know one of us can do that, like you don't have to keep coming out here. Especially alone, what if you slip on some mud or like... A bird drops a rock on your head!" 

You laughed, ”Buggy, I think I have bigger things to worry about than a bird."

He shrugged before he took the watering can from you, “I'd hate to see anything happen to ya, so let's go. It's time for  a break!” Then placed it down before he guided you away from the garden and towards the shade under the largest tree on the property. 

He helped you down onto the grass and he went in for another kiss. He moaned against your lips as gloved hands cupped your face. It was almost romantic if not for the heat between your kisses. Your heart jumped.

  “You shouldn't be out here all alone, angel. What if someone hurt you? What if someone took you from me?“ He stared down at you.

You smiled back at him and reached out for him. You placed a hand on his cheek and assured him, ”No one would ever dare.“ Then went in for another kiss.You felt excitement race though you as he laid down in the grass with you on top of him. 

  ”Good, because you're mine, peanut. Just like that kid in your belly.“ He grinned at you and nodded. Soon with the help of his powers one of his hands reached down, detached from his body and lifted up your dress. He slipped his hand under and found the less than stylish maternity underwear you wore. 

  ”What do you think you're doing, clown?“ You asked, as you held his face, ”Did you come to check on me so you could fuck me?“ 

He laughed, ”Of course not, having sex with you is just a bonus!“ Then with another hand, pull down the underwear to the middle of your thigh, ”C'mon, then afterwards I'll even help ya water the garden. Seeing you all domestic has really turned me on.” Then he grabbed your ass. 

You moaned and he pulled you in for a searing kiss. He continued to gab at your ass as the kiss deepened. He pulled you dress up further to expose your bare ass to the afternoon air. 

  “You drive me crazy.“ He remarked before he created a bit of room between you two to get his cock out of his pants, ”So why don't you be a good girl and get me off.“ He beamed at you. 

You squeezed his nose between your thumb and pointer finger, ”And what do we say with that, Buggy?“

He frowned suddenly, ”Please. Please angel, sugar, honey, peanut, please, please!“ His cock was out of his pants and pressed into your swollen middle, ”I'd love to see that belly bounce while ya ride me.“  Then he attached both hands to his wrists and held onto your waist. ”I want you.“

You chuckled and held onto the bottom of your dress so a bit of your belly was exposed as you eated yourself onto him. You held his hand for support as you slowly seated yourself onto him. You exhaled deeply, “Yeah.“

  ”Doing alright there, peanut?“ He asked as he rubbed your hip with his free hand, ”That's it, good girl.“

You moaned as you started to roll your hips.  You held onto his hand and the bottom of your dress while you rolled your hips. You felt his cock nudge against the most sensitive spots. For a clown he was a good fuck.

Your eyes closed and your mouth slightly opened as you moved faster.  Buggy groaned and soon both hands were on your hips as he tried to meet your pace. “Shit.” You moaned as you felt pleasure spread through your body like warm butter on hot toast. Your cheeks were flushed as you continued to move your body. 

The two of you went at it, you kept the pace steady. It was getting quicker but the depths that he pushed against made you see stars behind your eyelids. Your heart raced as you moved against him. The feeling of overwhelming moments. Sex with Buggy left you breathless as it did with the other men. You were glad that your pussy could take a beating. The thought made you smirk for a second before you felt his thumb rub up against your clit. 

You jolted up but he used his other hand to keep you back down on his cock. He chuckled, “You're not getting away that easily, angel. I know I make you feel good, that's why the brat in ya is mine. His hand moved to your belly to feel around it while he played with your clit.

You felt moans bubble up in your throat as you rode him. You picked up the pace as the swirl of pleasure moved in the pit of your stomach. Your breathing was rapid as your belly moved with your movements. A sight the clown would never get out of his mind. His girl pregnant with his brat riding him on a sunny afternoon, he couldn't luck out more than this!

Soon the pleasure became an overwhelming feeling for both of you. He handed onto your belly with both hands as he pushed up deeper into you. Your coe felt soaked from the stimulation of his cock as you thrust your hips. Soon your hands were over his on your bump as you moved as fast as your pregnant body would allow.

Buggy's eyes rolled back as he gripped onto your belly, your dress fell back down over the bump as you two met each other's pace. Pleasure coursed through you and you tilted your head back in an attempt to catch your breath as you moved. 

You felt your dress cling to your sweaty back as the two of you made love under the sun. The feeling was euphoric. You reached down and grabbed him by the font of his shirt as you felt on the very tip of orgasm.

The moa got caught in your throat as you climaxed. You tightened around him and he soo finished off too inside of you. He painted your inside white as he let out a loud groan and went limp on the ground. 

You slid off of him, cum stained your inner thigh. You wiped the sweat from your forehead and said, ”C'mon now, Buggy. You have to help me water strawberries.“ But his hands, that were detached from his wrists, pulled your dress up once more.

Soon he was on top of you, squishing your belly as he said between ragged breaths, ”Not until I make you scream, peanut.“ With a wild grin on his face.