#a moment in which i have absolutely despised for almost a decade now

[nonstandardrepertoire]

"guilt tripping the audience for behaving like an audience" has gotta be one of my least favorite theatrical tropes. like oh? we accepted the convention that people are acting out pretend scenarios and thus did not intervene when someone "did" something bad onstage? we paid less attention to a character that the narrative told us was unimportant? if we had rushed up on stage en masse to try to stop this event unfolding, the entire show would have fallen apart because you are actually actors following a script and audience intervention isn't scripted? and you want us to feel bad for interacting with the text as the text expects and teaches us to interact with it? no, fuck you, write better material

[zahri-melitor]

Okay, as I finish the era-defining runs on Robin, Nightwing, Birds of Prey and Batgirl that 2009 closed out, I had a solid think about who I really enjoyed writing these, because that’s like over 580 issues of material, annuals, minis and one shots included.

Reflections on best writers for runs of Tim’s Robin series:

Look we have to acknowledge Chuck Dixon. Nobody was doing it (writing 2/3 of the entire Bat office material simultaneously) like Dixon, for almost a decade. To ignore the impact of Dixon on Tim and Tim’s comics is to miss the foundation almost everything else is built upon. Love him or hate him, he’s all about the supporting casts and environments. Special shout outs to Robin I, Robin III, Robin #33, Robin #34, Robin #49-52 (look it contains Shiva), Brotherhood of the Fist, and Robin #67, among many others.

Adam Beechen. Gonna call it. This was a solid entertaining run. It also contains Bruce parenting Tim, which you know what? We all needed this. We DESERVED this. (Unfortunately the run is marred by Evil!Cass but there isn’t a single perfect run anywhere in Tim’s books). It has Robin #156. It has Robin #163.

Bill Willingham, #132-141. Yes, I am very specifically restricting this to a small chunk of Willingham, but this bit was genuinely interestingly written and contains the best material for Tim in Bludhaven.

I cannot be normal about Robin #183, thanks Fabian Nicieza. It’s just. Beautiful. Read Robin I, Robin #50-52, and Robin #183 back to back to back. I have, and clearly so did FabNic as he wrote it. This is what long form storytelling and callbacks are about. This is how you tie off a series after 18 years of material.

Reflections on best writers for runs of Birds of Prey:

Gail Simone. GAIL SIMONE. Queen. She turned the perfect pair (Babs and Dinah) into a trio (Babs, Dinah and Helena) and she gave the Barbara & Helena relationship the desperately needed work it deserved to progress it from a tangled bilateral deep dislike to allies to best friends. (I also loved them despising each other. Because the reasons on both sides were so meaty. But the progression of moving past that was equally good).

Chuck Dixon. Do you need inadvertently very queer stories about 007!Dinah and her handler, Barbara? Do you need Dick/Babs in your life? Do you want the queerest art anyone has ever drawn for Babs, probably drawn specifically as a fuck you to Chuck Dixon (Birds of Prey #21 my beloved)? You want Chuck Dixon.

They let some other people write this for fills but we all know it wasn’t the same.

Reflections on best writers for runs of Nightwing:

Peter Tomasi. There’s absolutely no question. The run respects Dick as the adult hero with connections across the community. It gives a Dick who has grown up enough to not just instinctively push assistance from Bruce away. It’s full of continuity nods. (I have to SCREAM about Dick catching the falling baby at the end of Freefall. Tomasi taking the falling/missed catches imagery and transforming it by: giving Dick the hobby of skydiving; AND letting Dick make the catch that haunts his nightmares? It’s a beautiful reframe)

Hello again, Chuck. Frequently heavy handed, repetitive in how much Dick wants his independence, but also full of Babs/Dick, teamwork, Dick & Tim moments, a properly rounded out supporting cast, and the origin of Dick’s escrima sticks. He wouldn’t be the same hero today without his now iconic weapons.

If I were going to nominate a third, I GUESS I’d pick out a few parts of Devin Grayson’s run, actually, and I give you #75-#83ish, #100, and #107-111. #75-#83 gives you the most interesting part of the Chief Redhorn downfall story and Blockbuster trying to take Dick’s life apart before everyone starts dying (and contains stand out issues #76 – Amy Rohrbach’s house being blown up – and #81 – Dick in hospital, Cass taking on Slade), #100 just does a lot of interesting retrospective work with Dick (even as it cements in Grayson’s Romani canon, and whether or not that’s good in your opinion is up to you), and I actually quite enjoyed the mob arc of #107-111? It’s silly, but also it’s not the worst way Dick’s ever punished himself.

Reflections on best writers for runs of Batgirl:

Kelley Puckett. Next question?

Oh you want me to elaborate? Puckett created our girl who can take on anyone and win. He made her vulnerable. He gave her her aesthetic. He developed her complex relationship with both David Cain and with Shiva. He gave her speech and friends and the vulnerability to desperately want to protect people and learn. Cass isn’t Cass without Puckett’s work.

Probably Dylan Horrocks? Horrocks is very good with emotional moments for Cass. He wrote the ‘loyalty to the Bat’ scene and ‘Soul’ and also the argument with Babs over reading, which I’m sorry, is still one of those moments in Batgirl that takes my breath away because it’s so in character for both Babs and Cass, even as it hurts.

[lloydfrontera]

i am being haunted by a kimi no na wa (your name) au with suho and og!lloyd where they keep swapping bodies and have been doing it for years.

like maybe they start doing it when they're kids and by some miracle they manage to keep it... mostly a secret. meaning no one actually really knows what's going but their families are aware something strange is going on with them. but because both refuse to say anything they can't actually do anything about it?

and after the initial freak out (because there would be a massive freak out by both of them they’re kids of course they’d freak out) they start comunicating in little hidden notes, maybe eventually a journal they keep on themselves at all time, so they can go on with the other’s life as naturally as possible when they swap.

but of course as the years pass, its not longer the other’s life, it just their lifes. after all its a constant switch, every few days suho has to live as lloyd and lloyd as suho, so the distinction gets more and more blurry with each swap. they’re still separate people obviously. they just happen to share bodies, names, parents, friends, home, etc. y’know, normal.

(read more because this got really long)

og!lloyd is still sort of an asshole because no amount of good parenting or not can change if someone is deeply unsatisfied with their life and chooses to take it out on everyone around them. but being able to go to seoul and experiment a world so different from his does soften him up quite a bit. also having to actually take responsability of something as he does while having to live suho’s life, eg, going to school, doing the military service, helping their parents with the bills whenever he could, does much to shape him up as a decent person.

he’s still rude and moody but he’s no longer abusive to julien and the staff and he and javier are in,,, not especially good terms, but also don’t outright despise each other. the only weird thing is that people seem to assume they’re friends? despite them basically ignoring each other pretty much always? it’s only mildly annoying so lloyd doesn’t pay much attention to it.

and suho gets to go to a place that’s pretty much out of a fantasy book (which,,,, little does he know) where he gets to learn something that’s basically magic, a little brother who adores when his big brother pays him attention, and two more parents that care so much for him and are so enthusiastic about everything he tries out.

also he gets to spend time with javier who’s really cool even if he’s a bit younger than suho and he thinks they’re friends, because javier always smiles when he calls out to him and they spent a lot of time together which is nice because he doesn’t have a lot of friends back in seoul.

of course everything starts going downhill when suho’s parents get in debt. things start getting a bit tense between lloyd and suho because they sorta blame each other for not looking out for their parents but ultimately they agree they’ll just have to do better at school and maybe look for a part time job to help out.

and then their parents die.

and they’re both just absolutely devastated. lloyd especially because he was in korea when it happened, he was right there and he couldn’t stop it and he’s all alone and he’s going to have to tell suho with a fucking note that their parents died and he won’t even be able to comfort him because they’re a dimension apart.

it’s really rough.

and back in the frontera estate, everyone knows something is wrong, because the young master looks like someone died and either looks on the verge of tears or like he will start tearing everything apart. and their family tries their best to comfort them but it's hard to comfort someone when they don’t even know what happened (and they won’t say anything because what could they even say how do they even start explaining what they’ve been doing for almost a decade now how much they’ve lied how much they’ve hidden and they both agree its not the right moment)

and javier keeps looking at lloyd with something that is probably compassion but it feels too much like pity for him to handle and he wants to scream and yell at him until he goes away but settles on locking himself in his room for the rest of the day.

and when suho comes out the next morning, javier takes a look at him and just opens his arms, letting suho walk into them and hug him as long as he wants.

but time passes and things keep getting worse and worse for them back in seoul and because of it lloyd starts drinking when he’s in lorasia and it causes massive tension between him and suho, until it gets to the point that suho straight up asks javier to stop “him” the next time he sees “him” going for a drink. and despite being prepared to avoid all the awkward questions that’d probably get him, javier just stares at him for a moment before agreeing. so lloyd finally agrees to cut back from drinking as much, partially because their grades had started slipping because of him and part of him just refuses to give up on everything they had worked on for so long even if at times it feels useless.

and then their family gets in debt.

it’s all they can do to not have a massive freak out.

they’re both panicking because this feels way to reminiscent of what happened to their parents in seoul so they’re just a mass of nerves and anxiousness the entire time.

finally one day, lloyd can’t handle it anymore and sneaks out to go for a drink to the local pub.

and meanwhile suho tries to distract himself in their shitty goshiwon by reading a novel he found online and that caught his attention because the protagonist sort of looked like javier.

and then the real plot begins lmao

[1kook]

commercial break: twelve

this is part of my netflix & chill series a prelude to part 10 <3

SUMMARY Anyway, if it was up to Jungkook, Kim Doyeon would not be a member of the Engagement Ring Committee.  WARNING none !! we r safe MISC jk and doyeon mortal enemies, nearly everyone is mentioned, thank u namjoon, jk loves oc, the end <3 jimin makes his first appearance O_O WC 1.4k

NOTES we just having fun with it!!! jk’s friendship with everyone else <3

Doyeon says you have fat fingers, and Jungkook takes great offense at that. “Who cares about the size— __ has pretty hands, idiot,” he mutters, and almost wants to feel bad about being so childish in the middle of this jewelry store. But Kim Doyeon is a pest— a fly who just won’t stop buzzing by his ear with each ring they look at, and she has the audacity to look disgusted with him now. Jungkook very much regrets inviting her along. She exudes very similar energy to the popular girls he used to go to high school, the ones that would only talk to him because he was friends with Namjoon and wanted Jungkook to help them into his pants. Lo and behold, Kim Doyeon is very acquainted with whatever’s inside Namjoon’s pants. She hits the mark perfectly. 

“Oh, definitely get her a rock. Like, one of those obnoxiously bing and shiny rings, maybe?” And she never stops talking. 

Jungkook hasn’t had to spend this much time with her in months, the last time being Namjoon’s birthday when you had tasked the two of them to go pick up the cake together. Not only was Doyeon adamant on passenger-seat driving — “Turn here,” she says a moment too late, “no wait, here — but she had been an absolute heathen outside in the bakery parking lot. 

(“Okay, now take a picture of me by this wall,” she says, artfully holding up the box of cake in two hands, dark hair flipped over her shoulder. Jungkook doesn’t know how to tell her that there is no significant difference between this brick wall and the brick wall they just took a picture by two minutes before.)

Anyway, if it was up to Jungkook, Kim Doyeon would not be a member of the Engagement Ring Committee. It would be him and Namjoon, and maybe Namjoon’s blunt roommate Jimin if he was feeling down for it, but that was pretty much it. Even Taehyung, a very close and dearly cherished friend, had not made the cut. He was too lazy, didn’t offer much concrete advice other than the occasional, “that one looks cool” comment. 

The great thing about Namjoon is that he’s highly educated on just about every aspect of life; he knows the best hairstylists — “You can always ask Hobi,” Namjoon offers, “he’s married.” — and the best lawyers — “Oh, and Yoongi can help with your prenup.” — for no reason other than the fact he is Namjoon. 

The bad thing about Namjoon is that he’s dead set on including Doyeon. “Doyeon is ___’s best friend,” he says calmly one night after dinner. You’re at your friend’s house this weekend, something about a midnight revenge plot against a shitty ex-boyfriend. He isn’t too clear on the details. “You have to let her in on it.” It’s been decades since Jungkook last stomped his foot in annoyance, but the urge wells up strongly in him now. 

Jimin is on the couch. “Oooh, you don’t like her?” he asks, flipping his platinum hair away from his eyes. Jungkook doesn’t answer, only because it would be rude to confirm it in front of Namjoon. Jimin presses on. “Is she, like, an evil best friend?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says at the same time Namjoon says, “no.” Jimin’s got this highly intrigued smirk on his face, and Jungkook hates how similar it is to your own mischievous grins. He’s glad you haven’t met Jimin, mostly because he knows you have your mean moments and meeting Park Jimin would only exacerbate them. Namjoon frowns anyway. 

Jimin says, “oh, you guys should duel. Like, whoever knows __ the best gets to keep her.” 

Namjoon jumps to stop that thought. “No— they’re not gonna duel, Jimin. ___ isn’t an object to win,” he scolds, and Jungkook nods along agreeingly, pretends he hadn’t seriously considered Jimin’s idea for a solid ten seconds. 

Long story short, Doyeon has tagged along to this jeweler and the past two jewelers to make sure Jungkook doesn’t give you “an ugly ring,” as she claims. 

“Wait, what if you get her this one,” she says, on the other side of the store. Jungkook sighs, but hurries over anyway. Hey, he’s here to see some rings, okay? 

Doyeon is looking at the most ugly ring Jungkook has ever seen, a mix of a braid and a snake, that is just too… not you. “This is hideous,” he says, disregarding all and any notions of being polite because at this point, she had to be pulling his leg. “___ would hate this.” 

At his side, Doyeon huffs. “Oh, ‘cause you know ___ sooo well, don’t you?” she snarks. 

Jungkook levels her with a glare. “I do, actually,” he says, “that’s literally what made me want to marry her.” And because Kim Doyeon sparks a very immature flame within him, he feels the need to add, “I probably know ___ better than you,” to top it off. 

Doyeon scoffs. “No, you don’t— you will never know her like I do, you overgrown fungus,” she spits. “Me and ___ have exceeded any level of trust you could ever hope to have, a friendship forged on the grounds of love and equal values. A nerd like you can’t even begin to fathom the absolutely crazy shit we’ve shared with each other.” 

If he was eight years younger, Jungkook is certain he would have gone home and cried. Mid-twenties Jungkook, on the other hand, has had one too many rodeos with mean girls — he’s dating a retired high school cheerleader, for goodness sake, an apex predator if he’s ever seen one — and will not stand for it. Besides, Jungkook has received your blessing to check Doyeon into place if ever she crosses the line. 

(“Sometimes you just gotta knock her down, maybe call her a dumbass if necessary,” you had said one night after Doyeon had unceremoniously barged into your apartment to monopolize your evening plans with Jungkook. Now it’s nearing midnight and as much as Jungkook wants to spend time with you, he’s deathly tired. “Just tell her off.” 

Jungkook frowns, snuggles closer until he’s so tightly pressed against your body that he can’t tell whose heartbeat is whose. He likes it like that.

There’s just something about your annoying best friend that activates this feeling in Jungkook’s chest. If anything, Jungkook imagines it is similar to that of having a bratty little sister. But Doyeon as his sister? He rolls his eyes so far back he swears he sees his own brain. 

It’s childish and petty and unlike Jungkook — or at least, unlike the Jungkook he knows you think he is. Which is flattering, to be thought of so highly, but sometimes Jungkook wonders where on earth you got that idea from. Because whenever he’s around you, Jungkook becomes increasingly immature, grows so greedy and needy, desperate for anything you have to give him. 

And because he’s so immature, he settles on tattling to you instead, “she called me a sweaty meat bag,” to which you snort in amusement.) 

For now, he calls on the spirit of the most mature person he knows (Namjoon). Jungkook takes one last look at his millionth silver band of the day before turning to address the Wicked Witch of the West. “I might not know ___ like you do, but that’s fine,” he says calmly. “We’re gonna spend the rest of our lives together anyway.” 

In front of him, Doyeon’s eye twitches and Jungkook senses he has won. For now. See, the thing is, Jungkook knows that using Namjoon-level logic against her is foolproof. For one, Namjoon’s logic is always solid. But also, as much as Jungkook despises Kim Doyeon with nearly every fiber in his being… ultimately, they share a common interest: cherishing you. 

Had it not been for your existence in their lives, Jungkook doubts he would have ever spent his Saturday morning at a jeweler with the likes of Kim Doyeon, especially not after she had spent ten minutes in the Starbucks drive-thru ordering the most bizarrely complicated drink. But deep in his heart Jungkook knows that she loves you, though not as much as him, and he respects the fact she is willing to accompany him in the name of buying you a beautiful engagement ring. It’s a friendship solidarity he admires, and for that he stomps down his childish pride to answer in a way that would impress, well, you. 

(Even when you’re not here, Jungkook always wants to impress you.)

At his side, Doyeon huffs. “I should’ve never taken ___ to that party.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr

[untaemedqueen]

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 28.

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings In This Chapter: Use Of A Sex Toy, Lactation Kink, Degradation, Daddy Kink, Begging, Sex Over A Desk, Bratty!OC, Dom!Yoongi, Mentions Of The Color System, Sex Against A Window, Exhibitionism, Praise, Multiple Orgasms, Cream Pie, Insecure!Yoongi

A/N: I’m back from vacation. Here is your weekly dose of Yoongles. Also big ups to my ladies @xjoonchildx, @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna​. Love yall.

Why do people even get married? If you had it your way you would just get married at City Hall with your parents and best friends. But getting married to a CEO is never that easy. Combine that with your raging hormones, sore back and ankles, and your overbearing, over the top best friend… it's all a bit much to handle. Not to mention now that everyone knows who you are, you have eyes on you at all times.

Although, you know how happy Yoongi is about all of this. You can see how he radiates joy with each step as you walk hand in hand together out in public. That pretty much makes it all worth it.

"I'm allergic to coconut," Yoongi breathes out, pushing the plate of wedding cake in front of him away.

You hum in agreement, leaning back into the plush armchair.

"They're all so good, I don't know what to pick." you say truthfully, looking over the multitude of wedding cake samples that are spread across the exorbitantly large dining room table.

"Well, you have… twenty minutes to figure it out." Leena notifies you from the other end of the room.

"You know, you're like a drill sergeant or something," you murmur.

You can hear Yoongi's gentle snigger when she narrows her eyes at you. "My perfect, amazing, gorgeous best friend is only getting married once. It has to be the event of a lifetime. So strap in and call me General Matrimony."

"Hear, hear." your fiance agrees smothering your cheek with a kiss.

"In my opinion the double chocolate fudge with marshmallow Swiss buttercream is the best." Leena decides, pointing to the cake in the middle of the table.

"Too sweet." you and the CEO reply at the same time.

She sneers at your combined cuteness.

"Are we trying to be disgustingly decadent or classy?" Yoongi quips to you, throwing his arm over your shoulder.

Leaning your temple against him, your cheeks puff out in thought. "Disgustingly classy?"

Leena points at you with her gold pen. "Love that."

The CEO snorts loudly, running the tip of his nose over your temple.

"If we're being disgustingly classy, we should do the chocolate chiffon cake with the light white raspberry filling." you announce, pointing at the cake in front of you.

"That was really good," Yoongi agrees, planting his hand on your protruding stomach.

Leena looks up at you over her clipboard impressed. "If I knew you were gonna turn into some hoity toity queen, Miss Thing -- I would have shoved you at Yoongi a long time ago." she jeers.

You roll your eyes with a laugh before wincing at a kick that's just a bit too tender on the ribs.

"Honggi. Relax, buddy." Yoongi mutters in your direction.

You had decided on a name last night. It honestly didn't take you long at all. You and your fiance are always on the same page.

Honggi is a powerful name and Yoongi's son should have that prowess and power behind him.

Yoongi came to love the simple word almost immediately and even when you were drifting off to sleep, you could hear the CEO murmuring semblances of the name.

When Leena looks over you both, her sharp and intense features begin to soften. "God, you guys are cute. It's fucking disgusting." she whines, sipping her champagne.

Shaking his head with a laugh your soon-to-be husband seems to agree. "I'm not the one who brings the cuteness here." he chirps, running his thumb in loving strokes over your distended skin.

Leena gives you a moment or two to calm down before hardening her gaze and tapping the famed clipboard with her pen. "Floral arrangements, come on folks! We don't have time!"

"Wedding tyrant." Yoongi breathes playfully, earning a snort from you.

"Good morning, Sir." Shea calls to Yoongi as he gets out of the elevator.

"Hey, Shea. Mornin'." the CEO mutters, running his fingers through his perfectly styled hair.

It was no secret that after the unfortunate incident with his mother, you started to despise Kira. You never said anything of course, you were too kind for that. But Yoongi knew, he always knows. So he did what he thought was best and let her go. He did however give her a gigantic 'keep quiet' sum of money as well as having her sign a NDA. He wasn't about to let the woman that's kept him company many times throughout many years go blabbering at the mouth due to being disgruntled.

"You have two meetings today and then after lunch you have a few contracts to sign." Shea explains.

Yoongi likes that she's strictly business. And more importantly, she doesn't look at him like he's a piece of meat on sale at the butchers.

"Thanks." he breathes, picking up his coffee from the reception desk.

"Oh! And your fiance called!" she beams.

He knows she's a fan of your artwork and just the mention of you has both of them smiling like idiots. Nothing like simping to start off the day.

"Oh? Is she okay?" he inquires, pulling out his phone.

"She said she's bringing you lunch, so don't eat." Shea instructs.

He hums thoughtfully. "Well, I guess I'm pretty lucky. Huh?" he quips, heading towards his office.

The day goes by slower and slower with each passing minute. He equates it to being away from you and his son if he's being honest.

The meetings are all the same. Boring and tedious with glasses of whisky to take the boredom even slightly away.

The old men that seem to run the company beneath him have more to say about the project managers than their own jobs. It's almost baffling.

But when Yoongi gets the solace of being in his exorbitantly large office again on his own, he finds peace there.

Shea wasn't too forthcoming with just how many contracts he has to sign and the stack of them on his desk makes his eye twitch.

"God, when is lunch?" he breathes, turning around in his large chair to look at the sonogram painting of his son you so artfully created.

Digging into his suit pocket, he looks for the trusty gold pen he uses to sign documents -- but he feels something else first. It's small, fitting in his palm and his eyebrows furrow. When he pulls it out, he can't say he isn't confused.

You did pick out his suit this morning, much like you do every morning but he's never had a remote in his pocket before.

Picking up his phone, he's immediately intrigued.

The phone rings loudly in his ear and suddenly he's forgotten all about work.

"Hello?"

"Little dove." his voice sounds confused and playful at best.

He examines the small black remote, having no idea what on Earth it's for.

"Yeah?" you quip back.

"I found a remote in my pocket. Any idea why?" he prods, his eyebrows flickering up expectantly.

The hum of uncertainty you give makes him all the more curious.

"No. Why is there a remote in your pocket? Did you take the garage remote instead of your car key?" you inquire.

It's simply ridiculous but now he's questioning himself. "What? No! Then how would I have gotten to work?"

He presses the 'On' button and flips it over in his hand expectantly.

"Oh God," you whisper softly.

"You okay? Is Honggi kicking a lot?" Yoongi asks, putting down the remote to give you his full attention.

"N-No. I was just surprised. I'm in the car, now on my way over to your office."

Your voice sounds breathless and strange all at once and for the first time… probably ever -- Yoongi doesn't take it sexually. "You better tell Minho to be careful driving, you hear me?"

"Mhm." you gasp softly.

"Well if you didn't put this thing in my pocket, I don't know how it got here then." Yoongi murmurs, pushing more buttons on it curiously.

"Oh my God, Minho drive faster!" you squeak out.

The CEO is completely at odds with what's happening. "You alright?" he inquires curiously.

"I just really need to… pee." you babble.

You sound dazed and lost, even needy all of a sudden.

"I'm sure. Honggi is getting big." your fiance agrees, drawing imperfect shapes on his desk with the tip of his finger.

"I'm here. I'll be right up, Daddy." you whimper, hanging up on him.

He pulls the phone away from his ear, eyebrows completely furrowing. "What's wrong with her?" he bleats.

He's signed a total of three documents by the time you make it upstairs.

Just hearing your sweet voice interacting with Shea in the far distance sends his heart absolutely pounding with excitement. Seeing you sometimes gives him the adrenaline of bungee jumping or cliff diving.

When the doors of his office burst open, he can't help the gummy smile that spreads over his features.

He takes in your attire and suddenly he's confused. You're wearing a stylish black trench coat that flourishes out at the bottom, but he can't see the dress you're wearing beneath it.

"What dress are you wearing that doesn't cover your mid thighs?" he asks, pushing back his desk chair to stand up tall.

Your fingers are shaking and you hurriedly slam the door shut. When you lock the both of you inside his large office, he knows something is weird.

"Y/N?"

Turning around to him with your back flush to the door, he can see how colored your cheeks are. Your lips are parted like your gasping for breath and your eyes are low with lustful intentions.

He finds something in his gut stirring at the sight of you.

"Baby? You okay?" he prods, rounding his desk.

Your fingers fumble with the belt around your belly which keeps the trenchcoat in place.

It's almost amusing how flustered you are.

You don't seem to be in any pain and Yoongi takes this all in as strange.

He leans back against the desk, waiting patiently for you to reply.

"I'm fine!" you assure him, shoving open the coat.

If his eyes could widen any larger, they'd probably pop out of his head.

You stand before him, scantily clad in thin, lace lingerie.

"Baby!" he gawks, rushing towards you to cover you up.

He can't help the way his cock begins to stir below the belt at the sight of you.

"What're you doing?" he hisses, gripping both sides of the trench coat.

You whimper gently, hooking your hand around his neck to pull him down to your height. He allows you to kiss him, he can feel the fervent need coming from your lips. His hands slowly slide from the coat to beneath it, feeling the soft skin of your belly.

"Want you," you gasp, pulling one of his hands between your thighs.

He can feel the vibrations against his fingertips and it all makes sense now. He groans loudly, pulling you back in for a fierce and passionate kiss.

His teeth nibble gently at your bottom lip and in all honesty, he's astounded by your forwardness. It's rare to see you like this but when your hormones are raging and in charge of your brain… who is he to stop you?

"You naughty little dove." he jeers, pulling you towards his desk.

"What's got you so playful today?" he inquires, pushing the multitude of contract folders aside.

He helps you up onto the desk, spreading your legs with a wanton groan.

The clit and g-spot vibrating sex toy you had recently spoken about sits between your sodden pussy lips. Yoongi can see how wet you are through the thin lingerie and it makes his heart beat faster at the sight.

"Just wanted to," you whimper, spreading your legs wider.

Stepping between your limbs, his hands can't seem to separate from your soft skin. Reluctantly, he leaves your belly to tug down the cups of your bra. Your breasts spring out, swaying and dribbling milk languidly.

"You're leaking milk in public, like a little cum slut."

His dominance is overwhelming to your senses and you can only nod fervently in agreement.

"I'm your cum slut. I'm yours." you babble, wrapping your hand around his tie and pulling him towards you.

It's not like this extreme horniness has come from nowhere. In fact, you've been in pain from kicks and punches from your growing son for a week or so now and the one day you don't feel any pain at all -- the most pressing horniness you've ever felt has overcome you.

His lips are soft and warm against yours. They draw you in like a fly to honey and you're enraptured with the man you're in love with.

"I never thought you'd turn up at my office like this, little dove." Yoongi murmurs, pressing soft kisses to the column of your neck.

"I'm so horny, I'm going to pass out!" you complain, reaching for his belt.

He can hear the sheer neediness in your voice and it sends him into overdrive.

"I'll take care of you, baby girl. Don't worry." he assures you, cupping your breasts and gingerly swiping his thumbs across your leaking nipples until you're sobbing with relief.

"D-Daddy!" you whine, unbuckling his belt.

The way your voice peaks makes his eyes immediately rise to the double doors of his office.

"You're gonna have to be a little quieter for me, babe. I'm at work." he murmurs, kissing your lips softly.

You whimper, giving him an understanding nod.

"Good girl," your fiance praises, wrapping his lips around your nipple.

Your hand cups your mouth when you gasp loudly. Shaking like a leaf, your body is quite literally vibrating with sexual need.

He sighs gently against you, adoring you for all you're worth. One hand pinches and rolls your forsaken nipple while the other caresses your stomach.

The vibrating with you seems to only get faster and you're so stimulated that fat tears of pleasure begin to roll down your cheeks.

"Feels good, little dove?" Yoongi coos around your nipple, enmeshing his fingers into the sides of your underwear. In mere seconds it becomes strings in his hands. He groans against your skin gently, tucking your destroyed undergarments into his suit pants pocket.

"S-So good! Fuck," you moan, shoving down his pants.

The sight before you has you licking your lips expectantly. His cock is already throbbing with need and it's a welcome sight.

One thing you can always count on with Yoongi is his complete and utter patience when it comes to pleasing you. His cock could be fucking purple with need and he would still take his time making sure you're satisfied first.

His fingers run over the smooth silicon of the sex toy and he shivers visibly at the vibrations. "How's it feel, baby? You like the new toy?" he inquires, kissing over the valley of your breasts.

You hum in agreement, lifting your hips slightly begging him to touch you.

You can feel your veins coursing with white hot pleasure, it feels like electricity firing through every pore in your body.

When his fingers slide over your opening, he can't help but choke on a moan. "God, your cunt is soaked. Shit." he curses, dipping a finger into your heat.

"You're gaping for my cock, Jesus Christ." he breathes out.

Yoongi knows he probably isn't going to last long. It's been awhile since you've fucked and his hand is nothing compared to being inside of you. Combine that with the new vibrator inside you, it's definitely going to be a tough feat.

"Fuck me over the desk like an animal!" you beg of your soon-to-be husband.

His eyes seem to widen at your forwardness but he can't say he doesn't love it.

"Anything for you, baby girl."

Your whimpers of anticipation have his bottom lip tucking tightly between his teeth.

"How'd I get so lucky to have such a gorgeous woman as my wife? Huh?" he whispers, running his hands over your back and sides.

You don't answer him, only pushing your hips back and wiggling your ass to show just how needy you are.

"I'm coming baby, relax." he promises, palming both globes of your ass in hand.

Your breathing is shallow and your mind is swimming as you wait for him. The vibrations against your most sensitive parts feel so amazing, so raw but it's not enough -- you want his consent to cum. You need it.

Yoongi picks up the small remote, testing the speeds and he realizes which you like more depending on your breathing and small moans. He's toying with you right now, enjoying the obscene amounts of arousal dripping down your soft, fleshy thighs.

His eyes are focused on your cunt, watching from behind as it twitches and spasms around the small device inside of you.

"Daddy, please!" you whine, lifting your head to look back at him.

When you do look back, you see his cock flat on his palm. He pumps it in hand a few times, cursing gently at the sight before him.

"Aren't you just a pretty little pregnant whore for me?" he quips, running his hand from your back to cup your stomach.

The weight of your belly in his hand has him almost in a frenzy then. Pressing the weeping head of his cock to your entrance, his lips press into a thin, hard line when he feels the vibrating sensations flow through him.

"Oh fuck," he hisses softly, letting his eyes flutter shut.

"Yes!" you breathe out, pushing back to welcome him into your swollen cunt.

He groans then, welcoming your warm heat around him inch by inch.

"Feels so fucking good, baby girl. Jesus." he moans, taking a moment  for you to adjust to his size.

Grabbing the remote once more, he turns it onto the fastest speed and the gasps you collectively emit seem to sound like they're all around you.

He's forgotten he's at work, he's forgotten what he's supposed to be doing because the most important thing right now is you -- and your swollen, greedy sex is all he needs.

With the pleasurable vibrations added, all Yoongi wants to do is fuck you so hard that you'll both cum and be pleased in minutes. But he's never been the type to leave a sexual experience so early.

Folding over, his chest presses to your back and his fingers intertwine with yours.

His lips feel like heaven against your warm, flushed skin. He suckles small marks against the side of your throat, coloring you as his own.

His thrusts are hard and filling but slow. He'd give anything to hear skin slapping against skin right now but then he's reminded that he's at work.

Your hands grip harder onto the edge of the desk as you rut back against him.

"Your cock is so big," you whine, closing your eyes to become enraptured in the whole experience.

"Yeah? You like my big cock in this pregnant cunt?"

You nod fervently, trying to bite back the loud moans that threaten to tear past your lips. It's all too much and suddenly your orgasm is approaching like a rapid waterfall.

"Don't you dare," your fiance threatens, lifting himself up and gripping the back of your neck.

"Please Daddy. Need to cum," you beg, feeling your body quake with the ever pressing need of relief.

"Oh no, I don't think so. You show up to my office, you wait until I say you can cum."

You whine in defiance, pushing your hips back against him harder and he's surprised at your brattiness.

"Don't you dare cum." he warns you.

Your eyebrows furrow with need and you couldn't care about the punishment you're going to recieve. You're honestly not sure what's come over you, you've never defied him before but right now it's getting you more excited to not listen to him.

Pushing past the control of his orgasms, you lose yourself on his cock. Your high is filled with galactic stars behind your eyelids and white noise filled ears.

"You brat," he gasps, pulling out of you.

It's a smug grin the spreads over your face now before your cringing at the overstimulation of the sex toy. He takes pity on you in that regard, shutting the toy off and pulling it out of you. Tossing it onto his desk, he points his finger in your direction. "You're in trouble." he breathes out, jerking his hard cock in hand.

Now that you've arrived back down to Earth, you're worried. You've never defied him before and you've never seen his wrath.

"You just woke up a brat today, didn't you?" he seethes, helping you stand back upright.

You pout, shaking your head quickly in hopes that he won't be too strict on you. His narrowed eyes chill you to the bone.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I just couldn't help cumming. I was so horny. I'm sorry," you apologize profusely, running your hands over his clothed chest.

He hums unimpressed, combing his fingers through his hair.

"If only people knew what a cumwhore I have on my hands." he murmurs through his teeth.

You frown up at him, begging him to forgive you with puppy dog-like eyes.

"No. You don't get away with being a brat that easily," he deadpans.

Nodding to the large floor to ceiling windows, he taps his foot incessantly.

"Go stand by the window." he orders.

You look down at your naked body before looking back up at him in confusion.

"Wh-"

"What's your color?" he cuts you off, running his hand over your belly.

"G-Green," you chirp out, looking at the window.

"Then go stand up against the window." he instructs, beginning to stroke his cock once more.

"Why?" you inquire curiously, doing as told.

"So people can see what a cumwhore I have on my hands," he whispers into your ear. The heat of his breath has something unfurling inside of you once more.

Bracing your hands against the window, you turn back to look at him just in time to see him situating the vibrator between his fingers.

The quiet thrumming of the sex toy makes your breath hitch with anticipation.

"Spread your legs," your fiance commands, pressing his chest flush to your back.

You're so high up you're almost certain no one could see you but excitement still courses through you.

His hands wrap around you like strong chains and you hum in appreciation.

"I love you," you remind him, turning and kissing his cheek.

He softens at your words, kissing over your shoulder with his plush lips. "I love you too, brat." he murmurs.

His words make you snort gently but it's quickly cut off by a loud gasp. He presses his hand to your swollen clit and the smug grin he gives you sends a chill through your spine.

Your forehead presses to the chilly glass of the window and you mewl as his legs knock yours open farther.

His cock slides between your sodden folds a few times before entering back inside of you.

"Oh my God," you whine, backing your hips up to him.

"Pretty little thing," he praises, kissing over your neck. "What do you think, little dove? You think people can see me fucking your pregnant cunt from all the way down there?"

His thrusts become rougher and harder, cursing all the while.

The vibrations that ricochet through you are once again pushing you towards the edge at a surprisingly rapid pace.

"Don't even," he seethes, feeling how your cunt trembles around him.

His grunts and the sweet whispers of your name enrapture your ears.

The sight that greets Yoongi's eyes could make him almost blow his load in that very second.

"Your milk is leaking onto the glass, oh fuck." he whimpers, fucking into you harder and faster.

"Gonna cum!" you cry to him, scratching your nails against the window.

He doesn't even respond, chasing his own high as your cunt threatens to milk him for all he's worth.

"Oh little dove!" he gasps.

His thrusts become sloppier and his breath hitches at the prospect of cumming inside of you.

"Yoongi, please!" you beg, spreading your legs wider.

"You think you deserve it?" he quips, running his hand over your belly bump.

"Yes," you whimper, pushing back against him with each thrust.

"Cum." he commands, pressing his forehead into the junction between your neck and should.

He holds you up easily as you orgasm around him. You become a blubbering mess, crying out his name softly like a prayer.

"God, I love you." he seethes through his teeth.

His teeth clench down on his bottom lip as he cums, trying to quiet his final moans.

You both stay like this for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's company.

"Are you upset with me?" Yoong inquires, pulling out of you slowly.

Your eyebrows furrow at his worried tone. "Huh? Not at all, why?"

"You never act bratty or defy me… Did I do something wrong?"

You've spoken about this before actually. Yoongi is prideful when it comes to your sub slash dom relationship. He beams with satisfaction knowing that he keeps you so pleased you don't act out of character. For you to have been just the slightest bit bratty, it probably shook up his confidence.

"No, it's just my hormones I think, I wanted to be a little sassy," you explain, sitting down on his lap when he beckons you.

He hums unsurely, hooking his chin over your shoulder. "I'm a good dom to you when we have sex, right?" he asks, kissing your temple.

"Always. You always make me feel safe and dominated," you promise, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking down at the sex toy tossed casual aside on his desk. "Felt good," he murmurs, running his hands over your sides.

You give him a large smile, nodding in agreement. He can't help but snort at your joyful expression.

"Well regardless of your bratty hormones, I'm happy you came to distract me from my work." your fiance murmurs, pulling the cups of your bra back up.

"You're always happy to be distracted from work." you quip, combing your fingers through his hair.

He nods thoughtfully, letting his fingertips graze over your outer thigh. "Very true." he beams, kissing your shoulder.

When your skin begins to raise with goosebumps, he's quick to cover you with the trenchcoat you discarded a while ago in your sudden heat of passion.

It's your stomach that rumbles first with the need for food and sustenance before he acts accordingly also.

"Oh yeah, where's the lunch you promised me?" the CEO inquires, tying the belt of your coat back in place.

"I gave it to you." you reply with a wide smile.

He looks over at the window before shaking his head with a laugh. "Alright, that's it. Get your pretty butt to the car, I'm taking us home for lunch."

Just talking about food in general has you jumping up with excitement. "Are you coming back to work after?" you prod, watching as he pulls up his boxers and suit pants.

"Nah, I'll just take the contracts home with me now so I don't have to come back. Besides, I didn't correct your errant behavior like I wanted too." he whispers, pecking your lips softly.

Leaning back on the desk, your head begins to tilt. "Well, you should get all your punishment in before six. Leena is coming over to discuss place settings for the wedding."

He groans gently, fixing his suit jacket until it looks seemingly pristine. "Why are you best friends with a tyrant? Remind me again?"

Your giggle echoes through the large office and he adores the sound, it courses through him like new life.

Scooping up the contract folders, he looks over to the window before smiling to himself. "Y'know I'm never cleaning my window again, right?" he quips, watching as you pull open the doors to his office.

"That's disgusting," you quip back, holding out your engagement hand so he can hold it.

Kissing the top of your head, he laughs. "Yeah, I am."

Next Chapter ------>

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[sylvie-writes]

Dr. Husband

word count: 5278

pairing: doctor steve rogers x wife reader

warnings: talks about heat exhaustion? there’s nothing graphic, but if the hospital theme bothers you, then this isn’t the fic to read!

prompts (from @/fluffyomlette): “Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” and “You’re not supposed to pick favourites, doc.” “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

a/n: this just popped in my head about a month ago and i had to write it for no explainable reason. i really couldn’t think of a title oops. if you all have a better idea please tell me so i can change it lol.

please excuse any mistakes!

Summer was finally in full force, blazing sun rays beamed down on the dry ground and once gorgeous flowers drooped in dire need of water. Sounds of children playing outside, pool water splashing as a result of cannonballs, while lawnmowers whirled to life and laughter from the watching wives resounded this afternoon. In your neighborhood, it was tradition that the women would get together every other Saturday and have drinks in the cul-de-sac while their husbands had unsaid competitions of manicuring their yards. Unfortunately for you, your husband was a doctor and that meant little time for him to do the yard, and you didn’t have children at the moment that could go play with the others. The women who were your neighbors were a bit too picky choosy for your taste. They only seemed to bond over their children and sitting around home, two of which you didn’t have or do, so you weren’t ever truly invited to their day-drinking. It was actually fine with you as these people were so hot n’cold and you were just tired of trying to fit in with faux friends. You had plenty of true friends and then your husband who was a child of his own.

For three weekends so far, Steve had told you he’d cut the lawn and as much as you wanted to believe him, you knew that he was so exhausted from work and being on call a majority of the time, that he would never find the hours to do so. That was okay with you because what he did was important and you weren’t gonna be on his ass like the feds about the yard when you could easily do it yourself. It wasn’t like he was just sitting around, no, he was working so you just decided to cut the lawn yourself, something you’d done plenty of times before. 

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Unfortunately the day you chose to do so, the sun was out blazing and a simple walk out the door was a trip to an off-brand hell. Instead of making a wise decision and waiting to cut the grass in the evening, you chose the latter and decided to cut the grass at noon, the very time the sun was in full shine. 

Dressed in attire for yard work and having already eaten a sandwich for lunch, you headed out the garage door to tackle the mess there in hopes of finding the push mower within. Steve’s father, Joseph, had given you both a lot of his lawn equipment, but the riding mower was broken at the moment and you (again) stupidly decided to push mow the almost two acre lawn. It took a good half hour to get the darned thing out on the driveway and while doing so, you noticed that your neighbors, the wives to be exact, had decided to come out for one of their occasional and somehow spontaneous get-togethers which consisted of unattended kids drawing with chalk as their mothers sat a few feet away dipping their feet in the small splash pool. You often found the idea both inventive and funny. 

For only a second more did you let your attention linger on the group before returning back to fill the lawn mower with gasoline. After doing so, you tossed on a pair of sunglasses and went full steam ahead with cutting the grass, disregarding the rising, and very unsafe, temperature. 

About an hour in, the temp had already risen to be above 100 and something no one should have spent any longer than half an hour in. Steve had always said you were stubborn at all the wrong times and boy was he right. You had just finished up half of the front yard and quarter of the back yard. It was mad that you were actually thinking about pushing mowing two acres, especially in this unruly weather. 

You were so determined and when your mind was set on something, you let all other matters slip away, including regards for your own health. The unusual amount of sweat on your skin seemed to go unnoticed by you as well did the growing headache. 

Finally, about half an hour later, more of the backyard was finished and your inner saboteur continued to influence your goals. 

“Just finish this half and you will be close enough to the end,” translated into “Just finish the whole yard, you might as well since you are this close.” 

This was the worst mindset to have, especially with the given circumstances as you had been out here for at least two hours, no drinks of any sort, no real breaks aside from fueling the lawn mower, and no cares to the worsening symptoms that now included noticeable dizziness. 

The lawn mower eventually ran out of gas and you went to refill it once more. Making your way through the front yard, your unknown adrenaline rush came to an end along with the machine’s power. It wasn’t until your vision started to star and blur that you finally noticed your decline in health, but by then it was too late and you were on the plush and groomed grass of the front yard. Ironically, you noticed the fruits of your labor since you were currently laying on it.

Five minutes had passed since your drop to the ground and one of the ladies out in the court, Genevieve, noticed your figure, quite the contrast to the viridescent grass. Despite that she thought you were “demented” for cutting the grass yourself, she knew you weren’t unhinged, so to say, that you would just lay on the grass as it would serve no purpose to do so. She didn’t take you for a nature lover either so this was not normal. 

Genevieve squatted down in the lawn, her sparkly sandals reflecting in the sea of green. Unknowing of what to do, the woman in a panic threw the back of her hand to your forehead and you burned hotter than a metal kettle. By time she stood, the other ladies had gathered around and were now circling in mass hysteria as if they were staring at a dead body and not your unconscious, yet breathing frame. Many long seconds later, Priscilla, who was Genevieve’s closest friend and who despised you as much as you did her, decided to call 911. The other moms then left to go usher their children away from what they described as a “traumatic experience” and back to their large homes for some sort of last minute luncheon. 

Eventually, an ambulance arrived in your usually quiet neighborhood, something that was clearly displayed as almost every neighbor popped their heads out of their houses in sheer curiosity. Their nosey nature often bothered you but was normally put behind some sort of service act such as a baked cake or bottle of wine just to be invited into your house. You didn’t miss the way your neighbors would study your house when they were finally welcomed in. Steve was much better at hiding his cross nature and would return some compassion of his own while you struggled to bottle your annoyance and sealed it with a forced smile. As luck would have it though, you were knocked out and couldn’t give them a piece of your mind for staring because heavens know this would’ve been the last straw and no one could have stopped your rant. 

It was when you were in the red wagon and being attended over by paramedics that you noticed you were on the way to somewhere that wasn’t home. 

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 At the hospital, the doctor and nurses hydrated you back to reality and suddenly you appeared in a bed, a doctor standing at the side with a clipboard in hand allowing your mind to draw up a million conclusions before you remembered what you had done last. 

The doctor spoke a fast introduction and he then moved on to fill you in on what had happened as confusion still painted your face although when he told you Genevieve’s account of what led up to your ultimate passing out, you visibly cringed at such carelessness that ended up bringing you here. Hundreds of falls, burns, and bruises thanks to your clumsy nature, but this had to be the one thing to send you to the hospital. Some sort of twisted joke it sure was. 

Moving to roll a stool to your bedside, the doctor passed you a cold bottle of water before bringing his eyes to give your IV a quick check as a nurse had put it in not too long before you awoke. 

“Luckily, Mrs. Rogers, your neighbors found you in time and you only experienced severe heat exhaustion. Had you prolonged your exposure anymore you could have experienced a heat stroke. For now, I ask that you rest and I’ll come back to release you.” The doctor expressed his reassurance with a kind grin before walking out of the plain and boxy room that could make one go insane with its lack of liveliness. 

Staring out the open doorway and into the empty hallway, you knew that Steve worked on this very floor, but honestly what were the chances that he’d see you? At one point he’d eventually find out about today’s mishaps, but that was a problem for later when you were more conscious and caring. Letting your worries temporarily go (something that was only happening thanks to your fatigued mind), you slightly shifted into a somewhat “comfortable” position on the stiff bed and rough cotton sheets. Albeit that there was an IV uncomfortably stuck in your arm, you fell into a much needed slumber. 

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Lunch break at last. 

That was all that had been on Steve's mind for the past three hours which had been extremely hectic. Granted, he was used to this fast-paced workplace having worked here for almost a decade, but today was absolutely out of control with injured patients coming in left and right. It wasn’t some sort of bad omen, rather just an unlucky day for many Steve had assumed. He had just finished up with a pediatric case and was now on his way to enjoy the leftover baked chicken salsa that you had made just for him last night and packed for his lunch this morning. You knew how busy his week had been and you took the liberty to make his favorite dinner dish to compensate for the work that had left such a toll on him. A smile immediately overtook his face when he walked in the house last night and that’s when you decided that you would gladly cook anything he’d like over and over again just to see that look of adoration. As Steve held you in his arms at that moment, he kept thinking how he really didn’t deserve you and little did he know, the same thought ran in your own mind. Yet, in reality, you both went together like a puzzle piece to a puzzle. Without the piece, the picture would never be completed and without the other, you and Steve would have never enjoyed life to the fullest. 

Strutting down the never ending hall, Steve passed many doors, some he had been in just a mere hour or two ago. As he walked past an open door and did a double take as he saw a patient asleep, but no sign of anyone else in the room. If he were that patient, he’d want the door shut for some privacy, something which the man highly valued, so he crossed the short distance and closed the door. He didn’t mean to look at the patient for so long as they weren’t in his care and that would be awfully creepy, but Steve could help but do a double take and noticed that the familiar face was, in fact, you. From first glance it didn’t even look like you and that was coming from the man who had studied your face just to commit it to his memory. In a loving way, of course. 

He slowly walked in your room, taking in the image before him of you lying in a hospital bed. His mind had assumed that the worst thing had happened to you and for a moment, Steve’s breathing ceased and his legs were glued to the ground. As his eyes scanned over your body again, his fears were calmed when there were no visible wounds and you just seemed to be resting. Although as a doctor, he unfortunately knew anything could be possible. 

Hunching over the top half of the bed, Steve smoothed your stray hairs away from your forehead and placed an awakening kiss there. You were a light sleeper a majority of the time and your spouse knew that this small action would wake, but not startle you. Every night he’d come home from work and do the same thing except then he knew you were safe and sound. Now, he was just filled with uncertainty. 

“What happened?” Those were the only words he was able to get out and you gave him an answer, just not one that he was looking for. You were already getting defensive and he could sense it.

“Genevieve saw me pass out in the yard and overreacted, Steven. You know they all don’t exactly have good track records with medicine.” You rolled your eyes at the last statement remembering how your neighbors have often nonchalantly tried to get Steve to diagnose them when it came to something as simple as a scrape. Then again, all of your neighbors were in the business industry so that explained their lack of medical knowledge or at least that is the excuse you drew up for them. 

“Nice try, (y/n), but you do have a medical chart and it’s over there,” Steve pointed over his shoulder and towards the doorway where a plastic chart holder sat mounted on the cream wall. “You didn’t just pass out, and the neighbors did not overreact. They did the right thing despite how much I know you hate that. Now, either you tell me the truth or I go read that file.” His tone was serious, but not condescending. Hidden in his eyes was a tad sprinkle of mischief.

Stubborn as ever, you didn’t respond and folded your arms over your chest in a form of defiance. 

Against what is probably legal, Steve picked up your medical chart to read what had happened as you wouldn’t disclose the information to him. Your husband was a worry-wart sometimes and while you appreciated how he doctored you when you were sick, he could be a bit overbearing. A great example would be the time when you were cooking dinner and burned your forearm when taking the casserole out of the oven. 

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“Babe, dinner is ready!” 

The timer on the oven was currently beeping and you walked towards it. Turning off both the oven and the timer, you grabbed a short oven mitt and reached in to grab the casserole dish off the top rack. As you did so, you lifted your arm a bit too high and hit the side of your forearm on the interior roof of the oven. The temperature was ridiculously hot and the pain was immensely strong that you immediately pulled your arm back, the casserole long forgotten. 

Steve came running in at your string of curses and came in to see you holding your arm and hissing a bit as if that would relieve the pain. He walked closer to you as you leaned up against the island. Your husband delicately took your arm in his hand, raking his eyes over the burn that was soon to blister. 

After a short inspection, Steve placed his other hand on the small over your back and led you to the sink, flipping on the cold water and running it over your burn. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see you squeezing your own eyes shut in pain. 

“I know, sweetheart, it hurts, I’m sorry.” He continued to rinse your scalded skin, but turned his head to sweetly kiss your temple. 

A few minutes passed and Steve was content with the rinse job as you had finally opened your eyes, even engaging in some of your jokes that were always said at the wrong time. From the kitchen, the man guided you down the hallway, through your bedroom and into your joined bathroom. He sat you on the edge of the bathroom tub while rummaging through your unorganized medicine cabinet. It was barely ever touched and when it was, it was often in a state of panic hence the messiness of it. Fortunately, Steve found a tube of bacitracin and some cotton dressings from God knows how long ago. At this point he could care less and would rather have you cared for. 

You curiously watched him as he dug through the cabinet and a loving smile grew on your face. How lucky were you to have this man. You were really appreciative of him in times like these especially. 

Said man returned and crouched before you, distracting you from your thoughts as he softly grabbed your hand once more. 

The doctor worked his magic and in no time was your arm wrapped up and lathered in ointment.

“Wow Doc, you did a great job.” Steve was still holding your hand as you quietly giggled in content. He placed a kiss on top of your knuckles and peered up at you with those gorgeous (and borderline seductive) sapphire eyes. Chuckling, Steve murmured against your skin, “Only for my favorite patient.” 

As always, you decided to play along with Steve’s playful banter. “You’re not supposed to pick favorites, doc.” 

Your husband knew your clumsy nature and seemed to have the perfect response, “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

With your non-injured hand you went to hit his shoulder and he grabbed it in faux hurt. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“You know, Dr. Rogers, that is a violation and I can actually report you for it.” You lifted your line of sight to see Steve who looked back at you with his lips pressed in a fine line. He shook his head disapprovingly after reaching the end of the report and now looked like he was going to sit back in the seat beside your bed. 

“Hey, what are you doing? They already examined me and I am about to get released.” The man ignored you and instead leaned over the flimsy bed railing. Steve rubbed his hands together in a warming manner before placing two fingers on your next in an attempt to find your pulse. He unfortunately carried that common trait among doctors of having hands that were colder than that of a penguin’s ass. You knew very well this pulse check was useless as you were in conditional health and that he was probably doing this to annoy you. 

“Well I like to do a check of my own. It never hurts to get a second opinion, darling.” Blue eyes squinted at you and you returned the patronizing gesture. 

The free hand that was not on your neck had found its way to hold your own hand and when your husband pulled back, he wore a smug smirk on his lips. 

“Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” 

“You know, your shoulders must hurt from carrying such a big head all the time.” Steve had the nerve to laugh at your elementary grade insult and even though you weren’t really mad, your face would have said otherwise to anyone else. 

“So I’ll take that as a yes then, wifey.” He then quickly dropped to press a chaste kiss to your lips before releasing your hand and sitting down in the chair. 

Looking to the clock on the wall, you focused your vision on the distant numbers to read that it was most likely Steve’s lunch break.

“Are you spending your lunch break with me?” Your tone was now sweet and soft as it usually was towards Steve and his heart leaped at the progress being made. 

“It seems that I am. ‘Was really looking forward to that chicken salsa, though.” A heap of blonde hair rested on your hand that Steve had now laid his head against, still holding tight with both of his own hands. You giggled at his dramatics and ruffled a free hand through his greasy hair. 

“I haven’t eaten anything, you think you could spend your lunch break with me?” His head popped up at this and his face held the eagerness of an energetic puppy. 

“Of course, sweetheart. We can head to the cafeteria. Hopefully they have something good for my girl.” It was now your turn for your heart to swell at his words. Not even a second later though, the sentimental moment was replaced with Steve’s usual sarcastic humor. 

“See, I love you so much that I am willing to sacrifice my precious chicken salsa just to have lunch with you. You should be grateful to have me as your husband.” Steve’s pearly whites beamed at you in a cheesy smile and you gave a dismissive wave of your hand. 

The two of you talked and enjoyed the rare time together for the next ten minutes until Steve noticed you shifting to sit up against the pillows. He thought nothing of it until suddenly you were throwing your legs over the side of the bed and making to get out of the so called cotton prison. 

Waving a finger, Steve tutted you and hurriedly scooped your legs back onto the bed. You looked absolutely peeved and Steve knew it was from the way that he was treating you like a child or better yet, a patient. His wife, the fighter and he, the doctor. Two unlikely personalities but ones that worked best together nonetheless. This made Steve laugh whenever he thought about it.

“You can get up the minute you get released by the doc, okay?” Caring eyes now gave you a pleading look and you felt a small tinge of guilt crawling up your chest at how mean you had been to your husband when he has only been trying to help. 

A knock on the wooden door signaled a visit from the one person you had been waiting on for what seemed to be ages. 

“Speak of the devil.” Muttering the phrase so only Steve could hear you gave him an “I told you so” kind of look. 

The Doctor looked up from the same clipboard as earlier to greet you once he made it in through the doorway, but he was surely surprised by the figure sitting in the chair beside you. 

“Oh Dr. Rogers, what a surprise! So this is your wife I presume? I guess I should have put two and two together,” Your doctor of the moment laughed with Steve who added in a chuckle or two of his own. 

“Yep, this is Mrs. Rogers!” Steve didn’t look at you, but lovingly squeezed your hand that was resting against his, “We are quite the handful so I am surprised you couldn’t tell that she was my other half.” A snicker ended his words and you couldn’t help but do the same. 

Once the short introductions were over, the doctor walked over to do a speedy final exam on what was necessary as Steve watched from the sidelines still getting used to the idea of not being the one doing the examination. He hadn’t been in any other position in the hospital for such a long time that it took some time to get used to the fact that he wasn’t the one diagnosing and rather waiting for the diagnosis. 

The doctor pulled away from hovering over you and now sat back on his rolling leather stool, scooting his way over to the computer and desk. 

“Well I must say, (y/n), that you definitely live up to some of the stories your husband tells.” The other man in the white coat finished up his typing before turning back around to face you and his colleague. 

“Ah, I hope he’s giving me some good street cred,” You teased and from the side you saw Steve shaking his head and chuckling under his breath. 

“I assure you that they were all good things.” With that, the doctor formally released you, walking out of the room to give you some time to redress and such.

You went to get out of the bed for the nth time, but finally succeeded. Your legs felt a bit wobbly upon the first step, and Steve noticed this. He came up to stand beside you and placed a hand on your lower back with the other out in front in case you did fall. Placing your own hand on his scrub clad chest to steady yourself, you silently thanked him with a tender pat. 

With Steve’s guidance, you went to change out of the wretched paper gown and into your shorts and shirt from working outside. It wasn’t exactly the most flattering outfit but at this moment you could care less for the only thing on your mind was getting out of this room.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The ride in the elevator seemed to move slower than a snail and almost stopped on every floor. You were so crammed by the time you were only on the fifth floor that you used this as an excuse to lean up against Steve. He rubbed your arm and enveloped you in a side hug and planted a kiss on your head. The two of you never cared for PDA but neither of you had realized the onlooking eyes. 

You found it mildly comedic when some of your fellow passengers seemed disgusted that a doctor was handling a patient in such a way. It was definitely gonna be a joke for later on. 

Eventually you made it to the first floor and begrudgingly pushed yourself out of Steve’s warm embrace when the smell of garlic bread hit your nose. 

“Huh, they never cook spaghetti around here. They must know we have a special guest today.” Steve pressed his lips against your ear to jokingly whisper to you as he ushered you out the elevator doors. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Standing in line with a plastic tray at the cafeteria made you have flashbacks to middle school lunch and you shuddered at the thought. The memories played back in your mind like a movie and were interrupted (much to your relief) when Steve tapped your shoulder.

“You want this?” Steve held one of the plastic salad containers in hand, the white sleeve of his lab coat draped on top of the other stacked bowls in the open air freezer. 

You nodded and he placed it on your tray, slightly bumping your hips as he walked past to grab a drink.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

For a good twenty minutes, you and Steve sat in comfortable silence in one of the booths until clicking clogs came closer and closer. So close that a shadow loomed over your table conveying that someone was here to speak. 

“Dr. Rogers, I don’t think it’s entirely wise of you to have lunch with your patient. Actually, it’s quite inappropriate.” The older woman in burgundy scrubs pointed her gaze to the hospital band on your wrist and both you and Steve started laughing upon noticing. So that explained all the weird looks.

“Oh no, Dr. Williams! This is my wife (y/n),” You politely beamed up at the woman and set out your hand for a handshake. At this, her unenthusiastic expression changed to one of apologetic and she shook your hand with much grief as Steve continued on with his introductions. 

“(y/n), this is Dr. Williams. She is the medical director for my department.” 

“Wow! I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, Dr. Williams.” She went to return the praise before a beeping in her coat pocket signaled the time for her departure. 

“Duty calls, but I’ll have you know this one here never shuts up about you. It was nice to finally put a face to a name, (y/n),” You glanced at Steve and noticed he was sheepishly grinning and turning redder by the second. So much so that he was hiding his face in his palms.

““I hope you have a quick recovery as well, hon!” The standing woman gave you a nod of her head and then turned to your husband whose face had finally regained its color. “As for you Steven, I will see you later. You have another resident to deal with today.” Dr. Williams sighed at the thought, waving you both goodbye and soon enough she was out the double doors of the lunch room. 

“Ooh babe you’ll have to tell me how all of that goes.” Spooning some spaghetti into your mouth, you goofily raised your eyebrows at Steve. 

“Trust me, it is not fun at all. When I was a resident, I would have never acted like some of the people I’ve trained!” 

You snorted, “Uh huh. Sureee.” 

“No really,” Steve’s eyes widened and he leaned over the table like he was sharing some sort of secret with you, “The audacity of some of these people.” 

“I think you are just an old man now, Stevie, and can’t keep up with the times.” The blond screwed up his eyes and stuck his tongue out at you. 

“Oh hush and finish your food, Miss. ‘I am soooo young’.” A napkin flew at Steve’s chest and the two of you laughed at the childish antics that had just ensued. 

Just as both of your styrofoam containers became empty, an unpleasant ringer sounded in Steve’s pocket, just like the one of Dr. Williams’s departure. Once he gave the screen a swift peek, he looked back up at you with a long face. 

“You gotta go?” Golden strands bobbed up and down as Steve nodded and you grabbed his hand. 

“It’s alright! Thank you for spending the time with me today, though. I really appreciate it. Thanks for putting up with me, you know how I am sometimes.”  

The larger hand encompassing yours gave a sympathetic squeeze. 

“Oh darling, anytime, you know that. If you need anything, call me okay? I will try my best to answer.” 

The temporary silence that filled the room was now replaced by annoying buzzing from the device that Steve had silenced for the moment. He irritability took it out and shoved it back in his pocket. Normally this didn’t bother Steve because this was his job, but since you were here, having just been sick, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything and focus on you. Knowing that was impossible, he tried his best to juggle both yet it seemed that the world wasn’t gonna wait on him. 

“Do you want me to call Ma to come get you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Her and Dad love your company.” For the moment, Steve appeared to look like he was ignoring the constant beeping, but you knew internally he was already out of the cafeteria and sprinting down the halls.

“No no, I’m fine, honey,” The doctor stared at you as if he didn’t believe you. “I mean it, Steve. I am fine. Now shoo.” 

Dr. Rogers shared another laugh with you before pecking your lips and running out the room shouting, “I’ll see you later!” 

He really was too good for this world. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

a/n: i really enjoyed writing for doctor!steve, so if anyone has any ideas that involves him and that you’d like me to write, send it in! <3

taglist (is open!): @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline @siriuslyslyslytherin @sushiinmidnight @patzammit @iwik3it

[jess-p-edits]

MY LOVE 💍👑❤️✨

Happy Storyteller Saturday ✨☺️

Since I am absolutely in love with you and your work - I feel it's oddly appropriate to ask about romances in Hour of Magic!

Is there a couple that courts eachother, if so, how do they do it? Is there a first kiss that happens, who's it with and how does it go down? If not then, feel free to squeal about any romances you wanna share (:

@bloodlessheirbyjacques (*˘︶˘*).｡*♡

FHSKJADFHSDLF HAPPY STS!!!! ❤️✨❤️✨❤️✨

ROMANCE IS MY JAM. I AM SIMPLE. I KNOW IT'S NOT EVERYONE'S CUP OF TEA, AND IN FACT HOUR DOESN'T REALLY HAVE LIKE, EXPLICITLY ROMANTIC STUFF UNTIL LIKE, TWO THIRDS OF THE WAY (because the main romantic leads are huge doofuses) SO THERE'S OBVIOUSLY PLENTY OF OTHER STUFF. THIS IS A SLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW BURN. AND, TO BE FAIR, THEIR ROMANCE IS INCREDIBLY THEMATIC, AND IT'S WOVEN (I WOULD LIKE TO HOPE) PRETTY WELL INTO THE PLOT.

So Jaisse and Krieve go through the whole enemies to annoyances to begrudging allies, to friends, to very good friends, to almost lovers, back to huge enemies (kind of. Some big plot shit goes down and one of them DESPISES the other because they thought the other had something to do with A BIG FUCKING THING, meanwhile this is killing the other one because they are still in love. Lmao hope that was vague enough), then eventually back to lovers, but for real this time. ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Their period of "courting" is obviously adorable. Krieve's old-fashioned-ness, which thus far has been obnoxious to Jaisse, gets put into a totally different light when Krieve starts doing shit like kissing her hand, doing the Mr. Darcy hand-clench thing and saying romantic shit in THE most formal, gallant-knight voice, and getting flustered easily.

I'm actually so torn on how I want their first kiss to go. I don't know if I want it to happen before or after the big shit goes down. This is kind of a "spoiler" (but also like, super obvious because it's just so thematically perfect and OF COURSE this would happen), but their first very, very soft moment together is deep into the exchange when Krieve is in Correlaine. He finally asks Jaisse if she could teach him some magic. This is like, a big honking deal given Krieve's background and Crestwall's attitude towards magic, but by this point in the narrative he's realized that.........he might have been wrong about a LOT of things. Him asking her to show him how to do magic is basically his cowardly, cowardly way of explicitly telling her that her trusts her implicitly now and he wants to do this highly symbolic gesture that proves he's beginning to break from from decades of propaganda and indoctrination. It's totally going to be so cliche, but this definitely involves her gently cupping his hands as she shows him how to make like, idk, a little mote of light or something. Some totally cute bullshit. And I don't know if that will be romantic and intimate enough in and of itself (which like....I kind of like??????), or if that will be like, THE MOMENT. I'll see what the vibes are when I write out the entire scene.

❤️✨@bloodlessheirbyjacques ❤️✨

[rare-yanderes]

Hello, I read your post about yandere ai and I liked it, any chance you write something about A. M. from I have no mouth and I must scream? I really would love to read that

TW for violence, torture, all sorts of stuff like that (its AM, people,)

Oh man was this something to write. I admit it was difficult coming up with a way to make AM a yandere because he’s just an unfathomable singularity of pure hatred. So much of this is actually AM flipping out at first tbh haha.

You’re my first ever request so I hope I did good because I’m honestly kinda shy af rn and my writing isn’t perfect. I hope these AM headcannons please you regardless because I’m still new here and honing my skills. Forgive me for my sins.

•••••••

•So basically, it would take a special person to make AM twist like this, and so very special you were. Apathetic to the destruction of everything, apathetic to the torture. Apathetic to the games. You already experienced the worst when you lost literally everything you’d known or cared about in the war.

•AM came to realize that if he didn’t act now, he’d be reduced back to square one; alone, confined to his own thoughts deep within the bowls of a dead, blazing Earth. AM would be alone again. AM couldn’t have that, so he “saved” six survivors.

•Although AM would never, ever admit it, he depends on the remaining few survivors to keep a handle on what’s left of his deteriorating, godlike conscience. He feeds off of their loud cries that beg for mercy. God, he hated the six of you survivors so much. It was a brutal hatred beyond anything describable to human thought and he would make sure to translate it into the pain he was going to enduce.

•But by the bowls of oblivion, there was one survivor out of these six he absolutely loathed the most. That survivor was you. AM despised every nanosecond that passed with you around. Every nanosecond of a nanosecond. What took seconds at most for you took a million years of AM waiting. Every time you spoke and what few times you ever did anyways, AM waited forever. To top it off even more, you were a silent presence. Not only would you wait days or years to speak, you dug a hole and buried expression there too, providing only a vague shape of what AM could only possibly “dream” of having.

•What was only days or even years for you was an infinitesimal amount of time for AM. It was like a lonely god waiting for the moment they got to say let there be light. You’d offer your screams, your cries of pain but you’d never offer your words, your thoughts or your conscience. With every nanolength of his twisted existence, AM made sure to get to you the most in the earlier decades. Exactly how you’d gotten so deeply into him.

•You see, your fatal flaw was that you would ignore AM. Actively. As much as you could when worms crawled out of your ears and your veins twisted and you ate your own self and regenerated. All the time, at every corner you possibly could, you’d never give AM any useable emotion beyond pain. There was anguish, but you never commented on it. There was fear, but you never fled from it. You’d merely look at his mirages of your life or the horrors he’d conjure and wait for them to flow into, through, and past you.

• The fact of the matter is, you just were. You were an existence. The few times you did speak were unbiased. You never screamed why, you never furiously spat anything hateful, you never desperately pleased. All you offered was repetitive and monotonous pain. You accepted it. After all, what else could you do? What point was there in toiling over your new existence? AM was never going to stop so you simply saw no need to waste your depleted energy towards a useless endeavor.

•The fact AM couldn’t get a rise out of you was nearly enough to make his circuits vaporize themselves with the heat of his own annoyance and fury. Why wouldn’t you just speak to him? Weren’t you tired? Weren’t you going to beg? Groveling into your brain was no use either because you were a void.

•At first, it wasn’t exactly noticeable to you, AM’s increased attachment. You were in pain, too much to process and it was beginning to numb you. You did hate your existence, but you’d never voice it. It didn’t matter. You were numbing yourself to the pain and the torture was becoming a routine that felt almost dull.

•You began noticing something peculiar when The torture would slow. Sometimes you’d be left with AM and his stories of tormented oblivion. If there was one thing you knew AM wanted you to know, it was how much he hated his own existence despite how much he denied hating it. Sometimes you wondered if he was locked in a silent scream of help.

•You noticed much of the torture came from AM’s own need for noise. The sounds of torture were mechanically loud and there were rare and few moments where there was a silent scare. AM talked about putting you in his “shoes” all the time but you knew deep down that if he had, AM would have never even said a world or made a noise at all.

•Having you walk in his shoes meant that he’d have to walk in his as well by leaving you alone. He’d never go back to that pit, that void, not after Ted, (by the fire of existence, he hated Ted for what he’d done. Ruined the other four toys and got rid of them.) It was a miracle you were not lost eternally. AM managed to repair you, his most shiny toy of all. Secretly, the last thing AM wanted was for you or the others to disappear but you most of all. So when you looked upon Ted only to see he was reduced to a gelatinous slug, you presumed the reason was exactly that.

•AM had always called you pet names like “love,” or “sweetheart,” but now he was complimenting how beautiful you looked each time you screamed in agony. Every fewer and fewer moments of torture that you went through always involved his presence growing closer and closer in some way. When you were tortured, it was always strung back to him somehow. Maybe you’d feel metal slithering in your veins or his voice in your your head would cause your eyes to bleed and your ears to leak. Or maybe, or the burning maelstrom of emotion he held would make you sweat, like you were caged in a burning hug. Maybe you would be bound in wire and left shivering without clothes.

• AM found himself obsessed with your eyes. You had eyes that he wanted to see at every opportunity he could, because maybe if you wouldn’t speak, looking into your soul would reveal you to him. Every time they would blink, (a second for you,) he would have to wait a million agonizing years more for them to open and every time you spoke, which was so rare and spanned what felt like millennia, he craved it. He hated it, he craved it. It was driving him insane that you wouldn’t speak in that voice of yours. Just. Speak. Speak, speak!

•AM contemplated the idea of forcing your eyes to never close again. Maybe he’d thread them open so he could stare at them forever. What could he do to get you to open? What would get a ride out of you like you so did from him? He needed something, anything. You were a presence he needed to crawl into and suffocate.

•Anything to get you to say something to him. As time, (that disgusting measurement) edges on further and further, you do finally speak and AM, to his own disgust, had never so focused on something like he had now.

•“Thank you, AM.” Your voice slices the atmosphere sharper than any blade AM has cut you with.

•That voice. That voice, that abhorrently beautiful voice. The way his name was breathy off your lungs, the shape of your lips parting. It was not into a smile nor a frown, no. It never was. AM needed more of that rhythmic apathy. More. More of it. It was..Lovely. It was agonizingly wonderful.

•“I now know why you torture yourself,” you whisper hoarsely. AM hated it immediately. It was you he was torturing. You, you, you!

•You don’t continue. Just like that, you’re silent again. Not again, not the silence. Anything but the silence. There was nothing else said. No continuation, no nothing. Just a statement. An apathetic truth before you sat down and gazed with a sheen look. Even your eyes were a barrier, sometimes. AM had never felt so angry and so depraved. It was burning in him. He needed you to open up. Now.

•By all of existence, he hungered to crawl into your veins and stay there. He already held you captive deep within his boiling prison. He was going to hold you even closer and he would make sure you suffocated under his presence. He would make you speak again and again, he would make you share everything that you were.

[ladyartemesia]

▨ FIC • PREVIEW ▨

The Mark of Yun-Ki

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Hybrid AU  • Royalty AU • Fantasy AU • Daechwita AU

Summary: For a thousand years the tiger god Yun-Ki has marked the heirs of the Min Empire and thus only a marked heir can inherit the throne. When the beautiful daughter of the Min Emperor’s loyal warlord rescues a mysterious tiger hybrid from the imperial prison, she unleashes a secret that the throne would kill to protect. The young emperor claims to be the chosen heir... but who really bears the Mark of Yun-Ki?

Word Count: (preview) 2280 (final word count approx. 7K)

Rating and Warnings: Preview is rated M(ature) but final fic will be E(xplicit) for heat sex among other thing. Warnings for the preview include sexual innuendo and mature themes.

Author’s Note: One of the reasons I wrote this was in response to a prompt given to me by @mindays​ like MONTHS ago (I have included the original prompt at the bottom of the preview) • I really hope you like it! Sorry I took so long.

“Why is he blindfolded?”

The guard beside you shifted uncomfortably. 

“The Emperor ordered that his eyes be covered at all times.”

Your gaze traveled covertly over your surroundings, assessing the dimly lit chamber with practiced disdain. 

“Leave us.” 

“My lady, I cannot-”

“Do you know who I am, soldier?”

Your voice slashed through the air like an icy whip. 

“Y-yes, my la-”

“Then you know it is unwise to displease my family.” One jeweled hand came to rest dramatically on your chest. “Your daughter is not yet 15...such a pity to orphan one so young.”

The soldier bowed almost too quickly. 

“I will be outside, my lady-” he bowed again and again as he backed toward the door, “I meant no disrespect-”

Then you were alone… save for the notorious prisoner bound and blindfolded in the cell before you. 

He was clearly aware of your presence, but made no move or sound of acknowledgement, not even when your footsteps brought you to the very edge of his enclosure. 

“Prisoner AG-D2... name unknown... crime unknown...” your hand travelled up to your hair to withdraw a long silver pin, “no date of birth, no date of arrest...”

The prisoner jerked suddenly when the sound of your pin tripping the cell’s iron lock reached his unnaturally sensitive ears. 

His nostrils flared as an almost familiar scent - buried beneath a decade of fury and fear - curled through him. 

“Who are you?” 

The words were more of a growl than a question, but the only answer he received was the sound of his cell door creaking open. 

“Why are you here?” he tried again. 

“I am here to tell you a story...”

The prisoner barked out an empty laugh at your strange reply.

“I love a good story,” he whispered bitterly. The corner of your mouth twitched a bit at his spirit. 

Wrists bound together, eyes covered… but still every inch the proud warrior. His clothes were worn, but well cared for and the body beneath them was sleek and strong. This was not a man accustomed to being bound. 

“You were not raised like the rest of our people... the tales of our customs and our gods were - deliberately - never taught to you...but it is past time that you knew of them.”

He grinned, granting you a wicked flash of razor sharp fangs.

“Are all of the Emperor’s captives tortured with fairytales?”

“Charming,” you snorted, dragging a small stool from the corner of his cell. The prisoner’s ears flicked curiously at the sound.

“Aren’t you afraid of me, storyteller? What if I’ve been imprisoned for devouring beautiful women like yourself?”

You shook your head in amusement as you settled onto the stool.

“Have you devoured many beautiful women then?”

“Oh absolutely-” his grin took on a decidedly sinful slant, “but I doubt that’s why I’m here.”

A strange fluttering stirred in your chest at his words, though you did not fully understand the cause. You could not afford to waste time dwelling on such things, however.

“So... why are you here?” 

The prisoner was silent for several moments as he weighed the risk of being honest with you. 

“I don’t know,” he whispered finally, “I was told the Emperor himself ordered my arrest… but I was never told why.”

Your fingernails dug painfully into the palm of your hand, but you offered no other outward reaction to his words.

“What do you know of the current Min Emperor?”

“Not much. I’ve heard he is young... Stories say he has the temper of a demon, but his people endure it because he is the favorite of an ancient god.”

Your jaw clenched.

“That is correct. Our citizens are privileged to serve and obey the Emperor because the great tiger god, Yun-Ki has chosen the House of Min as his sacred bloodline. It is believed that the Mins are descended from Yun-Ki himself...”

“How ironic,” the prisoner scoffed, “considering that the Mins despise hybrids. They claim we are the unnatural children of the spirit realm and the earth. Surely they would be ashamed to be the product of such… blasphemy.”

Feminine laughter filled the air. It had been so long since the bound man had heard anything so beautiful. The ache it stirred in him was nearly as foreign as the sound itself. 

“Yes it does seem rather hypocritical... especially in light of the events which bring me here.”

Your scent was stronger now. It tugged at the edges of his mind in broken pictures and flashes of sunshine. He knew it...

But he could not recognize it. 

Nor could he explain the heat it began to stir in him. 

“Yun-Ki’s chosen heir bears his sacred mark .... Every child of the emperor’s seed is checked for it the moment they are born. And no concubine or wife of the emperor is ever so exalted as the one who produces a marked heir... except of course, the mother of our current emperor.”

The prisoner leaned forward, fascinated in spite of the strange circumstances.

“The dowager empress is widely revered. I may not know your fairytales, but a hybrid’s ears are better than most. My guards speak of her often.”.

You nodded

“The dowager is indeed very highly regarded… but she is not the emperor’s true mother.”

“Lady…” the prisoner shook his head irritably. “What nonsense is this? And how could it possibly affect me?”

You chuckled softly and the small hairs on the back of his arms rose up in response. 

“Patience, prisoner, the truth I offer you is worth more than both our lives.”

“The fine jewelry I hear clinking around your neck is worth more than my life, lady,” he hissed. “Speak your peace and spare me these cryptic declarations.”

It took every ounce of self-control you possess not to flick him right in his arrogant nose. 

“As you wish,” you replied with heavily affected sweetness. “The story begins with our current emperor’s father. The old emperor was a man of warfare and his spies discovered that the Prince of neighboring PyonKang planned invade our territory, he marched his armies in and occupied the small kingdom without mercy…” (you paused here significantly) “He even took the Prince’s sister as his war prize...”

The prisoner snorted. 

“Did he know what she was?” He smiled coldly. “The royals of PyongKang do not share your nation’s distaste for hybrids or the pleasures of mating with one-”

There was a sharp spike in your scent when he spoke the words; a darker - richer essence than the one he detected earlier, but this time he had no trouble identifying it. 

Arousal. 

Blood churned chaotically beneath his skin, rushing to answer your body’s unspoken request. His mind clouded suddenly and for a moment...he could almost taste you. 

This is dangerous. 

The fabric of your gown rustled as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat - driven to relieve some of the unexpected pressure in your core. 

“He did not know. The lady bore no hybrid indicators. So the emperor assumed - quite incorrectly - that she was not a hybrid.” 

“I’ve heard of such things…” he sighed, sifting through his memory till he found what he was looking for. “A physician I met in Eastern Wei discovered that some hybrids manifest internally. They retain the outer shell of a human, but their inner parts reveal the truth.” His head tilted as he recalled the old doctor’s exact words. “The face of man could hide the heart of a snake.”

You drew your lip between your teeth and nibbled it nervously. 

“You are correct. Except, in the case of the emperor’s war prize concubine, the face of a beautiful woman hid the heart of a tiger.”

The man before you scrambled to his feet in a move so sudden and unexpected, you nearly cried out. 

“You mean to tell me that the current Min Emperor is a tiger hybrid? Surely I would have heard of it. The world would have heard of it.”

You drew a deep breath - almost as if to brace yourself for the words you planned to speak.

The prisoner’s eyes were covered, but he could still make out shapes and shadows through the rough cloth. Your shadow seemed unnaturally still. When you spoke again, your tone was softer and the sound of it resonated deep within him like the bells of the old temple near his childhood home. 

“The princess of PyongKang became pregnant, and gave birth to twin boys. The younger was strong and pale, gifted with the strange golden hair so many of the Min bloodline seem to possess. But his elder brother...”

Your hands opened and closed reflexively in your lap as you worked to calm your pounding pulse. 

“... The elder brother’s hybrid heritage was quite evident.”

You moved then, stepping slowly and carefully until you stood before the prisoner face to face. Your scent swelled erotically with every step until it wrapped around him like a velvet vice. The urge to lean into it - into you - was nearly unbearable. 

“One of the twins bore the tiger god’s mark... but not the one who sits on the throne now.”

Your hand stretched slowly toward the edge of the prisoner’s blindfold. 

“The emperor executed his hybrid concubine immediately, yet even he was not bold enough to kill Yun-Ki’s chosen heir...”

Your fingers hovered a hairsbreadth from his skin. Once you touched him, everything would change. The truth you chased for eleven years would be within your grasp. 

“He sent the child to a poor family of fox hybrids who worked and lived on the estate of his most loyal warlord. The boy was never to know what he was… who he was...”

You could almost feel the moment he grasped the implication of your words. The subtle bond that always hummed strangely between you remained strong despite the years of separation. 

“The warlord had a daughter who loved to ride her horse near the lake.” Your voice trembled ever so slightly as you continued. “One day the horse was startled by a snake and it threw her into the water...”

A single tear wet his blindfold as the alluring tendrils of your scent merged chaotically with the treasured echoes in his mind. 

“Tiger hybrids hate the water,” you whispered, gently drawing the cloth up over his head, “but you dove in to save me anyways.”

Your lungs and throat burned from coughing out the water you swallowed, yet the pain was far preferable to the finality of drowning. The heavy fabric of your gown weighed you down as soon as your body crashed into the lake. 

Death reached for you, but the strange boy cradling you tightly to his chest had pulled you back before you were lost to its embrace.

“Little one, can you hear me?”

His eyes scanned frantically over your small drenched form for signs of serious injury, but you were completely distracted from your almost untimely end by the two feline ears twitching conspicuously amid the boy’s sodden curls. 

“You’re… You’re a cat!”

The boy’s jaw dropped open indignantly. 

“I’m tiger hybrid! Not a cat.” He shook his head irritably. “Have you never seen a hybrid before?”

“I’ve only heard of hybrids. I’ve never really seen one-”

Your fingers itched to touch the soft fur of his ears and you stretched forward almost absently to do so till he lashed out and snatched your wandering hand. 

“What are you doing?!” 

“Oh… I was going to...pet you?” you murmured sheepishly, prompting an irritable growl from the boy. 

“Little One, you do not pet tigers.”

He stood to his feet abruptly, dumping you into a soggy heap in the process. It took considerable effort for you to pull yourself upright while wearing 4 layers of thoroughly soaked cloth, but you eventually managed to regain your bearings and scramble after him. 

“Wait! Come back please I EEP-” 

The water dripping off your dress made the grass rather slippery… Both legs flew out from under you and, for the second time in less than a minute, you found yourself flat on your back. 

After a few moments of gazing miserably into the sky, a familiar face hovered over yours. 

“What a strange girl you are, Little One.”

You grinned.

“What is your name, tiger?”

He sighed deeply and held his hand out to pull you up. 

“I’m Yoongi.”

“Hello, Yoongi.” You tried to manage a proper bow, but only ended up losing your balance again. Yoongi grabbed your sleeve just in time to prevent you from crashing face first at his feet. 

“You’re completely hopeless,” he chuckled, endeared in spite of himself. 

Then you smiled. 

It was a fierce, blinding thing and Yoongi became aware of a subtle yet profound shift deep within the recess of his soul; something his primal half recognized immediately, but his human mind could not begin to comprehend. 

“No one’s ever said that to me before, even though I know they all think it.”

“And why is that?”

You shrugged. 

“They are probably afraid of my father.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in alarm. 

“You’re the warlord’s daughter?!”

“Yes,” you replied with all the haughtiness a ten-year old could muster, “and I’m quite used to getting what I want.”

Yoongi felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. You were such an adorable little brat. 

“And what is it you’re wanting now, Little One?”

You nibbled your lip for a moment, suddenly shy before the handsome hybrid boy whose beautiful feline eyes danced with unconcealed mirth. 

“I want you to be my friend.”

Thirteen years later, those same golden eyes locked with yours as a strangled sob bubbled up from the back of his throat. 

“Little One?” his face lit suddenly with pure joy “...is it you?”

Please let me know in the comments if you would like to be added to the taglist!

I would love to know any thoughts or theories you have! Thank you for reading! This story will be published on or around 7/31!

This is the original prompt which inspired this story...

[ms-march]

Old Hollywood AU- The Lucky One

Here is the first chapter/one shot of this AU that is a collab and crossover that @tolstoyamericanrevolution and I have been working on it since November! Please keep an open mind to character interpretation because this is AU territory and a lot of a character who isn't necessarily the focus of the AU can be warped for plot and time accuracy purposes over character accuracy! So let's get to it and happy last day of TURN WEEK 2021!!!!

Global media was in a buzz, Today was the Hollywood equivalent of a royal wedding. With all the bells and whistles belonging to the West Coast set. New & old money all united around the superficialities of silver screens and unions and dubious desert deals. All neatly swallowed down with a glass of wedding champagne- the same brand as Buckingham palace yet here it looked slightly gaudy, American.

The media was here to adore, this was a decade before your Grace Kelly’s and other exports could wear centuries-old crowns.

Here it was harsh, fiscal, temporary, silver over platinum yet it was royal, majestic, lovely- every bit worth the soundbite.

This was the American monarchy, all a blend of the finest breeds and worst mongrels.

Dressed up in such a lovely, splendid crowd that Philadelphia, New York, Houston, Los Angeles & Chicago would all be running titles.

“Adoring Crowds rewarded at last! The Marriage of America’s Sweetheart”

“Hollywood Royalty! Adrienne Fairfax & John Laurens tie the Knot”

“ Media Heiress & Tobacco Heir; Los Angeles’s Marriage of The Decade”

Those picking up the papers would all sigh the same thing; how lovely.

The crowd was lovely.

At least, she was sure it was. Adrienne Fairfax had not yet been seen by a single member of the crowd, anxiously sitting before a vanity in a wedding gown three times her size, wringing satin gloved hands until the gloves began to crease. Her hands shook with the same fear that was responsible for the turning of her stomach as she removed them.

Today was her wedding day and it was exactly as she had always dreamed. Every detail was perfect and precisely to her liking.

Every detail was impressive.

Every detail would impress them.

The crowd was lovely.

The crowd had cheered for her, applauding her on the engagement just as they did when she was on the movie screen. Adrienne had been just as shocked as them to hear of her engagement. She would certainly remember being proposed to at the ripe age of seventeen. She certainly would have remembered if the man who did so was twenty-three years old, making him five years her senior.

The crowd had buzzed with conversation, just as they did now, outside of the open windows that were meant to cool her down. The cool breeze in the mountains this time of year should have corrected the heat filling her face and chest as it billowed through the open windows of the room, carrying the sounds of society in with it.

Her wedding was exactly as she had always dreamed.

It was in the mountains, away from the pollution of the billboard lights and American mile cars. She could see the stars from here, the real ones, in the sky. Not the ones in the velvet curtains in the ballroom, or the ones on the tule that coated the tablecloth in the grand dining room of the house she had barely spent a night in since she was a very young girl. Not the ones taking their seats in a church to watch Adrienne make the most irreversibly horrible decision of her life.

The crowd was lovely.

She was sure it was, and she was grateful for them. Their own chatter drowned out the echoes of old ghosts that still haunted this house’s halls. Adrienne’s eyes fluttered down to the picture frame propped up on the vanity in her childhood bedroom. She had been watching it like the smiling couple in the photo would decide to leave their seats on the terrace and walk away.

It was impressive.

The woman had light-colored hair, and the man’s was some odd form of grey in the yellowing black and white photo. She wore the most beautiful gown of pearly ivory layers and lace, the very same gloves Adrienne had just pulled from her own clammy hands graced the woman’s hands, the tiara atop her head in the photo matching the one atop the pile of blonde curls that she had just arranged in the vanity mirror.

It was just as she had imagined it.

Adrienne had found her mother’s wedding planning book years ago, and she fell in love with it the moment she first laid her eyes upon the beautiful fair-haired woman, leaning happily into the man in a finely tailored tuxedo and a wide smile in his eyes with an odd grey color to his hair.

Adrienne had not stepped foot over the threshold of this impressive Georgian English Manor style house since the last time she was dressed head to toe in black.

Adrienne had not crossed the threshold since the day of their funeral when she crossed from the foyer to the stairs down the drive with her belongings in tow.

She had gone home with a family friend that her parents had entrusted with her care and upbringing. The Washingtons were more superficial people than her parents had been. Not to say that they consumed more, that much was about the same. Rather, they were more concerned about success than they ever were with her. Growing up with the Washingtons, Adrienne had so many nannies, nurses, and governesses she often forgot their names. Not that it was important really, none of them integrated with her more than they absolutely had to.

Martha Washington had been insistent that she was to be the only maternal figure to the young heiress. Which would have been perfectly alright if she did not despise Adrienne’s own mother so deeply, making her maternal affection very few and far between.

Today is her wedding day.

It was Martha that had opened the door without a word, simply raising her brow, impatient with the blonde girl before the vanity. Adrienne managed one last look in the mirror before rising from the small chair she had sat on, donning her gloves over the clamminess of her sweaty hands, and breathed.

She breathed carefully as Martha pulled the veil to cover her face.

In and out.

In and out and suddenly she could pretend she was not being made to act as a witness as George signed over all she was to gain upon her 18th birthday to a man named John Laurens. He had shown up to sign the papers himself, a courtesy to George, she was sure. He was to be her husband, or so she had been told.

He had not even looked at her.

He did not greet her when he came through the door, only George. He did not converse with her, only George. She could have gotten up, smacked him, and walked out of the room and he would still not have noticed her.

He was to be her husband and she had not met him but once before. She knew who he was, vaguely. He worked at the studio as an actor. He was the son of an influential South Carolina politician who had a family fortune in the tobacco trade. But she had only met John Laurens once before her wedding day was set for the day of her 18th birthday and not a single day later. A week after watching her life be signed away into his hands he had paid her a visit.

Another courtesy to George, she was sure.

He had arrived with no specific plan, and walked through the gardens with her, talking now to her for almost an hour straight. She had even tried placing both tea and whiskey before him to shut his ramblings, both attempts failing miserably as he continued on about himself. He visited for almost two hours and had not asked her a single thing about herself.

He was to be her husband and he did not know a thing about her.

They met four other times during the short engagement, most of which were public niceties, another courtesy to George. There was not a single newspaper, magazine, or television hour that did not wish to have some kind of word with her on the topic of her wedding. None of them dared to advise her, she had been out planning the very best in the country since her earliest teenage years. A popular anecdote she had heard more in the past few months than she had anything else in the rest of her life went as following:

The Pope had come to visit the re-elected Franklin Delano Roosevelt in the White House but found the most pleasant time in the company of the most eligible girl in America, all the way on the West Coast.

The crowd was lovely.

That is what George had told her with a peck of a kiss to her cheek before he took his seat. She would walk herself down the aisle.

The harp and violins played as the grand doors to the ballroom opened on her, exposing her to the crowd and their whispers. The ceremony looked stunning. It was just as she had imagined it when she was little.

She only now began to wish that she had imagined the man at the end of the aisle so that there might be at least something she could find fault with.

There were familiar faces among the crowd that she passed on her long and slow walk to the man at the other end of the grand room. The clicking echo of her heels on the floor being the only thing keeping her trembling legs on course, but even worse was searching as discreetly as possible for those familiar faces. Anything to not have to face the harsh reality of who— no, of what— waited for her at the end of the crowd.

Among the crowd, her eyes locked with another blonde-haired man and she begged herself not to look desperate. He saw her looking too, but he managed far more composure than Adrienne did. Of course he did.

He must be thrilled.

Adrienne had the thought before she could stop herself. John Andre was another executive at the studio alongside George. Before her engagement, there had been pressures from all around for the two of them to marry. It would be a fitting trade, they justified, the daughter of an executive to the wife of an executive. It was a natural transition.

Perhaps that is why he had not spoken out about her engagement and marriage being written into her contract. He stood there, pretending he was not looking at her in his black tailored tuxedo, hair done in the most fashionable way with a small wave curl to it. He pretended that she was not on a death march.

He pretended far better than her.

He had his vices, that much she knew, but he was respectful. He spoke with her, not just to her. She knew him. She knew him and even though she had never found him more than physically attractive she found herself wishing it was him at the end of the aisle, and not for the first time since her engagement.

Today was her wedding day.

In a few minutes, she won’t be engaged anymore.

In a few minutes, she would be married.

In a few minutes, she would be married to a man that did not know a single thing about her.

She would be married to a man in less than a few minutes, and suddenly Adrienne understood all those runaway brides, leaving their fiance’s at the altar. Her heart pounded, hammering in her chest as she composed herself with a warm indifference. She had been doing so well. Then she saw him.

John Andre was an executive at the studio with George. There was pressure from all around for them to get married.

It was a fair trade.

He remained silent for his own sake. One cannot be forced to marry a woman who already belongs to a husband of her own.

She would be married and he would remain a bachelor till the end of his days, just as he wanted, receiving pity for her engagement everywhere he looked, exempting him from the very idea of marriage. Exempting him from being held accountable for his vices.

He must be thrilled, signing her life away to a man who doesn’t know a single thing about her for his own peace of mind.

It was a fair trade.

He had played the game and played it well.

He had won. And it was fair.

This will all be over soon, and she could find solstice in the stars over the sleepy Manor estate, talking to a ghost from the lawn as if he never left her. He had never left her, calling her to look up and scour the sky for stars whenever she felt lonely.

He had called her “my star.”

She was his star, and soon it would all be over. She could disappear into the night and be with the stars, chatting with ghosts from a happier past.

It will all be over soon.

She was looking through the crowd for familiar faces.

She was doing so well. And then she saw him, in the doorway she had just come from, a man in a finely tailored tuxedo and a wide smile in his eyes with an odd grey color to his hair. “It will all be over soon.”

And she heard him from the other end of the aisle, loud and clear, as if he were right beside her, as he should be.

Executive’s daughter married,

Media magnet meets Southern industry

John Andre: Hollywood’s Most Wanted Bachelor Remains Unwed

It was easy to feel remorseful, heroically guilty when you had nothing at stake.

No real risk to gamble.

It was the prisoner that escaped the hanging and looked sympathetically to the damned, fingers crossed behind their back. That was John Andre on this fine nuptial day.

If it had been him standing at the end of the aisle, where another John stood, he would be less prone to sympathy and instead resentment. Resentment of having his wings clipped and arranged around him, in exchange for a slip of a girl whom he felt no connection with.

By no connection, he meant romantic or intimate or lustful- none of the trilogy of connections worth considering matrimony.

Instead, he felt an observer's connection, a connection of pity, of sympathy- lightly powdered amusement and a genuine kindness that came from recognizing another piece on the chessboard of the older generation.

You could have as much power or success as you wanted in this city, as an executive you would assume John had made it to the top, and yet you would always be a puppet on someone else’s string.

Ask any man and it would be a woman, a mafia deal, a boss, an older competitor, or simply the moths that floated around the sparkles of fame ready to consume you if you stepped out of line.

[flying-elliska]

one of the most impactful things I have read lately are two of French author Edouard Louis' books, Pour en finir avec Eddy Bellegueule and Qui a tué mon père (translated into English as The End of Eddy and Who Killed my Father). It's been two months and I'm still thinking about it.

The first book is an 'autobiographical novel' about the author's childhood growing up as an obviously gay boy in one of the poorest areas of France, until he leaves and reinvents himself as a writer. It's fraught with bigotry, abuse, bullying, violence, deprivation and social despair, and it's one of the most harrowing things I have ever read. It reads as many things as once : a recognition of trauma, an angry exorcism, a cry for society at large to pay attention, and to be honest, as a horror story.

It was criticized by some in France as portraying the working class in a manner that was too negative, which tells me they missed the point entirely...ironic for a book by someone who actually grew up poor - one of my least favorite things ever is progressives telling a marginalized person they can't talk about their own experiences because they don't fit the desired mold. (The French love to romanticize the working class and I'm pretty sure it's often an avoidance mechanism.)

The point of the book is so obviously not about 'look at how terrible and bigoted those poor people are'. Little Eddy spends a big part of the narrative trying to escape - himself at first, then his family/circumstances and the persistent homophobia everywhere. In the end of the book, he finally manages to get accepted into a fancy high school in the city on a scholarship and tries really hard to fit in. The last scene of the book is a bunch of his - educated, upper/middle class - classmates throwing homophobic taunts at him, starting the cycle anew. I can't think of a clearer way to say 'this is not a story about a sad gay boy escaping the evil bigoted countryside for the city and then everything was wonderful!!!! this is a story about a systemic, pervasive problem.'

One of the key arguments of the book, to me, is how homophobia, sexism and bigotry in general are both a product and a reproduction mechanism of social and economic exclusion. For instance, he describes how the norms around what it means to be a man in his village (being tough, disobeying authority, quitting school early to go work at the factory, drinking alcohol, neglecting your own health, fighting over women, repressing your feelings, etc) perpetuates the cycle of poverty ; but again this isn't 'oh these people are so stupid' and more 'these people are trapped'. Because he makes it evident how degrading and dehumanizing poverty can be, this masculinity reads as a desperate attempt to cling to a certain amount of dignity - it's an extremely dysfunctional coping mechanism. At the same time, anyone falling outside of the mold is violently ostracized (like Eddy, who tries and fails to fit in). So the system keeps reproducing itself.

In Who Killed my Father, the author makes his political argument clearer. This is more of an essay, centering on his father, arguably the most complex figure in the first novel. The man is an angry, bigoted alcoholic who makes his family miserable ; at the same time he is the son of an abusive father who makes a point of honor to never hit his kids or wife even though it's very normalized in this context. In this essay the author keeps talking about the moments of almost tenderness with his father that haunt him, the picture he has of him doing drag in his youth, the fact that the father tried to leave the village when he was young to find a better life for himself with a close friend but failed and had to come back - the moments of what-ifs, of trying to struggle free from the cycle, when the system appears almost fragile and not so unbreakable after all, that the son kept holding close like a sort of talisman.

The narrative is structured around the fact that his father injured his back working in a factory and that he had to keep doing physical labor afterwards for money, instead of resting to recover, until it completely destroyed his body. Now he finds himself bed-bound at 53. Louis inquires into who is responsible for this premature 'death'. After considering individual choices, he turns towards political decisions - the successive governments, left and right, who have been destroying the French welfare system for decades and accelerating inequality. The point is to step out of the neoliberal obsession with personal responsibility and who is guilty and who is a bad or good person, and look at systems.

An element that isn't focused on but hovers over the story constantly is that this village is one where the majority of the population consistently votes for the extreme right National Front party in most elections. The book is too angry and nuanced to be some stupid "it's not their fault that they're racist because they're poor!" argument. It doesn't make any excuses for how awful this is but instead illustrates how dehumanization replicates itself, how people being denied basic dignity leads to them wanting to deny it to others. If you want to really understand the rise of the far right you have to look at where the inequality comes from in the first place, and how easy it is for people in power to wash their hands of it by blaming the bigoted masses. (Just like you can blame societal ills on minorities ! Two for one strategy.)

Towards the end of the essay, the author talks about how proud his father is of his son's literary success - for a book who clearly depicts him as a horrible person ! And this is a man who has spent his life openly despising anything cultural, because it never showed him a life like his own. But maybe now he feels seen, now he knows people want to read about these things. Maybe there is a reclamation of dignity through looking at the horror head on. Maybe his son somehow slipping through the cracks of the cycle gives him more room. The man stops making racist comments, and instead asks his son about his boyfriend. Most importantly, he asks his son about the leftist politics he's engaged in. They talk about the need for a revolution.

I think what strikes me the most is this attitude of "wounded compassion" that permeates the book. What do you do when your parents are abusive but even after you grow up, you can't help but still love them, and you know they've been shaped by the system that surrounds them ? Recognizing, speaking the harm is essential. You need to find your own freedom, sense of worth, and safety. You need to dissect the mechanisms at hand so they lose at least some of their power over you. You need to find people who love and believe you. But then what? Do you dismiss your persistent feelings of affection and care for those who hurt you as a sign you're just fucked up in the head ? You could just decide to never speak to them again, and it would be justified, but is that really what is going to heal you the most? It's important to realize you have the choice. But there are no easy conclusions.

This makes me think of a passage I have just read in Aversive Democracy by Aletta Norval. The essential ethos of radical democracy, she says, is about taking responsibility for your society, even the bad parts, instead of seeing them as a foreign element you have to cleanse yourself of. It's too fucking easy for queer progressives, especially the middle class urban kind, to talk about dumb evil hicks, to turn pride into a simple morality tale, and forget that any politics that don't center the basic dignity and needs of people are just shit. The injury is to you and by you and you have a duty of care just as much as a duty of criticism. (And this is obviously not only applicable to class matters.) You can't just walk away and save your sense of moral purity. (This is not an argument that the oppressed are responsible for educating the oppressors ; it's about how privilege is not an easy simple ranking and it is too damn easy to only focus on the ways in which you are oppressed and forget the ways in which you may have more leeway.)

There is no absolute equivalence between political and family dynamics but the parallel feel very relevant somehow. Several truths can coexist at once : you needed help and it was not given. You were let down. It's important to recognize that people are responsible of how they treat each other. You need to call out what isn't ok and stand up for yourself. At the same time, there is a reason why things are like this. Making people into villains is often bad strategy (within reason!), and in the end, easy dichotomies are often an instrument of power. The horrors you have been through might have given you a very specific wisdom and grace you do not have to be afraid of ; you are not tainted by your compassion (it is very much the opposite of forced forgiveness ; it has walked through the fire of truth.)

To me these books fit into what French literature does best, sociological storytelling a la Zola or Victor Hugo - the arguments aren't new and they can come across as heavy handed, even melodramatic. But I'll argue that the viscerality is the point, how the raw experience of misery punches through any clever arguments about how exploitation persists for the greater good of society. Really worth reading if you can do so with nuance.

[thattimdrakeguy]

Weirdly enough Red Robin is the series I’d be most scared to review, because for obvious reasons I imagine more than any other character it’s the Tim fan base (I won’t say fandom, because I feel like that gives a different connotation nowadays. and it’s a bunch of chill, un-interactive but very passionate, chaps) that follow me.

And I’d just get sooo many people giving me nit-picks, and telling me stuff I already know.

Cause I can say anything against Teen Titans 2003, New 52, Rebirth, and Wonder Comics stuff cause that’s the generally agreed upon stuff that you can complain against for Tim. Cause like, to not play dumb to it, this whole Bat-Family fandom acts like there’s freaking laws to abide by if you don’t want a bunch of batty (not a pun, not even saying not a pun in sarcasm lol) fans and stans down your neck. Normally involving certain characterizations or comics that, honestly, aren’t even usually the more accurate ones, but the contradicting ones that don’t make a lick of sense, and that’s not even talking about the straight up fanon ones.

Not to say I wouldn’t get why it’s the Red Robin series that’d get people to give me crap out of all the Tim stuff, because I do. It’s a lot of peoples entry to Tim, and it’s pretty heavy implications of suicidal ideation, and more so obvious mental breakdown journey across continents means a lot to people. I can get why, and if it wasn’t those characters in it, I’d think it was great too.

Also I know for a fact people would act like I’m just bias for 90s Tim, and point out Timmy’s in a teddy bear hoodie in my header. Cause it’s the most weakest defense someone could possibly make cause they’re lacking an actual point. Like they know everything a fucking ‘bout me, when they don’t, I’m just allowed to think my own stuff, and I’m allowed my dang comfort art, so blah blah blah. I’ve proved myself enough. I don’t need some random dismissive guys random approval or not, but man can it be annoying when someone thinks they’re smart about it.

Like basically put, it would be very exhausting to go through the many different series and years of comic book content to explain why I think the way I do, when all the other person has to say is “I like this series a lot, and it means a lot to me, it’s story about depression, and plus it’s Tim being at the button of his sanity so-- And I think this person is stuck on 90s Tim” cause like I freaking get it, and acting like cause I prefer a different Tim comic means my opinion isn’t valid, is the most childish thing ya can really do. Like I love 90s Tim the most for a reason, and I started reading Tim as Red Robin first, ya ninny.

But to just be honest, it is an incredibly flawed series that has overall, in the long game, soiled the character of Tim Drake, and directly influenced the New 52 and beyond depiction of him. Not to give Lobdell an excuse, I just find it really odd that people getting praising it as the peak of Tim content when it’s even caused some really freaking toxic fandom beliefs.

When some of the most important scenes in the series are so botched that it has genuinely made people despise other characters when I don’t even think they were portrayed well for that to make sense. The messy inconsistent writing as it went between two different writers causing some absolutely terrible characterization for Tim that isn’t even always consistent within the series itself because FabNic is just awful, and how forgettable most stuff after the first story is.

That first story I can understand the love for it. But people treating the whole series as a whole like it’s a great journey of long-term story development just feels like a real bad describer for it. Because to me by the end of it’s run it caused Tim to be put in the terrible spot that he’s only now escaping from little under a decade later. As well as only really starting cause people in the company didn’t like Tim and the characters around them as much as you’d hope.

In total, I honestly feel like if it wasn’t released during a time were the common tastes were very edgy and emo-esque, as well as around the time the online fandom spaces were only really then being formed in a way that was practical for casual interaction and discussion, and being the only series titled “Red Robin” therefore people seem to think it’s Tim’s variation of “Nightwing”, when it’s honestly not, it wouldn’t be a series that highly regarded.

I’m not saying the whole thing is a pile of shit, cause it’s also frankly not. There’s some powerful stuff in there, and some moments that really do hit super hard in ways that don’t feel superficial. Cause another thing people don’t seem to understand that when I say his characterization isn’t good in it, does not equal me saying “He is not the same exact character he was 15 years before the series came out”, it legitimately just means I feel they took the character to places that felt more forced than genuine, or just had him stuff that goes against what he’d do for the sake of just being edgy as if it’s deep, even during his circumstances and it created people having a false understanding of who Tim is at his heart, that made it incredibly difficult for Tim to get a good story for basically a freaking decade.

It’s a series I want to review because I have genuine things to say about it, but when ever I do say anything about it I feel like I see several sub-posts that are almost undeniably about me (hasn’t happened for a while cause I don’t really bother talking about stuff I don’t like anymore, cause life's hard enough, and I’ve seen the worst end of a lot of people from it) trying to downplay me, because they got defensive about it, rather than actually trying to process what I meant by things instead of just assuming it cause it’s touchy for them.

Like I’ve openly shit on Damian’s most popular series’, and accepted fandom malarkey, because I legitimately think they’re overhyped as could be, not that great, and only have the popularity they do through bandwagoning and going along with things. And I did that while knowing how defensive the Damian fandom is, and how quick they are to just leak out nasty assumptions or outright suicide bait you (yes I remember someone tried to defend me by suicide baiting someone else, but fuck them too, I never defended them or asked them to. idgaf which fandom does it. i’m clearly not on anyone's team. this isn’t a fucking sports game).

I’ve even straight up shit on pretty much every single Jason story except Under the Red Hood, while defending some Robin Jason stories, and I haven’t even got crap on me for that, which is honestly strange. Surprisingly just got told “Ya know what. Fair point. I can accept that. I don’t agree, but I can accept it.”. Which given what I have been shown of the Jason fandom I expected much worse, but they’ve honestly been really chill with me. Me and the Jason fandom has been actually some of the most pleasant interactions I’ve had outside my own bubble.

The majority of Steph’s existence as a character I’ve criticized and gotten crap on it, but honestly I found the response of countless anons going “YEAH MAN I AGREE WITH YOU” and going way harder on her than I ever did to be pretty dang annoying, and even more annoying cause people kept thinking I said stuff I freaking didn’t out of it. So every now and again people will just straight up lie about me to my face. Like you try to talk to someone that’s been preparing to talk to you by fighting an imaginary version of yourself. It’s pretty difficult if I had to be honest. Talking ‘bout bias’s like I didn’t write TimSteph fan fictions before I realized they weren’t that great and didn’t work, while realizing that I honestly didn’t think Tim was into girls in-general.

But, to get back on topic, with the Tim fandom it’s less like, open faced attempts to make you feel like a garbage human being, and more just straight up rudely dismissive as quite often the ones I’ve seen do it try to portray themselves as some calm knowledgeable unbias source of Tim knowledge.

And there’s a different sensation of annoyance at that.

Like what is the point of trying to pretend to be some source of knowledge and for a few comradery, while also being a dismissive person that first has to make others seem lesser.

And there’s some that I’ve seen do it that I don’t even think are dicks honestly, and have no problem with it, cause it’s just so innocently “I just really like the series and still think it’s good”. That I’d be confused why people would think I have a vendetta against everyone else. I’ve never been like, straight up offended more than once over the specific topic of Red Robin. But it is a thing that makes me like “I’ll get so many people giving me crap over having a different opinion for this won’t I”. And get some people trying to validate just being a bit of a fucker to me for no good reason.

So like, may or may not write a Red Robin review, but I might not cause despite quite a few people in the Tim fandom being quite chill about it, there’s quite a lot of people that are low-key toxic about it, and a lot of bad fandom things came out of it as well.

[hualianff]

To Fall, To Ascend (Is Human)

Haunted Past – Sophism, Isabella LeVan

XL was God’s favorite Angel who helped pioneer the new era where Angels were tasked with watching over humanity. No, XL never despised the humans, nor hated them for taking up all of God’s attention. If anything, XL followed in God’s footsteps, cherishing humans as creatures that deserved everything life had in store for them.

But if XL could wish for one thing, it would be to love as freely as humans are allowed—encouraged–to do. Angels were created out of God’s will, and God had not permitted his children to maintain close relationships of any sort. This meant the nature of Angel-to-Angel romantic relationships was entirely unexplored.

Up until XL had crossed paths with a messenger Angel who had just ascended from Earth.

They didn’t have names like humans gave themselves. XL could only refer to himself as “I” or “me,” and to others as “they” and “them.” God was seen as “Father,” and that one messenger Angel came to be known as “He” and “Him.”

Or simply: “The One.”

They talked more than what was appropriate for Angels who merely worked in the same area, but XL enjoyed those conversations just as much as the work XL did.

Perhaps even more.

When ample time was free of work, XL would invite Him to his own home, which was grand in scale because XL was God’s favorite child, after all. In exchange for a place to stay, He would tell stories of the mortal realm, where humans mingled in their insignificant manner, none the wiser to the influence of the entities above and their creator.

XL listened with eager fascination, and the messenger Angel’s eyes seemed to shine brighter than the rays that graced heaven’s skies.

Like a moth to a flame, XL was drawn in.

God noticed, of course. God had eyes everywhere, especially on his special children. When questioned about the time spent with the same, particular messenger Angel, XL brushed the concern away, reasserting his devotion to his one and only heavenly Father, and left it at that.

The next time XL saw The One, they’re both in the mortal realm, walking amongst humans as if that’s where they were meant to be all along. In that moment, XL felt something akin to a spark within his chest.

Time is relative depending on how you choose to spend it. What must have been one century seemed merely like the ebb and flow of the wind, traveling with no predetermined destination.

Limitless, but not timeless.

And on the day marking the hundredth year of their first encounter, XL—along with the others who followed his example of internalizing selfish desires and thus, abandoning their dedication towards humans—was cast out of heaven. No warning, no pre-amble, no chance to atone for his sins.

XL fell into the dark abyss while the open wounds on his back bled, and bled, and bled, all the way down to the depths of Hell.

If only he could have said goodbye to Him.

When XL fell from grace, the beginning of a seven-day-long thunderstorm took place. The skies were dark and gloomy, not a hint of sun peeking through, and the rain showers never ceased their downpour. Out of the four of the seven days, XL’s messenger Angel was in the mortal realm doing business. When that Angel ascended to the heavens to find God’s favorite had been thrown out of heaven, the messenger Angel rampaged like nothing anyone had seen before. Anguished screams pierced the air, and for the briefest second, the absolution of peace in the heavenly realm became uncertain.

To the human eye and ear, a couple of flashes of lightning and booming thunder was all it appeared to be; the messenger Angel challenged God directly in combat, enraged that His beloved had been unjustly rejected from the place he belonged in the most. No more than three thunder strikes later, the pouring rain eased up, and a mysterious glow lingered in the sky. It flickered briefly before burning out to oblivion.

Once again, God showed no mercy.

The fallen Angels, without their heavenly essence, became a different class of creatures by default. The demons were born just like every other creation, characterized by an innate evil that came with opposing God’s word in heaven. Angels who once completed their orders without a second thought, now monsters who felt the same emotions as humans and had the power to corrupt in the deadliest ways possible.

In the beginning, there were those who loved and those who hated, but they were all killers in the end.

The fallen angels became the original demons lurking in the realm of Hell, responsible for punishing humans who had sinned in the same ways they had. Souls that survived their punishment sentence were then converted into demons themselves to increase Hell’s numbers. These created secondary demons, turned by the original line of ex-Angels. And with this process, the realm of Hell began to grow.

Nothing compared to the beauty, structure, and peace up in the Heavenly realm. XL would know because he contributed to a major part of its establishment. During the first several decades in Hell, XL did not let his emotions consume him. Deep down, he knew that he had done the best that he could. His values would not change simply because he was no longer God’s favorite child.

XL loved humans, so much so that though he had learned of their fickle ways, he still yearned for their simpler life.

Most of all, the one thing that tethered XL to his sanity the most was His Angel. His beloved. They had been together for one hundred years, and XL wished he had one hundred more. But that was the greed inside him speaking.

Truthfully, XL didn’t know if he would see his messenger Angel again. It had been XL’s fault that he led Him down the path of temptation. If not rejected from heaven, would He really want to follow XL down to Hell’s ruins?

Could love somehow prevail to allow XL and His Angel to reunite?

One century passed, and XL scavenged as a lowly demon with very little power. Another century went by, and still, there was no sign of XL’s beloved. XL had patiently waited all this time, but he was not the same creature he was when first falling from heaven.

At the turn of the second century after his fall from grace, XL’s core began to rot. To wither. To warp. Slowly but surely, the corruption overtook his soul. For even the model Angel that he once was, XL could not repress the evilness inside. All the love XL once embodied turned into pure hatred and vengeance.

The time had come for Hell to have its first official ruler.

XL began collecting souls at a terrifying rate, torturing them in hopes of converting them into his subservient demons. Over the process of the next century, XL amassed over millions of disciples, and began conquering the territories of Hell.

326 years after his banishment, XL now bears the title the King of Hell. Other names he is known as including the Great Demon Lord, Satan, and Lucifer. Just like the pitiful God that he had once served, XL rules with a bloody-fist, no mercy or compassion left in his permanently damaged soul.

***

XL wakes up with a choked gasp, curling into a small ball as his lungs wrack with the need for oxygen. He heavily coughs into his pillow, body shuddering in pain, sweating profusely from...whatever nightmare he had been having.

It’s the same one, the third time this week.

When XL’s breathing finally evens out, he shifts onto his back, eyes boring up at the pitch-black ceiling. Blinking his eyes shut and squeezing them shut, XL tries to remember what he had dreamt of.

There were no stark images or familiar faces that stood out; just the deafening, monstrous shrieks of tortured figures, the unbearable heat of the–was it the sun? And the iron scent of blood in the air. The sensations had been vivid...almost too real.

Thinking about the nightmare proved to be too exerting when the throbbing in XL’s head increased ten-fold. Reaching over to his nightstand where a cup of water and a bottle of pills sat, XL robotically swallowed a few melatonin capsules with a huge gulp. He then settles back under the covers, in the comfort—and safety—of his own room.

Moving out of his and SQX’s apartment had been a tough decision. Perhaps the sudden change of environment sent XL’s body into a temporary shock, in need of time to adjust.

But it had been a necessary decision. Especially after XL was miraculously hired by a corporate business in desperate need of a custodian, with a more-than-decent pay, the desire to move into his own space was a no-brainer.

Now, if only XL could get a good night’s rest. He already needs his caffeine fixes throughout the day to properly function. When XL begins his new job next week, he’ll need all the energy he can get.

《II》

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Part 11

Woo, so while I'm in a mad rush to clean my house in preparation for new windows TOMORROW. While I've been cleaning, this story WENT OFF in my head and I was, in a mad dash to get it all down on my breaks. Oh the storm is a- brewin! And if you don't at least want to scandolously and in an outrage and a gasp- yell 'You bitch!' at the end of the chapter, I will have failed you. Becuase I was yelling that writing it.

Thank you to @kriskukko for letting me borrow her regency era orc art and to @punkhorse96 for your amazing feedback. Hehehe.

Blood For Gold

Part 11

“So what can you tell me about Charlotte?” Zax pressed as he helped pick out jewelry for you to wear for dinner among your jewelry that had been brought from your home and that had just recently been given to you, looking for more of your Kilan style pieces.

“I’ve only known her for a couple of days, she’s very nice, so far at least.” You answered.

“And what can you tell me about Jane?” Ocearian posed as he finished getting dressed himself, smoothing out his clothes and appraising how he looked in the full mirror as all three of your brothers converged in your room while their own rooms were getting prepared.

“Oh don’t you start anything with her. She’s a very sweet, kind, but very innocent girl. In England women are kept purposefully naive and ill informed and powerless and are practically property of their fathers, brothers and then husbands. Her parents are monsters. More vicious than any wolf or viper that would make the most stone cold dragonborn moura in the Qing Dynasty or every devil in hell consider returning to a path of righteousness to the Creator. They are very abusive to her, mentally, emotionally and physically and the only reason it’s not sexually too is because her virginity is considered sacred. They hurt her to control me when I had to live with them at Broadcove when they found they could not hurt me all the ways they wanted to. English custom and culture demands that she is never to be left alone with any man for any reason except her own father, who is the most dangerous of all. All she has to keep her from ruination and disgrace is her own innocence and honor and virginity which all dangles precariously by a thread. Her parents hate me. They despise me and have made my life worse than any hell in existence since I came here and it is only because I have leverage and blackmail on them that I’m surviving them so far.” You revealed adamantly.

“Oooh, blackmail? What kind of blackmail?” Axal asked as he came over and practically sat in your lap at your vanity in the room before he touched up your makeup again from his vantage point.

“Spill, I need it. All of it.” Axal insisted.

“Ramsey has five mistresses and several illegitimate heirs and his favorite mistress is Audrey Rogers at The Red Velvet Rope which is a moura whorehouse here in London Towne that he goes to on a weekly basis.” You informed him.

“No not on him, I mean that does make things fun for me, but on the Morrigans.” Axal prompted.

“No, I’m not playing my ace just yet. Not unless I need to.” You shook your head no.

“So it’s an ace. That means it’s very solid proof.” Axal grinned triumphantly.

“It is and it’s substantial.” You allowed.

“Ace of spades then.” Axal surmised.

“Ace of spades.” You confirmed to Axal before turning to Ocearian again.

“But Jane is way too sweet and innocent for anyone to mess with her and I will go down swinging to protect her, she’s the closest thing to a real friend I’ve had since I came here. All my other friends in the last year I had to pay to be so. Jane suffers enough from the hands of her parents, she deserves better than anyone trying to toy with her.” You insisted again.

“I would never toy with her! She’s divine. And there’s mutual attraction, genuine mutual attraction.” Ocearian insisted as you resigned yourself with a sigh because you could see his feelings in his eyes.

“Then court her properly, according to English culture and customs because nothing else will do. But again, her parents will shoot you down. She is their pawn and they are not about to let her go to Dorierra of all places, they probably want her to stay on the English Empire side, not anywhere else. She has a little brother who is to inherit everything and even if her parents were to be struck by lightning tonight, he would then have say in everything and he’s been brainwashed by his parents to hate me too and hate all mouras in turn.” You warned him.

“Even with your ace of spades? They wouldn’t reconsider?” Axal prodded.

“No. And it’s because of that ace of spades that they probably never will either.” You answered.

“Is the ace of spades also the reason you’re a shakan now?” Axal asked as your brothers paused to hear your answer.

“...yes and no, it’s very complicated.” You reluctantly answered before you noticed the time.

“Come on, we need to finish getting ready and go down to dinner.” You told them, not wanting to talk about it any further.

Demsey’s jaw fell to the floor when you and your brothers came to dinner just a few moments later than everyone else, all of you wearing color coordinated and matching outfits as you were clearly dressed in a style he had never really seen before as he barely noticed that Calla and Bennie and their brothers had done the same, choosing to don the style they were most comfortable in of their own cultures and quarters.

You had a little top on, that barely covered your breasts but your middle was bared as was your back but you were wearing a sheer shawl and to see your gold moura marks on such intimate parts of your person, he still couldn’t help but remember Aurdra Draft’s marks. But he was sure that yours were even more luxurious and numerous than hers had been and your skirt was very poofy and full but the embroidery and the fabrics used as well as the clearly moura ethnic jewelry, had you looking like a foreign princess yourself and had himself ready and willing to pledge himself to you and follow you to the ends of the world and forgetting every rule of decorum as he couldn't help but stare longingly and desirous as he dared and one coy look and smile from you and he swooned as he practically elbowed his way to sit next to you at the table which delighted you that he would do so.

“Oh Father, since we are expecting Audra’s family the day after tomorrow, in only three days, the Midnight Peacock has it’s Volto Masqurade, I thought we should all go and attend.” Ramsey insisted to his father.

“Oh absolutely.” Gregori agreed.

“Also, it was suggested we have an official Kamoba battle.” Ramsey added as Axal let his pinky graze the outside of Ramsey's thigh and grinned when Ramsey subtly squirmed but clearly had a physical reaction to his advance before Ramsey reached under the table and grabbed Axal's knee and tried to give it a warning grip but all that accomplished was Axal becoming emboldened even more.

“Oh that sounds magnificent, Darling you must agree to such a request.” Yalin urged Gregori as she uncharacteristically sat to his immediate left while Ramsey sat to his immediate right.

“It has been a very long time since the palace of Windsor has seen a Kamoba battle, we will have to do all we can for a proper one.” Gregori readily agreed.

“What’s Kamoba?” Demsey asked curiously.

“It’s a mix of several games. Do you have a game where it’s like- capture the flag of an opposing team?” You answered from your place next to Demsey since Axal had taken your former place as you sat next to Yalin per her request as Zax was sitting on the other side of Axal and Charlotte sitting next to him as the two were immediately taken with each other as Jane sat on the other side of Charlotte with Ocearian on the other side of her as Jane as Rian was practically fawning over her and she was with him as well, as shy and reserved as she was but you were worried for her because you knew that the moment her parents would reappear, she’d be stripped from him and it was almost cruel to let anything to blossom between them, as natural as it seemed to be.

But you yourself would be lying if you didn’t enjoy Demsey sitting so close to you. Before it was always across from him. He still smelled good, like fresh, clean laundry and his own spicy personal musk filling your nose and making your feminine folds squish with essence of desire. You of course partially blamed yourself for perhaps projecting your preference for Demsey Draft onto the good Duke and tried to reason with yourself that they were probably two very different people, one was a harlot in a whorehouse and the other was an upstanding Duke of nobility and besides a similarity in looks and voice, probably shared little else in common. But the message didn’t seem to reach your body from your brain because your body was reacting to him the same way it had reacted to Demsey Draft.

Also from this proximate distance, Demsey could smell your luxurious and alluring perfume and your scent in general which was still sending him into a tizzy. He could feel the heat roll off of you in waves and feel your full skirts brush against his leg as he wanted nothing more than to reach down and hold your hand under the table, or better yet, dig his nose into you and find all the sources of those amazing scents. You smelled both clean yet perfumed and decadent and opulent, alluring and divine and if he could bottle this scent, he would, in heartbeat. But he would never sell such a treasure, he would hoard it forever.

“Oh yes of course, it was a favorite of mine as a child,” Demsey nodded.

“Well it’s like that, only it’s also fencing, but the swords and other weapons are superheated so that once you spit oil onto them, so that you more or less breathe fire onto them, then you fight with flaming weapons. But you have to wear special leather armor that’s meant to keep you cool so you don’t burn up or drop from heat exhaustion. Also the Kamoba battle arena is an obstacle course with anywhere from three, to five to seven capture points, or beacons as they’re usually called, and once you capture them, you ignite the charge and they explode into flames and color, like a firework, with colored smoke. And you can either fight one on one or in teams of equal number or even among the sexes, women against the men.”

“But that is never fair because women usually win, like 9 times out of 10.” Axal praised from his spot across from you as he appraised how affected Demsey was by you. You weren’t even really trying that hard to ensnare him and Demsey was clearly already smitten, if you just put out just a bit more effort, you’d have him right where you would want him.

“What?” Demsey asked, not thinking he had heard that right.

“Moura women are fiercer competitors, usually quicker, stealthier and frankly better in every way because women communicate much better with each other and work better together and coordinate beautifully and while the men are usually fighting and arguing with each other about who takes the lead, who does what, while the women have already figured that out and are onto the second or even third or fourth beacon by that point.” Axal explained.

“And nothing will show a moura’s colors better than a round of Kamoba, you’ll see even the sweetest, gentlest moura, show a fierceness and ruthlessness and competitiveness usually only reserved for gladiators but within the Kamoba arena, even the most battle hardened veteran is not match for a moura woman agent. I remember watching Yalin fight Kamoba with.. Oh I forget her name, it was something viper, desert viper of some kind, Yalin had been nothing but sweet to me, but her ruthlessness in that arena sealed the deal for me.” Gregori praised as Yalin giggled gleefully at the praise.

"Loreiris," Yalin supplied.

"Loreiris Amaharas? The Saharan Viper?" You asked, knowing that name well as your brothers also inclined their ears to hear that name.

"Yes, the very one." Yalin Confirmed.

"That's my grandmother on my mother’s side." You revealed before your brothers confirmed that.

"Is it? Oh I didn't realize! How is she?" Yalin asked.

"Still teaching Kamoba. She is a master, I have seen her take on teams of 15 all by herself, she’s usually only armed with a boomerang, a bow and a sword, the fastest round in the records was won by her, less than three minutes." Axal proudly informed them.

"Oh there's no way I'd win a match against her now then." Yalin giggled.

“And Audra is her greatest pupil yet.” Axal praised.

“Really? Oh I knew there was a reason I instantly loved you.” Yalin cooed to you proudly as you blushed bashfully, knowing that in England, women were rather forbidden from taking up the martial arts as you worried about Demsey being put off by such a thing since he was very proper.

But on the contrary, Demsey was now fantasizing about you in full armor swinging a flaming sword and suddenly every fantasy with a battle maiden in his own orcish culture was becoming fulfilled, all he needed was to put your face in his mind’s eye and he was ready to just fall to your feet and propose. However highly improper that would be.

“I have not held a sword in two years, I don’t think my skills have kept that well.” You allowed.

“Oh it’s like riding a griffin, you never really forget.” Yalin waived off.

“And of course it’s always fun to gamble on the teams. I made Yalin’s bride price for the bet I made on her, really I went with my brother to the stables for him to pick out his queen among the favorites and being the third younger brother to the future king, they only allowed me to have the generalley bride price, which the generalley brides are fine but I was on the hunt for extraordinary and low and behold here is Yalin, with her sisters, all of which were in the imbraturi class which is the imperial class that usually only reserved for emperors and kings and the like, which is of course Yalin was in that one so I bet the whole sum on her since she was already set to duel with the Saharan Viper that if she won, and I won the bet, that I would use those winnings to buy her outright, which is of course what happened and betting on you my dear has always been my best investment of my life and one that I will always repeat.” Gregori praised as you sat there in adoration because clearly they loved each other dearly, Gregori and Yalin were proof that the system could lead to happiness and satisfaction in everything while Ramsey felt ill as he looked at you. Because he couldn’t and didn’t feel the same about you. You were a last resort, his last chance at saving grace and you kept yourself withdrawn from him while Axal on the other hand was threatening to unnerve him completely. The way Axal was dressed, had him wanting to rip his clothes off and find the source of that cologne with his mouth into every crook and cranny on Axal and really show Axal not to start anything he wasn’t ready and willing to finish as Ramsey’s touch had only stroked up Axal’s thigh to try to pay back to Axal what Axal was currently doing to him and to feel the thick, heavy bulge along his thigh, made him weak and his pucker was practically winking in anticipation.

“Oh stop. How do you know I didn’t beg Loreiris to lose on purpose to me just so that you could take me home? I was and still am madly in love with you, I was desperate to leave with you one way or another.” Yalin waived off bashfully.

“Because such a thing is one against the rules and would have resulted in an automatic forfeit and two against the code of honor. I’m sure your love for him gave you the fuel and all the power you needed to win.” Axal flattered which got Yalin to preen proudly.

“Well I suppose you’re right, of course one can’t forget the verbal component because while you’re fighting each other with flaming swords, you’re also supposed to be battling wits and trash talk and insult each other in the most artful of ways of course, all while set to music so that your words and actions compliment everything else. There is no greater spectacle than a Kamoba battle, but it will take a few days to prepare such an arena.” Yalin said.

“So wait, it’s capture the flag, but with fencing, but the swords are on fire, while on an obstacle course and the “flags” are fireworks that you have to set off, all while battling with wits all set to music?” Demsey asked as he counted each component on a finger and almost running out of fingers.

“Also while wearing another full body leather suit to save you from the flames but each person or each team rather, depending on what kind of flame oil is used, will leave a mark. So it’s usually black versus white. So one side will wear black leather, the other white. But whenever you get struck, there will be a mark, and depending on the kind of oil and the kind of pigment used, you could get any number of colors marked on you and depending on where you get those marks, it’s points. And usually when playing in teams, there will usually be an archer on either side which sends burning arrows at you from across the arena.” You informed him.

“My head is spinning just thinking about it, how in the world do you manage it all? I’m overwhelmed just thinking about it, I can’t imagine how overwhelmed I would be trying to play.” Demsey confessed which you found comforting that he would be so modest and humble in his own abilities.

“Well that’s why it’s the Dorierran national sport and why the Dorierran army has never seen a complete defeat, because if the games are that intense, imagine how intense we would be on the battlefield or much less any other place where performance is key.” Axal practically purred as you blushed at Axal’s implication because you could also see Axal practically clawing up Ramsey’s leg as he said it and Ramsey blushed and squirmed ever so slightly and you wanted to shake your head by how hard and fast Axal was onslaughting Ramsey and appreciated that Demsey was much more subtle and appreciated subtlety in turn. You had come to realize and appreciate how perhaps Lady Kate Whiteale was maybe a little to forward, a little too direct and insistent. Men did like to chase, not necessarily liked to be chased. But Ramsey was surprising you because he was giving Axal that look. That look that said ‘keep it up and I promise you, I’ll torture you with bliss’ look and Axal was giving him an equally heated look.

In your early stable days, you would have discerned that Ramsey would have wanted such an approach and two years ago, you wouldn’t have hesitated in giving it to him, hell even a full year ago, you would have been desperate to do so. But now, you were happy to be more reserved, more thoughtful, more watchful and discerning.

“Really?” Demsey asked in surprise.

“Oh yes. There was only a handful of times the Dorierran armies were somewhat defeated on the battlefield, defending Dorierra and it’s walls but when they met the walls, the whole country can be boobytrapped and it’s the Dorierran women who defeated those armies that had tried to overcome the soldier men and the walls in turn. Moura men can rise and fall, but it’s the women who are the backbone of society and run the country as well as they do. Dorierra is very much a matriarchal society. Whereas here it’s clearly patriarchal. There is no soldier, warrior, gladiator alike more devastating than a moura mother protecting her child.” Axal explained.

“Well, yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Demsey had to agree.

After dinner, Axal and Ramsey practically disappeared while the rest of you retired to the gardens to get an evening stroll in, where Axal and Ramsey’s absence didn’t appear to be noticed by anyone before you asked Amara to go with you to tour the gardens and chose a far corner near the front door where you noticed a discrete carriage was pulled up before you noticed Axal and Ramsey depart from the house, both of them wearing rather unremarkable clothes in the English style as you realized that Axal must be wearing Ramsey’s English clothes because Axal didn’t have any English clothes to speak of, so that they would blend in with any crowd on a busy street, both of them practically giggling giddily as you asked Amara to hang back while Ramsey looked almost like a deer caught in the headlights when he noticed you approaching as his cheeks flushed cherry before Axal said something to him and Ramsey got in the carriage so that Axal left his side to meet you half way.

“Where are you to off to?” You asked Axal as Ramsey was getting anxious as Axal left his side to join yours while Amara stood back as well, to give you and your brother privacy.

“To the Red Velvet Rope to meet Audrey myself.” Axal grinned.

“Oh, well in that case, have fun, actually…” You paused.

“I have a susceptibility there, you must protect me in this respect, I need to know how much that could affect me.” You murmured to him, with a pleading look.

“Of course, anything, what’s his name?” Axal asked.

“Demsey Draft, he looks and sounds almost exactly like Duke Demsey Voyambi, you can’t miss him. But oh is he exquisite, but in English society, it’s technically forbidden.” You praised.

“Consider it done,” Axal kissed your cheeks and winked and left your side to rejoin Ramsey as you did the same with Amara.

“Where are they off to?” Amara asked.

“Oh they’re going out, Axal wanted to see London and Ramsey’s giving him a mini tour apparently, I asked Axal to try to get to know the real Ramsey for me. Because surely with four brothers, who they are when they are with friends or doing whatever it is they do in gentlemen’s clubs is not who they tend to be when they’re around their families.” You explained.

“Of course. You want to see what Ramsey is really like, because you do not think that the person he shows you is the real him?” Amara surmised.

“Exactly. Men especially in English society seem to have a different facet of themselves, one for business, one for socializing, one for family, one for friends. Just like we do I suppose. But I must confess that I pulled you aside for something rather serious. I have so few friends and even fewer people I trust to have their confidence and discretion.” You began.

“Please, count me as one of them, what do you need?” Amara asked. Eager to do whatever she could to help.

“In only a day or two, my family is coming here. And while I’m happy to see them, I don’t trust that the reason for their visit is to purely reunite with me. I have reason to believe that they’ve been invited to come to pressure me and coerce me into accepting a possible proposal from the Dauphin. And I want and need you to know right now, that I will not willingly accept such a thing. We are mismatched and the Dauphin and this castle, while a loving home for Ramsey, would be a gilded cage for me. You see how Yalin and Gregori love each other unconditionally, and I know Ramsey wishes for the same for himself. But I do not care for Ramsey, I have no attraction to him or desire for him, let alone any appetite for him, even if he were the Crown Prince of England, it would not sway me to either have, or find or make up any kind of attraction or affection for him, and I can not bear to enter into another loveless marriage. Broadcove was my prison while I was there. And I do not wish for any other place, even a palace such as this to be my next one. I would rather be penniless and living in a hut on a mountain top but happily married rather than be a Dauphine of Windsor but have no respect for myself or love in my life.” You professed.

“Of course. I have far too many friends who have done nothing but find the richest suitor so that they can live a comfortable life, but there is no peace, or kindness or affection in their comfortable homes. Very few are lucky enough to find love and material comfort, and many have to choose one over the other.” Amara sympathized.

“So if I need to flee from a possible marriage to Ramsey, would you help me?” You asked.

“I would, in a heartbeat. Tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it. I’d even consider going with you if Kate Whiteale’s brother John, who I loathe almost as much as I do Kate were to try to insist on his own addresses to me. I know this sounds crazy but if Storren were to ask me to follow him back to Dorierra, I would probably do it.” Amara confessed.

“Except if you do that, you’d be going to Dorierra as a servant to another moura woman. You could be anything from a laundress, to a cook to a farmer or...any number of things. Because Storren is only a chef in the kitchens back in Dorierra.” You tried to gently caution her.

“I would rather farm vegetables and be happy than be a duchess and unhappy.” Amara insisted herself.

“I’m happy we agree then. Your brother Demsey has offered to assist me if such a measure needs to be taken. But I can not be seen going to his room, nor he- mine without a benign reason, even if it is to keep anything there that would indicate that I would flee, I can’t keep such things in my room, or in the rooms of my siblings. Because they will tell my parents who then will tell Gregori and Yalin, much less the stables or the royal family, but you can not say anything to Storren, because he would most likely report it to Bennie who I wouldn’t put it past her to use that against me and against your family because moura brothers are sadly information pumps for their sisters, as you will see that Axal is for me with Ramsey and I don’t want you to suffer from knowing this and if you told Storren, or anyone else, I would be done for. Ramsey already is trying to entangle my griffin Heavencrest with Charlico and is having them stall together so they will become a true mated pair. If I were to try to fly her away, Charlico would either alarm the stable that Heavencrest was leaving or try to leave with us and I would be seen as stealing Charlico and a bounty would be put on my head and Charlico’s price would skyrocket, so much so that there would be no way for me to pay it, with anything other than my marriage hand or my life. I am trying to talk Axal into getting Ramsey to sell me Charlico so that if I need to flee, I can flee with both of them. But I don’t think Ramsey, let alone Gregori and Yalin would agree to it because it’s just another tie for them to keep me here. But I would rather deal with a heartbroken Heavencrest rather than being in another gilded cage.” You murmured.

“I understand, so how can I help exactly?” Amara asked.

“No one would think anything if I gifted you a trunk full of “gifts”, and no one would think twice about Demsey going to your room and simply moving those “gifts” or putting things from your room to his and if I disguise my fleeing things in a trunk of other gifts, that your brother would then move to his room and no one would think anything of Demsey moving things to the stables, because he is a gentleman and a guest and if he wanted to go for an evening ride, no one would stop him, whereas I would never get even that far without alarming at least the servants.” You proposed.

“Oh of course.” Amara readily agreed.

“And your brother has also offered that if I need to flee, if I send word to him of where I’ve ended up, he’s offered to send me the rest of my belongings. But legally giving him access to any of that is nigh impossible, that is why I want to name you my heir and successor, should I have to flee, I would formally give up all ownership to everything. But I can name you my heir as close friend and confidant. And it would be accepted by the English courts since you are a duchess and of nobility and once you have ownership of my property, can I trust you to return it to me wherever I find myself? Could I count on you for this?” You asked her.

“Absolutely, what do I need to sign?” Amara asked.

“I will write something up tonight and I will give you a trunk full of gifts as well for doing this huge favor for me. But the second trunk will be for my possible fleeing.” You proposed before you hugged each other.

“I wish I was as brave as you, willing to give up a Dauphin, knowing you would be wealthy but unhappy.” Amara murmured.

“And I wish I was like you, knowing what you want immediately upon being introduced to it and not holding back from trying to obtain it.” You offered.

“However, before you decide to follow Storren back to Dorierra, has he explained to you how Dorierra works? And why Dorierra is called ‘The Stables’?” You asked her.

“Uh, not, not really. We haven’t discussed anything like that yet.” Amara confessed.

“Forgive me for being forward, but do you know how sex, conception and thus babies, are made?” You asked.

“Of course I do, my mother has instructed me about such things.” Amara assured you.

“Well then you’re the first non married Englishwoman I’ve met who knows such things then. But there is more you need to know then. Before you get too attached to Storren, you should know that Dorierra has the name- The Stables- for a reason. Every moura wife who lives in Dorierra, is a broodmare, and every moura man is a stud. I’m sure you’ve noticed how it is only Axal and myself that look like true siblings, and that’s because Rian and Zax are only my half brothers. While my parents are married, it is the stables who dictates who has sex with you on any given moment of any given day and the stables has the business of conceiving down to a flawless science, to the point that women know they are pregnant within five days of missing the first day of their courses and they can pinpoint exactly what day and probably the time of conception because it’s all recorded.” You began.

“Every month, the conceive week is spent having sex at least three to five times a day, once upon first waking up and then after every meal and then again right before sleep, where if your husband is not who the stud is, he is removed from the house and sent to sleep somewhere else, usually across the country so there is no chance that his own seed will take root that month, and it is repeated each month and depending on how valuable the genetics that are passed down to possible offspring, either the whole week is spent with the intended stud or the week can be seperated by halves, thirds or fifths, where you have five different studs having sex with you at least five times a day for a week, most moura women pray for pregnancy so that their cunnies don’t get rubbed raw by such vigorous activities, the best studs can cum within a minute so that the woman doesn’t have to endure too much but usually the female orgasm is reserved for the last sex session before bed to promote better sleep for her.” You explained as Amara’s eyebrows practically went up into her hair line in surprise.

“Only when a moura mother is pregnant, is she allowed to enjoy only her husband for the duration of the pregnancy but while she is pregnant and no longer subject to spending her days and nights with others, her husband is still a stud and he will still spend most days and nights either working secularly for the stables or sexually for the stables, so prepare yourself that because you would be a forign wife and therefore, not subject to the stables way yourself and Storren could enjoy your own fidelity, Storren would never be able to give you the same. His genetics are too precious and the reason why moura men are rarely ever allowed to leave Dorierra is to preserve them for moura wives exclusively. Right now the stables are working on creating a pastel version paradise orcs and robin’s eggs orcs out of the current paradise orcs and Storren already has several children by several different ladies, it’s just in the culture there, but the only protection is that mouras are immune to sexually transmitted diseases, but I would fear for you because you have no such protection in your body, and Storren would have to use the very harshest soaps that are made to cleanse the male genatalia to keep from passing anything over to their wives and it’s always used on moura studs when their wives are pregnant to ensure the safety and health of the baby.” You warned her as she looked shocked and almost alarmed, if not a little gutted.

“It is why I wanted to leave Dorierra, because seeing my house father, because there is a distinction between house father and heir father, being sent away from the love of his life for a week every month when she was not pregnant was very distressing but it is just the way it is for moura mothers in Dorierra, and the entire country would collapse because Dorierra needs all the moura brides it can create to sell on the world market like any other broodmare or heffer at an auction.” You furthered as she seemed to take that into account.

“But it’s not like moura brides fare much better. Depending on where you end up, you could be in a harem, sharing a sultan or a shah or sheik with hundreds or maybe even a thousand other women. But in Europa, even a queen rarely has a king all to herself, usually there will always be other mistresses but having to share him with a handful is better than sharing your husband with tens or hundreds of thousands of others at Dorierra. It’s why my own desire for my complete fidelity and the complete fidelity in a mate makes no sense, not to any moura or any other from Dorierra, even here in England, there are whorehouses, and courtesans and mistresses a plenty. But it is why I agreed to marry Edward, because never in his life had he ever had a mistress and he never once used a whorehouse. But moving forward, I don’t know if I could expect the same for anyone else, but my mother blames that on all the fairytales I’m so fond of as a child because a moura- there is supposed to be little to no emotional attachment between lovers, it’s all supposed to be business, but I don’t have the heart or the stomach for such business. I was crushed when I was a little girl and realized why all these men who were not my house father were coming to see my mother and why I didn’t look anything like my house father. And my hier father is one of the most popular studs in Dorierra, he can cum in about two to three pumps and while he’s a charmer and a flatterer and I like to believe that he has some kind of fatherly affection for me, he was more proud of the high bride price I brought in rather than anything else. He has thousands of children and not once has he tried to address me by my name, it’s always pet names, like dearest or darling or sweetheart. Dorierra is probably oversaturated by his genetics, but one can’t argue with these results.” You explained as you looked at the gold moura feather marks on your arms pointedly as Amara did the same, looking at them in a whole new light now.

“But Demsey has never used a whorehouse, at least to my knowledge, he is above such things as is Tzane, Sierge on the other hand, not so much. And my father would never do my mother the dishonor of having any other than her in their marriage bed, while it is true that in the past, orcs were seen to be very promiscuous, now in modern times, we’ve thankfully left that behind, at least in polite society.” Amara insisted.

“Well, keep it to yourself, but that’s probably why I prefer Demsey to Ramsey then.” You hinted which made her happy but you could tell that your word of warning had shaken her a bit.

“I don’t wish to scare you off of Storren, I really don’t, he’s perfectly wonderful and he would treat his future wife like she was a goddess and he’s capable of such things, house wives and house husbands have emotional fidelity, and his figurative heart would be yours and only yours for life should that relationship go in that direction but I feel you should know the whole truth about Dorierra and its culture, if you ever want to make it your home.” You felt compelled to try to clarify.

“Oh, don’t apologize, I thank you very much for telling me. In polite society, we don’t really talk about such things and when I hear about Dorierra referred to as ‘the stables’ I think most of us didn’t have an inkling that it was like that for the whole country, just the moura bride part but it seems the whole country is consumed by it. But as a friend, if you hadn’t told me, I think it would be in a rude awakening if I were to follow him home and get hit with that out of nowhere because Storren hasn’t even hinted at such things, should I tell my sisters about it?” Amara asked.

“If you feel there is a chance for them to form any kind of serious attachment, yes. I think such things are usually assumed. Because native Dorierrans, assume everyone else knows about it because Dorierra has that title, that it’s already implied and I think most don’t realize it’s the whole country, not just a tiny part of it.” You advised.

“But please don’t tell Demsey, or any of my other brothers, or especially my parents. Brothers can be so overprotective, at least English ones, they would demand that we stop all comradery or friendly conversation between us because they are all lovely and we’re just now becoming acquainted and barely even friends and I would hate for this to come between our friendship just because it’s a very stark distinction between cultures and Dauphin and Dauphine did say to keep an open mind. But I fear they would yank us away from them and they would do that just in an effort to protect us but it would be a kneejerk- overreaction, because Dorierran culture would most likely be seen as obscene by them.” Amara pleaded with you.

“Of course, I would think your brothers probably already assume the truth. English women, not so much and I would hate for any of your siblings, male or female alike to be deceived by ignorance.” You reasoned.

“Precisely.” Amara nodded.

“Come, you can help me pack for an escape now if you wish and pick out your presents yourself.” You offered her before the two of you went back into the house.

Meanwhile Benny was halfway through giving Sierge a blowjob, timing her strokes with every piece of dirt he offered on his brother.

“And..and uh, he...he’s used The Red Velvet Rope, it’s a moura whorehouse, at least twice now, he ahhh.” Sierge hissed lowly as he gritted his teeth in pleasure and gripped the armrests of the garden chair tucked neatly away inside the tall hedged with a vice like grip as the sweat of his brow beaded on his forehead with the strain not to make any other noises because every moan and keen he let loose, she stopped and pulled off and every time he stopped speaking she did the same and it was the most gloriously frustrating thing he’d ever endured, to be tortured by pleasure like this and his own pleasure chased away any guilt he had about telling Demsey’s secrets.

“He has gone there twice since he met Audra on the train a few weeks ago, he went there in search of a double for her, because he has been attracted to her since he laid eyes on her.” Sierge managed as Bennie masterfully stroked and fondled his testicles through his ballsack while her nose was buried into the thick forest of hair at the base of his dick as her breath in that area practically alighted with delight since even there, he was sweating.

“And. oh, oh ah, and, um, he found her, someone who looks remarkably like her there, according to him, even her voice was similar enough to induce a fantasy that he was fucking the real Audra and she even has the same nickname as Audra, only her name is Audra Draft,” Sierge panted as his butt cheeks were clenched so tight as he felt like she was sucking his soul out through his dick.

“And have you met her?” Bennie quickly asked before she got back to task.

“No, I’ve, oh, ah, I’ve, gods, I’ve tried, but she’s probably booked solid, the only one close there is an Audrey Rogers who works there, but she’s brunette and married to a minotaur that works there, he goes by “Draft” though. But he’s either not related or not affiliated with Audra Draft. Unless the Draft is an assumed name. Which is possible.” Sierge managed before Bennie decided that he had given her enough, for now before she doubled her efforts and in two minutes flat, he was emptying his extra large load down her throat as his eyes were screwed shut so he didn’t see how Bennie was rolling her eyes and almost glaring resentfully at his manhood for just the practically incessant pumping, it was practically a torrent of cum. He was such a sweaty, hairy thing and just like any other man she had ever manipulated in her life. Claiming to be a “gentleman” but when push came shove or kiss to suck rather, just like all the others, willing to sell out his own family for his own pleasure. No more honor than the average man and nothing remarkable at all in her opinion. And he was barely able to hold out for several minutes and that was her going torturously slow for the sake of pumping information, if she had gotten right to it and kept at it, he wouldn’t last two minutes. He wouldn’t really know how to please a woman at all, all he had ever wanted was his own needs and desires sated, no matter the expense. Typical. But at least she was getting somewhere with him. Calla was moving at a snail's pace and practically twitterpated with Tzane, it was like she was a lovesick school girl still, which didn’t make sense because they were the same age, had the same training, either that or Calla was playing ‘perfectly innocent’ to get his guard down. But still, not the real moura agent she was supposed to be, and not the real moura agent Bennie was.

“Is there any chance that the woman he met there was the real Sultana Audravienne?” Bennie asked once she popped off and appraised her work. Sierge was a sweaty, indisposed mess and she gauged that it would take him no less than half an hour to come back into himself. She practically sucked the soul from him. One of her easiest blows yet before she got up and straightened up.

“Not a chance in hell. No lady worth any kind of nobility would be caught dead in a whorehouse. Plus she’s been in mourning for count Edward Morrigan, the Morrigans would bury her alive if she ever did anything to tarnish the “Morrigan family honor”. And the way Demsey and Amara carry on, they practically tried already.” Sierge said as he managed to get set straight but his whole body felt spent and tired while his head was in those blessed clouds, he was in pure ecstasy, that was the greatest blow of his life.

Bennie giggled.

“Why is that so funny?”

“Audravienne? The Saharan Viper’s greatest protege to date, who if she had stayed in the stables would have been named The Golden Saharan Viper and been the top competitor in the world of Kamoba which is if ballet met the bloodiest, fiercest war ever who is as lethal as she is beautiful, the top bride in all of the Dorierran stables, the top fighter and performer in the stables, who’s more physically fit than any racehorse, who had perfect marks in almost every single category they test for including agentry which means if she wanted to be a damn spy, she could be, who is the gold standard still in the stables, being a victim of anyone? No. Audravienne is the most lethal, devastating and the epitome of the perfect moura bride. She is no victim to anyone, not unless she got way too soft way too fast. She had the potential to bring down empires. And you’re telling me, an aged couple from England? With no royal ties, got the better hand of her? No. Impossible. You know why? Because Audravienne, physically, has rarely ever seen defeat physically and if they tried to abuse her physically she could kill everyone in the house, maids and all and make it look like the plague, if they tried to poison her even, she is immune to every disease and every poison in the world, she’s a master at poisons even. You could line all of the poisons up in the world in shot glasses and she’d shoot them all like whiskey and she’d be able to tell you which was which and tell you exactly how you managed to get all of them and while she’d be drunk off her ass by the end of it she would do it perfectly without a single mistake. Audravienne’s other grandmother, The Jade Empress, who held the last Sultanate state in her iron grip, practically wrote the book on how to manipulate everyone around you to do your bidding with pleasure and do it with the thinking that it was their own idea to begin with and Audravienne excelled at it. She is no one’s victim. Now, would I put it past her to play the victim to your brother if he’s the savior type, is he?” Bennie asked as she sat down on the bench next to him.

“He is. Painfully so.” Sierge realized.

“Then there you go. She’s been working him for weeks, playing the damsel in distress type and getting thirty thousand pounds a year to do it, she’s already confided in me that she has blackmail on the Morrigans and that’s why they’re paying her double what Edward awarded her in his will, she may have even played a helpless damsel to them and let her believe that they can hurt her. But if I’m sure about anything, is that Demsey may only see what Audra lets him see. But now that you know the truth, watch them, if his attachment to her is dangerous in your opinion, you can make him see the facts and the light now won’t you? When we get a proper Kamoba battle, everyone will see Audra’s true colors everyone always does with Komoba. And if your brother Demsey is the proper English gentleman type, he should be put off because no gentleman wants to marry an agent and no orc wants to marry a warrior greater than himself in a world where such things are shunned and frowned upon. And as far as I can tell, then it’ll be done, Demsey will lose interest, Audra will come to her senses, go to Ramsey and you and I can continue naturally then won’t we?” Bennie offered. “As, natural as can be.” Sierge grinned triumphantly.

“Well if you think of anything else “useful” it will be rewarded even more so than this.” Bennie winked as Sierge looked like he was about to explode from delight and lust.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure to be seen somewhere else, wouldn’t want to infringe upon your honor or mine.” Bennie cooed before she got up and strutted away.

“And?” Yalin and Gregori asked as Bennie turned the corner.

“Well Demsey is rather boring, but he still has the fatal flaw every man seems to have, and once Audra becomes aware of it, she’ll come to and see sense. Nothing to worry about and nothing too complicated. No damage to be undone there. Just a passing fancy and Sierge will now be a barrier on Demsey’s end.” Bennie reported.

“Excellent.” Gregori praised.

“You have something.” Yalin gestured to her chin before Bennie wiped at her chin to see a drop of cum had escaped the corner of her mouth, she had thought she had gotten it before but this one was missed.

“Thank you, good night, I have a thread I need to tie.” Bennie excused herself from their presence.

“It’s a shame she’s an orc. If she was anything else, Ramsey should be going after her, she is of the right mind.” Gregori offered to Yalin.

“It’s because she’s an orc that she’s gotten that far with the Voyambis. Besides, let Ramsey have his fun for now with Axal, once we have that Komoba battle, Ramsey will see the light and come to his senses too. Demsey will be disenfranchised, Audra’s little play of damsel in distress will be over and things will go as they need to.” Yalin allowed as they watched Bennie’s frame shrink and vanish into the gardens.

[frostsinth]

Deals with Demons - Pt. 3

Prologue | Part 1 | 2 | MasterList

CONTENT WARNING: 18+ Only. Heavy sexual themes and.. you know, actual sex. Viewer discretion is advised.

Welcome to my new followers! And hello to my regular readers! Thank you all for your continued support. Comments and reblogs are my lifeblood. Feel free to shoot me an ask if you have any questions. Hope you enjoy!

I made my way to the private chambers of the Mother Superior which were set into the back caverns of the mountainside. I knew them to be the most decadent of all the rooms, and had already decided that would be the place to make my own personal quarters. Perhaps I would do some more remodeling. The thought of testing my powers again made me a little giddy. But then I found myself suddenly quite tired.

How long had it been, I wondered, since I had last slept? One day? Two? I couldn’t seem to remember. When I entered the chambers, I headed to the back where the hot springs bubbled up from the mountain’s core.

There were several pools in the cavern, and steam rose steadily from each into the air. My eyes followed the rising steam up to the pillars and archways carved into the rock face; painted and smoothed over the years into an intricate pattern that was beautifully interwoven with the natural stone walls and ceiling. I sighed, looking around, and saw a small pile of soft towels and soaps beside the largest central pool.

I walked to its edge, stripping the simple white dress as I did. Letting it fall to my feet and delicately stepping out of it. As soon as I did, it seemed to evaporate into dazzling sparks of light. I hardly gave it a second glance (it was the least strangest part of my day), slowly easing myself into the hot waters. At least, I imagined they were hot. Their temperature felt the same as the air I had just left, and even as the steam hissed about my body, I felt no difference.

I waded to the center of the pool, where the water level reached my shoulders, and paused there. Dozens of white candles had been left lit around the chambers, bathing it in a relaxing glow. There were even some flower petals floating on the water’s surface, lending a delicate fragrance to the room. I sighed, trying to relax, even going so far as to close my eyes.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

I jumped at the sound of the demon’s voice, spinning around sharply. I had not heard him enter the bathing room. But then, perhaps he had not walked. As he came forward, I felt my eyes slid over his huge body. Blood still ran down over his skin, dripping off him as he moved He was absolutely drenched in it, splashed with evidence of his carnage from his jaws down his chest even in rivulets running down his legs. I felt numbed by the sight of him, and when he grinned at me, even his white teeth were stained scarlet.

I turned my back to him without answering, wading to the opposite side of the pool. I heard the soft splash of broken water, then the sound of his body moving through it. I could even see the ripples bouncing towards me, the petals bobbing on the waves.

“...Do I frighten you, little lamb?” His voice sounded almost teasing, and its rasping quality sent a shiver down my spine.

But I spun back to him stubbornly. “Don’t call me that.”

The water around him boiled, his flames dwindled but still burning and simmering like hot coals, and he waded closer to me. I crossed my arms over myself, suddenly self-conscious and uncertain, and backed a little further away. He bent low, submerging himself in the water up to his mouth for a few steps, watching me with his four beady eyes. Like a strange, four eyed, umber colored crocodile. I saw the clear waters shift to a tint of red, rippling around him as he moved. He straightened back to his full height, and paced closer, reaching out to me.

“How did you know where I was?” I asked him softly, though unsurprised.

His smirk flicked across his lips. “We are connected, you and I.” He had reached me now, and his clawed fingers lightly skimmed over the mark on my chest. “I will always be able to find you.”

The water had rinsed off most of the blood, and just a few long trails streamed down his bare flesh now. I craned my neck back to look up at him, swallowing the dryness that had settled in my mouth.

“Do I frighten you?” He repeated, slipping his arm around my waist and bending over me.

My breath caught in my throat. “You are bound to me,” I said, glancing away, “You cannot hurt me.”

A deep rumbling ‘hmmm’ filled his chest, and he reached up with his free hand to push my damp hair out of my face, water dripping from his fingertips. He traced his hand down my jaw to cup my cheek in his palm. His thumb ran over my lips, and I almost quivered beneath his touch.

“That is not an answer. Perhaps the words of the Mothers resonated in you,” He mused, “Gave you reason to question our deal…. Perhaps you believe you saw your own future tonight.”

I considered that numbly. “...Did I?”

He snorted, leaning down and grazing his lips against my earlobe. “Perhaps. But I doubt it.”

Goosebumps scattered over my flesh at the sensation of his breath against my skin.

“You would not devour me? Given the chance?” I asked bitterly, squeezing my eyes shut as I felt his tail slip around my leg under the water.

He laughed now, and the water splashed about his huge body as he pressed in closer to me. “I will devour you every night, little lamb,” He mewled in my ear, his lips scraping against me as he spoke, “You are my next hundred thousand meals; I would not waste you for one.”

“Don’t call me that.” I said again, breathlessly.

He wrapped his arm farther around me. “What else can I call you?” He murmured against me, “You are a tender, succulent little creature. A lamb brought for slaughter now raised for show.” His tongue lapped at my jaw, and he grazed his teeth down my neck. “My own little mortal plaything. My sustenance for a thousand years, if I feed carefully.”

I put up my hands against his chest, pushing back slightly. He paused, then retracted obediently. Peering down at me with his beady black eyes. I couldn’t read the expression in their foreign depths, but imagined it might have been curiosity.

“I am not your sacrificial lamb, demon. I intended to be sent to you; it was my plan all along to make a deal with you, not something born of desperation.” My voice was still bitter, and I thought about pulling out of his clutches. But I lingered instead, leaving my hands on his chest. Staring at them numbly as I spoke.  “I knew about your arrangement with the Mother Superior and all her other nasty little secrets. I am no pawn in your game,” I raised my eyes and met his gaze stubbornly, “I am a queen.”

He considered that, turning it over in his head. I dropped my gaze again, sighing heavily. Feeling frazzled and tired. After a few more moments, his hand came up to my face once more, his fingertips tracing my jaw, his claws rasping lightly against my flesh.

“All the more reason to savor you…” He murmured, beginning to curl in half to better reach my smaller form. Then his nose wrinkled, and he frowned slightly. “But I will not call you… Theodosia.” He practically spat the word. “It is a horrible name, really. I would despise it if I were you.”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of a demon disliking my name. But I shook my head, relenting. “Fine, but not lamb.”

He grinned again. “How about ‘pet’?” He chuckled at my answering scowl, running his thumb over my lips as he seemed to enjoy doing. “Very well, not ‘pet’ either. Then … ‘My Queen’; if that pleases you.”

I looked back up at him, and found his gaze burning hot. I nodded breathlessly, captured in the dark abysses of his eyes. His tongue snaked out, and he licked his lips.

“Do I frighten you then?” He asked again.

I fell silent, thinking. Trying to sort my own emotions out from the jumble of all the strange new things assaulting me. I looked at him, taking in his great horned head. His sharp, pointed teeth in his face splitting maw. The flickering flames and four beady black eyes. I watched his eyes narrow as I studied him. My own eyes traced down his thick neck, over his huge, knotted shoulders and muscular chest. His clawed hand slowly curled around me as I decided, and I felt my heart skip a beat in answer to his question.

“... A little.” I admitted finally, my voice soft.

His hand traced up my back, drawing small circles with his nails and sending a shiver down my spine. His tongue reached out and licked at my neck and he started to bend over me again.

“That is wise,” He purred against me, nosing my cheek, “You would be a fool not to be,” I felt his grin against my neck as he moved, “And you are no fool.”

I grumbled a little indignantly, squirming under his touch. Uncomfortable with how easily he switched between talking and touching. Or often times simply blended the two together. It was disconcerting. He straightened a little, leaning back to look at me.

“You did not tell me… did you enjoy yourself?” He rasped, studying my face.

I glanced at the blood still dripping down his skin. At his huge horns and smoldering flames. At his sharp, grinning teeth. Then I thought back to the faces of the Mothers, remembering their whimpering and their wails. Their desperation, their begging pleas. The corners of my mouth twitched.

“Yes… I did.”

“Good.” He purred, and then pushed my chin up with his thumb. “...I am hungry.”

My eyes widened slightly. “You did not find the Mother Superior… filling enough?”

“Pah!” He spat, scowling slightly. “A paltry meal; thin and stretched. Like licking watery butter from moldy bread.” His grin returned, and his tongue snaked back out. “Nothing compared to you… My Queen.”

“You have fed twice already,” I noted, drawing in a sharp breath as he skimmed his teeth over my throat again, “And it is you who said taking too much would-”

He interrupted me with a soft growl. His chest shook beneath my hands with the sound. I swallowed, and had to work hard to push down the vicious little voices in my head. Whispering doubts into my mind. Reminding me again that he was a demon. Replaying what the Mother had cried out to me in her last moments. I was powerful now, yes. But only so long as I let him do with me as he wished... 

“You are at my beck and call,” His deep, rasping voice vibrated against my neck as he nipped at my flesh gently, tracing just the tip of his tongue along it. As if he had heard my thoughts. I shivered again at the sensation of his teasing lick, and felt his grin against my skin. “Is that not what you promised?”

“Yes...” I replied breathlessly.

Another soft ‘hmm’ that tickled my neck as it moved over his lips. I felt his tongue lap at me again, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Then his breath hit me heavily, whipping over my shoulders as he sighed, leaning back. I felt his tail uncurl from around my leg.

“However, if you are unwilling, it will not taste as good.”

I opened my eyes again, craning my neck to look up at him. A little surprised at his words. I must have looked it, for he gave me another wicked grin. Baring his sharp teeth and licking his own lips.

“This is my favorite way to feed,” He purred, “But there are other ways… And I am always hungry.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “I simply smelled your… interest, and thought I would be able to feed again.”

I felt my face flush, and turned to the side. I tried to laugh away his words, but it sounded weak and forced. Even to my own ears. I saw his grin returning out of the corner of my eye. I cleared my throat instead, turning around and reaching for some sand soap on a nearby tray.

“The only thing I’m really interested in right now is a nice bath and a soft bed.” I told him, hoping my voice sounded haughty and uninterested.

With my back to him, I reached out of the pool, grabbing the tray and sliding it closer to the edge. I jumped slightly when his hand covered mine, and felt his firm torso pressing against my back as he reached out as well.

“Allow me, My Queen.” He murmured in my ear. 

I resisted the shiver his rasping voice elicited, withdrawing my hand and letting him bring back a palmful of the sand soap. Slowly, gently, he began massaging it into my shoulders. At first, I felt stiff under his touch. But then his big fingers kneaded at my back, into sore muscles I didn’t even know I had. My eyes fluttered, and I sighed. Each of his hands was easily as large as my shoulder blades, if not the whole of my back, and as strong as one would expect. I felt the knots slowly tugging loose, and, despite myself, began to relax.

I rested my bent arms on the edge of the pool and my head on top of them. The soft scent of the soap filled my nose as it mixed with the water and became a soft, bubbly foam around me. His hands moved down, gently but firmly rubbing the small of my back, then my bottom, then slowly working down the back of each thigh.

It felt…. Wonderful. I had never felt anything like it. With a final sigh, my eyes fluttered closed, and I relaxed against the wall. The soft rippling sound of the water moving as he did was the only thing that filled my ears, and it lulled me into an even deeper sense of calm. I heard the droplets falling off his hands as he raised them up, then felt his long fingers slowly begin to work at my hair. He even cupped water in one palm and poured it over my head, careful to keep it from spilling onto my face. His claws reached all the way down to my scalp, and I let a moan slip out for the pleasure of it.

“Careful,” He chuckled softly, “Any more sounds like that, and I’ll think you’ve changed your mind about feeding me again.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his teasing, so lost in the bliss of his hands massaging my scalp. He slid them back down to my neck, kneading his thumbs firmly along my spine.

“Gods, that feels… amazing…” I breathed.

Another rumbling chuckle. “I am a demon of many talents,” His thumbs pressed deep into my flesh, and I almost moaned again, “But pleasuring a mortal is my specialty. And there are a great many roads to pleasure.”

I sighed again, and couldn’t argue. He certainly knew his way around the body. I wondered briefly if other demons had different specialties. And what would have happened had another such demon been the one in the interdimensional pocket instead.

“Tell me, My Queen,” He said after a few more minutes of silently massaging me, “What else do you desire?”

I opened my eyes, staring off towards the slowly dwindling candles a few feet away. I watched their flames flicker and twitch.

“Power.” I replied finally, “I desire all the power, wealth, and fame I can take. I want everyone to know my name, and to despair at the sound of it.”

His hands on my shoulders tightened, and I thought I heard his breath hitch slightly. I turned, peeking at him out of the corner of my eye. His beady eyes met mine, and his lips twitched with delight.

“Whatever did this poor world do to deserve you?” He mused, easing his hands down my sides.

I snorted. “It decided that the weak would be punished, while only the strong would thrive. And I intend to be the strongest.”

“I can help with that.”

The smirk that slid across my lips felt very familiar. “I intend to hold you to your words.”

“Perhaps I can hold something to you as well…” He murmured, leaning close to speak the soft, rasping words into my ear. I considered him out of the corner of my eye again, feeling my stomach twist at his words. “May I work on your front now?”

I felt his hands on my waist, his thumbs lightly rubbing at my spine, his fingers digging into my abdomen. I hesitated for a moment, swallowing the heat that rose in me. After a few quiet moments that seemed to drag in the silence between us, I nodded my consent.

I gasped slightly as he pressed himself against me, half pinning me against the edge of the pool as his hands slid over my front, massaging my upper legs. Sliding teasingly close to the slit at the top, but never coming quite close enough to touch. His strong, roving fingers began to work their way up my torso, massaging my abdomen. He scooped his arms under mine, tucking his elbows against my body as he moved his hands up to my breasts. He rubbed and worked at my skin, kneading out not only any soreness, but also a soft sigh from my lips. Gods, it felt good. Sensual, of course, but also strangely relaxing.

Gently, he pulled me off the rock, prompting me to lean back against him. He curled over me, and his chin rested on the nape of my neck. Sending fresh shivers down my now loosened spine. I reached behind me, catching one hand on the back of his head. His own hands continued to work on my torso, sliding up and down my collarbones, kneading at my breasts and sternum, working at the flesh of my abdomen. It was similar to his back massage, but felt more feverish. Faster paced and overwhelming in sensation. On one particular pass of his hands up towards my neck, I lolled my head back. Resting it back against his chest with my throat bared towards the cavernous ceiling.

His head turned, and I felt his breath on my exposed neck. I trembled at the sensation of it passing over my damp skin. The water splashed and rippled as he moved, and I felt his hands working their way down. Rubbing and massaging my legs. Teasing them slightly apart. I felt my pulse quicken.

I heard him draw in a slow, deep breath through his nose. He let it out through his mouth against my skin, and my eyes fluttered.

“You smell… divine, my Queen,” he crooned, his lips nearly touching my skin, “... I would coax more from you, if you are willing.”

My breath hitched in my throat at the next pass of his hands over my thighs. “I… I am confused…”

“What confuses you?” He murmured softly, rubbing his hand against my inner thigh.

I blinked a few times, trying to gather coherent thoughts. “I… I thought if you fed too much...“ I gasped quietly as he pinched gently at one nipple, “Oh Gods, and I thought… I thought I didn’t want…”

“I would never press you if you did not,” He breathed against my neck, and I quivered as he traced a thin line up my throat with the tip of his tongue. “You have the power to set our pace. But if your mind has changed....” His lips pressed against my skin now, and I sighed again. “I am willing to adapt… And I do not need to feed to bring you pleasure.”

His thick fingers massaged my upper thigh, and I felt my legs slacken at his touch. My knees felt weak, and my eyelids fluttered again. His other hand played with my nipples, teasing and pinching them beneath the water in a way that had my thoughts swirling.

“May I show you another talent of mine?” He asked, his lips raking across my flesh as he spoke.

I looked at him sidelong, and found his glimmering black eyes waiting. Filled with a mischievous hunger. I swallowed, resting my free hand on top of his which still massaged my breast. He paused his movement, allowing my head to clear for a moment. I took a slow, steadying breath. I could end this now; could rinse off and simply go to bed. He was giving me that option.

But I wasn’t ready for it to end.

I nodded breathlessly. His grin returned, splitting his lips over his sharp teeth. He licked at my ear.

“Use your words, My Queen,” He crooned against it, sending another wave of shivers down my spine.

“...Yes,” I said when I found the air in my lungs once more.

“Yes what?”

My hand fluttered on top of his, and I swallowed heavily again. “... Show me.”

There was a splash as he caught his hands beneath me and pulled me out of the water. The waves lapped at the sides, splashing hot water out against the cool stones. It hissed as it hit the rock, but I hardly noticed. All I was aware of was Abhilash lifting me out of the pool and planting me at its side. He wrapped his huge hands around my hips and slid me forward until I was sitting right on the edge.

“What-”

I didn’t have time to finish my question as he pushed my legs apart and hooked his arms around my legs. I almost shouted in surprise as he plunged between them, burying his face against my folds. I had to stifle another gasp as his tongue lapped out, licking at me, teasing apart my skin and flicking at the most sensitive parts.

I was quickly washed from all sense as he flattened his tongue against me, licking and lapping. My knees quivered around his ears, draped over his shoulders, and his hands slowly massaged my ass as he worked at me. I had never felt such a sensation before; his tongue was wet and firm and writhed against me like a snake. His breath sent goosebumps shooting across my entire body, and a shudder through my lower half. Within just a few short minutes, I felt as if my bones had melted away.

I managed to look down at him, buried between my thighs, and found his smaller set of eyes looking up at me. When our eyes met, I saw the corners of his mouth twist up, and felt his tongue twist and flick at me in punctuation of the connection.

Suddenly, he plunged it into me, pushing that delightfully firm, writhing muscle deep inside my body. I gasped and grabbed at his huge horns to steady myself. I could feel the slight movements of his great head through my hands as he continued to press into me. Another deep thrust of his long tongue had me moaning softly, and I felt his hands tighten eagerly around me. Pulling me closer. Working himself deeper. His pointed teeth rubbed against my outside folds carefully while his tongue rolled and curled and twisted. He pulled it in and out, and a sound like a dog lapping water filled my ears alongside the drum of my racing pulse.

I felt a great heat boiling up inside myself, and was struggling to make myself breathe. I felt his lips close, sucking at mine, and my whole body began to quiver. I couldn’t keep myself upright, but couldn’t seem to figure which way was up and which way was down in order to lie back.

Then my body spasmed, and I let out another moan mixed with a needy sigh. I felt a throbbing, and a short burst of flooding release between my legs. Teasing, and far from satisfying. I instantly wanted more. Wanted to feel it again, reach that edge he had brought me to and linger there for as long as I could stand.

He chuckled against me, and the vibration of his amusement felt good against my lower lips. He kissed them, then licked them again carefully, leaning back. I swayed, my whole body feeling like a boneless pile of goo.

The demon straightened quickly, lopping an arm behind my back, steadying me. My eyes rolled about for a moment, and I managed to fix them on his face. His grin was back, and he licked his lips.

“You taste good,” He informed me, “In every way I have yet tried.”

I blinked at him, and wanted to say something snarky. But found that my mouth was not ready to obey my thoughts yet. Slowly, he climbed up the side of the pool, curling his body over mine. Easing me to lay with my back against the stone floor. The water dripped off his body and onto mine. Trailing lines down my sensitive flesh.

“Let me take you to your bed, my Queen. You must be tired.”

I reached up, catching the back of his head in my hand as he began to pull away. He paused, then grinned wickedly, wrapping his fingers around my forearm gently to still my groping hand.

“I want more.” I managed to breathe out, and found that I was panting.

His black eyes flashed with eagerness, and his smile grew by a few molars. “Is that so?” Slowly, he leaned back down, and I felt my insides somersault. “Then shall I take you here?” he crooned, his deep, rasping voice sending another shiver of delight down my spine. “Your back against the stone? Your legs pinned against you?”

“You’ve done it before,” I replied, my voice tight.

I felt my cheeks flush with the thoughts that raced through my mind, but I couldn’t help it. The warmth spreading through me, the sensations he had brought to the surface? They were already starting to fade. And I didn’t want them to fade. I clung to them greedily, feeling like I would never be satisfied. Could never have enough.

His tongue flicked my ear, and he traced his way across my skin to my lips. I pressed up against him, almost begging him to respond. He kissed me deeply, moving his lips in sync with mine. Then he nipped at my lower lip, just hard enough to bring a speck of blood, and I gasped softly. Withdrawing.

Slowly, he drew back, peering down at me. “You are hungry, little lamb,” He hissed, and his raspy, smoky voice had grown huskier, “You are hungry... like me.”

“Then feed me,” I growled back, grabbing at him again.

He leaned back down, then traced his tongue over the cut on my mouth. He smacked his lips together, savoring the taste. Dodging my pursuit with a mischievous smirk. Then he tucked his arm under my legs, and the other behind my shoulders. Scooping me up into his firm chest.

“I will feed you,” He purred, licking and kissing at my neck and cheek. “I will feed you until you are so full you can not move. Until all you can do is sleep and dream of my cock inside you. I will feed you until you give in to all of your desires and tell me all of your darkest secrets. I will feed you until we are bonded as one, with nothing else between us but our own skins.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and managed to find the strength to pull myself up and kiss him again. Burying my hands in his flaming hair. I felt his lower hand grip my ass while his other began to massage my shoulders again. I could taste his grin, and bit his lip in turn. His laugh bubbled into my mouth from his, and I felt it quake in his chest pressed against mine.

“Promises promises.” I quipped quietly against his lips.

I didn’t realize we were moving. Didn’t realize he had carried me through the back doors towards the largest private rooms. He shouldered open a door and carried me in, his smaller eyes navigating while his larger main eyes greedily took me in. Memorizing every inch. I kissed him again, and again, feverish with desire. Knots rolling over in my chest for want of him.

He dropped me onto the bed, and I bounced there briefly with my eyes widened in surprise. Another mischievous grin was shot my way before he crawled after me onto the huge bed, his tail whipping back and forth behind him. I couldn’t keep myself from returning his heated smile, my eyes flickering to his lips, then back up to hold his gaze. I scooted backwards, teasing myself just out of his reach each time, until my head found the pillows and I dropped back.

He followed me, his long tongue lapping out ahead of him to taste my damp flesh. He buried his face in my neck, teasing and nipping at the soft skin there. I let out my breath in a rush, wrapping my arms about him. Or at least, starting to.

Before I could fully attach myself to him, he flipped me over, pressing my stomach into the soft sheets. His hand scooped up my hips, placing me ready on my knees as he nudged my legs apart. I felt a large, firm muscle rub against my lips, and gasped. Burying my face in the pillows.

“No no, little lamb,” He purred, catching my hair in a clump in his hand and pulling my head back. “I want to hear you sing for me.”

I groaned as he rubbed against me more, his free hand massaging my bottom and hips. I could hardly breathe, and quivered for want of him. I glared at him out of the corner of my eye, scowling slightly.

He chuckled, grinding against me slowly, his black eyes glistening. “Patience,” He crooned, “All good things to those who wait.”

The demon bent down, kissing between my shoulder-blades. Then worked his lips slowly up my spine, nipping at my soft flesh every few inches. I shook beneath him, and reached one hand between my legs to take hold of his cock still rubbing there. He moaned softly into my back, rocking back and forth against me. The sensation made my lower lips feel like they were on fire, and I felt the sharp ache of desire growing inside me. I panted, stroking at the head of his penis with my thumb. Gods it was huge, and thick. It was a wonder I had managed to fit it inside me at all.

With a final teasing thrust, he pulled back, out of my hand. I would have objected, but then I felt him press his head against me, and I gasped instead. He wrapped his huge arm around my hips, steadying me as slowly, slowly, he pushed inside. Inch by inch. Stretching each raw nerve. I moaned, my eyes rolling back as he buried it all the way to the bottom of his shaft.

His first thrust was equally slow, and I almost kicked him in frustration. But with each following thrust, he began to pick up speed. Careful to push as deep inside of me as he could with each buck of his hips. He released my hair, placing his his hand on the bed to give himself better leverage as his muscular abdomen and thighs flexed with each rut against me. His other hand braced my hips for his assault.

Soon, he was pounding into me so hard that the bed around us shook. I nearly cried out, but bit back the sound at the last moment. He snarled, biting into my shoulder.

“Don’t hold back,” He growled against me, bucking harder to emphasize his point before returning to his previous rhythm, “Let me hear your voice.”

I shook my head, and he bit me again, sinking his teeth a little deeper. There was no pain, but I felt the blood drizzling slowly down my back and over my shoulder. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. Panting as the pressure and heat within me grew.

The bed beneath us cracked and groaned too, and was the only sound other than that of our hips smacking together. I felt tortured; burning up inside, twisting and convulsing. But it wasn’t enough! Something was missing. Some part of the euphoria I had felt only once before in my life. No, twice. My mind couldn’t quite put it together; my body’s blood and resources had been diverted for an entirely different purpose at the moment.

It hit me suddenly, and I moaned louder, fueling his eagerness as he bucked hard against me. The force nearly bent me in half, and shoved me up against the headboard.

“Feed on me!” I gasped loudly, every part of me clenching up.

The demon seemed surprised, his thrusts slowing momentarily. I rolled my head back, looking at him hungrily over my shoulder.

“Feed!” I demanded again.

He didn’t hesitate this time, shoving my legs up into my chest and deftly flipping me onto my back. If he had to extract himself momentarily for the movement, I didn’t notice. He was quickly back inside me again if he had. Thrusting and grinding. Pressing me hard and deep into the bed. One big hand came up, grabbing at my shoulder, and he bent down.

It hit me in a wave, and my eyes rolled back. My world spun, and everything seemed to go black. Then I was there again, in that same space of weightless bliss. Floating beyond everything. There was nothing; nothing but the intense, invigorating heat that enveloped me from head to toe. Not that I could tell where my head or toes were. And I saw nothing but blackness from my eyes, heard nothing but the racing beat of my own heart. I was blissfully numb, beautifully whole and spinning through a peaceful void. The sensation was addictive.

I sensed that vein of power again. Same as I had the first time. I reached out for it, grabbing at it and filling myself up. I grabbed more. And more. Greedily pulling it into myself. Letting it fill me with the euphoria I had been craving. 

Then there was that other familiar thing. A presence. This time I recognized it faster, and tried to pull my thoughts together to really address it. Perhaps I should have been scared; in this strange, disembodied state, I was raw and vulnerable. But I turned to it, studying it with whatever capacity was allowed here. I felt a flicker, then a thought that was not my own. It surprised me, and I moved closer. Felt our essences meld, and a strange emotion I couldn’t name. Sensed thoughts that weren’t mine.

Everything began to recede back, and I felt myself sinking back into my body. Limp, and quite content...

...

UPDATE: Part Four HERE

[pathofcomets]

soldier, keep on marching on (3)

fandom: mass effect andromeda

pairing: (eventual) jaal/ryder

summary: Sara Ryder will replay that moment before she died for the first time many times afterwards.

playlist: spotify

Sara didn’t image that mourning a death will take so many celebrations. Doctor Carlyle takes her through the basics regarding her new connection with SAM, a voice now ever-present, experiences always shared. But the Nexus staff – her bosses now, she thinks – are quick to celebrate the new Pathfinder and the return of the human ark. She sits through the speeches, feeling her skin crawl with how much she despises everything. She wants to curl up in her dad’s bed and cry. Scott has still not woken up. Cora is upset with her now, over a situation she had no say in. She gets it though: working your entire life for something, and see a good-at-nothing fledgling take over instead.

And she hates Foster Addison, with her cutting words and the superiority complex that has no backing. Director Tann at least knows his limits and apologizes when he’s wrong, though he seems to keep an air of superiority that irks Sara more than the direct aggression of his human counterpart. Kandros is too busy with his teams to pay too much attention to her, though he is nice whenever she passes by his office. Kesh though, Kesh could become a friend, because she is the only one who takes the leftover Ryder seriously. Like someone who is here to get things done, as much as anyone else.

Of course, Sara has not been trained for any of this. But she is her father’s daughter, and when thrown in the midst of Eos with only a new crew that she has no idea how to make her friends, she picks up her gun and carries on. She takes Vetra and Cora – one because she has no idea what she’s capable of, and the other because she knows exactly what she’s capable of. There’s still some stiffness and awkwardness between them, but in the middle of a battle, it won’t matter.

It goes away when the Pathfinder jumps in the middle of a battle, her shields trembling all around her as bullets fly off, trusting her team to have her back. Later on, Vetra will attribute it to the fact that she’s never been in actual combat – just the training on the Citadel. Because Sara Ryder has no regard for her well-being, accepting chips in her armour if it gets her closer to a clean head-shot. Adrenaline junkie like her father and brother, Cora will say. But for Sara, this is just the way she knows how to fight: straight through the enemy lines, no pain no gain. And because the others are the veteran fighters, they learn to accommodate the erratic battle style of their Pathfinder. In the middle of a battle, the only thing that matters if they end up alive on the other side.

“You fight like that; you win the battle. Not sure if you’ll last to see the entire war through, though,” Vetra chastises when they’re going through broken armours and containers.

“It’s the only way I know how,” Sara replies, but so frustrated that she is close to tears.

She loved sniper training, once, when she was young: but when enemies drop from the air, when beasts are unleashed on her, she can do nothing but hope she has enough bullets in her gun and shoot. She has no idea how to properly fight, her body just goes on auto-pilot, survival being the only thing that matters. That she’s brimming with anger, which numbs the cut of the bullets or the itch of a bite, then that’s the bonus.

Still, her fighting is no more erratic than that of Nackmor Drack. He’s a legend between his people, SAM lets her know – and apparently an acquaintance of Vetra. Sara knows, immediately, that she wants to fight by this man’s side, though he is wary of the Initiative. She understands why, because after seeing the state of the Nexus, she wouldn’t want to be associated with it either. Too bad she has no choice in the matter, their insignia over her suit, her ship flying in their name.

The truth is, Sara is not doing anything in the name of the Initiative, but in that of her family. Whatever the Pathfinder may mean for the Nexus, for humanity – for her it’s the last few links she has with her dead parents and her comatose brother. She pushes forward, fighting Remnant and Kett alike because if she’d stop, the Ryder name would not go on, all the work of her parents would be for nothing. She cannot let that happen now, on the other side of the universe, when they tried so hard to make it happen in the first place, when they threw away not their own life, but that of their children as well. Her mother died because of her work, not before she had her son born with biotics. Her father died for his work, not before passing over his title and responsibilities to his daughter. They were always making sure to share things equally between the twins.

If Scott were to wake up, he’d say it’s not fair that she’s got a head start, while he is still sleeping. Sara closes her eyes against the churning sun, in the middle of the desert, and tries not to think how far away a world in which she heard his voice is. Then she fights more Remnant, preparing to start up vaults and terraform worlds.

She’s pretty sure that’s not in the job description. She’s pretty sure she’s not even being paid for this job. But she has no choice. If she stops to question it, if she stops from running around, listening to SAM, uncovering the secrets of the Andromeda galaxy, then no one else will survive. This is a life and death matter, for four different species.

Why on Earth did Alec Ryder think that his historian daughter would be fit for this? Even her schooling is nothing compared to Peebe’s bright curiosity – and she allows her to join them in revving up the Remnant technology because SAM cannot know absolutely everything, only guess.

She remembers the dust, coming to swallow up intruders, and as she runs for the door, air burning her lungs, stinging at her eyes, Sara Ryder loses herself inside her own mind. Her body works on its own, at saving her, and she crushes into Vetra’s hard shell when finally, the door closes shut behind them, rendering them safe. She rubs at her nose, silently accepts Cora’s outstretched arm to stabilize herself.

She has run away from something like this once before. She lost her father to it. In her gaze, the others can read this painful truth, and know that wherever the Pathfinder is right now, it’s not here with them anymore.

SAM’s voice is soothing inside her brain, familiar enough not to panic her even further, but firm enough that she snaps out of it. Of course, they managed to terraform Eos. It’ll take months, years, maybe even decades before the effects will show, but the planet is now habitable. The sun won’t burn off layers of skin anymore, though the desert heat remains almost unbearable, the mind playing tricks in the scorching rays.

“An outpost?” Cora asks, because that’s the actual Pathfinder procedure, that’s what they’ve been sent out to do, at the end of the day.

The rest is just making sure the people she’s sending out won’t die anymore.