#about the unavoidable spread once a leak happens

[holyshit]

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[touyasdoll]

Heya Babe! Here’s another NSFW pwp smut gift that just popped into mind~! 😉😏😏

Particular warning for Adult!Shinsou being rather big down there. 😳😳

- IR

————— EXPLICIT CONTENT BELOW —————

It was weird, she thought hazily, watching as her naked boyfriend commanded her equally naked body to move a certain way. It felt like an out of body experience, just overseeing everything that went on, but she could also view everything that was right in front of her eyes.

Surreal, she amended, listening as a moan came from her own mouth and yet didn’t as she was fingered open by her boyfriend. Another moan, breath picking up as the sensation of spreading fingers could be felt from within her body and yet not. A soft, whine escaped with the next breath her body breathed, her boyfriend having withdrawn his fingers fully.

She cocked an eyebrow in her overseeing, out of body experience form, wondering what his plan was next… Oh. He began to finger her ass open slowly, a sensation of odd, different, slightly uncomfortable penetrated her mind, as at the very same moment he penetrated her, with his fingers and she continued to watch.

She felt like she was essentially the live studio audience to her own sex tape, somehow feeling all the sensations yet making none of the movements or personal adjustments.

His fingers spread her open and another hitched breath, another moan escaped her own mouth and yet didn’t. Her boyfriend smirked, opening his own mouth to ask her a question;

“Feel good, Kitten? Use your words.”

‘Kitten.’ You were Kitten. And you definitely felt good. You were back in the front seat of your body fully, though still under Toshi— Master’s control. Master had asked a question.

“Master makes Kitten feel good,” you almost purred, the sound of your voice coming out a bit oddly as you spoke, emotion showing through despite the control and haze.

“Just good?” Master asked, teasingly. He didn’t put the command to answer behind it, but you were still able to and took the chance to elaborate.

“Kitten feels so good, more than good, Master. There was slight pain when you began to finger my pussy open, but Kitten was so wet already it did not last long. Kitten felt different when you began to finger my ass. It could be categorized as odd, different and slightly uncomfortable, but Master is amazing and always makes Kitten feel wonderful no matter what. Kitten feels anticipatory for what happens next. It is different than when Kitten was outside her body, more and deeper sensations,” you slightly babbled your oral report, unable to see how your boyfriend, your Master’s eyebrows raised and then eyes widen as you gave your answer.

‘Out of body?’, his brain wanted to stay on that point, because he hadn’t had that response to using his Quirk before, but there was more to what you had said that caught his interest, too. ‘I hurt her… Logically, it was unavoidable, but dammit! This isn’t one of those times for us.’

He brooded a bit as he continued to make sure you were well opened, even going so far as to add more lube and make sure your walls were well coated with each hand, one in your pussy, one in your ass. He slowly got up and went to the bathroom, water running as he washed his hands.

Left panting softly in your position, you tried to take stock of everything. It was hard as with the feeling of being spread open so well was so recent in your mind that it tried to keep its place as your central focus. If you hadn’t been willingly under your Master’s control, you wouldn’t of been able to keep from fucking yourself on his fingers. Your body was still working despite being empty, dripping from both holes and clenching around nothing, nothing but the remembered feeling of his warm digits.

You wondered what he was going to do next. He had opened you and so there was logically a reason for doing such.

Somewhere between your hyperfocused thoughts, you absently realized you were bound by Master’s scarf in such a way it looked as if you were in stocks. It held you up as the rest of your body was bent over a well cushioned sawhorse. The one you had begged Master to get so you could be good for him in even more ways. This was to be one of those ways, you assumed.

You heard your Master’s foot steps and the sound of wheels, he was obviously toting something along, but you couldn’t see it as you were stuck facing forward and whatever it was went directly behind you. The ‘clink-snap’ of four wheels being locked in place one-by-one sounded out through the room and upped the anticipation you had spoken of earlier.

“You’re probably curious, Kitten, like usual, over what I’m making all this noise with, huh?” Master teased and within your mind you felt a bit of embarrassment. Your thirst for figuring things out, for knowing was a source of much amusement for Master, as well as other positive words connected with it, he still teased you about it. You replied to the question, still. The same as you had last time.

“Yes, Master. Kitten is very curious and anticipation levels are high. Kitten is also feeling slight embarrassment,” you informed him in your report giving tone, feeling your pussy clench again on nothing.

“Sorry, Kitten,” he chuckled, giving you a playful smirk, his eyes roving over your body in inspection. “But you’re gonna have to be curious a bit longer. You can do that for me, can’t you? You can be a good kitty?”

“Kitten is good for Master!”, more emotion leaked through as your words came out in a whine. You had thought you were already being good? Why would you ever change that?

“Oh? I suppose you are, my Pretty. Little. Pet. My mostly well behaved Kitten,” his words elicited a groan from you, one that turned louder as you felt a hand stroke down your spine and all the way to the tip of your tail. You loved to be praised, to be complimented and Master usually tried to hold those tight until you earned them. “Hmm. One more thing, Kitten, and then you can join me again fully.”

Master moved around you, giving you views of his body as he searched his things. Internally you were pouting. His dick was right there, dammit, and you were right here. You wanted it. Craved. To feel it, to have a taste. You wanted to make Master feel good and couldn’t! You didn’t care that it looked too big for you to swallow just yet. You. Craved.

You whimpered softly just as Master lets lose a “Got it!”

His eyes turned to look over your perfectly poised body again. What a good Kitten he had. He moved to in front of you, the height of your head, your mouth just perfectly equaled the height of his very blessed in size cock and heat flooded you as a small internal chant began. ‘Please, please, please…’

“Okay, Kitten.”, Master spoke up, his voice a little gentler, knowing you would probably feel a lot bit disappointed at the next part, but refusing to back down. “I know you want to get your hungry, slutty mouth on me and drink up whatever I give you into, putting it straight into that greedy little tummy of yours,but if I take you right now, Kitten…”

“Kitten, I’m gonna choke you or cause you to sprain something. Maybe even break. You haven’t had practice or been trained up to the level to take me, so I could really harm you. I don’t want that. So, you’re getting a new toy! Three of them. And a new accessory to use one. I know it’s not what you wanted, but baby, I promise you’ll enjoy this. You’ll enjoy it so much now and when you reach higher levels.”

If you could show your disappointment you would have, which is probably why he hadn’t released you from his Quirk. He may be your Master, but even he had a limit on how much “Kitten Eyes” he could withstand before giving in.

You didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you were tired of toys. You just wanted Master. So far all of your time with Master had been with him using toys on you, in you. He had let you lick up his cum from his fingers (usually mixed with your own juices), and shared many kisses of many types, he had even used his mouth all over you!, but you hadn’t gotten all of Master yet. You had’t got that D, but damn did you want it.

But if he said not yet, you knew he meant it. Especially when it came to your care. Despite his rougher moments and the times he had to discipline you, he made sure you weren’t harmed in a bad way.

Master crouched down in front of you with something blurry in his hand. “Open your mouth, Kitten. Wide as you can.”

You felt something latch onto a part of your mouth and another and another and another and so on as you were fitted with a Spider Gag, your mouth held open as wide as it could go and the device set firmly in place, attached to head properly. It was better than an O-Ring for holding you open and upsizing, but felt weird at first. You hoped that sensation went away soon.

So distracted with the gag that you didn’t hear another set of wheels roll forward and lock in place. You did notice when you head was held still as a very large dildo was placed at the opening of your mouth.

“Kitten,” Master’s voice sounded from behind you this time as you felt something else being placed at the entrance of each hole and a ‘squick’ sound that you recognized as lube being slathered on something. “At each of your gorgeous, slutty little holes is a sex machine. I’m going to turn them on and they’re going to take you. I’ll start off slow, watching you from over here on this chair, and then once you can take the whole thing they’ll start to speed up. Eventually they’ll be changed out for a bigger size until you can take one close to my size.”

He spoke clearly, voice deepening with lust and it hit you that all this training, all this playing and “leveling up” was probably just as hard on him as it was you. Your disappointment faded and frustration lowered to a bare simmer. You would be a good Kitten for Master now and eventually you would be the best Kitten later.

“Get ready,”he warned, falling back into his chair. He held a remote in one hand and the other was already on his dick. “You can cum as much as you want, Kitten, because these toys? They’re going to wreck you oh-so beautifully, baby.”

You suddenly felt his hold on you snap, ending and everything hit you at once. The sensations that were once distant were right up in your face, your emotions bold and there, a light returned to your eyes that you couldn’t see, but your Master could and it made something within him heat up. Your mouth watered around the gag, as you stared the machine head on. The dildos looked massive and you subconsciously gulped. But you were a good Kitten. You would take them in all of your slutty, wet and ready little holes until Master thought you ready. Because you were going to have that dick.

Breathing deeply, you let your tongue slip forward a little, ready to have your mouth fucked and be on shown for your Master.

“Hope your ready, Kitten, because these double as fleshlights and collect your partner’s cum to use at just the right moments.”

Your eyes quickly peered to the side in surprise, unable to move your head to do so. He was smirking devilishly. The one that made you feel weak in the knees and get wet instantly. Oh, Master was very good to you.

“3, 2, take them well and I’ll let you clean me up with that pretty little mouth of yours, 1!”

Very, very good to you.

— End.

Yeah? Idk either. I cut several pages if unnecessary bits but. Yeaaah. Not my best. IwI and they pronoun me in inner. I need a nap 💤😅

Ahhh I meant to post this ages ago when I got it, I'm sorry it took so long! But oh my goodness did this do something to me 😩

[mattzerella-sticks]

Heart in My Hand (15x18 “Despair” coda, Dean-centric, Destiel. post-that scene)

(ao3 link)

He was right there.

Cas was telling Dean everything he ever wanted to hear since meeting the angel of the Lord... only each and every word of his confession stabbed at Dean's heart. Because once he finished, there's no more time for them. For him. For any chance of happiness - all that taken away by the Empty. And now he has to carry on.

He tries. Stands, gets in his car and drives where Sam tells him. When he meets with the others, though...

           Dean spots them easily, only two people left on the planet besides himself. Standing in the middle of the street, waiting. He rolls to a stop near some crashed truck and an abandoned bag of groceries that spills out the top. Egg yolks oozing into a small puddle, mixing with freely leaking juice burning bright against dark asphalt. Visible even from where he sits inside his car.

           With Sam and Jack advancing, Dean crams the rest of his emotions down. Puts on a brave face. What he sees in his rearview isn’t anything like that. Trembling lips. Red, blotchy skin. Wide eyes that look more haunted than an average, Midwestern home. It’s better than how he appeared earlier. And since they’re already here, he must move on. Steeling himself, he exits his car.

           “Dean,” Jack starts, glancing from him to his empty car, “Where’s Cas?”

           Dean fails, again. “Cas…” He croaks, words blocked by the boulder that wedged into his throat once that black portal of despair vanished. Water traces familiar pathways down his cheeks, Dean steadying himself on his open door. Hisses panicked breaths through clenched teeth. “Cas, he…”

           “Oh.” Sam stumbles backwards, news dealing its own damage. Jack stares at Dean, jaw hanging limply. Gaze wet from threatening tears. “Was it…” his brother coughs, regaining his footing, “was it Billie?”

           He shakes his head, still not ready to speak. Voice abandoning him like… well.

           “Chuck?” Jack asks, inching closer. “Did Chuck make him crumble, too?”

           Dean nearly forgot. Chuck… if only. His anger would have a target, instead of hanging around him as if it were a fog. Miasma thick he cannot see past a never-ending reel of those few, long minutes. Cas’s parting message replaying ad nauseum. “No,” he manages, staring at Baby’s roof. “No, he – he sacrificed… to take out… to save…” Gasping, Dean lolls his head upwards. Staring up at an empty sky, sending what’s left of his sentence into the heavens.

           Someone approaches, lays a hand on his elbow. There because it hovered over Dean’s shoulder and chose a different path. Dean felt how close it came to fitting over his angel’s mark. Heard a sharp intake of breath after they noticed it, confirming Dean’s suspicion. “Dean,” Sam says – of course it’d be him. He recognizes his little brother’s voice. Especially when he forces confidence through his tone. It lacks, however, as an undercurrent of worry threaded through it. “Dean,” he continues, “what happened?”

           First, he searches for Jack. The younger boy leans across from Dean, waiting. Curious. Heartbroken. “He,” Dean whispers, knees buckling under him, “Billie was out for blood and – and we couldn’t stop her on our own. So Cas, he…” Sam’s grip tightens on his elbow, adds another supportive touch to Dean’s armpit. Keeps him standing. Dean thanks Sam by letting his hands stay. “We were dead to rights. So Cas… let himself be happy.”

           Jack’s muttered curse resolves a lingering question, whether he knew. Doubly confirmed since Jack draws further attention to himself, slamming his fist on Baby’s roof. Dean doesn’t raise his usual objections. “The Empty,” he says.

           “The Empty?” Sam glances between Jack and Dean, “What would… why would the Empty be there? When Cas is happy – what are you talking about?”

           “A deal Sammy,” Dean says. Louder, rougher. Shattering the eerie silence of this deserted city scape. “He made a deal with that damned thing, his life for… for…”

           “For mine.” Jack tilts his head, brows drawn in such a mirror of his father Dean nearly collapses where he stood. He remains strong. “When I was in Heaven, after I… I died, the first time.” Sighing, he stretches towards them. Extending an empty palm in a gesture of regret. “I’m… I’m so sorry –“

           “No.” Dean slides his own hand, taking Jack’s. Squeezes it. Grounding himself further. “I don’t… it’s not your fault. Cas made the deal. He – he’s made his choice. It’s… if he had the chance to go back, he’d still do it. Again and again. That’s who he is.” Dean hiccups, face cracking as his mouth stretches wide, gracing the others with a rueful smile. “Putting everyone’s needs before himself even if it… even if it meant he could never…” He shudders, Cas’s peaceful expression when the Empty struck frozen in his mind. “Too good, Cas was – he was too good –“

           “Dean, Dean!” Sam tore Dean away from Jack and Baby, carrying him off to sit on the sidewalk’s curb. Bent him, head between knees, helping him work past growing hysterics. Jack followed them, hovering. Shadow blocking the sun from shining above, casting him in darkness. Thinking this makes Dean spiral further. “Breathe Dean, just breathe.”

           It’s stupid. Dean wastes valuable time, their world crumbling all around them. And what is he doing? Crying. Making Sam and Jack comfort him because Dean lost the shovel he usually buries his feelings with. Empty probably taking that, too. It’s stupid. Maddening. Also, completely unavoidable.

           Dean wondered if, one day, he might shatter so completely gathering those pieces might prove impossible. He has his answer, at the worst possible moment.

           Soon he calms, and Dean can lift his head without flashing back there.

           “Dean…” Sam starts, cautiously. Treating Dean too carefully given how far into this war they’re in. “Dean, Cas’s deal… the Empty wanted him happy?” Nodding, Dean waits for the next question. Dreading it. “What… what did he do?”

           Sam hadn’t broken down, when they found Eileen’s duffel – and her phone. Recovered best he could and shouldered his pain. Allowed those seconds of grief, then used it as fuel. Whereas Dean drags his suffering into eternity. Mourns his best friend, and their lost potential. A stolen future. Years spent in denial. If he’d taken a chance earlier… at some point. “Cas,” Dean sighs, “he let himself… he confessed…” Explaining it was too difficult, but Sam needed to know. Jack, too. “He loved me, Sam.” Laughing, Dean wipes at his eyes. “He loved me, after all I – he still… he loved me, and that killed him.” Whispering, he repeats, “He loved me.”

           Sam’s features shifted, journeying from shock to a pitying understanding. Rubs comfortingly at his back, sighing. “Loving you was what made him happiest?”

           “Yeah… it was, it was so simple…” Dean uncurls, teetering, flirting with the idea of lying on his back. He and Jack trade a fleeting glance, Dean checking his reaction. Not surprised in the slightest. Kid’s too damned insightful. “Just admitting it was enough and… and you know what he said? He said he… Cas believed it was something he could never have?” His chest tightens, and Dean scoffs. “I don’t… how could that be – how could loving me be, I’m… how can I be Cas’s happiness? Out of all he could have had, and what he wanted was me – what I… what I thought I could never have.”

           “Don’t say that Dean,” Sam admonishes, “you are worthy of having love.”

           Shrugging, Dean turns from his and Jack’s heavy stares. Looks at the pooling egg yolk again; focuses on that spreading mess. “Cas said about as much, before the Empty… had this whole speech that I – it felt like I was being peeled away. Called me out for… it all feels so meaningless. Is that what it felt like, with Eileen? Being with someone who can see through you and make all this big stuff seem – well, seem not so big anymore?” Sam agrees, as much. “There we were Billie hot on our heels. Waiting for death, and he spits out the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I almost forgot what was going on. It was just him and me… him seeing – seeing me. And you know what I did? Not a goddamn thing…”

           “Dean…”

           “I could barely speak, I – I was so scared,” Dean admits, “if you’d’ve been there Sam, the look of – look of finality that was there, alongside the love, and peace, and happiness. I always wanted to hear him say that, couldn’t predict him saying all of that… I would’ve traded it if it meant he’d stay. And I can – I get to have him in the only way we could. But he made up his mind, like with Jack. Took Billie down, and him, too. Leaving me there – alone – that it… when I finally said it back, I was too late.”

           They echoed. Hung in the air. Mingled with Cas’s blood on his sleeve and the fresh tears pouring out of him. Shook Dean down to the very core of his being, barely hearing it past the low pitch of static filling his ears. Dean thought those words innumerably before, imagined different scenarios, played pretend in the comfort of his room where no one can see.

           No one ever will, now.

           “I…” Dean tries saying his truth. It doesn’t want to come out. He continues regardless, “I miss him, Sam. Why do we do this? Hurt everyone we’ve ever cared about? Hell, the whole world’s collateral damage because of us!” Exhausted, Dean gives in. Falls fully off the cliff, lying on the sidewalk. Arms spread beside him while he watches endless blue.

           Sam squeezes his knee, “I miss her too. I miss them all.” He stands, adding another shadow. Jack’s advancing, too. Blanketing Dean in a strange temperature. Not cold, still there’s an absence of warmth he notes. “But it’s not on us. It’s Chuck. Always has been…”

           “Then is this it?” Dean asks, “One last play, even if it kills us? Even if it can’t bring everyone back?”            

           “At least we died fighting, then.”

           Dean cannot argue with this. He doesn’t feel too inclined to move yet. “For them,” he says, closing his eyes. “This isn’t about us, anymore. It’s about all of them. The world… our family… Eileen and – and Cas.”

           Their shadows move. He senses them leave, sunlight returning. Bringing with it more memories. Of how it felt first hearing Cas say it. A natural glow that lit from within. Snuffed in Cas’s next breath, as Billie’s fist pounded on the door, and when the bitterness of Cas’s declaration hit his tastebuds. Dean grasps for that feeling, basking under the sun. Pretends it’s Cas giving him that gorgeous, soul-shattering smile. Encouraging him into his final battle. Telling him it’ll be over soon, he’ll be done, and that he loves him.

           He loves him. He loves him. He loves him.

           “I love you Cas.”

           Dean will rise. Gather what little he, Sam, and Jack have and rush at Chuck until there truly is nothing left. Of this world. Or of them. But that’s later.

           Right now, Dean dreams of his losses. Apologizes, one by one, faces blurring together as he starts counting strangers his mind saved for no purpose other than to make him carry more crosses.  Never his, though.

           Cas’s face shines uninterrupted, clearly, like the sun. There even as everything else fades. In the safety of his mind, where the Empty can’t steal him. In the safety of his heart, that Chuck can’t control. In his hands, wearing Cas’s blood like a badge of honor and pride.

           And love.

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 17

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~7,500

Warnings: Blood drinking, smut, drug mention, heavy drinking

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13  

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Lilah made a mental note to ask Brasa where the fuck he purchased his mattresses from—no, she’d have to ask Javier. She would bet an absolutely huge amount of money that Javier had been the one to pick out the bed and all its accouterments. It screamed luxurious comfort, molding around her and lulling her into some of the best sleep of her life.

Stretching her legs, toes pointed, she drew in a Brasa scented breath, his body warm and comforting against her back. He was wrapped around her, arm thrown over her waist, leg pushed between hers. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, ruffling the hair that had fallen out of her high bun.

The room was completely dark—he’d turned off the nightlight before sliding into bed with her. Lilah couldn’t see anything, not even her hand laying a few inches from her face. It made the waking slow and lazy, made her want to snuggle down deep into Brasa’s arms and tip effortlessly back into sleep.

It was the bond that kept her conscious. It rumbled at the back of her mind, wide open. Lilah turned her attention to it, physically rotating her chin up a bit towards the ceiling. He was content. She could feel that. He was also...restless. His presence simmered along the bond, like a big cat pacing in its cage. It was the Benny situation, she had no doubt. Lilah knew it was going to come to a head soon. She also knew that there would be unavoidable bloodshed.

She prodded at him, made an attempt to reach out and soothe. At her back, his breath was still slow, even—unconscious, he reached for her. The bond flared up, heat burning through her mind and wrapping solidly around her body. Lilah’s breath caught and she bit her lip, that hot feeling settling low in her core.

Resisting the urge to roll her hips back against him, Lilah tried to squeeze her legs together to put some pressure on her folds. She met the barrier of his thigh, the muscle flexing in reaction to her movement. Lilah froze, listening to see if he was waking...No, his breath remained steady, though his arm tightened around her waist. She felt his fingers spasm against her belly before relaxing.

Once assured that he was resting peacefully, Lilah reached out again for the bond, mentally touching along its length until got to the very center of it. Like Brasa, it burned pleasantly, a heavy thing that was both ephemeral and solid.

Letting it settle around her, Lilah dipped down inside, letting the pleasure rush over her. It was...fizzy. Like a million bubbles all over her body, more than a tickle and less than a kiss. She felt her mouth spread wide in a smile even as her heart picked up, pumping blood into her muscles. The fogginess of a slow waking was gone, leaving her alert and focused.

So deeply immersed in the bond, Lilah didn’t quite catch when he began to stir, didn’t even notice he was awake until he groaned into the meat of her shoulder. Her eyes flew open with a little gasp. When she tried to turn over, he stopped her, his chest arching up to anchor her in place.

Lilah stilled, waiting.

His mouth pressed to her shoulder even as his arm wiggled underneath her body to pull her even closer. Lilah sighed into the motion, reaching back to trail her fingers up the line of his jaw and into his hair. He buried his face into her neck, the scratch of his stubble adding sensation. She could feel his growing erection pressed intimately against her ass.

Across the bond, his arousal echoed, vibrating with more and more intensity until it resonated so deeply that, even if she could see, Lilah would be blinded by it. Her throat worked around a moan, her hand pulling at his hair. He loosed a snarl, and she could hear his teeth clack together, as if he’d snapped his jaw shut.

Lilah loosened her grip, “I’m sorry.”

His hand was immediately covering hers, “No, no, its okay. I like it.”

She wasn’t too proud to admit that it took several seconds for her to process that statement, “Okay. I can keep that in mind, if you want.”

His body relaxed, all the tension melting out of his limbs. Lilah rubbed the forearm braced across her waist, the fingers in his hair playing with an errant curl. He traced down her body with a firm hand, squeezing her hip, thumb circling. The question that asked what he was thinking about was braced on her tongue, cut off when he laid his forehead against the back of her neck.

He rolled her ever so slightly, so that half her weight was leaning against his chest. Hands skimmed her skin, situating her however he liked. He cupped a breast lazily, rested his palm on her inner thigh. She let herself be held, let his fingers move sporadically over her, stoking the fire that was already simmering.

His voice was choked with gravel when he asked, “Can I feed from you?”

Lilah was nodding before he’d even finished the question,  baring her neck to him. A pleased hum rolled heavily against her as he nosed the skin, tongue tasting at the flesh behind her ear. He paused for a brief moment, taking his time in choosing the location of his bite.

Lilah squirmed, the anticipation winding down her spine. She bit her lip to keep the encouraging whine at bay only to yelp when his teeth dug in. Abashed, she huffed a nervous laugh, unable to catch her breath as he deepened the bite. Eyes shut, body shaking, Lilah felt the venom drip into her veins.

As before, everything came alive from the inside. Lilah’s nervous system fired on all cylinders, her arms and legs kicking out without conscious thought. Growling softly, Brasa rolled, pinning her to the mattress. Though he was immovable above her, his hands were gentle as they held her down.

Easing off the bite, he rasped, “Okay?”

Lilah nodded eagerly, back arching upwards to mold herself to him. She reached back, nails scraping his thigh as she tried to pull him down, to get more of him. Braced on his palm, Brasa grabbed her hand, yanking it up so that she was stretched out. He curled her fingers around the edge of the mattress, holding them firmly. Adjusting his stance, he did the same with the other hand.

She could feel the blood dropping down over the side of her neck. Warm. Sticky. He traced the path with his tongue, sucking fixedly on the wound. Lilah hissed, pain flaring past the ever rising tide of the venom. It made her groan into the pillows, made her roll her hips into the mattress, the fabric abrading her clit. The walls of her pussy clenched, empty.

As he drank, Brasa let more of his weight fall on her, his body laying against her from shoulder blades to knees. Straddling her hips, he gripped beneath her chin, turning her head so that he could get at the line of blood that had rolled over her throat to drip from her chin.

Lilah writhed, unable to keep still. The venom mixed with her body’s natural adrenaline, pushing her to move. Needing to come, she did whatever she could to get enough friction. Brasa moved with her, anticipating every roll and shift. Mouth sucking deliciously at her, he held her on the edge of it, physically pulling her hips up off the bed when her moans grew too needy.

Soon enough, she was pleading with him, words and nonsense syllables falling out of her mouth as her need climbed higher. In an act of pure frustration, she left go of the mattress and shoved her hand down  between her legs, pushing three fingers inside. The glide was smooth, her slick coating them. She groaned, flexing her hand to put more pressure on her clit.

Brasa released his bite, lifting some of his weight from her back to grab at her arm. He pulled firmly, overpowering any resistance. Arm at an awkward angle, Lilah’s gasp melted into a whine as he pulled the digits into his mouth.

She cried out his name, desperately reaching into the bond in an attempt to show him how much she needed him. Wide open, and pulsing with their shared pleasure, it fairly burst as she pushed as much of her want into it. Eyes rolling back, Lilah’s jaw went slack, the feelings overwhelming every sense.

Above her, Brasa tensed with a harsh, inhuman sound. Her fingers slipped from his lips as he fell upon her, fangs digging into the wound he’d made. Lilah screamed into the pillow, unable to separate the pain and pleasure that were twining together into nothing but visceral sensation.

He ground his cock against her, and she could feel him leaking onto the small of her back. The angle in which he was arched over her made working him inside her nearly impossible. Lilah tried to get her knees beneath her, tried to push up into him. Fuck, he was too heavy, too focused on the bite.

The sheets beneath her were saturated with blood, sex, and sweat, her body pouring them out as easy as breathing. Brasa wrapped an arm across her chest, mouth pulling from her skin with a sharp grunt. He curled one hand around her hip and finally, finally, let his hips shift downwards so that his cock rubbed against her folds.

Lilah’s head tipped back, and she opened her legs as far as she could between the powerful thighs that were keeping her in place. Brasa pressed his cheek into her shoulder blade, moaning as he dipped into the wet slick of her cunt. The fit was tight, the position keeping her from opening wide enough to accept him readily.

The first thrust was achingly slow, until he nestled against her thighs and ass. Lilah felt her whole body relax into it with something like relief. He pulled out with that same, aching slowness. The second thrust, when it came, was very unlike the first. He snapped his hips hard, grunting with the effort. His cock hit a place inside her that forced all the air out of her, a high pitched squeal punching unchecked from her throat.

Brasa stopped, and she could feel him thinking. The thumb on her hip rubbed at her skin in what might have been a soothing gesture if the rest of his hand wasn’t flexing hard enough that she was definitely going to have a bruise later. He hesitated long enough that she worried he might not move again.

“Please, please,” she whined, reaching back to dig her nails into the swell of his ass.

He rumbled deeply, and his hips snapped forward. Hard. Again, and again, he fucked into her, steadily losing any sense of control he might have once had. Lilah rejoiced in it, words of husky praise filling the minuscule space between them.

The orgasm was unlike any she’d ever experienced. High on the venom he’d pumped into her, aroused beyond anything in memory, Lilah felt everything below the waist lock down.  Her pussy pulsed hard, dragging him along with her until he let out what sounded like a sob against her shoulder. It went on for far too long, wrecking any hope Lilah had of thinking clearly for at least the next hour.

Shaking, Brasa eased out of her with a hiss. His palm floating up the length of her spine to settle at the back of her neck. He massaged gently for a moment, then he was gone.

Completely.

Lilah, to be fair, was barely aware of anything but her still fluttering folds, her mouth open as she tried to catch her breath. The bed grew rapidly cold, the damp sheets sticking to her skin. In the moment, Lilah couldn’t bring herself to care. That was a problem for Lilah five minutes from now.

The light of the bedside lamp clicked on. She could see the dim glow even with her eyes closed. Warm hands turned her gently to her back. Lilah rolled willingly, her limbs following limply. When she cracked her eyes open to look at him, she was startled at the amount of blood smeared over his mouth and neck.

Too tired to be self conscious about what she might look like, Lilah watched him with a half lidded gaze as he piled pillows up on the headboard. Bracing himself with a knee on the mattress, he reached underneath her and hauled her up to lay against them in a casual show of strength. She had just enough energy to smile as he laid her arms across her stomach.

Then, he leaned over her and grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the nightstand, opening it and tossing the cap on the bed. Hand at the back of her head, he helped her sip at it until she’d drank about half. By then, Lilah had regained the use of her arms and legs.

She touched his cheek, thumb rubbing at the dried blood, “I’m okay.”

He stared at her, unblinking. Then, nodded, “Do you still hurt?”

She took stock of her body. Her neck throbbed a bit, there was a strain in her legs and lower back, but she was otherwise feeling alright.

“I could use a shower,” Lilah prompted, when she noticed the tug of dried blood on her chest.

Brasa gave a curt nod and helped her to the edge of the bed, carrying her to the bathroom. He sat her on the toilet while he started the water. Lilah rolled her eyes affectionately, grabbing at the towel bar and pulling herself to standing. Her legs were a little shaky, but she held her weight.

The water was blessedly hot as Brasa washed her, taking time to examine his bite to ensure that it was closed. Lilah didn’t miss the little smug smirk on his mouth as he looked it over. She pointedly did not comment.

When they were both clean, he bundled her in a thick robe and led her to sit on a cedar chest at the bottom of the bed.

“Finish this,” he directed as he handed her the Gatorade.

Lilah drank slowly, watching as he changed the sheets, noting that he had a waterproof mattress protector that was now stained pink. He pulled them all off, tossing them near the door before heading to the closet and getting out a new set.

She was half asleep by the time he finished, the empty bottle set carelessly beside her. Her vision swam as he knelt before her, his hand tilting her face down.

“You are near fainting,” he whispered, “Let me help you.”

Through the haze of her exhaustion, Lilah didn’t see him bite into his wrist. She only felt him cradle the back of her head, the warmth of his blood spilling over her lips.

“More than a mouthful,” Brasa directed against her temple.

She took it.

Lilah barely noticed him helping her to stand, tugging off the robe, and depositing her back into the bed. Naked, her skin laying comfortably against his, Lilah drifted.

The second waking was definitely not as good as the first. Her head ached, her body ached, and she was alone. Lilah rolled from the bed and stumbled through most of her morning routine, pulling on an over-sized shirt. Then, she blearily made her way to the door and opened it.

She thought halfheartedly about going to the kitchen and making some food, but her curious mind turned her head left and she looked down a previously unexplored part of the house. The hallway was not lit, but she spied a light switch not far away. With her forefinger, she flicked it on.

It was a hallway. Tastefully painted, but bare in the way the rest of the house was bare. At the far end were two doors, situated on opposite sides. She moved towards them and tested the knob to the door on the right. It was locked. The door on the left, however, swung open easily.

The room was dark beyond. Lilah peered in, feeling around on the wall for a switch. She found it, and when the lights came on, Lilah almost wished she hadn’t. The room was large, the walls all carved directly into the rock. In the center was a rounded pool that she recognized.

Lilah had kind of thought that the pool of blood was part of her dream, that it had been created by an overactive imagination. This was not the case. She hadn’t dreamt it. She hadn’t made it up.

Swallowing back bile, Lilah walked to the edge. It was as she remembered. Thick, opaque, and utterly still, the pool of blood sat silently in a too warm room. Dropping to a knee, she was irrationally tempted to reach down and dip her hand in it.

Mouth curling, she stood, spying the showers at the far side of the room. Mind tracing back to the dream-slash-memory of being pinned to the wall, Lilah stood and turned. Brasa was leaning against the door jamb, arms folded loosely across his chest. He’d donned a pair of sweatpants, the rest of his body bare. His hair was mussed, and she could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw.

“It is a healing pool,” he answered her unspoken question, “We use them when we’re gravely injured. It speeds up the process of getting back to normal.”

Lilah looked down at the pool and back to him, “How do you keep it from coagulating?”

Brasa loosed a soft laugh, “We filter it, feed in a cocktail of chemicals.”

“Very scientific,” she replied, moving towards him.

He shrugged, reaching for her and pulling her into his body, “I’m sure it is.” Then, “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.” When Lilah hummed in question, he continued, “I’d like for you to meet some of my people. Let me introduce you.”

Lilah stared at him, trying to discern his meaning, “Like, how?”

“There is a tradition. A communal meal, of sorts.”

She tried to process it, tried to understand what he was saying without actually saying it. There were a lot of ritualistic practices that culebras engaged in for various reasons throughout the year. It was common practice to sacrifice a human, drain all their blood, and feed from the same troth. Lilah desperately hoped this wasn’t one of those rituals.

“What kind of meal?”

Brasa tugged her into the hallway, closing the door behind them, “Javier has taken the time to procure several dozen donors. I plan to host a small gathering and offer their donation to the group.”

She followed him towards the living room, noting that a rolling wardrobe had arrived, “And you want to introduce me to them during the gathering?”

“Yes,” he pronounced confidently, though she could see the strain in his placid expression.

Lilah eyed the wardrobe, making a few deductions, “Introduce me as what?”

His gaze was level, straight-forward, “As my bondmate—you’ve already claimed the title back in the caves. I wish to make it...official.”

She couldn’t help the small smile that moved reflexively over her lips, “And you’ve had Javier pick out a few outfits for the occasion.”

Brasa followed her gesture toward the wardrobe, “I thought it would be best, given the short notice.”

“You thought right.” Lilah looked at it skeptically, “How long do I have to get ready?”

He rolled a shoulder, “The ceremony isn’t until this evening. You have time.”

***

Lilah had been in more than her fair share of high pressure situations. She had faced police, guns, car chases, and on one occasion a very irate moose. But, in this moment, Lilah would very much like to be facing down the moose. At least with the moose, Lilah was pretty sure she’d survive the encounter with some dignity.

She gave herself another once over. Lilah had to admit that Javier had done a fantastic job of picking a selection of dresses for the occasion. It had taken actually trying on every one of the ten garments to whittle them down to the gold sequinned number. Cut at the mid-thigh, it was, perhaps, at bit sexier than strictly called for. But, she thought the high neck and long sleeves balanced it nicely.

Giving her hair a final fluff, Lilah stepped into a pair of understated heels and left the bathroom. The little room tucked behind the bar glowed warmly in the lamplight. She took it in. The door to Brasa’s private office was ajar, the area beyond dark. The bed was made and hadn’t been slept in since he’d brought her home—to his actual home. Buried deep in the rock, a little oasis in the desert.

They’d had to load the wardrobe into the SUV and haul ass across the desert due to—she was going to call it ‘distraction’. Lilah still felt her face and neck heat up when she thought about how easily he’d kissed her senseless, how she hadn’t even managed to get free of her shirt before he was sliding home and fucking her into no less than two orgasms. Then, he’d carried her to bed and started all over again.

Not for the first time, she wondered at how much her life had changed—a total shift in direction that should have left her confused and disoriented. Brasa had become her touchstone, had used whatever gravity inherent in the bond to anchor her down. Every step of the way, he’d been there, ready to act if she needed. She had only to reach out to him, to ask. Lilah wished she had figured that out sooner.

Taking a fortifying breath, she turned off the lights and headed to Brasa’s public office where she knew he and Javier were waiting. Her heels clicked loudly on the stone. The rhythm was sharp, projecting strength and power that she didn’t quite feel. Projection would have to be enough, for now.

As she expected, Brasa and Javier were waiting for her. What she didn’t expect was to find them laughing. Brasa was doubled over, Javier leaning heavily on his cane. Lilah was so used to seeing Brasa interacting with Javier during times of stress and crisis. It was easy to forget that they had very likely been friends for a long time—that their working relationship was also a tightly woven friendship.

Standing at the threshold of the hidden door, she let herself observe from a distance. Lilah loved to see his smile. She was getting to see it more and more frequently, a fact for which she was grateful.

He noticed her too soon, caught between one breath and the next. Straightening, Brasa took a step toward her and held out his hand. She approached with measured steps, giving him time to take a long look. This was an important day for Brasa. She wanted to make him proud.

“You look beautiful,” this came from Javier, who was casting her a respectfully appraising glance.

Lilah smiled and thanked him, her eyes returning to Brasa. He hadn’t said anything, and the feeling of the leather between their skin was unsettling after...well, after. She straightened her shoulders despite the unease.

Because she couldn’t take the silence, she quipped, “Javier did a good job with the dresses. I should have him pick out my entire wardrobe.”

His mouth turned up in a smile, light glinting in his eye, “As long as you keep the shorts.”

“Deal.”

Javier’s cane clicked against the stone floor, “As much as I would enjoy discussing hemlines and accessories, we have guests.”

Brasa’s smile softened, “Of course.” Then, to her, “Are you ready?”

“To participate in ritual meal sharing with people I’ve never met and be introduced as the partner of their de facto leader? Sure. Never been more ready.”

Shaking his head at the deadpan in her voice, Brasa covered her hand and brought it to his chest, “You will do fine. Javier will be with you when I cannot.”

Rolling her eyes, Lilah stepped up to him, their heights leveled by her heels, “I’m sure it’ll go great.”

He gauged her sincerity for a moment, then nodded and led her by the hand out the side door and down the hall. Lilah recognized the path as the way to the church. She heard voices in the distance, growing louder with every step forward. Lilah focused on the sound of her heels and tried to calm the heavy beat of her heart.

The sound was sucked out of the room as Brasa entered half a step ahead of her. She felt his grip tighten on her hand, though his stride did not falter. A dozen pairs of eyes turned towards them. Lilah braced for the impact of whatever would come next.

Brasa moved with purpose to the front of the room, turning to face the crowd. Lilah kept hold of his hand, but let herself fall back into a submissive stance, partially hiding her body behind him. The curious glances were understandable, not a one looking at her with any kind of malice. She was, however, the only (sort of) human in the room.

It took her a few sentences to realize that he was speaking in Spanish. Lilah had a fair grasp of the language, though was nowhere near fluent. She got the gist, filling in the rest with context clues. He was thanking them for being there, thanking them for their support, thanking them for believing in him. And then he said her name.

A gentle tug ushered her forward. Lilah stood as tall as she could, put as much confidence as she could in her expression, forced her mouth into a soft, serene smile. It took considerable effort to not raise her hand and wave awkwardly at them as their attention focused on her. Nothing about this was normal for her, and she found herself hesitating between every movement or decision.

When he’d finished with the introduction, Brasa glanced at her to check her comfort. She gave him a deferential nod, letting the bond open just enough to project her well being. His expression (and body) warmed, pleased that she was becoming more comfortable with using the connection to communicate with him.

A staff she had seen periodically at the bar brought forward a large copper bowl that sloshed thickly. Lilah swallowed back the instinctual revulsion, knowing that people were watching and judging her every movement. This had to be as natural as breathing for her, as common as sleep.

The bowl was set carefully on the altar, a copper ladle hanging from the lip. Brasa let go of her hand, and Lilah stepped back and to the side. From her periphery, she caught Javier moving to within a few feet of her. He rested both hands on his cane as he observed. She took her cue from him, folding her hands in front of her and watching.

Brasa took the ladle and dipped it into the bowl. He brought it to his lips and took the first sip, then presented the ladle to the group. They clapped, a few let out a cheerful whoop. Lilah felt her shoulders relax in relief. Everything appeared to be going well. Another staff brought out a tray of copper cups that, had they been glass, could have been made for wine.

“He will fill the glasses,” Javier commented lowly, “A representation of how he will provide for them in the future.”

Lilah nodded, saying nothing. Although the ritual was fascinating, there was no way she was going to understand all the nuance that every action conveyed. For now, she was happy stand out of the way and to watch.

Movement at her elbow garnered her attention. She turned to see Javier offering her a similar cup, though this one was filled with fizzy liquid.

“Champagne,” he explained, “for the occasion.”

She took it, giving him a salute, “Thank you.”

“No need,” he waved her away, “It is my honor to serve you.”

Let me serve you.

She’d heard Brasa say something similar several times over. Similar rhythm, similar intent. Lilah cast Javier a long look, then discarded the thought. There would be time to ask about that later.

Brasa filled cup after cup for the group, saying something to each. Lilah looked at their faces, judged their body language. It was clear that they deferred to him, that he was at the peak of the hierarchy. It was also clear that there was no resentment for his position. Everyone in the room looked to be well fed, and grateful for his intervention. Lilah wondered how much he had done that she wasn’t even aware of.

One or two chanced to approach her. They took her hand, eyes cast downward. Lilah, unsure of how to act, took her cues from Brasa. She thanked them for being there and for supporting her bondmate. She smiled as genuinely as she could.

Only one person did Lilah approach on her own—the woman with dark features she recognized from the cave.  She accepted her hand, learning that her name was Naya, and that she had taken a position in marketing.

“I didn’t even realize we had a marketing department,” Lilah commented lightly.

Naya inhaled sharply, her eyes widening, “Its not big—just ten of us—we stay to ourselves.”

Too late, Lilah realized that she given the impression that she was somehow offended. Moved to quickly right the miscommunication, she laid her hand on Naya’s arm, “I’m sure you do. I’d like to see your work sometime.  Maybe we can set up a—a meeting or something.”

“Yes, of course, Lady Lilah.”

Pausing, Lilah nearly choked on her own spit. No one had referred to her by a title, not even the ever judicious Javier. She managed to stop herself from negating it, the words literally bitten back. Yet another change she was going to have to make adjustments for.  

When her champagne ran out, Javier filled her glass from a bottle sitting off to the side. Lilah sipped as slowly as she knew how, trying to pace herself. When every person in the room had a full cup, Brasa made his way over to her, taking her hand and leading her around to give less formal introductions.

There were so many names that she had a hard time keeping track. Brasa knew them all, knew their habits and their loved ones, knew to ask how their latest project or hobby was going. It boggled her that he could keep it all straight in his head when she’d already forgotten nearly everything she’d been told in the last hour or so.

The champagne wasn’t helping. Lilah could feel a good buzz coming on, which would turn into sheer drunkenness if she wasn’t careful. Javier would appear out of nowhere the second her glass got low, bottle in hand. She didn’t know how badly it would be taken if she waved him off, so she just kept letting him though she held it carefully in front of her longer and longer between sips.

Warm from the alcohol and the feeling of her bondmate pressed against her side, Lilah felt fatigue setting in. It took maybe thirty seconds before Brasa felt it, too. He looked over at her, then motioned for Javier, instructing him to walk her to their room. She was subsequently whisked away, a gentle hand on her arm.

Lilah walked with Javier back through to the private room Brasa kept at the bar. She laughed when Javier presented the bottle of champagne, only about a quarter of the way full.

“I plan on finishing that, you know?”

He smiled, “Of course. Might I suggest that you also hydrate.”

“Will do,” Lilah said, giving him half a salute.

When he’d bowed out of the room Lilah scooped up the bottle and sauntered to the private office. Setting the champagne down on a side table, she perused the stacks, one finger tracing over the spines. She took her time picking out a book, and then slouched down into the couch cushions to read.

Lilah had finished the bottle and refilled her cup twice over with water by the time Brasa finally arrived. Lilah could hear him shuffling about, the heaviness in his step as he moved through the room. She set her book aside and sat up, pulling her legs up and underneath her body.

He stood in the doorway, tugging off his gloves, “I thought you might be asleep by now.”

She shrugged, “Felt like getting some reading in, while I had the chance.”

Brasa followed the flick of her hand towards the book sitting on the table next to the empty bottle, “I first read that on a beach in Bali. Have you gotten to the part where Ginger jumps off the cliff?”

Lilah put her hands on her cheeks, gasping, “No, I hadn’t. Spoiler alert!”

He looked so completely off guard and apologetic that her little joke lasted no more than a few seconds before she was laughing.

“Its okay,” she soothed, “I’m past that part already.”

Releasing a steadying breath that ended in a chuckle, Brasa helped her to standing, “The ending is very good. I will look forward to hearing your thoughts on it.”

Arms wrapping around his waist, she murmured, “I’ll be sure to share.”

He held her comfortably for a while, hand splayed on her shoulder blade, fingers swirling. Lilah let herself fall into the rhythm of it, lulled peacefully into silence. The alcohol was settling in nicely, and she knew she would be asleep on her feet, if she let it go on.

With courage brought on by the champagne, Lilah recalled an idea that she’d once had. After about half a second of debate, she looked up at him and said, “I know you just ate, but now might be a good time to explore our idea from the plane.”

Brasa cast her a confused look. Lilah knew that he’d figured it out when his body temperature kicked up hard and the pupils of his eyes blurred into the irises. She smiled.

“Are you sure?” He asked, pulling away so that he could look her in the eye.

“I am.”

It took maybe three seconds for him to consider it, and then he was nodding eagerly. When he began to pull her towards the bedroom, Lilah stopped him.

“Go sit on the bed,” she instructed. “Get comfortable.”

Without hesitation, he turned and did as she asked. Lilah took the extra time to down the last of the water in her cup and tug off her heels. Toes squishing into the plush carpet, Lilah steadied herself. She had a rough plan for what she wanted, but hoped she wouldn’t botch the execution.

When she stepped into the bedroom, he was sitting on the bed. His shoes were sitting on the floor, socks tucked neatly inside. He’d slipped the first few buttons free of his shirt, the cuffs were rolled up to his elbows. Hands resting on his thighs, Brasa watched her intensely, his eyes following every tiny movement.

Lilah walked up to him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him lightly, “Okay?”

He nodded, though the rest of his body remained still. Heat pushed at her, thrumming over her skin and giving her the confidence she needed to take the single step backwards. When his brows drew together, she smirked and gave a little shimmy, inducing a huff of laughter.

Reaching back, Lilah pulled down the zipper of her dress and shrugged it off her shoulders, letting the material fall to the floor. Beneath it was another one of Javier’s purchases. A deep wine lace bra and panty set that fit her perfectly. Lilah had never purchased anything so nice for herself, but she’d buy ten sets if they always got the reaction she was getting now.

He was...entranced. That was the only word for it. Eyes focused and body taut, Brasa took her in hungrily. Across the bond, Lilah could feel how he wanted to move, to take her to the floor and hold her down. It was an instinct that he was resisting mightily, and for that, Lilah credited him.

Game plan.

Moving with conscious effort, Lilah rounded the edge of the bed and climbed on. The mattress gave beneath her, a soft welcome. She crawled up to sit in the center, lifting a hand to him in invitation. He took it, shifting up next to her, his palm running up her arm, over her shoulder, and to the back of her neck. Lilah let him pull her into a kiss.

He pulled away too soon, eyes checking for direction. Lilah pulled him fully onto the bed, traced her hands down his chest and pulling his shirt from his pants. He molded to her hands, going wherever she led him. All the while, the temperature in the room continued to rise.

Drawing him close, Lilah bared her neck to him. Brasa’s lips trailed over the bite he’d made earlier, thumb pressing underneath her chin to tilt her head further to the side. She closed her eyes, and waited.

The bite, when it came, was soft and careful. The bruising from the morning might have healed, but the flesh was warm and sensitive. She hissed, lips pulling back from her teeth, grateful for the numbing of the champagne and the precision of his teeth.

Groaning, Brasa took a long pull, throat working around the swallow. The skin around his mouth tingled, the venom pumping into her veins. Another long pull, and the arm supporting her weight gave out. He followed her down with a harsh groan, hands spanning her waist. Lilah held him to her, arching into his body. The lace rubbed sensuously against her nipples, the feeling intensifying as he cupped both breasts in his hands.

Sighing into the feeling, Lilah pulled at his shirt, reaching down to blindly thumb open the rest of the buttons. He pulled away, covering the wound with his hand to stem off the initial bleeding. Although he’d taken far less than he normally would, Lilah shivered under the onslaught of the venom. It pulsed with every heartbeat, lighting every nerve on fire along the way.

Resting his head on his arm, Brasa studied her face. His mouth was lined in red, fangs peeking out from between his lips. He blinked slowly, eyes glassy.

Lilah touched his cheek, “Okay?”

He laughed softly, taking her hand and kissing her palm, “I’m more than okay. I feel…”

When he didn’t continue, she prodded him lightly with a little kick of her leg. He rolled to his back, hands pushed into his eyes. Lilah had enough time to be worried before he spoke again.

“Warm,” he said. “And fuzzy.”

She smiled, “That’s called a buzz.”

He hummed, running his hands over his hair before turning to regard her lazily, “So that’s what its like.”

“That’s exactly what its like,” she managed around the escalating burn of venom.

At such a low dose, it would wear off in a moment. In the meantime, it sent a little frisson up her spine, “I guess that answers our question.”

Another happy hum, and then he rolled over and atop over, kissing her deeply. She could taste to copper of her own blood on his tongue, could feel his fangs rubbing at her lips. Lilah pulled him closer, wrapping a leg around his waist and undulating against his growing erection.

Growling, Brasa yanked at her underwear, “Off. Now. Naked.”

Inordinately pleased that she’d reduced him to single words, Lilah giggled as he pulled her legs free, wiggling a hand beneath her to unclasp her bra. Both went over the side of the bed without ceremony. He kissed a wet path down the center of her body, hauling both legs over his shoulders. Lilah was completely unprepared for how avidly he licked at her, tongue rubbing heavily through her folds.

“Brasa!” She cried, grabbing at his shoulders.

He gave her no quarter, sinking his fingers into her and ripping an orgasm from her so fast that it, quite frankly, shocked the hell out of her. Lilah barely had a moment to breathe before he was moving up her body, dropping kisses along the way.

Weight falling on her, Brasa kissed over her cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin, hands arranging her so that her thighs were as wide as possible. Her muscles burned, legs shaking with the strain. Lilah scraped her nails down his back, consciously relaxing the grip of her fingers so as to not dig in too deep.

Groaning against her jaw, Brasa licked up the side of her neck, nipping behind her ear. He shifted his weight, and Lilah could tell that he wanted to go down on her again—could feel it through the bond as if he’d said that words aloud.

Maybe later, she thought at him. My turn.

His hands tightened on her hips, but he let her roll him to his back, let her straddle him, let her kiss him until he was moaning into her mouth. Pulling back, Lilah looked him over. Breathing hard, mouth glistening, he was the picture of an aroused, needy male. She smiled.

Leaning down, she kissed him softly, one hand caressing down his chest, ruffling the hair that pointed downward to where he was straining against his fly. With nimble fingers, Lilah opened the placket, pushing the material down. The other hand grasped his wrist and settled his palm against his own cock.

His fingers circled his length moving slowly. Lilah watched him for a few strokes, her forehead against his temple.

“Faster,” she breathed.

He obeyed, air punching out of his lungs, hips circling. The tip leaked over his palm, easing the glide of his fingers. Lilah bit her lip, working hard to keep still even as her cunt pulsed with need. She wanted desperately to sink down on him.

The moment felt too delicate to break. This beautiful man moaning so sweetly beneath her, gasping and fucking up into his hand with growing need. Lilah deliberately set her want aside, cupping his jaw and kissing his cheek softly.

“Please,” he rasped, “Please—fuck—need you.”

He tugged at her hips with his free hand, trying to line himself up so that he could pull her down onto him. She almost broke, almost pushed his hand aside and gave him what he wanted. Almost. Instead, Lilah grabbed at the hand on her hip and pushed it into the mattress.  

Licking and biting down his body, Lilah settled between his thighs, tugging his pants the rest of the way off his body. She ran her hands up his legs, massaging gently. The hand on his cock had slowed to a stop, his eyes watching in a glassy haze. Mouth pursed in question, Brasa’s body tightened while he tried to anticipated her next move.

Hands holding his hips, Lilah looked up at him, “Okay?”

He nodded eagerly, releasing the softest, sweetest moan she’d ever heard when she ran her tongue over his length. She licked lightly over the head, drawing it into her mouth to suck. Bobbing down, her lips met his fingers, tongue circling around the digits.

Gently, Lilah pushed them away, using her own hands to stroke what she couldn’t reach with her mouth. He gripped the sheets, hips moving with her, groaning loudly. When she glanced at him, his head was thrown back, the muscles of his chest and arms bulging as he tried to hold on.

Cradling his sack, Lilah relaxed her jaw and pulled him in as deep as she could go. He scrambled for her shoulders, holding his breath. Lilah had about two seconds of warning before the first pulse came. She swallowed down what she could, letting the rest drip down his length and over her hands.

When his body shied away from the stimulation, Lilah lifted off him and sat back, admiring her work. His eyes were closed, his chest heaving with every breath. His shirt was wrinkled, skin taut and damp.

Smiling, Lilah pushed from the bed and went to the bathroom, wetting a towel with hot water. She cleaned him gently, apologizing with every hissed breath. Setting the towel aside, she eased his shirt off his shoulders and dropped it off the side of the bed.

Brasa, having regained his ability to think, pushed back the covers and pulled her into his arms, turning off the light. With the room plunged into darkness, Lilah snuggled against him, soaking up the residual warmth.

She whispered his name, waiting for his answering grunt. Then, she said, “Do you think its different with weed?”

[thethistlegirl]

Comfortember day 10 (Crying)

I’ve been tossing the idea of a sort of guardian angels AU back and forth in my brain for a while, and then this idea hit (a combination of two books I’d read, the unavoidable knowledge of the Supernatural plot twist, and my overactive imagination) so here you are!

Riley vividly remembers the day Jack vanished.

Vanished is exactly the right word to use. Because Riley can find anyone if she tries hard enough. But Jack? Jack literally doesn't exist anymore. It's like he walked out the door after laying Elwood out cold, and fell off the face of the earth.

Mom says to forget him. But Riley can't. Jack is different, he wouldn't just leave.

She tries everything. In and out of juvie and probation for her forays into government databases that take top level clearance to access the legal ways, because the only way to make someone disappear that completely from every public record is to make them a whole new identity. Building a facial rec program from scratch to scan the limitless feeds of social media and security cameras for just a glimpse of a familiar face. Stealing a car and driving all the way to the town Jack casually mentioned he was from in Texas, only to discover that it's empty. And has been for the past seventy years.

It takes almost six years before she finds the first clue. On a sketchy dark web conspiracy theory forum, a blurry picture of the same geometric symbol that she remembers Jack had tattooed on his wrist, the one he usually covered up with that ridiculous leather cuff.

A symbol, according to the anonymous poster, of the elite race of Guardians. Interdimensional beings, who, if you believe the stories, have taken an interest in the human race and will attach themselves to people or families, to learn about the ways humans live.

It's hard to sort the 'facts' from the clearly ridiculous posited theories or pontificating. Anyone who claims to know much about the Guardians is just looking for attention. Even the little online forums that spring up around the topic are full of things Riley can tell at a glance are flat-out invention. But every once in a while, there's a grain of truth. A grain she sorts out and squirrels away, slowly building a file that will lead her to the real story.

Apparently, Guardians used to be like legitimate guardian angels, thus the name. Protectors of the humans they cared for. Until one of them saved their human counterpart so incredibly unbelievably that the race was almost exposed to the public knowledge, and thus, a Code was created. According to this Code, physical interference in the fates of the human realm is forbidden. Some sort of real-life 'prime directive', she guesses. Those who disobey face immediate banishment to the Liminal. A space between their world and the humans'.

What happened to Jack finally makes sense. His fight with Elwood was the first time he'd actively interfered in Riley's world in a way that changed the status quo. He must have known he was going to be taken, and left so they wouldn't watch it happen.

But now that she knows where he is, Riley knows what she has to do.

There's only one way for a human to get sent to the Liminal. To become such a threat to the Guardians that they have no other choice. She figures posting everything everyone has ever collected about them, under her real name, to every forum on the dark web, is a good start.

The portal that opens up behind her less than a minute later is a bit of a shock. But she doesn't have very long to be impressed with the very not mundane appearance in her apartment before her world goes black.

When she wakes up, she's surrounded by black grass, a golden sky overhead traced with glowing purple specks like stars. She feels around her for the backpack she had strapped on her shoulders, and is relieved to find it there. So is the knife she'd bought from a pawnshop and now has strapped to her leg. If the stories are true, the Liminal is far from safe. But she's survived six stints in detention centers. She knows how to keep a sharp eye out and protect herself from threats.

She's not sure how she's going to find Jack here. There's no telling how big the Liminal is. It might be as big as the world. And as she quickly establishes, her technology is no good here. Her phone, the screen cracked from how hard she fell, is flickering and the same strange little geometric symbol keeps popping up and vanishing.

She can't even turn the damn thing off to save the battery for the flashlight, so she tucks it into her backpack and starts off toward a range of blood-red mountains in the distance, rising above the sea of waist-high black grass.

She hears it before she sees it. The whoosh of wings. She instinctively ducks, wondering what kind of predators this world supports, if to them she's nothing more than a field mouse in a meadow.

She pulls the knife out of its sheath and waits in a crouch, ready to explode into a fury of action if the creature attacks.

But there's only a thump. Then silence.

Then a whisper.

"Riley?"

She looks up, stunned.

Jack is standing in front of her, the tattoo on his wrist glowing a bright crimson that pulses in a familiar rhythm. The same one-two pattern of the unstoppable flicker on her phone. And spread out from his shoulders are a pair of massive cinnamon-brown wings.

She drops the knife and throws herself at him, eight years' worth of sobs tearing out of her throat. She doesn't know what happens now. Whether they'll make things worse or better. Whether the single story she read about a Guardian's human lover entering the Liminal to get them back will apply to an adopted child as well. But if all it takes is a love strong enough to risk everything, then she thinks they'll be alright.

Jack is crying, too, and every single one of their tears that hits the ground splashes and widens, creating a silver pool in the middle of the black grass, with them at the center. And when the familiar blackness washes over her, Riley closes her eyes. This time, she isn't going into the unknown alone. Jack is holding onto her, strong and familiar and safe.

When she wakes up on the floor of her apartment, in a puddle of water, to the banal familiarity of police sirens and crying kids, she can't even be upset that the whole room looks like it's been flooded and her rig and all her files are definitely wrecked. And when Mrs. Lambert from downstairs comes pounding on the door and shouts that her bathroom ceiling is leaking and Riley's going to have to pay for repairs if she overfilled the bathtub and flooded the place again, Riley just opens the door with a smile.

"It's fine, Mrs. Lambert," She says, turning around and then opening the door a little wider. "My dad's here. He can fix anything."

[carolyncaves]

And here we are: the 5th and final installment of WWX Goes to Gusu, aka What Actually Changes As A Result? This AU went a lot farther than I ever expected it to, and I’m so glad it did, I had a lot of fun writing it - thanks to everyone who’s taken the time to join me in it, now or in the future! 4812 words + postscript, the gang’s all here in this one, vague mental illness Wei Wuxian and now-married Wangxian, minor background pairings, some angst and sadness (I couldn’t completely save Wen Ning from his canon fate), a terrible party (that CQL staple) but in a potentially better way this time

part one | part two | part three | part four | also on ao3

“I thought I told you not to overdo it,” Jiang Cheng said to him lowly, as he and Wei Wuxian made their way together back down the mountain toward Jinlintai.

“Didn’t you hear that Jin-gongzi at the opening ceremony, though? He practically begged me. I wasn’t blindfolded, but I think I lived up to his invitation.”

“So it was on purpose, then? You set out to catch half the mountain in our nets? It wasn’t because you didn’t know your own power?”

Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t at all. There would be time for that later, when they weren’t sharing a hillside with a hundred cultivators – or never, if he really had his preference.

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng said, before the question or its answer could agitate him. “We’ll work with it. It certainly made a statement, and if the point is to remind the Jin sect they don’t rule the world, a ridiculous display of power from the Jiang sect head disciple isn’t the worst thing that could have happened.”

Wei Wuxian thought ‘not the worst thing that could have happened’ was a low bar to set, but wasn’t about to argue with him about it.

At that point left Jiang Cheng left Wei Wuxian’s side and made his way over to confer with Shijie. That was for the best. She would probably be clearer in the retelling of the previous tense confrontation than Wei Wuxian would be. Somewhere in the middle the Jin cousin had said something too far, something about Lan Zhan and a demonic cultivator like him, and Wei Wuxian’s brain had gone white and his core had gone black, black, black with smoke. He didn’t know why he hadn’t torn that blowhard to pieces. Lan Zhan and Shijie must have stopped him.

And then Shijie, Shijie, stood in the center of a bunch of loud, arrogant men and cut every one of them down.

A part of Wei Wuxian was itching to abandon this banquet – to get away from the Jins and particularly that one, with his lousy attitude and even lousier manners, and from Yao-zongzhu and his ilk. He imagined forgoing a stuffy room full of fake, stuffy people and walking the public boulevards with a bottle of baijiu, agreeably alone in that crowd instead of under a thousand eyes in the customary one. He hadn’t forgotten the welcome ceremony, the archery range with its human targets. He’d been furious since then, in a way he’d started to think maybe he’d grown too cold to be anymore. Furious at the treatment of the Wen prisoners, furious at his impotence under the shake of his brother’s head.

Lan Zhan had taken his headband from his forehead and given it to him. Right in front of the entire world. He and Wei Wuxian were married, so he was allowed to do that. And he wanted to.

Wei Wuxian had stepped up to the targets – innocent people in front of him, guilty ones behind. Lan Zhan watching him, Jin Guangshan watching him, Shijie and Jiang Cheng and the peacock and Jin Guangyao. He had no golden core, just euphoria and fury swirling in his blood. He had to nock his bow and do this right. There were innocent people in front of him. There was no other option.

It was enough. He was enough. He just had to keep being enough.

He’d felt like too much on the mountain, when everyone was arguing with him. He felt like too much now. To make himself feel better, he looked over at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan, who today wore blue, a darker color than Wei Wuxian had ever seen him in. Darker than the baby blue of his forehead ribbon. Light for a Jiang, but unmistakably something that placed him with them – though the white wasn’t gone, showing in his inner layers and the embroidery down the sides of his collar. Wei Wuxian liked it. He looked … Wei Wuxian’s and himself at once. It was exactly how Wei Wuxian wanted him to look for all their days.

Lan Zhan, who despite not knowing about the flute playing advance, had immediately jumped to Wei Wuxian's defense when Jin Whoever accused him over it. Who’d said things like, “You stand before us and think we should know your name. How can you say Wei Ying is too proud?” “Wei Ying doesn’t need to carry his sword. I carry mine.” “If you think you have more capability than Wei Ying or myself, show me.”

Lan Zhan, who’d stood next to him, right next to him, and maintained a steady grip on his arm even as tears leaked out of Wei Wuxian’s eyes and he didn’t know how he was going to bear standing there and continuing to exist from one second to the next. That feeling had receded fast, fortunately, and Lan Zhan hadn’t let go of him until it was gone.

Lan Zhan, who was now looking at him.

Wei Wuxian made his heart settle, banished any remaining errant thought of leaving the group. He couldn’t be anywhere else when his husband was here. He smiled back at him.

Lan Zhan moved toward him like a river moved downhill.

As soon as he reached his side, he put a hand under his elbow, so they were walking as one.

“If you’re not careful, Lan Zhan, people will think something scandalous.” Nothing could be scandalous between them, really, but Wei Wuxian felt compelled to tease.

Lan Zhan did not rise to the bait, nor did he remove his hand. It was amazing how a few lifelong vows had emboldened him. “You did not need to play,” he said. “To use your cultivation today.”

Ah, that. “It was for the hunt, Lan Zhan.”

“The crowd hunt is a game.”

“Yes, and I did it for show, for helping Jiang Cheng secure power. He asked me to do it, we worked it all out in advance.”

“Jiang Wanyin has no call to ask that of you.”

“Lan Zhan, are you jealous? You are! You both really are two pieces of work. Jiang Cheng is my shidi and sect leader. You are my beloved husband and partner – in cultivation and all other things. I know I am not quite a whole man, but still, surely there is enough of me to spread between you." This routine was meant entirely in jest, but as was sometimes the case with jests, Wei Wuxian felt like he'd struck himself somewhere vital saying it.

Lan Zhan still seemed dismayed as well. “You are your whole self. But what of you? How much of you do you retain?”

“The whole part you have, I have,” Wei Wuxian promised, leaning closer into Lan Zhan, letting him carry his weight. “This modest, simple Wei likes how much you have of him.”

Lan Zhan hmphed. “You are not modest.” Then, with no humor: “You chose not to tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I didn't want you to worry about it the whole time. You can play Cleansing for me three times this evening to make up for it.”

Lan Zhan’s face took on a look of despair, and Wei Wuxian realized that was probably not a kind thing to have said. This wasn't banter.

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan,” he said again, and this time he tried to say it seriously. “I needed to do this for Jiang Cheng. I’m going to have to use it sometimes. But I’m sorry I didn't tell you beforehand. I shouldn't, we ..." He stopped and grabbed Lan Zhan's hand, turning it palm-up and putting his hand overtop of it. The others would get ahead of them, but they could catch up. "I should have told you. I know. I just don’t like to make you sad."

"You are harming yourself."

"It's my way of doing good in the world, Zan Zhan." It's the only one I have left, he didn't say where someone might be around to overhear them, but he knew Lan Zhan understood it. "Would you really begrudge me of it?"

Lan Zhan's hand tightened around Wei Wuxian's own, like he was fighting a violent internal war and Wei Wuxian was his lifeline. That wasn't quite true – Wei Wuxian himself was the one putting Lan Zhan through this in the first place. There was nothing to be done about it, though. The other person's battles were unavoidable now that they occupied shared territory.

Wei Wuxian wouldn’t terribly mind letting Lan Zhan eviscerate all his enemies for him. He certainly wouldn’t mind lying down somewhere small and private and listening to Lan Zhan play sweet healing music for him. Then he would beckon him over and take his husband in his arms. He shook those thoughts out of his head. They still had work left to do here today.

"Never mind it now, Lan Zhan. We have a banquet to attend. Afterward, we can talk all night.”

“You must sleep.”

“And so must you, but if my Lan Zhan needs his husband to soothe him, that will of course take precedence." He caressed his free hand down Lan Zhan's shoulder, a gloriously intimate gesture for a public space, one he could make because they were married.

“I am always soothed, simply being with you," Lan Zhan replied – though he wasn't arguing. He said it softly, like an embrace.

"Ah, Lan Zhan, I think if you look back to our younger days, you will find that is fundamentally not the case!"

Jiang Cheng, who’d apparently hung back, called over his shoulder that they were being sickening, and Wei Wuxian hastened down the slope so he could shove him. Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan glowered at each other. Shijie smiled and scolded them.

She scolded Lan Zhan sometimes, now – not quite the way she scolded Jiang Cheng, the free and easy way of people who'd been doing this all their life (scolding and being scolded respectively) and knew exactly what it meant between them. Lan Zhan was too new for that, they were too much strangers, so when she chastised her Difu it was gently, politely, obviously affectionate. She was inoculating him to the play-biting that went back and forth between the three of them, indoctrinating him into having a elder sister who knew better. Lan Zhan, for his part, seemed baffled by both the behavior and his own unquestionable yearning for it. The first time it happened, he was very disoriented, wounded and remorseful and bewildered. She had sat with him and touched his hand and cooked some traditional Lan food for him afterward, in apology. But now he was easing further and further into it with each exposure. He never argued back – perhaps never would, since it wasn't really like him, at least with anyone who wasn't Wei Wuxian – but he was absorbing the lesson that affection could sound like chastisement when it was meant right.

Coming from the Lan sect, where affection took the form of 3000 severe and limiting and unfun rules, Wei Wuxian would have thought he would have grasped it more quickly.

When they reached Jinlintai, the peacock was waiting at the top of the steps for them. Well, for Shijie, but he bowed to the rest of them to be cordial.

Jin-furen had asked Shijie to accompany her privately back to Jinlintai, saying she would convince Jin Zixuan to come see her and apologize, and Shijie had said, “I must go with my family to the banquet, as a representative of the Jiang sect, but I would be quite pleased to speak with Jin-gongzi there.” And apparently Jin-furen had made it happen. The peacock escorted Shijie inside with sure, careful honor, even after making a complete fool of himself over her in front of everyone on the mountain.

That was the first time Wei Wuxian was willing to consider that – perhaps – the peacock might love Shijie enough to be worthy of marrying her.

The rest of them filed in and found their seats – Wei Wuxian’s with Lan Zhan on one side and Jiang Cheng on the other. Jin Guangshan toasted Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Cheng gave all their prey to the other sects. This was probably necessary, after the way people had reacted, and Wei Wuxian made himself stand up and say a few empty pleasant words. He probably came across a little stiff over having to act like what he’d done and what he’d learned were nothing. It was fine, though, would be fine for Jiang Cheng. Anyway, let them think it was nothing. Let them underestimate him – or let them know he could do far more if he wanted.

Then, Wei Wuxian turned his back for one moment – to share a quiet snicker with Nie Huaisang over something unrelated and entirely too lewd for this formal setting – and when he turned around, Jin Zixun was deeply overcommitted in harassing Lan Zhan.

He started out ostensibly harassing Lan Xichen, but Lan Zhan had gone over to speak with his brother, and Jin Zixun was targeting both of them. Wei Wuxian restrained himself for the count of three, the count of five. Maybe Lan Xichen would dissuade him. The rest of room was quiet, but Wei Wuxian’s blood was loud. What was the matter with this man? Everyone knew the Lans didn't drink by doctrine. Was this revenge for Lan Zhan's words on the mountain, an attempt to humiliate the Lan sect in retaliation? Jin Guangyao tried to talk him down, but he was toothless, had no bite. Why in the world was Jin Guangshan just sitting there watching the First Jade of Lan consume alcohol against his will instead of calling his uncouth nephew to heel?

Jin Guangshan's eyes flickered to Wei Wuxian, just long enough they couldn't avoid meeting.

He'd been making sure Wei Wuxian was watching. This was retaliation, but not against Lan Zhan. Maybe Jin Zixun was truly an idiot, a petty, small man bullying polite people thinking it would win him face – but Jin Guangshan was letting him, the same way Jiang Cheng had excused him catching thirty percent of the prey on the mountain.

If it would hurt Wei Wuxian to see his husband suffer out of Jin Zixun's rudeness, if it would weaken him to embarrass the Lans, Jin Guangshan wanted it.

Wei Wuxian was taking the cup out of Jin Zixun's hand before he was even conscious of crossing the hall. The black rising energy must have gotten him there.

Wei Wuxian drank for Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian spoke smooth and briefly to Jin Zixun. There was fear in the man’s eyes when he looked back at him, and he stepped away. Good. Jin Guangshan was the only other person he could see, and he looked much less relaxed and haughty than he had a moment ago. Very good. A servant came up beside them.

Except it wasn't a servant. But the moment he spent sorting that out, the half second it took his humming brain to identify dust-covered red from burnt orange, was all the time she needed.

Wei Wuxian would have recognized her in short order anyway – he’d spent a desperate week in her compound and two terrible days under her hand on a mountain, so he knew her carriage, her breath, and a simple disguise wouldn't have fooled him for long. But the hood of Wen Qing’s cloak fell back when she swung Jin Zixun around and pressed her knife to his throat, saving him even momentary confusion.

///

Lan Wangji would later have to recognize he did not notice Wen Qing's approach because Wei Ying had been the center of every thread of his attention.

Lan Wangji had wanted to disappear when Jin Zixun extended him the cup of wine. It put him in a position where he had no good path. Refuse, and coldly insult the host sect. Drink, and make a mockery of himself. Both would reflect poorly on his family, of birth and marriage. Both would diminish him, which would endanger Wei Ying. He had never been good with words or people, had few informal relationships. What he had was his reputation, and he was going to damage it here, one way or another.

Shufu had asked him if he was willing to have it dragged through the mud for Wei Ying. He was. But he had intended on preserving it long enough to be able to spend it on his behalf. This humiliation would be pointless.

Then Wei Ying stood above him.

The dark, bold lines of his form stood out against the colorful backdrop of Glamour Hall. His bold actions did likewise. The decisive movement of his hand. The contraction of his throat. His possessive words. Even the cold voice he spoke them in – those soulless tones sent a shiver down Lan Zhan’s spine like they always did, but he would at some future point grapple with the truth that this time, directed as they were at the detestable Jin Zixun in Lan Wangji’s open defense, that shiver was touched by something magnetic.

Lan Wangji was watching Wei Ying, as he always was, when it happened, with a contradictory mixture of alarm and awe.

He returned to himself immediately once he understood there was an intruder. He moved to draw Bichen. Wei Ying’s hand wrapped around Lan Wangji’s wrist, staying it.

“Wen Qing,” Wei Ying said.

Wen Qing.

She looked hollowed and worn, was covered in dirt and mud like a vagabond. She did not carry her sword. Lan Wangji tried to decide if he was personally moved by her hardship. She was the one who agreed to maim Wei Ying, tore that golden light out of him with her own skill. On the one hand, Wei Ying begged her to do it, and Lan Wangji faced the same struggle every day – between what Wei Ying wished to do and what would be good and safe and well for him. On the other, if he could not forgive himself for his failures there, why should he forgive her?

Her grip was ferocious on her knife and on Jin Zixun’s collar, but the blade never brushed his neck. “Tell me where the Dafan Wens are, or I'll kill you.”

Jin Guangyao had lurched far back when Wen Qing struck. His hand had flown to his waist and frozen there. Several Jin disciples who had been standing guard had hurried in, and every guest had risen and exposed the steel of their swords, but no one had made the decision to approach yet. Wen Qing had no escape, but a confrontation would surely end Jin Zixun’s life along with her own. Lan Wangji almost wished someone would be bold enough to take the initiative – but Wei Ying spoke of Wen Qing like a friend. And if she had some argument against Jin Zixun, Lan Wangji had to consider the possibility he would agree with her.

Wen Qing did not jerk Jin Zixun or twist his clothing. She just repeated her demand. “Tell me where they are. The old women and young children, the people who have never known how to fight. The disciples you attached lure flags to so they could serve as live bait in Ganquan. My brother, Wen Ning, Wen Qionglin. Where is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jin Zixun pled.

“Then you’re no good to me alive,” Wen Qing said, and Jin Zixun flinched.

“Do you think I know your brother by name? Do you think I have time to remember every disciple from the Wen sect?” He tried to sneer despite his obvious pathetic terror. “Besides, I thought your breed of Wen didn't kill people.”

“Who told you that?" The fear and fury rang through in her clear voice. "Who said to you that my family doesn't kill people?"

He said nothing, but the answer was plain enough.

“You’re right, Wen Qing doesn't kill people,” Wei Ying said. “But I do.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Wanyin interjected, alarmed.

“I don't mean anything by it. Only that we of course need to see this out. Wen Qing and Wen Ning did not fight against the allied sects during Sunshot – in fact, they sheltered Jiang-zongzhu and I from their own family. They saved our lives. In that respect, the cultivation owes the defeat of Wen Ruohan’s puppets to them.” And to Wei Ying himself, he was subtly reminding them. “We all know a great many Wens have been detained, but if they are being mistreated and used as live bait, if Wen Qionglin is in danger, I know Lanling Jin will be just as eager to get to the bottom of it as the rest of us." Wei Ying looked past Wen Qing, past Jin Zixun, and stared Jin Guangshan dead in the eye. Daring him to argue.

Dangerous. That was dangerous. Jin Guangshan was a man accustomed to being in power. Still, Lan Wangji admired it.

“You really brag about your use of Yin Iron?” Yao-zongzhu asked him from one side. “About hurting so many cultivators in the process on the battlefield?”

“She’s still a Wen, isn’t she?” Nie Mingjue said from the other. “Dafan Wen, Qishan Wen – it makes no difference. She did not act to stop Wen Ruohan. She is complicit.”

“She did shelter us,” Jiang Wanyin interjected, setting his shoulders nervously against his fellow sect leader. “She and Wen Ning took that risk.”

“The Dafan Wens have a long history as doctors who eschew violence,” Lan Xichen added, meeting Nie Mingjue’s gaze. “Both their skill and strong code of ethics are well-attested in the cultivation world’s histories.”

“Then you all see her hypocrisy,” Yao-zongzhu cried. “Is she threatening to perform a surgery on this Jin-gongzi?”

Luo Qingyang spoke out in reply. “If he takes her brother and treats those people like they aren’t people, why shouldn't she do the same?”

“Jin-gongzi,” Wei Ying said, sounding chillingly bored. “Why don’t you tell Wen-guniang where her brother is, before anyone in this room gets more agitated.”

Jin Zixun looked to Lan Xichen, to Jin Guangyao, to Jin Guangshan at the head of the room. No one came to his rescue. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” he snapped at Wei Wuxian. “Who are you to side with her in front of all these people?”

“I am Wei Wuxian. If I want to side with someone, who could stop me?”

Jin Zixun revealed that the relevant Wens were being held in a place called Qiongqi Path, and Wen Qing then made it clear she intended to take Jin Zixun with her as a hostage when she went there. Jin Guangshan looked like he’d eaten an unexpectedly sour plum, but seemed prepared to cut Jin Zixun loose. Wen Qing would likely be apprehended and stopped at some point in the unfolding of things – she would have few options even if she managed to get to Qiongqi Path with Jin Zixun, and nowhere to go with her brother if she secured him – but the odds were similarly poor for any hostage that went with her. Jin Zixun seemed aware of all these things and his behavior was growing increasingly distressed in response.

“Don’t worry, Jin-gongzi,” Wei Ying said, in a voice that would have deeply worried anyone. “I will escort you every step of the way.”

“As will I,” Lan Wangji intoned. He would hardly let Wei Ying go alone.

“And I,” Luo Qingyang asserted.

“And I,” Xichen said.

Lan Wangji’s head turned with the majority of the heads in the hall, including a bewildered Wen Qing’s.

“There are Lan sect disciples guarding the camp at Qiongqi Path,” Xichen explained. “I will go to ensure their safety, and to see with my own eyes what’s transpired there.”

Nie Mingue was staring at Xichen, his brow slightly furrowed. “I as well,” he said. “To ensure justice.”

“I will also come, with a group of disciples,” Jiang Wanyin declared.

“Then there is no need to drag me along on this wild hunt,” Jin Zixun wheedled. “This Wen bitch has her pick of hostages.”

“I will have a Jin,” Wen Qing said to Jin Guangshan, ignoring his waste of a nephew entirely. Jin Guangshan stared calculatingly back at her.

“I have better things to do with my time,” Jin Zixun argued back. “I won’t go along with this farce. You’ll have Luo-guniang if you want so badly to kill a member of the Jin sect.”

“Jin Zixun,” Wei Ying barked, hand straying dangerously toward Chenqing, which made Lan Wangji’s heart rise in his throat.

“I will go,” Jin Zixuan said, which stilled both of them.

“Wait,” Jin Guangshan said. He looked worried, now, for the first time. “Everyone, calm down, and we will take our time to discuss this.”

“There’s no need to be hasty,” Jin-furen simpered from beside him.

“I will discuss nothing until Wen Ning is safe in front of me,” Wen Qing replied icily.

“It makes sense. An elder sister will of course feel protective of her brother.” Jin Zixuan stepped forward, glancing over at Luo Qingyang and then at Jiang Yanli as he did so. “We will go without delay, and I will offer myself as a hostage, because I am sure Wen-guniang’s account is not wholly accurate. The truth of the situation will resolve it.”

The looks on Jin Guangyao’s and Jin Guangshan’s faces did not encourage Lan Wangji to agree with him.

Jiang Yanli had made her way silently over to Jiang Wanyin, and her hand curled around her brother’s arm. It seemed she intended to come as well.

It was this eclectic group that left the stunned remainder of the assembly at Glamour Hall and set off for Qiongqi Path. Wen Qing had no sword, so she instructed Jin Zixuan carry her on his. She vowed to kill him if someone tried to move against her, but it was obvious no one would. Despite all manner of vague political excuses, Wei Ying was going to help her recover Wen Qionglin, and the majority of the people in the band were going along to support – or at worst, keep a protective eye on – Wei Ying.

It turned out to be a very good thing they had all made the journey.

The camp was a disgrace. The guards were liars and cowards. Lan Xichen stayed back at the main encampment with the Jiang disciples, holding the Jin sect guards there at the point of Shuoyue. The rest of them proceeded down the slope and found the Wen dead – out in the open and unburied, tangled wherever they lay, half-submerged in water churned muddy by the torrential rain.

Wen Qionglin was among them. The lure flag still protruded from his corpse.

The crimes of the Jin sect were laid bare before them. Jin Zixuan looked as stunned as if someone had snatched his heart from his chest. Lan Wangji believed it was authentic. Jin Zixuan had often seemed to him self-absorbed, but not cruel. He remembered his brother’s words. The uninformed are not guilty. He wondered if he agreed with them. He wondered how anyone could be innocent after this. Luo Qingyang was speechless with fury. She threw her sect robes on the ground and stepped on them, grinding them into the muck. Nie Mingjue had left, gone back to the main encampment, trembling in unstable rage. Lan Wangji wondered what they would find there when they returned. Jiang Yanli wept silently. She had stayed out of the cesspool, but she did not look away. Jiang Wanyin’s face was drawn and pallid. He stared at the dead form of Wen Qionglin with a dull, slow horror. Wen Qing howled.

Lan Wangji was glad. He was glad for the mud. He was glad he was here in the driving rain. He was glad he could stand beside Wei Ying when he tore people apart for this. Because he would, surely. Wei Ying was going to cross many lines tonight, and Lan Wangji was glad he could go with him, without reservation or any regret.

///

Wei Wuxian looked for Lan Zhan through a blinding haze. There would be no healing music today. It was time for another kind, the kind Wei Wuxian played. This wasn’t showing off. This wasn’t a game. This was what he was here for. He found him, finally, and Lan Zhan nodded his infinitesimal agreement.

Wei Wuxian reached for that seething pool within him. It was overeager and insistent on a good day – now it surged over its borders and coursed through him. That would hurt later, as it had before, but he would deal with it then. When this was over, Lan Zhan would take care of him.

He put Chenqing to his lips and began to play.

/////

[So technically that’s the end, and this AU can go wherever you like from there. But if you’re interested in my opinion:

Wen Ning still gets zombified. Wei Wuxian probably doesn’t kill anyone he doesn’t want to kill while he’s doing it. Nie Mingjue doesn’t have a qi deviation.

With the exception of Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, who have to go back and be Sect Leaders and sworn brothers and play reasonable with the cultivation world, everyone else flees to Lotus Pier with the Wen remnants, and it’s like a third iteration of the increasingly messed up inter-sect summer camps.

Things are a little tense – technically they’re in rebellion against the Chief Cultivator, Jin Guangshan. But he’s not just gonna … march into Lotus Pier and burn it down. What, is he Wen Ruohan? Terrible optics, Jin Guangyao keeps reminding him, especially after this whole torturing-prisoners thing.

(Plus he’s not actually sure he’d be able to, against Wei Wuxian and his amulet. He’s heard some pretty fantastic things out of the generally reasonable mouths of the Lan and Nie sect leaders. He’s not sure what would happen to him or his sect if he went up against that force and failed, and he’d rather not find out.)

Wei Wuxian is still going a little crazy from going all in with the demonic cultivation and working night and day to bring Wen Ning back, but instead of aloneish starving in a cave, he's at Lotus Pier and everyone’s around. He's taken over a pavilion and plastered it with nets and talismans. Lan Wangji doesn't make him stop or sleep if he says he really can't. He does make him listen to Cleansing a lot.

Auntie Wen gets a nice guest room. Fourth Uncle helps refine the lotus wine. A-Yuan is absolutely still a miracle, and he also gets to eat good wholesome food whenever he wants it. Maybe Jiang Cheng is rich-gege this time. Or maybe that’s Jin Zixuan. Lan Wangji can be quiet-gege. He has several amazing jiejies. This new place with all the water is delightful.

Jin Zixuan is there as a ‘hostage’. "Yes, I'm definitely here against my will," he says, making puppy eyes at Jiang Yanli. It does offer Jin Guangshan additional motivation to not attack them.

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng probably never have to stab each other.

Jiang Cheng spends an awkward amount of time watching Wen Ning be dead-ish. He keeps spending time with him once he’s undead. He’s always liked Wen Ning, some kind of baby sibling solidarity. In the long term, it turns out he did want a gentle admiring Wen sibling to go on dates with, he just started with the wrong one. The ghost general thing does not phase him.

Meanwhile, Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang are getting along like a lakehouse on fire: swimmingly.

Maybe Nie Huaisang saunters up to Lotus Pier about a month in and says ‘I’m here to negotiate, and perhaps to spy, yes, certainly’ when really he’s there to join the others! How could they leave him out! He was at the last two summer camps, and he knows he’s not the most obviously valuable player on their sorts of teams, but he thinks his wit and jovial spirit merit him a return invitation! (“You didn’t even invite me to your wedding, Wei-xiong, Lan-er-xiong.” “Jiang Cheng said I couldn’t because it would make the Jins mad – looks like that was a waste, huh, Jiang Cheng? We should have had a rude and extravagant affair after all.”)

I couldn’t really get any of this into the fic itself because I’m not trying to write a 100k epic, it had to end, but I’m attempting to eat my cake too by putting it all here.

I’m not sure how it might unfold after that, but my preferred interpretation is that everything generally turns out better. In canon, Wei Wuxian’s disruption of the banquet at Jinlintai is extremely scorched-earth, but in this scenario where Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to be the one throwing fighting words at the Jin sect and Jin Guangshan doesn’t have an opportunity to really demand the Yin Tiger Amulet, it might at least leave the door open for an eventual resumption of friendly relations between Wei Wuxian/the Jiangs and the Jins. Jin Guangshan can throw Jin Zixun under the bus and come out clean in the prisoner debacle, and if he’s frustrated the Jiangs now have ‘custody’ of the Wens and his sect has lost its elite status and his window for removing the Yin Tiger Amulet from a weakly-positioned Wei Wuxian is closing … there’s not much he can do about it.

And if he starts to take those frustrations out on the only son left in his house and/or he gets a little (self)destructive in his attempts to recoup power, and Jin Guangyao becomes his best self by committing patricide before he gets set up to marry his sister and then quitting while he’s ahead … I don’t think anyone’s going to complain. Jin Zixuan might be a little sad. Jiang Yanli can comfort him.]

[thepilgrimofwar]

Desire

Her heart pounded, quick and laboured as it had since the moment she had left the manor. Relriah was restless and though she had long gotten used to the simple fabric of her fieldbed, she could not sleep. Something had broken inside her, and she felt it leaking from her. Her past? Her present? Her future? A future that was slowly ceasing to be. She was fast approaching a threshold that she could not name or comprehend, but knew it within herself that it was coming. After she had passed it, she knew there was no going back. No going back to being Solendis’ wife like she promised. No going back to mothering Stenden as she had once did.

Threw off her covers and pulled over an overcoat over her night gown, then left her command tent, pitched right outside the manor with the rest of the Honor Guards that had followed her.

“Lady,” one of them who stood guard at her tent’s entrance nodded at her as she exited. “Do you need an escort?”

“No, no, I’m just, heading back to the manor.”

Someone had to know what was happening to her. Someone had to know about thresholds and she believed she knew who.

“Dawnbrook?” She called into the darkness where she thought she heard a bell. “It’s Lady Emberheart,” she said sombrely. “I need to speak with you about- About whatever that’s happening to me.”

The soft chime went silent, then a light sparked on the opposite end of the courtyard, cold and flickering and casting only twisted shadows. 

"Is there something wrong Lady Emberheart," the spectre spoke as it drew closer. Lirelle stops in front of her, looking her up and down for a beat. "Are you pregnant?"

Relriah burst into laughter and for a moment, she had forgotten the tension that had tightened into coils within her chest. “No! Gods no,” she shook her head. “Did the women in your life come speak with you when they got pregnant?”

“Typically when something is ‘happening’ it’s either some disease or a pregnancy. There haven’t been any signs of anything spreading among the troops or the citizens here, so pregnancy was the more likely explanation.” Lirelle left out the part that when her female friends or family came looking for her it was either for purely frivolous purposes like her sister or to go make war like Thanidiel, with very little room in between.

“I guess I wish that was it, at least I’d know what to expect,” her smile faded as the weight returned to her. “Because I feel like- like there are walls closing in around me. Like I’m… Unravelling? Because when I think of returning to life as it was, I begin to feel sick. Why do I feel sick about returning to peace? How am I going to return to being a mother and wife after this is all over?”

Lirelle’s brows furrowed. “Are you having second thoughts about the people you’ve killed? I find it best to discard such thoughts. Your actions have been to protect your family. There is no shame or guilt in striking down someone who came at you with weapons bared first.”

“No- Yes- But no, not really,” Relriah struggled to articulate herself. “I don’t have guilt over the lives taken, every life I’ve taken was to save the lives of others. But has the killing itself changed something? I feel like it has. But I’m not sure if I like the change.”

“Are you guilty that you don’t feel guilty? Or guilty that you enjoy it?”

“I’m…” She pauses, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m not guilty. I hate it. The killing I mean. I don’t feel guilty because they are a means to an end, and for survival.” Relriah muffles a frustrated scream. “But in a way, I don’t want the war to end. I’m not suited to killing or command, but I don’t want the war to end. Does that make any sense to you?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Lirelle shook her head, trying to figure out exactly what it was that Relriah meant and for the words to explain it. “ Every war is fought for the lulls in between them. Conflict is nearly unavoidable, but between each there is time, to breathe, to not have to worry about whether each day will be your last. There is the time to do what you want to do, not what you have to do.”

“But this, this is both those things. What I want to do and what I have to do are woven into one,” Relriah threw her hands into the air. “On one hand, I have to be a symbol to my people, and rally them to me in the name of protecting my son. On the other hand? I want to see the look on my father’s face when it is I who will be knocking down the walls to his fortress. This conflict, this war, is the best thing that has happened to me, and I don’t want it to end.”

“You say you do not want this to end, but what you seem to want to most is the destruction of your father, which you know will bring things to a close. What is it that you really want from this Relriah?”

She looked down, “A place outside the four walls of a court… But to also do what is expected of me. But one cannot reconcile the other. I was prepared after I brought ruin upon my father’s house- after I had achieved one thing I wanted in my life for myself- to be content going back to how things were. That I could finally die by refusing to live and just be the dutiful woman I had always ought to be.” Relriah looked into Lirelle’s crimson eyes. “But I now know that I can’t. I have to choose. My family. Or me.”

Lirelle could barely understand the Lady’s trepidation; in life things were always clear cut to her, in death, even more so. “Why does one preclude the other? The way you tell it it sounds as if either you or your family will die at the end of this. If you want to remain at home and have your freedoms, then do so. This prison that you think exists is of your own making.”

“Not all prisons have bars,” she said. “Expectation. Obligation. To know your place and to stay in it. These are the things that will chain me as they always have throughout my life. That I do not expect you to understand, you who led a life blown in the winds of war.” Relriah sighed. “But my family, as I knew it, is already dead. They’ve been so from the moment assassins stepped into our courtyard. Stenden will never be the boy he once was, Solendis never the man he once was, and me. If I did what I wanted, I would never return to my family.”

Relriah stepped towards Lirelle, simplifying it into binary terms that she could process. “I want two separate things. I want to do my duty and I want to be free from it. This war- This war- in the brief time it has been fought, has allowed the paradox of me being able to do both. It cannot last and I don’t know what will become of me.”

Lirelle fixed her with a stare, unblinking and hard, measuring the full worth of the woman in front of her, whether she could or couldn’t do the things she said she wanted. “If you would not return to them, then what? Would you run off to join some other band of sellswords like I did? If you’re right and they are two conflicting paths, your only option is to pick the one you want more. But choose wisely, by the time you regret your decision the other one will have become ash.”

Lady Emberheart sighed. “Maybe that’s the real problem, I don’t know which I want more. I want it all.”

“Indecisiveness is unbecoming of anybody. How can you know yourself so little that your true desire is hidden to you?”

“A court Lady hides all of her desires. Even from herself. Something that you’ve never had to do, blessed with a loving family who lets their children be what they want.” Relriah shook her head. “I’ve been bred to desire whatever it is the men in my life desire. Completely. Truly. How can I know myself when I feel like I’ve been born merely days ago?”

Surprisingly, Lirelle reacted with anger, her eyes seeming to flash in the darkness and flickering ghost light. "Why? Why simply accept your fate? Why live with it for so long only to suddenly change your mind now? We are all given a choice Relriah. You can choose to accept the direction of others and become nothing more than a pawn, or choose to fight for what you want for yourself, wherever that path leads you, to death, or to where you want. No one is born to simply roll over and accept the whims of others. It is always a choice."

Relriah responds with an anger of her own, a passion that seemed to spill from that broken thing inside her. “Yes, it is always a choice, only that my choices were always made for me! By my father, by my husband, by my family, and by my country!” Tears begin to rise from behind her eyes. “Unlike you, whenever I fought for what I wanted, I’ve been slapped down to where I ought to be. You got to choose the life you wanted in a world where you could be anything you wanted to be- You’ve never had to be forced to be someone you never wanted to be- Never had to live it your entire life feeling like this is all you deserved- So don’t lecture me about rolling over!”

If Lady Emberheart’s passion was like spitting embers, Lirelle was a blizzard, cold and biting. "No one can make the choices for you Relriah, not unless you choose to allow them to. When you want something badly enough that you're willing to die for it, you fight. You do not give up until you hold it in your hands or you lie buried in the ground. If you give up in the face of adversity, then maybe you never wanted it badly enough to begin with."

Relriah opened her mouth to scream but stopped herself and froze as Lirelle’s words washed over her. The priestess had lived up to her words, fighting and dying for what she had wanted. For all her words, Lady Emberheart had never wanted something badly enough to die for it. “The only thing worth dying over is Stenden,” she said quietly.

“Then you know what you want. You are his mother, no one can take that from you. What kind of mother you will be at the end of this is up to you.”

-

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel

[writeyouin]

Swerve X Reader – A Human Crewmate - Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – At Last

A/N – OMG! OMG! OMG! THIS FIC IS 101 A4 AGES LONG, THAT IS THE SIZE OF A SMALL BOOK. Based on a lot of head-canons from @rocksinmuffin and @straightouttacybertron so extra special thanks to them for that.

Warnings – NSFW-ish, like there’s nothing major, just mentions the previous chapter’s sex.

Rating – T

Swerve stood outside the hab-suite for a long time, mentally preparing himself to not only reunite with you, but also to move in with you once more, as a couple this time. He tried to force his pedes to move, but they remained stubbornly cemented to the floor.

He couldn’t help thinking about how the last few cycles felt like a hyper-realistic dream instead of reality. The two of you had spent a drunken night together, though Swerve regrettably couldn’t remember it. He’d run away from home, which sounded terribly juvenile when put like that. You’d come to his rescue, saving him from himself. It was only within the last hour that Swerve had gotten out of the med-bay, though he would rather forget that part, considering the telling off he’d got from Ratchet, and now, after what felt like an eternity of laborious repairs, Swerve was about to have all his dreams fulfilled; he would finally have a real relationship with you, in place of the one he’d built up in his imagination.

In all honesty, Swerve still couldn’t believe it and that was exactly the problem stopping him from opening the door, taking you in his arms, and never letting go. Although he would never be able to forget the words you said to him, those enchanting words ‘It’s all I want right now,’ it was still hard to believe you were referring to a relationship with him.

The problem was, it would have been all too easy for those ever sweet, yet terrifying words to have all been a lie to save his life. If that was the case, Swerve wouldn’t blame you, you were a good person, and what good person wouldn’t say exactly what someone suicidal needed to hear to save them from themselves? If the positions had been reversed, Swerve would have said exactly the same things to save a sorry aft like him.

He pressed a servo to the door, as if touching it would make going in any easier. For all he knew, Rung was in there, waiting to hold an intervention at your request and what would Swerve do then? Try and laugh it off probably, then he’d pretend everything was A-Okay, though he wouldn’t be able to be your roommate anymore, and life had already proven that he was clearly unstable without you. Primus, he dreaded the currently imaginary meeting with Rung, despite knowing you would never call for such a thing if you thought he was going to be alright.

Swerve tried once again to bring himself back into the present and enter the room, but as it turned out, his paranoid thoughts were not done with him. It wasn’t so much that he thought you couldn’t be with a mech, it was that he didn’t believe you could want him of all mechs. If anyone, you ought to be with someone cool like Blurr, or somebody respectable like Rung, or even somebody rich like Cyclonus; those were mechs who could offer you the galaxy. What did Swerve have to offer? A mediocre bar and a bit of Earth knowledge; scrap, he was a joke.

Shivering, Swerve opened his communicator, replaying a voice-mail that he’d got from you while in the med-bay.

‘Hey Swerve, how’re you doing? Ratchet told me that they’re going to be operating on you today and let me tell you… you better come home soon… I miss the best bot on the ship.‘ You chuckled, and it sounded as though you were doing so to dispel your own concerns. If Swerve had to breathe, his breath would have caught in his throat right then, knowing that you were worried for him; it was more than he ever could have asked for. You sighed and Swerve could almost see your face, trying not to cry on his behalf, ‘Look, I mean it when I say come home safe and sound, I’ll be waiting for you.’

The message alluded to so much, yet it left much more unsaid. To anyone else, it would have been a message of the purest love, but to Swerve it could have just been a worried friend. All the same, his spark pulsed rapidly whenever he heard you say that you were waiting for him. He’d replayed that message repeatedly while he was in med-bay; he could have recreated it perfectly from memory alone if he wasn’t so lucky to have it stored in his personal files.

He smiled bittersweetly, yes, whether as a friend or something more, you were waiting for him. Apprehensively, he opened the door, ready to discuss all the things the two of you had put on hold until this moment.

The second Swerve entered the room, coolant sprung to his optics and for once, he was speechless. A giant sparkling banner hung up with the traditional ‘Welcome Home’ painted on it, surrounded by hearts and stars. As if the banner wasn’t enough, you were asleep on his berth in your day clothes, hugging to a photograph of him and you together as if your life depended on it. It was clear that you’d waited up as long as you could before exhaustion took over. Swerve examined you with devoted optics, crying with happiness as he noticed that you were covered in more glitter than the banner was. Between the banner, you on his berth and the photo in your arms, Swerve knew everything was real, he loved you, and you were at least willing to give a relationship a chance with him; it was an opportunity he would not waste, he would cherish you every click of every cycle.

He took a picture of you, storing it in his memory files before thinking about what he should do next. Part of him wanted to wake you up, but the other part wanted this moment to last forever. Carefully, Swerve held his servo over your shoulder, preparing to rouse you gently awake. He hesitated, spotting an angry red burn mark on your arm. He bit his lip, guilt worming its way into his spark, unwelcomed but unavoidable. He’d seen that injury when you came to him, you’d burnt your arm when climbing through the vents to get to him; it was his fault that you’d been hurt both physically and emotionally. Swerve pulled his servo away from you, the burn serving as a tiny reminder of what would happen when you eventually did wake up. Sure, you would initially be happy to see him, but then the hard-hitting questions would come, and Swerve wasn’t prepared to answer them.

He desperately wanted to talk to you, but he knew you wouldn’t share his view that he’d spent enough time wallowing in sadness and that it was time to be happy; you deserved answers to the questions you were bound to have, but Swerve hoped to avoid them, at least for a little while. Gently, he brushed a finger against your hair, remembering the first time you’d allowed him to do so; it all felt so long ago now. You stirred slightly at the touch, mumbling in your sleep before rolling over with a yawn and settling back into your dreams.

Thinking of all the things he wanted to have with you Swerve had a wonderful idea, one that he wished to share with nobody else but you. Making as little noise as he could, he grabbed your datapad, leaving a short message on it and placing it beside you. Barely resisting the urge to kiss your forehead, Swerve left, looking forward to the moment you would wake up and go to him.

With a yawn and a stretch, you woke up, somewhat achy from the hard berth beneath you. You hadn’t meant to sleep there, you had just been waiting for Swerve to come from whatever nerve-wracking operation Ratchet had him in and you’d felt so close to him being where he recharged, then you must have fallen asleep because you didn’t remember anything else after that.

It was only when you stood up for one final stretch that you noticed the Datapad beside you. You knew you hadn’t left it there the night before so decided to take a look at it, your heart fluttering when you saw a message from Swerve.

(Y/N), I didn’t want to wake you. Please, come to me at the bar.

Yours always, Swerve.

XXX

You were simultaneously ecstatic that Swerve was recovered from his injuries, exasperated that he’d chose to go straight to the bar, curious at what he was planning, and anxious about whether he was faring well mentally; it was a difficult amount of emotions to keep up with. Deciding not to waste any more time than you had to, you hopped over to your wardrobe and grabbed the first items of clothing at hand, a plain green shirt with a lemon on it and some jeans. You grabbed your hoverboard and sped hastily to Swerve’s.

Upon reaching the bar, you were glad to find it still wasn’t open to the crew. Maybe Cybertronian recovery wasn’t the same as human recovery, but you still hoped Swerve would take things easy for a while; it also meant you would be able to talk to him one on one without any unpleasant interruptions.

At the sound of the door opening, Swerve looked up from the table he’d been cleaning during his wait for you. Although you weren’t wearing anything particularly fancy, he couldn’t take his optics off you, finding you even more bedazzling than he usually did. A goofy grin spread across his face. He was about to approach you, but you beat him to it, running straight at him as fast as you could and jumping into his arms, hugging him as tightly as possible, only able to reach halfway around his body with your small arms.

“H-hey there,” Swerve stammered, caught off guard by the warm welcome. “I wasn’t gone that long, was I?”

“Oh God,” You cried bittersweet tears. “I know Ratchet said you’d be okay, but I was so worried and then it took forever, and I didn’t get a call or anything and I couldn’t call him because what if he was still fixing you and-”

“Hey, hey,” Swerve patted your back, leaking coolant once again at your unexpected reaction. “Don’t you go crying over me, ‘cos now we’re both at it-”

You burbled an ungraceful laugh, burying you head in his chassis and mumbling, “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a mess right now. I just- I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Swerve croaked, resting his head in your hair and delighting in the touch and scent until you finally pulled away, wiping your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“Then you come back, and I cry like a baby,” You laughed, stepping away and trying to clear your mind and remember all the things you wanted to talk about. “Hey… I um- We have some pretty important things to discuss. Should we sit down or- I don’t- I don’t know where to start but- um Gosh I wish I’d prepared myself for this- Uh do you-”

Swerve pressed a digit to your lips, “Shh, not now.” He pulled away anxiously, awaiting your reaction.

“What? Swerve, sweetie, we have to talk about this. You could have died-”

“I know! I do and I promise, we will talk about it, it’s just- Primus- Is it alright if we have just one night to ourselves? Please… I think after everything, we at least deserve one good night together, right?”

In your heart you felt that you shouldn’t avoid such a heavy topic, one that had endangered Swerve’s very life, but the way his optics bored into you tugged at your confused emotions. You sighed, “You better keep your word, Swerve, I mean it!”

Swerve nodded somewhat giddily, glad that you were about to go along with his idea, however unwitting you were to it. “I will, you have my word as a bartender.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that formed to see Swerve so lively again, though you promised to never forget just how good he could be at hiding his emotions. “Alright then, so… I can see you’ve got something planned, what is it?”

“Well, if you’ll come with me my lady, I have the best seats in the house booked,” He offered his servo which you took gladly, and Swerve couldn’t help wondering if this was how Chromedome felt when he held Rewind’s servo because of the height difference.

“Why thank you kind sir, though I must wonder how you managed to get us booked into the best bar this side of the galaxy.”

Swerve winked, glad you were joining in his game, “Well, it’s a little-known fact that I know the owner.”

“You don’t say.”

“Oh yeah, me and him go way back, we were sparklings together.”

“Well, that explains how you managed to book the entire place.”

An uncontrolled high-pitched laugh escaped Swerve as he escorted you to the booth in the back. It had been decorated with a string of fairy-lights and roughly folded metal flowers which had been hastily painted presumably while you were sleeping. There was also a faint earthy aroma coming from a wet pot of mud under the table, which you knew Swerve had put there to remind you of home. Overall, it didn’t look like the most romantic setting in the world since Swerve was no great craftsman like Ten, but the effort he’d put into everything threatened to make you cry again.

Fortunately, you managed a grateful smile that lit up your entire face, “It really is the most beautiful place this side of the galaxy.”

Even though you were perfectly capable of climbing onto the chair yourself, Swerve played the roll of the perfect gentleman, saving you the effort by lifting you onto it before seating himself. From under the table, he pulled a large platter, lifting it to reveal what you could only assume was his first attempt at food. Despite the questionable items before you, you didn’t want to insult Swerve’s hard work so when he offered you a plate, you took it.

“Ah, so your super-secret plan was-”

“A dinner date!” Swerve beamed, though a shadow quickly contorted his face into a fearful mask, “That is if you were still up for trying this that is. I mean, I probably should have asked first and stuff. Primus! Are you here because you feel pressured? I mean, if you are then don’t worry about me, I’m a grown bot, I don’t mind if-“

“Hey,” You reached over the table, grabbing his hand with both of yours, “I’m glad to be here; it’s just you and me tonight Swerve.”

He swallowed, feeling both nervous and excited now that you’d confirmed it was a date. ‘Don’t screw this up, for once in your life, do not screw this up,’ He reminded himself, and yet, despite your comforting tone, something was still bothering him.

You couldn’t help but be thankful for whatever Swerve was going through in his processor because it meant you didn’t have to eat the lumpy, charred food in front of you that seemed to be bubbling, at least not for now. “What?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” Swerve pulled his servo from yours, holding it to his helm where it wavered slightly, “We’re up here.” He moved it to his chassis, “Like we should be down here, but we’ve gone past that,” he raised his servo back up to his helm, “But we’re here already.”

“Um, Swerve… what do you mean?”

“I mean-” Swerve blushed and rushed his sentence out in a hurried mumble, “Wealreadydidit.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Wealreadydidit.”

“Um, I didn’t quite get that either.”

Swerve buried his face in his servos, “IT! We already did it! We interfaced and I can’t even remember doing it. Primus, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He pressed his face against the table, ashamed he’d brought up such a delicate subject at all, and so tactlessly at that.

You said nothing and Swerve heard a small thud as you got off your chair. He resisted the urge to sob, knowing full well that he’d scared you off with his crude complaint. Of course you’d left, any sane person would have. He cursed himself; you hadn’t even been there a few clicks and now it was over. Then, much to his surprise, he felt you press against him, having just climbed up to his side of the booth. He didn’t know what to say, so he bit his tongue before he could say anything else stupid.

“You know… I get it. You’re a good guy Swerve and as far as I can tell, you have a lot of ideals about how relationships should work, and to be honest, you’re probably right. Most people would call it old fashioned, but I think it’s romantic. Um… Maybe, we could just forget that we um… did ‘it,’” You said, careful to use the same term as he did in case you embarrassed him further.

“Primus, why are you so damn perfect? I just said I can’t remember ‘it’ and you’re okay with that? Like what if I did something wrong and… Wait! Did I? Did I do something wrong or was it um… FRAG!” He lifted his helm up in shock, “First I ruin the date and then I make it worse by asking how I was? What kind of self-obsessed dumb-aft am I?”

You bit your lip, glad he was distracted because you didn’t really want to answer the question. What would you say anyway? ‘Yeah Swerve, don’t worry, both of us were too shit-faced to have any control so it was pretty short-lived, but it did scratch a well-developed itch. Next time if we’re not drunk, we’ll get it right.’

You didn’t know what to say to get things back on track and Swerve continued babbling about interfacing throwing in some self-depreciating comments that you longed to distract him from. Hastily, you did the first thing that came to mind, standing up on the chair and crushing your lips against his. Swerve’s body went limp momentarily, his processor stating numbly, ‘Oh, this is happening now.’

In all the time he’d known you, he’d planned a world ending kiss, under the view of the stars which would make the entire universe sing and dance, but as it turned out, you’d done it first and all to shut him up.

Finally, his mind came back to him, practically screaming, ‘KISS HER BACK IDIOT!’

He quickly wrapped his arms around you, resting one on the small of your back and the other on your waist. He felt dizzy at the taste of you so sweet and exotic, yet familiar, your lips like everything else about you were wonderfully soft.

It was over much too soon as you pulled away for breath. “Feeling better?” You asked with a playful smile.

Swerve giggled somewhat idiotically, nodding so fast you thought his head might come off.

“Good, because if you keep kissing like that, you have nothing to worry about.”

You kissed him again, daring to slip a little tongue in, and feeling warm and bubbly, delighting in the fact that kissing Swerve felt so wonderfully right, like he was what you’d been missing all your life.

Swerve rolled his tongue over yours giddily, trying to memorise every part of you. His processor no longer roared at him, instead he only had one relieved feeling as he leaned back into the booth, bringing you with him so you rested atop his chassis; that thought was, ‘At last.’

Rewind giggled to himself, going over the prank again in his processor. It was quite funny that Riptide of all mechs could have come up with such a great idea, and even better that it would be such an easy task for a TV expert like Rewind; all he had to do was change all the ship’s monitors to one of those hilariously bad Spanish Earth dramas, no big deal and there was only one place left to hit up.

Forgetting stealth for much preferred speed, Rewind laughed hysterically, the sound dying in his vocaliser upon running into Swerve’s where Swerve himself had you pressed against the bar as the two of you made out.

“(Y/N)!” Rewind screeched.

Swerve pulled away from you, and the two of you looked guiltily at the small bot in front of you.

“REWIND!” Swerve squawked, annoyed to have been disturbed in his sanctuary.

“Oh my God,” You breathed, embarrassed to have been caught at something that was supposed to be secret at least until things were under control.

“YOU,” Rewind pointed at you, “AND HIM,” he jabbed his finger at Swerve.  “YOU’RE A THING! PRIMUS IT’S HAPPENING- IT’S HAPPENING!”

“REWIND,” You jumped from the bar, grabbing Rewind’s arms and shaking him, “Stop freaking out.”

“BUT YOU WERE DOING STUFF! YOU WERE DOING STUFF WITH SWERVE! SWERVE WAS DOING STUFF WITH YOU!”

“Yeah we were,” Swerve said somewhat dreamily.

“Not helping Swerve,” You reprimanded, though Swerve still looked a little smug about the revelation.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, turning your attention back to Rewind, “Look, you can’t tell anyone about this Rewind! Me and Swerve, we’re uh- we’re trying to keep things under wraps, y’know? Until we figure things out a bit more. Promise me you’ll keep this secret, ‘kay?”

“Uhhhh,” Rewind shuffled from your grip nervously, “I um- I can’t.”

“What? Why not?” You demanded angrily.

“’Cos well uh- It’s kind of funny actually-”

“What is? What’s funny Rewind?”

“Well I um- It was Riptide’s idea and uh- I was in here to do a prank and um-”

“SPIT IT OUT, REWIND!”

“I WAS LIVE-STREAMING THE ENTIRE THING, I’M SORRY,” He covered his face-plate, ashamed.

You took a deep-breath, afraid of what Rewind was saying, “Rewind… Sweetie… Who um- Who’s seen this?”

“Uh well, pretty much everyone at “Visage’s” right now… Do you um… Do you want to say hi? We’re still live.”

“OH MY GOD, GET OUT, NOW!”

Rewind didn’t have to be told twice, he ran faster than he knew he could, fearing your wrath despite the fact you were only human.

You glanced at Swerve, sighing exasperatedly, “Look, I get it, you’ve always wanted to be on TV, but do you have to look so damn proud of yourself.”

Swerve tried to look a little remorseful at his actions but found it impossible. “Hey, you’d be proud too if you pulled a total babe, now come on, let’s get back to the hab-suite before things get crazy.”

“Too late for that,” You mumbled, waiting for Swerve to transform, then climbing in and letting him drive you to your room.

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[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Keith hated leaving Lance. He hated leaving his sons and he hated the air ducts of Galra ships just as much. Well maybe not as much, but it was definitely close. Thanks to the chaos of the black goop, the Galra soldiers had barricaded themselves in the bridge of the ship making it easy enough to slip on board unnoticed, but after quintants of sneaking around the ship through its air ducts, Keith was about ready to blow it up. The only problem was that while there was quintessence on the ship, and the ship would readily explode, the destruction caused probably wouldn't be enough to destroy the infection. So there they were. Laying in the air duct above the bridge, watching as Galra soldiers succumb to the spreading black goop. Each time one died, they were dragged from the bridge and dumped outside the doorway. The already small skeleton crew had been reduced from 15 to 6. It wasn't the nicest thing to watch, but it was all they could do as they waited for the commander to make his move.

 When the number finally fell to three, Keith was sure it was time to make their move. They already had the data, and once it was transmitted back to the castle, the others would be able to bring their lions, or even the castle and the ship could finally be destroyed. He was so desperate to get back to Lance and their pups that it was all he could think about. He worried if Lance was eating, or sleeping. If the pups were alright, and had they settled despite his absence. He'd give almost anything he could not to be stuck in the air duct with his mother. They'd barely talked on the trip out, and being in the ducts hardly spurred conversation on. Unlike the previous blade missions, this wasn't straight in and out, but he didn't have the time to wait. Pulling out his blade, he looked to his mother, expecting her to agree, instead she scowled at him, waving for him to put his blade away.

 It was another few vargas before the next death, this time they didn't bother dragging the body out. Seemingly realising there was nothing he could do, the commander of the ship called someone Keith hadn't been expecting. With everyone dying, he'd thought maybe the Galra wanted to take out someone he had a grudge against, or maybe he'd swallowed his pride and called for help. Instead, Keith found himself staring down at Hag-Honerva. Catching the gasp that nearly escaped, below them the commander knelt as he immediately launched into explanation over what had transpired on the ship. The cold twisted smile that graced Honerva's lips was revolting to look at. It turned his stomach worse than watching all the soldiers died. With an air of glee, she directed the Galra commander where to send his ship, before waffling on about how his death would serve the greater good of the empire. Honerva knew exactly what was happening, and she was happy about it? These men were Zarkon's men. Lotor's men. And she was happy they were dying? That made no sense.

 It was another quintant and a half before both the commander and the last remaining soldier died. The black goop that had leaked from the bodies of the dead, came together to form a black entity. One that was sentient enough to know how to work the control panel for the door, or perhaps it was drawn to the energy in it. Whatever it was, it rose up and covered the panel, the door opened and it slid out as if on its search for its next meal. This stuff was seriously wrong... and they'd let it into the world. Waiting a few ticks to make sure it wasn't coming back, his mother than pulled out her own blade, slicing through the air duct with ease.

 Dropping down, his mother went straight to work while Keith stretched out his aching and cramping muscles. Seriously, they'd only left the duct systems for unavoidable bathroom breaks. He hadn't eaten, he hadn't slept and just the thought of crawling back up into the vents... that was a big fat no!

"Call through to the castle, let them know we're going to be out here a little longer"

"You know I'm calling Lance then"

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"I've been trying not to think of him and the pups, but fuck. I really want to go back home"

"You know we can't, not yet. We haven't seen Haggar since she emerged from the rift. You keep watch while I access the ship's mainframe"

"Mum, I really don't think there's much I can do against a glowing black entity from another universe that we don't actually know how to defeat without using Voltron"

"No, but you can take out the sentries if they show up"

"Fair call"

 Ascertaining the ship's destination, Keith's heart was in his throat as he called through to Lance. His fingers had shook so badly he nearly hadn't been able to call his mate to begin with, as he knew the moment he heard Lance's voice, he'd want to be home with him. It was really kind of pathetic how much he missed his mate... and absolutely everything about him. He didn't even have something physical to hold on to, to remind him of his family waiting at home for him. When the call ended without Lance answering, his mind went straight to the worse case scenario. Growling as he kicked the ship's terminal, Krolia shot him a scowl

"Keith"

"Lance didn't answer"

"Maybe he was in the shower? You don't need to get so angry"

"Or maybe he was ignoring me. I haven't even messaged him since we left"

"Because you've been busy. Try the castle instead"

He didn't want to talk to everyone else. He wanted his omega. He wanted to know Lance was alright. Continuing to scowl at him, Keith was left with no choice but to call through the castle. Unlike with Lance, Coran's face popped up on the small holographic screen almost instantly 

"Keith! What a pleasure to see you"

"Hi Coran. I don't suppose you know where Lance is? Is he alright?"

"Lance? He was around earlier. Is something wrong?"

"No... maybe. I tried calling and couldn't get through"

Stepping back, Coran moved to make space for Shiro and Hunk 

"Hey Keith! How goes the mission?"

"I'm sick of air ducts. How's Lance?"

"He's alright. So are the pups"

Lance was alright? Without him? He'd expected his mate to be a nervous wreck or something... at least depressed

"He misses you, but we've been so busy, he hasn't had time to stop lately"

"You've been busy"

Clearing his throat, Shiro took over the conversation 

"With you gone and the Galra in chaos, we've been helping the smaller populations of the coalition with transport jobs and such. The people need to see Voltron and the lions are still working hard"

That made sense

"Yep. Shiro's been working us like dogs"

"What about Lance? He's supposed to be in command"

"People wouldn't really listen to him. Shiro's known as the Black Paladin, so they're more open to his views and opinions. Lance doesn't seem to mind though and he's been working hard"

"As long as he isn't working too hard and skipping meals again"

"He's been eating. Allura and I have been helping out with pups when we can. And if we have to go off world, they stay here with Coran"

"And I"

Interrupting Hunk's interruption, Shiro seemed almost pleased with the fact he'd been playing babysitter. Keith half wished he could climb through his communicator and punch the alpha in the face. These were his sons. Not Shiro's and he wasn't happy about the thought of Shiro playing dad while he was gone

"Keith, Lance is really ok. So what's up?"

"Everyone on the ship's dead. We couldn't help them as they were all infected. The commander called Haggar before he died and she instructed him to set the ship's destination towards the edge of Zarkon's old territory. It's probably going to be a few more movements before we can finally get back"

"Don't worry. I'll make sure Lance is alright. We've all been spending time with him"

"Thanks. We all know how easy it is for him to feel lonely or left out"

"Shiro's got us eating all three main meals together and training together when we don't have missions. He's also been sleeping Red, so I'm sure that's helping"

Lance was actually eating three proper meals? And training? And going in missions and looking after the pups? It was almost like his mate had been waiting for him to leave before making a real effort to get better. The moment the thought entered his mind, Keith scolded himself. Lance was always trying in his own way... 

"Keith, send us through the coordinates and we'll head out to meet you"

"You should wait on Olkarion. We've had no idea where Haggar was or what she was up to, if Voltron shows up, she's likely to spook"

"Mum has a point. She's expecting this ship, so for now it's better we stay on board until we reach the final destination. With the soldiers dead, there's only the black goop and the sentries to worry about"

"You can't seriously be planning to stay on a ship infected with that stuff"

"You should fall back to the glider and follow at a distance"

Wow. Shiro really had stepped back into command like it was nothing

"The Galra ship is faster. We'll call it anything else happens"

"Alright, just make it back in one piece"

Cutting the call off because he was pissed, Keith kicked the terminal again

"Keith"

"Don't. I don't want to hear it. I know Voltron needs a leader, but that is supposed to be Lance. He knows what to do and how things work around there. Shiro's been out of the loop for too long"

"I know you don't like him, and I don't either, but he's back and we all have to get used to it. Besides, he doesn't even remember what happened"

"That's what he said"

"You don't believe him"

"I don't know. I don't like him around my son's, and I don't want him around Lance any longer than necessary"

"Look, if they've found some kind of way to make it work, then for now it's best you put it out of your mind. You trust Lance, don't you?"

"I don't trust Shiro"

Letting it drop, he knew he hadn't answered his mother's question. He trusted Lance, but anything could happen while he was away. The way Hunk and Shiro made it sound, it was like his mate and his sons didn't miss him at all. Was he being stupid to believe Lance would wait for him to finally return home?

  *

Somehow they'd now been gone a whole phoeb. A whole phoeb, and they'd only just begun their trip back home... but Keith wasn't even sure if he'd be welcomed back home when they arrived. After failing to reach Lance that first time, he'd been sure his mate would call... or message... or even better, miraculously appear right in front of them with that cocky smile he used to always wear. As an alpha, his pride should have been dented over the mere thought of being saved by an omega, but this was Lance and he missed him like quiznak

"Keith?"

Looking down at his hands, Keith realised he'd gripped the metal controls of the fighter jet hard enough to leave an indent. Sure his was agitated, he had been since they'd snuck off the ship, but leaving dents... that wasn't normal 

"Sorry. I just want to get back"

"It's more than that. I can smell the anger on you"

"I told you! I just want to get home to Lance and the pups!"

Yelling hard enough to make himself flinch, Keith pried his fingers off the controls 

"Keith..."

"No. I don't want to talk about it"

"Too bad. I'm your mother and I'm concerned about you. Talk to me"

"I miss Lance. I really miss him. Do you realise we've been gone for a full phoeb?"

"I know. Have you talked to him?"

"No. He hasn't even messaged me"

"Then call him"

"No. He might be sleeping. I don't want to disturb him"

"Then leave him a message"

"What if he's moved on..."

"Are you serious?"

"You're the one who didn't trust him! Now you're defending him! Why hasn't he called me?! Why? He didn't even say goodbye and he has to have known I called! What if he's finally realised I'm not the alpha he thinks I am? What if he's decided Shiro is the alpha he should be with!? What am I supposed to do then! I love him mum..."

Looking over his shoulder, he found his mother was busy tapping away on her communicator 

"Mum!"

"I'm just calling Lance"

"You're interfering!"

"And you stink like anger. It's a long trip back to the castle"

"I'm sorry I stink!"

"Good, now shut up"

 "Are you telling me to shut up?"

Pidge?

"I thought you were calling Lance?!"

Half whisper yelling at his mother, he was confused 

"Hello Pidge, it's Krolia. I was actually trying to get in touch with Lance"

"Um, Lance isn't available right now..."

Isn't available? What was that supposed to mean?

"Oh, he's not? Do you not have a way to contact him?"

"It's not that simple. Shiro and Allura just escorted him back down to his quarters"

"What?! Why?! What's wrong with him?"

"Hi Keith. It's not what you think, Lance went into heat this morning"

So they let Shiro take his mate down to his room! Did they learn nothing at all from what happened the first time Shiro went to "help" Lance with his heat?!

"What the fuck! Pidge, how could you do that!?"

"Lance is safe! Allura is with him"

"It's not ok! Get Shiro away from him immediately!"

"Keith, it's not like last time! Lance and Shiro have been talking. They've found a way to work together. Maybe it's time you get over it all

Snarling, Keith bared his teeth. He couldn't fucking believe this. Even actually using the word fuck didn't help his rage. At least now he knew why the base of his stomach was so warm. He was entering his rut... 

"Fuck!"

Screaming the word, his mother growled back at him

"Pidge. I'm going to have to go. Keith's having a minor cardio infraction over this"

"Well tell him Lance is safe, and Hunk has bathed both pups. We'll put them in a pod for the time being"

"Thank you. We're returning, so we should be back within 4 quintants"

Just enough time for Lance to go crazy with need and fuck Shiro.

 "Keith, I know it seems bad..."

"It seemed bad! Are you shitting me?! You have no idea what it's like for Lance when he's in heat, and he's so sexy... the way he rocks and moans..."

Ending his sentence with a growl, he wanted blood. Lance was the only omega on the castle. Allura and Coran might not have the same second dynamics, but this was Lance. And Lance was just too erotic. His soft caramel skin, his wide blue eyes, his soft sweet lips... the way his back arched and the way he moaned. Everything about him was so perfect. Just thinking about him naked and pinned beneath him, his rut was rushing to set in. He needed Lance. He needed to bury himself as deeply as he could into Lance's curvaceous arse, and fill his mate with his seed. To filled him completely. To watch his stomach swell with their pups... he was lost. His pheromones filling the small cockpit and his vision misting with the need to breed, he hunched over as he started to pant

"Keith, you need to breathe. Your rut's only going to hit harder if your angry"

That made no sense. He already wanted blood, how much worse could it get? Not to mention he was probably going to end up masturbating in the cockpit... where his mother was. No one should have to endure that. He might be a horny teenager, but his mother didn't need to see that... and he didn't need her trying to help him when all he wanted to do was jerk off... where was an intergalactic restroom when you needed one?

 Somewhere between the 5th and 6th hour of being stuck in his rut, Keith couldn't take the pain between his legs anymore. His underwear was plastered against his pulsing erection with pre-cum, while the initial throbbing of need had passed pleasurable and now bled into the realm of "if he didn't cum, he was a hundred percent certain his penis was going to fall off". Growling, he fumbled to get his pants undone, wiping at the sweat that stung his eyes. He was too far gone. All that mattered was cumming. Plunging his hand down his underwear the moment he could, he grabbed his soaked erection and began to pump. Lance... all this seed should be in Lance. Rocking into his fist, he threw his head back as he howled, coming so hard his knot popped, despite the fact his mate wasn't there. Trapped in his underwear, he soaked his pants completely through, as if he'd wet himself. Quiznak. He wouldn't have been surprised if he did. He couldn't stop cumming, and he was mentally exhausted from trying to contain himself. Slumped back in his seat, tears ran down his face. He needed his mate.

 Yoyoing between arousal and anger, and a desperate need to hold his age, his mother finally took pity on him. As he broke down in tears over not being able to hold Lance, she grabbed him from behind. Her arm wrapped around his neck as his exhausted form tried to fightback. Holding him fast, he couldn't even claw to get her off, despite the fact his alpha was furious at being restrained, but part of him didn't want to fight. He was just so tired and he'd never had a rut this painful before.

 Slipping in and out of conscious recognition, his mother had moved him from the pilot's chair of the fighter jet and into the back. His cum soaked pants hand been peeled off, though his boxer briefs were still on, and his jacket covered his over active crotch. Moaning in pain, he let his legs fall apart as his hand slid back down between his legs. Just masturbating wasn't helping, and after his mother had knocked him out, he'd woken up overly angry, threatening to slit her throat if she knocked him out again... so she hadn't tried again

"Keith, are you with me?"

Grunting response, she was lucky to be getting that

"Allura is bringing the castle out to meet us. She couldn't just jump out to us, so we'll be rendezvousing in a few vargas. Can you hold on until then?"

Hold onto what? His never softening penis? Grunting again, his hand was already beginning too move again, while his other hand slid lower. He'd never actually played with his arse before, but what he was doing wasn't working, and Lance loved being fucked... and all the other things he did to him. Not thinking things through, he pushed three fingers in without preparation. His arse might be soaked with his own cum, but he really wasn't ready for the pain. Howling, he clenched around his fingers, drawing them deeper inside. Unsure what to do, and panicking slightly, he wriggled his fingers, brushing against something that had sent waves of pleasure through him. Rubbing the spot he saw stars as he came. Wow. Other than the pain, he could kind of see what Lance loved so much. That sweet spot...

  *

Lance had no idea how long he spent sprawled on the bathroom floor. He couldn't cum, and Keith wasn't coming to help him. His omega was distraught by the lack of his mate, to the point he wondered if Keith even cared about him. He had Keith's stupid bonding mark on his neck. His mate was supposed to be there to help him with his heats. He hated it! He hated this body of his. He hated his being an omega. What good had it brought him? A mate that wasn't there when he needed him... a best friend that didn't know if hugging him was going to trigger some omega need inside... an alpha that looked at him like he was T-bone steak in front of starved mutt... two dead children and two more he couldn't take care of. What was the point of any of it?! It all just hurt. If he wasn't Keith's then he didn't want to exist anymore... or maybe Keith had never wanted him, and regretted giving him his mark.

 With shaking fingers, Lance whimpered as they traced over the scar on the back of his neck. He was internally fighting with his omega over what came next. His omega screaming at him not to be stupid. To think things through, while also screaming at him that it was job to be bred. Piercing his skin with his nails, he screamed silently as he tore at the bonding mark. His throat was so ruined from calling for Keith, all he could taste was blood. Forcing his nails deeper, his body spasmed liked he was having a fit as his blood began to run down his back. The backlash from trying to mess with the mark made his stomach rebel, and he threw up over his legs. He couldn't do this. He couldn't go through his heat without Keith.

 Passing out from pain, he was laying face down in the shower when he came to. He felt different. He was exhausted and sore, but that was very distant. As if some kind of barrier had formed between him and his feelings. He was there, but he wasn't at the same time. Maybe this was what it was like for everyone else when had an episode? He was just a background character in his own body. With a low moan, he climbed to his hands and knees. It was weird. He knew he should be feeling so much worse. The world was swimming before his eyes after all, but... he couldn't stop himself.

 Stumbling from the shower to the bathroom counter, he couldn't even see his own reflection in the mirror. The condensation covering it was just that thick, and he half kind of wondered if he even still existed. Grabbing his towel with clumsy fingers, he wrapped it around his waist before pushing away from the bathroom counter and making his way through the bedroom, and out to the corridor.

 Clutching at the wall, he didn't know where he was going. The world wouldn't stop spinning, yet his feet wouldn't stop moving. He needed something and he felt like he should know what it was, but he didn't. He just had to keep moving.

 Making it to the bridge, he half slumped against the door as his hand slapped the wall, missing the door pad completely and leaving it smarting. It was another 4 attempts before he finally touched it, and he fell less than gracefully through it. He could smell it. Something that smelt like home and something that filled him with fear and sent his heart racing. Ignoring the scent of home, he rolled over and whined, arching his back like he was presenting himself. There was only one person in the room and that person could give him what he needed 

"Lance!"

The way his name was called had him moaning without being touched. With pleading eyes he looked up to the alpha. Shiro... 

 Crawling towards Shiro, the alpha ran to meet him half way 

"Lance, what are you doing?"

Sliding his hands up Shiro's legs, he used them to brace himself as he buried his face against Shiro's crotch

"Lance! You're bleeding"

Biting Shiro's thigh, the alpha grabbed him by the hair, throwing him back onto the floor of the bridge 

"Lance, you need to calm down"

Engulfed by his heat, Lance spread his legs, the towel slipping down to expose his painfully swollen erection and leaking opening. Feeling no shame, he slid his hands down between his legs 

"Lance..."

With a mischievous smile, he thrust his fingers into himself, letting out a long and silent moan. His hips began to rock desperately as he finger fucked himself openly

"Quiznak... Lance"

"Alpha... hurt me"

His voice was wrecked, barely a whisper

"I'm not going to hurt you..."

Frowning as Shiro squatted down in front of him, he could see he was getting under the man's skin. So why wouldn't he just take what he wanted? He had before... with surprising speed, he launched himself forward, pushing the alpha down and landing in his lap. Being half hard, Lance cried out as his arse came into contact with Shiro's crotch. He needed to be knotted

"Lance, stop..."

Shiro's protests morphed into a moan as Lance ground down hard against him. Taking Shiro's hand, he raised it to his throat forcing the alpha to grip him there as his hands went to Shiro's belt. With a snarl, Shiro flipped them over, the alpha smashing his mouth against Lance's parted lips as Lance finally got Shiro's pants undone

"Lance. No! You don't want this"

Still feeling disjointed from his body, he couldn't actually say he needed, but having a powerful alpha over him, he wasn't about to let that go. Wrapping his legs around Shiro's waist, he tried to impale himself on the alpha's covered erection. Growling, Shiro lifted him by the throat and slammed him down 

"No. Lance. I won't hurt you ever again. You don't want this. Not with me"

Then why wouldn't he give him what he needed? Turning his head, he looked across the floor as he tried to take Shiro inside of him

"Omega. Stop it!"

His hips stuttered mid rise, as Shiro used his command on him. Temporarily frozen from the command, he couldn't stop Shiro from climbing out of his hold

"Now stay still. I'll have Allura help you back down to your room"

Sliding his hand down Lance's chest from his throat, Lance's orgasm tore through him. After vargas of not being able to cum, he let out a broken sob of relief, before passing out beneath Shiro.

  *

"Keith! Wake up, we're here"

Blinking groggily, Keith slowly came too. For some reason he was now covered by a blanket and his mother had both her hands cupping his face

"L-Lance..."

"Keith, before you see Lance, you need to know he's sick"

The heat pooling between his thighs slowed a fraction as his mother's words sank in

"Sick...?"

His voice was hoarse and unnaturally gravely. The words hard to form and push out

"His heat is so intense, his body can't handle it. He's burning up with a fever and hasn't eaten or drunk anything since it started. You're going to smell everyone else on him, but it's not what you think"

Trying to scramble up, his heart was racing, and for some reason he couldn't turn his neck properly. It felt stiff, and exceptionally tender 

"I know you want him, and he wants you, but you need to be careful with him. He physically can't take rough sex right now, and if you're not careful you could kill him"

"Need... need to see him"

"I know you do. Now, I'm going to help you to your room. Lance is there, but Keith, do you understand he's sick?"

"Sick..."

"Good. Now up we go"

He really didn't understand Lance being sick. All he could think about was breeding him. Lifting him as he was a rag doll, Keith tried to fight to stand, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate.

 Smelling Lance as his mother stood him up, Keith snarled as he shoved her away

"Keith, be careful!"

She might as well have been talking to the door, because the moment it opened, he was gone. Rushing over to Lance, he literally ripped his clothes off as climbed into bed. Already flushed, and with his legs spread, Lance offered no resistant as he shoved into his mate less than gracefully. This. This is what he needed. His needy slut of an omega filled with his seed. Snarling, he rocked back before slamming into Lance as hard as he could. Grinding and rocking, inside his mate was so hot and tight. Fitting so perfectly around his aching erection as Lance's passage rippled pulling him in deeper. The lewd sounds of wet skin hitting wet skin from Lance's slick seeping between them sent him over the edge way too fast. Knotting his mate, Lance whimpered beneath him, cumming across his stomach as he did. Growling at the erotic display, Keith finally started to regain his composure for the first time in quintants. Wiping his face, he stared down at as his mate as his breathing slowly began to even out. Lance was pale and he smelt wrong. He smelt sickly sweet, but that was pushed aside when he realised what the true problem was. It was Lance's breathing. Each breath a rasp, before being puffed out of Lance's cracked lips. Leaning down, he took Lance's face in his hands. Quiznak. He was hot. Far too hot. Especially given Lance was laying on their bed completely naked. He shouldn't be this hot

"Lance?!"

Shaking his mate, he got no response. Nothing to say Lance even realised he was there. Panicking, he hefted Lance's limp body up against him, before forcing his own body to obey him.

 Rushing into the bathroom, he moved straight into the shower, blindly cranking both taps as sank to the floor with Lance in his lap

"Baby, baby wake up"

Sliding his hand up Lance's back, he found when he hit something sticky. Pulling his fingers back, his eyes widened at the blood on them. With Lance still limp, it was easy to move him sideways to take a closer look. His heart dropped as his anger flared. Lance's bonding mark was covered in bloody scratch marks. Is that why his own neck hurt? Because Lance had screwed with his bond mark? Leaning in to sniff the site, he growled at the lingering traces of Shiro's scent. His desire to possess and monopolies every last piece of his mate reared its ugly head. Despite being deeply knotted inside, Keith began to rock his hips again. Lance belonged to him, even if his omega thought he could leave him, he wasn't going to let him.

 Waking mid-shower, Lance started to cry as his hands gripped Keith's arms. Instead of pulling back and asking if his mate was alright, he pushed his lips against Lance's as he continued to fuck his mate. When Lance tried to break the kiss, Keith caught his bottom lip between his lips and bit hard enough to prevent Lance from trying to escape. Letting out a small whine, he felt his mate finally begin to move his own hips. That was something. Keeping Lance's lip trapped, he waited until his knot had reformed before finally releasing it and running his tongue over it 

"K-Keith"

"I'm back"

"It hurts"

"What does?"

Letting go of his right arm, Lance tapped his throat

"Your throat hurts?"

Nodding, Lance let his hand drop 

"You're sick, and you have some serious explaining to do"

Looking down, Lance sniffled 

"Don't look away from me"

"'m sorry"

"If your throat hurts, then be quiet"

Snapping at Lance, his mate let out a sob. This was definitely not how this was supposed to go. He was back with Lance. That's all he'd wanted, but now he was snapping at him when Lance wasn't well at all. Reaching up, he turned the shower off 

"I'm taking you back to bed. We'll talk once we've slept"

Keeping his mouth shut, Lance didn't protest as Keith was forced to be creative about getting them off the bathroom floor. After that was easy... because he didn't bother drying them off. Instead he carried Lance to their bed, and positioned them so his mate was sitting in his lap, while he laid back. Almost hesitant, Lance lowered himself down, placing his head on Keith's chest in line with his heart

"'orry"

"I get it. I'm sorry too. Look. Just get some sleep and we'll talk about it later"

Have knotted Lance twice, he was exhausted. He couldn't talk to his mate until his anger subsided, but even then, Lance couldn't even reply properly. Grabbing the closest blanket, he pulled up and over the pair of them.

  *

Lance knew Keith was mad. He'd smelt it on his mate when he'd come too in the shower, but he was way too exhausted to do or say anything much about it. Waking with his mate rutting up against him in his sleep, Lance rolled his hips in response. Now his alpha was here, his heat wasn't quite so painful, and given how full he felt, Keith had probably been suffering just as badly as he had. Leaning down to kiss Keith, he pushed himself up slightly so he could actually ride his mate. Once they were knotted together, they'd have a window to talk before he needed to be knotted again. Moaning into the kiss, he squirmed as he tried to get Keith deeper inside of him. He wanted more... no, he needed more. He needed everything that Keith could give him and then some. Lance let out an "oof" as Keith flipped them both over and started slamming into him. His body still felt hot, but each thrust was helping to soothe the heat. Pushing his lips against Keith's again, his mate deepened the kiss, completely dominating his mouth until he came with a whimper. Keith was slightly more vocal, as he snarled into Lance's mouth. His heat might have settled, but Keith seemed to still be in his rut. Not sure what to say or do, Lance wrapped his arms around his alpha, nuzzling at the side of Keith's head. Pressing a kiss to Keith's sweaty hair

"Lance, are you ok?"

"Y-yeah..."

Ouch. Talking hurt. It felt like he'd swallowed razor blades, and couldn't remember what he'd done for his throat to be so tender

"Are you?"

"I'm better. I need to apologise for last night"

Shaking his head, Lance tried to play it cool

"I don't remember"

"I lost my temper"

"I'm sure I deserved it"

"No baby. You're sick and I still mounted you"

Lance blushed despite the fact that Keith was currently technically mounting? or was it mounted? inside of him and was still pumping his hips as he continued to fill him with his seed

"That's what happens when I'm in heat and you're in a rut. You smell of it"

"And you still smell sick"

"I'm ok... better now you're here"

Sighing, Keith pulled back so he was kneeling between Lance's legs, his hands moving to massage his stomach, right where the worst of the cramps hit 

"Do you remember anything that happened since your heat began?"

He remembered being sick and tired, and not being able to cum

"No... did I do something?"

"You tore at your bonding mark"

Lance's hand flew to the back of his neck as his eyes widened. Memories of Shiro licking at the wound came rushing to him as his heart leapt into his throat 

"Baby?"

"I... why?"

"That's what I want to know. I come back and you're not only in heat, but you're sick and you smell like Shiro"

"Keith..."

"I'm not saying you did..."

No. He was practically screaming it at him with the look on his face. Covering his own face, he tried to turn away from Keith. What had he done!?

"Lance..."

"I don't know. I don't remember!"

Whisper yelling the words, he finished with a whimper

"Hey... come here"

Pulling him up and into his lap, Keith nuzzled his neck as Lance's wave of need began to form again. Letting his head loll back, he exposed his throat to Keith. He was so scared and confused over why he smelt like Shiro and if he'd actually let the alpha mount him like he had the funny feeling he had... if he had, Keith definitely had the right to tear his throat out. Why did have to go into heat when everything had been going so well? He'd been doing so much better... he'd finally found some of his old spark, and now he was reduced to a slut for the nearest available alpha? It wasn't fair

"Lance, you need to eat and drink. You're still sick"

He was going to say something selfish, and he prayed Keith wouldn't hate him for it 

"I just want you"

"I'm here. Let's get through this and then we'll work everything out"

 As Keith lavished attention on him, Lance just felt sicker. The first quintant or so was spent fucking on almost every surface they could, and when Keith couldn't keep up, Lance had put on a little bit of a show, using his own fingers to fuck himself in front of his very appreciative mate. But after the third quintant, he stared to feel sick and wanted his heat to hurry up and pass. Even being knotted by his alpha didn't help cool the fever gripping his body. He couldn't eat or drink, and if he tried, it didn't stay down, and long showers only left him cold and shaking. It was like his body didn't know what to do anymore.

  *

Keith was scared. A normal heat lasted around 5 days, 7 wasn't as common but it did happen. They were approaching the end of Lance's second movement of being in heat, and his mate was just about lifeless. His body was covered in bruises and possessive hickeys, though his own was just as bad. They'd managed to talk a little the morning after he'd arrived back home, even remarking each other repeatedly, completely tearing up each other's necks in the process, but now his mate was struggling so badly, and this last week had been painful rather than pleasurable. He wasn't sure if it was related to the ring on Lance's finger, but he didn't dare take if off incase he impregnated his mate. Or if, and he felt like a quiznak for even thinking about it, if Lance's continued heat was psychosomatic. His mate didn't remember the start of his heat, which didn't sit well with him at all, and his nightmares were getting worse. Trying to spend a heat with an omega that had thrashing nightmares... he ended up tearing Lance more than once as his mate had forced his knot out, but then Lance would turn around and climb into his lap almost immediately. His alpha didn't want anyone else near Lance, as his sweet scent was still demanding he be mounted, but he was too scared to think straight. With Lance whining almost inaudibly in his sleep, Keith finally made the call. Forcing himself to let his mate go and go in search of clothes for both of them.

 Getting dressed in near record time, he had to be careful as he dressed Lance. The slightest movement had him whimpering, and the pained expression on his face was doing all kind of bad things to Keith's heart. Lifting Lance into his arms, he crawled off the bed, mentally flinching as he jolted his mate. Leaving their quarters, he walked as fast as he dared, carrying Lance straight up to the healing pods. This wasn't right. It wasn't normal in the slightest.

 When it came to finally placing Lance into the open healing pod, his mate tried to clutch his arm

"I'm right here baby"

He was right there, but he was about to lock Lance away in a glass box because he was so useless. Undoing Lance's fingers from his shirt, he pressed a kiss to Lance's palm as he stepped back. His mates hand was still raised as the pod sealed him away completely. Collapsing on the spot, Keith hadn't even realised he was crying until he saw the tears hitting the floor. His alpha was angered over him sealing their omega away, but he didn't know what else to do.

 Sitting in the pod room, Keith couldn't say how long had passed before the door finally to the room finally opened again. It could have been mere doboshes, but it felt like deca-phoebs before strong arms were wrapping around him. Leaning into the hold, he could tell it was Hunk, simply by the almost unpleasant feel, but he didn't want to let him go

"Keith?"

"I don't know what to do"

Breaking down in sobs, he was probably worrying the hell out of the fellow alpha, but Hunk hushed him as he rocked him

"What happened?"

"I don't know! Lance... his heat... he's still in heat and he's sick... I don't know what to do"

"Come on buddy. He's probably going to be in there a while"

"I can't leave him"

"We'll send Krolia down. Right now, I don't think you should be alone"

"I can't..."

"Keith, I know you're worried about Lance, but he's in the best place he can be. You should have seen him while you were away, he was doing really well"

"He... he was?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you all about it if you come and eat something. You haven't been eating, have you?"

"I tried, but Lance couldn't keep anything down"

"Then for his sake, you need to eat"

He didn't want to leave his mate, but he still let Hunk pull him up. Maybe if he understood had happened while he was away, he'd be able to work out why Lance was still in heat.

 Guiding through the castle and into the kitchen, Hunk sat him down on a stool

"Don't fall over. I don't want to explain to Lance why you're in pod"

As Keith went to open his mouth, Pidge yelled out his name 

"Keith! Oh my god! You stink, but are you ok? Where's Lance? Is he resting?"

Looking over his shoulder, Pidge's smile faded, and both Allura and Shiro rushed past her. Allura coming to wrap her arms around him, while Shiro placed his hand on his shoulder

"What's wrong?"

"We need to send Krolia down to the pod room to be with Lance"

"Lance is in a pod? What happened?"

Keith's voice cracked with emotion, as he leant into Allura's hold

"He's sick... really sick..."

Keith wiped at his face 

"And he's still in heat..."

"We were wondering where you two were. We thought maybe you just needed a couple of days to recover before you woke the pups up"

He'd forgotten his sons. Well, he hadn't forgotten them, but he'd been too focused on Lance 

"Were they ok?"

"Yeah. We put them into a pod after we found Lance was in heat. Hunk bathed them, and made sure they were all comfy and cosy"

"Thank you..."

"No problem. I couldn't just do nothing"

"It means a lot that you did... what kind of a father am I!? All I've been thinking about is Lance"

"Keith, it's alright. Can you tell us what happened with Lance?"

"I don't know. I mean. He was sick when I came back, but he started feeling better and then he got worse again. He couldn't eat or drink, and he started having nightmares"

"His heat was pretty intense before you came back. He had a slight episode, but he'd already hurt himself before that happened"

"He had an episode?"

"He did. He walked up to the bridge, probably looking for you. Shiro was there and called us, so we took him back down to your quarters. His heat was so strong that even I could smell it rolling off of him, and without you, he couldn't really deal with it. He came down with a fever most probably because of that. I believe Pidge said he was "heat sick", meaning his body couldn't handle the intensity of his heat"

Looking up at Shiro, Shiro gave him a thin smile 

"Don't worry. Nothing happened, he was more exhausted than anything"

"Probably because he was whining nonstop for Keith. That's how we think he hurt his throat"

So while he'd been doubting Lance wanted him, his mate had been scared and trying to call for him. He should have been here. Rather than hiding on a stupid Galra ship

"Did mum fill you in on what happened on the mission?"

"Yes. But we can talk about that later. Hunk, can you make him something like a soup. His voice sounds just about as bad as Lance's 

"No. Lance's was worse. I could smell the blood on his breath"

"Lance will be alright"

"You don't know that"

"I do. We all do. He was trying so hard while you were gone, you would have been so proud"

"Everyone keeps saying that, but he didn't even call me once..."

"That's because we've been busy. You were gone for a whole phoeb, and during that time, we had something like 10 missions. It was crazy"

"It was 11, and mostly logistics instead of actual battle"

"Of course we couldn't go into battle without Keith"

"My point is, Lance was doing really well so I'm sure he's going to bounce back"

"We don't even know why he's still in heat. I feel like my rut has passed, and even trying to keep up with him in his weakened state was bad enough. I'm fine, and he's not"

"He wasn't due to go back into heat yet either"

"He wasn't?"

"No, that was supposed to be in like 6 more movements"

"Then why is he in heat?"

"The night before he went into heat, he came up to the bridge because he missed you"

"That's right, the two of you talked"

So Lance had talked to Shiro and had gone into heat a few vargas later. Forcing down a breath, he couldn't deny he wasn't jealous

"Only about how he missed Keith"

"He tried his hardest not to let it show, and the pups really missed you too. We all did"

"Thanks guys. I feel stupid, but I'm just really scared something is seriously wrong"

Hunk sighed as he placed a bowl down in front of him

"It's chicken soup, though it is from a can. To make a proper soup out here would take vargas and trip down to the village"

"The village?"

"We're back on Olkarion, though you wouldn't have noticed because you've been with Lance"

"Do you think they'd know how to help Lance?"

"The only thing I could think of is maybe removing his ring"

"No! I mean... no. If Lance falls pregnant again so soon..."

Keith glared at Shiro, the alpha voicing pretty much exactly what he was thinking 

"I don't think we're ready for more pups, and that's the exact reason why I didn't remove it. I know they could be aborted, even without him knowing he'd conceived, but I just can't do that to him. He still mourns the first two he knew he couldn't keep"

Shiro's hand tightened on his shoulder before releasing him. He'd hit a nerve with the alpha, one he probably should have left alone

"I don't know then. Maybe it's best we wait for the pod to open? Perhaps because he so tired, or because you weren't there, his body can't process being in heat"

"So what? It's going to start all over again once he gets out?"

"Maybe?"

Great. He really couldn't go through that again. As it was, his testicles were trying to climb back up inside of him. He didn't think he actually had anything left to fill his mate with...

"Keith, why don't you head into a pod once you're done eating. Your neck looks painful, and we don't need you getting sick"

"It's not that bad"

Darting around Shiro, Pidge pushed his hair up as she let out a long whistle

"That looks like it could be getting infected. Maybe Lance's neck got infected too? The human mouth is really disgusting if you think about it"

"I don't want to think about it. I just want Lance and my kids"

"Then you're going in a pod once you're done. We'll all watch over you and Lance"

"And if he wakes up before you do, I promise we'll take him straight back to your quarters"

He wasn't ok with that. Not by a long mile, but that wasn't what his friend wanted to hear. Nodding his consent, he picked up his spoon and began working away at the somewhat disgusting soup.

[romeulusroy]

Bad Liar  (Bucky Barnes Oneshot)

Character/s: Bucky

Word Count: 1,460

Inspired By: Water by Jack Garratt  

A/N: This writing is kinda old, so I apologize if it isn’t the best, but I really wanna write more so I thought this could help? Maybe? As always feedback would be lovely! 💜

He moved to the keys of the piano, his steps so effortlessly soft, every move meticulously planned as if rehearsed. His execution was perfect, really, he’d been trained well, listened well. Gloved hands protect any contamination. No man behind the prints, no man behind the crime. He kissed the glass, his jaw clenched. Poor boy, he could hide it well,nbut his body betrayed him.

The physical form was no match for it’s inward emotions. They leaked through his pores, tightening the muscles in his back ready for impact. As rigid as porcelain doll. The tiniest tap on the shoulder would shatter him to pieces, and, like always, you’d be left to pick up the pieces. He remembered their words, every order spat at him, immediately unlocking himself. Letting a soft breathe escape his lungs, softening the shake in his leg, he held his head high. Stress. Some just aren’t made for these kinds of jobs.

He’s new at this.

Not his first, he’s done this befor, but he’s no expert.

He’s afraid.

You made your way to him. The first move was always yours because he was made to follow. The guest list was sparse of anyone you knew, most a few good people with bad intentions, others simply in the wrong crowd. It’s part of human nature not to stray too far from safety. Sticking to their clusters, hushed tones only audible in the time it took to pass by them. Suspicion was hard to choke up, but they managed. They always did. Accusations, rumors, the occasional side eyed glance. They have every right, of course, no one had ever seen him before. No obvious weapons, no outlines imprinted in his suit, but that doesn’t mean he’s not here to hurt someone. A stranger stuck at the bar, what a cliché.

“Naughty children who snitch don’t have any fun,” You whispered, catching him off gaurd. Instead of the smile you’d grown so used to, his face turned to stone. A hint of anger, but a muscle tick could be mistaken for anything with the right amount of desperation.  He recovered just as quickly, moving his attention to his glass. Empty, though the smell of something strong  clung his breath. What was this? His second, maybe third. Not such a good agent after all. “Word around here is a child with sticky fingers is playing dress up, thinks he can pretend to be a man.”

He slammed the glass down, cracks spreading through its middle. Thin, barely noticeable like stepping on a patch of ice. He snapped his head in your direction, those blue eyes bloodshot. Behind those lips were words he’d learn to regret tasting, drinking them away later tonight in solitude.

“Not now,” That voice was rough, scarred from all the emotions he’d swallowed, clawing their way down his throat. “Please.”

“You were always such a bad liar.” You plucked his gloved fingers from the shards, trying keeping a level head. His temper would get him killed one of these days. Everything about him would sooner or later.

You turned your back to him, instead watching the guests take their place on the dance floor. Partner in hand, close, safe. Some more affectionate than others, resting their head on the others shoulder, whispering sweet nothings so only they could hear. They swayed as one, as if letting go meant an eternity apart. In a past life you’d held him like that, a part of you hoping you’d do the same in a future, but now, here you could only do what you were instructed.

“Remember when we used to dance like that?” He looked at them longingly, his eyes glazed over reflecting the bright chandelier and deep set dresses. Whatever he had - whatever drink he’d ordered - was beginning to set in. Old habits die young, in this case so did he.

“Let’s go somewhere private.” He didn’t acknowledge your words, choosing to live a bliss you both knew could never exist. In another it could have, if you were different people, if you’d come clean sooner, if he could have lived with the truth that maybe he wasn’t as machine as everyone described him to be. Weapons of mass destruction rarely fall in love.

No use, he could grow old in his fantasies, too much of a baby to face his problems. They were right, of course. Buisness should never mix with pleasure. Emotions got in the way.

“Fine then. What was it, your mission?”

“You know what it was.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” That was an order, one you’d heard time and time again, the start to all your fights, building an unbreakable barrier between you two. He turned to you, the hollow bags under his eyes resembling bruises, the look of starvation setting beneath his cheek bones. Not sleeping. Not eating. Not coping, another factor driving a wedge between your marriage before it even started, cutting those blissful honeymoon days short.

“Nick put you up to this? To get me to come back? It’s always like him, go-”

“It wasn’t Nick,” He cut you off quickly. Bucky didn’t explain, he didn’t have to, instead letting your worries slip off your shoulders after so long. He let his head drop, speech beginning to slur. “They miss you, you know. All of them, us. All of us.” He mumbled those final words quickly, hardening his exterior once again, anger returning to his tongue, shaking his head. He threw his hands up out of frustration, running them frantically through his hair. You smiled at anyone who’d turned to see. This is it, this would be your downfall.

“Come on love, it’s getting late isn’t it?” You asked so innocently, holding his forearm, slowly leading him towards the door. You could feel it under the fabric, under his skin, his heartbeat, lika ticking bomb ready to explode. He shook your grip, moving before you, making a quick getaway into the city night.

He did the same not long after your vows, threatened to expose everything you were, still are, to everyone you knew and loved. The words “double agent” weren’t as sweet as your “I do’s”, both now leaving a nauseating taste in your mouth.

You loved him, really. In the beginning it was your mission. Gain their trust enough to become one of them, build relationships, infect from the inside out, but a good agent just doesn’t act, they commit, that’s what you did. Months turned to years. Words became genuine. Dates turned serious, then an engagement until finally a wedding. Talk of a family, of a future. He was getting better, everyone thought so. Destroy them from the inside out meant destroying him in the process. There were always casualties, they were unavoidable. He was one more body, one more name on a list among many. It was all part of the plan, right? A broken heart could destroy anyone, leaving them ready to collapse in on themselves. It had to be.

You tried to catch up, but he knew exactly how to escape, pushing through anyone who got in his way, like he had running from the same organization you breathed for. It had been months, creeping up on a year, since he walked away. Sometimes it didn’t feel real, that that day never happened. To anyone who asked it didn’t, not like that. They believed you left him at the altar, coming home with everything you’d collected. No aisle, no tears, no planning. It had taken months, countless late nights choosing between two identical colors. Your rings were all the proof they needed, said to have been discarded in the gutters. You still had them. Collecting dust somewhere safe, growing cold.

It was easier than admitting defeat, that maybe you wanted that new life, that maybe you believed all the lies you were saying. Dreaming is a dangerous game when it’s for things you know you’ll never have.

He was gone.

Again.

He couldn’t go through with it, his mission. Lying these days had become more normal than the truth. Bucky was right, you knew what he had to do. You also knew what he was going to do. He could never kill you. You were the love of his life, maybe even still are. Instead he opted to linger. It would have been quick and painless if only he’d tried, but he didn’t.

You weren’t any better, at least not by definition. You’d already killed him that day, almost a year ago. No knives, no blood, no last breath. Final words were “I do”.  All it took were a few honest confessions to kill him, your greatest ally and worst enemy, The Winter Soldiers greatest fault was falling for you.

[thesupersecretbookstore]

This Week’s Expert Picks

Ordinarily I read one poem in an anthology at a time and digest, give each piece special attention.

Remaking Achilles is different, meant to be ingested at once. This volume by Carol Tyx, a professor at Mt. Mercy University who runs a book club at Anamosa State Penitentiary, could not have come at a better time in US history. As the US (and many other countries) has erupted with demands for racial equity and ending of police brutality I found myself inside a painful, prescient narrative of the early days of the prison industrial complex.

One of the first poems, titled “How To Make A Plantation Prison,” reads like a leaked instruction manual to police departments in 2020 that could end up on a protest sign, “When more than a hundred prisoners die in a year, / increase arrests.” Tyx uses poetry to speak for key players in Angola State Prison (Angola, LA) from 1844-1951, centering on a series of events in 1951 in which inmates cut into their own Achilles tendons in order to avoid the labor they were assigned, which consistently lead to torture and often led to death. Inmates frequently quote prison staff threatening them with death. In the poem “William Richardson Reading Hamlet In Charity Hospital, New Orleans,” Richardson quotes three separate instances of such threats before the final stanza (italics denote direct quotes): “I am twenty-two, ten months left on my 18-month sentence / for trying to buy an ounce of marijuana--which by the way / is easier to get in prison than out / I didn't know if I was going to wind up stick-simple / from getting beat on, or scalped, like some I saw / or dead. What good would a parole do then?”I read the book in one sitting. And then I read it again, sure that with a second read I would find a solution.

While Tyx explores the spectrum of humanity when faced with cruel reality she's also forcing a mirror to her audience. This prison was the inspiration for private, for-profit prisons. The injustices the inmates in 1951 faced are still happening (these men wanted proper toilets and not to be murdered. How much has the prison system really changed since then?).

With obvious understanding of poetic form and narrative, Tyx lays out a history in chronological order, uses direct quotes and found poetry from her subjects to make this story tangible.

I struggle to quote from this volume to illustrate its artistry and impact because part of its effectiveness is in the building of the full narrative. Like the recent popularity of roadside zoo narratives, the reader is hooked, stuck on a spectacle of cruelty, only to find that there are no good intentions among those in power. There are heroes here among both inmates and the “free.” Journalists battle with politicians while clergy and medics beg wardens for mercy, and the volume ends on a high note, “they named me / Achilles. Best name I ever been called.” but the book's haunting is enduring. Seventy years from the rebellion I can't feel certain that any of the reforms eventually granted to Angola were enough. Tyx's painstaking research is obvious, immersive, unavoidable and functions as a call to action. May hindsight be enough.

Finally, America has awakened to the racial injustices that have plagued our country for so long. Ibram X. Kendi’s book was released August of 2019 and has had a huge resurgence this year with events unfolding that are toppling the foundations of racism we live with every day. Kendi questions what an antiracist society would look like and how each of us can play a role in building around it.

The language in the book is tremendous, speaking on how we can challenge ourselves to explore how we could have racial tendencies that we aren't even aware of. I urge anyone to pick up this book and continue learning. It is extremely useful and a challenging dialogue you need to have. We have trouble seeing ourselves for what we really are.

Looking inward and understanding that neutrality is no longer enough. Not racist is not enough, one must be against racism which is anti-racist. The book is necessary reading, and full of tremendous quotes. I included several in this, please get a hold of this book and continue to learn!

"OUR WORLD IS suffering from metastatic cancer. Stage 4. Racism has spread to nearly every part of the body politic, intersecting with the bigotry of all kinds, justifying all kinds of inequities by victim-blaming; heightening exploitation and misplaced hate; spurring mass shootings, arms races, and demagogues who polarize nations; shutting down essential organs of democracy; threatening the life of human society with nuclear war and climate change. In the United States, the metastatic cancer has been spreading, contracting, and threatening to kill the American body as it nearly did before its birth, as it nearly did during its Civil War.”

Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters, is a collection of short free verse poems that collectively narrates the post-mortem autobiographical epitaphs of the 244 former residents of the fictional Spoon River. Each poem stands as a short story of that individual, and the story as a whole endlessly repays close reading for its assumptions about the everyday lives and beliefs of (extra)ordinary people. The poems within the collection are interlaced to form a perfectly imperfect community portrait. I challenge anyone to name a book quite like Spoon River Anthology; it was groundbreaking when it came out in 1915 and it is still a marvel of modern verse.

I had an orgasm after seeing the layout of this book and the food photography that make up its pages.

I’m going vegetarian now because of this book alone.

[yeoldontknow]

Hero: 11a

Author’s Note: this chapter kept growing and now it is a beast. i’m splitting it up into two parts because, had it been one chapter, it would have been over 11K words and that is bonkers. i hope you enjoy this! Song for this chapter: Sketch 5 - Tim Hecker Genre: Vampire!Chanyeol; horror; thriller; drama; suspense; eventual smut Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Rating (this chapter): R Warning (this chapter): explicit language; references to PTSD; discussions of death Word Count: 6,570

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You’d always considered death to be a peaceful affair. Not the aftermath of death, the continuation of lives left behind, or the noise of despair and misery that comes with it, but the act of dying itself. You’d witnessed it before, when you were young and small, surrounded by adults who thought protecting you meant keeping you ignorant.

She was dying, your grandmother. She was dying and you could see it, the slow fade of her life behind her eyes and the way her chest seemed to quake in time with the rattle of her breath. Silver was how you saw her: silver hair, silver skin, and, often invisible but sometimes present, occasionally emerging from beneath the wax of her skin, silver bones. You saw her as a skeleton, an already dead thing that spoke names at random, often incorrect or incoherent, and kept its wide eyes trained on the ceiling as if in wait.

The day she died, you saw and felt the absence of her before the fade, before her body released the shackles of her soul. Throughout the day, you had envisioned her already gone and buried, saw her bed as an empty space with the sheets neatly made. Your mother sat you down outside her room, told you the day was going to be hard and followed by more, even more difficult days. She spoke to you in words she thought you would understand, tiptoeing around the topic as if afraid to scare you, and so you decided to help her.

‘Grandma is dying.’

Your mother was silent for a while after this, watching you with wide eyes and trying not to let herself become hollow in front of her daughter. Eventually she said yes and walked away, looking for an empty room to cry without you knowing.

But you knew. You always knew.

If your mother knew death was descending upon the family, you assumed everyone else knew. You thought they knew and, therefore, should be able to see it, as well.

No one knew you were in the room when it happened, assumed you were wandering the halls of the nursing home or talking with other, more coherent residents. No one knew you were in the room, so no one forced you to avert your eyes. It took you several moments to see the silver chain around her neck, a tether to humanity and to this world that kept her human. Running down from the ceiling, it wrapped twice around her neck before seeming to become less like a noose and more like a necklace, the universe gifting her a treasure as a token for living.

With curious eyes, you glanced around the room looking to see if anyone else had such a thing and, if they did, how you simply hadn’t noticed for so long. Your mother had a silver necklace around her neck, one that held her wedding band and kept it tucked discretely between her breasts like a secret she was begrudgingly forced to keep. But this did not extend to the ceiling, hardly was visible at all, and so you questioned why your grandmother was the only one with a seemingly innocuous chain.

But she wasn't, and you remembered where you had seen it before.

He called himself Alvin, although you were sure this was not his name. He had been your companion at the nursing home, a man believed to be angry and violent with everyone he came across - except for you. He was soft for you, gentle, and enjoyed holding your hand as you walked him through the garden. He taught you chess and poker, taught you how to draw caricatures, although yours were sloppy and unfocused. And he was your sole reason for enjoying the season of your grandmother's death.

And yet, hardly a month before your grandmother's passing, he had slipped from you like sand between your fingers. Days before his death you had seen the chain, a strand of silver so thin and erroneous you found it difficult to focus on it at all, pushing it from your mind with eyes. And only then, as you watched your grandmother struggle to breath and speak and exist, did you remember this at all.

Only then did you realize what it meant.

When she died, the chain was cut, falling loose around her chest in tendrils and you thought such an action, for something so ingrained in her very being, should have caused her an indescribable amount of pain. But she didn't even flinch.

Death for her was a sigh, a release of agony and heartbreak, and when her soul was finally free, when your mother collapsed to her knees beneath the weight of her mourning, you found she had died with a smile.

This was how you always imagined death, a simple action that comes as naturally as breathing, and only with Chanyeol in your ear, hissing as he released a bullet into a skull, did you realize how very wrong you were.

You think about this day, now in your bunker with your back against the wall and your knees tucked to your chest. It's been hours since Chanyeol left, and you've taken to merely breathing through your reality, immobile and taciturn on your bed. You think about this day and you think about the silver chains of death. You think about this day and you think about bodies. Bodies of flesh and blood and bone, and how easily they break apart.

They come apart so easily, and much like spools of cotton. When they are unmade, they drop to the floor with little pomp and circumstance, but the spread of their blood is wide, unyielding in its desire to paint the world with grief. Death for you had always been a disease, an unavoidable plague - gradual and slow in its poison. Now, death is a pulled trigger and a ringing in your ears, like questions screamed in the dark with no answers to follow. Now, death is a drop to the floor, the noise and thud of bodies you find to be surprisingly heavy.

How shocking to find that a heartbeat is what made you weightless, until it stopped and, suddenly, it wasn’t life that brought you down, but the lack.

Bodies swim in your mind. Bodies living and bodies dying, and some bodies that you don’t recognize at all.

The thing had touched you - that’s what Chanyeol had called it, a thing, a halfling. It had touched you and it had merged with you, swimming in your head and moving between your synapses looking for a home to call its own. She looked into you, became a part of you, and in return you took pieces of her with you, stealing her into your body to save the last remains of her humanity.

You saw inside her head, heard her voice, heard her screaming; felt the agony, the fear, the pain, but saw little of the human behind the noise. But when you were alone, when her body had withered to the floor and your door had been locked shut, you suddenly found yourself to be haunted.

A cold sweat has started to leak from your skin, head filled to the brim with other voices and other faces; the fragments of a lost and gone woman looking for a body to hold them. There are conversations inside your mind that were not held by you, and do not contain your voice. Faces swim behind your eyes, asking you to stay, to love more and hurt less, but you have no connection to them, even though they make your heart clench with phantom regret. Places you have never been become cities you once called home, and your skin aches with confusion, having never felt these textures.

The halfling has invaded you and, most horrifying of all, you let her.

You let her because you saw the silver, saw the threads of a life you once lived and, all at once, the blurred pieces of a memory you thought dissolved with time had come back to life. You saw the silver, knew what it meant, and you were compelled to help, even beyond your better judgement.

Part of you knows you’re strong enough to work through these things, strong enough to break them down and pull them apart. If given time and space and comfort, you could likely hold them in your hands and pull them apart, inspect them from all sides and resign yourself to an acceptance of death and magic. But once again you are forced to consider Yixing’s words, and now, rather than fill you with a detached, morbid sort of curiosity, you are consumed with a trepidation that feels almost too much like lead.

‘Semantics is nothing without context.’

Anyone and anywhere else, and these would be the dark musings of a person who has witnessed death first hand, seen too much of it and lost themselves somewhere along the way. Anyone else, and these would simply be thoughts of a person too human, too compassionate, too wise, but they are not. These thoughts belong to you, and they are not the only things you are allowed to consider.

You watched something die and Chanyeol called you a Reader. You watched something die and Chanyeol looked at you as though you were a weapon. You watched something die and Chanyeol looked at you, really, truly saw you, and became consumed with awe.

For days, you’ve felt death lingering in your shadow, following close behind as if chasing the hem of your skirt. When you were in the cage, you thought you'd like to cover yourself with its silence, finding a peace that had been starved from the caverns of your existence. In this bunker, you think you’d like to wither beneath its cold touch, because at least then your mind would quiet. Then, at least, you would be free, if only in a metaphysical context. Chanyeol called you the nature of all things, and now you think you are the true nature of death itself.

This is the context of your situation, a change in perception, not only of the world you live in, but of you yourself.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of your door unlatching, but you don't find it in you to move or glance towards the entry. There's a comfort in stillness that comes with forgetting your breath and the ability to remove yourself from reality, and so you remain, even as your skin begins to feel as though it is grazing the sun.

Chanyeol enters, quieter than usual, the noise of him reduced to little more than long, deep inhales of breath. Cradled in his hands is a plate of food, though he looks perplexed by the object, standing tall and rigid as the door slams shut behind him. Neither of you make to speak, and you don't really bother to look at him because, as childish as it is, you blame him for all of these things.

But mostly, you can't stomach the way he looks at you. Not anymore.

When he first laid eyes on you, he saw you as an inconvenience. Soon, you became an obstacle, a charge he was forced to bear and keep for the sake of his own coven’s safety. Now, he looks at you as though you are the secret of the universe. There is worship behind his eyes, awe, respect, even fear. And had he come to view you as such on his own terms, you imagine this would make you feel a dominant sort of thrill. Instead, you feel as though you've been thrust an unprecedented responsibility, forced to accept a role you have no desire to play, and to say no means the tearing of your limbs.

Chanyeol looks at you as though you are a gift, his gift, and so you decide to speak if only to startle him into submission.

‘Where is Yixing?’ Your voice is dry, hardened into sandpaper, but you’re glad the sound isn’t feminine or pretty. You’re glad you sound almost cruel.

Chanyeol leans against the doorframe, eyes fixed hard and unwavering on you. ‘I see you haven’t gone wandering since we last parted.’

‘Where is Yixing.’ It is no longer a question, simply words put together to form a demand, and you are surprised by how empty your voice sounds when there is no inflection, when all emotion has evaporated from your tongue.

‘He is well,’ he says, pushing off the frame and coming to sit on the bed beside you. On instinct, you shrink away from him, attempt to make yourself small to avoid being near him. ‘I merely thought we might have a talk.’

He says this as though you merely had a fight, as if you are quarreling lovers and he is here to make amends, and his nonchalance makes you feel nothing short of a fury.

‘So now that you know I’m useful you want to be, what, forthcoming? We’re suddenly friends?’ you spit.

Placing the food beside him on the bed, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he raises his eyes to regard the ceiling. ‘Perhaps you can say that I am just tired, and would like a moment of peace with you.’

There’s a genuine sort of acquiescence in his voice, a tired, resigned tone that tells you he isn’t here to fight and has no desire to share terse words with you.

‘I have questions,’ you say, however you do not let yourself look at him. Looking at him means giving in. Looking at him means letting him into you, and you are in no mood for the onslaught.

He glances at you, you can see it from your peripheral, and he nods. ‘I will gladly answer what I can.’

‘My questions are anything but peaceful.’

Chanyeol releases a chuckle, though it isn’t a truly pleasant sound. It’s hard and cold, molded into metal after centuries of war. ‘Believe me when I tell you your perception of peace is wholly infantile.’

At this, you turn your head, eyes narrowed and expression callous. ‘What is that?’ you ask, voice biting and dark. ‘A diversion? An insult?’

‘It is neither, simply a truth.’

There it is again, ‘a truth.’ You find this phrase is thrown at you when perspective and opinion are meant to matter most, meant to placate you and keep you silent if you are dissatisfied with the answer you receive. Normally, you would fight at this phrase, demand the entire truth and not a version that comes with a qualifier. Normally, you would be angry and furious, talking over the words and making it clear that such a phrase is absolutely not enough. Today, however, you are tired, and today you decide to say nothing at all as you sort through all the things you want to say.  

After several minutes of your silence, Chanyeol turns to fully look at you and cocks an eyebrow as his impatience grows.

‘Your questions?’ he presses. ‘For one usually so free with her tongue you seem oddly reserved.’

‘I’m trying to figure out where to even begin,’ you snap, bitter at the interruption of your focus.

‘Start at the beginning,’ he sighs, shrugging his shoulders and looking lost. You can tell he isn’t used to helping, not like this. He’s all decisions and action, and now, with a fragile, human woman, he is awkward with his limbs and uncertain with the placement of his hands. ‘I assure you what comes from my lips will be a truth.’

Again he says it and, this time, you snap.

‘Do you have any idea how fucked up the last twelve hours have been?’ you shout, slamming a fist into the springs of your bed. You look at him now, all wrath and rage, burning alive with it and letting it turn you to ash.

‘I have an idea, however I’m sure you’re going to extrapolate for me,’ he says, calmly.

His calm demeanor only irritates you more, and so you let your words fall from your lips, slick like gasoline.

‘I was dragged from a cage,’ you begin, voice loud and hoarse from hours without speaking at such a volume, ‘and shown, fuck, some kind of ritual? You killed a pig and drank blood, and then suddenly I was freezing and put into a room. And then my clothes are in this fucking wardrobe like I’m supposed to be happy to see them? Someone went to my house -’

‘Jongin,’ Chanyeol interjects, and you seethe.

‘Don’t fucking interrupt me!’ you exclaim, pointing your index finger at him and nearly reaching over to slap him.  ‘Someone went to my house and took my things! My family will be looking for me! How could anyone have managed that without them noticing? And then I find a cage full of women, women you call halflings, and when they touch me I hear screaming. And now -’

As you speak, you voice continues to rise, getting louder and faster with every word. Chanyeol holds up a hand to pause your tirade, and only when he does so do you realize that you are breathless, shaking from the force of your anger and confusion. It barreled out of you, tumbling out of your mouth and your heart with such force you find you are frail and tired in the aftermath.

‘Slow down,’ he says, and you’re shocked by the gentleness in his voice. ‘It’s rather hard for me to keep up. And you should eat.’

With two fingers, he nudges the plate towards your body, attempting to bring it closer to you, perhaps hoping that the smell will make you more inclined to obey.

You turn away from him then, bringing your eyes back to the wall. ‘I’m not fucking hungry.’

‘Eat,’ he repeats, and this time there is authority dripping from his tone. This is a command, there is no room for argument here, and the sound makes the hairs on your arms stand on edge. You want to ignore him, but you find you are compelled to obey; you find that you want to.

Carefully watching you, he adjusts his shoulders and turns his neck to release tension in the joints. ‘Eat,’ he repeats, this time much softer,  ‘and I will answer your questions.’

Warily, you pick up the food, resting the plate on your knees as you regard it carefully. You remember Yixing telling you that Kyungsoo was the one who had been cooking your meals, his face crossing your mind and making your stomach churn. Forgiveness is something you find needs to be earned, earned and given over a period of time in which a person has proven themselves truly remorseful. You haven’t really seen Kyungsoo at all, and his efforts of making you food seem passive aggressive, at best, You can’t forgive him but you also cannot starve, and so you lift your fork and begin to eat.

‘What was that fucking ritual?’ you ask, chewing slowly.

The food itself is bland, simple seasonings different from how it is usually cooked -  which is not to say the food was ever truly delicious. Only now, it tastes as though it has been stripped down to its most basic parts, existing as a form of nutrients and little else. And while this would normally disgust you, today you are grateful as anything more than this would surely make you ill.

‘It’s important you understand we are a brotherhood,’ Chanyeol begins with a deep inhale, watching you chew with interest. You imagine it’s an action he hasn’t seen in quite a long time. ‘Those who are members of this coven are here because they chose to be here. No one was forced and no one was made against their will.’

‘That’s awfully kind of you,’ you sarcastically interject.

Chanyeol purses his lips and regards you with an unamused stare, clearly put out by your immediate tension.

‘I cannot go further if you do not have a steadfast belief in what I’m saying,’ he says, seriously. ‘I need to know you believe this, otherwise there will be no point.’

Again, he seems genuine in his intent, and so you resign yourself to listening.

‘Okay.’

And so he begins again. ‘When a vampire joins a coven, he gives himself to his Sire and to his brothers. We symbolize this by mixing blood. To drink the blood of another vampire is poison. Only the blood of a Sire has healing powers for his brothers, but even this is minimal. Mortal wounds would be eased, at best, but eventually the body will die and with it the vampire unless he can drink human blood.’

You continue to eat as he explains, and his eyes remain trained on your plate rather than you. As he speaks, you wonder how long it’s been since he’s had to explain these things, if he’s ever been given the opportunity to at all. Nothing about his words sound practiced or rehearsed, and you imagine he hadn’t been expecting to go into such detail.

You realize he has paused his speech, glancing up at you through downcast eyelashes, waiting expectantly to see if you are listening. When you nod, he returns to studying your plate and continues to speak.

‘Drinking blood that comes from the heart, even the heart of a vampire, is serious, at least to me. It is not something I take lightly and, in turn, neither do my brothers.’

Swallowing, you shove the food left in your mouth under your tongue to speak in a rush. ‘But isn’t that what you feed on?’

‘Yes, however, there are memories in blood.’ Chanyeol says these words with a heaviness you find odd and uncharacteristic, reminding you of the same reverence he reserves for you when he looks at you; as though he’s about to explain something far beyond his understanding, something to which he offers the utmost respect. ‘This is fact, though your modern sciences have found other names for it. It is far less complicated than they want you to believe. Every religion tells of blood as life, the sheer sanctity of it. When we feed on human blood, flowing directly from the heart, we consume, not only the life but, the life lived.’

Memories of the blood shipment rise in your mind, the sheer volume and magnitude of it. You'd found it alarming and laughable, feeling as though you were about to arrive head first in a war zone. Part of you was correct, but another part of you finds this to be somewhat pragmatic. Logically you would assume that the only way vampires could feed now is donor blood, avoiding a body count as though they are avoiding death itself. And now, you find it hard to believe there could be other reasons, more personal reasons, to make corpses a thing of the past.

It's hard to hear this and accept it, hard to let yourself humanize him, and so you bring up an unnecessary are act of bloodshed to remind yourself that he is indeed a monster.

‘And the pig?’

He nods minutely, although seems unfazed by the massacre. ‘The pig serves as the median, a salve if you will, for me to stomach an initiate’s blood. For many hours, I am sick with it - sick with him. It is not as difficult for them. They will feel rather jovial for a time physically, but we will forever be bonded by memories.’

Intimacy, is the feeling you get from him. A wave of intimacy, intense and mutual, radiates from him now as he speaks on the way he bonds with his brothers. He doesn't see it as an act of horror, a macabre event enacted only by monsters and demons, but as an act of love and vulnerability. In fighting with his men, he opens himself to them entirely.

‘So when you drank the blood you…’ The words die in your throat, fading as they are lost in the undercurrent of his closeness.

‘We were bonding to each other for eternity, yes,’ he says, raising his eyes back to yours. Now, in this light, he looks less like a statue and more like a man, tortured under the weight of responsibility. He tucks this away, and his shift happens so quickly you struggle to believe you had seen him that way at all. ‘I have many voices in my head, all memories that don’t belong to me, and all of men and women that I’ve drank. Imagine a head full of thousands lives, all grieving and sinning and entwining with your own.’

Something in your heart clenches, a sudden urge to reach for him - reach out and touch, and hold him - blooming where you thought only dead things could grow. For a moment, it feels as though you have found the only person who could seemingly understand your plight, understand the agony of having the voice of halfling echoing through your head. For a moment, it feels as though you have found a comfort or a companion, but you seal these thoughts away because they are simply too hard to handle in such a confined space. And so you choose to ignore the topic entirely.

‘But you’re dead...right?’ you ask, curiously, food now forgotten and going cold on your lap. ‘You’re a vampire. The blood you drank from the other vampires - it wouldn’t have memories. You don’t have a heartbeat.’

‘True,’ he concedes with a small, sad smile, ‘but the blood still flows in our bodies. It is sluggish and stubborn, refusing to slow even after the heart has stopped - which is partly why we continue to live. And even still, the blood in our bodies once flowed through the heart. The muscle may have stopped, but the memories remain.’

In any other context, his words would be implausible, bizarre and illogical because there simply can be no way for the blood to flow without an organ to push it along. Before you now, he sits as a myth, something that defies structure and universal law, and yet you cannot fathom him to be any other way. For days you’ve imagined his words to be gasoline, turning your conversations into something akin to ignition, and now it only seems fair to imagine his blood as the oil.

You want to fight against these things, all the things he’s said and mentioned because he’s discussed them so casually. To him, there can be no other way for things to be so, and you are forced to catch up with him as you process an entirely new way of being all at once. You want to fight against him, but you find no flaw to his explanation, merely a change in your perspective and judgement.

Placing the plate of food, half eaten and messy, back onto the bed, you recline against the wall with your hands wrapped around your knees. Regarding Chanyeol for a long while, you take him in, studying him with a watchful eye to learn all of his features, before speaking once more.

‘Yixing mentioned you all have three names?’

‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘The name we are given at birth, the name our Sire deems us to have, and the one we use in war.’

Your memory of the initiation defies this definition, and it leaves you bewildered. ‘You let Sehun choose his name.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

Chanyeol turns from you then, choosing to stare into his empty palms rather than your quizzical stare. ‘Because I’ve had too many choices made for me and I believe my men deserve better.’

You find his voice to be small, almost adopting the cadence of youth, and you choose not to argue you with him on this point.

‘And the name used in war?’

This he seemingly finds easier to discuss. All at once his softness dissipates, shoulders straightening and neck elongating as he returns to his former stature. ‘It is a name we have no choice over. It is a part of us, born through wrath and blood. Imagine it as a phantasm that speaks through us, if you will. We call it a War Lord, although there are many names one could use for it.’

‘How do you know its name if you aren’t choosing it?’

‘It’s a part of you,’ he explains, ‘the embodiment of your wrath. When we die, our soul is split in two. The rage one half feels at the loss of an endless slumber grows into a new identity.’

At every turn, Chanyeol had answers for everything. Each question you had given him had been met with an answer, a truth, that was both believable and reasonable, even if many pieces were illogical or impossible. At every turn, Chanyeol was able to explain the fear, the confusion, the trauma, even if he couldn’t explain it away. At every turn, Chanyeol had a way to define the grief and the horror, but there was one piece you were sure would leave you feeling nauseous from the implication.

‘And how do you explain my clothes? In that wardrobe?’

Pointing to the wardrobe, you both stare at it for several seconds though you are sure you both feel differently. He likely views it as an innocuous object, something insignificant and oddly tangential to bring up. You, however, view the thing as a dark sense of foreboding. You’ve seen it as such since you laid eyes on it, and you find it hard to see it as anything other than a symbol of ownership and possession of you.

‘Yes,’ he says, dryly as he breaks the tense silence. ‘Jongin feared you would be uncomfortable, having been in those clothes now for days on end.’

Having little patience for his platitudes, you find your tongue to be sharp and bitter. ‘How.’

Surprisingly, he wastes no time in explaining this, although his tone is far more terse than it has been throughout your entire conversation. ‘Jongin can move freely through space as he wishes, so long as it is at night. Humans call it teleporting, although we find that to be a rather infantile name for such an exact science.’

‘Can everyone teleport?’

Chanyeol shakes his head. ‘No, it is exceptionally rare. It is a gift born of those who are in touch with absolutely everything and feel the world they exist in so completely, the world bends to deliver him to it.’

The words haven’t been said explicitly, but you are smart enough to catch his meaning. He danced around the topic, likely because he simply felt what was done is done and there is little reason to focus on such small details. But to you, this is likely the most important information you’ve received since you’ve arrived at the coven. You don’t care that you’re a Reader, because the words mean little to you. You don’t really need to focus on the halfling in your mind, because you expect her to fade and, if she doesn’t, you imagine she will die inside your mind the farther away from Chanyeol you get. What matters to you is that someone has been in your home, taken things - taken a large amount of things - and someone will notice.

‘My family will be looking for me.’ You state this with confidence, knowing there will be little he can do to swing this reality in his favor. He is limited in the hours he can work, unable to go out in the world during sunrise and thus providing necessary authorities with at least eight extra hours of work during which he will be helpless.

This is your one opportunity to have the upper hand, the one time you find yourself in a position of power on your own terms.

This is your one opportunity, and Chanyeol shatters it like glass between his hands.

‘No, they will not.’

You grimace, certain the light that had flickered behind your eyes has died. ‘What did you do to them?’

‘Nothing,’ he explains, smoothly. ‘No harm has befallen anyone.’

Believing his words now is impossible, and the change after you had found him to be so honest, so open, gives you the passing sensation of whiplash.

‘Tell me what you did!’ you demand, voice curt and loud, your anger building inside you and creeping up your neck like a hot flame.

Silence befalls the room, his gaze unwavering from yours and filled with a darkness you find truly, for the first time, makes him appear dead. And it is this darkness that makes you realize the truth - not a truth, but the only truth that has kept you within his grasp since the moment you arrived.

‘You influenced them didn’t you?’

‘Not I, no.’

You hate it. You hate the smile that creeps into his lips as he says the words, one of control and knowledge and privilege, and it makes your throat burn with bile at the sight.

‘Fuck you,’ you spit. ‘You’re really never going to let me go, are you?’ You don’t know why it hits you this way, hard and in the gut like a punch. You’ve known since you arrived that your release would be unlikely, but now, watching the way he seems to covet you, you realize that the limit of your despair only ever seems capable of growing.

‘Under the current circumstances -’ he begins, but you cut him off.

‘Don’t give me that bullshit!’ you sneer. ‘Even before you found out I was a - whatever I am -’

‘A Reader.’

‘Yes, that,’ you clarify with sarcasm. ‘You were never going to let me go, were you?’

‘It was unlikely, yes.’ He says this as if it isn’t hurtful, as if he were merely telling you the weather, and his casual tone catches you off guard.

‘Fuck.’ You settle back into your body, not knowing when you had star forward, an arch in your back comprised entirely of tension and anxiety. ‘At least you’re being honest.’

Now it is Chanyeol’s turn to be surprised. ‘A strange reaction. I would have expected more fight from you on the subject.’

‘I’ve had time to accept my fate here,’ you explain, turning away from him now to inspect the fabric of your bedsheets. You have no desire to look at him, not when your reality feels so raw. ‘I knew the minute I woke up in that trunk my life was effectively over. And now there are other things I have to accept. My freedom is suddenly the least of my concerns.’

‘I wish you didn’t see it that way,’ he says, evenly. ‘You are a great and terrible gift.’

At this, your head snaps up and you fix him with a stern gaze, one made entirely of a clenched jaw and eyes wild with furor. ‘I’m no one’s gift. Don’t you ever call me that.’

‘My apologies,’ he says, head falling in a short bow.

You narrow your eyes at him, sensing that his yield to your rage is too simple and calculated. ‘What is with you? Why are you being so...honest? Open.’

He heaves a heavy sigh. ‘Because these questions of yours are simple and easy things. They may not seem so to you, but in comparison I find them relaxing.’

‘Just because I’m a Reader, or whatever that is, doesn’t mean you need to treat me as if I’m your fucking companion.’

‘I don’t need to, Hero,’ he says, this time gentle and quiet and human. ‘I am choosing to.’

Unsure how to respond to such a thing, you remain quiet and reticent, watching the way he remains perfectly still and hardly giving the impression of breathing. He remains immobile but his mind is active, furious, you think. His eyes appear to be swimming with thoughts, and you think he has more to say more he’d like to share with you, but he keeps his mouth closed. Lips formed pressed into a straight line, a slight frown playing against his cheeks, he is bothered and worried and keeping secrets.

When you think he is going to remain this way until his departure, he catches you off guard with quiet, almost vulnerable words.

‘I fear I am about to be betrayed.’

It sends you rearing back, both his statement and his tone, and you find yourself unable to hold back your shock.

‘What?’

Chanyeol opens his mouth to speak, taking in breath to begin his explanation, when he is interrupted by a piercing ring throughout the building. Alarms are sounding, loud and blaring over speakers you cannot find, but know to be in such close proximity they make your eardrums vibrate with the sound.

As you glance around the room, your eyes settle back on Chanyeol who has paled, far more than you could ever have imagined on something known to be dead, and find he is studying the door. You turn to see what he is seeing but find your heart immediately clenches. You’re sick, the alarm becoming a drug in your system that makes you feel light headed, and you have the passing sensation of floating through the world without any tether to hold you near.

Instinctively, you reach for Chanyeol. Part of you thinks this is because he is near and he is tangible, a physical thing to keep you from dissolving, but mostly you know it is because you are awash with the sudden, unfamiliar desire to hold him and protect him.

‘What’s happening to me?’ you whisper, mind awash with too many thoughts and feelings, and stomach full with a sense of dread.

He seems to sense you have disappeared from him, running through your head and seeking a way back home, and he pulls you to him, holding your face in his hands as his eyes bore into yours.

‘Do not leave this room.’ Again, it is a command, but his words seem to slip through you, moving over your head even as your soul tries to reach for them.

‘What is happening?’ you repeat, weakly.

Chanyeol presses his forehead to yours, breathing over your face and making it so that he is the only thing you can see, smell, and touch. This, only this, is what seems to bring to back to yourself, your vision and mind clearing with the dread only seeping down into your bones.

‘Do you understand?’ he demands, eyes worried and searching you for confirmation. ‘You must not leave this room.’

Too shocked and confused, you say nothing and simply nod.

Since he entered the room, you had seen him as a fire that had died down to embers of kindling. With the change in his voice, the command and authority of a man who lives and breathes war, you finally see him as a soldier. He’s been many things for you, too many dark and horrible things for you to count but now, only now as he removes himself from you and turns to the door with his gun in hand, do you see him possibly as a hero.

And as the door shuts behind him, as he leaves you alone and weak and terrified, you find that you are now drowning in the sudden, horrible sensation of missing him.

[alexsmitposts]

BC: US-funded “Disinformation Oversight” of Bio Weapons Prevention Programmes in Georgia BC stands for NEO’s Banned Classic. This article was originally published by our journal on 09.10.18  For some reason, this article is missing from Google search results. Since this article remains pretty relevant to those geopolitical events that are taking place on the geopolitical stage today, we deem it possible to present it to our readers once again. Should it go missing again, you may be confident that you will see it republished by NEO once more, should it still remain relevant by that time. The Richard Lugar Lab is fast becoming a topic of household conversation in both Georgia and the Russian Federation, because increasing numbers of people care that it is not a public health facility, as claimed, but a threat to the population and humanity as we know it. The Caucasus region is an ideal location for the United States to outsource its ‘grey zone’ research to. Many of the most ‘attractive’ viruses and bacteria for weaponisation occur naturally in this region, so they can be studied in their natural habitat. The region is also known for its thriving black market economy and trafficking, as the lack of democracy and a civil society makes it easier to hide things from the world. But what is now concerning US officials is the attention Russia is paying to the topic of bio weapons and other related medical programmes. What has been uncovered so far demonstrates that the question is NOT whether the US is in violation of the 1972 Biological Weapons Treaty BUT to what degree. The US has long tried to deflect attention from these programmes. American journalist and Bureau Chief for Veterans Today in Georgia, Jeffrey Silverman, a long time resident of Georgia, is again the cross fire for his articles and series of recent TV interviews, having endured a long series of indignities, and downright illegal acts, at the hands of his own government and embassy. But the new attacks on Silverman coincide with recent revelations in the Russian media. Igor Giorgadze, the former State Security Minister of Georgia, dropped a bombshell in mid September when he leaked documents containing information about “a laboratory located near Tbilisi named after US Senator Richard Lugar”, and how some experiments had turned deadly. Various media groups describe such breaking stories as recurring disinformation, and further claim that there is no factual evidence that the US is building biological laboratories in the Caucasus region in order to use it as a testing site. The same media groups also denied that the US was losing the Vietnam War and declared the well documented CIA human rights abuses in places like Paraguay weren’t happening either. But Giorgadze, a former Georgian State Security Minister, and Silverman beg to differ. They claim that such labs and related medical projects may have secretly conducted experiments on people, some of which have had fatal outcomes. Right or Wrong Person to Ask? Giorgadze has asked Donald Trump to launch an investigation into the experiments conducted by the laboratory. This really has some in Georgia concerned, as Trump is no fan of Big Pharma. He recently stated that the much touted flu shot is the greatest scam in medical history, created by Big Pharma to make money off vulnerable people and make them sick. US-government funded media watchdogs and strong-arm agencies have fought back by using Homeland Security to harass Silverman when he travelled to and from the United States earlier this year, when he was finally allowed to make his first trip home in over 14 years. On both arrival and departure he was subjected to repeated body and bag searches, including seizures of his phone and personal documents, in direct violation of the 4th Amendment to the US Constitution. Such frontal attacks on this journalist date back to when the first stories about the Lugar lab, and the nefarious research linked with it, broke in Georgia in 2013. As he has since backed up many of his allegations with actual documents, there has been a concerted effort to discredit him, not only in Georgia but in the international media. Silverman continues to publish in the Georgian language media, and has described how the concentration camp patients of Nazi Doctor Joseph Mengele can be compared to the civilians residing close to the Lugar laboratory, as they [too] did not understand the threat they were under until they were placed in the medical experiment section death camps—when it was too late. “I am warning those who live near the Lugar Laboratory that they are under a big risk. The locals who settled there were misled that this was an ordinary laboratory and nothing else.” Georgy Iremidze, head of the Georgian based Patriot news agency, which is labelled pro Russian by the same detractors, adds to the debate: “On paper, the lab is run by the Georgian government, or rather the Ministry of Health. But in reality, it is operated by the American government. The idea is that, if something goes wrong, the Georgian government will take the blame so that the American government can stay under the radar”. A Lot for Nothing The United States has provided a total of USD 350 million for the construction and technical equipping of the laboratory. In 2013 the laboratory was allegedly subordinated to the National Center for Disease Control and Public Health (NCDC), and from 2018 the Government of Georgia will assume responsibility for the full funding and operation of the Lugar center and laboratory network, or so we are told. However it is only the US which has an interest in building such laboratories. Other countries would face sanctions from more powerful neighbours, who can build worse facilities of their own, for doing so. The US wants to flout the Biological Weapons Convention and then claim, if caught, that this is something only dubious, less-developed, “ignorant” countries do, as it usually does when questions are asked in places like Syria and Iraq. The Lugar Laboratory is located not far from Tbilisi International Airport. This means that loading weaponised agents and moving viruses and bacteria around the world is expedited. It is conceivable that the United States may be trying to continue its losing battle in Syria by using biological and chemical weapons, as military planes, which are based at NATO airfields, have been landing at the airport with increasing regularity for no other apparent reason. The same deadly and especially dangerous pathogens could also be targeted, as an aggressive act, against Turkey and the Russian Federation. The US has a history of doing this, and we might recall the Swine Flu outbreak in Russia 12 years ago. Even unsuspecting humans could be weaponized and board civilian fights, just as was described in Station 11, a work of fiction, and how the Georgian flu killed over 95 percent of the world’s population. Emily St. John Mandel’s fourth novel, “Station Eleven,” begins with a spectacular tragedy on a considerably vaster scale arrives in the form of a flu pandemic so lethal that, within weeks, most of the world’s population has been killed. It is standard medical practice that nothing that is injected into the body should be used past its expiration date. But the US military, and other organisations like MARFOREUR, USAMRIID, ClinicalRM, WRAIR, and DTRA, are being accused of giving many such preparations to allied countries as “aid”. They have been widely used on the general population in Georgia, even children, without the victims’ full knowledge and informed consent. When questions are asked, it funnels this aid not through medical bodies but TMC Global Professional Services. This company has overseas offices in nine countries throughout Eastern Europe and Central Asia, and two offices in the US, in Virginia and New Mexico. Most of its work is as a US Government contractor on Defense Threat Reduction Agency (DTRA) programmes, with national laboratories and other DoD customers. For example, it manages an international project at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant site (ChNPP). Too Many Roads Lead to Rome The Myth Detector claims to have debunked “disinformation” spread around the Hepatitis C elimination programme on several occasions—but it fails to mention the nexus of this programme to TMC. Nor does it give, or investigate, the technical backgrounds of those doing the debunking, who just post pre-written statements provided by their Embassy contacts or PR staff working in the Lugar lab. It is not difficult to expose those actually working in these military projects at the management level. Silverman was once hired by International Crisis Group, ICG, and the French government to look at the links of these researchers. He soon discovered how the Lugar and partner projects are connected to American, European and other scientific centres. All the highly skilled professionals in the TMC office in Georgia left in 2010 to form a new organisation, Sigma. The most high profile of these was Richard Mah, who had worked at Los Alamos. You do not leave the golden handcuffs, and diamond pension, of a USD defence contractor to start a company from scratch unless you feel too compromised to stay with that contractor. But nobody is interviewing Mah, or the main TMC person in Georgia nowadays, Giorgi Begiashvili, before claiming “disinformation”. Day Late and Fact Short The US can get away with violations of treaty law because what it addresses has been superceded by new developments and changed beyond recognition. It has often been observed that when a certain narcotic is made illegal, another one comes along which is equally deadly but gets round the laws as written. Claims that any treaty violations are accidental are difficult to disprove because such violations are so widespread as to be unavoidable. The US bio weapons legislation is codified in Section 817 of the Patriot Act. It effectively gives the US immunity from violating its own bioweapons laws, despite the fact that such a national law cannot override an international treaty that country is bound by. Specifically, it states that “the prohibitions contained in this section shall NOT apply to any duly authorised US governmental activity.” Prior to enactment of the Patriot Act, federal law proscribed the use of biological agents or toxins as weapons, in 18 U.S.C. 175. This outlaws possession of a type or quantity of biological agents or toxins that cannot be justified for peaceful purposes. In short, what is being done for the purpose of military use, offensive, is now being justified under the guise of peaceful purposes. Regardless of the ledger of truth and innocence, a public debate has begun which is cross cultural and beyond borders. As a result of it, some of what goes on behind closed doors, under the flimsy disguise of public health protection and non-proliferation of bio weapons and especially dangerous pathogens, is now out in the open. One only needs to look more closely at what has been done in Georgia at various DOD funded labs and medical project. There is a long list to explore, including deaths from experimental TB antibiotics, a succession of dodgy programmes doctors refuse to talk about, and various experimental treatments on what is often an unsuspecting population. If you do not wish to believe Silverman or the Russian media, enough can be gleaned from open sourced academic materials which clearly demonstrate that proper procedures for informed consent are not being implemented. These shine light on what appear to be “backhanders” paid by and to various funding agencies, the UN, the US State Department, Big Pharma and various partner organisations, including the Ministry of Health, various American universities and the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta Georgia. Information is now being shared with the Congressional Oversight Budget Office, about the apparent planting of false and misleading information. However, all this demonstrate is that US-funded disinformation oversight is in fact blatant disinformation itself, as anyone who has lived in a country on which the US has an “official narrative”, such as Georgia, has always known. Not only are some of these new generation bacteria agents and especially dangerous pathogens so evolved that there is no antibiotic or other treatment that can save a patient. Often the cure is only available in the form of bacteriophage preparations, as also is being produced in Tbilisi Georgia on the first floor of Building B at Eliava Institute. It comes as no coincidence that the US Department of Defense and other agencies have also poured money into improvement of infrastructure at the laboratories on the second and third floors, where the planned production area is housed. These laboratories are used to produce bacteriophage on short notice and will be used for phage concentrate production that is used in the final phage product Founded in 1923, the Eliava Institute is a world known institution working in the field of Applied Microbiology, Virology and Infectious Immunology. Bacteriophage research and application is its main direction.

[asksythe]

Nobody convo - FtGoG

Holla, 

Recently I had a discussion regarding a what-if scenario in FtGoG with a friend (@nobody11112). It results in a very interesting possible scenario (good enough for me to consider maybe writing an alt draft snippet for it specifically). I figure I should share. So here it is with some small edits for better readability (and some cuts in between when we talked of other things including embarrassed looking cats and truant college students..... hahahahahahaha). Anyhow...  

...................

nobody11112

You know. Reading the last ftgog makes me want them to give Jiraiya a surprise in suna. They know why he is there. They know he is going to try everything to see Kagome and they can't force him out due to diplomatic reasons. So why not do the unexpected. Surprise jariya by having Kagome go and greet him. Have them meet under their terms when Jiraiya is not prepared instead of having Jiraiya discover who knows what while he is doing his search to meet Kagome and instead have more control over the situation. Also i really like the mental shock image that comes to my mind when Kagome knocks on his door and he discovers who preemptively came to him

asksythe

heh! That's an idea

that would be a shock to Jiraiya alright

only problem is that it goes directly against Rasa's characterization

this guy is too paranoid for something that high risk

and with fairly dubious rewards too

nobody11112

Well i didn't mention booting. I specifically said they can't. So instead take the initiative and prepare the field and information that Jiraiya can get by arranging a meeting on their terms

nobody11112

The base premise is that due to political reasons they can't interfere with Jiraiya actions within reason. They have to wait for his and konoha move. And instead of waiting for inevitable moves from the sennin which can result in a who knows what against their stretched out man power they arrange a meeting the idea is that such a meeting can be fully monitored and timed. And prepared for with what information you want to share... And give them enough information to somewhat satisfy konoha and have Jiraiya called back while also doubling as a supposed act of good will among ' allies'... Honestly the more i think of it the more holes i find to iron out so i guess I haven't thought it out enough

Guess i might have wanted it for the sake of comedy

asksythe

Nah , I think it's a very interesting and valid premise . It merely needs ironing out

It needs the right time and place

The right factors

Give me 10 mins for me to walk home

And then I'll type out a possible scenario

nobody11112

Think of it along the lines of what they did for the counter espionage by spread a lot of informations some of it false, except now they aren't dealing with spy network, they are dealing with a great ninja that they cannot dislodge sitting in their village, no matter how great of watch they keep, the bottle will eventually leak, this is a known fact with information and spies and what I think fueled their entire counter espionage strategy, so instead they lure him with the truth and feed him a selected maybe mixed truth.

asksythe

ok, so the premise here is that instead of a complete block of info and a wall of misinformation, it's more control the flow of actual information

Suna understands that it's a matter of time until Konoha gains concrete, actionable intel on Kagome

perhaps with other villages, they could have avoided it

because of distance

and because of the lack of actual diplomatic relation with the other villages

but Konoha is not only Suna's neighbor, but also is supposedly its ally

so we are looking at a political move

so, if the information is going to get out anyway, better it be on their own terms and under their control correct?

nobody11112

that was my thought process, yes.

asksythe

so, the way for this to happen is that Suna must come from a position of strength, and it must have an end goal for this meeting

the end goal here: soft intimidation

Suna shows Konoha that yes, it has a superweapon

and yes, it has complete control

but at the same time, they needn't be enemies

after all, they are allies

so in allowing Jiraiya to meet the real Kagome, Suna acknowledges their alliance

but underneath that

is a message

we are strong now

our dynamic has changed

you are no longer the stronger village, capable of taking our things, our jobs, infiltrating our royal court with impunity

look at our super weapon

and think carefully of the consequences

should we one day cease to be allies

that's the end goal

that is worthy enough to let Konoha have solid confirmation on Kagome's existence and the sheer scope of her power

after all, Suna has to think carefully of relations with other villages

competition is unavoidable

nobody11112

reminds me also of what Jiraiya was thinking when he saw the grass when he entered suna

is this just a show of power

or are they really trying to terraform

asksythe

the answer is both of course

Suna being who they are

nobody11112

yup

asksythe

however, as political statement, it's not quite enough

sure it's creation power is great

but they are warriors

if it doesn't destroy or has the capacity for destruction

it's not going to send a strong enough message

for someone like Jiraiya, he would understand the significance of being able to grow grass and micro terraform the desert

but for your everyJoe

your average ninja

they aren't going to give a crap

so if it's a political statement and grandstanding show

then showing her with her power unmasked

is the better statement

instead of... oh hey, this girl can grow plants and trees in the desert

it's now... look at this super weapon in human form with energy enough to have Biju for breakfast

do you want to face this thing in battle?

you can barely hold yourself against a normal Biju

let alone this thing!

so Suna letting Jiraiya meet Kagome

is basically a unspoken statement and a warning

it's basically: now if we go to war, you are the one who is fucked, not us anymore

so think carefully the next time you try to bully us

because that's what happened in Canon

Konoha bullying Suna out of jobs

and out of political clout... in their own royal court.

the one major flaw I see with this premise however

is that it's next to impossible at this point in the story

see, this all hinges on an image of power

Suna shows off their new super weapon

as well as the fact that they can control this super weapon

unlike those unwieldy Jinchuriki that go berserk once in awhile

problem is...

... at this point in time, Suna... does not have that level of sway over Kagome

sure she'll grow whatever plants they want

but to release her power willy nilly?

and meeting this foreign person in a meeting with obvious intention?

out of the question for Kagome at this point in time

if they try it, high chances are Jiraiya detects that they don't actually have complete control over Kagome

that means that perhaps she can be swayed to defect

unlikely of course, but entirely possible

so that statement from a position of strength is no longer a statement

but more showing Konoha an opportunity

so at this point in the story, impossible

however, if this meeting were to take place at another point in time

when Kagome is much more attached to Suna

say... after she enters into a relationship with Rasa

and is closely connected to his children

that is when this scenario becomes possible

but of course, to make that time line possible, it will require the complete rewrite of the progression of Rasa and Kagome's relationship

and a massive part of the plot line as well

not undoable

but certainly fairly intensive

nobody11112

Mmm, nice fleshing of the premise and dissecting it

I guess my mental image did have Kagome too cooperative to the plan now that you point it out

considering the current point in the story

asksythe

exactly

Kagome at this current point is an asset that needs very careful management

she is not that attached to Suna just yet

if she feels disenfranchised enough, she may just up and leave

especially if she feels like she's being used to harm others

and this Kagome, if she really wants to leave, nobody in Naruto verse, with the possible exception of Kaguya, will be able to make her stay

so Suna really cannot chance it right now

this is a major part of why Rasa is keeping her in controlled isolation

he doesn't want her to get ideas

or to start feeling curious about the world beyond Suna

it is still a very interesting premise though

it takes a lot of work

but it certainly is fun

like a scenario in which Kagome is a hundred percent committed to Suna and Rasa way earlier

so then it becomes Suna's slow but inevitable soft conquest of the world

heh... probably not something she necessarily likes

but if Rasa produces results and shows that he's making the world a better place (for a measure of better)

then probably she will go along

the ideal scenario for that meeting to happen is not only for Kagome to be a hundred percent committed

nobody11112

Well, you can present it to Kagome in a way that she would co-operate with such a scheme without being fully committed, a protective act for the village and herself from outside possible hostilities.. but that has its own stretch

asksythe

but also for her to also be pregnant with the first child of this new super power bloodline

nobody11112

and still risks being revealed

so thats a no go as well probably

this isn't guile Kagome we are talking about :p

asksythe

hmm.... it depends

it requires series of events

and timeline

and for Rasa to preset things in certain ways

but it is doable

also fun

I like fun!

that is the sort of scenario in which I say 'screw canon' and go full throttle for AU

the world of Naruto is very much a crapsack world

nobody11112

maybe if she was revealed to some of the outside cruelty toward suna before.

asksythe

the idea of slow and soft world conquest may not be acceptable to us

but in that kind of world

if it's for a better world

Kagome maybe up for it

exactly

when you think about it, Naruto verse really is a very bad place

where the good guy village has state sanctioned child soldiers

and 12 years old children can kill each other without anyone batting an eyelash

for such a world, taking it over and forcing it to develop in a different way

really isn't so bad, is it?

Rasa needs only let her see that

and tell her, if you want the world to change, then become that change yourself

then... well... our Miko is going to be a hundred on board

after all, in a sense, that's what she's doing in FTGOG AU

soft world conquest

conquest does not necessarily require soldiers

or for wars to be waged

at the end of the day, conquest is about making the world develop the way you want it to

for the laws of the land to be the way you want it to

you don't actually need soldiers and wars for that to happen

if you are sophisticated enough

..........................................................

... So, who wants to read about world-conquering Sunagakure like the scenario above described? 

[anditjustmadeherkind]

Deep, soothing breaths, everyone, or, 'how I learned to stop worrying and love Rob Thomas'.

Comment to the author of meta on the following link: 

http://cadhla.livejournal.com/?skip=50&tag=veronica%20mars

Deep, soothing breaths, everyone, or, 'how I learned to stop worrying and love Rob Thomas'.

Mar. 14th, 2005 at 3:28 PM

All right: there's a lot of kerfuffle in 'Veronica Mars' fandom right now, over some spoilers that have managed to get leaked to the general public. There's always a chance that they're actually foilers*, but since that's difficult to count on, there's been an understandable amount of consternation. I will now weigh in. Because I am a very pushy blonde who does this sort of thing, especially when she can't put everyone involved into a hot bathtub with lots of lovely bubbles until they feel better.

(*For the fandom-impaired, 'spoilers' are leaked bits of information about the show -- things like 'Smurfette was actually created by Gargamel, gasp!' or 'Doctor Who regenerates in this episode!'. 'Foilers' are bits of false information leaked intentionally to confuse the issue; 'Buffy decides to kill everyone and stay in happy la la psychosis land' or 'Megan and Firefly finally get married in a simple, tasteful, trans-species ceremony'. Simple, universal terms.)

( Collapse )

So here's the basic skinny: Logan turns out to have been involved in Veronica's rape, in that he a) supplied the drugs used on her (although they weren't intended for her, and nothing says he would have agreed had he known she was the target), and b) did body-shots off her while she was out cold, for which he winds up apologizing, and for which she apparently forgives him, as they appear to be dating, and are, in fact, caught making out at a surprise party for Logan. He winds up defending her in front of all his friends and family, and takes her back to his room. Veronica is waiting on the bed, alone, when she catches sight of a camera on the ceiling, and flees. The next shot is of her riding away with Weevil.

The actual spoilers are more detailed than this (as

ohimesamamama

will doubtless point out, when she sees this post), but that's the general gist of it. The item causing the most furor is, obviously, the camera. 'How DARE they?!' shriek the fans. 'How can Logan DO that to her?! How can Veronica run out without telling him?! How...' And then there is wailing and gnashing of teeth and rending of garments, and then comes the lamentation of the women, especially those women who like the Logan/Veronica pairing. There has been, unsurprisingly, a

lot

of lamentation. Nothing laments like a 'shipper who fears their cruise has been cancelled.

But worry not, lamenters! Worry not, because there are a few facts we're tending to overlook in the general wail-gnash-rending. Most notably, these are:

1. Rob Thomas is not Joss Whedon. Say it with me, folks: Rob Thomas is

not

Joss Whedon. More importantly,

Rob Thomas is not Marti Noxon

. Look. Joss was a great guy; he created great characters and a great universe; he poured his heart and soul into making something we could care deeply and passionately about; then he went away and left it all with a half-crazed Romanian au pair who thought the original 'Dark Shadows' was the height of thematic subtlety. Rob? Rob has not done this thing to us. Rob has not said 'wow, I think I'll go play in another sandbox, here, Angst Queen, use your super angst powers to keep the viewers coming back while I enjoy myself elsewhere'. Rob is, in fact, right there, every day, working his butt off to make the show as good as it can possibly be. If he has a Romanian au pair, she's chained up in the closet, being used as a script-checker -- whenever she gets excited, they drop that plotline.

2. Logan is not Spike. Veronica is not Buffy. Logan and Veronica are not Buffy and Spike. Logan? Is not so sick and crazy with denied love that he's going to throw her down on the bathroom floor and try to claim his territory. Veronica? Is not so self-centered and neurotic that she's going to wind up him up with disgust and lust and need and loneliness, then dance a happy contra on the shattered wreckage of his heart. They are, in short, not making each other cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. They annoy each other. They irritate each other. They brace each other up. But they don't cause raw insanity to come into the picture. For which I am very thankful. Also, Veronica, while she can be both careless and heartless, is not self-centered -- if anything, she's self-

sacrificing

. She's giving up what she wants in favour of what she thinks is right: she's throwing away her chances at going back to a happy obliviousness in favour of finding the answers about what happened to Lilly. If Veronica were the Chosen One, she wouldn't whine, she'd just go kick some undead ass.

3. Just because you get hurt once, that doesn't mean you're going to get hurt every single time. Joss Whedon comes up a lot in discussions of the current spoilers, and the basic theory seems to be 'Joss wouldn't have let them be happy, so Rob won't either'. Folks, it doesn't work that way. Seriously. One girl saying something mean about your hair doesn't mean all girls hate it; one show creator whose outlook on romance seems to make the relationships on 'Swan's Crossing' look stable doesn't mean all show creators are going to rip away the happiness of their characters just for fun. Let 'Veronica Mars' rise or fall on its own merits -- and so far, those merits lead me to trust in Rob.

This is also where the topic of tropes has to come in. Every creator, from the rawest writer of fanfic to the most well-established and famous producer, has tropes. Wes Craven loves him some unexpectedly evil boyfriend who was totally supportive right up until he tells you that he's the one who boiled your bunny. Stephen King adores putting beautiful girls with men who do some form of physical labour, and destroying writers with the products of their own imaginations. Michael Swanwick likes modern pageantry as a means of showing you the corruption that underpins society. Tropes are unavoidable. What does Rob Thomas believe in?

Well, if we go by his own work, he believes that opposites attract. He believes that love is fundamentally broken but just as fundamentally necessary, and that if you work for it, it will happen. He believes that the snarky guy gets the girl. He believes in true love, lasting love, love that is forever, love that redeems your sins, love that sees you home. He believes that the surface is only one layer, and that there's a lot more out there worth looking at.

Rob Thomas believes in happy endings. And Rob Thomas believes in redemption. Two things Joss never really showed us he had any faith in.

That message is there in his fiction -- most specifically in 'Rats Saw God', although most of the stories in 'Doing Time' are redemption stories, one way or the other -- and in his television work; I mean, 'Cupid' is one long story about redemption

through

true love, and if

that

isn't support for calling those his tropes, I don't know what

is

. He doesn't believe that these things come easy, but he does believe that they will come, given time and sufficient effort on the parts of the people involved.

That's another thing. Rob Thomas doesn't waste effort. Especially in a show as crammed with symbolism and meaning as 'Veronica Mars', there just isn't

time

to spend this much screen time and energy making the audience fall in love with Logan, a statement that becomes even more concrete when you consider the fact that he's extremely unlikely to have been Lilly's killer -- there won't be a zero-hour unmasking of the Luna Ghost in which we find out that it was Logan all along, and he calls Veronica a 'meddling kid'. Logan has had a

huge

redemption arc this season, and there's simply no point to that if you're going to turn around and throw it all away doing something that most of your audience is guaranteed to hate. Can he be villified next season? Sure. But this season? The timing is off. If Rob wanted Logan to be a bad guy in season one, he'd have just left him that way. As it stands, he's used Logan to prove one of the essential concepts of noir. Namely:

Your narrator is wrong.

Veronica starts out by lying to us: she tells us Logan is a psychotic jackass. She doesn't tell us until later how close they were, how good a friend he was to her and to Lilly, or that she used to enjoy his company. Just that he's a jerk. We get the details on Duncan right away, but on Logan, her glass is clearly clouded. Logan, meanwhile, targets her a lot, but never actually hurts her. Now, he does hurt her car -- which

ohimesamamama

has symbolically explained better than I could -- but he never lays a hand on her, never strikes her in anger, and isn't even seen being particularly active in spreading the nasty stories about her. There's old love there, and old love gone sour hurts more than almost anything else.

Logan is, oddly, a very honest person; he doesn't like to lie, he doesn't like to act, and when you push him far enough to make him hurt you, it's either calculated, distant and remote, or it's immediate and in your face. Planting a camera to catch Veronica, who he's publically called his girlfriend, having sex? Doesn't fit either of those categories. Also, frankly...okay, great. You now have a tape of yourself having sex with someone largely regarded as the town slut. How does this hurt her? Other than the betrayal -- and she's nearly numb to those -- what does this get you? You could hand the tape to her father, but he'd kill you. And as high school students on their age and social level, and little boyfriend-girlfriend sex? Sort of expected. It's not

surprising

. Doing that to Meg would be calculated and mean. Doing it to Veronica? Is pointless. It's not Logan's style.

Something is missing. The spoilers don't include dialogue; they don't include context; they don't include Veronica's voiceover. There is, in short, something very large missing from the scene -- we're panicking over a picture without words, and those can mean

anything

. If you step back, and take a moment to trust in Rob's already-proven ability to be true to character, genre, situation and plot? We have to have it wrong, because right now, as stated, the scene makes no sense. Rob has always been very true to his characters. This? Is not true to his characters. And that means something we don't see yet will put it all into focus -- another major trait of noir.

Veronica is the detective; Logan, in a way, is thus the gangster's moll. And since Veronica's real enemy is the town of Neptune -- the 'gangster' Logan belongs to, whether he likes it or not -- her winning him away from it, bit by bit, stumble by stumble, is part of the long-term observance of the genre. In noir, in the end, the hero walks away. Sometimes with the dame, sometimes without, but always having made the choice. That dame may betray him, reject him, stab him in the back, but they always find each other again, until the sun is going down and the gumshoe rolls out of town. Veronica has a long way to go before she sees the city limits. That means, by genre, that she and Logan can't be finished yet.

Trust Rob. Just because Joss let Marti take us into a dark alley and beat us up until we handed over our lunch money, that doesn't mean Rob's going to. Trust the man who gave us Trevor and Claire. Trust the man who introduced us to Dub. He's a good guy. He's never handled me wrong, and that's saying something.

Also, breathe.

[xdrvparts]

A Comprehensive Guide to Common RV Problems and How to Solve Them

If you’re like most RV owners, your motorhome or travel trailer is your pride and joy. It’s the key that unlocks your access to adventure your home away from home that makes every destination feel comfortable and just familiar enough to get you amped up to explore.

But anyone who’s been on the road for longer than a couple of days knows that RV issues are pretty much unavoidable. After all, it’s a house that movies. Technology is pretty amazing, but we’re talking about a big, heavy vehicle with some super complicated systems. A few things are bound to go wrong from time to time!

What’s worse, RV repair and maintenance costs aren’t exactly known for their affordability. Even when you’re working with a trustworthy mechanic, you can easily find yourself taking out a second mortgage to foot the cost of relatively simple repairs.

Good thing this is 2018, the age of the internet… which means instant access to a plethora of RV maintenance information and 101-style articles. You can even find step-by-step RV maintenance tutorial videos on YouTube!

Along with learning how to DIY simple repairs (or how to find the best instructional resources), this post will also help you learn which preventative maintenance steps will help you keep your rig issue-free in the first place. A little bit of regular effort goes a long way toward keeping your rig rolling for many happy years and camping trips to come.

It may take a little bit of elbow grease… but we promise it’ll be worth it.

COMMON RV PROBLEMS AND HOW TO FIX THEM

RV camping is a pretty amazing, high-tech travel lifestyle — but it’s actually been around for a while. Just about a century, in fact; you can learn more about the fascinating history of RVing in this RVshare post.

The good thing is, all that history gives us a good idea of which RV repair problems you’re most likely to face. Some mechanical breakdowns are simply more common than others. What’s more, many of the clever, handy campers in the RV world have shown us how to take care of some of these common maintenance issues, which can help you avoid paying top dollar for professional repair services.

We’ve also learned a lot about the simple, regular maintenance that will keep minor repair issues from blossoming into bona fide problems. A little bit of effort now can keep your rig running smoothly for years, not to mention helping you avoid major repair costs.

Let’s start with some of the most common RV problems, and go over a few of the easiest troubleshooting and prevention steps.

RV Roof and Leak Repair

When it comes to RVing, water leaks aren’t just a scary possibility: they’re pretty much inevitable. Even the toughest modern-day motorhome finishes will eventually cave to the pressures of the elements. Sealants harden and crack with age and motion, no matter how high-tech and well-made they may be.

And unfortunately, this ever-present bogeyman can wreak some serious havoc on your camper. Water damage does more than just stain your interior. It can also damage delicate moving parts, rust out metal fixtures, and even cause dangerous short-circuiting in your RV’s internal electrical system.

So, of course, it’s important to get ahead of this constant threat and minimize your chances of water leaks before they happen. The good news is, it’s relatively easy to do so — it just takes a few preventative maintenance steps performed on a regular basis.

First of all, always store your RV under a waterproof, UV-resistant cover. If you can, an indoor storage facility — or at least one with a roof — is your very best option.

We know, however, that renting a covered storage facility slot isn’t always an achievable option. In those cases, opt for a high-quality RV cover, which will help protect your investment even when it’s parked outdoors. When shopping for a cover, make sure you look for one that’s both waterproof and UV-resistant, which will help keep your finish as sound and seepage-free as possible. And keep in mind that, although these covers can cost several hundred dollars (depending on size and features), purchasing one still a whole lot cheaper than doing major repairs after water damage. Plus, it’s a one-time expense, as opposed to the drawn-out cost of renting a storage facility or constantly performing repairs after your rig sustains water damage.

Another way to resist leaks for as long as possible is to apply a new coat of RV roof sealant once a year as a preemptive strike against broken seals. You probably already know that you can use Dicor or a similar product to tackle existing, localized leaks… but it’s way better to stop them before they start in the first place.

Finally, always take the time to thoroughly check your RV for water damage before and after every single trip, as well as when you put the rig into or take it out of storage. Look for signs of stains along every seam and seal on your rig’s interior, paying special attention to roof openings like your bathroom or kitchen vent fans and your RV air conditioner.

Although finding a leak would be a major bummer, learning about it as soon as possible will help you to mitigate large, or even irreparable, damages. Here’s our guide to checking your RV for water damage.

Minor Issues with your RV’s Electrical System

Let’s get one thing out there straightaway. If you’re at all uncomfortable handling electrical issues, it’s a good idea to hire professional help. After all, with other DIY repairs, you run the risk of causing damage to your rig. But with electrical DIY repairs, you run the risk of causing yourself serious damage — i.e. injury or even death.

But there are certain minor motorhome and travel trailer electrical problems that the average around-the-house handyman can take care of without serious intervention. For instance, occasionally you’ll find the switches or push-buttons in your circuit breaker panel stop functioning. Replacing these is a very minor procedure.

The same goes for the outlets you find throughout your RV’s interior. If you find one malfunctioning, it may be due to the common use of the clip-together style of the receptacle by RV manufacturers. These receptacles cut through wires’ insulation, clipping to them in order to make contact and run an electrical current. They’re simple, and thus a money saver… but they’re also prone to becoming lose (and, thus, not working). You can easily replace them with the same type of outlet boxes you use at home, which will solve the issue and create a more reliable source of power.

RVers also frequently replace their RV batteries, especially when they’re planning to upgrade from a generator to a solar panel system. Lithium batteries are lighter, longer-lasting, and don’t require anywhere near as much maintenance. They’re also relatively simple to install and set up yourself, though you’ll also need an RV power inverter and a few other components.

Plumbing the Depths: RV Toilets and Water Systems

When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go. And if you have issues with your RV toilet — or any other part of the plumbing system, for that matter — you’ll quickly find your camping adventure at an uncomfortable standstill.

Fortunately, many RV plumbing issues are simple enough to troubleshoot yourself. For example, a common cause of RV toilet clogs and backups is simple user error: too much toilet paper or too little water can keep your camper potty from proper flushing. Making sure everyone knows the right way to “go” will go a long way toward avoiding any problems.

Another common error is to leave the black water drain pipe open constantly if you’re hooked up to a sewer connection. But doing so is a bad move: it will allow all the liquid waste to drain first, which can lead to a sticky, sludgy clog in your holding tank or sewer drain pipe — the type of clog you do not want to have to deal with on your vacation. (Or ever.)

If you’ve already got a clog, the only thing to do is to snake the line, which is usually best done from the RV’s exterior (through the black tank drainage valve) as opposed to from inside through the commode itself. Depending on the severity of the clog, some campers have also reported success using plain old hot water. However, keep in mind that you may not have the skills (or the equipment) to perform this part yourself. Commercially-available products like Draino are unlikely to help and can also have negative interactions with RV toilet chemicals.

In some cases, the clog will be bad enough that you’ll need to get professional help regardless of your at-home plumbing abilities. The good news is, with the above information in mind, you’re unlikely to cause the problem again!

Other common RV plumbing issues include leaky pipes, which may be over-tightened in the case of PVC/flex piping or corroded in the case of old-model metal fixtures. If you’re comfortable removing and replacing pipe fixtures at home, chances are you’ll be able to do so in your motorhome as well — though keep in mind that your system may require specially-made parts, which are designed to withstand a motorhome’s motion without cracking or breaking.

A final word about RV plumbing: If you’re planning on traveling to cold locales during the wintertime, you’ll need to winterize your rig just like you would your home to keep the pipes from freezing. You’ll need to use a specially-made RV antifreeze to do it safely, and utilize your RV water pump to spread it throughout the system.

Keep it Cool with These Common HVAC Troubleshooters

Depending on when and where you’re headed, your RV’s air conditioning isn’t just a luxury — it’s a necessity. That’s especially true since a lot of us do our big yearly trips over the summer when temperatures can get downright brutal.

There’s nothing worse than coming home from a long day of sweaty adventures looking forward to a nice, cool couch retreat… only to discover the “cool” part isn’t happening. Fortunately, however, there are lots of RV HVAC (heating/ventilation/air conditioning) repairs you can do without calling a professional RV AC service.

For instance, if your air conditioning unit is running, but you notice the air coming out of the vents isn’t exactly cool, the problem could be as simple as having dirty RV air vent filters — which means the solution could be as simple and cheap as replacing them. (You should perform this step as a preventative maintenance routine on a regular basis, anyway, so you might as well keep a stock of them on board both for those periodic changes and in case this happens.)

Another common RV AC issue has nothing to do with the AC unit itself — rather, it could be that your thermostat is busted, and not properly communicating with your air conditioning unit!

Replacing an RV AC thermostat is a relatively simple operation that can be performed with common hand tools. Plus, it’s a great opportunity to upgrade from analog to digital if you’re in an older RV model.

Finally, even in the worst-case scenario — your RV needs a whole new air conditioning unit — it’s actually not that difficult to DIY your solution.

RV Slide Out Problems

For all the benefits of the extra space, RV slide-outs can provide, this technology does have some drawbacks. For one thing, all those moving parts are vulnerable to rust, corrosion, and plain-old aging.

On the one hand, it’s kind of unsurprising that the whole moving section of a room would be a prime site for technical issues. The exact thing that makes this technology so amazing is what puts it at risk for problems. But as with so many other parts of RV repair, performing regular maintenance can help keep your slide-outs in proper, working order for many years to come.

For one thing, take advantage of every opportunity to lubricate your RV slide-out arms. This will ensure the longevity of the moving parts, which will go a long way towards preventing sticking issues. An affordable, commercially-available product like WD-40 will do the trick — and you’ll doubtless find tons of other applications for it elsewhere in your rig.

Another common RV slide-out the problem? Leaks. All those seams and seals are just begging to be infiltrated by every RVer’s worst enemy: unwanted water.

Keeping your slide out seals lubricated and soft will help extend their lifespans. A few squirts of UV-resistant 303 each time you operate your slide-out do wonders. Of course, all seals eventually harden and crack with age and use, at which point you’ll need to replace them. And as with all other parts of your rig, it’s a really good idea to check and double-check for water damage often. That way, if and when it does emerge, you can fix it before it spirals.

RV Brake Repair

When you’re driving such a heavy vehicle, stopping is important. (Actually, stopping is important no matter what vehicle you’re driving.)

And it’s a well-known fact that over time, certain brake components break down. That’s how they create the friction that stops you in the first place!

From topping off your brake fluid to actually replacing the brake shoes, drums, or rotors, if you’re comfortable doing mechanical work on other vehicles, you can easily translate those skills to your RV. You’ll need the proper equipment, of course, like a strong jack to lift your travel trailer up.

EASILY-REPLACEABLE RV PARTS

Although most RVs are outfitted with high-quality components, it’s just a fact of life: things break sometimes.

Fortunately, many motorhome and camper parts are pretty simple to replace, even if you don’t consider yourself particularly handy. Here are a few common areas where a replacement might do just the trick.

RV Lights

Just like the light bulbs in your house, the light bulbs in your RV will burn out periodically. Depending on the specific light fixture, a standard 100-watt bulb might not fit… but that doesn’t make the replacement any less simple. Ensure you have back-up bulbs in stock for all the lights in your RV you use most commonly. That way, when you suddenly flick the switch to no effect, you’ll be able to fix the problem in a jiffy. (Just make sure you have the switch set to “off” before you do so to avoid electric shock and burns!)

If you replace the bulb and find the light still isn’t working, you could be dealing with a deeper electrical problem, such as something to do with the wiring. If you’re comfortable going into your RV’s electrical systems, you can remove the light fixture to see what’s going on below the surface. However, if in doubt, don’t hesitate to contact a qualified electrician. Saving a little money isn’t worth risking electric shock!

RV Windows and Seams

You know that water damage we keep talking about? Another prime access point is the same one the sunlight filters through all your RV windows. Keeping them closed is one thing, but those seals also play a big part in keeping the interior of your rig nice and dry.

RV windows are also prone to other types of damage. For example, an errant stone thrown by a tire while you’re cruising down the highway can crack or shatter your RV window glass. The good news is, replacing or resealing RV windows is pretty easy. All it takes is a screwdriver and some good RV sealant.

RV Awnings and Canopies

Your RV’s awnings may seem like a luxurious extra, a quick and easy way to extend your living space by adding a shady, outdoor patio.

But for those of us who camp in hot locales — which is most of us, especially during the summer — those awnings actually serve a much more functional purpose. Shading the windows can help keep your RV’s interior temperature cooler, which avoids putting undue stress on your HVAC system.

What’s more, the LED lights on modern RV awnings can help guide you to your campsite after nighttime excursions, which can help you avoid safety issues, especially if you’re wild camping or boondocking. In short, your awning actually does a whole lot of heavy lifting… so it’s important to take good care of it!

We’ve written before about awning maintenance, including this easy guide to cleaning your RV canopy of dirt and debris. However, replacing your awning is also totally doable — and with some of the fancy, pre-lit, automatically-unrolling models on the market, it’s a great opportunity for an upgrade.

RV ACCESSORIES TO KEEP YOUR RIG IN SHIP SHAPE

We write a lot about RV accessories here on the blog, and for good reason. In some cases, the right gadgets can help you keep your rig’s sensitive systems safe.

For example, although most RV hookups at developed campgrounds and parks have their electrical and water outputs regulated, you never know when something could go wrong — and cause a short in your rig’s wiring or a pressure problem with the plumbing.

A simple water pressure regulator with an attached gauge is a great way to circumvent a potentially costly problem, especially since it costs less than $50 to get one. Considering the complexity of an RV’s plumbing system, it’s a worthy investment to protect yourself from dealing with a messy hassle.

On the electrical side of things, you might consider a power line monitor, which you can use to check the wiring, polarity, and voltage of your shore power hookup before you subject your RV’s wires to a potential surge. It’s also a good idea to use surge protectors on your RV’s interior to adding a further layer of protection between your expensive electronic items and potential lightning strikes and other electrical mishaps.

There are plenty of other RV accessories that can help extend the lifespan of your RV’s systems and appliances. For example, using X-Chock wheel stabilizers in your travel trailer will help keep your leveling jacks from doing double duty, and may even help your tires last longer since they won’t be moving around so much when you’re camped. It might not seem like it, but even kitchen gadgets can be an aid to making your motorhome more long-lasting: adding an Instant Pot to your rig’s kitchen means you’ll be putting less stress on your other cooking devices, like your microwave or oven, for example.

RV REPAIR DOESN’T HAVE TO BE SCARY

We hope this post helps you rest easy, knowing that RV maintenance and repair doesn’t have to be a nightmare. In fact, with a little bit of foresight, planning — and yes, maybe a little bit of sweat — you can often avoid frustrating RV repair issues (and expensive RV mechanical services) in the first place.

And if you’re not sure how to tackle the common troubleshooting issues we’ve outlined above, don’t be afraid to turn to the camping community for help! From RV forums to YouTube tutorials to the comments and community right here at RVshare, most campers are happy to lend a helping hand to others learning the ins and outs of these unique vehicles.

Finally, don’t forget the most important part: Once your rig’s in ship shape and ready to go, get out there and do some exploring in it!

This comes from https://xdrvparts.com/blogs/news/how-to-solve-common-rv-problems