#Weep Wave Phasing

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

Seattle-based post-punk outfit Weep Wave released their full-length debut, 2019’s S.A.D.to critical praise from KEXP, Seattle Music Insider, Raised by Cassettes and Dan’s Tunes among others. In the five years since S.A.D.’s release, the band has been rather busy: They’ve gone through a lineup change, which has resulted in their current lineup: Dylan Fuentes (vocals, guitar), Mike Hubbard (drums, synth) and Mitch Midkiff (bass). They’ve released an EP and a handful of singles, one which was featured as KEXP’s Song of the Day that have gradually revealed an evolving and decided change in sonic direction. The band has shared stages with a handful of acclaimed and renowned acts including JOVM mainstays Los Bitchos, Blackwater Holylight, Gustaf, The Bobby Lees, Godcaster, Habibi, Reignwolf and Spirit Mother among others.  They’ve also made the rounds of the local and regional festival circuit, playing sets at Treefort Music Festival, Capitol Hill Block Party, South Sound Block Party and Off Beat Music Fest. They’ve done multiple tours up and down the West Coast — and they’ve even played few times here in NYC. Slated for an Friday release through Corporat Records, the Seattle-based outfit’s 11-song Dylan Wall-produced sophomore album Speck was recorded at Seattle’s 7 Hills Studios and reportedly sees the trio embarking on a kaleidoscopic sonic odyssey through the diverse array of genres they proudly call home. Thematically Fuentes’ lyrics oscillate between two contrasting realms: outward to explore the effects of the perils of capitalism and climate change — and inward, to scrutinize the self, in particular dissecting the ego and self-identity.  In the lead-up to to Friday, I wrote about two of the album’s previously released singles: The Low Praise-meets-grunge-like “Rebirth Mantra,” a song built around a pummeling, most pit friendly riff, thunderous drumming and a supple yet propulsive bass line within a classic, alternating loud-quiet-loud song structure that captures Fuentes at his most introspective and neurotic, with the song’s narrator expressing his fears of feeling into the same unhelpful — and perhaps even destructive — patterns that always lead to repeated failure and frustration. The song’s narrator envisions a transformed, evolved version of himself, a much more caring, courageous and empathetic self. Of course, are we able and willing to change and evolve? Or are we too stubborn, too blind to do what’s necessary to better ourselves?” “Phasing,” a decidedly grunge-like ripper built around the sort of feedback fueled, power chord-driven riffs reminiscent of 90s alt rock greats like Nirvana, Mudhoney, Pearl Jam and Soundgarden, complete with enormous, arena rock-meets-mosh pit-like hooks and choruses.  “Conscious Dust,” Speck‘s latest single and opening track is a Jack Endino-like grunge take on post-punk that begins with a intricate punk-meets-cheek-in-tongue Motown-like drumbeat and a fuzzy bass line. Fuentes enters the fray with a punchy chant-like delivery before the song explodes into a hypnotic and noisy mosh pit friendly ripper. As a single, “Conscious Dust” sets up the album’s overall aesthetic and thematic concerns as a sort of bold, flag-planting moment for the band and the listener. For me, the song kind of reminds me of Pearl Jam’s “Do The Evolution,” as a sort of tongue-in-cheek takedown of humanity and human consciousness. “‘Conscious Dust’ is the first song I wrote for the album—and I intended it to be the first song on the album,” Weep Wave’s Dylan Fuentes says in press noses. It’s an ontological song that can function as playful mushroom-induced pontifications or absorbed as a reminder of the cycle of life. It speaks to a life cycle of having been here before but striving to do better than the last time.” “I like how the chill keyboards balance the heaviness,” Fuentes adds. “I tried to create songs that feel like a journey, something you can get lost in.?...

[strangersmunsons]

read 'em and weep

you and Eddie meet at the library. he’s smitten.

Contains: Eddie x Reader, bookworm!reader, lovesick!Eddie, reader gives Eddie book recommendations. No mention of reader’s physical appearance, no use of y/n. Warnings: brief mention of loneliness & negligence in Eddie’s childhood. Word Count: ~2.2k it's my hope to make this a little series! i think eddie is def a bookish guy - no lord of the rings quoting, metal head dungeon master hates reading. he would certainly be open to any fantasy/horror recs you had for him! <3

Indiana. 1989.

Hawkins Library sees a lot of action in the summer.

They offer a wide variety of youth programs to keep the local kids busy and the parents sane while school is out. One of the main events is Saturday Story Time, a beloved weekly staple that you have recently been tasked with putting on.

It’s simple. You gather a number of books, usually with a common theme, and then read a select few to the children who had signed up for the day. Most of the kids in attendance are no older than six or so, with some parents even pulling up chairs to the back so they can sit with infants cradled in their arms. The older ones sit criss-cross-applesauce on carpet squares in front of you, their chubby faces alight with giggles as you recount each silly, fantastical story with all the spirit you can muster.

And then there’s always an accompanying arts and crafts project, of course. If you read The Very Hungry Caterpillar then, naturally, you have to make little googly-eyed caterpillars out of popsicle sticks and colorful pom-poms. You don’t make the rules.

If trouble occurs during Story Time, it’s usually in this phase. (Giving paste to toddlers is always a gamble – you never know what they’re gonna do with that.)

And on this particular morning, it’s been chaos from start to finish. A whopping eighteen kids had signed up, and you stretched yourself pretty thin trying to attend to everyone.

One of the babies spit up directly onto the little girl sitting in front of him and his mother. Someone slipped on their carpet square and fell harshly to the floor, earning a bruised elbow that you gently fussed over. You wrangled a pair of twins who fought bitterly over a bottle of Elmer’s glue. There were three individual running-with-scissors-scares and, finally, you spent a good ten minutes soothing one sobbing child with whom there was nothing apparently wrong with, and that you suspected was just in need of a good cry.

So yeah, it was basically pandemonium.

But eventually, to your great relief, things wound down. The audience dispersed, with their handmade goods clutched in sticky fists, and went to peruse the glossy line of picture books you put out for display. Within the next hour or two, everyone traded the cool darkness of the library for buttery sunshine, and all was quiet again. You waved cheerfully to the last parent-child duo as they made their exit, promising them that there’d be a fun activity next weekend too.

You love these storytime sessions, you really do, but sheesh. Sometimes they run you ragged. With the havoc of the morning finally over, and the promise of lunch in your near future, you try to shake off the weariness, and instead take it upon yourself to clean up the disorganized mess someone’s made of the horror section.

You’re going about your work, tongue poking out in concentration as you strain to reach the really high shelves, when you notice someone standing in your peripheral vision. You turn and glance at him, or at least, what you can see of him. He’s half-hidden by the shelf behind you, but you catch sight of brown hair and denim.

A pale face appears on a craned neck from around the corner. His dark eyes meet yours, widen slightly when he sees that you’ve caught him lurking, and he abruptly disappears again.

You purse your lips to hide your smile. This isn’t uncommon; such moments often occur when you’re cleaning up a section of books someone is hoping to sift through. In a small act of kindness, you move over to the neighboring shelf and look for something to busy yourself with; trying to give the guy a chance to browse without having to ask you to step aside.

He doesn’t emerge. You wait, expecting to sense him passing by you, but no dice. It’s amusing to think that someone might be frightened to approach you (You? Really?) but you can’t help feeling sorry that you were in his way.

The rest of your shift is rather uneventful. At the end of the day, you punch out and head home, the stranger behind the shelf forgotten. 

When you come back to work on Monday, it’s much quieter than the last morning you’d been in. You greet your coworkers and set up shop at the front desk, opening up a book of your own to pass the time until someone needed assistance.

You’ve been reading for about half an hour when the big double doors open up for the day’s first visitor, the sound echoing loudly in the silent, spacious room. You look up in interest, ready to greet the person with a warm smile.

“Good morning!” you softly call out as he comes into view. He walks slowly towards you, shoes scuffing the checkered tile with each step. As he comes nearer, you can see that he’s biting his lip, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture oozing self-consciousness. He only makes eye contact with you for a second before his gaze flits away again.

He’s pretty conspicuous-looking to be approaching the desk with such hesitance, you think. He has dark hair that hangs in slightly-scraggly curls down to his chest, and huge dark eyes. The pale skin of his arms, sticking out from within a denim vest/Judas Priest t-shirt combo, are littered with tattoos.

He pauses a few feet away from you, like he’s debating whether he wants to stop and chat, or to simply veer off towards the bookshelves and start browsing. Ultimately he decides to shuffle forward, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Hi there. What can I do for you?” you ask, voice gentle but encouraging.

He looks down and rests a hand on the desk, absentmindedly tracing the wood pattern with his thumb. “Um, yes.” He doesn’t offer anything else.

There’s a pregnant pause, both of you digesting the fact that what you had asked was not a yes or no question.

He tries again. “I…am in need…of some new reading material.”

You nod gravely, expression serious. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Did you have anything specific in mind?”

He begins to rock lightly back and forth on his feet, contemplating. “I like fantasy, especially Tolkien. I read a lot of horror, too, and sometimes sci-fi. If you had any suggestions for me, that’d be great.”

“Oh, we can certainly find you something,” you reassure him, already flipping through a mental rolodex of your favorite books in those genres. “Here, come with me.”

You stand and move around the desk to meet him, beckoning for him to follow.

Eddie watches you run a delicate hand over the spines of the books, keenly aware of the clammy sweat that’s flooding his own palms. Be cool, Munson. 

“So,” you begin, a gleam of excitement in your eyes, “you like fantasy. Do you read Le Guin?”

Eddie nods eagerly, hair bouncing slightly with the movement. “Oh yeah, I’ve read the Earthsea trilogy.”

“Have you read any of The Hainish Cycle books?”

“I haven’t read those ones, no.”

You pull out two slim paperbacks from the row, holding each one out for him so he can study the covers. “These ones are science fiction, and they’re pretty good. You might like Rocannon’s World since it’s similar to a fantasy novel, but personally I think Left Hand of Darkness is the best.” You suddenly pause, and look around furtively, like you were checking to make sure that you two are really alone. You even put a hand up to the side of your mouth, as though shielding the conversation from eavesdroppers.

“Honestly,” you lower your voice like you’re admitting something scandalous, “I even liked it better than Earthsea.”

“No!” Eddie immediately matches your whispered, gossipy tone and lets his jaw drop, pretending to be aghast.

“Yes!” you insist, seemingly delighted by his willingness to play along. Eddie’s heart soars.

“I guess I can’t refute that until I read it, huh? What’s it about?” he asked, taking it from your hand.

“An envoy is visiting this frozen alien planet, and he’s trying to convince them to join this intergalactic coalition that he represents, but they’re making it like, really difficult for him. Also, gender doesn’t exist, and there’s political turmoil stemming from border disputes.”

“...oh. Cool.”

The next half-hour passes in this fashion. Your soft, mild demeanor is aglow with enthusiasm as you pull out book after book, giving him an off-the-cuff elevator pitch for each. Eddie can practically feel the cartoon hearts swirling around his head, bright pink and red bubbles that are almost certainly going to appear out of thin air and give him away.

He can’t put his finger on what it is, precisely, that’s pulling him in so deeply, drawing him towards you like a magnet with an opposite pole. Maybe it’s the tender way you talk about each book, the love and care that’s so tangible in your sweet voice, the way you speak about them as though they’re your old friends. Perhaps they are.

It’s not an unfamiliar concept to Eddie. A childhood steeped in loneliness and poverty, instability and dysfunction, neglect from his volatile and unreliable parents…yeah, he gets it. The wanting, the longing, the dire need to escape to someplace that doesn’t exist, some place where things were better and didn’t hurt, a dreamworld that would be kinder to a scrawny little boy with unwashed hair and a mean father.

The closest he ever came to it was when he lost himself between the yellowed and dog-eared pages of the few, precious books he owned.

So he listens to you chatter away with chest-aching tenderness, already thinking that he could listen to you like this for hours and be glad for it.

“You love fantasy, but you’ve never read The Last Unicorn?” 

Eddie gives you an apologetic half-shrug, no longer able to keep the goofy, besotted grin from unfurling across his face. “Never got around to it, I guess.”

“It makes me cry. You have to take it,” you tell him with pleading eyes, adding it to the top of the growing pile in his arms before he can refuse. Not that he ever would. How could he, when you look at him like that?

“You cry at this one, really?” He looks curiously at the artwork on the front, an innocent picture of the pale horned creature. “But it’s so unassuming…”

“Don’t be fooled, it’ll get you. Take it,” you repeat.

Eddie shifts the stack of books to cradle it in one arm, so he can raise the other at you in a salute. “Yes, ma’am. And when I’m finished with it, I’ll give you a full report on the emotional damage it caused me.”

This makes you giggle, lips turned up in a gorgeous smile, and Eddie knows he’s a goner.

Back at the front, you resume your previous positions at the desk. Him in front and you behind, this time separated by a short pile of books.

You hold your hand out. “Card, please, sir.” Polite and professional, but with a little sparkle in your eye that lets Eddie hope for a moment that his time with you this morning was more pleasure than business.

He fumbles with his wallet, slipping out his library card and slotting it between his index and middle fingers, extending it for you to take. His chunky silver rings catch the light.

You accept the offering. “Thank you” – you quickly read the messy signature at the bottom – “Edward.” You look back at him with a grin.

He cringes, face scrunching in embarrassment. “Oh God. Call me Eddie, please.”

The scanner gives a little chirp! as you begin the checkout process, nodding. “Will do, Eddie.” His name sounds like a song when you say it, one he never wants to stop listening to.

You finish scanning his books, and slide a receipt into the jacket of the novel on top (which just so happens to be Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love). Instead of sliding the stack towards him, you keep both hands clasped on the cover, hesitating. You bite your lip, an unconscious imitation of himself earlier. “Listen….”

Eddie straightens up a little, stomach flipping like a coin. “Yeah?”

You bow your head. “I’m sorry if I talked too much. It’s just – most people who come in don’t actually ask me for recommendations, and I got excited,” you admit quietly, looking sheepish.

“Don’t apologize,” Eddie says without missing a beat. “I appreciate it. I really enjoyed it, actually,” he adds, eager to quell your anxiety. “I liked talking with you.” More than you know.

“O-oh,” you stutter, taken aback. “I liked talking with you, too.”

Eddie nods, smiling slightly. “Would you like to…talk again?” He flushes scarlet and coughs. Smooth. “I just mean, when I finish these” – he motions towards the day’s finds – “we have to discuss them, right? You helped me pick ‘em out, after all.”

“Of course. You have to let me know what you think.”

His smile gets bigger. “So we’ll reconvene?”

“We’ll reconvene,” you chuckle.

“Awesome. Looking forward to it.” He sweeps up his books, and gives you a little wave. “Thanks again, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

And he can hardly wait. It looks like he’s got a lot of reading to do…

thanks for reading!!! <3 edit: this is now a series! Read Ch. 2-> Here!

[circeyoru]

{Demonic Companion} Reader's Demon Design + What if LK arrives in Hell as well?

To the people that have yet to read {Demonic Companion} and {What If The Lover is A Killer}, major spoilers, so please read those before reading this. Check the Masterlist for the story.

This request can be found in {Demonic Companion _ Part 2}

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@skyxqueen8

Will you be able to do another one where LK goes to hell? I really want to know what’ll happen to LK when alastor finds out LK is in hell. 

Also loved this!!! 🥰🖤🥰🖤

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**Same as before, LK, is the lover with the identity of a killer. But before anything, I’ll start with giving Reader/You a base information on your demon self.

Reader's Demon Design

Demon Title: The Weeping Demon

Demon Species: Demonic Spirit / Ghost Demon

Date of Death: 20XX (as long as it’s a time when technology is quite advanced)

Age of Death: (Adulthood)

Reason of Death: Murdered by LK

Reason to go to Hell: Two reasons. One, when you were young, you summoned a demon, even though you objected to it and advised not to, you still went through with it with your friends. Afterwards, you continued to be the host for the same demon’s return (Alastor able to return to Earth to your side and offer you deals). Two, you were into the paranormal. You have been watching ghost videos and demon huntings, attaching ill-willed spirits and more demons (that Alastor would kill when one’s near you without you knowing). You yourself aren’t aware that these are the exact reasons, you guessed that the demon summoning was the only exact reason and just accepted it since a long time ago

Appearance: Your eyes are pitch back (like Rosie’s and the other cannibals) because your eyes were actually gouged out after death (why do you think Alastor was that offset by your appearance). Wearing what you were having when you were killed during the 1-year anniversary of your relationship with LK, but all torn and deshreveled, like the ends of Alastor coat. As a ‘mark’ of Alastor, more like a lucky charm to instantly know where the other is and teleport to that location, you have a radio dial hair pin in your hair or on your collar

Personality: You’re as charismatic and cheerful as in life, able to approach people with a naive and open mind. But you are perceptive and sharp to manipulation and toxic traits directed at you or people you care for. Your moods can switch pretty quickly, normally, it can switch back the same but it’s not as easy to tell since you’re quite emotionally sensitive. You’re confident and stubborn, but shy if left alone so Alastor is your safe haven and your source of mental boost to be the best you. You are merciful, in a bad way. For example, while you wouldn’t seek revenge outright, you’d be sure the target doesn’t get a good end or when you see Alastor about to devour some demon, you’d suggest that the demons’ screams sounds lovely for his broadcast. You’ve changed to a bit of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, especially when Alastor is around to compare. Think of that meme where you look innocent, but can kill with outsiders and look innocent and is innocent in Alastor’s eyes

Demonic Abilities / Powers:

Your abilities and powers are centered around paranormal, ghosts and the like

Levitation: You naturally hover over the ground without having to do anything, similar to that of a ghost. You can ‘fly’ up, but that would require your concentration. You can also move things without touch, with the wave of a finger in the beginning and later on you can do it with your mind, advancing as Telekinesis

Glitch: You can steal electric power and use it as your own energy (Vox better be careful). Not only that, but you can phase through solid objects without issue when you will it

Invisibility: You can disappear from sight, but people can still feel your aura or sense you near

Chilling Aura: You have a natural cold air around you wherever you go, demons will feel a chill. When your emotions are intense (like in the 2nd spin-off) you have a frail of frost behind you as you travel

Cryokinesis (Ice manipulation): You can create, shape, and manipulate ice, along with freezing water into a solid state (think Elsa, let it goooo)

Possession: You can possess the body of a demon or human (if you go to Earth), even angels. But you must be stronger than them. You can best possess someone when they are unconscious or dead, even better when the person doesn’t have a soul or their soul doesn’t belong to them

Soul Manipulation: You can touch a soul and take it as your own, you’re unable to pass it to another. However, you must be in physical contact with the body of the soul to take it. You can even break contracts, but all you’re doing is shifting the owner of the contract to you, so the contracted soul is still not free. Once you have a soul, you either destroy it to use as your life essence or keep it like in a contract, else the soul will be gone since you can’t return it to the original body

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Now for the actual request

What if LK arrives in Hell as well?

It takes a while and by the time LK does arrive in Hell, you weren’t as shaken by your death and its reason, you’ve also grow a bit dark as you’ve been in Hell a while. Not to mention your boyfriend was the Radio Demon so, you picked up some bad habits. You had a name for yourself as The Weeping Demon since your arrival and first known appearance was you crying while freezing the streets and demons over, but you weren’t among the Overlord ranking 

You’ve also had friends with the other Hazbin Hotel residents, closest with Husk. Everyone was basically on the lookout for LK as well, since you’ve become a soft spot for them all, not as much as Alastor, but yeah, you’re well-protected and sheltered. Everyone got your story with Alastor’s comments and were devastated that you met such a fate

Alastor still remembers his order to his minions to capture LK alive and so does his minions even though it looks like he let it go. His murderous bloodlust is only low because you were there with him and he was focused on courting you properly

It happened out of the blue. LK’s arrival. As expected of a killer, LK was quite to act when realized this was Hell and there was basically no rule not to kill. Alastor passed you over to Husk who got the message to distract you while he was gone. You were none the wiser since you were quite used to Alastor leaving you suddenly, you figured it was duties of an Overlord and he would always bring back a gift or two, so you really didn’t mind

Your engagement gift finally arrived. Oh how Alastor wanted to tie the knot for so long. It was a good thing that you didn’t give Vox any interest when he was trying to pursue you to rile up Alastor, but you saw through that TV. When Vox really wanted to pursue you without alternate intensions, it was already too late. Now that you were his and he was yours, all that’s missing was marriage

In Hell, a marriage is tied till one soul disappears, so it’s basically permanent without breaking. It was to declare that the other was taken and so were you. The ultimate contract. Your little friendship would Lucifer would ensure his presence in the ceremony, and help solidify your marriage with him

Going off track. Alastor watched from the shadows of what LK was capable first. Since your powers were unique and terrifying, ones that can land you an Overlord title but you declined, he figured it was better to be on the safe side. Like a hunter, stalk the prey and watch for the perfect moment to strike. He can afford to take it slow, slow and steady wins the hunt

LK was rather ruthless and violent, a crazed smile on the face as body after body fell from the newly earn demonic powers. It seems the shackles that bound LK on Earth was what kept LK somewhat sane and normal from suspicion. That was what tricked you to your untimely death

When Alastor deemed that there was nothing to cautious about, he stepped out of the shadows and approached the raging LK and the masscre. “Greetings! My fellow hellish soul!”

LK turned around, raising a brow, “And who are you?”

“Alastor! I’d say it was a pleasure, but it really isn’t considering your actions to my beloved.” Alastor’s eyes narrowed as he glared dangerously at the smaller demon with his smile stretching too wide to be considered welcoming

“The ****. I don’t even know you. We just met.” LK rained back with a look of disgust

Ah, modern people and their rudeness. How did LK get you to crush on them for so long until the unthinkable happened? It really irked him. But he’ll blame it on his denial and wrong timing. Alastor laughed, “Oh we’ve met! Surely you forgot since time has passed and you’ve only met me that one time. Here, I’ll give you a hint.”

Shifting into a human form, Alastor revealed the biggest twist. Alastor watched with a sickly glee as LK’s face turned to shock and fear. “You’re… You’re that…”

“Ah, what was the modern term you youngsters use? Third wheel? Lightbulb? Hahaha, no matter! No longer am I fit for those terms. Your lovely lover and victim is now mine.” Alastor laughed as he swirled with his staff. “Oh you poor poor soul.”

LK growled back, “What’s that have to do with me then? You want a rematch? I bet [Reader] only went for you because I killed her, if I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did. Broke my darling’s poor heart.” Static rose to a deafly tune as Alastor’s form shifted to a more demonic one. “You never should have had the pleasure of taking up my dear’s time.”

After Alastor had his fun, he took the long route back to the hotel, his shadows dragging behind the body of LK that’s still alive but too exhausted and traumatized to do any struggling

When you heard the hotel door open and the sound of static, you immediately floated over to Alastor and greeted him with a tight hug that Alastor returned as well. You quickly peeked over to see what was in the shadow’s gasps. “What’s that?”

“Ah.” Alastor let go of you and sharped his claws before, plunging it into LK’s chest and ripped the beating heart out. Alastor kneeled down and presented it to you, “My dearest love, I’d offer you my heart but I’m afraid you’ll reject the offer, so I give you a suitable substitute. The heart of one LK.”

Your eyes widened as you doubled back to the body. For better or worse, demons can’t be killed unless it was an angelic weapon, so you were positive that LK was suffering greatly with this act Alastor was putting on. You turned your attention back to Alastor, a red dot appearing in your black eyes to show your intense focus

Alastor grinned, as he sang, “My dear, if you’ll have me.” His shadow appeared and took your hand, afraid he’d dirty you with the blood of that filth, the shadow copy of Alastor smile and held up an open box that made you gasp. “Will you be mine and I be yours? For all of eternity.”

You giggled, a laugh so familiar to when you were alive, and threw yourself at Alastor, making him drop the heart to cradle you. “A thousand times, infinity yes!”

Alastor got up and dipped you down after a twirl and placed a kiss on your soft lips. “Mine.”

You smiled back, “So are you.”

Bonus!

Angel: So what do we do with this body now?

Husk: It’s still breathing

Vaggie: Throw it out?

Pentious: Slave for the hotel?

You: No need, we can handle it (smiling innocently) I’ve been wanting to want how to use a shotgun and Alastor’s teaching me. LK’s size is perfect for target practice

Everyone (except Alastor and you): (shiver)

Alastor: Oh, isn’t my beloved charming?

Everyone (except Alastor and you): Match made in Hell…

Note: I nearly forgot about this request since it's not in the inbox area.

Circe Y.

[nomsfaultau]

The Lambs Wolves Wear part 7

Dark SBI AU where Philza’s human children were replaced by monsters. Start of The Lambs Wolves Wear is here.

“You promise you won’t get mad?” “Tommy” asked nervously, pacing before him.

“I could never be mad at you,” Philza gently told the thing that had stolen his son from him. The shapeshifting demon dithered, wringing his claws. Then the towering beast crouched before him, piercing yellow eyes skewering the tiny mortal. The muzzle housing sharp fangs and rancid breath butted its nose against his chest. 

“Can you pleeeease make that a blood oath?” A growl hissed in his throat as Philza refused, but it turned into a whimper as Philza gave him a disappointed look. Philza wasn’t exactly sure how he’d gained dominance over a demon, but “Tommy” was utterly terrified of his wrath today. Strange. Usually he scoffed at mortal disapproval. The demon mulled his quandary over, then declared: “If you get mad at me, I shall slaughter you and raze your land. I shall curse your bloodline to a thousand generations so that your ancestors are ashamed and your descendants revile you. 

“What have I said about death threats?” “Tommy” snarled in a lash of embers, and Philza braced himself not to flinch. Fear only encouraged “Tommy” further, and any threat could be turned into a bluff if you challenged it bravely enough. Not that he was all bark and no bite; the beast had wicked fangs, but only if you didn’t evade in time. After months living with the expectation he would be ripped to shreds the moment he slipped up, Philza was far less phased than he used to be. 

“But it’s a special occasion. Can’t you make an exception this one time?” Philza stood his ground, and the demon’s eyes darkened, thunder rolling overhead. Body contorting in gut wrenching ways, the shapeshifter surged forward in a blur of morphing form. “Tommy” twisted himself into the disguise of Philza’s son once more, tears blossoming in his adorable eyes as the demon begged. 

It felt like the wind was sucked out of Philza as the arms of his missing son wrapped around his waist, nuzzling into his side. So rarely had “Tommy” worn the skin of Tommy after the deceit was revealed that Philza had forgotten how potent it was. The plaintive cries mewling out of his not-son-never-my-son’s throat pierced his heart as the demon manipulated the soul of the bereaved parent. With a shaking gasp Philza remembered to breathe. “Tommy, I said no.” 

“But I’m really, really scared, and if I was allowed to rend you limb from limb it would make me feel much safer.” 

“Unfortunately, sometimes we have to be brave and kind even when we’re terrified. It becomes easier the more you try.” When Philza carded his hands through the golden hair of the thing pretending to be his son, it didn’t destroy him like it used to. Quiet was the terror so palpable he once choked on it, the grief so soul wrenching he thought he should break down weeping. He’d spent so long surviving that the revulsion no longer registered. Now, it was simply a necessity. 

The boy in his arms unraveled with a growl, the giant demon towering over him once more. “Tommy’s” fangs snapped close around Philza, ripping into his shirt and dragging him upward like a kitten caught by its scruff. “Tommy” prowled away from the home, roaming over pasture and shying away when a hoard of “Technoblade’s” undead warriors surged out in waves of phantasmal forces to rebuke him for almost trampling the crops. “Tommy’s” growl reverberated Philza’s bones, narrowly avoiding dropping the dangling human and causing him to splatter on the ground far below. 

Eventually, Philza was dropped a nearly safe amount. Groaning, he peeled himself off the grass. Having grown comfortable with the demon, who hardly ate any of them ever, the cows didn’t even look up from grazing. Well, save for a young calf, who blinked with languid eyes and trotted up to Philza, nudging him for treats. “Tommy” dithered, pacing in a fashion that left scorch marks across the ground. He scowled at the calf and shoved it carelessly away from Philza. “--and, and you promise you won’t get rid of me. Right dad?” 

“I could never.” What type of power did “Tommy” imagine he had? The beast butted his horned head against Philza, and he stroked “Tommy’s” muzzle as scarlet slit eyes narrowed upon him. He’s never seen the demon so cagey, but his assurances seem to soothe his bristling spines. 

“Tommy” sighed as he was scratched behind the ears, and came to a resolve. Before he could react, a nova built in his maw, plasma crackling fiercely into blinding radiance. His jaw unhinged into bristling flames, and “Tommy” breathed out pure hellfire in an all consuming column, smiting the calf. Philza sighed. Sure. Why not. “Did you drag me out here just to barbecue a cow?”

“You said you wouldn’t get-!”

And then Philza saw the charred husk of the calf. Or rather, the lack of it. Because sitting in a pile of charred grass was Tommy. He crawled away to fresh vegetation, and continued happily munching grass. 

Philza whipped around to the demon. “You turned my son into a COW?!” 

“YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T GET MAD!”

“What if I sold him? Or ate him???”

The demon paused. “...I didn’t think about that…” 

Tommy was incredibly disorientated as Philza helped him to his feet. He didn’t stop chewing the grass in his mouth. “Oh hey Dad, I had the weirdest dream…” the rest of his sentence was muffled by Philza wrapping him in a bone crushing hug. Philza sunk to his knees, clutching his child to his chest. He felt so, so cold, absent of the hellfire that coursed under the skin of the demon who wore his small body like a pretty mask. The real Tommy. His Tommy. He cradled the boy’s face reverently, soaking it in. 

“Huh?” Tommy blinked at him as Philza began to cry. “What’s wrong dad?” 

“Nothing,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. “Nothing at all.”

And then Tommy was ripped from his arms, “Tommy” snarling at him. “You said you wouldn’t replace me. You SAID–” The demon was cut off as Philza gathered him in a tight embrace. “Tommy” went utterly still, but Philza didn’t let go even as his skin began to burn, thanking the demon for returning his son. At his words, “Tommy” began to tremble. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really, sorry, I should’ve given Tommy back weeks ago. I thought– I thought you’d get rid of me once you had him.” He sounded guilty for his doubt, despite the fact that had been Philza’s plan for months. 

“Of course not. My heart is big enough for the both of you.” He held the both of them close. 

Tommy squirmed, not entirely sure what was happening. “Uh that’s nice Dad. Can I go back to eating grass now?” 

“Tommy” brightened. “Yeah! Now that you know you can stop worrying about him! He was really happy as a cow, I promise.”

“NO!” It snapped out harsher than Philza intended, and his stomach flipped. He couldn’t ruin this now that he had his real son back. In fact, it would only become harder now that he had to protect a vulnerable child incapable of matching the monsters wit for wit. A deep breath. Okay. “It’s not nice to turn people into animals, okay?” Tommy was at once enticed, demanding to know if the demon could turn the baker into an ugly toad. The pair’s mischievous smile matched perfectly, and Philza winced. “And, now that Tommy is back, I don’t want the two of you to get mixed up. It will be a lot easier if you pick a different name and form. We talked about indoor forms, remember? Like the cat? You make a very formidable cat, I think-”

“Nah,” Tommy dismissed. He stuck his tongue out, and “Tommy” matched it with a forked one. “I think I can work with this.” An evil grin spread over both Tommy’s faces.

Next>

[howlingday]

Godzilla in Remnant?

Okay, so... I want to do something a little different here. Instead of writing a story about Godzilla coming in, killing everything and everyone, fight some giant Grimm monster, then slink off back into the sea OR making a story of Ruby and Godzilla teaming up and solving mysteries around Remnant where Ruby does all the legwork and investigating and Godzilla is just loafing around until the monster of the week shows up, I wanna instead put a Godzilla in Remnant by Remnant.

I would like to take this time to apologize for to any TRUE Godzilla fans who may find my knowledge and understanding of the tremendum of the King of the Monsters. If my version sucks and you think you can do better than me, then by all means, go for it. I'm sure it will be better than what I craft here with my... three movie knowledge of Godzilla, the first of which is... GodZilla from the 1990s. Yeah... That's a lot of fish to unpack from the word go, huh?

Anywho, let's build us a

Godzilla in Remnant!

------------------------------------------------

So, let's start with Godzilla's origins in Remnant, which I will use the original version. See, shortly after the Great War, Nicholas Schnee was experimenting with dust, which proved to be the most effective weapon used, to create his most powerful weapon ever designed; two dust-infused bombs with the power to level cities. However, it had to go through testing first. This testing was done off the coast off the northern Anima peninsula, at an outpost that is still known today as Argus. The test was a success as the bomb worked well.

A little too well.

Deep beneath the waves, off the coast of the outpost, there lived a creature dating back to the pre-Brothers era. The radiation of the explosion was so intense, it leveled the seafloor ecosystem, killing and irradiating everything nearby. Everything, except the creature. Wounded, but enraged, this monster would bide their time until they were fully healed so they could exact their vengeance upon the hubris of humanity.

This brings us to today. Jacques Schnee intends to restart the dust bomb project to make the bombs even bigger for the military. Such research would advance humanity's knowledge, understanding, and technology in the use of dust. Though there were many who protested the plan, the research, development, and production of the bomb were now in the testing phases. And why not start where the first testing was held? Right off the coast of Argus.

Bringing his family and several benefactors to the outpost to watch, Jacques had no idea the hell he would unleash. A carrier bullhead flies outward, carrying the bomb in it's bay. The audience watches with bated breath as the bomb, dubbed "Ancient Gasp," a name to harken in the next era, fell into the water, sinking deep enough for the carrier to flee.

Seconds became minutes. Minutes felt like hours. Jacques felt a pit build in his stomach. Did they fail? Was the bomb a dud? Suddenly, a deafening boom is heard as blinding light shines against the protective goggles of the onlookers. There is a roar of applause as the test was proven to be a success. The CEO heaved a sigh of relief...

...Which then became a gasp of horror.

From the depths, a monster unlike any Grimm observed swam towards the shore. This beast was larger than any ever seen before! Jutting from its back like jagged glass were dust crystals of a color the Schnee family had never seen. They looked so pure that the urge to weep was palpable. However, any weeping that followed was not of awe, but of terror.

Godzilla emerged on Argus Beach and left smoldering crater in his wake. His appetite for destruction was far from sated, but the carnage and fear he spread caused a distraction to arrive behind him. Such palpable fear drew in the Leviathan Grimm. There, a titanic battle raged, ending with a lightly wounded Godzilla emerging victorious. He retreated to the ocean once more to rest from his shortly cut rampage.

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

Now, I want to discuss two things here before I end this synopsis.

First is the design. I will preface by saying that I didn't lie when I said that I only saw three Godzilla movies, Godzilla (1998), Godzilla (2014), and Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019). However, my first real introduction to the realm of the Kaiju of Kaijus was the video game, Godzilla: Destroy All Monsters Melee on Nintendo GameCube (2002). I also watched Godzilla, the 1999 TV series based on the 1998 film. There's also Godzilla: Planet of the Monsters (2017) on Netflix, which I begrudgingly watched (I say this because, well... It's boring to me). Finally, there's Death Battle, which features two iconic Godzilla fights, Godzilla VS Gamera and Mecha-Godzilla VS Dragonzord.

Now, as for the design, I wanted to create a Godzilla similar to the irradiated prehistoric amphibian reptile from the original 1954 film, Godzilla, by irradiating him with dust instead of, well, radiation. I've had a headcanon (probably disproven now) that dust has a bit of radiation and has to be handled carefully with proper personal protective equipment, like gloves, masks, and whatnot if handled raw. Processed has less of this radiation to where it's okay to hold it bare-handed, albeit not for very long. In terms of design, I'm thinking the standard Godzilla look with the dorsal to tail spines replaced by dust crystals. Does it sound like Space Godzilla? If yes, then that's because I used Space Godzilla as my template for his look, albeit with smaller dust crystals.

Second is where, if at all, that I see this story taking place. Notably, the ripple effects this event has on the rest of the world. Dust stocks will PLUMMET, leading to Jacques facing heavy criticism for his reckless abuse of dust. This will result in public opinion on dust to shift from useful and vital asset to cautionary and trepid tool. Weiss, being a huge advocate for dust since, you know, it's been her whole life, still vouches for its use, though she still gets a few glares from certain people when dust comes up in conversation, which it does. A lot. And Weiss has to play defense. Every. Single. Time.

Next is Salem taking not of this monster not under her control. Something this huge taking out her Leviathan, the LARGEST and arguably the most powerful of her Grimm with only a few scratches? This thing can't be allowed to continue existing. So Salem starts creating more Grimm. Bigger ones. Kaiju Grimm. It's an arms race, and the weapons being built are Grimm.

Thank you for reading this to the very end. If you have any questions or feedback on this idea and want to see more of it, feel free to let me know and maybe we can all build Godzilla in Remnant together.

Keep up the good work, and I'll try to do the same!

[stardust948]

Don't you dare forget the sun AU

[Sharing sake during the End of the War celebration]

Ozai: How exactly did you meet Zuko?

Hakoda: He and my son broke me out of a high max Fire Nation prison by starting a riot.

Ozai, not phased in the slightest: That sounds like him.

Hakoda: How did you meet Katara?

Ozai: We hired some pirates to capture her for information and she threatened to wave my decapitated head in front of my weeping mother.

Hakoda, laughing: Yeah that sounds like her.

[asjjohnson]

@danphanwritingprompts this post:

After being revealed and arrested by the Guys in White, they surprisingly didn’t torture or experiment on him. Instead, they completely removed his ghost half, “cured” him of being a halfa, and that, somehow, was a hundred times worse.

---

Alright, I have a thought. :)

Someone sees Danny using his ghost powers at the very beginning, when Danny had wanted to be 'cured'.

(Indented text is taken directly from the first episode)

Danny, Sam, and Tucker pause to talk on the staircase's landing between the first and second floor of Casper High. "It's been a month since the accident, and I still barely have any control. If somebody catches me, I go from geek to freak around here," Danny says, not realizing his legs are beginning to sink into the floor. "Kinda like what you're doing now?" Tucker asks. Danny looks down and yelps. His friends help him back up. "Oh, darn it." Danny continues up the steps. "If my dad can invent something that accidentally made me half ghost, why can't he invent something that turns me back to normal?!"

Danny glances up as he reaches the top of the stairs—and freezes.

A girl stands beside the banister, her mouth hanging open and her eyes staring straight at Danny.

She drops her books and runs.

"Uh-oh," Danny says.

"Hmm..." a new voice says. "This won't end well."

Clockwork can already tell, but he still waves his staff to fast-forward the images playing in the time portal.

Surrounded by a large crowd, the girl, still looking spooked, with men in white suits behind her, points at Danny.

Danny being dragged away as he struggles, one of his limbs flickering between visible and invisible. His parents being held back as they try to reach him.

Danny inside a bright white room with two agents. His tense and fearful posture and expression slowly turning to calm.

Danny being dropped off at his front door, a smile on his face as he waves at the leaving car. His parents jerking the door open and hugging their son and checking him for injuries.

Danny in his basement, gesturing at the ghost portal as he says something, his parents displaying a range of emotions, but concern and protectiveness and love and pain are most noticeable. Even without sound, it's obvious when they ask why he didn't come to them. The family sharing a tearful but happy group hug.

Danny walking down a school hallway, his friends trying to shield him from the crowd. 'FREAK' spray painted across his locker. The Lunch Lady phasing through a wall and everyone running.

Technus, Desiree, and Skulker battling above the streets of Amity Park, uncaring of the property damage caused. The Fenton parents blasted off their feet by a combined attack.

The Fenton family within a dented RV, each with frazzled hair and dark rings under their eyes, but the parents also wearing semi-hopeful smiles. They pass a sign that says, "Welcome to Wisconsin!"

Danny sitting in a chair with a pale, shocked expression, his sister sitting beside him. Vlad Masters standing nearby, a sympathetic frown on his face and an arm wrapped around a weeping Maddie.

People arriving for a reunion but being turned away. Some staying for a funeral.

Maddie, back at Fenton Works, sitting in the corner of the living room. Wearing something other than a jumpsuit.

A grinning school therapist watching as students try to avoid stray ghost attacks and debris in the hallways.

People across the human world being conquered through music via live broadcast, and also through electronic devices via the Internet.

A power struggle beginning to develop between Desiree, Technus, Ember, and Freakshow. The four splitting up, picking large sections of the Earth for themselves, with their borders continually shifting.

Vlad Masters repeatedly trying to speak to and win over a depressed Maddie, who's still wearing ordinary clothes.

Other ghosts beginning to move in on the big four and winning over parts of Earth for themselves. The Egyptian ghost Hotep Ra, after disposing of his human pawn. Nocturne. Undergrowth and his human extension. Vortex. The Earth dividing into eight shifting sections of control. Amity Park the exception, no single ghost able to lay claim to it.

Vlad finding the Ring of Rage.

The play of images on the time portal begin to slow, as though the timeline were nearing its end.

Vlad falling through the Fenton Works' portal, into a dusty lab.

Maddie still depressed, barely looking up as Vlad enters the living room.

Danny arriving home with no friends by his side. Eyes downcast, a banana peel in his hair.

Vlad giving Danny the Ring of Rage.

Amity Park being overrun and conquered.

The Eight bowing to Pariah Dark, the Ghost King.

Amity Park becoming the capital of Pariah Dark's kingdom, stuck between the Ghost Zone and Human Realm.

The ones who oppose Pariah Dark being seized by skeleton ghosts.

Pariah Dark with a pleased smile, sitting in a large throne-like chair among a cheering crowd, as a long line of ghosts and GIW agents await their executions. The line taking a step forward as the one at the start of the line is guided onto a stage that has a guillotine.

Heads at the base of the stage beginning to destabilize, green skin and large, single eyes halfway-melted into glowing puddles.

The ghost now being led onto the stage proudly holding his head high, glaring defiantly toward the stands. The ghost, gloved hands handcuffed behind his back, being pushed toward the guillotine. The purple hood of the ghost's cloak falling back as he's pushed downward and his head is positioned.

The guillotine blade beginning to fall, sliding downward, slowing down, barely moving as it approaches the ghost's neck, beginning to slice through ectoplasmic flesh. Slowly, very slowly, going deeper. Completing its descent.

The time portal freezes at that instant.

The timeline would, of course, continue forward, but his time portal stopped recording.

Clockwork saw plenty, however.

He enters the past.

And subtly clears the upstairs school hallway of students. Replacing them once Danny and his friends pass by.

The boy's secret needs to remain hidden, and his ghost powers kept.

[dasher85]

Threat

featuring our Inexpressible duo

Kamisato Ayato x reader | y/n | you

A  short story

[ Rivals are equivalent to danger... I need to be cautious and plan ten steps ahead of them ]

------------------------

The rain and storm accompanied by harsh wind brushed across the tree branches. You motionlessly sat there, under the almost ruined hut, staring into nothingness for a long while.

You finally glanced at the waving trees, droplets of rain falling down through the rotten roof, puddles surrounding the stones nearby the area and lastly the person resting on your lap.

His peaceful, steady breathing was the only piece of comfort you greatly appreciate at that moment. You slowly brushed away his hair to clear it away from his closed eyes.

"Ayato..." You softly whispered his name, barely keeping your emotions under control. The sight of him makes your heart ache.

"Don't cry, I'm alright..." He weakly replied with a hoarse voice. You were barely holding in your tears but the moment he starts to speak, everything breaks apart.

"I'm not... I'm not. crying..." You spoke in between little sobs. Droplets of tears fall down as you blink your eyes. You quickly try to wipe away the tears.

"Don't worry" He weakly smiled, eyes still closed even while some droplets of tears had reached his face.

You sighed devastatingly unable to agree with him.

"Why? Why'd you... Why..." you shook your head frustratingly unable to speak out your messy thoughts.

"It's alright y/n. I'm just feeling a little washed out" he whispered almost inaudibly.

"Stop talking" you carefully pulled him into an embrace as you weep uncontrollably. It hurts you to see him so frail... As if almost out of your reach even while you're securely holding him at this moment... You knew, the wound on your left hand would make you feel nothing compared to losing him.

How you wished the time would stop and keep him here, keep him all by yourself, keeping him safe and sound... eternally 

"Please... Please stay with me"

"Someday... Soon, we'll be together again"

He never once denied your requests no matter how small or hard to fulfill but for the first time... he couldn't make a promise.

Those words he whispered rings in your ear, loud and clear but you couldn't muster up anything to reply, you're scared, so scared if it would be the last words he'll ever say to you.

If that's the outcome... You can only keep his words and remember him in your memories.

....

"Ayato. Stop smiling as if it's a happy story" you try to snatch your book from his hand, suddenly interrupting him from reading, but he effortlessly holds it higher away from your reach.

"I'm one of your admirers... Why would I be disappointed?" He casually spoke but seemingly started to read the beginning of the paragraph for the second time yet again.

"I'm not talking about whether you like it or not but-" you try to voice out your genuine concerns regarding his contradicting reactions. Besides, you have already informed him that the new series would be involved with much heavy sadness instead of a happy or action theme.

"I'm aware. Now, would you just let me read this? After all, my phase in reading isn't superior to yours" he mischievously smiled before making himself comfortable on your lap. He was seated across you moments before but due to your slight interruption he was quick to change position.

You sighed, unable to argue back. It was as if you're dealing with a six year old child. At least, he won't bother you with questions now, giving you a chance to focus on writing the next chapters.

He holds the book upfront, completely covering his face. Only occasionally did his hand move to turn the pages. You didn't know if he's purposefully reading it in a slow phase or he's just fully immersed into the fabricated world you've written in order to make it realistic.

It was just the first few chapters for the upcoming series but he's been pestering you to change the characters names into his and your name ever since working with it.

Initially you thought it would be weird but it's his request... So, eventually you still agreed. It'll be changed back to the original character's name before the real publications but this version would be purely for his enjoyment. Let's just say it's a special edition for the Commissioner himself. You weren't sure either why he would prefer it that way?

It's a weekend today, so he's been idling at your residence since the afternoon while you struggle to write down your ideas. Just like him, you were busy with your own work too. But of course, he rarely gets a day off while you basically follow your own schedule.

"Ayato..."

"Hmm?"

You paused for a long while and eventually he lowered down the book to glance up at you.

You stared back at him as he shot you a questioning look.

"Nevermind..."

"What is it?"

You contemplated but eventually found words to describe it to him.

"Yesterday while I was back from buying groceries, there was an attack attempt... Twice exactly in one day, but luckily the guards were fast. I just thought-"

"Mmm... Actually there were three attempts but the last one, the guards were prepared to immediately took control of the situation"

You nodded, after knowing the details, not particularly surprised.

"Why was I even a target? How-"

"It's..." He paused, seemingly trying to figure out a better sentence to convey it to you.

"... possibly because of me. I have personally conducted an investigation over the past weeks but…” He sighed, seemingly disappointed with his own progress.

“These people doesn’t recognize each other. It’s odd, they should be in a same group or at least have a motif”

“I see... It’s alright, you’ll solve it eventually. I’ll help out if you need me to” You gently pat his head. He smiled back before nodding.

“I almost forgot… there’s another thing…” you continued to talk about it directly to him.

“Occasionally there’s someone who keeps sending me gifts since a month ago, sometimes even asking if I’d be interested in going out with him. He lives nearby here, perhaps even the guards think it’s just a neighbor's act of kindness but… I’m so annoyed, he won’t give up. I’m tired of talking...” You complained while he intently listened to your every word. 

“Mhmm. I was not informed of this… Shall we meet him now?” He casually suggested while closing the book with his left hand.

“Huh? Really? But what am I gonna say or what are you gonna do?”

Ayato stood up before carefully placing the book he was previously reading on your table.

“I just want to formally inform him that you’re mine” He smiled as if it was the simplest thing to do.

“Alright.” You agreed but you actually plan to just hide behind him later if things get out of hand. If he was that confident, why would you need to feel scared?

Eventually, just as he said, you both were already standing in front of the person’s residence.

‘It’ll be fine’ you thought before Ayato knocks the door.

Shortly after, the door opened revealing a pale man, he was just a few centimeters shorter than Ayato. The person’s residence has a strong smell of herbs and tea.

“Yes?” He questioned, seemingly not recognizing Ayato’s so called grand title. 

“Good afternoon, Sir. I believe you know of her?” Ayato formally greeted the man before gesturing a hand towards you who stood a step behind him.

“Ahh Miss Y/n.” He smiled while looking at you. “Yes, I do know her.”

Ayato casually took a step to the left just to block you from the other man’s view but a smile was visible on his lips as if he wasn’t feeling annoyed.

“Our wedding is in a few months, since you’re one of her neighbor, I’m personally inviting you to the wedding”

You just stood behind Ayato, barely surviving the second hand embarrassment. His method in dealing with this is just too direct.

“Wedding? Your wedding with Miss Y/n?”

Ayato nodded with the same smile.

The other man smiled as well before he casually took out a pouch from his pocket. In that short interval of seconds, he took a handful of the pouch contents and blew it out from his hand. Ayato was caught off guard by the unexpected action. The moment he closed his eyes reflectively against the small white particles of dust, some had already entered his lungs. 

“Y/n! Get away!” Ayato quickly instructed before he used his vision to form a Katana. He was already in a stance but suddenly his eyesight became blurry. Ayato could barely focus, he shook his head, a spinning sensation overthrown his head, as he feel his consciousness slowly fading.

Little did he know, you were already affected by the same particle of dust.

“Ayato?” You called out to him before completely losing consciousness. Ayato swiftly caught you.

“Y/n…” He called back before he too falls to the ground along with you still in his hold.

The man scoffed at Ayato before swiftly taking you, carrying you inside his residence.

You woke up in a room devoid of lights. After a while adjusting to your surroundings, a distinct crack from the walls leaks a ray of sunlight. You slowly stood up, and moved around the room, looking for an exit, or something you can use against whoever that has kept you locked inside this room. You can make out sounds from outside. The sound of waves and seagulls. Your eyes widen after realizing that you were not in just a room but inside a ship.

Although it was hopeless to twist the locked doorknob, you still gave a few attempts. Suddenly a light footsteps approached the door, seemingly noticing your small attempts at opening the door.

You quickly stumbled backwards in shock before quickly jumped back on the bed you previously woken up from. A key was inserted into the doorknob, before the door was opened you closed your eyes, acting still unconscious. Letting the enemy know about your awareness would’ve made things worse.

“Y/n why won’t you go out with me? Unlike him, I can spend more time with you” The man spoke as he held your right hand.

You quietly stayed still with a calm breathing, paying no attention to him. Although it dreads you… you still keep staying calm.

“I know you’re awake…”

Your heart jumped in surprise but you kept your cool.

“Shall we…” He suddenly started touching your lips.

Your thoughts screamed in anger, your heart fueled with rage, you slowly clench your left fist.

The moment he starts to lean in towards your face, you use all your rage into your fist before swinging it to his face. That one force got him stumbled back to the floor but in that same moment you stood up on the bed and jumped down, stepping right on his stomach. He instantly coughed uncontrollably, seemingly in pain. You couldn’t care less about the outcome, and swiftly kick the side of his chest. He was still conscious, but was in much pain.

If someone gave you a weapon, who knows what’ll you do with it… However it wasn’t long before the man somehow regained strength as he almost grabbed your leg. You kicked his hand before quickly escaping from the only door.

You ran the fastest you can but unfortunately, a few people were actually outside of the door. They looked at you with a fierce frown, you gulped but quickly searched for anything useful nearby. Luckily there was a wooden pole by the side of the door, you swiftly took it.

They approached you fast but you couldn’t think of anything else but fight them with all your might. It doesn’t matter if you die as long as you tried it was enough to give you the strength to go up against these men.

“I haven’t practiced this in a while.” you whispered to yourself. Although you said this, you knew your knowledge in combat isn’t that shallow. You’ve mastered at least six books of combat techniques since you were a kid.

Perhaps the only thing you lack is stamina and strength but speed is something you could still do. You swiftly swing the wooden pole as if it was a polearm and smack one of the man’s eyes. It was brutal but dying or living in fear was not an option. You only want to protect yourself and fight back. If you hesitate for even a second, they'll easily knock you down with one hit. 

After a few minutes of intense combat, you started to get tired, your strength slowly draining but there were still two more men to go up against. You sigh frustratingly before skillfully swinging the wooden pole once again. Unlike the other man, these two were quite skillful, they deliberately tried to avoid your every attack which only made things a lot more difficult.

The ship was closely anchored near the Inazuman coast. At least you know, they haven't sailed away, the chances of getting back to safety were quite high. If you were to jump down, perhaps it’ll take only a few minutes of swim before reaching the sand.

You were barely able to dodge the attacks as your focus gradually worsens over the second. Surely you need to end this sooner or never. 

Ayato has just regained consciousness right before his attendants returned from their short break. They weren't expecting to see him in such shambles as he stood before them. His white coat was stained with dirt and white powder, his hair barely presentable, a deep frown was visible on his face.

"Leave no stone unturned"

Although his appearance was questionable at the moment, his attendant didn't even dare to question him about the earlier details. Ayato was no doubt fuming with rage but his instructions were precisely calculated planning.

After all his attendant goes on with the hunt, he walks back to your residence. He took a glass of water before taking a seat by the study table.

He then used paper and pencil to draw a map of Inazuma, marked a circle on the places that were suitable and X for the places that were being checked by his attendant. He actually wasn't sure either, where to start or where to focus on looking for you which only rendered him powerless against this but still he has faith.

"Here." He quickly folds the piece of paper into his pocket before heading to the location he felt like going even without much evidence. At this point he was gambling but he knows, he needs to decide and try to get somewhere, instead of just standing still.

Meanwhile on your side, things were getting dire… how you wished, you were still in combat training, practicing each day without barely feeling tired over multiple hours of physical activities. It's been years since you've last trained and the result was fairly noticeable.

'Where are you when I actually need you…' your heart whispered, feeling a little disappointed. For even once, you just wished he was here. It’s ironic that most of the time you’d just prefer him to be busy at work when he actually has the time to spend with you. You rarely even ask him for anything such as requests or attention. These little things aren’t equivalent to loyalty and respect that you’ve received from him which is already enough for your heart. But perhaps under these threatening circumstances, even you do feel the need for him to be here.

You dodged your body to the left and yet the man’s fist still grazed your right cheekbones. You were lying if that minor skin contact doesn’t hurt… It really does. In that instant, you spin your body to return a kick directly to his torso. He stumbled backwards with a loud thud. The second person launched a flying kick, aiming for your head but you quickly ducked down. Their moves are getting predictable but your stamina is burning out too.

A person suddenly took hold of your left shoulder, with a sharp breath you turned around to quickly escape the hold. Your eyes widen upon seeing the person before slowly sighing a small smile.

He briefly flashed a smile back at you before swiftly taking over the last two enemies. You just stood there watching the two men fall to the ground but you weren’t sure how he managed to do it at such speed. He effortlessly slashed through the enemies blindingly fast. In fact, the moment both men fell to the ground, he was already standing before you.

“I’m sorry, I’m late… where are you hurt?” he managed to say after sheathing his sword stylishly.

“Can you take me to see a Doctor? My hand hurts” You casually showed him both of your hands covered with small cuts and minor injuries. You’ve held the rough surface of a wooden pole with a strong grip and even punched a person’s face with force but at least no bones were broken.

He carefully holds your hands before quietly nodding to your request. He searched your face, then at your hands but was still unable to utter a word. The little red scratch on your cheekbones personally hurts him in away he couldn’t even describe.

“Why… are you disappointed I’m still alive?” you jokingly asked him with a small smile.

His frown only deepened, seemingly becoming more upset than moments ago. Eventually he sighed, placed his coat over your shoulder before effortlessly carrying you with both arms.

You actually knew he was just feeling disappointed in himself for not being able to fully protect you against all of this… but even you know nothing is too perfect in this world and it’s alright. After all, he was still here with you.

“Look at your hair, it still has some of those white dusts” you lightly dust away his hair in an effort to clear it.

“Mmm” he barely spoke.

You smiled while looking at his side profile. His eyes suddenly trailed towards you, followed by a slight head turn. Without much thought, you encircled your arm around his neck before lightly kissed his left cheek but he was unresponsive.

“You know… I’m glad nothing happened to you.” you spoke, revealing your worried thoughts.

That man who has previously blown dusts at the both of you could’ve done an even evil deed. He could’ve bagged him into the ocean or worse instant killing… you can only imagine the terrible possibility. After all, you didn't want anything like in the story you wrote to happen. 

“I’m sorry y/n…”

“It’s alright Ayato. It was all unexpected”

“If only I was-”

“But you’re here with me right now… Why are you suddenly so upset like this?”

He sighed, “I only want you to stay with me but why… even the world is against this simple desire?”

Ayato still dreads about the nightmare he had about losing you before, it still occasionally haunts his thoughts. Now that almost similar things have happened before him, he’s barely recovering from it.

“Aren’t you always positive about the future?”

He just quietly carried you, but was still in thoughts. The air of disconsolateness surrounds him.

“I won’t die that easily. You know that…”. You focused on his side profile with a worried frown, “No need to blame yourself. It’ll make me feel at fault too.”

He instantly glanced at you, as if telling you not too feel that way.

“So… stop worrying already. Do you still think your emotions won’t affect me?” you slightly looked away, feeling a little embarrassed by your own words but these things were true.

“Right…” He briefly touched the side of his head against yours before nodding his head, finally smiling “let’s quickly get you to the doctor”.

You didn't know if he really was feeling better but at least he has got the momentum back. Sometimes, feelings are just that complicated to even put into spoken words. It’s unpredictable in a certain way and yet you find it troubling you if he wasn’t feeling any better.

"Besides… aren't you at least amazed that I'm not your average woman who only can write poems and cook dishes?"

He let out a laugh before looking at you again, "Of course… You've always been special to me, I've known about that ever since our earlier meetings"

"How do you know that?"

"I had to use a special breathing technique to deliberately conceal myself just to approach you. It wasn’t easy, you always noticed my footsteps even before I reached your place"

“You’re so persistent. Surely, you’re just challenging me… aren’t you?”

“I think, you were too”

You both suddenly started reminiscing about that particular moment in time. How things suddenly became like this? It's quite a journey. 

As you both arrived at the estate, two doctors were already waiting there with their equipment and medicines.

“Treat her wounds immediately... “ he spoke sternly to the doctors as if they were guilty of a crime.

“I’ll get back soon. I need to personally interrogate those criminals". Unlike how he spoke with the doctors, he only used a soft voice before gently kissing your knuckles.

"Sure…" You want to pull your hands away but he firmly holds it.

"Careful. That'll hurt the wounds"

"Alright. Fine… I get it." You sighed, knowing too well about what he's actually requesting from you even without him directly saying it. 

"I'll eagerly wait for your return and be careful… but don't forget to completely crush them"

There. The words of assurance with a little hint of affection. You’re not accustomed to saying these kind of things but at least that’ll make him feel happy. 

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with your words alone. It wasn't the typical 'don't go, I need you here' kind of thing but he knew, you still need him… and only him would be capable enough to fulfill such a request. But even if you didn't request such a thing, he'd still definitely gonna do just that.

Ayato has always been glad that he didn't need to sugarcoat anything when it comes to how ugly the world actually is… He can talk about anything with you because you didn't feel bothered with the problems and sometimes you would suggest effective or a crueler method against the opponent. You didn’t even mind about his plans or however he would want to do it either, you just genuinely supported him.

He has long acknowledged it… if you were to be his opponent, he'll surely be fairly defeated. That hidden intelligence and experience you hold is unquestionably reliable. Even so, he only wants you to live the way you want, a simple and stress free life.

"Hmm… is that all?" He mischievously smiled, seemingly seeking more from you. 

You sighed with a smile, before lightly pats his head. Whatever gestures he’d get, he’ll gladly take it with a smile.

"Y/n…" he suddenly returned to his usual calm self.

"Hmm?"

"In the future, will you write about us? A special edition for me."

-----------------------

A/N: 

A little info about the so called enemies...

The main villain was the one who threw the white dust. He can use a certain type of powder to control other people’s mind with his command. Hence the many random attacks by different people was because of him. He’s a doctor, specialized in various medicinal plants. He has been interested with reader because she once asked about medical related things with him. Who knows, maybe it was because of him too that Ayato just so suddenly lost his memories previously.

Why he didn’t tie up reader’s hands? It’s because he believes reader is just that weak and yes, he actually didn't want her to get any injury too.

While writing, reader’s story: Stay with me - Mendum | Krys Talk Remix

[lieblxng]

@strebcr | Closed Starter

[ Dark clouds gather in the endless midnight sky, obscuring the guiding stars and leaving the rest of the sky murky and tenebrous. It even started obscuring the moon, which was in its new form at the end of its typical cycle so it wasn’t visible much anyway. The night would be quiet if not for the bustling city underneath its wake–loud music bursts from the cracks of a building in the heart of the city, meant to distract those who enter from how awful life could be. A tall man with black and red hair and a sharp punk attire that color matches his hair leaves said building from a side exit that goes behind it. It was Ethan Dorian, a college student steadily focused on the future ahead of him while also enjoying the frivolities of existence, lest he lose his faith in life like all eventually do. Coming out here for a small fifteen-minute break, he takes out a cigarette from the pack he had and sets it ablaze with the lighter in one of his pockets. ]

[ The vitality of the party was a rejuvenating one to him, but there were a few moments where he needed to regain his energy to continue. The perks and shortcomings of being an ambivert, for sure. It wasn’t even a full five minutes before the heavens began to weep; droplets of water sprinkling onto anything below, including him. Groaning that he couldn’t enjoy his cigarette fully, he smashes the lit part on the wall he was leaning on and inserts it back into his pack so he might be able to save it for later. This was a good time to leave since he had classes in the morning anyhow. He ponders for a second about which route he should take, but he decides to take the alleyways right now because it is the quicker route home with the current weather going on. It’s been done a couple of times before, so he knew his way home without much issue. ]

[ However, little did he know that he wasn’t the only person in the alleyways. ]

[ Some time deep in the heart of the city, only a few street lights illuminating the path just barely enough not to trip in front of oneself, Ethan walks on ahead. He even checks his phone real quick and uses it to start texting someone while he shields it from the rain. Maybe his friend was asleep with it being past midnight, but he wanted to go off about the amazing time he had at the concert. They even had a mosh pit, he adored mosh pits with how wild and fun they were. ]

[ While he’s occupied with this, shadows move from behind, stirring and bending unnaturally. A person cloaked in darkness sinks and moves with calculated stealth, stalking the man in front of them; any movement silenced by the pouring precipitation. The young man slowed down unknowingly, trying to make sure he was texting legibly and distracted with what he was typing. That’s when he felt something amiss, like his sixth sense was trying to inform him about trouble, so he turned his head around to see…a stranger, taller than him–dressed in the finest of silk, a short but sweet red dress and heels, reaching out a clawed hand towards him.

“Run.” is all they said, their set of abnormally sharp teeth showing on full display and their intimidating red eyes digging daggers into his skin. And for some reason, every letter was pronounced in such a way that invoked the biggest of fears in him.

So he ran, as fast as he could muster, phone in hand, text unfinished. Usually, Ethan wasn’t the one to get scared, but something about the way they looked into his core made him absolutely terrified. It was almost unnatural, perhaps inhumane, on how seemingly easy it was performed, but he had no time to question any of this extensively–he just needed to run. Water from the puddles underneath his boots splashed up like waves of the ocean when he sped by, but he wasn’t phased at all. He couldn’t go home because that could lead him into more danger later on, he had to lose them from his tracks. ‘Faster Ethan, faster!’ was the only clear enough thought he had racing in his head. ]

[ The figure behind him only smirked at his reaction, finding it utterly adorable how their victim thought he had a chance. They gave chase, quickly catching up to Ethan without any problems, despite what they were wearing. They also took this moment to enjoy the hunt more, not yet striking, but savoring their prey’s reactions. ]

[ A fence was spotted up ahead. Maybe he could lose them by climbing it! He didn’t hesitate to latch onto it and start scaling it as quickly as he could. His accessories almost got caught between the wiring, but due to his panic when he got on top of the fence, he lost balance and dropped his phone–shattering on the ground when it fell, only to get further crushed when Ethan fell on top of it. He growled, hurting his arm in the process and getting somewhat soaked, but he couldn’t give up now. He scrambled up from the ground, too much in a rush to pick his broken phone back up as he dashed off. ]

[ The person enjoying the chase soon came to the fence, but instead of climbing it as well, they grabbed onto the wiring and ripped it apart–tearing a giant hole in it for them to go through. Then they resumed running after him, as if nothing bothered them. Without any sign of struggling, nothing, just pure superhuman strength. ]

[ Ethan saw this and almost screamed, the fear flowing through his veins making him run even faster. He didn’t know what his religious belief was, regardless of being raised in a mostly Wiccan household, but he was trying to cry out to whatever may be up there and internally beseech for help. He was getting desperate, his joints and muscles shrieking to stop, but he couldn’t. If he did, who knows what would…! His legs would come to a screeching halt, a barrage of emotions to experience when he saw the dead end he was at. No, there had to be another way! He attempted hastily looking around him, but he couldn’t…he couldn’t find anywhere else to go. He was…he was doomed. He turned around to face his killer, hugging the wall behind him in some hopeless attempt at comfort. Seeing those eyes penetrate his being once more made him tremble like it was below zero outside, which was yet again out of character for him. ]

“Please! Don’t!” [ he whined out, trying to beg for his life. ] “Why are you doing this?! Wh-what did I do–?!” [ He didn’t understand any of this! ] “Haha,” [ the hunter finally spoke out once more, walking slowly up to its prey. ] “I’m doing this for your own good. You’ll see…” [ When they were close enough, they grabbed onto both of Ethan’s wrists with one hand, pinning him down and using the other hand to hold his head down. He freaked out and squirmed, but no matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t get out. His pleas of mercy fell on deaf ears, as they proceeded to…–! ]

[ A piercing cry of agony was heard, breaking through the vibrant sounds of the urban area, poison and pain filling his body in tandem. Whether from the blood gushing out of his neck, the trauma, or the entirety of it all, his vision went black as he collapsed onto the cruel, uncaring pavement; the aggressive downpour of rain drenching his now lifeless body in some twisted sense of pity. ]

[ Weeks had passed since Ethan Dorian’s disappearance, and the last text he texted anyone was to some friends like Streber and Leon, saying: ‘goin to a cool concert tonite will tell u the deets later’ sometime around eleven in the evening. He didn’t show up for his college classes in the morning. No one knew where he went, many calls and texts to his phone would go straight to voicemail. There weren’t any reports of anything concerning going around the venue either, and those who did see Ethan at the concert saw him depart midway through it. Typically he went to these types of events with friends, but he went alone this time. People were getting worried, especially his loved ones–his mother openly cried whenever it was brought up with her husband comforting her every time. Sure sometimes he would disappear for hours, but nothing like this, and he would always come back. There were a couple of attempts at an informal search party, but there weren’t any notable updates in the missing persons case. ‘Where was he?’, most thought. ]

[ Very much aware of what was going on with him but wanting to protect those he loved, Ethan was avoidant of them on purpose. He wasn’t human anymore, he couldn’t go near them. In his mind, it was best if he was believed to be missing or dead. His career, ruined. His relationships, ruined. His everything, ruined. Maybe to grieve and process what he lost, he sat against the brick wall, the very same alley where his life was taken. He buried his face into his knees, it all sinking in that this wasn’t some long nightmare. That this was this reality. He wanted to sob so badly. What did he do to deserve this horrible fate…? ]

[nvrcmplt]

[ Instant reply because I'm insane about them ] - @avaere

The touch of foreheads made Tyler's growing fear, uncertainty and anger developing from the lack of understanding what they were any more or were evolving into, was like a moments pause. The sea of rage, tranquil. An instant ripple of calm over the darkening depths - the white foam matching the stormy skies fizzled out. Dispersing into the air of stillness. Tyler listened - he stopped himself from fighting back with words to demand an answer, to make Krasimir give into his stupid rage that he knew the man was sharp for in his time but when it wasn't given and instead replaced with this. Tyler felt his heart lurch. This wasn't what he wanted, was it? To see such a powerful man, figure, head of state, a judge for fuck's sake, revealing more… Confirming questions and thoughts that Tyler held at bay since the day he gave him that ring.

Being inside the man's home since that day was great, Tyler wasn't going to deny these moments were precious. Proving to him in actions and fewer words that Krasimir really did think of him more than just someone to own. He wasn't a trophy on the arm, a relief after hard days. Tyler knew that having access to this place wasn't a cheap gift to keep him happy. To be told that Krasimir had harems in his day but today, only Tyler was at his beck and call. It did make Ty feel some type of way. Tyler let Krasimir know that in return, no matter how many meetups Ty' did do, he doesn't seek them out any more either. He didn't want to lie with another man, or be at their call like the way he was with Krasimir. It was a thrill, it was fun, it was great being here with a Man that rarely showed anything in his expressions or person.

A being that understood magic, mana, the world of the fantasy-genre books people without this understanding dreamed of being involved with. Tyler had front row seats of having Krasimir tracing his moon phase spinal tattoo, of kissing his runes on the inside of his lips and more. Tyler got that for himself and now the latest gift was this damned ring. The ring that seems to change things in Tyler's mind, a confliction with old blood, an ancestor that he couldn't communicate with nor know the true face of until he slept a few nights ago from being dragged back into more memories this ring pulsed through his veins.

Waking with weeping eyes and a feeling of longing agony deep in his bones, but to be held and taken to the bath by Krasimir made him flinch some mornings. Romanian, was it? Or something like that? The origins of that language style he was sure, slipped out his lips sometimes when in a daze.

Phrases Tylere would say to Krasimir, or at least echo to learn the tongues of their beloved. Tyler in those moments was blank, watching this happiness in a third person point of view. He didn't stand still either, he circled the bathtub often, watching Krasimir's face, watching him be so strong and smitten and stupidly handsome even here. Bathing the drowned rat that was Tylere, covered in scars, ink and dirt - a man of the sea and less about appearance but the thrill of life. A true sea-rider, captain of the waves and venture of lands unseen upon maps and treasure hunter of all lawbreaking…

Tyler couldn't help but feel inferior… he couldn't help but feel fake because deep down. Deep down in his gut and heart, he was scared that Krasimir didn't want Him… but Tylere THROUGH him… Through his fucking blood. Was it even HIM that Krasimir wanted or was it just too much to ignore from memories and grief long gone? And yet, even with this on his heart - Tyler wasn't going to speak, he was going to fucking listen to these words because it was better… It was always better than just being stared at as if he was an idiot for not understanding a statue of a Judge expecting him to know what's going on at the moment, in his head.

So, Tyler held it together, he listened to this old figure speak with aching lungs. Tyler listened to this war god remember the day his world shattered. Tyler listened to when this monster was released. Tyler listened to when his tyrant ruled with blood, violence and fire. Tyler listened to this broken man, weep without tears, but mourning for seven winters and seven springs for a man that would no longer caress his cheek like Krasimir was doing to him now.

Krasimir was never going to get this feeling back, never going to be able to see the world for its beauty shared within the hours he spent with Tylere… and it hit Tyler hard, because he's never had that life. He'll never have that strong desire because it's not something you just have one day, it builds, it has a foundation, it grows naturally and strongly in the hearts of two beings that will never part ways again.

And yet… Krasimir was here. Tylere was not. Their journey ended. Their hearts no longer beat the same song.

It did hurt, it really did hurt and now Tyler understood… Not Krasimir's words and grief and everything behind him that weighed upon him like a cape of guilt, regret and endless blame for not being able to do more. More for Tylere's death but the guilt of Tylere's ring, Tylere was being held onto. Tylere was sorry, he was sad, he was angry, he was everything Krasimir manifested into the metal upon his little finger with every head he sliced, every soul he took, every roar of pain he bellowed on the battlefields of fire and flame and grief.

Tylere saw this, foresaw it all, and he knew, he could never escape because… "You love him." Tyler whispered soon enough, as his lashes flutter low on dim-sea-green that haunt the jewel jades of his ancestors, his hands raise to Krasimir's cheeks in return, to hold their connection to their closest yet. "…and he loves you." Hands tighten with a tremble, but Tyler's lashes were wet as he bit his tongue until he didn't need to.

It wasn't like he was jealous of his ancestor, it was of a time that he was not even a speck on the timeline. Neither was his family line - that one or two broads knocked up in the time of pirates and brothel houses, of newborns and newly-weds with dreams of having lands of their own. Of children growing with magic in their veins and sea-glass greens shining a light upon their family name.

Tyler wasn't jealous of that, but it wasn't like he couldn't ignore it either, because, Krasimir was still and will always be in love with Tylere… "I don't need nations burning for you to show me an inch, of what you have for Tylere… " That wasn't the era, but it wasn't like Tylere had to worry about being loved for being the closest thing as a mirror copy… " - but, do I need to fight my ancestor to know if you like me for me… or if you like me hoping for him... because you're still fucking grieving, Krasimir. Let me grieve with you, I may die before your time's up, but let me be with you and grieve with you so you aren't burning alone. I'm not scared of those flames, if they are as pretty as what Tylere saw for the last time upon your arrival over that hill with the sun in your hair..."

[chapitre7]

I was born sick, but I love it

รักโคตรร้ายสุดท้ายโคตรรัก | KinnPorsche: The Series fanfiction

Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun

4.2k words

F/F - Cisswap/Genderswap

Rated M for adult themes (canon typical violence, sexual themes)

For @alasse-irena’s birthday exchange ❤❤

Read on AO3

“So, how’s it been for you, darling?”

Pete looks up from her glass at Yok. It’s been some time since she had been to Hum Bar, to enjoy the oddly welcoming neon colors of the place and the warm kindness of the hostess. Somewhere behind Pete, Pol is trying to keep Arm from taking off her shirt, and the cheers and hollering are a pleasure, too. It takes Pete back to simpler times, when she would worry less.

Is that how her life has been? Worrisome?

“It’s been good,” Pete says, taking a sip from her drink. It’s something simpler, when Tankhun and Porsche aren’t around to mix something extravagant. Pete is not looking to get wasted, because she’s not trying to shut her mind off. A small contradiction, that the simplicity in her past would call for more inebriation than the complexity of her present, but — it is what it is.

Just like Vegas.

Pete’s smile grows at the thought of Vegas. “It’s been different.”

Yok hums in response, and Pete tries not to be self-aware at how the tips of her ears grow warm.

Pete had been accustomed to routine before. Days that always started at dawn, food that always looked and tasted the same. Different is good. Now, after dawn breaks, there is and there isn’t a routine. There is Vegas, waking up next to her, stretching and curling back around her. It doesn’t fail to draw a reaction from Pete, not yet. Sometimes it’s too hot, and Pete tries to push her away a bit, but it only makes Vegas double-down, squeezing Pete in her grip until Pete’s giggling and whining. Sometimes, Pete wakes up first, so she watches it all unfold: Vegas’s expression going from slack to alert, her chest rising, taking in the first long breath after slumber, a breath that Pete can feel, her hands on Vegas’s chest, just for that very purpose. When Pete was just a bodyguard, ‘good mornings’ were thrown carelessly, not meaning anything. To hear Vegas say it, her long, slick hair frizzy and in disarray, feels like a gift.

They eat together, and Macau joins them, if he’s visiting. While Vegas cooks, Pete reads the amusing messages her bodyguard friends left in the group chat while she was asleep. Porsche sends Pete messages full of emoticons, and to Vegas, she sends clipped, concisely professional messages that sound like she’s trying too hard. It often makes Vegas snort, and Pete can’t disagree. Still, when the head of the minor family calls, and Pete reads the message over Vegas’s shoulder, she circles her arms around Vegas and presses a kiss to Vegas’s temple. The day has only just begun, and the kitchen still smells of coffee, and Porsche can’t reach them yet. Not yet.

“You’re in the honeymoon phase,” Yok says, leaning forward on her elbows, as if Pete’s face is something fascinating to watch.

Pete doesn’t answer exactly. She sips her drink again, and wonders how many other couples would call the mafia business a ‘honeymoon.’ How many would stay at home, disassembling their guns to meticulously clean them while their partner was off, listing details of their businesses to someone who had usurped their throne. How many would touch their partner’s healing scars during foreplay, wondering if they still hurt, and how long it would take them to heal and be forgotten, before their partner surged up, like a wave, to steal their breath and drown them in a kiss.

Pete opens her mouth to answer how it’s not quite like that for her, and how it would never be for any of them, not the other bodyguards, not even Porsche, when her cellphone starts to ring. She knows it’s Vegas because at one point, Vegas had given herself a personalized ringtone on Pete’s phone. A weeping violin that is as beautiful as it is foreboding. Considering Vegas only calls Pete when they’re apart, it always brings her a jolt of anxiety to hear it, but she can’t bring herself to change it.

“Vegas?”

“Hey, baby,” comes the smooth voice from the other side. Perhaps one day, hearing or seeing Vegas will become a common thing for Pete, and it won’t cause a hitch in her breath or goosebumps on her skin. But as Yok had said – honeymoon phase.

“Is something wrong?” Pete asks, her eyes following Yok as the hostess moves away to give Pete some semblance of privacy.

Vegas hums. “Not exactly. Porsche called.”

“At ten to midnight on a Saturday?”

Vegas hums again. Pete can almost see her, the way she nods when she does that, her posture almost bored, with the eyes of a predator who is always ready.

“Someone tried to break into the minor family home.”

Pete pushes away her drink and turns her back to the bar counter. She can still see Arm and Pol barely standing, still stumbling along to the music that’s playing in the background. If they weren’t called, then. . .

“They’ve already secured the intruder,” Vegas adds. “But they haven’t been able to break him.”

Ah. Pete lets herself relax, turns back to the bar. She answers Yok’s curious, raised eyebrows with a smile. She pulls her drink back to herself, but instead of drinking it, she runs the tip of her finger around the rim of the glass. Of course they would call Vegas in to do the work they didn’t have the stomach to do. And whenever they demanded Vegas work for them on late nights, as if it didn’t cost Vegas’s pride each time, Pete would lie in bed alone, unable to sleep. Not until Vegas was back home, until she could wash the dirt of the family from Vegas’s skin, scrubbing until Vegas was red all over, until the violence in Vegas’s hands turned into the kind of violence that placated her rather than debased her.

“Then—”

“Do you want to come along?”

Pete’s head, which had been hanging low without her even noticing it, perks up at the question. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Yok suppress a laugh.

“Yes,” she says, a little flushed. She’s not drunk, at least not enough to make her a hindrance to Vegas and the family.

“Good,” Vegas says, and hangs up. Pete pulls the phone away from her ear and looks at it for a few seconds before putting it away. Pete takes her glass and downs the rest of her drink, to get herself in a mood. For what she’s going to do at the minor family home, it’s not entirely bad to have alcohol in her system. This way, she can blur the edges of her world, and focus on a single thing. Her target.

Vegas didn’t say how long it’d take her to arrive, but knowing Vegas—

An arm slides across Pete’s shoulders, and she smells Vegas before she looks up at her. The strong scent of evening flowers, with a touch of spice. She’s wearing a leather jacket, which she usually does when she rides her motorcycle, and her hair doesn’t look in any way disheveled from the helmet. Her lips are bright red, like the silk blouse beneath the jacket, completing the Vegas Theerapanyakun mask. Tonight, she’s a precious, gem-studded knife.

She might as well have called from the alley behind the bar, where, it seems, she would always reach Pete. She tucks Pete’s bangs behind her ears, and Pete leans closer to her, a compass drawn to her north pole.

“Ready?” Vegas asks, and Pete nods. Before they leave, Vegas turns to Yok, and motions to Pete’s empty glass with her chin. “Put it on Porsche’s tab.” It makes Yok roll her eyes and Vegas grin, and then they’re on their way.

As they walk and the music fades away, Vegas says, “I brought you a change of clothes, if you want.”

There’s nothing special about Pete’s clothes for the evening. A simple, long black dress with a white silk blouse underneath. If you look closely, you can see the pattern of stars in the silk, but no one usually gets close enough to see them. Vegas, however, knows she likes that shirt. More importantly, Vegas knew that when Pete worked, she liked doing so in something more formal. She didn’t wear her uniform, not anymore, but she had worn it for so long that it was something like nature to her. The nature of the family. Black dress pants, the matching black vest. With Vegas, she didn’t have to wear the long-sleeved dress shirt. With only the vest, it feels better to move in, to do what she has to do.

But tonight, Pete shakes her head. Maybe she is a little drunk, after all. It would explain why she wants to walk into the minor family home, her arm attached to Vegas’s, the sound of her heels echoing the sound of Vegas’s heeled boots, her black dress a backdrop to Vegas’s red.

The smirk she receives from Vegas makes Pete feel almost transparent in her desires, but Vegas says nothing. She just adjusts the helmet on Pete’s head before putting on her own, then she climbs onto the Ducati. Pete hikes up her dress a bit and then settles behind Vegas, holding on firmly to her middle. Vegas places a hand over Pete’s for a beat before she turns the motorcycle on and they’re off, the bar lights and the stars left behind.

For all that happened in the past year, the minor family home sometimes felt like it was a million miles away. The times Pete had to do work for Porsche — and it was strictly for Porsche and not the main family, Pete made sure, ignoring Khun Kinn’s calls — were usually from a distance. Going over meetings Porsche was involved in, or overseeing security measures, or following Vegas when she had to smooth over a situation Porsche struggled with, like an important diplomat rebelling against the family’s will. Never at the major family compound. Never at the minor family home. So when they arrive at their destination, Pete feels that it has been too soon. That she didn’t even get to feel much of the wind, or hold onto Vegas enough. Pete isn’t prone to daydreaming or delaying her duties, but being on family grounds makes her uneasy. As if it could steal her present — and Vegas — away from her, and Pete can’t go back to the way she was before.

The green of the walls is ghostly at night, sickly with the yellow lights of the patio and the old lamps of the manor as they are led through corridors that Pete knows, but is not fond of. They don’t walk arm in arm, Vegas a little ahead of her, back too straight, nails digging into her palms. Pete wants to reach out and take her hand, but she doesn’t. With every step that she takes, Vegas falls back into herself, or the most wounded version of herself. The men still bow to her, a fragmented memory of all that she used to hold, but that had been taken from her. To hold her now would be to be cut through – both Pete and herself for snapping at Pete. When they go home, Pete can put her pieces back together. For now, she just follows.

Pete is more than familiar with the cells of the minor family home, with the lights that glow red and twisted down there. They don’t flatter Porsche as she walks back and forth, clearly nervous, not inspiring confidence in the guards. Porsche looks visibly relieved to see them, and Pete wants to bring her aside and tell her to pull herself together. Before she can think of how to do that in a way that doesn’t put Porsche on the spot, Vegas says,

“Do you want to go first, babe?”

Pete’s head snaps in Vegas’s direction. When she agreed to come, though Vegas had offered her a change of clothes, she wasn’t sure she would take an active part in the task. Pete is never asked for these tasks, be it because Porsche forgets Pete is good at it, or because Porsche can’t bring herself to demand violence from Pete.

She wants to ask, are you sure, but Vegas’s eyes are as certain as ever. The minor family heir is alive in her, in the way she tilts her head and her hair spills over her shoulder. She hands Pete a pair of gloves, because she had planned this all along. It makes Pete burn all over.

Pete walks towards their prisoner. The man looks beaten, sure, but he’s definitely someone who can take a punch. If Big had been there, maybe she would have made him crack. In her absence, Pete supposes, stretching and cracking her neck, she’ll have to do.

Pete doesn’t think the minor family guards have bad interrogation techniques, so maybe Porsche, in her ever-present discomfort, had held them back. But now that she has given Vegas and Pete the authority to proceed with it, Pete isn’t going to hold back.

Pete knows where to punch without breaking beyond repair. Where to hit without making them drown in their own blood. The man grins at her, seems to think her cute in her gloves and her dress, and Pete breaks his nose first. She doesn’t manage it in one hit, to which she makes a mental note to train harder. She doesn’t want to lose her touch.

The man’s taunting fades quickly as Pete hits him and hits him, as if he were just another training bag. Don’t whine, Pete thinks as she breaks his ribs, you can make it just fine if they want you to. Pete herself had been mildly disfigured when the major family had hired her, before they fixed her so she would look pretty again. The major family loves their dogs groomed and beautiful and obedient. After the dust from the failed coup had settled, Pete didn’t let them fix the scars on her chest. They were her story, her mistakes, her safe line. Proof that something had happened, that she had shifted beyond her designated place. As the man spills blood, she thinks that this, too, she has achieved beyond the major family’s line. A place at someone’s center. A place to be.

Vegas’s hand is grounding when it settles on her lower back. Her thumb moves back and forth in the dip there, and Pete takes a breath to suppress any reaction, though there are many inside of her.

“Still don’t want to say anything?” Vegas asks the intruder, and he spits on the ground, missing their shoes by a few inches. Vegas chuckles. “Very well.”

Pete has slept by her side for months now. Has surrendered to her, to her soft touches and the harsh grip of her nails on her skin alike. She’s seen Vegas cry and come apart, kissed her bloodied mouth in the midst of battle. Yet when Vegas walks up to the man, one foot in front of the other, pliers in her hands, she walks as the minor family nightmare. A nightmare with nails dripping with red, blood splatters on her breasts. Whenever Vegas works, Pete can’t look away. She is calculating, strong, something completely out of this world.

There are people who think themselves mafia but who throw up at the sight of the pictures Vegas paints. They can’t look at her nails, perfectly manicured, digging into an eye. They can’t handle her glee when she cuts off a man’s finger and the blood spurts in an arc. Pete watches as Vegas takes the pliers to the man’s mouth, holding his head still by his hair. When he thrashes too much, Pete moves to stand behind his chair and hold his head still. Vegas looks up at her with wonder, with unabashed adoration, and Vegas would have kissed her then if the man wasn’t crying out, trying to break free from them.

Vegas is beautiful, with the red lights glowing in her hair, in the perfect row of her teeth when she grins as she uses her strength to pull at the man’s molar. When she’s successful, her face speckled with the man’s blood, she sits on his lap, pats him on the cheek, and says, “Don’t cry now, sweetheart. How about you tell us the name of the idiot who hired you now?”

She looks up at Pete as the man starts garbling out a series of words that are likely a confession, but which neither of them are listening to anymore. Pete can only see the blood on Vegas’s chest, dripping down to the valley of her breasts, and her eyes, cat-like, narrowing at something she sees on Pete’s face. Pete lets go of the man at the same time Vegas climbs off of him, then her hand is pulling on Pete’s, she’s shouting to Porsche, “Give us something worthwhile next time!”, and they’re off. Pete can see Porsche, who had turned her back the moment Vegas had stepped into the spotlight above the prisoner, and now can only look at them with what Pete can identify as disgust.

Later, Pete knows Porsche will call her and say her proper thanks, once she has gathered her bearings and Kinn has come to soothe her against the nearest reflective surface. Pete won’t resent her. There’s resentment in Pete for the way the main family keeps Vegas in the limbo between the mafia and the outside world, how she’s still their bloody princess and also the dirt on their shoes. There’s resentment for how Kinn, still the perfect heir in her tailored suits, can demand Vegas come in but won’t grace her with a kind word, ask after her recovery or enquire about Macau. Pete has always been loyal, has always loved the main family, but the cracks in their perfect picture have never been clearer to her. Because she wants. . . more. Vegas’s freedom, Vegas’s rising. May it be inside the family, or not. Hands bloodied or clean. Vegas to be what she wants to be.

But Pete cannot control the future.

She can control this: she’s upon Vegas the moment they enter their home. There’s no need to duck away and hide because Macau is at his dorm. There’s no need to turn on the lights, because Pete can see Vegas perfectly clearly with the city lights streaming through their tall, glass windows. Her hands pull Vegas in, as they always wanted to do, before, now, to tug at her hair. She swallows Vegas’s groan, sucks at her tongue, and she forgets to breathe for as long as she’s kissing Vegas. It’s an echo of their first time, as every time has been ever since. Once she’s made peace with her hunger, no one else will do. No one tastes like Vegas, smells like her. No one has carved her space inside Pete’s chest, pierced through the wounds she inflicted on Pete herself, and made a life there.

Pete emerges from the kiss, and maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s Vegas herself, all of her Pete’s addiction, but all Pete can focus on is Vegas’s smeared lipstick and the blood still on Vegas’s face. How it didn’t come off on the way back is a wonder. Pete thumbs at it, the stain spreading on Vegas’s skin, and then Pete starts to bring her thumb to her mouth, to her thirsty tongue.

Vegas catches her wrist.

“No, pet,” she purrs. “We don’t know where that has been.”

Pete makes a sound that is short and pitiful, and she should feel ashamed for it, but she doesn’t. Especially not when Vegas grins.

“Go to our room. Strip. Be good and I’ll give you what you want.”

Pete lingers for a second, eyes focusing between Vegas’s lips and eyes, before she nods and moves to where she was told. She takes off her shoes with comfortable heels, and pulls her dress over her head. After she takes off her blouse, she sighs when she notices the red stains on it. She should send her laundry bill to Porsche. But thinking of Porsche is not what she wants to do right now, so she removes her lingerie and lies on the bed, her wrists crossed above her head.

“Aren’t you eager, pet?”

Vegas waltzes in, her high heels clicking on the floor. Her lingerie is red, a set of velvet and lace that Pete loves. Even as she looks good in plain shirts, in deep greens and elaborate patterns, red is her color. She’s taken off her makeup and Pete almost feels the loss of it, if only because she loves how undone Vegas looks with her lipstick smeared, with Pete’s skin marked with it. But she holds a beautiful butterfly knife, and Pete’s chest rises and falls with an irregular breath.

“Look at you,” Vegas says, as she kneels on the bed, between Pete’s legs, one of her thumbs touching the inside of Pete’s thigh, close but not close enough to where Pete aches her to touch. It’s perfect, just the way Pete likes it. She wants to yearn for Vegas’s touch until it’s a physical pain. “Did you start getting wet when you were torturing that man? Be honest now, Pete.”

Pete shakes her head.

Vegas leans in, her hands resting on each side of Pete’s head, caging her in. Pete feels drunk with Vegas, with her proximity, with her eyes, ever beautiful, and the shape of her mouth when she smiles.

“When I bled him, Pete? Tell me clearly.”

“Yes.”

Her chest arches off the bed, doesn’t make contact with Vegas, but that’s okay. She just wants. Wants so much her body seems to vibrate with it, alive with Vegas’s attention. She had called Pete, she had wanted Pete there. When she was successful, it was at Pete that she looked. Pete wants her to win always, to look at her always. She’s mad, at the center of Vegas’s world.

“Yes, yes.”

Vegas looks at her mouth, but instead of kissing her, she pulls back. Pete wants to surge up then, to follow her, but Vegas pushes her back on the bed. She takes the butterfly knife, the silver blade shining crimson in their room, and she kisses it before she pushes one of Pete’s legs up, Pete’s ankle over her shoulder.

Vegas presses the blade to Pete’s thigh, and Pete throws her head back as she moans. It’s not deep, Vegas never cuts her deep. With the right care, the scar will barely be visible with time, but it’ll be there. It joins all the other thin, white marks there. Pete wants Vegas to carve a string of scars around her thigh, like a garter, with as many lines as the most intricate lace.

When Vegas gently places Pete’s leg back on the bed, Pete opens her eyes again, watches as Vegas presses her thumb to her lips, coloring them with blood. Pete’s blood. Blood that belongs to Pete as it does to Vegas.

She finally leans down to kiss Pete, and Pete makes a desperate sound in her throat when they finally meet. She wants to touch Vegas, she wants Vegas to touch her, to fall into her, to make her bleed more. There is her blood on Vegas’s lips, her blood in Vegas’s mouth, and she drips without Vegas even touching her, dizzy with need, addicted to Vegas.

Vegas leans back, licks her lips. Her eyes are blown out, and all of her masks slip away as she looks at Pete.

“You’re fucking perfect, Pete.”

Pete lets herself rise, just enough to lick at Vegas’s lips.

“Don’t say what you don’t mean,” she says. Not because she doesn’t trust Vegas, or because she thinks Vegas would lie to her on their bed. But she’s never been perfect. Never exactly been beautiful. She was a fighter, made pretty by the main family. She didn’t have petite shoulders, and she was too tall. No, she didn’t think herself perfect. But she doesn’t say it to be contrary, to fight.

She says it for this: for the glide of Vegas’s hand across her skin; for Vegas’s grip at her hair, tipping her head back; for the beautiful flash of her teeth, like she wants to devour Pete whole.

“Never, Pete. Not to you. Not anymore.”

She crashes down on Pete, and Pete keeps her hands above her head, in sweet surrender, happy to drown.

 ***

 “You look like you’ve been having long nights, darling.”

Pete rests her chin on her hand, her dimples showing to Yok. Beside her, Porsche is snickering into her drink, while Tankhun shouts something at his bodyguards behind them. Vegas is home — at their home — eating with Macau, reading one of her books, waiting for Pete with a warmth that Pete had never expected from her, but now can’t live without.

And after all the work done is for the day, after all their meals are eaten and Pete has had enough drinks with her friends, Vegas will greet her back, red, silk ropes in her hands, and while the night is young, she will lay all of their toys before Pete, all the ones that bring her delightful oblivion, and she will ask Pete, “Choose, pet.”

And again and again, Pete will want nothing but to break at Vegas’s will, knowing her trembling body will be caught by Vegas’s hands, and her desperate heart will be soothed by Vegas’s melodic voice calling, calling her name.

Every night is long by Vegas’s side.

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Audio: Seattle's Weep Wave Returns with Grunge-like "Phasing"

New Audio: Seattle's Weep Wave Returns with Grunge-like "Phasing" @WEEPWAVE @thedylanwall @heygroover @romainpalmieri @DorianPerron

Seattle-based post-punk outfit Weep Wave released their full-length debut, 2019’s S.A.D.to critical praise from KEXP, Seattle Music Insider, Raised by Cassettes and Dan’s Tunes among others. In the five years since S.A.D.’s release, the band has been rather busy: They’ve gone through a lineup change, which has resulted in their current lineup: Dylan Fuentes (vocals, guitar), Mike Hubbard (drums,…

[6peaches]

Chen Chen - Poem in Noisy Mouthfuls

Can’t stop eating you, movie-style extra butter microwave popcorn. Can’t stop watching you, rented movie about an immigrant family from Lebanon. Can't help but weep, seeing the family wave goodbye to relatives in the Beirut airport—tear salt mixing with popcorn salt. Can’t hide my mess, myself from the friend beside me. Can’t answer his question, Does it remind you of your family, leaving China? I want to say, No, it’s completely different, which in many ways it is, but really I’m remembering what a writer friend once said to me, All you write about is being gay or Chinese—how I can’t get over that, & wonder if it’s true, if everything I write is in some way an immigrant narrative or another coming out story. I recall a recent poem, featuring fishmongers in Seattle, & that makes me happy—clearly that one isn’t about being gay or Chinese. But then I remember a significant number of Chinese immigrants live in Seattle & how I found several of the Pike Place fishmongers attractive when I visited, so I guess that poem's about being gay & Chinese, too. So I say to my friend, I'm not sure, & keep eating the popcorn. Thank god we chose the giant “family size” bag. Can’t stop the greasy handfuls, noisy mouthfuls. Can’t eat popcorn quietly. Later, during my friend’s smoke break, still can’t come up with a worthy response to his radical queer critique of homonormativity, of monogamy, domesticity, front lawn glory. These middle-class gays picking out garden gnomes, ignoring all the anti-racist work of decolonization that still needs to be done—don’t you think they’re lame? I say, Yeah, for sure, but think, marriage, house, 1 kid, 2 cats—how long have I wanted that? Could I give that up in the name of being a real queer? Probably can’t. & it’s like another bad habit I can’t give up. Eating junk, can’t. Procrastinating, can’t. Picking scabs, can’t. Being friends with people who challenge my beliefs & life plans, can’t. Reading & believing in Ayn Rand, though? Can, Brief phase as a Christian because I liked the cross as an accessory? Can. WWJD? Can. White heterosexist patriarchy? Can. America . . . can’t. Can’t help but think, when we get back to the movie, how it was my father’s decision to move here, not my mother’s, just like the parents on screen. Can’t stop replaying my mother’s walk onto the plane, carrying me, though I was getting too old for it, holding me, my face pressed into her hair, her neck, as she cried, quietly—can’t stop returning to this scene of leaving, can’t stop pausing the scene, thinking I’ve left something out again, something else my mother told me. Like my grandmother at the airport, how she saw my small body so tied to my mother’s body, & still she doubted, she had to say, You better not lose him. & my mother kept that promise till she couldn’t, she lost me, in the new country, but doesn’t that happen to all parents & their children, one way or another, & don’t we need to get lost? Lost, dizzy, stubbly, warm, stumbling, whoa—that’s what it felt like, 17, kissing a boy for the first time. Can’t forget it. Can’t forget when my mother found out & said, This would never have happened if we hadn’t come to this country. But it would’ve happened, every bit as dizzy, lost, back in China. It didn’t happen because of America, dirty Americans. It was me, my need. My father said, You have to change, but I couldn’t, can’t give you up, boys & heat, scruff & sweet. Can’t get over you. Trying to get over what my writer friend said, All you write about is being gay or Chinese. Wish I had thought to say to him, All you write about is being white or an asshole. Wish I had said, No, I already write about everything— & everything is salt, noise, struggle, hair, carrying, kisses, leaving, myth, popcorn, mothers, bad habits, questions.

- Poem in Noisy Mouthfuls by Chen Chen

[beyondtheplenty]

//04 The origin in stone

_I can decipher the stone inscriptions which date from before the Flood. (0)

On a quest to conquer the seas and the unknown shores behind the horizon, one stumbeld upon the land of ceres. A new earth, without (known) landscapes, without bearings? (1) ThThe iris opens up the the unknown sight of the garden, But seeing is not caused by abstraction of species from color, but by color impressing itself on the sight. (2)

With manpower, one could double the land that one possessed; land could be acquired, and fallow land put to good use. (3) We thus fifind ourselves inside a new domain. (4) To honour whats is new and old, the migrant, sacred carrot tree was planted, and soon was realised that the fertile ground grew possible unknown heights, greatly surpassing the faint memories of the white flflowers under the endlessly warm and orange sun, in the shadow of year old olive trees.

When men are enjoying peace and security, blood is a rare sight. (5)

But the land did not stay forever like eden, and soon aftfter it transformed. Sometimes the cause is external, such as an epidemic, a severe drought, or a flflood followed by famine. (6) Here the event of the Flood, liberates the functioning of the natural explanation. (7) ThThe carrots, now orange under the sun of ceres, cease to grow beyond. the land now infifil- trated, laced with blood and forgotten memories of the past. Saddend, the carrot speaks to the welcoming soil:

You leftft and my heart was fifilled with water, waves of tears And I was asking the sea’s waist for a kiss I told the vine that weeping is not elegant, ThThat a man is not lost without a mail,

ThThat it is only a present from his hand. Love has to do with nothing of this.

Love appears to you on a little chair and says S S i i t t d d o o w w n n a a n n d d I I w w i i l l l l t t a a k k e e y y o o u u i i n n m m y y l l a a p p. . Sometimes, you get up and stand and climb up to the sea’s wardrobe And take a pile of love’s gowns. What you look like, dressed in love, Is what you are. My face in front of my face.

But love says: not with my beauty. ThThis is not my beauty, it’s yours, It’s not my lips, it’s yours, It’s not my dress, it’s yours.

I am your dress, your lips, your shadow.

If you are sad, then I am a queen of sorrows. And if you are sad, I am a knight of sadness. You are the heart, I am the chain. You are the night, I am the night’s necklace. If you cry, I am an ark, a silk handkerchief.

If you are happy, then I am a silver bed. (8)

But not long aftfter, the earth was dried by the orange warmth of the new moon. All that remained where chemical residuum of the ancient world. No more than a block of stone, (9) scattered. ThThe suffffering, however, is rendered endurable by interruptions; for the strain of extreme pain must come to an end. (10) An exchange must take place, a change of phase in this “space of transformation.” (11) At once, the tango at its heightend state, the kiss.

Materials feel, live and fall in love. And though they do not touch, like monads, they have no problem merging with other fifigures to become new and difffferent, like atom conjunctions. (12) ThThe individuation is a fact: for each atom, individuation is its own given existence, and for each compound, individuation is the fact that it is what it is a compound by virtue of a chance encounter. (13) He does not stop there, he gives the comparison another turn: however random they are, he says, the casual conjunction of letters and syllables will make words, therefore the chance mee- ting of atoms will necessarily form bodies. (14) It is as if the ground rose to the surface, without ceasing to be ground. (15) Once No more than a (blue) block of stone, (15) the gravestone, the statue of the Commander, better, the totality of Statues. (16) ThThe Rosetta Stone is constructed. (17) Made of Iraqi yellow sulfur, a cosmic entanglement of histrory, the iris and i’s have yet to see.

Bow down before him! (18)

[yellowrosesforme]

The phases of Diana

Goddess in flux

The Roman goddess Diana is a complex deity.

She is Diana the huntress, Selene the moon, and Hecate queen of the underworld.

She is a triple goddess with multidimensional aspects that ebb and flow with the tide.

As the Roman Empire expanded, so did she, acquiring epithets and associations along the way, yet always looking back to her identity as a goddess of the hunt, the moon, and the underworld.

Not only is Diana transitory at her very core, but she oversees transitions in the lives of her worshippers.

She is a goddess flux, but just like the moon has its phases as it orbits the earth, Diana waxes and wanes but never fully disappears.

Diana of Tauris/metamorphisis

“Nereus continued boisterous over the waves; he would not carry the war across the sea, and there were people who thought that Neptune, who had built the walls of Troy, was therefore bound to spare the city. Calchas knew better, and said so: virgin blood must satisfy the virgin goddess’ anger. The common cause was stronger than affection, the king subdued the father; Agamemnon led Iphigenia to the solemn altar, and while she stood there, ready for the offering of her chaste blood, and even the priests were weeping, Diana yielded, veiled their eyes with cloud, and even while the rites went on, confused with darkness and the cries of people praying, Iphigenia was taken, and a deer left in her place as victim, so the goddess was satisfied; her anger and the ocean’s subsided, and the thousand ships responded to the fresh winds astern and, with much trouble, came to the Phrygian shores.” 1

This scene from Ovid’s Metamorphoses takes place before the Trojan War. While the Greeks were preparing for their journey, Agamemnon’s men offended Diana by killing her most sacred deer. Diana was furious and demanded retribution. Until she was appeased, she ceased the winds from blowing, preventing Agamemnon’s navy from setting sail to Troy. Diana demanded a virgin sacrifice of the Greeks, and it was Iphigenia, Agamemnon’s daughter, who was chosen. As the poem explains, Diana replaces Iphigenia with a deer, saving her life.

According to other versions of the story, no one realized that this switch had occurred, and Iphigenia’s mother Clytemnestra was so upset at her husband Agamemnon for allowing their daughter’s murder that she had him killed. Then, Clytemnestra’s son Orestes avenged his father’s murder by killing his own mother before fleeing Greece as a fugitive.

According to the cult of Diana at Aricia’s version of the story, after these disturbing events occurred, Iphigenia and her brother Orestes traveled to Tauris in modern day Crimea where they stole Diana’s cult image from a temple and then fled to Italy to escape punishment. Once in Aricia, Orestes established the Arician cult of Diana and founded the rite of the rex nemorensis 2.

Diana’s transition from east to west with the assistance of the fugitives Iphigenia and Orestes set the tone for her identity as a goddess of metamorphosis.

Diana the huntress

While Diana is a triple-form deity, she was predominantly a hunting and moon goddess. The hunting aspect, however, was favored among her worshippers 1 and even today remains her most iconic form. However, a certain amount of respect for nature comes with being a hunting goddess. Not only did men and women worship her in hopes of a successful hunt, but Diana was also the goddess of wild animals. These aspects can be seen in ancient representations of Diana as Huntress. Wearing a short chiton (tunic) for agility, she is often shown in the midst of the hunt, deer at her side or dog at her feet, reaching over her shoulder to pull an arrow from her quiver or drawing back her loaded bow with game in sight.

This aspect of Diana is closely associated with her ancient Greek counterpart, Artemis, patroness and protector of virgins. While Diana was originally a Latin goddess worshipped in Aricia, a rival city of Rome, she naturally aligned with Artemis’s identity as a virgin huntress. As early as the sixth century BCE, the Latins appropriated visual representations of Artemis for their own hunting goddess2. By 399 BCE, this Artemis-Diana type was fully accepted in Rome where she became known as the twin sister of Apollo and the daughter of Latona, the Roman equivalent of Leto2. Essentially, Roman Diana is the integration of Greek iconography with a Latin goddess. She first appears in Ovid’s Metamorphoses as the virgin goddess of the hunt:

"Diana, tired with hunting, warm with the burning sun, found a cool grove where a stream went murmuring over the smooth sands. She praised the place, she dipped her feet in the water, how pleasant it was! She called to her companions, ‘No one can see us here: let us jump in, naked!’ They all obeyed, undressed, except one girl, who could not seem to hurry, so the others stripped her and saw the truth. She stood in terror trying to move her hands to hide her belly. ‘Be off!’ Diana cried, ‘This pool is holy, do not pollute it!’ And the girl was banished.” 4

After the Latin revolt of 338 BCE, Aricia became a Roman city and its people were granted full Roman citizenship 5. This was not the case for all Latin cities. While the reason for this is unknown, the only cults of Diana were at Aricia and on the Aventine in Rome 6. Despite their ongoing rivalry, Aricia and Rome were bound together by their mutual respect and worship of Diana, Goddess of the Hunt. Diana not only became the symbol of leadership for the Latins, but as a goddess who granted it 7.

Diana Nemorensis

About eleven miles outside of Rome just off the Via Appia once stood the Latin city of Aricia 1. It was here that the goddess was worshipped as Diana Nemorensis, or Diana of the grove. The sanctuary at Aricia, a place of worship since the archaic period, was set in the middle of a dense woodland refuge with gorgeous views of the lake below 2. Lake Nemi, once called the “mirror of Diana” or speculum Dianae by the Romans because it reflected the moon so clearly, nourished the surrounding wildlife and provided hunters with a bountiful supply of game 3. It is no wonder that this grove in the crater of an extinct volcano with its scenic landscape, celestial-reflecting lake, and haven for wildlife was chosen to worship Diana Nemorensis.

Not only was Aricia a haven for animals, but it also served as a refuge for pilgrims traveling to and from Rome in need of healing 4. Dedicatory inscriptions have been found at the sanctuary placing some of the early Roman emperors (Tiberius, Claudius, Hadrian, and Trajan) on Diana Nemorensis’s list of worshippers 5. Aside from these inscriptions, terracotta votives in the shapes of human body parts and animals have been found at the sanctuary 6. Curiously, some of the votives are in the shape of uteri and other internal organs suggesting that by leaving a votive of an ailing body part at the sanctuary, Diana Nemorensis would heal it.

Votive offerings found at the sanctuary in the shape of a womb, an eye, an ear, a breast, and internal organs.Anatomical votive offerings found at the sanctuary.

However, the cult of Diana Nemorensis was specifically one of hunting because “the hunt itself was considered a sacred rite to Diana” 7. The cult provided her worshippers with the knowledge and skills needed to be a successful hunter, which included an acute awareness of animals themselves, both wild and domestic 8. To be a good hunter was to have respect and an understanding of nature itself.

Unique to this hunting cult was its priestly position of the rex nemorensis, or king of the wood. This head priest of the cult of Diana at Aricia was extremely significant because of the ritual associated with his ascension. Any time the sanctuary authorities deemed the cult was in need of a new priest king, a challenger was chosen to hunt down and kill him in order to take his place as rex nemorensis 9. According to C.M.C. Green, “the ritual of the rex nemorensis enacts an anxiety of the early hunter-warrior: when does the hunted become the hunter, and what is the meaning of the death of the one hunted?”10. This ongoing ritual murder was crucial to the identity of Diana Nemorensis. The Roman poet Ovid (43 BCE – 17/18 CE) was aware of this ritual and referred to Aricia in his Ars Amatoria as “the kingdom obtained through swords by a hurtful hand.”11. Ovid’s telling of the story of Actaeon in the Metamorphoses echoes this transition from hunter to hunted.

The Story of Actaeon is one of the more gruesome tales in Ovid’s Metamorphoses and it begins in a setting reminiscent of the sanctuary at Aricia:

“There was a valley there, all dark and shaded, with pine and cypress, sacred to Diana, Gargaphie, its name was, and it held deep in its inner shade a secret grotto made by no art, unless you think of Nature as being an artist. Out of rock and tufa she had formed an archway, where the shining water made slender watery sound, and soon subsided into a pool, and grassy banks around it. The goddess of the woods, when tired from hunting, came here to bathe her limbs in the cool crystal.” 12

The young Actaeon, taking a break from his hunt at high noon, stumbled into this sacred grove and happened upon Diana and her nymphs bathing in the cool waters. The nymphs tried to cover up their goddess, but she was too tall and Actaeon caught a glimpse of her nude body. By viewing Diana’s naked body without an invitation, Actaeon threatened her chastity, the virgin goddess’s most prized virtue. Diana, who would have shot him with her bow and arrows if she had not left them on shore, was left vulnerable. Outraged by this mortal man’s violation of her maidenhood, Diana cursed him with a splash of water on his head. From this spot on top of Actaeon’s head, a set of stag horns began to grow. Then, slowly, the rest of his body began to transform into that of a deer and “the hunter’s heart was fearful” 13. While trying to decide whether to hide in the woods or run back to the palace, his own hunting hounds caught his scent. However, it was not the hunter Actaeon’s scent the dogs picked up, but the scent of a stag. His dogs, well trained by Actaeon himself, did not recognize their master, and since Actaeon lost the ability to speak during his transformation, he was unable to warn them, and so he fled: “Actaeon, once pursuer over this very ground, is now pursued, fleeing his old companions” 14. When the dogs caught up to him, they tore him apart, “their prey, not master, no master whom they know, only a deer” 15.

Actaeon Sarcophagus. 1st century CE. Musée du Louvre, Paris, France.

This story of Actaeon, the hunter who became hunted by his own dogs, is visually expressed on a sarcophagus in the Louvre. The Roman craftsman made the story of Actaeon recognizable by leaving his transformation incomplete. As stated in Living with Myths, had Actaeon been depicted as a stag, the scene would have been indistinguishable from a regular hunting scene, and the use of the Actaeon myth on this sarcophagus was to express the grief and sympathy for a sudden death 16. So, instead, Actaeon is depicted as human except for the horns sprouting from his forehead to suggest his transformation into a stag. The scenes are shown out of order; the death and transformation of Actaeon comes before the scene where he watches the nude goddess bathe. The scene of Actaeon’s death is emphasized because the sarcophagus design is a metaphor for undeserved and untimely death. Then, what follows the undeserved death is a peaceful resting place suggested by the idyllic scene of Diana in the woods, which is attempting to give the grieving some peace.

Actaeon Transforming. Detail of Actaeon Sarcophagus. 1st century CE. Musée du Louvre, Paris, France.Diana Bathing. Detail of Actaeon Sarcophagus. 1st century CE. Musée du Louvre, Paris, France.

Diana the moon goddess

While Diana is a triple goddess with many aspects, her connection to the moon is possibly more important to her identity than her huntress aspect. In Latin, her name means “goddess of light and of the moon.” It stems from the words for “shining,” “divine,” “the open sky,” and dies or “daylight.” This may seem contradictive for a goddess of the night and the underworld, but as Cicero explains, “she was called Diana because she made it like day during the night” 1. Diana was not only a moon goddess; she was worshipped as the moon 2. She was the moon. Ovid portrays her as such in his Metamorphoses, often using the word “moon” in place of her name.

In Ovid’s Story of Phaethon, the Sun, father of Phaethon, is presumably Apollo. He is referred to later on as Phoebus, which is one of Apollo’s many names. Apollo is the Sun and Diana, his sister, is the Moon. In the story, Phaeton begs his father to let him drive his chariot, which Apollo does each day to move the sun across the sky. The Sun agrees to his son’s request, and it ends in horror with Phaethon and much of the earth catching fire:

“The Moon, in wonder, watches her brother’s horses running lower than her own steeds. The scorched clouds smoke. The mountains of earth catch fire, the prairies crack, the rivers dry up, the meadows are white-hot, the trees, the leaves burn to a crisp, the crops are tinder.” 3

Diana’s identity as the Moon plays a crucial role in connecting her other aspects as huntress and underworld goddess. The moon was an essential element of a successful hunt. The ancients believed that the moon provided the earth with dew at night, and this dew, or moisture, is what allows the scent of woodland animals to be picked up by hunting dogs. The moisture had to be just right; too much or too little and the scent would be too hard to track 4.

The ancients saw the monthly phases of the moon as a metaphorical death; a time when Diana, the Moon, would journey to the underworld 5. Because of the effect the moon’s waxing and waning had on the ocean’s tide, it was thought that she was who gave life and took it away 6.

“The shield of the god reddens at early morning, reddens at evening, but is white at noonday in purer air, farther from earth’s contagion. And the Moon-goddess changes in the nighttime, lesser today than yesterday, if waning, greater tomorrow than today, when crescent.” 7

The phases of the moon as it changes from new to full each month are representative of Diana’s transitory nature at the core of her identity. She transitioned the light to darkness and life to death.

Diana Goddess of the Underworld (Hecate)

The name Hecate was used as a name for Diana in the underworld. She was the goddess of the night and of necromancy, accompanied by her baying hounds of hell. Witches called upon her in times of need, such as Medea when her husband Jason asked her to cast a spell to add years to his father’s life:

“That is a wicked thing to ask, my husband. I can not do it, and I would not do it, even if I could, give any one else a portion of Jason’s life; it is wrong of you to ask me, and Hecate would never allow it, never. But I will try to give you something better, greater, than you have asked for. By my art, not by subtraction of your years, I will try to add days to your father’s life, if only Hecate will stand by me.” 1.

The Hecate Chiaramonti, a Roman sculpture of triple Hecate, after a Hellenistic original (Museo Chiaramonti, Vatican Museums)

“She was a goddess of change, of the decay that must proceed renewal, of life, and of death” 2. However, Hecate is typically shown in the triple form of Diana in order to assure her worshippers that she was more than just a bringer of death. This can be seen in sculpture, wall frescoes, and numismatics, oftentimes holding two torches. This was the preferable representation of Diana at Aricia, which can be seen in a denarius minted in 43 BCE by an Arician moneyer, P. Accoleius Lariscolus.

Denarius of P. Accoleius Lariscolus depicting Diana Nemorensis; on reverse the triple cult statue of Diana Nemorensis supporting a beam with five cypress trees. Minted in 43 BCE. British Museum.

The obverse of the coin shows a bust of Diana with an unusual hairstyle that may be a representation of what the sanctuary’s cult statue would have looked like. On the reverse is the sanctuary’s triple Diana: three goddesses, one holding a bow, another holding a poppy flower, stand linked together with cypress trees rising behind them 3. According to Green, this coin stresses the archaic and wild aspect of the goddess that can also be seen in her identity as Diana Nemorensis 4.

Diana Trivia (Crossroads)

Trivia is another epithet for Diana, and according to Green, it is the earliest of her epithets. It comes from the Latin word trivium, which translates as “crossroads.” Diana Trivia is the guardian of the crossroads, specifically ones in the wild that split into three 1.

Diana Trivia is in her own category because she represents all three aspects of Diana as huntress, the moon, and queen of the underworld. While her name is often considered synonymous with Hecate’s, she cannot be fully equated with her. In Seneca’s Medea, the witch calls on a specific aspect of Trivia for her spell:

“I see Trivia’s swift gliding car, not as when, radiant, with full face, she drives the livelong night, but as when, ghastly, with mournful aspect, harried by Thessalian threats, she skirts with nearer rein the edge of heaven. So do though wanly shed form thy torch a gloomy light through air; terrify the peoples with new dread, and let precious Corinthian bronzes resound, Dictynna, to thy aid. To thee on the altar’s bloody turf we perform thy solemn rites.” 2

When Medea calls Trivia, she is referring to the triple goddess Hecate, Selene, and Diana. She first describes Selene the moon in her “swift gliding car,” with her “full face” referring to the full moon. She makes it clear that Selene is not the one she needs in this moment; Hecate is.

The crossroads is present in all three forms of the triple goddess. It refers to the paths in the woods that hunters may come upon, specifically at night guided only by the light of the moon 3. It refers to the dangers of making choices in the dark, meaning without properly understanding the situation at hand 4. More literally, Trivia pointed the way to the underworld 5 but she was not necessarily the bringer of death that the moon and Hecate were. Diana Trivia, a triple goddess herself, transitioned those who called on her from one place to another, whether it was literal or metaphorical.

From

[littlepadika]

Calling Home (5) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues…

Rating: E (18+ only)

Warnings: age gap (legal), dilf!frankie, praise kink, voice kink, size kink, low self esteem, discussion of addiction/ptsd/trauma/triggers, divorce drama, no use of y/n, no beta reader, DDLG🎀, unprotected piv sex, oral m and oral f, hickies galore👅, mild BDSM (cuffs⛓, choking).

Masterlist here

AN: Whatta ride... but all things come to an end🥺. i'm blown away by the support for this fic. Thank you all 💕.

Chapter Five

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie had his own mental list of stuff he needed to do before you would arrive. He dunged out his closet to make room for your clothes. It was long overdue. He had a lot of things he didn’t wear anymore that needed to go. He went out and bought some more plates and silverware since his two plates and Rosie’s plastic plates would not do. He no longer looked around his home with a sense of loneliness, now he pictured all the places you could fit in. He could see you reading by the window in the living room so he bought a comfy new chair to put there. He noticed your small plant collection in your apartment and thought you’d maybe like a bigger one in the back yard so he bought a planter box.

He was reading your novel, titled Our Little Kingdom, while your candle burned. You didn't give it to him at first. While you were in the bathroom and Frankie washed your dishes, he noticed a stack of papers poking out in the trash. It was your manuscript. When you came back and saw him reading it you tried to take it back but Frankie insisted and you caved. It was good. Frankie wasn't just saying that because he loved you. He could see how great writers had influenced you and still it was uniquely your voice. The story, too, was compelling. He couldn't help but imagine you as the protagonist as she was just as sweet and clever.

You were making good progress on your list. You had put in your two weeks notice and started to applying to jobs in Miami. You enjoyed working with veterans so you hoped you could do something similar again. As two weeks went by you were disappointed you still hadn't heard back from job interviews. Packing was a little more difficult. You didn’t know what was worth taking and what was worth leaving. You knew Frankie had most everything already so it was a matter of picking your most special things. The rest you were slowing taking to Goodwill in batches.

You had completely forgotten you sent your book in to publishers until a flurry of emails came in on the same day.

Frankie woke up in the middle of the night to his phone ringing. He sat up pulling the phone towards him. It was you. Why would you be calling so late? Maybe something was wrong?

“Frankie?” You sounded congested. He heard a sniffle. Frankie furrowed his brow at that.

“Hey. Is everything all right?”

“ They-they-“ you could barely get it out “they rejected me.”

“Who?”

“All of them. All of the book agencies.” You threw yourself onto your bed, hot tears running down your face.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry, sweet pea.” Frankie didn’t know whether to be sad or angry. He thought your book was amazing. He sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. “They’re idiots. Every one of them.”

“They’re experts, Frankie.” You felt more tears leak from your eyes. “Maybe I’m just not a good writer. Maybe-Maybe-" You hiccuped and low cry slipped from your mouth. You covered your mouth, taking in raking breaths. It was agony to admit this to him when he believed in you most. You felt like you had let him down. Frankie's heart literally ached in his chest as he listened to your quiet weeping over the phone. He waited for you to continue, feeling his own eyes grow misty.

“Don’t disappear on me, little pea. Let me hear that voice of yours.”

You were unable to speak. Scared of what may come out. You felt like your walls were closing in around you and mocking you. How did you ever think you could be a writer like all your favorite authors? You were so stupid, you thought.

“I let you down.” You said shakily.

“No no no, little pea.” Frankie said quickly. “You could never let me down. I don’t need to a book agent to tell me you’re a good writer. I know you’re writing is beautiful and perfect. Just like you.”

His praise caused another wave of tears from you.

“Daddy…” You bawled.

“I hear you, baby.” Frankie heard his own voice shake with emotion. He never hated the distance more than he did in this moment. He needed to wrap you up in his arms. “Close your eyes, sweet pea. Use that big imagination of yours. Pretend I’m there with you.”

“Imagination isn’t good enough, daddy.” You blubbered, fat tears slipping from your eyes.

“I know, baby.” Frankie’s heart was breaking. “But try for me okay?”

You clamped your eyes shut and tried to focus in on his breathing on the other end of the phone. Frankie did the same, closing his eyes.

“Good, sweet pea. Focus on daddy.” He wished he was there to comfort you, wrap you up in his arms and shield you from the cruel cruel world. “I’m next to you. I’m holding you so tight.”

“Hold me tighter!” You begged holding your pillow pet to your chest.

“Okay. I just did.” Frankie whispered closing his eyes as if it would be more real. “Feel that?”

“Yeah…” A moment went by as you steadied your breathing. Tears eventually stopped falling, drying against your cheeks. Frankie’s steady breathing anchored you.

“I loved your book. It was really really good. And fuck it, I’ll publish it myself.” Frankie couldn't help but raise his voice.

“Silly.” You sniffled.

“I’m serious, sweet pea. Who needs those stuck up assholes.”

“Hmm yeah, you’re right.” You agreed, voice softening with sleepiness. You pushed your face into your pillow. You could still smell Frankie if you really focused. "I miss you, Frankie."

"I miss you, too."

"I still haven't heard from any jobs. And- maybe I'm just not good enough and-" You felt more tears fill your eyes.

"Shhh shhh" Frankie interrupted "Listen to me. You are the best. The right thing will turn up i'm sure of it."

"But it's the only thing left on the list!"

"I know..." Frankie pulled over your copy of the list that you wrote for him. He had crossed things off as you reported to him. "Let's see if they get back to you tomorrow." Maybe he was being too hard on you, making you get a job first. He only wanted to put it on there to give you some independence over the move. He didn't want you to feel like you had nothing to do once you got here.

Frankie waited until your breathing evened out. He called your name quietly. When he got no response he assumed you fell asleep. He didn’t want to hang up. He missed you so fucking much and he felt helpless.

When he woke up the next morning, he said goodbye to Rosalia as usual, called in sick, and started driving north. Fuck the list. You were coming home with him now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course Frankie called you telling you he was on his way. You felt bad for making him miss work but your excitement overpowered any guilt. You set a timer for 14 hours and started packing with new energy. Your eyes were still puffy from your tears last night. But you repeated what Frankie said like a mantra. Who needs those stuck up assholes. There were tons of ways to self publish nowadays. It didn’t have to be through a publishing house.

When you ran out of things to clean up and pack, you watched out the window waiting to see Frankie’s blue pick up. You had changed into sleep shorts and a t shirt. While you had a plan to dress more sexy you ended up accidentally packing that surprise in one of the boxes earlier today. It was getting dark when Frankie finally pulled up. He looked exhausted but still… Frankie. He was wearing his favorite hat and grey t shirt. You ran down to the street to meet him. He’s pulling empty boxes from the bed of the truck when he sees you sprinting towards him.

“Sweet pea!” He smiled as you launched yourself into his arms. “Oof.” You buried you face in his shirt inhaling his scent. He rubbed your back affectionately enjoying having you back in his arms. “Aw… it’s okay. It’s okay now.” He murmured when he heard you sniffle. He oddly felt his chest swell with pride at how much you missed him. He never had to worry about how you felt about him. He peeled your head off him by stroking your head. You looked up at him with a watery smile. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

You snickered at his dad phases. “I’m ready. Well… I still have some stuff I need to pack up. Too heavy.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Frankie kissed you chastely. You pulled him in for more though, fisting his shirt in your hands. “Mmm no no. Work first. Play later.” Frankie pulled back. You pouted but have to agree with his logic. The faster you packed the faster you could leave.

Back in your apartment Frankie got to work taking apart your bed and dresser. You finished packing your clothes and dusting.

“Hey what’s this? It was under the bed.” Frankie walked over holding a gift bag with pink tissue paper sticking up.

“Oh…” You quickly grabbed it away. “That’s supposed to be a surprise. For Rosie.”

“You got her a present?” Frankie was touched by your thoughtfulness.

“Yeah I mean… I figured it might make her like me more.”

“She already likes you, but she can never have too many toys.” Frankie stepped further into your space. You realize at that moment how sweaty he was from moving all the furniture. It was so late at night and you were both exhausted but the sudden rush of his thicker smell made you feel wide awake. “Can I see what you got her?”

You handed the package back over, watching him gingerly move the tissue paper to the side. His eyes softened when he saw the pink unicorn pillow pet sitting in the bag. A mini version of yours.

“Am I too presumptuous making us matching? I don’t know if she likes unicorns and-" Frankie cut you off, dropping the bag and kissing you up against the wall. He wasn't even sure what part of that turned him on, just your sweetness and wanting to be a part of his family. He held your face in his hands, his grip forcing your mouth open. You felt yourself start to grow wet. You loved when he just went caveman on you. Sometimes he didn’t have the words to express how much he loved you so he reverted to touch; to deep kisses and deep thrusts. His hands trailed down your exposed legs so he could lift you up on his hips. You held onto his shoulders as he swung you around. The bed was gone, the couch was gone.

"Fuck. Hang on."

You laughed as he ran you out to the kitchen to set you down on the counter. You pawed at his pants trying to undo his belt, but Frankie was faster, unhooking your bra from under your shirt and then pulling your shirt over your head. He took your hand and placed it over his large bulge between his legs.

“Feel what you do to me…” He gritted through his teeth his chest rising and falling sharply.


“Frankie- oh my god-please let me” You pulled he belt loose. At first he stops you. “I didn’t get to last time. Please?” He bit his lip considering your plea. He really just wanted to give and give and give to you. But he had been mean last time, not letting you touch his cock. So this time he doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his pants and pull him out of his boxers. You licked your lips as his cock fell into your hand, curving up towards you.

You hopped off the counter, getting onto your knees before him. “Take off your shirt… please?” He obliged. You kissed down his belly feeling it tighten against your lips. He watched you with fire in his eyes, his mouth slightly parted. You pushed the rest of his pants and boxers down. You stroked him slowly with both hands.

“You have to tell me what you like…” You held his cock and licked a long stripe from the base to the head making him moan weakly. You repeat the motion adding a few kitten licks at the end, lapping up the stray drops of salty precum. Frankie was struggling to think let alone speak. He gripped the countertop above you, his other hand going to the back of your head.

“Just- go slow.” You followed his instructions, slowly taking his length in your mouth. “Good-good girl.” He clenched his jaw staring down at the sight. Your hot mouth felt like heaven and your innocent eyes staring up at him was just the cherry on top. You took his dick as far as you could before you choked lightly. You were by no means an expert at giving blowjobs but you were frustrated you couldn't go further. Your jaw was already aching from his girth.

“Mm don’t hurt yourself, baby.” He hissed unable to hold his hips still, he jerked a little against you making you whine. “Come back up, remember to breathe.”

You slowly pulled off his cock before going down again. Frankie’s hand on your head gently guided you so you didn’t hurt your throat. You added suction, applying pressure on the underside of his cock. You started to find what he liked based on his sounds. You still couldn’t take him all the way in your mouth, tears gathered in corner of your eyes from the effort. Your hand pumped the rest that wouldn’t fit.

“Oh fuck.” Frankie gasped his hips jerking again making his cock slide back into your mouth. You moved one of your hands to his hips looking up at him to say it was okay. “Are you-you want me to fuck your mouth, sweet pea?” You nodded eagerly. You put one of you hands on his length where he wouldn’t fit. He gathered up some of your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slowly thrust into your mouth. Like he always did, he waited for you to nod and give him the okay. When you did, he couldn’t help the growl that left his throat. Drool leaked from your mouth onto your chest as he sped up using your head more forcefully. You were sure you had soaked through your panties. It turned you on so much to see him take control, use you for his pleasure, but still his grip on you was firm and gentle. Every grunt went straight to your pussy. “Such a good girl letting me use this hole, too.” He rasped. “You’re crying around my cock.”

“Mmhm” You hummed around his dick making him groan. He was close. He was battering the back of your throat. You could recognize the furrowed brow and the tightening of his balls. You intensified your ministrations.

“Good girl, good-I’m gonna cum in your little mouth.” He pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop. “Stick out your tongue, sweet pea.” He ordered. You obeyed, watching greedily as he fisted himself harshly the tip of his cock hitting your tongue. You placed your hands on either side of his tummy, anticipating his load. His chest was flush and his eyes were fluttering shut. When he came he yanked your head up harshly as cum splashed onto your tongue. You loved this perspective, watching his face contort with pleasure. You tried to take every drop but some dripped down your chin. “Swallow.” Frankie ordered roughly still maintaining his grip on your head. You swallowed, his warm cum sliding down your throat.

“Thank you, daddy.” You smiled up at him, wiping some of the stray cum off your chin. He let go of your hair, now stroking your head then your jaw. “Did I do well?”

“So good.” He chuckled and helped you stand, his breath still ragged. You squirmed pressing your thighs together. The move not missed by Frankie. “Did sucking my cock make you wet, sweet pea?”

You nodded shyly before saying “It’s okay though. You don’t have to-it’s late and we have a long drive tomorrow.”

“You’re always looking out for me but what kind of man would I be if I left you all needy. But you have to ask for it, sweet pea.”

“I kinda just want your mouth if that’s okay?” You asked feeling too tired for a full round of sex.

“Of course.” Frankie smiled. “Your mattress is still in the bedroom.” He led you in and helped settle you on the center of the mattress. He pulled your shorts and underwear off, staring at your slick reddened pussy. "You soaked your little panties, sweet pea. Did you touch your little flower while I was gone?" Frankie asked, pulling apart your legs.

"I-I tried to. But it wasn't the same."

"How come, little pea?" His patronizing tone had your cunt clenching. He was teasing you.

"It wasn't your fingers. I needed you." You huffed, trying to push his head down onto you.

"Mmm poor thing." Frankie chuckled, the rich sound giving you goosebumps. He felt his cock start to harden again despite you just sucked the soul out of him moments ago. He slowly licked up your slit moaning at the taste of you. Your head tipped back as he he slowly inserted a finger into you. "Eyes on me." He instructed. You forced your head back down so you could make eye contact. "Play with your tits for me." You obeyed, squeezing the flesh in your hand. He returned to his task, taking your clit in between his lips, quickly escalating your climax. Your hands never stood a chance. He inserted a second finger, curling it against you. They were so thick and long it hit that spot deep inside you it made you gush.

"Oh my god. Daddy-I'm-" You teetered on the precipice your breath caught in your throat. Your entire body erupted in flames as your mouth open in a silent scream. Frankie's eyes widened as your pussy strangled his fingers before fluttering uncontrollably. Your cum dripped onto his hand, he quickly replaced his fingers with his tongue trying to catch it all.

"That's it." He felt you finally take a shaking inhale. "Breathe, sweet pea. Breathe." Exhaustion hit you hard as every muscle relaxed.

"I'm sleepy..." You slurred.

"It's okay. You can go to sleep." Frankie leaned up kissing you, smearing your slick all over your mouth. He returned to licking your pussy less aggressively though. "I got you."

You nodded before drifting off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning you dump the last of your stuff at goodwill, packed the truck, turned in your key, and hit the road. You were bouncing in your seat with excitement. You hadn’t ever traveled south of DC. The landscape was beautiful. You and Frankie took turns driving, belting Fleetwood Mac on repeat. You forced Frankie to take obligatory selfies to remember the journey at rest stops or whenever the view was worthy. Over halfway to Miami you paused at a rest stop for a quick nap. Frankie was anxious to get you home and he didn’t want to stay put for too long. He was used to long drives and quick naps, but you weren’t. He didn’t want to exhaust you because there was so much he wanted to show you when you arrived. You laid across the backseat of the truck with your head in Frankie’s lap as the sun was going down.

In the early morning Frankie finished the drive. His own excitement increased when he was back in the city. You had your head nearly sticking out of the window looking at everything. You couldn’t believe how sunny and warm it was here. Frankie turned down a residential street. “Almost there.” He said. You buzzed in your seat.

Frankie made one last turn into a driveway. You instantly got warm feelings looking at the house. It was painted seagull grey with white trim. It was wonderfully symmetrical with two windows on the first and second floor with window boxes outside the first floor window. The front yard was nicely mowed.

“Your house is so cute!” You hopped out of the car, your legs enjoying the chance to stretch. The air smelled slightly salty being so close to the beach. The sun felt wonderful on your skin. You could have laid down in the grass and just fallen asleep.

Frankie showed you around his house with your hand in his, pointing out random things of importance in his giddy state. You followed him around with bright adoring eyes. Despite looking forward to this moment for a while, you barely looked at anything except for him. You could care less about where the tile for the fireplace came from. You didn’t remember Frankie’s story about how Will messed up his back moving in Frankie’s couch in because it was hitting you over and over again that you were home with Frankie. You didn’t pay attention to the story behind Rosie’s crib because Frankie was here with you. His warm hand holding you close like you may disappear. He was here with that damn cute excited voice as he showed you around his home, soon to be your home.

“Sweet pea? Earth to sweet pea?”

“Hmmm?” You smiled apologetically. Standing in the kitchen, the sun pouring in from the window above the sink bathed Frankie in golden light making him look ethereal.

“I said- we should start moving boxes in before it gets dark.”

“You haven’t shown me everything yet.” You realized.

“What did I miss?”

“Your room…” You swung your entwined hands back and forth.

“Our room, sweet pea.”

“So I won’t be sleeping on the floor?” You laughed.

“Never.” He kissed you briefly. “I just haven’t cleaned up in there and I need to make some space for your stuff and-“

“Frankie.” You quiet his rambling with another kiss. You couldn’t stop kissing him. “Your house is immaculate. That’s the room I want to see.”

He swallowed harshly before he led you up the stairs and down the narrow hallway to his room. While showing you the garden and the other rooms he was giddy but now he seemed more flustered. When you opened the door you could see why. Your candle was sitting on his bedside table. It was the first thing you saw when you walked in.

You immediately break away from him, going to inspect his bedside table. Glimpses of Frankie that made you love him all the more. Your candle, your books, your list, his sergeant pin, and an old alarm clock.

“Was this what you’re so embarrassed about?” You asked picking up the candle. It was almost used up. He averted his gaze. The back of his neck bright red which you recognized as a sign of his nervousness. “Frankie…” You set it down and took both his hands in yours. You couldn’t even convey what it meant to you. He had missed you that much that he burned your candle.

“I have the real thing now.” He said pulling you against his chest, dragging his nose over your cheek in reverence. You hummed in contentment. “This is our room, sweet pea. Our home.” He whispered.

“Our bed.” You added moving his hands to rest on your ass, wrapping your own around his neck.


“Eager girl.” He tutted, kissing just below your ear, squeezing your ass lightly.

“I can’t help it. I’ve waited so long, Frankie.” You tilt your head up resting your forehead against his.

“You’ll never have to wait again, princesa pea. I’m here.”

“Then I want you now.” You tugged him towards the bed. Falling down onto his comforter you were hit by a puff of his scent. Laundry detergent, old spice, and that indescribable musk that was Frankie. You barely got a chance to enjoy it before Frankie is falling on top of you. You laughed as he pulled you up the bed until you’re against the pillows. He's about to rip your clothes from you but-

“Wait wait- I have a gift for you.” His eyes lit up.

“Frankie…” You smiled “You didn’t have to get me anything.” He pushed away from you, walking over to his dresser. He pulled out a small package.


“Here.” He handed it to you.

You sat up. You felt guilty you didn’t get him a gift. You slowly peeled back the tape trying to save the paper. It was wrapped so nicely.

“Come on, rip it up. It’s just paper.”

“No… I wanna save it.” You argued, pulling it open finally. You stared down at the contents in your lap. It was a book with a pink cover and loopy writing. Our Little Kingdom. “Frankie… this is- this is my book.” You felt your eyes swim with tears.

“I know.” Frankie knelt in front of you. “I read it and it was so good. I wanted to get it bound. I was serious when I said want to publish it. I want to make it happen. But if you don’t want to at least we can enjoy it how it’s meant to be enjoyed.”

You flipped through the pages smelling the fresh paper. You reached the end and noticed Frankie had slipped in something as a book mark. It was a torn half of a check. “This is…”

“The check I tore up. I use it as a bookmark so I thought you would-“

You launched yourself at Frankie, a habit you learned from him when words were just simply not enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, you were surrounded by Frankie’s scent, warm sun hitting your face. Frankie wasn't there. You heard movement downstairs. You threw on the first shirt of Frankie's you could find. You practically skipped down the stairs, heart leaping when you saw Frankie in his PJ pants and nothing else sitting at the kitchen table. His body was lit up in the morning sun, he looked like a goddamn dream. He was shoveling some cereal into his mouth but he stopped when he noticed you. He still looked so sexy to you in this moment, his strong arms and big hand gripping the small spoon. His chest littered with small hickies you made. You blinked a couple of times wanting to imprint this image into your brain forever.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“The sun woke me up!”

“Shit. I would have made you some breakfast or something.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled going to stand in front of him. You kissed him, licking some of the milk from his lips. Your hands rested on his bare golden shoulders. You loved how wide they were and how solid and warm they felt.

“Mmm is this mine, sweet pea?” He tugged at the Fleetwood Mac shirt hanging down to your thighs.

“No, it’s another boys.” You teased.

“Don’t joke about that, little pea.” Frankie warned with a small swipe to your ass.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You giggled. “I was only joking. No one else has cool shirts like you.”

“You want some cereal? I can also make eggs or pancakes or-“

“I want-” You slipped your hand over his pants. You could feel his slightly hard cock sitting below. “This.”

“You already had some last night and you still want more?” Frankie groaned his thighs spreading further around you. “I thought you’d be sore, sweet pea.”

“I am.” You admitted kissing him quickly. “but I still want you.”

“Mmm…” Frankie pulled your hand away watching you pout. “I think you need to eat something first.”

“No I don’t!”

“Come on, I’ll let you sit on your special seat.” He tapped his thigh. You debated this. You decided to do what he asked, not wanting to test your luck so early in the day. You hopped up on his lap wiggling back until his semi hard cock was pressed against your back. Your thighs sitting over his legs, your pussy peaking out from his shirt. Frankie rested his big hands on your bare thighs rubbing the skin back and forth. You closed your eyes enjoying his touch. You could feel his breath against your neck as he looked down at the sight.

“Do I look good on my special seat, daddy?” You asked looking up at him.

“Perfect, my little pea.” Frankie smiled. He pulled the cereal over and you popped a bite in your mouth. You didn’t normally like cereal but since Frankie asked…

“Okay, done. I’ve eaten.”

“Woah I hardly call that eating.” Frankie shook his head. He placed a hand on your stomach, fingers splayed out over the entire width almost. He applied a little pressure which had you squirming again. God his hands were so big and warm just above where you needed him. “I can feel little rumblings telling me you’re hungry, sweet pea.” You rock against him more intentionally making him catch his breath.

“Not for cereal.” You bit your lip.

“One more bite, sweet pea. For daddy?” He rubbed his beard into your neck which never failed to make you to laugh.


You took another spoonful of the soggy cereal before looking up at him for approval. He chuckled as you chewed quickly. You looked so cute with your cheeks full. It made cock ache.

“Good job, sweet pea.” He smirked when you swallowed it all. He lowered his hand down to cup your pussy which was already dripping. You hand flew to his thick forearm.

You melted against him as he rubs your clit slowly. Last night was hurried and desperate but now it was like he had all the time in the world. You listened to him take large inhale against your neck, smelling you.

“You look so beautiful, sweet pea. In my shirt. In our kitchen.”

“Fuck…” You moaned. His fingers felt so wonderful and thick against you. You fucking loved the sound of that. Ours.

“I’m gonna fuck you on our table.”

He lifted you up with ease, pushing your back down on the table. The sun coming through the window bathed your body in soft light. You looked divine. Frankie had your legs spread wide, tongue on that pussy before you could even blink. “Holy shit. Daddy!” Your hands clenched into fists at your side.

“Sweet pea.” Frankie pulled off, lips wetted by your slick. You blushed under his hot gaze. “Why don’t you pull my hair?”

You whimpered as he took your little fist and put it in his beautiful locks. “I want to but… the last person I was with didn’t like it.” You turned your head to the side trying to hide your embarrassment. His hair felt like silk in your hands.

“Hey-“ Frankie gently grabbed your chin and turned you to look at him. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.” He was leaning over you, invading all your senses, but of course the aspect that hit you hardest was his voice. Soft and reassuring. That rich baritone that made you fall in love in the first place. “Pull my hair, baby, I wanna know how well I treat this pussy. You won’t hurt me.”

You nodded feeling your eyes wet with tears. His affection never ceased to shock you. He kissed you, softening your worried look with each stroke of his tongue. When you were relaxed, he returned to your pussy. He was a fast learner for the times, applying the pressure you needed with his tongue while hitting that spot inside your walls with his fingers. Your hands were laced in his soft hair tugging almost unconsciously.

“Fuck-Daddy" You gasped feeling your breath. Your stomach tightened but you still felt like you weren't quite to your breaking point. "I can't- I need- I need-"

"What, sweet pea, what do you need?" Frankie paused, looking at you struggle above him. You grabbed his hand which was holding your hip and moved it to your throat. "Holy shit." Frankie's eyes widened.

"I need you to push me over-" you struggled to think of how to explain it but Frankie started applying light pressure over your throat making your cunt tighten around his fingers. The strain on your airway finally brought you to the edge. He returned to your clit and didn’t let up even as your walls clamped and gushed around his fingers. Didn’t stop as your back arched off the table, your toes curled, and your hands pulled his hair almost painfully. He let go of your throat when you tapped his wrist and your breath returned ragged and sharp, extending your orgasm. You brushed some of Frankie’s hair from his forehead and he looked up, making eye contact, as his lips suckled on your clit lightly. You didn’t say anything for a moment, feeling your body come down from that peak, basking in Frankie’s loving gaze between your legs. You felt boneless.

“I love you.” You murmured. Frankie surged up, capturing your lips in a wet kiss. He pulled back and kissed the happy tears falling from your eyes that you didn’t realize had fallen.

“I love you, too. I’m never letting you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m home.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, needing to feel that promise inside you. Needing his promise filling you up.

“Are you sure you’re not too sore?”

“I’m sure.” You ran your hand through his hair, now addicted to the feeling of it.

Frankie slowly eased himself into your pussy. It was harder without lube. You winced a little once he was fully inside. Fuck he was so big.

"Am I hurting you?" Frankie felt bad and started to pull out.

"No please." You arched your back trying to hold him inside. "I'm okay. I want- I want-."

"Sweet pea..." He bit his lip as he struggled to resist thrusting into you.

"And if I can't walk- then you can carry me." You wiggled your hips. Frankie couldn't help but laugh at that not that he minded carrying you around. "Please, daddy." You asked one last time as you dug your heels into his lower back. Frankie placed his hands on your waist and started fucking into you slowly, withdrawing almost all the way out before thrusting back in again.

“I’m so proud of you… taking my cock like a good girl.” He kissed you softly, moving to kiss a train down your neck to your nipples and back up. "You're home now." You nodded in agreement. "This is our little kingdom, sweet pea.” Your shallow breaths slowly transformed into moans. You felt your muscles relax a little and signaled he could start moving faster.

Needless to say the cereal on the table shook and spilled as he fucked you. Spilled milk on your table. His cum spilled inside you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie enjoyed hosting so much since Rosie’s birthday he wanted to have a Fourth of July barbecue. With your help he took the decorations to the next level. Hanging fairy lights over the patio, and renting a bouncy castle for the kids. In an act of irrational niceness, you had said it was okay if Laura came by, that way Rosalia would be there too.

Frankie was clear he had no desire to hide you. He wanted to show you off. Still, you dreaded meeting Frankie's ex. Rosalia had warmed to you quickly even preferring you to hold her. You already loved her so much. Today she wanted you to follow her everywhere and watch her play. Frankie was stuck behind the grill but he still could watch his girls playing. You were wearing a lovely red sundress which Frankie was looking forward to stripping off. It brushed your thighs in the breeze and it was perfect height for Rosalia to tug on when she wanted to be picked up.

“You’ve done a great job with the decor.” Laura appeared at Frankie’s side.

“Thanks.” Frankie smiled tightly. Her surprised tone confirmed that she always underestimated him.

“You’ve been happier lately.” Laura studied Frankie.

“I guess.” Frankie shrugged turning one of the hot dogs for something to do.

“It just has me remembering the old days. Before everything with you happened.” Frankie prickled at that last statement. Everything with you. She always put it on him totally forgetting how she also made things worse.

“Frankie?” You appeared at his other side, eyeing Laura warily and doing little to hide your dislike. You had seen from yards away how Frankie tensed up, looking down. You wouldn’t let that slide so you went over. Finally removing your glare from his ex wife you look up at him, laying a reassuring hand over his forearm. “Uh- people are getting hungry. How soon until it’s done?”

“It’s ready now.” Frankie smiled down at you, instantly feeling more at ease. His answer let you know he was okay.

“Great I’ll wrangle everyone.” You smiled before darting back to the crowd.

“Who is that?” Laura frowned. “Someone's babysitter?”

“No.” Frankie shut off the grill facing his ex wife face to face. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Laura sounded skeptical. “She’s 12.”

“She’s a woman.” Frankie corrected her. “A woman I love very much.” He wasn’t going to listen to anyone look down on you.

“You should have talked to me before you brought her around Rosie.” Laura huffed, putting a hand on her hip.

“You had no problem parading your boyfriends around during our divorce.” Frankie shot back quickly looking to make sure they couldn’t be heard. “It’s in the court records so I doubt you want to bring it up.”

“Frankie…” Laura seemed to regret what she said.

“Let’s just… move on.” Frankie said as people started to draw near.

“Papa!” He heard Rosie squeal, toddling towards him.

“Rosie!” He picked her up, his anger instantly melting away. “Ready for your hot dog?”

As Frankie and the others started filling up their plates Laura crept closer to you as you were cleaning up some of the kid’s mess by the pool.

“Excuse me. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Laura.” She extended her hand. She was taller than you. Her face was tight as if she was holding in her sneer.

“Hi.” You decided to be nice, shaking the woman’s hand. You introduced yourself.

“So… you and Frankie. “

“Yes.”

“How long has that been going on?”

“A few months.” You said keeping it vague.

“And it’s going well?”

“Yes.” You grew annoyed by her vague questioning. Obviously it was going well since you were here. Her eyes were the total opposite of Frankie's. Hard and cold and icy blue. You quietly thanked god that Rosalia had inherited Frankie's eyes.

“Hmm he’s not doing that crazy thing anymore?”

“What thing?” You frowned.

“Well one time while we were together he stayed up the whole night because he thought some criminal or something was after us.” Laura laughed cruelly. You wanted to slap her for her lack of sympathy. What was funny about Frankie’s fear? “The psychiatrist said there would be delusions but that was just too much.”

“I think I’ve heard enough.” You snipped, trying to keep at least a polite facade. There were people just a few feet away. You prayed the couldn’t hear.

“Hey I’m sorry.” She schooled her features. “Don’t think I’m cruel. It wasn’t easy being with someone like that. I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Thanks for that. I think I'm good though.” You finished picking up the last pool toy and walked away before Laura could say more. You wanted to turn back and say something mean but you were determined to be the bigger person. You didn’t want to start drama that would hurt Frankie and Rosalia. You spent a good minute in the garage after putting the toys back, positively fuming.

“Sweet pea?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts, joining you in the garage. “Aren’t you hungry?”

"I was just cleaning up.” You said though your hands were empty.

“I saw Laura talking to you.” He watched you warily. Fear lapped at him. What did Laura tell you...“Everything okay?”

“She just… a bitch.” You huffed. Your word choice made Frankie burst out laughing. “I’m sorry I know you married her but how? She’s awful and rude and judgmental.”

“I know.” Frankie quieted his laughter, pulling you into his chest. “It wasn’t meant to last.”

“Because she’s a bitch.” You grumbled into his chest making Frankie laugh again. His tummy bounced against yours with his laughter. You loved it. You thought again about what Laura said. How cruel she had been in the face of Frankie’s PTSD. “If she says one more rude thing I may have to smack her.”

“You’re hot when you’re possessive, you know that?” Frankie smiled tickling your sides. “Come on, we should get back before our guests start to notice.”

“Alright.” You agreed, taking his hand and following him out of the garage. You felt Laura’s eyes on you two when you came back to the yard. Frankie got your burger set up for you before doing his. It’s the simple things that got you going; how giving he is. You tried to hide your blush from the onlookers as Frankie asked you ketchup or mustard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once everyone went home you and Frankie laid out a blanket in the back so you could watch the fireworks happening on the beach a mile away. He was quiet, at least more than he usually is. You didn’t know what to say to reassure him so again you reverted to touch. You placed your hand on his thigh reassuringly.

“Frankie?” You turned to him. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

“No.” He seemed taken aback by your question.

“Okay.” You moved closer to him until you were tucked into his side.

“You mean about Laura.” Frankie said after a moment. “Just- she didn’t say anything to you to make you upset right? She doesn’t get under my skin anymore. I don’t want her to get under yours.”

“She didn’t get under my skin.” You replied. She said nothing to make you insecure, just make you angry at her is all. “I’m just protective of you, you know. It seems like she was awful to you.”

“It’s fine.” Frankie shrugged.

“No.” You moved to sit on his lap, straddling him. “It’s not. You came back from your deployment probably in need of some comfort and all she gave you was judgment."

“She told you about that night.” Frankie hung his head in humiliation. You didn’t deny it. You didn’t want to upset him but part of you knew he should talk about this. Laura shouldn’t be the only one who holds this memory over his head. “It was my first night back. I just- I swore I heard gunfire. I was freaking out. I was probably acting really scary. I thought they came for me and she-Laura called the cops on me.”

“How could she…” You teared up on behalf of Frankie.

“I ran.” He continued, his voice thick. “I stayed a Will’s and calmed down. That was the end of the marriage.” He rubbed up and down your thighs under your dress. It always comforted him. You tried to think of what to say. His wife, the person who was supposed to love him the most, ostracized him and criminalized him.

Frankie was anticipating you to be afraid of him or push him away, but to his surprised you pulled him into a hug, holding his head against your neck like he was a child. He felt a sob rise in his throat and tears wet his eyes. You were so... kind. It was something he was still learning to accept and realize he deserved .

“You’re right.” You took a breath to relax yourself. “It doesn’t matter what she says. You’re mine now. Not hers.” You kissed Frankie on his nose then kissed his mouth.

“Always, sweet pea.” He rubbed his thumb over the area of your brow that furrowed in residual anger.

“I just wish there were some way…” you chewed your lip. “I have these-“ you pulled his dog tags out from where they hung between your breasts. “Reminds me I’m yours.”

“Maybe I need a necklace too.” Frankie smiled squeezing your thighs. That got you thinking…

“Can I try something?” You asked. Frankie nodded looking amused. You tugged at his shirt pulling it over his head. You never got over how broad he was. His toned arms were flexed holding himself up. You leaned forward planting a wet kiss on Frankie’s neck where it met his shoulder.

“Mmm gonna mark me up?”

You nodded and sucked harder till you were satisfied it would leave a mark. Pulling back you admired the red blooming where your mouth had been. It shouldn’t affect you as much as it did but you loved that he had a physical mark from you. He had scars here and there from cross fire and stab wounds. Some he wouldn’t go into detail. You loved them all but for once you wanted him to have a mark born out of love.

“I’m gonna give you a necklace, daddy.” You murmured tracing the path you would forge, down and around to the other side of his neck. You were gonna make hicks all around his neck like a chain. You leaned back down and planted another mark below and slightly to the right.

“Holy shit.” Frankie groaned, tilting his head back. He felt his cock start to harden under your attention. You slowly made your way across his hot skin until you had seven little wet hickies starting to show through the skin. You traced them with your finger, connecting the dots.

Frankie looked down, watching in fascination. His dog tags were a bittersweet thing, symbolizing his commitment to the military, but you wanted them. You wore them proudly, giving him more closure than 100 hours of therapy. But this... this new chain on his skin represented his belonging to you. “Beautiful, baby girl. Thank you.” He kissed you sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. You pulled away before he could deepen it. You start to lean down again like you were going to plant another hickie on him. He pushed you back and rolled the both of you over.

“Daddy! I wasn’t done yet.” You wiggled against the soft blanket.

“No it’s daddy’s turn now.” He pushed the straps of your dress down your arms, tugging your neckline down.

“But I already have a necklace.” You felt Frankie’s dog tags lying in your cleavage.

“Now you’ll have two. I spoil my girl like that.” Frankie teased. He kissed up and down your neck before settling on his starting place. When he started sucking it sent a lightning bolt straight to your clit. You gasped. You could feel him hard against your thigh, not fully yet. You rocked your hips impatiently, clutching his head against you.

“Be patient, baby.” He warned, pausing his work. You stilled your hips with a pout. “Good girl.” He resumed. You wanted to be naughty but you knew you’d never win that fight. Problem was you were loving his attention on your neck so much you couldn’t help but start grinding against his leg again. Your hand reached down and tried to stroke his hardening cock. Frankie pulled back, his lips swollen from giving you hickies. He was only halfway around your chest now.

“You’re being naughty…” Frankie chided, lightly slapping your hand away from him. You continued squirming under his gaze though you at least look apologetic. Frankie pulled away. “You don’t want your necklace?” Frankie pretended to be hurt.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” You turned on the puppy dog eyes. “Just- your mouth feels so good.”

“If you’re not gonna behave I’m gonna have to make you behave.” Frankie’s mouth curled into a smirk. Your stomach flipped around in excitement. “Sit back up on your knees.” He ordered. You eagerly sat up on your knees, placing your hands on your thighs. Your dress hung around your waist. Frankie stood up and started undoing his belt. You got excited thinking he was going to let you suck his cock but instead he just pulled his belt from his pants and knelt down again. “Remember just say stop if you want to stop.” Frankie reminds you.

You nodded your eyes dilating, staring at the leather in his hands.

“Hands behind your back, baby.” He instructed. You obeyed your knees widening subconsciously. He tied his belt around your wrists. It’s not tight enough to hurt but you certainly could not move your hands without really trying. Frankie licked his lips, staring down at your vulnerable position. “Good little sweet pea.” He cooed. “Now you won’t be able to be naughty. What do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy.” You whispered feeling your cheeks burn at the depravity of your position. The smooth leather of his belt rubbed against your pulse point and Frankie’s smell filled your nose. You’re out in the open. Sure there was a fence but it still heightened your arousal. You were dripping you were sure of it. He knelt before you again to finish his hickies. He held your hair pulling it back to give himself more room.

You tried to lift up your arms multiple times but got stopped by the belt. You whined as he sucked another mark into you and you couldn’t get any stimulation in this position. Frankie let you moan and whine for him but he didn’t stop his mission. He finally pulled back, his hooded eyes evaluated at his work.

“Look at it, baby.”

You looked down at the curved line of hickies running from collarbone to collarbone. “Thank you, daddy, for my necklace. I love it so much.” You looked at his chest. You were matching now. Your lust was momentarily paused as a fresh wave of adoration washed over you. It was so much deeper than sex. Frankie noticed your change in expression and kissed you softly, bringing you back to the moment.

“You sat still for me so good. Now you can ask for what you want.” He strokes your hair softly.

“I wanna-I wanna suck you cock please?”

“Are you sure?” Frankie smiled. “You don’t want my mouth on you or-"

“No.” You shook your head. The emotions swirling in you from lust to love made you hungry for one thing. “I wanna make you cum in my mouth.”

“Fuck.” He groaned before kissing you hard, licking into your mouth. He never had someone as giving and kind and protective of him as you. He could have cried but there was no need because you were his forever. No yearning just living. He reached around to pull off the belt but you stopped him with a small voice.

“Leave it on.”

“Jesus fucking christ.” Frankie stood quickly. You sat up further, your hands still restrained behind your back. Your head was tilted up at him, your dress bunched around your waist, it was the most beautiful fucking sight.

Red blue and white fireworks dazzled the sky above. He picked you up bridal style and carried you inside as quickly as he could while you giggled in delight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things started clicking into place like you were growing along some metaphorical ladder. You were finally where you needed to be. You got a job working at the VA in Miami, running their re-entry program. A small publishing house in Miami loved your book and agreed to publish it for a short run. Frankie took some money out of the Colombia account to cover the rest of the contract. Frankie had the book for sale at the shop pushing it on anyone who would enter. He was so proud of you. And that was all that mattered to you.

Frankie unironically planted sweet pea in the garden, telling you how they are slow to grow, but their delicate flower and sweet smell is worth the wait; just like you. Sweet peas were climbers, with the right support, they would bend to any shape. You knew you could go as high as the sky with Frankie by your side.

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