#acred's au bullshit

[acredb]

[..why did they leave me behind?]

everhood spoilers

hey tumblr i got you some content

[wttcsms]

Hihi i saw ur request box was open & i just couldnt resist! A big confession to make here, uhh ive been such a big fan of u and yr writings and also u were the v first fanfic blog i came across a couple years ago so yea, u literally open my third eye to a whole new world of fics👉👈 🥺

i feel like you havent written angst in a while–and bc i miss ur angsty haikyuu fics– sooo could i request post-breakup college!au with atsumu or iwai (honestly anyone who'd best fit the scenario cuz i trust ur characterization👌) abt the aftermath of the breakup, them seeing us on campus and unconsciously following us with their eyes, reschin to help out on instinct only to realize theyre no longer together, thinking about what could've been just reminisce reminisce

ahhhh im sry honestly dont know how to expand more on the idea

thank you for stealing my ficvirginity😃

pairing atsumu miya x f!reader word count 2.1k content contains exes still in love, college!au, mutual pining author's notes hi <3 i remember you (eycee, right?). don't be a stranger! you can always dm me and say hello :) thank you for the constant support. not sure if this fic is angsty enough, but i wanted yours to be the first req i do <3

“Hi, welcome in! Let me know if— Oh.”

Your voice falters, recognition and maybe even something similar to embarrassment flits across your face, and a split second later, you go back to smiling like nothing’s wrong. Like the two of you haven’t spent the better half of this month actively avoiding each other at all costs, even though the sprawling acres of the University of Tokyo suddenly feels too small. The entirety of Japan has felt too small ever since it became his mission to never cross paths with you ever again. 

This mission of his started just a little over two weeks ago, on the very same day you decide to use his heart as your own punching bag. The worst part of it all, though, is the fact that he doesn’t even hold any type of contempt for you. It’s a cruel sort of joke; sometimes, Atsumu Miya feels like everything bad that happens to him is just some sort of sick punchline in a sitcom instead of real life. 

Usually, when girlfriends find out their high school sweetheart is going to be a wildly successful (and rich) professional athlete, they’ll do anything in their power to hang onto him.

You decided to snip the invisible string tying the two of you together, and you did it so effortlessly, so quickly, that Atsumu had to make sure that he hadn’t been imagining the last four years of your relationship. 

He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s torn between staring at you like a total creep or looking at everything in the campus bookstore but you. He settles for the former, scared that this will be his last opportunity to really look at you. 

Neither of you is saying anything. It’s a Saturday and so no one else is even in the bookstore this morning, and Atsumu wants to say something, anything, but he’s never been that great at carefully picking his words, and he’s scared out of his mind that he’ll say something stupid and prove once and for all that you had been right to break up with him. Better yet, he wants you to say something. He wants you to give him a better explanation instead of the bullshit you told him in his apartment. 

We just want different things.

What does that even mean? He thinks he would have shouted out that question, if only your little break up speech hadn’t caught him so off guard. Different things? The two of you wanted different things? Sure, Atsumu likes to sleep in a freezing cold apartment, and you need the room to actually be at a reasonable temperature. And maybe Atsumu has a penchant for overly fried, greasy foods when all you want (and deserve) is a fancy dinner. Maybe Atsumu wants to be at a sports store instead of browsing aisle after aisle in Sephora, but he doubts these different wants have accumulated so much that you felt you had no choice but to break his heart. 

“Hey, Miya.” You say it softly, dropping the perky customer service voice you greeted him with before you turned around and realized who he was. And he flinches. He fucking visibly cringes at the way you speak to him, walking on eggshells and going back to formalities like he’s barely above a stranger to you.

Miya.

(Did you know that he wanted to make that your last name?

Do you know that he still does, even now?)

“Hey,” he replies back, curling his fingers into fists inside his pocket. He thinks his voice comes out all scratchy, like how it always sounds when you don’t use your voice nearly enough. He clears his throat awkwardly. Everything feels awkward; everything feels wrong. He says “hey”, but what he really means to say is please don’t call me Miya; you know the color of my toothbrush, you don’t have to call me Miya. 

“Were you looking for something?” 

You.

Subconsciously, Atsumu finds himself seeking you out. He walks by another girl on campus and almost breaks his neck with the speed he turns around to catch a whiff of the perfume wafting from her body because he swears it’s the same fragrance you favor. He walks by the building that houses all the classrooms for your specific major, even though it’s located on the opposite side of his own classes because he secretly hopes against all hope that he’ll run into you, and you’ll see him and fall in love with him again. He goes to the same restaurants the two of you frequently ate at together, and he orders your usual because you can never finish your entire meal and always have him finish off the leftovers for you (and the food is always good, but somehow it doesn’t taste the same when your utensils haven’t touched it first). And he doesn’t even need to be here, doesn’t even care enough about his stupid class to go out of his way to buy the study guide, but he knows you’ve started picking up the weekend shifts at the campus bookstore, and suddenly, he cares enough about passing to get the damn study guide. 

He shrugs. “Just some stupid workbook to study for an upcoming exam, but it’s not that serious.” 

“Oh. Is Dr. Furata giving you a hard time again?” 

“How do you do that?” Atsumu blurts out, wanting to kick himself for giving too much of himself away. You already own every centimeter of his heart and maybe his soul. You don’t need anything else from him; he’s almost certain there’s nothing left for him to give you, but he can’t help but impulsively ask the damn question that’s been running through his mind ever since you left him behind. 

Did you know that when you’re confused, your brows furrow together, and you get this adorable, endearing crinkle in between them? Do you know that he still finds that same expression as cute as he did when you still called yourself his girlfriend? 

“What are you talking about?” 

How can you just stand there and act like you never crushed his heart? How do you wake up in the morning and not feel like your life is missing something important, like you’ll never feel whole again? How can you keep him wrapped around your finger, and then have the audacity to not even realize it? How did you let him go so quickly? 

Practicing caution, he swallows hard before clarifying, “How do you know everything?” Because if you can act like he’s just a polite acquaintance, like he’s nothing more than another fellow classmate, he can try to play pretend too. He can act like there’s not enough history between the two of you to fill up every damn textbook in this stupid store. “Yeah, Dr. Furata’s been on everyone’s ass. Somethin’ about midterm grades being worth a quarter of our overall grade.” 

“Believe me, you’re not the first victim of Dr. Furata’s to come wandering in the store. I think I have a few more of the workbooks he suggested in stock. Let me go check.” 

It’s instinct at this point for Atsumu to just follow you. If he uses his imagination, it’s almost like he’s back to browsing in a makeup store, walking aimlessly in every aisle, following you loyally because he’s happy to have you lead the way and he doesn’t care where he ends up, so long as you’re there with him. 

But this isn’t an afternoon date with you. This is him following a bookstore employee. After you find that study guide, which is really nothing more than his flimsy excuse for seeking you out, you’re going to ask him “card or cash?”, ring him up at the register, and he’s going to walk out that door and have to act like he’s still not in love with you. All the while, you’re doing fine. You’re fine right now, and you’re going to be fine when he leaves, and you’re probably going to be fine, five years down the line, when you’re happy with someone else and Atsumu is alone because in this little hypothetical, he still hasn’t gotten over you.

He is trailing behind you in this bookstore, and your back is facing him, and he’s panicking because he doesn’t think he’s capable of not loving you. 

Just two weeks ago, you knew him better than anyone else in the world, maybe even better than Osamu, perhaps even better than he knows himself. Now, you just give him a polite smile as you grab the small stool to reach the books located at the very top of the shelf. 

“God, I hate the way we organize everything in the store.” You say, lightheartedly complaining. He knows you do. He knows because he’s known you for nearly a decade. The two of you have grown up together. You made this same complaint sprawled out on the couch in his apartment. 

When he doesn’t reply, you look down to see if something’s the matter, only to do it too quickly that you find yourself losing your balance. Before you can come crashing to the floor, Atsumu is quick to catch you, and you pretend that his protective embrace isn’t comforting. You pretend not to notice that he’s wearing the cologne you bought him for Christmas last year, and you continue to pretend that you don’t miss him at all, that you don’t still love him. 

And for a second, the two of you both pretend that you’re still with each other. That it’s perfectly okay to savor this intimate moment, that his arms wrapped around your body right now isn’t awkward in the slightest. He’s staring at you with a sort of starstruck, boylike wonder, and it’s so familiar, so sweet, because it’s the way he always used to look at you. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, and—

The loud ring! interrupts whatever moment the two of you are sharing, and you nearly jump out of his arms. You hear the distinct footsteps of another student, and you adjust your shirt before remembering where the two of you are — what the two of you are. Not a couple. Barely even friends. Just a bookstore employee and a student that needs a book. That’s all the two of you are allowed to be.

“I should probably go check up front and make sure they don’t need any help.” You tell him, biting down on your lip. “Anyway, did you need anything else, or would you like me to check you out right now?” 

He blinks a few times, as if still in a daze. “Uh, yeah, sure.” The tips of his ears are flushed a light pink. “Y-yeah, I’m done here.” 

The two of you practically race each other to the front of the store, and you step behind the counter to scan his workbook. He drums his fingers, looking around the store. When he’s nervous, he likes to be moving. You know this. 

Just looking for an excuse to use his hands, Atsumu mindlessly picks a pack of gum off a nearby rack and slides it towards you so you can also scan it. You know you shouldn’t say it. You know it’s supposed to be a clean break. Instead, you tell him, 

“Actually, if you want, I have the fruit variety flavor.” 

“Huh?” This catches his attention. 

You reach into one of the boxes that have just been shipped to the store, rummaging through a tiny one before revealing a shiny, new package of gum, this one advertising all the flavors based on tropical fruits. “Would you rather have this one?” 

“Oh, yeah!” As if truly forgetting what the two of you actually are (exes, strangers with too much history, two people still pretending like they’re not in love), his eyes light up. “How did you kno—” He doesn’t finish the question. He knows the answer to the question. 

You’re quick to finish ringing him up, the “polite strangers” illusion being completely shattered. It’s obvious, really, that there are always going to be parts of Atsumu that still live deep inside of you. You can only hope that this isn’t the case for him. 

You hand him the bag, and when he grabs it from you, your fingers just barely graze each other’s. Atsumu is scared — scared that this might be the last time he ever feels your touch. 

And because you’re a glutton for punishment, you find yourself telling him,

“Don’t be a stranger.”

You can’t tell who’s more devastated: you or him.

[furious-mango]

Uh, um… well… Alice Human Sacrifice [for science]

note: I dont know how the F this machine works, it's just a piece of questionable art

Imagine Myron as The White Rabbit. Yep, with big rabbit ears sticking out from under his classy cylinder. Beautiful. Love him so much. But lets get back to that damned song! (source of my childhood nightmares)

from here you'll see a combination of ыумукфд several english lyrics and direct translation from japanese. also i added some features from russian version of this song because:

I can

It's just good and carries different meanings and some kind of куаукутсуы references/ easter eggs

also i just realised that russian version is way more dark and creepy…

okay. after total decomposition it isn't a song anymore. just peaces of lyrics with my plot notes. sounds like bullshit but okay

Let's go!~

The First Alice went to the Land of Wonders She stood bravely before all dangers And left a bright red path [yeah, now the Devil's Acre is The Wonderland] This girl had some sort of destructive peculiarity (something that badly hurts people around her). Defending herself she killed a lot (accidentally at first) even if it wasn’t necessary.

Then Alice strayed too far Lost within the woods Giving in to all her sins Locking her away for good

Finally she ended up meeting Myron. He saw her power and thought “why don’t we try to use this energy as a battery for Panloopticon?”

Still her life remains a mystery 'till this very day If it weren't for the bloody trail, everything would be peacefulAs if she had never existed

Her red bloody path ends at the doors of iron cabin in the basement of Bentham’s House. [Actually, I think that didn’t worked so… we continue]

Second Alice was a tame And tender gentle man Singing songs to all the folks Who lived in Wonderland Whenever he would sing People gathered round

A talented singer became the second Alice. Enchanting people with his voice he could control them.

But his story had a sad ending: He was robbed of everything by a bullet. He blooms a single bright flower and withers away, loved by everyone.

Aand he was kidnapped. Of course, the bullet was with Dust, so very soon he has taken his place in the wax figures collection of the Bentham’s Museum.

It left a flower blooming sadly And those who loved him soon began to die go insane.

[That’s cruel but I think his peculiarity was evoking obsessive love with voice]

The third girl was fragile and innocent And no one believed that her words were a deceit

She sees future in her dreams and it scares her so she lies about them to avoid frightening people.

Lost within a crazy dream So afraid of death the girl Was mindless and warped

Nightmares about death and distortion haunt her (perhaps she foresaw emergence of hollowgasts or… who knows…). She’s the one who agreed to fell asleep using Dust, but never knew how long would that dreamless dream be…

Scarlet paths through the woods. Under a bush of blue roses the two will have tea. And afterward there'll be a ball at the palace. The Ace of Hearts is our ticket.

Here the plan seems to be clearer. Myron invited them personally.

Fourth Alice were a twins Wandering across the world They passed through many doors

[wait… is this a real Panloopticon reference???] Curious of this new place They traveled and explored The stubborn older sister The clever younger brother

Peculiarity of this twins is their bond. Actually they aren’t siblings. Thet are both one creature (like reflection in the mirror)

Were close to see the nature Of the true Alice at hand

They saw something they weren't supposed to see. And so…

Those poor children will never wake up from their sleep, Wonderland is waiting for the fifth Alice…

that last line scared me so much when I was a kid...

its 2am and i totally forgot what was the point of this song analysis. let's just think about that like it's AU where Myron has rabbit ears 'cause its so cute

[charlieslowartsies]

What is Afton like in the Park Ranger AU? For some reason, a twisted mixture of a well loved bunny plush, Bone, and wood keep coming to mind.

Actually Afton is more ghost than usual! He is still in Springtrap, who was also supposed to teach the kiddos about nature but like, from a bunny's pov since they're such different creatures in their ecosystems. Plus kids like rabbits sometimes more than bears lol. He manifests the Springtrap outfit. There is actually a golden wabbit (bigger and longer than Bonnie, but still clearly rabbit shaped) who hops in and out of existence, leading lost hikers to Mike or watching from nearby the way the Fazs interact with Mike and take care of their idiot human. And then, yes, there's the Thing in the Woods, who lurches from shadow to shadow with the too big smile and glowing purple eyes that tries to beckon kids from their group of friends. He's always gone in a flash of course, and try finding something that isn't there on thousands of acres. (I sort of imagine the Adirondacks as a setting because that's the park I grew up around/visited the most with my folks. That park is 6 million acres, though I imagine Mike's forest smaller than that, with less mountains but certainly not flat.) Ironically its the Lake Monster that has more of a local legend, bc Mari is always trying to stop/foil Afton from pulling his usual bullshit.

[internalweebpanic]

Let the Flowers Speak

summary: When you can’t find the words, let the flowers speak. a/n: I just wanted to write a flower shop au.  warnings: All the meanings of flowers have been goggled but also swearing. 

"Bullshit," you hiss, a laugh trailing behind the word. 

Armin elbows you to be quiet but in the corner of your eye, his lips are pressed to contain his own bubbling laugh. You nudge him back and smile, curling over the azalea to follow the young man wringing his hands raw for the good part of half an hour. 

He's been staring at the canopy of flowers for just as long. You're starting to think he'd simply lost something or maybe found some coded message hidden in the flowers. 

The sleeve of your uniform brushes against Armin. Shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist flat against his, every small acre of skin touching skin skittering with sparks. What little attention Armin was paying to the customer was now given to you as you lean against him.

"It doesn't sound right."

Armin tears his eyes away from you. "Watch. He's been staring at the carnations. It's not good news."

Your brows pinch together as you look up at Armin. "Who buys flowers for bad news? He's obviously jittery about telling someone he loves them."

Armin shrugs, careful not to move even a centimeter away. He tries not to imagine what you would be like when you think of telling someone that. 

Tries. 

The young man does eventually make it to the cash register with the bouquet of yellow carnations he's been making eyes at for the last century.

"You ok?" You blurt out. 

Behind you, Armin winces but you keep your worried expression plastered on your face. Maybe this guy will be too upset to comment on your lack of subtlety. 

The man lets out a sigh. "I…," he pauses for a long awkward breath. A small smile curls on his lips. "I'm actually meeting my ex-wife to serve her divorce papers. I thought the flowers would be a good compliment."

You kind of stand there stunned, moving on autopilot until he waves you goodbye. You flick your eyes to Armin. He's studiously fixing the flowers in front of him when you spin your body towards him. 

"How?"

He glances over before shrugging his shoulders. "He was staring at the carnations. It was pretty obvious he would pick them."

"But that doesn't mean you could have guessed it was bad news."

"People just kind of know what flowers mean intuitively," Armin shrugs again. To Armin's mind, the language of flowers had made a strange sort of sense that made it easy to memorize. It was a rudimentary language that even with the lack of syntax could convey so many complicated emotions. 

Sometimes, on slow days like today, you'd ask him about a flower. Not exactly how to take care of it or what flowers best paired with it. You'd simply point to it and draw out what he knows, humming and asking questions as the words bubble up from Armin's throat. He'd once talked your ear off about the history of hydrangeas for a good 15 minutes before he'd noticed you hadn't said a word. You'd taken it in stride though, hanging off of every word, poking him with questions to get him to speak. 

His stomach flutters thinking about it.

"They're yellow though," you protest. 

He turns to you, hand cupping the back of his neck. "Yellow carnations mean rejection or disdain."

Your eyes widen in horror. "They're yellow," you repeat. 

"They do. I promise."

You tap your chin, gears turning audibly in your head, then with a click you snap your fingers. A smile curls on your lips.  "Ok, so you cheated."

Armin's hands raise halfway in defense but the gesture falls short only to be punctuated by him looking away from you again. "Kind of? How is that cheating?"

"The use of psychic powers is against the rules." You waggle your finger, admonishing half-heartedly.

"It's not—"He blusters a bit then regains his composure. "It's not written down, so it doesn't count," he says. The whiteboard, unfortunately, confirms it. You make a mental note to add that to the rules. 

Your face pinches, very ready to change the topic. "But the yellow roses have to be joy, right?" You sigh, resting your elbows on the counter, your cheek pressed to your palm. 

Armin winces, shakes his head, then leans over the counter beside you— body angled towards you and only a hair's breadth away from you. He points to the bundle of yellow roses and says: "They also mean rejection."

Your expression wilts. "No." He snorts. You slap his arm and he just laughs more.

You wrinkle your nose. Turning away from him, you search the store for another flower. "That one," you say, closing your hand around Armin's wrist, tugging it gently to the direction of the  yellow acacia. He feels his face flush. The heat spreading across his skin, pink dusting his face, as he glances down at you. 

Maybe he was right that people could sense the meaning of flowers.

"Secret love," he wants to say but his clumsy tongue fumbles and says, "Friendship."

A brief flicker of doubt crosses your features when you look up at him and Armin feels his chest fill with hope, hope that you might question him, force the truth from his lips. But the look clears, giving way to fascination that almost overshadows the disappointment coiling in his chest. 

"So, the yellow ones aren't completely evil," you breathe. "That's a relief. That means you're not completely evil too." Your body nudges towards him, eating up what little space was left between you. It's a moment before his lungs fill with air again. It's the easy comfort at which you move around him that makes it difficult. 

He's ok like this, he tells himself as he tends to the acacia. 

Stealing long glances from across the room, brushing his fingers to your 'unintentionally', possibly persuading (bribing) people into switching shifts with him just to spend more time with you, and maybe nudging circumstances so you two can work in the back room together. That's enough for him. 

But sometimes, he gets greedy. 

He aches thinking of what it would be like to have your hand twined with his instead of wrapped around his wrist. Or he imagines what it would be like to have you rest your head on his shoulder and fall asleep. He is greedy for the sight of you but he doubts you can look at him the same way.

"Armin. Armiiiin! Tall, pale, and not paying attention. Hey!"

Your fingers jab into his ribs almost causing him to drop the clippers. "Sorry, what?"

"Sorry, my ass. I need a favor."

He turns to face you fully. "This isn't going to be about getting back at Eren for eating your lunch, is it?"

"He—"Your face crunches. "It's something else. For now."

"That's not reassuring," he says. 

You laugh. "Seriously. Please," you say, clapping your hands together. 

"I'm not agreeing til you tell me." He crosses his arms, looking as stubborn as he can. You both know he'll fold eventually. 

"That's not reassuring," he says. 

You laugh. "Seriously. Please," you say, clapping your hands together. 

"I'm not agreeing til you tell me." He crosses his arms, looking as stubborn as he can. You both know he'll fold eventually.

You peek one eye open and sigh dramatically. "Fine," you say, hands on your hips. "Ok, I need you to take care of the plants I'm propagating tomorrow. Please make sure Jonesie won't die."

His brows furrow. "You're off tomorrow?" Armin feels himself physically deflate. 

The soft smile gracing your lips as you cup the back of your head makes his heart thump. "It's sudden but Mrs. Jaeger said I could take a day off and I kind of have something special planned so ..." You brush your hair back sheepishly. 

"Oh," he breathes. His body rocks back and he feels dizzy. 

A date?

No.

No, it can't be. 

You're looking away from him, smiling softly. 

As someone who has watched love be expressed day in day out, to him, you look like someone who's in love. His throat constricts with the realization. 

But still, for you, he forces a smile. "Of course."

"Armin, why do you look like one of Eren's plants?"

"I heard that!"

Armin stifles a sigh. "Probably a lack of sleep," he says. 

Mikasa tilts her head and Armin turns away from her, not having enough energy to smooth his expression over. He doesn't have the energy to play dumb either. The only thing he can do right now is sigh and hope Eren can change the subject. 

Eren comes through as usual. 

"He's gloomy cus (Y/n) took a day off."

Thanks, Eren! 

Armin tries to muster up a response but he can't, so he just turns back to the plants. At least they don't ask questions. Armin waters the plants dutifully, mindlessly, when the bell in front of the rings and in comes noon sun pouring in. 

Armin forgets to breathe. 

There you stand at the entrance— all morning due brilliant with the sun a halo behind your head and daffodils blooming on your sundress. Infatuation burns a new and pushes his heart all the way up his throat, crowding out words of greeting and smooshing them into a garble of syllables. 

You wave at him and he waves back, all the gloom lifting.

The smile on your face shifts a little— still bright with amusement but with some concern coloring your features.  You point down and suddenly, Armin feels the water he's been pouring on his shoe. He fumbles, dropping the watering can on his foot and yelping. 

You try not to laugh.

You succeed. 

Kind of. 

You succeed only because Eren is laughing too hard for anyone to notice the little laughs leaving your lips. Trotting over to them, you elbow Eren. You may have puncture his lung. Maybe. It can't be that bad if Mikasa isn't throwing you through a window. 

"Jeez Armin, you ok?"

Armin's throat is still overcrowded so he gives you a simple nod.

"Hey to you too, Slacker," Eren bites out, rubbing his ribs. 

"Hey," you flick your hands in a way to acknowledge that you noticed him and a way to tell him to go away. His face crunches and his mouth opens to protest but Mikasa drags him away. Both you and Armin think of getting her a thank you gift later. 

"Armin, I have a huge, double-decker favor to ask," you say, clapping your hands together. The gesture throws Armin back, remembering why you were on a day off. His heart plummets to the floor and pulls all of his organs down with it, leaving him feeling hollowed out. The beauty and happiness radiating from you now sear painfully against his skin. You're on a date or you're on your way to one.  You're beautiful, radiant, and absolutely, astoundingly, incomprehensibly giddy for someone. Someone that wasn't him. 

He feels lightheaded. His heart is aching. He feels like the threads holding the world around him are starting to fray and he can't do anything about it. 

"What do you need?"

You shift your weight on your feet, rocking away from him. He does his best not to reach for you. The action is immediately halted when you cup the back of your neck, gaze falling to the floor.  "I'm still not as good with what flowers say." Even without seeing your face, he can picture the slight narrowing of your eyes and the shy curl of your lips. Your press the tips of your fingers together. "I know it's kind of weird but I was hoping you could translate my words into flowers."

He could do that but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to hear whatever heartfelt message you had for someone else but he knows if he doesn't, he'll upset you, and really, are his feelings more important than yours?

No, not to him, so again he plasters a smile on his face and agrees.

You blunder through your message, too nervous to speak coherently. It's endearing and it hurts. To watch you try to piece yourself together, to listen to you be so vulnerable, to hear you be filled with too much love to contain it in words. It's wonderful and amazing and too much. Armin feels like his insides are being scraped raw with every word. 

In the end, the bouquet turns out simple.  Red carnations as the centerpiece with a sprinkle of pink camellias and a few sprigs of asters. 

My heart aches as it longs for your love.

His hand tightens around the bouquet, wanting nothing more than to crush it and  whoever this was meant for under his foot. 

"Do you want a card with it?" He asks. Partially out of habit and partially as a way to find out who it's for.

You shake your head. "I'm planning to give it to them in person."

"Oh ... " He swallows back his emotions to tell you the total. He tries to make his movements as automatic as possible. It's so hard not to think or show the hurt especially when you cradle the bouquet so carefully, holding it close to your chest. 

His feet move automatically, so very ready to run away. 

"Oh Armin, one more thing," you thrust the flowers into his arms. "These are for you."

There is a long pause of you two just standing there. 

The whiplash Armin feels renders his mind useless while the anticipation of his answer keeps you rooted to your spot. You're so very thankful that today is a very slow day. The very few patrons there are looking away from the scene you've caused. 

It occurs to you how badly this could go and you mentally start to draft your resignation letter. 

Armin looks between you and the bouquet cradled in his arms as his mind tries to piece together what this means. There is some kind of arithmetic going on in Armin's head and you're frankly too afraid to ask. 

All those sweet words, flustered gestures, and shy, awkward faces you made were for him. The cold, empty feeling in his chest washes out as warmth floods in. His mind is still so very fuzzy but now the tickle of euphoria starts to grow into a buzz and then a jolt. 

He pulls the flowers closer to his chest, the crinkling of plastic startling you and kicking your flight response into high gear. Your body rotates. You're ready to sprint out of the store and possibly into traffic when Armin rounds the counter to stand in front of you. 

"Aren't you going to at least hear my answer?"

You feel the flowers in your hands as Armin cups your cheek. He presses a kiss to the corner of your lip. His smile is blinding. He is, at this moment, more golden and radiant than any bloom nature could produce. His love like yours swells and fills him to bursting and the joy of reciprocation is palpable in the air. 

This man is well and truly in love with you and for the very first time, you could see how the flowers could fill the gaps the words left.

[highqueenofelfhame]

ok if you did the mob au, i would die yes please!!! “You and me, we were destined to fall apart.” oooooffff yesh

okay i have two for this bc i asked hannah to submit one for this but hannah added something else SO there will be another part. 

It had been three months.

Three months since Aedion had been at what Aelin now referred to as the Compound, unaffectionately. Over three months since she’d been anywhere but the Compound. Three months of her only company being the Cadre, one of whom seemed to hate her with a special kind of ferocity. Likely because somehow, she now outranked him, and it wasn’t sitting well with his dumb male ego. 

She was going absolutely stir crazy. She was losing her mind. 

Rowan didn’t seem to really understand the extent of it. Aelin chalked it up to him leaving relatively frequently for business that he refused to take her on. Even though they all knew that she could handle and take care of herself, thank you very much. Never in her life had she been stuck inside for such a long period of time and she was losing her mind. 

Sure, she had the grounds to walk on. This place had apparently been one of her father’s. A place he had built with her in mind, it seemed, because every skill she’d ever learned as a child had a home somewhere on the land. Archery? Check. Gun range? Check. Pianoforte? There were two of them, one of which was recently brought in by Rowan when Aelin had mentioned the other one was out of tune. Apparently it was easier to just buy a brand new baby grand piano instead of kidnapping someone to tune the keys for her. It had been met with an eye roll, and then she’d promptly sat and began to play.  

All of it was nice, it gave her something to do, but she was still tired of being there, tired of the same faces rotating on her watch. 

It was sometime in the sixth week when she’d started to pull away from Rowan, and sometime at the end of the seventh when she’d decided that this wasn’t the life she was supposed to live. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for. To be fair, she wasn’t sure what she’d signed up for when she’d agreed to stay with him at all other than his time and love, and lately she wasn’t getting much of either. But maybe that also had to do with how she was freezing him out. 

It was like he hadn’t noticed though. Or if he did, he didn’t care enough to do anything about it. 

“Let me go with you,” she’d begged a few days before, when he’d been stuffing a duffel bag full of clothes and toiletries that he would need for whatever trip he was going on that he wouldn’t give her details of. 

“No.” It had been a simple answer. A question he’d not bothered to contemplate, didn’t care to give thought about. It was always no when she asked. No to going, no to being given any information about where he was even going to be. There were so many secrets around him still, secrets that she had expected to come out by now. Secrets she had expected him to share with her but she knew as much about him and the enigma surrounding him as she had the first day she’d fallen onto his lap. 

But she couldn’t do it anymore.

She couldn’t handle the lying, the vague answers, the dismissive tone he sometimes took with her. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him, because she did. It was that loving him seemed to come at such high a cost, the sacrifice so large on her part where he didn’t bend or sway at all. And Aelin wasn’t that kind of woman, never had been. It was why she and Chaol had never worked out. Aelin Galathynius was not a woman that you worked into submission. She did not yield, not to anybody. Not even to Rowan. 

So when Rowan got back at the end of the eleventh week, the look in her eyes was already dim and vague. Parts of her were broken for what she was about to do, parts of her were just broken for thinking he’d relent anything and share any of it with her at all. But mostly, she was just tired, and she wanted to go back to her home. She wanted to go back to the freedom of leaving her house anytime she wanted to, to dinners and lunches with Aedion. Some small part of her even wanted to go back to bickering with Chaol if only because poking and prodding at him would prove she had any bite left to her at all. 

“What are you doing, love?” His voice had startled her, but she kept moving, kept shoving all of her belongings into different bags that were laid out all over the bed. Aelin couldn’t bring herself to look at him, couldn’t see the look in his eyes when she dealt the killing blow that she was leaving him, so she kept her work up at an even pace.

“I need out of here Rowan. Away from the Compound,” she said, deciding maybe she owed him so much to meet his eyes. “Away from you.” Rowan, however, merely sighed. 

“What’s this about?” 

“It’s about you not letting me do anything. It’s about you leaving me locked up here like I’m an animal bound to a cage -”

“That is not true and you know it,” he cut her off with unforgiving ice in his words. Fine. She wasn’t locked up here. He let her do whatever she wanted on the forty acre property. She was hardly an animal in a cage. But she still wanted more.

“You don’t let me leave, you don’t let my friends come and go as they please it’s only when it works for you, which by the way, is bullshit.” She was a cobra spitting venom. “You give me no freedom. You keep so many godsdamned secrets that I don’t know how you manage not to drown in them. You tell me nothing. When I agreed to stay here it was as your equal and instead you have been treating me like I am below you. Like I am weak and do not tell me it’s for my safety because I can handle myself.” Aelin wasn’t sure when she’d started crying, but here she was wiping at cheeks with frustrated fists.

“Don’t you think I know that?” His voice was too calm for the conversation as he approached her, brushed her hair behind her ears. “It isn’t that you can’t take care of yourself, love. I know you can. But if something happened to you -”

“You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself. You’ve said. But I can’t… I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this. And maybe you and me were just destined to fall apart. I don’t know but I can’t… I can’t keep doing this. I need some sense of normalcy and you can’t give it to me so I’m leaving..”

Rowan leaned against the bedpost, watching her carefully. The determined set of her jaw, the way she folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin slightly to prove her mind was made up.. She didn’t move from where she stood, merely shifted her eyes to the fire in the corner of the room. 

“Are you done?”

“Am I done?” She hissed, throwing the phone she had just picked up to pack into the dresser before reaching out to shove him back from her. But he caught her wrists in his hands, passed them off to one, and wiped the tears that stained her cheeks.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he said, finally. 

“Did you not just hear anything I said to you? Or are you that fucking insane? I don’t want you to make Fenrys pretend to be the waiter and make Lorcan play shoddy piano while we eat. Gods, Rowan.”

“Aelin, love, I’m trying to compromise. So please shut that beautiful, sinful mouth of yours and go put on a dress for dinner. We’ll leave in an hour.” Before she could object, he’d leaned forward to press a soft kiss to her lips. Before she could pull away or melt into it, he pulled back and moved toward their closet, already unbuttoning the white shirt he wore. 

Well. That certainly hadn’t gone as she had planned.

@tangledraysofsunshine @shyvioletcat @starseternalnighttriumphant @tonystarksbish @vi0let-femmes @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior

[believingispowerfulmagic]

The Nanny - “Quarantined at Nottingham”

A/N: I thought I would also give a glimpse at how the quarantine is affecting Outlaw Queen in some of my AU verses and knew you would all want to see The Nanny. It also seemed like a good place to start because this version of OQ has a large house, a lot of property and doesn't really need to worry about money. So what parts of quarantine are affecting them?

Thanks to Eva (glindalovesshoes) for looking this over for me!

Warning – some slight spoilers for the main Nanny verse.

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

"How are you?" Dr. Espenson asked before sipping her coffee.

"Well, that's a loaded question," Regina replied, settling back against her chair. "Can we start with something easier?"

Dr. Espenson raised an eyebrow. "No."

Regina sighed before rubbing her forehead. "I guess not."

"So, I'll ask again. How are you?" Dr. Espenson asked, studying Regina now.

"Stressed with a touch of cabin fever," Regina answered, leaning forward to rest her arms on the desk. She watched her therapist on her tablet screen as she added: "But I assume everyone feels that way right now."

Dr. Espenson nodded. "Even me."

Regina sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "But I feel bad about it as well."

"Why?" her therapist asked, frowning in confusion.

"Because there are other people stuck in way smaller houses or apartments and I'm quarantined in a mansion set on a sprawling estate comprised of several acres, including forests," she replied.

Dr. Espenson jotted down some notes. "So you feel guilty that you have it better than some people?"

"Yes," Regina replied.

"And you feel that means you can't complain?"

Nodding, Regina said: "Pretty much."

"Okay, let me give you the highly technical term for what that is," Dr. Espenson said. She set her pad down and cleared her throat before looking directly into the camera. "Bullshit."

That caught Regina by surprise and she let out a little laugh. "What?"

"It's bullshit. Do you and Robin have some advantages others don't? Yes. But in many ways, this is a great equalizer. Everyone is dealing with stress and cabin fever, no matter what. You're allowed your feelings. Own them. And then we can deal with them," Dr. Espenson told her.

Regina blinked a couple times before relaxing, feelings her shoulders slump. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

"And that's why you pay me." Dr. Espenson picked up her notepad. "So, where do you want to start?"

"I don't even know. You pick," Regina told her.

Her therapist nodded before asking: "Your bereavement group. Have you still been meeting or…?"

Regina took a deep breath as a wave of sadness washed over her. "We've switched to virtual meetings. And it's helped. I can't imagine having to be isolated from people while grieving."

"I'm glad to hear it's helping," Dr. Espenson said. "And that you've all managed to find a way to stay together…even if you're all apart."

She nodded. "And it helps talking with all of them. For a while, I felt guilty that I was glad that Daddy was not here for this pandemic but then nearly everyone else said the same thing."

"And I'm sure Meg assured you all that it didn't mean you missed them less because of that, right?"

"Yes," Regina assured her. "And that just because we all thought it would be more stress during this time, it didn't mean we saw our loved one as a burden. And that they would want to be one less thing we worried about. Knowing my father, I know that is true. I would be worrying about him so much, especially with his lung cancer."

Dr. Espenson nodded. "So it's understandable to be relieved that he wouldn't have to be subjected to this virus."

"Right. I just worry about everyone else now. Especially Emma," Regina said, thinking of her best friend on the front lines. Emma had volunteered to help out at the hospital once the outbreak started and had been working long hours since then.

"Have you spoken with her recently?" Dr. Espenson asked.

Regina nodded. "She tries to Facetime with us whenever she's off duty. It's heartbreaking to see how tired she is and the bruises left by her PPE but she's doing her best to keep her spirits up."

"And have you touched base with Robin's parents?"

"We have," Regina confirmed. "We still call them once a week. They are quarantining and doing their best to stay safe. Robin's offered to have food and supplies delivered to their house but they keep refusing. I think they enjoy the time they can spend out of the house."

Dr. Espenson chuckled. "I can understand. I've never looked forward to grocery shopping the way I do now."

"Will still does the grocery shopping for us. I've offered to go but he absolutely refuses," Regina said, thinking of their faithful butler who was back in his old rooms with his wife in tow to ride out the quarantine.

"You think he's escaping as well?" Dr. Espenson asked.

Regina laughed. "Oh, yeah. There are nine of us here. Nottingham is big but that's still a lot of people."

"Agreed," Dr. Espenson said. "Are you finding ways to get some time to yourself?"

"I am," she replied. "I go to either a quiet room or to the hammock outside and I put on some music and I just decompress. Take time for myself."

Dr. Espenson nodded. "Good. I'm glad to hear that. And you know I'm always a phone call away, right?"

"I do. Thank you," Regina said.

Checking her watch, Dr. Espenson gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid our time is up. I'll talk to you and Robin in a couple days."

Regina thanked her before ending the video session. She then powered down her tablet before leaning back in her office chair, closing her eyes for a few moments as she relished the silence in her home office.

It was bliss.

After taking a few moments to clear her mind, she stood and left her office. She headed downstairs, ready to face whatever chaos had engulfed Nottingham that day.

To her surprise, she found it was relatively quiet. She heard some noise coming from the living room and she entered there, finding Mary Margaret singing a nursery rhyme to her son. Neal caught sight of Regina and his eyes lit up. He held out his arms to her. "Up! Up!" he said.

"Hi, sweetheart," she said, picking up her godson. "How are you?"

He laughed as he grabbed at her face. Regina chuckled as she gently pried his hands away, kissing them. "I guess that means you're doing good," she said.

"He's probably handling this the best," Mary Margaret replied, standing from the couch. She tried to smile but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Regina shifted Neal so the boy rested on her hip and she stepped closer to his mother. "Are you okay?"

Mary Margaret sighed as she shrugged. "We just spoke with David and I really, really miss him."

The sadness and weariness in her voice broke Regina's heart. Mary Margaret was the most positive person she knew, even more positive than Robin, but this seemed to be beating her down. She did have it harder, spending the quarantine away from her husband. Like other police departments around the country, the Avalon police department had been hit hard by the virus. David hadn't gotten it but he was worried about bringing it home to his wife and child, so he and Mary Margaret agreed it was best they stay away for the time being. He was originally going to find some place to stay and so the Locksleys had offered to let him stay with them. Instead, they asked if Mary Margaret and Neal could stay at Nottingham – David felt better knowing she would be with family and knew how safe Robin ensured their compound was. They readily agreed.

While it was the right decision for their family, Regina knew it was difficult for her friend. She didn't know how she would manage if Robin was separated from her and their children indefinitely and their only communication with him was video calls. And though crime was down in the city, David was still on the front lines and putting himself in danger every day. Regina stayed up worrying about her family and they were all safe in Nottingham. She couldn't imagine the thoughts that went through Mary Margaret's mind at all hours of the day.

Regina wanted to hug her but knew she couldn't, even if they had been cooped up in the house for weeks. Instead, she could only give her a small smile as she said: "I wish I could just make this all go away."

"I think we all wish we had that power," Mary Margaret replied with a sigh. "Do you mind watching him? I think I need a little time to myself."

"Go do whatever you need to do for yourself. We've got him," Regina assured her. Mary Margaret thanked her before heading out of the room.

Regina looked at Neal, bouncing him slightly. "Let's go see where everyone else is," she told him.

Continue reading on FFN, AO3 or Wattpad

[xcziel]

Multi-Fandom Slash Fic Recs: Long reads for your quarantine needs

Was gonna add my own 2 cents for each rec, but it got long and I'll never post if I have to think about it anymore - may edit to add more commentary. Suffice it to say, these are all great long reads, not much angst, some smutty some not, highly improbable levels of things-working-out because it's fanfic and that's what it's for. Feel free to troll through my AO3 Bookmarks as well.

The One Where They're Stars on HGTV Series

earlgreytea68

Inception: Arthur/Eames

AU, 466,359 words 9 works Complete

Summary:

"Have you ever seen "Love It or List It"? In which Arthur is the real estate agent and Eames is the designer.

Eames is certain that they will excel at being celebrity judges.

Arthur is not so sure.

But then, that's usually how their relationship goes."

My 2 cents: Just what it says on the tin: Arthur and Eames are HGTV stars of a show which pits straightlaced realtor Arthur against flamboyant designer Eames, but the new show they're embarking on will give them a chance to work together. Arthur has his reservations - not least among them the surprise arrival of Eames' superficially charming ex. Eames, of course, has all the confidence in the world. Featuring fun design challenges, mildly insecure Athur, fluffy confidant Ariadne, reality show 'backstage' melodrama, Arthur becomes a meme, Eames fantastical decorating schemes, a Matt Bomer lookalike complete with fedora (trilby), and acres of gauzy romantic fluff.

We Begin Again Series

katherynefromphilly

Merlin: Merlin/Arthur

316,197 words 4 works

Summary:

"For many long years Merlin waited.

For the other part of his soul, for the other half of his life. He was born to serve Arthur. So that meant he was also born to wait. Even if it took a thousand years. Even if the wait seemed never to end.

Until one day, suddenly, it did.

When Arthur stumbles from the Lake of Avalon 1,500 years after his death, he finds a world unlike the one he knew. Faced with the loss of everyone he loved, and the threat of impending prophecy, Arthur must learn what it means to be not just a king, but the Once and Future King. Merlin does all he can to guide him, even as he struggles to hide his love for his king, and his fear of losing him again.

Story includes sass, banter, horseplay, & True Love."

Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail Series

owlet

MCU: Steve/Bucky

264,438 words 8 works

Summary:

"The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect

Integration into adult human social dynamics requires attention and effort. Especially with this bunch of damaged bozos.

(A series of interconnected one-shots.)"

2 cents: Post-Winter Soldier Bucky works his own way through. Recovery fic from Bucky's POV, not shippy in the beginning (unless you consider MCU-canon-level co-dependency shippy I guess) and with added 'Avengers living in the Tower' flavor

The Sonnet Series

nekosmuse, afrocurl

X-Men: Charles/Erik

AU, 196,721 words 3 works

Summary:

"Erik Lehnsherr is a visiting professor at Columbia University, as well as an acclaimed and award winning poet. Charles Xavier is a lead researcher with the Genetics Department who is well on his way to tenure. But what happens when Charles has to cancel a class because half his students abandon him in favour of a mysterious new English Lit professor? Naturally he ends up sitting in in the class, where Professor Lehnsherr mistakes him for a student. It's really too bad Erik has such a strict policy against dating students. It's also too bad Erik doesn't seem to know how to use Google."

Hollywood 'verse Series

clio_jlh

Star Trek AOS: Kirk/McCoy

80,063 words 7 works

Summary:

"From Variety, June 2008:

Pavel Chekov ("Charlie X") and Gaila ("Bread and Circuses") have joined the cast of small budget drama "That Which Survives," funded by Fleet's indie arm Academy and supervised by Nyota Uhura.

The debut feature from longtime script doctor Leonard McCoy, former show runner on sitcom "Three to Tango," centers on a college student coping with his father's terminal cancer. Chekov plays the son, Gaila the nurse. The father is yet to be cast.

Also attached are director James T. Kirk and producer Spock, the team behind the blockbuster spy-girl franchise starring Carol Marcus, the latest of which, "A Taste of Armageddon," opened last month.

(A modern-day Hollywood AU.)"

A Curious Carriage of Crystal and Cold

Etharei

X-Men: Charles/Erik

AU, 114,261 words

Summary:

"Charles, a miner from a poor village in the countryside, saves the life of Erik Lehnsherr, scion of a successful business family and the richest man on the planet Eisen. Charles is a telepath and somewhat anxious about it, while Erik abstains from relationships because the lights flicker and doors open and electronics vibrate when he gets too excited.

Also featuring a long-suffering sister, a foul-mouthed bodyguard, and a best friend with a heart that is definitely not gold.

In which there are princes, spaceships, long journeys, and old secrets uncovered. (An AU sci-fi fairytale)"

Shadowlord and Pirate King Series

Footloose, mushroomtale

Merlin: Merlin/Arthur

AU, 216,060 words 3 works

Summary:

"A fast ship, a good crew, a treasure, a Clan to lead -- that's all Arthur Pendragon has ever wanted. He sits on the Council, he supports his father's kingship, and he keeps an eye on the Imperial Conglomerate when they come too close to Pirate space.

One day the Conglomerate infiltrates the Clans and poisons the King. Arthur must search for a cure to keep his father alive and the Clans from civil war.

An escape route, a sharp knife, a target, the shadows at his command -- that's all Merlin has ever needed. He fulfills his assignments, he uses the Sterling to sustain his once-royal House in their exile, and wages a private war against the Imperial Conglomerate.

When he learns of an elaborate plot to assassinate him, Merlin does the opposite of what's expected. He flees onto a Pirate ship.

There's a saying among the Pirates: that one's fate is written in the stars. Destiny will always set to rights what has been made wrong.

Arthur and Merlin know that they were meant for the other from the moment they meet. They can feel it from across the galaxies separating them. Nothing can stop them from being together or from fulfilling an ancient prophecy."

Children, Wake Up Series

hollycomb

Star Wars sequels: Kylo Ren/Armitage Hux

non-canon after Force Awakens, 608,083 words 3 works

Warning for torture and past sexual assault (offscreen)

Summary:

"Hux follows orders and loses his way.

Barricaded in the darkness of Snoke's citadel as part of his final training, Kylo Ren senses a disturbance in the Force: General Hux in great pain, captured and tortured by a faction of radical traitors within the First Order. Ren seeks Snoke's counsel and finds him gone. He knows this is a test, and that he must resist the urge to assist the General. And yet."

2 cents: I don't even know. I started just to look at it and then somehow I couldn't stop. Two characters I find wholly irredeemable given back story enough to make me suspend disbelief just enough to enjoy the fic - now that's talent. Features background Finn/Rey and Luke/Wedge if you care about that, and generally has everyone written in a positive light except Snoke, including a surprising handful of of First Order refugees. It's weirdly not at all a dark fic, despite the premise and extreme levels of Force Ex Machina.

snipers solve 99% of all problems

silentwalrus

Fullmetal Alchemist: post-canon gen

HP crossover, 170,861 words, 59 chapters so far, WIP

Summary:

"Ed had thought, after the whole Promised Day, homunculus, entire country harvested for alchemical batteries thing, the batshit quotient of his life would have settled down some. He really ought to have topped out the meter with that one. But no. The bullshit is just getting started.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Ed demands. “The wizards?”"

2 cents: Neither of these are my fandom, but I have read all the HP books, so I could get the gist. While jonesing for an update, I ended up bingeing FMA: Brotherhood and I have no regrets. Ed working alchemy-as-science and trying to translate wizardry into scientific alchemical workarounds is all I never knew I wanted. Team Amestris takes JKR's creation to school, with all the swearing you'd expect sprinkled throughout for ambiénce.

[acredb]

can i offer you a nice pathetic ice rabbit in these trying times

[plutoandpolaris]

If You're Reading This, I'm Already Dead.

Summary: Chelsea Montona has worked for the royal family her whole life, but she's seen something she was not supposed to see. Fearing death, she writes a letter to whoever might survive her, hoping to preserve the truth.

Warnings: Blood, violence, disease mentions.

Hello. I can only hope this letter reaches you well. If you’re reading this, I have died.

I'm writing this down so it does not die with me, so that one day the world may know the horrors of which I’ve witnessed. This is the story of the Royal Family, and how they really died.

King Maithus was a kind man with a bleeding heart, and his Queen a strict but fair razor’s edge. They only ever had one son, Prince Ayrin Maithius. With his mother's face and his father’s skills in diplomacy, he would've made a fine king.

I had worked under the royal family for many years, and had just reached my thirty second year of age when a child was delivered to the castle gates. The letter told us he was the orphaned son of one of the King’s late relatives, and that he had nowhere else to go. He had the king’s features to be sure, so at the time I didn't question it.

It wasn't until I began caring for him that I started noticing more and more strange occurrences.

Demons are well known for being very loud and demanding as young children, which I know quite personally from Ayrin’s youth, but this new prince was no such thing. He never cried. Ever. He never seemed to sleep either.

He just sat and watched me with those bright, unnatural green eyes. A color that, mind you, none of the King’s family or their consorts have ever had.

He began talking very early, and walking even earlier. The boy was extremely bright and curious, always wandering, always asking me a million questions about everything he saw and never seeming satisfied with the answers.

Ayrin took to having a brother very quickly and delighted in showing him all of the intricacies of princehood. Like seemingly everything else, the boy soaked it in supernaturally quickly.

It wasn't until he turned ten that his other strange abilities started to come to light.

He started teleporting, seemingly materializing out of thin air and dissipating just as quickly. People began to fall ill every time he was angry, most times impossibly quickly. He gave his tutor horrible polio after getting frustrated with a math lesson without ever having the disease himself.

We thought it was a coincidence until it happened three more times. He seemingly had the power to give people a myriad of horrible diseases, but that wasn't even close to the end of it. He could wilt entire acres of the garden in seconds, much to the groundskeeper’s dismay. The boy was a walking plague, displaying powers that only the ancient gods of legend were supposed to have.

One Goddess in particular. Then everything began to make sense. The green eyes, the unnatural growth, the sicknesses, even his strange obsession with sharp objects.

The King confirmed my suspicions the next night, saying that I deserved the right to know as his caretaker, especially now that his unnatural powers were beginning to develop.

He told me how his wife had rushed to him, telling him that her barrenness had been cured, and that they could finally have the second child they had always wanted.

But this was not his Queen. This was the infernal Goddess Proelia, eldest daughter of Death, patron of war and disease. She had tricked him, disguising herself as his wife to create a demigod prince fated to take the throne by any means necessary.

The king told me he knew he didn't have much time left, and that the prince would certainly kill him once he became strong enough.

“No one can know.” He'd told me.

He gave me an option to leave, to escape before doom overtook us all, but I didn't take the offer. My family had served the royals for hundreds of years, I didn't have anywhere else to go.

But now, writing this, I wish I would've run as far away as possible the first chance I got.

Two more years passed, the young prince’s powers only strengthening as time went on. The Queen tried to hide him away to protect the castle staff, meaning I was the only servant permitted to see him.

There was a new fire in his eyes, anger. Anger at being hidden away, anger at the world. He had always been hotheaded, but this new anger was cold and calculating. I’d come in to change his sheets and refill his water pitcher and he'd be there, sat at his desk, watching me like he was planning out all the possible ways to dismember me limb from limb.

Turns out, I was one of the only ones he spared.

It was October 10th, the day of the prince’s seventeenth birthday. I had woken up late for the first time I could remember, and it took me a few minutes to figure out why.

The prince hadn't summoned me. He always summoned me at 6:45 am sharp every single day to bring him his breakfast. It was 8:30. Nothing.

I rose from bed, curious, making my way up to my the prince’s chamber in the uppermost tower. Empty. I searched the dining room, both studies, the ballroom, all empty. Strangely enough, I couldn't find any of the rest of the royals either.

Then, finally, I checked the garden.

Both princes were present, but that was the most normal thing about the altercation. Ayrin looked incredibly haggard, clutching his sword for dear life, backed up against the castle wall, the wild look of a cornered animal in his eyes as his brother advanced on him.

Covered in blood.

The younger prince’s tunic was stained black with blood, the dagger in his hand wet with it. The entire clearing was dead and wilted, stained with even more carnage. It was only then that I noticed the deep gash in Ayrin’s chest.

“Please, brother-”

"I ͞am͜ ̕n̡ot̡hing o͜f̷ t͜he ͜sort͘!"̛ ̧

A black mist surrounded them both, emanating from the prince’s black eyes, clutching at Ayrin’s heaving chest.

Several other bodies littered the clearing. I recognized the groundskeeper and three of his attendants, all left to rot in the wilted black rose bushes.

Ayrin lunged with his sword, a last ditch effort, only for his brother to deftly sidestep, plunging his own dagger deep into the curve of Ayrin’s throat until the tip poked out from the other side.

I stood, paralyzed with fear just out of sight as the blade slid back out, leaving the eldest prince to fall in a heap at his brother's feet.

Then he turned and looked me straight in the eyes.

He Knew. He knew what I had just seen.

That shook me out of my stupor and I ran as fast as I could, back inside, down to the servant’s quarters, bolt locking and barricading the door behind me.

It is here that I write this letter. I know that I’m next, that he will not let me live because of what I know.

Please don't let my death be in vain.

-Chelsea Montona

{Taglist}:

@egopocalypse @shadowstakeall @epicfangirl01 @kitnkas @mijako98 @anothermarkiplierfan @iris-the-asparagus @awkward-bullshit @spicydanhowell

Please let me know if you want to be added or taken off, and wether you want to be on my general taglist or just the Fantasy AU one. Thanks!

[bruciewayne]

...oh my god, they were roommates!!

Q: Why won't The Winter Soldier come live in the Avenger's Tower? A: Because he has a roommate

aka the shrinkyclinks roommate au with a side of frustrated dad tony stark

(winter soldier bucky, skinny artist steve)

read on ao3

shrinkyclinks roommate au masterpost

“Roommate? What do you mean roommate?”

The Winter Soldier gave Tony an odd look, “Does roommate mean something new now?” he said, scowling. Not that Tony had seen him with any other expression, although sometimes it came with an extra helping of anger and/or annoyance.

He was scowling when they first found him in the Hydra facility, he scowled when he signed the papers to officially join the Avengers Initiative, he scowled all they way through battles and clean up. Although, Shuri had texted Tony saying that he had smiled when they’d finally undone his Hydra programming - and T’Challa had confirmed it, so it was good to know that he, in theory, could make any other expression that wasn't a scowl, but Tony had never seen it.

Tony squinted at The Soldier, “No,” he said carefully, the roommate vine playing on a loop in his head - Peter had been so disappointed when he’d found out that Shuri had introduced him to vines, and the subsequent horror that was Gen Z humour, before he could. Tony offhandedly wondered if The Soldier knew what vines were, technically, he could be classed as a millennial. Probably not. He looked over at The Soldier’s whole, demeanor, the Murder Stance™ (a sequel to the Murder Strut™) in full force, topped off with the ever-present scowl (this time, with a flavour of impatience) and decided, that no, The Winter Soldier definitely didn't know what vines were.

And now the Murder Stance™ was the Murder Strut™. Away from Tony - The Soldier had a surprisingly good ass - “Hey, hey! Manchurian Candidate, you never gave me an answer, you gonna move into the tower with the rest of us?”

The Soldier, without turning around, yelled back, “I told you, I have a roommate.”

Tony turned around and frowned at the rest of the team, “When did he get a roommate?” he muttered, not really expecting an answer.

“His roommate,” growled Fury, from behind him, talking over Tony’s squawk and his promises to ‘cat-bell’ him, “is none of your business. Why are you all still in my conference room?”

He huffed, “You gotta be paying him more if he has to have a roommate,” he knew New York was expensive, but the guy was a superhero, and he probably had like, seven decades worth of backpay.

“He’s getting paid as much as you are. Get out of my conference room.”

“I don't know how much I’m getting paid,”

“Check your books, and get out of my damn room,”

“But-”

“Out.”

Tony and the rest of the Avengers hightailed it out of there, not wanting to relive that particular day.

“Honey, I’m home,” Bucky called, as he entered their apartment, emptying his pockets of all his weapons into the basket near the door, feeling himself physically go from The Winter Soldier, ex-Hydra, ex-brainwashed, SHIELD agent and Avenger, to Bucky Barnes, sometimes drummer, sometimes mechanic, and boyfriend.

It was always so liberating, when he got home, free from surveillance, although, he wasn't naive, he was pretty sure SHIELD knew he lived here. But that better be the extent of it. He’d made sure that the surveillance and oversight clause in his Avengers papers was very clear. Matt had helped. He’d had enough of the oversight bullshit with Hydra.

“Hey,” Steve said, walking out of the kitchen, smelling of ginger and garlic and what seemed like twenty-million other spices, to greet him, kissing him on the cheek, “meeting that bad?” Bucky wrapped his arms around his middle, kissing him on the forehead when he leaned into him, “Am I that obvious?” he murmured, voice stupidly soft. The things Steve did to him, damn.

Steve laughed into his chest and tipped his head up to look at him, “You have residual annoyed-scowl on your face.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, “Really, where?” he teased, running his hands up and down Steve's back. Steve leaned up and kissed his nose, “Here,” he kissed his cheek, “some here,” his temple, “little left here,” his jaw, “here.”

“All done?”

“Nah,” Steve leaned up and kissed his solidly on the lips, with a hint of tongue, he tasted of mango cola. “Done,” he said, in a whisper, when they pulled away, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair, pushing back his kinda quiff thing, one of the first things he’d done after he’d escaped off the helicarrier (with help from Shuri, of course) that was meant to take him from Wakanda to America, was get a haircut. He’d fucking hated the long hair.

“Mmm, you cooked?” he asked Steve when he felt he was done messing up his quiff.

“Yup,” he nodded, tugging Bucky into the kitchen, “stir-fry.”

“I knew there’s a reason I fell in love with you,” Bucky said, grinning as he let himself be dragged by Steve. They both knew very well that Bucky could easily just, not, and break out of his hold, he had at least half a foot, maybe eighty pounds and some bastardized version of Erskine’s super-soldier serum on him. But he let himself be dragged into the kitchen, because it was Steve.

He plated up the noodles and put them on the table, next to glasses of wine, Bucky drew him in for another kiss and pulled out a chair for him, “Smells amazing, honey,” he drawled, emphasizing his old Brooklyn accent.

Steve saw right through him, “You forget, darlin’ I’m from Brooklyn too,” he teased in a horrific impersonation of his accent.

Bucky laughed at him, “You’re horrible,”

“Aw,” Steve pouted, “I thought you were in love with me?”

“Nah, I’m just in it for the stir-fry,” he said, grinning.

“Dick.”

“Love you too, baby.”

Steve’s phone buzzed and lit up with a message, he flicked it open with his thumb, fork dangling in his mouth. Which was promptly thrown out of his mouth, landing just in front of Bucky’s plate. “Hey, hey, you ok?” Bucky asked, concerned, leaning over to rub his shoulder, comfortingly. Steve looked up at him, holding back… laughter?

“Some guy’s trying to commission me for a piece of all the Avengers,” he said once his shoulders have stopped shaking.

“Why’s that so funny?” Bucky asked, smiling, even his not-laugh was infectious.

“‘Cause he’s saying’ that he’ll pay a million dollars for it. For every piece.” He burst out laughing again. And at Bucky’s confused face, he told him that it was definitely a scam, “Bucky, I’m not, like Jack Kirby or Frank Miller y’know, I have a Tumblr and a comic run. As in one.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, holding off telling him that he’s wrong, he had a very rudimentary idea who those people were, and Steve knew that, “Who was the person? Maybe they’re like a billionaire or something.”

Steve shrugged, “Probably not, their users’ just ‘youknowwhoiam’” he said, showing Bucky the message.

His phone buzzed again, another commission, but this time from someone he knew, “Shuri wants a commission of T’Challa falling over,” he said to Bucky, showing him the video of the King of Wakanda and the Black Panther, falling over.

“Do it,” Bucky said, laughing.

Steve put his phone down and grinned at Bucky, “Yeah, yeah I will.”

“Oh, by the way,” Bucky said, suddenly, swallowing his mouthful of noodles quickly, “Stark asked me to move into his frat house, again.”

“Y’ thinkin’ of leavin’ me, soldier?” Steve teased, hooking his foot around Bucky’s ankle.

Bucky smiled at him, “Nah, but I said that I have a roommate,” he didn't want Steve to think that he was ashamed of him or something, he was so, so happy to live in a time and a country where a man with another man wasn't cause for a trial and a jail cell, or fear of being beat up in a nondescript alleyway. He told Steve all of this, months ago, when Steve asked if he was ok telling his colleagues about them.

“Why?” Steve asked, curious, not judging him.

“Well, y’know back in the dark, dark ages,” Bucky began, leaning forwards to take Steve’s hand across the table, “we used to say ‘roommate’ instead’a boyfriend, ‘cause, y’know.”

“Dark ages, yeah,” Steve murmured, playing with Bucky’s fingers, “so it was, what, a reflex?”

“Yeah, something like that, I don't know how much I want them knowing so much about me,” Bucky said, quietly, he knew that he should trust them, but, he was still the new guy. Steve smiled at him and kissed his cheek, “That’s ok, it’s fine if you don’t wanna tell them, take as long as you need.”

He did not deserve him. At all. He’s been so, so patient with him, with his goddamn laundry list of issues and problems. Fucking hell he loved him.

“So, James, Jamesy, who is this ‘roommate’ of yours?” Tony asked, shooting at a doombot. “Not the time, Stark,” The Soldier growled, tearing the head off a bot.

-

“You hurt?” Steve asked, as soon as he came home. Bucky smiled tiredly at him, pulling him into a hug, the battle was too close to the offices where Steve had a meeting today. Steve got that and let Bucky hold him for as long as he needed.

“Nah,” he said, finally, into Steve’s hair, “but, Stark asked me about you,” he pulled away to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “What’d you say?” he asked, smiling up at him, leaning into his touch as he pushed his fringe off his face. Bucky gave him a look, “He asked in the middle of destroying a doombot.”

=

“Who’s your roommate, Soldier?” Natasha asked, carefully tilting her head to the side in a crafted curiosity and tipping her chin up in a challenge, hoping that the soft lighting of the bar and the intimate setting, with only the team and a couple close friends, would help him open up. The Soldier smirked, almost smiled condescendingly, “Nice try Romanoff.”

-

“Romanoff asked about you today,” Bucky said, over dinner, “she did the whole, ‘you can trust me, this is a safe-space’ bullshit, soft lighting and all.” Steve hummed, taking a sip of cola, “Very homely, what’d you tell her?” “A fairly PG version of ‘fuck off’” Bucky said, stealing Steve’s drink.

=

“Hey Frosty, who’s the roommate?” Clint asked, wiping a towel across the back of his neck and draining half a water bottle. He looked over his shoulder at Clint, rubbing a hand through his hair, “Beat it, Legolas.” Legolas? Who’d taught him that?

-

“Barton asked about my mysterious roommate today,” Bucky said, apropos of absolutely nothing, after his… uh, second work out of the day, after a couple minutes of silence. Steve rolled on top of Bucky, and pressed kissed to his neck, “Yeah, what’d you say?” Bucky hummed and ran a hand down his back, “Called ‘im ‘Legolas’,” he said, smiling proudly. Steve laughed, “You're cute when you think you're being funny.”

=

“So, James,” Bruce started, pushing a cup of green tea towards him, “you’ve made some friends outside of the team right?” “What the fuck is this, it tastes of grass.”

-

“Banner today,” Bucky said, when Steve asked how his day went. “You should call your teammates by their first names,” Steve suggested, knowing what Bucky was on about. He just grunted in response, “Nah, they all call me ‘James’ or ‘Barnes’ or ‘Soldier’ or something cold ‘n ice-y, they think they’re funny.”

=

“Who’s this roommate of yours, Cable?” Sam asked, spinning around in his chair and drumming his fingers on the table. “Keep writing your notes, Freedom Pigeon.”

-

“Freedom Pigeon,” Bucky grunted, flopping down on Steve’s lap, narrowly missing poking his eye out Joker-style, humming happily when he ran his hands through his hair. “You need a haircut,” he commented, pushing his hair back and letting it flop over his face. He looked younger, like that, more innocent, with longer hair, flopping all over his forehead.

Bucky just hummed sliding his eyes shut, “Would you be ok, if I said something about us?” he asked, nervous, even though they had talked about it before, and Steve was a hundred percent on-board with it, but he wanted to make sure.

Steve bent down and kissed his forehead, “You know I would, Buck.”

=

“Uh, hey, Mr. Barnes, everyone’s talking about this roommat-” a weedy SHIELD lackey asked, just as he was about to leave the building for the day “Do I know you?” He interrupted, he couldn't wait to get home, to get back to Steve. The lackey locked down at his shoes, “Mr. Stark gave me a hundred dollars to ask.” He rolled his eyes, “Tell him to try harder.”

-

“Some SHIELD lackey today,” Bucky said, tracing lines on Steve’s hip. “Stark’s really determined, huh,” Steve said, pressing closer to Bucky and wrapping an arm around his neck, “you should troll him or something,” he continued in a mumble, fighting off a yawn. Bucky pulled away a little, considering Steve and giving him a once-over. Steve mumbled out a ‘y’ like what y’ see?’ drifting into unconsciousness.

“You ok with bein’ called a twink?” Bucky murmured, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing his shoulder. “Yup, ‘m your twink,” he giggled, face falling into Bucky’s shoulder A warm feeling spread throughout his chest, at Steve being his, and at him being all giggly and relaxed and falling asleep, so, so vulnerable in a way no-one would have been, when he was still under Hydra’s brainwashing. He was so in love with him, so, so much.

=

“So, uh, Mr. Winter, sir, or, uh, do you prefer Mr. Soldier? Uh, Mr. Stark asked me to uh, ask, who’s your roommate?” Stark’s spider-son asked fiddling with a pen, that had ‘Stark Industries’ emblazoned on the side He was fairly sure Stark didn’t make pens. Recorder, maybe transmitter. Huh.

He reached over, plucked the pen out of his hands and spoke into the near-invisible mic, “My roommate is an artist twink with whom I am in a homosexual relationship and I fuck daily.” He pressed the pen back into the kid’s hands and patted his shoulder, “Good talk, spider-kid.”

He turned around and walked straight out of the door, leaving Peter bright red and sputtering, whispering into the mic, “I think he wants you to stop asking.”

[ao3feed-supercorp]

temptations of the flesh

by NoxWrites (onwardlexa)

1874 - National Springs City

Luthor Co. has just purchased 300 acres of land for coal mines. Lena Luthor comes riding into town as head of the coal mines after her brother takes over power due to their father's untimely passing. Kara Danvers' world is flipped upside down when this eastern proper lady comes knocking and needing a place to stay. Alex Danvers is more than happy to oblige but Kara is still eyeing this stranger, whether it's due to Kara's eyes wandering to her cleavage or the girl's mystery business, is entirely in the air. Mon-el is not to happy when a new woman comes riding into time taking time out of Kara's day that should be reserved for him. The town of National Springs just got a whole lot bigger.

Words: 4163, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Supergirl (TV 2015)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor, Alex Danvers, Maggie Sawyer, James Olsen, Winn Schott, mon-el, Lucas "Snapper" Carr

Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor

Additional Tags: Old West + Witch Hunt AU, It's an odd tag i know but itll make sense, Eventual Smut, Teasing, Angst, My usual bullshit - Freeform, all characters are minor except Lena and Kara, aaaaannndd maybe alex, i havent decided for her yet

from AO3 works tagged 'Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor' http://ift.tt/2jEwrUE via IFTTT

[thesunglassesgamer]

The Talk, (Pt 5)

The fifth part of my current project. I hadn’t uploaded in a couple of weeks, so I used this chapter to get back on track, clear the story of any complications, and set the characters off towards a major goal. It’s mostly set-up, but it’s good set-up. Bold is my remarks from fanfiction.net. Comments, reviews, and suggestions are always appreciated. Enjoy!

Sorry for the break, Christmas got me off schedule. I have a better idea of what I want to do with the story now, so hopefully that'll start to show. This will definitely be a long story, and the main challenge will be keeping it on the same track from the beginning to end. So far so good. It wasn't the best idea to add in the Future Kids AU in the middle, but I was already in a story that fit it, and I wanted to write about it anyways, so a separate story with it would feel repetitive. I've set it up so that it should feel smoother from here on out. Enjoy, and please leave your comments below!

"Uh, so, Dad?"

Elizabeth's uncertain voice broke through quiet noises of the forest around them. They'd been walking on a trail that would supposedly lead them to Ludo's cave for the past hour. Early on, Marco had realized that he hadn't asked where the hideout was, and after a brief set of questions, had gotten his bearings. He hadn't talked since then. Both Jam and Elizabeth had wanted to ask about something that had been bugging both, but they were afraid to ask. Their father, or the person who'd eventually grow up to be their father, seemed anxious and fixated on something the entire journey. It was only after the silence had become too much for the young teen that she eventually spoke up.

Her words, however, appeared to have fallen on deaf ears. Marco continued to hike onwards, seemingly not hearing his future daughters words. Elizabeth spoke up, making her voice just a touch louder. "Dad, can we talk?" Marco said nothing. Elizabeth pouted in irritation, then yelled, "Hey, DAD!" The shout finally broke the boy's concentration. He jumped, startled, and almost tripped as he tried to face her.

"What, what, what did I miss?" Marco's voice matched his body: jumpy, distracted, and paranoid. Jam scowled at his half-sister. He'd been brought up to respect his elders. One did not simply yell at their own father unless a crisis was underway.

"That's a bit rude, don't you think?" Jam spat.

Elizabeth looked at him like he had grown a third arm. "The hell are you talking about? You smacked him across the face earlier!"

"So did you." His voice got louder.

"AFTER you did it." Her voice got louder.

"I only did it once, cuz' I never get to. You can't keep being that disrespectful to my father like that."

"Ok, first of all, he's my father too, wiseass. Secondly, I don't think I need to take orders from some hypocritical scavenger who-"

"STOP IT!" Marco shouted, causing both of them to flinch. He noticed the looks on their faces as they turned away. Jam looked ashamed of himself, while Elizabeth looked resentful. Interesting, Marco thought. Good information for later.

"Both of you are acting like five-year-olds," he chided them. "I don't have time for this crap right now, and neither do you two." He turned to face Elizabeth specifically. "Now, what was it you wanted to ask?"

Elizabeth's glare stayed on Marco for a few seconds before she asked, "Why wouldn't you let us tell you why we were here or what our pasts are?"

"That's simple. I already know why you two are here, and I don't have time to listen to your lives' stories."

His words made both of the kids pay more attention. "Wait, what?" Jam asked, taken aback. "How do you-"

"Oh please," Marco interrupted him. "Star admits that she has a crush on me, the conversation ends badly, I leave to go fix the problem, and you two just happen to appear here. You two, supposedly my children from two different timelines: one where I'm with Star, and the other with Jackie. What an amazing coincidence, huh?"

Neither teenager responded. He was right, of course. They were there because of the Marco's romantic issues. If they hadn't been so short-sighted, they realized, they would have figured out that Marco had put the pieces together.

"But, dad," Jam asked, still unsure. "Don't you think that we need to talk about this as soon as possible?"

"No, Jam, I don't. Right now, I'm putting my romantic issues aside to help my friend. She's lost something very dear to her, and it's been two weeks too long since I've tried to make a serious effort to undo that. I just hurt her feelings horribly recently, and it's only fair that I try to make up for that." His gaze, one that had been cold with resolve, softened. "I understand that your existences matter a lot to you two, but I can't help you right now. Not until I fix this first problem." He turned around and started down the path again. "Besides, we're missing two major components."

Elizabeth spoke this time. "What do you mean? What components?"

"Glossaryck, for one. He'll know more about time travel and be able to give us vital information." He mumbled to himself, "So long as he isn't pulling his weird bullshit on us again."

"Huh?" Jam asked.

"Nothing. Secondly, we need to see your mothers. This is just as much of their problem as it is mine, and I need to hear their input first."

"Problem?" Both half-siblings sounded disgusted and hurt.

Marco rolled his eyes and faced them. "Your lives are in jeopardy. Wouldn't you call that a problem?"

"Oh, right."

So the trio continued onwards. There was little chatter, besides a few small feuds between Jam and Elizabeth. After three hours, they broke out of the forest and into a large clearing. What had once been forest was now a massive corn plantation. Acres upon acres of corn filled their view. Both Jam and Elizabeth's mouths were open, small pools of drool coming out. Marco heard a dripping noise and looked at the two. "What's up?"

"Corn," Elizabeth mumbled.

"Food," Jam mumbled.

Marco sighed. "I'll feed you two afterwards. Nachos, or enchiladas if I have the ingredients."

The two teens eyes grew wider and they looked at Marco, awestruck. "Really?" They sounded like he'd just told them they were getting puppies for Christmas.

Marco gave them an odd look. "Yes. Really. Now let's go."

The corn fields were empty, which unsettled Marco. A field this large would require several workers to be attending to it constantly, but there were no creatures around. A half hour later, they arrived at an entrance to a cave. Several wooden cogs, levers, cranes, and likewise machinery were connected to the cave. Torn up earth and mud lay around the entrance to the cave, which looked like some sort of mine, in a twenty-foot radius. The entrance to the cave was also abandoned.

Marco's voice shook as he tried to say, "I, uh, we need to, um…" he trailed off. His eyes started to dart all around him, looking for dangers.

"Dad?" Elizabeth sounded calm.

He blinked. "Ah, yes? What?"

Jam interceded. "Are you okay?"

Marco looked at the two of them, then shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just… stay alert."

And then they crept into the cave.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"No, Ms. Butterfly, I will not help you." Buff Frog replied. He sounded stern, and tried to get across to the young princess that his reply was the end of the conversation. Star disagreed.

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeassssse, Buff Frog? Pretty please? With a nacho on top?"

Buff Frog looked disgusted at the notion of putting a nacho on top of a 'please'. "No."

Star groaned very audibly. After her conversation with Tom and Jackie, Tom had used his dimensional scissors to get them to Buff Frog's house (Star had visited once while Marco was sick). Yet after thirty whole minutes of begging and pleading, Buff Frog had refused to tell Star where Ludo's hideout was. Despite arguing that Marco was going to die and that Ludo needed to be stopped, Buff Frog had stayed stubbornly against her plan. If she died trying to save Marco, he argued, the whole realm would go to shit.

Star left Buff Frog to go talk with Jackie and Tom. They'd been making attempts at small talk, and each attempt had ended in awkward silences.

"So, how'd it go?" Jackie asked, eyes lighting up.

"No luck," Star huffed out.

Tom sputtered. "What!? I thought you said Buff Frog was your friend?"

"Sort of. It's complicated. He thinks that I'll die trying to save him, and that Mewni will go into chaos then."

Jackie shook her head. "How are we going to find the Lair, then?"

"I, I don't know," Star's voice broke. Her only idea had been to ask Buff Frog for directions and move from there. There was no other way that they could find Ludo in time. Her shoulders fell, and her body started to shiver. Despair didn't often overtake the young teen, but her failure to find Marco was about to take its toll. Her best friend was about to die because she had made a big fit over him not changing his feelings on the spot for her. Crushing self-hatred slowly seeped into her thoughts. If she hadn't been so stupid, so self-centered, this wouldn't have happened. The death of her friend would be on her shoulders. Her stupid, arrogant, ridiculous, weird-

Tom saw Star's reaction and got up. "No." Before either of the girls could ask, he stomped his way over to where Star had come from. A minute later, a scream broke the silence of the two girls. They started to get up, but as they were, Tom returned. He was sporting a big, vicious smile on his face and had a small trail of fire behind him.

"Right then." His voice was casual, as though nothing had happened. "The lair is one hour of mild hiking away from here, to the North-West. We might even be able to get there before Marco does."

Star narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"

Tom shrugged. "Habits die hard. He'll be fine in about, oh say, a week?" He nodded. "Yep, about a week." Star's eyes grew fierce, but before she could speak, Tom interrupted her. "Hey, do you want Marco to die because we're all standing around like a bunch of jackasses, arguing about ethics?"

Star wanted to argue. She really wanted to argue. But Tom, damn him, had made a good point. Grudgingly, she muttered, "Fine, let's-"

"ARGGHGHGH!" Tom yelled at the top of his lungs. Jackie had kicked him in the nuts. She retracted her leg, looking upset.

"Janna always said that it would feel satisfying," She explained, guilt on her face. "But that just kinda felt… bad."

"Why! Why did you kick me in the balls?"

Jackie shrugged. "It's what Marco would've done if he were here."

Tom looked at her with a pained expression, then conceded. Star felt bad. She should have known that Marco would have done that. Tom stayed on the ground for another minute, then slowly got up. The three nodded, Tom still in pain, and they left.

True to what Tom had said, it only took them an hour to get to the lair. They arrived at the back entrance, a hole that led right into the ground. A wooden pulley system with a bucket attached led into the hole. Star let out a small sigh.

"Jackie, Tom, are you-"

"Yes, Star, I know what I'm getting myself into," Jackie interrupted her, irritated. She pulled out a small bottle of pepper spray and a stun gun. "I've kept these around in case we ever got attacked on another date."

Star looked unsure, but gave in and nodded. She looked to Tom. He shrugged.

"I'd like to see Marco again. He's interesting."

Star nodded. "Let's go."

[1zashreena1]

No Shame -2

Pairing: M/F, nebulously OC/Priest!Diego Jimenez [Starz Power] AU IMAGINE

Rating: LITERAL FILTH

Warnings: Power imbalance, astronomical blasphemy, Diego’s pornographic mouth, old timey woman related bullshit, set some time before 1900 in what will be present day Mexico

A/N:  I guess I’m just gonna keep writing until it stops?? I am an atheist so please keep that in mind as I unintentionally mangle Christianity in general and Catholicism in particular. This was prompted by an ask, you know who you are >.>.

Tag a friend! @girlpornparadise​ @nicke0115​ @fleurfatale89​ @mandoplease​ @heresathreebee​ @chensingmachinee​​

It takes some effort to lace up a steel boned corset by yourself while wearing it, but you manage. 

"He already admitted to liking you, honey, calm yourself." Your father laughs uproariously at the ridiculous display of cleavage. 

You shrug helplessly, Dress to impress and all that, you suppose. Besides, I want him to suffer. This time you do wear all the underpinnings  deemed a requirement by polite society. You are going to make him work for it.

This was a mistake.

He had sent a cabriolet with its driver, that should have been your first clue. 

The hacienda is a sprawling estate, acres of land carved from the surrounding jungle and most likely painstakingly maintained. You pass through meticulously flattened fields with small cabins for workers and then gently rolling pastures closer to the main house. There is a large stable and an adjacent training paddock where two exquisite horses are being worked. You ache to see the beautiful animals, they had always been beyond the means of your family.

Several other carriages are already here. Oh no.

This is so far above your station that you feel sick. This is a world of landed gentry, of manners drilled in by formal boarding schools and titles you could never aspire to touch. You have severely misunderstood what it meant to be a Don.

Why did he do what he did in the church? Why invite me here? Why ask my father to court me? I am nothing compared to this. You despair silently, your father oblivious next to you. 

The servants seem to know who you are, And isn't that terrifying?, and you're led into some kind of sitting room with other guests. Your dress must be incredibly out of fashion, people are staring. Although it could be the vast stretch of cleavage on display, you make note that most of the other women are significantly smaller than you. Their brightly colored dresses are trimmed in lace with subdued skirts, your skirt has rather a lot of flounce to it and the lilac color seems so… bland. Their hair is combed and neatly contained, artfully placed solitary ringlets that you know were made with curling tongs. Your natural curls are wild and expansive, the single twist at each of your temples combined into one long braid down your back only to keep it out of your face. There is a family of blondes, but everyone else is brunette. Your deep red hair is garishly out of place.

I do not belong here. You are desperately trying to fabricate some excusable sickness to beg off and escape when you see him. He has a smartly dressed woman hanging off of each arm and is gesticulating wildly while relaying some story. Dressed in garments so fine you do not even know what the material is, the sight of him makes your womanhood clench and your nipples pebble. 

Ridiculous. 

He catches sight of you as you are turning away. You spotted some books on a shelf in a corner and are about to seek refuge when he breaks away to head straight for you. For the first time in your life you opt for cowardice and run. From the edge of your vision you can see that all it does is lengthen those stalking strides. The books that were meant to be your salvation are, of course, in Spanish. Well damn.

An extremely large hand lands on your lower back and your heart leaps. He rumbles much too closely for polite company, "Buenas noches, Señorita. You look ravishable."

Did he mean ravishing? You make the mistake of looking up into that painfully handsome face. His grin is pure predator. No, he did not. Your temper flares with your desire.

"Good evening, Father." You hiss quietly. "You have a lot of nerve." Is it rude to immediately insult your host?

"Me? But yet, here you are. Tell me, little girl, did you wear anything under your skirts this time?" Those dark eyes twinkle happily. He is enjoying this. You lean down to place a book on the end table and his gaze drops to your chest. Licking his lips, he mutters under his breath, "We have a selection of proverbs here. Somewhere."

This man is infuriating. 

"Do you expect to find out?" The question is meant to sound condescending, it seems a tiny bit hopeful. Your brain is muddled by his proximity, the scent of expensive toiletries is highly distracting. You bathed outside under a spring fed waterfall this morning. What am I doing?

"I suppose that depends on how sinful you have been today. If you have yet to sin, may I offer my hand in assistance?" Diego leans closer with his seemingly solicitous offer. You are struck by the near perfect arrangement of his features, the tiny crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes only adding to his appeal. His lips are framed by perfectly trimmed facial hair, the smooth cheeks a sign that he must have shaved today. His smirk reminds you that you’ve been staring at him breathlessly. 

"I am sure I can handle myself." You smile beautifically. He exhales in a huff, his shoulders dropping in surprise at your innuendo. Then he smiles a real smile.

You are devastated. He is a very attractive man, but this, this is blinding. Your heart stutters, your stomach drops, and you nearly whimper. 

"I, I saw your horse." What? WHAT? Why did you just say that? "And the others, outside, on our way in." If you could melt into the wall and disappear that would be wonderful. 

The hand on your back rubs a small circle comfortingly. Diego steps closer yet, his hip brushes your elbow and you curse your stature. He quirks a brow with his next question, "Do you like to ride?"

He is fairly excited at the prospect of your answer but you have no idea why. You cross your arms to get a tiny bit of space from him, it only amplifies your bust. Sighing, you answer, "I do not know. My family was never in a position to own a horse." There. Now he knows how poor you truly are, just how far below him.

"A shame." He murmurs, "You are built for it." His hand sinks lower to the very top of your buttocks. There is something you are definitely missing here. Brow furrowing, you look up at him. His expression softens at your obvious confusion, but he is still quite pleased. His subsequent offer is charming, "After dinner, would you like to tour the stables?"

Your whole face transforms as you smile broadly. "I would love that." The wonder in your voice is unmistakable. 

"It will be my pleasure, little girl. Now, if you will excuse me, my sister is demanding my presence." He purrs. You follow his line of sight to a woman who looks vastly different from him, but has the same eyes. She arches a brow, just as Diego does, and gestures sharply. 

"Of course." You answer softly to no one as he is already strolling away. The loss of his presence makes you feel cold and very alone. 

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

Dinner is an ordeal. There are several courses, foods you cannot identify, and no less than three spoons. Dessert induces discreet gagging on your part as flan is very… jiggly.

Careful observation is enlightening, you learn that several other guests are Dons of neighboring towns. Their wives accompany them, but you get the distinct impression that the unmarried sisters and daughters are on display. You come to understand that Diego is the only bachelor Don of majority age in a 300 mile radius. 

This is a competition that you have no business being anywhere near.

And just how old is he?

You are sipping chocolate next to an archway in the open air courtyard, attempting to ignore the stares, when a dark voice assaults your ear temptingly.

"Are you ready, little girl?" The purring rattle makes your knees shake and your mouth salivate. 

"Oh yes please thank you now." Relief palpable,  you whip around to find Diego looming over you, the one hand being held out in invitation is now firmly squashed into your generous bosom. His brows climb to his hairline as you clear your throat. "I- yes."

He wiggles his fingers in your cleavage and you take his hand with more force than is strictly necessary. He grins down at you, "Very good, little girl."

You whimper. You cannot help it, the tiniest of noises, soft and high pitched, your lips do not even need to part for him to hear it. Please no, not here in front of all of your peers, you silently beg. Except, his face goes slack and his fingers tighten around yours. 

Oh. Do your noises have an effect on him? Is this power that you have? Experimentally, you lick your lips. His gaze drops and his pupils widen as he mimics your movements unconsciously. Oh yes, that curl of power surfaces again in your belly. This you can work to your advantage. You smirk, "Shall we?"

His dark gaze is hungry as he glares at you, displeased with the reversal in the play of power. He growls, "Yes, you shall ride."

You are drug off before you can protest about your attire not being made for such activities. You have a sneaking suspicion that his only suggestion would be to remove it. You are having trouble remembering why that is a bad idea while your hand is tucked into the crook of his massive arm, fingers curled around bulging muscle.

You need to clear your head.

The stables are dim in the evening light and the smell of grain strong. Your only pair of nice shoes clicks on the wooden floor as you pull away from him to look around. Diego releases you but watches closely. 

The horse's names are engraved on plaques above the stalls. Your casita does not even have a street address. I do not belong here. Your hands reach out to touch and a large nose appears over the stall door. "Hello," you check the plate, "Dante." Of course this is his horse.

The gray muzzle is soft as velvet and the stallion huffs at you in a blast of air that blows your hair back. The horse darts forward and you realize just how big he is. One step backwards to retreat lands you squarely in the middle of a broad chest.

"I will show you." Diego states simply. He reaches up with both hands on either side of you and takes the halter in his grasp firmly. With a gentle tug, Dante's head comes down and Diego curves over you to touch his forehead to the horse's. "Now you, little girl."

You reach up to take Dante in hand and the stallion rushes to do the same with you. His forelock tickles and you laugh delightedly. 

"He likes you." Diego declares.

"How do you know?" Intelligence shines brightly in the animal's eyes and you pet him.

"He bites everyone except me." Diego shrugs.

Oh. You hedge softly, "Maybe he senses that you like me." Diego snorts above you. Snippily, you elaborate, "Beg pardon? Are you often in the habit of asking to court women you do not like?"

"I have never asked to court another woman."

The rumbling admission gives you pause. Those massive hands settle on your hips and squeeze tightly. You continue petting Dante resolutely, determined to remain stoic. The hands slide inward, around your hips to spread wide over your entire abdomen. Everything inside you is aflame. Ever higher, his touch travels until he cups your breasts firmly. There is no give in the steel boned corset and the large man behind you growls in frustration. 

"Why would you wear such a thing?" His voice is rough with want, it makes you gasp. 

"For p-precisely this situation." Your retort is less bite and more whine. "You must understand that I am not some, some, plaything to be had, available at your beck and call."

His beard scrapes your neck as he leans down into you to whisper, "Are you certain, little girl?"

"I have already been the laughingstock of one community. I refuse to be the joke of another." Your voice shakes with anger. Or perhaps anticipation. It is difficult to tell as he licks your ear.

"Does this feel like play?" He growls as you are pressed to the stall door at your front. His hardened length bites into your lower back and he grinds his hips harshly. Your soft wail startles Dante and he shies away. 

"You will ride Dante and then you will ride me. After that, I will have my answer." He sinks teeth into your bared neck. What was the question? Your thoughts have stalled entirely. 

"I, I do not know how to. To ride." Rubbing your legs together, you keen quietly. Your center contracts down on nothing angrily and your fingers claw into the wood.

"I am quite certain that I can teach you. After all, you are a quick study." Diego releases you suddenly and your body trembles. He goes about the business of saddling his horse while you continue melting as you watch his muscles work.

Fully tacked and waiting, Dante snorts at you as Diego beckons. His dark eyes dance with mischief, "Come mount, little girl."

You set your shoulders with stubbornness and stomp to him. Motioning to the stirrups you bark, "I am too shor--"

Diego picks you up like a child and you scramble for the saddle. Your skirts get tangled between your legs and crushed underneath you when you sit. The feel of the saddle pressed hard to your core means that you do not care. Every time you shift or Dante moves the leather rubs you pleasantly. There is no escape from the stimulation and you can feel yourself becoming wet. You have no idea how much time has passed while you tried to acclimate to this new development. 

"Shit." Your unladylike hiss is deafening in the empty stable.

Diego doubles over in booming laughter and you suddenly remember the source of your current vexation.

"A warning would have been nice." You snap. He looks up at you with tears, his face scrunched up adorably. Your heart stops as you realize how beautiful he truly is.

"How do I warn for something I have never experienced?" He chokes and resumes laughing gleefully. Truly, an overgrown child.

You sigh, but pick up the reins determinedly and look down at him expectantly. Smiling broadly with your taunt, "I await your instruction, Father."

Those brown eyes flash with fire and you wonder briefly if you should be playing with that. He licks his lips but goes on to correct your seating, show you the proper way to utilize the reins, and then leads you out into a small paddock behind the building.

Walking is a noticeable feeling. Trotting is just painful. A canter is delicious torture. The stride is smooth and rocking, your exhilaration is twofold with dual excitement. Dante is responsive and feisty, you enjoy his personality and try not to examine why too closely. Diego intervenes occasionally to make small adjustments but has proclaimed you a natural with great enjoyment. 

It is almost dark when he leads you back inside the stable, your face beaming. You struggle to dismount, Diego simply hauls you off and plops you on the ground… Except your legs collapse.

Diego, The absolute cad, uses this opportunity to crush you to his chest and stabilize you by sliding a long leg between your own. The moment the pressure occurs you feel a vast amount of wetness. That cannot be good, you panic and shove away from him, stumbling over to a chest to sit. Your wild hair is a disaster and you hide behind it as you check your layers. Relief washes over you as the outer skirt is dry, only the three inner layers are soaked through.

"What?" You whisper to yourself in confused terror. Is this normal? Do all women have this response? Is there something wrong with me? Am I hurt? A shadow falling over the skirts pulls your attention as Diego kneels in front of you. His smirk eases your fears.

"Do you have a problem, little girl?" 

"You knew what would happen." You accuse softly. He does not even attempt to feign innocence. 

"Oh, of course." His pleased rumble is accompanied by a toothy grin. Your hand flashes out faster than you can see. The crack of the slap on his cheek is muffled by all of the equipment that lines the walls.

Oh no.

He lurches forward and you shriek. His left hand encircles both of your wrists and he slams them to the wall above your head. The right hand hits your center with considerable force. Your legs jump, but he has the left pinned and his bulk squeezed between. 

"I did not me--" He does not let you finish.

"I know what you meant. But do you?" Diego growls. You shake your head, a single tear slipping out. "Oh, but you are wet, are you not?" His fingers locate that pulsing bundle of nerves and he rubs slowly from side to side. Just as you had done in the confessional. 

"S-stop. The other p-people, my skirt, it is. P-please do not ruin me like this." You beg as tears drip steadily down your cheeks, eyes squeezed shut. The hand retreats, your skirt rustles as he slips under all of the layers and returns to you. The heat of his hand is like an open flame on your oversensitized center.

"It is simple. Do you want this or no?" The decision is anything but simple. You want it, you want him, even now as he restrains your body and threatens your reputation. Your fear is sharp and sour, you had hoped to start over here. A new home in a new country far from your disgraced status. You miss your mother. She would shake her head over it but tell you to chase happiness. What do I have left to lose?

"Do you truly mean to court me? It is not s-some cover to use me this way?" Why? Why do you have to ask these things? Why am I like this?

His fingers press harder and you writhe. It would not take much to break you, I wonder if he knows?  

"I rather enjoy your company. Intelligent, you speak your mind, you respond beautifully, and you took my cock so very well, little girl." His praise is followed by a drastic increase in pressure and you sob your answer with your release.

"Yesss, yes, oh yes, please, yes. Yesyesyes. I want. Ohh, I want you." Your body seizes as you bear down on nothing, the pleasure almost painful. The sobs are cut off by Diego covering your mouth with his. He forces you wide open and licks everything he can reach, all you can do is give in to him. The hair on his face burns and you moan. 

He breaks away, pulls you to your feet, and then directly into an empty stall. Your legs falter but the momentum puts you exactly where he wants you. 

Which is straddling his lap. What is he-- OHHH. The feel of his straining manhood poking up into you makes everything clear. You brace on his shoulders as his hands dive beneath your dress to rip open the bloomers and then free himself. He is lying back on a bale of hay, your feet are flat on the floor to either side. You know when his pants are down because the heat of him is molten. His fingers stroke over you from bottom to top, you are dripping, then he angles his length and-

"Ahhhhh!" Your shriek is piercing. 

"Ohhhh, sí, little girl. So tight for me. Such a grip." He groans and drops his head down limply. You cannot see anything through your layers and he feels enormous. 

"Wait, wait, please." You pant and he freezes to look up at you. "I have never, I did not even know you could, in this way. What do I do?" Terrified, you place your trust in this man who tricked you but made you feel so very good.

"Knees. Kneel, here." He hisses and pats next to his waist. You both moan as you shift and wiggle to position yourself. As you settle you bounce a bit, he bites his lip and digs fingers into your thighs. You try it again, the friction of him slipping out of you is good, but when you ease back down, well, you both make noise. 

"I, I think I see." You grit out. With the corset on you cannot move your upper body much, but your hips are free. Your eyes close and you let the sensations guide you. Your hips bounce, your rear bounces, faster feels better, if you lean forward onto his chest you can move your pelvis quicker. A hand fists in your hair and he pulls, Oh, that feels good, you open your eyes. He is staring up at you, pupils gigantic, panting harshly.

"You. You are a very, very, good girl." He marvels. You keen and go faster, the praise makes everything feel better. His other hand reaches between you, finding your pleasure again as you shudder above his big body, dropping your weight to impale yourself entirely as you convulse around him.

"Ohh, oh. Yesyesyessssssss." Your whining cries seem to please him, he works you over again and again. You have never experienced anything like this, you are starving for it. He releases your hair to burrow both hands under your skirts and reach around to grasp your rear. You yelp, "What are you--"

He slaps you with intent, you lurch up his chest from the force, then he yanks you back down to be filled decisively. You have not been spanked since you were ten, this is catastrophically better.

"Again!" You demand hoarsely. Diego laughs but repeats the maneuver. You yelp with each slap, then moan every time he fills you.

"Does my bad little girl need punishment?" He rasps into your hair. Nodding deliriously, you claw into his muscled chest, whimpering for more. "Do not fret. Father will take care of you."

"Oh yes, please. Please. Please, Father!" You have lost the last shred of control over your own tongue. Those strapping hands secure your hips and he snaps his own up into you. He hits something deep inside that makes you collapse and he does it repeatedly until you flutter around him weakly and bawl into his ruffled shirt. His movements become stilted as he grunts above your head. A few more vicious thrusts and he groans loudly while holding you fast to his pelvis. 

You can feel him emptying into you. This, too, is not new to you but very much more intense than ever before. He is prodigious. That big body goes boneless below you and he sighs contentedly. 

"That was far better than dessert." Diego declares.

You snort, then giggle, and the giggles morph into hysterical laughter before you know it. He slips out of your quaking body, it is a distinctly odd feeling, when he joins your mirth. You prop up just enough to see his face, laugh lines frame those deep eyes and he has dimples! This is unfair. The man is a work of art.

You try and fail to sit up. 

"I. Um. I cannot seem to stand." The confession is small and self-conscious. You are deeply embarrassed. 

"Then do not. It is raining, no one will come out here until it stops." A big hand strokes over your hair and you fight down panic. He breathes deeply, raising you with every inhale. The heartbeat under your cheek is strong and steady,  inescapable as a force of nature. Slowly but surely the tension leaves your spine and you drape over him.

"I did not know it could be done that way." You admit. Stroking rhythmically over his arm is soothing.

"Your husband must have been quite unimaginative." His remark is offhand, thoughtless. It stabs into your chest and you remember your situation. You pull back and manage to sit upright this time, he allows it but does not fully release you.

Shaking hands reach up to touch his face. Diego arches a brow but remains still while you trace over his features. Your heart fills with dread but you have to know. Voice unsteady, you clarify, "Did you mean it? You want to court me?"

"I do not say things I do not mean." His eyes bore into you. Diego pinches your chin gently, "I believe you can appreciate that philosophy."

Your eyes slip away as you swallow nervously. "But, you would consider me still married, would you not?"

The soft chuckle catches you unawares, "You are not Catholic. Why would the rules of the church matter to you?" The question is rhetorical, but you have an answer.

"But you are." Turning back, you blink with the burn of tears. This is it, you think, He will agree and then toss you like the trash you are.

"Little girl. I can assure you, the church has written me off as unsalvagable long ago. I ceased adhering to their silly rules well before that. This is a different country with different laws. In fact, the church would not even recognize your marriage as it was done outside the bonds of Catholicism. You worry needlessly." It is obvious that he means to be comforting despite his flippant tone. He has put some thought into this topic.

"Well, in that case." Tracing a thumb over his lower lip, you lean down for a kiss. Diego attacks your mouth ferociously, all teeth and tongue and leveling maelstrom. All you can do is allow the storm to roll over you.

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

It never does stop raining. In fact, lightning and thunder come in off of the ocean. The two of you have to make a mad dash for the main house. His sister intercepts him in the courtyard to yell at him in Spanish until she sees you hovering just inside the shelter of the roof. 

"Oh!" She gestures to you in frustration. "I see what you have been doing! Truly, Diego? I mean, look at her!" The dismissive tone hits you like a slap in the face. Locking your jaw, you step forward only to be blocked by Diego’s broad back.

"Do not! She is under my protection!" He roars. His sister steps back in shock. She peers around his bulk to look at you, then back to him.

"Your protection? What does that even mean?" She sounds flabbergasted and insulted by the feeling, at that. 

"She has accepted my offer of courtship. You will treat her with the respect that is due." He snarls.

Oh.

Oh.

No one has ever come to your defense before. Gratitude closes your throat with warmth. She stomps off in frustration only to usher your father through the doorway.

"I knew you were here somewhere. Ah, were you still out in the stables when it began to rain?" Your father smiles fondly at your soggy appearance. 

"Uh, yes. Unfortunately." You clear your throat and glance to Diego. His lazy smirk is of no assistance. 

"Come. You should get out of those wet clothes." His offer is sweet, but you can hear the unspoken '... And into my bed'. 

His sister returns with a towel and a steaming mug of tea. She assesses you with a critical eye before announcing, "We have guest rooms. I would not send you home in this."

You are unsure if she means the storm or your attire; either way, you follow her through the house. She leads you to a spacious bedroom complete with a sleigh bed and water closet. It is pure luxury. She pauses at the door to sniff before leaving you, "Diego's rooms are directly across the hall. I will put your father in the other wing. I know how loud my brother can be."

The sound of the door closing behind her is deafening.

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

You wash up, but have nothing clean to wear. Additionally, your seat is throbbing. Touching yourself to bathe was excruciating with actual pain and such intense memory that you are exhausted when you slide under the covers nude. Your only good dress is in a ruined heap on the floor. Just as you should be, a lowly tramp.

A knock sounds and the door opens before you can respond. The source of all your woes strides in confidently and proffers a black garment. Not knowing what else to do, you take it wordlessly while clutching the sheet tight to your chest. It is a shirt, one of his shirts if the scent is any indication, and you assume you are to wear it. 

Only he is not leaving.

Diego watches you with hungry eyes, waiting for the sheet to drop and reveal your naked body. An absolute cad.

"Is there any chance at all that I could at least have the illusion of privacy?" You ask dryly. 

"Fine." He huffs and spins in place. Then stands there, waiting. Resigned, you whip the large shirt over your head as quickly as possible, then pull the sheet back up over your legs. The shirt tails fall just lower than your buttocks, you suppose everything important is covered. 

"All right, I am dece--" He is climbing into the bed with you. Oh my. You squeak quietly, "What are you doing?!?"

Lying down next to you on top of the covers, he smiles at you and holds the arm closest to you wide open in invitation. He is well aware of how good he looks. How tempting.

"Come. You must be cold." It isn't exactly an order, but it is firmer than a request. It is the tone of a man used to issuing commands and never doubting that they will be obeyed. Oh, what the hell, he was inside me not less than two hours ago.

You crawl over the silky sheets and let him tuck you into his side. You are at a loss as to what to do with your hands.

"This, too, is a first for me." You admit haltingly. 

"Was your husband demented?" The matter-of-fact tone sends you into a fit. You bury your face in his side to muffle your tired laughter. "Why do you do that?" Diego asks softly. 

"Do, oh goodness, do what?" You chortle softly then compose yourself as best you can with no pants.

"Hide your mirth. Cover your laugh. Turn away when you smile." He is looking down at you in serious consternation. And awaiting an answer. 

"It is considered rude for a woman to be loud with any emotion where I am from." The quiet explanation only serves to confuse him more.

"That seems tiring. You most definitely have feelings. Why are you forbidden to express them?" It is such a foreign concept to him, he is puzzled. You lay a hand on his chest cautiously. He does not flinch.

"I cannot say. I know that my mother raised her girls to be subdued and accommodating. I, of course, was a failure. My laugh is too loud, my voice too strong, my desires too ambitious. My own grandparents were shocked when I was married off. They assumed no man would tolerate me." I wish that man had ceased tolerating me sooner.

The hand on your back circles idly. It is lulling you to sleep. 

"I forbid you to hide from me." He declares in complete seriousness. You are too tired to bother arguing.

"Fine. May you live to regret it." The last thing you know is his scent filling you to bursting.

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

You wake up on your back. Odd.

Your legs are spread. Very odd.

Luscious wet heat is washing over your aching center in waves. Oh no.

You come to full awareness in a panic. There, between your spread legs in the growing sunlight, is Diego's head, nodding rhythmically as he licks you.

Frozen in shock, you can only watch for a timeless moment as he laves over your womanhood leisurely. Long, decadent laps from bottom to top and then over again. You feel wetness dripping down between your cheeks, there is a sticky puddle under your behind. How long has he been down there?

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" You shriek. Lurching upward, you hit the headboard. His arms are wrapped around your thighs, strong as cable, and you fully understand your predicament. You are trapped.

"Mmmm. Is it not obvious?" The vibration of his rocky voice on your most sensitive parts is going to make you swoon. He resumes enjoying you noisily while you flail about uselessly. The sounds are obscene and offensive, you can feel yourself growing wetter. He moans appreciatively, "Yes, little girl. Soak my beard with your arousal."

You tremble in excitement and fear. If you are caught with him in here like this… 

"Come for me and I will fill this pretty little cunt." He rumbles on, poking his tongue inside your entrance then gliding upward to stimulate your little nub of pleasure. You are going to, you can feel it building inexorably. There is no escape from his soft tongue, scratchy beard, and burning hands. 

Your hands dig in the bedclothes as you keep in mind his decree. It is a struggle not to cover your mouth, but you are rather distracted. Your back arches steadily higher and you sink down onto his face. He moans happily and applies more pressure yet.

"Oh, oh my, you. You are. What is. I, I, please, oh please, do not stop." Almost. You are teetering on the edge of insanity when he pulls back. Nononononononono!

"Come for me, niñita. Come for Father." He attacks the bundle of nerves and you shriek as your body seizes. The contractions of ecstasy blind you momentarily while you sob blissfully. Your core clenches tight, shutting down your worrisome brain. He never ceases his licking, drawing it out until your legs twitch spastically and you push at his head weakly.

He sits up and licks his lips ostentatiously. It is a show for your bleary gaze. You notice his shirt is gone. The wide expanse of his body is bare to you for the first time. Oh. OH.

His shoulders and chest are well defined, muscles bunching and rippling on that broad frame. His torso is solid, his hips lightly cut out from his belly, and that thatch of hair begins at navel. You have never seen such a perfect specimen of malehood.

You must be gawking because he preens happily, puffing up under your favorable assessment. Surely he knows how he looks? His beard glistens in the warm light and you whimper.

"Now, roll over." Excuse me? His eyes crinkle in amusement at your confusion. 

"What?" You blurt. Very sophisticated. 

Big hands land on your hips and he urges you to turn to your left. Memories of every other time he has positioned you and the subsequent pleasure make you follow his lead. Flat on your belly, the borrowed shirt pushed high up your back, you squirm under him.

"What are you doing?" The question is quiet, but fearful. He strokes up your back firmly and you melt under his touch. His hands span your entire back and you rather like the feeling of being covered in him. He moves down your back to grip great handfuls of your rear. You squeak, but it feels so very good after the saddle yesterday. He growls approvingly as you arch into his touch.

"Yes, raise your hips to me. Now spread, there you go, relax here, there. Perfect." He manipulates your body to his liking until your hips are high in the air, your back sunk low, and your shoulders remaining on the bed. The narrow pelvis nestles up to your buttocks as his knees land between your own. A draft flits over your center and you suddenly comprehend what he intends to do. He is going to take you from behind, like an animal. 

Are you insulted? I will reserve judgment until he finishes, no need to be hasty. You chastise your own impatience. Have you no shame?

He certainly does not. 

"You are trying to be so good for me. Wicked little girl, dripping for my cock." He purrs above you, hands petting your derriere. You shake and squeeze hungrily. "I can see that." He moans.

Painfully embarrassed, you hide your face in the pillow without thought.

"Ah, ah! Bad girl!" He reprimands you roughly and slaps your right cheek. You yelp, he laughs lowly. Curving over your back, the heat radiating off of him is suffocating, he threads fingers into your hair and pulls until your head is tilted far back. He informs you ever so graciously, "I will help you behave."

"Oh, I, I am sorry, please." You babble, mindless with the pleasure of his hands on you. 

"Yes, so repentant, I remember. You are very good at atonement, little girl. Now take this sacrament." He groans as he pushes into you. So thick, hot as fire, you twitch madly until the wide head is swallowed by your body. He does not stop, sinking into you for what feels like forever, until you feel the tickle of his hair. You worry he might come up your throat.

Rippling around him illuminates that you are stretched to the limit. He tugs your hair sharply and moans, "Are you taunting me purposefully?"

"I, no? Not, n-not taunting." You wheeze. He grinds deep and you see stars while your eyes are open. "Is that, it, not n-normal?"

He holds very still and demands quietly, "Do it again." You squeeze tight, he chokes above you, "You, Dios mios, you are doing that yourself?"

"I- yes? Sh-should I not be able to do, that?" Your question is baffled, Am I abnormal?

"Oh, little girl. Perfect, tight, wet, little, girl. Give yourself to me." He drapes his big body over you and turns your face to the side to receive a demanding kiss. He pulls back only to thrust home forcefully and you squawk into his mouth. The retreat makes you whine and clutch at him, when he slams forward you howl with how good it feels. Each thrust hits deep, it hurts and pleases you simultaneously, you cannot fathom what is happening. You clutch the pillow and sob happily.

Diego bucks into you at a breakneck pace, the bed creaks and you nod for more. You are stuffed full, unbelievably wet, and out of your mind with bliss. You want more, is that allowed?

"H-harder. Can you. Do more?" You stutter tentatively, afraid of offending him. 

"Oh, yes, you sinful little creature. Take it, take it, take it." He growls in a rolling chant, snapping his hips harder. Your eyes roll back and you shudder through another climax, then a second, and a third, all one after another. You collapse limply, uncaring of his rough usage of you at this point. He bucks frantically, pumping deep to reach release. 

"Oh, ahhhhh, yesss. Good girl. Good. Girl." He moans raggedly, filling you yet again. You did not realize men could do it so many times and so frequently. He pulls back and drops to the bed at your side. One large arm loops under your pelvis and he topples you over to crash against him. "Take a nap, little girl. You have earned it."

Your angry retort is cut off by a huge yawn. He strokes down your side endlessly, it does the trick and you drift off.

-----------

When you wake up again it is midmorning. You stretch happily in the sunlight, until your hips protest. Everything from navel to knee is sore. You sit up in a huff, wincing, only to realize that you are alone. 

There is a plain skirt and very nice leather belt on the dresser, it is embroidered with a beaded pattern in green, yellow, and blue. The skirt is a little long, but you are rather short. Combined with his billowing shirt, you look like a child playing dress up. Your dress is gone, so this will have to do. 

A servant leads you to the kitchens, she smiles broadly and points to your hair with a tiny voice, "Bonita." 

"Thank you." You nod, unsure how to respond. Your father is at a large butcher block table, socializing easily with a young mother and her toddler despite the language barrier.

"Good morning. I apologize for sleeping so late, I must have been more tired than I realized." You announce your presence as casually as possible. 

Diego's sister breezes into the room and announces that the carriage is ready whenever you are. The barb does not go unnoticed. You thank her sweetly for the hospitality as she herds you outside and sees you off as quickly as possible. 

You wonder if Diego even knows you are leaving.

I still do not know why he pretended to be a priest.